Scuttle Buttin'
Demons at bay
- Joined
- Apr 27, 2003
- Posts
- 15,881
The file downloaded in a few moments, and from there was streamed to a large, flat-panel television that hung on a wall in his vast study. The room was dim, the darkness of the oak soaking up what little light was set free in the room, and as he settled on the leather couch with a tumbler of amber liquid held between his fingertips, he narrowed his eyes against the sudden bright light of the video.
On the screen before him, he watched a high definition video of a woman carrying boxes from a car into what appeared to be her new residence. She was wearing little, if any, makeup, a fact that the high quality of the video made obvious even from the photographer's vantage point across the street, and he was pleased with that fact. In his experience, limited though it was, determining the quality of specimen one was dealing with was made more difficult by makeup and clothing designed the "sculpt" and "tone." However ineffective they may be, they still worked to hide the true shape and appearance of the person under them, and more than one woman had been passed over because of this. He was insulated multiple times over from anything that might go awry - even the file he now watched would erase itself multiple times over after he finished viewing it - but his people on the ground there were at great risk. On a planet of multiple billions, there was no reason to take unnecessary risks.
As she worked, the camera zoomed in on her and panned, taking time on her calves, thighs, hips, the curve of her ass, the swell of her breasts, and then, almost as if it was coordinated between photographer and subject, she seemed to look up and right at the camera, her face all but filling the screen. Snatching up the remote, he thumbed the pause button and stood from the couch. Only a few feet from the bright screen he stopped, his eyes intently studying her eyes, cheekbones, hairline, the plump cushion of her lips, the roundness of her chin. Absently he lifted his glass to his own lips and drank some of the liquor from within it, nodding to himself as he swallowed. Physically, she seemed to be ideal. It was hard to see it, and most probably wouldn't when they looked at her, but he had an artists' eye for these things. The woman he wanted was in there.
Turning his back to the screen, he lowered himself onto the leather again and hit the Play button, the video jolting back into life again.
She didn't see the photographer, of course, and looked away from his direction without the slightest hint that she was the subject of a video that would make it's way thousands of miles, across seas and oceans, to the eyes of another. As she disappeared through the doorway carrying another box, the screen went black, casting the room in dim light again. Text filled the screen night, white letters that shone brightly against the black background, and he read quickly over the details his investigators had gathered. Name, age, date of birth, height and weight, measurements, even her shoe size was displayed, and not for the first time he marveled at what you could obtain with enough money.
Next, her educational history was displayed. Not only had they been able to track down literally every school she'd attended in her life, but transcripts, where applicable, were shown for each. To his delight, she had been a consistently great student, with hardly a blemish on the entirety of her record. Employment history followed, and he was once again pleased by what he saw. One of her employers had run their own background check and a psychological evaluation, and these were also presented for him, more internal documents that no longer were.
Finally, her personal details. The names of friends and family, those still alive and those deceased, how often she spoke with them, who she was seeing. The fact that she was single was a large plus, and her current unemployment and the new move both worked to make the job of his men that much easier. What few negatives there were, and he saw very few, were easily made up for by how easy obtaining her may prove to be.
The screen simply went black at the end of this, nothing in the video identifying who shot it or who it was shot for. His television went into hibernation mode as he heard the fan of his computer speed up while the processor worked to erase the file beyond the ability of anyone to recover. Sitting in the darkness, he sipped on the alcohol in his glass as he pondered all he'd just seen. It was not the first video he'd seen in the last few days, and he doubted it would be the last, but unknown to the girl within it, she had climbed to the top of the heap with ease.
The glass was drained and left on the small table in front of the couch for the maid to clear after he'd gone up. Setting the remote next to it, he extinguished the lights in the study and left the room, the door still standing open behind him to signify that the room was available for cleaning. Making his way up to the large master suite, he undressed in the darkness and stood at the window, overlooking the water below.
A short time later, he lifted his phone off the bedside table and fired off a quick, two-word text before slipping between the sheets and sleeping deep and peacefully.
"Take her."
The story of how Mathieu Bonhomme came to acquire his vast fortune, at such a relatively young age, was almost as unknown as the man himself. Barely into his 30's, he was the subject of some rumor and speculation, and his reclusive nature only fueled the whispers. Some claimed he was a shrewd investor and owned significant portions of a number of companies. Some claimed his fortune was made through invention and creation, or through real estate, or was simply inherited and it left him free to pursue other interests. Some claimed he was a member of the Rothschild banking family. Some refused to believe he even existed. To most of the claims, there was actually a bit of truth.
Mathieu had purchased the uninhabited Isla de la Secuestrador in the Caribbean while still in his 20's, and spent most of his time in a secluded château in France while work was done. Nearly three years later, a sprawling complex had been build on the Island, and once he set foot on it, the fingers of two hands could be used to count the number of times he'd left and returned to any of the continents.
Instead, operatives were paid handsomely to obtain the things he needed, to sit in on meetings, and generally to act as his representative in the rest of the world. For his part, Mathieu disappeared into a lab built under the complex, where he studied, experimented, and, yes, committed a fair share of crimes. Women had been to the island, essentially placed into a medically-induced coma, that never knew it. Many explanations were given for the missing time when they woke in a hospital later - car accident, fall down the stairs, brain aneurysm - though of the changes that they saw in the color of their eyes, the tone of their skin, or any of a thousand other small differences in their body, the doctors were forced to shrug and chalk it up to an unexplained medical mystery.
At last, though, it was time. The process, after one failed attempt, had been perfect, the girl chosen, and all that was left now was to wait.
A secretary, who was a temp with no idea of the organization she was working for, had been the one to place the call offering a job interview. Their organization was small but thriving, she explained, and instead of advertising for applicants, they employed head hunters to seek out those they thought would be a perfect fit for their business. Compensation and specific job responsibilities would be discussed at the interview, but as instructed, she hinted that the salary that would be discussed was more than generous. The girl was clearly surprised by the call, but as the women spoke it became obvious that excitement was replacing it, and by the time the connection was severed, the secretary found herself jealous that she'd not been the one receiving the call.
She was paid, handsomely, for her day of work and day of training, and sent home shortly after she placed the call. A week later, curious as to just who she'd worked for those two days, she drove by to find the building empty, the only thing within a sign that leaned against the window, advertising the building as being for lease.
The office was furnished with items that were all rented, down to the chair he sat in. The interview was scheduled for 11:00 a.m., the day outside overcast and rainy. To her, he would seem the only person in the small office when she came in. It was only after they'd introduced each other and shook hands, after she was offered a chair across the desk from him and the interviewed seemed to begin in earnest, that she would learn differently.
The two men that entered the same door she'd come through were large, each one filling the doorway as they passed through it, and she just had time to glimpse the syringe that was pulled from a drawer by the man interviewing her before the black bag slid over her head. Her struggle was useless though expected, and the three men easily overpowered her. The needle entered her arm, the plunger was shoved down by the thumb atop it, and her world faded to black.
She was taken quickly out the back door and placed into the back of a van which delivered her to a nearby airport. She was on a private plane and in the air a mere couple hours after arriving for her interview, and some hours after that, as the medication began to wake up and she showed signs of stirring, she was transfered at last to a boat that would take her the last distance to the island.
As night fell the a cool wind blew off the water, Mathieu stood on the dock, watching the approach of the boat. The wait had seemed so long, especially in light of his initial failure, but at last his canvas was arriving. He was anxious to get to work.
On the screen before him, he watched a high definition video of a woman carrying boxes from a car into what appeared to be her new residence. She was wearing little, if any, makeup, a fact that the high quality of the video made obvious even from the photographer's vantage point across the street, and he was pleased with that fact. In his experience, limited though it was, determining the quality of specimen one was dealing with was made more difficult by makeup and clothing designed the "sculpt" and "tone." However ineffective they may be, they still worked to hide the true shape and appearance of the person under them, and more than one woman had been passed over because of this. He was insulated multiple times over from anything that might go awry - even the file he now watched would erase itself multiple times over after he finished viewing it - but his people on the ground there were at great risk. On a planet of multiple billions, there was no reason to take unnecessary risks.
As she worked, the camera zoomed in on her and panned, taking time on her calves, thighs, hips, the curve of her ass, the swell of her breasts, and then, almost as if it was coordinated between photographer and subject, she seemed to look up and right at the camera, her face all but filling the screen. Snatching up the remote, he thumbed the pause button and stood from the couch. Only a few feet from the bright screen he stopped, his eyes intently studying her eyes, cheekbones, hairline, the plump cushion of her lips, the roundness of her chin. Absently he lifted his glass to his own lips and drank some of the liquor from within it, nodding to himself as he swallowed. Physically, she seemed to be ideal. It was hard to see it, and most probably wouldn't when they looked at her, but he had an artists' eye for these things. The woman he wanted was in there.
Turning his back to the screen, he lowered himself onto the leather again and hit the Play button, the video jolting back into life again.
She didn't see the photographer, of course, and looked away from his direction without the slightest hint that she was the subject of a video that would make it's way thousands of miles, across seas and oceans, to the eyes of another. As she disappeared through the doorway carrying another box, the screen went black, casting the room in dim light again. Text filled the screen night, white letters that shone brightly against the black background, and he read quickly over the details his investigators had gathered. Name, age, date of birth, height and weight, measurements, even her shoe size was displayed, and not for the first time he marveled at what you could obtain with enough money.
Next, her educational history was displayed. Not only had they been able to track down literally every school she'd attended in her life, but transcripts, where applicable, were shown for each. To his delight, she had been a consistently great student, with hardly a blemish on the entirety of her record. Employment history followed, and he was once again pleased by what he saw. One of her employers had run their own background check and a psychological evaluation, and these were also presented for him, more internal documents that no longer were.
Finally, her personal details. The names of friends and family, those still alive and those deceased, how often she spoke with them, who she was seeing. The fact that she was single was a large plus, and her current unemployment and the new move both worked to make the job of his men that much easier. What few negatives there were, and he saw very few, were easily made up for by how easy obtaining her may prove to be.
The screen simply went black at the end of this, nothing in the video identifying who shot it or who it was shot for. His television went into hibernation mode as he heard the fan of his computer speed up while the processor worked to erase the file beyond the ability of anyone to recover. Sitting in the darkness, he sipped on the alcohol in his glass as he pondered all he'd just seen. It was not the first video he'd seen in the last few days, and he doubted it would be the last, but unknown to the girl within it, she had climbed to the top of the heap with ease.
The glass was drained and left on the small table in front of the couch for the maid to clear after he'd gone up. Setting the remote next to it, he extinguished the lights in the study and left the room, the door still standing open behind him to signify that the room was available for cleaning. Making his way up to the large master suite, he undressed in the darkness and stood at the window, overlooking the water below.
A short time later, he lifted his phone off the bedside table and fired off a quick, two-word text before slipping between the sheets and sleeping deep and peacefully.
"Take her."
------------
The story of how Mathieu Bonhomme came to acquire his vast fortune, at such a relatively young age, was almost as unknown as the man himself. Barely into his 30's, he was the subject of some rumor and speculation, and his reclusive nature only fueled the whispers. Some claimed he was a shrewd investor and owned significant portions of a number of companies. Some claimed his fortune was made through invention and creation, or through real estate, or was simply inherited and it left him free to pursue other interests. Some claimed he was a member of the Rothschild banking family. Some refused to believe he even existed. To most of the claims, there was actually a bit of truth.
Mathieu had purchased the uninhabited Isla de la Secuestrador in the Caribbean while still in his 20's, and spent most of his time in a secluded château in France while work was done. Nearly three years later, a sprawling complex had been build on the Island, and once he set foot on it, the fingers of two hands could be used to count the number of times he'd left and returned to any of the continents.
Instead, operatives were paid handsomely to obtain the things he needed, to sit in on meetings, and generally to act as his representative in the rest of the world. For his part, Mathieu disappeared into a lab built under the complex, where he studied, experimented, and, yes, committed a fair share of crimes. Women had been to the island, essentially placed into a medically-induced coma, that never knew it. Many explanations were given for the missing time when they woke in a hospital later - car accident, fall down the stairs, brain aneurysm - though of the changes that they saw in the color of their eyes, the tone of their skin, or any of a thousand other small differences in their body, the doctors were forced to shrug and chalk it up to an unexplained medical mystery.
At last, though, it was time. The process, after one failed attempt, had been perfect, the girl chosen, and all that was left now was to wait.
--------------
A secretary, who was a temp with no idea of the organization she was working for, had been the one to place the call offering a job interview. Their organization was small but thriving, she explained, and instead of advertising for applicants, they employed head hunters to seek out those they thought would be a perfect fit for their business. Compensation and specific job responsibilities would be discussed at the interview, but as instructed, she hinted that the salary that would be discussed was more than generous. The girl was clearly surprised by the call, but as the women spoke it became obvious that excitement was replacing it, and by the time the connection was severed, the secretary found herself jealous that she'd not been the one receiving the call.
She was paid, handsomely, for her day of work and day of training, and sent home shortly after she placed the call. A week later, curious as to just who she'd worked for those two days, she drove by to find the building empty, the only thing within a sign that leaned against the window, advertising the building as being for lease.
----------
The office was furnished with items that were all rented, down to the chair he sat in. The interview was scheduled for 11:00 a.m., the day outside overcast and rainy. To her, he would seem the only person in the small office when she came in. It was only after they'd introduced each other and shook hands, after she was offered a chair across the desk from him and the interviewed seemed to begin in earnest, that she would learn differently.
The two men that entered the same door she'd come through were large, each one filling the doorway as they passed through it, and she just had time to glimpse the syringe that was pulled from a drawer by the man interviewing her before the black bag slid over her head. Her struggle was useless though expected, and the three men easily overpowered her. The needle entered her arm, the plunger was shoved down by the thumb atop it, and her world faded to black.
She was taken quickly out the back door and placed into the back of a van which delivered her to a nearby airport. She was on a private plane and in the air a mere couple hours after arriving for her interview, and some hours after that, as the medication began to wake up and she showed signs of stirring, she was transfered at last to a boat that would take her the last distance to the island.
As night fell the a cool wind blew off the water, Mathieu stood on the dock, watching the approach of the boat. The wait had seemed so long, especially in light of his initial failure, but at last his canvas was arriving. He was anxious to get to work.
