Having dropped Joanna and Darlene off at the hotel and expecting that their stay would be of some considerable length, Gordon found himself with an open-ended segment of free time on his hands. The sight of a milage marker to Margate a little before he dropped the girls has brought the vague recollection of a happenstance to his mind.  

A few days earlier Gordon had amused himself aiding the questioning of a suspect in the explosion incident, As usual the official examiners were being somewhat squeamish about any use of force to pursue the enquiries. Gordon had no such qualms and was with the aid of some duct tape and his ever-handy petrol cigarette lighter he was in a few minutes able to extract all the information required. Brian Peacehaven has a very low threshold to pain particularly when the aroma of singing flesh was added to the equation.

Under goal directed examinations prisoners are inclined to share the most innocuous facts they momentarily consider might steer their questioners attention away from the any subject they think might result in an increased intensity of enquiry. Peacehaven has decided that trying to distract Gordon with tales of the possibility of the physical available diversions was such an appropriate ploy to utilize.   Having been a somewhat successful pimp quite naturally her imagined that dangling some possible physical liaisons, through his tutelage, was a promising tool to employ.

Peacehaven was quite certain the ladies under his control would be most happy to extend any favors requited to Gordon quite readily to alleviate his own ongoing suffering. Naturally Gordon ignored the offerings but took careful note of every detail Brian spluttered in tortured hope, including names, descriptions, address’s, and haunts.  

A particular identity had festered in Gordons memory since that successful inquisition, and a location within the boundaries of the old section of Ramsgate town had resurfaced as a  result of the milage signs appearance, and the unmistakably heightened feelings of an amorous nature  raised by Darlene Gillespie’s blatant flirtatiousness.

The divisions within the electorate of the United Kingdom was quite as wide as those amongst the political parties. The calls for independence for Scotland and an ever-increasing percentile of the Northern Ireland population was threatening a likely losing battle in keeping the kingdoms unified in any recognizable form at all.

However the threat of extremism was much more worrisome in the ultra-right-wing slant become openly visible in the hierarchy that was almost daily gaining control over Conservative and Unionist party representatives in the British houses of parliament.  The particular attentions to matters concerning immigration cessation and hindsight penalization was widely seen at verging upon fascistic doctrines, appealing to electorate whom would in normal circumstances be considered most non-British, effrontery, immoderate.  That Pam-Ella Cowerland nee Patel, the current Home secretary, was a spokesperson for this type of   inflammatory thought and speech was most regrettable. 

As was generally accepted in the arrangements betwixt independent government agencies. the cooperation, the pooling of recourses between MI5 and MI6 agreed by Fergus Lothly and Tobia James was purely temporary, any permanent or long-term agreement would need the consideration and nod from their political bosses, the secretaries appointed through all necessary discussions and elections, responsible for official the supervision of the departments. A most unlikely happenstance.

The agents themselves, through personal contact and joint commitment, were much more likely to agree to some form of unofficial ongoing pact of cooperation wherever and whenever the individual hierarchies crossed and matched purposes.  Employees whom as constantly in toiling in a world most unfriendly and uncooperative to their needs and obligations will by simple practically be drawn together, whatever their individual loyalties and chains of command may indicate are the more acceptable and less liable to misinterpretation.

Our six party attendees found themselves in exactly this dilemma, tacked together by similar goals and parallel lines of enquiry, but separated by the administrative directions of the well seated and professional supervisors, and the political machinations from governmental appointed department heads.

Add the additional complications of extremely differing national, social and religious traditions and expectations, and the unfortunate sextuplet were sunk neck deep in a mire of movement terminating treacle.  

Thankfully both James and Lothly were quite privy to the more egregious complications of their underlings enforced fettering’s and did all they could to free them from official oversight and interference.

Entertainingly, both the Home and Foreign Secretaries were avidly opposed to homosexuality in any form, and so the realization that the upper echelons of their departments were largely staffed by members of the gay communities was a constant matter of frightful contention in their day-to-day dealings.

Annette had hardly touched the front door to Atsuko’s rooms before Mika had swung the soundproofed entry open and beckoned her inside.   Like the rest of the prospective guests this was Annette first sight of Atsuko’s stunningly beautiful maid. and the moment left her temporarily speechless.

“Do come on in Annette, your most welcome to stare at Mika quite as much as you like.”

The amusement in Atsuko’s voice was quite plain to hear.

“You will find she doesn’t say very much at all. Her English is rather lacking.’

Annette nodded her understanding, and continued glancing around the large open room they were gathered in.  Zara in her seated splendor was naturally the main focal point. The hookah was bubbling with some freneticism, and the ever-enlarging cloud of rose colored and perfumed smoke from Zaras exhalations added a surreal touch to everything and everyone.  

“Love the outfit.”

Joanna had sidled to Annette’s side and intertwined arms.

“You want a drink? “

“Some wine would be good.”

Annette started to notice that her senses were just a little off kilter.

“Want to share?”

Zara’s dreamy tones drifted around the room. Darlene didn’t need a second asking and sank swiftly onto a cushion on Zara’s left side.  The hose passed most amicably, and Darlene took a long deep inhalation.

 “Kiss.”

Darlene responded to Zaras’s husky request immediately, their lips meeting most eloquently, with some lingering passion.

“I could do with some of that medicine.”

Jaonna detached herself from Annettes arm and squatted on Zaras right side. Both Joanna and Darlene were wearing dresses that reached beneath the knee, and both rode up quite freely. Neither girl cared a jot, their lingerie was clean and fully paid for.    

Claudine Millar was feeling in a very leisurely mood. Work was coming along quite swimmingly; it was so much easier to decide on the perpetrator of a crime once you had chosen whom was the best politically suited acter. The manufacture of evidence, of supporting clues and background was simple stuff in the modern world where proof was 90% electronic and there were a whole litany of individuals specialized in just such production. Morally Claudine had few qualms, if she was advised by her superiors to take the necessary steps to provide a suitable culprit she was happy to oblige. There was a chain of command and experience that had proven to her quite regularly that those higher in the hierarchy knew their mustard.

When Mika opened the door on this occasion her usually pristine costume was quite noticeably disheveled, her lace headpiece was pushed forward half covering her black sparkling eyes and one of her silk stockings was rolled very unkemptly down to the knee. Joanna and Darlene under the overwhelming effects of the hookahs vapors had been busy pawing at the girls charms.

Annette and Atsuko regretfully unraveled from each other to greet Claudine’s arrival in the throng. The pair has been dancing very elegantly to some Cole Porter-ish sounds emanating from a strategically placed laptop on a smallish side table, thoughtfully positioned to supply musical mood and accompaniment. Annettes full length black sequined gown and Atsuko’s 1930’s style dinner suit gelled quite exactly.

“So happy you were able to join us.”

Atsuko’s accent was as always extraordinarily correct in its unique very staccato fashion.

Looks like everyone was quite happy to start without me.”

Mika head returned to the pillow scrimmage from whence door duty had called her. Both Joanna and Darlene were fixated, under the philosophically detached overview of Zara, on removing every scrap the clothing that Mika possessed.  Her stockings found themselves crumpled around her stilettoed ankles. The delicate thong she was obliged to adopt beneath her minuscule apron was next target on the agenda.

Atsuko Arimura’s servant was the exact definition of invisible support, being totally unknown and unrecognizable to anyone without an intimate knowledge of Atsuko’s household. The girl was descended from a long line of extraordinarily proficient personal helpers to geisha schools, being trained in all skills necessary for the comfort and pristine presentation of the ultimate lady practitioners of the arts of entertainment and pleasure.

Miko Makana’s recruitment into the service of Atsuko was the result of a series of very odd coincidences but had resulted in an ongoing partnership that was most beneficial and pleasant for both mistress and maid. Arrested most unluckily during a police raid on an underground   club specializing in the more exotic practices of lesbian bondage, Miko had been fortunate to be spotted and interviewed by Atsuko Arimura, who was quite accidentally seconded by her employer, the department of the exterior, to the Kyoto constabulary. Atsuko immediately found the girl both amenable and pliable, so arranged for her to be inducted into her personal staff.

Initially as a joke, but thereafter as a reflection of her personal preference, Atsuko insisted that Mika desist from adopting the traditional yukata/kimono, but rather presented herself on every possible occasion in a rather skimpy French maids costume, complete with seamed stockings, stiletto’s, and a frilled lace hat.   On reflection this was probably one of the most beneficial decisions Atsuko had ever made.

Mika proved herself to be particularly adept at minor first aid and therapeutic massage, arts which were in constant demand in Atsuko Arimura’s proximity. She also found her mistress to be very desirable and took every available opportunity to be pander to her slightest need, or whim, physical and spiritual. On many an occasion, on particularly chill nights, Atsuko would awake to the very pleasant sensation of a human blanket, in the form of an enveloping naked Miko, ensuring her mistress suffered no harm or discomfort from any possible draft.

The girl was also an absolute ace with a steam iron and kept Atsuko’s preferred three-piece tweed suits in perfect order. Her skill with a shoe brush was also a shining example to all.

Annette Grubber had heard about the gathering of the clan by what would seem to most to be magical osmosis but was in fact a whole host of casual glances and unspoken words that had flitted to and fro between those in the know the whole late afternoon. Being quite certain that her heavenly presence would be welcomed with open arms without any need for invitation or aside, she had simply magnanimously decided to arrive at the appointed hour suitably dressed and ready for every possible outcome. Her chosen dominant persona for the event wore a tight black latex catsuit, very vixenish, with the all the necessary zippers and hidden access points to announce her amenability to mutual interactions. Annette’s adopted identity was busy avidly entertaining the most graphic possibilities that might transpire for the lewd entertainment.

The figures of Darlene and Joanna had appeared from the hotel’s reception and bar area at the moment Annette exited her rooms. The dominatrix in latex hastily lagged back to ensure her grandiose arrival had full effect.

Darlene’s throwaway final tease of Gordon as she left the limousine was as provocative a statement as she has ever felt secure in announcing. For some somewhat confusing reason the absolute certainty that she was about to suffer pleasurable use and abuse by a gang up to five beautiful and desirable women had made her suddenly very daring in her outspokenness.

The proximity of such a highly likely threats of her total erotic overpowering had washed away any remaining vestiges of pretense to attempt to avoid her complete submergence into utter debauchery.

Joanna took Darlene’s elbow firmly in her grasp and led her as some speed   towards the final two semidetached apartments within the hotels inner complex where she had earlier that afternoon booked Zara and Atsuko to stay as long as was required by circumstance. Seargeant Claudine Millars apartment was just a few doors closer to the hotels main reception and bar area.  Chief Inspector Alois Fennel’s rooms were in the opposing wing of the hotel complex.  

The greeting at Atsuko’s door was cursory in the extreme, all the participants in forthcoming events were well aware of their intended roles and aspirations. Zara Amin was already seated inside, upon a pile of well stuffed cushions placed strategically in the most open space of the main room.  Zara was enthusiastically inhaling from the mouthpiece of a tall and extremely elegant hookah that was bubbling ferociously at her side. Fron the somewhat dreamy expression on Zaras face the infusion she was inhaling into her lungs was of very finest quality, quite capable of transporting the most robust assassin momentarily to paradise. The rose colored and scented exhalations streaming from her mouth and nose were forming a translucent cloud above Zara’s gently swaying form.

 This extraordinary illustration of eastern exoticism totally escaped Darlene’s and Joanna’s eyes, that were rather fixated upon Zara’s abaya, which was a product from a small enclave but a short ride from the harems of the Ottoman elite. The gauze like fabric was utterly diaphanous, and Zara’s body beneath completely nude.

The life experiences of a driver/minder were not anything near to being as exciting or fulfilling as Gordon had imagined. In reality 99% of the time he was bored and thoroughly fed up. The occasional bout of high energy violence allowed some easing of his extreme inner animosity, but not enough to make the seeming endless days and nights pass with any form of proper release in actuality or theory.  

Gordon began to increasingly encourage the company of ladies of ill repute, finding them believingly honest and straightforward about the reality of the nature of their connection, to the extent that the bank notes he invested purchased the girls 100% interest and attention, quite without judgement or reserve. This did seem like a most rewarding arrangement for all the parties concerned. The fact that Gordon was a generous individual with both his monies and compliments made the transactions doubly worthwhile for all, the ladies getting considerably wealthier, and Gordon the stress release he so desperately needed.  

The only inherent problem with this succinct solution was Gordons unfortunate habit of being drawn into very personal emotional relationships with the girls he was inclined to find compellingly desirable. His likings were not in the least sensible or practical, Gordon adored a sad or unfortunate tale, misery and desperation were his drugs of choice, and the universe is teeming with tortured and struggling courtesans.  

On more than on occasion he found himself cohabitating with impossibly lost souls, deeply invested, and certain that this particular lassie was the route to not only true love, but his eternal salvation. Gordons thirties and forties became an endless steeplechase with insurmountable fences of unobtainable hopes and wishes.

If time can truly present the answer to any dream, then Gordon’s saving was his realization that loneliness, interlinked with rampant voyeurism, was the exact answer to all his heartburn and unsatisfied urgings. He could allow himself the occasional avid fling, an uncontrolled surge of hedonism, without having to abandon sensibility utterly.

Gordon had a long and varied litany of romantic physical relationships that had started to his mid-teens, once he had accepted that his attraction was focused more on the feminine than the masculine. The affairs were predominantly short, exploratory, without deep emotional attachment, for feelings presented a wound for the target of opponents and enemies. Gorgon was secretly at heart a most romantic soul. This vulnerability went against his externally projected persona of a tough oft mean protagonist.

 His full name, Gordon Alexander Farquharson, delivered many a body blow to his threatening demeaner, suggesting a much more gentlemanly attitude than was ever present in actuality. His moniker was a result of   historic coincidence, and failed to shed true light of the ferociousness that in the most unwelcoming of circumstances could be relied upon to sally forth and face the universe unflinching and unbowed.

Gordon was an unquestionable lion in defense of his friends, country, colleagues, and at heart a good and honest, if misunderstood, man.

Major Henry Neville MP was in the unenviable position of having earned himself a place in the filing cabinets of both the Home office and the Foreign department. Being considered a security risk in one of the premiere secretariates was quite the feat, but managing two was something worthy of considerable infamy. By rights his allegiance to ultra-rightwing aims and policies was not so far out of the norm for the extreme conservative members of the national ruling party, but some of the political allies within and outside the nation’s borders aligned his very vocal perspectives was sufficiently worrisome to garner the attentions of the security services of both MI5 and MI6.  Henry Nevilles overwhelmingly single-minded place in the houses of parliament was a primed explosive but waiting for the appropriate spark to ignite the blue touch paper and deliver unprecedented nationwide divisions, overriding and outweighing any other issue except immigration.  An outcome exactly and completely in line with the wishes of the Home secretary, Pam-Ella Cowerland.

Tobias Jones, head of MI6. and Colonel Fergus Lothly, MI5, were both exactly opposed to a moratorium opposed to the continued gentle dilution of the national social and political norm. Any policy based on closed borders and pristine identity protection was bound to fail and invite an escalating culture of violence and unrest. The universe was set upon a course to unfettered openness, anything else was just a historical march backwards to the dark ages.

Neither Fergus nor Tobias were particularly bothered by their very obvious disagreement with the views of Home office, and especially sone of the extreme rumblings emanating from some shadowy quarters of Downing Street. Their joint priorities had much higher concerns than some momentary search for popularity by a government whose support was crumbling away more and more each day. The long-term purpose of an efficient and practical civil administration was to recommend and facilitate the creation of a bevy of practical and enlightened rulings to be drafted and followed in the creation and ongoing pursuit of the ideal society.