I was pretty sure that walking into Principal Melene Rose's office wearing a ski mask and toting an AK-47 would provoke a quick and extreme response. Just in case it didn't, I also lead in her Secretary, Ms. Wilson, holding her by her suit collar, and making it clear that her preference in this matter was not important.
"May I start a lockdown?" asked Melene Rose calmly and politely.
"By all means." I replied, "But... lets make this a 'short notice drill' rather than a real one. It may save a lot of people some distress."
"I can't do that unless there has been a prior not..."
"prior notice? There is one. It's under the Bake Sale Meeting announcement on the web site. Now... Please, I insist."
Melene Rose was in her late 20's. She had not become principle of a school of this stature at her age by being a "nice girl" and overlooking others' mistakes. I was not surprised at her reflexive turn to rules and regulations. However, a high school's announcement page is not a paragon of web security, and, as of ten minutes ago, there was a small announcement. Putting it there was not difficult, and I knew doing so would make her life easier at this critical moment in my plan. I looked relaxed, but seconds counted; what I was attempting was no sure thing.
She made two calls, and that set the lockdown drill in motion. Since it was set in motion as an announced drill, the police would not be called, and I would have many minutes before the true nature of this school crisis was revealed.
"Now, while that progresses, will you please tape Ms. Wilson, here, into this chair." I had put Ms. Wilson into one of the office arm chairs, and out of my "bag of tricks" -- backpack actually -- I pulled a roll of silver duct tape. Melene was fairly efficient at taping Ms. Wilson's wrists and ankles: she was careful not to pull the tape too tight, and she didn't use too much. Upon seeing this I thought, "Hmm... There's one aspect of her private life that's no longer a mystery to me." She was acclimated to bondage.
"Gag?" she asked.
"Please, and one for yourself." I responded.
When she was finished I pulled a set of handcuffs from my bag, and I cuffed her hands behind her and to the chair.
"Please wait a moment; and please wait quietly." I said, "I will be close." I would be close and not out of sight for long, so I didn't think more precautions than that were necessary.
Next to the principal's office was a bathroom. In there I took off my ski mask and replaced it with a motorcycle helmet with a dark face shield. I had been wearing a fur-collared jacket and navy blue slacks. With that simple change of headgear, I was now a pseudo-SWAT officer instead of a pseudo-terrorist. Women call this principle mix and match; men don't bother to call it anything. My AK-47, I broke into small pieces and flushed down the toilet; it was made of papermache. In it's place I now toted a papermache Glock pistol. If there was to be heavy-handed violence in this incident, it would not be my hand that was heavy. And, just to give Ms. Wilson something to think about as she waited in the Principal's Office, I left a noisy, ticking, toy clock in the bathroom, inside a canvas bag puffed out with some wadded up toilet paper.
I came out; the ladies started a bit at the transformation. I took off Melene's gag and the cuffs off one of her wrists.
"Please call teachers, Spence, Wilkins and Mac Laughlin and tell them you will be coming with Mr. Smith, a member of Enforcement, to inspect their rooms."
Melene did as she was told. It was clear I was not a bumbling, fumbling idiot who was open to suggestions or objections, so she no longer saw any advantage in arguing rules and regulations. Smart woman. I cuff her hands behind her again.
A lockdown is a wonderful thing for a solo terrorist. All those people who could cause a problem to a solo terrorist are very deliberately kept isolated and in the dark. They wait, either until there's an end-of-drill signal, or the police inform them that the area is secure. While all those potential interferers to my plan were kept at bay by the lockdown rules, Melene and I walked to Classroom 110, Ms. Mac Laughlin's. The talk about other classrooms was just a red herring that would add minutes to the confusion when school authorities started to recover. Melene and I walk through quiet halls without incident.
At Room 110, I made Melene stand close enough to the door that her handcuffed arms looked normal to someone looking from inside, and I knocked on the door. Suzanne Mac Laughlin saw her, looked relieved, unlocked the door, and let us in.
I locked the door behind us, handcuffed her as well, and had the two ladies sit on chairs in front of the girls who were the students in Classroom 110.
The eleven girls, all high school seniors, were diligently huddled against the wall on the side of the room opposite the windows. My gosh, this was perfect! They were there, huddled away from the windows, so no one could look in and shoot them, but that also meant that no one should expect to look in to those classroom windows and see if the students were OK. For many minutes, I would have my way with these fine women!
"Ladies," I said in my best Police Voice, "You will be participating in a special extension of today's lockdown activities. You have been selected for hostage simulation exercise."
"You will have your hands restrained behind you, and will walk down school corridors to a designated secure exit." (Gosh, how fun it was to use all these big-sounding words. No wonder cops and soldiers get off on spouting their jargon.) "There you will await further instructions. Is that clear?"
The girls nodded their heads affirmatively, and held each other a little more closely. Whether they understood what I said, or not, coming in with Principal Rose and wearing a police uniform meant I was a properly designated authority figure, and they would cooperate to the best of their ability.
"Very good. Lets get your wrists restrained, then practice some in-line walking while we are still in the classroom. Principal Rose and Teacher Mac Laughlin will assist in the restraining." Using teachers to help tie up students kept everyone busy, and no one had a lot of time on their hands to think about being a heroine.
With two rolls of duct tape, the girls' wrists were all taped behind them in about three minutes. Ah... it was a thrilling sight! Eleven good looking woman, all of that "perfect cooperator age" of five years past puberty, all tied and waiting for my next command.... Even if nothing else worked out, I would remember this moment forever!
But things were working out, so I brought out leather collars and put those around the ladies' necks, and then we practiced "hostage walking." The ladies were tied three together in a line. I taught them that when they were stopped, the two following ladies should each put their chins on the shoulder of the girl in front of them. I had them do this so they would stay close, and to have them get a tactile sense that they really were hostages who now had to take orders. We practiced marching and stopping like this for about five minutes. We also practiced climbing onto the desk using chairs as steps, and jumping off the desk to the floor. Climbing and jumping are very different experiences when your hands are tied, so there was some hesitation and clumsiness to start with. There was a good reason for that drill, but I didn't reveal it yet.
In ten minutes we were ready to go. Whew! That seems fast as I talk about this, but it seemed like half a lifetime at the time. But... I was counting on the lockdown to make the response to my intrusion a safe-but-slow one, and I knew that every minute spent practicing like this was ten minutes of confusion saved later in this hostage-taking drill for me and my ladies.
The only question now was: who should go? I had just nine collars, but there were eleven girls in the class. I started lining them up three across, from most desirable to least. This was one of those times when Internet makes such a difference. I knew a whole lot about all these girls, even though I'd never met any in person. First on my list was Soo-min. She was an exchange student from Korea. She was nominated for valedictorian, tall, slim, and very nice, but very shy. Second I chose Shazeri, an exchange student from Malaysia. She was the valedictorian, tall, dark-skinned, not quite so slim, and not at all shy. She was second, not first, because I'd heard her whine aggressively on her MySpace video, and I knew I would have to break her of that habit. Then came my third choice, and so on.
The second row was in place, and I was deciding on the third row when Melene, "Ahem'ed" somewhat loudly. I looked at her. "May we talk... quietly?" she asked. Asking to talk in private was clearly out of the question. I put my ear to her mouth.
"Suzanne and I want to go with you."
I looked at her with my jaw dropped to the floor. She nodded affirmatively, then motioned she wanted to say more.
"These are our students. We feel we must protect them as much as we can. We will be your... hostages... slaves... whatever, as much as they would. More, in fact, because we will willingly do what you want."
I looked at them again. Suzanne was nodding affirmatively.
I fondled Melene's breast lightly, and in a way that the students couldn't see. She was an A cup... well, maybe half an A cup, actually, but there was a breast there, and it was as soft and lovely feeling as any C or D cup I've played with. Melene did not draw back.
"You realize we are talking about sex slave, here.... And you are willing to not only be sex slaves, but be willing and enthusiastic ones? You may not know it, and they may not know it, but I know I can transform these lovely ladies into that.
There was no hesitation. They nodded.
Now I was in a quandary... which is nothing I needed as the clock was ticking away my margin of success. Teachers or students? Old or young? Voluntary or involuntary?
I looked at them... I kissed them, first Melene, then Suzanne. They both kissed me back. They weren't hot kiss backs, but neither were they a turn-my-face-away or a spit-away-the-taste-after-it-happened kiss back, either. Intellectually, they were committed, and that was really all I could expect from a "good woman" who just a minute earlier had decided to become a sex slave.
"OK... lets give it a try." It was a snap decision, and not part of the plan. But two "cool heads" supporting my plan could be very advantageous. I was now counting on Stockholm Syndrome to help me along. I put Melene in Line Two and Suzanne in Line Three, and four sumptuous young students got their ankles taped instead of getting in a line with a rope and collar. "Why didn't I bring more collars!!" I sighed to myself. And, so they wouldn't be bored, I left a ticky-tock clock in a canvas bag with them, too, just like in the Principal's Office. I left that near the door, and far from the students, so the students couldn't learn much about it while they waited, but if a bomb-worrying type wanted to come in the classroom, he or she would have a lot to worry about. Such simple tricks, but such time the security wags would spend on them!
I now lead my three lines of students out of the classroom, and the next big risk was at hand: anyone, ANYONE could poke their head out, raise a hue and cry, and my plan was sunk. I had absolutely no contingency for that happening, except to run away as fast as I could. But, instead, the corridor was quiet. The teachers and students were waiting patiently, or impatiently, it mattered not, as long as they did their waiting in a classroom, away from the door, away from windows, and away from talking with anyone who would tell them to stop waiting.
We passed three classrooms and came to a stairwell. We took the stairs down... down... down.. down, to the basement. Just before we started down, I sneaked a look into the parking lot. There was no activity: none! Whew! It was hard to believe these people would practice staying so isolated!!
When we got to the basement, I started to relax. We walked thirty meters to a little-used door that lead to stairs to a subbasement. This door was not easy to find, and I made it more difficult by moving storage boxes and lockers in front of it before I closed it again. Now, we were halfway home. Anyone that tried to follow us by searching for our trail in the school would take a day-to-two-days to find this door. We were problem-free until we came out the far side.
The subbasement itself was dusty, cold, gritty and dark. I lit the way with a flashlight. This subbasement held the coal boilers that used to heat the school. We walked past bins that were still a quarter-filled with coal. "What a fire hazard." I said to Melene as I panned the flashlight on a coal bin, "Your school people, Melene, have spent millions to clean out asbestos, but not the ten thousand dollars it would take to clean out this coal. But one kid down here with a misplaced candle...." It was all I needed to say.
At the far end of the boilers was my ace-in-the-hole in this hostage drama. There we came upon a small railroad, and on this railroad were several simple, but very black, little cars. Three of the cars had plastic and canvas covering the insides to keep them at least a little clean.
"Welcome to my Underground Railroad." I said, "Hop in, ladies, three to a car." This is where the climbing and hopping off the desk came to play. The ladies, even the teachers, got in the cars smoothly.
"Ladies, there's nothing for you do to now, but enjoy the ride." I put the flashlight in the middle car, pointing up, and I started pushing from the back.
For thirty minutes I pushed our "train" down the pitch-black railway. The flashlight showed a low roof, and that was all. The travel was about the speed of a fast walk or slow run, and it sure was noisy! We passed three other "stations", but they were noticeable only because the sound changed when the tunnel widened. This was a train to supply coal to the buildings above it. In its day, it had been a brilliant solution to the energy problem, but its day had long past, and it was now forgotten.
The far end of the railway was marked by a dim lighting of the tunnel. We stopped at this end-of-the-line station bathed in the dim light, and I changed clothes. I changed into cheap, generic-white cotton "painters clothes." There was a dirty job coming up....
"Ladies, I'm going to get you out one-by-one. Please wait patiently until it is your turn. When it is your turn, I will blindfold you and gag you, then carry you to another location. When it is your turn, please don't struggle as the walk is difficult, and I don't want you getting hurt. When I put you down, please be patient there, as well. I have to move you all."
Getting them out of the cars was difficult, which was good because it discouraged them from trying to get out by themselves. This was a delicate stage again, and I was counting heavily on the women's cooperative nature. If you tie up one woman, she will struggle to get loose pretty much like a man will. But if you tie up many women together, their instinct changes, and becomes much more herd-like -- they will be content to do what the other women do. If none of the women starts trying to get loose, they will all wait patiently a long time.
I was moving the women up and out of the coal railroad loading dock area into a van parked in a nearby grassy field. I'd actually had to do a week's worth of discreet construction work here before I started this daring hijack. The approach to the railroad loading dock had originally been a canal, which had filled in to become a swamp. I had to jury-rig a plank path to get over the swamp to a dirt path that would get me to a sheltered spot where I could park the van. I'd almost given up this project as I labored thanklessly under a haze of black flies and mosquitoes. Now I brought the women out, carried on my back, one at a time, bound hand and foot, gagged and blindfolded, along this path, and plopped them into the van.
Hot dog! Taking the first lady out was a pure delight. My plan was working, and working in spades! I took out Melene. She was lightweight, and I figured she would have the most patience and the most good sense. She would help keep the others from getting restless.
By number three, I felt I'd done enough. But I couldn't take a break. I wasn't that far from the school, so as soon as the hue and cry went out, this place would be searched.
By number six, my muscles were sore and I was staggering. "Nine?" I was thinking, "Why had I been so vain as to take nine! Maybe I should leave the last three?"
Finally, I was carrying out Suzanne, number nine. Oh God, she was big and... healthy! She was gagged, but I'm sure if she wasn't she would have sincerely offered to walk, I was staggering so.
But... I wasn't done yet! I had to cover my tracks! I moved the lumber of my jury-rigged trail back into the tunnel and locked its door. When I was finished, a diligent looker who knew about the tunnel could easily spot my comings and goings, but someone who was looking just for signs of the passing of nine women would only see more countryside.
God I was tired now! and sore! I changed my clothing back... agonizing with each move. I hurried up to the van... bleary-eyed with fatigue. But I couldn't stop now!
The women had waited patiently for me. I guess I was longer in my mind than in reality. I turned the key... the van started without a hitch... I put it in gear, and we were Off to See the Wizard!! My drive to the hideout was slow and careful, and the kidnap was completed without a hitch!