"I am Jim Fredericks, a private investigator with a practice divided
between Mexico and Houston. I met Miss Ryan on the plane. Is Miss Ryan being
detained, or is she under arrest?"
"That is to be determined," said the Colonel. "Miss Ryan, what can you
tell me of your trip to Mexico?"
"I went to Mexico on business. I was to meet a man there and spend the
weekend there with him working. I am a secretary."
"So, he imported a secretary all the way from the United States? You must
be very skilled indeed. Tell me, what else did he have you do? Are you a
prostitute? Let me assure you that if you are, it is no concern of mine, and
that matter is not at all in my jurisdiction. We are concerned about something
else entirely, something far more serious. I suggest that you tell me the
absolute truth about this matter."
"I am not a prostitute!" said Stacy, very upset with the accusation.
Jim broke in. "Officer, I sense that there is some reason that you are
questioning my friend that goes beyond import violations. She has no luggage,
and she is carrying no contraband. It is certainly not illegal to go to Mexico
and her papers are in order. Why are you questioning her?"
"Let me get straight to the point then. We received certain photographs
of a women yesterday from a notorious white slave ring. One of these
photographs appears to be Miss Ryan." Colonel Cooper pulled a manila envelope
from his desk, and took out three black and white photographs and gave them to
Stacy.
The top photograph was a striking young brunette in an evening gown with
elbow length leather gloves. She wore a diamond necklace that must have cost
twenty thousand dollars if it were real. She was tightly gagged with a ball
gag the type that Stacy was all too familiar with, and she was turned to the
side so it was apparent that her arms had been tightly bound with rope and her
elbows had been wrenched together and bound. There were tears streaming from
her eyes, and she seemed to be in pain and very frightened. She could have
been no more than twenty-five, although her sophisticated dress made her look
more mature.
The second photograph was of Katrina, equally tightly bound and gagged,
and the third photograph was of Stacy in the white dress with the wide black
belt, in the same bondage manner as the elegant woman in the first photograph.
"That appears to be you in the third photograph, Miss Ryan. Is it?" asked
the Colonel.
Stacy looked at Jim. Even he did not know the whole story. She was a
little upset with Fernando for sending her home in such publicly flaunted
bondage, but she had promised to protect his identity and his cause to break up
the slavers. She certainly did not want to go to jail for him, however.
"You seem hesitant to reply. Let me tell you a little bit about what you
seem to have gotten yourself into. This woman is the wife of Michael
Wentworth. You may be familiar with him. He is an industrialist and a weapons
maker. The woman in this photograph is Renee' Wentworth, his wife of two years
and the daughter of a French weapons maker.
"Mrs. Wentworth as taken from her hotel room in Mexico City yesterday
morning. No ransom note was left, and none of the government authorities have
heard from the kidnappers. Of course, she could have been kidnapped for money,
but our worst fears are that her husband is to be blackmailed into supplying
arms to insurrectionist factions in Mexico. As you might imagine, with Mexico
bordering on Texas, this is a matter of National Security. All of the customs
stations have been notified, and we suspected that someone entering the United
States would provide us with clues regarding this matter.
"I don't have to tell you that this matter is strictly Top Secret. You,
Miss Ryan, appear to be in the same state as this unfortunate Mrs. Wentworth.
I highly recommend that you co-operate, or you will be detained as a material
witness in this case," concluded Colonel Cooper.
"I prefer not to comment at this time," said Stacy. She remembered that
she saw Mrs. Wentworth in the cells where they had spent a thankfully few hours
before Fernando had rescued them. She was probably the elegantly clad young
brunette that was lying on the cell floor hog-tied and sobbing.
"I will not mince words, Miss Ryan," said the Colonel. "I suspect that you
are familiar with this case, and your photograph in bondage along with these
others submitted to us confirms it, and therefore, I am placing you under
detention as a witness, until you choose to tell us what you know regarding
this matter."
"Excuse me," broke in Jim. "I am a licensed private investigator, and am
frequently employed in the transportation of prisoners, and am bonded for that
activity. In deference to my friend, who has spent a traumatic weekend, I
volunteer to hold her in custody for one night without fee, and discuss this
matter with her, and escort her back her tomorrow at 10:30 for questioning, and
I feel that I may be able to convince her that telling you what she knows may
be the best thing for all concerned, including the United States and this Mrs.
Wentworth and her husband."
The Colonel sounded interested. "Do you have your papers here?"
"Certainly," replied Jim, and took a card, and a folded sheet of paper out
of his wallet and handed them over to the Colonel. The Colonel, seeing a
possible way to make some progress, nodded.
"Very well, I see you are a resident of Houston, Mr. Fredericks. I would
like however, if you would stay at a designated hotel so we can contact you if
necessary. Specifically, I would like you to stay at the Mariott downtown."
Jim, knowing this to be typical, was pleased at the prospect. Also, he
was wondering what his bound friend on the plane was involved in, and did not
want her seen in his house, in case there would be someone following them.
"That would be fine," he replied.
Stacy protested. "Hey, I don't see why I can't just call you from where I
am going!"
"You don't seem to understand," replied the Colonel. "You are now in
custody, Miss Ryn. You can spend the night in the Mariott under the protection
of Mr. Fredericks, or you can spend it handcuffed in one of our airport cells,
which I can assure you are very small and none too comfortable, until the FBI
arrive tomorrow. I don't feel that you are dangerous, Miss Ryan, but your
presence must definitely be secured so we can continue our investigation. Take
your pick."
"Well Colonel, since I appear to be under arrest, I will go with Jim."
She looked daggers at him. "Well," she said sarcastically, "are you going to
handcuff me now? And what about some sort of gag?"
"When we leave," said Jim with a straight face.
"I don't believe it!" said Stacy. "This is like a nightmare!"
"Please try to understand, Miss Ryan. Your going with Mr. Fredericks is a
concession to your comfort as well as your safety. He is, however, to use any
means possible to assure that you are here tomorrow, and that does include
keeping you in restraints the entire time. It's simply regulations," said the
Colonel kindly.
The black woman came in carrying some papers. "Where do I sign for her,
Colonel?" Jim asked. The papers were placed on the desk. Jim signed for his
prisoner.
"You will be paid the usual fee," said the Colonel to Jim.
"Very well," said Jim. "Are you ready?" he asked Stacy.
Huffily Stacy stood. Jim pulled the handcuffs out of his pocket, and
approached her. She offered her wrists in front, pouting, and Jim clasped one
wrist and then twisted her arms behind her and clasped her other wrist shut.
Stacy was bright red with humiliation. This is the first time that she had
ever been handcuffed at the auspices of her own government.
"No gag, Stacy," said Jim, "The gag can be used at my discretion, but the
handcuffs are mandatory. I'll gag you later, for the night."
"We will see you two tomorrow, and I hope that you have developed a more
co-operative attitude by then, Miss Ryan," said the Colonel.
Stacy said nothing as she was lead out into the crowded lobby with her
hands chained behind her back, and Jim with his hand firmly grasping her over
her elbow.
--
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