Lisette and the Cyber Geeks

Lisette and the Cyber Geeks

Brian Sands

Thriller, "Well of Doom," Raffish Didclips

Chapter Twenty-Two Moles

It was morning of the next day. Lisette emerged from the bedroom fresh and glowing after her shower. The silk dress she wore floated about her, the skirt almost transparent over dark seamed stockings and red heels, the bodice smooth about her midriff ending in décollètage. To either side of the deep V the thin material of the dress, picked out in pink, blue and purple flowers on a white background revealed from time to time the lacy pattern of her bra. Long sleeves ending in broad cuffs at the wrists drifted about the length of her arms, the silk rippling with every movement.

There was reason in choosing a dress with long sleeves. Lisette’s wrists had not yet healed from being bound repeatedly throughout the week, and she felt a little self-conscious about the silk medical bandages that protected them. The other motive in choosing such a revealing and feminine dress was to thank Donald Caisson for looking after her, beginning during the night when neither of them got much sleep.

Lisette had felt fresh, alert and very sexy the previous evening because she had slept the earlier part of the day through after their arrival back at her apartment, just after sunrise. All the daylight hours had gone, then the night, and she still had not found an opportunity to talk to Don about the outcome of the affair. She liked to call it the affair of the cyber geeks: cyber geeks who, using computer technology, counterfeited bandes dessinées!

Donald Caisson sat at the breakfast table. Like Lisette, he was already dressed, wearing a dark, well-cut suit and a cream silk necktie. Lisette determined to suggest a certain use for that tie when the evening came. But for the time being she contented herself by hugging him from behind. Donald clearly enjoyed the feel of Lisette’s warm arms through the exquisite silk and drew her down to kiss her tenderly on the mouth.

"Breakfast, Darling?"

"Yers. It’s all prepared."

"Don, you’re spoiling me!"

Lisette sat and began to butter some toast.

"You deserve it after all you’ve been through. But I’ll be happy for you to prepare the next breakfast."

"Share and share alike?"

"Yers. But we need to be in town by ten."

"Oh? What’s up?"

"I want you to meet some people."

"Oh? Is it to do with the cyber geeks?"

"Yers. The meeting will explain the situation better than I can. Let’s finish our breakfast."

They negotiated the London traffic in the little Renault with Lisette at the wheel. Donald Caisson sat comfortably in the passenger’s seat, his dark overcoat around his shoulders, and watched the passing parade of vehicles and pedestrians. A pink silk scarf was fluffed up around Lisette’s throat, and over her flimsy dress she wore the silky overcoat inherited from her recent capture and imprisonment at the airstrip hut. During her sleep the previous day, Donald had taken the garment to a dry cleaner’s. It was a lovely item, and Lisette had no qualms wearing it. It kept out the cold of the damp autumn day.

Under Donald’s guidance, she found a parking bay near Wellington Square. As they walked past Wellington Hall, one of the student residences for Kings University, Lisette wondered where they were going. But she did not nag Donald, simply took his arm and walked companionably beside him, knowing that in their proper time all things would be revealed. They had gone several blocks when Donald Caisson stopped upon rounding a corner.

"Is that where we’re going?" asked Lisette in surprise, "New Scotland Yard? Now Darling, you don’t mean that you’ve suddenly decided to go straight?" She nudged him mischievously.

"Yers, something like that. Come on, there are things to show you and people to meet."

They crossed the road and approached the imposing glass fronted building, past the iconic three-panelled sign, and into the foyer. Donald showed a security guard some sort of pass from his wallet and they were ushered along a deep passage with a lift unobtrusively at the end, well away from the regular set of four lifts in the foyer. They rose for two floors, exited, and walked along another corridor for a considerable distance before turning through a narrow doorway that led into the well of a fire escape. They mounted two more flights of stairs then opened a door at one landing. The stairs continued upwards into darkness. Once again they stepped into a corridor, this time their feet met plush green carpeting instead of the plasticised covering of the other floors. This was another long corridor. By now Lisette did not know whether to laugh or to be awed. Donald opened a door - he appeared to know his way around very well, thought Lisette - and they stepped through into an anteroom. This too had thick pile carpet. There were large leather armchairs scattered about the room, and a sofa. A pretty brunette wearing a lacy blouse sat behind a semicircular desk at one end of the room. Lisette waited a few paces back while Donald Caisson approached the receptionist.

Lisette took in the sense of luxury the room exuded. Oil paintings on the walls, dark wood panelling, thick green carpet, leather upholstered furniture. It was a far cry from the austere functional chrome and glass of the ground floor. She wondered whether all detectives worked in such exotic surroundings.

Donald had finished with the receptionist and turned to Lisette.

"They’re in conference but it will soon be over. Then it will be our turn."

They made themselves comfortable on the sofa and waited. After several minutes, a buzzer sounder unobtrusively and the receptionist with a nod that sent her luscious hair swaying about her shoulders spoke.

"Sir D will see you now, Mr Caisson."

Lisette followed Donald to the large green baize door that evidently led into the inner sanctum of the director or whoever he was. As the door opened, they stepped aside for two women passing through on their way out. One, with striking auburn hair, was listening intently to her companion who was speaking animatedly. The auburn haired woman looked a little like a taller and larger breasted version of Lisette, a comparison that was not missed on either of them as they passed each other. Her companion was a stunning dark-haired woman about four inches shorter, which made her about two inches below Lisette’s height.

"Hullo."

Lisette and the auburn haired woman flashed smiles to each other. The dark-haired woman nodded, too engrossed in the argument she was making to stop for small talk. Snatches of their conversation drifted back to Lisette before they passed out of range.

"Don’t you see, Melody, this is very serious. We can’t wait for those men to do something ..."

"I agree. We have to ..."

Then Lisette was brought back to their own business as she and Donald Caisson stepped into the office and found themselves before a distinguished man in his late middle age. He had regular, patrician features, hair greying at the temples and, when he stood and came around the desk to greet them, Lisette saw that he was tall and lean and obviously kept fit.

"Ah, Donald," he said, extending his hand.

As Donald Caisson took the older man’s hand and shook it warmly, the patrician continued.

"Or should I use one of your alternative soubriquets? Is it Douglas Casement this time, or maybe it’s Yusteen Case? No? Daniel Crossman?"

He chuckled gleefully and turned his attention upon Lisette.

"And who is this absolutely lovely lady who rests so contentedly on your arm?"

"May I introduce Mam’selle Lisette Ruisseau, Sir," replied Donald. "Lisette, this is Sir Clive Devereau."

Lisette took the man’s hand. He held her fingers in a warm clasp and bowed slightly.

"Ah yes, the redoubtable Mam’selle Ruisseau, who sometimes goes under the name of Lisa Rivers. I must say the people in our business are often quite inventive about their code names."

People in our business he said, thought Lisette. Not people in your business? And what business is that I wonder? She looked appraisingly about the room.

"What is it you’re searching for my dear?"

"Well," said Lisette hesitantly, "We’re in some discreet section of New Scotland Yard and, after the case Donald and I have been working on, I guess you must be something to do with national security, foreign affairs, or even the drug squad?"

Sir Devereau laughed and with a gesture invited them to sit in the long sofa. He took up an armchair opposite.

"Very close in your estimate, dear lady. I am indeed the administrative head of a very special organisation whose acronym is DORFIS."

"DORFIS?"

"The Department of Reconnaisance, Field Intelligence and Surveillance," explained Donald Caisson."

"Exactly," agreed Sir Devereau, sitting back and steepling his fingers in front of him. Probably the best way to describe what we do is that we are counter-intelligence, assuredly but, while we have field agents, such as your good companion who has been watching over you, we do not become involved in the hurley burley of MI5, MI6, the CIA, the FBI, and so on. We are essentially an information-gathering agency and many of our more mundane duties have similarities to yours in Inland Revenue, Miss Ruisseau. Oh don’t look so surprised. We’ve been keeping a very close eye on your activities vis-a-vis the Vellum organisation. Such a crazy scheme of theirs, yet it was actually working quite well. They were of course not very important to us, but they have tenuous links to a crime syndicate that interests us greatly."

"Wait a minute," cried Lisette. "You’re giving me so much information that I’m finding it hard to digest. First you say that you’ve been keeping tabs on me? How on earth ... Oh ... The mole in Revenue whose identity I could never discover! One of your people?"

"Ah hah, I’m afraid so my dear. Ahh ...."

There was a discreet knock at the door. It opened after a few seconds and the dark-haired receptionist in the lacy blouse, her slim navy blue skirt with a long slit up one side now also in view, walked in daintily.

"I thought you’d like to know, Sir, that Mr Iggotson and Miss Chalmers are on their way up."

"Thank you Miss Honeypfennig. Will you show them in the moment they enter your domain, please? Oh, and ask Oscar whether he has time to pay us a visit."

"Yes Sir."

The receptionist withdrew.

Lisette felt excited at the prospect of seeing Chérie and Roger again. There was so much catching up they had to do. She guessed that what had been arranged was a debriefing for them all. As members of Inland Revenue, we have to file our reports this week, she reminded herself. But how do Don and Roger fit in all this?

There was another rap on the door and Miss Honeypfennig returned.

"They were right on my heels, Sir," she announced with an awe-struck glance over her shoulder at Roger Iggotson, who was clad in a suit of black silk that made him almost invisible.

The beautiful platinum blonde on his arm, however, could not be missed. Chérie looked flushed and happy, the only external signs of her ordeal were the dark shadows under each eye. She wore an ankle-length overcoat with faux-fur lining at the lapels and a colourful silk scarf, one end neatly tucked in at her throat with the other end fluttering free. Honeypfennig conducted them to the sofa where Chérie sat beside Lisette with Roger on her other side.

"Well well," said Sir Devereau jovially, "You two men appear to have become very lucky."

"We women are equally lucky," replied Lisette with a smile. "If it wasn’t for Don ... for Mr Caisson, if that’s his right name, I might not be sitting here now."

"Yes," agreed Chérie, "We were threatened with white slavery, and I know for a fact from the evidence in our files that such a fate is possible."

"Indeed," said Devereau seriously with a worried nod of his head, "We are slowly closing in on one of the worst of the crime lords, whose empire includes kidnap and white slavery as well as other malfeasances. And what you four amazing people have done has given us a new window onto their activities. We now have a small group of potential Continental moles who may become very useful."

"Moles? You mean the Vellum gang?" asked Lisette.

Sir Devereau nodded. "Very hush-hush, now."

"I know."

"We’re the souls of discretion," added Chérie.

"I’ll expect you two men to keep an eye on these lovely young women and make sure that they adhere to the DORFIS code."

"Which is?" asked Lisette archly.

"Roger?" Devereau nodded in Roger Iggotson’s direction. "Or should I say Le Rôdeur?"

"Dear lady," said Roger Iggotson, "On voir tout, on dit rien."

"Oh, of course, ‘See all, say nothing.’ We’ll follow to the letter," rejoined Lisette. "But, talking about moles, there is a mystery ..."

Sir Devereau raised his hand encouragingly.

"All will be revealed shortly, dear lady ... Ah ... Hullo Oscar ... May I introduce you to my private secretary, Mr Oscar Holmes."

Lisette turned her head and looked at the man who had just entered unobtrusively by a side door. She and Chérie gasped in unison.

"But, that’s - that’s ..."

"Fingal Doyle, one of our Inland Revenue accountants," said Chérie, finishing Lisette’s sentence for her.

"No, that’s impossible," exclaimed Lisette. "You were always so quiet and helpful."

"But with your finger on the pulse," said Chérie. "Incredible!"

"A brief period in the field, as it were," said the man, who had taken up the armchair next to Sir Devereau’s. "I must say that you two young women led us a pretty chase, especially Miss Ruisseau who appears to have a charmed life. In and out of one scrape after another."

"Now wait a minute," said Lisette accusingly, "How on earth could you have tabs on us all the time, especially when we were abducted?"

"Um, well, it does no harm to tell them, Sir D?"

"No, Oscar old fellow," said Sir Devereau. "Just as your role is now over, so too is that of the other, for a time anyway."

"I have to preface this by saying that what you are about to hear is privileged information, indeed everything that has taken place in this room," warned Oscar Holmes. "There was in fact another mole, a minor mole if you will, and that was the gardener and odd-job man at the Flowers R Us nursery, a fellow called Jakes Bottomly. He was able to keep us informed virtually every step of the way."

"Oh no! And I knocked him out with a bundle of comic books!" cried Lisette in consternation.

"Yes," agreed Oscar. "He complained later that he wasn’t expecting that job to come with a lot of heavy reading."

"I do hope he’s all right," said Lisette ruefully, ignoring Oscar Holmes’s dreadful pun.

"He’s all right, has the constitution of an ox."

"Nothing that was not cured by an evening at his favourite bar, Le P’tit Boeuf in the Latin quarter," added Donald Caisson. "But he did admit that you packed a hefty wallop."

"Oh dear ... I’m so glad he’s all right."

"So ... You had us more or less under surveillance all the time?" stated Chérie. "You left us to lie in agony, gagged and bound for hours, days!"

"It was necessary," said Sir Devereau sadly. "We are up against a ruthless gang, not the Vellum mob, the other one. We talked it over very carefully and decided that you two young women were young and fit, intelligent, and that you were resilient enough to take a lot of punishment. Although we became very worried about you my dear," he indicated Chérie, "because it seemed to get the better of you towards the end."

"I know," said Chérie, "And I’m sorry, Sir D. I thought I could take it but I couldn’t."

"You were in on this side of the investigation?" asked Lisette.

"Yes. You were the one, Lisa, who stumbled into the whole affair," Chérie added. "Originally I was the bait. But then when Donald escaped, by prior arrangement, from the low-security prison farm ..."

"We lost him for several hours," added Roger, "because of the storm. And he happened to wander to your cottage. Then the kid Legato arrived and got in the way, otherwise I would have brought Donald in."

"We’ve had a guardian angel watching over us most of the time," said Chérie. "I didn’t know Roger at all. He’s part of the Caisson group. I’m so glad."

Chérie looked admiringly at Roger Iggotson, who gently took her hand.

It was late afternoon. The foursome had eaten a light but excellent lunch in Sir Devereau’s chambers. Now Lisette and Chérie were back at Lisette’s apartment. Donald Caisson and Roger Iggotson had gone to a bar for a private conference with Oscar Holmes. Lisette and Chérie sat opposite each other in easy chairs, the remains of coffee and scones (made by Lisette) on the low table between them. Chérie had removed her overcoat and sat comfortably in a smart business suit, black slitted skirt that fell to mid-calf, white silk blouse, and dark jacket matching the skirt. Lisette still wore her filmy silk dress.

Chérie looked at her watch.

"I really must be going soon," she announced. "Roger is taking me to the opera tonight. You and Don can come too if you like. They’re playing La Bohème. It should be possible to get more tickets."

"No thanks," said Lisette with a shake of her head that sent the honey-gold hair flowing across her shoulders. "Don and I are having a night at home. It’s been a long week, you’ll agree, and I just want a quiet time with that lovely man."

"He is, isn’t he?" agreed Chérie. "But we’ll keep in touch?"

"Of course. We’ve been through a lot together."

"Yes ... Well, I guess I’d better be going ..."

"Chérie, before you go, would you mind doing something for me?"

"I’d be happy to. What is it?"

"Well, this might seem a strange request but I want you to tie me up."

"For Don?"

"Yes ... You might find it a little odd, especially after what we’ve both been through."

"No ... I think I understand. It must feel very different, being tied up for your man - or by your man - so different from being in the hands of nefarious criminals."

"That’s right ... Chérie, I never thought that I would like to be made helpless, but this is a very special relationship."

"You don’t have to sell me on it, Lisa. I don’t think it’s my cup of tea - but, on the other hand ... I might just ask Roger about it ... " Chérie snapped out of her momentary fugue and became businesslike once more. "So, tell me what I have to do."

"I’ll show you."

Lisette disappeared into her bedroom. A few minutes later she emerged wearing an ankle-length nightgown in pale lilac with a deep very revealing décollètage edged with a faux-fur silk lining. Long cords attached to various parts of the flimsy garment drifted about her in unison with the corruscating folds of the rich material. In one hand Lisette carried several coils of soft cord and the silk sash of her dressing gown; in the other hand she bore a large gilt-edged card which she propped against a vase of flowers that stood on the coffee table. In large letters, the card read:

Don, my love,

a very special present is waiting

for you in the bedroom.

Love,

Lisette.

Chérie raised her eyebrows, then began to laugh softly.

"Oh, Lisa!"

Lisette handed the silken sash and soft cotton cord to Chérie.

"Come on! I have to stay tied up for a couple of hours before he arrives, to get properly in the mood. Use that silk on my wrists."

Chérie set to work. After she had wound the sash several times around Lisette’s wrists, she paused.

"Do you want me to make it properly tight, so you really can’t get free?"

"Of course, Chérie. Don needs a challenge. The knots have to be hard to untie!"

"I’ll try not to hurt you."

"I know. Just make it real."

When Chérie finished tying her wrists, Lisette tested the bonds.

"That’s really tight! And you haven’t done this before!?"

"No, just went through the same security training you did under a martinet of a woman sergeant. Did you have Sergeant Jenn for your training?"

"Oh my yes! But she was wonderful with her advice, wasn’t she? It helped me to escape some of the Vellum gang’s ropes ... Now, get some of that rope, the black coloured sort will stand out nicely against this gown, and tie my legs ... all the way up to my thighs."

Lisette sat on a chair and Chérie started at her ankles and worked her way up.

"This is a lovely gown," said Chérie as she touched the material. "It’s real silk isn’t it?"

"Yes," replied Lisette with a pleased smile. It cost a packet, but it’s not the cheaper polyester people seem to find so fashionable. And it feels great to wear when it’s floating about me and caressing my skin ... Now, get to work on my arms, and around my body, please."

When Chérie had finished, Lisette stood and hopped carefully into the bedroom, supported by her friend. She allowed herself to fall onto the bed on her side.

"Is that all?" asked Chérie. She looked at her watch. :"I really must be going or I’ll miss my date with Bohemia."

"There is one more thing, Chérie dear, if you don’t mind. In the top drawer of my dresser you’ll find my scarves and handkerchiefs. There’s a nice large linen handkerchief and a white silk scarf. When you find them..." Chérie was already opening the drawer. "I want you to gag me. Tightly."

"These?" Chérie held up the white cloths.

"Yes. Pack the handkerchief in my mouth, then tie the scarf over it all to hold it in place. Make it good and tight. I’ll probably be able to slip the scarf off my face if I wanted to. But it should keep me from calling out, and it will look good ... Mnggggg."

Chérie followed Lisette’s instructions to the letter. As she left, she paused at the door and looked back at her friend who was making herself comfortable on the coverlet.

"I’m very glad we met, Lisa ... Lisette Ruisseau" said Chérie a little awkwardly. "How about coffee, say later this week?"

"Mmmm hmmm." Lisette nodded happily.

Chérie smiled and left, closing the bedroom door softly behind her.

Lisette lay contentedly on the bed, securely bound, neatly gagged. She tested her wrist bonds. Chérie had done an exceptional job, not only turning the cords in a standard set of crossover ties, but also cinching them with a twist or two in between her wrists. (Lisette could not tell how many). Try as she might, she could not do the trick of slipping one hand out over the other by relaxing them both. Trust a lawyer to pay such ‘forensic’ attention to detail, Lisette noted ruefully.

She remembered Chérie’s passing remark about their training from Sergeant Jenn. One of the lessons given by that hard task setter about getting out of bonds was to do the relaxing ploy. But the downside was that, if the captor was knowledgeable, the prisoner would be gently encouraged to relax her hands and arms before being bound. Chérie had done just that, asking Lisette to unfold her fists and allow her hands to go limp. Now Lisette knew that she would never get out of her bonds without help. She wiggled her toes and moved her legs from side to side. Her ankles were bound almost as securely as her hands.

With a sigh, Lisette let her head fall back to the pillow and bit down on the gag. At least, if she wanted to, she could probably slip the silk off her mouth and down to her chin. But it was not uncomfortable and she liked the symbolism, for when Donald Caisson found her ... Where was that man?

As soon as she had that thought, Lisette heard a key being inserted at the door to her apartment. It must be some sort of sympathetic magic, she speculated. It’s happened so many times in this adventure! I think of something that might soon happen, or of a person who might appear on the scene, and it happens or they appear, almost as though I was a character in a novel!

Lisette did not hear the door open - the hinges were well oiled - but she did hear the soft sound of its closing and the faint pad of footsteps across the wood-panelled floor of the main room. The steps ceased. Lisette held her breath. Was Don reading the note? The soft footfalls recommenced, coming closer. Lisette remembered uneasily how so often, too, she thought that it was Don or someone else helpful arriving, only to be surprised by the sudden appearance of Sir Justin Hoffnung, Bombadil Kidd or Doc Legato. She shivered. Was it one of her former captors, overjoyed to find her neatly packaged for their attentions? The handle of the bedroom door rattled faintly. It sounded loud in the quiet of the room. Then, quickly, the door swung wide.

Donald Caisson stood to one side, half his body screened by the lintel. He held a small automatic, its blunt muzzle covering the room. Don wore a white shirt and dark trousers. Hie face was grim. His eyes bored into those of Lisette as he mouthed, <Is anyone here?>.

"Nggg,"

Lisette shook her head vehemently. Donald Caisson remained cautious as he stepped into the room and looked around. Satisfied, he slipped the automatic into his hip pocket. He took a deep breath.

"Lisette Ruisseau, my dear lovely young woman, that might well have been a clever trick to put me off guard! I’ll have to set it down to your inexperience with the underworld. But that will change, if we continue to see a lot of each other."

"Mmmph?"

"Yes ..."

Donald caisson stepped across to the bed and took her up effortlessly in his arms.

"You are absolutely beautiful, dear lady, and very desirable trussed up so prettily, but it was a silly trick."

Don began to walk about every room of the apartment with Lisette in his arms, inspecting the area. When he returned to the bedroom he dropped her unceremoniously back onto the coverlet. Lisette bounced on the soft and safe surface, loving the feeling that falling while helplessly bound gave her. She wriggled onto her side and tried to get the gag out of her mouth. She was surprised to find that it was more difficult than she expected. The beautiful white silk clinging to her face resisted the workings of her jaw.

"Mmmmph mmmmph!"

Lisette shook her head, clearly asking Donald to untie the gag. But he did nothing, sat back instead in one of the two bedroom chairs and surveyed his willing captive with a glint of pleasure in his eyes. Don steepled his fingers in a fair imitation of Sir Clive Devereau.

"You know, I should take this opportunity while I can say a few words."

Lisette was slowly shifting the tight silk that imprisoned her mouth.

"First, if you are going to leave such notes from time to time, we must settle on a code word that will prove to me it’s a game and not something more serious. Perhaps a bracketed word in the text of the message? I’ll let you suggest one."

"Mmmmmph!"

The top edge of the scarf had slipped between Lisette’s teeth, showing a portion of the wadded handkerchief that filled the front of her mouth.

"That’s not a bad choice. Ononomatopoeia."

"Mmmph grr-nnnf!"

Most of the silk scarf was now over Lisette’s chin and lower lip and she was busily pushing the gag out with her tongue.

"Hmm. Now would you call it metonymy, ‘Mmmph,’ or is it perhaps a case of synecdoche? What would be I wonder the correct metaphor for a gag?"

"Oof!"

Lisette expelled the gag, which fell onto the bed beside her. The silk scarf clung tenaciously to her lower lip and hung over her chin.

"Don," she spluttered, still finding speech difficult with the clinging material around her jaw. "You’re not helping me!"

"No."

"I thought I was being rescued!"

"Yers. Well you are in a manner of speaking. Or in your case, less of a manner of speaking."

Donald Caisson leaned over, hooked his finger between Lisette’s cheek and the silk scarf, and pulled it down.

"Is that better?"

"Much better, Darling. I’m beginning to feel appropriately rescued!"

"Yers. Now where were we? ... Right. Code words ... Another time to use one is when you receive a phone call that purports to come from me. As a matter of course, I suggest you ask a conversational question - especially if you’re not sure that it’s me at the other end of the line."

"Oh ... Such as?"

"How about, ‘Have you seen Le Rôdeur lately?’"

"Yes, that’s a good choice," agreed Lisette thoughtfully. "Nobody else will know what I’m talking about. But aren’t you founding all this on one or two little assumptions, Mr Caisson, that may not reflect reality?"

"Yers, but you tell me."

"Well ... The main premise is that you’re expecting our association to continue ...?"

"Yers?"

"And that we’ll be regularly in contact with each other?"

"Yers?"

"That we’ll in fact often be sharing the same living area?"

Donald Caisson remained silent.

"Well, that’s difficult if we’re living in separate apartments," added Lisette, pushing ahead inexorably.

"Yers indeed."

"So I think," said Lisette drawing a deep breath, "that we should stay together!"

"Just what I was thinking."

"I knew you were," agreed Lisette with a mischievous smile. "By the way, I know just the right apartment. I saw it two weeks ago when I was looking for somewhere to study my reports in peace. But I plumped for the country cottage instead."

"A choice that became agreeable to us both," agreed Donald. "And without which this whole affair would have taken a different turning."

"Though I think we might have met, some time, because it was this affair of the cyber geeks that I was working on."

"Yers, but maybe not as much fun."

"Don, another question ... Aren’t you going to complete my rescue and untie me?"

"There’s plenty of time for that."

Donald Caisson leaned forward and began to rearrange the bodice of Lisette’s lavender silk gown.