N.B. Spellings (when correct) are in UK English. All the characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this story, some of which may be illegal in certain jurisdictions. I'm adding (for legal reasons) that apparently if you're under-age you mustn't read this, so if that's the case go away and grow up.

Chapters 1 to 5.

Chapter 1 - The aftermath.

It had been some months since the dog and pony show left town, those cursed foreigners in their suits, and the local officials, judiciary, and law-men had all moved on leaving a trail of utter destruction and devastation in their wake. Shattered lives and broken dreams the main legacy of their damnable meddling, which had caused nothing but grief. No souls had been saved, and no young girls were freed from sexual servitude or mortal danger, either real or imaginary, in fact no good came of their blatant and clearly illegal charade that had resulted in the collapse of a rapidly growing and successful internet modelling business.

It wasn't as if the region was the hub of commercial enterprise the old industries generally failing for lack of investment, and there were very few businesses of any sort which could compete in a world market. Since the dissolution of the Soviet empire, each of the satellite States got on as best they could, but with overweight State bureaucracy, homelessness, massive unemployment, plus rampant corruption, it was hardly a fertile environment for any type of new business to thrive.

In the face of all these problems a while back a few well-heeled entrepreneurs had seen the writing on the wall. They had seen the way some other poor countries had raped the environment for short term gain, to the detriment of the people who were left behind in the poisoned landscape, but a few others had managed to move forward using innovative thinking and a modest investment when they could find a suitable business opportunity.

This cabal of wily businessmen were already involved in modelling and advertising, so had various income streams originating from outside of their homeland. Looking to the future they had seen the growing market for internet modelling, but they wanted to rise above the rest of the crowd. The small bit-part players of the time were shoestring operators, as could be seen from the results when viewing their shabby websites. This new group of men were used to dealing with a far higher grade of product in the world of international promotions, and they saw the need for the correct ethos right from the beginning.

From day one, they knew where the demand lay in the market, and their own country was awash with pretty young girls from poor families, who would rather see their daughter's in front of a camera in a warm studio, than out on the street begging - or worse. The source of their original income was a business where the top models were well paid, and this new operation was no different, as happy healthy models would set their brand apart.

When the raids had come, they had been riding the crest of a wave, many of their girls had been in their own way international superstars, with earnings related to their success. If it had not been for Janus, a mole in the enemy camp, they would have had little or no warning and been dead in the water, as it was they were able to pull back and make ready for the tsunami that rolled through their midst.

The worldwide media may have used provocative language to justify what had happened, but those who knew the truth either had no voice or kept quiet for fear of being embroiled in the witch hunt. “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story” was a maxim that applied to this travesty, in a way that most people couldn't even imagine. Despite all the hype in the news media after the initial debacle only two men were in jail, and eventually they had to be released through lack of evidence, and the fact that the families of girls who they had traced refused to condone upholding any charges against the two accused.

For some inexplicable reason these aspects of the case never actually came to light in any of the international news media stories. Anyone of even modicum of intelligence must've seen the holes in this telling of the story, in that it was so one sided. Where were all these unfortunate sad girls who'd been wronged and exploited? How could a long line of these awful paedophiles from this vile and corrupt business enterprise not be standing there in the dock to be punished? How could those two questions alone have been overlooked?

There were many questions not asked, like was it legal for a foreign power to instigate the raid in the first place, and more importantly were the exploited girls now better off seeing as their families now had no form of income? It leaves one to wonder why those questions and many others that would cast the authorities in such a poor light were swept under the carpet, but then perhaps that is one best left for the conspiracy theorists.

Now months later those who'd kept in touch were looking to see what could be done to help the victims. Now these girls who before had been happy with their lives, enjoying their lifestyle, and raising their families out of poverty truly had become victims, their so called saviours had done nothing to help them, now many had no form of income at all, such was the law of unintended consequences. To be 'saved' only to be left to starve.

Assistance came from only one direction, not the State, or those that had intervened, no instead it was from the ex-employees, and ex-models. Those who were able to offer any form of help did what they could for those who were left hanging, but with a vast loss of income many families had cut back to essentials, what was the point of a phone when no one would be calling with that next photo-shoot, what would happen when their savings ran out and the rent was due? Not all the girls had worked long enough to ensure their future, and not every parent had the foresight to invest, retrain, or start a business with their change in fortune, what would now sustain them through the hard times ahead?

The sad fact was that many girls and their families suddenly found they were in a worse position than they were before the girls had found gainful employment as Studio models. Around the docks, and in seedier neighbourhoods of towns all across the country these girls of tender years, and often their mothers and sisters joined the oldest workforce of all. The pity of it was that the punters were also among the poor, and the girls among the many on the streets, so the pittance they could earn didn't amount to much, but they knew who to thank – it was the men in suits from an agency they had never heard of.

The sallow balding man with the pony tail was bitter, it rankled that he hadn't been able to do more, these people had been his friends, even if they had thought of him as a recluse of few words. He had wreaked his revenge upon the man who had lead the team, now he was consigned to serve an impossible number of years doing hard time, his family and everyone who ever knew him reviling his very name, but for Boris this was hardly enough. He had set himself the goal to find the men behind this man, the movers and shakers that had set this pogrom in motion, then he would use all his cyber skills to ensure they got what they so rightly deserved. If he hounded these men to the end of their lives he felt he their punishment would still be insufficient considering the all the hurt they'd caused.

He had the names and details of the seven agency men who'd visited the city, they were only cogs in the wheel, and he was going to punish each of them in due course also, but maybe not to the extent of their team leader, and not with as much hurt as he wanted to inflict on the instigators. Being patient he would bide his time, and collate the facts, calling in markers from others in the murky nether world of black hats, cyber geeks and hackers. His dark thoughts were interrupted by Ira, she had bought him a coffee, standing there quietly with a wan smile, recognising his current mood.

At his time of life, always being a loner, a bit of an outsider, it seemed odd to now have a partner, if that was the right word, and he had grown very fond of her in his own way. Fourteen, nearly fifteen, she had only been with the Studio for five months, but in that interval, how it had changed her family, from destitute to doing nicely in just a short time, but her story was so tragic at the end....

It was some weeks after the raid, he didn't know why he had chosen that day, he'd just somehow felt compelled to visit the scene, the old Studio building all boarded up and the next one along a burnt out shell. There she was sitting on the kerb almost catatonic with tears slowly running down her face. Boris wasn't good at emotion, he nearly turned to go, but under the dishevelled outward appearance he realised who she was, he could probably name hundreds of the girls, their real names, and their site names, but this was a girl he had actually met once before in person.

Ira, her real name, was talking with Dmitri, when Boris was called over to join in their conversation as the girl wanted to learn about computing in school, they had only spoken for a short time, and that was their only meeting up until that point. He sat on the kerb nearby, not too close, and called her name, it was like a bad network connection, she took a while to acknowledge he was there, then she kept repeating that they were both dead. It took a lot longer to get the story out of her, but her parents couldn't take it and had jumped in front of a train, she had no one else - she was destitute and homeless.

She had been rambling, not always quite coherent, so it was getting dark by the time he knew the extent of her plight. Clueless as to what else to do, he'd taken her home to his basement flat, it had been strange in that he couldn't recall ever having anyone visit him in his home before, not that she was lucid enough to be making a choice as such.

Up until that time his domain had been his private sanctuary, his bolt hole from the world, but he couldn't just leave her there, so he took her in like a stray cat, giving her a glass of milk while he heated her some soup. The first few days had been the worst, at any hour of the day or night he would find her sitting with her legs drawn up, clasped tightly in her folded arms as she rocked back and forth, in silent tears or muttering to herself.

He had to remind her to eat, wash, change clothes, and go to the bathroom. It was like living with a zombie, then one day there she was standing behind him watching over his shoulder as he worked at the keyboard. He wasn't one for idle chatter, and as Ira slowly came back from that dark place she had been hiding she began to engage with him.

They didn't have long conversations, and she never talked about her parents ever again, but she would fret each time he had to go out, asking how long he would be away.

By then had he brought her several changes of clothes, and at last she decided to join him any time he left the flat, hating to spend time apart. As she started to recover Ira began to take on jobs about the place, cleaning and tidying up, but careful of any journals or the plethora of technical equipment that was lying about all over the flat.

Out of the blue one morning Boris woke to find he was feeling warm, then startled as he realised he was not alone in his bed, turning over he looked at a sleepy Ira with tussled hair, her face relaxed in away he had not seen before. She woke stretched and said how well she had slept, and that seemed to be it, she didn't return to the sofa.

He knew he didn't really look after himself in the way he should, but caring for the girl in those first few weeks had made him think about what to cook, as she had been so thin and malnourished. Then when she had started to recover Ira took over all the domestic chores he had never seemed to find time for, and when they went to the shops she tutted at some of the junk he put in the basket, suggesting he make some healthier choices.

She began to take an interest in what he did spending hours at his keyboard, so this prompted his next purchase, an old office chair so she could sit at a second desk, learning to use all the standard office programs that people with access to computers were familiar with. He explained how he found information for people, and that was how he now made his living, and if she studied hard on the lessons he set, one day she would be able to do the same thing.

Ira pondered that idea, thinking back to the class on economics she had taken, and how the teacher explained – Where there's a market, a business will step forwards to fill that need. She and many other girls used to be models, they filled a need for thousands upon thousands of people, men who shelled out good money for photo-sets and videos.

Both parties were happy with the arrangement, which according to her class made it a good business model. Now she wasn't a model any more, what could she be, what would those other girls be? Would Boris really help her to find her future?

One day Ira said they needed to go shopping, they had only been out for groceries the day before, but it was a change for her to be decisive, so he thought it best to humour her whim. At the small local supermarket she seemed agitated then whispered in his ear she needed some money, he usually paid at the till so he didn't know what the fuss was about until she nodded towards the aisle where the toiletries were, and he suddenly felt rather foolish, handing over the first note he pulled out of his wallet without even looking, saying he would meet her outside the store.

Ira hurried off to make her purchase, Boris had been good to her, she had given up, not caring one way or another if she lived or died, but he was like an anchor, quiet and dependable, and he didn't make her talk about it. They made a right pair, cause he was fairly skinny too, and she knew about this stuff, how you had to eat right, she didn't know how long it had been since her last cycle, but there had been a long spell when meals were few and far between, it wasn't long before you started looking through bins for food scraps. She couldn't even say for sure how long she had been living with Boris, memories of those first days or weeks had been hazy. She knew how her body used to be, so when she had felt that ache in her tummy this morning, it was a signal she just couldn't ignore even if it did turn out to be a false alarm.

Looking at the note in her hand she wondered if he'd made a mistake, or if he meant she should buy something as a treat to cheer herself up. Looking along the shelves she picked up the brand of tampons she had used before and some pads. Further along she saw another display, she hesitated then picked up a box taking her stuff to the check out.

When Ira came out of the store she tried to give him the change but Boris said she should keep hold of it in case she needed anything else. He was surprised that she shifted her bag to the other hand so she could link arms with him as they walked back home, as this was a new development. When they passed the local corner shop near the flat he went in to buy some chocolate, having heard somewhere that it was what girls craved at that time of the month.

On their return he got on with his work, and later visiting the bathroom tried to ignore the new display of feminine products, being as there were only a few open shelves, there was nowhere else to put them. He had never lived with a woman, he had been with women, but he wasn't a really people person so relationships were foreign to him, and he took his pleasures when he felt the need, preferring to pay for uncomplicated sex, though steering clear of the street hustlers, and visiting one or two of the nicer upmarket call girls.

He slept in just his boxer shorts, and Ira wore a long t-shirt and panties, he knew that as he had seen the outline, and fortunately there had been no embarrassing incidents since she had moved into his bed. He didn't want to traumatise the poor girl any more than she had been already, and he had managed to hide the occasions he had woken up with an erection, by grabbing his discarded clothes from the day before on his way off to the bathroom.

It had now become habit that they never left the flat alone, always going out together, and Boris wondered what people thought, the previous strange loner now having a pretty girl in tow wherever he went. A long lost daughter from an estranged marriage, or some niece from a broken home, but in truth he didn't care about the opinion of strangers.

As her period came to an end Ira thought she had best keep a diary, not having any idea if she would be regular without the aid of the pills she had taken in the past. Although she felt periods were nothing more than a messy nuisance, she was aware it was also a sign that her health was returning to normal. Boris had been very sweet, buying chocolate on that first day, and not complaining when she had been restless during the night, even though she had offered to go and sleep on the couch. At first he said the couch wasn't that comfortable, then at last he sweetly admitted he would miss her presence.

She knew he was odd, but she had grown to like his odd behaviour, the way he wanted things to be just so, the way he was sensitive, and hiding it when he had a boner, but she had plans for her Boris.

Chapter 2 – A new arrangement.

She had woken early and had carefully worked her prize free of his fly, now she began to slowly stroke the skin to watch it inflate. This was not new ground for Ira, she had been with boys before, but never a full grown man, and he was growing quite nicely, so it was a good job the anticipation was making her wet, it would probably help that she had also chosen a lubricated brand of condoms from the supermarket.

Ira wasn't sure when she had come to a decision, it had sort of crept up on her, she used to enjoy sex, not to the point she was labelled a slut, because she wasn't promiscuous, but she liked the closeness as well as the feelings it generated. She wouldn't have chosen Boris as a boyfriend, but the comfort she had gained from his presence over these past many weeks gave her a sense of security.

Last week in the store as she had moved down the aisle she had seen the condom display, and it had been obvious to her what she could do to show him how much she appreciated what he had done for her. This could have been partly due to the fact she also got horny coming up to and during her period, though she could never understand why her body should react in that way, as she wouldn't want to do it when it would be so messy.

As his cock began to respond, she saw he was also starting to stir, and grinned up at his startled expression. She looked him in the eye as she ran her tongue along his shaft, that now lurched up at her ministrations. Smiling she held up the condom.

“I was feeling horny, and thought you might like to share one of these.”

His erection pulsed at her statement, he had never heard it couched in quite those terms, but had no trouble understanding what she meant. He watched as she deftly rolled the condom down into place, then casting her nightshirt aside, sat up straddling his hips, her hand seeking between them to aid their connection. The feel of her slim fingers holding him in place, as she smeared her own wetness over their junction as the head of his cock nestled between her lips was pure heaven.

Ever so slowly she moved lower as he was enveloped in the heat, he couldn't believe how tight she was, it was outside of any previous experience, he was riveted to the sight as he watched her agonisingly slow descent, amazed that the young girl though without doubt stretched, showed no sign of discomfort. When at last she was fully seated, she sighed, then started to make small circular motions with her hips grinding herself against him.

It had been fascinating to watch the way she took him into her body, and now he took the time to appreciate the slim goddess that was riding his cock with such avid enthusiasm.

Her pert little breasts shimmied with her movements, and her face showed a mix of lust and concentration, her eyes hooded as she bit her bottom lip. His hands of their own accord slipped up over her knees that gripped his body, and his bony fingers explored her soft taut thighs, marvelling at her silky beautiful skin.

During his time at the Studio he had recognized the beauty of all their young models, but it had been in an abstract way, not as if walking through some art gallery, for at heart he was still human, but as an idealised form of youthful perfection. He had never considered that he would be having sex with one of these delicate creatures, or that it would be the girl herself that would be the instigator of such an unlikely event.

Her movements changed as she began posting, the rise and fall kind of experimental at first, until she found her rhythm, the cadence of her moves making him groan as her grasping little purse fluttered as she gasped and made odd sounds in her throat.

A flush of colour suffused her face, neck and chest, as she briefly paused pressing hard against him, then she was once again riding him like a jockey.

Ira was firmly in the diving seat, or should that be saddle, and he was along for the gallop, this was sex like he had never known before, never even guessed, an experience that he hoped wouldn't be a one off. His hands had drifted up past her too prominent hip bones, on past her tiny waist, and over her all too visible ribs to play with her cute little breasts, causing her to lean forwards into his caressing hands.

This woman in miniature was overloading his senses, as he revelled at the wonder of her rubbery nipples on such firm teenage breasts, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hang on for much longer. As if in tune with his condition she began to speed up for the final furlong, the winning post in sight. He watched the strange play of expressions cross her face as she again shuddered though another orgasm, her internal convulsions causing his own pent up spunk to shoot forth in several explosive volleys.

Ira collapsed forwards sated and exhausted, to find herself wrapped up safe in his arms. As she caught her breath, she could hear his breathing, and the pounding of his heart, his sparse chest hair tickling her sensitive breasts, as her head rested under his chin.

It had been a lot better than she expected, though she wasn't really sure if it would be the same or different, after all he was old, old enough to be her.... No!

She didn't want to go there, she wanted to think happy thoughts.

As her body gave a little tremor, his softened member was dislodged from her hot slick pussy and Boris now felt another growing need, one for which an erection was the last thing he wanted. The girl's weight was slight, but his bladder demanded attention, and as much as he was enjoying the current situation, he knew it was time to move.

She felt the loss of his now deflated cock, then his hands began to move down her body till he held the cheeks of her bum, giving each a friendly squeeze, then a light tap as he announced his need to drain the tank. Getting up he kissed her forehead, then left the room, thinking back that was the closest to a sign of affection she had ever seen from him, Boris wasn't the demonstrative sort.

Her experience of boys had lead to her having sex with three of them, and none of them had ever lasted a fraction of the time of this encounter, before she had only ever cum once with a boy inside her, and that was due to blowing him first. She had cum twice, and they were good ones, imagine what would it be like if they practised - a lot?

Ira bit her lip, what if he didn't like it, she knew he had cum, guys always came, many of her friends said that it was so unfair, her own prior experience had proved pretty much the same. She'd have to find out if he thought she was okay, grinning she thought she was willing to do it a lot to improve, if that's what it took to please him. There was no evidence Boris had a girlfriend, so she wondered if she had put a crimp in his love life with him having to look after her. He was probably used to more experienced grown women, so she would have to try her best to look after his needs, and hopefully he would let her stay.

The insides of her thighs, all around her pussy, and even her scanty little bush were wet and sticky with her drying juices, so she really needed to clean up. She smiled thinking of the image of Boris leaving the bed holding the spent filled condom in place, but it was that they had screwed, while he was still wearing his shorts, and all around the fly was soaked with her juices. Hearing him leave the bathroom, she hopped up to take her own turn.

Laying in the shallow bath, for she only wanted to get clean, not take a long soak, Ira was happy to live here with Boris. It wasn't a top notch luxury pad, but it was far from being shabby, a kitchen, big lounge, full bathroom, and two good sized bedrooms, although one was what he called his computer lab. Most of her life, until the time she had joined the Studio, she had never lived in such a well appointed home.

Ira never took less than twenty minuets for her morning ablutions, and he had heard the bath running, so he left a note on the kitchen table just in case, then slipped out.

At the local bakers he couldn't make up his mind so picked up a couple of bulochky rolls, and two chocolate croissants, as it would make a pleasant change from their normal breakfast fare. He got back in time, so binned the note, then set the pastries on the table while starting the coffee, and putting on water for her morning tea.

Ira nearly took the towel, then changed her mind, he had seen her naked, not long ago they had just done the most intimate thing two people could do together, so she would act like an adult with her partner, and walk naked back to 'their bedroom', and sort out today's clothes. She didn't look back towards the kitchen as she sauntered off to the bedroom, but she felt sure she could feel his gaze on her retreating back, or maybe it was focused lower down on her bottom, so she gave it an extra little wiggle.

Watching a very naked girl slink down the hallway brought to mind a quote he had seen somewhere on the net - “Young girls, the perfect cure for erectile dysfunction.”

Having had the most amazing sexual experience of his life that morning, and now feeling his stiffness return to full vigour, he realised the truth in that statement. At his age he'd no issues in that department, but grinned at thinking of doctors changing their prescriptions for older men, replacing those little blue pills by visits from young nubile girls like Ira.

Looking through 'her' drawer was a sad reminder of better times, but at least she did have a choice now of several outfits, and he had said they could buy her more clothes, but she hadn't wanted to take advantage of his generosity. She picked a top and skirt, eyeing the skirt, she wished she had one a bit shorter, but that would do for now. The opened carton didn't need to stay hidden now, so she put it on the bedside table as a clear message that even a guy could understand. The checkout girl had given her such a look, and it was a strange counterpoint considering her other purchases, but there were still eleven to go!

He looked happy sitting at the kitchen table, and he'd been to the bakers, she loved the honey rolls, so naughty and sticky and yummy. She kissed his cheek and sat down, it was odd that they'd had sex, but they hadn't ever kissed properly, she would remedy that given the chance, kissing made her so hot. She really wanted to ask him about earlier, if he thought she would be able to please him like a real woman if she tried really hard, but the thing was his main subject was always about technical stuff, then it seemed he could talk for ages. She was sure he would never raise the topic so it was down to her.

“Boris, about this morning, I know I probably wasn't that good, but I promise to do my best, and you can like teach me, so I can be better for you in bed.”

She waited, worried, he wasn't always quick to answer, but she had grown to realise that was his way, he liked to think before he spoke out loud.

He clasped her hand, that was significant, he wasn't big on personal contact, she stilled her impatience knowing he would get it out in his own time.

“Ira you're an amazing girl, if this morning had been any better I'm not sure I would have survived. To wake up and well, I hadn't seen this coming, I certainly hadn't thought that you would ever see a man of my age in that way. I must admit until today I had never considered being with a girl your age, and perhaps now I have a better understanding about why you girls had such a large and appreciative fan-base, sexy as well as pretty.”

Ira could feel her face glowing, he really had been happy, it wasn't often you could expect such a long speech about anything other than the techie stuff.

“I'm glad you weren't disappointed, cause I want us to do that a lot more, you were super, I've never cum twice doing it, it only happened one time before but that time I only came once, so please say we can be more like boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He squeezed her hand and that was all the answer she needed.

From there on the course of both their futures was set in stone.

Boris had been so set in his ways, but the same trigger had affected both their lives, and as the days passed he showed her the progress he was making in learning about their foes. She looked through all his notes about the man sent to Leavenworth, a prison full of the meanest criminals, where Boris said the man would be doing 'hard' time, giving a lot of emphasis to the sentence, as if the guy would be getting extra punishment.

He began to explain how he talked to the other geeky people, it was a sort of club with layers like an onion, with lots of amateur geeks on the outside layer, then as they kind of gained experience, they advanced through the hierarchy, moving to the smaller and smaller layers, that were hidden inside. She couldn't be sure but she suspected Boris was good at what he did, and was buried deep in this secret world. He received many strange messages that seemed to make no sense, and sent replies in the same gobbledygook.

Each day he had a routine of checking a whole list of message boards, some of them he looked at many times a day, saying something about a friend called Janus, who was going to send him some very important names. He had been waiting a long time because this Janus had to dig very carefully, not wanting to tip off the people they were looking for.

Boris wanted her to learn lots of stuff, she had to catch up with her English work, which wasn't too much of a chore, as she had taken it in school from the time it was established. It was eventually through girls taking that course, that she had been introduced to the world of modelling. Now she learned that a lot of the information and web sites he hacked into were in that language, and she was also learning to speak to computers in their own coded language, but that was so much harder. She wanted him to be proud of her so she diligently worked on every lesson, writing up her notes to prove that she understood the principles that lead to her answers.

That first morning they'd had sex, she thought it would be a small gift she could give to Boris for being so kind to her, of course that was providing he thought she was any good, but it turned out that he was sometimes tired, so they didn't do it all the time.

It was funny the way it turned out, cause now it was Boris treating her, as she still couldn't believe how wonderful he could make her feel. When she studied real hard he would do things that made her squeal and swoon. He showed her lots of different positions, doggy being one of her favourites, she liked the way it made her feel dominated, and each time he licked her down there she thought she would die.

She had licked boys before, sort of blow jobs, but not letting them spurt in her mouth, but when she said she would do that for him, he said to save it till she was out of commission. It took a moment to click, then she sort of blushed, but agreed it was a good idea.

Ira had been with Boris for several weeks before she realised he had a phone, he hadn't made any calls out, and one day when she was sitting at her desk working she heard a muted ringing, the whole telephone was inside a desk drawer. She didn't mean to listen in, but when he asked the caller about Marta and Anna her ears pricked up, she hadn't known the girls well, as they went to another school, but they were legends at the Studio, in their own way revered for many of the schemes that had made the Studio so successful.

At the end of the call he could see the question in her eyes, and told her the story of his first apprentice, tapping her on the end of her nose saying she must be his second one. Karl who had been on the phone, was also Marta's boyfriend, and had become a respected and established hacker in his own right. She heard of how the young office trainee had gone to night school, then how he had taken an interest in security, learning about how gate-keepers and burglars were really opposite sides of the same coin, to be good as one, you had to know how the other would think.

He talked quite a bit that day, telling her of the conference that had occurred a few days before they had met, which was maybe why he had visited the Studio site on that day. Meeting outside the city, a few dozen people had gathered to discuss what to do, they had felt bad at the time that they couldn't show support for their friends in jail, but it was decided they all needed to keep their heads down for the time being.

Those who could were looking out for others from the Studio, but many lines of communication had broken down, so it was difficult to know how things stood.

(See the Epilogue of 'A new model is discovered')

The end result was a few people would act as hubs, trying to keep in touch with others, then post their news on some obscure bulletin boards that the enemy wouldn't associate with their previous activities. Ira was beginning to feel like they were living inside a spy novel, and she found it exciting, she could be like Laura Croft, or one of the characters from Mission Impossible.

He grinned at her allusions, stating it was necessary to be a lot more subtle, but even without the guns and explosions, their work could be just as devastating, grinning he said if she didn't believe him she should talk to the man in Leavenworth.

Boris talked of 'action from a distance' and how he could call in a favour to have things happen on another continent, or fake things while sitting in his own little den.

Ira wanted an example, so he began tapping away at his keyboard, he kept a close watch on the seven agents who had visited their city and knew everything about them, even down to their shoe size. Two of the men were good buddies and had booked a hunting cabin along with a Bass boat for a week of hunting and fishing. With a few deft clicks of a mouse their trip was cancelled at short notice forfeiting the entire cost of their vacation.

Dipping into an account where he knew the money would not be missed, he had a John Doe book up the now vacant cabin, then sent an e-mail to say he would arrive a day late due to travel issues. He then said how the men would travel all that way for their vacation spot only to be turned away, as there was proof they had sent confirmation from their own e-mail address that they wouldn't be coming, besides the cabin had since been rebooked.

The cabin owner will have been paid twice over, and then by the time the John Doe failed to show up, the two pissed off agents would have travelled all the way back home again.

Up till now he had kept his pranks down to very low level harassment, nothing that would show above the radar, just day to day inconveniences on an irregular basis, not wishing to show his hand at this point. Ira climbed up to straddle his lap kissing him soundly as she ground against his crotch. He didn't need it explained, he and Ira were on the same page, bringing a little misery into the lives of these men was the sort of payback they deserved.

Though he hadn't intended to cause more mayhem, shortly after the disgruntled hunters had returned home another opportunity arrived that was too good to turn down. Another of the team of seven had been transferred due to a promotion, and Boris had only just seen the man had purchased a new SUV in celebration. He started to check on contacts he had in that city, and hit pay-dirt, a small time hacker in a deprived neighbourhood who would gain prestige from doing Boris, in one of his many online guises a favour, also to sweeten the pot he gave the guy cracks to unlock pirate versions of some video games.

Action from a distance was about to be demonstrated now he had passed on the licence tag details, and the address, which in turn had been passed on to some 'boys from the hood' youngsters who for a few burned copies of the latest games were up for some fun.

Ira was all ears learning the man had two cars, one from the agency which didn't count as it wouldn't hurt him if it were damaged, and a brand new shiny car he had bought with his own money. He would wake the next day to find every panel scratched and gouged, it was known by the insurance industry as 'keyed'. This was the type of damage done by people jealous of your new vehicle who ran a key down the side. With deep scratches it was hard and expensive to repair, and the car rarely looked as good, but the insurance companies were unlikely to pay out for replacement panels, and sometimes not even covering a full respray. Their argument being that after all it was only cosmetic, and the car still worked.

Most people took the hit, and settled for the basic repair job, if you pushed too hard they would only hike your premiums for the next ten years. Unless of course you wanted to fork out from your own pocket for a pucker paint job you were left with a shitty looking motor, hard to resell and with a low end book price.

Many thousands of miles away Agent Hennessey was woken in the night by the sound of one of his neighbours car alarms, wondering why the hell they didn't shut the damned thing off, then with an icy tingle of fear he jumped out of bed. There in his driveway lights flashing, sounder blaring was his brand new toy trashed on the very first day.

It lead to months arguing with his insurance broker as the car sat in the back yard of the repair shop, the scratches turning to rust while they fought over lost paperwork.

Ira watched this unfold over the coming days and weeks, they even received an image from the local hacker of the sad looking vehicle languishing in the repair shop yard, but it was on initially hearing of the successful raid that she got all excited. Every action against their enemies made the girl rejoice, so when they heard of the 03:00 hours raid a couple of hours later it was just coming up for noon in Kiev. After punching the air, and doing a little dance Ira slipped down to her knees swivelling Boris' chair round to face her.

He was amused by her display of jubilation, then she sank to her knees, and reached for his belt, then his flies, obligingly he shuffled forwards in his chair to assist her endeavours to gain access to his rapidly growing cock. He had suggested this particular pleasure be held over until her next period, but what the hell, he was hardly going to turn down a celebratory blow job, there was a big difference between being eccentric, and being mad.

Having exposed him she started kissing the head, then licking from base to tip as she gently played with his balls. For a girl with apparently limited experience in this aspect of sexual gratification she was doing very well, any lack of practice was countered by her willingness to please him. As her lips slipped down his length, he could feel her tongue fluttering against him, as her head began to bob up and down.

She varied her technique, perhaps trying out different methods she had heard of, as he tightly gripped the arm rests on his office chair.

Ira was now used to his size, bigger than the cocks of any of the teenage boys she had been with, really filling her up when they had sex, so she had worried how she would cope when it came to blow-jobs. In part of her drive to improve his eating habits she had been preparing a lot of salads, what with the warm weather and available fresh seasonal produce; so in the kitchen where he couldn't see, she'd been practising with cucumbers.

Looking up at Boris she smiled as best she could with head of his cock in her mouth, then bobbed back down trying to get the angle right. The end was spongy, more comfortable than the any cool rigid vegetable, so it wasn't as difficult as she'd imagined, and she didn't choke or gag as she had feared. This was spur of the moment, unplanned, but in their recent sex play she had been taking care of disposing of the spent condoms, in order to get a secret taste of his spunk, not wanting to throw up when she did this the first time.

She suspected the condom messed with the flavour, but she was confident she would be able to swallow a few gulps of the cloying liquid without embarrassing herself.

He felt he would leave permanent marks where he had gripped the chair, as his little blonde goddess sucked his unsheathed cock, something the professionals wouldn't offer, and in any case something he wouldn't dare to risk. The sensations were so intense by comparison, not that it was comparable in any way, as he could see the adoration in her face as she looked up at him now and then. The previous night they had just slept as it had been a long day, so maybe his balls weren't as drained as she normally kept them, he was sure she would be willing to fuck three times a day if he had the stamina to keep up.

She could sense the tension building in his body, she had got adept at reading the signals, so knew he wasn't that far off, which was good as her jaw and tongue were starting to ache. He was sweet warning her, obviously giving her the choice of whether or not she would take his spunk in her mouth, but she was resolved to do it properly like the grown women he was more used to.

“Ira, I'm...”

Ira pulled back with just the head of his cock in her mouth as the first stream shot out, then she kept sucking and swallowing as the subsequent volleys followed, aiming so it didn't hit the back of her throat and cause her to gag. When she felt the last weak pulse, she ran her fist up the length of his cock to strip out any last remnants of his seed, careful of the crown as she knew it would now be hyper sensitive, just the way her clit got after a really good cum. He looked so happy and relaxed, his face flushed, so she made a point of licking her lips, though she had been amazed she hadn't spilt any of his load.

She was embarrassed by a sudden burp, in the resurgent gas she got a reprise of his spunk, she could also feel it clinging in her mouth. He laughed, asking if she were okay, and if she wanted a drink or to brush her teeth. Ira was grateful he'd made the comment, as she didn't know if he would be insulted if she ran off to rinse her mouth out, but she glowed in his praise for her first attempt, and his concern she might want to freshen up after blowing him.

When she finished she put the brush back; his and hers brushes in the glass, his and hers toiletries, Ira felt she belonged, her life had stability, it was just on a different path than she had imagined.

Chapter 3 – Bonding in progress.

Boris had never considered he was the type to get married, he would find it difficult to believe his name could crop up in the same sentence as the word relationship, but here he was with a girl of fourteen. His girlfriend, partner, trainee, co-conspirator, flatmate, and weirdest of all, his willing and enthusiastic lover.

On occasions when they were out if she hadn't linked arms with him it was because they were holding hands. He often saw teenage lads looking lustfully at the girl by his side, but she ignored them, often giving his hand a squeeze to reassure him that he was the only male in her life. As the condoms in the current box quickly diminished Boris got to thinking about asking Ira if she wanted to go back on the pill, and imagined how it would feel even better having sex without the interposing latex sheath; flesh on flesh.

He knew of the healthcare provisions at the Studio, and how models who had started their periods were encouraged to take the pill, if for no other reason than to make their cycle predictable, so as not to interfere with scheduling. Therefore it stood to reason that Ira had been on the pill previously, but he was hesitant about raising the issue.

Instead he thought he might approach the subject in a more round about fashion during their talks concerning computer topics.

They had talked previously about corporate targets, and now Ira took notes as Boris explained how he profiled a human target, finding their official documents, their bank details, then delving into their spending habits and personal lives. As she had done before, she asked if he could show her an example. Boris brought up a local man who had been involved in some fraudulent business dealings, who also had a liking for young boys that his trophy wife was unaware of. Reading details off the screen she saw the man was one of the owners of the health care group that ran the health clinic that she used to attend, and pointed that out to Boris.

Boris told her this was the reason the Studio girls had been made so welcome, with no questions asked when the girls wanted birth control to regulate their cycles. Ira was quick to ask if they still had a hold over this man, if so she could get a check up, and maybe see about going back on the pill. The fact she was sitting in his lap to read his screen, and she then started nibbling on his ear at the time, had no influence over his positive reply.

That same afternoon Ira had a full medical and gynaecological consultation, coming away with a six month supply of the type of pills she had been happy with in the past, plus a bunch of supplements to build her up due to the recent spell of poor nutrition that she had suffered while homeless. At the same time she was in with the doctors Boris sorted out all the paperwork with the head man, updating the girl's information and contact details. Boris when left alone for a moment found some passwords from a nearby desk that would gain him an easy entry to their systems later from home, hopefully he could check if any of the old Studio people were still currently on their books.

Ira had been told how long it would be before she was safe from conception, and asked if they could get enough condoms to see them through till that time, stressing how much she was longing to do it without them. Boris thought he should get some iron and vitamin E tablets for himself when they visited the pharmacy, and as they were in a main shopping district he gave Ira some cash to treat herself to some new clothes. He waited at a street café doing his daily cryptic crossword, the location being ideal, in sight of both a teenage fashion outlet, and a classy lingerie store.

The cash he had given her would cover a lot of outfits, but having learned he was not hurting for money meant she felt no guilt in spending it, besides she would make sure he appreciated at least some of her purchases. She went to the shop selling naughty knickers first and found some very adult underwear, she noted they had even the most outrageous designs available in sizes that would fit girls much younger than she was.

The 'teen' store actually aimed at girls from eight to twenty, so in counterpoint she now looked for some childish panties with the matching halter crop tops for girls with hardly any tits, finding some with teddy-bear and candy cane designs that she could squeeze into. She made several other purchases including shorts, two mini skirts and a smart dress in case they went out anywhere nice. The last item on her list, was down to the issue that she thought her influence was causing 'Boris the recluse' to become more socialized.

By the time they returned Ira's sole pair of trainers, had been joined by a second pair, and a pair of smart heels that would go with her new dress. She would have liked to give him a fashion show of her new wardrobe, but knew he was itching to catch up with the boards he normally monitored. Ira put away all her new clothes, thinking how he would love the fancy lingerie, but a little disappointed by the quality of the workmanship considering what it had cost. She remembered the stunning clothes the seamstresses made at the Studio, each item was a work of art, with never so much as a loose thread. She wondered what had happened to all those people, and if they had been able to find any employment that matched their skills.

Reflecting back on those times, she had learned so much from all her sister models, both those she knew, and those she met through their own private chat zone, there was always some discussion going on about guys, and what strange things turned them on.

At first she hadn't believed the half of it, but most of what she learned was true, running her hands over the soft cotton little girl panties, she had been told that 'age inappropriate' clothing going in either direction would arouse a guy's interest.

Feeling playful she stripped off and stepped into the new white panties with the dancing teddy bears, leaving off her bra she pulled on a tight cropped T-shirt that showed off her flat tummy, then picked up the mini skirt with pastel stripes. Deciding to go bare foot she went to prepare a light meal for supper, then looked in to see what her man was doing.

Boris felt at home back at his desk, his good day getting better, as he had requests from some old customers who had more work for him. Even better was a brief note from Janus that the trail was hot, and he was moving up the food chain, and with a fair wind would soon have the names Boris wanted, there was also a cryptic comment about how amused he had been by some of the recent work Boris had done, or if he hadn't done anything a few guys he knew were having some awfully bad luck. Smiling he was confident that no other person could guess the source of the misfortunes that had befallen the agents who had been the subject of his enmity.

Sitting at her desk in their computer lab, Ira waited until he had finished typing, knowing not to interrupt his concentration. When he had completed his current task she put one foot up on his chair, poking his thigh to gain attention. As he turned to her, she saw his eyes glance at the junction of her widely spread legs, noting his reaction to the view on offer. With a cheeky grin she told him it was time to come and eat. Her playful attitude was a breath of fresh air that Boris hadn't recognised was missing from his life until she had come along.

If Ira wasn't insatiable she was the next best thing, Boris grinning, thought to himself you have to die of something. It wouldn't be the food, as she had been keen to change his poor eating habits. Although it was another salad today, it came with some nice sliced meats, ever since her arrival some eight weeks ago she had used the oven more often than he had during the last seven years he had lived here, and the results were both tasty and edible, somewhat like the girl herself. She was becoming an outrageous tease, and he wasn't sure if her comment to come and eat was simply an innocent statement or a subtle double entendre.

Double entendres reminded him of the Goose sisters who had made that a trade mark from their very earliest video productions, but it had caught on, and everyone wanted a cleverly written script. It hadn't taken long for all the other girls to recognise that you needed a solid grasp of the language to write with that style and verve, and from then on English tutors were in high demand. They didn't necessarily want to speak it like a native, they just wanted to understand the language like one, at the same time not wanting to loose the Ukrainian inflection of their delivery.

For two and a half years study, Ira's grasp of English wasn't too bad when it came to reading or writing, but she had only become a serious student when joining the Studio during the last five months of the Studio's existence, her career had only just begun when it was cut short, and her family had the rug pulled from under them. She could easily 'talk' online, but her live conversational English was a little hesitant, and needed some practice.

As his mind wandered, thinking about the new work that had come in, he started to formulate a plan of attack in order to gain information for the two jobs. A nudge from Ira roused him from his cogitations, and he talked of the work he needed to get done, as these two projects had a deadline, after which the information would no longer be of any value. Ira shooed him off while she cleared up in the kitchen, in the vain hope he wouldn't be pulling an all nighter, as that was the type of situation which caused him to neglect taking care of himself. She would have to watch over him to ensure he ate, and to get him to take some breaks, as she became restless and couldn't sleep if he wasn't beside her.

“You have to wade through a lot of shit to find pearls”, that was one of his little mantras, which slipped out one day; apologising, Ira told him that he didn't need to clean up his language on her account, and she thought him quaint for his old fashioned values about not cussing or using swear words in front of a lady. Boris never set out to be different but his hobby grew into an obsession, and then a profession, that was by its nature somewhat solitary and isolationist. He was aware he lacked those social skills that other people took for granted, so that meant Ira was bending more to suit his ways than vice-versa.

The first job he needed to tackle was a little commercial espionage, 'firm A' wanted to know if a rival 'firm B' was bidding on a particular contract, and if so, what were the terms in their sealed bid that was due for submission in a week's time. After breeching a firewall he had to navigate his way though an interminable level of protocols to find the relevant folders in order to seek the internal memos and e-mail traffic that pointed him in the right direction. He was becoming frustrated by the way the administrator had arranged some aspects of his domain, and it was tricky reaching the desired data without leaving any foot prints. After hours of searching he at last found and copied the bid documents he had been asked for, and while there found a few other items his client might be willing to buy.

As he considered whether to make a start on his next project, he felt hands on his shoulders, gently kneading the muscles that had tensed up as he had begun to hunch forwards over his keyboard. He groaned and occasionally flinched as the small fingers eased his knotted back, shoulders and neck. It was the nibbling on his ears he found hard to resist as her hands continued to perform magic, besides it was nearly two in the morning, and he was one job up, the other could wait for eight more hours.

Knowing he was tired Ira rode him, her second favourite position, as she could control the pressure on her clit. Moments after he came he was sawing logs, not even aware as she rolled off the spent condom, kissing his cock, and laying down to snuggle beside him.

He drifted back to consciousness to the strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee, opening his eyes, Ira was holding out his favourite mug, with the rocket fuel he needed to start the day. Though he was anxious to get back to work she had other plans, leading him to the bathroom where she had drawn a steaming tub dosed with bath salts. Waiting until after his morning piss she dropped her dressing gown, knowing her naked presence would only make it harder. Then guiding him to the tub, she climbed in behind him, the water rising closer to the rim from their combined displacement.

Boris was feeling like some pampered sultan as Ira again rubbed away his aches and pains, lavishing him with her attention. Supremely relaxed he thought to himself, “Hugh Heffner in your Playboy mansion eat your heart out, you may be surrounded by silicone bimbos only there for your money, but I have a little blonde goddess who really cares about me, and I for her.”

After the bath she quickly dried herself and left him to the remainder of his normal ablutions saying she needed to sort breakfast. Later, shaving Boris looked at the smiling happy, and very lucky man in the mirror. The pleasant surprises of the morning continued when he found she had nipped out to the local bakery by herself to bring him back some bulochky rolls, knowing he preferred them over croissants. As she sat in his lap feeding him, and sharing the rolls between sips of coffee he thought life couldn't get much better.

She licked a drip of honey from the corner of his mouth then with a kiss got up, and sent him off to the lab to resume his labours.

After a quick scan of all his usual message boards and forums, he set to work on his next time critical job, thinking he would post the results of yesterday's work when he knew that client would be in his office, what with the time difference, that would be mid afternoon for Boris. The second job took only a few hours due to the lax security of the target site, but he wasn't going to admit to his client that a much lower level hacker could've walked in and grabbed the information he had been asked to acquire.

Ira was very happy, now feeling secure in her relationship from all the arrangements of the day before, the long term plans, and his concern for her welfare added to the sense of permanence she had been longing for, even if she hadn't thought of it directly in those terms. Knowing he had at least some contact with people from her old life, she wondered how they would see them, surely as an odd couple. Ira started scribbling down the edge of a paper lining up the numbers in two columns, she was nearly fifteen, she had found out that he was forty-one.

He was two and a half times her age, well nearer three, at twenty-six she would be half his age, she would need to look after him looking to their future. What if they were to have a family, she didn't want one yet obviously, but in a few years at maybe eighteen or nineteen, he would be forty-five or six, that wasn't too old to be a dad. That was a long way off, she didn't want to frighten him for now, but she did dream of one day being a mum. Finished in the kitchen, and on her current day dreams, she went to join him, and continue with the her ongoing educational program that would lead to her following in his ghostly footsteps through the cyber world.

Late morning Ira said it was his turn to make the drinks, and she would have a tea, as he was ahead of his tasks he didn't mind taking a break, going off to the kitchen.

Ira had also got his paper while she had been out, so he would start the crossword while he waited on the drinks. Seeing the pencilled figures down the edge, he soon saw their significance, it was their relative ages lined up side by side, is this how she saw them, going on into the future together, it stretched on a way, at sixty she would still only be thirty-four, and their were two little question marks against eighteen and nineteen.

What uncertainty lingered for her at that age, entering college might well prove difficult without a bribe, not having school exam results, unless she wanted to go back, but she had said she wanted to learn his trade. She would no doubt tell him in her own time, but that she saw them as a long term couple gave him a warm feeling inside.

His coffee was fine, but her tea looked a bit stewed, hopefully he would get away with it, or maybe she would ban him from the kitchen.

The tea had steeped too long, but with his hand on her shoulder and a kiss on the cheek in a spontaneous show of affection, she was willing to forgive him for anything.

She would make a point of waking him as she had this morning on a regular basis, if this was the result. A task he had set her a week back was proving quite interesting, as she trawled the net looking for inspiration. Boris was known by more than one moniker in the cyber world, but very few others were aware of that fact, only perhaps by a couple of hackers whom he considered of a similarly advanced standing in their covert domain.

He had asked that she think of a suitable nickname by which she wished to be known when she joined him in their campaign against the top men in the chain of command that had lead to the raids on the Studio. She knew the story of the downfall, having seen the records of Boris in the guise of 'Penates' talking to the mole from the agency known as Janus. Boris was convinced this man was actually the Director of the agency which is why he wouldn't take action against the man, and every contact since confirmed that belief.

Ira felt her choice of name to be important, in that it held power, a sort of magic, and she wanted it to send a message in the same way the two men had sent subtle messages in their own choice of names. As they had both used names from antiquity and mythology she wanted to do likewise, hunting through myth and legend to find the right identity.

She had been given many topics to cover, but she kept scratching away at the task as a diversionary break between her stints on the educational stuff. Looking at the various sites collating references on the name she had been researching, she found the perfect answer.

“Boris! Boris, I've found it, my name, my handle, to use on our mission.”

“Okay, you sound excited, are you going to tell me?”

“The Goddess of Rhamnous.”

He puzzled over the name, thinking he should understand the reference, but for the moment it seemed to elude him. “Greek mythology?”

“Yes, the Goddess who lived at Rhamnous, do you remember her name?”

“You've got me beat, for the life of me I can't put a name to that one.”

“Rhamnous was the 'Sanctuary of Nemesis' the Goddess of revenge, and remorseless divine retribution.”

“I'm impressed, totally apt. The Goddess in her own citadel, smiting her foes with wrathful vengeance, merciless and without pity, though most people would only know nemesis as a word in itself as meaning an enemy, and not the mythological connotation.

Next time I need a new persona, I'll let you choose a suitable name for me.”

“When you find them, I want them to know, to hear my name, and to be frightened, every day they live, I want them to live in fear.”

He could see her steely determination, and the tears that ran down her cheeks, he pulled her into his arms holding her tightly feeling her pain, in the tears shed for her parents.

It hurt too much to speak out loud, but he understood and held her, it was what she needed, grateful they didn't need to talk. He made hot chocolate, took her to bed and held her till she fell asleep all cried out.

The diaspora caused by the raid that had necessitated the dissolution of the entire Studio network, had scattered some staff to the four winds, but the breakdown in communication meant vast numbers of both staff and models lost touch with one another during the time they'd kept their heads down. Slowly links were starting to reappear now the danger had receded, and the Studio became old news, but there would be no Phoenix rising from the ashes. Some of the smaller operators took advantage, by increasing output, expecting to gain new customers, but a few new players tried their hand in a cautious way, wary, not wanting to grow to a size that would warrant the attention of the forces brought to bear upon the fallen giant.

Thousands of miles away a man in a finely tailored suit was having yet another lunchtime meeting in an exclusive club dining room. This was not one of the many carefully staged lunches or dinners he had instigated over the past few months, but rather just one of those run of the mill affairs from his normal routine, meeting with the great and good from the various arms of government that he needed to consult with when they had conjoining interests. All he had expected from the meeting was boredom and indigestion, as his table companion was known to love the sound of his own voice.

It wouldn't do to tune out, for in his community, information was the currency with which they dealt, and even the minutiae could have value. In a throw away comment the name of a political advisor to numerous think tanks was mentioned in relation to a group of people who were praising the success of the bust-up of those awful bastard commie child pornographers. Hardly daring to hope, and not wanting to show any undue interest, he did manage to find out at which social function it had occurred, then deftly segued onto another topic so as not to dwell on the item he had found so valuable.

The Director had access to vast resources, so finding the list of high fliers attending a semi-formal party was child's play, and among those attending it wasn't difficult to sort the wheat from the chaff. The advisor had already been on his radar as a possible candidate, a man of extreme right wing views, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut, especially when it came to controversial topics. Apart from when he was expounding on a proposed lobbyist bandwagon, he kept his powder dry, unless he knew he was in among like minded companions.

Of the remaining list, he could see several possibles who may have been party to that conversation, and one name stood out as a strange addition to the guest list, who was either invited due to his current rise in the media, or maybe because our political advisor had asked the host to include the outspoken evangelist. He ran through all the bio details of each man, and they made odd bedfellows, but it was quite possible they had met in the past, and their dislike of the Studio network would be a subject on which they could agree even if for differing reasons.

The biographies he had on file contained details not in the common domain, not even the gutter press could guess at the dirty laundry in these guys closets. The rapid rise of the TV evangelist may not have been so meteoric if they shone a light into his past, unproven but suspected teen pregnancy's down to the preacher, and possibly an abortion, then naturally there was bound to be financial irregularities in his church mission. He was sure that if he let the hounds loose to shake this guy down, the skeletons would really start to rattle.

His original suspect had his fingers in some murky dealings, but it was as if he had a non stick coating. The evidence went on in reams, but he always managed to distance himself from the wet work – the dead bodies! The shear number of trails and the victims involved, were people whom he would consider at best a left wing nuisance, or more likely unfit to live in the world as he saw it.

The Director had many tools at his disposal to track an individual, but only limited time and resources to deploy them. Data warehousing had been a growing trend over the past few years but the tools to make use of that vast store of knowledge were still catching up. Finding links between the two powerful men going back for possibly over a year, would not prove easy as this political adversary was an extremely cautious player, aware of all the technologies that were available to the elite of Washington. He made a call to his tame black hat, to run a discreet call listing check from both men going back over two years.

Within an hour he got back the results, neither man had ever phoned the other on their personal land lines, or using their mobiles, but they both had common phone contacts on the numbers they called, just not having a time correlation that would suggest messages being passed between them. The fact they had contacts in common, but didn't have one another as phone buddies screamed out as being very significant.

He couldn't spend any more time himself on this quest, from before the raid he had found out both anticommunist and religious factions were pushing the agenda, the two names now in the frame just called out to him, a gut feeling that any good detective would know, when you were convinced all the threads would tie together, all you needed was the proof.

Leaving work he made his way to an anonymous building, a small memory stick in his pocket, thinking about how to word his message to Penates. He logged on to the site for obscure collectables moved through the menu, then selected leave a private message. Even in the unlikely event that the site admin were to view the communication it would be a gibberish hash of letters and symbols due to the encryption, even then if he could read it, it would still make little sense without context.

“Hi Penates, I've come to a tough decision, I'm passing you two names, but I don't have the proof these are the men, just my gut instinct, plus a whole mess of circumstantial evidence that would never hold up in court if this were a judicial case. Over the months of our correspondence, I feel I have come to know you, and I'm sure long ago you had me outed, and kept that knowledge to yourself. Like I stated in my last message, I don't consider your actions disproportionate, the half-wit running the show will not be missed by our industry, as the man was incompetent and another one of those religious nuts to boot. People in our game need logic and instinct, not superstitious claptrap and dogma.”

“Recently I discovered that these two men were seen at a social gathering where the subject of the raid came up, but I have no details of the conversation. I had my tame geek run some phone records, they have some common acquaintances, but no record of them having been in contact. I've thought of another way to check using phone company data, but it would be time consuming, so I couldn't hide it from my end. Aside from call data there will be records of location, either via GPS or via triangulation from towers on older phones, I suspect they both have the latest handsets. If you can dig deep enough, you can track their location 24/7 whether they're using the phone or not.

Finding that pair together at the same location prior to the raid would be a smoking gun, providing it's a private meeting, and not some big official function or gala event.”

Ephraim Larkin Porter the third – Political advisor and lobbyist

Reverend Obadiah Franklin – TV evangelist, head of 'The Franklin Save the world mission'

“I trust in you to check if these are the men who deserve your special brand of thanks, and I will do what I can to help within reason if you find the proof you need.

Good luck, your friend – Janus.”

Chapter 4 – Across the city.

Not all girls fared as badly as Ira after the initial collapse, for some it was worse, much worse, they had been sucked up by the traffickers in human misery, now held in grim brothels all across Europe and around the Mediterranean. Their 'saviours' didn't report that little item, or any of the other heartbreaking stories to the news media.

Those girls that had already retired, had moved on using their network gained experience, along with the cash to enhance their lives, but looked on helpless at the unfolding disaster. Older girls who were still with the network at the end, kept their heads down for a while, then when the dust cleared, some looked for a 'legitimate' mainstream modelling career in the fashion world, a few even lied about their age, confident enough to enter the soft porn industry despite that being way down at the bottom of their list of career choices.

The more established models, or those with the most cautious parents weathered the storm, some with their lives pretty much unchanged, other than the girls no longer having the same lucrative income stream. Two girls of thirteen were still bosom buddies, though they'd had many other adventures since their first sleepover together. Eve and Anna were not lesbians, they had both found boys had their uses, but it was great fun having a lover, a best friend and a confidant just down the road.

Marta still had her rock steady boyfriend Karl, though he was in her eyes, and that of their families her fiancée in all but name, and he confirmed he felt the same way. Being only sixteen she saw further education as part of her future plans, having decided to go for a degree in business management, this would help her father, and at some point she could become a consultant with a bit of sneaky back-door help from Karl to get a fuller picture about any of the companies she dealt with, (and their rivals) that is those that were smart enough to seek her help. In the mean time while still in school she had gained a few extra credits for her chosen University course by taking evening classes to speed up her agenda.

She was proud of the way Karl had looked to their future during the troubles.

While they had watched in horror as the sharks began to circle, it had become inevitable that the Studio was doomed, and their lives would change forever. Karl had realised he couldn't very well hawk around a CV from a collapsed business that would be castigated in the media, still with an ongoing manhunt for the missing staff. He needed a career shift, with a way to get into the kind of companies where he could utilise his cyber skills.

Despite the tense situation at the time, Boris had helped Karl with his scheme aimed initially at three commercial targets who were heavily computerised. The basic idea was to install two back doors into a company's computer system, so you could add a virus of your choice, then during the time Karl was there for an interview as a consultant, or soon after while his name was still fresh in their minds a minor panic would ensue, he would then be able to save the day. It was a little more involved than that, but it proved successful, and he was able to show where the systems had been 'hacked' and shut down the back door; well one of them anyway, leaving the other available for a rainy day.

With hacking, cyber crime and viruses to deal with, there was a lack of home grown talent across that field, so young as he was, he now had a viable business with clients paying for his ongoing security advice as a consultant, and for his occasional site visits.

This 'legitimate' business gave him the respectable cover he required, plus an income that shielded all his other online activities.

They had all learned a salutary lesson from the take down of the Studio network, and Boris had been working in conjunction with Karl to identify those countries that could provide hosting services that would be free from the illegal and unwarranted interference from third parties. Never again would they tolerate the hassle from foreign TLA's, or those so called do-gooders who thought they knew best how to guide another's moral compass.

The former mentor and acolyte rarely met now in the physical sense, while their contacts in cyberspace were shrouded by both obscurity and encryption, to a level only thought of as necessary by those of a paranoid mindset, or those who truly knew just how insidious some governments could be with their total disregard for personal freedoms.

Ironically it was those so called bastions of free speech that wanted to ensure they knew everyone else's private business. Although Boris would probably never admit it out loud, he was inordinately proud of how Karl was gaining a growing reputation within their own elite circles.

The vacuum left by the demise of the Studio had left the market open to all the smaller players, who were for the most part those operations that took advantage of the girls in their thrall. If the TLA's had really wanted to do some good, these would have been the ideal targets to aim at, but they instead wanted to make headlines, taking down the giant that was ironically among the few agency's to actually take care of their young models.

Karl had been working towards developing a viable business scheme whereby individual models could log in to use a template system to host their own personal website within an overall domain. All the issues had now been resolved regarding the secure money transfer, in exchange for the compressed zip files of each girl's photo or video offerings.

Tentative approaches had been made to those families they knew well, with details about the new service that would soon become available.

There would be no flashy website, no URL openly advertised in the public domain, for Karl had IP addresses and e-mail details for the entire membership of the old Studio, with data on their download habits, and their preferences, which lead to him compiling a well vetted prospective client list. They'd agonised for weeks over the subtle wording of the message to be sent out to the chosen few. The end result had been checked over by their two main former English teachers who had worked with the models.

The wording was clever in that if seen by any casual observer it might appear to be just another innocuous spam e-mail, but serious fans of the fallen empire would recognise bits of text, and phrases used in the Forum that had only been available to the Platinum and Gold-plus members they were aiming at. It had been time consuming in that the first few lines on each individual message had been personalised, using that person's old password as the reference code to use in reply to their offer. Basically it was a bespoke hidden site in the backwaters, only available to high net worth individuals.

When they were ready for the initial launch it would start off small, just a select 500, then as business picked up they would send out more invitations each week to increase their numbers. Having seen what was already out there, they decided they would host any type of style except for actual adult-child sex, or any hurt-core, a new disgusting and disturbing trend that they found abhorrent.

Various models who were interested had each been asked to put forward a brief on the style of the proposed content they would have on offer. Karl, aided by Marta and Anna had then looked through the applications, many of the girls had their banked sets they wished to make use of, and they wanted to continue in a similar if less grand vein, but the others were quite widespread in their ideas. Karl had at first baulked at some of the schemes, it was the closest he and Marta had ever come to a disagreement, though she'd eventually brought him around to see her point of view.

Two models wanted to have a spanking theme to their pictures, but both girls managed to convince Marta it was something they enjoyed, and that it wouldn't go beyond any sort of mild consensual discipline. Marta had given it a lot of thought, they lived in a perverse world, where violence was commonplace, seen on a daily basis in film and in the media, but conversely a little discipline that might help guide a wayward youth was seen by the PC brigade as totally OTT. Go figure out the liberal mind set, where they couldn't equate that the current degeneration of society was due in part to the lack of discipline needed to instil decent values.

There were other themes that were either edgy or niche, but Marta's contention was that in order to thrive, they needed to innovate, and each of these models was running their own show, on their own terms. No matter how obscure a fetish any girl wanted to cater for, there was bound to be an audience out there somewhere. Though going beyond what had been acceptable previously on the Studio's network titles, they developed wider limits for what they deemed suitable within their new venture.

Nobody could afford the financial outlay to follow what the old Studio network had done, and they didn't want to garner that level of web presence or recognition. Though invited members to this new service would see some familiar faces or backgrounds, any of the banked sets the girls had stashed away were devoid of the former company's logo, as that was something included when a set was actually launched, while these were all previously unseen works. Each girl or individual group contributor would rise or fall dependent upon their own merits, Karl taking a nominal percentage to cover costs. With a slim organisation the girls would get almost the entire fee a member paid for each and every download.

The models were never going to achieve the earnings they'd made in former times, but even a few downloads per week would give them enough to pay the rent and put food on the table, such was the differential in spending power between themselves and their wide prospective membership half a world away.

Karl had thought for a while about using his skills to out real child abusers, but realised the authorities would either screw up rescuing the kids involved, or conversely do nothing if they couldn't see themselves getting covered in glory and recognition.

He couldn't solve all the problems of the world, he just had to look after those closest to him, like his own parents, and Marta and her family, although he did what he could for those who used to be with the Studio. Some women from the dressmaking workshop had started up two adjacent shops, one obviously doing high end clothing, and the other did all kinds of household soft furnishings. He'd helped them with estimating software, and by sabotaging a few of their rivals, so that custom would come their way. There were several other businesses that arose from the ashes of the Studio with whom he kept in contact.

Some of Marta's original MMC lads had grown up to join IMC builders which was a thriving concern, but new street lads, and several girls had joined up since that first chat at a park bench. He was proud of what Marta had achieved, as numbers had grown each year until they were organised as separate local chapters, gaining both skills and self-respect as they hauled themselves from the gutter with just a little help and mentoring.

She doted on her baby brother to the point he sometimes worried she might get broody, but he knew her head was screwed on tight, plus she had academic goals in mind first.

Having kids of their own could wait until she had her Degree, though their getting married was set for after she turned eighteen. He knew about Anna and Eve, how close they were, but both were turning into little heart breakers, so maybe it had been a good thing they had taken up martial arts. Anna's interest in horses hadn't diminished, as she remained a minority partner in the Stables where she kept Silver, although that was still Igor's name on the actual paperwork due to her age.

He and Boris kept their eyes open for any of the old names from the Studio, though it was difficult the way people had scattered during the troubles, but whenever they could they put people in touch with one another, or lent a hand in any way they thought possible.

He also knew about Boris' campaign against the various people from the TLA who'd been responsible for the raid, as his old mentor kept him informed about all the misfortunes that rained down upon the people who'd wronged them.

He loved the way it made the sisters smile with news of each fresh incident.

Karl was happy to leave those inventive plans to the main man, because he had the skills to make those things happen. The cancelled hunting trip, and the keyed car with all the hassle from the insurance company had been inspired thinking, and he knew the man was just waiting for the opportunity to blight the lives of all those who'd taken part.

Though they kept in contact he had always known Boris to be a quiet and private person, so it was hardly surprising the latest piece of news about his mentor had come from a schoolmate of Anna's, an ex-model who lived near to his old friend. Apparently when seen out over recent weeks he'd had a constant shadow in attendance, a girl called Ira who used to attend the other main school sponsored by the Studio. When Karl next sent Boris an encrypted message he mentioned that the Goose sisters sent their best wishes to him and to his companion Ira.

The return message didn't use the girl's name, but he did refer to a new hacker in training who went by the title 'The Goddess of Rhamnous' who had personal reasons to have the same enemies as those people they all held dear. Karl scratched his head, he could do an online search, but instead he went through to the library next to his workroom looking through the selection of books on Greek myths and fables, smiling at the appropriateness he replaced the reference tome. It was Marta that suggested they have one whole room as a dedicated library, and it was also convenient that they now owned the large detached house next door to her own family!

Chapter 5 – In search of rats.

Ira followed intently as Boris outlined the work ahead, thinking you knew wasn't the same as knowing you knew, it would be amiss of them to target the wrong people from being sloppy, besides they both wanted to hurt those who'd done so much harm.

Ephraim Larkin Porter the third – Political advisor and lobbyist.

Reverend Obadiah Franklin – TV evangelist, head of 'The Franklin Save the world mission'

Looking at their images on the screen she wanted to spit on them, shit on them, or stab them both with a tiny blunt rusty knife hundreds of times over, then she wanted them to recover so she could start all over again. His hands squeezing her shoulders felt strange, reassuring sort of, in that it was what she normally did for him when he was feeling tense.

They had to do this properly, logically, they had a way in to the various phone company records, data on a big scale – data warehousing.

It was still well beyond her understanding but Boris was running two search algorithms, one that would track the whereabouts of the two men and their closest associates from a point a year before the raid up until a month or so afterwards. The second search was for any calls between anyone linked to target one who was on the phone list of target two, which might prove a link, so they could check those phone logs. Janus suspected Porter would never allow communications to be via a computer, simply because he wasn't very computer literate, therefore didn't trust anyone else who might see what he was doing.

As the information was picked out on a minute by minute basis they could follow both men's movements, sometimes from State to State, other times street to street. At first it was taking over an hour to unravel each 24 hour period, which Ira thought would take her a couple of months, but soon she could read the more common grid references and the work began to speed up. She'd deliberately used blue markers for the right wing politician, and the green the colour of American bank notes for the greedy TV evangelist.

So far they didn't show up in the same areas, not even the same cities, meanwhile Boris was following the links between associates of the two men over the same extended period looking for clues. Her own work was progressing faster than the task Boris had set himself, although after three weeks she was beginning to despair they would ever find any links, then there was a gap – no phone data for three hours, it happened with both men and while they were both in Washington.

Boris must have been happy because he spontaneously kissed her, telling her it was the first proof of a meeting, and now he had a date he would check backwards from that point to see when their colleagues had made contact, which he was soon able to nail down.

Their work from then onwards proved far easier, having the link men, then finding the two locations where they preferred to meet. Well not exactly, as they'd both dropped off the map, but the non-data was just as powerful a proof because both men had disappeared together on several occasions, although Porter himself did wink out of existence at several other times as well.

Boris wrote out another program to pick out certain parameters, and although the men didn't meet that often, the traffic through their link men increased considerably around the time of the raid on the Studio, to a point they were talking several times a day during the height of the investigation. The pattern continued with spikes in activity matching events on their own doorstep, he allowed Ira to write the Thank-you note to Janus.

“Hi Janus,

Though we haven't spoken before, Penates gave me the honour of replying in respect to the information you provided. Your gut instinct was not wrong, it took many long hours to find the links, but once found the trail was irrefutable, I was one of their victims, my life was over till Penates literally picked me out of the gutter as I'd lost all hope, all reason to live. My life is now on a different course under his caring guidance, and together we have unfinished business to settle.”

“I have learned of your part in events, if not for your warnings the suffering would have been far greater, and for that I thank you on behalf of my sister models. The wrongs done in the names of “law and justice” can never be put right, the pain and loss are permanent. I have a name, chosen with that same care that you and my mentor took in finding your own names, names that would convey a message. When my enemies see my name I wish them to know my wrathful vengeance is merciless and without pity - right to the last days of their miserable existence.”

“Yours with thanks and respect - The Goddess of Rhamnous.”

In the basement of an anonymous building Janus checking his mail logged onto a site for obscure collectables moved through the menu, selecting to collect any private messages. The communication when decrypted was surprising, not that Penates had unearthed the evidence, that was no less than he had expected, the surprise was his sidekick.

If he read it right his friend had saved one of the poor girls who'd fallen foul of the whole sorry affair, which seemed so at odds with the loner types in the murky world of black-hats at the level at which Penates operated. He sent a brief reply and shut down the machine.

The Goddess of Rhamnous was not the only person Porter and Franklin needed to fear, for Karl was also in the loop, as between them they amassed information about the men they wished to destroy. Ira was straining at the leash wanting to pour out some of her hatred on the two men, but she understood the need for patience. Like the man in Leavenworth they would gather every last byte of information it was possible to find on these two men, until they knew everything that was ever recorded on a public or private database.

Knowing of Porter's mistrust of computers, and his limited skills in that respect, Boris had made it his business to hack the computer of everyone the man dealt with, starting with his staff and associates, working his way outwards till he reached a point of diminishing returns. The Reverend, and his 'Mission' were heavily reliant on computers, if for no other reason than to filter the money into his offshore accounts. It was another three weeks before he was certain they had secured all the links it was possible to gain, and multiple back-doors were in place on each machine they might want to access later.

Next in his plan Boris went on a tour of the States, though only through the cyber world in an effort to gain multiple assets on the ground, pawns he could bring into play later.

A gift of some free data, or even something as simple as passing on a few hacks or some back-doors to porn-sites or other databases stacked up the markers he could call in at will.

All the warehoused phone data they'd already traced told him which phones were of value in their quest, he now knew where these men and their friends were in real time, and now he recorded every conversation they made, and every text they sent or received. At will he could turn their phones into bugs any time he wanted, or he could render them useless so that it appeared as if they had no coverage, Boris owned their world of comms and data.

The Reverend Obadiah Franklin took the first hit. Ira had been fuming at the obscene sum the man had spent having his house remodelled, redecorated top to bottom, new cinema in the basement, and a kitchen with every modern appliance available even in the States.

They followed the news feeds from NBC, CNN plus the other main US news channels.

“At the top of the hour we bring the latest on the fiasco regarding the home of the well known TV evangelist, the Reverend Obadiah Franklin. While he was on tour preaching to packed audiences, a demolition company brought in a wrecking ball and totally erased his magnificent home from the face of the map. Eyewitnesses said it was a scene of absolute devastation with many taking photographs or videos as the entire mansion was raised to the ground over the course of a two hour demolition derby.”

“The Reverend and his wife didn't hear the news till after the dust had settled, they were enraged that their home was just a pile of debris, and promised to take the demolition company to court seeking damages, in a counter claim the demolition company released copies of the detailed e-mail instructions regarding the work, plus the certified bank transfer as a deposit for the work, and they demand the balance on the money owed.”

“A police computer forensics expert confirmed the message had originated from the Reverend's own office computer that had now been seized in connection with the case for further examination. The Reverend's own bank said they couldn't comment at this time, but the bank of the demolition company were able to confirm an electronic money transfer had been made, and from an account associated with the Obadiah Franklin Mission.”

Knocking his house down had just been a piece of fun, getting his office computer seized as evidence was the heart of their mission. Like layers of an onion the investigators would find one corruption scandal after another, some real, some fake, but the trail of evidence on each would lead to other computers where verifiable date stamped files would provide all the proof that was needed to have him in and out of courtrooms for the next twenty years, of course they'd be journeys back and forth in a prison van chained to a law officer.

To add to the initial farce an officer from the county district works department then filed a claim that the relevant paperwork hadn't been submitted prior to the demolition which was required under a local ordinance. The land owner had to file the necessary forms in advance of the work, as the demolition company had been misled that this paperwork had already been filed correctly and on time. This was only the first step in moving forwards to expose various shady land and property dealings by the good Reverend.

Just to ensure he lost favour with all of his followers it was soon 'leaked' to the press that back from his early days there were payments to a couple of abortion clinics which paid for three terminations to young teenage girls in his parish district, although their names couldn't be released because they were minors at the time.

Obadiah couldn't believe how rapidly his carefully constructed web of lies and deceit was becoming unravelled. It had all started with a strange phone call when he'd gone back to his dressing room at the big fund raising rally. Not many people had his private number, all the common people had to go through one of his call centres to make donations, but his phone had been playing up all day, even the ring tone had been odd, then a foreign voice.

“Obadiah Franklin, I'm 'The Goddess of Rhamnous' here to punish you, tremble every time you hear my name.”

That was it, the call ended without him even speaking, he'd had his share of crank calls so gave it no mind, though the very next call was about the disaster of his home being totally destroyed by some demolition company who said he'd paid them a large deposit to do it, now they wanted the remainder of the agreed price. He would never have thought back to that call, but for the odd way a strange business card kept cropping up, in his mailbox, or falling out of his newspaper, a white card with a black border, no details other than the name in black – The Goddess of Rhamnous.

He'd thought of taking them to the police, but what would he say, it contained no threat, that had only come in the phone call, though even that didn't show up in his call history log, besides he wasn't the cops favourite person right now, and he didn't like the direction of their investigations. There were skeletons that should have remained buried in the past where they belonged, people had been paid off years ago, the supporting documents were supposed to have disappeared forever.

The county district works department got in the first kick issuing a writ of non-compliance, and fining him seven thousand dollars. The next insult was a judge rubber stamping an order that he was liable to pay the remaining balance for the demolition of his house, plus court costs. To keep his head spinning the county district works department then came back with an abatement notice in regard to building waste from his plot causing a hazard and a litter nuisance for which he was also fined and told to sort it out within seven days, or they would have the work done for which he would be billed, and then fined again.

Apparently the demolition company's instructions were to leave the rubble on site for the client to deal with, so he couldn't even counter claim on them. The catastrophic demise of his beautiful home was costing him a fortune, and everyone had their hand out for money.

Boris had State-side friends who were looking up obscure local ordinances and city codes, then various officials seemed to get instructions that they should be rigidly enforced in this case in particular to show nobody was above the law. All the distractions and harassment were meant to ensure Franklin missed the bigger picture. Dealing in person with all the petty local officials was time consuming and endlessly bureaucratic, so that when at last the real criminal proceedings came to the fore he would be punch drunk from the start.

Ephraim Larkin Porter wouldn't normally concern himself with the scandal sheets or the more salacious news items, but couldn't help but see the spate of recent stories about his collaborator in the Ukrainian affair, so he was pleased to have kept the oily evangelist at arms length. There was nothing that anyone could dig up that could link the two of them, their machinations had been done separately from behind the scenes out of public gaze.

Boris himself was someone who kept out of the public gaze being a very private individual, encountering few people in any physical sense, on nodding terms with those living nearby, and in those stores he regularly visited, most of his friends were similarly shadowy figures from the cyber world he inhabited. The one major exception was the young girl who had invaded his life, bringing him the human companionship he'd always lacked in the past.

Ira was a damaged soul who'd been in need of rescue, and he'd been her unlikely saviour.

She loved to follow the news stories about their transgressors, her excitement rising with each catastrophe that befell them, often wanting to celebrate in a physical way, several times she'd ridden in his lap, or blown him senseless at her joy in reading the headlines. Those people that did see him out and about with a young blond glued to his side would see the drawn sallow man of some months ago was now looking a lot healthier, that is if they'd cared to take notice. People didn't notice though because most of them had enough problems of their own to deal with.

Ira now took the trouble to see they went out for a brisk walk on most days, worried that he spent too much time welded to his seat in front of the monitors. Ira knew she would have been dead by now without his intervention, so she felt it was her job to look after him as best she could. She was learning about what pressed his buttons, what he found to be exciting, taking clues from some of the stuff she saw online to keep their sex life full of new experiences.

From just rubbing his shoulders when he'd been tense at his desk, she moved on to learn all about massage. It transpired to be a good move as he in turn tried the same on her, so they were both winners from that experiment. She also liked to keep him guessing, in that one day she'd wear demure childish underwear, the next she might go without completely, and recently she'd bought some crotchless panties from the naughty knickers store.

She'd also found they sold a leotard style undergarment that had poppers at the crotch so as to allow you to pee without getting undressed, it was also great for impromptu sex. Later on she found he thought it was sexy that she'd re-secure the poppers, only to be leaking his spunk into the crotch of the garment for the rest of the day, which often lead to a second round of lovemaking after he helped her clean up in the bathroom before they went to bed. She reckoned with the regular walks and the frequent sex Boris was getting a lot more exercise than he'd been getting in the past.

They were in no great hurry to speed up the torture of their targets. Boris passed on each news item to various friends, with Karl finding someone who had the time to translate each of them, to then repost the articles for those less able to read foreign news stories.

The lesser criminals, those minions who'd been sent to carry out the orders of their bosses were not immune from the continuing reign of harassment. Cancelled trips and gouged cars were merely the tip of the iceberg, as Ira thought she should include those four who hadn't been affected quite so much as yet. With online shopping becoming all the rage it seemed you could buy almost anything in the US with a few mouse clicks and a credit card number, which of course she had, as they knew many things about their targets.

Karl Simmons lived in a detached house on a small landscaped plot of which he was very proud, as they could tell from the gardening magazines he subscribed to. She would have loved to have seen his face, seeing his whole garden under two truck loads of fresh ripe steaming manure, plus the large dent in his bank balance to pay for it. For several weeks he was in trouble with his wife and neighbours until he'd finally paid for it all to be carted away, but the stench had remained for weeks afterwards even though his once beautiful garden had been scraped to a bare desolate surface.

Mitchell Hayes suffered a prank arranged through some bad boys from the hood who lived just a car ride away, willing to do a job for a few cracking codes that would give them access to a bunch of illegally copied games. The agent woke at four-thirty in the morning to the sound of a loud bang. The power had fused in his basement, hardly surprising when it held four feet of water that was coming in from a hosepipe through one of the tiny widows just above ground level. His insurance company could find no record of him ever being one of their customers, suggesting the paperwork he had was fraudulent.

Ray Martin got an ongoing case of embarrassment as incontinence supplies got delivered care of various neighbours on his block as each of them in turn were given as an approved alternate delivery address. As they also had control of his e-mail his complaints didn't even fall on deaf ears, they just disappeared. Due to the sensitive nature of the products the company didn't issue a business telephone number – everything was done online!

Running out of ideas for the fourth guy, Ira asked Boris to cancel all of his standing orders at the bank, which of course included his cell phone, and the mortgage payments on his house, which ended up giving him nightmares for months as he tried to resolve it all.

Of the seven agents only two now occasionally worked together, having been assembled as a team for the one foreign job overseas. Though their friends and colleagues may have sympathised about their various misfortunes, they weren't connected as having a common denominator, as they were mostly put down to the glitches that occurred in a world run by idiots using computers. In fact it was down to brilliant black-hats using computers.

It was only ever fundamentalist right wing Christian groups, and moralising commentators on the media that had a gripe with the Studio that had been taken down. Anyone with half a brain and ten minutes to think about the situation, could see the operation did far more good than harm in a region that was so desperately poor. Unfortunately those who should have been the real target; the child abusers, the child pornographers, and those taking advantage of the vulnerable were all small time operators who came and went, making them all that much harder to track down.

The Studio and those associated with it hated those very same people every bit as much as the general public in any place that abhorred the mistreatment of women or of minors. Though small timers came and went on a regular basis there was little Boris or any of his ilk could do to shut them down, so it was no wonder that the TLA's failed on that type of operator. Boris did know the dark corners were they lurked, and the servers where they were most likely to host their awful filth, which had allowed him to infest his first target's computer with such harrowing images, which is why he would never leave Leavenworth.

With all but one of their rats having their lives plagued with various forms of trouble, it was time to research how best to upset the man behind the scenes who had wielded the most political clout, the man who had set the raid in motion from a place in the shadows.