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.

Chapter 10 – Ira, Boris and friends.

Ira loved her current life, it wasn't like the one she was living a few years back, before the raid she was just becoming accustomed to the excitement and wealth of a career as a model. It was glamorous though secretive as well, enjoying that shared experience with a few dozen girls at her own school, and a similar number of girls who attended an equally prestigious school which was also favoured by those Studio girls who lived in the city.

Boris had been part of that same world though very much in the background, as she had only ever met him the once when speaking with Dmitri in the IT department regarding her future dreams of a career in computing. She had a flare for languages, and the Studio had sponsored the English teacher at her school, she had also taken extra lessons in her own time. When Boris had found her, taking her under his wing, he'd said her skills weren't too bad, but over the past couple of years many of her skills had grown in leaps and bounds.

In a text conversation she was sure most people would mistake her for an American as she was taught their simpler form of spelling, and aside from her accent Ira reckoned she could hold her own in any English speaking country. Most of the paying work they were involved in required them to visit websites where English predominated, though they did have many contacts who also spoke Russian. All the rest was the intrinsic language of computer code, so in a way she had realised her ideal of becoming involved in computers, though it turned out this new career was far more covert than her one in modelling.

Boris was inordinately proud Ira's progress, in that she exceeded the initial pace of Karl his first protege, but then he spent almost all his waking hours with Ira, and all of his sleeping ones with her curled up next to him in bed. It was a life he never could have imagined, in a bitter-sweet way it was one of the very few good things to come from the raid, though he could never voice this thought because the devastation had caused her parents to jump in front of a train.

The true cost in human misery would never be known, suicides or deaths from disease, malnutrition, or the cold of winter were either not recorded, or unavailable.

He knew via Karl and the Goose sisters that apart from the more established models who'd laid aside some form of equity for their future, that many others had disappeared through the cracks, not to be heard of again. Those who'd invested in the various building schemes had done well, converting their capital into a steady ongoing income stream that kept the wolf from the door, and food on the table.

Karl, Marta, Anna, and Anna's best friend Eve were all involved in the launch of a far more secretive modelling gateway that Karl had devised. Those girls they were able to contact who had saved 'banked' photo-sets or videos would be able to continue earning a decent living, and others were set to produce their own new niche subsets that would be hosted via the hub Karl had organized in a jurisdiction where any meddlesome foreigners couldn't easily interfere. The exclusivity would be due to the invitation only membership, people gleaned from the list of platinum members from the old network who would be prepared to pay a hefty premium to facilitate access to their particular range of interests.

Limiting their eventual customer base to only a few thousand high net worth individuals in these foreign markets would provide many families a substantial income for years to come if they followed the Goose sisters wise guidance. This relativity small operation being out of sight of the general web user would deny any TLA the fanfare of publicity they'd sought when they took down the old Studio network.

Boris still did his daily cryptic crossword, and unknown to Ira he'd saved the margin of that paper where some time ago she had pencilled in their relative ages side by side.

He knew well enough that his people skills were lacking, and that women most of all were beyond his understanding, as normal logic didn't apply. Ira was very good to him, making allowances for his ineptitude, not expecting him to read any subtle clues, and very pleased when he did pick up her mood without her explaining things in simple black and white.

He'd kept that scrap of paper because she'd seemed to see them together long into the future, but he'd puzzled over the two question marks. He was a creature of logic, so what was the uncertainty that lingered around her late teens, she still had no interest in going to University, believing her education was better served learning at his side.

It had taken Boris over a year to finally work it out for himself, though he couldn't be certain, as the clues were so sparse.

He sometime saw the women's magazines Ira read when taking a break from the screen, as a closed magazine would show little gaps between those pages that had remained open for some time, telling which articles the person had stopped to read, flattening it out on the table. If the subject should come up it wouldn't be such a shock, he was prepared to listen if it was what she truly wanted. He had never imagined himself as having a real partner, or wife if you will, now it was so... but if she did raise the subject of children he was not going to faint, though fatherhood would be a big step that made him smile.

He still wasn't sure if that was the meaning of the question marks, but he'd continue to look out for any other clues, and clues stood out more if you knew what you were looking for. He also had her upcoming birthday to think about, they hadn't really made much of birthdays up till now, neither his nor hers, but for her seventeenth he wanted to man up and give her something special, something that would have meaning to a girl of her age.

The restaurant overlooking the river was far above the sort of place they would normally eat on those occasions when they did dine out, but she remembered some of her friends talking of watching the lights on the river over celebratory meals. The week before he had waited patiently at the café across the road from the shop while she had chosen a new dress for their night out. They had been to see an extravagant matinee stage show with live songs and dancing which she knew he'd sat though just because she would enjoy it. The meal and the service had been amazing, but the biggest surprise had been the ring.

She knew they wouldn't get married, it went against the grain, no more official paperwork than was absolutely necessary, stay below the radar, be prepared to move at a moments notice. Almost nothing they did was legal, it appeared to anyone who cared to look as if Boris lived off the income from a small inheritance, but he had accounts stashed all over the place, and travellers cheques or money orders could arrive in a couple days with just the click of a few keys. It didn't matter what anyone thought, the simple gold band was more than she could have ever hoped for, Boris loved her, and that was enough.

Even Boris could see they were tears of joy, he was glad to have done the right thing, he just found it hard to cope with a crying girl. He wanted them to be a couple, pleased that Ira had been so happy about the symbol of his commitment. Trust did not come easy to anyone in their line of business, always hiding behind multiple proxies and false identities, it was likely Ira knew more about him than any other person on the planet.

A week after her birthday he was still ruminating over the possibility of parenthood in case that was on Ira's agenda, he could imagine any child of hers would be blessed with good looks providing his genetics didn't play too greater part. With a child to consider she would want somewhere nicer than their current home, maybe an extra bedroom, and a place nearer to a park or playground. The basement flat with it's tiny windows hadn't bothered him, and Ira had never complained, but if their situation were to change it wouldn't be right to bring up a child under those conditions when they could afford so much better.

He could afford to live practically anywhere he wanted, but it paid to be more circumspect.

Karl, or more correctly his father-in-law Igor and the IMC could hold the answer, and Karl would be discreet, after-all he'd never let slip to Marta about his apprenticeship in the dark arts. It hadn't become known until the wolves were knocking at the door, with Karl helping at the time when Janus had first contacted the Studio. He left Karl a message.

“My dear friend, it's possible in a year or so that I may consider moving to a new home in the city. Don't mention this to anyone as it may or may not happen, but I know you keep an eye on the city's property market, so could keep me in mind. I might need somewhere with three bedrooms so as to have space for the equipment as is needed for our mutual pastime, and you also know of my general concerns. Ideally it should be near a park as I take more care of my health these days, and obviously somewhere with good access to a main trunk run to the nearest ISP.”

Karl smiled as he looked at the message from his old mentor, for Boris it was positively verbose, Ira had certainly done a lot to change the guy, last time they'd met in person for a coffee in town he'd looked very different with the new hairstyle and smarter clothing. Not anything to stand out in crowd but a marked improvement on the original. Karl had never been to visit Boris, but he knew the general neighbourhood, thinking his friend had one of the few two bedroom flats in the basement of a building not far from the shops.

He'd kind of guessed at some point Boris and Ira had become an item, with Marta shaking her head when he'd mentioned it, telling him he was somewhat slow on the uptake as she had realised that long before. Boris wouldn't move on a whim, yet he was saying it was still only a possibility, and even then not for another year at least. There was no way Boris would have a large server farm in his own place, they both stole storage space elsewhere, so it was bullshit about needing equipment space for his pastime.

The pair of them could work using two laptops on a kitchen table, and from what he'd gleaned the two of them were really close, so it's not like Ira would be moving out of his bedroom for one of her own. Karl nearly slapped himself for being so stupid, he only had to look out of the window to see the extension on the house next door. Back when Ella fell pregnant with Mark they'd bought the house solely to avoid moving, and to build the extra room as a nursery. His own parents had been stunned when last year he'd bought the house next door to his girlfriend's family, he was still trying to persuade them to move in with him, but so far they wouldn't budge saying they didn't want to crowd him and Marta.

The logical conclusion was Boris and Ira were considering a family after her eighteenth birthday, so for once he might actually know more than Marta about the relationship of their two friends. He'd begin the search right away, and if he couldn't find the right place he would see what could be done with anything on the current schedule of IMC that could be adapted to suit Boris whose sterling efforts had saved so many from a fate that could have been far worse at the time of the raids. He was still seeking vengeance on behalf of the lost families along with Ira at his side in her guise as The Goddess of Rhamnous.

Karl had heard the latest tales of her exploits, thanking the guy who'd shot Franklin, then getting a professional asset on the ground to increase their foe's anguish. A new internet video was doing the rounds, reappearing as fast as it was taken down. A montage of news headlines about the ex-TV evangelist overlaid with the Colonel Bogey tune and someone singing; instead of Hitler, it began 'Franklin has only got one ball' then another speaking voice cuts in to say in fact he has none at all, as both his balls and his dick had been given in sacrifice to the Goddess. Karl had reposted it himself to a large number of servers to help ensure it remained in circulation.

He continued to keep their city based friends from the Studio, and a few in the provinces up to date with the misfortunes of their foes, as they had use of computers, but he was told they passed on what they could to any others they could reach. He passed back to Boris and Ira the gratitude of the victims that their enemies were being punished for the wrong they had done. Meanwhile he and his helpers did what they could to enable some of their friends to make an income from his small hosting service.

At eighteen Marta still made some pretence of living at home for part of the week, if only to help out with the three boys. Most weekends and maybe one or two nights a week she would stay over with Karl, which as he lived in the house next door it was very convenient. Karl was also a frequent visitor going in the other direction, especially at supper time with Ella being such a good cook, he and Marta also visited his parents for a meal once or twice a month. Marta knew his parents were inordinately proud of Karl's achievements, and rightly so, for few guy's would run a business and own a house by the age of twenty-one.

The couple had long ago decided they were right for one another, with Marta saying she wanted to get married before her nineteenth birthday, and plans were now well advanced for the big day. She would have been quite content to have a small civil ceremony, but when Elena, Karl's mum got together with her own mum, then started to compile a guest list things got well out of hand. The main registry office wasn't large enough, and Marta was sure her mum had engineered the situation to have a massive church wedding.

In a time before they moved to the city, they had known what it was like to be poor, even having Nana Olga and Gramps over for the odd meal stretched their budget in those days, and their family had been better off than many in their town. When Anna became a model with the Studio, it had turned their lives around, all of what they'd achieved since then was set in motion from that single event, and the money they had so wisely invested.

They had found many others like themselves who were willing to work if given the chance, and their investment in people who were down on their luck had rolled forwards with it's own momentum. GRINS-1 (Girls retirement investment network syndicate) and each of the following projects converted capital into an ongoing revenue stream that had been the salvation of many of their friends. Marta didn't hear of any of the girls families getting any savings stolen by their enemies at the time of the raids, but she wouldn't put it past the corrupt local officials, so the core of city families had taken great care to hide their wealth.

Ivan had lovingly called Anna and herself the Goose sisters because he said so many of their ideas were like golden eggs, and he'd never treated them as children. He had once described her ideas as force multipliers, small nudges that had an effect far beyond the applied effort. Looking back she supposed he was right, they were given encouragement, and as nobody said 'it couldn't be done' most of those crazy ideas had been put to work.

It gave her confidence far beyond her years, with Anna and many of the other Studio girls gaining so much from their experience that had benefited them over the past few years. Though Anna was only sixteen she had the poise and confidence of an adult brought on by both her modelling career plus her involvement in business deals and finance. Much to Marta's surprise and probably to her father's relief boys were not among Anna's primary interests, despite the amount of attention she received from guys in or out of school.

Some of the staff from the Studio had a difficult time in the months directly after the raids, but during that one conference when many of the local survivors had met up, plans were made to arrange new opportunities for their friends. The set painters and a few of those carpenters involved in building the sets had worked with IMC, so they were taken on full time. From the women who'd worked on making the costumes a deal was made to finance two shops in a smart district in town, one providing high end bespoke dressmaking, while the other produced curtains and soft furnishings, with a shared workshop to focus staff on whichever store had the larger order book at any one time.

As much of the stock and equipment had been spirited away during the closing days of the Studio, they each had what they needed for their new ventures. The women from the salon were set up in a prime location with IMC doing a shop fit-out in record time for a beauty parlour that rivalled anything else in the city. In a show of outrageous nepotism they each did their best to use the services of their friends and to promote them to others.

Mates rates were all very well, but the general agreement was that everyone should pay at least forty percent over cost price otherwise each individual business would never get their head above water. Since those early rocky times they had all gone on to become the leading lights in their own field, as the city elite were willing to pay for quality services.

As it was all the people got settled in one place or another aside from the photographers who decided it was best to move on to fresh pastures.

All the make-up artists got referrals from the salon, part of the time working with local portrait photographers on makeover shoots, and also working on bridal parties, sorting the bride, bridesmaids, and other principle ladies at society weddings. So the various business ventures managed to help one another to grow and prosper.

Marta and her friends liked having a salon where they knew all the staff, while their own investment in the soft furnishing business was more than philanthropic, as it got them to the head of the queue for set dressing show apartments, or the fully furnished units which were offered by IMC who were now the go-to company in the city for smart new build or for top quality refurbishments. Over two years back her father had to eventually give up his post at the maintenance company that had been his employer since arriving in Kiev. They were sorry to lose their best site manager who'd introduced many new practices, but his own growing empire had needed his attention on a full time basis.

Anna and Eve called it a day with the material they had banked at the time of the raids when they were thirteen, as from their research they knew they had their most profitable years already in the can, and those pictures were slowly being released via the new portal that had been set up by Karl. Their richer platinum fans who'd joined the more secretive and exclusive club in the hidden parts of the internet were still able to view Natasha and Kasia respectively, their banked sets teased out to maximise the suspense and anticipation of their eager fan-base.

It was still a very lucrative form of income, but both families had made shrewd financial moves that had secured their future stability. In her own right Anna was a part owner of the stables where she kept her horse, she now had a considerable collection of rosettes from the annual round of competitions that she took part in throughout each summer.

Aside from her sister, Eve was still her closest friend, and the pair of them had eventually tired of baiting Eve's cousin Romko, who had gone on to find himself a bit of a Romeo in his local area thanks to their tuition.

They went out on group dates with their friends from school, both ex-models or girls who recognised the value of a solid academic foundation. The guys they mixed with also had to be high achievers to join with them on a social basis. Bad boys might hold a sort of allure, but having spent time on their own education they didn't want to waste their time on guys that didn't set future goals for their career. Life in the former Soviet state was beginning to perk up, and they wanted to be among those who moved their country forward.

The collapse of the Studio network due to the raids had been tragic, but it had made Anna and her friends even more determined to follow the Western path of capitalism to improve their lot. English had been deemed essential, and they now spoke it much of the time until it became their default second language even over Russian. She knew some of the older girls would only consider going out with guys who'd converse in English on their dates, so it was kind of funny when they tried to discover those naughty words that weren't in the Ukraine/English dictionaries when they wanted to get frisky.

The ex-Studio girls knew all the naughty words if they'd spent any time watching members chat on their own forum, or if they'd taken part in the TTMF (Talk to The Models Forum) where they often had to chide any members who forgot the rules due to the excitement of talking with their favourite models. It was mostly ex-Studio girls who kept up with various foreign magazines or teen websites in the States or the UK so as to keep abreast of the news together with all the latest trends, wishing to appear cosmopolitan and well informed if they travelled abroad which is what most of them intended to do at some point.

Rather than study at some distant University (or collage as they called them in the US) Marta would attend the well renowned one on her own doorstep in Kiev. She like many of her crowd had taken every AP (Advanced Placement) class that was available so that she had a pass on some of the University starter modules needed towards her Business Degree course. All of her family were in Kiev, and her soon to be husband, so she would save her travelling until she and Karl could do it together. Their wedding in May would be a little over two months past the third anniversary of the raids, and although the trauma was less raw, none of her many friends from the network would ever forget or forgive.

With Christmas and the New Year close on the horizon, Marta thought of Greg and Peter's recent birthday party. Greg at thirteen was already showing an interest in girls, growing up with two older sisters, and being the hub where so many of their friends would congregate he did not display the shyness, or lack of confidence with girls that was common with lads in his age group. It had been fun of late to watch his blossoming interest in young Micky, the beautiful half-cast girl who they'd discovered was the granddaughter of Max one of their regular cab drivers. She was only eight months older than Greg, which was a lot at their age, but the interest seemed to be mutual, and she hadn't been the only girl invited to the brothers joint birthday celebration.

Micky's parents had weathered the storm quite well, Paul her father was still teaching at her old school, and her mum Mary had over time expanded the scope of her own business enterprise. She now had a wider range of English pupils, she did a little translation work, and she nowadays provided a phone based check-in service for several hotels in the city that didn't have their own multi-lingual reception staff able to cope with US or UK visitors.

Within a year of Micky becoming a model, her family had moved to live in the same block of apartments as Uliana (who was a year older) and her mother Valechka. They had also survived thanks to Valechka's job with Eve's father Yuri at the wholesale company that did a lot of business with IMC. Uliana's career in modelling had only begun shortly before her new neighbour, and as they went to the same school, the two girls had plenty in common.

They each worked for a little over two years before the shutters came down, but it gave them both a sufficient capital sum that had been invested wisely, which had since provided an ongoing income to supplement parental earnings, plus they also had some banked sets available for release.

Ella and Igor's youngest had been an unplanned, but a much loved addition to the family, who arrived on the 9th of January the year before the raid on the Studio network, so would turn four in the coming year. Ironically he was conceived on a weekend getaway organised with the sole purpose of giving Marta time to be alone with Karl to fulfill her dream of a romantic setting to lose her virginity. As was quite typical for Marta she had arranged all the details beforehand, though nobody had thought her mother's little bout of illness the week before would render her own contraceptive precautions null and void.

His two older brothers had names that were common in the west, so rather than call their new addition Marko as originally intended they named him Mark. Of all the children it was only Marta whose name might indicate an Eastern European heritage, not that it mattered in any way because people tended to travel and mix more with each passing year.

The raid that had turned their world upside-down had made them more concerned about the future, so some time ago everyone in the family had obtained passports, they also ensured it was possible they could access their various accounts from abroad.

With four fluent multi-lingual siblings, plus their many friends speaking several tongues it was hardly surprising the youngest of the family spoke three languages learning each one with the correct native inflection as he was exposed to radio, TV, and videos from those respective cultures. He'd started with Ukrainian, but as he absorbed the others almost by means of osmosis, he came out with odd sentences that could be a hybrid mix in order to express what he meant to say. Like any precocious child of his age he was always asking 'why' full of questions, and never short of attentive mentors willing to provide an answer.

Over the latter part of the last year Ira had pulled back on her campaign, waiting for the best opportunities to express her wrath, though keeping a close eye on all her prey, and letting them know they were still being observed. Though the invites wouldn't be sent out for some months, she and Boris had been told that the date was set in May for Marta and Karl's wedding. When the news arrived it had been touching the way Boris had sort of stumbled over asking if she was okay with the fact they hadn't made their union official.

Though Karl was a hacker too, he also had a legitimate business as well, and they had a mass of family and friends to consider. She and Boris only worked as black hats, with the vague cover of a small inheritance, therefore it was necessary to maintain a lower profile, and Ira fully understood their situation. Unsaid was the fact neither had any family, and a good deal of their 'friends' they never met in the real world. The flesh and blood friends that they did have were mostly from their Studio days, and they didn't meet that often, so Ira really didn't mind. She'd made plans for Boris next year, sure it was the right decision.

Chapter 11 – Franklin and Porter.

Each time he sat to piss it was a constant reminder of the hell he had suffered throughout his stay in hospital, he was emasculated and deformed for life, it was hardly any form of consolation that he didn't need a piss bag strapped to his leg. Just showering or catching his refection in the bathroom mirror he resembled a Ken doll, Barbie's own plastic sexless boyfriend, for the rest of his life he'd forego the pleasures of sex, unable even to wank as there was nothing left down there other than a surgically created hole to piss through.

As if the physical and visual reminders weren't sufficient, he was still hounded whenever he stepped out of the house, as young bastards would whistle that infernal Colonel Bogey tune, taunting him about his lack of balls. Every which way he went the Goddess spat in his face. Her hatred seemed limitless, repeatedly telling him he was the architect of his own downfall due to the misery he had wrought to the girls and their families in far off Eastern Europe. How was he meant to know they had enjoyed displaying themselves, that they were proud providers for their families in a land short on employment opportunities and bereft of any proper welfare system.

The eventual hospital costs had been horrendous, so much so that he was struggling to find the money for his ongoing legal battles. Even those accounts that should have been well hidden from prying eyes had either been revealed, or had disappeared without trace. If the interminable delays on his various trials didn't get resolved very soon it was likely he would run out of funds to pay his legal team, the minute one of their regular bills went unpaid they would walk, his wasn't the sort of case people took on a no win, no fee basis.

The volume of hate mail he received each week would fill two large garbage sacks, but he had to check it out, as a few deluded fools still sent in the odd cash donation to help him 'defeat the powers of evil' that were ranked against him. He supposed 99% of his previous followers weren't quite as gullible as he thought they were, but their letters were just as vitriolic as the people who'd always known he was a charlatan. Letters weren't the only items he received in the post, he could see the start of another campaign which bore the cruel mark of the Goddess and her cohorts.

Since his last task for the Goddess, Nate had sent her regular updates along with movie clips of the protesters, either those with placards, or individuals who just threw eggs at his place in passing. The Goddess in turn rewarded him with money orders or with items of kit, so he could hardly refuse her latest request when it turned up in his in-box.

Nate was seventeen and looked it, so it might be difficult to achieve, he'd looked around a few pharmacy stores, but not any too close to where he lived, and they were all rather conservative, even the discreet condom displays were behind the counter, so he knew that was going to be a non starter. He called up Ron who'd been his accomplice on the laundry scam, as neither of them could breathe a word about that caper.

Ron was a bit older, and a lot more street wise knowing of a sex store that wouldn't check ID's of customers to confirm their age. Nate didn't want to go in, and he certainly didn't want to go in with Ron as he'd die of embarrassment if the person behind the counter thought it was for the pair of them. Ron came out laughing having made the purchase, saying he'd told the girl serving it was for his curious and adventurous girlfriend.

Nate printed out the note from his computer, then popped it in a padded envelope with one of the three bottles purchased by Ron. In the dead of night he walked up the street and deposited it in Franklin's mailbox.

Franklin saw the Jiffy bag, it hadn't been through the postal system, but it bore his name, and those fateful initials, the Goddess was having stuff hand delivered! He thought long and hard before he opened the package, realising she didn't want him dead it was hardly likely to be a bomb.

“Hello Franklin, you despicable worm.

Though you are the subject of my displeasure, I enclose a gift for your expected new role during your many upcoming years of incarceration.

With my undying hatred - TGOR.”

Enclosed was a bottle of anal lubricant.

From then on he was in receipt of many similar gifts posted from around the country, and then came the books, guides on the same filthy subject, next came the toys to prepare him for his fate. Franklin was now resigned to the fact he couldn't escape at least some jail time, but he was going to demand a cell to himself. Yeah – some hope!

After the incessant delays Ephraim Larkin Porter the third had at last got his house back, with the building works of the conversion now completed – five times over budget! At any other time heads would roll, and litigation would have commenced, but he knew none of the contractors were to blame, he was being fucked with and there nothing he could do to defend himself from the ethereal ever present influence of The Goddess of Rhamnous.

Though his co-conspirator lived across on the west coast, he knew what the bitch had done to him, at least he still had his cock and balls, though she'd taken his leg and his dignity. It seemed impossible to hide from such a spectre, even various security experts had puzzled how to keep him safe when the threat could come in any form and from any direction. Even arranging an appointment with a specialist in prosthetic limbs had been dogged with her interference, and nobody had told him about the phantom pains he could experience in a limb that he no longer possessed.

The pains came and went, but they were indescribable in the anguish they caused, which was hardly helped unless he was doped up to the eyeballs. His life was miserable, it was now more of an existence, staggering from one disappointment towards the next.

He had never felt any compassion for those inflicted by pain or sickness, and now that's all his life held for the foreseeable future.

Even his predilection for young men or boys had been nailed on the head, for he'd never been imprudent enough to have liaisons at home, that sort of thing needed tact so those involved couldn't be aware of his identity. It would be more difficult to remain anonymous if the other party noticed you had a leg missing, something he'd be unable to hide during such an encounter. His libido had hardly been enhanced by his poor current health, and he had little faith in his doctors in the way they were always revising his medical regime.

The patio windows leading from his ground floor suite to the terrace overlooking the landscaped gardens did not have the larger panoramic glazing he would have preferred, as the bullet resistant glass had to be in smaller panes in a tougher frame to be effective. This also reduced the light and gave a colour cast to the view. Late in the year with just the lawn, shrubs and trees it was of little consequence, but during the summer he would only see the true majesty of the magnificent flower beds from outside on the terrace.

As he spent far more time in his home, he'd had a lot of work done on the grounds to supplement and enhance the established mature planting, with many of the trees believed to be over a hundred years old. A long ramp from the terrace lead into a smooth sinuous pathway through the garden on which he could ride his powered wheelchair when the weather was fine. A good deal of the larger trees shielded his view of the neighbours, and he from them, for although their houses were equally opulent he guarded his privacy.

Ira constantly reviewed her foes phone conversations, also using those phones as her personal listening devices when they had meetings she wanted to monitor. Through this means she discovered Porter had some small measure of joy from the recent extensive works done on his expensively manicured gardens. She detested the thought that Porter might enjoy any aspect of his existence, therefore wishing to again distress her enemy.

Winter in Washington could be fairly bleak, so many of the wealthier residents if they had little reason to be in town would decamp to live in one of their other homes set in warmer climes, or alternatively they'd head for the mountains to enjoy the start of the ski season.

Hence two of Porter's neighbours were absent, therefore the staff were also away with their employers, or having time off to visit with their own families.

John Doe-land had laughed his socks off at this latest request, he'd shot many people during his long and varied career but for him this was a first. He'd visit the two mansions that were empty for the season, taking a scoped silenced rifle with flash suppression, but should be able to work during daylight hours to accomplish his task. His ammunition for the job would be copper jacketed hollow point rounds of medium velocity, though he would be needing quite a large number to complete the allotted task successfully.

The two houses that John had been made aware of by his client gave him an enfilading field of fire, able to cover the whole kill zone, their upper floors providing the necessary elevation to do the job properly. A silencer only reduced the sound, it wasn't as effective as portrayed in movies, and impact with the targets would hardly be silent either, so the mission would be timed to coincide with one of Porter's few outings, a three day excursion to visit the top specialist in prosthetics. While the boss was away the staff would get the chance to do a little Christmas shopping, or just get out and visit with friends.

Breaking into the houses and dealing with the alarms without leaving any trace was a simple task for a man of his skills, spending a little over an hour at each house to finish his task. He found it amusing that the results of his visit wouldn't be immediately apparent, as that wasn't usually the case whenever he carried a firearm.

Porter hadn't been reassured by his visit to the specialist, though he practised at home with his crutches, he was told a long program of physiotherapy would be needed once he was fitted with a prosthesis. Regardless of the care in making the socket, his stump would change over time, in fact it would vary over the course of a day, so prolonged wear might cause some discomfort with the minimal stump he had available.

The gloomy winter weather seemed to match his sullen mood, the evergreen foliage of the trees in his garden were garlanded with an early snowfall, and a strong winter storm was making itself felt as the barometer dropped. As he looked out one of the taller trees looked to be swaying an alarming amount, far more than he would have thought for the conditions outside. With a resounding crash the tree keeled over taking out several others in it's wake leaving a gap in the once pleasing panorama.

By the time the storm had blown through there wasn't a single tree left standing over ten feet tall, and much of that which was left was eventually trampled by the team of tree surgeons needed to clear the scene of devastation. He learned from the arboreal expert that all of his trees had been shot near the base with bullets that had torn them up quite badly, even if that hadn't killed the trees they would have died from the copper poisoning.

His previously beautiful garden now resembled a world war one battle scene, and if that wasn't bad enough he'd had solicitors letters from each of his neighbours about the large amount of collateral damage to their walls and property caused from his falling trees.

Usually it was only rednecks who shot at trees, but his refined neighbourhood was far removed from that type of person, and the type of ammunition used was far from cheap.

Porter didn't know how it had been arranged, but he did know who was responsible, and when the obligatory seasonal cards began to arrive with their saccharine winter scenes of jollity, or pious religious overtones, the card printed with snapped in half Christmas trees stood out from the others.

“Wishing you the Christmas and New Year that you deserve.... TGOR”

To heap misery on his already sombre mood his electrical service box inexplicably burnt out late on Christmas Eve. Of course no electrician was available to come out, even those that could be contacted said the parts wouldn't be obtainable until after the holidays.

As to be expected there wasn't an hotel suite to be found within a sixty mile radius, compounded by a travel advisory suggesting people stay off the roads except for dire emergencies, and with no electrics the heating wouldn't work, and neither would the kitchen. Porter got just the miserable Christmas Ira wanted him to have, and the fact his staff were pissed off too was just additional icing on the cake.

On the far coast the weather may have been somewhat warmer, but that did little for the spirits of Obadiah Franklin. If anyone used his former honorific, it was with sarcasm or in scathing disgust, it seemed the reach of the Goddess went as far as contacts in the postal service, because his title of 'Reverend' or even 'Mr' was crossed out on every single item of post, even the generic junk mail. If he'd really held any actual desire to take part in some form of Christian worship, he had grave doubts he'd be welcomed into any neighbourhood congregation regardless of how forgiving they might be towards sinners or fallen clergy.

He knew better than to complain about all his slights or grievances, just as he knew that the police never intended to trace the person who'd shot him. His life would continue on it's inevitable downwards spiral and there was nothing he could do to prevent it, the pace and level of his degradation was in the hands of a greater power, and he wasn't thinking of God, but - The Goddess of Rhamnous, who he'd now discovered was called Nemesis!!

The number of butt-plugs, and bottles of anal lube through the post had tailed off, instead the greetings cards had begun to arrive. He'd at first been surprised at the quantity, but any flicker of joy at the thought that he may have a few friends left was short lived. Franklin discovered that the slightly lumpy cards held a little gizmo that would play a personalised greeting to a loved one when it was opened, all the ones he received were mostly renditions of that ghastly whistled tune that he'd come to hate so much.

Three years ago he'd been riding the crest of a wave, all the revivalist meetings, the years of honing his skills to take cash from the stupid gullible masses, preaching sermons he'd got naive theological students to write on his behalf. Eventually he'd got the big stadium gigs like a modern day Billy Graham. He was getting all the star-struck young pussy he could handle, while also having the attractive preachers daughter ten years his junior as the perfectly presentable wife on stage and on the TV chat shows. Then she'd turned her back on him promising to give States evidence, she'd also been part of his money fleecing scheme, up to her pretty little neck, so she had a lot to tell.

Once you learned how to fake sincerity you had it made, so when through his celebrity status he'd met some pious high rollers who'd bemoaned the flood of disturbing images of young girls from those awful ex-communist States, Franklin said he'd look into it.

At the time he'd had no intention of getting involved, until these holier than thou type businessmen offered to make donations to his Franklin Save the world mission. It was only by chance Ephraim Larkin Porter had been at a couple of the same parties shaking down some kind of political deal, when they discovered they shared an item of common interest.

Porter through his contacts in Washington knew about the constant trail of money leading to supposedly ex-communist countries to buy the images, and Franklin would gain kudos from some wealthy donors by halting the distribution of those same particular images. They'd spent some months between them gently pushing from the background, being as it was a fairly controversial topic, neither of them wanted their names directly associated with the take-down. This was how they'd become unlikely bedfellows, though Franklin was beginning to think they might eventually meet as literal bedfellows in adjoining cots in a prison hospital wing the way his life was now heading.

As a final Christmas gift the last sitting of the Court before the holidays deemed rulings on the remaining three bank accounts to which Obadiah Franklin still had access.

They shut him down to the point where he was no longer able to pay his high priced legal team, and by the end of January his lease would expire on the house where he currently lived. Even if he had access to funds, the letting agency had made it plain they would not countenance the idea of a renewal under any circumstances. The original security deposit would be eaten up in cleaning and repainting the outside of the building, so with just the one small bank account not frozen by the courts he would be severely strapped for cash.

For all the many tens of thousands he'd paid them to date, his legal firm had very little evidence in his favour to hand over on receipt of a certified bankers draft to settle his final costs. As they had represented him in court they knew the precariousness of his finances, so they had demanded a bank draft in full and final settlement rather than a personal cheque while there was still some chance they might receive payment.

Being as he was almost pot-less, and in just over a month's time homeless, he would then be eligible for a State funded attorney. He would also be breaching the terms of his bail conditions through not having a fixed abode so he'd therefore end up in jail.

With a roof over his head and three meals a day, those expenses would be taken care of, and it would no doubt please the Goddess to see his situation. The new attorney would be someone who'd barely scraped through law school, not taken on by any decent law firm, so left defending pitiful cases like his own which was by now a hopelessly lost cause.

Franklin didn't even make it to the end of January as he'd predicted. A grateful Goddess had sent Nate his young neighbour living diagonally across the street several Christmas presents for his unstinting loyalty and help. Among them the night vision binoculars had proved really good for spying on some teen girls a few houses over who thought they couldn't be seen in the back yard hot tub after dark.

Half way through January Nate had been late night surfing for porn, but had a small window open on his screen showing the output from his street-cam, so he caught Franklin looking furtive. Knowing he'd have to move out, he'd decided to dump all the anal lube, and the butt plugs, not wanting to have to dispose of them at the last minute.

He hardly wanted to put them in his own trash, as someone was bound to report it, so he wanted to use a builders dumpster fifty yards down the road under the cover of darkness.

Having heard from the Goddess that his 'gift' to Franklin was just the start of a deluge of similar products, Nate guessed what was happening. Being a good citizen he phoned the cops to report the 'suspicious' activity, then closed his browser, next he sent a message to the Goddess to tell her what was happening. Due to the eight hour time difference 11:30 at night was 09:30 for Ira and Boris, so linking directly to Nate's computer to see the web-cam feed they saw the police cruiser pull up at the far end of the street in time to witness Franklin dumping a third sackful of sex toys into a dumpster belonging to someone else.

Nate knowing how the Goddess operated, his second phone call had been to a local news station, they'd promised him $150 for the tip-off if they were able to get exclusive footage of Franklin being arrested. His second alert to the Goddess informed her he'd called in the news media, after-all there was a good chance he was in for another reward from her for his swift action. Being a quiet mid-week evening after the party season, any patrol car not involved in any current disturbance hurried over to the latest Franklin incident.

Blue lights of half a dozen cop cars, plus the lights at all the windows of the neighbours watching the scene unfold, was soon joined by the lights of a news crew who were able to see what the police evidence team were recovering from the dumpster and his house.

The news reporter tried to remain professional while hiding a smirk at the latest sexual peccadilloes of the fallen preacher.

“Once again this is Jeff Barns for XYZ evening news reporting live on a breaking story.”

“A short time ago a concerned citizen reported suspicious activity to the local police, who upon their arrival discovered the controversial former preacher Obadiah Franklin filling the dumpster of an unsuspecting neighbour with items of a pornographic nature. The quantity of adult sex toys and lubricants were said to fill four large garbage sacks, which could only lead one to conclude he had been involved in the supply of these adult related products.”

“The police were unable to comment at this time, but an unnamed source stated that only certified stores who have followed the correct licensing procedure were allowed to sell the products that have been recovered, so the 'preacher' may have another bunch of charges added to his list of alleged crimes.”

Snake7 aka Nate Stevens heard a ping indicating an incoming e-mail, he turned from his bedroom window where he'd been viewing the circus to check his latest message. It was from the Goddess, and she was mega pleased with his actions, best of all she said she owed him a favour for his quick thinking. He had nothing to say for the moment, though he would send a message when he saw how it panned on the news the following morning.

He was about to return to the window to follow the drama when he had another bright idea. Thanks to the Goddess he had some state of the art kit that could do lots of multi-tasking, so he pulled up a few stills of Franklin in the act of disposing of the bags, and put them onto a memory stick. The news van was in time to capture the arrest, but exclusive still photos had to be worth a little bonus.

He waited for things to settle down in the street, and for people to go back inside, then sauntered down to the XYZ news van. He was about to get the brush-off from the news anchor when he explained he was the one that had phoned in the story, and he was there to collect his agreed $150. For a moment he thought he was about to get stiffed for the money, that wasn't the case, as welching on the deal would only cause their sources to contact rival networks. With their thanks and three crisp $50 notes in his pocket he asked what a bunch of exclusive photos would be worth!

Hardly two weeks into the New Year, and Ira couldn't be more pleased to see Franklin back in the headlines, up in court the following morning for several charges relating to the night before. The cops had even managed to include lewd behaviour for carrying a large number of adult toys in a public place. Fortunately it didn't happen too late at night to miss squeezing into some of the newspapers, as despite their denials they loved to include salacious or titillating news stories to increase their circulation.

As far as the judge was concerned this latest incident was a step too far in breaching his bail conditions, voicing his opinion that Franklin should have been kept behind bars when he was last in court for possession of the stolen children's underwear. The next day the papers had details of his arraignment, along with a good many unattributable quotes from either 'sources in the police department' or 'judicial sources' generally saying that for a man of the cloth he had unhealthy and wide ranging sexual interests. This allowed the media a field day rehashing the alleged stories of wife swapping, child molestation, under age sex, abortions, stealing soiled panties, and his latest foray into homosexual sex toys, and the suspected failure of an illegal business venture to sell those products.

Ira was so pleased she did a little research of her own, which lead to her visiting the local pharmacy. After some preparation in the bathroom she dragged Boris away from his desk, doing all those things that pressed his buttons, for by now they were well matched in bed. Ira and Boris worked hard, and spent many joyful hours releasing the tension from their sometimes stressful occupation. Naked and writhing together on their bed, Ira was happy to see his body was in far better shape than when they first met.

After some preliminary foreplay a laughing Ira produced the tube of anal lubricant she'd been out to purchase, stating she only had one unplumbed cherry, and she wanted Boris to have her only virgin hole. This was also a first for Boris, as most of his previous sexual experience had been with professional women, though he was glad Ira had never asked about his sex life before they had become a couple, though in contrast he knew of her entire though short sexual history. She'd somehow thought he'd had a far more active sex life before she had come to live with him, and he'd never corrected that misconception.

He'd never lied to his slim blonde Goddess, in fact when he told her she was his best ever partner in bed it was the truth, because their emotional closeness meant their couplings were far more meaningful than the soulless interludes with women that he'd paid for sex. Since Ira preferred not to talk of the past, only ever looking to the future, he suspected it would not be something that she would raise now she knew of his firm commitment.

Boris knew he was an oddball, a nerd, and as Ira had been an academic at school with her interests suiting her to the profession of a hacker, they understood one another.

Though he'd never tried anal sex, in all the research they did on countless subjects, it was a topic he knew about in theory. Her nicely rounded bottom wiggling about brought him from his reflective state, the smooth peachy skin with her incredibly slim waist gave her a very pleasing contour, enough to make any guy as hard as iron.

No matter how often he'd seen this view of her on all fours presented to him in a sort of submissive pose, he couldn't believe how lucky he was. She liked to ring the changes, so they'd make love in any way it was possible, aside from those uncomfortable Karma-sutra positions that were only fit for contortionists. This would be new ground for both of them, as he followed the crease of her freshly greased butt down to her wet lips that betrayed her excited state. Her youthful womanly charms were laid totally bare, as Ira kept her pussy devoid hair for their mutual enjoyment.

He slid between her lips first to coat his cock with her natural juices before attempting to go for her little star. After pulling out he repositioned himself, he would have asked if she was sure, but once her mind was made up on any course of action she'd see it through to it's conclusion. He knew she would also have checked on the best way to achieve her goal, so as he applied a gentle pressure he felt her relax to let him in.

As he slowly advanced it was equally hot, but unlike her pussy that was tight all the way in her ass felt different, in that most of the sensation was from the incredibly strong muscle of her sphincter. From the encouragement he received and the sounds she was making he could tell his teenage angel was enjoying this new aspect of their sex life, though she did express surprise to find he was barely in beyond the crown. As he slid in all the way it felt as if she could strangle him with her muscle pressure. Not wishing his little lover to suffer he added more of the lube to his shaft as he sawed gently back and forth, then reaching underneath to toy with her clit, while his other hand reached forward to tweak a nipple.

Her high from the despair of her foes had caused her to become so adventurous, glad that she had such a caring lover who'd made it a truly amazing experience, having read online that it could be uncomfortable, or downright painful if not done carefully. Though she had prepared thoroughly beforehand, they showered together afterwards, Ira jubilant, having lost her last cherry to the man she loved. Ira Joked as she soaped his cock for a second time that she wanted to make sure it was clean, as she might want to give him a blow-job after supper.

As they made their own schedule, afternoon sex, or sex at any time was not that unusual for the pair of them. Sitting down to eat at their kitchen table, Boris asked if she was okay, or if she wanted a cushion to sit on. It was half in jest, but as they talked about it Ira said she was only vaguely aware of a lingering sensation from this new activity, but felt they had approached it with all reasonable precautions, then with an evil grin said she could imagine how it would be excruciatingly painful for someone unwilling and unprepared.

With all his walking, swimming and now cycling as well, Boris had never felt so invigorated or fit at any time in his life. There were also very few days when they didn't make love in some form or another, Ira even wanting sex in the shower to relieve cramps during her period, this was also a new experience for Boris, and he doubted many men of his age had such a brilliantly active and frequent love life.

Meanwhile miles away in the US Eastern time zone another of Ira's foes had suffered the most horrendous and miserable holiday season he could possibly imagine. Regardless of his position in society, or the contacts that he had, it was still impossible to find anyone to come out and fix his electrical problems over the holidays. By the time an electrician came to replace the distribution board, the power had been down for six days and they were having to dress in their outdoor clothing due to the white Christmas that had descended on the town which might have been enjoyable under different circumstances.

Being at odds with the neighbours due to the falling trees, they did not offer any help, and were not currently on speaking terms except through their legal people. With the very low temperatures, even when the power was restored it was going to take the heating system some time to bring the large house up to a comfortable level. Unfortunately that was just a little too long for one water pipe in an unused top floor bathroom. With all the recent focus on the mess in the rear garden, nobody had noticed the window broken by some flying debris caused by the falling decimated trees, making that room so much colder.

With the top two floors hardly used since Mr Porter now lived exclusively on the ground floor, the water spread out widely as it seeped through cascading from one floor to the other. By the time it started to dribble through a couple of the downstairs ceilings the damage throughout the house was fairly extensive. Boris and Ira caught up with this latest development shortly after Porter complained that the recently restored power was now down again, at about the same time he discovered he had an indoor rain shower.

Ira had been responsible for having someone blow-up the power board that fed his house, just at a time when it would be difficult to find a repairman, but the burst water-pipe was a sort of unexpected bonus. Having made so many claims on his insurance company over recent months they were imposing a clause where he had to pay a substantial portion of any further claims, to the point where it wasn't worth the bother of making a claim at all.

The surveyor shook his head as he moved about the house, plasterwork ruined, floor voids thoroughly soaked, furniture and carpets stained and damaged beyond salvage, even a few of the artworks left on the walls upstairs had been destroyed. The electrical conduits in the walls and crawl spaces were dripping with water, and would need to be replaced or the power would forever be tripping out, this would mean ripping apart the walls and floors to access every circuit.

His once beautiful home had been destroyed. It had started when his use was limited to the ground floor by that dreaded bug eating away his leg, then the infernal never-ending building works to make the ground floor fit his current needs. He'd been incandescent with rage at the loss of his garden, then Christmas and the New Year were the most dismal he could imagine. Now the house was so ravaged whether he wanted to stay or not he would need to move out for nine or ten months for the place to be made habitable.

In his despair he wondered if he could buy off this Goddess, or better still kill the bitch for what she had done to him. He didn't know who she actually was, and his only guess was that she lived in that miserable country where the modelling had taken place. Over time she'd made it plain he was being punished for his involvement in instigating those raids over in the Ukraine. It was a large country that he really knew little about, the reverse was not true, she knew a lot about America, and seemed to know every detail of his own life.

At times he felt he couldn't scratch his own ass without her knowing what he was doing, it was disconcerting to constantly be under the microscope. With the holidays over at least he could get a suite in a decent nearby hotel while he thought about what to do next.

Not wanting to deal with the house he hired in a project manager to oversee the details, while he thought about where he might live, thinking it might be best to have done with his house, and get it sold as soon as it was repaired, for it was full of bad memories.

Ira waited until later in the year when the repairs were well under-way, then as a special additional wedding present to Marta and Karl had the Porter mansion burnt to the ground!

Chapter 12 – And Finally.

With all the multiple charges lined up against Obadiah Franklin, and with the resignation of his original defence team due to lack of funds, he finally had his day in court, though in fact it spanned four days of total hell, as his State appointed attorney was worth exactly what Franklin was paying the man – absolutely nothing!

The trial was only so brief because there was little that could be said in mitigation of the damning evidence from the prosecution. Unknown to everyone inside the court aside from the defendant, was that the irrefutable mountain of evidence against him for all manner of criminal deeds had been provided by, or added to by Ira and Boris, though the man in the dock only knew of his enemy as Nemesis - The Goddess of Rhamnous.

His ex-wife nailed the lid on his coffin by testifying about all the money laundering crimes she did know about, and more or less said there were a hell of a lot more she wasn't privy to, which did a lot to sway the decision on much of the fictitious smoke and mirrors raised by TGOR. With so much cash collected in buckets at the big events, nobody was able to put a definitive figure on the amount Franklin had squirrelled away, and the IRS wanted their pound of flesh as the monies had not been used for charitable purposes as stated in the charter of 'The Franklin Save the world mission'.

Though the initial charge sheet had run to seventeen separate offences, those of a sexual nature hadn't been pursued due to a lack of corroborating evidence, though they were left on public record should the defendant ever be released. The consecutive sentences for the charges of fraud, money laundering, deception, and tax evasion ran to 337 years, so even with time off for good behaviour he would only ever leave prison in a six foot pine box.

By coincidence the trial occurred on the third anniversary of the raids, which Ira thought was quite fitting. Knowing the case would hold considerable prurient interest from the press and public alike, Ira had raised a large contingent of her local fan club to queue up overnight to be in the public gallery that was on a first come first served basis. Even on the West coast it could be cold at night in March so they'd all wrapped up for their vigil.

Franklin from the dock had seen the large student cohort in the public gallery, he had also seen the popularity of T-shirts bearing the TGOR logo, as if it were some fashionable new sports brand, though the focus was on him so it was missed by the media.

Ira was only disappointed she couldn't find a way for the jury to wear similar designs.

She thought it was stupid that a judge could award a sentence that was far longer than Franklin could actually live, but on the other hand she would know where to find him!

Ira had seen the Shawshank Redemption both in her own language, and in the original, and although she knew it was fictional, she also knew that favours could be brought for a few candy bars or packets of cigarettes. Once she found out his place of incarceration she would do her best to befriend every prisoner who would come into contact with Franklin. Ira would also have her lover look into the personal life of every prison guard to ensure that they had some form of hold, and they would turn a blind eye to Franklin's abuse.

She knew he could not last the whole sentence, but she wanted him to remember each pain filled day, and look forward to the next one with dread in his heart.

Boris had expected the prison system to be harder to crack, but the individual privately run institutions were simple to hack, and he learned a lot about the inmates sharing the same wing as Franklin. Their man was under the mistaken impression that he was beyond the reach of the Goddess, safely behind bars. It only took Boris two weeks to have all the information he needed, plus the people on the outside willing to help.

The first shiver of fear was on hearing those eight whistled notes that he'd come to hate so much, then the news came that he would be sharing a cell. Any leeway he may have been given at the beginning due to his unfortunate surgery was soon forgotten now the right people had been paid off, or informed that he'd done a lot of harm to kids overseas. How prison guards or prisoners chose to interpret that news was down to them, but in essence it was the truth.

Very soon Franklin was wishing he'd kept the lube that he'd thrown into the dumpster, as he became the prison bitch for the whole wing. On those times when he was entertaining a fellow prisoner, and another inmate couldn't wait, he was forced to use his mouth so he was busy at both ends. The other prisoners were far tougher than him, and there was no way he could fight back. At mealtimes he sat down gingerly on the wooden bench to eat his food which was often spat in by the other inmates, but complaining got him nowhere, and it was hardly the worse thing that went into his mouth.

When the large hairy bastards took him up the ass they would often tell him it was a present from his friend the Goddess, laughing as they zipped up and moved off.

He didn't know what was worse the constant fear of when he would be buggered next, or those men who preferred to use his mouth, with their dire threats of what they would do if they ever felt his teeth, or if he didn't swallow the whole of the load they gave to him.

His prayers weren't answered when he was transferred to different wing, as the inmates there had heard how much the preacher liked to be spit-roasted, as he soon became the sex toy to a fresh bunch of thugs. When the tenderness or bleeding got too much they'd give his ass a rest, and they'd all use his mouth until he was back in service again.

He couldn't even think of a way to end his own life, as he was kept on suicide watch at night which did little to give him any sleep with the wardens constantly checking his cell throughout the hours of darkness.

It seemed nobody in the prison liked him, even those prisoners who were gay by natural inclination hated the fact they now had less chance of winning any small favours from the more brutish guys who were getting it for free from Franklin. Around that time Mr Porter began to wonder if Franklin was having an easier time being behind bars, only to learn from a contact about the horrendous daily abuse suffered by his erstwhile collaborator.

Ephraim Larkin Porter was now living in a comparatively modest rented single story home outside of the city while his house was being restored, not yet aware of how pointless that exercise would turn out to be when the calender flipped over to May. If he knew just how bad May was going to be, he could well have given a lot more thought about leaving the country, though even that wouldn't help. The Goddess knew where he was, what he was up to, and best of all she knew where he'd stashed all his money.

Of all those agents who'd visited her country, Karl Simmons was the deluded idiot who thought he was doing the Lord's work by donating to Ukrainian children's charities, and getting the congregation of his local church to do likewise. As long as he continued to provide that handsome level of relief she'd leave him alone, but if donations fell off or went to somewhere else she would be back on his case. With the other six agents she actually helped those who were down on their luck to find jobs, but that was solely in order that they could pay their tithe to her selected charities.

Ira didn't often have to send reminders that she was watching over them, and they knew not to waste money on buying themselves any luxuries, or the Goddess would find a way to punish them. That they were defeated, paranoid, and miserable, was a great comfort to Ira, as she could now spend less time on them, more time on learning her trade, while also thinking about raising a family of her own.

Marta's Karl continued to pass on the tales of misfortune that plagued their enemies, with messages often coming back from girls she'd never heard of who'd also been models of the network in thanks and praise of her efforts. With Karl and Marta's wedding close on the horizon, and Boris finally persuaded to take a week's break by the coast shortly after, Ira wanted to come up with a more long term solution for Ephraim Larkin peg-leg Porter the one and a half.

Again they needed a professional asset on the ground to ensure the job was done well, it had to be properly staged to have the desired results. Outlining her plan to Boris, he said she'd been reading too many thrillers or spy novels.

John Doe-land once again found himself employed for the purpose of hassling Mr Porter, by means of destroying his Washington mansion that was currently undergoing a massive refit and refurbishment. The brief from his client was fairly succinct in that the property must suffer complete annihilation, and it must appear plain to the authorities that it was the deliberate but clumsy action of an amateur. There were one or two other salient points with regard to the job which would only really become apparent to the victim later on.

Dressed in black jogging bottoms and a dark top with a small backpack John did not look out of place as one of many in the city who preferred to take late night exercise.

From his surveillance he knew where to get in through the builders fencing, as the large majority of the contractors either took their tools off site at night, or used the large heavy steel lockers that were secured with robust padlocks as there was nobody guarding the site overnight. He knew there were several propane cylinders on site which he placed down in the extensive basement of the building, then when everything was in position he partially opened the valves on each tank, before making his calm exit.

The explosion happened shortly before the main contractor was due to arrive on site, with the ensuing fire destroying much of the wrecked building. As the morning traffic was just starting to build up, the fire department were delayed, but there was nothing to be done other than damp down the remains, thus preventing the fire from spreading, though with the space between the elegant mansions, that alone should preclude that from occurring.

It was a week later before the fire investigators report landed on the desk of a local police detective. The cause was definitely arson, as the charred remains of a crude home-made timing device had been found which would close a circuit to connect a large piece of wire wool to a set of batteries. This would then burst into flames causing the mixture of air and propane to ignite resulting in a massive explosion.

Porter on first hearing the news knew who was responsible, resigned to the fact it was all money down the drain, so when the cop called it was hardly a surprise.

What did shock him was when the detective asked about the multiple insurance policies taken out on the property. Porter explained he must be mistaken as he'd found it hard to get insurance due to a number of incidents where he'd claimed previously.

A cold dread descended as the detective explained that you couldn't hold multiple policies on a single property, though worse was to come when he asked about the insurance cover that had been taken out against the death or injury of the main contractor. Of course all of this was news to Porter, who claimed to know nothing about the various insurances.

Porter wasn't lying, but the tale of his of ghostly enemy was something nobody would believe, so this made the detective sense Porter wasn't telling the truth, though in this case the truth was too outrageous to seem credible. Under normal scrutiny none of the firms with whom he had insurance would have taken on his business with his history. Of course none of the policies were accepted in the usual sense, they'd each been created on some computer without anyone overseeing the paperwork which had never really existed.

To everyone they all looked real, the fact Porter hadn't yet claimed was down to good police work, so Porter stating he didn't have the documentation didn't hold water, he must have hidden it when he knew the game was up. The damning evidence was the payments for the policy premiums leading back to him, accounts which the IRS knew nothing about.

Various other bills or receipts gave substance to the case, a multiple fraud against the insurance companies involved, plus an attempted homicide of the main contractor which was only narrowly avoided by some mischance of the timing mechanism. John had been kind enough to ensure that the staff each had a reasonable alibi for the night in question, so they could not be implicated in the crime. It was also well known by his staff and many others that Porter would often have private clandestine meetings where nobody got to see the visitor, so this gave credence to an unseen and unnamed accomplice.

To complete Porter's humiliation when so many eyes were on him in court, a strong type of purgative was added to the fresh water jug at his side as he sat facing the courtroom. Nervous with the certain knowledge that nothing he said would be believed he took a few gulps of the water before the cross examination began. With an awful vision of deja-vu his eyes bulged in terror as he realised what was about to happen, vomiting across the dock, then shortly after his bowels turned to water, in the ensuing pandemonium, many items which included the water jug crashed to the floor as people leapt out of the way adding to the mess and panic in the normally sedate surroundings.

This time the after effects were of a limited duration, so the trail resumed two days later with the lingering hint of disinfectant. His denials and pleas of ignorance sounded hollow even to his own ears, and the accounts he'd been keeping from the eyes of the IRS were found to be only two of several accounts, which came to light through checking the details of previous money transfers.

There had been a large draw down on each of the accounts that had disappeared through a series of electronic transfers to other accounts that had since been closed. The IRS were keen to know where the money had gone, and so was Porter, insisting the funds had been stolen, saying he'd intended to pay his dues, but with his recent ill health he'd forgotten. That excuse fell flat when it was revealed all these secret accounts had been operating for several years without him ever declaring their existence.

The vast fortune he'd amassed for his retirement in the sun had been spirited away while he was looking in the other direction. Just at that point when he'd been considering a move to somewhere he might escape from the Goddess his timetable had been too slow.

Boris and Ira had moved the funds to other countries, then set up arrangements to trickle feed dozens of charity organisations in a manner to avoid unwarranted attention. It went without saying that some of that cash would pay for the ongoing torture of those who had angered the Goddess. A poorly fitting leg and a pair of crutches did not allow Porter to outrun the prison bullies, so his life became very much like that of his partner in crime.

The length of Porter's incarceration was a mute point, as he would never see daylight as a free man. All of his remaining assets were seized to pay his debts and damages, so any small sums he earned in the prison workshops would more than likely be handed over to his tormentors inside rather than be spent in the prison store on himself.

It had taken Ira just over three years to wreak her revenge, all the main players had been dealt with to her satisfaction. For now those not behind bars had to dance to her tune, so she would toy with them for her amusement as and when she saw fit. She had chosen her name well, 'The Goddess of Rhamnous' struck fear into the hearts of her enemies, and as a bonus she had gained friends and followers in the cyber environment where her alter ego lived.

It was a small consolation she was able to squeeze out a stream of income for those who tried to help the seething masses of the homeless and the destitute. For although it would never equal the money willingly spent, and gratefully received by the vast number of girls who used to harmlessly pose for admirers from across the world, she had done her best.

One of the Goddess's many admirers sat at his desk in Virginia, though perhaps the three letter agency that he ran was supposed to stand for some form of law and order, he had never been able to condone what had happened over three years ago. He was ashamed it had happened under his watch, but in the end he'd been overruled from above, and the whole sorry operation went ahead anyway. He sat looking at the stark message on his desktop monitor. A message that shouldn't have been on his screen, in his office, on a secure network, but nevertheless he smiled.

“For now our work is done Janus, regards from The Goddess of Rhamnous and Penates.”

Smiling the Director shook his head, the brass balls of those two, this wasn't his secret PC in a basement that didn't exist, this was right here on his own fucking desk!!

He'd followed the trials and tribulations of the various players on his side of the pond, all the while keeping his distance. Their individual misfortunes had been manifold, dogged by bad luck at every turn. He knew that TGOR had eventually made herself known to the various parties, but they'd been so hog-tied there was no escape from her clutches.

There was no saying how many resources she had on the ground, but her results were impressive in that all of the trails lead to self incrimination. In a way he was glad they did know his real identity, for he surely wouldn't want to face TGOR as an enemy, no place to run, no place to hide. He couldn't openly support what they had done, but anyone with the authority to oversee his personal spending would find his entire charitable donations for each of the past three years went towards orphanages in the Ukraine, and if they didn't like it he couldn't give a damn.

The Epilogue

Boris took it like a man as Ira fussed with his tie, he felt out of place wearing a suit, but as she was wearing such a pretty frock and heels for the occasion, he did as he was told.

The gathering for the wedding had been enormous, and even he was moved by the ceremony, seeing Igor proudly lead his eldest daughter down the aisle.

Anna and Eve, along with four other girls that he recognised were the bridesmaids, all looking quite grown-up since he'd last seen them. Ira said Marta's dress was stunning, and Karl along with his best man to one side, and the six ushers all wore matching suits.

He was uncomfortable in a crowd, Ira sensing his discomfort had held his hand throughout the ordeal in the church, glad it hadn't been one of those interminable Catholic weddings. They did have to get up and sit down a few times, and through the sea of people Boris thought he saw some more familiar faces. Now at the reception he could see he wasn't mistaken, not realising he could feel so emotional at the sight of so many old friends.

The top table was obviously just the immediate family of the bride and groom with Ira pointing out four year old Mark, Marta's youngest brother who was sitting between a beaming elderly couple who Boris realised must be the fabled Nana Olga and Gramps.

Boris knew Karl was a single child, so it was only his parents at that table, though he had numerous aunts, uncles and various sundry family members scattered about the large hall where the wedding reception had decamped to on their release from the church.

He didn't voice that opinion out loud but it was how he felt.

When they'd been greeted at the door each of the guests had been given a little card with their table number, they felt humbled that they should be on one of the three tables next to that where the bride and groom sat. Typically for Marta everything was set out with a great deal of thought, as there was some type of theme or link between the guests sat at each table. There were more than a few tears as he was overcome at meeting old friends.

Boris may have been somewhat reclusive even back at the Studio, but he wasn't quite the hermit some people made him out to be. Ira didn't of course know that many of those who'd run the Studio, but she was inordinately proud that he chose to introduce her as his partner as opposed to just his girlfriend. Some of people she had met a couple of times, whereas others were just names she had heard in passing. Ivan and Mira his elegant wife were on their table, as was Dmitri there with his wife Alina, saying their two year old was in the care of her grandparents for a few days. Valya and Alex had also got married in the intervening time, and by the look of her bump, motherhood was only a short time away.

By unspoken agreement their one common bond was the one subject not discussed, as they talked of times since then, or their plans for the future. The last couple at their table was Yana who'd worked in the canteen after her daughter Irisha became a model, she'd come with Pavlo who'd once been a carpenter building sets at the Studio. She now jointly ran an upmarket café in town with some of her old work colleagues, and he worked at the IMC builders as a team foreman.

Irisha had also been invited but she was on one of several tables that had ex-models and their boyfriends. It had been thought that Boris and Ira would have more in common with the folks at their table, besides everyone would get a chance to mingle and socialise after the sit down meal and speeches. The food was very good for mass catering considering the large numbers, it was the same catering company the family had used for years so it wasn't surprising they got a top-notch service.

As with any event of this kind there were all the usual players giving speeches, though Karl's best man was unable to come up with any risqué stories of indiscretions with the ladies, instead saying the newly-weds had known from early on they were meant to be together. The ladies in the audience oohed and ahhed at the romance of the tale as the guy went on to say Karl had gone on to become a leader in his own line of business for the sole reason he could afford to marry his sweetheart before her nineteenth birthday.

That like many of the speeches contained a subtext that wouldn't be apparent to everyone in the room, as few people knew he had a second line of business. Other people that had taken the floor obviously included references to the Studio that would only be recognised by other Studio people, in a subtle way those folk were paying homage to Marta, well known for her double entendres, or having two conversations within the one sentence.

Before the speeches had begun, Igor had stood to read apologies from those who couldn't attend. Unlike your usual wedding it wasn't Nellie, and great uncle Albert, but a poignant list of friends now scattered across the globe. Those not in the know were surprised that the young couple had so many people unable to attend but nevertheless making an effort to send their best wishes. The same list also caused gasps or tears among the guests who heard the familiar names of friends they hadn't seen for over three years. As a final fitting comment Igor said that if anyone wanted to reconnect with those unable to come, they should probably contact Anna, as his eldest daughter would be off on her honeymoon.

The reception venue had an adjoining room where there was a free bar, a central dance floor with tables where people could place their drinks and take a rest while listening to the real live musicians. Later on the the younger crowd would be entertained by one of the city's top DJ's till late into the small hours. Getting their drinks, Boris and Ira stopped to talk with several people before they found a table to sit down. It wasn't long after that when Ira found herself the centre of attention, slowly in twos or threes people arrived at her table, many of whom she didn't even know.

At first she was quite stunned, eventually realising almost everyone there from the Studio knew her even if she had never met them before in person. Ira was hugged and kissed almost to the point she was worried about upstaging the bride, aside from the fact Marta and Karl were among her steady string of visitors.

Hearing so many of them whisper in her ear, “Bless you.” or “Thank-you for what you have done.” though it took a moment to process “Ten out of ten.” Of course it referred to seven agents, the two instigators, and the man in charge, that was the sum total of their targets. Ira was almost overpowered by the outpouring of heartfelt thanks, this time it was Boris holding her hand in support, though she knew he deserved just as much credit, he much preferred to sit quietly, recognised by most as simply being Ira's older partner.

Ira even got Boris up to dance a few times though she politely declined the young single guys who came up to ask her onto the floor. Ira began to realise that it wasn't just the speeches from earlier on, the whole celebration held a double meaning. It was a splendid wedding, but it was the closure of a chapter, the ghosts of the pass had been laid to rest, and she had played her part in putting that behind them.

At last it was time to leave, she looked down once again at the locket Marta and Karl had given to her on behalf of all their friends. Inside it bore a simple inscription.

TGOR we love you.

The End