Hypno Harem 2: Harem-Scarem! (5 page)

“Nine.”

WHAP!

“Owww! Ohhhhh! Ahhhhh! Oh my… Oh my…”

Berta’s screams had acquired a new pitch and volume. They weren’t just yowls of pain any more. They were cries of passion. She was shrieking with pleasure. Mike wondered if he’d have to get the back seat cleaned. Never mind, this show was worth it. He’d have to make some excuse to get Diane in the car some night. They could even do it in the driveway when the kids were in bed, crawl in the back like teenagers. Wouldn’t she be surprised when he dragged her across his lap and started spanking her! Maybe he’d even use one of their ping-pong paddles. Oh, Jesus, just thinking about it made his boner about to…

In the back, Daddy’s cock was iron-hard. He’d put down the paddle for a moment and managed to unzip and now it was pocking up from his lap. Berta had worked her way onto it and was practically impaled on him, shoving up and down like a bitch in heat. He could feel his cock getting ready to…

“Oh-oh-oh-oh-God-God-God-God!”
screeched Berta. Her brand new Minnie dress was all wet and smelly now. She’d have to take it to the dry cleaners. That would be embarrassing. Maybe she’d just buy a new one. They’d looked at her funny in the juniors store but they were happy to take her money. They had a bunch of other pretty party dresses. Maybe she’d go back and buy all of them. She’d have Daddy over and if she asked real nice, he’d take her out for ice cream. Mr. Driver could pick them up and wait while they had their ice cream and then drive them around again because she just
knew
on the way home she’d be a brat and do something Daddy didn’t like and then he’d have to discipline her, bring Mr. Paddle down on her little bottom so hard that she screamed and cried and kicked her little shoes and got herself wet again because she couldn’t help it, she got so hot and excited when he spanked her and her little girl part got so wet and juicy and oh God she was about to…

“Ten.”

“WHAP!

“Owww! Ohhh! Ahhh! Oh my God! GodGodGod!”
screamed Berta as she came over and over on Daddy’s lap.

“Ahhhh!”
cried Daddy as white, thick cum shot up from his cock into Berta’s tight warm pussy.

“Jesus!”
yelled Mr. Driver as he creamed his pants and his foot slipped on the gas pedal.

“What the fuck!”
shouted the driver in the car in front as Mike’s Buick rear-ended him.

SCREEEEECH! went two sets of brakes.

I
t was
an old movie, black and white. Frank Sinatra was a US infantry captain in the Korean War. He and Laurence Harvey and a half dozen other soldiers were far from the trenches, however. They were sitting on folding chairs, half asleep with boredom. Somehow they’d gotten trapped in a meeting for a ladies garden club, and for some reason they were on a raised platform with the speaker, a short fat woman in a floral print dress and floppy hat, who droned on and on about hydrangeas.

And then something happened. The camera cut to another angle and the fat woman had become a fat Korean in a serge suit speaking not to other ladies but to a gathering of Communist Party officials. The fat Korean gestured at the captured GIs, hypnotized to think they were at a garden club. He explained how with the proper conditioning, anyone’s mind could be broken and bent, reality distorted, made to do all sorts of things he wouldn’t otherwise. He demonstrated by giving a loaded pistol to Laurence Harvey, who played a sergeant named Raymond, and telling him to blow the brains out of two of the other soldiers.

“Who shall I shoot?” asked Raymond in a dull, toneless voice.

“Anyone but Captain Marco,” the fat Korean replied. “When we send your unit back, we need him to recommend you for your medal.”

“Medal?”

“The Congressional Medal of Honor. You’re going to be a hero, Raymond. Would you like that?”

“Very much.”

“Excellent. Now please be so good as to kill two of your fellow soldiers.”

“All right,” said Raymond, shooting men on either side of Frank Sinatra.

“
T
hat’s
enough,” said a voice. “Turn if off.”

They were in a conference room on the fifth floor of CIA headquarters in Arlington, Virginia, four bland middle-aged, mid-level government employees trying to get a handle on a particularly weird piece of intel.

“So who’s the Manchurian candidate in this movie?” said Ted.

“The shooter, Laurence what’s-his-name,” said Ed.

“Harvey. This movie was made, what, in the fifties?” said Fred.

“Early sixties,” said Larry, who was in Counter Intellgience and running the meeting. “He’s not the candidate though. He’s programmed by the North Koreans to shoot somebody running for president. It’s complicated and beside the point. I wanted you guys to get an idea of how people thought back then. This was a very successful movie made by very bright guys. The specter of brainwashing was absolutely real, and not just to Hollywood.
We
took it seriously. Before my time, of course, but there’s a bunch of fat files on mind control.”

“The Monarch Program,” said Ted, who was in Political Analysis.

“Right. Monarch, our own mind control effort. We never got anywhere but not for lack of money or trying.”

“What about the Reds? Did they?”

“Who knows?” said Ed, who was from the Asia section. “It’s not like we have assets in North Korea. Consensus opinion is they tried very hard and didn’t. I mean, closest thing this country’s had to a presidential dupe is Jimmy Carter and he was a bust for all concerned.”

Raucous laughter broke out. Larry tapped a spoon on his iced tea for order. “Knock it off. Out of line, Ed.”

“Sorry,” said Ed, trying to keep his face straight.

“No you’re not. So after Monarch folded, mind control got filed with Castro’s poisoned cigar and all the other wacky shit this agency produces from time to time.”

“Fascinating,” said Fred, who worked in Covert Operations. “but why are we sitting around going over ancient history? I’ve got an in-box full of
real
work.”

“Because,” said Larry, “we have it from reliable sources that a team of North Korean spies is going to infiltrate this country looking for the Holy Bible of mind control.”

“What?” said Ed.

“What?” said Ted.

“You’re shitting us,” said Fred. “How close are they to infiltrating?”

“No idea. Maybe they already have. This intel is dated.”

“Get back to the mind control part,” said Ed. “What Holy Bible? What are you talking about?”

“I wish I knew,” said Larry. “Anyone heard of Otto Popper?”

“Sure,” said Ted. “Austrian scientist, came to the States to teach as an old man. Very big name in neurology – or used to be. Short-listed for the Nobel, never won.”

“Well, when he was a young professor at an Austrian university, still just a lecturer, he had a Korean assistant,
charming
young man named Shin-Yung. They were very close, if you get my drift. Shin went back to Korea a year later, became a professor himself. The two of them kept up a correspondence, started in 1968 and continued for about a decade.”

“Still ancient history, Larry.”

“Bear with me. Shin had a son, a prominent researcher in bio-chemistry. Shin died a while back and his son went through the old man’s papers. You know, what to keep, what to toss.”

“So?” said Fred impatiently.

“So he came across a batch of letters from Popper about something called Transcranial Influence. Seems Shin had worked with him on it back in Austria, knew all about it. Popper was wrestling with what he should do, kept going on about how ‘dangerous’ it was. He’d written a book on it but couldn’t bring himself to give it to a publisher.”

“Did he?” asked Ed.

“Did he what”

“Publish it?”

“What do you think? No, he didn’t. Wanted to burn the manuscript but Shin wrote and persuaded him not to, said it represented his ‘greatest triumph.’ Popper died last year.
His
son, who had no interest in his father’s work, donated all his papers to Templeton University.”

“Including the dangerous manuscript?”

“No. We looked and it's not there.”

“Shin was from South Korea, right?”

“Right.”  

“So how does
North
Korea get involved in this?”

“Shin’s son got caught in a honey trap. The usual story, went to an overseas conference, beautiful woman, blah-blah. The guy has a loving wife, three kids, devoted to his family, but he slipped up and, well…”

“And the honey trappers were North Koreans?”

“Right. Deal was keep them supplied with sensitive documents and nobody gets the candid photos. First thing he did was turn over the Popper letters.”

“How do
we
know all this?”

“North Korean defector bought his way to asylum with his own sensitive files, including these.”

“Do the Koreans know the manuscript isn’t in Popper’s papers at Templeton?”

“Apparently. What’s more, they seem to have a lead that we don’t. The defector said they’re looking for a pet of Popper’s, a grad student who may have the book. He’s left Templeton, though.”

“Do we know who he is?”

“No but we’re working on it. Apparently the Neurology Department’s files are in disarray. Some weirdness in the grad program a while back. The former head, Dr. Emma Starke, is on indefinite medical leave.”

“That have anything to do with Popper?”

“Not sure but it might.”

“So we don’t know who Popper’s pet is. Do the Koreans?”

“The defector thinks they do.”

“How do they know this when we don’t?”

“Their army has six thousand hackers. If they can get into Sony’s email, they can get into Templeton’s. So, gentlemen, now that you’re fully informed, you know as little as I do. Suggestions?”

“Seems we have two targets,” said Fred. “Number One is the Korean team. We need to neutralize them, but quietly. Nothing that makes the
New York Times
or, God forbid, the
Huffington Post
.”

“Roger that,” said Fred. “Target Number Two is the manuscript. Personally, I think it’s bullshit. Ain’t no such thing as mind control.”

“That’s what they said about the atom bomb.”

“Exactly, so we’ve got to get our grubby hands on it before the Koreans do. I don’t know about you but if Transcranial Interference—”

“Influence. Transcranial Influence.”

“Whatever. If it
is
real,” said Fred, putting a pipe in his mouth. “I don’t want to be dancing to Kim Jong-un’s tune.”

“Fred, you know smoking’s not allowed,” warned Larry.

“Not going to light it,” said Fred. “Helps me think.” Like the rest of his colleagues in Covert Operations, Fred said they did the heavy lifting, but never without another department telling them what to lift.

“So, what
do
you think?” said Ed.

“I think this is a wet job.”

“You mean erase the North Koreans?”

“Yes and maybe anyone else who Knows Too Much.”

“This agency doesn’t do wet jobs anymore,” said Larry.

“No, we don’t,” agreed Fred. “Also we don’t torture.”

“No indeed, that’s what foreign agencies are for,” said Ted.

“This operation is being conducted on home soil,” said Larry. “We need finesse.”

“We need the tea cup chappies.”

“MI-5? They’ve got their own restrictions these days.”

“They also have
her
.”

“Her? You mean…”

“Yeah, her.”

“Still? After that mess in Belorussia?”

“She’s an independent contractor now but still available.”

“Expensive?”

“Very, but if you want wet-finesse, so to speak, if you want kid gloves
and
cold-blooded, who you gonna call?”

“So what do we do?” said Larry. “Someone make a motion.”

“I move we place a call to MI-5,” said Ed. “Have them call
her
.”

“Seconded,” said Ted. “But she reports to
us
.”

“Show of hands,” said Larry. “All in favor?”

Four hands went up. “Motion passes,” said Larry. “Let the record show vote was unanimous. Meeting adjourned.”

There was a scraping of chairs. “I’m going to lunch,” said Ed. “Anyone?”

“I’ll join you,” said Ted.

“Me three,” said Fred. “Larry?”

“Not today,” Larry said, gathering his papers. “I’m going upstairs to the Secure Room. Have to place a Transatlantic call.”