'Don't worry Major, she'll end up like all the others.'

There was a heavy thud above her and Zoe guessed that they'd put a lid on the crate. A second later there was the sound of hammering. Zoe could feel the drug taking its full effect upon her now as she felt herself falling asleep against her will. She twisted her tethered body to try to find a more comfortable position and talked to herself in her mind, reminding herself of her mission and trying to formulate a plan for escape. The heat in the crate was getting worse though and the air was so close and dry it was hard to breathe. She felt the strength slipping from her limbs and then her body slid down until her head was resting on the floor of the crate. She groaned through the ball gag and tried to lift her cheek from the wooden floor of the crate but she had no strength left. Just got to keep awake, she told herself, mustn't fall asleep. Mustn't fall...

'Miss Farquerson, or should we say Miss Chambers, was definitely seen leaving the plane but none of the passengers we've checked with recall seeing her after customs,' the matronly lady swept into the office, a pile of books and papers under one arm, a mobile phone in her other hand.

The gentleman behind the broad, mahogany desk nodded. He took a final glance at the letter before him and just above where was typed, "Edgar R M Sutherland, Director of Foreign Operations, British Secret Service", he signed his name and carefully placed the cap back on his fountain pen.

'I had Stewart speak with their airport security,' she said, 'according to them she passed customs and was last seen getting into one of those unlicensed taxis.'

The woman sat herself down in one of the deep leather armchairs and gazed out of the window. Taxis, buses and cars formed a gridlock stretching down Falmers Street as far as Whitehall.

'Do you believe them?' she asked.

The man snorted contemptuously, standing up from his desk. He straightened his tie and shook his head. He glanced at the dossier in front of him.

'Of course not! It's pretty obvious what's happened. Stonefield has shopped her to the El-Saram security service. That bloody man has been nothing but trouble. Pity we can't just have the SAS grab him and get him on a Hercules back home where he can face the music!'

'Well at least you now know that he is out there, Director.'

'That was the whole idea behind sending the Farquerson girl out. She was the bait. We guessed he was out there, skulking around as some shadowy advisor to the King. This pretty much proves it. Stonefield obviously couldn't resist the chance to get even with the girl for her part in his downfall over here.'

'But we still can't prove he's there and now we've lost the girl,' observed the woman.

'Well, Miles reckons that the El-Saram Internal Security is holding her. Chances are Stonefield is watching her being tortured by Internal Security and he'll love every minute of it. All we need to do is find the girl and we should find Stonefield into the bargain. Miles thinks she's still in the airport and he's got the place under surveillance. Of course we can't be seen to have anything to do with what happens, so Miles has employed a local mercenary to steal her back.'

'And meantime; hope that the poor girl isn't suffering too much,' said the woman. 'What if she talks?'

'All the information and names we've fed her about the underground pro-democracy movement out there is a load of nonsense.'

'But that won't stop her being tortured.'

'Obviously. And I dare say when they find out she's been leading them up the garden path they'll not be too amused either. Let's hope by then we've got her back or else she'll really be in for a rough ride!'

The man glanced down at a file of papers lying open beside the letter. The topmost sheet gave a concise resume of the career of Zoe Farquerson to date. After three years as a desk girl with the British Secret Service she had been moved to SES. This unit, established quite recently, comprised a handful of young women from the ranks of the Secret Service who were all extremely attractive. They were trained to act under cover, seducing then extracting secrets from enemies of the state. Hence SES: Seduce and Extract Secrets. Attached to the sheet by a paperclip was a photograph of the young woman. He stared at the picture for a moment then flicked over the top sheet. More information about her followed, along with another photograph. In the first the petite, dark haired girl was shown demurely posing in a smart jacket and skirt. In the second photo she was wearing a tight mini-skirt and a skimpy dark blue top that exposed her arms and her stomach. The photo was drenched in sunlight and the girl was grinning, tilting her head to one side, pretending to be eating a bunch of grapes which she held one handed above her head. The Ambassador scrutinized the photograph more closely. The girl's long, dark hair was tousled about her face and bare shoulders. Grape juice was smeared down over her neck and collarbone. The look she was giving whoever had taken the photograph was provocative, to say the least. Her skirt was so short it barely covered the swell of her rump and her generous breasts jutted against the tight material of her skimpy top. Some notes in the dossier told him the photo had been taken by a boyfriend whilst she was on holiday a few years earlier. The file listed all her boyfriends and by twenty-six she had clocked up dozens. Zoe Farquerson was evidently an active young girl!

'Perhaps you'll excuse me Mrs. MacDonald, I have some notes to work on for tomorrow's meeting with the PM's Secretary.'

'Of course Director. I'll not put any calls through to you until you give me the all clear.'

Edgar Sutherland waited until the woman had shut the door behind her then he opened a desk drawer, took out a videotape and slid it into the player. Pressing a button on the remote on his desk, a panel of fake bookshelves slid away and a television screen flickered into life. He glanced again at the notes written on the tape box. "Surveillance film: SES: agent Farquerson/ Rodney Stonefield seduction. Hidden camera, Belgravia Hotel, Suite 17."

On the television screen the girl entered a large, lavishly furnished bedroom followed closely by a suited man in his late middle age. Edgar Sutherland fast-forwarded the tape, which he'd already watched all the way through once. Champagne, kisses and fondling led to the couple undressing each other and the girl, still in her skimpy underwear, encouraging the man to lie down on the bed. It took only a moment with fast-forwarding the tape. Even at real speed, it had happened quickly, mused Sutherland, as he watched his young agent persuading the man to lie still for her. Sutherland kept his thumb over the fast forward while the girl could be seen coaxing the man to allow her to tie him up. She used the sashes from two towelling bathrobes to tie his hands to the opposite corners of the bedhead and then she used her stockings to bind his ankles to the bottom corners of the four-poster. At this point Sutherland cancelled the fast-forward and pressed the play button.

The young girl looked down thoughtfully at the man tied spread-eagled on the bed before her. She wore delicate, ivory silk panties with a matching camisole that hung down over her large but firm young breasts and left her taut stomach exposed. Her long fingernails, varnished a deep burgundy, skimmed slowly over the man's thighs and he sighed in frustrated anticipation as her fingertips glided around his erect cock but carefully avoided touching him. Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement at his condition. She had on dark purple lipstick and her sensual, bow shaped lips smiled with satisfaction as she watched him pulling ineffectually against the restraints she'd fastened a few moments earlier around his wrists and ankles.