The numerous potholes in the dusty road bounced the van around widely as it sped toward its destination, each jolt reverberating cruelly through the two women lying bound and hooded on the floor in the back. Though both were still -- a lesson instilled in them very early in the trip by the rough slaps of the guards that flanked them - their minds were running over time trying to think of a reason for their current predicament.
Michelle was an aid worker, sent by her NGO to do an assessment on the plight of the thousands of people displaced by civil war during the military coup a few months ago. Lying next to her in the van was her daughter, Jessica, who'd taken a leave of absence from reading for a degree in foreign affairs to get some practical experience in the real world. She'd jumped at the chance to follow her mother on an assignment abroad, only now that didn't seem the great idea that it had at the time. They'd only landed in the capital this morning and had been travelling by dilapidated bus to a small town a few hundred kilometres away when, without warning, two vans had pulled the bus over and armed men had stormed on board, grabbed the only whites from their seats at the back, and hauled them outside and into one of the vans. Once inside, their protests had been silenced with vicious slaps to the face before large strips of tape had been plied over their mouths and a hood placed over their heads. Flipped on their fronts, the women's arms had been pulled behind them and their wrists bound with cable tie before the same was done to their ankles.
The van carrying the women pulled up at the gates of an isolated property, before being waived through by men with automatic weapons after only a cursory glance at the driver's papers. The building itself was square and built around a central courtyard. A high brick wall surrounded the grounds and more men with heavyset weaponry patrolled the complex. Meandering up the long driveway, the van pulled up to a side entrance and reversed backward so that it's rear doors opened onto a low-level loading bay. As soon as the handbrake was applied, men ran down from the building itself and, wrenching open the doors, hauled the two women to their feet and marched them inside after cutting the cable ties that bound their legs and pulling the hoods from the heads.
Pushed forward roughly, Michelle and Jessica were propelled down a long, bleak corridor, their eyes widening with fear as they took in the rows of cells that flanked them on both sides. The majority of the cells were empty, but female prisoners occupied a few. Most of whom weren't just incarcerated, the women noted with increasing horror, but were bound either to the bars or to hooks and eyelets in the walls or ceiling. All were completely naked and red markings were clearly visible down their backs and across their buttocks and thighs.
Halfway down the corridor, Michelle was stopped in front of a solid oak door and the guards holding her knocked solidly. The remaining two guards continued onwards, escorting Jessica further down the hall, ignoring the muffled cries of protest from the mother behind the gag and her futile attempts to escape the grip of her guards as she tried to protect her daughter who was now disappearing round a corner.
In front of the Michelle, the door was opened from the inside and a uniformed man motioned for them to enter. It was an office of sorts, but only a soft leather chair behind a sturdy wooden desk was the room's only concession to such. To the right of the table, a small metal bed was pushed against the corner, handcuffs adorning all four bedposts and hanging interlocked against the bars of the headboard, all open and ready. On the other wall, metal rings stuck out from the brick, and a pair of wrist cuffs dangled menacingly from the ceiling nearby. Next to these on the floor was an umbrella stand, completely devoid of umbrellas, but with an assortment of bamboo canes, whips, and spanking paddles clearly visible inside. Surprisingly, Michelle noted, there was no far wall. Instead, metal bars ran from floor to ceiling providing a clear view of the dusty courtyard outside.
Michelle had stopped dead in disbelief at the sight before her but now one of the guards shoved her roughly inside and closed the door behind her. The door clicked shut ominously, trapping the charity worker alone inside with the man in front of her.
"So, Michelle," the uniformed man spoke for the first time. "Do you know why you are here?" Michelle shook her head violently, shocked that he knew her name, and the man chuckled. "Forgive me," he smiled, and reached forward and removed the tape covering her mouth in one quick movement causing his captive to gasp with the sting. He then reached around her back and sawed through the cable ties pinning her wrists with a Swiss knife taken from his pocket.
"No, I, please," Michelle began. "My daughter and I, we, we're aid workers on our way to Khatari. We're with the IFHA, please."
The man's gaze hardened. "Do not take us for fools," he snapped. "You are here to spread dissent at the behest of some American agency. I want to know which one."
"No!" Michelle cried, almost sobbing with frustration and fear. "I'm with the IFAW, my daughter is with us too. That's all, I swear. Where is she? Please let me see her!"
