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  • 48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 16: Albert

48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 16: Albert

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Albert's Story, by J Spe

Author's Note: The Blue Bayou story starts with several couples embarking on a yacht looking for two weeks of fun and sun. Then, slavers strike, taking over the ship, stripping and training the women, and auctioning them off to buyers looking for sex slaves. This story follows the Chief Slaver, Albert, detailing how he came into this profession. Along the way, we learn how his resourcefulness was developed and how he responded to many challenges. For the most part, we will learn that they were similar to those challenges entrepreneurs usually face in building a global enterprise. We have listed this story in the Non-Consent/Reluctance area, although there is not much erotica detailed, to keep the Blue Bayou saga together.

Thanks, Dear Readers, for your attention, your votes, and your comments. You may be sure that Carole99 and I appreciate all of these!

— J Spe


The ship was dark and quiet. The female auction on Blue Bayou was over, and Albert's organization was almost a half-million dollars richer. There would be expenses drawn against that, but, for only six girls sold, it was a good auction. Tomorrow, he would have to see about the men and the crew. Tonight, his crew of slavers would party. He knew each of them and, for sure, each would be ready to go at daybreak.

Operations didn't always go so well. Albert remembered back to some awful screw-ups he'd heard about from Vietnam and a few he'd been caught by in Afghanistan. He had resigned his commission when it looked like more of the same for Iraq, and this was the second time around! The politicians had no idea what made any of the Middle East countries go, and there was no way to teach them. The military did what the politicians told them to do, and usually did it well, but a lot of people he knew were probably going to get killed in this war.

He remembered his Separation Day at Camp Lejeune. It was late January and the trees were not showing any buds. The sky was clear, with just a few clouds scudding by. There had been a short ceremony, the surprise being that he was being decommissioned as a Major. He'd spent so long as a Captain that he wasn't even sure what his new pay would be for the last period. As each of his mates saluted him for the last time, he felt an unfamiliar lump in his throat. "My God, I really care about these guys!"

Of course, he cared. He'd seen most of them through the last few years of patrols and operations. He'd been fortunate in not losing anyone this past year. There were few in the battalion who could make that claim. It was not that they'd drawn easier, safer assignments. No assignment on a battlefield is safe. He'd just been a bit luckier, and maybe a bit more trained. That old geezer who'd beaten him up during his first year in the Corps had taught him far more than was in "the book."

The party was a quiet affair. Officers and enlisteds from the battalion came by to offer congratulations and "stay in touch" messages. On a whim, he'd had a bunch of business cards printed with his name, his new title: MARINE CORPS, RETIRED, and his e-mail address. He'd tried to stay in touch, but he knew messages didn't always make it across oceans and warfronts. It was one of the reasons he was getting out.

That and the money. He'd been banking his pay since he'd enlisted, so he knew how much a twenty-year veteran should have. Some of the men who'd passed him on the lists had much more. Secrets are hard to keep in the Corps, and he knew that much of the overage was from "surprising" sources. It wasn't his style to go accusing folks, so he didn't. He just felt it was his time to strike out on his own. It was about the same mantra that had helped him get through all the training exercises and operations he had completed: If they can do it, I can do it. Simple, really.

He had no worries about getting out of the Bachelor Officers Quarters, the BOQ. There were plenty of rooms but few officers coming in. He'd taken his time, trying to think of a new line of work during the day and partying in the evenings. So, he was there when the kid at the desk came looking for him to answer an international phone call.

It was from a buddy he'd served with in Afghanistan. The guy had stayed behind in Southeast Asia after the war. Albert had heard stories about him being in a dozen different cities and in a dozen different jobs. He took the phone with an expectant grin.

"OK, you old slob, what do you think you're doing busting up my nap time?"

"Slob, is it? You couldn't clean a knife of watermelon seeds as well as any of my squad!"

They traded insults for a minute before the caller got down to business. "I heard you were getting out. I had lots of trouble adjusting when I got out, and I wanted to tell you I'm here for you if anything gets too heavy. Friends are for helping with the heavy stuff, you know?"

Albert had felt a stab of gratitude at this open display of friendship. Mostly, guys in the Corps kept that stuff pretty well buttoned-up.

They talked some more, and then Albert realized an international call usually cost a fortune. He tried to get off, but his friend wouldn't let him go, always bringing up another story. Finally, Albert mentioned cost and the line went silent for just a moment. Then, explosive laughter came across the continents.

"Albert, the place I've got now practically owns the local phone company. Look, take down my number and think about coming back out here. There's lots of opportunity and I'm sure you'd at least enjoy the vacation."

He'd done just that. Two weeks later, he was relaxing in Macau, the former Portuguese enclave just west of the former British colony of Hong Kong. His friend had sent some staffers to meet him at the airport and they'd whisked him through all the bureaucracy in record time. His views of the colony matched the travel brochures exactly. The place was picturesque and the traffic wasn't as bad as he remembered in the former Saigon, now Ho Chi Minh City.

The staffers had checked him into a fine old hotel and said that his friend would meet him in the bar at 1700 hours. He had to laugh at the reference to "military time." At precisely that time, his friend had appeared. He wasn't laughing, however, and Albert had come to his "alert" status as the man took a chair.

"Took" seemed exactly right, Albert remembered. The man had put on lots of weight, but he still moved like an athlete. There was just the sense of power radiating from him.

Albert waited for his friend to order a beer and open the conversation. In contrast to their telephone talks, this conversation started seriously and got denser as it went.

"Look, Albert, I got you to come here just because I remember how hard it was to decompress from the Corps. I really thought you'd have a nice vacation here. I'd show you some of the opportunities that are springing up in this part of the world and maybe you'd get some ideas, either for here or for back in the States."

Albert nodded. He knew that there was at least one more shoe still to fall.

"Well, it seems as if I've got my ass in a sling and I could really use some of the expertise you're carrying around. If you'd help, I'd be very grateful. But, I've got to tell you, it's not going to be a simple walk-in-the-park patrol."

Albert had heard similar stories and pleas just listening at the Officers Club bar on many nights. Most stories turned out to be disasters, for men and their careers. The guy who managed to survive intact often got beers and shots paid for over the next few days. Maybe his friend was setting him up for something? On the other hand, they knew each other well enough not to beat around the bush when it counted.

Albert leaned forward and made a fateful announcement. "Look, I can't take on a mission until I see the briefing. That's how I did it in the Corps. I don't see any reason to do it differently now. You have time for me?"

His friend's face lit up with a smile. "I was hoping that would be your reaction. Let's go to my office. I'll show you the gears and switches and explain the game."

The "office" turned out to be a two-story building in a quiet street. Inside, there were rooms with maps on the walls, rooms full of girls typing forms, and a huge phone desk, with three operators trying to sort out incomings from outgoings. Albert had been impressed by the quiet efficiency of the operation. He knew from experience that any busy operation often degenerated into people not connecting, not getting through, and getting upset, usually with bad results.

When they got to the "corner office," he was shown a map of the South China Sea and the adjoining China. It had markings that seemed to be ferry lines along the coast. Some locales inland were marked, along with roads leading back to the coast.

"This is the battlefield," he was told. "These towns and villages are often just a hundred or so people, maybe eight or ten families. Few towns have electricity. Most are just now getting good water supplies. Everyone is dirt poor. If you can't grow your own food, you starve. So, over the generations, these people have developed a cash crop, their children. My teams visit about once a year. Some family has a son, but usually a daughter, that they sell us for about a year's subsistence. In the years we don't visit, many of the kids die of starvation or infection, things that we don't have in our country. OK so far?"

He'd asked what his friend did with the kids they'd bought. "It's simple. We bring them to an island we own in the South China Sea. We feed them; we train them in farming and in some city skills. We teach them some language, depending on the market forces. Then, we take them to the market and sell them to rich folks who want a kid or want a slave or any combination. My teams visit about every year or so to keep tabs on the kids. Any sign of abuse and we haul the kid out of there. There's always been a market somewhere for every kid. Inventory is not a problem."

"OK," he'd asked, "what's the problem?"

"Greed, basically. As you'd expect, we have to have lots of government types on our payroll. Some of them have cottoned to our system and set up their own teams. My guys are getting ambushed in the field and my ferries are getting hijacked on the sea. It's stupid, really, but some people you can't tell anything."

"So, what kind of responses have you made already?"

"The usual sort. We've tracked down the ambushers or hijackers and killed a bunch. They seem to be easy to replace, so we've got running battles going on all the time. We need a new strategy and some new people to run it. That's why I'm wondering if you could study this a bit and figure a better way. Of course, I'd make it worth your while."

Albert had nodded absently, already thinking about the problem. He had arranged to talk to some of the team captains, both land and sea types. There were just too many bases to cover. A team coming from any area could be hit at any number of places before it reached a central site. Albert became convinced that this Peripheral Strategy was not tenable, was expensive, and got too many people killed, including some of the kids they'd rescued.

Seen this way, the answer was almost obvious. A Central Strategy was needed. Identify the government officials who were not staying bought, who were running their own teams, and convince them to stop such unhelpful operations. Some might be amenable to reason, some might need bigger bribes, some might need to be forcibly retrained, and others would be impressed by the forcible retraining. When he outlined this to his friend, there was initial scepticism but a willingness to explore further. His friend sent out feelers among the officials and identified several who seemed ringleaders among the troublemakers.

Albert arranged for surveillance on these officials, training some of the youngsters in this art. Nobody paid attention to kids running around on the streets, begging for food or clothes. It was part of the background noise in any city. Within a few weeks, Albert and his friend's organization had "books" on their targets, including family, friends, and lieutenants.

About a month into this exercise, Albert thought they had enough to make a few "approaches" to one or two officials. His friend, claiming more experience, said they really had enough information to make a sweep of a small group who were focussed on one province. Albert wasn't so certain, but his friend pushed and so Albert agreed and worked up a combined target plan. The friend said he had enough staffers to carry out the plan and Albert went on vacation to Hong Kong the weekend of the operation.

When he got back, there was clear satisfaction in his friend's organization. The teams had captured all four targets, along with a few wives or girlfriends and a lieutenant or two for each official. They had brought them all to a compound outside of town and "explained" things to them. One official had "seen the light," Albert was told. Two others were argumentative, at least until a few arms were broken. One official was uncooperative and was later found lifeless in a sewage lagoon near his home. The organization's follow-up squads had continued surveillance and found that the officials had explained to their teams that they could no longer afford their services. With the surveillance net Albert had constructed, very little activity was not known. Unhelpful activity was called to the official's attention and suggestions made to cease and desist. Few suggestions were ignored.

About a month later, Albert's mail caught up with him. A bank statement showed his regular account had doubled. There were also statements from two banks Albert had never heard of which each showed a quarter of a million dollars available.

Albert thought he'd discovered a useful life after the Corps. There was some danger, which made it attractive. There was profit, which helped with the attraction. And the stories of some of the kids who had been placed in other countries showed real accomplishment. Most were going to school, even high school, something impossible in their hometowns. Their new families were proud of their accomplishments. Some of the kids were happier now than before being sold by their parents.

He gradually explored more of the organization. The island training center unfailingly showed happy kids, which is what kids are when they aren't starving or working barren fields from sun-up to sundown. They were learning modern skills, and it was amazing how fast they picked up English or French or even Russian, the languages of the families who were looking for them.

The distribution part of the organization was more spread out, less easily controlled. It was hard to move a kid across a few countries to some town and expect to find a suitable home for him or her. Albert began to wonder if some other strategy was possible.

And then the internet blossomed across continents. The island training center could work up a few pages about some kid and post it on their website. People all over the world could "shop" for the kid they wanted. The distribution system tightened up, with kids even getting to see their new families by videos before their training was complete. Occasionally, a family would send in a list of desired skills or a description of the kid they wanted. The training center would see that suitable kids got the desired training.

When your business is successful, you gradually become known to the rest of the world. Albert found this out while sunning himself on one of Hong Kong's beaches. A kid came near him and kicked sand at him. Albert had a bit of Chinese, so he told the kid to knock it off. The kid kicked more sand. Another speech led to more sand.

Albert sensed this was something different from a nasty kid, so his next speech was different.

"Who's telling you to go bother me? And, why is he sending you? Why doesn't he just come by and we'll talk? Go away and don't come back without answers, kid."

The kid went away, returning about ten minutes later. He crouched down to speak with Albert privately. Albert thought it was cute.

"She says she's embarrassed to be seen talking to a strange man on the beach. She would like you to come to her bungalow. You come?"

"Sure. Just let me collect my stuff and we'll go right now." The kid waited and then grabbed Albert's bag and carried it as a prized possession. He led Albert to a small mansion facing the beach and handed the bag to an angry-looking guard. The guard motioned Albert to raise his arms for a pat-down, but Albert smiled and said it was unnecessary. Puzzled, the guard asked why.

"Well," Albert said, "I never kill a woman on the first visit, so there's no need to search me." The guard had his own ideas about this woman, but he figured it would be simpler to watch the visitor. He could be shot later. They often were.

The woman claimed to be the head of a local crime gang. She called herself The Dragon Lady, which she said she'd picked up from some old comic books. Albert laughed, and agreed it was a good name because he'd seen the same comic books when he was a kid.

There was a bit of small talk, but Dragon Lady seemed anxious to get to her point. Finally, she explained.

"When I see a successful entrepreneur, a man who has built or rebuilt a business, I try to learn from him how he went about it. My business is doing well, but it would be nice if it was bigger or more profitable or easier to run. Can you come help me do these things?"

It was as bald-faced a proposition as any he'd gotten from the prostitutes in Saigon, but the Dragon Lady made it interesting. He checked his Macau operation and things were running well there, so he stayed with the Dragon Lady for a few months. It didn't take long for him to figure out that there was nothing wrong with her operation. Even if there had been, he didn't think she was going to accept any suggestion he might make.

With the idea in mind that, any time she wanted, she could have him killed, Albert started discussing with her what she really wanted. By then, she had developed some trust in the former Marine, so she gradually let him know her plans. What she wanted was out of a lot of petty crime operations. She wanted to concentrate on drugs. Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran were producing more and better material, and the market was taking anything produced.

But, she couldn't just shut down these superfluous operations, could she? Anyone watching would assume she was vulnerable, which would make her vulnerable. Albert could see her problem, but it took a while to come up with a solution. Among the local chiefs, she set up competitions — local gang wars — with the survivor inheriting the business. She collected a bit off the top for six months and then let the business go. The only business that could not use this system was her slavery business. Starting from just supplying local warlords in various countries with sex slaves, she had grown into capturing lovely young ladies, training them to be sex slaves, and distributing them throughout Asia and Eastern Europe. The business had been fairly profitable but, since it was centrally run, there were no local chiefs to fight over it.

After a little research and observation, Albert felt that this business might merge with his Macau business. There would have to be expansion of the Training Center, but the flow of kids or ladies was about the same, he had thought. So, he and his friend bought the business and consolidated operations in Macau.

Differences began to appear between the two operations almost at once. The kid business was mostly run in an easy-going manner, with the kids enjoying the "growing up" ideas of school and skills and families that could take care of them, preparing them for a better life while serving the family interests. The sex slave business needed a more decisive hand, with the girls mostly resisting their new lives. Albert tried recruiting potential slaves from all sorts of different groups, but suitable girls were already in good families, in school, and with prospects for a husband and new family in their near future. One or two girls tried to swim away from the island, at least that's what the trainers thought. No traces were ever found of the girls. That didn't scare the other girls into more tractability, but made them more resistant. Developing a submissive slave with sexual skills turned out to be a more difficult process than anyone imagined.

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