The morning shift is the easy one for security officers at any casino; for whatever reasons, gambling is generally an evening and night pastime. But like all the casinos here, Caesar’s is a 24 hour operation, so there had to be a morning shift and I wasn’t complaining that I was on it. I could see what passed for a crowd had formed at one of the Blackjack tables in the nearly empty hall; someone was winning big. Slowly, so as not to arouse attention, I ambled over to see what was going on. If possible the tables are placed so the dealer, aka: croupier, sits with a wall to her back and so I had to approach the table just like a customer, first looking at the backs of the customers and facing the dealer. The expression on the dealers face told me everything, someone was beating the pants off of her and she looked desperate. Not that losing to a customer was an offense, after all we had to let customers win every now and then; otherwise they would stop coming to lose the rest of the time. But dealers pride themselves with being very good card players themselves, no one likes to lose and losing too many times can ultimately get a one reprimand.

Now I scanned the table to see who was winning. Even though the table had five customers seated, the pile of chips told that one, the woman sitting third from the left, was cleaning out the house. I slid far to the right to try to get a discreet look at her from the side at least.

The sight sent a shiver down my spine as if I had been stabbed by an icicle. But it could not be who I thought it was! And no doubt it wasn’t, this was Atlantic City in the good ole’ US of A; however there was an uncanny resemblance, adding ten probably not very easy years. The playing skill this middle-aged woman displayed fit too. I stared at her transfixed. Her hair had become a little darker and was now cut short in a pleasing feminine way and the face had some more lines, but. The woman shot a glance in my direction. Damn, I know that one must never stare too hard at someone they are trying to watch unnoticed and I had just been careless.

The woman finished her hand, effortlessly winning once again, gathered up her chips and got up. Game over. Why? Did I too have an uncanny resemblance to someone burned in her memory? She headed out to the money booth and cashed out. I discreetly, well, I pretended it was discreetly anyway, positioned myself on the route between the booth and the exit doors. I had to know, was she or wasn’t she?

In a second she removed all doubt. She made no effort to walk around.

“Hello”, she said as she walked by.

“How are you?” I replied in a choked whisper.

“Fine”, she replied in an even tone.

We stared at each other for a moment that seemed like an hour, at least to me.

“Guard, isn’t that a step down.” she finally said in a tone of voice that made it clear that that wasn’t a question but a statement.

“Yes.” I replied. “I didn’t want any more.” After a pause I added, “They offered me Sergeant a couple years ago but I turned it down.” Another pause: “So what are you doing these days?”

“I’m in the Army”, she replied.

“The US Army?” I responded.

“Yes, you only have one,” she shot back.

“So how did you get here?” I now asked.

“I could not find anything at home and you know, several of my friends went to the Cruise Ships out of Miami, so finally I let one of them fix me up there too.” She answered. “After a while I got a Green Card and then the rest was easy. I enlisted and now I’m a soldier.”

I pondered that for a while, “So where are you stationed?”

“At the moment Ft. Stewart, but I’m getting ready to go back to Iraq,” she replied.

“Been there before?” I responded.

“Yup, this will be my third tour,” she replied.

“Hard way to make a living; don’t you ever regret leaving your previous job?” I continued.

“Nope”, she replied.

“It’s strange; I seem to recall that once upon a time you did not have a very high opinion of Americans and now you are defending us.”

“Yes, life is strange, isn’t it? You have a wonderful country; too bad most of you don’t deserve it. But there are worse things to possibly die for, than the USA.” she replied and was gone.

I wanted to say something else but it was too late, I don’t remember what.

Back then I was the Security Manager at the Ali Baba Casino in Agadir. This night my problem was that our surveillance camera system had decided to take a vacation. When I realized it was not working I gave it a quick check but could not find the problem. Tomorrow the installers would come, but a lot of money could change hands before tomorrow. Meanwhile I had to make do. What really bothered me was that there was no obvious cause; it had worked just fine until closing the previous night, but today at noon when it was started up again, all the screens were blank. The senior security man on duty should have called me immediately; maybe in those first hours, while the place was still almost empty, I could have done something. But of course he didn’t. By the time I reported in at 6, the crowd had started picking up and there was little I could do discreetly. And that left me with a gaping hole in my security.

While most people who go to a Casino don’t perceive it, the first purpose of a Casino’s security system is to protect it from its own employees. We always laugh at the How-To Books on how to beat the Casino. We wrote the book on how to separate people from their money, and the only way to beat the Casino is to own it. We are not even too concerned about the: would be cheaters; a good croupier can spot their attempts from a mile away. That is of course, unless the croupier is in on it. At that point the problem takes on a whole different dimension.

To guard against croupier misconduct we have a multi-layer defense. The first layer is the table supervisor. All the gaming tables are set up in pairs so two croupiers work side by side with a table supervisor in the middle. His or her only job is to watch the croupier’s fingers. In some Casinos they even go so far as to mandate that female croupiers paint their fingernails bright red to make them easier to follow. But our Manager’s comment about that was that if a Supervisor needs something like that, he can spend some of that additional supervisor’s pay on a new pair of glasses, or else retire. The next layer is the Pit Boss, who is responsible for the action on the floor. He keeps track of how each table is doing. If a croupier goes on what we consider a losing streak, generally that means quickly losing over 5 000, she gets replaced as soon as possible. It is our Manager’s policy that unless she has done something really stupid, a croupier does not get punished unless she loses over 10 000 in one night. The Pit Boss also watches the supervisors.

The next layer is the video system. In a sense, this is the Atom Bomb of the security system. Actually, maybe the Sword of Damocles would be a more appropriate comparison. The problem with the Supervisor and the Pit Boss is that they have to work in real time, and when the action gets hot and heavy that may not be good enough. Additionally, a Supervisor and even conceivably the Pit Boss could get cut into the take of a well-organized scam. But the video system gives us the after the fact power, to do a frame-by-frame analysis of every move and every glance that every person at a table has made. And, being a machine, the video system is incorruptible. But, it can be disabled. I wouldn’t know if that had been done in this case, until tomorrow. However, if that is what had been done, whatever was going to happen was going to happen, maybe already was happening, tonight.

The final layer is, of course, punishment. That is a subject we don’t talk about too loud. We consider frightful rumors to be the best deterrent.

Of course in the US if a croupier is caught cheating she is immediately fired, and turned over to the local police. But for that to work as punishment she has to be working for a serious salary, and the local laws and Police have to be set up right. In the few places in the US where Casino gambling is allowed, namely the State of Nevada and Atlantic City, NJ. that is the case. Here in Morocco that would be a joke. On the other hand, the lack of laws and an involved Police Force cuts both ways. Here, the Casinos get to punish their own, and we can be as physical about it as we want to.

As for salaries, it’s a free market of supply and demand like everything else. But here too, being in Morocco has its twist. The old King - oh yes, this is still an absolute monarchy, likes the taxes the Casinos pay. But he, and his people are also devout Moslems. So, the law here is that no citizen of Morocco can play here, and no citizen of Morocco can even work here, while the Casino is open for business. In other words, the clean-up staff, etc. can be locals, but everyone involved in the gaming, are foreigners. Except, the Head Bookkeeper HAS to be a Moroccan – why are we not surprised!

So we recruit all over the world. We don’t get many people from places like North America or Northern Europe . First of all, countries there tend to strictly limit Casinos on their own soil, as a result of which they produce few qualified workers. And second, their salary demands tend to be unrealistic. But there is no real shortage of skilled and hard-working girls from the Third World . I say, girls, because all the Casinos try to hire primarily female croupiers. There have been studies done on this, and most customers, even women, prefer to play against a female croupier. However, totally female croupier staffs also create a negative reaction. So, our Manager tries to hire four or five young women for every young man.

The collapse of the Iron Curtain has been a golden gift to us. None of the newly emerging countries of Eastern Europe have started limiting Casinos yet and salaries over there are lower than dirt. In a Casino in Warsaw , a girl gets paid one sixth of what she would get in Atlantic City , in Moscow , one twelfth. We pay about one quarter to one third. So when we send our agents to Eastern Europe we get a steady stream of applications. We can afford to be picky, and we get a steady supply of blond, blue-eyed and beautiful girls. Unfortunately we tend to only keep them a year or two. They say, Morocco is a nice place to visit, but they would not want to live here. So, some, armed with new contacts go on to Cruise Ships, or, if they somehow manage a Green Card, Atlantic City, others take their savings, which while not large, are more than they would earn in five years back home, and return. On the other hand the constant turnover ensures that our croupiers are always young and beautiful!

But, for me, the Security Manager, this golden gift has its lead lining. Most of these girls are on a first name basis with the Russian Mafia at home. By and large, this acquaintance is just casual; the hoods are also some of the biggest gamblers, but you can never be sure. Also, since someone is always leaving, there is the constant danger that they will try to make a quick kill before departing.

So here I am tonight, without my video system. Of course, except for a select few on the Security Staff, nobody knows that. Nobody except the person who disabled it that is.

Since about seven o’clock I have been prowling the floors. I want whoever arranged for the disabling of that system to see that I am out looking at them. Of course, actually all I will accomplish is to confirm to whoever they are; that the system is indeed down and they can do whatever they want to.

But I have a little secret too. This Casino was built in the 1930s, when the French ruled Morocco , and long before there was anything like a video contraption. The problem with croupiers has been around forever though. When I took over, just before he left, my predecessor showed me a very interesting toy. I don’t know if he ever used it, he seemed to show it to me as a curiosity from a bygone era, but it still works. I made sure of that. Located in the basement, in a tiny little room whose door was always locked, was a captured German WW I U-boat periscope, which traveled up one of the glass covered pillars that supported the roof of the large gaming hall. Of course it could not give the kind of coverage that multiple video cameras attached to the ceiling could, and it couldn’t record, but the only two people who knew about it was me, and the General Manager.

I took one more, very visible, tour of the gaming hall, this time with a large drink in my hand. Then I disappeared.

A couple minutes later I was standing in the little room. I always wanted say “Torpedoes, fire” when I got down here, but instead I settled for the practical and whispered into the two way radio, ”OK, whenever one of ours starts losing, let me know.” Of course, our croupiers would lose a hand, or a spin on the roulette wheel, actually, even a whole bunch of them. That’s an inevitable part of the game, and if we start looking too invincible, we even have to give a few away. Otherwise people would stop coming and playing. But, “losing” to a prearranged friend is also how cheating is done. Of course, that would require a serious losing streak, and normally I would just watch the video monitors for those. But, with my, now, limited vision, I needed someone to point me in the right direction.

My eyes up top started giving me the table numbers. Blackjack table number 17 was having problems. I swiveled the periscope over to watch. The croupier there, we called him “Ivan the Second” because we already had one Ivan before him, had only been working for us for two weeks. He had this look of desperation on his face too. It’s hard to teach “poker-face”. Well, hopefully the table supervisor would soon realize that he needed to switch dealers there. Table number 10, came the voice over the radio. That was a roulette table and it’s a lot harder to cheat at roulette, but I swung the periscope over anyway, just in time to see the house do very well in the next roll. I switched back to watching table 17. Ivan the Second was still on the hot seat. The radio came to life again, table number 7, it said. I swung over to look. Unfortunately I could not see it very well, with the backs of the croupier and the supervisor cutting off my view of the table itself. But after watching for a minute, the supervisor turned her head and I saw who it was. It was Ilona and I knew that if she was there, the situation was well in hand. Actually she was not a supervisor, but our senior croupier, but when we came up short we used her as a supervisor and she was better at it than most of the ones who had the title.

Ilona was from Kaunas and she was sharp, and about as straight an arrow as they come. Cute too, 5’5”, 125 lbs . - perfectly proportional, with long blond hair and green eyes with a hint of brown in them. Actually, I wouldn’t have minded dating her, but she didn’t mix much, like I said, a straight arrow!

Now I could see who was actually dealing too, it was a girl called Ljena, a Russian from Moldova . She had been with us about six months, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t formed an opinion of her yet. She just kind of blended into the woodwork. She was taller than Ilona, about 5’10” and thinner, my guess was about 135 lbs . and she also had blond hair, but maybe only half as long as Ilona’s.

“How’s table 7 doing now?” I whispered over the radio.

“Ah, they are losing big” came back the reply.

I now tried to study the customers. Unfortunately table number 7 was in a terrible position in relation to the periscope, being in a far corner and on a balcony so that I did not have the advantage of height that I had with most tables. Damn that video system! I could only catch glimpses of one of the players when Ilona and Ljena leaned away from each other. But I could see it was a young man, not a good sign in the security man’s world.

“4, this is 1”, I said over the radio.

“4 here”, came the reply.

“Describe to me the clients”, I asked.

“He just one, but he’s big and fat, and really drunk” came the reply.

I was perplexed for a moment; that sure didn’t match the description of the guy I was looking at. “What table are you looking at?” I now asked.

“27” then the briefest of pause, but before I could interrupt, “and he just smashed his glass on the table; he’s bleeding, and he’s still belligerent.”

Damn! I swung the periscope 180 degrees, for a moment feeling like that submarine captain again. My shift supervisor and one of my guards had the man in a double hammerlock, but he was shaking them around like leaves on a branch.

“Reinforcements to table 27” I yelled over the radio. There was no response, now what? I was about to yell again when I remembered that I had switched frequencies when I came down here, so that the shift supervisor, “my eyes” and I could talk privately. Now I had forgotten to switch back to channel one. I took my eyes away from the periscope and turned the knob on the walkie-talkie back to one. That done, I was about to call for reinforcements again, but when I looked through the periscope now, I saw that was unnecessary. We have two guards whose nicknames are T-55 and T-72, respectively. If you know that those two designations refer to two types of former Soviet Main Battle Tanks – you get the idea. My shift supervisor was readjusting his uniform, while T-55 and T-72 were escorting the, now very cooperative, client, first to the Aid Room to get his hand patched up, and then no doubt, out the door.

I followed their progress with the periscope. It was such a pleasure to watch the two of them in action.

Then I remembered table number 7. I once again swung the periscope around and zeroed in. Ilona was saying something to Ljena, and then Ljena got up. Good, Ilona is replacing her. But when Ljena got up I could see that table was empty. The game was over. But where had the clients gone.

“4, this is 1”, I called. Nothing!

“4, this is 1”, I repeated.

“4 here”, came the reply.

“The customers at table 7, describe them to me.” I ordered.

“You know you’re on freq. one”, came the reply.

Damn, I did it again!

I switched the radio back to frequency two, then waited a little while for him to realize it and called again.

“Two young men, short hair, black leather jackets, looked Eastern European, can’t give a height because I only saw them sitting down, or weight, because they had loose jackets on.” he replied, “and a middle-aged woman, I think German, but I don’t think she was with them.”

Figures, I thought. They don’t miss a trick. “How much did they lose?” I asked.

“I don’t think they lost, I think we did,” he replied.

“OK, you know what I mean. Can you still see them?” I came back.

“No”, he replied. “But I’m looking.”

I called the Pit Boss and asked him to do a quick count of the balance at table 7. Then I resumed scanning the hall, also looking for two young, shorthaired, Eastern European men in Leather jackets. But we both knew that we were not going to see them in this Casino again.

The Pit Boss called me back after a couple of minutes and asked me to come up and see him. I didn’t have to ask, about what.

I retracted the periscope back down into its well, letting it slide through my hands like the Skippers always do in the war movies. Carefully locked up the “conning tower” and slid some furniture back in front of the door. As I was coming up the stairs my walkie-talkie crackled to life.

“1, this 4” came over the air.

“This is 1, over” I replied.

“One of the guards just stopped Ljena Krupskaya at the door, over,” the shift supervisor reported.

“Oh, and what is she doing there?” I asked instinctively.

“She says she is not feeling well, and is going home to lie down. She says she realizes she will be docked the whole day’s pay. But she is really feeling sick.” he replied.

I almost said, Yeah right, over the radio, but realized that would not be wise or diplomatic. Instead I replied, “Remind her that we have a First Aid room with a qualified nurse to look at her. And tell her if the nurse sends her home, she won’t lose her day’s pay either. And, escort her there!”

“Yes sir,” came the answer.

The Pit Boss met me in the General Manager’s office. We looked at each other for a moment in silence.

“Near as I can figure, the table lost 23,750 odd dollars in the last hour,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Where’s Ilona?” I asked.

“In the rec. room, I imagine watching MTV”, he said.

I smiled, she did like MTV.

“After I counted the losses I replaced her of course,” the Pit Boss added.

“Of course.” I paused, and then “she watched you do the count?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“What did she have to say about it?” I asked, and then, “and what was her manner, her expressions, while you were counting?”

“She said: oh, she did not realize the table had lost that much, but that she knew they were taking losses. She said she had never seen anyone get as lucky as those two. She also said that she would have replaced Ljena quicker, but with the commotion going on at table 27 she couldn’t get my attention to get a replacement person up. I guess she has a point there.” the Pit Boss recounted.

It suddenly struck me that he too could not bring himself to believe Ilona would be involved in a cheating scam.

“And her demeanor?” I asked.

“ Normal ”, he replied.

Well yes I thought, Ilona did know how to be poker faced.

“OK, I’m going down to my office, call the General Manager. Please.” I said.

“I already did,” the Pit Boss replied.

“Right.” I replied, and then to my shift manager, “have someone watch Ilona, we don’t want her to suddenly become sick either.”

Then I went back downstairs to my office. I still found it hard to believe, to accept that Ilona would be involved in something like this. But it had to be. The whole situation was just too obvious, especially after Ljena “got sick”. Now that I thought about it, Ilona was getting short. As far as I knew, she had not renewed her contract, and while she theoretically could until the last day, usually those who want to stay announce their intentions well in advance. And if she did not renew, she theoretically had less than six weeks left. That too fit the pattern. Additionally, having been here almost two years, she could have had the contacts to disable the video system. Or maybe, she did it herself, I believe she could have managed it. Maybe, just maybe, she even knew about the periscope. Theoretically nobody did, except me. But, one can never be sure, and if one could choose a table, any table, to avoid surveillance by it, table 7/8 would be one of my two choices also.

Well, we’d see. The interrogation would be interesting. Those two girls were about to find out that the worst rumors they had ever heard weren’t half as bad as what was about to come true. That’s why I needed the General Manager. I could not make a decision to use interrogation methods like this on my own.

Just then the General Manager walked into my office.

The two young ladies were standing in front of my desk. Sitting behind the desk was the General Manager and myself. Behind the young ladies, in front of the only visible door in the office were T-55 and T-72. They had brought the young ladies down to my office.

“So, who reads them their rights?” I said looking at the General Manager. The Manager looked at me and nodded.

Looking both of the girls in the eyes in turn, I said, “Let me explain to you how we deal with cheating incidents here.”

“We not cheat…” Ljena blurted out.

“Shut up, Ljena.” I said harshly. “I’m doing the talking now. You’ll get plenty of chance later”.

Then I continued, “Now, even though you have betrayed the trust we placed in you, when we gave you your jobs, we are willing to settle this in a professional manner. Obviously, this is a matter of money; by cheating, you took money from us. Money, we must admit we have not recovered as of yet. To settle this, you will now have to pay us money. The amount will be exactly twice the amount of money you stole. Call it restitution and a “collection” fee. And the amount is…” I looked at my desk for the sheet of paper the Pit Boss had given me, “47 504.00 Dollars.”

Both girls shifted about nervously as I looked back up at them. Ljena appeared to be ready to say something, but thought better of it when I fixed her with my stare.

“Now the problem is, how are we going to make sure you pay that? Obviously, you don’t have that amount in your pockets. Do you?” I paused for a moment, and when they said nothing, continued, “So, your boyfriends are going to have to pay this. And, to make sure they do, we are going to hang onto you until they do.”

At this point Ilona looked away from me, to Ljena, but Ljena continued to stare straight ahead. It was a gesture that I unfortunately remembered only in hindsight.

I continued, “Which brings us to the practical point of this discussion. We know who you are, but we don’t know who they are, or how to contact them. But that is something that, under the circumstances, I am sure you will want to tell us. So, who wants to go first?”

There followed a long and deafening silence.

“Come now Ljena, I promised you you’d get plenty of chance to talk. So, now I’m listening!” I chided her.

After a moment’s hesitation she replied, “We were not cheat, I know we lose lot of money to those two men, but I no know who they are.”

I demonstratively sighed, turned to the senior croupier and said, “Ilona, you want to tell me?”

She said nothing.

I sighed again, and in an unmistakably commanding voice said, “OK girls, if you think you can play stupid, well, we can play rough. – STRIP!”

The two young women’s eyes got big, then they looked at each other, and then Ljena stammered in a weak voice, “w-w-what?”

I said, “I said – strip – nude – completely!”

They now both looked at the general manager sitting next to me, who nodded in assent to my command. As the words started sinking in, they looked around the room as if looking for a place to run, but instead saw that in front of the only visible door stood T-55 and T-72.

Now Ilona spoke up, “now, in front of everybody?”

“Yes, now Ilona, in front of everybody. Would you like some help taking your clothes off? I sure T-55 will be happy to oblige if I ask him” I replied.

Ilona looked over shoulder at the two “tanks”, slowly turned back and started unbuttoning her jacket. Ljena then followed suit.

I guess, for psychological effect, I should have yelled at them to hurry up, but it was incredibly erotic to watch the two young ladies slowly revealing their bodies. When they got down to their bras and panties, they hesitated, as I knew they would.

“Everything!” I said in a loud voice, transfixing them with my stare.

They both jumped at the sound, and then Ljena first, started undoing her bra. She fumbled with the hooks for a moment, so that Ilona dropped her bra dropped first, revealing smallish but firm, and perfectly shaped breasts and nipples with large aureole. When Ljena finally got her bra off, I noted that her breasts were larger, but with small dark brown aureole and nipples. There was another slight hesitation, but as I transfixed them with a glare, they both slipped out of their panties. Ilona had the bushier pubic hair.

Now they both stood, trying to cover themselves with their hands. I could see that they were both slightly trembling from the tension.

“I said, everything!” I harshly snapped again.

They both looked at me in confusion.

“Necklaces, earrings, rings!” I now said with a tone of disgust.

Ilona was only wearing a necklace, which she now slipped over her head, but Ljena had a necklace, earrings and two rings, so it took her a while longer.

“Now, put your hands behind your backs,” I barked.

They complied, and T-55 and T-72 respectively, shackled Ilona’s and Ljena’s wrists with handcuffs.

I now leaned back in my chair, and I, the general manager and the two guards, spent several minutes very obviously studying the two completely helpless and nude bodies standing before us. My mind wandered, I had never realized how beautiful a body Ilona had. She was not so tall and thin like a model and since she always made a point of leaving this very businesslike impression, one, I at any rate, had tended not to think of her as a woman, as much as just a co-worker. Now, standing here displaying all her feminine attributes, I saw her as the beauty she was. Ljena, on the other hand, was a “model”, tall and thin. But my eyes kept wandering back to Ilona, whose compact curves incredibly attracted me.

Finally Ljena could not stand the tension any more, she blurted out, “what do you want?”

“The names and contact information of course.” I replied in a very calm and professional tone.

There was another moment’s silence, and then I continued in my quiet voice, “I was hoping that making you display yourselves like this would impress upon you how seriously we take this matter. Thereby I hoped not to have to take further measures to make you understand the need to cooperate with us.” I paused so they could think about this for a moment, but when I got no reaction, continued. “But it seems that you wish to be stubborn. Very well then, we shall proceed to the next step.” And then in a louder voice, “guards, take the two young ladies downstairs.”

A look of confusion crossed Ljena’s face, after all she knew that we already were downstairs. Then I saw the look momentarily turn to fear before losing sight of her face as our two guards pulled black hoods over both girls’ heads.

Good, I though, as I watched the chained nudes get spun around a few times to lose their orientation, then get marched around the room a little bit and finally taken down a flight of steps that were hidden behind a false panel in the office. Yes, this old building had quite a few surprises for the unwary, and Ljena and Ilona had indeed been unwary this day.

I was the last one down the stairs, as I made sure to swing shut and secure the hidden panel leading to this staircase after going through it. While the existence of a hidden torture chamber was not a complete secret, in fact we relished the existence of the rumors among the employees, the fact that they came out as rumors made them all the more effective. And equally obviously we did not want to be disturbed down there.

The room itself was a bare cement box pierced only by a steel cell door and two air vents. In the old days it must have been incredible stuffy anyway, but more recently an electric fan had been added to one of the vents. Also added had been sound proofing, even in Morocco the things that were done down here had to be done a little more discretely now than they had once upon a time. Along both sidewalls were chains set high up with shackles attached at regular intervals. In all we had room for ten prisoners, five along each wall, but in my time we never had more than three girls shackled here at once. In the middle of the room was the worktable, which was actually a large wooden grate.

By the time I got downstairs the two girls had already been chained to opposite walls and their hoods removed. They were standing facing each other, with their backs against the walls and their arms pulled up over their heads as their wrists were fastened with the shackles. To complete their helplessness, their ankles were chained with rigid-cuffs so they could not kick. I noticed that, being shorter; Ilona was forced to stand on her toes.

As I arrived, the two guards stepped back and instinctively took positions to block the door. Good I thought, even though in the current situation that was totally unnecessary, instinct is a good thing. Of course, if the general manager and I had not been there they would have stayed and fondled the girls after chaining them, a practice that I did not discourage.

In fact, while this room could justifiably be called a torture chamber, we rarely used actual torture. When a croupier was punished for carelessness or incompetence she was generally just humiliated by being stripped nude and fondled. Sometimes she was also exhibited nude to special customers. If the losses were major, as severe punishment the girl was required to provide sexual favors. Then if she tried to refuse, she was given a taste of the cattle prod. This also applied if she was a repeat offender, but we did not get many of those, usually if a girl saw this place, she took the next plane home. There was always an exception of course, and we had one girl who had been down here three times – and I expected to see her again. But actual torture is reserved for situations in which we have been cheated and/or we need answers. In other words situations exactly like this one.

So now it was time to see how good these two nude girl’s survival instincts were. I decided to work on Ljena first. I was somehow certain that Ilona would be the tougher one of the two and why do things the hard way. Additionally, if I still needed some answers from Ilona, her standing there and watching while her friend spilled the beans would be most educational for her.

On the far side of the grate, long the back wall, in full view, hung the “instruments of torture”, just another little psychological touch of course. There was a bullwhip, a short stout riding crop and three electric cattle prods of various lengths. Actually the whips were there just for visual effect. Naturally whips had been used in the past but I decided early on to switch to electricity. Used carefully, electricity caused less damage, especially if the girl decided to play tough, and of course, it left practically no marks.

As the two nude girls watched, I slowly and deliberately selected the medium length cattle prod and removed it from the hook on the wall. I came back the long way around and as I passed Ilona I brushed the tip of the prod across her lower stomach half way between her belly button and her bush. Her body tensed up and she pulled in her stomach but her gaze did not waiver. I remember thinking about how she would be an interesting subject if it came to that, but I had no idea just how tragically right I was going to be.

But now I walked up to Ljena. I very obviously looked over her nude body from head to toe one more time – not bad, I thought, not bad at all. Her long, lithe body was appropriately displayed. Like virtually every one of our girls in sunny Morocco she had a nice tan and three triangles of light skin that attested to the size of her bikini, but now the pale spots emphasized her nakedness. The upper two triangles wonderfully showed off her dark tits, while in the middle of the lower triangle of pale skin was a narrow tuft of blond bush. She had trimmed it a little too much for my taste. She was trembling as she alternately looked at me and at the floor.

“So, would you like to tell me how to contact your boyfriends, or would you like to me to contact you with this?” I shoved the tip of the cattle prod up about a foot in front of her face. She automatically stared at it with a look of shock and fear on her face.

Cattle prods basically looked like aluminum D-cell flashlights, only at the front, instead of a reflector, there are two, blunt, quarter inch long copper prongs - contacts. Of course, until the button is pushed, the contacts don’t do anything. After giving her a minute to study the prod, I brought it in contact with her nude body. She stiffened but said nothing as she felt the prongs move across her flesh. I could see the muscles of her flat stomach tensing as I slid the prod down her front. When I tried to caress the length of her slit with the prongs, she twisted away, but not for long. Then I pressed the little red button just for a moment.

Ljena’s SHRIEK was deafening. Her body jumped into the air, and she hung by her wrists, doubled over for several seconds before the not inconsiderable pain of that got to her too, and she straightened out. Her body was already damp with sweat and her rib cage was heaving from breathing hard.

“Again” I asked?

Then I once again poked the area between her legs with the prod. She violently twisted her hips back and forth to prevent me from contacting her vagina. Of course I knew she would do that, they all do, but Vanja had taught me a few tricks that Ljena couldn’t know about. For the second zap I wasn’t even trying to aim for her slit. I waited until she twisted towards me jamming herself against the prod, and pressed the button again. She let out another violent scream and twisted away, but this time she didn’t jump, she just slumped to one side. As Vanja had explained to me, the electric cattle prod powerfully stimulates all the nerves in the area it is applied to. Besides being persuasively painful this causes powerful spasms and tends to temporarily interfere with muscle control in the immediate area. I had prodded Ljena where her left thigh met her torso and now her left leg was essentially out of action for a while. Next I did the same thing to her right thigh. Ljena screamed again and slumped in her chains, but then stood back up on wobbly legs.

I wondered how this was going to work with Ilona, who was on her tiptoes. I glanced back at Ilona, she was calmly standing and watching the proceedings with a grim poker face.

Turning back to Ljena I once again pressed the tips of the prod against her vaginal lips. She looked at me with a terrified expression. She was breathing very hard.

“Nyet, nyet, nyet, pazhalsta, nyet” she said over and over again.

“No nyet! You gonna tell me how to contact those two men now? Da?” I threw in the Russian word for “yes” at the end.

But she kept repeating, “nyet, nyet…”

I pressed the red button again, holding it just a little longer. Ljena’s howl was longer too, and she did a half chin-up in her shackles before collapsing back into her stretched out pose, panting. I reapplied the prod to her vaginal lips and slowly rubbed the tips back and forth, but her body did not even react, she just lowered her head and stared down at her crotch. Actually she probably did not feel the prod. After two applications of current the area was going to be somewhat numb for a while. That was another problem with cattle prods that Vanja had explained to me.

“OK Ljena, let’s try a little different area.” I said in a deliberately cheerful voice.

“No please” she replied in English.

“No please? You say. No please?” I repeated mimicking her voice. “Where are the names and contact information, Miss No Please?”

Then I pressed the prod into her right tit so her nipple was neatly between the two prongs. She twisted away just as I pressed the button. There was a sharp crack of lightning as the spark jumped across her nipple. She let out a short but incredibly loud scream and bounced around at the end of her chain.

When she had settled down I looked closely at her right nipple, while the dark brown color of her tits tended to hide it, a small reddish blue mark of an electrical burn had started to appear. Activating the prod when it is not firmly in contact with the subject is a mistake.

She was once again panting hard and her body was bathed in sweat. That was good from my point of view. The wetness would make electrical contact better and actually the burn would have been worse if her body had been dry.

I almost said, sorry! But I caught myself at the last moment. It would not do to have the torturer apologizing to the subject, now would it? Instead I said, “shall we try this again?”

I started sliding the prod towards her left tit. She stared at me with a look of desperation but said nothing. When I had lined her nipple up between the contacts I pushed the prod into her soft breast watching how its shape changed from a melon to a donut, and pressed the button. Ljena screamed again, but by now I was expecting it.

After she settled down, I very slowly and inexorably drew the business end of the prod down her front. Her stomach muscles rippled from the combined tension of pulling her stomach in as far as it could possibly go and of the fear and anticipation of knowing exactly what was going to happen, but not knowing exactly where and when. Even feeling it through the prod, Ljena’s stomach felt hard and erotic. When the prod slid across her belly button I shoved it firmly against her and pressed the button again. Her legs reflexively jerked upward leaving her to hang by her wrists for a moment, and her mouth opened as if to scream, but this time no sound came out. The electric shock to her midriff had frozen her diaphragm for a moment.

When she was standing straight again, I continued sliding the tip of the prod downward across her stomach. When it was just above her tuft of pubic hair I gave her another jolt. Now she screamed and hopped around by using her ankle muscles. I don’t know why, but I found the sight of her naked body doing little bunny hops, amusing. I was smiling as I slid the cattle prod down her bush until the ends were once again brushing her vaginal slit.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and grimaced as if in pain even though I wasn’t doing anything to her at the moment.

“Please, I’ll tell” she said in a strained little voice.

“Tell what?” I immediately replied harshly.

“I don’t know them. They Ilona’s friends. Ilona make me do it.” Ljena said with her eyes still closed.

“Oh,” I replied, “and how did she MAKE you do it?”

“She told me she have everything worked out, all she needed was smart dealer to help her. She told me if I cooperate I would get quarter of the money, but if I don’t she would do it anyway with someone else, but make it look like me do it.” Ljena paused for a moment, and I let her, because I wanted to see what else she would say. Ljena continued, “I ask her why she pick me and she told me she think I smart enough to understand.”

“Really. And do you still think you were so smart?” I commented acidly.

“NO, NO! I was so stupid! Please forgive me.” Ljena said so loudly she was practically yelling, but with her head still tilted back and her eyes closed.

“So Ilona said she had it all worked out. What did she mean?” I asked.

“First she teach me how to lose good. She promise me she turn off video cameras. She arrange what table we sit at. She tell me what day we do it. She arrange fight.” Ljena replied.

It seemed that Ilona had indeed thought of just about everything. So even the fight was part of the plan, which was a nice touch. And she specifically picked that table. Now I really wondered if she knew about the periscope. Well, now I could certainly ask her. But on second thoughts, no. There were too many other people in the room for me to want to bring up that subject. That would wait for a second, more private, interrogation. While at the time, hearing all this had made me lose my fondness for Ilona, seeing her female attributes on display definitely made up for it in creating a desire. But how much I, and everyone in the Casino, had trusted Ilona, and how wrong we had all been. And in between all those thoughts, my mind raised a little flag that said there was something about what Ljena had said that didn’t quite fit. But at that moment, I could not think what.

Ljena finally lowered her head, opened her eyes and stared at the floor.

I turned around and faced Ilona. I could see she was tense, but she was standing completely still, no sound, no movement, she wasn’t even trembling. She was staring straight at Ljena, or perhaps it would be more correct to say, at the top of Ljena’s bowed head.

I walked up to Ilona and now carefully inspected her nude body from head to toe. She was not as tanned as Ljena, but then I remembered that her favorite sport was skiing. Yes folks; contrary to your images of Africa, Morocco has mountains where you can go skiing. Ilona’s tan lines showed that her bikini was slightly less revealing too. Actually come to think of it, I knew that, I had seen her at the beach. She had a swimsuit with broad black and white stripes.

“So, Ilona the Professional! How we all trusted you. Only now we see what you are really professional at. And so calm and collected too, while your friend was getting tortured because of you.” I said in a sarcastic tone.

As I said that, I saw her eyes get wet. Finally a single tear overflowed and soundlessly ran down her cheek.

At that moment I thought, well maybe the ice queen was not so tough after all.

“Well, we’ll see how long you stay calm and collected when you are being tortured.” I paused for effect and then continued, “Of course you’re a smart girl, Ilona. A cheat, but smart, and you saw what just happened to your friend. So maybe we can just cut the theatrics and you tell me right now how to get a hold of your boyfriends?” I put in another pause for the words to sink in, but got no reaction. Now I rubbed the tip of the cattle prod across Ilona’s front and continued in a sugary, mocking tone, “But, maybe you have a secret fetish for prods and chains? You want to dance nude for us.”

I immediately realized that my last comments had been a mistake. Ilona’s grim poker face expression returned.

So I slid the prod down her stomach and ample bush until the tips arrived at her vaginal slit. She tried very hard to reveal nothing, and stood impassively, her eyes now dry. But a nude body has few secrets and I could see her stomach muscles tensing in reaction to my touch. I really wanted to feel her body, now, before it was tortured. But I knew I couldn’t. There were too many people in the room for me to do that either. I caressed the length of her slit with the prongs looking in her eyes for a reaction but her face was like stone. So I pressed the red button.

Ilona’s eyes widened and her lips opened slightly as every muscle in her body went rigid. She didn’t jump like Ljena, but of course she couldn’t because she was already on her toes before the shock. Her body just swayed slightly from side to side. But, when I looked down I saw that she had instinctively tried to jerk her vagina away from the instrument of torture, and she was standing on her tiptoes. Gradually her stone faced expression returned but she was breathing hard and her body was damp with sweat too. She had felt it all right. But I felt something was missing and only then it struck me, she had made no sound. It was as if I was watching a silent movie of her. Eventually her muscles tired and she relaxed slightly and settled back on the balls of her feet. As she did I felt the prod become heavier and realized that she made no effort to prevent her vaginal slit coming in contact with it again. I debated whether to immediately zap her there again for her insolence. But the problem with cattle prods is that they are made for cattle. That makes them very persuasive when employed on a person, and especially when applied to her most sensitive part, but they also numb the spot where they have just been applied. As such, they are not the ideal tools for extended torture. Then, as I watched Ilona stand there without moving a muscle as I rubbed her vagina again with the tip of the prod, I started coming to the conclusion that it might take a little while to persuade her to be reasonable.

Evidently I wasn’t the only one coming to that conclusion.

“Boss, I think with prod you not do her talk,” said Vanja.

His English was atrocious, but that was not what we hired the one we called T-55, for. Like any normal American, once upon a time the only thing I knew about torture was that once upon a time the Spaniards had done it during something called the Inquisition. I was surprised; actually, shocked would be a more correct word, when I realized we used it here and now. But looking at the situation here, I quickly understood why things here were done the way they were. Then Vanja took me under his arm and showed me all the basics. Considering all he taught me I sometimes wondered why he was not or at least never appeared to be, jealous that I was his boss, and had five times his salary. Also considering what he knew, I sometimes wondered what he used to do back in the USSR back in the “good ole’ days”. Ivan, or “Vanja” as the Russians nickname this most common of their names, was an expert.

“OK, what do you suggest?” I replied as I abruptly withdrew the prod from Ilona’s most intimate place.

“I think use new, new” he was searching for the word, “thing”, Vanja replied.

Ah yes, the “new thing”. We had discussed, or actually Vanja had warned me about the possible shortcomings of the cattle prod, as soon as I had proposed entirely eliminating the use of whips. But the problem had come to a head a couple of months earlier.

In this case a croupier had lost over 18 000 dollars and the supervisor had just let her do it. Of course we immediately suspected cheating, pored over the videotapes for the system was working that day, and questioned the two young women. But even when they were threatened with torture they kept saying they had just been stupid and begged for mercy. After very carefully investigating, we came to the conclusion that the girls were telling the truth and it had indeed just been a case of incredible stupidity. However, the General Manager was in a particularly foul mood that day and ordered both girls physically punished. In the old days, such a punishment would have been one lash for every 100 lost. Now an equal number of applications of the cattle prod were proposed, but we argued that given the power of the prods, 182 zaps were more than we could safely do. Ultimately we decided and the General Manager agreed that each of the young women was to receive 18 applications of the cattle prod while strapped spread-eagle to the grate. Nine of these were to be to the vaginal area and the other nine to various other parts of their nude bodies. The applications were given 10 minutes apart and alternated between the vagina and the rest of the body. The croupier was punished first so the supervisor got to stand chained to the wall for three hours and watch, before her turn came. Then, after the eighteenth application of the prod, on Vanja’s suggestion, the croupier was sentenced on the spot to two additional applications of the prod to the vaginal area. ‘So she would not forget’ Vanja said! When the supervisor’s turn came she already knew that she would not escape with only eighteen shocks, and got to spend her three hours of punishment contemplating how many additional applications of the prod she would be sentenced to considering she had been a supervisor. She wasn’t disappointed, the General Manager sentenced her to six additional vaginal applications, which also meant an additional hour spread-eagled on the grate. Still Vanja and I both agreed that we needed something better, especially if we got a stubborn subject for interrogation.

So, I came up with the “new thing”, or as I called it, the Vaginal Persuasion Device, and now I had the stubborn subject to test it on, as well. The Vaginal Persuasion Device was based on a very large dildo, which we ordered from a medical supply house in the US . It was advertised as part of a set designed to enlarge the vaginal canal, but we just ordered the biggest one they had, two and a half inches in diameter. We wanted it to be uncomfortable! Then we had an artisan inscribe a fish-scale pattern in it. It would slip in easily, but taking it out would be another matter! Finally, we had two copper strips inlaid on opposite sides of the dildo running lengthwise almost the whole length of it and ran insulated wire from each of the strips out of the back of the probe. The wire was obtained from a regular extension cord and the whole thing ended in a standard plug. The other half of the device was a variable transformer, which allowed the operator to dial up whatever voltage he or she desired, but for safety reasons I had had it blocked so that the dial could not be turned past 12 volts. Like most transformers of this type, it had an electrical socket in the front, and by simply pulling out the plug, turning it around and putting it back in, the polarity of the electrodes would be reversed. The transformer also had a separate on/off switch.

Vanja had come up to me and we were both surveying Ilona’s figure as we talked. Her face revealed nothing, but I wondered what she must have been feeling at that moment, as she stood there watching us check out her nude body at close range and discuss the best ways to torture it. I noticed that her nipples were erect, but that could have been caused by a number of things.

“OK, Vanja, lay her out on the grate, ten straps.” I ordered and stepped out of the way.

The grate was another relic from a bygone age of shipping. Originally a cargo hatch cover, it was an eight by eight foot square made of crosshatched wooden beams set so that they formed a checkerboard of wood and square holes. Originally the holes were for ventilation in tropical waters, but now they provided an endless variety of tie-down options. Some thoughtful person had had legs attached to each corner, so the grate stood at the height of a normal table, and had placed it in the center of this special room. Hanging from the ceiling directly over the grate was a row of powerful industrial lights with reflectors. This had been done long before my time, as a matter of fact I am inclined to believe, when the Casino building was first built, as there is no way that grate could have been brought down here through the passageway that led down here.

Vanja immediately motioned to the other guard, and they set to work. T-55 and T-72 had this procedure worked out to a T and it was interesting to watch them work in perfect coordination without a word. First Ilona’s handcuffs were unfastened from the overhead chain. Then, without unchaining her ankles, they each grabbed a shoulder, carried her to the grate, turned her around and laid her on it. Then, while one kept pressing her down so she couldn’t try to get up, the other went around to the other side of the grate. Then they each grabbed an arm, pulled them over her head and finally undid the handcuffs. Next her wrists were tied with soft black leather belts and individually tied off to the corners of the grate. Then another a pair of straps tied her elbows in place. Now that she was securely fastened to the grate her ankle irons were removed. Next came the only words spoken during the procedure.

T-55 roughly commanded in Russian, “Spread, wide!”

Ilona did. Now her ankles were tied with the belts. Then still standing on opposite sides of the grate, T-55 and T-72 grabbed the loose ends of the belts and in perfect unison gave them a vicious tug. At this point most girls scream as the bolt of pain shoots up their thigh muscles, but Ilona just winced as she was spread an additional 10 degrees or so. Now her ankles were tied off. Finally belts were passed around her knees and thighs as well. Ten straps in all, just like I had said.

Ilona was now lying on her back spread-eagled in a perfect X. The ten belts ensured that her nude body was practically immobilized and that, if she later struggled, the pressure of the straps would be distributed over various parts of her body, thereby minimizing bruising. As I walked up to her completely helpless body, Ilona glared at me defiantly. If she felt any fear, she wasn’t showing it, but then quite possibly she knew all about the grate and was expecting this. If a girl was sentenced to having to please a special customer; this was the standard way in which we presented her to him. And Ilona had been around long enough to know several girls who had been punished this way.

But Ilona would get to be the first girl to describe to others the new price of being stubborn. I wondered how she would describe the Vaginal Persuasion Device. As she watched I brought out the transformer and set it on the edge of the grate and plugged it into a wall socket. I then brought out the dildo, the vaginal probe and held it, trailing its wires, in front of her face. Now the defiance was gone from her face and she looked at it with a frozen stare.

“So Ilona, this is a Vaginal Persuasion Device and I think you know where this goes.” I said in a calm and logical voice and paused.

She continued to stare at the two and a half inch thick rod but said nothing.

“Now, Ilona, you have a choice, you can tell me how to contact the guys you worked with this evening, or this can be inserted.” I continued, “So, you want to give me some information?” and after another pause, “Or, do you want this ‘toy’ inside of you? Before you choose the second option I would like to point out something. See the two copper strips running the length of it. They’re electrodes, but right now, if I turn on the electricity, nothing will happen, because they are separated by the diameter of this rod, which is made of electrically non-conductive material. But unfortunately for you, your vaginal muscles will conduct electricity just fine, so once this is inside you, you will complete the circuit. As you see, the Device is rather big, so your vaginal muscles will be stretched very tightly around it. There will be perfect contact, and as I’m sure you know, electrical impulses make the muscles contract which should be a very interesting sensation on muscles that are already pulled taut.”

Ilona was still silent.

“Do you really want me to insert this into you?” I repeated, now taking the tip of the probe and rubbing her vaginal slit with it. I was hoping the area wasn’t still numb from the application of the cattle prod, and she was feeling it. At the touch of the probe her body shifted nervously as far as her straps allowed. Yes, she had felt it. “Well do you”.

I looked at her for some further reaction and suddenly she spoke, “I can tell you nothing”, she said in a very quiet and incredibly sad voice and looked away.

Suddenly, all I wanted was to stop this. There was something in her tone that, against all logic, very deep inside made me believe her. But I immediately realized that I couldn’t just stop it, her interrogation was not my decision alone, it fact it wasn’t even a conscious decision; it was just standard procedure in cheating cases. I looked around the room to see what the other people’s reaction was to Ilona’s words. T-55 and T-72 were being just as poker faced as she was, naked Ljena was still staring at the floor, but the General Manager had a sneer, and that said it all. Besides, like I had just said to myself, this answer was illogical, and furthermore, if we would accept such a statement, we couldn’t interrogate anyone. But then I had an inspiration.

I said harshly, “Very well, you give me Bullshit! Here comes the payback.” I started pushing the tip of the probe into her, but stopped as soon as I saw she felt it coming. Then I said more calmly, “Tell you what Ilona, I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me how the video system was disabled.” I paused, holding the probe just a little ways inside her, “Or are you going to tell me you know nothing about that either?”

She turned her head back and looked at me with a guarded expression. I gently rubbed the inside of her vagina with the tip of the probe, and then withdrew it.

“Go to main electrical junction box for entire Casino. Your video system is on own breaker. Of course that breaker is under lock cover, but all that does it tell which one it is. You will find wire on the supply side is cut, but the loose end is tucked behind breaker, so unless you look at it really careful it looks right. Of course system still has back up batteries, but I short out battery for main control panel, maybe your cameras still working on batteries now, but panel was dead.” Ilona said.

“And who did all this?” I automatically replied.

“I did” Ilona replied quietly.

Suddenly the General Manager chimed in, “I don’t believe it. Is it really that simple to disable a fifty thousand dollar system? “

“Well, what she did was not that simple,” I replied.

I was quickly going over how that all worked in my head, and coming to the conclusion that Ilona definitely knew what she was talking about. Of course doing it was simple, but figuring out the weak spots and how to make them all work together to crash the system was not. Additionally, the central control panel with the battery she said she had shorted out was in my office, so then I was really curious how she got into it. I decided I would want to ask her that at the same time I asked her about the periscope.

“Well then, how could she know it?” the General Manager continued.

For a moment I was at a loss for words, though actually an answer to that question probably wasn’t even expected. But then I remembered something from Ilona’s personnel file.

“You know she has a degree from the University at Vilnius , would you like to know in what?” I said.

“What” said the General Manager.

“Computer Engineering,” I replied.

“Then what the hell is she doing here?” the General Manager shot back.

“Average month salary for Engineer in former Soviet Union now sixty American dollar,” T-55 answered.

There was silence. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

I was once again reminded that every day these girls saw more money casually thrown across a table than they could earn in a lifetime at home. Could I really blame them for wanting a little bit of easy money for themselves, and yet most them worked honestly for days, months, even years. Ilona had betrayed that trust. And that was why she deserved no understanding, no sympathy and no mercy.

Still, I hesitated. I felt that I implied that if she told me about the video system I would delay her violation. Of course, I already had delayed it for the minute it took her to explain this, but somehow I wanted to give her a little more, maybe let her wait without feeling the device inside her.

But, the General Manager cut in. “Good, Ilona. And now tell us who the young men were.”

There was silence. Ilona started forming her lips as if she wanted to say something, but ultimately there was no sound.

I turned to the General Manager, who with a look of disgust ordered, “Just stick it in her. We have a Casino to run!”

So I did. I crawled onto the grate, spread Ilona’s vaginal lips with my left hand, and shoved. Her vagina was dry, the probe was fat and when she felt it start penetrating her she tensed all her muscles, including and probably particularly those muscles. So I had to push hard. But of course, spread the way she was, there was no denying access. I kept pushing until solidly stopped. The dildo was itself was 12 inches long, but when I was done not more than 4 inches stuck out. I imagine the insertion was quite painful, but she made no sound, not even a breath. When I was done she slowly started breathing again, and her whole body was once again damp with sweat.

Now I stepped back and we all admired my handiwork. Even Ljena was no longer staring at the floor. Ilona looked incredibly vulnerable lying there on her back and spread-eagled, with a pair of wires running from her most intimate area and then across her thigh to the black transformer set up on the grate beside her. Only Ilona herself stared vacantly at the glare of the lamps suspended directly over her nude body.

“OK, lets go.” Said the General Manager.

We all filed out, except of course for Ilona and Ljena. As I left and shut the door with an audible clank, I took a last look at Ilona; she looked utterly unhappy, which I suppose she was. Then I snapped out the lights plunging the room into total blackness. As with any prison cell, the light switch for this one was on the outside, though actually this switch had another little feature. Finally, I locked the door. Darkness accentuates sounds and several of the other girls that had gotten themselves down here told me that one of the most terrifying moments in their punishment was lying in the pitch darkness unable to move, and hearing the noise of the key turning in the lock.

Back topside the crowd was just hitting its peak. People were walking around with drinks in their hands. The three bars were doing a brisk business. There were clusters around the tables where it looked like someone was on a winning streak. But when croupiers saw me, or the General Manager, they quickly looked back to their cards or chips. Word was getting around. I looked at my watch, a little after midnight. A little less than an hour had elapsed from the time the two cheaters had been brought down to my office until we had come back up.

But having made a quick tour to see that nothing had fallen totally apart; my next priority was getting the video system back up. If Ilona had been telling the truth that would require just two things, reconnecting the power wire and replacing or bypassing the backup battery in the central console. I had remembered that we had had a reserve back-up battery once, and now I went back to my office and rummaged around our supply closet. There was such a temptation to “check up” on our prisoners. But I knew I had to resist it, maybe later. Fortunately my memory had served me right and we did have a spare battery. I quickly hooked it up and switched on the system. It worked. I switched the image from camera to camera, about half of them still worked, that is, their back-up batteries were not completely dead yet. But I couldn’t afford to run the system like this, because the new battery was only designed to hold for an hour or two. Additionally, once we got normal power back in the system all the cameras would come back up. The only problem was, I did not dare try to reconnect the supply wire while it was hot, but since Ilona had cut the supply side, to make it cold I would have to cut the main breaker, and the whole Casino would go dark until I was done.

But I had a plan. The way it occurred to me was so bizarre that it made me uncomfortable, but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. When I looked at my watch after midnight, the date had of course changed, and somehow it seemed familiar, like I had recently had it brought to my attention. And then I realized I had seen it in Ilona’s personnel file, this date was Ilona’s birthday, her twenty-sixth.

I went to the General Manager, who first looked at me as if I was crazy, but then also started liking the idea. So, we announced to everyone, that we were going to have a little birthday celebration for our senior Croupier. Everyone, staff, and customers who wanted to take them, was given a candle, and then at a certain time the games were all put on hold, the candles lit, the lights turned out, and everyone sang Happy Birthday to Ilona to the light of hundreds of candles.

Meanwhile I frantically worked to reconnect the cut wire. Ilona had left me such a short stub it was hard to connect it, but after what was actually two minutes but seemed like an hour of sweating and cursing I got it done. We threw the main switch and no breakers popped. The lights in the building came on, candles were extinguished and our customers went back to losing their money. No one asked where the guest of honor was.

So far so good, I raced back to my office and turned on the monitoring system. This time everything came on just as it should. I radioed the shift supervisor about my success, he took up his position in the control room and finally our operation started returning to normal. I switched from one camera to the next on my screen, games were being played, customers were laughing, or scowling depending on how it was going for them, collecting some chips and throwing more down. At last, I reported to the General Manager that everything OK.

Now I finally stopped for a breather, actually I found it hard to believe how relieved I was. I actually felt light-headed. I sat down in the soft office chair behind my desk and relaxed, staring blankly at the screen. But it did not take long for my mind to drift to the two nude girls waiting, hidden practically below my chair. Of course, at the flick of a switch, I could see how they were doing. Additionally, that was a privilege that was uniquely mine. To avoid accidental discovery, the camera in the dungeon was not connected to the surveillance system but went just to the monitor in the room directly above it, my office. But I had to resist the temptation, the Casino was still open for business and I still had a security operation to run. Still, making sure that everything was in order down there was part of our security too. I flicked the appropriate switch and the image of gaming tables changed to a black screen. Then I turned on the lights down there with the second switch that was up here.

Both nude girls would now jump in surprise as far as their shackles and straps respectively allowed them to, and then fearfully look around for their tormentors. And these two did it exactly according to plan; they looked around a long time before they both finally settled back to waiting again. Ljena, standing against the wall, kept shifting around in an endless search for a comfortable position, while the spread-eagled Ilona kept tensing and untensing her body to fight the stiffness. While she practically could not move, watching her hands, feet and stomach flex gave her away. I am sure she realized she was being watched and I wondered what that must feel like, being totally naked and knowing that someone can and is watching every slightest move. Of course, for a croupier, who spends his or her whole workday with a supervisor watching her finger’s every move this feeling must be only a matter of degree. But still…

I finally forced myself to turn off the image of Ilona, and go back to watching the gaming floor. Fortunately it was a quiet night with the crowd very noticeably thinning out after two in the morning. And of course I checked out the nude girls several more times over the night. For a long time Ilona kept trying to work her probe out with her vaginal muscles. Watching her stomach muscles rhythmically straining made me appreciate just how few secrets a completely naked body has. But she did not appear to be having any success. Evidently I had chosen the size of the dildo well.

Ultimately five AM came, we shut the doors, counted the money and locked it away. Even with the losses Ilona and Ljena had cost us we were still slightly in the black, but not enough to stay in business at such a rate. The General Manager came down to ostensibly watch the count, but of course we all knew the real purpose was to stay for the after hours entertainment.

As I came back from our Safe room, I was surprised to find one of our croupiers still in the Casino. She had not been involved in the counting that night, and as that normally takes an hour or more, the other employees normally are long gone by the time it is over. She was another Russian girl, named Zoja. She had gone to the University of Moscow to study English and I primary remembered her because of how well she spoke my language.

She came up to me and somewhat hesitantly asked, “you caught those two girls cheating, no?”

“Yes” I answered.

“What will happen to them?” she asked.

Now I’m sure that question was actually on the minds of every single one of our employees who was aware of the events. But, especially given the rumors surrounding such things, I was surprised someone dared to ask so openly. And what did Zoja actually want?

“Well Zoja, you are right, those two girls cheated us of over ten thousand dollars tonight, and we have not gotten it back yet.” I said, as I looked Zoja straight in the eyes. After a pause to see what Zoja’s reaction was going to be, and getting none, I continued, “Now I’m management, so it is easy for me to pass judgement. But, tell me, you’re a croupier just like the two of them. What do you think should happen to them?”

“They should be tortured until they think of way to return the money”, Zoja replied without batting an eye.

I hadn’t expected that direct an answer and I think I hesitated from surprise. Finally I answered, “Well, I would agree with you, but you certainly are not very sympathetic to your co-workers.”

“They cheated us all, because of them you trust us less,” she replied.

“Well, you are certainly right about that.” I responded automatically, and then wasn’t sure what to say next and paused. I knew I wasn’t asking her the right question and I was still somewhat surprised at her totally merciless view. “So tell me, do all of the girls feel this way?” I added.

“Probably not all girls, but I have said if they brought back the whip it would solve lot of crime,” Zoja answered.

“But what if you were whipped? What would you say if you were stripped naked and given, say, twenty lashes in front of everybody?” I responded, then I added, “You have a nice body Zoja, I’m sure the men would enjoy seeing it.”

Zoja smiled, “Women too, women enjoy watching other women suffer. But, if I deserve it, I have no right to complain,” Zoja then said.

Now I knew that she knew all along what she wanted, and why not? “Well Zoja, Ljena has already confessed everything, but Ilona is still being stubborn, so she will be tortured. I’d like you to watch.” I told her.

Zoja tried to hide it, but her eyes lit up.

I wondered if this was just sadistic pleasure, like she said, women enjoy… or if she had something personal against Ilona.

“How do you want to do it?” I asked.

“What you mean?” she replied.

“Well, I can give you three options. One, just come down with me; of course Ilona and Ljena will see you and eventually when they are released the word will get out that you like to watch. Two, you can watch on the TV monitor in my office, this way they will never know, but of course, then it is just a TV show. And three, I could take you down as a prisoner. Naked and chained you would have to watch.” I explained.

“My body naked and chained” Zoja repeated with a smile, “I think you would be one of the men who would enjoy seeing it.”

Now it was my turn to smile, and blush slightly. “Well… “

Zoja cut me off, “It will not work, they will not believe it if you do not torture me some too. Me watching on monitor, everyone will know too, if Ilona and Ljena do not see me, your guards will. So I just go with you; so what if they see me.”

“OK” I replied and mulled over what she had said as we walked off. Obviously knowledge of our doings down in the dungeon were quite widespread, more so than I had thought, and her comment that everyone will know about it if the guards saw her, made me wonder just how much talking my two “tanks” were doing.

When we arrived at the door to the dungeon, T-55, T-72 and the General Manager were already waiting. They looked at Zoja with an unspoken question, but no one actually asked. I wondered what she would have told them if they had.

Ljena stared blankly as the five of us trooped in. But Ilona immediately looked right at Zoja. Finally as I came up to the side of the grate, she lay her head back down and just stared at Zoja. Zoja stood right beside me. She looked very proper in her croupier’s uniform with its dark blue jacket and spotless white blouse. Unlike in some Casinos where croupiers had to work in uniforms that were little more than jazzed up bikinis, our General Manager decreed a professional look, a decision that was greatly appreciated by our young women employees. For a moment I remembered how elegant Ilona had looked in that same uniform just a few hours before. It was hard to connect the image of that prim young woman with the nude body now stretched out on display. Maybe it was difficult for Zoja to connect it too, as she now carefully inspected every square inch of Ilona’s naked body, or maybe she just enjoyed the view. As Ilona was being inspected her nipples slowly rose and hardened before our eyes. I thought I detected a slight flicker of a smile but like Ilona, Zoja could be quite poker-faced. Now everything was perfectly clear; well, almost everything, I still did not know why.

Zoja’s eyes then followed the wires from the transformer to the end of the vaginal probe firmly inserted into Ilona and then back to the transformer. I also noted that almost six hours after it was inserted and despite Ilona’s earlier efforts the vaginal probe had not moved.

The General Manager walked up to my other side and said harshly, “Now Ilona, you have had ample time to come up with the answers to our questions. Do we really have to waste any more time with you?”

Ilona turned her head and looked away. There was a moment of silence. The guards had taken their usual positions by the door.

Then General Manager said at me casually, “Get on with it.”

I flipped the power switch on the transformer and slowly started turning the voltage knob up from zero. We could clearly see Ilona’s body tense up as her vagina in turn felt a slight tingling, a rippling of muscles and then stabbing pains like someone was sticking a hundred needles into every part of her vagina simultaneously. As I continued to slowly up the current the needles became progressively sharper and sharper and more insistent. Gradually Ilona’s expression changed from calm resignation to a grimace of pain, and she started breathing hard, but no scream or even moan came out of her mouth. I kept carefully watching her body contort against the straps just like Vanja had taught me. When she finally stopped knotting her muscles tighter and tighter I stopped increasing the current. We had reached the first pain plateau, now it was time to see how long Ilona wished to enjoy it. I snapped of the power switch off. Ilona’s nude body flopped back on the grate like a caught fish.

“So now you know what it feels like Ilona. Would you like to talk to us or shall I reapply the current?” I said matter-of-factly.

I stole a glance at Zoja and she was definitely smiling. Ilona just stared back at her with a resigned expression. I was glad I had invited Zoja, whatever the story was between them and no matter how poker-faced Ilona was about it, it was clear that having Zoja watch her suffer was an exquisite psychological torture for Ilona.

Now I looked at the General Manager, who was getting impatient I could see. Then without turning back towards Ilona, since I wanted it to be a surprise, I flipped the power switch back on. Ilona let out a gasp of surprise and pain and tried to climb off the grate. Of course the ten straps said she wasn’t going anywhere. So she was left straining at the straps, the useless struggles of her spread-eagled body reminded me of a beetle turned on its back.

After a little while watching the show I turned the current back off and Ilona’s body relaxed.

“Well?” I asked and not receiving an answer instantly, turned the current back on.

Ilona contorted like she had been stabbed between the legs, which in a sense, she was.

After a second I turned the current off again.

Ilona relaxed a little more slowly this time.

I turned the current back on again.

Ilona’s nude body once again went rigid.

I turned the current off.

Ilona flopped back on the grate; breathing hard.

I turned the current on.

Ilona’s nude body instantly reacted and she let out another gasp.

I turned the current off.

Ilona flopped back down again.

I turned the current on.

Ilona’s nude body writhed in agony again.

I turned the current off.

Ilona lay back on the grate, her chest heaving from deep breaths.

But still she hadn’t screamed.

“Well Ilona, like it?” I looked at my watch, “You know, you’ve been tortured a whole minute now”. I waited a few seconds for that to sink in and then added, “But we have time, don’t we?”

I looked over at the General Manager who replied, “Whatever it takes.”

Ilona did not reply but stared vacantly at the overhead light bulbs. She was catching her breath however.

As I turned the current back on we could all see every muscle in Ilona’s perfectly illuminated and displayed nude body ripple as she tensed up hard.

I kept flipping the current on and off and Ilona kept dancing. Vanja had taught me that. There are two reasons. First, the truth is, the body can get used to anything, even electric shocks. So the worst moment is when the current is first turned on. Second, we all know from electronics 101 that all material, including the vagina, has a certain resistance to electron flow, and that resistance generates heat. Heat in turn causes burns, what are called electrical burns in this case; so prolonged current should be avoided. Instead, Vanja taught me to turn on the current for one or two seconds in every five.

So Ilona’s vagina had to endure approximately 12 shocks a minute. Her nude body glistened with sweat as it went through its paces. Several times her lips formed as if to speak, but she neither said anything, nor screamed. This went on for ten minutes. I wasn’t timing it but evidently Vanja was.

While I was working on Ilona, he had come up to the other side of the grate, across from me and Zoja, and was watching Ilona’s reactions carefully. Now he said, “give her little break”.

While I thought the pace had been right, I immediately flipped the switch back on and left the transformer on a little longer this time. Ilona’s nude body convulsed against her straps.

“No,” he said louder, “give her little break”.

Now I understood, he had not meant that I should not give her a break, but that I should ‘give her (a) little break’. What a difference one letter can make in English.

Ilona lay back and her body finally relaxed. She lay perfectly still except for the rhythmic heaving of her chest. She looked exhausted. But come to think of it, who wouldn’t be after a ten-minute hard workout. Her mouth was open and panting and her eyes appeared to stare vacantly at the ceiling.

I looked around, everyone except Zoja were looking at Vanja. Zoja was still carefully studying Ilona’s nude body, a fact that was not lost on Ilona for their eyes briefly met.

“Ten minute now give little break” Vanja said.

Yes, I remembered he had explained that to me too. Even using what I called the “rhythm method”, endless stimulation of nerves tended to numb them. Therefore, he had told me the prisoner should be given little breaks, 2, 3 maybe 4 minutes long. That way the tortured nerves would regain sensitivity, in fact become even more sensitive. He had also explained to me how all activities should be to some extent randomized, which was why the lengths of the breaks were like they were. Then the prisoner could not anticipate and get ready for things that were to be done to her and was also forcefully reminded again and again, just how completely she was at her interrogator’s whim and mercy. As an aside he had explained to me that that was the reason he had recommended the ‘additional’ sentences for the previous two girls that had been on this grate.

I looked at Ilona. She had stopped panting. Her chest was still heaving from deep breaths, but slowly now and her nipples were still hard. I found it hard to comprehend how calmly she could accept helplessly lying on her back with her legs spread wide, waiting for the inevitable reapplication of electricity to her most sensitive and intimate place. Yet she made no sound, no attempt to beg for mercy and certainly indicated no willingness to do the one thing that would save her vagina from this torment, namely, talk.

I reapplied the current. Ilona let out a quiet gasp and her body contorted. While she obviously did not want to give us the satisfaction of hearing her scream, I noticed she could not suppress a gasp if the instant the current was applied surprised her slightly.

So I continued turning the electricity on and off, on and off and watched as Ilona’s nude body reacted appropriately. Particularly watching her stomach muscles going through the workout was very titillating. I’m sure that the fact that the body writhes the same in agony and in ecstasy has had a serious influence on the history of torture.

I was still not looking at my watch. Vanja had taught me that the interrogator should watch the subject every second because a nude body spoke a lot of body language. Like Ilona’s nipples: while they remained hard she would not be ready to talk. But, he had also warned me not to try to hurry a case like this. Slow torture would wear her down eventually.

As he explained it, most people can, for a while, endure enough pain to pass out, or worse. This is particularly true of women, whose systems, for reasons we all know, namely childbirth, are designed to endure considerable pain. But, torture is not actually about pain, it is about fear of future pain and fear of having something done, that the person would be willing to do anything else (namely what we want) to avoid. The catch is, we cannot know what a person’s limits are. In fact unless the person gets into some special situation, like Ljena and Ilona just did, they themselves will never know.

But, as Vanja explained, there are some general principles. An experienced interrogator can generally tell with the first applications of the instruments of torture, whip, cattle prod, or whatever, whether the subject will be a stubborn one or not. The ones, who are not, can be quickly broken using rough and ready methods, as I did with Ljena. The advantage of that is obvious: quick answers!

But the stubborn ones need to be put to Slow Torture. Systematic torments interesting enough to make the subject, as Vanja put it, ‘intensely uncomfortable’ without either numbing the affected parts or causing medical problems. And of course, with the subject knowing very well that this will be applied to her for however long she chooses to be stubborn.

After seeing her reaction to just one intimate application of the cattle prod, Vanja had decided that Ilona need to be questioning using slow torture. He wasn’t wrong. And so here she was, putting on the show for us.

Vanja was once again motioning to his watch. I stopped flicking the on, off switch back and forth and Ilona stopped dancing to the rhythm of the transformer. She was breathing hard and covered in sweat from head to toe, but she still hadn’t screamed and her tits were still hard.

“How long is this going to go on?” the General Manager asked impatiently.

I wanted to reply, patience, patience, but you don’t say that to the General Manager, so instead I replied, “that is entirely up to Ilona.”

“Well how long has she been resisting so far?” came the next question.

Once again, what I really wanted to say was, why don’t ya look at your watch; however, I looked at my own instead. “Almost half an hour ” I replied.

“And how many shocks have you given her cunt so far?” the General Manager continued.

I did a quick count in my head. Two long ones at the beginning, then five short ones, to introduce her to the concept, and then we switched to the rhythm method. Then she had endured two ten minute sessions of that. So, “about 250 applications of the current.” I replied and then turned to Ilona and added for her benefit, “so far”.

I’m sure she heard me, but she acted as if she hadn’t.

When Vanja and I had discussed the various aspects of using the Vaginal Persuasion Device we both concluded that probably the longest any of our girls would hold out against it would be about twenty minutes. But Ilona had already endured it longer than that and she was giving no indication of being anywhere close to breaking. I had to admit Ilona was tough.

“And what did it take to get Ljena to talk?” the General Manager inquired.

“Eight”

With that we ran out of things to talk about, but it was still too soon to start on Ilona again, so we all just stared at her and enjoyed the view. I noticed that by now even Ljena was watching. With all the soundproofing it was very quiet down here and somebody had an old mechanical watch, whose ticking added a nice touch. Then there was also Ilona’s heavy breathing which only gradually quieted down.

I now remembered another one of Vanja’s instructions. A good way to time the breaks was by the subject’s breathing. When she had finally settled down it was time to crank her back up again.

I turned on the switch and Ilona’s body again twisted and strained against the straps. By now we had established a routine, I systematically worked the switch and Ilona systematically danced to my rhythm. The only sounds were partially suppressed grunts and groans from her, and the creaking of the leather straps.

After a while Vanja again motioned to his watch, and Ilona was given a little rest followed by another session of vaginal persuasion, and another, and another. Every once in a while I would bump up the current another volt. I knew Ilona noticed because she would give out a very particular gasp every time it was done, but still no scream. An hour passed, then two. None of us said anything of course, but I think all of us were impressed by Ilona’s toughness. Except the General Manager that is, who was beginning to doze off.

But at the next break the Manager woke up and asked, “Well, when is she going to talk?”

I wasn’t sure what to answer. As Vanja had explained, the secret to the success of slow torture was not the intensity of the pain, but its relentlessness. And nothing could prove that point better than Ilona’s resistance. If we had tried to break her with a cattle prod she would have passed out long ago with no answers. Sure, this way it would take a while longer, but she was alert and waiting for further persuasion. But, if the General Manager couldn’t understand that, I did not know what to say.

Then Vanja answered, “Little more, we make scream her first”.

With Vanja’s command of English, the General Manager knew better than to ask a follow-up question. I couldn’t help but think, thanks Vanja!

“Alright get on with it! It getting late, or perhaps I should say, early.” The General Manager now said in an irritated voice.

Once again I flipped the switch and was rewarded by a loud groan and creak of the straps holding Ilona’s nude body to the grate. Her dance immediately resumed. I wondered what she was thinking as she felt the electricity continually working on her most intimate and sensitive place. Obviously not yet what we wanted her to. But what was she hoping for? She had know that she was not going to leave this grate until she talked. And yet she endured in near silence. The only sounds were Ilona’s heavy breathing and a slight creaking of leather and wood as her glistening nude body continued to put on its show, helplessly pulling, twisting and jerking at its straps. Another hour went by; I wondered how long it felt for Ilona.

Just as I allowed her the next break, I looked around. The General Manger had had a nap and was once again paying undivided attention to the proceedings. The two guards were as poker faced as ever, but watching the show intently. Ljena was also looking at Ilona though her attention was somewhat divided by her continuing, futile attempts to get somewhat more comfortable in her position chained nude to the wall. And Zoja was still observing Ilona carefully, no doubt studying her nude body’s every little reaction to the treatment, but it seemed to me that the barely disguised look of pleasure in Zoja’s face at Ilona’s fate was gone. Ilona looked back at Zoja with a resigned look, but then Zoja smiled again and Ilona turned away and just stared vacantly at the overhead lights. I once again wondered what it was between those two that made Zoja take such obvious pleasure in Ilona’s suffering. But it was clear that having to sexually suffer and perform in the nude specifically in front Zoya was a particularly exquisite psychological torture for Ilona. I was glad. I was beginning to worry about the potential physical effects on Ilona’s vaginal area, of such prolonged torture, so any additional persuasion was very welcome.

Still after a little bit she shifted her gaze to me and with perfect poker-faced calm stared into my eyes. Her face was very tired, but her eyes were bright, and she was a very beautiful girl. She won the staring contest hands down, I looked up at Vanja who nodded, and then at the General Manager, who also nodded.

I turned on the current and then turned the power knob by another half volt. Ilona’s nude body reacted appropriately, tensing every muscle and arching in another automatic and useless attempt to try to get off the grate or close her legs. She gave off a loud grunt as her vagina felt the increase in current. And of course I started once again bouncing her up and down using the on/off switch. Now she looked around wildly, until her gaze once again met Zoya’s. And something finally snapped in the iron maiden. As I turned on the current again Ilona let out a scream of agony. I left the current on a little longer as I listened to her howl. She stopped yelling when I turned off the current.

So finally! I think we all, except Ilona of course, now breathed a collective sigh of relief. While I had picked electrical torture of the sensitive areas as the safest alternative in this kind of situation and everyone else had concurred. I think none of us expected such a tough customer as Ilona was proving to be. And truthfully none of us really knew the safety limits of what we were doing here, or, if T-55 did, he wasn’t saying, though significantly, he also hadn’t been warning us to stop. And, while the Moroccan authorities were willing to wink at physical punishment and interrogation, a death could be another story entirely.

To conceal our collective relief from Ilona, I immediately snapped the current back on. She screamed again. And the torture continued. While Ilona was now screaming as she felt each shock to her vagina, she still wasn’t talking. And it probably didn’t take all of us long to wish she had continued to endure in silence, truthfully our ears started to hurt. Despite almost four hours of torture, Ilona was still strong and could yell very loudly.

T-55 slid up to me and whispered in my ear, “no more break, then little current more”.

Apparently he felt we were coming close. I certainly hoped he was right; just how much more of this, could this beautiful girl take? And then I was thinking of an earache, but how was Ilona’s vagina feeling by now? I could not even begin to imagine.

I turned up the current another half volt and Ilona shrieked with all her might. But the next couple of jolts…

Suddenly all the lights went out. Evidently so did the wall current, as Ilona stopped screaming. I blinked in the darkness, we probably all did, but the sub-basement was totally dark and I could see nothing. I could only hear Ilona’s heavy breathing, and then it seemed like some sort of noises behind where I knew the door should be. The dungeon was heavily sound proofed of course, so the noises were not distinct but suddenly I had this deep sense of dread. For a fleeting moment I tried to think of what it must have been like for Ilona to lay naked and ready for hours in this darkness.

Then the lights came back on and Ilona screamed again as the current once again surged through her most intimate place. I instinctively snapped off the transformer and started to look around.

There was a loud pounding on the door.

“Police. Open up!”

All of us in the room, who were dressed, looked at each other in shock.

“Police. Open up. Now!”

I looked around, there was no way out. Of course the dungeon had only one door, and it was getting pounded on.

“Quick, untie her”, I said to our guards, probably too loudly, but trying not to instinctively yell.

We all joined in, all except Zoja that is. She just stood there looking curiously calm, but I hardly noticed as I tore at the leather thongs. Ilona, in her struggles had pulled the knots very tight. With four of us working however it probably did not take too long, but it seemed an eternity, accompanied by the pounding on the door and shouts of “Police, Police”.

Finally, she was loose. We picked her off the grate and Ilona groaned again, as we none too gently moved her torture stiffened body and stood her up.

“Get dressed”, I commanded. The pounding on the door was getting more and more insistent.

“In what?” Ilona replied, looking me right in the eye. “You forget; you left our clothes upstairs.”

At that point the expression on my face must have been precious, because after all she had been through, and still standing nude in front of me, Ilona gave me this wicked little smile.

“Open the door”, I said weakly, and T-55 did. The police officers poured in, I didn’t bother to count, but there must have been at least a dozen of them. They all had this smug look of triumph on their faces. I felt like slugging one, or all, just to get that look off, but instead they handcuffed me. They handcuffed all of us and led us out. They took me out last and I threw a surreptitious sideways glance at Ilona for I was ashamed to look at her. Someone had brought a blanket for her and she had wrapped it around herself to cover her nakedness. She was staring right at me and I felt first my face and then the back of my head, as I was turned away, burn in her gaze.

I kept seeing that last look as I was led off.

I think I was already at the prison gate when I finally realized what was missing. The look of triumph, or satisfaction, or even relief, was missing from her gaze. Well, she probably simply hurt too much, I thought.

I was thrown into a cell with a half a dozen Moroccans who hadn’t washed in a week, or was it a month or a year and anyway who the hell cared. Looking at them, a feeling of indescribable dread overcame me. What if... what if they asked me something in Arabic; I could not understand and then they would know I was a foreigner, and. And then, I stopped thinking in mid-stream, I was not ready to take that thought out to the end. And yet, deep inside me I knew that what I was not even ready to contemplate now, I had calmly planned for Ilona. Ha! Here I was already feeling afraid and sorry for myself while nothing was even happening to me. Of course that thought did not make me feel better at all; rather it made me feel like a total coward. For a moment I tried to imagine what her thoughts had been. That is until I realized that this line of thinking was psychologically definitely not the right approach to my current predicament. I then tried to think of something pleasant: no not Ilona’s body, though that was definitely pleasant. I had to take my mind out of here. I tried remembering the last time I visited friends in St. Pete, Florida that is. Sitting on the beach, palm trees swaying in the breeze, but the thought would not linger, instead I saw, I remembered, Ilona in her bikini.

I was dead tired but I still could not sleep. Instead I just huddled in the corner feeling scared, ashamed and stupid all in a row and all at once. Fortunately the locals ignored me just as I ignored them. I think I finally dozed off when a guard came in, shook me and motioned me to follow.

We went up through a myriad of corridors to an interrogation room, a civilized interrogation room like we all know from Cop shows, a bare room with a table and a couple of chairs that are bolted to the floor and a large mirror along one wall that we all know to be two-way. But no straps, no whips, no prods, like I said, civilized, one part of me was relieved while another part said I did not deserve this.

Detective Inspector Muhammad Said Ben Bella came in, sat down, lit a cigarette and instinctively offered me one even though he actually knew I did not smoke. We knew each other well, for our Casino was in his beat, so to speak, and we had in fact cooperated in several matters. We also paid him a tidy monthly sum, parts of which he of course was expected to and did share with his bosses to take care of any difficulties that could arise. Difficulties like the matter last night, which should have been taken care of without a police raid.

I now realized that in the cell I had wasted my time thinking about stupid stuff, how I felt, how Ilona had felt, how I should have felt etc. etc. etc. Instead of what I should have been trying to figure out, namely, why did our protection fail and what did this mean and what would this mean for the future.

He sat there for several minutes quietly smoking before finally speaking up. “You know this puts me in an awkward position.”

I felt like screaming at him, puts you in an awkward position, what about me, I’m in your jail. But I knew better than to be belligerent in my current situation. Or even to reproach him. I didn’t know if at this point he was still a friend, but if he was, he was one of the few I probably still had, and if not, then it made no difference.

“I will need your written statement, explanation, of what happened last night.” He continued.

Yes, well it will be an interesting one to explain, I thought. But of course that would have to be done, I should have been thinking about that too.

“I would like to consult with a lawyer first, before I write it”, I replied.

“Of course,” he answered, “who would you like to call? I will contact him” And before I could answer he added, “I would make a personal suggestion. Do not use the one you usually do.”

That suggestion made my blood run cold. I had been about to retreat into my secure little world of the Ali Baba Casino and call our lawyer and be sure everything would be OK. Now once again I was forcibly confronted with the fact that my little world was no longer secure, if it ever had been. Of course maybe he was just leading me further into a trap, in which case his suggestion of a lawyer would follow. But it did not, so maybe he was really trying to help me after all. It made sense, of course he needed a statement from me; that was really only the first in a series of legal requirements, at the same time anything even remotely resembling the truth in such a statement could put him too in an awkward position. So, it was to his advantage to help me, maybe.

There was a long silence as I tried to think of somebody.

“Could I have my notebook,” I asked him.

“No” Insp. Ben Bella answered, “but I will find the number for you”.

That didn’t help, I had a name at the tip of my tongue, but now, when I needed it most, I could not think of it. It was in my notebook, but what was it? Finally I said, “Do you know that young American lawyer in Rabat , he is not licensed to practice in Morocco , but he specializes in Tax advice for foreigners? Maybe I could talk to him.”

“If he is not licensed to practice law here in Morocco , I cannot call him,” Insp. Ben Bella replied. Actually, by law or Constitution, there is no guarantee for access to any lawyer here in Morocco , but it is a courtesy that is regularly extended to all but National Security prisoners and always to foreigners. On the other hand, with no license to practice that man legally could only be considered a “visitor” and that would be entirely another matter. There was another moment of silence and then he added, “But I understand, I will see what I can do.”

With that the interview was over. Insp. Ben Bella called the guard and said something to him in Arabic. I was taken back to a different cell. This one had only one other inmate, he too was an Arab, but he was dressed in a suit, dirty and rumpled like mine, but still a suit, and most importantly, he did not smell nearly as bad as my previous company!

Once again sitting in a cell, on a bunk, fully clothed, I thought about Ilona. How different my interview, for that was truly what it was in my case, was to the interrogation that had been done to her, what I had done to her, and yet how apprehensive I had been with just this. Once again I felt ashamed of myself. But the hell with Ilona, she was no doubt dining on a steak now.

I had got to stop thinking about her and start thinking about myself, my situation and my Casino. And why did Ben Bella advise me to get a different lawyer? Actually, it was time to seriously think about the whole situation, why was there a police raid? Sure, somebody tipped them off, but who, and why, and why did Ben Bella, and/or one of his superiors not nip it at the bud. That was what they were paid to do, and it had always worked in the past. Something had definitely happened behind the scenes, and for my own health and any chance of getting out of here; I was going to have to figure out what it was.

And, I was going to have to figure something to write in my statement too. I kept mulling that one over endlessly without coming up with a good solution. Of course I would start with explaining in great detail how we caught the two girls cheating and that we detained them for questioning and then not explain the “questioning” in too much detail. But then as in all Police interviews the world over, the investigator would, in writing, add further questions for clarification and my answers. I would have liked to simply deny the whole thing and make this into a swearing contest between the two girls and us; why not, a couple of ex-employees caught cheating are now complaining about their former bosses. That had worked before, but unfortunately this time all the policemen had seen the room that morning and all our equipment, including that specially inlaid dildo, was now do doubt in the Police evidence room.

The next morning I waited for another call to the interrogation room, hopefully to meet with my lawyer and also no doubt to write that damn and damning statement. But I was left alone all day. In a way I was glad, I still had time to think of something good to write.

As it turned out, I had a lot of time to think in endless circles about what I could say, to make up various theories about what had and was happening and also to think about Ilona. Yes, the beautiful, brave, stubborn and tough Ilona, about whom the more I thought, the less I thought and the more I felt and the more conflicting those emotions became. And what was it that she had really been hiding? It was completely obvious to me by now that what had happened was not a simple cheating incident and I was reasonably sure the matter had not been planned or led by her either. But what would make a young woman willing to endure complete humiliation and finally hours of expert torture of the most private and sensitive place in her body?

I had done a little calculation about the time that night; the two girl’s little strip show in my office took about half an hour. After that Ilona spent another half an hour chained to the wall on her toes, watching Ljena get tortured a little bit and then pass all the blame to her. And she got a one time taste of the cattle prod as well. After that she was strapped to the grate and wired up so there would be no doubt in her mind as to her fate if she remained silent. She then waited, nude and spread-eagle, for five hours. And after that she endured four hours of relentless, professional torture.

I sat, lay down, got up, walked around, in the jail cell for three days. Of course there were no windows and the light was always on, but I could count the days from the mealtimes. I also got very tired of boiled rice and of plain Couscous.

Finally Ben Bella’s summons came. I took the fact that he appeared to still be running the case, to be a good sign. Still, there was an endlessly sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I was taken up to the interrogation room again.

As I came in I saw Ben Bella and another man whom I had never met.

“This is Ahmed Ali bin Habib Mahagribi, your lawyer,” Insp. Ben Bella immediately said.

My first thought was, now what, who’s he, where did Ben Bella dig him up and on what authority? But of course I had asked for a lawyer: but I had asked for an American lawyer whom I had met, though not professionally. And from my first glance I did not like this Mahagribi at all. He reminded me of a snake. Ah yes, but how does that joke go – Question: why does a rattlesnake not bite a lawyer? Answer: professional courtesy. But now Mahagribi opened his briefcase and started taking things out, it was time for me to pay attention, no matter what I thought he looked like.

Actually he only took three things out, two letters, both on my Casino’s letterhead stationary, and what looked like it could be airline tickets. Airline tickets! My heart leapt but then I got hold of myself, if things looked too good to be true, they were. And yet it was true.

Mr. Mahagribi handed me the first letter. It was my letter of resignation, from my job at the Casino. He handed me a pen, and said, “Sign it. And the new owners of the Casino have agreed to drop all charges against you for assaulting their employees.”

My first thought was, oh, assaulting their employees, they now call it. Then I almost asked, did the two girls, the employees, agree to this too. But I realized that question would be most out of place, obviously they had, and I should only rejoice in that fact.

I took the pen and read the letter, “my” letter. Mr. Mahagribi sensed my hesitation and added. Don’t worry, here are plane tickets for you too, nothing will happen to you when you sign this, that is, nothing bad. On the contrary, you will be released and that will be the end of it, the only condition is that you are on that plane. You can understand that the Kingdom of Morocco no longer wants your presence.

Insp. Ben Bella nodded his assent to that.

I signed the letter, was handed the plane tickets, I finally got to look at them and they were to London . So far so good, I thought, though I still had this nagging thought in the back of my head, that things that are too good to be true, are. Still, whatever the catch was, I clearly understood I would be in a whole lot safer position to ponder it in London than here in Morocco.

“Before you go, there is one other letter you must sign.” Mr. Mahagribi said. Of course, and it will be interesting to see this one I thought. I read it. It was somewhat less innocent than “my” letter of resignation, but still within the boundaries of what I could rationally sign. In it I admitted that I had abused the employees, fortunately the specifics had been left out however, that I understood that while I had written a letter of resignation, I was in fact being terminated and most importantly that I agreed to keep whatever I knew about the Casino secret. Actually that part was a pretty standard letter we asked all our departing employees to sign, only in my case I guess I did know a few more secrets than most. But of course, in my case I was also more than happy to sign that clause for my own reasons.

Mr. Mahagribi now added. “Your bags have been packed for you,” Oh good, I thought, and I wonder how many of my things are “missing”, but once again I knew better than to bring it up. “and will be waiting for you at the airport. The Casino has not paid you your final paycheck, however, they proposed an agreement that that check would be paid to me as my fee for these services. I trust that this will be agreeable. I think you must realize just how serious a situation you were in, charged with two counts each of unlawful imprisonment, aggravated assault, indecent assault and torture”. Actually I hadn’t really counted them all up like that, and contrary to the law, I was never informed of them either, but unfortunately the list did sound all too legally applicable. Mahagrîbi continued, “and you must agree that I have earned my fee.”

“Yes”, I simply replied. Yes, if I was actually convicted of all that, and why not, technically it was all true, I would have finished my life in a Moroccan hole.

With that Mr. Mahagribi left, he had never even shaken my hand, but he had given me freedom. Nothing else mattered.

Insp. Ben Bella motioned me out of the interviewing room and led me back to his office. “There is a little bathroom in the back, you can clean up, you will find your personal shaving kit is in there, and wash up. One of your suits is also hanging in there.”

Boy, somebody had certainly been working overtime to make my exit smooth. I just wondered if that somebody was a friend, or an enemy. I simply said, “thank you”.

After I came back out, shaved, having done a towel bath so I didn’t stink so badly any more and in my clean clothes, Insp. Ben Bella handed me back my wallet, credit cards and even cash intact, US Passport and other personal effects, everything except my apartment keys, but if “they” had packed for me what did I need those for anyway?

I was also beginning to wonder when and from where, the bullet in the back was going to come. But much to my relief, Insp. Ben Bella offered to transport me to the airport in his police car, in whose trunk, I was told, my bags had already, conveniently, been packed. Of course maybe that bullet could come from Ben Bella, but somehow I trusted that it wouldn’t.

“There are three more hours before your flight. I have some work to do so I will show you to a room where you can wait”, he now declared.

Finally left to my own thoughts I reviewed all things that had happened in the last two hours. My miraculous transformation from an accused felon, to free man and an airline passenger, that was good. The fact that I was now unemployed and everything I could still be sure I owned was in two suitcases that complied with airline weight limitations, that was not so good. Still, I was alive so far, and that was very good.

So, what was it that Attorney Mahagribi said: the NEW owners of the Casino. Interesting, actually that was the key. That was what this had been all about. It all instantly fit into place, that whole night, my last night on the job, had been a set up. The cheating incident was really a fake, we, I, was supposed to catch the two girls and they were supposed to be taken down to the sub-basement to be worked on by the current, well now ex, management and then rescued by the police raid, in the process nicely sweeping us managers off to jail. Then the General-Manager, who was a part owner, and her partners, were given an offer she could not refuse, sell, no doubt very cheaply, you get out of jail, the other owners avoid a scandal and “we” forget the whole thing. “We” will even have you sign the letter that you will keep this secret, as if that wasn’t our most fervent wish at this point, too.

Now I wondered who Attorney Mahagribi worked for, probably those new owners of the Casino and I even got to pay him to shuffle me out. Though of course, no matter whom he worked for, as he quite correctly pointed out, he had saved me from a very nasty future.

My thoughts went back to Ilona; she had certainly endured enough to set us up. Well, hopefully she was well rewarded for her suffering. And in my heart I really did hope that she had been well rewarded.

Once again my moral debate with myself started. Was I wrong in what I did to her? I was doing my job as we all accepted it was done. And yet, if she was not guilty, what right did I have to make her suffer so. But what did it mean, that she was not guilty. She knew what would happen, in fact if she was part of this set-up, as I was now certain it had been planned, she really knew what would happen. But why did she do it? Well, the offered reward must have been good. I’m sure she was dining on steak while I was sitting in jail.

Fine, enough of this, I once again reminded myself that Ilona was not my problem any more, if she had ever been. I now had to think about my future. I had enough saved up to buy a follow-on ticket to the States from London . And then, job-hunting. That prospect did not thrill me at all; as a matter of fact it was downright depressing. Right, and I wondered what was I going to put on my resume as the reason for leaving my last position, too.

I heard the doorknob turn. It somehow seemed to turn hesitantly and the person did not come in immediately. When she did, I saw it was Ilona. What the hell! My first reaction was I wanted to hide, but of course there was no place to do that and she had seen me anyway. Next I felt a wave of fear come over me. So, here comes the bullet, I had really feared a sniper round in the back, but this would be even better, torture victim shoots her former tormentor dead; no one would convict her.

Instead she just sat down on the opposite side of the room and stared at a wall. I felt like I should not look at her, that I did not deserve to look her in the face, which I found so beautiful. But I also could not resist, though I tried to be discreet. I kept looking around the room, also sweeping my eyes over her. I must have looked like a stupid teenager; I certainly felt that way, and in the Principal’s office too.

Time went by, seconds, minutes, an hour, maybe, I did not know and for some reason I could not even fathom, I did not dare look at my watch. By now it was obvious she had not come to attack me, either physically or even verbally; if she had, she would have done it by now. Instead, it was obvious she was as uncomfortable about being put together with me as I was. It was also obvious she had not been dining on steak these past few days either. She was wearing no make-up or jewellery. She had bags under her eyes and she looked tired, though not as bad as I had left her. She was however clean, her hair combed and wearing fresh clothes; just like me I thought. Had she been kept in prison all this time too? But why? She was the victim!

I wanted to say something, but what?

But what else, there was in fact only one thing I could say. I don’t know how long I struggled to get it out though.

“I’m sorry.” I finally said. I think it came out in a hoarse whisper.

She looked at me briefly, but said nothing. Seconds ticked by in a silence that ticked in my head.

“I’m sorry.” I said again, hopefully in a firmer voice.

“Why?” she asked simply.

I guess that was actually a logical question, but I was totally unready for it. And why was I sorry? Because really I liked her, because…forget this, I had to come up with an answer, now!

“Because, whatever happened, and now I really don’t understand what happened” and that was the truth, I had had my theory, but Ilona’s presence here like this, had shot some serious holes in that too, “what I did to you was wrong.”

“Because of what happened, it was wrong.” She repeated. “Ha, so if you had not gone to jail it was not wrong.” She then added.

“No, that is not what I said.” I responded.

“No, but it is what you mean.” She said.

Oh god, this was not going the way I wanted it to. I had wanted her to feel a little better, about having to endure my presence. Instead I was obviously making it worse. What was a matter with these people; to her this must feel like being a rape victim put together in a room with her rapist. And then I remembered, I had thought about raping her too, that night; and hadn’t thought there would be anything wrong with that either. Forget it, that was past, what could I say? So I finally decided to say what I most honestly wanted to, at that moment.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Waiting for a ride to the airport.” She replied sarcastically.

So I tried again, adding, “I would think that you would be back at the Casino celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” she replied.

“Well, a promotion, a raise, a hefty bonus. You should be the heroine.” I answered. It probably wasn’t really the right answer but I wanted to say something, anything to keep her from returning to the subject of my feelings.

“That’s what you think, isn’t it? Do you know what it takes to be Soviet hero?” she now said.

“Well no. I didn’t grow up there you know.” I replied, privately very relieved that we finally seemed to really be changing the subject.

“No of course not. What do you know? Do you know anything about what is going on? Do you know anything about what really go on in the Casino you were the big security chief?” she spate out the words at me.

“It does appear that I didn’t know nearly enough”, I answered, trying to be conciliatory. She did not immediately respond, so I added, “So what did happen to Soviet heroes?”

“To be a hero in Soviet Union, you had to be dead.” she said and then added, “or the current Premier, he was always a hero.”

I had not really thought about that, though I later looked it up and she was basically right, of course, the Premiers cultivated a heroic image and any other live heroes would have only interfered. But at that moment I did not understand what she was getting at.

“Well, you’re not dead,” I finally said. I thought of adding, and this is not the Soviet Union either, but I suspected that then she would simply call me stupid again.

There was a silence. Finally she said, “No, I’m not dead, and a casino is far from Soviet Union too. But there is no place for me in the Casino either.” She was silent for a moment and then said, “”The Moor has done his work, now the Moor can go.”

What did she say? Her last sentence was totally out of context, what Moor; the Moroccans were not even involved in this, or were they? But the sentence somehow seemed familiar, a quote perhaps? Oh yes.

“Othello”, I replied.

She glanced at me, half smiled, a first and said, “Very good”. She then paused and added, “I’m surprised.” At which point I no longer knew if this was a complement or not.

She fell silent again and I thought about her choice of quote for a while. Finally I said, “And you, Lithuanian, were to our Russians, what the Moor was to the Venetians.”

She looked at me, for the first time in this conversation she really looked at me, like she was studying me for the first time. Then suddenly her face went blank again, oh yes, her famous poker face, and she said, “So, you do have brain after all. Then why didn’t you see this coming?”

My first response was, because no one told me, but fortunately I caught myself before I opened my mouth to say something that dumb. She obviously felt there were things I should have noticed. Equally obviously, I hadn’t. But what were they, what could they have been. Well, let’s start with Ilona herself, why should I have suspected her behaviour that night, or suspected her at all and of what? And I realized that that had me stumped most of all.

But it was clear she wanted to tell me something. Mostly she was verbally abusing me of course, and she had every reason to feel anger, even total hatred towards me; I had violated every precept of civilized behaviour towards her, personally sexually abused and tortured her. But if there was only anger she would have either refused to say a word to me or simply screamed at me. The thing I could not understand though, were her reasons for stubbornly letting me do it, that is if she wasn’t getting a promotion, a raise, a bonus, or really, for what she endured, all three. I finally decided, or more precisely got up the courage, to ask her; for… if she was trying to explain something, maybe she would even be willing to answer the question.

I cleared my throat as an attention step, for the silence had lasted for a long time, while I collected my thoughts and we were once again looking our separate ways. “But what I don’t understand is, why? No, I understand why they did it, but why you? Why did you agree to this? Othello had Desdemona, but what did, what do you have?

She looked at me for a moment, and then looked away for a long time. I was beginning to wonder if she would not answer this question. But finally she spoke.

“You must realize now that the people who own the Casino now, planned this long, long time. Vanja was there before you, before me,” she said.

“Yes”, I answered, remembering how Vanja had ‘taken me under his wing’ shortly after I fist arrived. Under his wing indeed, and I had even wondered why he never seemed jealous of me. Wondered, but not analysed.

Ilona continued, “I don’t really know why the picked me, but I think not being Russian probably was part. About six months ago, I got a letter from my parents, in Kaunas . It had a photograph of them, my parents, sitting with two young men, who had come to visit my parents and said they were my friends. I had never seen these men before, strong young men, but I knew who they were. After I got the letter, you know we got our mail through the Casino, so everyone knows who we got a letter from, I was contacted and told what I must do.”

I took the risk of interrupting her and asked, “Who contacted you?”

“Zoja” Ilona replied in a dead voice.

Oh my god, I thought, and then I had invited her down to ‘watch’. For a moment I didn’t want Ilona to continue the story, to lay out how stupid my actions had really been. Maybe Ilona didn’t really want to continue either for after answering my question that interrupted her, she did not continue. But, I had to know what had happened. “Please, continue,” I said.

“Well, you know the rest”, she replied.

Well, I guess I really did. But no, I did not! “And, you agreed to be tortured like this?” I asked.

“You would not be willing to suffer to save your parents?” she coldly replied.

“Well yes.” I responded and thought, but I wonder if I would, could ever, have been as tough as she was.

“But, if all they wanted was to have the police raid the sub-basement”, there, I was still careful not to call it a torture chamber, “why did they wait for four hours while you were, you were…”

“Being tortured is what it is called,” Ilona snapped angrily. But then she sank back into herself, and quietly added, “I don’t know.” And finally with her voice once again loud in anger, and sharp as a dagger, said, “Ask Zoja!”

“Right.” I answered, just to say something. “And Zoja was there to make sure you did not talk too quickly.”

“Something like that.” Ilona answered so quietly I could barely hear her.

At this time I would have dearly liked to ask Zoja, and to ask Zoja the questions in the same way I had asked Ilona, and to have Ilona by my side watching the proceedings the way Zoja had, but one does not get a second chance in this life. Somehow I also knew that Ilona would not have watched the ‘show’ with the same enjoyment Zoja did.

“Do you know who is in charge there now?” I asked next.

“Yes. Ivan is now the head of Security. Zoja is the supervisor in charge of Croupiers. The general-manager is someone new, from Moscow . I heard his name but I don’t remember and I don’t care. I don’t know the new owners either, but then I never knew the old ones, did you?” Ilona answered.

Ivan - Vanja, was now head of Security, the old KGB creep. I certainly wouldn’t want to work there now. But then I immediately wondered if looking at it from the croupier’s point of view, I had been any better. And Zoja, I once again remembered the look of pleasure on her face as she watched Ilona’s nude body squirm in front of her. At this point I had to wonder how many of the croupiers there now would suffer the same experience.

“No, I only knew that the old general-manager was also a part owner, but that was the only one.” I answered Ilona’s question absentmindedly. That fact no longer interested me.

“So what about you? What happened to you?” I asked. That did interest me, very much.

“First I was taken to hospital. They checked me. You were very professional, I am assured that there is no permanent damage to me,” she replied and then added in an ironic tone, “I must thank you for that.” She paused and then continued, “after a day in hospital, the police came again and took me to the jail. Not the one you were in, the women’s jail.”

“Why?” I blurted out.

“Have you forgotten?” she replied in her most ironic voice, “I was suspected of organizing and carrying out fraud against the Casino. Fraud is illegal in Morocco and the police had to investigate.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! They set up the whole thing, they knew you were not defrauding them.” I said. The anger and shock must have showed in my voice.

Ilona finally replied in a very hushed voice, “Does that matter?”

To that I had absolutely nothing to say. I wanted to comfort her, to hug her, but I knew after what I had done I would never have the right to touch her again. In fact, I had never had that right in the first place.

We were placed upon the aircraft without incident. We never spoke again. At Heathrow we went our separate ways. This time it was I who watched Ilona disappear, she did not look back.