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Five-hundred-thousand pounds sterling, half the agreed amount, had already been deposited in unnumbered Swiss bank accounts in each of their names as down payment with the balance to follow on delivery – Isabel and Moira were to be C. A million quid for three hours' work; not bad, he said to himself.

And most, if not all, of it could be done by someone with far-less experience than his.

But what happened to their safety and well-being after he finished and turned over to the post-op people and the couriers were none of his affair.

She greeted him at the door with a warm hug, snuggling close to him so her breasts flattened hard against his muscular chest. Isabel showed Peter her letter from Sheila, the Balmoral Hotel proprietor, and Peter nodded his silent assent. Lord, recently disbarred from the Scottish medical society for professional misconduct, was a highly-skilled general surgeon with a background in clinical psychology. Moira Mac Peak," the surgeon said, with a sinister glint in his ice-cold, blue eyes.

The trip was on and Isabel and Moira were all smiles after Isabel phoned to say they would be coming up at the weekend. Lord had brought along his surgical equipment and anesthesia suite; a wide variety of IV equipment, antibiotics, anti-inflammatories and analgesics had been delivered and unpacked; specially-screened medical staff had been hired and was to arrive at the appointed time, Friday night, Sept. Lord and the Bakers; and, finally, Ned, a Tobermory metalworker, welder and artificer, had been engaged and briefed on the job requirements -- his silence assured with a generous sum of Scottish pounds – all paid for through the special joint bank account set up in the names of Blaker and Ford, at the Scottish national bank, Aberdeen. He disguised his psychotic/sadistic predilections well. Targeted by the Bakers to carry out the special bondages and surgeries required by the white slavers, he was the ideal man for the job -- sworn to silence but driven by avarice, money and power. His palms started to sweat in anticipation and there were only four days to go until they were scheduled to arrive, Friday, Sept.

She and husband, Graham, also had a glorious, sexy long weekend that culminated in her agreement to have leg shackles welded on her trim ankles for 52 weeks.

Tonight, she was practising walking about the living room to get ready to start her new position as administrative assistant in the offices of the local woolen mill in the small western Scotland town five miles away from their country homes.

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