Volume 2A: To Steal a Sports Team

[tirepanted3]

The following is a short story (probably three chapters total) taking place directly after the events of To Steal a Spaceuit: Vol. 2. If you haven't read that story (or at least the last few chapters involving the handball team), it's probably best to do so. If you have read it, and are curious to learn what happened to the handball team, read on:


Adelaide steered the large coach bus carefully along the bumpy dirt road. She was pleased that the vehicle manufacturers had equipped the bus with extra-strength tire protection - it likely hadn't been intended to travel on this sort of terrain, but one could never be too careful.

She had left Tamara and her FBI friends at a parking lot not far from Palm Bay - from there, they'd steal a few cars and go their separate ways. But Adelaide still had to concentrate on her own job, nearly finished as it was.

The bus hit a pothole, jarring Adelaide slightly - but her seat belt kept her in place. Judging by the muffled squeals of protest coming from the bus' overhead luggage compartments, however, her passengers were not so lucky.

"Sorry, girls," she said, keeping her eyes on the road. "I promise the ride is almost over."

So saying, she pulled the bus over to the side of the road, near a thick grove of trees. She had initially planned to abandon the handball team and their driver by the side of the road, but it was too much trouble for her to lug all the girls out of the bus.

Fortunately, she had had the foresight to bring along her collapsible motorbike before sneaking aboard the bus, having concealed it beneath the backseat before boarding. Retrieving the bike, she rolled it out of the vehicle.

"Good night, girls," she called. "Sorry you had to miss your tournament... but don't worry, someone will find you in twenty or thirty minutes."

So saying, she pulled out her phone and dialed the number of a local garage.

"Hello," she said in a professional voice. "Yes, I'm afraid my bus has broken down... Could you please send a mechanic? I'll give you the coordinates..."

Once she'd finished the call, Adelaide hung up, satisfied that the handball girls would not remain prisoners much longer. With a contented smile, she gunned her bike and rode off.

The bus sat parked by the side of the unused road, the occasional muted sound of gagged protest falling on deaf ears.

***************

Zuhal stumbled through the brambles, wincing as they tore her stolen guard uniform. Nevertheless, she pressed on, intent on distancing herself from the NASA base as much as possible.

"Looks like you've done it this time, my girl," she muttered to herself.

True, Karima had been captured - but skilled escape artist that she was, there was no question that she would soon be free of the FBI's clutches. On top of that, Zuhal was a wanted fugitive, having escaped from prison 24 hours earlier and having angered a sizable number of federal agents in the interim.

At the moment, she was alone - no friends, no contacts, no money. And in grave danger of being caught.

Tired as she was, Zuhal pressed on. Somehow, she'd find a way to stay free. She had to.

She stumbled out of the woods, knees shaking. Paused to catch her breath.

Then she stopped. Looking up, she noticed a large coach bus parked just fifty feet away. The vehicle wasn't running, but the door was open.

Curiously, Zuhal approached the vehicle, and cautiously stepped inside. All seemed quiet, save the faint humming of mosquitoes.

Zuhal arched an eyebrow. Those weren't mosquitoes. The sounds... muffled, gagged moans and squeals. And they were coming from just above her.

Zuhal popped open one of the overhead luggage compartments. She gasped in surprise. Crammed inside the compartment was a girl in her early twenties. She had long blonde hair and was dressed in a black sports bra and matching panties. She had been bound with thick cords and gagged with tape, and was struggling mightily - but uselessly - to free herself.

The girl looked at Zuhal pleadingly, clearly hoping to be set free. Before Zuhal could respond, however, her attention was diverted by similar gagged noises coming from the other seven luggage compartments.

Eagerly, Zuhal opened the other compartments, one by one. Inside each one was a new "prize" - a bound-and-gagged young woman in nothing but her underwear. The girls had different hair and skin colors, but most were in their early twenties and in standard-issue black sports underwear. The only exception was a redheaded woman in her early thirties, clad in a leopard-print set of underwear.

Zuhal stepped back and admired her discovery. The eight girls all struggled painfully, waiting for her to free them.

She ignored their muffled pleas and began rummaging in the bus' glove compartment for an explanation. Inside she found a wallet with bus driver's license with a photo ID of the redheaded woman. There was also a pamphlet for a statewide handball tournament. The photo for the Girls' Handball Team of Miami displayed seven smiling girls who looked quite similar to the seven young captives on the bus - though the photo showed the girls in uniform.

Zuhal quickly pieced together what had happened. She turned back to the captive girls. "So... it looks like your game plans were interrupted, eh?"

A few girls nodded. Most simply looked scared.

"And you're expecting me to rescue you, is that right?"

The girls nodded again, more vigorously.

"Well... Sorry, girls, but I'm not really the rescuing type," Zuhal said with a smile. "But I have some other plans for you..."

The girls began moaning in fear and protest. Zuhal walked down the bus aisle, shutting the compartments and muffling their voices once more.

She stopped at the final compartment and peered inside. The redheaded woman shrank back.

Zuhal glanced at the driver ID. "Carolyn... that's you, isn't it? I assume you're the owner of this vehicle?"

She peeled the tape off the woman's mouth. The driver coughed. "Please..." she said. "Please... I don't know what the hell is happening. I'm just a driver for a charter bus company. Please let me go."

Zuhal flipped open the wallet and pulled out a couple of photos. They showed the redhead and a Japanese woman smiling and showing off a pair of wedding rings.

"Your wife is gorgeous," Zuhal smiled.

"Please don't hurt her," Carolyn said meekly. "I'll do anything. Please..."

"Calm down, dear," Zuhal said. She had picked up some intimidation cues from Karima over the years, and was happy to put them to effect. "I promise not to go near your beloved. Provided, of course, you answer all my questions. Starting with... what happened?"

Carolyn swallowed. "I... I don't really know... It was all so fast. I was looking at my phone, not bothering anyone, when some woman attacked me. Chloroformed me. When I woke up, my uniform was gone and I was tied up in here."

"What did the woman look like?" Zuhal pressed.

Carolyn considered. "I saw her... in the rearview mirror while she was attacking me. Black woman... short hair. I think she said her name was... Adele... no, Adelaide. That was it."

Zuhal didn't recognize the name or description. She glanced around, trying to cover all the bases. "So she just... hijacked the bus, took your uniform, and tied up all these handball girls? Do you know if she's coming back?"

"I don't think so," Carolyn said. "She said... someone would find us in a little while. Not sure what she meant. I couldn't hear much from inside here."

Zuhal pondered the situation. She began to like it. If she played her cards right, these girls could be her ticket to freedom.

The sound of an engine from outside interrupted her thoughts. Glancing out the window, she saw a white paneled van pull up beside the bus. The driver, a Latina woman in white cotton shirt beneath grey uniform overalls and cap, stepped out, her brown boots hitting the soft dirt road.

Zuhal grinned. Her fortune was beginning to turn.

The female mechanic could not see through the tinted windows of the bus, so she knocked lightly on the door. "Hello? We got a call about a broken-down bus. Anyone inside?"

Zuhal opened the door and stepped out. "Thank you for coming, dear," she said. "Yes, we could use some help. Tire problems, I think." She pointed to the front wheel of the bus.

The mechanic knelt down. "Your tire looks fine. Can you try starting the engine? Maybe it - uuuunnngggghhhh!"

She pitched forward as Zuhal dealt her a well-aimed neck chop.

"You've done enough inspecting, dear," Zuhal smiled as she dragged the insensible woman into some nearby bushes. "I'll handle things from here."

Eleven brief minutes later, Zuhal emerged from the bushes, dressed in the mechanic's overalls, cap, and boots. She was glad to be rid of her guard uniform, which had become somewhat thorn-filled during her earlier trek through the woods.

"Afraid the brightly-colored charter bus would draw too much attention," she called behind her. "I'll have to take your van instead."

The real mechanic was in no position to argue - she was unconscious and gagged with a strip of Zuhal's guard uniform. More strips bound her wrists and ankles, leaving the woman quite helpless in her white underwire bra and tanga panties.

Zuhal returned to the bus, popped open the first luggage compartment, and retrieved the first girl, a tall, porcelain-skinned brunette. Slinging the squirming girl over her shoulder, Zuhal carried her out and over to the back of the van. She flung open the doors and tossed the girl inside.

"Sit tight," Zuhal told her. "Your friends will be here momentarily."

One by one, Zuhal transferred her captives from the bus to the van. The girls moaned in protest, but Zuhal went about her task quickly and efficiently. This would all be worth the effort.

Carolyn was the eighth and final woman to be shoved into the van. "Please, you've got to let me go! I can't - mmmmppphhhh!"

Zuhal smoothed a fresh piece of tape over her lips. "I just need you to keep an eye on these girls for me, okay? I didn't tie them up, so I'm not sure how good the knots are. Just moan really loudly if any of them are getting loose."

With a smile, she shut the van door, then returned for the bus, checking it one last time. She found a few phones and wallets that belonged to some of the handball girls and scooped them up. Then she returned to the van, climbing behind the wheel.

Before driving, she placed a quick phone call - on a private line. After all, she wasn't going through with this trip without satisfactory confirmation.

"Yes, hello - my name is Zuhal Azimi. How did I get this number? Old employer... Karima al-Bariqi. Perhaps your boss has heard of her...?"

The loud "mmmpphh"ing from the back of the van did little to disrupt her thoughts - or the phone conversation. The woman at the other end agreed to meet her at an abandoned warehouse in Miami.

Zuhal hung up and glanced at the gas gauge. Much to her satisfaction, the tank was nearly full. She estimated the drive to Miami to take about three hours, traffic permitting, and wasn't keen on stopping to refuel.

The wall between the front and back of the van muffled the helpless cries of the handball girls. Zuhal switched on the radio, allowing the music to drown them out even more. She started the ignition and began to drive.

Unbeknownst to Zuhal, in the back of the van, one of the handball girls was attempting to pick her bonds with her long manicured fingernails.

*************

Adelaide steered her motorbike into the agreed-upon rendezvous point - a quiet garage in Jacksonville.

The coach of the Jacksonville team was waiting for her, leaning against the hood of a blue car. She was tall and well-muscled, with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. These eyes glared at Adelaide, who shut off the motorbike and approached her.

"Mission accomplished," Adelaide said with a smile. "The Miami team was taken care of, as you requested. May I have my money?"

The coach scowled at her. "Where the hell was my team?"

Adelaide blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"My team... the Jacksonville handball girls! They never showed up to the tournament either! What did you do with them?"

Adelaide looked bewildered. "Nothing... I swear. I only kidnapped the Miami girls, like you asked."

"Really?" the coach asked accusingly. "Then what the hell is this?"

She popped open the trunk of the car. Inside was a brown-haired woman in her late twenties, bound and gagged. She wore nothing more than a pair of pink cotton bra and panties.

The coach removed the gag. "Trudy, tell her what happened," she ordered.

Trudy stammered out a response. "I was... I was in the garage, preparing to board the bus and go pick up the handball girls, when some woman in a blue car pulled up. She said she needed directions. While I was looking at her map, she clonked me on the head. I woke up like this, in the trunk... my uniform was gone, and I guess the bus was too. I struggled for hours until the coach found me."

"What did this woman look like?" the coach pressed.

"She was young... black... very pretty. Tall and wore glasses... mmmpphh!"

The coach re-gagged her and shut the trunk. "I'll deal with your incompetence later," she muttered before turning back to Adelaide. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"I didn't do anything to this girl," Adelaide protested. "You think I'm the only black woman who mugs girls for their uniforms?"

The coach scoffed. "Maybe you didn't," she said. "But in any case, you can forget about being paid."

"What!" Adelaide was growing angry.

"Your job was to help the Jacksonville girls win the tournament. Since they never showed up, you failed."

"My job," Adelaide replied tersely, "was to stop the Miami girls. I did that. Pay up."

"You're not getting a penny," the coach said. "Not until my girls are found."

Adelaide wanted to press the matter further, but the coach looked quite strong and quite angry. And Adelaide, for all her skill and dexterity, wasn't much when it came to brute strength. The coach could probably snap her like the proverbial twig.

"Okay," Adelaide said. "If I find your girls and bring them back... I get my money?"

The coach nodded. "Every cent."

Adelaide smiled. "Deal."

"How you gonna find 'em?"

"Do you have any of their phone numbers?"

The coach scoffed. "Sure, but I tried calling - they don't respond. Something's wrong."

"I can still track them if they have their phones available," Adelaide explained. "Little trick I picked up over the years."

The coach shrugged. "I'll give you the numbers. Just get to work."

[esercito sconfitto]

aha, I guess i know what phone number Zuhal is calling...her name starts with a C

[tirepanted3]

Or perhaps an A or an L... guess we'll know soon.

[tirepanted3]

It was well past midnight when the van finally pulled up the abandoned warehouse. Zuhal had not slept in over 24 hours - apart from the brief nap she'd had when Amber and Lauren had chloroformed her - yet she was still filled with energy. Besides, she mused, she would likely be facing many sleepless nights ahead.

She pulled the van into the warehouse, navigating it behind some crates and stacks of metal rods, and shut off the engine. All was quiet, even from the cargo hold of the van.

"Better go check the passengers," she mused.

Stepping out of the cab, she looped around to the back of the van, which she'd padlocked from the outside. Retrieving the key, she unlocked the doors and opened them.

"I hope you enjoyed the trip, girls," she smiled. "Because... Oouugggppphhh!"

She fell back as a long leg immediately kicked her in the stomach, sending her to the floor. Phoebe, the tall blonde handball girl with anger in her blazing blue eyes, jumped out.

"Bitch!" she spat at Zuhal. She ran past her captress and to the door.

"No!" Zuhal yelled, scrambling to her feet. "Get back here!"

A quick glance told her that the other girls were still safely bound and gagged, and Zuhal bolted after the fleeing blonde.

But Phoebe was fast. As the handball team captain, she was athletically built, with long legs and large breasts that bounced against her bra as she ran across the empty field. Zuhal put on an extra burst of speed, but Phoebe was clearly faster.

And now the handball girl was headed for the road. "Damn it!" Zuhal knew that if she managed to alert the authorities, the jig was up.

Reaching the road, Phoebe spotted the headlights of a small factory truck in the distance. She ran towards it, waving frantically.

"Help! Please stop! Help!"

The driver, a black woman in dark blue uniform and cap, hit the brakes. She rolled down the window. "What's wrong, honey? Where are your clothes?"

Phoebe caught her breath and pointed angrily at Zuhal, who had frozen in her tracks thirty feet away. "That bitch..." she began. "She kidnapped me. I was forced to strip... tied up... stuck in a luggage compartment... And then hat bitch kidnapped me."

Zuhal quickly considered her options. Could she take down Phoebe and this truck driver as well?

Phoebe turned back to the driver. "Call the cops... Call the FBI. Call someone! What are you waiting for?" She grabbed the truck's windowsill in agitation.

To her shock, the driver replied, "Just waiting for you to get close enough."

With that, she delivered a judo chop to Phoebe's neck. The handball girl groaned and slid to the floor.

Zuhal watched in surprise as the driver opened the door and stepped out of the truck.

The woman was tall and well-built, an athletic background suggested by her sportswoman's physique. She wore horn-rimmed glasses, and her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. She appeared to be about nineteen or twenty years old, though her professional stride resembled that of an older, more confident woman. Her dark skin contrasted sharply with her clear white teeth, which glinted in the moonlight as she stuck out her hand.

"You must be Ms. Azimi," she said. "I'm Farah. Looks like I arrived just in time."

Zuhal allowed herself a sigh of relief as she shook the young woman's hand. "Glad you could make it. And yes, you certainly did."

Farah nodded. "So, would you like to show me the cargo? Beyond the one I've already encountered, that is."

Zuhal nodded. "Of course. Let me just grab Lady Longlegs and I'll meet you back at the warehouse."

Shortly after, Farah was pulling her truck into the warehouse, just alongside the mechanic's vehicle.

Zuhal finished re-securing Phoebe, ensuring her gag and bonds were even tighter than before, and then flung open the rear doors to the mechanic's van. "Voila!"

Farah peeked inside, smiling at the seven underwear-clad, bound-and-gagged women inside. "Excellent. Would you mind removing the products so I may inspect them?"

"No problem." Zuhal hurried to comply. She could already hear the cash registers in her head.

One by one, she extracted the handball girls from the van and dragged them to the wall, securing their bound wrists to a waist-high length of pipe. Before long, all seven handball players were standing in an uncomfortable row, moaning and struggling against their bonds.

Zuhal returned to the van once more to retrieve Carolyn, but Farah shook her head.

"She's too old. My employer recently changed the rules - no women over thirty. They're more difficult to sell on the market."

Carolyn glowered, but remained still. Unbeknownst to either Zuhal or Farah, she was quietly rubbing her bonds against a sharp metal grating at the side of the van.

Zuhal nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. "Anyway, you have seven other lovelies to look over."

"Indeed," Farah replied, pulling on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. "This shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

She moved slowly down the line, inspecting each girl in turn - pinching their waists to confirm slimness, squeezing their breasts to ensure their firmness. Occasionally, she would slip a gloved hand inside a girl's panties, ignoring the muffled gasp of protest as she inspected the girl in detail.

Finally, Farah discarded the gloves and returned to Zuhal.

"Your price?" Farah asked matter-of-factly.

"Fifty thousand dollars each," Zuhal replied confidently. "If you'd like to take them all, I can offer you a discount."

Farah laughed. "I'm afraid not. These girls are attractive, but only two or three are truly gorgeous. Besides, I'd need proper background information - medical records and so forth - to take a price that high."

Zuhal's face fell. "What did you have in mind?"

"Between ten and fifteen each," Farah replied. "I'll take all of them together for eighty thousand."

Zuhal felt her cheeks burn. "Are you kidding me? No way! These girls are all beautiful. I won't settle for that."

"Then you'll settle for nothing," Farah replied tersely. "Good night." She turned and began walking toward her truck.

Zuhal called after her. "W... wait! Maybe we can meet in the middle. Say, thirty thousand apiece?"

Farah hopped into the driver's seat. "Best of luck."

"Twenty?"

"My offer is final," Farah replied. "Accept it, or stop wasting my time."

Zuhal cursed under her breath. She didn't have much choice... and she suspected Farah knew it.

"Okay! You win. Eighty thousand dollars. For all of them."

Farah smiled. "How nice of you to see the light." She stepped out of the truck again.

Cash - rolled up in unmarked bills - was quickly transferred to Zuhal's hands. Zuhal scowled slightly, but said nothing. She tossed the cash into the glove compartment of the mechanic's van.

"Perhaps you think me unfair," Farah said as she flipped the first squirming girl over her shoulder and carried her to the rear of the van. "But our cargo is in pretty good supply right now."

So saying, she flung open the rear doors of the truck. Inside were seven young women, all stripped to their bras and panties, and all bound and gagged with generous amounts of white rope and grey duct tape.

Zuhal stared in astonishment. "Who are they?"

"My collection for tonight," Farah said. "Turns out that kidnapping young ladies - particularly handball teams - is quite a good market."

She gestured in the corner, where a slightly older woman was sleeping soundly, breathing softly into her gag. "Oh, and Gina over there's been very helpful," she said. "Let me borrow her truck, her uniform and everything. Not sure I'd be able to carry all these girls without these wheels."

Zuhal nodded, impressed. "And this is just in Florida?"

"No, nationwide," Farah said. "My boss works out of Los Angeles. She's hired a bunch of girls around the country to help expand her business."

She finished loading the seven girls and returned to the driver's seat. "A pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Azimi." She started the engine and was off.

Zuhal sighed as she watched the truck exit the warehouse and drive into the distance. She was certainly better off than she was before... but still a long way from safe.

Turning her heel, she returned to the van. "Okay, Carolyn. I guess we should be getting back to - hey!"

The van was starting to drive away. In the reflection of the sideview mirror, Zuhal managed to catch a glimpse of the underwear-clad Carolyn in the driver's seat.

"Goddamn it... get back here!" Zuhal scrambled after the van, but a panicked Carolyn hit the gas. The van roared out of the warehouse and headed off into the night.

The gates ahead were locked, but Carolyn didn't stop. The metal chains shattered as the van plowed through, tires squealing across the road.

In her rearview mirror, Carolyn caught sight of Farah's truck heading in the opposite direction. She briefly considered calling the police, but her mind was too preoccupied. She had to get free. To get home.

Zuhal watched from the curb as the van faded into the distance. Her transportation was gone... and so was her money.

"Shit!" she muttered. "This can't be happening. This can't be..."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was no time to get frustrated.

True, she was tired - having hardly slept a wink in the past 24 hours. But a few deep breaths allowed her to forget her exhausted senses - and return her to a state of determination.

The road was quiet, but not abandoned. She hid by the side and waited.

Five minutes passed, then ten. "Come on... anyone..."

At last, she heard a faint sound in the distance.

The cyclist was a woman of around thirty years - long blonde hair beneath her green helmet, dressed in a green short-sleeve jersey, short pants, and wraparound sunglasses. She was pedaling slowly, enjoying the cool night air, listening to music on her earphones.

Immediately, Zuhal stepped out into the road and began waving frantically.

The girl stopped her bike. "What's wrong?" she said, a bit annoyed.

"Sorry, miss," Zuhal said, approaching. "But I need a ride."

The woman laughed. "Scram, hon," she said. "This bike isn't built for two."

"I'm aware." Zuhal slammed an elbow into the side of the woman's head. With a moan, the biker crumpled to the dirt.

Zuhal dragged both bike and rider off the road and into some tall bushes. There she began the swift and therapeutic process of divesting the girl of her clothes. Thankfully, the biker hadn't been wearing many of them to begin with, and she was soon down to her dark green bra and panties.

Zuhal squeezed herself into the tight jersey and shorts, and laced up the woman's sneakers. Not a great fit, but it wouldn't do to pedal a bicycle while wearing the mechanic's heavy brown boots. She slipped on the sunglasses - less for night glare then to prevent eye irritation when riding. She fitted the helmet over her hair and buckled the chinstrap.

Zuhal used the woman's long earphone cables to bind her wrists and ankles, then gagged her with a washrag from the mechanic's uniform pocket. She noted with some amusement that the girl's underwear was about the same color as the bushes she was now being stashed in; perhaps they'd provide her with some useful camouflage.

Zuhal rolled the bike over to the main road and hopped on. She hadn't ridden one of these in several years, but it only took a few moments of pedaling for her to get back in the groove.

**************

Farah maneuvered the delivery van swiftly across the dirt roads, headed to the airfield for her final rendezvous. Her fifteen captives moaned in protest every time the vehicle hit a bump, but she paid them no heed.

She kept her eyes on the road ahead. Thus, she did not notice the woman on the motorbike about fifty yards behind her.

Adelaide kept a safe distance, unsure of what to expect. Her phone-tracking gamble had paid off; still, she was cautious, not knowing what to expect.

She was amused by the irony - the night had begun with her kidnapping a handball team, and before it was over, she would be rescuing another handball team.

"It's a living," she mused to herself.

***************

Carolyn wound her way frantically through the mostly empty streets, speeding up at yellow lights and running more than a couple of reds. She didn't care. All she wanted was to get home.

She pulled the mechanic's van into her driveway and raced to her house, shivering in the cold night air. She was certainly not dressed for this weather.

As she reached the door, her heart sunk. Her keys! They had been in the pocket of her uniform jacket, which had been stolen by that Adelaide woman!

Quickly, Carolyn began ringing the doorbell, praying that her wife wasn't sleeping too heavily.

Atsuko was roused from her slumber on the first ring. She yawned and rolled over. The clock read 3:17 AM.

"The hell?" she murmured groggily. Then, as the ringing persisted, she heard a familiar voice.

"Suki, let me in! Please, oh god please let me in!"

Atsuko was wide awake. She quickly jumped out of bed and headed downstairs.

The moment she opened the door, Carolyn collapsed into her arms. "Oh, Suki, thank heavens. I was so scared... So scared..."

Atsuko hugged her wife closely. "Shhh... It's okay, honey, I'm here... Why are you in your underwear? What the hell's going on?"

But Carolyn was too exhausted to talk. She was still a bit woozy from the chloroform, and from the chaotic events that had followed.

Atsuko led her to bed and helped her lie down. Within moments, Carolyn was fast asleep.

"I'll call a doctor in the morning," Atsuko whispered. "For now, just... rest."

[tirepanted3]

Security was fairly lax at the airfield at this hour of the night. Farah used a thin but truthful excuse about making a "delivery" to the female guard at the front booth. Much to her satisfaction, the woman did not examine her papers very closely, nor did she ask to inspect the contents of the delivery truck; this saved Farah from having to waste precious time killing the guard.

Minutes later, the guard also waved a large fuel truck through the gate. Unlike Farah's truck, there was nothing unusual about this vehicle - it was there to provide fuel to planes before takeoff. Nothing unusual, perhaps, except for an unwanted passenger, who hid clinging to the underside of the tanker.

Adelaide waited until the tanker had come to a stop, then dropped to the grass. It had been an easy trick to keep tabs on the delivery truck without wasting time. However, she realized as she rolled out from under the trucks and dove behind some crates to avoid detection, her current uniform was ill-suited for this particular environment.

She peeked out and saw two pilots - one male, one female - talking and laughing with each other. They were dressed in standard green flight suits, black boots, and goggle-equipped aviator helmets.

The woman smiled and said, "I have to go. Gonna catch a quick break before my next flight." The man nodded and headed off.

The female aviator pulled a pack of cigarettes from her jacket, then stepped behind the crates and lit one. She took a few puffs, enjoying the cool night air.

"Sorry, hon," Adelaide piped up. "This is a 'No smoking' zone."

The aviatrix whirled and saw a woman lunging at her. A hand quickly covered her mouth and she was yanked into the shadows. The lit cigarette fell to the ground, smoldering.

Minutes later, Adelaide stepped out from behind the crates, enjoying the sound made by the crunch of her black boots against the gravel. The flight suit was a good fit, though the fabric was itchy; Adelaide was glad that she only had to wear it this once.

She returned to give one last look at the real aviatrix, now bound with spare cables and gagged with a torn strip of tarp, and crammed into one of the crates. The unconscious girl wore nothing more than a frilly pink bra and panties, and white cotton socks. Her blonde hair was a matted mess.

"Sorry if I was a little rough, sister," Adelaide whispered as she replaced the lid of the crate, hiding the woman from view. "But you should be glad I saved you from those awful cigarettes."

She pulled on the brown helmet and buckled it beneath her chin, adjusting the goggles over her eyes. Though Adelaide had no idea how to fly a plane, she thought it best to obscure her identity as much as possible.

What she did not realize was that two of the other nearby crates also contained female pilots within them - both of them bound, gagged, and stripped to their underwear.

Farah drove the truck over to the far end of the field, where a lone plane sat waiting. She stepped out and looked around. "Anybody here?"

From behind the plane stepped two women in pilot uniforms. Like Farah, they were dark-skinned, with one of the women about six inches taller than the other.

"Glad you could make it," the taller woman said. "What's the total?"

"Fourteen girls," Farah said. "Plus a truck driver... she's optional."

"Excellent," the woman laughed. "You're proving to be one of our more fertile new recruits, Farah." She turned to her friend. "Liana, is the plane ready?"

Liana nodded. "Yes, Alyssa. All set to fly. So glad one of the pilots we mugged had a repair manual in her pocket."

"Start it up," Alyssa commanded. "We're leaving with the cargo at first opportunity."

Adelaide clung to the shadows as she watched the women coordinate. Obviously, they weren't real pilots. She did not know their true identities or intents, but she didn't much care at the moment, either - for now, all that mattered was saving the Jacksonville girls.

No one was watching the back of the truck. Adelaide slid towards the rear door and quietly opened it.

The fifteen young women looked up as the splinter of moonlight hit them. They eyed Adelaide with a mixture of confusion and trepidation.

"It's all right, girls," Adelaide whispered. "I'm here to save you... Well, some of you, anyway."

Immediately, the Miami girls recognized her voice and appearance - it was the woman who had posed as their bus driver! Immediately they began moaning loudly into their gags, feet stamping on the metal floor.

"Shh! Quiet, stop right now!" Adelaide tried to get the girls under control, but her attempts were ended by the sound of a pistol clicking behind her.

"Well, well... Looks like we got ourselves a snooper," Alyssa said. Behind her, Liana and Farah glared at Adelaide menacingly.

"Who might you be, sweetheart?" Alyssa asked. "And tell the truth. I won't hesitate to shoot you."

Adelaide's mind raced. She decided to play dumb. "I'm... I'm just an airwoman," she said. "Just happened across these girls. Please, don't hurt me."

"Sorry, chica," Alyssa said. "No witnesses allowed. Liana, mind giving me my knife?"

Obligingly, Liana drew a sharp dagger from her jacket and handed it to her friend. Alyssa's eyes averted from Adelaide for a mere split-second... but it was a split-second too long. Adelaide let loose with a high kick that knocked her to the ground. Before Liana or Farah could react, Adelaide had scooped up Alyssa's gun.

"Not one false move," Adelaide ordered. "Drop your guns and kick them away."

Liana and Farah glared murderously at her, but were forced to comply.

"Great," Adelaide smiled. She turned to Farah. "Toss me the keys to the truck. I'll be taking care of your cargo."

***************

Carolyn awoke to the sound of chirping birds, the warmth of a newly risen sun, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

She breathed deeply, relieved to be back home. A few hours of sleep had worked wonders.

"Ah, you're awake!" Atsuko entered, carrying a mug of piping hot coffee. "I decided to let you sleep a little extra. How are you feeling?"

Carolyn stretched and smiled. "Better. A bit woozy, but... better."

"Good, good." Atsuko set the mug down on the dresser, where Carolyn could reach it. "Even so, I decided to call the local hospital, see if they can check you over. They promised to send a nurse over."

"I don't deserve you," Carolyn grinned.

"Very true," Atsuko laughed. "But I'll stick around. I'm curious to hear your story, when you're well enough to tell it."

The doorbell rang. "Ah, that must be the nurse! Sit tight." Atsuko left the room.

Carolyn settled back into the bed. She felt good, she had to admit. And once she was fully rested, she would call the police - tell them the whole story.

She heard Atsuko's voice from the hall. "Thank you for coming so quickly! My wife is in that room by the end of the hall."

The door opened, and a woman in green hospital scrubs and white trainers stepped in, carrying a leather satchel.

Carolyn managed a smile as the nurse shut the door. "Hiya, doc. Come to check up on..."

She froze. The "nurse" standing over her bed was all too familiar.

Carolyn opened her mouth to scream. But Zuhal was faster. She quickly clapped a hand over the redhead's mouth.

Zuhal stared coldly down at the frightened Carolyn, and placed a finger to her own lips. "Shh... The last thing we need is for you to spoil this wonderful moment."

Carolyn tried to pull away, but Zuhal held on. She forced the woman's head down onto the pillow.

"Listen very close, Red," she said tersely. "I have many medical implements in this satchel... some of which are quite sharp, and quite deadly. If you start screaming for help... If you make any unwarranted sounds at all... I will call your lovely wife in here, and I'll kill her right in front of your eyes."

Carolyn swallowed. Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer.

"I'm going to remove my hand now," Zuhal said. "And you're going to behave. Behave or your wife dies. Is that clear?"

Carolyn nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Zuhal removed her hand.

"Wha... what do you want?" Carolyn pleaded in a hushed voice. "I just want to forget last night ever happened. You can't imagine what I've been through."

Zuhal laughed. "Sister, you think you've had a rough night?" she asked. "You don't know what I've been through in the past 36 hours. Betrayed by my friends, captured by the FBI, kicked around by some crazy scientist lady. And if the law catches me, they'll lock me up and throw the key in a furnace. So yeah, I've been through a lot of shit recently."

Carolyn trembled. "Please, I'm just a bus driver. What do you want me to do?"

"It''s very simple," Zuhal said. "I want you to keep your mouth shut. Make up a story if you need to. If you tell the cops, or the FBI, or even your naive wife about anything that I did, I will find you. Clear?"

Carolyn nodded.

"Lovely," Zuhal responded. "I'll also be taking the money from the vehicle you stole. Thought you could get away when I memorized your address..."

"I'm... I'm sorry..." Carolyn stammered. "I was frightened, I..."

"Stow it," Zuhal interrupted. "Like I said, it's been a rough couple of days. Keep your lips sealed and you might just get back to having a nice, happy life."

"I swear I won't tell a soul... I swear," Carolyn said, visibly shaken.

"Okay then." Zuhal stood up. "Have a lovely day."

She exited the room, leaving a still-trembling Carolyn.

Atsuko met Zuhal in the kitchen. "Well, how is she?"

"She should get some rest," Zuhal said in a gentle voice. "But I think she'll be all right."

Zuhal left the house, a bounce in her step as she headed for the driveway. She retrieved the money from the van's glove compartment, then returned to the medical van she had parked by the curb.

She got into the driver's seat and smiled into the rearview. "It worked! Thanks for loaning me your gear."

She was met with a muffled response. In the back of the van lay the real nurse, stripped to her pink polyester bra and panties. The raven-haired woman had been bound and gagged with generous lengths of white medical gauze, and was attempting unsuccessfully to escape her predicament.

"Don't worry, dear," Zuhal said cheerfully. "I'll leave you and your van somewhere out in the woods. You'll be found eventually, I'm sure." She began to drive. "Meantime, I've got some preparations of my own to make."

***************

The coach tapped her foot impatiently, glancing at the road outside the garage. She was quickly growing impatient.

A muffled noise came from the trunk of the blue car. The coach sighed. "Shut the hell up, Trudy. I said I'd let you out at noontime."

A small truck pulled up and backed into the garage. The coach sighed. "About goddamned time."

Adelaide jumped out. The coach stepped forward. "Did you get my girls?"

"Sure did," Adelaide beamed. "Do you have my money?"

"Hold your horses, girl," the coach said.

She unlocked the truck doors and swung them open... and stared at the fifteen girls inside. She recognized seven of them as her team, but not the others.

"I was in a rush," Adelaide said. "Didn't have time to untie them..."

"Who are the others?" The coach shut the doors.

"The Miami team," Adelaide explained. "And some older lady... not sure what her story is. But you're getting two teams for the price of one! And speaking of price..." She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.

The coach pulled a wad of bills from her jacket and handed it to Adelaide. "But... what the hell do I do with the Miami team?"

"Whatever you want," Adelaide said. "Now if you don't mind, I've got another job to get to."

Adelaide retrieved her motorbike from where she had stowed it in the rear of the truck. She gunned it and headed off.

The coach reopened the truck doors and stared at the dozen-plus young women she was left with. The Jacksonville girls looked relieved to see her. The Miami girls still looked scared.

The coach stared at the Miami girls thoughtfully. She had arranged for their kidnapping, but they did not know that. Perhaps the police would assume they had all been kidnapped by some malicious third party. She could let them all go free and avoid any consequences.

Or she could make use of the opportunity. The Miami girls were at her mercy; she could force them to forfeit a future tournament in exchange for their freedom. Perhaps she could entice a few of them to join the Jacksonville squad, or even give up handball.

Or she could get rid of the girls entirely. Perhaps a female trafficking ring would be interested in them. No one would find them again.

A bemused smile spread across her lips.

"So many choices," she whispered to herself. "So many opportunities when you steal a sports team."

THE END

[esercito sconfitto]

many, many thanks for concluding this new tale of yours mr Tirepanted
A new ( completed) story by Tirepanted is something our board should be proud of

since the second installment I never ceased to think about a line ; I believe there is the real core of your 'genre'

Zuhal dragged both bike and rider off the road and into some tall bushes. There she began the swift and therapeutic process of divesting the girl of her clothes.

the keyword is 'therapeutic'; a real clothes stealing bitch divests other subdued women and girls because she feels good while doing it

(of course here there is the reason why I can't get enough of the "USB" genre even if my 'thing' is the "defeated army" genre )

please mr Tirepanted this tale can't be considered as complete without a casting call


thanks again

[tirepanted3]

Glad you liked the story! And happy I have my own little "genre".

I prefer not to do casting calls; better to let my descriptions and the readers' imaginations work together. But feel free to cast whomever you wish.

[esercito sconfitto]

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