“Yes. How do I get in touch with the models assigned to me and when do I meet them?”

  “My secretary will take care of that. You won’t always have the same models anyway. They change from time to time.” he said.

  “O.K.”, I said, as I left his office.

  Arriving at the resort two hours early the next day, gave me a chance to do a little looking around. As I drove up to the main gate, two guards approached my car and one asked for the keys to the trunk, while the other checked under my hood. They weren’t taking any chances with me being new. Returning the keys, he asked for my pass card which had been given to me yesterday by Braxton. He checked a listing of names on a clipboard and opened the gate, motioning me through. As I drove past the gate house, I could see a monitoring system for all sections of the resort, including the fencing and each building. I parked my car next to a small building with a sign over the door “Guest Registration”. I walked around the building and could see the beach and then walked back to where the cottages were. All twelve cottages were very modern and identical “A” frame types. I noticed two buildings off to one side and situated much further back than the others. The concrete, flat roofed, block structures had no windows, were smaller than the cottages and had a tall fence encircling them, with barbed wire strung across the top. That was enough to signify “keep out” to anyone. There was a guard at a small walk through gate and another at the entrance door to each building. Checking for surveillance cameras, I counted fifteen. One at each corner of the fence, one at each corner of the buildings, one at the gate and one at the entrance to building. Each making a scanning movement to cover every inch of ground. The night lighting must be spectacular, I thought. It looked almost impossible to get close without being seen. One of the guards kind of glanced my way, so I retreated very nonchalantly back to the beach area. Looking around trying to get backdrops in mind for the session, and finding a place to sit for awhile, I studied the layout. I retrieved my cameras from the car and started setting up. I inserted a telephoto lens on one camera and regular in the other. I positioned my views so the two fenced in areas were in the background. If I could have enough time to study them, maybe there was a way in there after all. The girls arrived on time and we finished the session by 5 o’clock. I returned to the studio down town and handed the film to the technician for processing, asking that I be able to view them before sending the finished work to Braxton. I told her that since this was my first assignment, I wanted to make sure everything was alright. I guess she felt sorry for me because she let me have them after about an hour. She reminded me that it was company policy that no photos were to leave the building. I promised her that I’d have them back before Braxton arrived the next morning. I looked them over and selected five that I had taken with the telephoto lens, and rushed them to Bill’s office. Then I’d have plenty of time to analyze them and study the layout of the grounds. Getting to the office early the next morning, I kept my promise by returning the photos. Checking in with Braxton, he told me that my next job would be that Wednesday afternoon at 1 o’clock, but didn’t tell me where, and I didn’t ask. I had a day and a half to do some “Sign seeing,” as Braxton called it, but my sightseeing would be at the marina next to where Mead had his private yachting business.

  I noticed that seven of the yachts were gone and two out of the water being overhauled. Business must be booming for him, I thought. Talking to different persons around the dock area, I found out that some of the cruises had female passengers only. The yachts were not available unless you were in the social circles, and couldn’t rent one even if you had the money. It was a closed door business but were in steady demand. I strolled further out on the dock, and saw a Man sitting in a lounge chair with his feet propped up on the railing. He reminded me of pictures I had seen in magazines of an old-salt, wearing a captain's hat and short white beard, dressed in a dark blue jacket and slacks.

  “Afternoon,” I said approaching him.

  “Ahoy there mate,” he answered with a seaworthy tongue.

  Trying to get a conversation started, I said, ‘Beautiful day.”

  Turning his head toward me and looking me straight in the eye, he said, ‘Beautiful day? What the hell’s the matter with you; it’s clouding up all around and it’s going to rain in about an hour or two. Don’t you city people watch the goddamn weather channel for christ’s sake.”

  Stunned at his remarks, I said, “Well ...... the sun is out right now.”

  His head moved slowly from side to side looking up at the sky.

  “Yeah ...... I guess so,” he remarked.

  “You like the ocean?” I asked.

  “The big blue is the only place to be. I’d like to be out there right now, like I used to be. But what the hell, the goddamn companies don’t want old farts like me anymore.”

  “I take it you did a lot of sailing.”

  “Forty years, mate. Then they gave me my fuckin’ walking papers,” he said, lowering his head. Looking out across the ocean, he said, “It’s the only place to be.”

  “I guess it is a sort of freedom,” I said.

  “You from around here.”

  “San Francisco.” I answered.

  Even with his sadness, he seemed almost happy to be landlocked, so he could tell people of his adventures to anyone who might listen with interest. I started talking about ships, in general, and then got around to the yachts owned by Mead.

  “That’s a fleet of real nice yachts over there,” I said.

  “Yeah, but they’re for the rich to play with. I see them come and go all the time. I like watching them because a lot are filled with beautiful women.”

  “Women?” I asked.

  “Yup. Some of the best looking women in one bunch I ever saw. Sometimes groups of four or more get aboard with the crew and only a couple of extra men. It would be nice to be thirty years younger and me be the captain,” he said with his eyes opening in delight.

  “Yeah, I guess so. Do the girls go out often ...... I mean the same girls?”

  “Every now and then ...... maybe a couple weeks apart. Sometimes before the others get back, a second boat with the same number of girls takes to the sea.”

  He was evidently referring to the models, and maybe Mead included trips for them as part of their company benefits or something like that.

  “They been doing that for a long time?” I asked.

  “I’ve been watching them for about four months now. There’s something odd about them girls though.”

  “How do you mean, odd.”

  “Well, you know how a bunch of girls are when they get together, talking, laughing, and cutting up? These seem like they aren’t having any fun at all. They look kind of down in the dumps to me, or just plain tired.”

  Still trying to lead him on talking about the yachts, I interjected “Well, maybe they’re hard working and after the cruise they get rested.”

  “Ya know, that’s the odd part about it. They look the same as they did when they left ...... maybe a little worse. Well, what the hell do I know.”

  I thought I’d better leave things as they were for now and not press my luck with the old man. But, he seemed to want to talk about it more and more.

  “I’ll bet the men on the boats came back happy and probably more tired than the women if you know what I mean.” I said laughing.

  “Hell, yes. I guess any man would, but they seemed to be all business with their duties.”

  “So, what happens then?” I asked.

  “The boats dock, they put the girls in an open type vehicle and drive up the beach to the Tidewater Resort. I was just off shore one day in my skiff, fishing. They drove up to a fenced-in area and the girls went in. I watched all afternoon and none of them came out, don’t know what the hell happened to them. The next morning, I could see them walking around the beach. Then two girls went into one cottage and the other two went to another one. I haven’t seen them since and I don’t forget faces or bodies. I’m a determined old bastard and it got my curiosity up. I wanted to see what was happening. One day I had walked close to the back side where the yachts come in. I heard one of the crewmen talking and saying they were glad the trip was over and a couple of weeks out there with those girls was enough. And that they didn’t like playing nurse maid. You know something else ...... there was a nurse on board, dressed in her white outfit.”

  It was getting late and I excused myself, telling him we’d probably see each other again sometime. After returning to the apartment, I thought things out and wanted to get the personnel records or whatever records were maintained on the models, if any.

  The next morning, I saw Heinman standing on the grass next to the narrow sidewalk at the rear of the office building. Parking his car only a few minutes before, and walking toward the entrance, he was met by Head. They talked briefly and Heinman continued, entering the building and stopping at Braxton’s office. Early that morning, I placed a small electronic listening device, about the size of a dime, on the under side of the steel chair next to Braxton’s desk. The device was magnetic and I’d be able to remove it without being noticed. Not wanting the device to remain there for long periods of time, I could always think of an excuse to enter his office, sit in that chair, and remove it.

  The conversation between Heinman and Braxton could be heard clearly from my studio, with the receiving mechanism plugged in my ear.

  “Good morning, Mr. Heinman,” Braxton said.

  “How are you Bob? I was just talking with Mr. Mead and I assured him, we’re all set for the Washington trip.”

  “Everything's ready, I have the twelve models you selected and they’ll be at the airport at noon.”

  “Good! Who’s going to cover the photo work?” Heinman asked.

  “The new one ...... Harry Silver. He’s doing an excellent job ..... he’ll do just fine.”

  “I’ve seen his finished work and he has imagination. That’s what we need. Does he know where he’s going this trip?”

  “No. I wasn’t going to tell him till later this morning, as you instructed. He’ll have time to pack before the plane leaves ......”

  “I want to get to know him better before we let him in on too much,” Heinman said.

  “I understand,” Braxton replied.

  “One thing more ..... I want you to bring the files on the models for this trip. Better yet .... bring all of them. I think Mr. Mead wants to review a few of those who’ll be going on to other assignments later.”

  “I’ll have them for you on the plane.”

  “See you at the airport,” Heinman said.

  I heard the door open and close and saw Heinman leaving. I removed the plug from ray ear and placed it in a special hidden compartment in my camera case and went to Braxton’s office. As I entered, he was pulling files from the cabinet and laying them on his desk. I sat in the chair and removed the transmitter, putting it in my sock while his back was turned.

  “I was just about ready to call you about your assignment this afternoon,” he said. “It’s going to be in Washington, D.C. and we will be leaving at noon. We’ll be gone about four or five days. You’ll have enough time to get ready and meet us at the airport. We’ll be taking Mr. Mead’s private plane this trip.”

  I arrived at the airport and saw the driver of Braxton’s car pull alongside the stairs of the plane. The pilot and copilot loaded the luggage and we stepped aboard. The first section of the plane had four facing chairs and two tables. As I started to sit down, Braxton told me that those were reserved for Mr. Mead, and Mr. Heinman and their guests. The rear compartment was very roomy, and with twelve models, Braxton and myself, there were still two empty seats. A few minutes later, Mead, Heinman, another man and a woman arrived in a limousine. They came aboard and the co-pilot closed the folding stair door, locked it and disappeared into the enclosed pilot’s compartment. I heard the whining of the jet engines as they started and the acceleration of the thrust as the plane went speeding down the runway. After the pilot reached cruising altitude, Braxton opened this briefcase, removed some file folders, walked to Heinman’s chair, and handed them to him. Returning to his seat next to me, his facial expression was one of “I can’t figure it out” kind, as he shook his head from side to side.

  “Every time we’ve gone to Washington the past three months, it’s the same thing,” he said in a puzzled tone.

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “It’s just different from the trips to New York or Miami. We usually take this many models but only seven go back to L.A. with us. I don’t see the other models for a week or so and when they do come back, they go directly to the resort and then on a cruise for a couple of weeks.”

  “Maybe Mead and Heinman just like them and give them a cruise to relax,” I said, trying not to be over enthusiastic.

  “Could be. But it just seems as though the other seven would get the same treatment. After they get back from the cruise, he picks those and eight or ten others to go to Paris. The ones that were on the cruise act different somehow when they get back. They don’t talk much and after reaching Paris they are taken to some other location by Heinman personally and nobody ever finds out where or why. I’m supposed to be in charge of the schedules and activities, but how do they expect me to keep things going smoothly if they change it like that?”

  “That’s a good question. It would be rough,” I said. “What happens to the girls when they get back?”

  “They stay in Europe for a week after we get back to L.A. and return by regular airline and then go back on a cruise again. That part bothers me more. They never return to the company after that. I get short notes or phone calls from them saying they have found other employment or just plain quit. They don’t even return on the yachts. I guess the crew takes them where they want to get off and returns empty.”

  Braxton really surprised me by opening up like that. He must not be in any of the intricate parts of the setup. As a matter of fact, I was beginning to think he would be my link to the whole operation. I’d really have to get on his best side, and stay there.

  “Well, things happen in business that none of us understand at times,” I said, trying to not evaluate the situation too much.

  “Who’s the couple up front with Mead?” I asked.

  “Mead’s private physician and nurse. They make every long trip with him. I understand that Mead has some sort of heart trouble so he hired the doctor and nurse to make these trips. Of course, if one of us needs attention, the doctor or nurse would take care of us also.”

  Before we landed in Washington, Heinman had returned the files to Braxton with a note attached to five of them. It read, ‘These are for special assignment - I will handle them personally.” I made a mental note of the names which appeared at the top of the folders and remembered that I had worked with them at the resort on my first assignment. Somehow, I’d have to get a look at those files.

  Everything went smooth the first two days and Braxton had asked that he and I go over the schedule for the rest of the trip. Meeting in his room that evening, we completed the tasks and he suggested that we take in some of the nightlife that Washington had to offer. He said he wanted to get cleaned up a little first and would only be a few minutes.

  He entered the bathroom, closing the door and I heard him turn on the shower. His briefcase was on the table and I started shuffling through it, finding the file folders. Quickly glancing through them, I found the five photos clipped together. With a micro-camera, I snapped each one and placed the folders back in the briefcase, finishing just before he returned to the room.

  “Let’s go see what’s going on around this city,” he said.

  “I’m all for that,” I replied enthusiastically.

  We finished the work on schedule and returned to L.A., minus the five that Braxton mentioned. He told me that nothing was scheduled for the next few days and to enjoy myself. The next morning, I had the film developed and spent the afternoon going over the information from the files. A comparison of each one seemed to reflect a trend. The models chosen for the “Special Assignment,” were between 21 and 23 years old; never been married; no known relatives; all from the Eastern States and had been in or around L.A. less than a year.

  Not wanting to be seen around Bill Maxwell’s office too much, I called him and asked that he meet me at his boat.

  “You look serious, Harry,” he said as I stepped aboard.

  “Yeah, I am, I guess.”

  “I’ll crank this thing up and we’ll go for a ride,” he said.

  “Sounds good to me. I can use a little relaxation.”

  “I’ve got the fishing tackle aboard. Maybe we’ll do that.”

  He headed his boat straight out to sea about a mile or two off shore and anchored. Getting out the tackle and casting the lines into the rolling water, we sat back in the comfortable fishing chairs.

  “Now that you’re out here ...... what’s on your mind?,” he asked.

  “You remember I told you about Heinman being up to something and couldn’t quite figure it out. Well ...... I think I’m on to something now with the women from Future Model, Inc. I think he’s doing something strange with them.”

  “Whatdaya mean, doing something with them?” he asked.

  “Don’t know for sure. I can just feel it.”

  “You mean like a hunch?”

  “Yeah ...... a hunch.”

  “What kind of a hunch?” he asked. You don’t go on that sort of bullshit. You go on hard evidence.”

  “Well, it’s more than just that.”

  “I’d like you to check around at police headquarters and the morgue for any young women that have turned up and not claimed or identified in the past three or four months.”

  “You want me to do what?” he asked in a puzzled voice.

  I told him what Braxton had said to me about the files that Heinman selects each time they go to Washington and then to Paris.