The Paper Factory (Michael Berg Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

turn us down,” Augustus said defensively.
      “Listen, Augustus, this is far too important to be left to chance. Deliver Kennedy. If you don’t get to meet her and to build some kind of rapport with her, then everything I’ve planned for will have been a complete waste of time. I guarantee you that I’ll not be the only one left with a bad taste in my mouth. Got that?”
      Not for the first time during the evening, Augustus was left with a churning feeling in his gut.
      “I’ll do what needs to be done.”
      “Okay, and no more of this soft soap upper class British bullshit. You need to be straight with me, Augustus. We’ve been here before, remember?” The line went dead.
      Augustus, his quite significant bulk sinking into the back of his Chesterfield armchair, was perspiring profusely. Yes indeed, he did remember. Despite his utmost desire to forget that he had ever heard of Jay Rivello.    
      More than two years before. It had been Agnello’s. Sitting alone on the narrow terrace adjacent to the pavement. He found himself sitting opposite an unexpected guest.
      The casually dressed man sat facing him, hair cropped, perhaps around forty-five, a few years younger than Augustus. The hair had been allowed to grey and framed features that were striking more for their angularity than for their looks. A thin mouth and stilted, unnatural smile sat on his face. A pale complexion did nothing to complement the overall picture. 
      “Excuse me. There are plenty of other free tables here. Would you mind moving on?” Augustus said with unmistakable impatience in his tone.
      “How are you doing, Augustus, old chap?” said the man with an edge of sarcasm, whilst resting a rather expensive-looking digital camera on the circular tabletop.
      Augustus scoured his memory but could not come up with a name to fit the face.
      “I suspect that when we have finished this conversation your tone may have lost its edge,” he spoke again.
      “What on earth are you talking about,” Augustus said, his arm swiftly rising to summon the waitress. “If you don’t move on immediately, I will ask the waitress to call the police.”
      “Take your head out of your ass, Augustus, and take a look at this,” the man said, proffering the camera facedown so that Augustus could see the viewing screen. The steely grin had gone.
      Augustus, startled by the stranger’s air of menace, had to squeeze his paunch under the table as he leant forward to see whatever was on the viewing screen. It took him half a minute before the coughing fit lifted and he was able to breathe deeply again, although tears smarted in his eyes.
      “There’s another five loaded up. Press this lever to flick through them and try not to cough yourself to death before I’ve had a chance to tell you what I want from you.”
      Augustus limply flicked through the images. Depicted in each image were one, sometimes two girls, clearly borderline age of consent, bound and gagged and either tied with restraints to a rack affixed to a wall or hanging by their wrists from a rope suspended from the ceiling. Needless to say, they weren’t wearing much in the way of clothing. The raw red welts on their thighs, abdomen and breasts and the excruciating pain etched on each face dispelled any doubt that this was merely soft S&M play. In one he could just make out a familiar fuzzy Cyrillic script at the bottom right hand corner of the wall.
      Although the images would have been enough to make most people gag, Augustus’s choking fit had instead been triggered by the sight of his own rather puffy, white and ungainly figure, completely naked, riding crop in hand taking center stage in the foreground of each picture.
      “How …” was about all he could muster before the other man talked over him.
      “The wonders of modern technology. No more A4 prints clumsily stuffed into grubby brown envelopes. You’ll find the video even more compelling.