AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON THREE, SCENE 91: THE SUBMISSIVE DOMME

[CDfm]

Wow Ian is going to be a very busy man. I can’t imagine how much of a drain on his body this is going to be. Trying hard to impregnate a different woman six days a week. I doubt I could have kept up such a pace even in my prime. 
Looking forward to seeing more. 

[Babypants]

15 hours ago, CDfm said:

Wow Ian is going to be a very busy man. I can’t imagine how much of a drain on his body this is going to be. Trying hard to impregnate a different woman six days a week. I doubt I could have kept up such a pace even in my prime. 

Did you know that in your prime you should ejaculate at least 21 times/month?  24 in 32 days is about right.  But the schedule will change as each lady figures out her ovulation schedule, and then again with pregnancies.  Freebies will be the real test.  

[CDfm]

You know that women living together seem to synchronize their periods. That made raising three daughters hell for a few days each month. How is that going to work out for them? 

[Babypants]

14 hours ago, CDfm said:

You know that women living together seem to synchronize their periods.

This urban myth dates back to a poorly designed "study" carried out at Wellesley College in 1971.  It has been debunked many times.  What you experienced was random chance.  My household went the opposite way-- 3 different periods every month, with all the trimmings.  I spent a lot of time in the garage.

[Babypants]

On 10/21/2025 at 8:48 PM, littlebopeeper said:

Great chapter.  Herb and Julia putting diapers to the test in bed, Suzie joining the rotation just as Vickie and Ian finally make love, and Priscilla and Francine continuing to deepen their relationship.  Lots to unpack here.

Thanks for commenting.  Have always tried to avoid throwaway characters.  Every character in one of my scripts has a story to tell.  I hate leaving them on the cutting room floor.

[littlebopeeper]

On 10/25/2025 at 10:53 AM, Babypants said:

Have always tried to avoid throwaway characters.  Every character in one of my scripts has a story to tell.  I hate leaving them on the cutting room floor.

You have so many speaking characters, and they all have so much depth.  How do you do this, and how do you keep them all straight?  Is it like a secret, or something you'd be willing to share?

[Babypants]

On 10/26/2025 at 3:16 PM, littlebopeeper said:

You have so many speaking characters, and they all have so much depth.  How do you do this, and how do you keep them all straight?  Is it like a secret, or something you'd be willing to share?

No secret here.  Before the story begins,each character gets a basic history and personality profile on a 3 x 5 file card.  More details are added as the story unfolds, Characters not in the original design, like Elvis and Crummy, get their own cards as the story proceeds.  The most detailed card is Sarah's because her personality changes so visibly as we move along.  I had to account for this, and it took planning.  It's a lot easier to write with characters who remain true to type from start to finish.

[mushy bottom]

Loved this scene.  Really like watching Julia and Herb get it on.

 

[Babypants]

Thank you.  Homage is about adults, from their mid-twenties to their sixties.  Almost everyone is sexually active, and some have discovered that a bit of kink can refresh a relationship.  Julia and Herb, but also Sofia and Bob are lighting it up!

[littlebopeeper]

On 10/31/2025 at 9:35 AM, Babypants said:

 Homage is about adults, from their mid-twenties to their sixties.

As a happily married guy on the cusp of old age, it's nice to read a story featuring mature adults.  Wish we had more.  

[Babypants]

THE MOMENT OF TRUTH: LINH

“Up and at 'em,” Sarah cheerfully called out as she walked into the nursery. “Baby girl, you first. Are you poopy?”

“No, Mommy, just wet,” Vickie judged.

“Then get your butt into my shower and get to it. Come back to the nursery when you're done and then you can finish getting dressed. There's a diaper pail in the bathroom; use it, but bring your baby pants to me.”

Trying to shake the cobwebs out of her brain, Vickie climbed out of the crib and shakily headed out the door. She hated Monday mornings with a passion.

“Ian, I'm not even going to ask about your diaper; I'll just assume the worst. Hop up on the changing table and we'll get to it. Wet wipes first, and then it's your turn in the shower. Come back here after you've cleaned up.”

“Breakfast?”

“Pris will see to your bottles after I get you locked up and into a fresh diaper and onesie. You should have time for a biscuit or two before you finish getting dressed. She will drop you off at your office before heading for the station. She's returning to her regular duties this morning, which means that Tippi will take charge of you today. Don't give her any trouble, okay.”

“I won't. The chastity thingy won't let me have an erection, and that was my biggest fear. But remember, I'll be running late today because I've got that meeting to attend at three.”

“Vickie will collect you afterwards. Marilyn Marsden says that being cross appointed to another department is a big deal-- just another arrow in her quiver when she markets you. Have you made up your mind? Poli Sci or International Relations?”

“IR. It's a better fit. I'll tell my Chair, and he'll phone the Dean. He'll work out the details. The meeting is pro forma.”

“I'm so proud of you. Faculty Advisor to the Panhellenic Council, now a member of two departments. You've come a long way in a short time.”

“I'd trade it all if doing so would guarantee a positive outcome from tonight's session. If Rita's right, this is probably my best shot at locating my daughter.”

“Try and relax. We want you to drift into sleep because you're naturally tired. It won't work if you force it. Spend some time today replaying making love to Vickie, or daydreaming about your first night with Francie. If it will help, how about another visit to the Psych ward's therapeutic bath? It definitely relaxed you when Candy performed the honors.”

“I like that idea. A light dinner, and then a hot tub. Hey, remind me to tell you some time about this great big outdoor hot tub complex that I visited in the middle of the Borneo jungle. Japanese officers used it for R&R during the war, and it's still in great shape.”

“Hmm. That sounds like the sort of thing you should roll out at one of these fancy wing dings that Emily was talking about. Entertain Andrew Carlson's friends with tales from your travels and they will soon be writing checks for the scholarship fund.”

“You think?”

“I know. Ian, aside from everything else, you are the most fascinating man I have ever met. All the places you've been, and all the people you know. Who else can entertain us with stories about walking the streets of eastern Europe with a lady Soviet general one day, and breaking bread with a Mafia kingpin the next?”

“And should I mention that the lady general has changed my diapers more than once?”

“Of course! Don't try to hide your diapers from anyone. This is the sort of thing that bored corporate wives love to hear about at what otherwise tend to be very ho-hum affairs. Charm the wives, and their husbands will be adding more zeroes when they start writing the checks.”

“Glad you'll be tagging along when we start doing dog and pony shows. It will seem more natural if you direct the conversation and I follow along.”

“And just watch how all of those bored corporate wives react when I ask everyone to excuse us so that I can take you into a side room and change your diapers. Some of them will want to join us to watch and learn-- at least that will be their excuse. The bolder ones will probably volunteer to take my place. This reminds me … I need to get you a much bigger diaper bag. Vickie made do yesterday, but she said it wasn't easy. When we walk into the room at one of these corporate soirees, I want to have the biggest diaper bag in existence on my shoulder!”

“So we're going to play the sympathy angle with the men, and inspire some erotic fantasies among the women?”

“You see? In addition to everything else, you're a fast learner.” Sarah smiled as she leaned down to kiss her fiance. Ian had charmed her mother, who was now one of his biggest fans. In comparison, charming bored corporate wives was going to be a piece of cake.

. . . .

“The corridor seems deserted,” Tippi commented as she lightly knocked on Ian's open door. “Not a Sister in sight.”

“Come in, Tip, come in. It feels like I've been abandoned. There was no one waiting for office hours to start, and you're the only person to show up so far.”

“On Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I have classes at nine, eleven and one, so Sarah wants me to feed and change you a little after ten, again sometime after I get out of class at twelve, then a little after two. Did she pack the bottle warmer for me?”

“She did,” Ian confirmed. He took it out of the diaper bag and handed it over. “What about your Tuesday, Thursday schedule?”

“Eight forty-five 'til ten, and ten thirty to eleven forty-five. So I'll see you a little after ten, and a little before noon. I'm at the hospital both days from noon 'til three, but Sarah will cut me some slack. Your care is my top priority. So, let me warm up your bottles-- two now, and one each at noon and two. On Tuesday and Thursday it will be two now and two just before noon.”

“Very well thought out. Do you know what you're going to do in Sarah's ward?”

“I'm going to serve as her personal assistant. She wants me to experience the whole operation at first hand, then she's going to teach me how to manage the department. So I'm going to get a business degree, then make a career in hospital management.”

“And working with me will give you hands-on experience with a real patient. Well done, Sarah!”

“Let me plug this in and warm up the first bottle. Do you want to lower your pants? It will take a couple of minutes, so now's a good time to check your diaper.”

“Sure. Uhh … do you want to close the door?”

Tippi giggled. That had slipped her mind. She still entertained fantasies about her new Dad, and bottle feeding him and changing his dirty diapers were high on the list. Locked into her own diaper, that was pretty much all she could do other than offer him her friendship. They seemed to get along very well.

Ian got the changing pad out of a filing cabinet and spread it out on the floor. He left wet wipes, powder and Desitin within easy reach. There was a diaper pail underneath the coat rack, which was not only empty but newly washed. He had taken it with him on Friday, and had carried it back to the office when Priscilla dropped him off earlier in the morning. Because his new diapers were thinner than the monstrous hospital diapers, he was going to try and last out until Friday afternoon, but he was worried about mold even more than the smell. Diaper pail deodorizers only worked, after all, when the lid was tightly shut.

“Keep a close watch on the diaper pail,” Ian urged. “Let me know when it becomes too offensive and I'll cart it home.”

Tippi smiled at that. She couldn't get the image of her Professor hauling an obvious diaper pail across campus out of her head.

Ian unsnapped his onesie and pulled it up so that Tippi could take a peek inside his pink baby pants. Sarah liked the look-- a pink onesie deserved a pink diaper pant. Tippi started in the back, putting her fingers inside the diaper and feeling around. Ian was obviously wet and in need of a change, but she couldn't tell whether he was dirty. Then she moved to the front.

“You're very wet,” she exclaimed. “I'll change you as soon as I'm done feeding you.”

Ian grinned. Tippi was taking over for Priscilla, but the routine was still the same. Dropping to the floor, he pulled his onesie down and then stretched out. Tippi knelt behind him and raised his head to rest against her thighs before inserting the nipple into his mouth. Now accustomed to the sweet taste of the breast milk, Ian began to suck hard on the nipple. The second bottle, warmed while he was downing the first, quickly followed. When he was finished, Tippi raised him up and patted him on the back, earning a small burp for her efforts.

“Now let's change you,” she murmured as she lifted his onesie out of the way to gain access to his baby pants.

Ian lifted his hips to make it easy for her, and in a matter of seconds she was unpinning his diaper. “Just as I thought,” she went on, “mushy poop, though not all that much of it. Let's get you cleaned up and into a nice, clean, dry diaper. Though it won't stay that way for long,” she softly laughed.

Tippi attacked his butt with wet wipes before moving to his groin. She lifted his chastity cage, fingered it for a moment, and then got back to work. She liked the cage, although she freely admitted to herself that she would like it a lot more if she had the only key. The cleanup finished, Tippi slid a new diaper under Ian's rear, then came the baby powder that she worked into the various crevasses where poop or pee might hide. She was thorough, and Ian appreciated the care that she was lavishing upon him. Diaper tightly pinned and the still clean pink baby pants once again in place, Ian climbed to his feet. He left it to Tippi to do the snaps on his onesie.

“You take excellent care of me,” he said as he started to redress.

Tippi was busily bagging up the used wet wipes, the dirty diaper having already gone into the pail. When she finished she opened the door, but there were still no students waiting in the corridor. Deciding to stay, she sat down opposite Ian, who had taken his own seat on the other side of the desk.

“I enjoy looking after you,” she confessed. “And just think, I'm going to be doing so for the next three and a half years. Do you think these chastity belts of ours will ever come off?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because we might take leave of our senses the same way Priscilla and I did on Wednesday afternoon. And look where that led.”

“To something beautiful … the two of you both discovering that you had fallen in love.”

“And I could just as easily fall in love with you. It might happen anyway, but the cage won't let me take advantage of you.”

“Even if I wanted you to? I have feelings for you, but they're kinda confused. You're a Professor and my sorority Dad, but you're also this wonderful man that I get to care for in a way that arouses my maternal instincts. I love what we're doing … absolutely love it. I would marry you in a heartbeat, and spend the rest of my life keeping you safe and making you happy. Would that be such a bad thing?”

“No Tippi, it wouldn't. You have the right idea, and someday you're going to meet the right guy. I hope you'll invite me to your wedding.”

. . . .

“I didn't expect to find you here,” Vickie remarked as she walked into Suzie's office.

“The meeting was on this side of the campus,” Ian shrugged, “so it was a shorter walk than going back to my office. And I thought it would be easier for you to park here.”

“And you'd get to enjoy Suzie's company again,” Vickie smiled. “But you're right. Parking here is a breeze.”

“Coffee, Vic?” Suzie gestured at the two cups sitting on her desk.

“Black, as always,” Vickie confirmed.

“Be right back.” Suzie got up and headed out to the kitchen.

“So, how did it go?”

“Piece of cake.” Ian shrugged again. “Now the real work begins … course development. I'll have to sit down with IR's chair and find out what they want. Somehow I suspect that lecturing on the role of the Mafia in prosecuting American foreign policy won't be high on the list.”

“And did your new winter coat turn heads?”

Ian smiled, remembering the moment. “That, and limping in leaning on a cane. The Dean couldn't get me seated fast enough!”

“Bob took Sofia shopping before they flew home. She did not want her future son-in-law wandering around looking like a bum fresh off the park bench. I hope you take better care of this coat than you did your last one.”

“Hey, I got it off the rack at Goodwill!. It was all that I could afford.”

“This appointment will come with a sizable raise,” Suzie said as she returned with Vic's coffee.

“I don't want to go there until Marilyn Marsden puts me up on the corporate auction block. Plus, she says that there are ways to take the University's money that aren't taxable. That's definitely worth looking into.” Conversations about money always made Ian uncomfortable.

“And on the home front,” Vickie said as she changed topics, “did you give Suzie the updated fuck schedule?”

Ian spat coffee back into his cup. “Uh, you mean that I get a night off after you devour me, and then it's her turn? Yeah, I told her. If the test is positive, she gets me next Monday night, and every eighth night after that.”

“Mention the freebies?” Vickie was relentless, and Ian was such an easy tease. She was really enjoying herself.

“Uh, not yet; you want to fill her in?”

“Sure thing. Ian can bed anyone in the household who's willing anytime he feels like it so long as it doesn't upset the rotation. Sky's the limit, Suz.”

“But always in his crib, right?”

“Well, let's just say that what Sarah doesn't know won't hurt her. The problem is that little chastity cage locked around Ian's dick. Sarah isn't sharing the keys.”

“There's always oral,” Suzie pointed out.

“My thought as well. You really want to go there, Suz; believe me, Ian's tongue is magical.”

“And I've never sucked a caged cock before. What do you say, Ian? Your office hours on Wednesday afternoon?”

“A little before three.” Ian was pretty sure that Vic and Suz were having him on. “Tippi will be coming by to change me a little after two. Come later; I don't want to give her any ideas.”

“Coming on to you, is she?” Ian was an easy target, and Suzie didn't see why Vic should have all the fun.

“I apparently arouse her maternal instincts. That's all I want to arouse.”

“We need to find her a frat boy who'll agree to wear diapers in return for regular sex. Tom and Geri have the right idea.” Vickie thought that Laura and Geri were really on to something.

“Tippi's problem is that she's not well endowed up front,” Suzie noted. “She could be a hard sell, but I'll call around … see if we have any more bedwetters in the frat houses.”

“How's your diaper holding up,” Vickie suddenly asked.

“Hanging in there,” Ian answered. “Haven't had much in the way of solid food today.”

“Would you like me to make you a sandwich,” Suzie offered.

“We're taking him out for pizza,” Vickie hastily interrupted; “it's a joint down on Lake Street that Amos raves about, so it should be right up you alley, Ian.”

“Hope so because I'm starving! I get my pizzas from a place down in Bloomington; too far to drive?”

“At rush hour? For sure. The plan is to fill you up, then let you soak in the ward's spa for a while. We want you to be nice and relaxed when we put you down for the night in your crib in room eleven. When you nod off, I'll try and summon the Princess, and Carlie will take it from there.”

“Can I have wine with my pizza?"

“No, not under any circumstances. Think, Ian, think! We're taping this session; do you want to give the skeptics a chance to claim that what they're seeing is an alcohol induced hallucination?”

“No, you're right. We need to do this one strictly by the book.”

“And no more caffeine,” Vickie growled as she reached over to grab Ian's cup. “You would have to fight it off in order to fall asleep. You'll settle for ginger ale.”

“Yes, aunt Vickie.” When it came to her professional instincts, Ian's faith in Vickie was absolute.

. . . .

Ian was back in room eleven, and bedded down in his crib. The staff had intensely debated whether to use restraints or not, and in the end had decided against it. He was wearing pink baby pants over his thick hospital diaper, and a soft pink baby dress with a high bodice that barely covered the top of his pants. Pink booties, which had come off of Marge's sewing machine, and a baby bonnet that matched the dress, completed his infantile garb. His hands were free, the thickness of the diaper and the chastity cage preventing him from playing with himself and thereby spoiling the feminine atmosphere that the staff had worked so hard to create.

“We've done everything we can,” Rita quietly observed in the crowded control room. The whole of her senior staff was gathered around, along with staff from both the second and third shifts. Rita had timed it so that all three shifts could be present in force to witness either an incredible triumph or an ignominious failure. If they succeeded, this experiment would rewrite the textbooks.

The lights had been turned down in room eleven, but there was still enough ambient illumination for the video recorders to capture everything that was about to occur. The sound equipment had been tested and retested.

“He's full, but not uncomfortably so,” Sarah observed. “He's had thirty minutes in the hydrotherapy tub, and Candy treated him to a massage that almost put him to sleep on the table. He's clean and dry. Now it's up to Vickie.”

Ian was stretched out on his back, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach. His eyes were closed, and he was drifting down into the first stage of sleep. Carlie was sitting out of his sight in the bathroom, and Vickie was seated alongside the crib, her lips mere inches away from Ian's head. Vickie waited for Ian's breathing to deepen and slow. She had worked with a sound engineer during the afternoon, experimenting to find how low she could whisper and still be picked up by the recording equipment. When he appeared to be at the boundary between alpha and the deeper rhythms of theta sleep, she began. “Con cò bé bé,” Vickie whispered, praying as she had the first time that she wasn't reducing the words to mere gibberish. “Mẹ có yêu không nào? Little stork … do you love your Mommy?” She kept the English so low that she barely vocalized it, but it was there. There was always the possibility that English was now the little girl's first language.

“Con cò bé bé. Mẹ có yêu không nào?” She repeated the phrase over and over again, trying to bypass the ego and drill down into Ian's subconscious, where the Princess dwelt. Vickie was watching Ian's hands, which were beginning to fidget. His head was rolling from side to side. He was responding, and she kept at it. Time passed.

“Mama,” she finally heard him croak, his eyes still closed. But the voice wasn't quite Ian's; it was more high pitched, the voice of a little girl.

“Con cò bé bé. Mẹ có yêu không nào?” Again and again.

“Mama,” the little girl repeated “Love mama.”

Vickie gestured wildly for Carlie to join her. It was time to make the switch, and in a matter of moments it was done. Vickie retreated to the bathroom, wanting to leave Carlie a clear field. In the crib, eyes still closed and his forehead wrinkled in pain, Ian reached out seeking comfort.

In that moment, Carlie's life changed forever. This was her little girl, and she was done playing games. She hammered the lever with her foot, and the side of the crib sank to the floor. Reaching in, she wrapped her arms around Ian and hugged her daughter close.

“Mommy loves you, Princess; Mommy loves you ...”

“Love Mama,” the Princess managed to say. “Love Mama,” she repeated.

“Do they still call you Anna?”

“Yes, Mama … Anna. But that is not my name.”

“What is your name, Princess?”

“I am the Songbird's daughter. The Songbird is my Dada. The bad men are afraid of him. They know he is coming to rescue us.”

“A code name,” Rita murmured. “They've given Ian a code name. My God!”

“How many children are there?”

“Eleven. Once we were fourteen, but each time I tried to escape they killed one of my brothers or sisters.”

“Do not try to escape, Princess. We will find you, and bring all of you home. Your Dada has a plan. Can you help us? Do you know where you are?”

“On an island far out to sea. When I climb to the high place, I see water everywhere. There are tiny little dots a long way away, and they are moving. I think they are ships.”

“Does a ship ever come to your island?” “Yes. It brings food and drink, and things that the bad men like. I saw a magazine once. There was a beautiful woman, but she had no clothes on. I wear clothes all the time. I thought this was very strange.”

“Very strange,” Carlie agreed. “Princess, I have some questions for you. Take your time before you answer, and if you don't know the answer, simply say so. Okay?”

“Okay.” For the first time, Ian smiled. The Songbird's Daughter liked playing games.

“First question: do you know what a clock is?”

“Of course. There is one in the classroom, and one where we eat.”

“Do you know what time it is now?” “No, but it is dark. So, it must be after nine o'clock; that is when they turn the lights off and we go to sleep.”

Sarah looked at her watch. Midnight had come and gone.

“Were you sleeping? Did I wake you, Princess?”

“Maybe. I think maybe. Dada and I were playing in the water. He was splashing me!”

“A nice dream,” Carlie agreed.

“She's to the west of us,” Marge declared. Once an outspoken skeptic, she had been won over. Somehow, Carlie was communicating with Ian's daughter, giving life to all the stories that had come out of Central America, the communion of parent and child.

“It depends on how long she's been asleep.” Rita had also been eyeing the clock. “But she's definitely someplace in this hemisphere.”

“Just a few more questions, Sweetheart, and then you can go back to sleep.”

“Love you, Mama. Love you.”

“And I love you my little stork, I love you.”

Ian giggled, which shocked everyone in the control room. If there had been any doubt that his personality was sitting on a shelf somewhere in the void, it was now erased.

“When you are standing at the high place and facing out to sea, do you ever see the sun go down?”

“Once. I go to the high place every day, to be alone with my Dada. Once I stayed to watch the sun sink into the sea. It was so beautiful.”

“A beautiful sunset,” Carlie smiled. She considered it nature's finest moment. “When you face the sea, you are looking west. When you turn your head to the left, that is south. Turn your head to the right, and that is north. What do you see?”

“Water, Mama … I told you, water everywhere!”

“And behind you is east. Is there no land anywhere?”

“No, Mama, no land anywhere. Only the tiny ships far out to sea, and the boat that brings our food. It comes from what you call the east.”

“That clenches it,” Marge yelled. “They're on an island off the Pacific coast. They're being supplied from a port on the mainland!”

“Which Ian's Mafia friends can pinpoint,” Rita shouted. She was almost delirious with joy.

“Sweetheart, do you know what an airplane is?”

“Oh yes. I have been in one!”

“Do airplanes fly over your island?”

Linh thought about it for a moment. “I see airplanes far off and high in the sky. They never fly over the island.”

Restricted air space, Carlie thought. Makes sense that the island would be in restricted air space.

“One last set of questions. What is the color of your hair?”

“Black. All of us have black hair and black eyes ... well, except me. My eyes are kind of gray.”

“And what about the bad men? What color is their hair?”

“All sorts of colors!” Ian giggled again. “Black and brown, a kind of yellow ... white. And some have no hair at all!”

“Skin color?”

“Sort of pink, although some of them are very dark … almost brown.”

“Any black men?”

“No. I have never seen a black man.”

“Anyone who looks like a grown-up version of your brothers?”

“No. No one.”

“Do you know how many bad men are on the island?”

“I have tried to count, but it is hard. The boat brings bad men to the island, and it takes them away.”

“A barracks,” Rita mused. “Probably one on each end of the supply chain. We're definitely looking for an island that has multiple structures.”

“My guess would be two shifts on each end, trading off at regular intervals. I'd look for a hotel or motel on the mainland that turns its clientele over this way, though it's possible they've taken over an apartment building. Either way, the ones on the mainland should be highly visible.” Sarah was deep in thought, trying to fit all the pieces into a coherent pattern.

“So, we are all agreed that this is Ian's daughter?” Carlie had reached the end of her questions, and for Rita it was time to summarize. Looking around the room, she could see heads nodding. No one was prepared to offer an alternative explanation to what they had just witnessed.

“I want everyone here to prepare two discrete reports. The first will be your evaluation of the efficacy of this therapy. Grade what you have just observed against our original goals, and suggest other settings in which this technique might have therapeutic value. The second report will be your summary of this event. Be as specific as possible, but do not make copies of this report. It comes to me, and I expect Ian to treat what you write as top secret. I will keep these reports under lock and key, and in the end I expect them to land in a secure vault at Langley. Everybody clear on this?”

Once again, heads nodded all around the room.

“Next, I don't want any of you talking about this, not among yourselves, not with your families or friends … talk to no one. Until these children are home, having anyone outside of this room find out about this could have devastating consequences. These are ruthless people; they will kill all of the children rather than risk discovery.”

No one disagreed. The risk was evident to everyone.

Carlie gave her daughter a final hug, and then eased her head down on the pillow. “Mommy loves you,” she whispered “and she will always be here for you.”

“I love you, Mama.” Linh reached up to caress Carlie's cheek as she closed her eyes and prepared to sleep.

When Carlie locked the crib, Vickie came out of the bathroom. They stood side by side, both of them watching the figure in the crib, who was once again falling asleep. Then Vickie pointed at the door. It was time for them to leave.

“Will they be okay?” Carlie was thinking of both Ian and Linh.

“They'll be fine,” Vickie hastened to reassure her. “We'll leave the Princess in control of his body for now; her sleep will be more restful than his. In the morning, I'll be here when she starts to move around. I'll kiss Ian hard … a deep French kiss. The shock will bring him to the surface.”

“Done this before, have you,” Carlie grinned as they walked down the corridor to exit the secure wing.

“Yep, and it works like a charm.”

“The last thing,” Rita said. “I don't want anyone here to say anything to Ian when he wakes up in the morning. Not a word about this. When he comes back tomorrow afternoon, I want him to watch the tape and process what he sees without any preconceptions. I'll offer him your synopses, which he may or may not choose to read. I will ask him no questions, but will try to answer any that he might have. He will reach his own conclusions and draw up his own plans, and I think it best that none of us be aware of what he has in mind. We should never lose sight of the fact that Ian has been trained to kill, and is very good at it. He has spent his entire adult life inside a universe that none of us have ever visited. I want to bring the children home, but I don't want to know what he has to do to make it happen.”

Marge flicked a switch, and the video feed from room eleven shut down. They could still hear every sound in the room, and Julie Neymar, the third shift charge nurse, would monitor the feed all night long. For now, it was time for the tired members of the first and second shifts to make their way home. They had other patients, and in a matter of hours it would be time for the first shift to clock in and get back to work.

[Babypants]

On 11/1/2025 at 10:47 AM, littlebopeeper said:

As a happily married guy on the cusp of old age, it's nice to read a story featuring mature adults.  Wish we had more.

Thanks for this.  I would also like to see more stories about mature adults-- and more stories abut incontinent adults.

[Babypants]

Marge is right.  We're looking for an island off the Pacific coast.  Let's see if you can narrow the search down for Ian's Mafia friends.

[mushy bottom]

Best guess is one of California's Channel Islands. 

[littlebopeeper]

On 11/5/2025 at 11:27 AM, mushy bottom said:

Best guess is one of California's Channel Islands. 

My choice as well.  But not Catalina.  It's too heavily populated. 

[Babypants]

Not Catalina.  We need an island that in 1979 was not only deserted but habitable, including intact structures that could serve as barracks and classrooms.  Keep zeroing in.

[Babypants]

ANNOUNCEMENT: a twenty-third tranche, consisting of scenes 67-69, is now up and running on the STORIES page of the site.  Once again, comments have been removed to enable readers to enjoy the story without interruption.  The balance of season 2 will follow.

[mushy bottom]

Awesome scene.  Beautifully staged.  How will Ian process this? 

[Babypants]

On 11/10/2025 at 10:26 AM, mushy bottom said:

Awesome scene.  Beautifully staged.  How will Ian process this? 

Thanks for your comment.  Ian's reaction is the centerpiece of the next scene.

[littlebopeeper]

This is high drama.  Is it really Linh, or is Ian projecting his own reasoning onto his alter ego?  Either way, we now have a target.  I vote for San Nicolas.  It's remote, but had a naval installation abandoned some years before this story is taking place.

[mushy bottom]

I chose Santa Rosa because San Nicolas has a long runway.  The bad guys could fly in.

[Babypants]

19 hours ago, mushy bottom said:

I chose Santa Rosa because San Nicolas has a long runway.  The bad guys could fly in.

Good point.  But you can see other islands from Santa Rosa, and San Clemente (the most remote island) had an operating naval station then as now.  We'll see what Ian and his Mafia friends can come up with.

[mushy bottom]

Any candidates in British Columbia?

[Babypants]

22 hours ago, mushy bottom said:

Any candidates in British Columbia?

There's an archipelago north of Vancouver Island and west of Prince Rupert called the Queen Charlotte Islands at the time of this story.  I looked them over with some care.  The most remote one still has other islands in line of sight, so nothing up there fits Linh's description.  Same thing with Washington, Oregon and northern California.  

[Babypants]

THE MOMENT OF TRUTH: IAN

“How did it go,” Ian wanted to know. Awakening to a French kiss from Vickie was one hell of a way to start the day, but he was anxious to find out what, if anything, they had learned.

“Beautifully,” Vickie smiled. “It went exactly as we planned.”

“And did Carlie get all of my questions in?”

“Can't tell you. Strict orders from the boss: tell Ian nothing. You're supposed to come back here this afternoon, watch the tape, and evaluate what you learn without any of us tilting the scales one way or the other. We're all filing individual reports, original to Rita and no copies. She's keeping them under lock and key, and we also have strict orders not to discuss this with anyone. We're not even supposed to talk about it among ourselves. So each report is unique, and available to no one but you. Do with them what you will.”

“Good security,” Ian noted. “Rita's right. It's best that I draw my own conclusions, then compare them with what everyone else observed. Big turnout?”

“Huge. The control room was jammed. A fire marshal would have chewed our asses out.”

“And such pretty asses, too.” Ian pointedly looked down at Vickie's well padded derriere.

“Enough already,” Vickie laughed. “Shower and shave, then I'll get you dressed and give you your bottles. Couldn't get the stain off your tie. Next time we go out for pizza, you're wearing a bib!”

“Pizza, spaghetti, lobster … if it can be spilled, it will definitely find its way into my lap. Been a messy eater my whole life. Don't worry about the tie. I've got plenty of spares at the office.”

“Keep this up, and Francie will take away your fork and spoon! You'll end up in a high chair with her feeding you!”

“I suppose there are worse fates.”

“Well, she could run everything through the blender and turn it into baby food.”

“That would be worse,” Ian conceded. He was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

“You going to hose me down,” he asked as they entered the hydrotherapy chamber. Ian vividly remembered his first visit to the room, when Candy had done the honors, finishing him off in the tub so that she could collect a sperm sample to send to the lab.

“Yep. Dump your diaper in the pail, but keep your baby pants. Stand over the drain and I'll hit you with the hose. Spread those baby cheeks wide for me!”

Ian did as told, and a jet of warm water hit him as Vickie got to work, sending his mushy poop down the drain.

“Okay,” she said, “you finish up and I'll send Candy in to diaper you. I know the two of you have a special relationship.” Vickie was grinning maliciously.

“Very special,” Ian shot back. “I suppose it's just a matter of time before I fall in love with her as well.”

“Ouch! It's a good thing you're out of circulation.” Vickie pointed at the cage locked around Ian's cock and balls. They both knew that Sarah had the keys, and she was guarding him like a hawk. There would be no more unauthorized extracurricular activity.

Ian had just finished toweling off when Candy walked into the room. She spread a fresh diaper out on the changing table, and waited for him to climb up. “Good thing you brought some spares with you last night,” she remarked. “I don't think these pink baby pants of yours would survive a meeting with our hospital diapers.”

“Too true,” Ian admitted. “I carry some around in my briefcase, which I had with me at a College assembly meeting yesterday afternoon. My colleagues would be really surprised if they ever peeked inside.”

“People are nosy, Ian, you need to watch out.”

Candy slapped him on the thigh as she finished up. “Okay, back to room eleven with you. Vickie will give you a couple of nice, warm bottles of breast milk to start the day, then you can get dressed. Priscilla is coming by to drive you back to the office.”

“Don't I get a robe or something?” Ian didn't fancy the idea of walking down the corridor wearing nothing but a diaper and pink baby pants.

“Nope. Vickie has your onesie, and everybody on the staff thinks that pink really suits you. We all want to spend more time with the Princess, so anytime you feel like taking a vacation from yourself, let one of us know. Vickie will put you under and let the little girl inside you come out to play.”

Taking him firmly by the hand, Candy led Ian back down the corridor.

. . . .

Sitting comfortably in the swivel chair behind his desk, Herb Canon surveyed the sea of desks surrounding him, their occupants busily shuffling through the active files they were currently working. It was early morning, and he was already downing his fourth cup of coffee. Thanks to the diaper and vinyl pants hidden beneath his uniform trousers, life was getting back to normal. And at the start of his shift, normal meant coffee and more coffee, and skip the cream and sugar. Herb's thoughts kept returning to Julia's parting words of wisdom.

“Keep to your normal routine,” she had emphasized. “You've been hitting the restroom a lot, so keep going. Wash your hands or something, then go straight back to your desk. Taper off slowly. Same thing with the coffee. Don't go from abstaining to drinking a dozen cups a day, or people will notice. Go slowly. Don't give people a reason to look at you. And above all, don't fidget. If your diaper is bunching up or something, fix it on one of your trips to the restroom.”

It all made sense, as Julia always did. They had even worked out a way for her to change his diapers. She would meet him at Rosie's, a greasy spoon just a few doors away from police headquarters. The toilets were first come, first serve, the two bathrooms more than large enough for her to put a changing mat on the admittedly dirty linoleum floor and change him. Since he was using one of the booster pads they had purchased at the maternity shop, he hoped to make it to lunchtime, when his presence in the diner would go unremarked. Julia's presence would also go unremarked, and it wouldn't be the first time a married couple had retreated to one of the bathrooms. Indeed, prostitutes had been giving freebies to cops at Rosie's since the joint opened its doors in the nineteen thirties, and no one blinked an eye. If a girl needed help, she knew where to turn.

Herb relaxed, and let a little pee dribble into his diaper. Julia had warned him not to hold it because releasing it all at one time could easily overwhelm his new underwear, and leave telltale wet spots on the back of his trousers. Nothing would give the game away faster.

Herb was having a hard time focusing on the jacket open in front of him. He couldn't stop thinking about the incredible sex that he and Julia had enjoyed for hours, and the door that wearing diapers had opened for both of them. What other kink might turn them both on? Should he trot out his handcuffs when he got home? Buy Julia some sexy lingerie at that shop over on Hennepin Avenue? How far did either one of them want to go?

And then there was Priscilla, his daughter a second generation cop. She had taken to wearing diapers like they were nothing, and she was even using them for number two. She was going to suffer a public spanking in order to raise money for Fraternity Row's anemic scholarship fund, and she had taken all of the girls in one sorority house under her wing. His daughter had changed because she had fallen in love with a hardened vet who cared so openly for others, and he had tapped a vein in Priscilla that neither of her parents had realized was there. She had become a better person, so much so that he could no longer fault her decision to move into a commune and bear children out of wedlock. Pris was happy, almost deliriously so, and he was happy for her.

Herb tried to focus on the file open in front of him, but at that moment his bladder chose to remind him that there was a price to be paid when you drank coffee by the gallon. He could feel more pee escaping his now shriveled dick; he could feel it running over his balls, and running down into the crack of his ass, there to find a home in the bottom of the booster pad. The seat of his ass was wet-- not simply damp but wet. Herb glanced at the clock on the far wall. Lunch time was still a long way off; would his diaper make it, or was he destined to suffer public humiliation?

. . . .

Sitting down to begin her shift, Rita flicked a switch and brought up the feed from room eleven. Vickie was sitting on the floor with her back resting against the changing table. She was cradling Ian's head in her lap, holding the bottle filled with warm breast milk up to his lips. Rita could see Ian's cheeks moving as he sucked on the nipple, but it was what she saw in his eyes that gripped her. He was staring up at Vickie, and what Rita saw was the soft and gentle gaze of a man deeply in love. Not for the first time, Rita acknowledged that of all the women in Ian's life it was Vickie who truly held the keys to his heart.

Watching and listening, Rita marveled at how calmly Ian was behaving. In his place, Rita knew that she would have been peppering Vickie with questions, and that she would have kept at it until she started getting answers. But Ian simply kept sucking on his bottle. Plainly, he had decided to say nothing, not even ask revealing questions, until he had watched the tape. Even at that point, it was an open question whether he would say anything that hinted at his thinking. He might well choose to play this one very close to the vest, not only for security's sake but also to keep the women he loved far away from his chosen course of action. People were going to die, Rita was sure of it, and it was an open question how many were going to die at Ian's hands. She didn't want to know.

. . . .

Ian went about his day. He taught his first class at eight, and his second at twelve thirty. He held his office hours at ten, and again at two. Tippi changed his diapers, and cradled him in her arms as he nursed on four more baby bottles. Neither in word nor deed did he betray what was really on his mind. When she left for her first afternoon as a candy striper at the hospital, he wished Tippi well, and asked her to convey his best wishes to Cindy and Jannie and the other girls performing this public service in part payment for their debt to society. When Vickie came to pick him up shortly after three, he took her in his arms and kissed her warmly, once again asking no questions.

The day's only remarkable moment came in the form of a phone conversation with Sarah. Marilyn Marsden had called at lunchtime to let her know that she had four tentative offers from the corporate CEO's she had been cultivating on Ian's behalf. Interviews were in the offing, but she had advised her contacts that Ian wanted to meet them socially before getting down to business. All had agreed to this unusual request, which told Marilyn that Ian was a very hot property indeed. She wanted Ian to delay substantive conversations with the Dean and the two department chairs until tentative offers became concrete offers. Would dinner with the Carlsons be possible on Friday night?

Sarah had assured her that their whole household would happily attend, and that she would make a special effort to include Tippi, with whom Ian had a special bond. Like Emily Carlson, Marilyn was concerned for Tippi, whose parents seemed to have cut her adrift. If it came to it, they would put up the money to keep Tippi in school, and at the sorority. Sisters looked after their own.

. . . .

With the reports from the first and third shifts neatly stacked on a corner of her desk, Rita brought up the video and put it on pause. She had decided to insure Ian's privacy by letting him use her office. She was planning to take advantage of the opportunity to inspect the secure wing, which she rarely visited.

“Rewind is here,” she pointed out. “You can hit pause, rewind, and start at any point in the tape. When you're finished, just hit rewind and let it run. It will shut down automatically.”

“Thanks, Rita. I haven't got around to buying a VHS player because I can't afford the movies, so I don't really know anything about this stuff. Thanks for your help.”

“You're welcome. Second shift reports should be finished within the hour; do you want a pad and pen?”

“No, I won't be taking notes.” Ian had no intention of creating a paper trail that might someday come back to haunt him. A congressional oversight committee couldn't subpoena what didn't exist.

“Did you enjoy the auction,” she asked with a smile. The “diaper your favorite nurse” auction had ended some fifteen minutes earlier.

“I'm not surprised that Heidi stepped up to cover you, but did you see the look on Emily's face when Cindy bid eleven hundred for Sarah-- the winning bid as it turned out?”

“I did. But Sarah wasn't exactly happy when Vic bid a thousand. Looks like your baby sister is down for another spanking.”

“Looks that why,” Ian laughed. The auction had been fun, but being interviewed by Emmett Bailey after the fact had only served to remind him of the tape waiting upstairs. He had cut Bailey short so that he could accompany Suzie Marshall to the lab. He wanted to be there when she learned the results of her fertility test. The good news had put a spring in his step as he made his way to the elevator and the seventh floor.

Settling back in Rita's chair, Ian began the tape. It felt odd watching his earlier self fall asleep, which is where the tape began. He smiled when Vickie began whispering to him in Vietnamese, making a mental note to praise her for her pronunciation, which was getting very good. Listening to her sing the fragments of the old nursery rhyme brought back happy memories of Nguyen using the same verse to settle Linh down for the night. Ian barely recognized his own voice, which had climbed at least an octave, and he choked back a tear when he watched Carlie lower the side of the crib and take him in her arms, hugging him close. The Princess was in pain, and watching Carlie try to comfort her made Ian realize just how total this shift of personalities actually was.

“Mommy loves you, Princess; Mommy loves you ...”

“Love Mama,” his alter ego managed to say. “Love Mama,” the Princess repeated.

The revelation hit Ian with the force of a sledgehammer. Carlie loved the little girl. She wasn't mouthing meaningless words; she was speaking from the heart. Only her name wasn't Anna. She called herself the Songbird's daughter because the bad men called her Dada the Songbird.

Ian hit pause. He wanted to think about this. They had given him a code name, deepening his suspicion that they were dealing with a rival intelligence agency. Once it had become clear that Irina was striking out in Hanoi and Saigon, all the other possible explanations had begun to fall by the wayside. The op had been cleverly organized, the children taken never to be seen again. It took resources both human and material to pull something like this off in the middle of a war zone.

Ian jumped, and slammed his fist hard into the desk. Each time his daughter tried to escape, the bastards had coldly executed one of the other children. And he knew them all, had played games in the village street with some of them. The village had been his home, its people his extended family. They would have their revenge; watching the tape, he vowed it. He was going to track the bastards down, and he was going to kill them all.

She's on an island, and it's well out to sea. It's near a shipping lane but not in one, and the bad guys are supplied from the mainland. It could be a trawler, even one of those big craft people use for sport fishing … tuna, marlin … saw a few down at Marina del Rey … one of those would do the trick, and there are a hell of a lot of harbors in this hemisphere where one wouldn't look out of place. And it's definitely this hemisphere, most likely the West Coast. But where? Where to start looking?

“Love you, Mama. Love you.”

“And I love you my little stork, I love you.”

The Princess giggled, her face alive with joy, and Ian smiled in turn. There could be no doubt. This was his daughter, and now she would have a mother to come home to.

“When you are standing at the high place and facing out to sea, do you ever see the sun go down?”

“Once. I go to the high place every day, to be alone with my Dada. Once I stayed to watch the sun sink into the sea. It was so beautiful.”

“A beautiful sunset.” On the tape he could see Carlie smile. “When you face the sea, you are looking west. When you turn your head to the left, that is south. Turn your head to the right, and that is north. What do you see?”

“Water, Mama … I told you, water everywhere!”

“And behind you is east. Is there no land anywhere?”

“No, Mama, no land anywhere. Only the tiny ships far out to sea, and the boat that brings our food. It comes from what you call the east.”

The West Coast … definitely the West Coast.

“Sweetheart, do you know what an airplane is?”

“Oh yes. I have been in one!”

“Do airplanes fly over your island?”

Ian watched his brow furrow as his daughter thought it through.

“I see airplanes far off and high in the sky. They never fly over the island.”

Restricted air space. And now I know where to start looking.

“Do you know how many bad men are on the island?”

“I have tried to count, but it is hard. The boat brings bad men to the island, and it takes them away.”

Two teams, with a barracks on the island and a housing facility on the mainland. Might be an apartment building, or perhaps they bought a motel. A bunch of physically fit guys could pass themselves off as construction workers out on the road. So we're looking for an island with a serviceable pier and two or more structures. Probably one of the old military installations dating back to the war.

Ian watched Carlie give her daughter a final hug before easing her head down on the pillow. “Mommy loves you,” she whispered “and she will always be here for you.”

“I love you, Mama.” Linh reached up to caress Carlie's cheek as she closed her eyes.

Ian switched off the tape, and hit rewind. He would not need to watch it again, although he knew that he would, over and over again. Picking up the phone, Ian glanced at the clock as he began to dial a number down in Bloomington that he had committed to memory.

“Antonio's”

“Ian Grady here. Please call Mister Belmondo at the numbers I gave you. Tell him that his free Gorgonzola pizza is ready, but he must come to the pizzeria at six-fifteen to pick it up. If he is not on time, the pizza will get cold. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Take down this number and call me back.”

Ian read out the number for Rita's direct line. Two minutes later, the phone rang.

“Grady.”

“Mister Belmondo says that he will be on time, but plans to eat here. Someone told him that we serve an excellent Valpolicella.”

“He also favors Sambuca.”

“I will send someone to the liquor store to purchase a bottle.”

“Don't bother. I'll bring one along. We'll need a large table. My fiancee and her friends will be joining us.”

“I'll see to it, Professore. Not a problem.”

Ian picked the first report off the top of the stack, and settled back to start reading. But he stopped before he started, and picked up the phone to call the diaper service. Francie didn't have a key, so there was no point in having her drive home.

“Francie, Ian. We're all eating out, at Antonio's.” He gave her the address, and asked her to show up shortly after six. Francie promised to be on time.

Forgetting about the report, Ian decided to wander out to the foyer and see if Rita had returned. She was waiting patiently for him, along with Vickie and Sarah.

“Dinner at Antonio's, a pizzeria down in Bloomington,” he said. “I got a hold of Francie, but I don't know how to reach Pris and Carlie.”

“I'll take care of it,” Rita said. She had a new stack of reports in her lap. “Time?” She was well versed in the ways of the police switchboards all over the Twin Cities.

“Six.”

Rita was already up and walking into her office.

“We need to hit a liquor store on the way,” he told Sarah. “And a hardware store; we need to copy off a bunch of house keys.”

“Then we should leave pretty soon,” she mused. “It's rush hour.”

“We need to lock up the tape and the reports,” Ian pointed out as he followed Rita into the office. He would have time to review the reports on Wednesday afternoon, before his sit-down with Vickie's lawyer friend. It was shaping up to be a very busy week.

. . . .

Priscilla pulled into the parking lot behind the sorority house, jumped out, and raced for the back door. Bernice had changed her at lunch time, but her second diaper was wet and about to get wetter. She had done a good job of staying dry in the morning, waiting until she was at the house before letting loose. But at the end of her shift she had relaxed, and her control had slipped. She was having dinner at a pizza parlor down in Bloomington, and she wanted to be dry when she got there. She had no idea when she would get home, but she knew with certainty that her diaper wasn't going to make it.

“I thought you'd go straight home,” Bernice said when Pris walked into the kichen.

“Can't. Don't have a key, and there's nobody there. We're dining at a pizza joint down in Bloomington.”

“Antonio's,” Bernice smiled. “Ian and Mister Belmondo had them deliver here a few nights ago. It was delicious.”

“Can you change me,” Priscilla pleaded. Bernice had one of the four keys to her locking diaper cover.

“Of course, Dear. The guest bedroom … you know the way.”

Bernice and Priscilla had to cross the dining room, where several of the girls were busy studying. They all looked up, and Priscilla could hear several of them laughing. Everyone knew why she was heading for the guest bedroom. The Batgirl needed her diaper changed.

“It's nice of you to help me out.” Priscilla was genuinely grateful for Missus Miller's kindness. She would not have been welcome in many of the houses along the Row.

“Think nothing of it, Dear. You and my son are so much in love … you will always be welcome in this house.”

Bernice beckoned for Priscilla to get undressed while she fished the key out of her pocket. Even wearing civvies, it took Pris a full minute to strip down to her diaper and bra. This gave Bernice time to collect a changing pad, wet wipes, and baby powder. And so the ritual began. When she was finished and Priscilla was once again locked up, Bernice patted her on the thigh and bid her to be dressed and on her way. Traffic would be heavy and she didn't want to be late.

“See you tomorrow, Dear,” Bernice added after Pris had thanked her and started for the door.

Priscilla paused in mid-stride to look back over her shoulder. “Tomorrow,” she shyly agreed. A new round of laughter would send her on her way.

. . . .

“Yous travel in style,” Spats commented as he entered the pizzeria. Ian was sandwiched in between Vickie and Sarah, but Spats found all six of the women in Ian's retinue easy on the eyes. He said hello to Francie, whom he recognized from the diaper service.

Ian gestured at the empty chair between Carlie and Priscilla, wondering whether Spats would appreciate his sense of humor. It wasn't everyday that the gangster was going to share a pizza with two policewomen.

Carlie poured a glass of Valpolicella and set it in front of him. “Your bodyguards outside,” she asked.

“Walley's minding the car.”

“Want me to carry a few slices out to him? The pizza's very good.”

“Thats would be nice, but none of the vino, okay? Walley's drivin', and I don't want him to gets pulled over, know what I mean?”

“Won't happen tonight. I took the liberty of loading your tags into the system; tonight you're getting a free pass.”

“Lady cop, huh?”

“Right. And so is the lady on your left.”

“My lucky day. Interesting company yous keep, Professor.”

“My security team,” Ian smiled. “Wanna check out the pizza oven? It's wood fired.”

“Best kind,” Spats observed as both men stood up, Valpolicella in hand, and headed for the kitchen.

“Give us a minute,” Ian asked Tran, who owned the restaurant.

“Wait a second,” Spats yelped. “He's not Italian!”

“Vietnamese … an old comrade in arms. He's from Dalat, up in the Highlands, which is where a lot of the French planters sent their families during the summer. His brother ran a pizza joint there, also wood fired … teak, no less. Best pizza I've ever had anywhere.”

“What's he burn here? The kitchen smells great.”

“Post oak. Okay, to business. The kids are on an island somewhere on the West Coast; the Channel Islands is my guess. I need eyes in every port from Goleta to Long Beach. We're looking for a vessel large enough to ferry at least a dozen men and supplies that wouldn't look out of place in the harbor. A trawler or one of those big fishing craft is where I'd start. There are eleven children housed on the island, under guard, and they are all Vietnamese. They're lactose intolerant, so soy milk will be a conspicuous part of the order. Find out who distributes it, and who's ordering it, and that will narrow the search down considerably. Now, here's the fun part. The guards rotate between the island and quarters on the mainland. Check motels and hotels for long-term reservations for at least a dozen single men. Have your people talk to bartenders up and down the coast … the kind of joints ex-military guys would frequent. There's a bar out there somewhere that these guys call home.”

“I know an even faster way to track them down,” Spats laughed.

"I'm game … give.”

“Hookers.” Spats had a huge smile on his face. “These guys won't be out looking for dates. They'll be paying pros, who probably do business in one of our joints ...”

“Or go back to wherever these guys hole up,” Ian finished.

“I'm headin' to Chicago on Thursday; got business with the Big Tuna that we don't like talking about on the phone. He'll find these guys and if you want, he'll put an army in the streets to take them out. He owes you, Prof, and the Big Tuna don't like owing nobody.”

“Just find them. I want the big fish who financed and organized the hit on my family. So I need to talk to these guys … find out what they know. Might need to arrange crosscountry transport. That hunting cabin you keep up north? Put a guy's feet inside a wood chipper and put your hand on the switch … guys tend to get real talkative at moments like that.”

“I like your thinking. And you can still have your army, Prof. We'll storm that island for you, anytime you want.”

“We'd have to attack at night, and they probably have the building where the kids sleep wired with explosives. Too risky. I've got something else in mind.”

Polish and Soviet trawlers prowled the Pacific coastal waters, and they could venture inside the two hundred mile fishing zone set up in 1976 so long as they had an American observer on board. But the undermanned National Marine Fisheries Service couldn't monitor every eastern bloc vessel, so the agency relied on spot checks. The Soviets took advantage of this flaw to equip their trawlers for intelligence gathering, and Ian had decided to turn this to his advantage. He was going to contact Irina, and ask her to get an asset ashore once they pinned the island down. He couldn't plan an assault without knowing the size and disposition of the enemy force, but he reckoned that a small, elite unit coming in from the seaward side would be more effective than a horde of Mafia foot soldiers armed with tommy guns. Ian was planning to take only one prisoner; the rest of the enemy force would be fed to the sharks.

“Find them, Spats. I'll take it from there.”