extraction process.
“I’m a part-time
paid escort, free-lance, meaning that I don’t have a pimp or employer. This
morning I received a request to see a client in Room 2223 at the Royal Quinte
Arms downtown. His name is Mr. Tom Kennedy and he said that he was a lawyer
from Canada and had been kidnapped by Homeland Security which was holding him
against his will in that hotel room. He didn’t want sex with me. All he wanted
was for me to deliver this letter to you.”
Mandy handed the
letter over to Mr. Grant who carefully peeled it open and read it.
“Who paid you for
your services?” the reporter asked when he had finished reading the contents.
“A man was waiting
outside the hotel and he paid me $700 in cash when I got out of the taxi.”
“How did he know
it was you?”
“The man on the
telephone who hired me for the escort job had asked me what I was going to be
wearing.”
“What else did he
say to you?”
“He just told me
how I was going to be paid and where to go to meet the client.”
“How did he find
you in the first place?”
“All he said was
that he had been given my name but he didn’t tell me who had recommended me.”
“Isn’t it rather unusual
not to insist on knowing who had given out your name?”
“I’m really new at
this so I was just thankful to get a well-paying client.”
“Tell me exactly
what happened in the hotel.”
Mandy related as
accurately as she could what had taken place from the moment she entered the
hotel room. She left nothing out including their private whisperings under the
covers.
“Have you read the
letter, Mandy?”
“No, it’s been in
my bra ever since I put it there when Mr. Kennedy and I were in the bed.”
Mr. Grant handed
the letter to Mandy and asked her to read it. When she was done, she handed it
back to the reporter.
“This is serious
stuff, Mandy. Can I get your permission to have my editor come in and listen to
the tape and read the letter?”
“I guess so.”
Grant picked up
the receiver and asked the editor to drop everything and come to the office.
Thirty seconds later a much older man opened the door and entered.
“Mandy, this is my
editor, Phillip Peden. What’s your last name, Mandy?”
“It’s Mandy
Franklin, sir.”
“Read this first,
Phil and then I’ll play Mandy’s tape for you.”
After Peden had
heard the tape, he turned to Mandy and said, “This is a very big story, Miss
Franklin. Do we have your permission to cover it however we may see fit?”
“Yes, sir; it’s
really Mr. Kennedy’s story.”
“You’re now a big
part of it, Mandy,” Grant interjected. “I’d like to feature you prominently in
the piece if you’ll let me. Your picture and occupation attached to this story
will make for a potent combination. It appears that our government has paid for
the services of a professional woman escort in addition to kidnapping Mr.
Kennedy and framing Mr. Haddad. You might indeed become famous because of your
key role in exposing these apparent abuses.”
“I guess that
would be okay,” Mandy replied. “I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on
here but for some reason I really trusted Mr. Kennedy.”
The chief editor
thought for a moment and then spoke.
“Time is
definitely of the essence here, Doug. Can you think of a better way to confirm
the kidnapping than to head over to the hotel with both the police and Miss
Franklin accompanying us?”
“Let’s do it. I’ll
have our photographer come along as well. Mandy, while Mr. Peden makes
arrangements with the police, we need to get some photos taken of you.”
…
It was just after
one o’clock when I heard a commotion outside the hotel room door.
I decided that
there was no time to eavesdrop. I flung the door open and saw Mandy standing in
the hallway with two police officers, two men dressed in civilian clothes and
another fellow carrying a large camera.
“I’m Thomas
Kennedy, a lawyer from Canada, and these men
“I’m a part-time
paid escort, free-lance, meaning that I don’t have a pimp or employer. This
morning I received a request to see a client in Room 2223 at the Royal Quinte
Arms downtown. His name is Mr. Tom Kennedy and he said that he was a lawyer
from Canada and had been kidnapped by Homeland Security which was holding him
against his will in that hotel room. He didn’t want sex with me. All he wanted
was for me to deliver this letter to you.”
Mandy handed the
letter over to Mr. Grant who carefully peeled it open and read it.
“Who paid you for
your services?” the reporter asked when he had finished reading the contents.
“A man was waiting
outside the hotel and he paid me $700 in cash when I got out of the taxi.”
“How did he know
it was you?”
“The man on the
telephone who hired me for the escort job had asked me what I was going to be
wearing.”
“What else did he
say to you?”
“He just told me
how I was going to be paid and where to go to meet the client.”
“How did he find
you in the first place?”
“All he said was
that he had been given my name but he didn’t tell me who had recommended me.”
“Isn’t it rather unusual
not to insist on knowing who had given out your name?”
“I’m really new at
this so I was just thankful to get a well-paying client.”
“Tell me exactly
what happened in the hotel.”
Mandy related as
accurately as she could what had taken place from the moment she entered the
hotel room. She left nothing out including their private whisperings under the
covers.
“Have you read the
letter, Mandy?”
“No, it’s been in
my bra ever since I put it there when Mr. Kennedy and I were in the bed.”
Mr. Grant handed
the letter to Mandy and asked her to read it. When she was done, she handed it
back to the reporter.
“This is serious
stuff, Mandy. Can I get your permission to have my editor come in and listen to
the tape and read the letter?”
“I guess so.”
Grant picked up
the receiver and asked the editor to drop everything and come to the office.
Thirty seconds later a much older man opened the door and entered.
“Mandy, this is my
editor, Phillip Peden. What’s your last name, Mandy?”
“It’s Mandy
Franklin, sir.”
“Read this first,
Phil and then I’ll play Mandy’s tape for you.”
After Peden had
heard the tape, he turned to Mandy and said, “This is a very big story, Miss
Franklin. Do we have your permission to cover it however we may see fit?”
“Yes, sir; it’s
really Mr. Kennedy’s story.”
“You’re now a big
part of it, Mandy,” Grant interjected. “I’d like to feature you prominently in
the piece if you’ll let me. Your picture and occupation attached to this story
will make for a potent combination. It appears that our government has paid for
the services of a professional woman escort in addition to kidnapping Mr.
Kennedy and framing Mr. Haddad. You might indeed become famous because of your
key role in exposing these apparent abuses.”
“I guess that
would be okay,” Mandy replied. “I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on
here but for some reason I really trusted Mr. Kennedy.”
The chief editor
thought for a moment and then spoke.
“Time is
definitely of the essence here, Doug. Can you think of a better way to confirm
the kidnapping than to head over to the hotel with both the police and Miss
Franklin accompanying us?”
“Let’s do it. I’ll
have our photographer come along as well. Mandy, while Mr. Peden makes
arrangements with the police, we need to get some photos taken of you.”
…
It was just after
one o’clock when I heard a commotion outside the hotel room door.
I decided that
there was no time to eavesdrop. I flung the door open and saw Mandy standing in
the hallway with two police officers, two men dressed in civilian clothes and
another fellow carrying a large camera.
“I’m Thomas
Kennedy, a lawyer from Canada, and these men
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