Christine Harper’s company car pulled up. She swipes her security card, the main door clicked open and she ascended the stairs with a determined spr...ng in her step. I peered through the smallest of gaps in the Gents door. She headed for her desk, unlocked the drawers and carefully picks out a manila folder, holding it tightly to her heaving chest. A deep breath, quick glance round and she’s moving again.She passes me. Seems focused. On a mission. She turns at the end of the corridor. I slip out. That and the hounds, of course." The hounds, Sir?" We use pure-bred Irish Wolfhounds. I believe I own more of them than anyone else in the world, by a very large margin. We need them for the sort of country we have, and the quarry is a slave, usually female." Expensive, using slaves, Sir?" Oh, we don't literally kill them, at least not often. The dogs certainly don't damage them. The 'kill' is the hunters taking their turn with the slave on a couch, sexually or with their riding crops. Of. More

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