Now he figured they’d turned the tables on her, and she’d told them as much as they’d told her.
“Hello,” Stone said. “Darling.”
“You don’t look very happy.” She grinned. She bit her lip. She let her eyes look him up and down hungrily. All the tricks. Stone chuckled to himself.
“Do I make you laugh?”
“I’m just going to stand here and watch you.”
“Okay.”
He watched her. She washed her body with liquid soap and a loofah, going slow, like a strip tease, showing every inch of her arms and chest and then lifting her long legs high to run the soap over her thighs and between her legs where she giggled a little.
When she finished, she stood, suds dripping off her curvy body. She turned on the shower, taking the hand-held unit from the spigot, and rinsed off as the bathwater drained. When she stepped out of the tub, Stone watched every inch of her olive flesh jiggle as she dried off and wrapped the towel around her.
Stone moved closer to her, grabbed her behind the neck and pulled that warm body to him. He clamped his lips over her mouth. She responded. They kissed hard, deeply, and Stone led her from the bathroom to the bed and shoved her. She laughed as she fell back, everything jiggling some more as she scooted off the edge and onto her knees and her hands found the zipper on his slacks. His pants dropped low, especially in back, and she urged him to remove the nasty nasty gun and Stone complied by taking it out and holding it in his right hand but keeping it hidden behind his right leg. Her eyes widened a little, but then she was focused on his thickening shaft.
She made it grow harder by scooping his penis into her mouth. Stone groaned. He didn’t stop her. Might as well get a little pleasure out of her while he could.
His erection thickened with her gentle suction and when he was fully erect, she started working faster, taking him down her throat, locking eyes with him as she let out a moan that made her throat vibrate and made Stone tingle all over. She cupped his ball sack, ticking with her long nails, taking his penis out of her mouth long enough to catch her breath, stroke the length, and then put it in her mouth again.
He watched her cheeks sink in as she sucked harder, moving her head back and forth in a rhythm only she felt, Stone putting a hand on the back of her head and pulling her toward him. He shoved his cock as deep into her throat as he could, Lady Maria’s eyes bulging, watering; when she finally started to gag, he let her pull away, saliva dripping from her pouty lips and onto her big beautiful tits.
He grabbed a handful of her hair and started to pull her up. She rose with him. He turned her around, smacked her rump, and as she yelped, he tossed off his shoes and slacks and shoved her onto her belly. He didn’t give her a chance to protest as she sank his cock between pussy lips as pouty as her mouth, the squishy warmth between her legs hotter than her mouth.
He leaned over his with his hands on the mattress, feet on the floor, and sank in and out in his own rhythm, Lady Maria’s eyes closed as she let out quiet moans and heavy breathing.
“Follarme,” she urged. “Follarme duro. Duro!”
Stone grunted. He slammed her harder with each thrust, her big cushy bottom taking the blows with a wave of flesh each time. He put his hands under her. She lifted herself so her could get hands on her pillowy tits. He squeezed the round flesh and pinched her nipples, Lady Maria crying out, urging him on, Stone plowing deeper into love tunnel, her clenching muscles tightening around his cock to the point where he thought he might have reached his own limit.
Her body tensed up as she announced her orgasm, Stone shoving in and holding as her body tightened and shook, a satisfied breath leaving her. She struggled to keep her elbows under her, shoving back against Stone. He pulled out and shoved deep once again, letting his own ejaculation take place, semen shooting from his rod like water from a firehose.
He stayed inside her a moment, catching his breath. He still held the nine-millimeter in his right hand, and as he pulled out and let her get up, he straddled her back.
Stone grabbed a handful of her thick black hair, and twisted hard. She screamed as Stone jammed the muzzle of the SIG into her neck.
“Tell me who you told about tonight.”
“What?” she said.
Another scream as he twisted harder. “Tell me, or I’ll leave you here with a hole you weren’t born with.”
Chapter Three
“Let me get dressed.”
Stone backed away and grabbed his boxers and slacks. Lady Maria, fully naked, was still catching her breath as she sat up. She looked stunned, her dark eyes glazed. She used her left arm to cover her breasts as she left the bed to open the dresser. Stone kept the SIG leveled at her. She dressed quickly.
Gun in hand, Stone told her to lay down on the bed and keep her arms outstretched. She lay there like somebody about to be crucified. Her eyes never left Stone’s. The muzzle of the SIG P-225A1 never left her face.
“I didn’t betray you, darling,” she said.
“Sure you did, darling. How much did they promise to pay you? More than your own people?”
“I didn’t do anything!”
Something scraped against the door. Stone pivoted to face the door as the hinges exploded, twin shotgun blasts filling the room along with pieces of the door that flew past Stone’s face. The two men who entered weren’t expecting their target to be standing and waiting for them. He was supposed to be wrapped in the warm embrace of Lady Maria. The plan hadn’t exactly worked.
The nine-millimeter spoke once, twice. The lead gunner stopped as if he’d hit a wall and fell, his partner tumbling over him and landing on the carpet. The second man held the shotgun, and before he could recover to get a bead on Stone, a second nine-millimeter split his head open.
Stone turned the gun on Lady Maria. She screamed, holding out a hand.
“No!” she said.
Her skin changed from olive to white.
“Get up.”
“Promise you won’t shoot me!”
“It’s not what I’m going to do,” Stone said. “I’ll let your own people decide that.”
She let out a quiet curse and scooted off the bed.
Stone stepped over the bodies and escorted her out of the room.
“So you dumped her on the Minister of Defense?” Mike Majors said the next morning.
Stone swallowed some eggs. “His office. The overnight duty commander checked her in. She’ll be interrogated to find out just how far they turned her.”
“Shame.” Majors sipped his coffee. “We lost six guys last night.”
Stone nodded.
They sat in a quiet café in a back corner. Majors sat with his back to the wall while Stone didn’t mind being exposed. He trusted Majors to give a yell if any nogoodniks stepped into the place. Both were armed, but their untucked shirts hid the hardware.
“If she did serious damage,” Majors said, “we may be here for a while.”
“Terrific,” Stone said. He cleaned his plate and pushed it away. He opened his mouth to say something more, but his chirping cell phone interrupted him.
He answered. “Stone talking.”
He listened.
“It’s Brad,” the caller said.
Brad Preston, Director of the Eagle Alliance, back at HQ in San Diego.
“You need to get on a plane and come back home.”
“What’s going on?”
“Dev, Monty Stuart jumped off a building. He’s dead.”
Stone blinked a few times. He glanced at Majors, who raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “What?”
Stone lowered his head. “Copy. Are you sending a plane?”
“It’s on the way. Get your gear together and get to the airport.”
“Okay.” Stone ended the call.
“You don’t look good,” Majors said.
“Remember Monty Stuart?”
“Of course.”
“Jumped off a building in New York.”
“No shit?”
“You two were tight.”
“We were indeed,” Stone said. His body started feeling funny as shock took over. “I don’t get it. What the hell happened?”
Majors didn’t have an answer.
Moscow, Russia
Her name was Tatiana Ivanov and she didn’t go after small fish.
Her chief at the FSB nicknamed her “Piranha” because whatever she sank her teeth into was soon destroyed. Any threat to the Motherland had no chance when she was on the case; he put her on cases often, sometimes alone, usually with a partner, but tonight required a solo act and her plan was solid.
So was her outfit, as she entered Night Flight, one of the best clubs in Moscow where the elite wined and dined and maybe picked up a hooker or two but the place you wanted to be if you could get passed the bruiser of a bouncer at the front door. All Tatiana had to do was smile and the big man lifted the barrier to entry, to the chorus of hoots from those still in line on the sidewalk awaiting their chance to get inside. Tatiana knew what they didn’t, that the bouncer was also FSB. His job, getting her inside, was done. Now he’d stand there and screw with everybody in line.
Tatiana was dressed to kill. Slinky red dress, red lipstick, heels. The strapless top pressed her breasts together to create the perfect valley for a schmuck to get lost in should his eyes drift there. The diamond pendant around her neck promised at least a few glances in that direction. Her long auburn hair, curled to perfection, drifted down her back and tickled her slender neck.
Music thump-bumped as she moved through the crowd with the concentration of a shark looking at its first meal in three days. The hot temperature inside was a welcome change to the chill of the Moscow night, and she hadn’t brought a coat or even a wrap.
Lots of bodies; some dancing; others are tables crowded together, pressed elbow-to-elbow without any hint of privacy. You didn’t come to Night Flight to have dinner by candle light. The low light and strobe flashes from the dance floor had a way of taking you out of reality if you let your mind wander, but Tatiana wasn’t about to let that happen. She had a job to do.
Her target sat at the bar and look to be on his sixth vodka tonic.
Greshnev Denisovna was only a little taller than Tatiana, with blonde hair and a square jaw and decent physique for somebody who worked in an office all day and hardly ever left his desk chair. There was another couple next to him, on his right. Two women. Maybe they were whores. If they were, neither was doing a good job, because they should have been all over Greshnev. She was about to elbow the bitches out of the way when the woman on his left closed the deal with some porky dude and they walked away.
Tatiana took the stool and ordered a martini.
The music wasn’t as loud in the bar as elsewhere but she still felt the floor vibrating through the legs of the barstool.
The bartender brought her martini and she took the glass by the bowl, sipping the ice-cold elixir as she briefly examined her long, sharp, fingernails. The red motif continued on the polish. She was Russian, after all.
“You look like an apple.”
Tatiana turned her head slowly to raise an eyebrow at Greshnev’s awkward opening line. He slurred most of the words. Maybe he was on more than his sixth vodka tonic.
“If I eat you every day, will it keep the doctor away?”
He laughed.
Tatiana couldn’t help but smile at that one. He’d just done half of her job for her, and she had him on the hook. If only she could say she’d planned it that way. . .
“Those are the worse lines I have ever heard,” she said. She took a drink.
“Do you hear a lot of them?”
“Men usually don’t talk until I let them.”
“Oh, so you like being in control. Will you tie me up before I eat you?”
“Maybe you should get some dinner if you’re hungry.” She started to scoot off the stool but he grabbed her arm.
“Please. Forgive me. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I didn’t men to offend.”
Tatiana shook her head. Men apologized way too much. Their appeal dropped a little in her book each time it happened.
She held his gaze a moment and almost detected a pleading look in his eye. Good grief, he was a fish all right, much easier to hook than she’d expected. But it was good to plan for the job to be difficult; that way, when it was easier, the plan was still in fine shape.
“All right, you get another chance.”
He smiled, showing all of his teeth. It was a nice smile. Shame what might happen to it before the night ended.
Unless he cooperated.
She finished her martini and he ordered her another and told the bartender to put the first one on his tab, too. Then they started a normal conversation. Greshnev told her all about his job with oil magnate Kazantsev Ruslanovich. Tatiana pretended not to know the name, but the oil man was the reason she had his number two on her target list this evening.
Ruslanovich was broke. He’d made several bad investments in recent months and all were coming due and cleaning out his reserves.
He had a plan to reverse the losses, but the plan required the sabotage of the United States’ economy. Russia didn’t want that to happen. Not that Moscow had any particular love for the U.S., but in the modern era where nations were globally connected whether they liked it or not, it was something Moscow prioritized as requiring a solution. Before Ruslanovich’s hired gun began the work.
Tatiana needed to learn the name of the hired gun in order to stop him.
He didn’t ask about her work. He figured her for a prostitute and that was fine. The less he asked, the less she had to make up. She had a cover story all set, but he was already playing into her hand, and all she had to do was reel him in.
Which she did, after a third martini and whatever umpteenth vodka tonic he swallowed. He handled his liquor well. Talking to her actually seemed to sharpen him up. He only slurred a few words, and he managed to walk straight after she suggested they leave the noisy club and go somewhere a little more private.
He had a company car, calling the driver on his cell. They waited at the curb for about ten minutes, the line outside growing longer, the bouncer refusing to let anybody in. Tatiana didn’t make any eye contact with the bouncer. If she ever saw him again on The Job, she wouldn’t remember his face anyway.
She told him to give the driver her apartment address and they settled against the back seats for the drive across the city. She didn’t say much. She let him do all the talking. He didn’t do as much talking as she figured he would. He’d gone from chatterbox to quiet. That surprised her.
To get his attention again, she put her hand on his leg and slowly moved it across the fabric of his slacks to his crotch, where she squeezed.
He grunted, shifting. But he didn’t respond.
Great. He was trying to tease her. Play hard to get. What was he, seventeen?
She withdrew her hand and decided to wait patiently until he figured out whatever he was planning to do.
Her plan was already figured out and well in motion.
All she needed was him, in her apartment, with a drink in his hand.
The driver made a final turn, went up one more block, and pulled over in front of her building. With a smile, she beckoned him to follow her out of the car.
He didn’t need any further encouragement.
Chapter Four
The glass walls of Tatiana’s apartment overlooked the bright lights of the city.
Greshnev put his hands on his hips and admired the view while she mixed drinks. He started idle chit-chat about how long she’d lived there and she answered his questions, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure his attention was on the city lights while she palmed a vial from where it was taped to the back of her neck, hidden by her curly hair. She cracked the cap open, poured the clear contents into the vodka tonic, and let the vial remain with the drink
s in their corner of the kitchen counter.
She moved to the couch, positioned to face the glass wall and the view, and clicked her tongue to get his attention. He smiled and crossed to her, taking his drink. They clinked glasses. She sipped her glass while he took a long drink of his.
Perfect.
“Sit down.”
He placed the glass on the table in front of the couch and sat down to watch her.
She stood in front of him and coyly bit her lower lip and he regarded her eagerly.
“Want to reach up my dress?”
“Sure.”
“Move your right hand.”
Greshnev blinked as he made the effort. His hand did not move.
“Um.”
“Move your left leg.”
“I can’t.”
Panic.
Tatiana sat on the table, crossing her legs.
“I’ve poisoned you,” she said. “I will only give you the antidote if you answer my questions.”
“What?”
“As can you see, you can still talk, but the rest of your body is paralyzed.”
He strained to move any part of his body. He started to sweat.
“You work with a man named Ruslanovich.”
“Yes.”
“Ruslanovich has hired somebody to sabotage the U.S. economy, yes?”
Greshnev tried to nod, couldn’t. He said, “Yes.” More panic now. Sweat dripped down the side of his face.
“The poison will take at least twenty-four hours to kill you.”
Greshnev let out a high-pitched squeal. Tatiana laughed.
“How is Ruslanovich going to do that?”
Greshnev rushed out the answer. “Hacker with a virus.”
“Where do I find this hacker?”
“I don’t know! I swear!”
“Give me a name.”
“Lassiter! Simon Lassiter!”
Tatiana frowned. “Lassiter is dead.”
“No! He faked his death! He’s alive!”
Zero Hour Page 2