Like Slipping Under Cover: Erotic Spy Fiction

by Bethany Zaiatz, ed.

  He withdraws his hand; she takes it and licks his fingers clean, working them all the way into her mouth and biting gently below his knuckles. Then she just holds his hand against her left breast, over her racing heart.

  "Thank you... Mark," she says.

  He knows straight away that there's no point trying to bluff; she wouldn't make a move like that without solid evidence. Just find out how much she knows and hope you don't have to kill her.

  "How did you know?" he asks, turning his hand over to grip hers.

  "Five years ago, there was a break-in at the Cambridge archive and your file was taken," she tells him. "We were waiting for something of this sort to happen. I don't know what you've been told, but you've been working for a powerful terrorist group."

  "You're with the Service?" Tim, or whatever your name is, you're a bastard and I'm going to kill you.

  She nods. "I'm not really a Project Manager, thank God! I was put in place about a year ago, when we suspected this facility would be the target. Angela's car accident was too convenient, and I've been testing you out since you arrived. For your information, I don't think anyone has said what's the goss for a few decades! But I wasn't quite sure enough until I happened to walk past and see you about to go into the lab with Lucas."

  He's visibly smug at this news. "Rather out of character, eh?"

  "For Angela. Not for you. Ditto everything that happened subsequently," she adds, that delightful chuckle back in her voice. "Which, I might add, was out of character for me too."

  "I'm sure it was," he says. He's outwardly relaxed, but underneath he's picking away at her story, comparing it with Tim's, sifting for the truth. Part of him hates that she's in control while he's floundering in a strange world which has just become even stranger. "So there is a virus?"

  "There is. It's measles. The disease was eradicated after you...thirty years ago,"--she's avoiding the phrase 'after you died', and he's grateful--"and the last stocks are kept here. You can imagine what it would do to an unvaccinated population."

  "But the Scottish government isn't planning to use it against England and Wales?"

  "Not that I know of!" She doesn't react to 'the Scottish government', so that part must be true. Hide the big lie among the improbable truths. "And if it was, don't you think this place would be in Scotland?" She looks sharply at him. "What?"

  "We're not in Scotland?"

  "Holland," she says simply.

  The dikes. The canals. The strange architecture. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He buries his face in her neck with a groan.

  "So, no climate change?" he asks at last.

  "Some. But it wouldn't have had such a radical effect in forty years."

  "You mean a hundred and forty."

  She frowns. "Didn't you know? The world calendar starts with the birth of Julius Caesar now--100 BC, to you."

  He swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits, head in hands. She rests her fingertips on the base of his spine.

  "I've contradicted a lot of what you've been told," she says quietly, "and you've got no way of knowing who's telling the truth. But I'll do whatever it takes to convince you--take you to London, if you like. Real London! It's not flooded! Big Ben's still there!" He grudgingly returns her smile. "This could be our best chance of smashing that terrorist cell, if you're willing to play double agent. And I don't mind admitting I want them destroyed for killing Angela."

  He believes her, both logically and instinctively. Everything she's telling him comes naturally, with no pauses; Lib Schafter's lectures were prepared.

  "No--I can tell you're being honest. I have an instinct for these things." He tousles her hair. "You know that--you must have read my file."

  "I've done a little more than that, Mark. I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest yet. You see, I was given this assignment for two reasons. One: I'm a military neuropsychologist." She waits for this to sink in, and nods. "Two: I'm that military neuropsychologist. I said I knew it was you when I saw you with Lucas, but in fact I wasn't completely sure until you kissed me."

  "Did I talk that much about kissing when you interviewed me?" he asks.

  "Oh! I keep forgetting you can't remember anything that happened afterwards."

  "Why, what did?" He has a pretty good idea, and he slides his arm around her waist.

  "Am I going to have to go through that all over again?"

  "Looks like it."

  "The things I do for my country."

  As he pulls her back down beside him, the future seems less bleak.

  Jasmine Always Wins

  Shawn Erin

  "Othello Nicholas Top, known as ON to his friends, the Minister of War with the New Confederacy," J was saying, "will be vacationing in Vail, Colorado this weekend. Your mission, L12 and Double-D7, is to attend one of his many parties and take the nuclear launch codes the Confederacy had acquired when it ceded from the USA."

  Agent L12, Jack Charge, opened the file J had sent him by blinking. The iEye implanted computer popped the text up in his left eye's vision and Jack skimmed it. "I suppose you want me to seduce this ON Top."

  J nodded. "Considering your...enhancements, yes, L12, that's what Management had in mind."

  "And DD7?" Jack asked, pointing to the buxom blonde whose breasts were barely contained by her black halter top.

  "Double-D 7 will be there for backup."

  "Pardon," DD7 said in her Southern accent, "but with the Confederacy's sexual restrictions, why on Earth are you sending him in as the First?"

  "Ah!" J said in a rising pitch. He pushed up his glasses. "Yes, that. We have reliable sources that ON's marriage is nothing but show. He has at least one mistress on the side. But more importantly for us, we are confident that he's a closeted bisexual, and that currently he has no male lovers."

  "So Management thinks he's craving cock now, is it?" Jack asked

  "That's the thinking, yes."

  "Sounds like a rather simplistic view of sexuality," DD7 said.

  Jack nodded. He looked over the file some more. They'd be leaving tomorrow, posing as a couple of military investors, rich enough to matter but not so rich that people would wonder why they're unknown. "Do I get any other cool toys? Any cars, exploding pens, anything?"

  J looked at him like a serious parent admonishing a child. "Jack, don't you think your enhancements are toys enough?" His tone screamed: rhetorical question.

  Jack grinned. "Can't a guy have fun?"

  J sighed. "Not when the Ameri...Union taxpayer is footing the bill."

  Jack shrugged. As far as he was concerned, he'd always be in America; the New Confederacy was something else.

  "L12, we should de-brief in my room," DD7 said.

  Jack's grin widened. "We done here?" he asked J.

  The man ran fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Yes, I suppose everything else is covered in the file."

  Jack could almost feel a little sorry for the man. J was part of a time when they needed an actual person to deliver the mission and tech.

  "Lead the way, Molly," he told the buxom agent.

  Her lecherous grin softened somewhat. She didn't like her name that much.

  In the elevator she said, "There's a reason I wanted to fuck ON"

  Jack raised an eyebrow. "Oh...?"

  "Jesus, Jack, don't you read the file they give you?"

  Jack hastily searched the file, giving the iEye implanted in his brain mental commands. He found what she must be talking about, then gave another "Oh..."

  In DD7's apartment now, she promptly uncaged her glorious breasts from their halter top prison, then removed her black skirt. She was underwearless, as usual. The scent of jasmine filled the air as her body pumped the scented pheromones out of sweat glands. Jack stood there admiring her equally glorious ass, feeling his cock strain in his pants.

  DD7 sauntered over to Jack and grabbed his crotch, massaging his wood. "I'm gonna release this bad boy."

  Jack groaned as she unzipped him and began work
ing her hand over the shaft. Her right hand was frantically finger-bating her pussy. As usual with Molly: no foreplay.

  "I don't know which is worse," she said. "Being so horny I'll fuck anything now. Or, before they changed us, wanting to be so horny that I would want to fuck anything."

  Jack managed to say between grunts: "Why is that a bad thing?"

  Molly shook her head. "Typical guy response." Then any possible rebuttal was silenced when she attacked his cock, easily swallowing all twelve inches. Lessening the gag reflect, just another one of the many subtle enhancements they both had.

  Molly's entrance into the world of spy-craft seemed voluntary. For Jack, it was anything but. After fucking every slutty boy and girl in high school, he moved to California to become a porn star. He had the credentials: a large penis (ten inches at the time), he could last longer than two minutes before he came, and he was reasonably attractive. Then the spooks came and recruited him to work for the "Agency." After some radical plastic surgery, just in case any of his targets might be porn aficionados; growing his dick by a couple inches; and gene therapy to activate dormant genes that produce human pheromones and increase libido, he became Jack Charge, spy extraordinaire. But in reality he knew that Molly was the real spy, watching over him like a dutiful chaperone.

  Molly stood, looking into his eyes. She was just a tad shorter than he. They kissed briefly, heavily, her fingers messing up his brown hair. Their lips parted, and she grabbed his hand lightly and guided him to the couch. Human musk, now thick in the air, gave off its strange jasmine scent.

  With one leg on the floor and the other between her legs as she lay on the couch, Jack's cock went easily into her willing, tight cunt. It felt like the orifice was sucking it in. Jack often wondered if that was the result of more genetic tinkering or pelvic floor exercises.

  DD7 was moaning loudly now, rubbing her tits, and rolling her eyes. Jack thought about mundane things to keep from blowing his load, an old porn star trick.

  "God-damn, mother-fucker!" she screamed, arching her back. Jack felt wetness around his cock. DD7 was a mild squirter. When she was done they disconnected and she stood. Jack sat on the couch and she sat on his cock, her hands placed on his rock-hard abs for support. Those he got from the gym, not gene tinkering.

  As she bounced up-and-down, moaning, she said, "Would you believe that I almost got married once?" But she didn't wait for a response. "Could you believe it? Fucking one person for the rest of your life?"

  But Jack was barely listening. With Molly bouncing rapidly on his cock, even macabre images of death weren't enough of a distraction to hold back the warmth of orgasm. He groaned out his climax as Molly came again. Afterward, disengaged, they lay next to each other, petting each other more out of boredom than sexual pleasure. This was how most of their "debriefing" sessions went.

  * * * *

  Jack stood at the bar, feeling conspicuous in this crowd. "Relax," Molly said into his ear. "To everyone here, we're just two businesspeople."

  Jack nodded slightly. Why was he so nervous? The rest of the day his nerves had been fine. The flight to the Eagle County airport. He even "flew" the plane for a short period, but the auto-pilot did all the work, and had a sexy woman's voice. Even navigating the beginner slopes at the ski resort wasn't stress-inducing. But now...? It wasn't like this was his first mission. This is the first mission with the stakes so high, his inner voice told him.

  He raised his glass to the bartender to get a refill.

  "Make sure you get the good stuff," Molly said. "No cheap vodka, like some agents I know."

  Jack nodded again.

  "I'm going over to schmooze with the host. Expect me to call you over to talk shop. You got the story straight?"

  "Yes, moth...yes." Molly didn't like condescension.

  "Good."

  With the expensive vodka martini in hand, Jack surveyed the crowd. White. Upper-class. Conservative. And most likely religious zealots. These were the people the Union had lost to in the Bloodless Civil War.

  "That your wife?"

  Jack looked over to his right. A tall, lanky brunette in a black shimmering dress smiled at him. "Ah, yes, it is."

  "She seems quite lovely." The woman walked closer to Jack, raising her glass of champagne. He noticed the white stripe in her hair, as if intentionally placed there. "And what is it that you do?" she asked.

  "I... ah... I'm a software developer." He hadn't prepared himself for a strange woman to engage him. "I have a small company that specializes in military security."

  "Fascinating," she said, though her tone indicated boredom. "What kind of military security?"

  She was asking a dangerous question. They were supposed to proposition only the Minister. "The kind the Minister would find interesting," he said finally.

  "Oh come on. I won't tell."

  Jack looked at her askance. What was she? In junior high?

  She grabbed his crotch and Jack almost sprayed out his vodka martini. But he also couldn't help but groan a little. "Actually, I don't really care what you do. But I fuck a lot," she said in a breathy voice. "Do you think you wife would mind? Hmm?" She continued massaging his dick through his pants.

  "Jeez, who the hell are you?"

  "People call me Mo Screws. Yes, that is my actual name. And you?"

  "Ah, John Hightower." Shit! He wasn't supposed to pause on his actual name. But then again, she might think that he was distracted, as she continued massaging his crotch. "And, ah, Mo...what do you do...besides fucking?"

  "Oh...you know, this-and-that."

  "No, I don't know," Jack said, somewhat surprised by the anger in his voice. He'd divulged his story; she should tell him hers. But the anger quickly faded as she continued her crotch rub. Now he wanted to fuck this woman till they were both sore.

  "You know," she said, "we should go someplace more private, don't you think?"

  "I couldn't agree more."

  She led him toward the stairs. Her ass was nice and tight, not like the huge apple bottom that was Molly's. Still, it was quite nice, as she knew how to move her hips to accentuate her assets.

  Jack looked over to where his pseudo-wife had been and chilled. She nor ON were anywhere to be seen.

  "Everything OK?" Mo asked when she looked back at him, just before ascending the staircase.

  "Just my wife."

  "I see. Well, if she doesn't see you with another woman, you won't have to make up a story. Besides, I think I know where she is."

  Jack followed Mo up the stairs and into one of the largest bedrooms Jack had ever seen. The combination of reds and whites gave the room an odd androgynous feel. In the center was a large circular bed with a circular mirror overhead. Jack almost laughed; he'd done a couple of porn shoots with such a setup. Strewn throughout the room were chairs and sofas, many with people in them, in various states of undress. So much for Christian family values of the New Confederacy.

  Then Jack saw Molly, standing by ON's side. Mo and Jack walked up to the two. "Boss," Mo said, "this is John Hightower."

  ON grabbed John's hand in a firm handshake. "A pleasure. I already met your lovely Mrs. Morgan Hightower." He was all smiles, with laugh lines on the corners of his mouth and eyes. Gray hair had invaded his temples. "I understand you have some kind of business proposition."

  "That is correct," Jack said as confidently as possible.

  "And...?"

  Jack looked around the crowded room. "Perhaps there is a quieter, more private place?"

  "Nonsense!" ON said. "These people are otherwise engaged; they couldn't care less what we have to say.

  Jack took in the room again. Mo had migrated to a love seat where she was kissing and fondling a woman who had her right breast out of her shirt. "Yes, very Christian of them," he said under his breath.

  ON said with a hint of derision, "There are many ways to express God's love, Mr. Hightower."

  Jack tried not to show his surprise that the man had heard him.

 
; "Mr. Top, shouldn't w'all get down to business," Molly said with an exaggerated Southern accent.

  "I couldn't agree more, madam," ON replied. To Jack, he said, "Your lovely wife filled me in on a lot of the details. So you have an encryption company that wants to protect our military secrets."

  "That is correct," Jack said. He cleared his throat; he'd practiced this pitch several times before. "We seek to encrypt your confidential military records so that they can safely be transferred to other personnel within the Confederacy."

  "A wise proposition. What makes you think we do not already have adequate encryption?"

  "Because if you did, I wouldn't be here."

  ON grinned. "Or perhaps you could be selling me a superfluous piece of software."

  "I'm not. Take your time in your decision. Have your people tell you the state of your security. Though I did nothing wrong, I have...investigated your vulnerabilities." In fact, the Union's espionage hackers had tried everything to get those launch codes. Jack and Molly were the next line of attack. "And when you're ready, contact me." Jack produced a fake business card.

  "'Hightower Security Inc.'" ON read off the card. "Great name for running security. We'll keep in touch." ON thrust his hand out to get shook.

  Jack returned with a strong, firm, much practiced grip. ON would look into his new nation's security, find it lax, then contact Jack again for the solution. Jack would then give the Minister a program that would copy the confidential files before encryption, encrypt and transfer them under another secret line to the Union, then encrypt and transfer the original files to the New Confederacy. The Confederacy would never see the secret line, or so the thinking went. Jack had his doubts.

  Molly squeezed his hand in a fake sign of affection. But also, it indicated that this phase of their mission was now pretty much over. Jack had learned early on that espionage was rarely the action-packed shoot-'em-ups of the movies. It was more about gaining the mark's trust than killing the bad guys, more about the mark willingly giving the information than stealing it from him. Still, a part of Jack wanted the shoot-'em-up.