by C. L. Black
The Breeder oozed with joy. He would see his revenge. His disciples had succeeded in placing his most cunning KAT, Katrina (Tiger69), inside the Cougar’s den. Young Jane Sterling was in reality a two-headed feline, each programmed to obey a different master.
Of course, Sir Katherine wasn’t about to let the young KAT, Miss Katrina-Jane Sterling know she knew. No, Sir Katherine would let the new kiddy KAT, Tiger69, slumber until the time was right. For she was well aware of the Breeder’s plan, one for which she had willingly provided the seeds. She had let him do the dirty work of sowing them. Sir Katherine would now reap the harvest.
Their little game would not be played on a chessboard. No, their game of deception and deceit would be played across the globe for decades, and the game pieces would bleed real blood. The prize: reincarnation and control of the global Krump Empire and its billions in stolen Nazi loot and KGB plunder.
Coffee, Tea, Fresh Panties
11:41 local
The galley door opened. The attractive package that entered the cabin was named Elsa Weiss, thirty-three. A fine blend of German efficiency and Swiss precision, Elsa had a personality a bit on the mousy side. Trim, yet athletic, Miss Weiss sported a top shelf boob job, stood five-eight, and had shoulder-length hair. Papa had insisted KK retain the dirty blonde last summer as her fitness coach and personal assistant. When Elsa wasn’t on the jet serving, Miss Weiss lived aboard the Knotty Girl assisting. You might say she was KK’s girl-of-many-skills.
“Coffee, tea, fresh panties?”
Pink panties were dangling from Elsa’s hand. It was worth a brief chuckle. As Elsa neared, the chuckle gave way to a not-so-brief tingle. It wasn’t the first time.
“KK advised that you should require these.” Elsa left the pink panties with its attached note atop the two other gifts. “May I pour you something wet from the bar Miss Sterling?” Her face warmed.
“Thank you Elsa.” Jane’s own wetness was still releasing into the silk lining of her not-so-new designer skirt. “An Acqua Panna would be most refreshing.” Thank god I’m wearing leather. Always pays to plan ahead, thought Jane as she enjoyed the second-best thing about KK’s Gulfstream. Elsa…
KK wouldn’t let her Miss Jane go without one last lick. Guest Services at the Mayflower would have it cleaned and returned in time for tomorrow morning’s departure. She paused to reminisce. That little one couldn’t get enough.
Earlier that morning, shortly before sunrise, Jane had to lash KK to the twin stripper poles in her stateroom and gag her, so she could get a few hours of restless sleep. But first, she really needed to visit the loo. She noticed the other gifts. “How thoughtful.”
KK had planned ahead. She’d given Elsa something with the pink panties.
A card… Pink.
Elsa set the card atop the two gift wrapped packages on the adjacent seat. Karla had loaded them with the luggage. Jane picked up the heavyweight panties.
Cotton mamas, lovely. The note pinned to them read:
I promise. Do you remember yours? Love K.
She returned KK’s thoughtful gift to the table before her. Once at altitude, she could go back, dry off, freshen up, and slip on the new armor. A few hours’ sleep on the plane’s inflatable bed and she’d be jolly-good-as-new. Good thing; she needed to be rested and ready for another go by the time she stepped off the jet.
Screw the liberal socialist bastards. This was definitely the way to travel. It wasn’t like she was going to DC to testify before Congress with her hand out, whining for money. Miss Jane Smith had been summoned to DC at the request of the US State Department. Once at the Mayflower, Mistress Sterling would have time to prepare herself and put on something more appropriate for her long-belated first meeting with the subject.
She lifted the pink envelope. On the front was scribed, Darling.
“Bloody hell I am.”
She slipped it, still unopened, into her bag. As the plane taxied out to the active, she opened the first of the two gifts. Inside, another bloody card, positioned facedown, on top of the tissue. She picked up the red envelope. That’s bloody odd. Not in the mood to read yet another declaration of love, she tossed it, still facedown, on the table. Lifting the black and pink tissue she found the gift. Smashing; more lingerie. KK! She fondled the shiny soft silk. How lovely. Someone’s in love.
Inside was a diamond-studded satin push-up bra with matching silk panties, two suspender belts, and two pair of stockings with matching lace garters. All white? Really KK! Jane never wore lace. No! And white at that. Never! Not—bridle lingerie? She felt the material—the finest, noting the bra’s size. Her heart sank. 32C? Not hardly. KK knew Miss Jane was a solid 36D. The knickers too, were also a wee bit too small. Was this KK’s idea of a rude joke?
She was about to toss the box and its priceless contents aside, when the plane lurched. The Hush-Hush embossed tissue shifted. Something else peeked out from underneath the skimpy, size four panties. She lifted the lingerie and tissue. What’s this? Several photos, all five by seven inch glossies, and wrapped with black and red tissue.
“Bloody hell—”
Dying for a Peace
December 1988
Unforeseen global events were at work, reshaping the young Miss Jane Sterling’s future. Exactly three years into her secondary education, Sir Katherine was killed. Jane would vow on Sir Katherine’s grave that cold December morning, “No matter how long it takes, this GoodKnight will get them bloody fucking bastards that done this!”
The young Cougar now had three deaths to avenge. Unfortunately, Jane wasn’t to have her retribution. Not long after the Lockerbie tragedy, the Cold War was declared over. Then, on 9 November, 1989, its greatest symbol, the Berlin Wall, toppled. Its fall exposed the prosperity of the West to the millions who hungered for freedom, only a stone’s throw beyond. Peace, unification, perestroika, and state-approved capitalism were to be the East Bloc’s post–Cold War mantras.
The mucky-mucks of both sides no longer envisioned the need for their deadliest of live weapons. Meetings were held at the highest levels. The Kremlin ordered that the purebred Tigers be euthanized. One by one, their destruction began. The Breeder, already mad, became furious. His only option was a deal with the devil. Krump intervened. A few million well-placed rubles was all it took to save the three surviving KATs from their fate. Yes, the KGB’s man-eaters would suit Krump’s needs well.
In the West: The issue of the Stilettos was handled differently. On 1 October 1990, the CIA canceled the Cougar program and with it, MI6 disavowed any involvement with the ultra secret Project Stiletto. London’s new man in charge, Sir Jack, flew in to inform Miss Christi. Blachmann Castle was to be shuttered. Everything related to Project Stiletto and the GoodKnights was to be sent to the shredder and then burned. Sir Jack was there to oversee the cleanup operation. Their only field-proven Stiletto, Cougar73-S, was to be “Mothballed.” That was the term London’s hatchet man used for what transpired.
Inside MI6 highest ranks, Sir Jack was then known as the Dollmaker’s Apprentice. Like Dollmaker, Sir Jack was also known for certain other interests. However, their unacknowledged methods had achieved the results London and Langley demanded. As such, their private proclivities were kept strictly closeted.
London had authorized a small amount of black funding to be set aside to provide for repatriating the remaining dolls, all but their highly lethal Stiletto. For one Miss Jane Sterling, MI6 and the CIA had made other plans. Repurposed: the Stiletto’s edges dulled, Jane was reconditioned for use in intel gathering and VIP honey-pot assignments. London didn’t just want their man-eater tamed. They wanted the beautiful blonde KAT domesticated. They wanted a sweet pussy that purred on command.
Right! The Stiletto’s pussy never purred for any man. Unbeknownst to Jane, Tiger69’s had. Hers purred for Papa—Tiger69’s KGB Control. Her Stiletto status revoked, Cougar73 was reactivated. Her covert operational cover would remain that of a highly skilled dominatrix.
“Take it
or leave it, kid,” said her new handler.
He called himself Uncle Pete. He was CIA. The Stiletto had worked with him once before—Berlin. That term paper was given a grade of incomplete. She didn’t care much for Uncle Pete at first, but in time he earned her trust. All the while, her public cover stayed the same. During the early 1990s, they traveled the globe doing America’s dirty work. Inside the CIA, they were very unofficially known as Rocky and Bullwinkle. Uncle Pete thought it was funny. Jane didn’t.
Cougar73 operated under the legit covers of a sometimes-fashion model and thrill-seeking ex–Olympic athlete. During their time together, they stayed engaged in clandestine intelligence gathering—all very high risk. Pete quit the CIA in late ’95. For Miss Jane Sterling, it all carried on, solo, until that dark Tuesday in September 2001. She was in New York, working an assignment. Later that same morning, while the horror was still unfolding, Cougar73 was ordered back to Blachmann Castle to await further orders. Two days later, she was unceremoniously relieved of duty and given the boot.
Blackballed!
The charge: fraternizing with the enemy. The evidence: several compromising videos provided by, sources unknown. The Cougar had been caught in her own honey-trap. Or had she?
The rubble was still smoldering when Mum asked Miss Jane to stay on and complete her formal education. She complied with Mum’s request and earned her Master’s degree in pediatric psychology. In the eight years since, the now dishonorable Dame Jane Sterling had somehow become a highly regarded pediatric psychologist to Monaco’s rich. As a teen shrink, Dame Jane charges her wealthy clients two hundred euros an hour. As a dominatrix, Mistress Sterling commands twenty thousand per day, plus travel expenses. Either way one hired her, the she came very high-end, was most exclusive, and could only be seen by way of Mum’s prior invitation.
Unofficially, to help pay the bills, Mum’s Stiletto was still called out to do the occasional “odd job” for various intelligence services around the world. These days, the now-Black KAT doesn’t take sides. Just does it for the money. At least that’s what Tiger69, aka Katrina GoodKnight, tells her other self—Dame Jane Sterling, and, Mum—the Stiletto’s Control.
Who let the KGB’s man-eater loose? Who controls the Tiger? Only Katrina knows that. And these days—not since the botched Dubai affair—she’s not talking.
Katrina’s dead. They’re all bloody dead.
Here You Are
11:39 local
“Here you are…Miss Sterling?”
Startled back to reality, Jane found a vision standing over her, spring water in hand. She dropped the ice-hot panties, covering the photos. Casually placing the open box on the table and partially obscuring the red envelope, she reached for the other gift.
Elsa watched with interest as Jane opened the fancy gift box. It contained a bottle of KK’s newest fragrance. Both laughed upon seeing its label.
Wet. They now knew what the God-awful perfume was called.
More of KK’s strange sense of logic at work.
“Everything all right Miss Sterling?” Elsa placed the glass of Italian spring water into the twenty-four-karat gold-plated cup holder by the large oval window. “You look like you could do with a nap.” She set the Panna bottle on the table and stepped aft. Behind Jane’s seat was a small three-place sofa that converted to a bed for sleeping. “I’ll prepare the rack. Just in case. Won’t take but a moment.”
From the all-too-brief look at the photo, Jane was now of the belief that it was suitable for other pleasures too. “Yes, Elsa.” She realized what KK meant last evening. Jane was the inspiration for the as-yet-unannounced fragrance she’d been wearing. “Wetter is better.” That was KK’s philosophy on life. The sea, the sand, the sex. She always planned accordingly.
The Wet kickoff was scheduled for 20 June.
From their first meeting all those years before, Jane always marveled at KK’s odd sense of humor. To the world, she might have seemed like just another spoiled naughty party girl, with a rich filthy daddy. After almost five months, Dame Jane Sterling knew better. Underneath that bubble-headed Barbie-doll persona was a brainy sweetheart of a capable woman.
She observed stealthily from behind as Elsa bent and readied, the rack. Smashing.
“We’re cleared direct Dulles. You’re in for a treat too. Herr Krump’s chief pilot, Captain Schumacher, is flying left seat today. Herr Krump insisted. Says we’re to take special care of you.” Elsa winked.
“And who is flying right seat love?” asked Jane, purposely bumping the Panna bottle, nearly spilling it into her lap.
“I will be, Miss Sterling.” Elsa beamed as she snatched the wobbly bottle from the table and bent forward to set it in a vacant cup holder. “Can’t be too careful. Don’t need you getting all wet on my account too.” She giggled.
It’s a might bit late for that love. Jane knew that giggle, and the inviting smile that lingered, all too well. “Congratulations dear Elsa. You have completed your training?” Six months ago, she would have jumped at Elsa’s offer. She always had a weakness for blonde sweets that came in tight little packages.
“Yes, Miss Sterling, I received my type rating just yesterday. Thank you for all your help these last few months. This is to be my first mission sitting up front in the cockpit.” Elsa giggled again. “That’s what the captain calls it.”
“Men. Why do they persist in calling it that? I rather prefer the term flight deck. Don’t you love?”
“Yes.” That inviting smile was back. “It’s truly an honor to have you as my first.” Elsa took note of the perfume bottle’s distinct shape. “Miss Krump mentioned that you were the model.” Elsa couldn’t help but giggle when she noticed Jane studying the specially molded glass bottle. “She told me yours was hand blown, in Herr Krump’s own factory. May I touch it?”
“Did she?” She looked down at the provocatively shaped bottle, still resting in its fancy wooden case. “Total rubbish! Mine’s much larger,” boasted Jane, before adding a sly smile. Maybe, just a taste. She stroked her favorite finger over the not-so-little solid glass bump.
“Unless—must have caught me in a relaxed state.” No reason not to have a little fun. It was a long flight. She took the glass of Panna, raising it to offer Elsa a cheer. “Here’s to your first mission keeping us moist and relaxed.” She drank. “Bit parched, I am.” She set the half-empty crystal tumbler on the table.
“I shall do my best not to arouse you more than necessary, Miss Sterling.” That short tight leather miniskirt and nearly see-through white silk top, which Krump designed himself, conspired against her. Elsa leaned forward, topped off the glass, and set it in the holder. “Not till we’re gear down and on final into Dulles.” Elsa strived to be warm and inviting but still professional. “Oh, Miss Sterling; Captain asked if someone might like to sit up front with us, in the jump seat?”
Jane first met the lovely Elsa last December, when KK returned her to France from their chance holiday meeting in Dubai. KK had begged Jane to accompany her to Berlin to meet Papa’s American guest. Elsa had promised Jane wouldn’t be sorry if she came. KK also promised her a most special gift for Christmas. Mentioned something about Elsa playing too. Much as that certain part of her wanted to, the news of that chartered Citation X exploding on takeoff had the Cougar on full alert.
The Cougar spent that Christmas alone. She woke two days later with a killer headache and, no more Katrina. No presents. Not even a card. Only the empty Old Pulteney bottle. How in the bloody hell did that get there? No more. Definitely!
KK definitely came with presents. Was Elsa one of them? Since hearing the news of the crash, KK had insisted Jane fly only on her plane and that she always take Elsa. Anytime you want, Miss Jane. Since Dubai—they now had close to two hundred hours in the air together. Why would anyone refuse such luxury?
“Not just now, thank you dear.” Jane sat back, latching her lap restraint. “Maybe the landing.” She sighed, “I’m just drained,” still admiring the distincti
vely shaped bottle of KK’s new fragrance. She didn’t think that Wet suited her disposition. She left the bottle in its elaborate case and admired her gift. She had someone else in mind for KK’s parting gift. The perfume would make a nice terribly-sorry-I-blew-you-off-today-Nina present.
Elsa reached for the love button and giggled, “From Six to—”
“Nein!” Jane slapped Wet’s lid shut.
Elsa went forward, barely restraining giggles as she entered the galley. Jane found a primal pleasure in watching the just-right tight skirt swish and sway. Elsa had left her VIP to the main benefit a fifty-million-dollar luxury jet affords—privacy.
Without breaking the seal, the old cougar once more examined the leather-wrapped wooden case. Strangely heavy. Inside its red-velvet-lined lid were instructions. They stated: The “love button” plunger is to be depressed, forcing the special concentrated scent into the base liquid contained in the bottle. Then, shake well (from six to nine minutes) and return Miss Wet to her case. Wait three hours before enjoying her. There was a separate atomizer. It needed to be pushed in, breaking her seal.
Someone was being funny.
Wet’s instructions cautioned: The effects of using ‘Wet’ would be life-altering.
Jane had more than enough potential life changes awaiting her in the States. She dropped the lid shut on someone’s fun, closing the fancy leather case, and placed it back into its pink and black cardboard gift box. Feeling the brakes, she glanced out the window. Turning onto the active.
She rechecked the lap restraint. It was still working.
Wet… really, KK—
“We’re cleared for takeoff,” Elsa’s booming voice resonated within the spacious cabin. The engines spooled up. “Strap in tight!” Her mousy giggle gone, Elsa meant business.
And rightly so. The available runway was slightly less than fifty-three hundred feet. For safety, Captain Schumacher required that Elsa demonstrate a maximum-effort takeoff. She held the brakes locked until both engines were producing 90 percent full power. Brakes released, the big jet began its gallop. Elsa added full thrust. It felt like a much-needed kick in the ass.