by C. L. Black
“Right.” Katrina sat to take a much-needed break. The stiletto doll everyone at the orphanage had called Janie who was once the KGB Hushgirl Katrina Blachmann emerged. “Papa?”
Papa’s ghost stepped aft and sat opposite in the club seating. She wasn’t little Katrina’s Papa. Sir Katherine had died in the Lockerbie bombing. Jane Sterling’s drug-ravaged Swiss cheese mind was projecting the distorted memories from thirty years before.
“You okay? Janie, is it you? I need the GoodKnight, Katrina. I need Tiger69.”
She nodded and waited. It didn’t take long before the Tiger responded, “Boris.”
“It’s Papa-Six now, remember, baby?”
“Ja.” She didn’t.
“You up for this?”
The captain’s civilian name was Kate—short for Katerina. After her elevation to the Council in 2001, Kate’s code-name was changed to Papa-Six. Kate did not possess Katrina-Jane’s gift of controlled disassociation. Nor was Kate subjected to years of undocumented sexual abuse that came with Sir Goodwin’s unauthorized use of Compound L699 while Janie was at the orphanage. Compound L699’s true magic only worked on the gifted few. Until their plastic surgery mandated in the wake of 9/11, it was Kate and not Katrina who could have been a younger Sir Katherine’s double. She removed the brown contacts, Kate’s eyes still held enough of Papa’s soul to retake control of Sir Goodwin’s stiletto doll.
“Meow.” Katrina smiled like her old self.
“Easy, baby; I’m a married woman. Remember?”
“Ja. I keep forgetting.” Paris… She began to drift.
Kate switched to German. “Hey, baby; what you been up too since last time?”
Tiger69 switched on. “Me? Not much. Killing time, mostly. You?”
“London wants you euthanized.”
“Mama said we had until the twentieth.”
“Plan’s been changed. It’s this week. Sorry, baby.”
“Ja, me too. Thanks for not killing me in Dubai."
“You’re welcome. Thanks for not dying at the track.”
“Ja, nice shot. Thought you retired.”
Kate didn’t respond.
Katrina switched back to English Jane. “Thanks much for letting us visit with our kitten.” Dame Jane Sterling was back on horseback enjoying a wonderful Sunday with their daughter. “She’s almost grown. Can’t believe you married him.”
Kate stayed silent.
Jane didn’t know her daughter’s true birthday; only that Katrina was the birth-mother. Jane had given their little princess up to Boris, two weeks before her first birthday—that rainy winter night atop the iron lady in 1993.
“Paris wasn’t your fault, Jane.” Kate reached for the CAO. “Neither was New York.”
“Right, that’s what I told her. So it’s this week then? I’d hoped we’d be at the party. Do tell our princess Mistress Sterling is sorry we couldn’t return.”
“I will. But first—Papa needs her Mata Hari for one last assignment. Promise.”
Katrina returned and said, “Pete says Sir Goody’s been a bad boy. What did Jack do?”
“Jack? She hijacked Papa’s identity and worse—”
“Wet! My Jacqueline?” Jane Smith was back. “And the three pigs?”
“They helped themselves to more than KK’s vodka.” Kate managed a lukewarm smile. “You owe me for that one by the way. You do love her, don’t you, Jane?”
Katrina interrupted. “She can’t say.”
“I was talking to Jane.”
“Fine.”
A moment later, a more somber Jane returned. “Will I remember her?”
“Do you want to?” Kate got up and went forward.
“Maybe a little.” KK…
“It’s better this way.” Kate’s words sounded hollow as she returned with a glass of water.
Katrina spotted, the pills. “Is it! For who? Me and Jane, or, you and Peter?” Someone was angry.
“Doctor Sam’s orders.” Kate handed the glass with the pills. “They’ll make you better.”
She downed them all. “Can I be black this time?” She sounded childlike. “Please, Papa?”
“Good girl. Now get some sleep baby. We got a long ride ahead.”
Thirty minutes later, Kate went aft to check on Katrina. The powerful sedative hadn’t taken effect. She was cold, shaking, and mumbling, lost deep in the delirium of Janie’s traumatic childhood. Kate sat and held Papa’s little GoodKnight tight and safe from the monster until it was time to change planes. Krump One was already fueled and waiting at the abandoned U.S. Naval Air Station at Keflavik, Iceland. The monster’s trap had been set.
Vanilla?
The Panty Parlor, Tuesday, 9 June, 11:03 local
Miss Christi had won a small victory—trust. Catherine’s other self was out and she wanted answers.
Vanilla? “What do you mean, sexologist?” The kitten found herself smiling. “Make mine three scoops with hot fudge and lots of cream.” She laughed and finished her tea. Miss Christi’s is empty too. Is that a tear in her eye? She knelt before the coffee table and smiled. “A splash of milk and two lumps, then pour the tea.” She had been watching, and listening. MK rejoined her sexologist on the sofa.
“Thank you, dear. Mmmm, most delish. Where were we?”
“Sex—ologist.”
“Yes. Sexology is simply the study of human sexuality. Most everyone has sexual needs that go beyond having sex only to reproduce. When it comes to sex, no two people have exactly the same needs and wants. Everyone’s different.”
“Even twins?”
“Especially twins.” Miss Christi smiled. “Some need so little; others can’t get enough. Some like theirs plain vanilla, while others must try all the flavors. Some like it soft, others need it hard. Then there are all the various toppings to consider. Do you have any other fetishes?”
“What?”
“Come now, dear. There’s really no limit you know. Not when it comes to each individual person’s taste in sex. Just like ice cream. At least that’s what I’ve come to realize after many years of study in the field of human sexuality.”
“What does sex have to do with ice cream?” Catherine appeared puzzled as she tried to comprehend the metaphor. “So sex is like ice cream?”
“Yes, my dear MK, that’s just what I mean. Ever noticed how everyone has a favorite ice cream treat? And how they feel when they get it exactly the way they like it?”
“Yeah! Creamy French vanilla with lots of hot fudge and whipped cream. It’s heaven.”
“Sounds delish, my dear. That’s right. Yes, they’re in their personal paradise.”
“When do I get to—” Catherine paused. MK didn’t. “You know, have some?”
“Exactly, my dear. Ice cream is just like sex.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Why doesn’t she like me?
“Ever tried a flavor you didn’t like?”
“Yeah, once. Rocky Road. It wicked sucked! I so hate nuts.”
“Not what I meant, my dear.”
“Oh… No, not really. Bet it’s no fun, though.”
“Definitely not. When it comes to sex, no one wants to eat what they don’t like. It can be a living hell when it’s not your flavor or not served the way you like it; too much, too little, the wrong time, the wrong setting, the wrong person or persons. Everyone has a different view of who, what, when, and how much is right or wrong for them. For most, good is good. But for some, bad is better. Do you understand, dear?”
“Never thought of it like that. I just thought I was some fucked-up freak of nature.”
“Not at all, my dear. I certainly don’t think that. You’re as normal as anyone else.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“I do.” Miss Christi placed her cup on the table and motioned for her kitten to do the same. She opened her arms. They embraced for a long, loving hug. “Well my dear, I think we’ve had enough sharing for today. Don’t you?” Miss Christi rose from the sofa to make her e
xit.
“Miss Christi? Um, May I be allowed some, private time?” Catherine’s eyes glided around the Panty Parlor. Maybe all the pink wasn’t so bad after all. The soft white leather was so inviting, and its intoxicating scent continued to ply its magic on her good senses.
“Yes, my dear. You’ve earned your kitten a little reward. Please wait here when you’re finished. It will be lunch time soon. Oh, just one more question dear. When did you first receive the perfume?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
“Interesting. Do you know what it’s called?”
“No. My mom’s friend—” didn’t tell me.
“That’s quite alright, my dear. I already know from whom it came. You stay. I’ll be back in a moment.” Miss Christi left quickly through the secret stairway. She needed to reach Peter and Lady Jacqueline before it was too late.
For the first time, Catherine had told someone of MK’s dark desires. She felt sick. All the same it was a relief. She settled back into the soft leather’s seduction and took in the view. The Academy’s time proven methods were working. She had opened up, revealing her true self. Someone she had, until now, worked so hard to keep hidden, especially from her mom and dad. My mom! You told her it was my mom.
Those reckless thoughts had been racing around that head for too long. Was it really worth the toll it had taken on their relationship? Those strange thoughts returned; thoughts that involved, the mysterious Arab woman meeting with that slut bitch senator and my mom. She sensed the woman in the portrait was watching. That night… her eyes! She had the same eyes as my mom. No way! It was Superbitch. The mysterious rubbery visitor from Valentine’s night returned and engulfed her. Ah, ooh … “That’s my sweet little—”
“Kitten? Need any help?”
“What-the—” Catherine’s eyes opened. “Oh, it’s you.”
Giselle was standing by Miss Christi’s desk. She’d come from the sewing room.
Catherine looked up then down to find her dress up and both hands deep in vinyl. “Shit!” Busted… This time she didn’t remove them. Someone else caught her attention. “Oh! Hi, sweetie. I didn’t hear you knock. Come here at once, you naughty little girl.”
“Pardon Miss Katrina,” Maria giggled, standing by the open pocket doors holding a tray with lunch.
Giselle said, “Do you want to see the new dress I’m working on for this weekend?”
“Maybe after.” Catherine smiled invitingly and said, “Please, set it there, Maria.”
Maria tiptoed over in her seven-inch ballet boots. Giving another display of grace under adversity, she bent only at her waist and positioned the tray centered on the coffee table. Hands still on the tray, she held the pose.
Giselle continued, “You’re going to like it. Mommy G used loads of zippers.”
“Already do. Ah, yeah, but, not now. Okay?”
“Dani’s probably watching too, you know.”
Hope so. Now, that’s one fine piece of—Crap! Busted again. Catherine stayed locked on.
Giselle waited while she finished inspecting Maria’s bottom, legs, and bottom.
With no hint of imbalance, Maria looked over her shoulder and said, “You finni, Miss Katrina? Permettez-moi de vous servir les repas belle Mama qui vous a fait.”
“Oui, Maria. Please come sit with Miss Katrina, sweetie.”
“That will be all, Maria.” Mommy G had put her foot down. The French lesson would have to wait.
Catherine was starving. Sharing sure could make a girl hungry. The kitten Kat had progressed; now at ease with the bizarre nature of her indoctrination into the Academy. She found her Mommy G could be more than a bit amusing. As long as she wore the stupid pink vinyl and didn’t piss her off.
“Drink your milk, young lady.” Mommy Dearest waited until she’d downed the last drop. “That’s our girl,” then proudly sang out, “Nappy time.”
“Goody, I’m beat.”
“Yes. Mommy is too. Let’s go, Miss Katrina.”
Game Time
Aboard Krump One at RAF Brize Norton, UK, 17:23 GMT
Katrina woke in the king bed well rested from the second leg of their journey to find a third KAT ready for action. The one-armed doll that lay by her side still wore her white rubber well. Jane needed a minute in the loo. She returned—still nauseous, but carried on. This was one rubber monster ball neither KAT planned on missing.
Kate was holding a black latex KAT suit. “He’s expecting a two on two. I believe you’re already acquainted with his new Petra doll.”
Katrina answered, “Have you been spying on someone?”
Kate said, “The Petra doll is off limits. Lucy too. Only Jack and Karla. Understand?”
“Affirmative. What about Sir Goody?”
“Sorry, baby, he’s protected. Council’s orders.” Kate’s voice rose. “Is that understood, Six and Nine?”
Katrina growled then nodded, affirmative. Her eyes brightened, then came a sweet smile. The little girl had returned. She said, “Ja, Papa.”
“Good girl, let’s help get Papa’s boots ready.”
“Dreamy sleep in the left. Forever sleep in the right.” Katrina seized up.
“Yes, sweetie.” Kate was sure that Katrina was losing herself in the past. “Hey, you okay?” Kate shook her aggressively.
“What? Papa?” Her words still had a childlike quality to them.
Kate removed her boots from their case then removed both heels. Inside each was a compartment containing an apparatus for injecting the drugs. The stiletto prick was always the KAT’s weapon of choice for a clandestine assassination. Kate loaded the right with a lethal dose of Midazolam. Katrina loaded the left with a much lower dose—the same fast-acting hypnotic used on Agent Daniels.
“All done, Papa.”
“Good girl.” Kate helped Katrina into her dress and fixed her face and hair. It was just like old times. Except—both knew it wasn’t. “Time for your go pill, baby.”
Her go pill contained a powerful stimulant. Doctor Resnik had concocted the experimental compound herself to counter the effects of Katrina’s L699 addiction. At best, the drug would help her regain control of the gift and hold the hallucinations at bay for a few hours. At worst? Kate tried not to think about that. Either way, if need be, Papa-Six was prepared to execute Katrina’s unacknowledged assignment herself. The senator was there only to observe and report her findings back to the Council.
Right… And maybe for some payback.
The London Affair
Papa’s flat, London, 18:55 GMT
Katrina GoodKnight entered the flat cloaked in black silk. “Jacqueline darling, I’ve come back, my love.”
“Have you?” Jack sounded only a little surprised. “Miss Christi phoned. So, you finally had enough of the little slut, have you?”
KK… “Yes, darling. I’m so terribly sorry. I went off my meds. Shall you ever forgive us? Please darling.” Ms. Jane Smith emerged from the cloak. “I’ve brought a gift.” Jane opened the box. A heart-shaped candy dish. “Hundred percent sterling. From Tiffany’s, my love. Mum helped us pick it out.”
Jacqueline gave her estranged lover a long, cold look. Satisfied, she turned to the dish. The inscription read: Eternally yours, 9 June, 2009. Her eyes lifted. “Back on your meds, you say?”
“Yes, love.” Jane removed a pill bottle from the Louis Vuitton. “See. Mum’s set us right. I’m so sorry we disappointed you. Was she very bad to you this time?”
“Yes,” pouted Jacqueline. She quickly warmed and opened her arms. “Come to Papa my darling. I’ve missed you terribly.” She embraced her long-time lover warmly, but the kiss to Jane’s cheek lacked her true affections. Jacqueline stepped back and said, “Your hair? Come now, Jane darling. Aren’t we getting a little old for that color? And that mini dress, and those bloody old boots? Did that little slut daughter of mine give you those?”
Katrina checked the mirror. “Right.” The hair… “Perhaps.” Everything looked right except the face. That
face wasn’t hers. “Now shut it and kiss me, darling.” She pulled, the Primary, tight and gave Jane’s Smith’s lover one to last a lifetime.
“Oh my darling, it really is you?” Jacqueline opened her eyes. “You—”
“Sorry we missed each other in Dubai, Jack.”
Jacqueline tasted. “Katrina.” Her lips went numb. She went stiff. A rush of adrenaline belted her brain into overdrive. Heart pounding, body and soul pulled back—too late. She was locked in the Black KATs death hug. Her increased heart rate only made the lipstick’s hypnotic effect come quicker. “Bittersweet; it being you, they sent.” The words slowed to a drip. “Strawberry…”
“Always was Papa’s favorite. Please sit, love. It needn’t hurt.”
Jacqueline knew the real Jane, Katrina the GoodKnight of Blachmann, was about to go down on her for the last time. Already dreamy, she settled into Papa’s favorite recliner. Ms. Jane Smith and the Lady Jacqueline had shared Sir Katherine’s old London flat, on and off for nearly a decade. Death was coming—giving in. Those lips had done their part. Lady Jack’s eyes revealed a brief panic. A calming bliss soon overwhelmed her anxiety. “I did, love you—her, you know.” The makeup was losing its grip. She gazed into her executioner’s eyes, beckoning them to the dining area. Since receiving Miss Christi’s call, Jacqueline had spent hours preparing for her Jane’s return.
Jane Smith did return, to see the table set for two. But that was all she saw. Two candles burned—must’ve waited till we landed to light them. Their best China. The champagne, chilling in that sterling ice bucket, a gift from Sir Goodwin on their first anniversary. The ice was only slightly wet. KK…
Katrina refocused. “Yes love, your Jane told me everything. As did Sarah.”
“He’s my father.” Jacqueline’s anger was brief. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“Yes darling, go to sleep. Simon says.”
“Forev—”
“Yes, love, forever.” The kill hand reached for the neck. Pulse—slow, eyes—dilated, breathing—slowed. From the pill bottle, Katrina removed the ampoule of, Forever. She readied the syringe and placed it in Jack’s glove. The dosage was enough to kill ten. The injection was direct into the chest. The death scene was to be staged—a love-lost suicide. She checked Jane’s watch. Ten past nine. It gave her pause. Jack had given it to her for last Valentines. Katrina remembered: We’d been in DC that night. I can’t remember, why. I must ask Mum, someday. She felt a strange sadness. You’ve never been on one subject this long. Jane let go of the lifeless hand. Still—Katrina felt something. It was Jane reaching for a tissue… Bloody hell. She allowed Jane a few minutes to be alone in her grief.