by Eddy Shah
'From now on, you are to work directly to the two of us. I don't want it discussed with anyone, it's the only way we'll get to the bottom of this. Nobody is to be trusted. Understood?'
'Yes sir.' Tucker decided to cover his back. 'We've already brought a dissemination expert in from California. She knows as much as I do.'
'She cleared,' interrupted the DDA. 'Any progress there?'
'No, not yet.'
'Okay. The following information is for your ears only.' The DDI then proceeded to tell Tucker about the attempt on Trimmler's life, about his importance and how he was to be protected. Tucker nodded, as if hearing it for the first time. Over his shoulder he could feel Carter's eyes piercing into the back of his head. When the DDI had finished, and had not mentioned the episode with Trimmler's daughter, Tucker spoke.
'You think this is all tied up?'
'We don't know. But we sure as hell aren't taking any fucking chances.'
'Our first task is to identify and wipe out the virus,' said the DDA.
'We're pushing ahead with that,' replied Tucker. 'But there's no guarantees.'
'Understood. We also need to consider three other factors. I would like your ideas, on paper, by tomorrow.'
'Bang goes Christmas,' thought Tucker.
''First, we need to protect Trimmler. Just in case he is a target. He's at Mirimar right now. Living in the officers' quarters. He's not too happy about that. We need someone to liaise with him. No high fliers, just someone who can respond quickly. Can California take it?'
'I'm sure she can.' responded Tucker.
'Any field experience ?' interjected the DDI.
'No, sir.'
'We need someone with field experience. Gotta have that.'
'Everyone with field experience is on the computer.'
'Let's cross that bridge when we come to it.' returned the DDA. He brought them back to his own priorities. 'Second, we need to identify and then protect our asset base. Third, we need to come up with any ideas as to why this is going on. We don't have much to go on, but let's make a start on it.' He stood up, the DDI following. 'Tomorrow evening, seven o' clock sharp. At my house.' At least the DDA wasn't going to miss Christmas.
'If something comes up, who do I report to?' asked Tucker, hoping it wasn't Carter.
'To me,' snapped the DDA. 'Communications comes under my brief. If you can't contact me, then go directly to the DDI. Mr Carter is along to represent Internal Security.'
When they had left, Tucker spoke. 'You didn't have a lot to say.'
'Damn right,' replied Carter. 'This one's for the losers. It's your fucking computer. You sort it out.'
After he had gone, Tucker sat still, nervously working out what he was going to tell Jean and the children. Sorry kids, but it's only Santa and the CIA who work on Christmas Day. Even the President gets the day off.
Ch. 12
Hyatt Regency Hotel
Washington.
The girl with the large black attache case walked through the lobby, her striking dark looks attracting envious glances.
She was oblivious to the attention, it was something she was used to, as most really beautiful women are. In her mid twenties, Mary Monicker wasn't just your every day hooker. She worked for the most exclusive escort agency in Washington, her clientele carefully screened and consisting of the most powerful diplomats and government officials, elected or otherwise, in that capital city.
Dressed in a smart, dark grey, business suit over a high collared cream blouse, Mary looked like any other personal assistant or junior executive on her way to an important meeting. Her carriage, conservative and poised, was not one which encouraged men to approach her. Neither did the large, brutish gentleman in a black suit who walked beside her. It was her driver, her minder, the man who got the papers signed.
Upstairs, in a corner suite on the ninth floor, Philip Nowak, Special Assistant to the Secretary of State with responsibilities for European Security, poured himself a drink. Behind him, looking out of the window, already with a scotch and soda in his hand, Dimitri Sorge, Deputy Military Attache at the Russian Embassy, looked out on the street below.
'A lot of traffic for Christmas Eve, don't you think?'
'Busy time in Washington. All those bachelor boys and girls with no homes to go to. Party time for middle management.' Nowak joined Sorge at the window. 'What's so important, Dimi, that's got me away from my family on Christmas Eve?'
'I must apologise for my timing,' replied Sorge, turning away from the window and coming deeper into the room. 'But as you know, when our masters call, we must react immediately.'
Nowak nodded and grinned. He knew Sorge's orders came directly from the top echelons of the KGB, just as Sorge knew that Nowak reported directly to the Executive Director of the CIA. Knowing where the other stood made life easier for both of them. They were the direct link between the two security agencies, the failsafe contact that allowed the Directors of each agency to communicate with one another when all else failed. Nowak and Sorge had known each other for over ten years, had seen the Cold War thaw, the Berlin Wall crumble and the rich promises of perestroika start to be fulfilled. Their loyalties lay with their individual agencies, but their friendship was as firm as could be expected under the circumstances.
‘Your people are in one the loop alreadt?' asked Sorge.
'Of course.' Nowak had reported back to the CIA Executive Director and been surprised when he was summoned immediately to Langley for a meeting. After the briefing he was told to listen to what Sorge said and then only to engage in further discussion if the content of the Russian's interchange was similar to his own.
'You know why I want this meeting?'
Nowak chuckled to himself. It was typical of Dimi to call a meeting and then play dumb in an attempt to find out how much the American knew. No wonder they made great chess players.
'No,' he replied.
'My people want to know if you are about to renew hostilities between our two countries.'
'What on earth for?' Nowak was genuinely surprised by the question.
'That is what we would like to know.'
'Come on, Dimi. Nobody wants to go back to how it was. You must have a reason for saying that.'
There was a knock on the door.
'Ah!' said Sorge. 'The evening's entertainment, I hope.'
He crossed the living area to the door and opened it. Mary Monicker stood there, her escort beside her. 'Good. You've arrived.' He stood back as they entered the room, closed the door behind them.
'Not on Christmas Eve?' exclaimed Nowak, a big grin spreading across his face.
'What better time. I thought it's when you Christians give presents.'
'Are you Mister Sorge?' asked the escort.
'Yes.'
'I need your signature,' the escort continued, taking a carbonised sheet of printed paper out of his top pocket. 'Under the laws of this state, prostitution is illegal and carries heavy fines and a possible jail sentence. Our escorts are here simply to keep you company. No suggestion of sex, either for money or not, is to be made by you. The charge for this service is $150 an hour. There will be an additional charge of $150 per hour, or part of, for any extension of your companion's time. To make sure everything's to your satisfaction, and to ours, your escort will be required to ring in on the hour. As well as cash, payment can be made with American Express, Visa, Master Card or Diner's Club. If you agree to these terms, just sign this contract for an evening's companionship.'
'No sex?'
'No sex.' The escort ignored the grin on Sorge's face and took a pen from his top pocket. 'That's a fact.'
Sorge shrugged and reached over, signed the paper where indicated.
'Thank you,' said the escort, handing Sorge a copy of the agreement and pocketing the original. 'Have a nice day. Merry Christmas.' He turned and left the suite.
'Hello, Mary,' said Sorge.
'Dimi,' she acknowledged, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek.
'Hi, Phil.'
'Mary,' Nowak replied.
'The usual terms?' Mary turned her attention back to Sorge.
'Of course.'
'Well, you guys finish your little talk. I'll just go and freshen up.'
The two men watched her walk into the bedroom before Sorge went and poured himself another drink. Nowak sat in the armchair facing the bedroom and watched Mary put her attache case on the bed before opening it. Sorge came and sat opposite him on the sofa.
'Is she safe?'
'These girls hear more classified information than the KGB and CIA together. They earn too much to risk talking about what they pick up. Their jobs depend on them being safe.'
'So why the meeting?'
'As we both know, perestroika has left many loose ends. It's no secret that we both have sleeper agents, all over the world. We have more than you, but that is only because you decided under President Carter to concentrate on satellite and aerial surveillance. Even if you've stopped spying on us, the satellites remain in position. It only takes a second to switch a camera back on. Our spies are on the ground. Europe, Africa, we have representation in most areas. Like you, we don't use them, but they're there...in case.'
‘Even used it to our mutual advantage.' They both knew Nowak referred to the Iraq Gulf Crisis.
'One of our sleepers has been taken out. In the last few weeks.'
'What?' Nowak unwittingly showed his surprise. It was not what he had expected, not what Langley had briefed him on.
'That's right. I won't say where, but it was definitely assassination.'
'How do you know?'
'The methods used were KGB style killing from the 1950's.'
'What method is that?'
'It's not relevant.'
'And you want to know if we're involved?'
'Obviously. 'Are you?'
'No. Not that I know of.'
'Will you help us?'
'I would think so. But that isn't my decision. Are you asking for assistance?'
'Not my decision either. I was simply told to open a dialogue between us.'
'Okay. I'll pass that on. Come on, Dimi. There's more, isn't there.'
'Of course. Your people rushed one of your scientists out of Cannes the other day. A black peddler started shooting at a group he was with.'
'That's right. We thought he might be in danger.' Nowak leant back and looked into the bedroom. The lights had gone out and there was a light flickering on the bedroom wall. There was no sign of the girl, but he heard a tap running. She must be in the bathroom.
He decided to cross the line.
'I was called to a meeting at Langley before I came here,' he said. 'Just me and the Exec. Director. We've also lost two of our operatives. Like you, in the last two weeks. One of them was only yesterday.'
‘We know.’
‘What?'
‘But we aren’t responsible.'
‘Prove it.'
'You had one of your scientists nearly killed in Cannes.’
‘So. We haven’t lay that at your door. Yet. Should I be getting concerned?’
‘We know the same method was used in Cannes as that which took out our sleeper. We’re not sure who the target was' Sorge stated flatly.'
'No shit?' Nowak blurted out disbelievingly.
'Why should I lie?'
'Fuck it, Dimi. The guy used a shotgun..
'He didn't. The Kraut was already dead. Before he was shot. The French pathologist didn’t check beyond the shotgun wounds. But we found a weapon nearby that we believe caused cyanide poison to cause death,'
'It doesn't make sense. Except that our people are convinced that they were after the scientist. You sure he was dead before he got hit ?'
'As I said, it was a tried and tested KGB procedure.'
'So why tell us ?'
'Because our hands are clean. Because someone's taking us both on.’
'Hi, boys,' Mary appeared at the bedroom door. 'Look what Santa's brought you.
They both looked in her direction, saw her standing there in a red, fur lined top that barely covered her firm breasts, pushed out by the white lace bra that clasped together at the front. She wore no panties or G string, only a Father Christmas false white beard that covered her most private part. Long suspender straps stretched down her thighs and fastened to sheer dark tan stockings.
It was definitely a conversation stopper.
'So. Do you boys want to fuck or do you want to make love?' she went on.
'What's the difference?' asked Nowak.
'Three hundred dollars or five hundred dollars.'
The two men laughed at her bawdiness and Sorge stood up.
'Let's talk in the bedroom,' he said.
The girl turned on her five inch red stiletto heels and went into the bedroom, the two men following her.
The lights were off and five slim candles in small red glass containers now flickered, lighting the room. The attache case stood open on the floor, empty, its contents laid regimentally on the dressing table.
There were two whips, one with delicate leather thongs no more than ten inches long, the other much more brutal which Indiana Jones would have been proud to own. Next to these were a selection of dildos. The smallest was narrow, no more than three inches long, hard plastic and rough surfaced. The largest was what could only be described as an implement, smooth and pliable rubber over fourteen inches long and with a large penis shaped head at each end. The three that lay between them were of various shapes and sizes, it was a selection to satisfy all demands. There was also a variety of rubber underwear, men's leather briefs and a selection of pornographic photographs.
Mary swirled round, letting them enjoy her body, and envisage what was coming. She was in her element, a long way from the demure professional executive who had walked through the hotel lobby some fifteen minutes earlier.
Nowak walked over, picked up the smallest flesh coloured dildo and held it up towards her. ' Bit out of its league, isn't it?'
Mary laughed and took it from him.
'Sit down, boys,' she purred. 'Show time.'
The two men sat, Sorge on the only chair in the room, Nowak on the edge of the dressing table. He picked up the photographs and started to leaf through them as she climbed onto the bed, rolling over onto her back so that she faced them, her legs splayed, visions of depravity opening before them. She slipped the beard off and then started to slowly rub her opening, turning her warmth and dryness to wetness. They heard the sound of her fingers caressing her juices, saw her smiling face taunting them.
Once she had moistened herself, she slipped the little dildo into herself, probed her inner flesh with short sharp jabs. Then, she pulled it out and licked it, rolling it with her lips. Finally she put it between her legs and slipped it into her other entrance, the hell to her frontal heaven.
Sorge unzipped his trousers and, pulling his hardness out of the shelter of his clothing, started to stroke himself. Nowak said nothing, just looked at her as he put the photos back on the table.
'Look at it, boys. Look at it,' she commanded, enjoying the power she knew she excited in them, urging them on as she rotated her hips invitingly at them.
'You ever do it for nothing, honey?' asked Nowak, his eyes transfixed by heaven and hell splayed before him.
She laughed, safe in the knowledge that these two tricks were good for the price. 'Once had a boy, no more than eighteen, who got me into his hotel room. Keep looking, you bastard,' she swore at Sorge, who had looked away from her openness to her face as she spoke. He went back to watch her seduce her own flesh. 'You just keep your eyes down there, baby, you keep your eyes on the action. That boy only had twenty dollars. Twenty fucking dollars, that's all. I told him I'd have the twenty, but only stroke him for it. But when he took his pants off, wow, when I saw what he had. He was big, something else. Well, I just had to have that thing in me, boys. Just had to. And did he go. Eighteen y
ears old and the biggest cock I ever saw. After that, I just couldn't bring myself to...he saved himself twenty bucks. Boys, if you want my best, it's going to be worth every penny. Now just keep looking, just keep your heads thinking.'
Nowak stood up suddenly and climbed onto the bed, lying flat, his head between her open legs, only inches from her.
'Keep looking, boy. Keep looking.'
Sorge leant forward in his chair, saw Nowak's head move sharply forward, saw it bob up and down as he manipulated his tongue into her; first by sliding it in long deep strokes up and down her valley, then rubbing his nose and full mouth into her wetness, washing his face with her juices, licking at her until she started to respond as he wanted, not as a $500 dollar an hour hooker, but as a woman. No eighteen year old boy was going to outdo Nowak. She moved sharply, bringing her legs upwards as she released the small dildo that she had inserted into her rear, grabbing the top of his head with her hands and pulling his face deeper into her. He stopped licking as he sensed her urgency, now jabbed at her small mound of heaven, probed that pointed peak that was hard and sharp under his tongue.
'Don't stop,' she ordered Nowak, her voice low and deep in her hunger. 'For fuck's sake, don't stop. Don't stop.'
Sorge watched them, watched his friend's head bobbing up and down between Mary's wide stretched legs, watched her arched body as this sudden unexpected passion absorbed her, saw the whore scream and release all over his friend's mouth and tongue. As her body suddenly went limp, as her legs straightened and collapsed back on the bed, Nowak looked up at her, then turned and grinned at Sorge.
'Yankee know how,' he said, pushing himself up so he was now kneeling between her legs.
'The Najinsky of cunningulus,' Sorge joked back.
'Wow!' said Mary, turning her head to Sorge. 'What's he like when he takes his clothes off?'