“Where are you right now?” Miller said.
“Athens.” Stone told him the name of his hotel.
“I’ll be there personally in forty-eight hours.”
Stone ended the call. He’d heed to have the cash transferred, but there would be plenty of time for that.
He’d also have some time to scout the target a little and answer some of his questions about what he might face when the shooting started.
Jafar el-Gad dropped ice cubes into two glasses and poured brandy over the ice.
He crossed the wide living room to the couch where Miska Mooda sat with her long legs crossed and one arm on the back of the couch. She watched him with tired eyes and accepted one of the glasses.
“I’m getting tired of the casino, Jafar,” she said.
He eased onto the couch next to her. The leather cushion hissed with his weight. The room was well-appointed and clean but lifeless. Nobody lived here regularly. The house was there specifically for people like him who needed to be missing from normal operating areas, but the carpet was thick, the beds were soft, and he didn’t mind if his superiors wanted him “missing” for a lot longer.
“I need to win back my money,” he said.
She laughed and swallowed some brandy. “You’ll never win your money back. You’re a lousy poker player.”
He frowned. Then he shrugged. “You’re probably right.”
“One more night,” she said, “and then we find something else to do.”
“It’s safe there.”
“It’s safe all over here,” Miska said.
He looked past her at nothing.
“What’s wrong?”
“They got close.”
“But we beat them.”
“We didn’t kill them.”
“It was typical Mossad,” she said. “They’ll go try to kill somebody else now. You’re off the list for a while.”
“You just want to get back to the fight.”
“I’m bored. How much longer?”
“I check in day after tomorrow. We’ll see what the boss says.”
“Tell him your boss says we need to go home.” She grinned. They’d met during an operation in Iraq, where the PLO sent several teams to target U.S. forces in what the leadership called “live training exercises”. El-Gad led the teams, his men perfecting some of the bomb-making techniques he’d developed. He and Miska had a lot in common, including the loss of family due to Israeli missile attacks on PLO strongholds.
“How would my boss like to spend the rest of the evening, remembering that our two guards are also in the house?”
“Well,” she said, setting the glass on the coffee table in front of them and crawling across the couch to him. Her spaghetti-strap top fell open a little.
“I think I’d like to place a bet.”
Her heat enveloped him. He met her gaze without blinking.
“What kind of bet?”
“Take a guess.”
“You’re going to suck my cock.”
“Aren’t you a genius?”
Miska was the best pole smoker el-Gad had ever experienced, and as she deftly unzipped his fly and opened the trap of his boxers to give his one-eyed snake some air, he couldn’t wait to experience her expertise once again.
She blew her hot breath over the tip of his pulsing penis. It twitched in response. She had one hand wrapped around the shaft and started slowly stroking. She licked it all over and stroked some more. She kept up the slow easy strokes until her lips formed an “O” and then she put the cock in her mouth. She sucked slowly, pulled it deep into her mouth, out again, licked from balls to tip. She just sucked until she had about half of his cock in her throat and then bobbed her head up and down.
El-Gad groaned. “Careful, baby.”
She didn’t stop. She kept bobbing and licking and sucking. El-Gad couldn’t hold back. He let go with a grunt and blasted a thick clump of jizz down her throat. She slowed down and then wiped the spatter off her chin before licking her finger clean. They were both sweating and breathing as if they’d just finished a race. Miska stood up and dropped her slacks. They fell from her wide hips to puddle at her feet, and her panties dropped as well with a quick flick of her thumbs. She left her top on, her pushed-up breasts thrusting against the thin fabric. She reached between her legs to finger the slit between her pussy lips and bit her lower lip as she stared hungrily at the man on the couch.
She straddled and stroked his dick until it thickened again and guided it into her wet whisker biscuit. They both gasped and sighed as she started slowly riding up and down, letting every inch push in and pull out. Her snatch constricted around el-Gad’s dick continuously.
El-Gad reached under her top to fondle the bra-enclosed breasts, squeezing gently as Miska continued riding him. He grunted and thrust deeper into her, the mix of heat and moisture from her love tunnel stimulating him more and more, and presently Miska screamed and fell onto his chest, her body twitching. El-Gad wasn’t sure if it was pain or pleasure or both. But he sure liked the feeling. He smacked her bottom and told her it was too soon to stop.
She didn’t argue.
Stone watched the house the next night, lying flat in the forest about fifty yards away, close enough so that he could observe without needing binoculars.
The guards didn’t patrol the area. They stayed inside, maybe walked around the house now and then. El-Gad and the Mooda woman mostly remained in the house as well. They didn’t all leave until evening, and Stone knew their destination was, once again, the casino. His mind started modifying his plan. If he could be in position the next night, when he had the gear Miller was bringing, he could take out the car and everybody in it and not break a sweat.
Miller arrived the next afternoon with a trunk full of the requested items. A black combat suit, matching boots and face paint. An M-4 carbine with an M-204 grenade launcher attached under the barrel, which could fire high-explosive, buckshot, or gas shells. Miller brought one of each, but Stone wished he’d brought more of the high-explosive. Ammunition for the P-225A1 pistol. Night vision goggles rounded out the kit. He paid Miller and set about inspecting the gear and trying on the boots.
The following night, loaded for bear and blending with the forest shadows, Stone watched the house and cursed.
El-Gad and his crew didn’t appear to be going anywhere.
One of the guards took the car and was gone about forty minutes, returning with two bags worth of take-away food. El-Gad must have become tired of losing at poker, and now Stone had to shift back to his original plan. He changed positions, moving to a position twenty-five yards behind the house. He watched them through the rear windows, which allowed a view of the kitchen and part of the dining room. They all sat at the table and dished out the food, el-Gad and one guard visible, Miska Mooda and the other guard out of sight. Stone fed a high-explosive round into the M-203 and tucked the rifle stock into his shoulder.
He flicked the selector switch to full-auto and tightened his index finger on the trigger. The M-4 spat flame, it’s low recoil barely registering, the muzzle rising only a little. The salvo shattered the back window, creating an opening for the high-explosive projectile. Stone moved his trigger finger to the M-203 and the charge launched with a thump and a harder kick. Stone watched the grenade sail through the open window, the occupants inside already reacting, somebody letting out a yell as the shell continued through the dining room and passed through into the next room. Stone cursed as the explosion rocked the house, a ball of flame consuming the other room and blasting chunks of wall into the dining room. He bolted from cover, banging his head on a low branch, and ran for the fence, easily vaulting over and landing on the soft grass opposite. Somebody was at the window firing single shots, the rounds splitting the air around Stone, smacking into the grass. He fired the M-4 on the run, spraying rounds every which way, the gunman dropping for cover.
Stone blasted the patio door, ducking through, feeling part of his blacksuit tear
on a sharp piece of glass still in the doorframe. He pivoted right, firing into the kitchen, the gunman hiding on the floor rocking with hits and spraying blood over the countertop. El-Gad fired from around the corner, Stone firing back, tearing chunks out of the wall. El-Gad didn’t fall. Stone dropped the empty mag and slammed in another as he advanced, carefully crossing the kitchen floor, firing blindly into the dining room. He saw two bodies on the floor, the other guard and the woman, their corpses ripped open from the high-explosive blast. El-Gad grunted, letting out a cry of pain as Stone moved around the first guard he shot and stepped into the dining room.
A jagged piece of wood stuck out of el-Gad’s back. Part of the table. Pain strained the man’s face as he lay on the floor but he still had enough strength to raise a pistol with a shaking hand. Stone calmly sent a burst through his chest, ripping open his upper body, and a single shot into the head. El-Gad flopped as the slugs ripped through and moved no more, what remained of him half-propped against the blood-spattered wall.
Stone’s boots sank with a squish into the wet carpet as he went around the table to check the other bodies. Neither the guard or woman moved. He exited the room and retreated the way he’d arrived, his pulse racing, mind now fixed on a getaway which promised to be much easier than what he’d faced in Iraq.
Chapter Three
San Diego, California
Devlin Stone dared not look back.
He didn’t want to know if Victoria was gaining on him.
The surf board was alive under his feet, Stone using his weight to keep the tip of the board pointed in the right direction—toward shore. The roar of the waves surrounding him drowned out all other thoughts except that he had to get to the beach before Victoria or he’d never hear the end of her gloating.
Salty water pelted his lips. He stood bent at the knees, his arms out for balance, the board gliding over the glistening water as the rush of forward movement gave him a sense of falling through space.
The boss hadn’t liked his extra-curricular activities in Greece, but did appreciate the quiet bonus paid to the Eagle Alliance by a Mossad front. All was well and the boss told Stone to take a couple weeks off.
Stone, not wanting to miss an opportunity, invited the Alliance armorer, Victoria Hood, to join him.
She didn’t refuse his offer of a beach house, surfing, sunsets and whatever else they could think of.
As the waves flattened out on their approach to shore, Stone squatted down for less drag, and finally stole a glance back.
There she was!
With her dark hair tied back in a pony tail that clung to her wet neck and her wetsuit hugging her slender figure like a second skin, Victoria Hood’s smile shined as she closed the distance between the them, knees bent, feet spaced apart, her arms up on either side. She came up alongside, almost neck-and-neck, and then Stone hit a bump, lost his balance, and crashed sideways into Victoria. They both tumbled into the cold water. Stone sucked in a breath tinged with a salt spray and put his arms behind his head to protect from the colliding boards, but when he and Victoria surfaced, they were laughing. Swimming to their boards, they hopped back on, staying on their bellies, and paddled all the way to shore.
Resting on the beach with the waves drifting ashore only a few feet away, Stone finally spoke after catching his breath.
“It’s your fault.”
“My fault?” Victoria Hood said, her eyes wide in their incredulousness.
“If you hadn’t been so close, I wouldn’t have tumbled.”
“Nuts! You can’t keep your balance. Just like you can’t—”
“Hey. That only happened once. After three bottles of wine, I might add.”
She laughed and jumped to her feet, spraying him with a little sand. Grabbing her board, she started for the rented house behind them. Stone followed her. He wasn’t sure what to call their relationship, and hated the term “fuck buddy”, but had to admit that’s mostly what defined their association. Stone thought there might be something stronger to build on as time went on, but the developments had been slow.
They placed the surfboards upright against the outer wall and went in through the back door.
Victoria stopped in the kitchen and started spooning coffee grounds into the coffee pot. Stone began unzipping his wet suit and said he’d be in the shower.
“What happened to ladies first?” she said, flicking the switch to start the brewing.
“That only happens if you’re fast enough,” he said, not hearing her snarky reply as he went down the hall.
Stone stripped off the wetsuit and climbed under the hot spray from the shower nozzle.
He started soaping his left arm, as was his lifelong habit, then moving onto his chest and stomach.
He didn’t hear the door open, but the shower curtain snapped open with a hard push. Stone blinked as Victoria stretched one long leg, and then the rest of her naked body, into the tub.
“Hi,” she said.
“You weren’t first, so you’re going to crowd me?”
“Uh-huh.” She took the soap from his hands. Her nipples were already erect, the soft handfuls of her breasts always a pleasing sight. Stone’s eyes ran down the length of her body, taking in the flat stomach, narrow hips, and the patch of fur between her legs.
“What about the coffee?”
She reached between his legs and started massaging his sack, his erection rubbing against her wrist. She moved closer. “Are you going to argue or let me play with this amazing cock?”
She grasped his rod and gently massaged it, and soon it was as rock hard as it had ever been, and she held onto it as she pressed against him. The tips of her nipples sent an electric shock through him and he grabbed her hungrily and kissed her hard, probing her mouth, the wetness of her lips compounded by the hot steam of the shower. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her face-first to the wall, shoving her legs apart. She laughed a little, wiggled her bottom against him, and he put his hands on her hips while teasing her with the tip of his throbbing member.
She laughed. “Come on, do something.”
He spanked her and her left cheek jiggled erotically. She yelped.
“You’ll talk when I tell you,” he said, shoving her against the wall. Her gasp and playful gleam gave him all the permission he needed, and then he was sliding through the pink curtains into her cock holster, her mouth opening in another deep intake of breath, her eyes rolling back as he filled her with his pork missile.
The steam continued to envelope them, the water blasting their bodies.
He stopped halfway, groaning himself. She was so tight he was only able to slide about half way in even though she was leaking juice and he could feel her natural lube. She pushed back against him. “More,” she said.
Her furry hot pocket constricted around Stone as he continued his penetration, finally feeling his sack touch between her dimpled bottom. By then she was almost limp, leaning hard on the wall, taking deep breaths and making a little cooing noise.
He leaned against her with his shaft as deep as it could go, enjoying the pulses inside her that wanted to milk him dry. He slowly pulled out. She was a little looser. He pushed in again, and it was like a vice grip on his cock. He almost shot his load but held back. His hands moved up her body, enjoying the smoothness of her skin, and he stopped at her erect nipples, teasing them a little, squeezing her breasts, making her moan some more. When she started bucking against him, he let her have it, thrusting in and out as deep as possible, plunging all the way, pinning her to the wall time and again. She didn’t tell him to stop. He watched her head roll from side to side, her eyes closed as pleasure filled her, and with his final thrust came so hard he fell against her, both of them shifting to stay upright, and they stood gasping for several minutes.
“We better wash up,” he said. “Water will get cold.”
“Where’s the soap?”
“Over there.”
“I can’t reach it.”
“I don’t wa
nt to move.”
“Well you can’t stay in me forever.”
“Why not?” he said. He reached between her legs to flick her engorged clitoris with his thumb. She sucked in a mouthful of air and her whole body stiffened against his.
“Another round?” he said.
“If you’re up for it”
She was already grinning when he spanked her again. She laughed. He pressed against her and nibbled on her earlobe. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
The cell phone rang.
“Oh, no,” Victoria said. She lay atop Stone in bed, mumbling the words into his neck, the early evening twilight streaming through the curtained windows. The curtains could block out the light, but not the crashing of waves still audible through the glass.
He didn’t reply. With her face still burrowed in his neck, the warmth of her naked flesh against his skin highly soothing, Stone reached with his right arm to the nightstand beside the bed. He picked up the cell phone
“Stone,” he said.
“We need you,” the man on the other end said. The caller was Allen Huff, the chief-of-staff at headquarters, the right-hand man of Brad Preston, Director of the Eagle Alliance.
Stone was the top man in the Alliance’s Z Section.
“I’m on vacation,” Stone said.
“Boss said to call.”
“Tell him to go to hell.”
“Dev, it’s the Guardado cartel.”
Stone did not reply. He looked at the ceiling and blinked a few times. He felt Victoria’s warm breath on his neck.
“Tori too?” he said.
“No, just you.”
“Okay.”
“Still want me to tell Preston to go to hell?”
“I’ll tell him when I see him.”
Stone ended the call and set the cell phone back on the nightstand.
“I’m not letting you go,” Victoria said. She snuggled against him some more, tightening her arms and legs around him.
“I gotta get up.” He nudged her a few times and she finally gave in. With a sigh, she rolled away, and Stone swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
Cartel Queen Page 3