“I know that you probably have plenty of girls back home or even older women that fawn over you like I’m doing, but I want you to know that I really do love you, Bart—even if I can’t say it to your face when you’re awake doing something else. I say this because it’s how I feel, not because of your silly status or position within the English dynasty of reigning kings and queens. I could care less about that. It’s just you that I have fallen hopelessly head over heels for.” I stopped and then decided it was all or nothing. “Even had some wild fantasies and vivid sex dreams over—if you can believe that. But when you truly love someone for the first time—after all the heart break I’ve taken over the years—you find that nothing else matters, and you would be willing to fight for them to the bitter end.” I took a deep breath and then released it.
“Just like I am now.” My mood suddenly went from romantic to dark in a heartbeat. “And I swear—if your bodyguard is in any way involved in what happened to you, he’s going to find out just how much of a cast-iron bitch I can be at the drop of a hat.” I gripped his hand—a little harder than I liked—but I couldn’t help myself:
I was so fucking pissed at this moment!
Then I relaxed and then laughed softly. “See how any of those other female admirers would do the same as me. All they want is the coveted position of fairy princess to the whole fucking world—nothing more. That’s why being of royal status sucks so bad. You can never find the one woman in your life whom would give you so much because she selflessly loves you for being the person that you are. And to me, it’s a lot to compete with.
“But it’s nothing that I can’t handle—because I’ve been in worse spots than this.” I stroked his hand with my fingers and sighed. “And I’ve always been able to persevere—no matter the odds. Which is why you have to start getting better. And while you do that—I’m going to take the Peacemaker and hunt for some answers.” I bent over and kissed him lightly on the side of the mouth—the part which wasn’t taped down by either wires or a small breathing tube.
“And when I come back—? You are going to find out how much I truly love you.”
I lingered on for a few more moments—to make sure that everything was going to be okay—and then I quietly left his room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.
12:30 PM.
The alarm went off right on time—dispelling both the sleep and the disturbing dreams that I kept having: Images of the last dogfight, but watching from afar as the Peacemaker had been destroyed, and finding out that I lost Bart forever—with the world blaming me for what happened.
As soon as I rolled over, night became day and I groaned softly—rubbing my head for a second to try and get rid of the excessive migraine which didn’t want to go away anytime soon.
“Yeesh…” I grumbled. “Where’s the Tylenol when you need it?”
What I needed more was a jolt of something stronger to get rid of the drowsiness which lingered like the halitosis in my mouth.
Yuck to both. I grimaced. No princess ever kissed the prince with something that smelled worse than death.
I needed a breath mint, or something else to take away the taste in my mouth—even as I threw an arm over my face to just veg out for a few minutes.
I was on my own in the coming affair.
Or confrontation.
But I was going to be ready—regardless of how I felt.
I didn’t like being double-crossed one iota. And people I knew or had business dealings with knew this.
Conrad Jones was going to find out as well.
Thinking about what I was going to do to him made the pounding in my head feel less like a burden and more like a minor annoyance.
Before I left the clinic, I ran the last day in my mind and became convinced somehow that the prince’s own bodyguard was involved in this mess somehow—the attacks on me and the prince; first the F-15s and then the drones.
Why was it so important to have me or the prince eliminated? I had ran through my mind—even as I left.
“Why indeed…?” I muttered, last night’s events pouring back on top of me like waterfall.
Or a nice hot shower.
That idea enthralled me more than me wanting to carry out my little plan.
“Of course,” I reasoned as I got up out of bed. “A girl can’t make herself presentable if she smells horribly.”
The bathroom was rather modest—with a large sink, toilet (with a magazine rack above the tank), and a 4-jet shower stall. (Two shower heads on opposing ends.)
I stripped off my pilot’s uniform and threw it into the outside hamper—then went to the shower stall—sliding it open on one side—and turning on both knobs.
Two powerful jets of water hit from both sides; running cold and then hot. I had to brave it for a second to make some quick adjustments, before I came away with both a nice and pleasurable experience.
I shook my head.
Fine time for me to wake up in a horny frame of mind!
But the more I focused on that, the more I started to imagine that Bart was with here with me—stepping into the shower and softly taking one of my bars of soaps and soaping me up as gently as he could.
In the back of my mind, I felt his hands run themselves softly all over my partially-energized body and I moaned quietly over the rush of running water.
“Right there…Bart. You bad boy you…” I whispered. “Just…like that.”
Every part of my body tingled and heaved with both anticipation and excitement as my mind exploded quickly in orgasm—with my own pussy following suit.
I shuddered smartly and almost lost my balance as I hit the far wall of the shower. Eyes fluttering open, I spasmed a little bit more, my breaths coming out in a rush.
“G-gods…” I moaned, feeling very happy and relaxed at the same time.
A wave of energy infused me like nothing I’ve felt in awhile and it left me feeling like I could take on the world and never look back.
It took me a couple of minutes to compose myself and finish up with my shower—before jumping out and snagging a towel in which to dry off with and a second towel for my dripping hair.
Ten minutes later, I was nearly dried off and in the bedroom to contemplate what I wanted to wear.
So I picked out a nice pair of loose pants and a tee with the words: GIRLS RULE! GUYS DROOL!—stitched across the front puffy white balloons.
I smiled for a second, wishing that Bart could see me now, but if things worked out he would be seeing so much more of me in the future.
After dressing, I went into the living room—expecting to find bright afternoon sunlight—only to find that there was light rain beating gently against the window instead.
I threw up a hand into the air in sudden exasperation.
“Great…!” I complained. “There goes my day!”
I was hoping to join the guys in resurfacing the north side of Runway One and take my mind off of Bart for awhile. But with the rain coming down in spurts, it was going to make things a little more difficult.
Parts of Vermont were still in the grips of the worst mud season on record—due to some unnaturally heavy spring rains—and it took some Herculean efforts to make sure that the Peacemaker wasn’t bogged down in any spot of either two runways.
But Runway One suffered a structural fault and a good stretch of the runway had actually sunk three feet into the dry ground without warning.
I wasn’t flying two weeks ago when it happened, but I counted my lucky stars that I didn’t.
The last thing I needed was to damage the Defense Department’s only experimental jet.
“Mmm…” I mulled—thinking about what to do next.
That’s when I noticed that my answering machine was blinking.
Despite the attractiveness of buying one of the new Bluetooth video phones, I was still taken by my ten-year-old push button handset.
Which was lucky, since my dad didn’t want me to get one of the sixth generation cells and my uncle
was worried about security.
Today…?
Both would’ve been right.
The old ways still worked well the best.
Walking over to the kitchen counter island—next to the sink—I pushed the PLAY button on the 20-year-old answering machine.
Immediately, my uncle’s voice filled the empty place with his sometimes gruff voice.
“Kee? I just wanted to warn you: Conrad Jones has taken the bait and will be in your location sometime around 2:30. I don’t need to remind you to be careful—do I?”
“No, uncle. You don’t.” I said—glancing at the microwave clock and finding it closer to 1:13.
I had a little over an hour. But that could mean anything to Mr. Jones. He could be here already and I wouldn’t even know it.
The message kept on playing—that I almost hearing the rest of what my uncle was saying.
“I should be there by 1:30 to help take Mr. Jones into custody, Kee. I’ll have several men with me, so it’s best that you not try anything—even though I know that you want him badly for what he did to the Prince of Hampton Courts.”
My eyes bugged out then.
“Muh-my uncle…coming…here?!” I stammered in shock. “But you said that you—” and sighed.
Just like him to cut into my fun!
That still didn’t mean that I couldn’t bring my washi.
I quickly fed myself with a bagel and some orange juice and ducked into a supply closet to get the short-sword from the top shelf—still in its beautiful wooden sheath with authentic Japanese writing emblazoned in yellow on the front and back.
One character string spelled out my nickname and the other side spelled out the characters for ‘the spirited one’.
I smiled at that one memory and thinking that my dad may have been right about all along:
I was the spirited one!
I pulled the sword out just a little—admiring the sheen on the blade and then closed it.
“Time to go and do some good.” I told my special weapon. “You have a life to protect.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.
I met my uncle outside with five minutes to spare—just as he pulled up to the hanger entrance no less.
The Peacemaker was in another hanger getting refueled for the next flight out—whenever that would be.
But I bet it was going to be sooner than I thought.
The government car came to a stop—along with another one in back and Uncle Gary was the first to come out and embrace me with a warm hug.
“How you holding up?” He asked with paternal concern.
I beamed at him and said, “I’m doing better, uncle.”
“That’s good.” He replied. “Because we got word that he should be showing up soon and my bet is he may or may not be alone. And he may be armed.”
I showed him my washi. “So am I.”
“What good is a sword against a gun?” He asked, as three other men in black and white business suits came out of the other car—followed by a fourth.
“FBI?” I ventured.
“NSA.” My uncle said—then introduced the first. “This is Agent Smith.”
“From The Matrix?”
The man smiled at me and held out his hand. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m just plain old agent Smith. But you can call me Donald—Miss…?”
I shook it jauntily. “Kina Anderson. But you can call me Kee.”
“So what’s your relationship to the major here? It‘s very odd that we can‘t get anyone from Pentagon Naval Intelligence to come along for the ride.”
“He’s my uncle. I’m his niece.” I told him.
The other man next to him grunted a little. “That figures.”
“Any problems with that, Agent Greer?” My uncle ventured with a slight warning in his voice.
“No. No sir. It’s just a little unusual.”
“Unusual…how?”
“Well, for one thing: She’s civilian.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but my uncle beat me too it.
“She’s also the one whom is flying PROJECT PEACEMAKER presently. So treat her with some respect, okay—gentlemen?”
Both agents looked at me in surprise, but I looked back at them with pride.
“No one said a woman was to take command of PROJECT PEACEMAKER. We thought that Lieutenant-Colonel Timothy Ricebird was slated to fly her.”
“The Lieutenant-Colonel had a change of orders from the higher ups.” My uncle answered flatly. “And as much as I would like to continue this interesting discussion, we have a job to do, and a man to catch.”
Before my uncle or the NSA guys could do anything, I jumped in with:
“Let me confront him, uncle.” I said with urgency in my voice. “That way—I can get some answers from Conrad and then he’s all yours.”
“Why do you think we should allow someone of your caliber to take on a potentially dangerous man all by yourself? This isn’t the movies, miss.” Agent Smith said.
“Because I have to.” I told him. “It’s personal.”
“Personal or not, we can’t allow it.” The third agent behind Greer said. “We don’t need any heroics in this little operation.”
I glanced at my uncle with a pleading look.
“Uncle…please. I promise I won’t take any rash action. I just need answers. Can’t those guys set something up in 15 minutes or so and have the room bugged?”
My uncle thought that one over and looked over at Smith.
“Think you guys can do it?” He asked.
“—I can’t believe this—” The fourth agent complained.
“You have a problem with that, Agent Charston?” Smith bit out in defense of me—taking me by complete surprise.
“Sir…we are jeopardizing national security by letting an unauthorized civilian a crack at one of the world’s potentially most wanted men! If we let her—” and pointed directly at me.
I bristled a little at being singled out by a government loudmouth.
“—we’ll lose a prime opportunity which will most likely not happen again!”
My uncle appeared to consider what was at stake—with what the agents were saying.
Then he said, “National security has already been compromised, gentlemen. But not by her.”
The other four NSA agents shared a collective look of puzzlement and were dumbfounded by my uncle’s words.
“W-what?” Smith managed to crack out.
“If you guys ever read the dossiers I sent to you late last night—you’d know that Mr. Jones is a man of many talents. And it’s most likely that he’s also a master of deception as well.”
“Not to mention foreplay.” I answered with a cross look on my face. I still couldn’t believe I was charmed by this nut ball and accepted money from a potentially dangerous criminal.
How was I supposed to know he was a double-dealer?
My comment served to bring a smile to my uncle’s face, but it left the four NSA agents a bit more confused than ever.
Did I need to spell it out???
“Nevermind!” I fired back angrily—silencing the opposition. “It’s clear that you guys know nothing of the opposite sex!”
“I’m-ah…married.” The third agent spoke up meekly. “Does that help?”
“Well,” I said with a thoughtful snort. “Someone here has some idea. But unless the rest of you have suddenly gone gay—?”
My uncle managed to suppress a laugh before it got out of control and suddenly became contagious.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m sold. My niece is taking point with the rest of us going in as backup.” Turning to the four agents, he said: “Let’s get things set up. We have less than…40 minutes.”
It was going to take a half-hour to walk there.
“Unc—?” I started to say—grabbing his attention.
“Yes, Kee? What is it?”
“It’s going to take a half hour to walk to the clinic. I don’t think we’ll have enough
time to bug Bart’s room. Not unless we drive over there.”
My uncle nodded to the rest of the men.
“Get in your car and get over to the clinic. But hide the car so that Mr. Jones doesn’t know we are here. We have to convince him that it’s just Kee.”
“Right.” Smith said. “And if anyone asks?”
“You guys are the government. Tell them that this is a matter of national security!” I cracked out laughing.
***
“Okay, Kee. Smith here is going to wire you for sound. The other guys will be able to pick up anything in the other room.” My uncle was telling me—as I allowed Smith to tape the hidden mike to my stomach—but nothing else.
The last thing I wanted was for him to get any ideas.
But after I showed him and the other guys a trick or two with my washi—?
They quickly ceded me the floor in this little operation without any more doubts or reservations.
“You’re good to go.” Smith said with a smile on his face.
Charming he wasn’t.
“Thanks.” I told him.
My uncle lagged behind after he left without saying a word.
“Are you sure about this?” He asked with some reservation in his voice. “I know I gave you a great deal of latitude and discretion—?”
I took a hold of his hand and squeezed it.
“Uncle…I’m a big girl now. You don’t need to protect me all the time.” I told him. Then I turned and looked at Bart—whom was still out cold.
Shelly told me that he would remain that way for another day or so—before she felt certain that he could handle some visitors.
“But he does. He’ll need my protection and my…” I stopped for a second and added, “my love.”
That admission startled my uncle. “Y-your love—?”
“Is it so hard to understand, Uncle? I love Bart.” I said without hesitation. My heart, mind, and soul had made up their mind.
And so did I.
“Yes…but the complications…” my uncle mulled. “It’s just—”
At this point, I let go of his hand.
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