Nikita thought about that.
*****
Nikita thought about it again as she turned off the water. A woman’s love.
A man’s pride.
Forcing the thought aside for now, Nikita returned to the task at hand. When she realized what Chase’s true purpose was Nikita talked him into letting her have a shower first. For two reasons. One, it gave her time to think of a way to get out of this situation with him and, second, she needed the privacy to dispose of the cyanide capsule. If she permitted Chase to follow through on what was intended -no way in hell - he might stumble across it. I will kill him first.
Dripping wet, Nikita cautiously stepped out of the shower, and reached for a large fluffy green towel. Patting her face dry she turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror. Nikita dropped the towel to the floor and faced the moisture-streaked image.
The Russian Major’s eye blue eyes burned as they examined her battered and scarred body. Round and jagged scars of red and pink zigged across most of her upper thighs. An angry pink line tracked across her abdomen and ended at a telltale sign of a deep puncture. Her left breast was covered by several small round scars, each one the circumference of a cigarette. Scars, the doctors told her, that were too brutal even for reconstructive surgery to completely eliminate.
Her fist shattered the glass.
*****
“Tina?” Chase called from the bedroom, “Is every thing all right?”
“Yes… I am fine. I will be right out,” Nikita said examining her hand. She did not draw blood. Nikita blew out a short breath. Lucky. Then, returning to the task of dealing with Chase, Nikita spotted it sitting in a place of honor. In spite of herself, she smiled. Poetic justice. 214
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*****
Chase, save for the G-string, was buck naked and flexing his left pectoral muscle. Then he flexed his right, followed by both together. He had a rhythm going, “Do, do-do-do-do, do, do.” Chase grinned widely. “Yeah. Pec’s you can park on.”
Just then the washroom door opened a crack. Chase scooted away from the mirror to the foot of the bed where he puffed up and flexed. With a borderline-sheer silk robe casually open to her navel, the Russian Major stepped into the bedroom. “Chase,” Nikita purred holding her hands behind her back,“I am…” she slowly eyed him up and down taking in every detail. I will allow myself that small joy. “Impressed.”
“Thank you,” Chase replied, deepening his voice.
“Mr. Crudup said you are all mine tonight.”
“That’s right,” he changed his pose to accent each word. “All. Night. Long.”
“Come . . . here,” Nikita ordered from the back of her throat. Chase kept his best profile forward as he moved toward her. “Let’s do something about that robe, shall we.”
Nikita held out one hand. Chase stopped advancing when he felt the heat of her palm on his chest.
“Oh… muscles…” Nikita cooed. She traced her first finger around his nipples, then down his abdomen and over the front of his bulging G-string. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as she stepped back and sucked her finger into her mouth.
This skank just might be worth the effort, he realized.
“Turn around,” Nikita said. Her finger slid across her lower lip. “I want to check your…assets.” Her smile sent a shiver through his groin. Chase anticipated a night he could brag about with the guys as he worked the hips to demonstrate his taut buttocks.
When his back was to her Nikita used both hands and whacked Chase across the top of his head with a large porcelain penis. 215
37
The Kieran Crudup Estate
South of Sudbury, Ontario, Canada
22:29 hours 01 September, 2020
During his last night together with Catherine Wildman, John Riel felt reborn. Conscious of it or not, she eased an increasing pain in his being and reminded John of who he was. Something that he had forgotten. All he knew was pain, suffering, distress. When Catherine thundered into his world she shattered the image of himself he built up and replaced it with the man he knew. Then, as quickly as she appeared she was gone, and once again his world came to a vicious screeching halt. This time the pain was not as sharp. It did not burn quite as hot. Catherine left him with something. Something John used to hold on. To remind himself who he was. But all that did not mater right now.
She was back.
She was alive.
Catherine was alive.
“Mr. Smallcock, this is Cat. The pride and joy, and I do mean joy, of my little estate,” Crudup had said.
Scarcely paying any attention to the fat man, John stood and faced Catherine, “The pleasure is mine,” he said taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.
Catherine’s beautiful green eyes widened with surprise, then smiled.
“Good evening Mr. Smallcock,” her voice throaty and inviting. 216
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John felt a stirring within him. It had been too long since he had heard the lyrical sound of her voice. “Please, call me Isaiah.”
She flashed him a devastating smile.
Before his knees could buckle John held out a chair for her. Catherine sat down, crossed her lovely legs, and held his hand as he sat next to her.
“Mr. Crudup,” Catherine said sweetly, “You didn’t tell me Mr. Smallcock was so fetching.” She squeezed John’s hand and tightly pressed it to her thigh.
“Now Cat,” Crudup instructed cheerfully waggling a fat digit, “Mr. Smallcock is my very special guest. I want you to give him the breast of care.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Catherine squeezed John’s hand tighter and caught his eye. “You bet’cha.”
John felt his heart skip a beat. He loosened his bow tie. Crudup gulped down the remainder of his drink and stood up, “I’ll have some papers drawn up for the shipment Mr. Smallcock. They’ll be ready tomorrow.”
“Very good,” John said absently. His attention did not waver from Catherine for fear that if he looked away this might prove to be a dream and she might vanish.
“I’ll send someone to collect you for breakfast. I’ll have some more goodies to show you.”
“Could you make that lunch?”
Crudup smiled, proud of his manipulations. “You bet stud,” he chuckled and waddled away.
When the fat man disappeared into the crowd John opened his mouth to speak, but Catherine placed her first finger on his lips and nodded toward the candle holder in the middle of the table. Her finger then caressed his cheek and she tugged on his earlobe. John understood.
“Are you here alone Mr. Sm—Isaiah?” Catherine asked with that deep inviting voice.
“No. I’m ‘ere with my secretary. Chase is off showing ‘er a good time,”
John said realizing he totally forgot about Nikita.
For a moment Catherine’s dark brows knitted together in puzzlement. Who? Then the smile returned. “I’ll show you a better time,” she stood and held his hand to her bosom.
“A b-better time?” John stammered as he rose to his feet. Her smile held a world of promise.
Quietly they walked, hand-in-hand, through the grand ballroom and back 217
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to his bedroom. When they entered the mirrored chambers, Catherine locked the door. John watched her with a bewildered expression on his face as she then crossed toward the middle of the room and looked at the bed. She glanced at the ceiling then turned back and faced John.
Much to his shock she smiled wickedly and leapt into his arms, her legs folding around his waist until John totally supported her weight. He let all his questions fall by the wayside as Catherine’s warm lips passionately attacked his. John held her tightly. With each breath of joy he took her scent, intoxicating him.
The kiss was long and fervent. Slowly Catherine broke it off and whispered into his ear, “They film everything in this room. Tell me you want to do it in the whirlpool.” She slid from John’s arms and stepped bac
k, threading his tie through her fingers. “I can feel that you are quite a man Isaiah,” Catherine purred, back in character. “It may take some sweat but I’m sure I can get you up and coming.” Her eyes held the hint of desire and her smile showed a lot of teeth and a little tongue.
“You know Cat, I’ve always ‘ad a fetish,” John said.
Catherine cooed and, wrapping the tie around her fist, pulled herself close.
“Ohhh…I love fetishes.” Her breasts pressed into his chest. “Does it involve the tie?”
John struggled to remain in character. This is a side I’ve never seen. “Nno, no ties. I’ve always wanted to do it in a whirlpool.”
“Whirlpool?” Catherine replied. She pressed the inside of her cheek with her tongue, “But you already have me wet.”
“Please?” John smiled. Dimples.
Her grin widened as she yanked on the tie. “C’mon.”
Catherine lead John into the washroom and locked the door behind her. She then pressed her finger to her lips and slid open the whirlpool’s frosted glass door. She dropped to her knees and started the water jets. Still squatting, Catherine turned and faced John, “What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice was barely audible over the noisy jets. John stared at her open mouthed, then joined her on the shaggy bath mat.
“What the hell is going on Catherine? I thought you were dead,” he struggled to keep his voice down.
“Dead? What are you talking about?”
John explained the story St. James told him, “I…I thought… Oh man Catherine, I’m so happy to see you,” he reached out and held her tight. “Yet somehow, something told me I would find you here.”
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Catherine returned the embrace. “I’m so sorry, Johnny. I didn’t know. St. James never informed me of the cover story. Oh God, Johnny, I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Then how about the truth,” he said so gently Catherine was not even sure she heard him.
She looked into his eyes. He was crying. Catherine felt her heart drop.
“You’re a good man, Johnny. You’ve been there for me. You risked everything for that crazy chick who blundered into your life and destroyed it. I owe you the truth. I owe you everything.”
Catherine explained the entire affair to him. She told John about her meeting with Vladimir and how he gave her the data disk. She told him how upon examining the information on the disk she discovered Paul Forrester’s name listed with several other double agents hidden within the ranks of the RCMP and CSIS.
Catherine then explained what she discovered about The Group of Ten itself. “When the Berlin Wall came down that day in 1989, ten CIA agents were there. As they watched the bricks come down one by one they knew that the end of Communism in Europe was not far behind. With that, so was the only life they knew. The Group was formed out of a misguided sense of self-preservation. A belief in maintaining the status quo. There’s even evidence suggesting the Group backed several pro-communism organizations. Including the one that failed in its attempt to assassinate Boris Yeltsin and Yuri Dzhashi in ‘98, and Po Xing in Hong Kong in ‘07. But that was all thirty years ago. The Group ultimately metamorphosed into a faceless international organization catering to its own self-interest.”
“It didn’t stay that way,” John added, “No organization that international could remain hidden from sight for so long. They’re bound to be leaks.”
“It’s one person running the show now. Totally faceless.”
“Someone who would kill to remain anonymous.”
Catherine agreed. “St. James imposed a complete lock down on Special Operations and ordered me back here. A large shipment of Ink entered the country six months ago, but has yet to appear on the streets. Crudup is the only player in Canada who could sit on that much Ink.”
“But he runs the risk of it going toxic,” John interjected.
“There’s more.”
John was already sure of what that entailed, but he knew he still need to hear it from her lips. “Go on.”
“I have my own personal agenda in all this,” Catherine admitted. “I found 219
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evidence on the data disk that, along with personal knowledge, suggested the Group’s involvement with the war in South America.” She looked at John, knowing how much pain that skirmish caused him. She continued, “In particular, a car bomb that killed Chin Wah Pong and his family.”
“I’m familiar with that incident,” John said soberly.
Catherine knew there was more than what he offered but now was not the time. “Pong was in Rio de Janeiro meeting with the DEA. He was planing to cut a deal. The Group had him killed.”
“I know all that,” John said.
“There’s more.” When John did not reply she continued, “Pong had a connection with The Group even he didn’t know about. A connection I just recently put together.” She told John her theory.
When she finished, their eyes held each for a long time. All her cards were on the table.
“I didn’t know St. James was going to tell you I was dead,” Catherine whispered. “When Crudup got word that a major British player was on his way, the Estate went into lock down. I haven’t been able to get a message in or out.”
John was silent.
Catherine felt tears well up behind her eyes. “I’m sorry Johnny. I’m sorry that you had to find out this way. She lied to both of us.” Her eyes drifted off for a moment. “How did you put this together?” she asked.
“Shortly after your… your funeral, Nikita Triska sought me out.”
“Triska?” Catherine exclaimed. “I was told she was dead.”
“She—shit!”
“What?”
“She’s trapped with Chase,” John said, “I’ve got to help her.”
“Chase?”
“Yeah. Crudup set it up to separate us.”
Catherine suppressed a giggle. “She’ll be fine.”
“But—”
”Trust me. Let’s just say he’s a small threat.” When John looked unsure, Catherine continued, “Nikita Triska is a Major in the Russian Federal Security Service. Chase’s a fluff boy. She’ll be fine. Why did she look you up?”
“She thought I might know what happened to her brother.”
“Her brother?”
“Vladimir Zadneprovsky.”
“Vlad was her brother? I didn’t know that.”
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John looked at Catherine, “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Smyles escaped shortly after you left.”
Catherine swore an oath under her breath, “Did St. James arrange protection for you?”
“No,” John explained the events that had transpired since her funeral.
“Oh God Johnny, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“That brought me here.”
“Do you know how dangerous this place is?” Catherine asked. “Do you realize what Triska has gotten you into?”
“Yes I do. I knew the risk from the word go,” John said. His voice echoed with certainty, “Somewhere in the hell hole is over $300 million dollars of pure death. I’m going to destroy it before it’s used to ruin any more lives.”
Catherine opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. She could feel his rage. He had changed. Then again, so have I.
“There is something else I need to know,” John said.
“Oui?”
“The data disk?”
She smiled and touched the small gold stud in her left nostril, “Hidden in plain sight.” Catherine studied him closely, “There’s more to this venture than just doing the right thing isn’t there?”
John sucked in a lung full of the damp air and released it, “Since you stumbled into my life I have not been able to stop thinking about you. You gave me a new lease, and the strength I needed to go on. Then you were gone and I was forced to take a long hard look at mysel
f. I didn’t like what I saw. Nikita helped me realize that.” He turned away slightly. “It was the memory of you that gave me the courage to get off my ass.” John said and made a fist. He met her eyes. “I came here to do some damage. I came here for you.”
Catherine’s features softened as she looked at the man kneeling before her. Her bright green eyes misted at the strength and vulnerableness he projected. The thought of the trauma that forced theses changes angered her to her soul, yet she realized that spark she saw in his eyes months ago now burned brighter, and hotter.
Her heart pounded faster. He loves me.
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Kieran Crudup lowered his massive frame into his protesting chair. He heaved his feet up onto the desk and snapped up a remote. The fat man switched on the large video screen. He thumbed in channel 21 and did not find what he was looking for.
“Fuck!” he spat. “Where the hell are they?” Crudup dropped the remote, grabbed his video-phone control, and punched in three numbers. The image of a mousy little man with thick glasses shimmered to life.
“Control. B-B-Bernie here.”
“Crudup.”
“Yes su-su-sir. What can I do fu-fu-for you?”
“What in Christ’s name is going on in twenty-one?”
“T-two one. One mo-moment sir. H-here wu-wu-we are. That English dudude has some shower fi-fi-fi-fetish. There are do-doing it in the bu-bu-bubathroom.”
“Do we have a camera in there?”
“No su-su-sir,” Bernie replied knowing what to expect from his boss.
“Why the fuck not?” Crudup barked.
“Uh, you di-didn’t tu-tu-tu-tell me to p-p-put one in.”
“Shit,” Crudup slammed the receiver back into place, severing the image on the screen. “Asshole,” he cursed, then picked up the remote again and thumbed through all the rooms until he found the room with three women satisfying Raymond Smyles.
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“So what’s your plan?” Catherine asked.
“You’re going to hate it.”
“I already do.”
John quickly laid out the details.
“I hate it. Are you nuts?”
John pressed on, “I agree the timing is tight. Nikita’s contact in London can only slow up the real Smallcock another twenty-four hours before he figures out something is up and warns Crudup.”
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