by Paul Sims
“Is she psionic?”
“Not that we know of. That’s one of the things I want you to look out for.”
“Hmm… Relations with Eran have been good for a decade or more. Why would they rock the boat now?”
The Admiral raised one eyebrow. “You never know with those psionic bastards. I served in the last border war. It may have been over in less than a month, but it was pretty bloody, and I lost a number of good friends to their dirty tricks.”
“Actually, I was involved too. I was just out of Staff College. I graduated early because of the crisis. I was on the TUS Intrepid when we beat the Pride of Hurrn.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realise. You must be proud.”
“Of being on the only ship to take out one of the enemy’s? Of having the dumb luck to take advantage of their mistake? Not really. I rescued some of their survivors, and – believe me – most Eranians are just like you and me. I can understand you being suspicious about people with psionic abilities, sir. After all, nobody wants their innermost thoughts exposed to strangers – but it’s a fact of life that such talents exist, and are by no means restricted to the Eranians and the Aelumi. And they can be useful, particularly in our profession. I sometimes wish I was psionic – it would certainly make my job so much easier.”
“That’s what worries me: people with talents like yours and psionic abilities as well, working for our enemies. It’s bad enough having registered psionics – there’s one on the team you’re joining already – but it’s the unregistered ones that worry me.”
John cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll make sure this doctor’s kept under strict surveillance. How am I to infiltrate?”
“We’ve been a bit lucky there. The current pilot on the team has recently become pregnant, and has resigned from her post. You’re to be her replacement.”
John frowned. “Surely they’d normally draft in a local. Won’t they smell a rat if I’m being imposed on them?”
“You’re right.” The Admiral’s brow wrinkled, and then cleared. “I know. You’re officially one of my aides, right?”
“Yes…”
“Well, what if you were having an affair with my wife?”
“What?”
“Yes, yes – I can see it now. I come home unexpectedly and find you and her in flagrante. I’m outraged, and have you transferred somewhere far away – Regni.”
“But wouldn’t Lady Neville object?”
The Admiral laughed. “Not Elizabeth. Before we married, she was one of Section 5’s best agents. She agreed to retire, bless her, because I didn’t like the idea of her seducing any more naïve ambassadors or envoys, but she’s always chafed a bit at that. I’m sure she’d enjoy having a swan-song.”
“We could just pretend it happened.”
“Not if I know Beth. She’ll insist on playing out the full scene to make it believable. I’ll try to hush it up, of course, but sufficient hints should surface to back up your story when you tell it to your new team-mates.”
So it was that a few days later John was sent on a shopping expedition, and when he arrived back at the Admiral’s quarters, the front door was open.
“Hello?” he called.
“Come along in, John,” came a sultry voice. “Put the bags in the kitchen, and come and join me in the living room.”
“Shall I put the ice-cream away? It’s half melted already.”
“Most of it – but bring me the strawberry sundae.” There was a low-pitched laugh.
He did as he was told, but the sight that met him as he entered the lounge almost made him drop what he was carrying.
Elizabeth Neville was draped across the sofa in a black negligée that was obviously designed to show off her voluptuous figure. The cups that covered her breasts and the thong were of lustrous silk, and the rest of the assemblage was also silk, but diaphanous. It was obviously designed less to be worn than to be removed.
“Oh, do close your mouth, John – you look like a fish.” She gave another laugh. “Now bring me the ice-cream.”
Wordlessly, he crossed the room and held out the tub and the spoon he was carrying.
She took his wrist firmly, and with surprising strength, swung him off his feet. He sat down with a bump on the sheepskin rug, the back of his head resting on her thighs.
“Oh, that’s better.” She took the ice cream, levered of the lid of the tub and carefully spooned out some of the contents. Slowly, and with obvious pleasure, she sucked the semi-liquid dessert off the spoon before licking it clean. She took another spoonful and deliberately let some of its contents dribble onto her breast. “Oops.” Another throaty laugh. “Be a dear and clean that off, please.” John reached for his handkerchief, but she shook her head. “Silly boy – use your tongue.”
This is too real, John thought, aware that his trousers were definitely feeling tight. “But, Lady Neville,” he began sotto voce.
“Don’t you find me attractive any more?” There was a catch in her voice, and her lower lip trembled slightly.
God, she’s good. She can even produce tears when she wants to. “It’s not that,” he whispered. “It’s just that I respect your husband, and I’d hate to…”
“Hah! He doesn’t love me like you can. Now use your tongue for what it was designed for.”
Tentatively, he leaned over and gently licked her breast clean.
She shuddered in delight as he did so, then slithered down so her face was level with his and gave him a long lingering kiss.
The pressure below was eased as she loosened first his belt, then his trousers. He was wondering just how far this would go when there was the sound of the front door slamming, and the Admiral’s voice said, “Beth? Where are you?”
Lady Neville gave a theatrical cry and pushed John away, just as the Admiral appeared in the doorway.
“Th-this isn’t what it seems,” John stammered as the Admiral strode towards him.
“Yes it is.” Lady Neville was suddenly between them, facing the Admiral defiantly. She tossed her head. “You leave me here all day to rot, Roger. John, at least, cares for me.”
“Go to my office and wait for me there, Commander D’Arcy,” the Admiral said through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing.
He’s good, too, thought John. “But, sir..”
“Now!”
“Yes, sir!” John quickly adjusted his trousers and fled, the voices behind him becoming more and more impassioned as he did so.
About an hour later, John was sat in the Admiral’s office when the Admiral himself returned, his face like a thunder-cloud. He strode in, slammed the door, and broke into a smile. “Well done, my boy,” he said, rubbing his hands with glee. “You sold that brilliantly.”
“It’s all down to your wife, sir – she’s amazing.”
“Isn’t she just!”
“She made me believe we were having an affair.”
“Section 5 hated losing her. I’m not sure they’ve forgiven me yet.”
“How did it go when I’d left?”
“Oh, we had a shouting match that no-one within miles could ignore. It ended when I slapped her face.”
“You didn’t!”
“Oh, yes, I did – but I can do it with a lot of noise and little pain. And she can use make-up to simulate a bruise.”
“What happened then?”
“She collapsed into a storm of tears. I was immediately contrite, and took her in my arms. She batted those big brown eyes of hers and promised never to cheat on me again. I accepted her promise. She blamed the whole affair on you. I left, promising to return as soon as I’d dealt with you.”
“What a performance! A pity there wasn’t an audience.”
“Oh, I’m sure there was. The walls of our quarters aren’t very thick. I’m sure Beth is looking forward to the rumours spreading. She’ll love playing the Femme Fatale. By the way, she sent her thanks for the negligée, and you have my thanks as well.” He smirked. “It’ll come in handy tonight, when we ‘make u
p’.”
John was puzzled. “I don’t remember buying that.”
“Oh, but you did – via the Quartermaster of course. That woman obviously knows as much about lingerie as she does about munitions. There’s a virtual paper trail in your name from an online store. She did the same for a rather nice agate bracelet and a jade locket. There’s also subtle traces of several assignations you had with Beth over the last few months. They’re hidden just well enough that a determined investigator will find them. You can claim for everything we’ve paid for on your behalf on expenses once the furore has died down.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a gentleman. Please tell your wife…”
“Call her Beth, please – let’s sell this properly.”
“Please tell Beth that I don’t regret a second of our time together, real or imagined.”
“Good man. Now, you’d better act contrite. Avoid people as much as possible, and concentrate on doing paperwork until you leave.”
2
The fugitives set off for the woods as quickly as they could. The sudden darkness after the bright spotlight made even walking hazardous, but, with the agility of youth, Peter ran on ahead and found a suitable gap in the trees. Iain stumbled after him, while RD helped Bartes limp across the broken ground, and the Sub-Major made sure they all stayed within range of his transponder.
Bartes had been listening to the shouts and screams from behind them, and risked a look back. The troops to the south were diving for cover, trying to avoid bullets from the helicopter’s mini-gun, and those to the north were toppling like dominoes as a blurred figure sped among them.
He and RD were approaching the path Peter had located when a laser blast came out of the sky and hit the earth a hundred yards to the north. Bartes glanced in that direction. He was just in time to see an indistinct human shape hurtle into the trees.
The others were waiting just out of sight, and escorted them to a small clearing some thirty yards beyond the edge of the forest. They sank to the ground as one.
“Do you think we’re safe here?” Peter asked.
“I believe so,” The Sub-Major said. “The enemy can’t cross the border, and the trees will stop any bullets. And by the time they get any heavy weapons here, we’ll be long gone.”
“What about the mini-gun on the helicopter?”
“The last I saw of that ’copter, it was unmanned, and heading towards the tower to the south.” Almost as if on cue, there was a loud explosion to the south-west with an accompanying flare of light which lit the clouds above. “I think we’re in the clear.”
As soon as he had caught some of his breath, Bartes said, “I’m going to look for Tanya. I think I saw her dive into the trees north of here.”
“I wouldn’t bother,” RD said. “I saw the laser blast, too. She couldn’t have survived.”
“Then I’ll find her body.” Bartes glowered at him. “I’m not abandoning her.”
“I’ll help you look,” Iain said.
“Me, too,” Peter glared at RD. “I’ve few enough friends – I don’t want to lose another.”
“I’ll come along as well,” the Sub-Major added. “It’s the least I can do – after all, she saved my life too. But we can’t risk using lights at the edge of the trees – they might give us away to any surviving enemy snipers. I’ve got a pair of night glasses, so I’d better lead the way.”
“Well, I’ve got some as well,” Iain said. “We ‘liberated’ them from a Zelynan observation post.”
“Good – then it’s not as hopeless a task as I thought, but we must keep the noise to the minimum.” The Sub-Major helped Bartes to his feet, and supported him as they, Peter and Iain made their way carefully towards the north-east, with RD reluctantly following.
They’d reached the treeline and had been walking along it for a fair distance when Iain raised his bandaged arm. “I can see her,” he whispered over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bartes – I’m afraid it looks like RD was right.” He inclined his head towards where Tanya’s body was draped limply over a branch.