I pulled up the video feed from a camera hidden in the hallway to see who was at my door and breathed a sigh of relief - and frustration - when I recognized Cal Turner.
There was a tightness around the former Ranger's blue eyes, and he raked a hand through his light brown hair as he waited for me to answer. He stood in the hallway as though on full alert, every tight, hard muscle in his body like a coiled spring.
When I let him in, Cal scanned the room, alert for any threat. Only when he was sure we were alone did he relax a little.
"What are you doing here, Cal?"
"Debriefing you. You left Nazari's apartment without a word." He paused. "You're really going, aren't you?"
"To Saudi Arabia? Of course. We've come too far to give up now."
Cal nodded as though he'd been expecting this. "I want to get the Wolf as bad as you do, Audrey, but you know you don't have to do this, right? What you did with Fierro Salas was improvisation, a spur-of-the-moment decision that you had to make in the field. It paid off, but nobody in the Company would ever ask you to do that again."
"I know, Cal," I said softly.
"No one will think less of you if you back out. It won't even compromise the mission. I'm sure lots of girls chicken out on going to Saudi Arabia to join a... a..." He shook his head.
"I know, Cal," I repeated. "I wish there was some other way to get close to Nazari, but this is our only lead."
He sighed. "Then I'm coming with you. I've requisitioned one of the agency's Gulfstreams; it's faster than Nazari's jet and I can be in Riyadh well before you with an advance team."
I smiled. "Thanks, Cal. I don't want to be alone."
"You won't," he said. "We'll have aerial and audio surveillance on the palace. We can't mount an assault without an international incident, but we'll find a way to get you out if things go bad..."
I looked up into his steely blue eyes, so full of concern for my safety even as he held back his own opinions. A lesser man would have begged me to back out, but for all his protectiveness, he knew when to let go. That willingness spoke volumes about Cal's confidence in my abilities as a spy. Once I infiltrated Nazari's harem, I not only had to extract vital information, but I had to find a way to leave without arousing suspicion.
It occurred to me suddenly that it would be a long time before we saw each other again, and this would be the most dangerous mission of my career. I didn't want to leave things between us how they were, so I took Cal's hand in mine and said, " Cal, when I said I don't want to be alone, I meant tonight."
He stiffed in surprise, then our eyes met, and I watched his frosty resolve melt in a heartbeat. Then he scooped me into his strong arms and planted a kiss on me every bit as hot and passionate as anything I'd imagined. His scent filled my nostrils as our lips met, light aftershave and the clean, healthy man scent I'd grown to love during lengthy stakeouts in confined quarters.
The room swirled around me, as though the world suddenly revolved around Cal Turner, drawn by the passion he'd held in restraint for so long.
Our lips parted for a moment so we could catch our breaths. His forehead rested against mine, our noses barely touching.
Cal smiled. "You know, Agency policy dictates that we divulge this encounter before participating in any activities that could compromise our professional relationship."
I laughed softly. "Fuck them."
He kissed me again, raking his strong fingers down my back to massage my buttocks. He pulled me close, and I could feel his desire pressed against my belly. Despite my earlier ordeal, a sudden heat flared between my thighs; I was immediately wet and ready for Cal.
"On second thought, fuck me," I urged him.
Cal didn't need much encouragement. He scooped me into his arms and carried me to the bed that folded out of the efficiency apartment's wall. He heaved me onto the mattress, and my bathrobe fell open as I landed with a bounce.
I lay there exposed to Cal for the first time, my tight, nude body ready for his touch. I smiled invitingly, and Cal began to unbutton his shirt.
My phone rang, the most unwelcome sound in the universe. As much as I wanted to ignore it, failure to answer a call during a covert operation was a good way to have an assault team land on the roof to attempt a rescue. I groaned in frustration and rolled off the bed. "This will only take a minute," I promised, kissing Cal on the cheek.
I picked up and frowned at the Langley extension on the caller ID. "Audrey Archer," I said, my real name indicating that it was safe to speak openly.
"Archer, its' Barry Kinlaw," the deep southern voice on the other end said.
I felt myself straighten like a private when a five-star general walks through the barracks. "Director Kinlaw," I said. "What can I do for you?"
"Our tech boys analyzed the audio of your visit to Nazari's apartment tonight. We discovered some interesting things about that Omar fellow. I need you to get down here for a full debrief. Bring a change of clothes; we have a lot to do before your flight tomorrow."
He hung up, and as I turned to Cal, I heard his phone buzz. He grimaced and pulled it from his pocket, and his frown only deepened as he listened to the voice on the other end. When he hung up, his face told me all I needed to know.
"We'd better go," I said, tightening the belt of my robe around my waist.
Cal's mouth tightened as he nodded in agreement. His face looked as if it had been chiseled from stone. He buttoned his shirt back up and waited while I got dressed. We left in separate cars, each alone with our thoughts and our regret that Kinlaw hadn't called an hour later.
Despite the late hour, the CIA's New York headquarters was abuzz when we arrived. It turned out that "Omar" was a known terrorist wanted in connection with several killings in Yemen and Syria. We joined several other agents in a conference room. Barry Kinlaw's image floated on a video monitor at one end of the room. When we entered, he was overseeing preparations to send in a team and abduct Omar.
"Excuse me?" I said. "You can't be serious."
Every eye in the room turned to me, most of them filled with skepticism. I didn't care. I was still full of adrenaline and flush with desire from my truncated encounter with Cal.
"If we take Omar captive," I reasoned, "Prince Nazari will wonder how he was compromised. He'll cut ties with everything Omar has been doing, and our hunt for the Mountain Wolf will be over."
I looked at the video monitor and pled my case to the Director. "You don't cut your line and let a shark get away because you're satisfied with a tuna. If Omar feels safe enough to visit the United States in person, he'll come back again. We can observe him and take him once this operation concludes."
"Audrey," Director Kinlaw said, leaning forward so his face filled the screen, "I admire your determination, but you understand that anything Omar does from this day onward is our fault, right? Do you want that blood on your hands?"
The room went quiet, and everyone looked to me. I already carried so much guilt, from my failure in Afghanistan to the hurt I'd caused Cal. I glanced at Cal across the table, but he kept his face carefully neutral. He'd left my apartment as horny as a teenager, still brimming with years of pent-up frustration. A little more pain wouldn't dissuade me; I just hoped he could bear it.
"Sir, that's just one more reason to find the Wolf quickly," I said. "I'd rather have Omar under our watchful eye than let the Wolf run free a day longer than necessary. Think of the damage he can do to our troops if we let this trail go cold."
That had finally convinced the Director, or at least given him what he needed to cover his own ass. Anything Omar did would blow back on me now.
With that decision made, I spent the rest of the night engaged in a strenuous debrief of everything that was known about Omar Tarik. Cal Turner led the debrief, and he pulled no punches as he painted an increasingly frightening picture of the cruel and sadistic terrorist with whom I would be trapped in a plane for several hours. Cal wouldn't let me go into danger without ample warning, but he spoke with the re
signed tone of a man who knew that nothing could keep me from boarding that plane tomorrow.
Chapter Three
After just moments aboard the Prince's private jet, I stopped trying to gawk. This wasn't just something that would impress a backwoods bumpkin. It was an unreal monument to royal wealth. Its heavily customized interior was unlike anything I'd ever seen, filled with opulence without restraint. There was a throne room, for crying out loud.
A stewardess whose modest apparel couldn't hide the dynamite body of a swimsuit model led me to a long, curved couch heavily padded with leather and silk. Except for the cleverly concealed buckles and the curved fuselage overhead, I could have been in the lounge of a high-end hotel.
The stewardess offered tea, and I accepted gratefully, then settled in for the flight. Three other young women were already aboard, and we exchanged stiff, formal pleasantries. No one wanted to talk much beyond what was minimally polite. Everyone knew why we were traveling to the Middle East.
I sighed and leaned back, exhausted from a long night of preparation and eagerly hoping to get some sleep during the flight. The roar of the powerful Rolls Royce engines sounded like a lullaby as we launched out of La Guardia and into international airspace. Before we hit our cruising altitude, I was out cold.
"Isabel!" a sharp voice said. "Wake up!"
I opened my eyes and blinked away sleep. Omar Tarik stood over me in the cabin. The other girls studiously avoided looking at us. I composed myself and smiled pleasantly at Omar. "Yes? What can I do for you, sir?"
"Come," he said, then pivoted on one heel and strode toward the closed cabin in the aft section of the aircraft. I followed, my fear barely outweighed by curiosity.
The rear room contained the Prince's private quarters, significantly more luxurious than the rest of the plane. A king-sized bed dominated the space, and I looked at it, uncertain.
"Get undressed," Omar commanded.
I blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?"
Omar's jaw tightened, and anger sparked behind his cruel black eyes. "You heard me."
"I thought I only did that for Prince Nazari," I said.
"As his lieutenant, I enjoy certain privileges. Do not hesitate to obey me, girl. I won't ask again." His voice held a quiet menace, and I knew it would be unwise to disobey.
The briefing I'd been given last night showed that Omar Tarik liked to treat his women roughly, and I'd seen plenty of photographs that attested to the bruises and cuts he left on his victims. This was not a tender man, but a predator intent on ravaging his prey.
I began to unbutton my blouse, my hands trembling. I belong to the Prince now, I told myself. I only hoped that that would give Omar some pause.
He watched hungrily as I slipped out of my slacks and kicked off my heels. When I stood before him in only my underwear, he nodded his approval. "Enough," he said. "Turn around and bend over the bed.
My heart hammered in my chest. I knew what this man was capable of, and he held me entirely in his power. The girls at the front of the plane wouldn't help, and I was trapped in a plane seven miles over the Atlantic with no way to call for help.
So I obeyed, gripping the mattress as I arched my back, offering my bare buttocks to him.
I'd worn a plain black thong today, and Omar curled his fingers through it and gave it a little tug. "A whore's garment," he said. "But that's what you are, isn't it?"
"No," I said. "I..."
His open palm smacked my bare ass with such force that I cried out. "Don't deny it. You Western girls are all the same. Despite all your luxuries, you'll still crawl in the gutter if a man offers you enough money."
I didn't respond this time, still shocked by the pins and needles tingling on my ass. I breathed hard and braced myself for his next strike. There was no way to avoid this; I could only endure.
"Tell me, whore," Omar said, his voice dripping with scorn. "How can you afford to be so picky? You have no morals, no honor. Why do you deserve such handsome pay?" He tossed a crumpled dollar bill onto the mattress. "Take it," he said.
I stared at the money and thought about what I'd become. How bad would this have to get before I gave up? Was my violation and humiliation in Colombia not enough? Would the men and women ambushed in Afghanistan demand this sacrifice of me?
No, they wouldn't. But they weren't alive to voice an opinion. This was my cross to bear.
Omar struck me again, harder this time. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I snatched the dollar off the mattress. He laughed behind me, a cruel sound. "Good," he said. "Now I know your price. I will call you 'Dollar' from now on, I think."
I hunched over the bed, trembling, cowering beneath him, but now his hand cupped the swell of my ass, his fingers pressing against the red blotch he'd left there, prickling my flesh.
"Dollar, it's time for you to earn your wages," Omar said. "Turn around and kneel before me."
I did, and saw that despite his contempt, Omar's expensive wool pants bulged with a sizeable erection.
"Pleasure me with your mouth," he said. "And I warn you; don't disappoint me."
I hurried to unzip his pants, ashamed of my sudden eagerness to please him, but willing all the same. For any other agent, getting this close to Omar Tarik would have been a career-maker. Even though he was just a stepping stone to my ultimate target, I knew that anything I could learn might save lives.
So I pulled his cock out and stroked him desperately. His shaft pulsed in my hand, dark and engorged with angry arousal.
Omar didn't wait. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me forward, shoving his cock into my mouth. Then he held me in place and spoke a soft warning. "If I feel your teeth, you will feel mine."
I stretched my jaw as wide as I could, until the hinges ached as I cradled Omar's shaft against my tongue. I tightened my lips around him and sucked gently, doing all I could to please him.
"You do that well, Dollar," Omar said, voice dripping with scorn. "How many filthy American men have you practiced on? Do you really think yourself worthy of His Majesty?"
I closed my eyes and tried to block out his taunts, focusing all my attention on sliding his shaft in and out as I hoped that pleasure would soothe this savage beast of a man. My tongue massaged his pulsing cock, sliding back and forth in time with his rough thrusts. Omar soon fell silent except for his labored breathing.
Then he pulled out and dragged me to my feet. Before I could react, he pushed me toward the bed and threw me on my belly. I braced myself to be taken from behind, but Omar remained standing.
"'Whatever the Prince desires,' you told me last night," Omar said. "And what about me? What if I wish to fuck your behind?"
My heart hammered in my chest and my mind raced. Why had Omar fixated on me? The thought immediately made me feel guilty; who better to endure his abuse? The other girls on the plane surely lacked my resolve and my motivation. And on a deeper level, I wanted this. My body felt flush with arousal and shame, and I knew I deserved Omar's rough attentions. "If the Prince wishes me to please you, then I will do so," I said.
Omar paused as though considering the implications of taking what the Prince had not explicitly granted. Then he moved up behind me so that his legs pressed against the inside of my calves. I tensed again, but felt only faint movement. I risked a peek behind me and saw Omar standing over me, stroking himself as he leered down at my naked body. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his eyes were crazed with lust.
A moment later, he lurched, and hot globs of semen spattered my body, thick droplets that landed on my buttocks and the inside of my thighs. Then Oman grew still.
"Clean up this mess," he said. "We land in a few hours. If you tell anyone, I will kill you."
He left the compartment, and with trembling hands, I wiped myself off, taking great care to ensure that not a droplet of Omar's seed touched the sheets.
Chapter Four
The jet taxied to a special hangar after we landed, and Omar herded the four women into a w
aiting limousine. As I stepped past him, he blocked the door with an arm, forcing me to face him.
"I will see you again soon, Dollar," he promised, then grinned and let me pass. Once we arrived at the palace, the other girls and I were given time to settle into the opulent rooms reserved for the Prince's harem. A severe Arab matron provided a curt orientation and familiarized us with the rules. Despite the luxurious setting, my job was very clear. A state-of-the-art fitness center was available around the clock, and I was encouraged to keep my body in perfect shape, which was easy enough since only healthy food was provided.
The first few days in Riyadh passed uneventfully, if you can call living in a palace built on billions in oil wealth uneventful. There was little privacy; the twenty or so women shared several common areas, and cameras in the ceiling watched our every move as we indulged in common baths where we were urged to wash one another's bodies and pose for the cameras. Female companionship was also encouraged, particularly in common areas where the Prince might stumble upon us by happenstance.
The whole wing was built like an adult Disneyland, with themed rooms and fantasy settings designed to indulge a vast array of sexual encounters between the Prince and any number of women. Yet four days passed without a sight of the man. I quickly grew tired of lounging about on silk cushions and eating fine food. I couldn't accomplish my mission while stabled like a broodmare; I needed to find a way to infiltrate the Prince's hidden records.
On my fifth day in the palace, Prince Nazari finally arrived. I was standing on a balcony, staring out over the city, but also memorizing the layout of the streets below in case I needed to make a quick escape.
I'd been too exhausted to notice much as our limousine had ferried us from the airport, but now I was shocked by the abject poverty that spread out across the dusty landscape. Oil had made this country rich and powerful, but that wealth and power were clutched in a tight fist. I wouldn't be sorry when Prince Nazari paid the price for his illicit terrorist activities.
Submitting to the Enemy: In the Prince's Harem ( Page 2