by Paul Kenyon
She showed him a row of even white teeth. "When my pilot gets the film from that hidden cockpit camera to Moscow, they'll find that something happened to those negatives too."
He roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. "See here, I can't go on calling you Coin. What's your name? Just the first one."
"Why don't you just make one up?"
He looked amused. "Coin. What's an American coin? I'll call you Penny."
An icy shock went down her spine. She fought to keep anything from showing in her face. Was he playing with her? Or had he just hit, luckily, on the obvious nickname?
"That'll be fine," she said gaily. "I'd rather be a Penny than a Kopeck."
He took her by the arm and said, "Get that coat off before you melt, and then we'll all get acquainted."
Sergei made most of the introductions. He was jolly and talkative, acting as if he were at a party. He seemed to worship Alexey.
"This is Foma," he said, prodding forward a thick, muscle-bound youth with a snub nose and wide pale face. Foma gave her a taciturn nod. She caught him studying the target points of her body; obviously, Foma was their strongarm man.
"And this is Tania." Tania was a baby-faced girl in her late twenties, with corn-colored braids and the cold eyes of a killer. She looked very capable. The Baroness looked her over carefully. There would be some special reason why the Russians had put a woman on their team. She had to assume that it had something to do with keeping tabs on Penelope herself.
And that was the entire team from Moscow: Alexey, Sergei, Foma and Tania. Alexey had kept it small. She knew he'd hand-picked them personally. Her respect for him went up another notch.
The team of Yakuts was something else. There were nine of them. They were nominally under Alexey's control, but they had their own leader, a man named Omogoy.
Omogoy was big for a Mongol. If you discounted the bandy legs, his torso and arms and shoulders were as massive as Skytop's. He was a villainous-looking character with a drooping mustache and a flat oval face with pockmarked cheeks.
He spoke a halting English. It was probably as good as his Russian.
"Your bodyguard," Omogoy said, gesturing at Skytop. "He is Chukchee? Buryat? Evenki?"
She didn't bother to explain that Skytop wasn't her bodyguard. "No, he's an American Indian. His tribe is called Cherokee."
"So? America has its Small Peoples too? Are they given equality, like in Soviet Union?"
"We try."
He puffed out his huge barrel of a chest. "I have been to Moscow. I am Communist I have friends in government."
"I'm sure you do."
Somehow a long table had materialized, piled high with food and bottles and glasses. Yakut girls in embroidered blouses were bustling with serving dishes. An old man was strumming a balalaika. A cork popped.
"A toast to our brave American comrades!" Sergei shouted. He had a foaming glass of champagne in his hand. A Yakut girl thrust a glass into Penelope's hand.
"A party!" Skytop said delightedly. "By God, we're going to have a party!"
"Is Russian hospitality," Tania said.
"Is Yakut hospitality," Omogoy roared. He slapped the bottom of a buxom girl, who ran to get him vodka.
Alexey insisted that Penelope try everything. "This is hot mare's-blood sausages, a Yakut specialty. And this cold sliced meat is young foal. And here, try this stroganina."
"I think I'll just sample some of that caviar. And some vodka."
Vodka was about as close as she was going to get to a martini tonight.
"No, no," he protested. "You are a cultured lady. Vodka is nyekulturny. You must drink champagne. Or at least cognac."
"Vodka'll do fine," she said firmly.
He watched in admiration as she tossed back the small chilled glasses. "Never before have I seen vodka drunk in such a refined manner. And you are drinking enough to put a Red Army colonel under the table."
"Your English is very good, Alexey. Where did you learn it?"
"At the KGB Institute. They offer a choice of American English or Oxford English. I chose American."
"KGB? But I thought you were GRU."
"I am. But KGB is richer. They have better training facilities. We exchange courtesies, like your own CIA agents attending FBI courses."
Penelope gave him a sly look over her vodka glass. "You don't like the KGB very much, do you?"
He laughed guiltily. "Not very much. They've interfered in too many of our operations. They're jealous of us. They're furious that we got this job instead of them. I have you to thank for that, Penny. You made them look foolish when you penetrated the Baikonour Cosmodrome."
"How do you feel about working with Americans on this mission?"
"How do you feel about working with Russians?"
She gave him a sidelong glance. "It may be exciting."
He looked at her shrewdly. "My feeling exactly."
"Where do I bunk?"
"I'll show you later." He tossed off his vodka with a grimace. "First, we have this party to get through."
She looked around the room. Things had warmed up while they were talking. A quartet of Yakuts were jumping up and down in some kind of ethnic dance, while a fifth Mongol was singing a weird chant. Another Yakut was leaning menacingly over the elderly balalaika player, who looked terrified as he tried to follow the native chant. More food was being carried in on steaming trays by the Yakut girls: sausages and pickled mushrooms and platters of huge white fish. She could see Foma, lurching about with a bottle of wine in his hand, taking occasional gulps. Sumo was over at the buffet, cutting off slivers of raw fish and popping them into his mouth with gusto. Wharton was sitting in a corner, looking uncomfortable, nursing a bottle of Russian beer. Every five minutes someone jumped up and proposed a toast, and everybody within earshot drained his glass.
"That's the mayor," Alexey said, jerking his thumb at a little turkey-necked man with Russian features. "He's just offered a toast to the success of your visit. He thinks you're some kind of a trade mission from the United States. When we move out tomorrow morning, we're supposed to be going on a geological survey."
"Will your men be able to move out?" Two of the dancing Yakuts had passed out and lay snoring on the floor. The chanter had been replaced by a lugubrious Slav, singing Russian songs to the accompaniment of the balalaika player.
"They've been drinking pure grain alcohol. It's antifreeze to them. Don't worry, they'll be able to move."
Over at the side of the room she could see Sergei. He was chattering happily to Inga, who sat with a champagne glass in her hand, looking cool and amused. Sergei had his arm around her. As Penelope watched, his hand crept up under the back of her blouse. She watched its progress along Inga's ribs.
"Your friend seems to have taken a fancy to Inga." Penelope said.
"Sergei's quite a ladies' man," Alexey said. He gave her a sober look. "He's been with me a long time. I told them in Moscow that I wouldn't go on this mission without him. They tried to ring in another agent — a KGB plant."
"He seems quite fond of you."
"I've saved his life. But he's returned the favor." Alexey gestured with his glass. "I don't like what's going on there."
She followed his glance. Skytop had one of the buxom serving girls on his lap. His hand was busy under her skirt. She had a smooth, pretty Mongol face with jet-black hair coiled in circular braids over each ear. She was giggling at something Skytop was whispering.
"Is fraternization supposed to be one-way here?" Penelope said coldly.
"Don't misunderstand me," Alexey said. "I don't mind what your men do. But your Red Indian friend has his hands on Omogoy's girl."
"That's Omogoy's worry."
"It's also the Indian's worry. Omogoy is a bad man to have for an enemy. He's a local legend around here. Two winters ago he crawled into the den of a hibernating bear on a bet. He had a rope tied to his belt and a knife in his teeth. That's all."
"What happened?"
"He
killed the bear. In the dark. Then he tied the rope around its paws. He crawled backward out of the den. There wasn't room to turn around. And, chewed up as he was, he pulled the bear out of the den, with two other men helping to haul on the rope. They weighed it. It was over six hundred pounds."
"Joe Skytop is a little more dangerous than one of your Russian bears."
"Penny, I am not joking."
"Neither am I."
He shrugged. "All right. It's your worry. Omogoy won't try anything here in the village. And I can maintain some discipline. I won't allow any fights or direct challenges. But you'd better watch him on the trail."
She looked steadily at him. "We're all going to watch each other, Alexey darling. Aren't we?"
His blue eyes were amused. "Of course."
"I'm glad we understand one another, darling."
Her quarters were in a little log building chinked with moss and clay. It probably once had been an animal shed, but now there was a wooden floor and a few rude pieces of furniture. A curtain was hung across the interior, dividing it into two equal parts.
"Who sleeps in there?" Penelope said.
"Tania. But you needn't worry about her tonight. I've given her orders to seduce one of your men — the big light-haired one with the morose expression."
"Dan Wharton?" She laughed. "She won't get any information out of him."
"But he won't toss her out into the snow?"
"Of course not. He'll try to see what kind of information he can get out of her."
"They'll work at it all night."
"I'm sure they will. They're both very dutiful agents."
It was freezing inside the room. Alexey busied himself with kindling wood, building a fire in the little pot-bellied stove.
"I'll be back in a half-hour. I've got to check a few things," he said.
Penelope sat on the pile of furs that was her bed. Her gear already had been deposited on the floor against one wall. She set up the little microwave warning system, programming it to ignore the first person to come through the door; Alexey was expected. She switched on the voice-actuated tape recorder and hid it in her duffle. It wouldn't pick up anything that mattered, she knew, but it was correct procedure.
By the time Alexey returned, she was waiting, naked under the fur throw. The little stove was glowing a cherry red; the temperature in the cabin was at blood heat.
"Omogoy's passed out," he said, pulling off his coat. "Your Indian's disappeared. That's one worry gone for the night."
He turned down the gas lantern and got undressed. Penelope propped herself up on one elbow and watched. He had a hard, lean body with long, ropy muscles. His chest was covered with a golden down that glinted in the ruddy light from the stove. He had a lot of interesting scars.
He pulled off his thermal drawers. His member sprang into view and slapped against his belly.
"Whatever have you been thinking about while you were gone?" she said.
"About my American Penny," he said, crawling under the fur throw.
She turned to face him. He put a big hand on her behind and pressed her body against his. Her breasts flattened against his hard chest. There was a throbbing penis against her mons.
She nibbled at his lower lip, and she felt him shudder. He covered her mouth and gave her a long kiss. His breath was sweet, a little spicy, with an overlay of vodka. She poked her tongue in for a taste.
He reacted by curling his tongue around hers. It was long and supple. She drew it into her own mouth and sucked at it. He shuddered again.
They broke free, panting. He said, "We'd better make the most of tonight. It's the last time we'll be warm for a long while."
"I have a feeling we won't have a bit of trouble keeping warm, darling. Even in Manchuria."
The hand on her ass moved between her buttocks and found the lips of her vagina. A sensitive finger traced the distended labia, then, slippery with vaginal juices, thrust deep inside. She moaned, her legs jerking with involuntary pleasure.
"You are ready so soon?" he said in surprise.
"It's going to be a long, Siberian night, love. Take your time."
He slid a second finger inside the warm, wet channel and began rubbing his thumb back and forth across her clitoris. She cried out at the sudden pleasure of it, then reached between Alexey's own buttocks to find his balls. They squirmed in her hand like living creatures. She weighed the pouch in her palm. It was as dense and heavy as a sandbag. She ran her thumb up the underside, past its roots. He trembled. "Don't do that," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm liable to shoot before I'm ready."
"No you won't," she said, squeezing the pouch.
She fastened her mouth on his again and began rubbing her entire body against his, like a cat. The downy hair on his chest and belly sent electric shocks down the front of her. Her nipples were hard to bursting. The sensation was unbearably sweet. He squeezed a hand into the tight space between their bodies and found one of the swollen grapes. He began working it back and forth with his thumb and two fingers.
They were surrounded by furs. The soft fur throw that covered them stroked them like a thousand feathers as they writhed in a languorous rhythm against one another's bodies. The downy pelts they lay on lapped at their hips and thighs.
"This is the first time I have made love without using my pol," he gasped.
"We'll get to that, darling," she said, wriggling within the envelope of furs. The entire surface of her body tingled exquisitely. Alexey had taken to the sensation. He was twisting against her in a huge circular motion. His hand, pressed between them, cupped a breast, the fingers working convulsively.
She worked her hand between their two pelvises and found the long shaft there. It fit her hand like a club. He groaned. She wriggled upward until the fleshy end of his cock was resting against her own bursting bud. She worked his foreskin down over the glans, stretching the already-tight skin. She enclosed her clitoris within the fleshy jacket as far as she was able. Her fingers made kneading motions. Inside the waxy wrapper, her swollen coxcomb nuzzled his rubbery plum. The sensation thrilled through the core of her, traveled in shuddery waves up her spine. She gasped, and an uncontrollable spasm shot through her. She came twice more, fighting off the big one.
It was almost too much for Alexey. He panted like a steam engine, every muscle in his body taut. She could feel the premonitory tightening of his prick. She wasn't ready for that yet; she still needed him. Instantly she let go of the erotic artichoke she'd created and gave him a corrective squeeze in the right place. He yelped in surprise, then exhaled sharply. She could feel his muscles relax somewhat. A moment later he was moving against her within the furs, in the same tidal rhythm as before.
"Have pity," he whispered. "I'm just a simple Russian lad."
"Simple, hell!"
"We're wearing out the bearskins."
"Be patient, darling. We're going to make a volcano."
"Well make many volcanoes tonight It's time for the first one."
He dipped his head and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth. He manipulated it energetically with his lips and tongue. The violence of it was exciting. She was sure he intended it to be. His hand was between them, pushing his pulsing billy out of the way and working at her slippery trough. His fingers were clever, accommodating, anticipating her every ripple of feeling. The dim cabin interior seemed to disappear. She was floating in a dark universe where a blurry red moon and a yellow haloed glow swung in the sky: all that her overloaded senses could make of the stove and the lantern now. There were a million furry fronds caressing her body. She gasped. It had all become unbearable.
"Do it," she shivered, "do it."
He raised himself on hands and knees with alacrity. He was trembling. Some spark of his intent flew from his mind and kindled a wordless understanding in hers. She got to her knees too and raised her bottom. He fitted himself against her bottom. She stretched her arm behind her, groping for his stem.
"Nyet," he said, grasping her wrist
. A moment later she felt the acorn tip of his penis probing at her cleft. He pushed past the swollen labia and slid himself all the way into her scabbard. Feeling its length inside her, she moaned. A sweet urgency radiated through her insides.
Alexey found her swinging breasts and cradled them in his big hands. He began moving in and out, easily and without haste.
She picked up his rhythm on the second stroke and pushed her bottom against his probe. They moved in lubricated bliss, savoring the sweetness of it. The fur throw was draped against their humped-up backs, making a tent that held in warmth and massaged them with fuzzy fingers. Penelope pressed her cheek against the soft fur beneath her.
An eternity passed. There was nothing but the red glow of the stove and the furs thrilling her skin and the hands holding her breasts and the big stiff post moving back and forth inside her. It was moving faster now, a good deal faster. Alexey panted with effort. The motion was more complex, too. They were moving against one another in a long oval orbit. Somewhere, down in the depths of the earth, lava heaved and bubbled. Penelope held it down, feeling the searing heat radiate upward. It crept higher, glowing as palpably as the stove. She tried, but she couldn't hold it down anymore.
It came — up, up, a thousand miles through the bowels of the earth. It exploded, white hot now, between her legs, through her groin, its warmth lapping at her belly, melting her spine. Her vagina spasmed, once, twice, over and over again. She heard an animal cry that was her own, and then a long hoarse wheeze that was Alexey. She felt him convulse, his fingers digging into her breasts. It went on a long time for both of them. It died down gradually, in climinishing shudders that became a final pleasurable tremor or two.
Alexey clung to her for a minute or two, getting his breath back. He was resting his cheek against her spine. Both of them were drenched with sweat.
She eased herself forward, off the rigid pole, keeping her thighs together to avoid spilling the pool of warm semen onto the furs. She found a towel in her gear. There was a washbasin and pitcher over near the window.
Alexey rolled over and looked at her, a smug expression on his face. "Russian-American relations aren't so bad, eh?"