“It’s too deep,” she gasped. “It’s too deep.”
“It’s how it should be,” whispered Chung, his face next to her cheek. With her legs up around his shoulders she couldn’t move, she was totally at his mercy. He moved back and forth, alternating between slow, controlled strokes that made her whimper with pleasure, and fast, almost brutal, stabbing motions that drove her to a frenzy. Sweat was pouring off her and she could feel damp fronds of hair across her forehead.
“No one has ever made me feel like this,” she moaned.
“Not your husband?” he whispered into her ear.
“No, my husband never made me feel like this,” she said, her voice shaking with each pumping movement he made.
Chung levered himself up on to his elbows and slipped out of her. He moved her again, sitting on the bed facing the dressing-table, and positioning her over his lap, her legs either side of his. His mouth was open and he was breathing heavily. She could smell his sex, a perfume more intoxicating than any aftershave. He reached between his legs and guided her on to him. Just as the tip entered her she reached down and removed his hand. Her eyes sparkled. “Let me,” she said. She rotated her hips in small circles, allowing him in an inch at a time, then withdrawing, teasing him in a way she’d never done to a man before. She couldn’t believe how sexy she felt, how much she was enjoying having Chung inside her. She could feel that she was soaking wet between her legs, and hotter than she’d ever been. She arched her back and closed her eyes, concentrating on the way she moved. It was all so new to her. Chung reached up and caressed her breasts, his face shadowed by the lamp.
She kissed him, pushing her tongue deep into his mouth, biting his lips and licking his skin. “Can you feel me?” she asked, her hair swinging back and forth as she ground herself against him. He nodded. He was panting too much to speak. She raised herself up and held herself above him so that just the tip of him was inside. She had never in her life felt so powerful. She could feel Chung strain to get back inside her but she rode him, holding him at bay. She looked deep into his brown eyes and saw herself reflected there. She put her hands on his wide shoulders and felt his muscles bulge as he tried to take her. She made him wait, until she could see a longing in his eyes which was so intense that it burned. Only then did she allow herself to drop on to him, driving herself down so hard that the breath was forced out of her. She pounded up and down, scratching his shoulders, her eyes wide and her nostrils flaring, wanting nothing more than to have Anthony Chung come inside her. Faster and faster she rode him, and then when she sensed that he couldn’t hold it back any longer she put her hands on either side of his face, sucking and kissing his lips until she felt him explode inside her. Even when he’d come she continued to move, but slowly and more gently than before, wanting to squeeze every last drop out of him. She rested her forehead on his shoulder as she had when they’d danced in the lounge. It seemed an age ago. A drop of sweat ran down her left breast and hung on her nipple as if reluctant to let go. Her body suddenly felt cool and she was aware of the film of sweat which covered her skin. She hadn’t come, but that didn’t matter to her. It had been many years since she’d had an orgasm, and the pleasure Chung had given her was more than enough. She licked his shoulder, the tang of salt on her lips. She smiled to herself, wishing she could tell Phyllis Kelley that her view of Chinese men was hopelessly inadequate. Admittedly her own experience was limited to just three men, but she couldn’t imagine Phyllis ever having anyone better than Anthony Chung. God, how she’d love to give the details to Phyllis and see her mouth drop. Length. Width. Duration. It had all been so perfect. “Perfect,” she said out loud. Chung stroked the back of her neck. Anne knew that she’d never be able to tell anyone what she’d done, it was a secret she’d have to lock away inside herself for ever. She had no regrets, not after the joy she’d experienced. To think that she could have gone to her grave not knowing what real lovemaking was. She was glad that she’d done it, but it had been a one-off, she’d never do it again. Not with Anthony Chung. Not with anybody. Except for her husband of course. She sighed. Chung’s hand came up and caressed her breast at the same time as he massaged her neck. She felt him shift beneath her and she made to slip off him, thinking that he wanted to get up. Instead he pushed her on to her back and crawled backwards off the bed, licking her breasts and planting soft kisses on her nipples. They stiffened and she stroked his thick, black hair. He slowly moved down the bed until he was kneeling on the carpet, his head on her left thigh. She could feel his warm breath on her skin and then his hands held her knees and pulled her towards him so that her legs were hanging over the edge of the bed. He ran his tongue through her public hair and she put her hands up to her mouth.
“No,” she said quietly.
She felt his tongue run the length of her right thigh, from her hair down to her knee, and then his mouth moved back the way it had come, only slower.
“No, you mustn’t,” she said, but she reached down and stroked his hair and opened her legs wide for him. Chung kissed her other thigh and licked the inside of her knee, driving her wild with anticipation. She knew what he was going to do, and she trembled at the thought of it. William had kissed her between the legs once, a year after they’d married, but it was a half-hearted attempt and neither of them had particularly enjoyed the experience. Anne remembered how embarrassed they’d both been afterwards, and how red-faced William had been. He’d never tried it again.
Chung nibbled at the flesh where her leg joined her groin, then he ran his tongue along the groove there, his breath hot and warm. Anne closed her eyes and tightened her fingers in his hair, surrendering herself to the sensations that he was creating within her.
Chung’s hands slipped under her backside and his face pressed against her thighs as his tongue worked its way inside her. He licked her and then pushed his tongue in and out, rubbing it against her wet flesh. She groaned and bucked her hips, pushing herself against his face. She was amazed by Chung’s creativeness. He nibbled at her, he sucked, he kissed, he licked, he alternated between using his tongue and pushing his finger in; she felt herself go impossibly wet and it seemed to go on for ever, building and building until a white light seemed to explode inside her head and she shuddered and screamed.
“We go now?” asked Coleman’s driver.
Coleman checked his wristwatch for the thousandth time. He was going to have to go back to the office, he couldn’t afford to hang around Chung’s apartment block all afternoon. He cursed himself for following Anne and Chung in the first place. He’d seen them at the Landmark, they’d had a drink in the Mandarin Hotel, and they’d gone back to his apartment. What he’d seen raised more questions than it had answered. For all he knew Debbie could also be in the apartment, or even William Fielding. There was a multitude of possibilities but Coleman still had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Yeah, let’s go,” said Coleman.
The driver wound down his window, spat noisily on to the pavement, and started the taxi.
Lewis was microwaving a cup of beef soup when Tyler came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Beef soup?” said Tyler. “Is that all you’re having for breakfast, Bart?” he asked.
“I haven’t got much of an appetite,” said Lewis.
“You look like you’re losing weight,” said Tyler. “Are you in pain?”
“It’s bad, Colonel, but not too bad. Honest.”
“Painkillers?”
“I’m taking them. I’m okay, really.”
“Let me know if it gets too much,” said Tyler, clearly concerned. “How’s the work going?”
“It’s going well, better than I thought,” said Lewis. The microwave pinged and he took the steaming mug out. He blew on the surface and sipped it before walking over to the dismembered Huey with Tyler.
“The damage to the tailboom was superficial,” said Lewis. “The bullets passed straight through it. I tell you, Colonel, Chuck was lucky. Any one o
f those slugs could have snapped the tailplane control linkage or the drive shaft and the Huey would have spun itself into the ground. They weren’t even nicked. Didn’t touch the main rotor, either. God must have been smiling on him that day.”
“Buddha, you mean,” said Tyler.
“Yeah,” said Lewis, grinning. “Buddha. The final drive right-angle gearbox, that’s the one right by the tail rotor, is totally seized, though the bevel drive gearbox in the tailboom seems to be serviceable. Assuming we get a complete set of parts, I’d feel safer if we replace both, but we could get away with using the original bevel drive.”
The two men moved from the rear of the helicopter to the middle. Where the turbine had been on the top of the Huey was now a gaping hole. “There was a surprising lack of rust in the powerplant,” said Lewis. “Not that I’d want to fire her up after twenty years, but it looked to be in good condition. When will the new one get here?”
“That’s what I was coming to tell you,” said Tyler. “They’ll be here within the next couple of hours.”
“We’re getting everything?” asked Lewis.
Tyler nodded. “The works. And a bonus, too. Remember you said you were having trouble operating the lathes?”
“Sure. Still am.”
“The mechanic will be arriving with the parts delivery.”
“Great,” said Lewis.
“He’s Chinese, but he can be trusted,” said Tyler. “But he doesn’t know what we’re planning, so I don’t want any idle talk in front of him. Tell the others, will you?”
“Will do, Colonel,” replied Lewis. “Sure will be useful to have an extra pair of hands around.”
“How’s the main gearbox?” asked Tyler, standing on the cabin floor and peering at the top of the Huey.
“It’s seized, but if we were to take it apart and put it back together again I think it’d work. Again, I’ll be happier with it replaced. The swashplate mechanism is okay, and so is the main rotor mast. Rotor blades, too. I’ll tell you, Colonel, they really knew what they were doing when they built the Huey. You could just about get this bird in the air as it is. I’m not saying that you’d get me up in it, but …”
“That’s great, Bart, just great.” He clapped Lewis on his back. “What’s the main job at the moment?”
“The electrics,” said Lewis. He took Tyler over to a large, green tarpaulin which had been spread out on the ground. Yards of wiring were laid out on the tarpaulin like the blood system of some strange prehistoric monster. “It’s basically sound but we’re checking it inch by inch and renewing the contacts. We’re looking good though, Colonel, we’re looking damn good.”
“Glad to hear it, Bart,” said Tyler. He looked at Lewis and frowned. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
Lewis gave him a beaming smile. “Never felt better,” he said. He went over and supervised Horvitz and Carmody as they painstakingly checked the wiring. Doherty was sitting in the cockpit of the Huey, his hands and feet on the controls and a faraway look in his eyes. Lehman was standing at the side of the helicopter watching him. Lewis took another sip at the beef soup, but he had no appetite. Tyler was right, he had been losing weight, though he hadn’t thought it was noticeable. He simply wasn’t hungry, and any food he forced down seemed to increase the pain a hundredfold. At first he’d put off taking the painkillers the doctor had prescribed for him back in Baltimore, but now he was taking the maximum dose, six tablets a day. He had said that once Lewis had reached the maximum dose he should go back for another check-up and he’d prescribe stronger medication. Yeah, right, thought Lewis. All I have to do is pop on a plane back to the States and get a new prescription. Colonel Tyler would just love that. A searing pain ripped through his stomach and he winced. His arm began to shake with the effort of not screaming and the beef soup slopped over the side of the mug. He took deep breaths and willed the pain to subside so that he could take another pill, fighting to stop himself from bending double. The tablets were back in the section of the office he used as a bedroom and he walked slowly over to it.
He sat down on the end of the camp bed and used the beef soup to wash down one of the tablets. He looked at the label on the plastic bottle then spilled them out into his palm. He counted them one by one. There were twenty-one. Enough for three and a half days. What then? Just the pain, the gnawing, biting, searing pain. The thought made him shudder. He’d lied to Tyler about how bad the pain was; he didn’t want him to think that he wouldn’t be able to go through with the mission. He slid the tablets back into the bottle and screwed the cap on, then sat with his head in his hands while he waited for the pain to subside.
He was disturbed by a knock on his door. “Bart! The parts have arrived.” It was Dan Lehman.
“Yeah, okay, I’m coming,” said Lewis, slipping the bottle under his pillow. He stood up and went out into the corridor where Lehman was waiting.
“You okay?” asked Lehman.
“God, I wish everyone would stop asking me if I’m okay,” snapped Lewis.
“Hey, cool it,” said Lehman, holding his hands up as if blocking a blow. “It’s me, remember?”
Lewis glared at Lehman but the tension visibly drained from his body and he apologised. “I’m not feeling good, Dan. It hurts.”
“I know,” said Lehman, not knowing what else to say. He had no idea of the pain Lewis was going through.
“Come on, let’s go,” said Lewis. They went along the corridor and out into the warehouse. The small door was open and they headed for the oblong of bright sunlight. Outside was a small truck which had been reversed up to the sliding door. The truck was painted green with white Chinese characters on its wooden sides. There was a metal framework over the back of the truck which could be covered with a tarpaulin when the weather was bad but it had arrived uncovered and the two men saw two large wooden crates. As they got closer they saw that they both had “Machine Parts” stencilled on the side in black capital letters and an address in Manila.
“Close the door, Dan,” said Tyler. He was standing at the end of the truck and watching three bare-chested men with dark skins trying to push one of the crates with little success.
“How did they get them on?” asked Carmody.
“Fork-lift truck,” said one of the men in heavily accented English. “You no have?”
“No, we no have,” said Carmody, clicking his claw.
“Easy, Larry,” said Tyler. An old Chinese man, small and plump, was standing next to Tyler with his arms folded across his broad chest. The skin on his head was sprinkled with small purple birthmarks, each separate and distinct from the others, like a map of the world where the continents had been separated. There were folds of skin along the back of his neck and around his waist as if he were a couple of inches shorter than he used to be and his skin hadn’t taken up the slack. He was wearing faded blue denim overalls with a bib which seemed to be straining to hold in his pot belly.
The old man turned to Tyler. “You have a which inside? A pulley perhaps?”
“Good idea, Mr Tsao,” said Tyler. “Could you tell them that we’ll back the truck inside and unload it, and then drive it out. I’d like them to wait at the fence.”
Tsao nodded and spoke to the men in quiet Cantonese. They grinned and seemed happy to leave the work up to the Americans. They jumped off the truck and swaggered over to the fence. As they walked their tattoos rippled on their backs as if they were alive: a screaming eagle, a scorpion preparing to strike, and a dragon breathing fire. The tattoos looked old, the colours were fading and the edges blurring as the inks seeped through the cells of their skin, but the men themselves couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. One of them took a pack of Marlboro from the pocket of his jeans and handed cigarettes around and they squatted together by the fence, smoking and laughing.
“Larry, can you drive the truck in?” asked Tyler. “Dan, Eric, will you two get the door?”
Horvitz and Lehman closed the small door and then pushed back the slidi
ng door until the space was wide enough to drive the truck through. Tyler motioned to Carmody and he started the truck and began reversing. Tyler guided it under the largest pulley system and told Carmody to stop. Lewis clambered on to the truck, fixed a thick chain under and around the larger of the two crates, and fastened it to the metal hook below the pulley. He began winching it up, grunting as he pulled on the chain which ran through the pulley, and Lehman climbed up to assist him. Together they heaved on the chain and soon the crate creaked and groaned and lifted off the truckbed. Once they had it six inches above the truck Lewis and Lehman clambered down and shouted to Carmody to move the truck forward. He jerked the truck forward ten feet and stopped it with a squeal of brakes. Lehman and Lewis lowered the crate to the floor then slid the pulley over so that it was poised above the truck again. They repeated the process with the second crate and when it was also on the concrete they banged on the tailgate of the truck and Carmody drove it out of the warehouse and up to the fence where he climbed out of the cab and handed over the keys to one of the Chinese labourers. They drove off, still smoking and laughing, black fumes belching from the exhaust.
Tsao picked up a large black holdall and walked with Tyler into the warehouse as Lehman and Lewis pushed the sliding door shut. When they’d finished Tyler asked them all to gather around. “This is Mr Tsao,” said Tyler, by way of introduction. The old man nodded and put his bag on the floor. “Mr Tsao will be helping us get the helicopter ready.”
Tsao shook hands with each of the men in turn. He had a round face and his plumpness smoothed out any wrinkles he might have had. He reminded Lewis of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. When Tsao smiled at him Lewis saw that his back teeth had been replaced with gold caps and one of his canines was also gold. After he’d shaken hands with all of them he went over to examine the Huey.
Tyler took a crowbar and pried the lid off the smaller of the two crates. The Americans watched as Tyler began scooping aside handfuls of polystyrene shells as if he were looking for something. “Here we are,” he said triumphantly. He pulled out four thick books wrapped in clear plastic. There were also four dark green plastic binders which he held out to Lewis. “A little bonus courtesy of the Philippine military machine,” said Tyler.
The Vets (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Page 40