by Marcus Wynne
She eased into his lap, smoothly, so smoothly it almost engaged his startle reflex. She was light in his lap, yet under the skin warmed silk her body was firm, even hard muscled. Mathilde looped an arm around his neck, stroked his face toward her.
“You can relax, Hunter…” she said. “I want to make that place for you.”
Hunter was aware of the tension in his thighs, in the sudden throbbing erection that rose and pressed against the black denim of his jeans, the warmth of her in his lap, and those hypnotic eyes only inches from his, the heady hot scent of her rising and curling into his nose.
“Relax,” she said. “We have all the time…”
She leaned into him and touched his lips with hers; her tongue darted to explore his lips, ease them open, and he tasted her then, a surprising clean shock, as though pink had taste, her tongue inside his lips. He wanted to seize her, to take her, but he willed himself to slow down, took her by the back of the neck and pulled her into him, leaned back in the chair and felt how the firmness of her strong rib cage rose into the soft swell of her breasts, the heat of her; explored her mouth, no dueling tongues, a duet, first her turn and then his; his left hand at her waist and her turning placing the curve of her full breast into his hand, stroking the clawed fingers of his hand slowly down her torso and being rewarded by the sudden intake of her breath…
…her fingers raking through his hair, and a quickening between them, Hunter feeling the lesson in every touch, every hidden nuance; now slow, now fast, she wants to be led, to be taken, she doesn’t want to lead that way, she invites, she opens…
…and she spun away from him, her hand in his, standing, and he leaned into her, pressed his face into the narrow hollow of her neck where it flowed into her shoulder, touched the tip of his tongue to the flesh there, the smell of her almost overwhelming…
…and then to slow down, the both of them trembling, her eyes huge and luminous, her taking his hands and guiding them across her breasts and down the smooth flat sweep of her belly to the swell of her hips…
…the awkwardness of unclothing was something that disappeared, no frenzied fumbling at each other, just deep eye contact as they took away the layers of material that separated their skin from one another…
…and on the bed, he was poised over her, her hands gripping his biceps, her huge eyes a well he sank into, and then she let go, lay back, lifted her knees and stroked the outside of his calves with her perfectly manicured toes, threw wide her arms…
…the moment of entry, of penetration, no fumbling, her eyes widening as he slid slowly into her, the rich warm wet of her, her arching up to meet him, taking him into her, and then relaxing backwards, a gentle undulation in her hips as she lay there, her eyes drinking him in, receiving the pleasure he gave her as he slid slowly in, then out, running the full length of himself through the wet of her, almost to the point of pulling out, then running back deep into her, pelvis to pelvis…
…and he would never forget her eyes, it was as though shutter after shutter opened wide, and at the moment when she let herself go, he gripped her neck and growled, “Look at me….” And in that moment, she was laid bare to him, willingly, and the two of them arched together again, and again, and again…
Afterwards, spent, lazy and entangled, he slid his finger into her, brought it to his lips, tasted the juices of them both. She ran her tongue over his wet finger, and pulled him to her once again…
6
Hunter woke alone. He felt chagrined that his normal state of alertness had been lulled by the night of intense sex so that he had missed her slipping from his bed. He turned his head and pulled the pillow on her side close to his face, drank in the aroma of her, then tossed it aside and smiled up at the ceiling.
Today, it was good to be the Hunter.
He rolled out of bed, went into the bathroom and showered, long and hot, adding to the sense of ease his body felt. He dressed, then opened the door and went down to the main lounge, where he found Paul Raven sitting alone, sipping a coffee.
Raven pointed at the chair across from him. Hunter sat. Raven lifted a hand and a diminutive German woman with a thick head of white hair hurried in.
“Double cappuccino for my friend,” Raven said.
“Yes, of course,” the woman said in just slightly tinged English.
Raven studied Hunter, a slightly crooked grin on his face as he tipped up the fine china cup with his own morning espresso.
“How was your night?” Raven said.
Hunter grinned. “Astonishing.”
“She is, isn’t she?”
“No words for it. Have you…”
“She sleeps late. And I asked for some privacy this morning…the other clients have toddled on their way, back to their normal little lives. Just the two of us, now.”
The woman brought back a large china mug, the foam of the cappuccino perfectly coiled atop the brown liquids. Hunter smelled it, savored it, took a long slow sip.
Everything seemed perfect this morning.
Raven sipped his coffee and gave Hunter a small, cat like smile. Hunter grinned, shrugged. There was a newspaper neatly folded on the center of the table. Hunter turned it towards him.
“Do you want breakfast?” Raven said.
“Yeah.”
“Just tell her what you want. She’s a great cook.”
Hunter waved the attentive woman over. “Poached eggs, please, two of them, whole wheat toast, a small bowl of muesli and some fruit. Would you do that, please?”
“Certainly, sir,” the woman said. “As you wish. Would you like the muesli and fruit first, with the meal, or after your eggs?”
“After my eggs, please.”
“Juice? More coffee?”
“I’d like orange juice with my meal, and I’ll probably have another one of these delicious cappuccinos later.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Hunter flipped open the paper while Paul sipped his coffee. The front page had a major bold headline on it. Hunter’s German was not up to reading level, but he recognized the word “mord.”
Murder.
And center on the page was a photograph of the house he’d stood outside of last night.
A sudden welling of ice in his belly made Hunter sit up right. “Is this what I think it is?”
Raven’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “What do you think it is, Hunter?”
“I don’t read German. Why don’t you tell me?”
Without looking at the paper, Paul recited in a flat monotone: “Prominent business executive found murdered in his Frankfurt home. The nature of the crime leads police to suspect a possible gangland revenge slaying, as well as evidence on the scene points to involvement in drug trafficking. Neighbors and associates are shocked and dismayed: “We can’t believe he was involved in such things.”
The last sentence was delivered in a high falsetto, meant to be mocking.
“But then,” Paul continued, his voice normal again. “That’s what they all say.”
“You involved me in a murder?”
“No, Hunter,” Paul said, icy patience in his voice. “I utilized you in the elimination of a high value target in a continuing counter-terrorism operation. An operation fully sanctioned by my chain of command. And yours.”
“Murder of a foreign national? I don’t think so, Paul.”
Paul opened his mouth to answer, then closed it as the cook brought out Hunter’s bowl of muesli and fruit.
“Anything else, sir?” the cook asked.
“Two more coffees,” Paul said. “For both of us, please.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
Paul followed her with his gaze till she left the room, then looked at Hunter. “What’s your problem with this, Hunter? This is part of the job. This is what we do.”
“I didn’t sign on for this.”
“You’re starting to piss me off here, Hunter. Sign on for what? Killing terrorists? What the fuck do you carry that pi
stol for? Those knives? What the hell do you think your job is? Talk them to death? Arrest them?”
Raven laughed, a harsh sound in the room.
“You work, in your day job, anyway, for an organization that has in its rules of engagement the specific authorization to shoot people in the back without warning. Does that sound like police to you? I’m surprised to hear this from you, Hunter. Maybe I’ve misjudged you. I thought it was time to bring you into the big picture you’re part of, let you see what is really going on here. Maybe I was wrong.”
Conflicting emotions warred in Hunter. He could see and hear the real disappointment in Paul, his mentor; but he also felt used, made small by his trust that led to his complicity in something he didn’t want to be complicit in. He didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve invested in you, Hunter,” Paul said. “Spent time and energy on developing you. You’ve got the gift, the spark, the real fire…it’s a rare thing. To be a real hunter…you are that. Why are you fighting against your own true nature? Do you even know what your true nature is? This is what this war is, Hunter. And make no mistake, it’s a war…we’re at war with something larger than any one country, larger than that -- we’re at war with an ideology, and only now are the bureaucrats starting to listen to those of us in the field who’ve been telling them all along, things have changed…this is the 4th Generation of warfare, we’re at war with networks, not nations, with ideology, not national armies, with individual cells, not armored divisions. This is war in the shadows, wars with influence and perception management, kidnappings, direct actions…including assassination. Pure and simple. What’s a better use of our time and money, Hunter? To send one man to kill one man who supports a dozen, who in turn supports hundreds who support thousands? Or try to fight the thousands, later? What are you thinking? You don’t have the luxury of thinking about this; that’s not our job. Our job is not to reason why, our job is to do it and make them die! All of these worthless fucks who would kill our women and children and innocent civilians in the name of their bastardization of Islam. Don’t be one of the sheeple, who are you fooling? You’re not one of the many who need the wake up call, you’ve put your ass on the line how many thousands of times? You’re not one of the ones who need to be kicked awake when evil comes to the door…”
“What did he do?”
Paul measured his words, weighing Hunter in his look. “He orchestrated a large scale drug operation. The proceeds of which he laundered and then made available through backstopped wire transfers to action cells. He also made direct payments of cash to couriers here in Frankfurt. He was directly implicated in a number of operations against US interests. His name was in a Presidential Finding. We acted in accordance with that classified finding. The target was removed, his network blown up, his contacts compromised and rolled up by law enforcement and intelligence agencies in five countries, his funds seized from their hidden accounts. And a message sent, loud and clear, in the language these people speak.”
“It’s not the doing that bothers me, Paul. It’s that you didn’t read me in. You didn’t make it up front. You didn’t give me the choice. I respect you more than I’ll ever be able to say, but you used me, and you didn’t need to. I would have backed your play. All you had to do was tell me straight up.”
“Would you? Are you sure of that? Hindsight is always twenty twenty, especially when the deed has already been done. Need to know, remember that?”
“I would have, Paul. You know that. You know me.”
“Then why are we having this discussion?”
“Because you used me and you didn’t have to.”
“I think it was wise that I did. Someday, you’ll come to see that.”
Hunter pushed his untouched muesli aside. “It was wrong, Paul. I deserve better than that.”
Raven nodded. “Maybe so. Maybe I was wrong. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is this: Are you in? Or not?”
“What do you mean?”
“This is the next evolution, Hunter. This is what you’ve been groomed for. The next step. Are you in, or not?”
“What does that entail, exactly?”
“Exactly what you did last night. And then stepping up to do the action. When ordered. Without question. To be an instrument in our hands.”
The conflict was clear on Hunter’s face.
“This isn’t the same as a straight up fight, Paul,” Hunter said. “You’re asking me to take a life based on intelligence I might never see, just to take him out…is that right? Is that the right thing to do? I understand it’s a new warfare, but have we come to that? Why not just bag him, bring him in, wring him out, why not…”
“Why not grow the fuck up!” Raven snapped. “Why not get your head out of your ass? If I had known that a night of expensive pussy would make you stupid, I would have passed this part of your education up. You can’t be everything, you can’t do everything! You’re the tip of the spear, get used to the idea. You don’t make the decisions, you enact the decisions. That’s our task, that’s our job. Get used to it. Or don’t. Sit on the sidelines with all the rest of the fucking spineless who let guys like me do the dirty work so they can lament about the state of their lives.”
“I won’t be played, Paul.”
“You’ve been played your entire life! Don’t you get it? It’s all a game, but you get to pick what kind of piece you are, Hunter. We’re all part of the great game, and always have been. We’re the killers, Hunter. That’s what we do. Don’t fight yourself on this. Be what you are. What you truly are inside. Be what you are meant to be.”
Hunter stood. “I would have followed you anywhere, Paul. But you betrayed our friendship, my trust in you. I’m not an asset to be played. I’ve been your friend, and your student. But I’m my own man and I won’t be manipulated.”
Raven sneered. “You fool. You young, naïve, wet behind the ears fool. Here, you think you’ve been played?”
Raven lifted a 4x6 photograph from his shirt pocket and skimmed it across the table. It was grainy, a night vision digital shot, but it was clearly Hunter, illuminated in the shadows by an invisible infra red light that captured his features and the details of the house behind him, down to the address.
“Don’t make me use this, Hunter. You’re already in too far. Come with me, you’ll see as we work together. It’s a good life for guys like us…”
“You won’t use that,” Hunter said. “Try to have a little respect for my intelligence, Paul…you’re not going to use that. And it’s sad that you think you have to threaten me with that. What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s not what’s wrong with me, Hunter. It’s what’s wrong with you.”
“Do what you think you have to do with that, Paul. It’s not going to go the way you think.”
Something changed in Raven then; the carefully constructed mask he wore slipped aside, as it had the night he’d spoken about his family. For just a moment, the briefest moment, Hunter saw something else beneath the anger and the disappointment: it was sadness, it was sorrow, it was loneliness, it was the face of a father watching his son slip away.
“I’m not going to do anything with it, Hunter,” Raven said, softly. “You’re still bound by your clearances. Remember that. There won’t be any come back from this, and you won’t be called on anymore. This is the end of it. For you.”
“I’m sorry, Paul.”
“Go,” the older man said. “Good bye, Hunter.” Raven lifted his coffee cup to his lips and stared at the table top. “You were the one, you know?”
There was nothing more to say.
Hunter walked out of the lounge, through the living room area, to the front door. There was no door man; nothing needed this early morning. He walked out into the street and looked up at the building front, like any other of the expensive homes that lined the street.
It looked like everything else.
He turned his back to the door and walked away.
Chapter Five
; It was three years since the towers had fallen on 9/11, and the wrath of the enraged American fighting machine reached all around the globe. The mailed fist of military might had crushed the Iraqis, and now in the heart of Baghdad the Coalition forces had established their headquarters in the enclave known as the Green Zone. Hunter had been assigned to special duty with the State Department to help in the evaluation of aviation security at the Baghdad International Airport, and to assist a CIA/DIA/DOS/JSOC evaluation team in preparing a detailed physical security assessment of facilities within the Green Zone.
It wasn’t running and gunning, though he’d tagged along with some patrols and had slipped out into the unsecured areas around the Green Zone with some of the Task Force members to do covert assessment. It was just turning trained eyes with the focus of a terrorist or an insurgent on the vulnerability of the hardened walls of the Green Zone.
Even behind those rows of sandbags and layer upon layer of heavily armed security backed up by the latest in detection technology, there was no escaping the war that raged outside. The din of helicopters overhead, the clank of heavy tanks moving, the occasional dull thump of an IED going off in the distance, and from time to time the staccato of small arms fire, especially along the deadly stretch of highway from the airport to the Green Zone.
Things had changed in the air, as well.
The massive expansion of the Air Marshal Program had put Hunter in a position of prominence he wasn’t exactly comfortable with; he had refused a full time job in training, but agreed to come in and teach tactics, personal security, and close combat. There were some great trainers on-board, guys with time at CAG and the SEALs, lots of combat vets with recent experience, cops who wanted to trade a patrol car for a first class seat…