by Paul Kenyon
Penelope showed nothing. She smiled graciously. "But of course, Silvio darling! I'll be delighted."
He relaxed. "Marvelous!"
"I didn't know you knew such eminent people. General Medici! My goodness!"
"Oh, I don't know Medici," he said ingenuously. "But Wilhelm invites me every year. He invites everybody who's anybody in the German colony."
"German colony?"
"Certainly. Didn't I mention it? I have a German grandparent on both sides of my family." He laughed. "Very strict upbringing. 'Achtung, Silvio, tonight you will not wet your diapers! We speak German at home, you know. When Brazil declared war against Germany, my father sent a letter of protest to Vargas. Of course, I was only ten years old then."
Penelope's mind was racing. It was too easy. She'd found a way to get to Heidrig with no Initiative on her part whatsoever.
It couldn't be coincidence — not after the encounter at the airport and the attack on Skytop in the favela. And Silvio had denied blandly ever having visited a favela! Was her cover blown? If it was, she and the others were in great danger. She shrugged mentally. Whatever the danger, she had to play it straight, use the lead that had just been handed to her. There was no other choice.
"Silvio," she said, leaning forward deliberately and seeing his eyes avidly follow her breasts as they pushed at the low scoop neckline, "my biological clock is about to go off. Why don't you order cajezinhos and then we can go back to the hotel."
"Why don't we skip the cajezinhos?"
"Why don't we."
Outside, the sky was ablaze with stars. Sugar Loaf Mountain loomed up dimly from the black sea. The night was alive with samba rhythms and voices. A street band went by, black faces and elaborate samba costumes, cymbals and tambourines marking the beat. A woman with a baby in her arms samba-ed along ahead of them, laughing. Penelope felt a cold shock on her bare skin and looked up to see a grinning man wearing a Carmen Miranda costume backing away with a water pistol in his hand. "Perfumed ether," Silvio said. A drunk staggered out of a bar and across to the sand where he collapsed beside a prone couple. The couple paid no attention, but went on making, the man sprawled atop the girl, pumping urgently. Silvio hurried her past.
The lobby and corridors of the Leme Palace were filled with exuberant merrymakers in costume. An embracing couple was blocking the door to Penelope's suite. Silvio politely tapped the man on the shoulder and they moved aside without interrupting their kiss.
Inside, Silvio pulled her to him, his lips searching hers out, one hand cradling her bottom. She twisted free and said, "Why don't you pour us a glass of champagne, darling? You'll find ice and glasses through there."
He looked puzzled, but he shrugged and headed for the kitchen unit. Penelope could hear him rattling around. It was too bad she'd had to fend him off like that, but she'd make it up to him later. Right now, she needed a minute or two out of his sight so she could check the suite.
The bug was in an obvious place — attached to the back of a framed print on the wall. It was a dime-sized microphone hooked to an equally small FM unit with a probable range of about 300 feet. The picture wire was the aerial. The receiver had to be nearby — the floor above or below, or an adjoining suite.
With a bug in a picture, there had to be one in a less obvious place. The first one was meant to be found. Penelope concentrated a moment, then went unerringly to an arrangement of artificial flowers in a vase. The stamen of one flower was a pea-sized universal tone-instigated FM unit.
With a sigh, Penelope neutralized the devices, giving the mikes a coded tap to tell Sumo that she was the one who was doing it.
She appreciated having him monitor the suite while she was away, but she certainly didn't want him listening to her having an orgasm.
The search at least had shown her that the opposition wasn't bugging her; Sumo's style was distinctive. She'd have to have a talk with Tommy about that. He was falling into predictable habits.
Silvio came out of the kitchen, carrying two glasses of champagne. He handed one to her with scarcely concealed impatience and raised his own glass at once.
"A sua saúde," he said.
"Cheers."
There was a sizable tent at the fork of his trousers and a passionate expression on his face. But he was making an effort to be civil about it; as she watched, he forced a smile, reached in his pocket for a cigarette.
She could imagine what he was thinking: one of those women who talks a good game, leads you on, then sends you away with a drink and a cold kiss. Penelope enjoyed the sense of anticipation for a moment, wondering what Silvio would be doing if he knew about the warmth and wetness between her own thighs.
With a quick gesture, she reached out and unzipped his trousers, her hand plunging into the opening of his undershorts to grasp the stiff shaft within. It sprang into view, rigid as a broomstick. A satisfactory expression of surprise flitted over his face. Penelope grasped the tumid organ like a handle and pulled Silvio to her, fastening her mouth to his.
Silvio's hand was at the hem of her gown, working it up over her thighs. A probing finger found the lips of her vagina, explored the lubricated trough.
"Amazing," he said. "How could you sit there like a lady, sipping champagne?"
"Because I am a lady," she said, nibbling his ear.
"I can tell you're no gentleman," he laughed. He tossed the unlit cigarette over his shoulder and helped her out of the gown. He pulled it over her head, gasping with admiration when her quivering breasts came out of the built-in cups. There was nothing else except the shoes and the silver bracelet. She kicked off the shoes.
Silvio peeled off his jacket, began to unknot his tie. Penelope knelt to undo his shoelaces, lifting her head briefly to run her tongue around the rosebud tip of his penis. He shuddered all over in involuntary pleasure and, hands trembling, unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers. Penelope helped him out of the rest of his things, and they stood belly to belly, nuzzling one another's faces with noses and lips.
Silvio's hands were busy at her breasts, his strong fingers manipulating her strawberry-sized nipples. Penelope moaned, feeling a warm flush washing through her body. She squeezed closer, trapping his hands against her breasts, feeling his cock hard against her belly. He freed his hands, and using one to press her body against his, he sent the other on an exploratory walk down her spine to the cleft between her buttocks. He felt the rounded firmness of either side, then returned to his central concern. His fingers stroked the hot sticky wetness, then plunged deep inside. A wave of sweet torment rippled through the core of her body.
Silvio withdrew his hand, passed it between her thighs to find his own stiffened mast. He eased it past the slippery labia and pushed it deep into the length of her feverish scabbard. Penelope's knees went weak. His hands under her buttocks to support her, Silvio attempted to draw her after him in short, stumbling steps to the couch. Instead, she imprisoned him in a muscular hug and lifted her feet off the ground. He took her weight with a grunt of surprise, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling his hard tool inside her.
Silvio spread his legs for balance and began working her in and out, his hands pushing rhythmically on her buttocks. Penelope rode the hard pole up and down, feeling ripples of pleasure radiate outward from its scalding vortex. The pleasure sensations grew more urgent. She moved faster and faster, Silvio matching her stroke for stroke. He was quivering all over now, and once he stumbled sideways. Still pushing her body in and out, Silvio sank to his knees on the carpet. He shifted one hand to her back. Penelope unclasped her legs from his waist and stretched them straight out, her heels riding the carpet on either side of Silvio. He was moving in great, demanding heaves now, lifting Penelope's entire body at each stroke. Her heels rubbed back and forth on the soft pile of the carpet with each motion. She looked at his face. His eyes were glazed, his mouth hanging open to suck in air. The little groaning noises he was making, almost like cries of pain, excited her still further. Her fingerna
ils raked his back as she tried to merge her whole body with his.
With a great sob of impatience, he tilted her backward, his stick still working frantically inside her, and laid her out carefully on the carpet, his knees hard against the insides of her thighs. Without losing the rhythm, he slid his knees backward and lowered himself on his elbows until he was lying prone on top of her. Penelope, with the leverage of the floor, thrust up hard against him, in a frenzy of excitement.
She was almost there now, the big hot bubble expanding and pulsating within her. She felt a little pop and, with an effort of will, suppressed it, riding for the big one, the cataclysmic one. Some dim primitive part of her brain told her Silvio was doing the same thing. There was another little explosion, and another one, but still she kept striving, feeling the climax grow and stretch beyond bearing…
And then the bubble split and poured a flood of white-hot lava into the quivering cavern of her consciousness. She heard herself utter a great noisy sigh, and there was an answering growl from Silvio. Strength and awareness drained from her. She was in a blind universe, feeling the shuddering earthquake go on and on, only dying out gradually, in a sweet eternity of diminishing shudders.
She came back to the world little by little, feeling Silvio's muscular back slippery with perspiration under her fingertips.
He raised himself on his elbows and smiled at her. "Gostei muito," he said. "You are a tiger."
"That was good," she said. "God, it was a good one!" She wriggled out from under him and stood up. She lifted her hair away from the nape of her neck to let the air cool her. Silvio's eyes followed the lifting movement that raised her breasts with interest, but the post between his legs was rapidly turning into a slack length of hose, shiny with vaginal lubricant.
"Your eyes are bigger than your you-know-what," she laughed. "Why don't we take a little break for showers and champagne, then we'll see what you're up to."
Ruefully Silvio glanced down at himself. "I suspect that's good advice." He stretched with a crackling of bone and cartilage and got to his feet. A sticky droplet dribbled down the inside of his thigh.
"You can have the shower first, darling," she said. "Go ahead, it's in through there."
While Silvio showered, she went through his pockets. There was nothing in his wallet that shouldn't have been there: just money, a checkbook, some cards, a driver's license, a packet of condoms. There was no gun, and a sniff at the linings of his pockets showed no lingering traces of cordite.
In the inside pocket, there was an invitation in spiky German script, asking him to Herr Wilhelm Heidrig's ball — but he'd already told her about that. Was he tied into Heidrig in any other way?
Could I kill him? she wondered, and decided not to think about it for a while. She'd done it before — killed a lover who was an enemy. But for now, she could defer the problem and enjoy Silvio for his charm and his sexuality.
Silvio emerged from the bathroom, a big fluffy towel tied around his waist. "Your turn," he said.
She started toward the bathroom, reaching behind her to pile her hair on top of her head. Silvio's eyes swung to her raised breasts, and his face seemed to grow a shade darker. She could see a bulge growing beneath the towel.
He caught up with her at the doorway. "Penelope," he faltered. He nestled his face in the hollow of her shoulder and kissed her earlobe, his arms coming around her from behind. "Venha cá," he whispered, his hands finding her breasts. He nibbled the earlobe, and Penelope could feel one questing thumb stroking her nipple in a premeditated rhythm. Silvio pressed his body against hers like a cat, the nubby fabric of the towel between her flesh and the maleness of him. He began tentatively to position himself in the space between her thighs.
She twisted to face him, gave him a tender kiss on the corner of the mouth. "Pour us another glass of champagne, darling," she said. "I'll be out in a few minutes."
Silvio looked disappointed. He bent to kiss one breast, then turned her gently and sent her on her way with a pat on the bottom. As she went through the door she could see him heading for the ice bucket, the towel thrust out in front of him like a banner.
She was under the warm spray, covered with lather, when the shower curtains parted and a hand poked through, holding a champagne glass. "Your champagne, madame," Silvio's voice said in a dreadful imitation of a British accent. She looked further down, and there was more of Silvio poking through the shower curtain, sans towel this time. "Take pity on my condition," he said, and climbed into the shower with her, precariously managing the two champagne glasses.
"Silvio, you fool!" she giggled. "You're getting water in the champagne!"
"Well, then, we'll have to drink it fast, won't we?" he said. He took a sip, pressed the other glass into her hand.
She gulped the mingled champagne and water, holding her head away from the spray. "We didn't make a toast," she said.
"That's easy. To life and love, both of them long."
She sank to her knees before him, and they looked at one another, their faces on a level, for a long time while the stream of warm water ran over their bodies. Their lips met greedily and, sensing that it was what he wanted, she took the swollen sign of his lust in her hand. It felt warm and comfortable, a rigid cylinder that she could feel throbbing in her grasp. Silvio was making a deep, contented sound in his throat; one strong hand ran down her spine to cradle her haunch, and he began urging her body closer to his. Her knees parted to surround his, and now she was urging him closer to her, pulling impatiently at the long instrument of his manhood. Its end just touched her, parting the swollen lips between her own thighs, but not entering yet. Penelope was breathing hard as she probed herself with the thick tumescent mast, its end now slippery from contact with her. Silvio groaned and tried to push further in. She held him off, an unbearable swell of pleasure growing within her, and now he was cooperating, moving her in little circles, his hands cradling her buttocks. Finally neither of them could bear it any longer, and he slid deep inside her. Her whole body trembled violently, but Silvio's strong hands were steadying her. Her legs wrapped around him, and while the shower cascaded off them like a warm waterfall, Silvio, kneeling, began to move her hips backward and forward in a slow, steady stroke. Penelope clung to him, rocking at an easy pace which gradually increased. The water swirled around them and gurgled down the drain, a fluid medium that in some mysterious generalized fashion became a part of the blind universe of Penelope's body. She was hardly aware of herself or Silvio now, as a bright ball of light grew within her. It exploded in a huge brilliant burst, then another, and trailed off gradually in little coruscating showers.
Then she was back in the world again, her arms and legs twined around Silvio, her weight resting on his closed thighs, the hard pole of flesh at rest inside her. They stayed like that a minute or two, grinning at one another. Penelope, her fingers twined in Silvio's hair, put her lips to his ear.
"I'm dead," she whispered. "You killed me."
Chapter 7
It was cool — almost chilly — in the big glassed-in room; it had to be, for the computers. But van Voort could feel himself sweating.
Heidrig was down at the far end, looking stiff and military despite the white planter's suit he wore, talking to one of the technicians. The technician was explaining something to Heidrig, tracing an imaginary line on the blank CRT display screen hooked into the systems console.
Horst was lounging in a swivel chair near the highspeed tape drives, one booted leg hooked negligently over the armrest. The blond youth was watching van Voort with an amused expression, like a cat waiting to be given a mouse to play with.
Heidrig finished with the computer technician and came toward van Voort, pausing halfway to speak briefly to Horst. Van Voort mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.
"Well, van Voort," Heidrig said in a jocular tone, "we are coming to the moment of truth, eh?"
Van Voort said cautiously, "I measured the angles of all the facets as accurately as I was able wi
th my own instruments, Herr Heidrig. Everything seems all right. Perhaps…"
"There will be no 'perhaps,' " Heidrig snapped. "It must be all right. We are running out of time. And I am running out of patience."
"Herr Heidrig…" Van Voort could hear himself beginning to babble. "Much depends upon the skill with which your optical experts slivered the facets of the diamond. I had no control over that. A difference of a few angstroms…" He shrugged.
Heidrig ignored him. "We are ready for the computer simulation," he shouted to the technicians sitting at their consoles. "Begin!"
It was over in less than a minute. The CRT display screen showed a crazy pattern of bouncing lights. The highspeed matrix printer spewed out ten feet of paper. A technician collected the sheaf even before the matrix printer had stopped chattering.
"Well?" Heidrig demanded.
The technician walked over, studying the printout as he came. "Ja," he said to Heidrig. "If the data was correct, the computers show that the crossed laser beams will generate a temperature of approximately seven hundred million degrees in a volume of only fourteen cubic angstroms. The temperature can be maintained for a minimum of eight nanoseconds."
"Yes, yes," Heidrig said impatiently. "And?"
"According to nuclear theory, this is sufficient to begin a fusion reaction in a compound of lithium-6 and deuterium."
Heidrig relaxed. He clapped van Voort on the shoulder. "Well, van Voort," he said, "it appears you have done it."
Van Voort began to tremble uncontrollably with intense relief. He knew that Heidrig was looking at him with disguised contempt but he didn't care. "Good, good," he said. "From here on it is up to the engineers, ja?"
"Not quite, van Voort," Heidrig said coolly. "I will expect you to repeat your success. The second time should be easier. I will need at least twenty such diamonds from you. You have many months of work ahead of you."