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This page last viewed: 2017-10-20 and has been viewed 942 times
by Reckless and Face's New Flame
Being exhausted, he moved slowly and gently; but he was determined to please her. He had so many ways to please her. He'd take her as high as any woman could get; then, and only then, would he slide into her, become one with her.
He slid his fingers just a fraction higher, and moved his thumb a little faster. Rachael's head fell back, and he leaned in to run his tongue along her exposed neck. She tasted amazing. She tasted of delicious, salty need. He could feel the vibrations in her throat as she whimpered.
The phone rang. "Leave it," he whispered, finding a path to kiss down her torso.
"Might . . . be . . . important . . ."
*Nothing's more important than making you call my name.* His tongue danced around her navel, and his fingers drove deeper. Rachael's breathing grew more ragged. He smiled as she lifted the handset. *I'm not stopping, baby. Not for anything.*
Rachael was trying to keep her voice steady, but he had no intention of making it easy for her. Pressing her thighs wider apart, he permitted himself a low moan of anticipation; then he replaced his fingers with his mouth.
"Yes," she gasped, either to him, or the unseen caller. Having an audience was even more arousing to him; and evidently to her, too. Her free hand grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in closer. Her pelvis pushed upwards.
She was still trying to talk. "Ok . . . ten minutes . . . thank . . . you."
There was a loud clunk as the handset went down.
*Now,* he thought, choosing that moment to give her everything. He wanted to feel her let go so badly; wanted to know he could satisfy her.
He didn't have to wait long. Rachael shook, yelled, jerked; then, gradually, stilled, and became quiet.
Richard peeled her hand from his head, then kissed his way back up her body, until their eyes were level. He stopped, and grinned smugly.
"Did I do it right?"
"Uh huh," she managed, accompanied by a weak attempt at swatting his head.
"Because I can try it again." He nuzzled her neck. He was feeling better. His exhaustion was abating, replaced by adrenalin. He wanted her, badly. "In fact, I think I should try it again right now."
She gripped his shoulder; weakly, but the message was clear. *No.* Or maybe, not yet. She rolled onto her side, facing him; and he did the same. He ran his fingertips along her arm, over her glowing skin.
"It was room service. I'd put in a call to get the bathroom cleaned."
"You should have said we were busy."
Aww. She was so cute when she was embarrassed. "Then they'd have known we were . . . that we were . . ."
He couldn't bring himself to shatter her illusion. *They know. They heard you. They know how close you were to coming.* Instead, he kissed her softly, then watched her. *My beautiful girlfriend.*
She looked serious; so he kept quiet. She looked straight into his eyes, and his heart and stomach both flipped over. *You're so beautiful.*
Eventually, she spoke.
"Richard.. I just wanted you to know. What you do to me . . . the way you make sure I'm always . . . when we're in bed . . ."
His arm slid round her waist. "Always what?" he teased, knowing. She was always shy when she spoke about their lovemaking.
"You know what. Anyway. I just wanted to say. . . it's nice. Much more than nice. I appreciate it. I . . . I don't think many men do that. From what I've read."
Read. She'd been reading Cosmo, when they could have been learning together, if only they'd known each other back then. "Oh baby . . . I love watching you enjoying yourself. Hearing you, too." He gave an evil grin, knowing she was about to be delightfully mortified. "You know you make this tiny, high pitched kinda squealing noise when you . . ."
She hit him again. "Richard!"
He spoke huskily. "I love it. It's so sexy. In fact, I think I want to make you make it again . . . right now . . ."
No. She was interested, the lick of her lips told him that; but his timing was out. "The maid'll be here soon, to clean the bathroom. We'd better get dressed. Just . . . just try and remember what I said, ok?"
"That I really like how you . . . how you look after me in bed. How you think about what I like. Ok? It's nice, and I want you to remember that I appreciate it. And that I like you a lot, just how you are."
He smiled and chucked her chin. "Ok. I'll remember. I'll try and stay just the way I am, if you'll do the same. But as soon as the maid's gone, I'm gonna see if I can make you go up an octave."
Rachael looked sad as she got out of bed, and he caught her wrist. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease. I'll remember. I'm . . . it makes me happy, knowing I can. . ." He paused, trying to phrase it the same way Rachael would. "That you like what we do. Together."
Something was still bothering her. Sometimes, she had a very child like voice, for such a red blooded woman. "Is that all you like about me?" She sounded so insecure.
"I love how you look. How you think. Everything you say, everything you do. I would do anything for you; since I first met you, since we first danced, since you first made me love you. I love how I feel so free when I'm with you." *Marry me.* But he'd ask that in Bali, at sunset; when he had a ring, and champagne, and the entire weekend to make love.
She looked so sad, still. He was missing something. Well, after the maid had been, he'd talk it out of her. Or tickle it out. Or love it out.
She went into the bathroom, and emerged in her robe. She picked his off the floor, and he sat up to slip his arms into the sleeves. She sat behind him, lifted his hair, and kissed his neck. That was nice. Reassuring. Soothing. She slid the robe off one of his shoulders, and he closed his eyes, loving her touch.
Then, there was a sharp pain in his arm. He barely had time to say 'ouch' before the room went dark.
BA punched the gas in an attempt to will the sedan forward. Its tires spun in the muck that was once the road before jerking forward over the uneven ground. Even though the entrance to the complex was within view, the trip was taking ages. Plus there was the small matter of how they were going to get out once the job was done. With the way the rain was coming down, the road would be impassable for days.
“We ain’t gonna be leavin’ this way,” he called to the back.
Murdock appeared not to notice. At least, that is what BA assumed when he heard no response. The pilot was busily interrogating their prisoner, trying to gather whatever information might keep them alive once they entered.
“Inside the door, how many men?” Murdock demanded.
“Just two,” Randall answered. “One controls the door. The other’s the lookout.”
The car lurched to the left and BA had to return his focus to the road. The entrance was growing a bit closer, but if the car slid on the mud, they might find themselves in a ditch. In the darkness, with the rain pouring down, BA could not even tell what lay on the side of the road.
In the back, Murdock continued to rattle off questions.
Basic layout? Randall described things.
Security doors and passcodes? None.
Armed soldiers? A small complement. Five military, plus Stockwell’s 15 men. BA did not know if that included Frankie.
“Guess they’re not as worried about defending the place from people inside, don’t you think, BA?” Murdock noted.
It was a rhetorical question, but BA nodded anyway. That made sense. The difficulty was getting past the wall and finding the entrance. And that assumed you even had reason to want to enter what was supposed to be a large, contaminated wasteland.
“Where’s Hannibal?” Murdock asked.
There was a silence that BA did not like. “Answer the man,” he barked.
That did the trick. Randall started spouting words like one of those preachers on Sunday morning television that Murdock would watch when the team was lying low in a run-down motel. “He . . . I don’t know. He was in a room, but he got out. That’s why I left. Stockwell’s aide . . . That bitch gave him a gun and let him out.”
Carla? But Carla had betrayed Hannibal. Or had she? BA checked the rearview mirror and, using the light reflected in the headlights, saw that Murdock looked equally surprised. Realization slowly crept across the pilot’s face, before he shook his head and muttered, “Frankie’s overactive bladder.”
BA shook his head too. He should have been more suspicious when Frankie kept taking those bathroom breaks in the town. Maybe he would have caught onto him.
The thought passed as Murdock turned to a new topic. “Faceman. Where’s he?”
“Faceman? You mean Peck? He was in a room made up to look like a hotel. Waiting for final programming.” Randall shook his head. “He’s Stockwell’s now.
Murdock let out a breath. After what Murdock had revealed, they had both figured what was happening to Face, but hearing it confirmed . . . .
“NO!” Murdock shouted. “He’s not Stockwell’s! He’ll never be!”
In terror, the FBI man jerked against the window. “I-I’m just telling you what Godfrey said.”
Murdock’s jaw dropped suddenly and he sat back in his seat. *Uh oh,* BA thought as he saw the look that now crossed Murdock’s face. It was a dangerous, angry look. Murdock’s eyes had narrowed and BA saw him running his hand along the muzzle of his gun.
He was about to say something, but then he realized they had reached the entrance to the complex. *Can’t look like we don’t know what ta do,* he thought. To Randall, he demanded, “How’d we get in?”
Randall looked nervously at Murdock. Apparently convinced that the pilot was not about to fire the gun in the car, Randall said, “They’re checking the identification on the car. Once it checks out, they’ll open.”
As if on cue, BA heard a rumble and the ground began to shake. In front of the car, the rock face began to move to the side. He slid his hand to the rifle by his side to make sure it stayed close. There was a box of grenades on the floor that he had quickly loaded into the car. Once they entered the lighted hangar, the guards inside would see that he was not the same driver. “Ready, Murdock?” he said. “Only get one chance at this. Gotta take them out ‘fore they hit an alarm.”
“I’ve been waiting close to 20 years for this.” Then Murdock grinned crookedly. “I just didn’t know it until today.”
Stockwell watched as Godfrey checked some of the machines and then shook his head. On the examining table, Peck's head jerked from side to side.
Stockwell pressed a button on his intercom. "Doctor?"
Godfrey looked toward the window, even though it only appeared to him as a white wall. "He's still resisting at the critical point, but he moved closer. He aimed the gun that time."
*Progress, at least.* Stockwell nodded then remembered Godfrey could not see him. "Very well, Doctor. Proceed." He let go of the intercom button.
"They're changing him."
Stockwell turned his head toward Rachael. She was staring through the window.
"Is that a touch of concern I hear?" Stockwell chided.
She looked away from where Godfrey was starting up a new scenario and glared. "You know my orders, General. My only concern is my mission."
"Ahh," Stockwell said for effect. "And if Peck changes, it might affect your mission?"
Rachael nodded. She turned back to observe once more. Her fingers played over the glass.
Stockwell chuckled. "Don't worry. He'll change, but he'll be just as committed to you. Perhaps even more so. After this, he'll do anything he is told to protect you."
She did not look appeased. There was something more; something related to her earlier conversation with Peck, perhaps.
He tested, gently. "You like him, don't you? Peck?"
She continued to stroke the window. "I think he'll be very effective. I think we could make a good team, the three of us. If this works."
Rachael sighed, and came over to sit at Stockwell's feet. *The submissive position.*
Her wide eyes gazed up, imploring. "You're only using one of my talents, General. Don’t you want me to do more for you?" She leaned her cheek against his thigh. "I could do so much more. How long am I going to be chained to him?"
He ran his fingers through her hair. "Ahh, my dear Rachael. So ambitious. But he pleases you, does he not? He seems to give you what you need." *What you're conditioned to need.*
Her arm snaked around his calf and gripped him. "You give me that. You're twice the man he is."
*No, I don't give you anything. I haven't tried, I won't try.* Stockwell thought. "He's not a fitting consort?"
Rachael knelt in front of him, between his legs, her mouth level with his crotch, her eyes pleading. "I could run solo missions for you. I could do so much for you." She leaned closer. He could feel her warm breath through the material of his pants. "Don't you want to use me completely? In every way?"
*You have no idea.*
Rachael inched her hand forward. . . closer . . . closer . . .
Abruptly, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it back. She let out a sharp cry of pain as her arm and body turned with it, sending her down to the floor. She was unable to defend herself against him; any other man would now be lying with her stiletto pressing down on his windpipe.
He released her, and she remained on the carpet, rubbing her skin.
"Smith is at large in the complex, Rachael. We can't afford to indulge ourselves."
She got back on her knees. Her voice was no longer seductive; rather, she whispered, chastened. "Yes, sir."
"You will do exactly as I ask, and no more than I ask. That is the best way to please me, Rachael."
"Yes, sir." She sounded close to tears.
"Who do you belong to, Rachael?"
"Very good." He leaned forward and petted her head.
"Thank you, sir." She was becoming calmer.
"Now. I would like you to re-acquaint yourself with the details of Captain Bancroft's next mission. And I would like you to consider how you will demonstrate your complete devotion to him."
She gave a faint smile. "Yes, sir." *She does like him. No matter. She knows who's in charge.*
Stockwell relented a little. "And perhaps, give some thought to how you will show your devotion to me, while Captain Bancroft is visiting the ministry."
A big smile, this time. "Yes, sir." She lifted the Sueta file from the desk, and settled down to read.
Richard studied the tiny bananas very carefully. Rachael did not like fruit with any blemishes. Finally settling on a half-dozen, he looked across the rows of coconut and bananas. “How much?”
The small old lady smiled, exposing a gap where her front teeth should have been. She raised both hands and extended eight fingers.
Richard laughed. This was part of the daily routine. For the next five minutes they would haggle before they settled on the normal price of 5,000 Rupiah, or 50 cents. Or perhaps he would drive a hard bargain today and aim to get her down to 4,000 Rupiah.
He made a show of turning away and scanning the crowd in the marketplace. Let her think he was looking for a different fruit vendor. He looked down the main avenue between the stalls.
Past the stall where he normally bought his fish, Richard saw two men. They were pretending to examine the fish, but Richard knew better. One had long, greasy dark hair and a hooked nose. The other was blond with a long scar along his jaw.
Exactly like the pictures.
Richard knew them. The dark one was Mehmut Stankhar. The blond was Gerhard Barlow. Both former Stazi, both dangerous. Stockwell had warned Richard about them. Stockwell had said they needed to be taken out.
And there was only one reason why Stockwell would have said that.
Richard nearly jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. He jerked around to see the gap-toothed woman looking at him impatiently. She still held the eight fingers in the air.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, hurriedly. Then he started walking away, leaving her surprised by his departure from the normal routine.
He did not have to look back to know that the men were following. He pushed through the crowds of natives buying food and tourists gawking at the Balinese wood carvings and tapestries. At one stall, he paused. The vendor had set up a mirror so that the rich American and Australian tourists could see how his multicolored scarves looked. Richard surreptitiously glanced into the mirror and saw that the two men had moved closer.
Reaching into his jacket, Richard slid his gun from his shoulder holster. He positioned the gun inside his jacket sleeve, ready to use at a moment’s notice.
The two men exchanged words and disappeared between the stalls and out of view.
Richard turned abruptly and moved quickly toward where he had last seen them. He reached the break between the stalls. To his right, he saw the two men entering an alley.
He could let them go. They weren’t following him anymore.
But Stockwell had said they needed to be taken out. And there was only one reason Stockwell would have given that order.
“I won’t let you hurt her,” Richard murmured. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the metal cylinder. He quickly affixed it to the gun barrel and began to follow the two men.
At the entrance to the alley, he peered around the corner. The two men were exchanging words. Richard saw no weapons, but he knew he had to act now. At one point in his life, he might have hesitated and waited for them to shoot first. But that was a different time and a different place. *If I don’t shoot now, they’ll hurt Rachael.* They would. Stockwell knew that.
The silencer worked well. The shots fired with two quiet pops and the two men fell to the ground. Richard moved carefully toward the men. Neither moved, but that meant nothing. He reached the dark-haired man first. Richard kicked his body, which rolled over to expose the man’s lifeless eyes.
Richard turned his attention to the blond. Blood was pumping from a wound to his chest, bit he was still alive. His mouth opened and closed like a fish that had been pulled from the ocean.
Somehow, the blond man managed to lift his head. His blue eyes met Richard’s and he rasped, “Please . . .”
*I don’t think so.* Richard shook his head. “You would’ve hurt her.” He lifted the gun without hesitation and fired. The man’s head slammed back against the ground. His body spasmed once and then stilled for good.
Richard smiled as he unscrewed the silencer and returned it and his gun to their proper places. He turned and walked out of the alley. His pace was casual, but brisk. This little detour might make him late. Rachael would worry. That made Richard smile even more as he sauntered back to the fruit vendor. She might be worried, but he loved when she was concerned. He’d show her just how much he loved it. His smile turned into a bit of a smirk as he envisioned how they would spend the afternoon on the couch overlooking the bay. Then he would make her a wonderful dinner of fresh fish and fried bananas. As he reached the fruit stall, Richard was in a great mood and decided that he would let the gap-toothed old lady win this time. He might even pay 7,000 Rupiah.
In the exam room, Godfrey raised his right hand and extended his thumb. Thumbs up.
Stockwell could barely contain a smile, but he kept his tone measured as he pressed the intercom. “Congratulations, Doctor. Once you are finished, please have your assistants prepare Captain Bancroft and report to me.”
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