The man was sitting in an English garden, replete with flowers bees and tomato plants, but it wasn’t in Devon, or Kent. It was on top of London’s Ham Yard Hotel, not two minutes from the insane comings-and-goings of Piccadilly Circus.
He was an extremely handsome guy; stalwart, chiseled features, five eleven and a solid one-ninety, fit and trim, thick forearms, all-reflexes, like a western gunfighter. His blond hair was cut into a high-and-tight, which implied a military background. His eyes were bright blue. They belonged to a fellow who could overcome challenges.
Those eyes turned loving, as a dusky woman sat down opposite him. She was the man’s equal in extraordinary appearance. She was perhaps five-two with a wealth of dark brown hair framing a beautiful oval face, huge brown eyes, a slim nose and a full sensual mouth.
The rest of her was a Sultan’s delight, voluptuous and erotic. The subtle hint of her perfume preceded her. It evoked images of a-hundred-and-one nights of carnal pleasure. Her eyes sparkled with humor and warmth. She extended both arms as she sat. It was an affectionate gesture. They held each other’s hands, looking deeply into each other’s eyes. Their love for each other was unmistakable.
The tender scene was captured by a big dragon fly, which was hovering next to a hollyhock. Except it wasn’t an insect. It was a PD 100 Black Hornet micro-bot. It was easy to make the mistake. The miniature drone was painted to look exactly like a dragon fly.
The handler had released it from his palm as he stepped onto the terrace. The HD video was transmitted to a digital repeater in the handler’s pocket. From there, it streamed to a satellite and down to an obscure little building in Beltsville, Maryland. That building housed the Special Collection Service.
The Special Collection Service is a joint CIA-NSA black-budget operation. It is never a good thing to be caught doing clandestine surveillance, particularly if you are in a friendly country, or even France for that matter. It tends to create hard feelings among the natives.
It doesn’t mean that we don’t do it. It just means that we do it covertly. So, the SCS uses “Mission Impossible” stuff; and the dragonfly drone and various other bird and insect bug-bots are their stock in trade.
I joined the Guard after I got out of the Army. It seemed like a safe commitment. My wife, Pia, thought that a weekend a month and a couple of weeks a year was good for me. She told me that playing soldier made me less aggressive.
She was right, of course. I AM a little over-aggressive. That’s why I spend so much time hitting the weights. It’s a lot more constructive than hitting other people. That thought reminded me of Pia’s brutal murder. The man who had seduced and killed her was in the ground too.
His spinal injury made him a helpless cripple. So, he killed himself. His death saddened me. I had hoped that he would live a long and excruciatingly painful life, but the sniveling coward was too weak to deal with reality. I had caused that injury. It was the least I could do for my murdered wife.
After I settled that debt, I went back to lonely ten-hour days. We contract with the Feds to do local sniffing. The question might be asked, “Why would the National Counter Terrorism Center, hire clandestine agents to watch the people of the Windy City?” It’s because, Cook County might have more potential home-grown jihadists than a few Middle Eastern countries.
Those people aren’t unhappy Brothas either. They are typically over-entitled, rich-kids; eager to shirk adult responsibility. Most are posers. They’re just doing it to impress their friends; and horrify their folks. But a few are too stupid to see the big picture. They’re the ones we keep an eye on.
I was sipping my morning coffee when a wealth of copper curls and a gorgeous pair of green eyes peeked around the door. I heard a husky female voice say, “What kind of mood are you in boss?” I laughed and said, “I haven’t killed anybody ... yet!! What can I do for you Kelly?”
My partner takes getting used to. Kelly is arguably the hottest Celtic woman in captivity; at least, since the lifestyle caught up with Lindsay Lohan. She is five-foot seven and a hundred and twenty-five pounds of gorgeous Irish female.
Her bountiful hair is the color of copper. Her huge cat eyes are deep emerald and loaded with tons of Irish mischief. Her nose is narrow and long and her full mouth is downright lascivious. She also puts new meaning to the term “brick-shit-house.”
Kelly is the second toughest and most ruthless person I know; moi being numero-uno. She can steal your secrets, or kick your ass. She can seduce a marble statue. She can drive a nail with her little Barretta nano; which she keeps in a pancake holster, located just above the crack in her delicious round ass. She is whip-smart, street-clever, totally fearless and unquestionably loyal.
We are perfect together. We think alike and we have the deepest mutual respect. I know she loves me, but we will never get together in a romantic way.
Why would I NOT want to fuck Miss Kelly McMahan? She might be the most sensuous female agent since the French shot Mata Hari. It’s because I don’t want to mess-up what we have. And a sexual element would complicate things infinitely.
I discovered that while we were investigating Pia’s murder.
Pia’s killer’s DNA was a critical piece of evidence. If I didn’t get it, the perp would skate. The problem was that he wouldn’t give it up voluntarily. I COULD get it by brute force; which was my preferred method anyhow. But, knocking him out would warn him that I was coming. And I knew he’d scamper down a rat hole. So, I was stuck.
Kelly got it for me, except she did it by fucking the suspect. I should have known that she would do something like that. She saw how much I needed the sample, and it was just sex to her.
But, the thought of Kelly with that slime-ball’s cock in her drove me into green-eyed paroxysms. I was astonished to find that I was even angrier than when I discovered that my loving wife was fucking the same douchebag.
It made me realize how deeply in love I was with Miss Kelly McMahan.
I’m a player. I’m always on top of the situation, nobody gets a clean shot, but Kelly knocked me out with one punch. And, the amount of hurt that she laid on me made her an existential threat. So, I did the only thing I could. I closed her off completely.
Before I met Pia, I thought that everybody was out to screw me. I knew that Pia was the one person I could trust. She had every admirable trait, warm. loving, nurturing and smart. But she had one weakness. She loved to fuck. Her boss took advantage of that.
Pia’s betrayal was hard to take, even for a thug like me. So, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Instead, Kelly and I have the most sympatico bond that two partners can have. I’ve never had a friend, man, or woman, who I have EVER felt closer to than Kelly.
That includes my former wife. Pia was a warm and loving woman, too loving as the case turned out. But Pia didn’t come close to Kelly’s status as a life-partner. Kelly is me, and I am her.
Kelly gets horny when she has a new case. It’s especially true if there might be danger and violence involved. That’s her version of foreplay. I wondered what had prompted her present state. She sauntered the rest of the way into the room. I said resignedly, “Okay, what are we doing now?”
She gave me her cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk and said, “How would you like an all-expense-paid trip to Europe?”
I said, “There’s no such thing as free. What’s the catch?”
She turned to close the door. She was wearing yoga pants, for God’s sake!! Her butt was so perfectly round and full that you could bounce quarters off it. It’s times like these that test my resolve. There isn’t a man born, whom Kelly can’t get a rise out of, especially when she is in one of THOSE moods.
She walked over and sat, crossing her legs in a way that drives me nuts. Naturally, she knows that. She said, “Frank at the NCTC called.” Frank was our Program Administrator. I said, “What does he want?”
She said, “He wants us to come to DC to talk. He said it had to be there, not here.”
I said, “I wonder what’s so red-hot pressing?”
Kelly got that familiar larcenous gleam in her eye, it’s a look I love. She said, “I’ll bet that there’s a pot of gold at the end of THAT rainbow. I’ll make the arrangements.”
Bill Hughes Junior had led a privileged life. His dad, Bill Senior, owned a big beltway consulting firm. His mother Maddie, was a lawyer and very rich in her own right.
Maddie was actually Billy’s step-mom. But she was his center of gravity and guiding star. Her wisdom and intelligence were the virtues that inspired him to excellence.
The strength of her love had given Billy the confidence to excel at the Academy. After that, he had gone through the advanced-strike pipeline, at NAS Pensacola. When he graduated, he had flown carrier missions all over the Gulf.
Billy was renowned as a “hot stick.” That got him an offer to join the Navy’s Flight Demonstration Team, better known as the Blue Angels.
He met Suzy at a Make-a-Wish event. The Blue Angels, leverage Navy PR. Part of that is the one-on-one contact with the public, so Billy and the Team’s slot guy were sitting at a table signing pictures. The PR people had carefully posed them in front of an F/A 18A, with its spectacular blue and yellow paint job.
Billy looked up into the hottest cornflower blue eyes imaginable. They mingled little girl innocence with carnal knowledge. She was smiling shyly while proffering the eight-by-ten glossy of him standing in front of his aircraft. He had to admit that he DID look like a knight in shining armor.
He gave her his most welcoming smile. Every member of the public got that smile. But this one was especially welcoming. That was because Suzy Marshall was a sight to behold.
Her flawless, heart shaped face was framed by a wealth of natural blond hair, tied back in a single long pony tail. Her features were perfect; button nose, huge round eyes and a mouth that was so sensual it screamed, “kiss me.” She was wearing one of those off the shoulder tops that all the country-girls sport. The mounds of her big, round, firm breasts peeked above the elastic.
For a change, it was Billy who was flustered. He dropped the pen. Before he could move, she bent down and retrieved it. That didn’t help things, since her perfect apple ass stretched her jeans even tighter. He just stood there looking at her. She looked at him expectantly. The people waiting in line started to get restless. He hastily signed. She said, “Thank you,” and moved past him.
The slot guy said appreciatively, “Man, I would love a piece of THAT!!”
Later that day, Billy was standing in the Make-a-Wish reception. It was August, so he was wearing his Summer Service Whites, which everybody calls the “Milkman.” He had the shoulder boards of a Lieutenant Commander and the gold wings of a Naval Aviator.
The “V” on his Air Medal designated his combat service and the 68 strike/flight numbers detailed it. The Distinguished Flying Cross with two silver stars indicated that some of that combat was down-on-the-deck in close support of Marine operations.
Billy didn’t drink much. You need to have split second reflexes to fly an F/A-18; at least, in the way that it’s supposed to be flown, so Billy kept himself in perfect shape. Self-discipline was natural for him. His mother expected it.
He knew that his mother loved him beyond her other children. It was odd really. Billy was three years old when Maddie Wilson came into his life. Billy had never known his birth mother, nor did he want to. There were only two women in his life. They were, his unparalleled mom and his even more incomparable sister Chelsea.
Maddie Hughes raised extraordinary children. Bill’s younger sister, Chelsea, exceeded her mother’s extravagant beauty. She should have been the family’s stunning crown jewel, perfect debutant and conspicuous social asset. But she was a genius.
So, instead of “marrying well” and merging into white glove society, Chelsea disappeared into the darkweb. Nobody knew what she was doing, but the rumor was that she was an elite, super-hacker.
Chelsea idolized Billy, so he was the only family member with whom she regularly communicated. He knew that she was married to an enigmatic older guy and living on the Island of St Lucia. What they did for a living was anybody’s guess. But whatever it was, had brought them very-big-money.
Billy had sufficiently “showed the flag.” He was about to leave, when he felt a tentative tap on his arm. He turned questioningly; the only thing lacking was the halo and the heavenly choir. If there is such a thing as kismet, it appeared when Billy Hughes locked eyes with Miss Suzy Marshall.
Instead of a casual top and painted on jeans, this version of Suzy Marshall was dressed to kill. She was average height for a woman, perhaps five-five, but the brushed gold Herve Leger Iman dress made her look like five feet of shapely leg.
Of course, the rest of Suzy was awe inspiring. The dress was held up by a tapered strap that left her shoulders bare down to the big round mounds of her impressive boobs. It accentuated her long waist and amazing bubble-butt. Billy was enthralled.
Suzy said, “I wanted to thank you again for signing the picture.” The look in her eye said she wanted to do a lot more than just thank him. He stammered some sort of inane reply and stood there gaping at her beauty.
There was an uncomfortable moment. She finally said, “My Daddy is sponsoring this event. Would you like to meet him?” So, she was rich too!!
Billy nodded mute assent and she gently took his arm and led him over to the circle of Louisville elite. She walked up to a guy who Kentucky society would have called, “Big Daddy.” He was a large fleshy man, much bigger than Billy. It was Derby week, so he was wearing the full Colonel Sanders, right down to the black string tie. He was holding court with a bunch of big-shots. They were all drinking juleps.
Suzy crushed Billy’s arm against one firm boob and said, “Daddy, I wanted to introduce Billy Hughes, we are close friends.” That was news to Billy. It was good news, but news nonetheless. Big Daddy turned and looked at Billy, who was standing with his usual relaxed confident attitude.
Billy extended his hand and said, “An honor to meet you Sir.”
Big Daddy did the calculations. The Blue Angels were in town and his daughter was wrapped, possessively around a naval aviator. Ergo, Billy must be one of the Angels. Big Daddy gave Billy the politician’s two-handed shake and said in his booming voice, aimed at getting the maximum advantage out of what his daughter had brought him, “It’s a privilege to meet you son. Which position do you fly?”
Everybody in the immediate area swiveled to look at him.
Billy blushed furiously and said self-effacingly, “Number five, lead solo, Sir. We do the sneak passes and the high-alphas. The guys in the diamond do the real flying.”
Suzy actually squealed with excitement and said, “We’ll get to see him do it tomorrow Daddy. I have his autographed picture and everything.”
Big Daddy said expansively, “We’ll all be looking for you tomorrow, Son. Perhaps you’ll do us the honor of watching the fireworks show afterward on our VIP Rooftop.”
Suzy squealed again and mashed his arm between her two big breasts. She said, “That would be wonderful Daddy. I’m never letting this man go.”
It’s a fact!! Military intelligence is an oxymoron, but perhaps I’m jaded. Nothing ever surprises me and nobody in DC has ever sunk lower than my expectations. Still, the increasing amount of time that I have spent there never fails to reinforce the belief that there are additional depths to be plumbed.
When you think of intelligence you think of dedicated patriots. That’s probably true among field agents and analysts. But with clandestine service managers; what you get are ass-covering blame-shifting bureaucrats, most of whom are pushing a personal agenda.
The best word to describe them is “sanctimonious.” Their only thought is how to further their own career, and “the big picture” for them is the portrait of the current President, which is always worshipfully displayed behind their desk.
That pretty-much summed up Frank McCarthy. Frank always gives Kelly a thorough and appreciative going over whenever she’s in the same room. Those attentions might be a problem for some women, but Kelly doesn’t discourage it. She tries to keep Frank motivated and if he ever got out of line, she would just shoot him.
Frank was squatting at his desk, looking like Jaba the Hut; without the Klatooine paddy frogs. Kelly and I were sitting on the other side. Frank shuffled a file. It obviously contained our paperwork. He cleared his throat, then he sat there looking like he didn’t know what to do with us.
Kelly, ever the smart-ass said in a bored voice, “Take your time Frank; we’ve got all day.”
He harrumphed some more and then the door opened. Lieutenant General Burton Reynolds walked into the room. The good General’s parents were either devoted fans of Smokey-and-the-Bandit or they were totally clueless. My money was on the latter.
The funnel gets narrow at the top, so moving up requires a skill-set more appropriate to the Emperor of Byzantium’s Court than the E-Ring of the Pentagon. Hence, most three-stars are politicians. Sitting in front of me was a slightly chubby illustration of that adage.
Lieutenant General Reynolds had always been in Intelligence. So, he didn’t carry the hard edge that field commanders have. Nevertheless, he was VERY impressed by the three stars on his shoulder tabs. And he expected everybody in the room to be equally awe-struck. IT WAS a significant achievement; no matter how much backstabbing he had to do to get there.
He also checked out Kelly, who was giving him a full vista of her gorgeous upper body. Kelly is perfectly happy to accommodate men, if they want to make fools out of themselves.
He turned to me and said, “I have an assignment for you Major.”
I said, “Check with the Governor of Illinois, I’m in the Guard now.”
He said roughly, “You’ve just been called back to active service MAJOR, here are your orders.”
I thought to myself, “Shit!!! Those bastards were going to activate me and McCarthy set this up.”
I uttered the immortal words of every poor sucker the Army’s just dropped in the shitter, “Why me!!!?”
Reynolds got a beatific look and said, “Because we can!!”
McCarthy chimed in, “The General was looking for a non-entity to do some deep cover investigation. It had to be somebody we could activate, and who we had by the balls contractually.”
He was right. They COULD activate me and I WAS on contract. I’m tough enough to walk away but that’s another conversation.
Frank got an evil grin as he said, “I told him that you were a world-class smart-ass and a giant pain in the tuchus. But that you knew your stuff. So, you’re the lucky bastard who gets ass-fucked by the rigid rod of reality.
I said grimly, “I don’t do anything without my partner.” I knew Kelly would demand that I drag her into the shit with me. It was who she was.
Reynolds looked like he was going to say something stupid. So, I added with menace, “I’d hate to resign and let the chips fall where they may. But that’s going to happen if Kelly doesn’t come along.” The dude could see that I wasn’t kidding.
He glanced scornfully at Kelly. She stared back at him daring him to say something. The contest went on for several seconds. Finally, he sighed and said, “You can include her If she passes the background check. This is a highly sensitive assignment.”
Then he turned to McCarthy and said, “You were right. He IS a pain in the ass.”
Billy had flown his usual capable show, showered, and changed into his whites. The Navy wanted the Angel’s presence to be noted. He had driven the 15 miles to the Marshall family compound, on River Drive. It had an excellent view of the Ohio.
Billy had spent his entire life going to society parties, thanks to his mom. So, he could slide into a milling pack of beautiful people with ease. Nevertheless, it was hard for him to be anonymous, since he was in an all-white uniform, with medals hanging all over his chest.
People looked inquiringly at him, as he made his way around the rooftop in search of Suzy. He could hear the whispers, “That’s Suzy Marshall’s new man.” All he had done was sign a picture for her. It was a little disturbing to discover that he had been promoted to boyfriend-in-absentia.
He finally spotted Suzy on the dance floor. She was dancing with a Tom Cruise lookalike, her vibrant spirit and joi d’vivre filled the room.
She was in the standard little black dress, but the woman inside that dress was spectacular. Her thick mane of blond hair hung down to her shoulder blades. Her beautiful face was suffused with the joy of sensuous movement, but the most remarkable part was her body.
Suzy’s thighs were proportionally a little longer than the average women’s. That left the illusion that she was all slim, shapely leg. He could see her leg muscles flexing, because the dress was at least four inches above her knee and skin tight. That showcased her full, round butt and exceptionally long, narrow waist. Her breasts were much larger than the norm, and her scoop neck showed off three inches of pure cleavage.
The music stopped and Suzy blissfully hugged faux-Tom. Her big boobs pillowed between them. They shared a long happy kiss and then she turned and began to walk toward her father’s group, holding faux-Tom by the hand. There was intense familiarity between the two. It was obvious that they were lovers.
Billy experienced a couple of emotions. The first was aching jealousy. The second was bitter regret. He turned and made his way to the exit stairs He was upset, but he wasn’t going to show it. He had that kind of pride and self-control.
Billy was just getting back to the Crown-Plaza when his phone lit up. Suzy was on the caller ID. He didn’t want to talk to her, so he didn’t answer. The phone lit up three more times in the succeeding hour. She wasn’t going away. He answered the fifth call. He said, “Hi Suzy.”
Her voice was distraught. She said, “Where did you go? People told me that you were there, but you disappeared.”
Billy was in new territory, caught between conflicting feelings. He had been hurt by what he saw. But the disciplined naval aviator wouldn’t admit to an emotion as petty as jealousy, especially since it involved a woman he barely knew.
He said, “I was there but I saw you were occupied. I only came to the party to see you, so I just went back to the hotel. We fly out at 07:30 tomorrow.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. Finally, she said timidly, “Can I explain something?”
Billy said, “It’s a little late, Suzy. I need to be up by 04:30.”
Her voice had tears in it as she said, “Please, it won’t take long. I promise to leave by 10:00.”
Billy had flown combat missions on three hours of sack time, so, it wasn’t a matter of losing sleep. The thing that bothered him was the idea of having a woman in his room at 22:00. The Angels were grownups. They could have guests, even at that late hour, but Billy was a bit of a stuffed shirt when it came to appearances.
The tricky part was that he felt unusual things for Suzy Marshall, emotions that he had never experienced, so he said cautiously, “Okay, Room 146.” The knock on his door came almost immediately. He opened it puzzled.
She was standing there in her little black dress, mascara running down her cheeks, holding her cell phone and looking like a recently drowned kitten. Crying, she threw her arms around Billy and buried her face in his chest.
Billy was knocked backwards, the door slammed shut and he stood there with a weeping woman in his arms. Being Billy, he was concerned about what her makeup was doing to his white shirt. She reared her head back and said tearfully, “I’m so sorry.”
Billy led her to the room’s little table. She sat there looking at him solemnly. He said truly puzzled, “Sorry about what?”
She said, “You saw me dancing with Chip, didn’t you?”
Billy said, “If Chip is a six-two, hunka-hunka-burning-love, then yes.”
The conflict was written all over her beautiful face as she said, “He’s my fiancé, or he was until tonight.”
Billy thought, “Okay, that makes no sense whatsoever.”
Suzy looked at him pleadingly and said, “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I am normally a sensible girl. But, I went completely nuts when I found out that you had been there, and then left. It hit me like a thunderbolt, I love you!!!”
She looked at him pleadingly and said, “I’ve known from the instant we met that you are the only man for me. I told Chip that. He didn’t like it. Daddy didn’t like it, but I’m comfortable with my decision.”
Billy looked at her shocked. She rose from the chair smoothed her dress and said with deep womanly conviction, “So, this is all yours if you want it.”
Billy didn’t know what to say. He had flown into SDF as a 28-year-old jet jockey wedded to the Navy, but, there was no doubt that the woman in front of him ticked every box. Her beauty, sexuality, intelligence and shining spirit were everything a man could want.
The problem was that, every other member of the team was more sexually experienced than Billy. During his Academy days and afterward, Billy had fucked a few over-bred, rich-girls. But, it was always classic missionary; in and out with no mess.
Women of a certain status don’t do wild sex. And God help you, if you delivered your payload on anything but the authorized target. So, Billy had never experienced anything but reserve and repression in his sex-life.
He stood hesitantly. She came to him radiating predatory assurance and dropped to her knees. He looked confused, as-if he had no idea what she was planning next. Suzy thought that was preciously droll. He really WAS a boy-scout. She unzipped him. He finally realized what she had in mind. He tensed.
The instrument she withdrew was as perfect as the man. Even Chip, who was well endowed, couldn’t compete. It was the embodiment of the F/A 18, long, sleek and potent. As she slid it into her mouth, she gave Billy her patented “fuck-me” stare, her gorgeous cornflower blue eyes broadcasting her hunger. He groaned in ecstasy, his head rocked back and his eyes closed. Suzy purred with contentment.
She worked on him until he was panting and pumping with need, then she stopped stood and sinuously slipped her dress off, dropping her cheekster panties as she did it. He made a little moan of frustration. She unsnapped her bra and stood still for his inspection.
Billy couldn’t believe what was happening to him. This golden goddess had just given him more sexual delight than he had experienced in his life. Then she had revealed herself in all her erotic glory. Her body was both hard and soft, fragile feminine shoulders and formidable, full tits, without the slightest hint of sag. They had been helped a bit, but Billy would never be able to tell. Her aureolae were perfectly round and pink with big, red distended nipples.
Her body from boobs to hips was rock hard and narrow. Her stomach was flat, and her waist was nipped-in perfection, but of course the seat of womanly power is in the hips. Suzy’s were tantalizing, sturdy and fruitful, with the joining of her legs bare and inviting.
Nonetheless, her crown jewel was the splendor of her legs. They were perfect, slim, yet powerful. The open triangle at the top revealed muscled inner thighs and the tops of those thighs were so long and faultlessly shaped that he couldn’t take his eyes off them.
Suzy knew how devastatingly beautiful she was. Men prior to Billy had also just stood there gaping at her, so sometimes they needed a jump-start. She took things into her own hands. She smiled alluringly walked over to Billy and began to unbutton his shirt. He got the hint. Soon, he was as naked as she was.
Bill’s body was chiseled perfection. Chip was several inches taller but there was no way he could exude Billy’s erotic energy. Chip was a businessman, ten years older and soft from too many power-lunches.
Billy’s shoulders and chest were the ideal male build. Insanely strong, but not intimidating, nicely furry but not a pelt. His pecs and deltoids were big and well defined from hauling stick in a 3g environment. His legs were the marble pillars of a Greek God, but it was the precision of his movement, every motion controlled and exact, that drove her into a sexual frenzy.
She yanked him forward and they fell on the bed together. Suzy normally liked a little oral stimulation, just to get the juices flowing so-to-speak, but in this case, she was so excited that she was dripping. She was still making all the moves, but he was following along nicely.
She elevated her legs and pulled him into her. That hot thing slid up her passage. It filled her to perfection and. she lost all control. She groaned; a lingering cry of sexual duress. Her hips elevated to take him to the hilt. She wrapped her long, slim legs around his waist as he began to pound her. She howled her pleasure to the surrounding walls.
Billy had never experienced a woman like Suzy. He had several girlfriends in his high school and Academy days. Still, they were all members of the same elite social group. Hesitancy and restraint were the order of the day, at least for “good” girls. None of the women he’d known to that point had ever came close to Suzy’s downright feral approach to mating.
Billy simply had no point of reference for what was going on underneath him. Suzy was wildly out of control. Her legs held him in a vice. She was panting like a steam engine and writhing her boobs on his chest making loud animal cries of pleasure. The sweat pooled between them making the contact even more sensuous. Her pussy was pulsing on him like a busy Wisconsin milkmaid.
The hormonal smell of aroused female was driving him nutty. Still, Billy Hughes was a man of discipline and in excellent shape, so he continued to drive into her and she pounded back on him until she began to shriek, “Nyyyaahh, Nyyyaahh, Nyyyaahh, Nyyyaahh, YESSSS!!! OH!!! MY FUCKING GOD!!!”
Her hips went into overdrive, torqueing up slowly until they were cycling at impossible speed. They reminded him of how the GE-402s, that powered the Hornet, got to max-RPM. That made her come again. She shouted, “CUMAGAIN!!! OH JESUS!!! DON’T STOP!!!” And Billy didn’t.
She was contracting furiously around him, eyes white, with the cornflower blue irises completely rolled up into her head. Her breathing was frantic. Billy couldn’t stand it anymore. He never made sounds during sex, but he heard himself roaring, “Fuck Yeah!!!” as he shot round, after round into her.
He came back to awareness lying between her widely spread legs. She was breathing dreamily, almost like she had passed out. He looked into her gorgeous face worried. Her eyes popped open confused. It was like she really was coming back from another place. She took a second to focus. Then her full, lips contracted into a merry grin and she said, “That was the most amazing experience of my life. I’m never letting you go.”
She never did. They corresponded for a short time while she got her affairs together in Louisville. That included officially ending her engagement. Daddy wasn’t happy. She didn’t care. She had found the man of her dreams. As far as Suzy was concerned, the faster they married the better.
The following month, Suzy joined Billy in Pensacola and they were wed. Both should have been a little leery of the radically short time of the courtship. And perhaps Billy should have been more cognizant of his soon-to-be bride’s impulsiveness. But none of that mattered. They were in love.
The briefing was short and sweet. Reynolds handed us off to one of his flunkies. The minion took us into a TEMPEST shielded room. The shielding told me the information was important. The fact that they were using a nobody to brief us, told me that we were ALL expendable. They call it, “plausible deniability.”
The target of investigation was a dude who I would have liked to have a beer with. Even if he was a squid. There was simply nothing suspicious about him.
But then again, if Hughes wasn’t a person of interest, his little sister sure was.
That’s because, there was indirect evidence that she was a card-carrying member of the Red Dragon Revolution, one of the world’s most feared hacking groups. The fact that she and her husband just happened to live outside U.S. jurisdiction didn’t seem like a coincidence.
The rest of the family were power players. His Mom was a big-time DC lawyer and society friend of half of Congress. One aunt was a Senior Partner in a Big Four firm. She had her dainty fingers sunk into major chunks of the economy. The other aunt was part saint, and part globe spanning doctor.
I finally stopped the nerd, who was doing the briefing, and said, “So far you’ve shown me nothing. There might be a potential black sheep. But this guy is a hero. Why the fuck would you waste the taxpayer’s money on something as flimsy as this?”
The nerd said, “There’s a lot more to show you.” He then proceeded to outline the background of the Esfahan family.
The daughter, Samreen, was Hughes’s current object of lust. I didn’t blame him. If I wasn’t carrying on a frustratingly platonic lifetime affair with Miss Kelly McMahan, I would DEFINITELY do Samreen Esfahan. She was sex on an exotic Persian stick; as hot as the Dasht-e-Kavir, the Great Salt Desert of Iran.
On the surface, she seemed perfectly innocent. But, McCarthy alleged that she was working for the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence, known in the trade as VAJA. There was no direct evidence to link her. But, her father Jahangir and her two brothers Rahim and Bahadur were high up in the Revolutionary Guard. Plus, her mother had been an operative with the old VEVAK. So, it ran in the family.
The surveillance that had started the ball rolling, was through London’s network of street cameras. Hughes was important enough to justify keeping an eye on. It was handed to a CIA Case Officer when it became apparent that he and Miss Esfahan were more than casual acquaintances.
Our job was to confirm whether Commander Hughes was an appropriate candidate for a CIA headbag.
So why use a couple of Windy City gumshoes? The action was in London, not Chicago. the answer was obvious. They needed easily-disposable cover, and we were available.
If you’re the government, you can’t just outright screw-over one of your citizens. You’d have to surrender the moral high ground if you did that. So instead you pretend to do a thorough investigation. Then an analyst “interprets” the “findings.” THEN, you do whatever the fuck you wanted to do to him in the first place.
The CIA Directorate of Operations had been burned by Ames, Hanssen and Snowdon. So, they planned to make an example out of Hughes. That’s the way it works; it’s all in the optics and carefully planned misdirection.
How did I know that? Because I had done that shit for years, first as a military cop and then as an analyst. So, I knew that Hughes had gotten crosswise with somebody powerful. And THAT somebody was fitting him for a gold-plated frame.
The only real mystery was; why Hughes? That question would make for a worthwhile puzzle to sort out.
After his tour with the Angels, Billy was assigned to VT-21 at NAS Kingsville. He was an Instructor/Pilot. He was flying T-45 Goshawks instead of F/A 18s. But, he found to his absolute delight that he loved taking eager trainees, on the long journey from novice, to naval aviator.
Meanwhile, Suzy was the leading light of base society. She was the star of every social event. Billy was proud of his beautiful wife and she was delighted to be married to the Base’s star instructor.
Billy’s Annapolis credentials and his time with the Angels were marks of distinction. However, there was one exception to the universal respect. That was Captain Dirk Bennett.
Bennett was Billy’s commanding officer and the son of Admiral Lindsay Bennett. Admiral Bennett might be a member of the Joint Chiefs. But, his son would get boiling mad if anybody implied that his rapid advancement had anything to do with nepotism.
Dirk Bennett was a big, good-looking guy; running to overweight. He had been the star of his own show growing up. He was the best at everything and the acknowledged Prince Charming. Now, his far too humble underling kept stealing his thunder. Worse, Billy seemed to do it without any visible effort. He was just a great pilot and a natural leader.
Bennett’s own flying career had been less than stellar. At six four and two-thirty, Bennet was too big to qualify for anything but the propeller pipeline. So, he had flown the P-3 Orion.
There was nothing wrong with submarine hunting. In fact, it was an essential cog in the defense of the Nation. But, spending a career putt-putting along at 400 knots made Bennett hate the jet jockeys. Now he had the most righteous of them all under his command.
Dirk Bennett saw everything Billy did as a conscious effort to hog the hero worship that should rightfully have been his, and he resented it. Even worse. Hughes had a goddess for a wife.
Bennet’s wife Julia was attractive enough. But, she wasn’t the big-titted trophy that every aspiring macho-man needs, to prove his innate superiority. Ipso facto, Bennett had to steal Suzy Hughes.
Bennett was a smooth operator. He could sense Suzy’s fatal flaw. She was addicted to conquest, in that bagging attractive males propped-up her self-image. Even worse, Suzy was impulsive to the point of recklessness. THAT was something that Bennett knew he could exploit.
So, Bennett slithered over to Suzy at every party, and spent his time telling her how much he valued Billy, both as a friend and as an instructor. He would make it a point to tell Suzy that, he was dedicated to advancing Billy’s career.