Chapter 12

Lt. Tracy Parker crawled through the air vent from the power room of Aziz's compound. The way was gritty and grimy. As she crawled, her stomach, breasts, legs and arms became black with the dirt and filth that had collected inside the vents over the many months since the construction of the underground hideout. Enough light filtered through attached duct-work to light Tracy's way as she made her way towards what she knew would be a room close to the area where the bomb was suspected to be stored.

It was estimated that there were about 50 people in the compound. All were terrorists or related to the terrorists in some way. Both men and women were members of the Shining Light organization. International in composition, most were from the Middle East with others from Europe, Asia and Latin America. All were educated or well-born, young and disillusioned; the young and disillusioned were always easily won over by the charismatic Aziz. He had a way of making a person feel as though they belonged, was noble, heroic, superior.

Justine Loudon, lounged in a small bean bag chair in Jamal's hooch. A rare luxury, she had found it a decadent but comfortable item. She wore only a short red sarong; the rest of her shapely, thin body was bare. She twirled her full, dark hair around her left index finger as she semi-dozed -- her very beautiful and large brown eyes shaded by long, dark lashes half-opened, staring at nothing in particular. She reclined in such a way as to display the fullness of her large, round breasts, the thinness of her torso, the fullness of her hips and the long, shapely legs. She had inherited a delicate and aristocratic frame from her father; from her Egyptian mother, Justine had received her dark beauty. Jamal came from the back of the other room and saw Justine lying in perfect, sinful boredom.

His penis grew hard as he looked at her. They were always engaged in some sexual activity, many times in less-than-private locations at the whim of Justine whose sexual appetite was limitless. He had never been in a woman that could climax more often or as completely as she. He smiled as he thought about her insatiable hunger for sex. It was perfect for him. No amateur himself, he was the only man Justine ever knew that could so fulfill her as many times as she needed for so long.

Together, their sex was violent and bestial and humiliating and completely without bars; writhing, painful, wet, they climbed and crawled over each others' bodies; she, biting and sucking; he, chewing and rough. At times, they had even had members of the Shining Light join them in impromptu orgies -- prior to acts of terrorism or in celebration of successful missions. The promise of violence or the aftermath of violent acts seemed to add to both of their enjoyment.

Jamal quietly stepped up next to Justine. "I've been neglectful, 'lamile, '" he said to her using the Arabic term for affection. "And I have much to do before our visitor arrives. It will be the supreme surprise to her and her American president when she is returned as a lifeless piece of trash and, by that time, my bomb is placed in a more 'sensitive' location." Jamal enjoyed speculating about the horror he would elicit when his bomb exploded beneath New York's World Trade Center. "I will complete the clumsy work of that damned blind cleric." Aziz stretched and yawned. "I need you very much, Justine," Jamal whispered obscenely in Justine's ear. She sniffed and looked at him with cool eyes.

"I'm hot and sweaty and uncomfortable. And I'm bored. Your bomb won't be moved until the week-end. And I must wait for a skinny whore for amusement?" Justine was still jealous of Jamal's leering interest in Tracy's faxed image. But, she wasn't angry; she was simply baiting him. She was bored, and he was an available object of her boredom. Jamal straightened up; he'd seen her this way before. Even as fearsome as he was, he obeyed the laws of nature that made men back away from potentially dangerous female moods.

"I'm only saying," and aroused Jamal gently began again, bending down and rubbing her bare right breast slowly with his left hand, "that we only have to wait a little while and the reward will be most exciting and worthwhile." Jamal wanted to be a true player on the political scene. An act of such monstrous consequences would make him a major part of global policy and of history forever. "Both of us would be immortal," he tried to promise Justine. But, Justine was bored. She got up. "I'm going to bathe inside," she dryly informed the frustrated Jamal. And then she stepped out into the rain -- naked except for the short, red sarong -- and ran towards the compound entrance.

She was already thoroughly wet when she entered the complex's above ground entrance. She walked through the large, well lit warehouse, past some of the men and women now used to seeing the painfully arousing image of the nearly naked Justine, and towards the concrete steps that lead underneath. All the sides of the above ground warehouse were punctured by large airplane hanger doors, now fully opened for ventilation; to one side and outside was a dock and a cove that allowed small boats to come and resupply the terrorists on a routine basis. As Justine got to the first landing on the stairway with its long path downward, she opened the metal cage door and closed it with a clackity-clang behind her. She was breathtaking -- her hair wet and long and full, its dark strands framing her gorgeous face; her breasts, full and round bounced tightly as she skipped down the remaining stairs, through a dark hall, to the 2nd left, another dark anteroom, around a corner and into a large brightly lit cavern. It was a natatorium, a swimming pool underground. Fed by smaller channels than the one found in the grotto where Jamal had killed McKeeson, the swimming pool was an unequivocal luxury. But, it was also a natural feature of the underground caverns that comprised most of the fortress. Aziz forced the women and children of the island to lay the concrete blocks around the sides of the pool while the males carried the loads of mortar and block down to them.

She thought about the young and old; they were a beautiful Polynesian-looking people. Their skin was a uniform, light nut brown and their faces possessed real beauty. The women, especially the young were uniformly fit and thin. All wore only sarongs like the one she was wearing; never a top. Many of Aziz's men had raped them repeatedly. As Justine stepped into the tepid waters for her bath and swim, she slipped off her sarong to reveal the small bouquet of her pubic hairs. "It was a shame that they all had to die," she thought. She looked around her thinking of the 200 or so males, women and children buried within the concrete of this room. Still, it would have been impossible to keep them all confined; to keep them all silent any other way. "A lot of bullets," she said to herself as she started to swim around on her back, exposing her breasts above the water. Slowly, she softly floated towards the middle of the clear and azure colored pool.

Tracy had arrived at the proper place. The heat in the air shaft was at least 100 humid degrees. This made her body perspire steadily; combined with the grime, her body had acquired a sticky, gooey patina. Her face dripped sweat, her hair limp. The humidity and strain of her silent entry also caused her nose to run -- transparent mucous dripping from her nostrils in long thin ropes. She wiped her face, slowly undid the cover to the vent and silently lowered it to the floor, extending the upper half of her body out beyond the vent carefully to make sure it cleared any obstacle. Tracy's breasts were fully revealed, hanging down perpendicularly to the floor, and still they did held their perfect globe-like shape, the nipples dripping perspiration and her rib cage fully extended over the rim of the opening. Then she pulled herself out and turning, managed to withdraw one long leg and then the other, jumping lightly to the floor. She didn't make a sound. Deftly, she unhitched the submachine gun and swung it around in front of her.

Tracy looked around, her grubby body still running freely with sweat. She was in a small storage room. It was dimly lit. She crouched down and stealthily made her way to a pile of rubbish behind which she could hide. Beyond the open threshold was a darkened corridor. Some boxes had been piled up at the far end. It was also dimly lit. Beyond that was a more well-lit room. Tracy recalled that a small pool inside connecting to other caverns in the complex had been noted. This was the probable location of the bomb. From it, she heard the rattle and hiss of a transistor radio playing some Indonesian pop music; it was occupied. She lowered her head and organized her thoughts. The room had an open exit opposite to her and another door to her left. The door to the left lead away from the corridor to the bomb and towards the dormitories and common area of the Shining Light terrorists. From those common rooms, halls lead towards a large room near the stairs to the surface entrance and around and back towards the other side of the lit room directly ahead of her where the bomb would be. As she prepared herself for the approach, she studied the scene around her.