Chapter 5

The UH-45 bucked up and down as it headed for its rendezvous with the Wahoo.Inside, Lt. Tracy Parker grasped the handholds tightly even though she was strapped into the jump seat behind the helo's pilot, Ensign Betty Knight. Choppers rarely flew in these types of storms; approaching dusk, this flight was nearly insane. Occasionally, the co-pilot, CWO Ted Griggs would glance back at the passenger. He was trying to figure out what all the fuss was about. Even buried in flight suit, boots, helmet, survival gear, and Mae West, he could see that Tracy was a very attractive woman. "So," Griggs wondered. "What's she doin' meeting up with a submarine 2000 miles from nowhere?" The seaman in the jumpseat next to Tracy was thinking the same thing.

Jamal Aziz looked at the rain pouring off the metal awning of his private hooch above ground. The storm had eased and then gained strength during the day. According to CNN, this weather would continue for the next 3 days. Even with the rain, the island was unbearably hot. The volcanic action underneath the complex was calm but constant -- like a sauna, heating the air all around and the water. Even the breezes were hot and wet. "Well, at least I have a fan and cable," he mused as he studied the still form of his aide and mistress Justine Loudon on his comfortable mosquito-netted bed.

Justine Loudon was an aristocrat by birth. Born to an English lord and Egyptian mother, she was an only child -- spoiled and pampered. Willful from birth, she developed latent tendencies towards cruelty and carelessness as she got older. The culmination of 22 years of reckless living, her relationship with Jamal had begun at the Puerto Bahnus during an alcoholic party and sex binge at the height of the season. With supreme self-pity and self-love, she concluded that her life was at a dead-end and that her parents and a corrupt system were to blame. Jamal, already known in some circles for his flamboyant acts of political daring, in other circles as a ruthless murderer, met Justine at a party and was immediately obsessed by the beautiful aristocrat's blatant hatred of her class and her culture. With her wealth, she could be very handy. "And amusing, too," he recalled remarking to himself.

Now, 3 years later, Justine had become more deadly and more beautiful. Lying uncovered in his bed, Jamal inspected the 5' 7", tanned body of his companion. She looked like a Nefrateti or Cleopatra; darker than the average Caucasian, with dark brown hair streaked with henna. Her round bottom was balanced by her full and shapely breasts, capped by large dark areoles centered with small dark nipples. Her long legs occasionally twitched from some unconscious dream; her toes curled and then relaxed. Jamal considered himself very lucky. She was an insatiable lover. Lazily, he stood up and walked over to a mirror on the wall and a pan of water.