Chapter 35

John and Jana both listened as a Tu-4 droned overhead. Its four massive radial piston engines rumbled as it passed over. The Tu-4 was due for retirement from the DA-V.V-S (Dal'niya Aviatitsya-Voenno.Vozdushniye-Sily = Long Range Aviation of the Soviet Air Force). A faithful reproduction of the American Boeing B-29, it had been the mainstay of the Soviet strategic bomber force in the early 50s.

The lovers both looked at each other and knew what the other was thinking. 'Height, destination?' Aviation ran in their blood like red corpuscles.

"Night navigation training out of Tushino," John told her.

"Cross country to Ilmen Ozero and back," she agreed, "I know that one very well. We ended up over Leningrad and had to repeat it the next night."

"Oh dear!" smiled John, shaking his head, "compass error?"

"Calibrated 15 degrees off!"

"They always pull that shit. I'm surprised you fell for it."

"It taught me to always double-check. Even we instructors get caught out."

"Never mind, they would've turned you back before you reached Sweden."

"Either that or the PVO-Strany would've shot us down over the Baltic."

"That would be a first," laughed John, "the PVO actually intercepting something!"

"That sounds like inter-service rivalry to me," Jana remarked, "I'm sure even your precious Frontal Aviation screw up from time to time."

"Haven't you heard? We in the FA-V.V-S are the elite!"

"Boasting is not your strong point, John. Are we going to waste this opportunity?" she said, advancing towards him.

They shared a long, passionate kiss. John's hands reached down and clutched her around the bottom, pulling her into him. Jana squirmed against his growing bulge in the front of his trousers.

"Mmm," Jana hummed as they broke for air, "you're still one of the best kissers I've come across."

"I keep in practice," he told her, "and you? Are you keeping in practice?"

"Like riding a bicycle," she said, "one never forgets." She moved in for another kiss, mouth open and a sultry, lustful expression on her face. She was mildly affected by the booze they'd drunk, but it only served to release a few more pheromones. She slipped a hand down and gave him a little rub. John caught his breath and drew his fingers over her chest.

"Have you taken anyone else?" he asked. John couldn't believe that someone as beautiful as Jana would be living the life of a nun.

"Jealous, John?" she asked, rubbing him more urgently. John's big hands began to caress Jana's chest insistantly.

"Curious."

"There's little time for such things," she told him, "but I've had the odd adventure."

"Oh? Tell me more?" he said, bunching up her long dress and sliding a hand up her leg.

"Pervert," she grinned, "voyeur! In any case, there's not much to tell. I went out a couple of times with a colleague, that's all. We had a drink... a little grope in a doorway, maybe? Nothing much!"

"A grope?" Jana parted her legs a fraction as John found the front of her panties. John's cock twitched beneath Jana's hand.

"A grope," she confirmed, "you know groping? It's when a man and his date have had a little to drink and they want to feel the goods."

"Of course! And a man's dick gets too big for his trousers," he grinned.

"Yes, big boy, so she pulls it free, like this... doesn't she? She holds his big cock in her hand... strokes it like this... feels how hard she has made him..."

"Oh, yes Babe. And the man pulls down her panties... Shit! I can't get them down, they're stuck! Fucking Russian elastic!" With that, they both broke out in a fit of the giggles.

Later, they were naked on the bed. Jana sat on John's legs, he was on his back and grinning up at her. His skin shone from the oil Jana had been spreading all over his skin. It was a special formula Jana had obtained on one of her overseas trips. It was scented with Rose essence and Jasmin.

John watched fascinated as Jana spread some of the oil over her big, jiggling breasts. Some oil ran down her flat stomach, leaving glistening trails down her skin. Her blond hair was unclasped and flowed in a cascade over her shoulders.

"You have such a beautiful body, General," she hissed, "I have always thought so."

"And you, Captain," he replied, "have grown more sexier with the years."

"You flatter. Have you not noticed how my breasts sag a little more?"

"I have not stopped noticing your breasts, my love," he told her, caressing her nipples, "and I'm sure your 'date' did too."

"My 'date, ' as you put it, never got the chance. He is a gentleman, unlike you." Jana took his cock in her oil-slippery hand and began to stroke.

"So what... did he grope, then?" Jana shuffled up and pressed his cock against her pussy. She undulated, caressing his dick with her pussy and hand.

"He didn't, I did. I gave him a little 'relief' with my hand. Poor man was quite stiff and uncomfortable. But," she added, breathing hard, "he had nothing like this!" With that, Jana rose and fitted the bulb of his cock into her vagina. She sighed as she sat back down on him.

They'd paced themselves well, having had long experience at pleasing each other. John had not long pounded Jana to her second orgasm, on top with her long legs clasped tightly over his back, when Benin appeared.

She stood for a while watching as the two of them lay on their backs, legs spread and glistening with the oil and their lovemaking. Slowly Benin took off her clothes stitch by stitch till she was as naked as the two lovers. She had a long kiss for each of them before they made room in the middle for her.

Jana imediately took her into a long clinch, while John spread some of the oil onto her back. Soon Benin was squirming and sighing with arousal by John and Jana's ministrations.

John watched as Benin rolled onto her back and spread her legs. Her brown thatch was now matted with moisture as Jana molested it with her fingers. Jana sucked at her breasts as she rubbed the little bud of her clitoris. Benin's hips rose from the mattress and thrust against Jana's fingers, mouth open and whimpering.

Later on that night, Jana woke as the bed rocked furiously. John, having recovered from the earlier activities, was furiously fucking his wife.

Some days later John and Benin had a visitor. Rhykov was dressed in the uniform of a Colonel in Spetznaz (Special Forces} and came with a bottle of the very best vodka. It was 'Absolut, ' distilled in Sweden and normally unseen in the USSR.

His hair was greying and his wasteline a little wider but otherwise he was still the powerfully built spy they remembered.

Rhykov worked for the KGB's First Chief Directorate, responsible for overseas operations. There were 16 Chief Directorates in the KGB at this time covering the roles performed by the US's CIA, FBI, Government and Presidential Security Services, Special Forces and a Hell of a lot more. The GULAG, although supposed to be a separate organisation, was, in reality controlled by a Directorate of the KGB.

Benin and John had not seen him in years. His strong arms crushed Benin in an embrace and thumped John so severely it nearly sent him flying.

"So good to see you," he gushed, "been too long!"

"What's this?" John said, stumbling back, "another purge?"

"Of course not," he laughed, "besides, that's another department. You stay out of politics and you'll be all right."

"Like you?" Benin asked.

"Of course. I just do my duty and don't meddle in things that don't concern me. Come, we drink, yes?"

Some time later Rhykov came finally to business, as both Benin and John were sure he would. Visits from Rhykov always had a purpose in their long experience with the man. "John," he said, "why do you think the Australians are trying to get in touch with you?"

John was flabbergasted by the question, and a little worried. He knew how things were in the Soviet Union; paranoia about espionage, dissidence and disloyalty. Each new major political promotion seemed to signal a wholesale clearing out of the previous encumbent's supporters from every branch of Government. "I have no idea," John replied, "what's this all about?"

"I hear things. One of their intelligence people want to see you about something. We don't normally allow this, you understand?"

"Of course," John agreed.

"But on this occasion the First Directorate has agreed to a meeting under certain conditions."

"What are those?" asked Benin.

"Well," he replied, "our people will be monitoring the meeting."

"Naturally!" Benin commenting, her voice cynical.

"Naturally," Rhykov smiled wryly, "and I think it would be a good idea if I sit in with you. The meeting will take place in one of the Second Directorate's apartments."

"Which will have microphones?" Benin asked.

"My dear, it will be wired so thoroughly it will deflect a magnetic compass. Should this surprise you?" There was a slight tone of exasperation in his voice.

"No."

"Well then! You think the West doesn't do the same?"

"Probably," agreed Benin, "but it's all bullshit, just the same."

"Yes, but bullshit that could get someone killed. I don't want that to happen, Benin, and I don't want the silly fuckers in the Second Directorate getting the wrong idea. If they thought you were planning to defect to the West they'll be all over you like flies to shit, understand? And Benin?" he added hastily, "the Western intelligence people would do precisely the same thing if one of their's was considering a shift of allegances. Besides, John, do you realise the Government of New Zealand considers you a traitor?"

"What? Me?" John said, aghast. He added, after a moment's consideration, "well I suppose that figures. It's strange, though, I never meant..."

"Of course not," Rhykov said, "no-one could've predicted how things were going to turn out. But you're in it now, for better or for worse. You chose to remain in the Soviet Union..."

"How could we have got out?" Benin interrupted, "especially now with our children at your mercy. We cannot leave, ever, or it'll be our family who'll suffer."

"Probably," Rhykov agreed, "but, be honest, what would you do there? You two would be nothing but show ponies for their propaganda people. A Soviet General defects? Imagine the headlines in the 'New York Times'? They will never leave you alone and I doubt they'll ever let you near any of their military aircraft. Like it or not, your lives are far more comfortable here than they ever would be in the West."

"Besides which," Benin added, "John would have to be protected day and night or he'd 'disappear.' 'Snatched' back maybe? Or perhaps quietly dropped off the Brooklyn bridge with lead weights around his ankles?"

Rhykov shrugged. "I don't know. It depends on the security risk he'd pose. 1st Directorate would do an assessment... then, who knows? John would have a lot of Military information... it's conceivable they could order a hit. But, this is theoretical because John is not going to the West, are you John?" John shook his head. "because, my friends, it would be genuinely painful for me to have to deal with that situation."

"Your head may roll?" suggested Benin.

"Maybe," he sighed, "I'd be in deep trouble, that's for sure."

Ralph Furness was ACIO Officer at Canberra's Moscow Embassy. He'd had to overcome a lot of official unwillingness to set up this meeting with General Khrinov. His New Zealand opposite number had insisted on attending, as had an officer from the British MI-6.

The three men were collected by a black sedan of the KGB's 2nd Directorate outside the Australian Embassy. Passersby were used to such goings on and paid no attention.

They took the three men to an apartment not far from KGB Headquarters in the old Lyubyanka palace. Two Spetznaz Guards in plain clothes stood outside the door with stolid, blank expressions and bulges at their hips. No doubt their Czech CZ-52 pistols would make short work of the meeting if things turned ugly.

The room was brightly lit, probably for the benefit of the cine camera concealed behind the two-way mirror. John stood blinking and fidgeting nervously alongside Rhykov at one end of the room. Rhykov, himself, was in a similar state of agitation, surprising for one so used to be in harm's way.

But this was different from liaising with a group of Cuban revolutionaries or even sniping at Fascists in Spain and Byelorussia. On those occasions the walls weren't packed with Second Directorate operatives and all their spying apparatus. Rhykov was conscious that everything the two of them said or did would be analysed and cross-analysed at the Lyubyanka afterwards.

There was a round of introductions at which Rhykov called himself 'Maxim.' John was convinced he was the only one in the room to use his real name. The three strangers described themselves as 'coming from the Embassy.' They, too, were no doubt conscious of the camera and microphones.