Chapter 9

Ari Ramcke was finding himself out of his depth. Normally reticent, he was not used to being hounded by the Press, day and night. He should've realised what a bomb he'd let off, particularly in these politically volatile times, and he cursed his miscalculation.

The atmosphere in his office was also becoming politically charged. After a period of cool relations with the US, Germany now had a conservative government anxious to rebuild bridges. His insinuations about corruption at the American NTSB had brought pressure on him from Berlin to retract his comments. Stubborn, this he refused to do and demanded an official enquiry. Soon, though, he was finding himself isolated at the BFU and his most vociferous supporters were the usual bunch of populist, scandal-mongering, opposition politicians.

So tight-lipped had he become, his colleagues began to call him 'Doktor Nein' (Dr No), behind his back.

He knew the CNN reporter, Ella Hernandez, had an agenda. They all had agendas, and that was to dig as much dirt as they could and keep digging. He also knew that every story had a shelf life, and he figured, the 1070 controversy had about a week to run unless some new revelation ensued. Whether his career could survive the buffeting, however, he wasn't sure.

Perhaps, he thought, he might find an ally in Ella Hernandez? Besides, he found her 'interesting.'

"Come," Marina whispered. Ben followed her as if in a dream. The sexual charge in the atmosphere was making him shiver with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.

'She's someone else's wife, ' he told himself, 'this is wrong!' But nothing in this place seemed to comform to his idea of morality. He felt hugely out of place, here, yet it all had a compelling fascination at the same time.

Marina noticed his diffidence. "Are you OK?" she asked, "y'know, you don't have to do... or perhaps you might like to ask one of the girls? Or boys? I'm making assumptions..."

Ben blushed furiously and his face felt frozen. "No!" he croaked, as adamantly as he could.

"You, maybe, don't like me?" she asked, "I saw you looking and I thought..."

"No!" he said, "you're fine! It's just..."

"Just what?" she stopped and turned to face him, "what's wrong?"

"Well, ma'am," he told her, "you're married! I don't want no trouble..."

"Oh!" she laughed, "is that all? You think my husband will return and, what? Pull out a six gun? Like in the wild west?"

"No, ma'am, I don't think that, although I know some folks who would. I don't steal other people's wives. Now, I know you folks have a different way of living and that's fine." Ben saw Marina break out in a wide grin and was momentarily put off. He collected himself and continued. "This ain't my way of living."

"Oh, Ben," she laughed, "do you honestly believe I'd make an offer to you if my husband didn't approve? Do you think I don't take my promises to my husband seriously? Look, I am autonomous and I make my own decisions. I love him and wouldn't dream of deceiving him. You cannot steal me from him because I'm no-one's property. Love isn't about ownership..."

"Yeah, I know all that," he hastened to say, "I know I must sound a bit old fashioned, but it's the way I was brought up. Marriage is kinda sacred!"

"Oh, it is, I agree," she replied, "but you're not marrying me. Is marriage only about sex?"

"No, ma'am, it's about a commitment to be faithful."

"And you don't think I'm faithful? D'you think I'm going to run away with you? If so..."

"No, ma'am, I don't think that."

"Then, what are you saying? You don't want me?"

"No, I can't say that, either."

"Y'know, we don't have to fuck. There are lots of things to do. Perhaps you'd like a massage? I'm very good, so my husband tells me," she smiled.

"A massage, ma'am? I guess..."

"Good!" she replied, taking his hand. "Unlike my daughter, I prefer a room. I've never liked draughts."

Ben was grateful there was no-one about as they made their way through the pool area to the main house. Marina lead him to a room at the end of one of the wings. It had its own door and she guided him inside with a gentle hand on the small of his back.

"Hmm," she stood facing him, apparently appraising his physique. She ran her hands over his chest and down his sides. "You take care of yourself," she told him, "that's obvious."

"Yes, ma'am," Ben replied, "I, ah, work out when I can." His pulse rate quickened. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

"That's good," she nodded, "I take exercise as well, but not as often these days. I am retired now, and have no need to keep fully toned."

"Oh? What line were you in?"

"Line? Oh, I see, y'mean what job did I do?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Assassin!"

"Come again?" Ben asked, shocked.

"I killed people."

There was scarcely a change of expression on the woman's face. She looked at him sweetly as if she'd just told him she'd been a checkout girl at the local supermarket. "Hell! Who for?"

"The Guardians."

"The who? Is that some kind of secret government agency?"

"Not government," she replied, "more like a private agency."

"Oh," Ben said, doubtfully.

"You will learn more about it the longer you stay," she explained, "I promise you, you're in no danger, here," she smiled, "we wouldn't let you into our home if we intended you harm. Would you care to take off your shirt?" she asked, "and lay down on your front? You may keep your trunks on if it'll make you feel more relaxed. I promise you, you'll have a good time."

"I guess." Ben took off his shirt and lay on the bed. He kept his trunks on. Marina fetched a bottle from the side stand and poured some oil onto the palms of her hands. Rubbing them together, she, again, told him to relax and think pleasant thoughts.

Ben tried to do as he was told. Marina's hands were cool and he flexed a little when she touched him. She was good, very good, and gradually his muscles relaxed. Faintly he heard music, something soothing, and Marina whispered that it was by Gustav Holzt. She told him that the beat of the music exactly matched the heart when it was at rest. She said it was the music of love.

Ben listened carefully and found his breathing slowing down. The rushing in his head seemed to ease and he scarcely noticed Marina's soothing fingers as they slid easily over his muscles.

"How do you feel?" she asked. Her voice matched her fingers. It was smooth, quiet, and somehow mesmerising. Ben was drifting away and it took him a while to answer.

"Fine," he managed to say.

"Some say it's like smoking a joint," she whispered, "we can, of course, provide some marijuana if you would like a toke?"

"No," he said, "jus' fine!"

"I like to do this, you don't mind?"

Ben felt the tickle of two warm nipples along his spine. He was too relaxed to object. In fact, he quite liked the sensation.

He hadn't been aware Marina had taken off her top. Even as he felt the warm, smooth flesh of her large breasts on his back, it still took a while to sink in. Additionally, he gradually became aware she was sitting astride his leg. He felt the soft sensation of her cotton covered pubis pressing down on his calf and the heat from her thighs. Ben slowly developed a hard on. It began as an itch and started to swell slowly.

"Over!" she breathed, and urged him onto his back with her hand. Dumbly he complied, too blissed out to think too much about what he was doing.

He dared to open his eyes and saw Marina hovering over him, topless, with a wide grin on her face. Her breasts seemed even larger, and dangled down just inches from his chest. "You have a nice body," she told him, "you should be proud."

"Hmm, thank you, ma'am," he managed to say.

"You're too polite," she said, "call me Marina, Ben? And it is not necessary to thank me for a compliment. I only tell the truth, and that doesn't require gratitude."

She reached out and massaged his temples with her fingers. Her crotch moved up his leg until it was rubbing his thigh. Ben was aware of her heat, the powerful scent of wild roses and lavender from the massage oil.

Her fingers traced down the sides of his face until they enclosed his neck. Her thumbs pressed firmly against the soft tissure. Ben stared at her in alarm.

"Ari!" Ella gushed down the phone, "I'm glad you called. What's the deal?"

Ari Ramcke had stewed all day before calling. He was conservative, and terrified his invitation might be misconstrued. His biggest fear was making a fool of himself, of being a laughing stock among those he had to work with.

"I wonder," he began, uncertainly, "whether you'd care to, ah, have, ah, dinner? Perhaps tonight? This is not appropriate?"

"Appropriate?" Ella laughed, "why? You wanna be inappropriate?"

"No, of course not, never! I just thought..."

"Sure, honey, where're we goin'? Do I need to dress up?"

"Um, I don't think that's necessary. There's a small Turkish restaurant, not far, very discrete."

"Discrete, Ari? What are you planning?" she teased.

"Nothing! I swear! Look, you understand I'm married. I couldn't..."

"Don't worry, honey, I won't take advantage. Sounds fine... you pick me up from the Hotel? What time, so I can dab on some perfume?"

The thought of Ella and her scent momentarily unnerved the air crash investigator. He recovered himself in time to suggest a time and she rung off.

Well, he'd done it. Ari Ramcke had invited a woman to dinner. A woman who he felt a powerful sexual attraction towards. His feelings were a heady mixture of anticipation, excitement and guilt. He rang home to tell his wife he'd be late home; how late, he didn't know. Something important had detained him; something he couldn't tell her about. He spent the rest of the sfternoon agonising about his decision, talked himself out of it a few times, then took his hand off the phone again.

In a few days he was going to be fifty. Fifty, and he'd never done anything wild in his life. His life had been impeccably correct in every way, just like the dark suit and conservative tie he always wore. Well, tonight he was going to act out of character.

"Hmm," Marina told him, "you have a strong neck. Suggests character." Her hands moved from his neck, around his chin, to encircle his face. "You are a very handsome man," she said.

She bent lower so her big breasts pressed down on his chest. Lightly, she pecked his bottom lip. By this time, Ben was rigid and her burning crotch practically squatted on it. Marina raised her eyebrows a little and smiled. "Mr Shepherd," she whispered, "I think you like me."

"Yes," he croaked.

"Perhaps, later, I'll take care of that for you. Would you like me to?"

"I guess."

Ben closed his eyes as her fingers lightly stroked his chest. His sense of morality whispered that he should spurn this woman's advances and apologise for encouraging her. The man in him wanted to wrestle her on her back, strip the remaining clothes from her, and nail her. But, as she licked and nibbled him, it was easier to remain passive and enjoy.

Marina took one of her breasts in her hand and touched his bottom lip with her protruding nipple. It tasted faintly salty as he enclosed it with his mouth. She hummed encouragement as he sucked for all he was worth.

"Yes, Ben," she said, "you're a sexy man!" Her crotch gyrated on him steadily; pushing, insistant. She was breathing quickly, now, with excitement.

She rose suddenly and left him. Ben, eyes still closed, could hear her shuffling down her pants. When she climbed back on, he felt the sensation of aroused pussy and warm, moist crinkly hair massaging the head of his dick. It was all a bit much, and he felt himself pulsing, ready to come.

Marina pulled him free, then, and pushed his pants down to his thighs. She continued to massage his dick, holding tight to the knob, until he was slick with her fluids.

"You cannot hold on much longer," she told him, matter of factly, "I think it's necessary that you should come. Then we shall see what happens after, shall we?"

"Sure!" His voice strained and barely a whisper.

Marina urgently shuffled down and popped him into her mouth. She sucked rapidly and expertly, humming as he exploded down her throat.

"Uh... My," she swallowed, "you choke me... so much semen! I think you musn't wait... ah... so long, next time, no?"

"No!" he panted.

"A moment," she said, "I must rinse my mouth... so much!" Ben heard her pad out of the room. He opened his eyes in time to see her bare arse wobbling as she left. He closed his eyes again and lay back.

'Miklagaard, ' was the name Scandavian mercenaries and traders gave to the Byzantine Capital, Constantinople, in the 8th century. 'Miklagaard' has a faintly Wagnerian sound to the name. It's also the name of a discrete Turkish restaurant in Conrad Adenaur Weg, near the centre of Hamburg, Germany.

Only a small sign above the red door marked its location. Painted, gold, plaster moldings adorned it, scrolling, Arabic-style letters. Ella was amused, because she was sure the Turkish language was written using Latin script.

Ari had heard that 'Miklagaard' was a popular tryst for illicit office affairs. Apparently, it was very romantic and, perhaps more importantly, out of the way.

He'd barely spoken to Ella, besides timid compliments about her appearance. He was so nervous he was practically shaking. While she lounged under the Hotel portico at the appointed time, he'd waited for a bit, down the street, in his self-drive, BFU, silver Audi.

Ari wrestled with his concience and was almost going to turn around and drive away. At the last minute, he siezed his courage, gunned the car, and screeched to a halt outside the Hotel like some hot-headed teenager.

The waitresses were the usual mixture of German students and East European immigrants; the only people who'd tolerate long hours, poor working conditions and low pay. They bobbed about with broad smiles and limited language looking for tips. A slim Turk in a fez guided them to a table, a two seat concealed by bright wall hangings and fake silk curtains. In the background was some shrill, clangy Eastern music and a wailing singer.

As Ella wrestled herself into the chair, Ari wondered to himself how she could possibly wear a skirt so short and tight and still maintain her dignity.

"A drink?" he asked.

"A beer," she smiled, "cocktails make me horny!"

"Oh, I see," he coughed, "two beers, then?" The 'fez' slipped away with an ingratiating smile.

"You think we can stick to English, Honey? My German's Ok, but..."

"Of course!" he agreed.

"My sister, now she'd have no problem. She'd talk to the Turk in Turkish, that Pole in Polish and that chick over there in Romanian. She'd do it without pausing to think. I guess I never inherited the gene."

"You think that girl's Romanian?"

"Sure! Y'see that necklace she's wearing? Y'see the Orthodox cross? Then look at that coin? It's a 'Leu, ' a Romanian baptism gift. The priest places it on the baby's forehead when he blesses her. Supposed to ensure good fortune."

"Astounding!" Ari looked at her in wonder, "I'd never have noticed."

"Why should you? It's my job to notice things."