At the present time, my ‘thinking’ resources are fully allocated (even making time/energy for this document has been challenging) preparing for the looming apocalypse (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, best to continue in blissful ignorance) and I don’t see any value in diverting any to the task of sorting this next chapter’s issues given there doesn’t appear to be any interest in this novel.

As such, unless I get a lot of contrary feedback, this is likely to be the last post on SubStack for the foreseeable future.

OK, it isn’t the simple little job it looked like when I started out. The target turns out to have fairly sophisticated security, not the throw-away stuff the public gets. She’s coy about showing herself outside, though the glimpses I get tell me it isn’t because of her body. She might not be fantastic looking, but she has nothing to be embarrassed about. She doesn’t have human security, but she does have several well trained dogs. I’ve dealt with dogs before. It’s very hard to train them not to eat, so drugging them is fairly straightforward. However, I don’t want to do that just to get in and place some bugs. It’s hard to get the dosage just right and groggy watch dogs in the morning are sure to set off alarm bells.

Isabel’s research indicates the target’s involved in money laundering, but mostly done via electronics, so she doesn’t need to leave her house very often and doesn’t have to worry common criminals will bother her for the cash she doesn’t have. It would be nice if she was into sunning at her pool, both because of the access as well as to get some eye candy, but either she isn’t into that (she isn’t that tan) or the recent cool weather has driven her inside. I’m pretty sure she’s alone in the house – extensive thermal scans of the exterior aren’t showing anything but her and the dogs – but it’s a fairly large house with a basement, so I can’t be certain.

The client doesn’t have any particular concern about how it’s done. In that case, I usually do sniping, but the target isn’t giving me any opportunities. I decide I’m going to put the dogs to sleep and use the direct approach. I tell Isabel what my price is and wait to learn if the client will pay. It’s a half day or so before I get the response: go ahead. Isabel tells me the money is in the bank, so I’m going to do this thing tonight. I’m starting to like having Isabel in the office, my earlier sneering dismissal to the contrary. Normally, I’d travel back to a safe house to communicate with the client about the price of the job, now I just stay put and wait for a response. It sure cuts down on the time I spend in airports!

I do some shopping at the local butcher, wearing a cover that will lead to the usual dead end if anyone connects the target’s death with the dogs. It’s a shame to adulterate such nice steaks with the drugs. Then again, I am giving them to dogs. In experiments over the years, I’ve discovered that dogs prefer meat that’s aged at room temperature. I guess it releases more smells. The typical steak from the fridge doesn’t elicit the same response as one that has been out for a few hours. The idea with multiple dogs is to feed them at the same time, just far enough apart that they won’t fight, but still close enough that they’ll wolf down the food and not dilly dally and perhaps be turned off by the taste of the drugs. I briefly have a moment of concern when the dogs initially seem to be trained to ignore food, but once the first one starts eating, the rest quickly join in. There had been some barking when I first showed up, but they tended to bark whenever anyone walks down the street, so the target learned to ignore these as false positives. Of course, in this case I’m a real positive, but such is the nature of alarms. You either commit to investigating every single one, so you can catch the true positives, or the alarms become useless. I’m sure if I tried to climb over the fence, the dogs would have changed the tenor of their barking, which would have alerted the target, but I’ll wait for the drugs to take hold before I do that.

It takes about fifteen minutes for the dogs to get to sleep. I wanted a dose strong enough that they’d be out for hours, but not strong enough to put them in danger. Ideally, they’ll wake up in the wee hours of the morning and this will appear to be a locked room mystery.

I disable the electronic alarms, though they are a bit tricky. These are the smarter alarms that send an encrypted “I’m alive” message periodically, and this design is considered extremely hard to defeat. And it would be, if they used a really good random number generator to establish the keys. Instead, one of the dummies who designed the system used a very poor generator, and it only takes my tools a few minutes to get the right key out of the thousands that should have been quintillions. With that, I can send the “alive” message even though I’ve disabled the alarm. Another poor design element that works nicely in my favor: when the alarm is reconnected, and detects no current threat, it immediately goes back into its normal “alive” message, so I can reconnect as I leave and the system will never know it was breached. The cameras are a tiny bit more complex, but only a tiny bit. I have to basically set up my own, that sends an image on a loop, but the keys and reconnection are the same. The price people pay to avoid false positives. Fatal price, in this case.

Once in the house, I have to be cautious. Even though Isabel gave me the floor plans as filed with the building department, people often make last minute changes during construction and, of course, furniture can be placed anywhere. I ghost around, looking for her on the first floor, but don’t find any sign. I’m going to try upstairs before the basement; she might be in bed already, even though it’s only just past midnight. The house isn’t that old, and is well built, so no creaky floors to give me away. While I didn’t put an actual Nightingale floor in my place, the alarm is deliberately made to sound like a settling house or a creaky floor. That way, if anyone gets into the house, they might not realize an alarm is going off.

Ah, I think she’s upstairs. I see some light under the door that’s supposed to be to the master bedroom. I glide to the door; it isn’t latched and is slightly ajar, so I can see in. I see a light in the bathroom; a monster thing even bigger than mine. I hear some noises there, so assume that’s where she is. I gently push open the door; she’s had all the hinges oiled, so no creaking. I like creaking doors, and seldom oil my hinges just because I feel more comfortable with the sounds. However, there’s also a trick you can use: generally, if you take up the weight of the door as it hangs against the hinge, it won’t creak as it swings. In any case, no creaking to give me away, and I don’t see anyone else in the room.

I move toward the bathroom and see she’s soaking in a gigantic tub. It probably took over an hour to fill; I expect she’s been in there a while to make it worth the wait. It seems my timing is just right, she’s getting out. She looks quite nice naked. I’m wondering, if she had a choice, how she would like things to wind up. I decide to let her dry off and get a robe on, then, after she sits in a chair, I shoot her in the back of her head. After she slumps forward, I check to be sure the dirty deed is done. No problems. Now, just work my way back out, ensuring there are no traces and the alarms are all re-enabled. I briefly check on the dogs. They seem to be OK, so I didn’t dose them too high. It should be a nice locked-room mystery for the police, when her body finally gets discovered.

We’ve been working together as a team for a while now and things are going fairly smoothly in that department. Isabel is in her element, though Tessa sometimes seems like she’s waiting for instructions. A holdover, I guess, from her time at the agency.

A job shows up on the board that looks like a nice, simple, single person one, so after getting the funds transferred, I go out to take care of this one myself. I arrange to travel with Jim this time. Though commercial would have worked nicely, I’m looking for something else. Once in the air and, Jim can relax his focus, I start to dump on him:

“You’ve had lots of relationships, right?” I ask.

He nods, though with a suspicious look in his eye, “Why, what’s happened so soon?”

Lost in my own thoughts, I’m not paying attention to his question, “I don’t get this relationship thing. Isn’t sex supposed to be a regular part of one?”

Jim nods again. “The beginning of any romance is the best time; I think that’s why I’ve had so many girlfriends. When things are fresh and new, uglies bumping galore! However, it seems like once we move in together, the sex goes down-hill. Even with my current girlfriend, things took a massive dip once we set up housekeeping, but she has so many other things going for her, instead of just moving on, we worked things out.”

“How? My life was so much simpler before they moved in.”

Jim looks at me, “They? Only one rode back with me.”

“Oh, I guess we’ve never talked like this before. The woman you met was Isabel, the other is Tessa. Tessa is an unbelievably fit blonde. We recently finished a job where, I kid you not, she took out thirty or more drug dealers, barehanded, all at once. I’ve known her about a decade, and we usually hook up in-person a time or two a year, and in all that time I have never been able to beat her sparring. Now I understand why.

“Anyway, Tessa and Isabel were co-workers down in Rio and Isabel had been pissing off other coworkers being too good at her job in internal affairs, so they kidnapped and tortured her for her access credentials. Working with Tessa, I was able to recover her. Oh, speaking of that, Tessa went on a revenge fest afterwards and killed a bunch of those responsible. She cut their dicks off and shoved them in their mouths! She said she ‘donned her avenging angel suit.’ Tessa and Isabel have been a casual couple, or friends-with-benefits, for a long time, maybe two decades, though for some reason Tessa felt that Isabel and I were ‘made for each other’ and kept pushing us together.”

“Wait, they’re lovers?”

“Yep, let me tell you as good as my fantasies were they didn’t stack up to the real thing!”

“Dude! Two beautiful women at the same time!?”

“Sure. It's happened a few times with others in the past, but these times were by far the best.”

“Time_z_? I can’t believe you’re sitting here complaining about the sex, I’m getting blue balls just hearing about it!”

“I know what a lucky guy I am, but it all came to a crashing halt a while ago. Five or six weeks of the best hedonistic pleasures I’ve ever experienced in a lifetime of seeking hedonistic pleasures, then nothing. I thought I was done with Rosie Palmer, but she’s moved back in again, with a vengeance! What the heck happened?”

“How well do you know these women?”

“Not well, I guess. I’ve known Isabel for about a decade, Tessa a year or so less. I’ve actually spent more time with Tessa; we both love watching movies and talking about them, so that’s mostly what we do when we hook up. Isabel and I have met just a handful of times over the decade, usually just a week or so at a time, but the sex has been unbelievable. As you saw, she is gorgeous. She has it all: brains, deadly reflexes, the body and fantastic in bed.”

“Deadly reflexes? I’m not sure I’d add that to my list of perfect attributes! She’s a babe, that’s for sure, even beat up like she was when I saw her. Brains are OK in a woman, though I didn’t think so until I wound up with my current girlfriend.

“You know,“ Jim says thoughtfully, “perhaps they’re not the sex machines you thought. What if when you made love with them was the only time? Maybe they saved it all up for you?”

“Hmm, that bears thought in Isabel’s case. Tessa, though, I doubt. We’ve had enough conversations where I feel sure she has an even stronger sex drive than I have. In any case, a couple of weeks after the sudden break, Tessa and I started hooking up again, though she’s rather abrupt. Very little foreplay with Tessa. One of the things I like so much about Isabel is how she builds things up. For Isabel, though, that might fit. I recall, in conversations over the years, that she never really got much satisfaction in love making with men. She started as a sex lure and complained she hated that job, and claims, until our happy meeting, she’d sworn off men as being unable to get the job done. Even when she talked about other women, my impression was that she didn’t do it often.”

“There you go, you just used her up is all. She just needs to recharge. Give her some time.”

I fall silent, thinking about this. Jim has a plane to operate, so is fine with me just sitting there. After a while of replaying our conversation, I realized I missed some stuff.

“You said something about your current girlfriend having brains and working things out. What’s going on with that?”

“I guess I’m getting to the point where I’m thinking about settling down. In the past, when the sex dropped off, I started taking more work just to be away. The reunion would perk things up for a while, but it never seemed to last. I never talk about work with my girlfriends, and I think they tended to resent my being away so much. I’m sure some thought I was cheating. Like that headache would be worth the effort!”

I think to myself that I didn’t understand this “cheating” business until fairly recently, but then again I never really had anyone I thought of as a girlfriend until recently.

“My current girl, though, she doesn’t give me any flack, and there are none of the old accusations about sleeping around. I suspect she has an idea of what I do, but never pries. There was this one time I had to leave her on a Caribbean beach for a sudden job I couldn’t pass up, but she patiently waited until I got back and we finished our vacation like nothing had happened. It makes me think that I might not be alone as I grow old. It also makes me more forgiving and more willing to compromise. It’s funny how priorities change as we age.”

“Don’t you have a child now?”

“Yep. I don’t think we were being careless, though we really didn’t discuss anything. I used to use protection and I always checked to make sure my girlfriends were using something, but, without really talking about it, I stopped using mine and she stopped using hers and the inevitable happened. I kind of like it. Changing diapers wasn’t as disgusting as the stories made out, and watching my little boy learn to walk and talk has been a joy.”

“I’m not sure about this diaper changing business. And the horror stories I hear about being awake all night and getting puked on!”

“I did get puked on a time or two, and it’s gross, but everything has pluses and minuses. On balance, I’m very happy to be a dad. We haven’t been bothering with protection since, and will leave any other children in the hands of the fates.”

Our conversation drifts further off into irrelevancies as we wing across the Atlantic.

At my destination, much closer than if I took commercial, I thank Jim and wish him luck. I’ll take commercial on the way back so he can take another job. It worked out very well for both of us, no “deadheading” for him and I got a chance to unload.

And then it ended. Almost like a light switch going off. At first I thought they just needed recharging. But after the days, it became weeks. As my responsibility toward my clients reasserted itself, I thought it was just getting back to business. During those hedonistic weeks, we discussed options and settled on continuing my practice, but with added capabilities. Isabel would manage the home front and take over with client interactions (since it’s almost always via text/email, once she learned my patterns of writing, no one would ever know the difference). Tessa and I could work together or independently, again the clients would have no way of knowing anything changed. The only difference was we would have the option of taking more, and more complex, jobs. But since my clients never know about each other, even that wouldn’t make a difference. It seemed almost the moment we committed to going into business together, the sex stopped.

If I were ever inclined to staring in slack-jawed amazement, this would be the time. After a couple of weeks I had to revisit Rosie Palmer! I thought, with the new arrangements, she and I would be done with each other! Very frustrating. I really started to look forward to getting out on a job. At least I wouldn’t have the distraction of these two beauties, that, for some reason, no longer seemed sexually interested in me.

At first we took a little job, something to get the feet wet, and where we would probably lose money. Something I would normally ignore, but the women were strongly for it, so what the heck. I got to see Tessa in action, and accepted, once and for all, I was out classed and glad she’d never chosen to take me on. If things ever go sour between us, I need lots of room. She’s too dangerous to allow within reach when she’s angry. I did get a break from Rosie on the trip, Tessa seems to have recovered from our marathon bout of debauchery. I hesitated bringing up Isabel and her lack of interest. I find it almost interesting how subjects that I’d never given any thought to suddenly cause me to get uncomfortable communicating.

I admit it; I’ve been thinking about a threesome with Isabel and Tessa for years, practically since the beginning. Though quite different, they’re very sexy and desirable, and I know they make love to each other. I’ve been really looking forward to being part of that action! The first time after her rescue, and our arrival at my place, was just Isabel and me. She needed things to go slow after her rape and torture experience, and I wanted to focus entirely on her without any distractions. She was tentative at first, and froze up a number of times, but after an hour or so of erotic massage, and kissing all over her body, she was able to commit to the lovemaking without reservation. We were finally able to recapture the passion from our first times. I felt more like a man afterwards than I ever had. More of this love business, I guess.

Things got more relaxed after this, at least with regard to playing around. Isabel knows I really like a show and knows I think Tessa is abrupt when she gets in the mood, so Isabel worked with Tessa, teaching her to draw things out. I wasn’t privy to the conversations, but the results were spectacular! It started around the pool table one evening. We’d been playing a lot. Though she was rusty in the beginning, Isabel is clearly a shark. It turns out that her earlier “I used to play in college” comment wasn’t complete disclosure. After she rubbed off the rust, and was trashing Tessa and me regularly, she told us she used to supplement her allowance by hustling. Tessa picked up the game fairly quickly, once we explained some of the physics, but Isabel was the queen and regularly mopped the floor with us, even with Tessa and I paired against her. This particular evening I should have noticed something was different. In retrospect, their choice of clothes were a total giveaway. However, I had too much focus on the game at that point and was intent on trying to beat Isabel. I was really regretting I’d only puttered around over the years instead of practicing seriously.

Much like the first time I showed them the table, they were wearing something short that showed off lots of smoothly tanned leg, and rode up most pleasingly when they bent over. I always admire when that happens, even when they’re wearing slacks; I love the view when they take the long shot. Tessa may not have a rear in the same class as Isabel, but it’s certainly enjoyable to watch. I found myself distracted from my intended game when I noted this time they weren’t wearing underwear, and I was getting a joyous eyeful whenever they bent over. At first, I thought they were using that to distract me from the game, and tried to keep my focus on the table. But when I realized they were preferentially taking long shots, when the better strategy would’ve been to take a short one, I realized tonight we weren’t competing.

Isabel has always been sensitive to my sexual moods for some reason, and can tell when I’m focusing on work or on her, so was able to detect when I realized the game was not the goal of the evening. At that point things got really interesting. When one was bending over, giving me an eyeful, the other would act like she was giving advice on the shot, and let her fingers run up the first’s thigh. Between shots, sometimes they would sit on the stools and spread their legs, occasionally letting their skirt ride way up, revealing their preference for the Brazilian. Full for Isabel, “landing strip” for Tessa. Other times they would stand with the cue between their legs and absently rub their crotches on it. Their braless tops were excellent distractions as well. Tessa had something with a plunging neckline where the “v” went way below her belly button. Somehow, most of the time, the top managed to hang on to her nipples, though occasionally revealed a breast as she moved around. Isabel had a very tight tank top that showed off her assets most magnificently, especially her sexy tummy. Such beautiful bodies! My performance on the table degraded to pitiful levels. I so wanted to watch them. Even if I had had the desire, I doubt I could reliably have pocketed any balls.

I was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, so I wasn’t under too much pressure. The shorts allowed me to stand at attention fairly freely. They made it a special point to bump into me from time to time, eventually even bending over for the short shots as well. I decided to be passive, wanting to see how far the show would go, and didn’t want to short circuit it by jumping in too soon.

Their show was amazing, the experience the best ever! Not just fabulously beautiful and sexy, but so much fun sexually. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I jumped in, doing my best to please the ladies together and individually. I pulled out all the stops and used every technique I developed over my career of pleasing women.

What an evening! We relaxed side-by-side afterward, sharing kisses all around. After a half hour or so, things started to heat up again, and we all managed another set. Best. Evening. Ever!

The pattern varied considerably, but the next five to six weeks was the most amazing period of debauchery in my life. Nothing ever came close, even that week with Isabel years ago. That week was fantastic, but it was only a week and it was only Isabel. I tried to focus on my work, but the distractions were too much. My reps know I’m out of contact when I’m working, so long periods without responses are not unusual, but when I did peek, I noticed there were some requests that needed attention. My sense of responsibility, though, was subsumed by my joy in passionate lovemaking with these two beautiful women.

As much as I like having these women around, well, love, I guess, I get twitches of paranoia from time to time. I don’t doubt their ability to follow opsec (operational security) procedures, but I used to use a dozen or so houses scattered around the world, now I’m coming back to the same one after each mission. I’ll have to be extra careful as I too and fro, so I don’t accidentally leave any spoor that could lead an adversary back. I feel sure we’ll begin to attract attention at some point. They may not like it, but I think I’ll ask them to use disguises when they go into town.

I sometimes wonder if I’ve let these unfamiliar emotions change my thought processes. I guess it’s inevitable that things have changed, particularly in my thought processes, but my concern is my ability to blend in, to disappear, to move about without leaving any traces; basically, my paranoia. My life had been simple for a long time. I had well established patterns that required little conscious thought to maintain, behaviors that were hard to trace, that sort of thing. Is this “love” thing making me sloppy? I sometimes lie awake at night thinking about this.

Then there is letting two people, who really are strangers, deep into my security. I’ve given them the tools to destroy me and I’m struggling to recall (and I have _excellent_ recall) when I made the conscious decision to do so. Though I’ve spent a lot of time with Tessa over the years (eight and a half to nine years I guess; to be more precise would require effort), our focus has largely been movie watching, discussions thereupon, and sex. My time with Isabel, really, has been largely about sex (great sex!) though in between we did chat a whole lot. Our chatting, I recall, was largely on inconsequential topics, so I feel I know Tessa better, yet I feel a stronger attachment to Isabel. It hasn’t happened, and given what I know about her I doubt it ever will, but somehow I don’t think the angst I felt when Isabel was threatened would be as strong if I felt Tessa was.

It’s tiresome to have to go through checklists to evaluate emotions, but these things are so foreign to me I can’t think of any other reliable method. Since I really don’t have friends, excepting, I guess, Tessa and Isabel, I don’t know who to talk to about it.

Back to paranoia. Why am I so comfortable giving these two women such deep access? Maybe it’s their behavioral track record over the decade I’ve known them? It’s pretty trivial to maintain a persona over that period, with the sparse and irregular contact we’ve had, yet my paranoid lizard brain is totally relaxed having them around. It’s my upper, more self-aware brain that’s uneasy, all the more so because lizard brain is so relaxed. I rely on gut feelings and trained reflexes a lot, so have learned to relax and let things happen, but I’m concerned I’m being driven by the “little head” and ignoring issues I should be addressing. Normally I feel totally in control of my thinking. Lately, I feel like my brain has a mind of its own. I’m sure this sounds silly, but I can’t think of any other way to describe the feeling.

So, lizard brain is OK with these two practical strangers in my midst. I’ll rely on it against the paranoia of my fore brain that demands an explanation lizard brain is incapable of delivering.

With that behind me, I need to start thinking about how to integrate these ladies with my business. But first...

Unlike the first novel, which was very close to being self-published, hence had been through several rounds of editing, this and the next have had only minimal edits suggested by various beta readers - and no input from any developmental editors. As a consequence, ‘buyer beware.’

A link to the table of contents for all the Diary of a Contract Killer writing:

https://keithalanwriter.com/DoaCK/DoaCK_ToC.html

Some of the men start toward me. When they get close enough, I growl as deeply and loudly as I can, without winding up with an embarrassing squeak:

“I am these women’s avenging angel! I am here to punish you for your sins! Who will be the first?”

The men look back and forth at each other, clearly confused at how to proceed. Hopefully they aren’t too intimidated, that’d be a huge disappointment.

Ah, finally! There’s some organization and one walks towards me, clearly intending to take me on. I mentally lick my chops, hoping he’ll be a challenge. But the script calls for swift action. I doubt he’ll take me seriously enough to avoid my first strike.

As expected, he’s lazy as he arrives. He reaches out to grab me. I take his wrist, squeeze and twist to break the bones. As he gasps in pain, I spin him around and kick as hard as I can up between his legs. He drops like a sack of rice and may never walk normally again.

The leaders pause for a second, then one gestures toward two others. Hopefully these will be better prepared and provide some sort of challenge. They aren’t as lazy as the first, that’s a good sign. They move apart, clearly they’ve done this before, then close in. I stand relaxed, and wait for them to make their move. Without exchanging a signal, they rush forward at the same time. Good, at least they’re taking me seriously. Just as they arrive, I step backward, taking an arm from each and twist their momentum so they slam into each other. I’m sure it would be comical if everyone wasn’t so serious. Desiring to draw out the show, I let them get back to their feet. They have angry expressions. However, though clearly humiliated, they’re more cautious as they come toward me. This time they don’t lunge when they attack, but they time it fairly well. I use this to my benefit and slam a fist into each of their throats at the same time as their momentum carries them forward. One collapses immediately. The other tries to finish his grab onto me, but slumps as I step away.

While all this has been going on, the other men have been gathering in a loose semi-circle around me. It seems no one left is thinking about their weapons. I haven’t noticed Seacay taking a shot in a while. At this point, there’s only anger in the men’s eyes. Hopefully I can get some of them to rush me and give me a workout.

Not yet, anyway. The leaders call out to someone and a big bruiser shows up. I sure hope he takes me seriously. So far, this has been a disappointment.

Excellent, he is. He’s smart enough not to try grappling with me right off the bat and instead takes up more of a pugilistic stance. We circle around each other. Since he won’t take the lead, I do. I feint with a punch, then give him a roundhouse kick. He takes the blow to his side with no visible effect. Good! I would rather not be wearing this dress, but I’ve practiced over the years wearing one while sparring, so have no issues. In certain cases, the dress can actually work as an asset, but so far I haven’t had cause to use it that way. The bruiser keeps his elbows at his side and hunches his shoulders, clearly he knows a few things and isn’t going to rely on just being big and bulky. As we circle, I look him over. He’s a nice looking fellow, big but not fat. Not cut such that his veins pop out, but it’s still easy to see the individual muscles as they move. Too bad I need to drop him; it might be fun to do something else instead.

He tries a feint of his own and copies my kick. I decide to add a little flair and roll over his kick with my legs wide in the air, making the dress look like a fan. I see some respect in his eyes; maybe this will be fun after all. We continue circling. I’m right on the edge of his reach, he’s well beyond mine. He lunges forward in a punch, very powerful; I hack at the nerves in his arm as I bob and weave out of the way. I can tell by how the muscles bunch in his face that it hurts, but he makes no sound and manages to hold his arm as if it’s fully functional. I think he knows how things are going to end. I wonder how he’ll handle it.

Disappointingly, he dives at me with his arms outstretched. Since I know one is already useless, I allow him to bearhug me as I disable the other. Chopping his neck, he slumps to the ground.

The leaders tell the others to “get her” and a number swarm me. At last, I’ll get a workout! I whirl around, kicking and punching, ducking and weaving among the lunging bodies. At first I drop them in rapid order. The later ones are more cautious. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one with a knife. He slashes at my midsection.

Bowing to Seacay’s insistence, I put a layer of Kevlar on as I donned my dress disguise, so despite the dress being cut, the slicing knife has no effect on me. In my loudest voice I roar:

“I am an Avenging Angel, your weapons are useless against me!”

It’s quite amusing to see the glint of fear in their eyes.

Now that they’re all attracted around me, I widen my circle of mayhem, drifting around, taking out one after another. Sort of like Uma Thurman’s character battling the Crazy Eighty-eight in the House of Blue Leaves, except I imagine I don’t have that scared look on my face; what was the actress thinking? As I flit about, I make progress toward the leaders. Just about the time they realize they’re in danger, I drop the few remaining attackers.

Again with the loud growl: “Let this be a warning: these women are under my protection! Next time I will not be so generous!”

With that, I take out the leaders. I turn to the women and say “Ladies, they’re all yours! If any give you problems, now or in the future, let me know.”

The women move amongst the men, a number of them unconscious, but quite a few rolling around groaning. I see lots of kicks, and one or two stabs. I’m guessing the men will bury a few this evening.

As I walk away, I think about how we got here...

Seacay showed us how to access and respond to his job board, so we could look through the opportunities. There were several, but one caught the eye of Isabel and myself. The job, in Central America, seemed to be about some hard-core bullies that were terrorizing a group of women.

“These sorts of jobs are really tricky,” he said. “It’s hard to justify to the client the price necessary to cover the risk. Usually these need in-your-face, one-on-one physical beatings to have any significant impact. The risks of things getting out of control are too much for the small pay that’s often available. I usually turn them down without bothering to investigate.”

“Hold on now, don’t you have a single bone in your body that’s empathetic to these women?” Isabel asked.

“I may have a small bone or two, in my hand or foot,” he smiled, “but I don’t take jobs because of emotional reasons; I take them for money.”

I said, “Well, as much as I enjoy sparring with the two of you, I like this job because of the prospects of beating the hell out of some guys, making some women’s lives better and getting paid for it, so I vote ‘yes.’ ”

Isabel raised her hand and nodded, Seacay shrugged.

“I guess this is a good first case to work together, though I doubt we’ll make any money. I expect we’ll be lucky to squeeze out a total of a hundred grand. And, before you ask, I’m very reluctant to go below that; I think it would unduly influence my rep.”

Isabel crafted a response setting out the terms (Seacay generally charges fifty-thousand up-front to evaluate a job, then sets a price to complete it based on that analysis) and I began some online research. What I was able to find from local newspaper coverage is this group of women, operating some sort of commune, have been victimized by a local drug gang. Worse, the women are mostly widows of men who’ve likely been killed by the drug dealers, and the area they live in is quite corrupt. I mentally rubbed my hands in anticipation, thinking I’ll add local law enforcement to my list.

We decided Seacay would help me with the investigation, then stand by as backup during the chastisement; I’d interact with the people. Though I know a few things about disguise, Seacay is clearly a master in that respect. He developed one for me that had me a little disoriented when I looked in the mirror. My short blonde hair was replaced by the typical long black so common to the target area, my face is darker still, with built-up cheekbones and larger earlobes. The dress had a small amount of padding in it to give an illusion that I have a waist and bigger bust. I saw this stranger. But when I moved, the stranger moved, exactly as I did. Weird.

We traveled separately and wound up at our hot dusty destination a day later. It always amazes me how a place that gets this much rain can be dusty, I guess that’s what you get with poor stewardship of the land. After scouting around to find a secure base of operations, I went to meet the clients. It’s all Spanish around here, though the accent is distinct. I may not be the expert mimic that Seacay is, but I do have a decent ear and was able to emulate the accent without too much trouble. Not wanting to be seen entering the compound, and further, wanting to appear mysterious and dangerous, I infiltrated the ladies’ compound and showed up in their kitchen early in the morning.

The first woman just about jumped out of her skin when she caught sight of me; I had to work to keep a serious expression on my face. Most of these women looked like they had very hard lives, scratching a meager living out of some truck gardens and preparing food for their fellow locals. Their ages ran from very early twenties all the way up to late forties, possibly even fifties; it gets difficult to tell age from a hard life at that point.

Once the woman’s heart slowed down, I told her, “I am your avenging angel. Who made these arrangements?” Very portentous; kind of fun, actually.

There was a glint of fear in her eyes. I guess I should’ve toned it down a notch or two. I was there to make things better for them, not worse. Without a word, the woman turned. As I followed her, the place was beginning to come to life. As I passed, I left a wake of quiet exclamations and gestures. My guide took me to a door, knocked on it and, with a tremor in her voice, told those inside that someone was here to see them.

I heard some cursing inside, which wasn’t the response I was expecting. Then some banging around. Out burst an older woman with a shotgun in her hand. By pure reflex, I snatched it out of her hands and pinched the nerves in one of her elbows. She stopped short, like she ran into a wall, and looked up at me in shock as she rubbed her arm.

“Gabriella, you need to be more specific when you say things like this!

“Miss,” she said to me, “I’m so sorry. I thought it was another one of these damn bullies.”

Off to a bad start. At least no one had been shot. Yet. Seacay listened to all this through a mike I wore and had already been in to plant a few bugs. Thankfully he didn’t get trigger-happy when he heard all this.

“I’m here to deal with your problem, but before I start, I need to get details from you. Can we do this now?”

Most of these women are shorter than I am. Some, like this older woman who accosted me, by several inches. She’s fully filled out from bearing children, but still has plenty of energy and is clearly protective of her compatriots. She asked for tea, then turned to usher me into the room. Inside was a hodgepodge of things; it was clearly a working office, but also just as clear a bedroom. Sitting on one of the beds was a pretty young thing who had a rifle in her hand, staring intently at me.

“Maria, put that thing away. This is the help we asked for.”

Maria was slow to put the gun down. She didn’t seem too impressed with me. Probably hadn’t seen me snatch the shotgun out of the old woman’s hands. Perhaps she was expecting a guy, or even a team. She wore the typical floor-length loose dress that’s so common to the area, dark with white and beige accents sewn into it. The dress flattered her body. I wondered, idly, if she looked as good out of it as she did in my imagination.

“Miss, these bad men have been terrorizing us for years. First they take away our men. Now they threaten us directly, and have even lured away some of our older boys. They control the police, so we have no recourse but self-defense. There are many of them and armed, we are few, lack experience and have only a handful of pitiful weapons. Can you really help us?”

“I expect to help you, not just now, but for at least a generation to come. I am your avenging angel...” This time my portentous statement was greeted with enthusiasm instead of fear, even Maria seemed somewhat impressed. “Where do I find these bad men?”

I got detailed instructions on where to find them, confirming our earlier impressions. Rosa, her name, as I eventually learned, had been keeping a record of all the men she’d been having problems with. As she showed me her records, I made surreptitious photographs so I didn’t have to try and memorize everything. The records have names, a brief description, estimated age, presumed location within the organization, as well as a mark whether they were known to have raped any of the women. There were a lot of marks! I planned on special treatments for those with the marks! I thanked the women for their information and told them I’d get back to them in a day or so. I donned a disguise on top of my disguise, basically a dress to blend in with the women I was there to protect. That way I wouldn’t draw attention from anybody who might’ve been watching.

Seacay and I went over the information I obtained, looking at the copies of the records and familiarizing ourselves with the presumed organizational layout. That evening, we spent some time checking out their place of “business” so we could decide on a plan.

Seacay is way better at blending in with a bunch of guys than I am, so I did my recon from the roofs and shadows. He has this strange ability to adopt the look of the locals so thoroughly that sometimes I lose track of him in a small group, even while looking right at him. Bizarre. At least it allowed him to walk around the compound and place his bugs. It seemed there were around thirty guys who could pose a threat out of maybe fifty total, including women and children. I saw some of the boys I suspected Rosa was talking about, they were being made to fetch and carry; hazing I guess. It was still well before dawn when we regrouped to discuss our findings.

“I still don’t like this job,” Seacay said. “The client clearly doesn’t have much money. If I kill every one of the drug dealers, more would pour into the vacuum in no time.”

“Really, you need to leave this to me. I’m sure I can handle it. Besides, with you as backup, I have nothing to worry about!”

We discussed my plan. While Seacay clearly had some residual skepticism, he agreed with it. We communicated with Isabel, told her the basic plan, and that we intended to take the job, presuming the client came up with the rest of the money. I didn’t tell Seacay that I was going to do the job one way or another; why create friction when there doesn’t need to be any?

After we woke up, I found I recovered from my lack of interest due to our weeks long debauchery and wanted sex again. New places always make me horny. Also, watching him walk around naked is always a turn on. Despite being of average height and build, and having that strange average face so easy to overlook, he has an amazing body with broad shoulders, a hard butt and thighs as well as his six pack. I really enjoy watching him move around and love the touch of his body. I convinced Seacay that we weren’t really on the job at the moment, the investigation was over and we were waiting for feedback from Isabel, so he could re-engage his sex drive. I’m not sure if this argument would work all the time, but the guy clearly had been hurting lately and quickly agreed with my logic. Afterwards, we relaxed, then checked on our communication stream with Isabel. We found her message: the final payment had been transferred.

After disguising myself again, I traveled to the women’s compound. I told Rosa to select a few who would most like to watch the chastisement and, after much discussion, almost the entire group of women decided they needed to see. I gave them a broad outline of the day’s “festivities,” so they knew not to interfere, and we headed off in a march toward the men’s compound. In my head I kept hearing the showdown music from “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.” I hadn’t looked this forward to a fight in years, maybe decades. I was really hoping I wouldn’t get disappointed.

When we reached the gate at the compound, there were a few minutes of confusion, then the women started chanting and pushing on the gate. Several men showed up with guns; whenever one brought a weapon to bear, _my_ protective guardian took a shot that permanently disabled the weapon, sometimes causing injury to the holder. Since Seacay’s rifle was silenced and the rounds low velocity, except for those with the damaged weapons, few noticed.

The gate got pushed in and we swept into the central compound. As planned, I moved forward to the center of the compound and the women remained behind in a group. I occasionally noticed a weapon dropping to the ground, but the focus was almost entirely on me and the group of women.

...

It was an excellent workout, my best in decades. With the obvious bullies dealt with, I retire from the scene to prep for the evening’s festivities. This time Seacay agreed to take a personal interest. Somewhat surprising to me, he hates corrupt cops. That night, we visit the local law enforcement leaders and impress upon them, in a most direct and personal manner, that these ladies deserve their full support and protection. Much worse things will happen to the lawmen if harm comes to the ladies.

As we wrap things up, Seacay allows as it was more fun than he expected. Perhaps we could take more jobs like this in the future.

Back at the house, we fill Isabel in.

“This is the first time in a long time that I really got a good workout. Nothing against you or Seacay, but I just can’t let loose and push myself without worrying that I’ll hurt you. I didn’t have any inhibitions this time and could go all out. Refreshing!”

Seacay says, “You should have seen her! At least thirty guys. She wiped out every single one of them!”

“Surely you played some part?” Isabel asked Seacay.

“I made sure there were no long-distance weapons, just like she asked. Anyone who tried to use their gun, I took out the weapon. The group was so focused on Tessa, and the mob of women with her, that they never looked around for me. I knew Tessa was good and above our grade, but she’s not only in a different class, she’s in another university altogether!”

I may have preened from the praise, but I believe I earned it this time. Still, except for that one bruiser, they weren’t that challenging individually.

I have what I need. I quietly walk down the hallway, balancing my equipment. Habits of a lifetime mean I make almost no sound. It’s still early. The newly risen sun’s light is shining close to horizontal. It casts a long shadow in front of me. Though I know there’s no risk, I’m still aware that my shadow telegraphs my presence to anyone further down the hallway. Careful not to make any audible disturbance, I open the door to the bedroom. Briskly stepping inside, I silently close it behind me. Despite my expectations, they’re both awake. Further, they’re engaged with one another!

“Oh, fine, start without me, eh? I thought you two were asleep.”

Isabel and Tessa look up from the bed. They’re intimately intertwined. Very little left to the imagination. I set down the tray with the coffee and admire the view. Their intensity reducing, they sit up and reach for my offered cups.

Tessa got in late last night. Since we were still recovering from our travels, she barely got to see the living room before we flopped on the bed in a puppy pile and passed out.

“I left you sleeping soundly just a few minutes ago. Did I make that much noise when I left?”

Tessa takes a sip of her coffee. I get an approving glance.

Isabel says, “We did get a fairly decent night’s sleep. After you left, it got cold, which woke me. Then I got Tessa up. It seems like it’s been forever since she and I have been able to be like this. I’ve missed it. Not to take anything away from you, but she has a different smell, taste and feel. Something I missed as much as yours. This is the first time I’ve been able to spend more than a few seconds enjoying her since I was in that warehouse.”

Isabel looks directly at Tessa, “Seacay and I discussed this and we need you to know. As we’ve come to realize and accept our love for each other, we’ve also realized and accepted we love you as well. We believe the feeling is mutual, but want to get it out in the open for everything to be crystal clear.”

Tessa has a warm smile, “I didn’t want to get in your way if you felt three was a crowd, but I’ve loved you both for a long time. I was worried you’d be uncomfortable if I expressed it. I love the idea of a menage a trois. The sexual connotation as well as the ‘household of three’ aspect.”

I add, “We’ve been in reactive mode for a while, now we can relax. We can think about our present and future and get proactive. My career has made me wealthy. We needn’t worry about money. We can take as long as we need to plan for the future.”

Tessa looks away distantly. After taking another sip of her coffee, she says, “I have enough money squirreled away to live comfortably for the rest of my life.” She looks sideways at Isabel through her hair, “I was one of those people who skimmed from my jobs and set up accounts all over the globe.”

Now Isabel looks away. She sighs, “Well, my involvement in that’s behind me now. I suppose it’s a common thing to do. We deal so much with cash and there’s so little accounting.”

Tessa adds, “And the pay and hours suck. Not to mention getting shot at all the time!”

“Yes... I suppose I was heavy handed when I was in Internal Affairs. I must have made a lot of people upset. Well, I’m not going to hold any of that against you now.” She looks at Tessa and gives her a kiss.

I ask, “Are you up for the official tour?”

Tessa’s eyes brighten, “Certainly! When I arrived, the only impression I got was this place is huge. All I’ve really seen so far is this bedroom and bathroom. Which are amazing!”

We head out to the living area. I show off my giant video projector. I can tell from Tessa’s expression she’s looking forward to watching movies here.

We don’t spend much time looking at the kitchen. They aren’t inclined as chefs either, though I know Isabel can do much better than microwaving. Isabel does say she looks forward to trying out the incredibly expensive stove at some point.

I take them out on the wrap-around deck. About half of it’s covered. The deck is so huge, it more than doubles the number of square feet of the interior. I have infrared heaters so I can enjoy sitting out here even in the dead of winter. They go to the railing and look over the edge. The house is built on a slope, and the drop off from the rear porch is about forty feet. The view here is amazing. We’re on the edge of the Rockies. Trees only grow in patches where there’s enough water, thus there are lots of open spaces. We can easily see the snow-capped mountains from here. There’s even a lake glinting in the distance. Over the years, I’ve smoked many a cigar gazing out on this vista. I find it very calming and relaxing. I step back to let them drink in the view and to take in the view of them leaning on the edge of the railing. Both of them look really good in their short nighties; their white panties admirably showing off their tan skin. However, I find my eyes irresistibly drawn to Isabel’s magnificent rear. They both have nice legs and muscular thighs. My view is no less impressive than the one they’re enjoying.

Mornings here start out cool, and they’re standing in the house’s shadow. Since they aren’t wearing much, and have been adapted to the south, they decide they need more clothes to enjoy the view. I assure them that the afternoons during the summer get quite warm, particularly when the sun gets higher in the sky.

We walk down the hallway to the other bedrooms. Each has different lavish appointments, complete with a huge bathroom and closets. But a bedroom is a bedroom, so we don’t linger. We head downstairs, where I hope things will be more interesting. I show them the large gym. It’s fully appointed, and even has an area for sparring, though I’ve never had anyone to use it with until now. It has the typical exercise equipment as well as a wide variety of free weights and the usual treadmills, etc. for the long winters, when outdoor activities are precluded due to the weather. Then there’s the two and a half story climbing wall and adult-sized jungle gym. Ropes for climbing and swinging. A giant cargo net with holes a variety of sizes hanging away from the wall. The floor is well padded so an inadvertent drop won’t require a visit to the hospital.

In another room I show off the full-sized pool table, “I practice occasionally, I find it sharpens my aiming skills, but I’ve never had anyone to play with.”

Isabel says, “I used to play in college, but haven’t held a stick in a long time.”

Tessa, “I’ve played a few times over the years, but never enough to develop any skills.”

They each grab a cue and knock a few balls around. I enjoy watching them. Their nighties ride up most provocatively when they bend over for the longer shots.

I show them my indoor shooting range. It’s built into the hill under the circular driveway and extends under the garage. It’s about one-hundred and fifty feet long and can simulate a variety of lighting conditions. I’ve also arranged it to have the ability to generate cross winds. Important for practicing long shots. The armory at one end is well appointed. One of my hobbies is collecting firearms. Isabel isn’t that interested, though Tessa lingers appraisingly. Tessa is even more interested when I show them my collection of throwing implements and show her how to tell the range to configure itself for that sort of practice. At the push of a button, a wall of Kevlar fabric will descend and capture anything that misses the targets, which also drop with the same button. A variety of the targets are human-shaped, though some are just simple bullseyes. I show them how to command the targets to move. Either side-to-side, up and down or randomly. The targets for the firing range can also be programmed to move about the same way. There’s also the switch that produces random flashes and loud sounds to simulate the racket of combat. Finally, there’s the enhancement I made a couple of years ago: rubber balls that can be fired at the shooter hard enough to hurt. A variety of sizes and weights; it really takes concentration to accurately hit the target under these conditions.

“Now for the pièce de résistance: my indoor lap pool.”

I get more oohs and aahs as we step into the swimming pool room. It’s long and narrow. Ideal for laps. Though there’s a wider section for lounging. There’s a large hot tub that spills over into the pool, producing a nice waterfall look and sound. The room is set up like a greenhouse and is partly exposed to the sky through armored glass. Lots of tropical plants, ferns, mosses, etc. growing in rocks set to look rustic. As I wave my arms around describing the place, I hear giggling behind me. I turn around just in time to see them dive into the pool, their nighties in a pile on the ground. Wasting no time, I take my clothes off and dive in as well. Both have started swimming down the length of the pool. I stretch out and follow. It feels good to swim. I haven’t done this in a while. All this stuff is maintained automatically, though I have to check on things several times a year. Since it was just me, the pool never got very dirty. With three of us now, I’ll have to pay more attention.

We swim laps for a while. As I enjoy peeking at them as they go by I’m winding up with more resistance than usual. After thirty minutes or so, they decide to try out the hot tub. I finish my lap and join them. Isabel figures out how to turn on the jets and they’ve both sunk up to their necks in the bubbles. As I slide into the water, they separate and motion for me to join between them. I put an arm around each. This is great!

We aren’t in the tub very long before we start to hear each other’s stomachs growl, so decide to get some breakfast. I show them the shower room, so we can rinse and dry off, then head back up towards the kitchen. I introduce them to the pantry. It’s almost as large as the kitchen. There are a couple of chest freezers, along with a huge amount of shelving with all sorts of materials. Most of the stuff I have keeps for a long time. Because my schedule is so irregular, I don’t care for getting stuff that spoils quickly. I work to rotate my inventory, so things stay reasonably within their expiration dates.

I suggest steak and eggs for breakfast. They both nod their heads in anticipation. I have a freezer full of vacuum packed meat and I’ve found over the years that eggs last a lot longer than the sell-by date indicates. As I start to gather things for breakfast, Isabel takes over and says she’ll manage the kitchen. She knows Tessa and I don’t care for cooking. I guess she wants to ensure the meal is palatable.

Though I have to tell her where things are, she’s capable of managing everything else. Tessa and I watch as she expertly prepares the meal. We sit around, enjoying the food and each other’s company. As we finish up, Tessa asks about the security.

“This place has a lot of early warning systems and there are a couple of panic rooms I’ll show you later. They’re disguised, intended to fool even professionals. The cameras can be accessed from any of the TVs scattered around the house and I have a motion detection system that uses soft artificial intelligence to know the difference between deer, bears, et cetera, and humans. Generally, there’s no reason for anyone to be here. The surrounding land is all private and there are no hiking trails nearby. Though I have no personal knowledge of the neighbors, I have extensive dossiers on them all. My cover is I’m a rich businessman who uses this as a retreat and rarely has company. The neighbors know to leave the area alone.

“Occasionally I see hunters, but so far they’ve been careful to stay on the land they have permission to use. When my system detects something it produces this sound.” I demonstrate for them. It’s somewhat like a creaking floor or the house settling, “If you hear a series of these sounds at random intervals over a period of thirty to forty seconds, it’s something to be interested in. The false positive rate is high. I have it tuned to minimize the false negatives. Once or twice I’ve had guests from the neighbors near the gate in front of the property and I have the system tuned to report that activity. Be sure to check the visuals before assuming it’s something to worry about.

“Inside the exterior walls is ballistic nylon and will stop up to fifty cal ball rounds, but not armor piercing. The windows are all bullet resistant, but won’t stop fifty cals. The water supply is managed within the footprint of the building and the HVAC system has a very paranoid chemical detection system. So paranoid, it tends to go off several times a year, particularly in the spring pollen season. I’d rather have to reset it than have it miss something. Inside are the usual optical and sonic detectors, though mine are much more sophisticated and will detect and report the typical methods of bypassing them.”

They look like they like what they hear. I spent a lot of money on this system and have faith in it. I show them where the control room is, how to bring up all the various cameras as well as the remotes for the guns I’ve installed. Lastly, I show them where my escape tunnel is and describe where it comes out.

“At the end of the tunnel there’s a room with a small armory as well as various camouflage outfits. I’ll have to ensure that there are sizes to fit you and give you the access codes. Enough of this for now.”

We stroll back to the bedroom. They’re chatting about needing to go shopping. Tessa brought a few things with her, but Isabel has almost nothing. We pass my office and they’re curious to see. I open the door and usher them in. On one side is a wonderful view of the mountains. On the other is a large blowup of the Isabel-on-the-beach picture Tessa sent me years ago. Tessa smiles when she sees it. Isabel has a non-committal expression.

She looks at Tessa, “I think I know when you took this. I recall thinking you were trying to get shots of me, something I normally detest, but this looks really nice. Better than many of those posters adolescent boys put in their rooms. I’m OK with seeing it in such a prominent spot. More evidence, as if it were needed, that Seacay really does love me.”

She takes me by the arm and gives me a warm hug and kiss. Tessa goes to the other side and does the same. Man, I like this!

The girls decide that they really need to do some shopping. I’m sure I don’t want to join them. Even though years ago I wound up enjoying shopping with Isabel, when I was a child, I remember shopping with my mom and being bored out of my mind. I feel sure that’s what’ll happen if I join them. Isabel has no IDs, credit cards, etc. I tell them I’ll work on those while they’re gone. Tessa has appropriate credentials and money, so I’ll let her manage things for now. Tessa’s here in a rental. They take that and I’ll meet them later at the drop off place in one of my cars (I have a five car garage, though there are a couple of empty spaces.)

I work on setting up a new identity for Isabel, creating a legend, setting up accounts and transferring money to them. For the parts I lack expertise in, I make use of my many contacts who specialize in this ‘biz. I spread the elements around so no single person knows the whole picture. It doesn’t take that long to make arrangements, but it will take several days before everything becomes part of official records. Though this process takes a few hours, it surely must be more interesting than watching women shop.

A couple of hours after I finish, I get a call that they’re ready. They tell me to bring my largest car. I get a small sense of foreboding. Sure enough, they have a huge pile of boxes and bags. I hope my SUV can handle it. Isabel insists on getting some fresh ingredients for meals, so we stop at a grocery story on the way back. I caution her not to get excessive, there’s barely enough room for us in the car.

Back at the house, we make several trips carrying the shopping booty to the bedroom. I tell them how much of the closets I need, which isn’t a lot. They go to town laying out their stuff. I take the groceries and put them away, then return, standing in the doorway watching them unpack. I see some things whisked around that I look forward to seeing on the flesh, and think about suggesting some fashion modeling. Like what Isabel did for me all those years ago. After a while, though, it’s clear that the putting-away process may wind up being as long as the purchasing. I decide to have a cigar on the deck. I’m almost done with it when they discover me. I get an appreciative look from Isabel, but Tessa wrinkles her nose at the smell, “I promise to brush my teeth after I smoke!”

They join me in chairs and I tell them what I’ve been doing, “I created an identity for you today. I wasn’t sure about a name, so I stuck with Isabel.”

Tessa looks at Isabel and smiles. Maybe now I’ll get an explanation.

Isabel looks sheepish, “When we first met, and you had me tied up, I was flashing my sex appeal non-stop. I was confused, because you weren’t responding in the manner I expected for a heterosexual, yet it was clear you enjoyed looking at my body. Over the years, I’d grown to depend on my sex appeal and was flustered that it wasn’t working as expected. When it came time to offer names, I hadn’t yet recovered my equilibrium. I used my real name because I couldn’t focus enough to select a cover name I’d be able to remember.”

Tessa laughs. Isabel looks even more sheepish, hanging her head.

“Well, I love that name and think it fits you perfectly.”

I offer them my real name. It’s a bit pedestrian. Tessa gives hers, but avows that she never liked it and would prefer we stick with “Tessa,” which she always considered short for “Contessa.” I guess that says something about her psychology.

I ask, “Sorry to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I’m really curious: why me? What’s special about me that gets two beautiful women to be willing to leave their lives and start over?”

Isabel looks surprised. Tessa smiles and starts, “You’re an original ‘bad boy’: a killer. Women love that a man would kill for them. So romantic. Like the Knights of the Round Table. Psychopathic killers are such a turn on.” She smiles even more broadly.

Isabel, “Yeah, but don’t forget that he’s a warm-hearted cold blooded killer! And he _did_ rescue the damsel in distress!”

Tessa agrees and adds, “Women like strong men who are capable, have opinions they defend without being assholes, can physically sweep them off their feet in passion, yet are willing to make us coffee in the morning, give us back and foot massages and open doors for us.”

Isabel again, “What about his body?!”

Tessa nods, “Women love having their cake and eating it as well, no different than guys. If you have to choose between two otherwise perfect women, one hot and another one not, and all other things being equal, wouldn’t you want the hot one? You have a great body, hard and muscular. Just the sort of thing we like.”

Isabel adds, “Then there’s the love making.”

Tessa sighs happily, “Yes, the love making. When Isabel initially told me about your first encounter, I was supremely jealous. Though my experience with boys hasn’t been quite as depressing as hers, one of the reasons I make love with Isabel and other women is I have so rarely found a guy who would treat me as more than a sperm receptacle. Sure, they talk a good story when they’re on the prowl, and I admit I’ve been suckered in more than a couple of times, but to have a lover who cares about my pleasure and is also a magnificent specimen of manhood? The Holy Grail! And Isabel had that for several days! I got to see what I was missing when we were at that bed and breakfast, triggering even more pangs of jealousy when you and she ran off to spend that week together. She and I had a great time talking about it afterwards, in minute detail, but I wanted some myself. It took a while, but finally I was able to be with you in person and steer us into lovemaking. While I don’t think I got as many orgasms as Isabel did in her first encounter, our lovemaking was entirely satisfying because you are attentive and dedicated to ensuring our pleasure isn’t just an incidental thing that happens by accident. Despite the number of times we’ve been together, I have a nagging suspicion that Isabel has had more orgasms. Something I intend to even out now that we’re going to be together regularly.”

Isabel smiles, “I accept that challenge. Let the games begin!”

Our short-term needs dealt with, we start to discuss long-term plans. Since they’re professionals, I doubt they’ll enjoy being idle for long. Even when I’m off the job, I’m rarely idle. I have covers to maintain and for many years I worked on building my houses. Smoking cigars on the porch, watching the light play over the mountains, is only relaxing for a short period. When it goes on forever, it loses its luster pretty quickly. We discuss some alternatives. I outline the general way my business operates. Ultimately, we decide to relax for a few weeks before trying to settle on things. During that time, we can discuss a wide range of options and allow the various ideas to percolate in our subconscious.

Later that evening, I’m working in my office, going over what's transpired since I was gone. The girls are out in the living area. I hear them talk from time to time. I have some messages I need to attend to and it takes a while to prioritize them and get the responses in order. At some point, I notice a change in the sounds behind me. Isabel is looking in from the side. All I see is a hand and her head leaning in.

“I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy.”

“You’re never a bother! What can I do for you?”

“Tessa has found your movie collection and the popcorn and is ensconced in front of the TV, but I’m not really in the mood for watching anything. Remember back in Rio when I said I wasn’t ready for any sexual contact? I think I am now.”

She fully steps into the doorway and reveals she’s in a very sexy dress.

“I know you like to unwrap presents. I hope you like this one.”

She turns slowly in the doorway, so I can see her from all sides. It’s clingy, coppery and shimmery; more like a gown. It’s backless and has a slit on the side reaching up to her waist. It's clear the gown is all she’s wearing. Her hair is brushed until it gleams, cascading over one shoulder. The front of the dress is low cut, held on by a spaghetti strap tied at her neck. She’s wearing heels, which do interesting things to her calves. She’s still sporting bruises and some of the cuts are still healing, but I easily look past that.

She seems tentative, almost as if she isn’t sure how she’ll be received. I stand up from my chair and take her in my arms. She puts her head on my shoulder, giving me a chance to inhale the bouquet of her hair. I lift her and carry her toward the bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tessa giving an approving look. I wink at her as we go down the hallway.

I’m not sure what Isabel needs, so I’ll proceed slowly, gently. I suspect first she needs to feel feminine and beautiful, after being trapped in that warehouse, raped, beaten and starved. I plan on providing everything she needs for the rest of our lives...

We finally make it to my place. It’s secluded, yet not unreasonably far from civilization (I have another place deep in the Canadian wilderness that’s damn difficult to get to, but is also an incredibly secure fortress; it took me years to get it the way I wanted it and I did nearly every bit myself.) It has a number of bedrooms (master suites, actually). Not because I ever felt I would need them, but because I think long-term and expect to eventually retire and sell this place. Unloading a ten-thousand square foot house with only one bedroom would be damn near impossible. The kitchen isn’t that over the top. I’m not much of a cook after all. But I do like the looks of the higher-end appliances, the wood cabinets and the granite counters, even if I mostly use the microwave.

Isabel walks around oohing and aahing, admiring the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living area, the huge, high resolution projection TV screen and sofas. When I’m here, I often spend a lot of time watching movies or TV shows, so the windows can be blacked out with the touch of a button. I take her by the hand and lead her to my bedroom. Our bedroom now. It’s the ridiculously opulent type you see in the million dollar houses. After all, that’s what I designed and built. The bed is huge; Texas King. Sometimes I feel lost sleeping on it and wake up “upside down.” It has the giant bathroom and walk-in closets, though there isn’t much in the closets other than my disguise stuff. I designed the bathroom with an extra-large tub, but never filled it. Since my plan is to sell it to some rich guy with more money than sense, I figured it would help with the sale. I’ve never felt like waiting the hour it takes to fill it. Perhaps, though, now will be different.

“I really like this! Government salaries are stingy; the reason I guess nearly everyone skims. I grew up very modestly and my apartment was all I felt I needed. I admit, though, that several of the more ritzy places I’ve stayed in over the years had some attraction. I don’t think I’ll have any problems adapting to living in a place like this.”

“I’m glad you like it. Please consider this ‘our’ house now and ‘our’ bedroom. Having never been in love, I’m not totally sure how all this works. But I’ve watched a lot of movies and read a lot of books. My understanding is we’re in the ‘happily ever after’ stage that no one ever seems to document.”

“About that,” she says, “I need to tell you a few things. They might not matter to you, but it does to me, so I want to get them out in the open.

“I’ve never had any sort of boyfriend, ever. Even back in grade school, I never had any crushes. The older I got, the more contempt I had for most men, as well as an increasing number of women. I’m sure I brought some of it on myself. If I had more tolerance for fawning puppies, things might have been better. Then I wound up as a sex lure at the agency and alternated with being raped for my country and being condemned by my peers for allowing it to happen. And not just by women. It made me want to work all the harder to prove that I was more than just a body. And probably made me more sensitive to cultural elements like skimming.”

She asks, “I assume by now you know I go both ways?”

I reply, “It was never out in the open, but implied many times. Not that it matters.”

“I’m a little surprised Tessa didn’t say anything. She always told me details about your adventures together. When self-service is no longer getting the job done, I visit one of my girlfriends; Tessa being my favorite. Until you, boys have never been able to get the job done. On the job, I rarely got any pleasure from men and only occasionally women, though women were often at least able to get the basic task accomplished. There was this one time I need to tell you about. It’s from when Tessa and I first worked together.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and composes herself.

“The mission was to get compromising material on this woman who was into BDSM,” she looks at me to be sure I understand. When I nod, she continues, “I was known to be her type, so I was selected to get to know her, then let her take advantage of me on video so it could be used as blackmail. I wasn’t wild about it. Though I have no problem with seducing women, I wasn’t looking forward to bondage or whatever else was going to be involved. Tessa was going to be my guard. To make sure things didn’t get out of hand and to get the needed video. My first task was to become an interest of this woman and find where she had her ‘dungeon,’ so we could set up the covert cameras. I met her by ‘accident’ and allowed the conversation to become suggestive and acted like I was an interested submissive. The usual. She was actually quite generous. She wined and dined me several times and I enjoyed the shows she took me to.”

I sit next to her on the bed. It seems clear this’ll be a long story.

Isabel continues, “After a couple of weeks, things evolved into the physical realm. She was always the tease, though. Finally, she started to hint around about her dungeon. I expressed cautious interest, saying I wanted to see what I was getting into before I committed. With that, we were able to find where she had her fun.

“It was actually rather nice for something called a dungeon. Lots of mirrors, well illuminated, tastefully decorated, soft cushions on the floor, and whatnot. She explained that she would tie me up and then discipline me. I’d done some research on the sorts of things she was rumored to like and wasn’t looking forward to being spanked and so forth, but I had a job to do. Once we knew where the dungeon was, we broke in and strategically placed a number of cameras and arranged for the feeds to go to a nearby location where Tessa could monitor, yet be close enough to react if necessary. I knew I was going to be filmed, but wasn’t eager for guys to see me. No doubt copies of the tapes would start circulating freely. Though I’d only got to know Tessa for a short while, I felt I could trust her to edit the tapes to minimally reveal me while maximally revealing the target, then destroy the rest.”

I reach for her hand. It’s a little sweaty.

“A few days later, the target started to get frisky again. I let on that I was OK with the prospects of my discipline, so she took me to her dungeon. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so figured the best course of action was to be passive and wait for her orders. When we got there, she changed into a rather tight leather outfit with fishnet stockings. I was looking around as she changed and didn’t see her come out with a horse whip. She snapped my butt with it and I jumped. My first instinct was to grab the thing and beat the hell out of her with it. But I managed to get control of myself and reacted as if I was pleased. She admired my body for a minute, then brusquely ordered me to strip. I’d expected some sort of ‘foreplay’ so was a bit put out and wasn’t on my normal game. Also I was used to being the one driving the action. I took off my clothes, glancing at myself in the mirrors without curiosity. She positioned me where she had straps to hold my feet. I could see myself clearly in the mirror in front of me as well as seeing my rear in the mirrors behind me. Basically I could see all the way around. At least she wouldn’t be sneaking up on me.

“My legs were spread slightly more than shoulder width apart, then tied. A bit awkward, but I could easily support my weight. She then tied my hands to a bar above my head that had a rope run through a pulley on the ceiling. Pulling my hands above my head, she stretched me to my tiptoes. At that moment, a very interesting thing happened. Previously, I wasn’t the slightest bit turned on and was actually dreading the experience, expecting to have to act like I was enjoying myself. Instead, suddenly I was completely turned on. I didn’t expect it; I started flushing and my focus shifted dramatically. I went from being incurious about seeing myself in the mirror to being fascinated by this woman I was seeing with her arms stretched over her head, pulled toward the ceiling, legs spread and reaching up on her toes. I’ve always had an intellectual understanding that I had a nice body, but, since I’d always seen it, there was a bit of contempt with the familiarity. Like all women, I tend to focus on what flaws I perceive and ignore the aspects that might be favorable. Even when being drooled over by men – or women. However, at this instant I was immensely turned on by looking at my body. Almost like I was seeing it for the first time. I was able to admire my rear, take joy in my breasts, thighs and arms. Indeed, I was even intrigued by my hair, which I had typically ignored and only didn’t cut because it generally served as a very positive element when trying to lure targets.”

Isabel is a little red in the face and is looking everywhere but toward me.

“Suddenly all I could think about was between my legs. I tried twisting and found that I really couldn’t make any move that would cause rubbing. I felt a very strong need to play with myself. It’s not that I’m a stranger to self-service, but generally it’s out of boredom. This was a need, something I was unfamiliar with. I was quite frustrated all the sudden that I couldn’t touch myself. The target looked me up and down as if she could understand my consternation. She caressed my belly with her whip, ran it down my thighs and I really wished she would rub it between my legs. She walked around behind me. I could see her in the mirror. She was very admiring of my rear. Other than some mild complaints about sometimes finding it difficult to find flattering clothes, I’d never given much thought to my tush. But now, looking at the butt of that woman tied up in the mirror, I was very much turned on by the sight. She caressed my behind with her whip a few times, then started to smack it. Each time she hit me, I got waves of pleasure. I totally forgot about the mission and was entirely focused on my own pleasure.

“I really wanted an orgasm. Her teasing was really getting me frustrated. I was on the verge of cuming, but I couldn’t touch anything, so I was at her mercy. She started to rub the whip on my body again. Sometimes smacking my belly with a loud slap. Sometimes my thighs or butt. I could see red welts starting to form where she’d been hitting me and found this strangely a turn on as well.”

She’s staring down where the floor and wall meet. Her hand is lifeless in mine. I put an arm around her shoulder.

“After what seemed like hours of this, though no doubt it was just a few minutes, she took a small break from tormenting me and went to her table with a variety of toys and whatnot laid out. She picked up a long scarf and ran it between her hands, looking at me speculatively. I remembered now that there were occasional rumors that she was into erotic asphyxiation, but at the time we dismissed them. Besides, I couldn’t understand how anyone could be attracted to that sort of thing. However, at that moment, all I could think of was how sexy that woman in the mirror would look with that scarf being squeezed tightly around her neck.

“The target walked up to my front, running the scarf over my body. The feeling was electric. The light touch was a thrill. She walked around behind me and I watched intently as she put the scarf around my neck. She wrapped the ends around her hands in preparation to give a squeeze. As the scarf began to tighten, I had several explosive orgasms and gasped and moaned in a way that was turning me on even more. At that moment, there was a phone call and the target left me there with the scarf loose around my neck. I felt let down. As strange as it might sound, I’d got to the point where I was hoping to be strangled more. I wanted more massive orgasms. I really wasn’t paying any attention to the target on the phone. I was admiring that luscious woman tied up in the mirror, her scattered red welts and the scarf around her neck.”

I raised her sweaty hand and kiss it a few times. She glances at me, but then quickly looks away. I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“The target was very upset when she got off the phone. She cursed like a drunken sailor for a few minutes, then came over and told me that she had to cut the session short. She said that was all I was going to get until next time, then lowered my arms and removed the restraints on my ankles. Even though I started to get embarrassed now that I was no longer tied up, I still eyed myself in the mirror and admired what I saw. I felt fundamentally changed from that experience. Indeed, until you and I first made love, I hadn’t had that many orgasms before or since.

“I put my clothes back on, but found it difficult to do so without waves of pleasure flowing over me. The target clearly had to be somewhere. She impatiently hurried me out the door and I didn’t really have time to think about what had just happened. I left the dungeon and joined Tessa. I wasn’t quite able to focus yet. I was still flushed from the experience and really wanted to spend time alone, fondling myself. Tessa, I recall, seemed somewhat flushed as well. She seemed to be eying me speculatively, but I tried to focus on the job. I asked if she got what she needed. She replied ‘Oh Yeah!’ and I did look at her closely for a moment, but her face was non-committal. I said that we should go over the tapes and pick what we needed, then I would take the rest and destroy them.”

Isabel’s body language makes it clear to me that her story isn’t finished.

“Tessa queued up the various monitors to the beginning. I started having the same sort of out-of-body experience looking at myself in the monitors as I felt looking at myself in the mirrors and started to get really hot and bothered again. I believe I got a fixated stare at the monitors after a while and tuned out the rest of the room. I tried to figure out how to play with myself without saying or doing anything obvious and believe I was holding very still. After a few minutes of this, I barely heard Tessa whisper that she would make love to me if I liked. I’m sure I stared after turning to look at her. I couldn’t believe my ears and wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly over the thunder from my pulse. She looked me in the eyes and nodded. I suspect I stared at her stupidly, then she leaned in to give me a brief kiss. I was so horny at that time I have no clear recollection, but it seemed like my clothes just exploded off my body. Tessa guided me to a bed where she positioned me so I could see the monitors as she ministered to me. After just a short period, I started to buck and moan against her. When the monitors showed the target wrapping the scarf around my neck, I went into a haze of pleasure as waves of orgasm swept over me. I do believe I actually passed out for a period. When I next remember anything, Tessa was lying next to me with her face snuggled against my neck. I pulled her clothes off and had my turn, but I didn’t feel like I properly returned the favor as she finished so quickly. She said she was satisfied, though.

“After that we managed to get focus back on work and edit down the tapes such that they revealed little of me and most of the target. Even blurring my face and sexy bits. Without any need for discussion, we didn’t actually destroy any of the tapes. Instead I took them home with me. Occasionally I use them for self-service, though I’ve never quite recaptured that feeling. Now and again I think about trying to replicate that experience, but really don’t like giving up that kind of control so doubt it will ever happen again.”

Isabel finally looks me in the eyes. Hers are a little wounded and red. She squeezes my hand and gives me a brief kiss on the cheek.

“So, as you can see, Tessa and I know each other very well from a very long time ago. I know I can trust her implicitly, even with my deepest, darkest secrets. Having thought about ‘love’ a lot lately because of you, I realize I also love Tessa and feel sure she loves me. Based on the way she talks about you I guess she feels the same towards you as well.”

I nod, “I’ve also thought a lot about this. Since it seems clear you two talk about everything, I assume you know that Tessa and I have been lovers over the years.” Isabel nods at that, “Though my attachment to you feels more visceral, there’s no doubt I care a great deal about her as well and like having her in my life. This isn’t quite like the story books, though, but I’m OK with it if you are.”

The sun is well above the horizon when I feel her sit up in bed. She looks a whole lot less bad now that she’s had a good night’s rest.

“I really have to pee, where’s the bathroom?”

Not the romantic first thoughts I was having, but I suppose that stuff is only in the movies. I direct her to the appropriate location.

She’s in there a while. Just as I’m starting to get concerned, I hear a flush. She’s moving around the sink. I hear her brushing her teeth, then hear the shower running. I guess she wasn’t content with my attempt at grooming. She’s in the shower for a while. I look in and check on her from time to time. She just seems to be scrubbing extra thoroughly. When she finally comes out, I’m surprised that I’m not even thinking about how sexy she looks. My focus is on the myriad bruises I see everywhere.

She asks, “I’m starving, what’s to eat?”

I’d anticipated this and laid out some food on the table in the living room. Tessa had earlier brought some of Isabel’s clothes in hopes we would find her. I’d laid them out on the bed. Looking much better than that poor bedraggled rat I found the night before, she joins me at the table after getting dressed. She eats in silence for a while, though the looks she gives me are eloquent. With the edge of her hunger assuaged, she gets up out of her chair and comes around to mine and gives me a long hug.

“While I was in there, I had several dreams where you or Tessa would burst in and rescue me. Yet every time I woke up I was still tied up and trapped. When you showed up last night, I really couldn’t see it as real until I woke up here this morning. Thank you!”

“Tessa wanted to get me involved because she was worried if she took an active interest, her contacts that had been leaking information would clam up. I was winding up a job, so unfortunately didn’t get here until three days ago. It took me until last evening to find you. Tessa is convinced that there are more involved. She left this morning to do some interrogating.”

Isabel smiles, clearly knowing a thing or two about Tessa’s interrogation methods, “I wish I could be there, but I trust Tessa will do a better job than I would. She’s much better suited for field work, I’m better suited for management.” She frowned, “Or was. I had a lot of time to think over the last few days. I’ve a pretty good idea of who is ultimately behind all this; I’m not sure I can go back to the agency. Remember when we talked before, how I said I was a career woman dedicated to my agency? Well, no longer. Even though it’s clear these guys did this independently and came up with some sort of smokescreen that I left in a huff, I’ve worked with those people for a couple of decades. No one – other than Tessa, of course – seemed to find my disappearance unusual or alarming in any way. To me that speaks volumes about my place in that organization.”

Isabel starts into a second meal. She may need to eat extra for a few days to make up for her adventures. It seems all they did was occasionally give her water. As Isabel is winding up, Tessa arrives. She goes straight to Isabel and gives her a long hug. I guess women need that, though I admit it sure felt good when Isabel and I hugged.

They talk quickly in their language, discussing names and what appear to be organizations. I can follow the language, but it’s too many names without context for me to keep up. After about ten minutes, Tessa says she’ll be back late tonight or early tomorrow. As she leaves, she gives us an enigmatic smile and suggests we watch the news. We tune the small TV to a local news channel. We’re just in time for the sports round up, so have to wait to get the topical news. I sit on the couch and pull Isabel onto my lap, then wrap my arms around her. She seems to like that and leans her head against mine, letting her now dry hair cascade down my neck and chest. Eventually the show cycles around to actual news (unless, I guess, you’re a rabid footballer). There’s this interesting report about a warehouse where two men were discovered. They had their throats slit, their genitals cut off and stuffed in their mouths. Though there’s no official confirmation, the reporter says that unofficial sources indicate the genitals were not their own. We smile at that. Surely Tessa has done a better job than we could have. No mention, of course, of their membership in the agency. It’s just two anonymous guys. I have to imagine that there are people sweating in the agency now. No question they know who those guys were. None of the people involved can speak about the subject. To do so is to admit they kidnapped and raped Isabel.

We spend the day talking about small things. I rarely let her get out of arm’s reach and try to remain in physical contact the whole day. We watch the news off and on. It seems there is an epidemic of guys getting their throats slit and genitals stuffed in their mouths. The news is speculating that it’s some sort of drug turf war. We’re sure the agency is on high alert and hope Tessa is careful. As the sun goes down, Isabel starts to get groggy.

“I want to go to bed, but not alone. I’m not ready for any sort of sexual contact, but I really want to hold you and be held by you.”

“I’m fine with that. I won’t go any faster any sooner than you want. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be.”

We head to the bedroom. She puts on her pajamas. They seem the same as those she wore when we were on the Venezuelan gig all those years ago. Surely those would have disintegrated by now. I take off my pants and shirt, but stop at the underwear. She looks at me like she’s considering her feelings, then just reaches out a hand to take me as I am. We slide into bed and snuggle very close together. I wrap both arms around her and hold her tight. She climbs half on top of me and puts her head on my chest. Now I’m sure: the smell I love so much is her own. The soap in the shower is for hand washing and has no perfumes. Somehow that makes her even more special to me. I absently caress her back, but avoid her butt. Time enough for that when she’s ready. She seems to settle down to sleep fairly quickly, though every now and again she twitches strongly and whimpers quietly. Whenever that happens, I tighten my grip around her body. That seems to reassure her and she slips back into a deeper sleep.

I’m not that tired, so lay there thinking, enjoying the heat of her body and the scent of her hair. Though I lack the experience to be sure, I feel strongly that I love her. I’ve exhibited all the clinical signs. Now that I have her in my arms, I have no intention of letting go. The idea that another five, or even three or one-and-a-half years going by without her causes me anxiety. I’m not sure how we'll manage it, but as long as she’s willing, we’ll be together.

Eventually I fall asleep, though long after my arm has. Isabel stirs a few times. I wake up and readjust, pulling her tighter against me, then we drift back to sleep. After the sun wakes us, she looks at me very seriously.

“Seacay, I love you.”

I look at her just as seriously and reply, “And I love you.”

I think we both feel better having got that out in the open, but the urges of nature are calling, so we have to separate. She gets up first. My arm is barely functional. As she does her morning toilet, I do some exercises to get the blood flowing. Naturally, my arm goes from numb to incredibly painful, but I know it’ll be over in another minute or two. Tessa, it seems, got in sometime during the night. I hear her talking with Isabel at the bathroom. Finally getting control over my arm and hand, I give a pitiful look to the both of them so I can get past to the bathroom.

When I’m done, I meet them in the living room. They’re sitting on the couch next to each other, holding hands. Tessa has a naughty look on her face and Isabel is a bit flushed. I raise my eyebrows in the question.

“I told Isabel I put on my avenging angel suit and went on a rampage. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get the definitive information I needed to make any of it official, so I went about doing it unofficially.”

Isabel says: “Remember long ago when I mentioned that we weren’t cold blooded killers? Well Tessa is a hot blooded killer. When she gets mad she gets vengeful and goes on a killing spree. I’m not even effective as a hot blooded killer. I keep seeing wives, girlfriends and children whenever I think of killing these guys. We were co-workers for decades. Tessa is much more focused, like you in that regard. She doesn’t let those sorts of emotions get in her way.”

I say, “I feel I have to ask this so I can understand things better: why didn’t they just kill you? I get the raping and beating. That’s pathetic typical insecure adolescent male behavior. But I doubt that would last more than a day. I found you after five days and it seems clear they were going to keep you a while longer.”

Isabel says, “It comes down to how the agency manages internal affairs. Because there’ve been repeated problems in the past, the IA systems are on isolated networks with three factor authentication. Even other IA people can’t access someone else’s work. It’s completely compartmentalized. However, and this is the key, just because someone stops working in IA doesn’t mean their material gets lost. After a certain waiting period, all the incomplete cases get automatically promoted to their next senior in rank. While they could get my ID and my fingerprints, they still needed my password. I imagine their goal was to delete or rewrite my case files against them, then allow for the promotion process to happen. Then there would be ‘proof’ that I was crazy, so all the previous cases would be dismissed.”

“They didn’t resort to physical torture, though.”

“Well, they did beat me a lot. That rubber hose thing. They did some waterboarding, starved me and though I got some water, I was dehydrated most of the time. I suppose they were intending to use me somehow to make it look like I voluntarily left the country, so they didn’t want to cripple me. It sure wasn’t any sort of picnic. But I knew there wasn’t any point in giving them my password. One way or another they were going to have to kill me. Besides, I knew that Tessa was looking for me and likely would get you involved. I hoped if I just held out long enough I would be rescued by my knights in shining armor.”

Tessa follows with “I knew it was a race against time. I’m really glad we won. I’m not sure where my vengeance would end if they’d killed you or done worse than they did. They should consider themselves lucky. I was able to persuade several of them to give me a fuller picture of their network before they met their untimely end. Interestingly, they wouldn’t reveal the person at the top, said that doing so would be worse than what I’d planned. That person must be very well connected in the agency, yet I can’t think of anyone at that level who has expressed the slightest hint that they’re against you.”

“I’m pretty sure I know who it is. I’ve been working on an IA file for a couple of years now that implicates one person near the top. She’s even been a mentor of mine.” Tessa inhales at that, “I know you know who I’m talking about. She’s been skimming millions over the years and continues to do so today. I’m also very sure she’s been blackmailing others. I’ve had few sources, even those wound up dead. I had nothing I could take to the director, particularly against someone this highly placed. I feel sure she set these guys up to take the fall in the event things went south for some reason. Even now there’ll be nothing definitive we could take to him. Besides, I can’t be sure he’s totally clean. The two of them worked together when they were first getting started. I’m not sure what to do about the agency stuff, but I’ve convinced myself there’s no point in going back. I don’t think I can trust anyone there anymore.”

“For my part,” Tessa says, “I won’t be going back either. Though I did my best to make sure nothing could be traced back to me, I’m not sure I could remain objective working with them again. Besides, I put together a complete dossier with all the information I had and sent it to a couple of people I trust. No doubt word will gradually seep out that I was the one that went on the killing spree. Sooner or later that’ll catch up to me.

“With that in mind, I stopped by your apartment last night and collected a few things I thought you’d find difficult to replace or where I was sure you’d rather have it destroyed than fall into anyone else’s hands. It’s in that duffle bag next to the door. I also cleaned out my important stuff, so I’m ready to go. What shall we do now?”

I say, “I thought about that last night. We don’t want to travel together. That’ll attract too much attention. While it’s possible Isabel’s ‘nemesis’ will be content with her disappearing, no doubt there’ll be people who’ll want to know what happened to the both of you. We should give them as much of a dead end as possible. Ideally a series of dead ends.”

Tessa: “I can make my own way out. I just need to know where to go. I’ve had covert travel plans in place for decades; knowing myself the way I do, I’ve always felt that a situation like this would arise at some point.”

I continue, “I don’t want to leave Isabel alone. However, I put together a plan I think can get her out without there being any sort of connection. I’ll contact my smuggler friend who spirited me into the country and arrange for him to take me back out. Waiting at the end of the runway, as we turn for take off, Isabel can hop on the plane. Even if they track my smuggler friend, they shouldn’t associate his activities with ours, so we should be fine going forward.

“We can meet at my primary residence. I keep it quite secure. It’s rather secluded. There we can take our time discussing next steps.”

Isabel says, “Tessa, you should be happy: Seacay and I finally professed our love for each other this morning.”

Tessa smiles and claps, “Finally! It’s sad that it had to come to this point before you realized it, but I’m glad you finally did.”

With the immediate future planned, I contact Jim. A bit surprising to me, he’s still in-country. Evidently he suspected that I might need more help. I discuss my plan for getting Isabel out. He refines it, and we set a time. Jim is an expert at moving people around without leaving any trace. I feel better after his refinements. We finish up the food we have and decide we’ll just have to go hungry for a while. Mid-afternoon, Tessa gets her stuff, gives us both hugs and kisses, then heads out. We have no idea how she’ll travel, but neither of us are the slightest bit worried. As the sun starts to set, we begin our travels. They’ll be long; the airstrip Jim selected is even more remote than the one where he dropped me off. Our travel process is convoluted. We know that at some point people with massive resources will begin looking for us (we figure right now Tessa has them terrorized in a hole somewhere). We want to leave a series of false trails and misdirections. I worry every time Isabel is out of my sight. More of that love thing, I guess. I only relax when we’re close enough to touch.

Eventually, around three in the morning, we reach the airstrip. We follow Jim’s instructions to the letter. Within another half hour we’re in the air and heading out of the country. Because secrecy is critical, it’ll be a day and a half or so before we’re back in the States, due to all the misdirection. Fortunately, Jim laid in some food for us. Since Isabel’s never been in a jet like this, she sits in the co-pilot seat off and on and gets a checkout. I’m sure Jim doesn’t mind having her there. Despite being battered, bruised and starved, she’s still gorgeous.

I wake up as we come in for the landing. It’s the middle of the night. All my things are gathered and ready to go when the plane stops moving. Tessa is there with a car. I thank Jim, putting my bags in the trunk as he makes arrangements to refuel and head off to wherever smugglers go when they aren’t smuggling.

Tessa is behind the wheel. I join her on the passenger side. She initially focuses on driving, so I have a chance to observe her. She has an unusual set to her face. She’s clearly upset. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look. I’m glad it's not directed toward me. I know how good she is with her hands and have a wee bit of pity for the people who’ve taken Isabel.

Once we’re on the main paved road, she starts to fill me in.

“I can give you the names and addresses of the people I think may be involved, but don’t believe they’re the only ones. I think I’ve narrowed her location to one part of the city, but naturally it’s a warren of small shops and warehouses. She could be very hard to find.”

She grits her teeth at that last part, leans forward in the seat and stares fixedly out the windshield. All the sudden she slams a fist into the dash. There’s a snap as parts of the plastic crack. I now notice a few other cracks in the dash, then realize there are knuckle prints in the headliner. With that, the observation my brain made as I got in the car comes together. There were several upward dents in the roof of the car. I could see the starlight distorted because of them.

Another sign of how upset she is, not a single curse word, in Portuguese or any other language. Hoping to try and calm her down, I ask for some background.

“Explain how you’re so certain it’s these guys.”

“I told you that she’d been making waves in the agency, right?” I nod, “Within the agency, Isabel and I have given appearances that we aren’t close. When we first worked together, I already knew some people didn’t like her. Beautiful women who use sex as a weapon rub some guys the wrong way. Even though she was just doing her job, several guys already started to break bad on her. I’m more of a ‘just one of the guys’ than Isabel will ever be, though I know that a number of them are sexist and really hate that I can beat them in hand-to-hand combat. Anyway, even before she and I worked together, I heard some guys complaining about her do-gooder attitude and insistence on sticking to the rules. When we became friends, I suggested we keep it distant and professional at work, to increase the chance for me to overhear loose talk. That approach has proven quite successful in this case. Unfortunately, that means if I move openly against these guys they’ll know I’m no longer impartial. Any information I might get would come to a screeching halt.”

She starts to tense up again, but quickly continues.

“As I mentioned earlier, I’d been keeping track of the more vociferous of the group, expecting any move would come from them. However, I feel they’re more bark than bite, and strongly suspect that the orders for this came from someone who isn’t yet on my radar. There are lots of back stabbers in our agency, in any such agency I suppose, and many of them are quite capable of being polite to your face while they reach around to jab in the knife.”

She pauses, takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. I can see some of the tension in her shoulders relax as she does so.

“Officially, Isabel has stormed off in a huff about some nonsense or other. Thus, the agency doesn’t think she’s been kidnapped. My worry is that they’ll do something to her, forcing me to don my avenging angel suit and go on a rampage. Naturally that would end my career, if not my life. Hopefully these morons haven’t gone that far and you can find them so we can rescue her.”

Her shoulders are tense again. She has a tight grip on the steering wheel, twisting her hands back and forth. I try to reassure her.

“I’ve had a couple of jobs in Rio over the years so the city isn’t that foreign to me. It shouldn’t take me that long to get back into the culture. I presume you have a safe house set up somewhere. The sooner I can start investigating the better.”

The airstrip is a few hours outside of the city. It’s a while before we get to the safe house. In the meantime, she gives me an information dump. Because of my prior time here, we’re able to discuss some geographic considerations. She seems to be relaxing somewhat as I get involved in the discussion and planning.

I ask, “So where have Eric and Jeff been in all this?”

She turns to look at me, pausing.

“They just left for a long mission abroad.”

I snort, “What an amazing coincidence.”

“Coincidence, my ass!”

At least she’s relaxed enough to get back into salty mode.

“Everyone knows how close they are. No question they’d search for her. I was interested to note that their mission specifically requires ‘radio silence,’ meaning little to no communication back home. Naturally, everything about it is compartmented. I can’t even contact them and get them to sneak back.

“It’s just you and me, partner.”

The safe house (apartment, really) is set up adjacent to the part of the city Tessa thinks Isabel is being held. I can probably get by on foot for the most part. Though I didn’t get really good rest when I was traveling, I had enough sleep that I’m able to get started immediately. Since I know the city, I’m able to develop an effective disguise right away. Heading out, I start immersing myself and updating my encyclopedia of the area.

I switch disguises several times as I travel about the city, getting familiar with the locations of the people on Tessa’s list. I’m assuming these guys are professionals like Tessa, so figure they’d notice if they saw the same person twice. I brought a bunch of bugs with me and begin to place them when I can be sure they won’t be noticed. My recorder will start as soon as I activate it. Later I can go over what it captures. I was shown pictures of all of Tessa’s prime suspects and see several of them in my wanderings. Two of the suspects gave me a chance to put a bug on their vehicles. If I get really lucky, one of them will take me right to Isabel. By the time dawn rolls around I have about half of them bugged and know the cars and families of about a third. I head back to the safe house to listen to the recordings and see where my bugged cars have gone, but nothing seems useful.

My sleep is again full of discomfort. Over and over I see Isabel tied up on a bed, so move forward to release her. Once again, as I get closer she moves further away. I start running toward her, but my legs feel like they’re set in concrete. It takes all my effort just to shuffle forward. The harder I try to move, the faster she moves away. The night feels a million years long. When I finally give up, I’m sandy eyed and exhausted.

Tessa and I meet the next morning. Isabel has been “gone” now for about four days. I outline what I’ve done. She nods her head at first, but then starts to shake it. I look at her with raised eyebrows, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s agitated. Pacing the room. Making fists and rolling her wrists around. Suddenly, she gets very still. She turns toward me, staring with hard, piercing eyes.

“Why are you taking so long? You _must_ find her, _now_!”

I need to be careful here. She looks very much like a Terminator. As she slowly leans toward me, to get within striking distance, I hold very still. With my arms at my side and hands open.

“I _can’t save_ her if you kill me.”

That seems to work. She loses that tenseness and glint in her eye.

“Sorry,” she says, looking down at the ground.

Tessa hasn’t been sleeping or eating well and her cheeks are getting hollow. I suggest she needs to go back to her normal routine as much as possible. People might note her change in behavior and appearance. That it’ll put some distance between me and the terminatrix is just a bonus. I check my bugs to see if they provide anything useful and get one small hint: one of the guys says something in such a way that makes me think he knows Isabel isn’t off in a snit somewhere. I decide to focus on this guy. Unfortunately, he isn’t one that has a bug on his car. I’m going to get a very close look at how he does business.

Interestingly, he seems to be off from regular work. Quite a coincidence. I trace some of his activities and his behavior seems somewhat furtive. Of course, being a professional spy, this might be his normal way of spending his day. However, I know most spies relax when they’re off the job. He seems like he’s on. I manage to get a bug on his car, but that just leads me to where he switches vehicles. I’m getting more convinced now. This is really unexpected behavior from anyone, even a spy, when they’re relaxing, taking time off. Plus, I would expect he would spend time with his family and this is clearly not the case.

I totally understand Tessa’s frustration. I guess my mind is too compartmented. I can think logically and rationally while some locked up portion howls in frustration. It started to slip out once, though, as I followed my prime suspect. He went into an alley. As I waited for him to come back, I felt my own tenseness get the better of me. I know torturing someone for information is a very poor interrogation method. Even against ordinary people with ordinary secrets. Against someone trained, it’s entirely useless. However, part of me, that part I’d been keeping walled off up to that point, really didn’t care about the information. It just wanted to crunch bones, pulp organs and cause pain. When I saw him start back out the alley, I was forced to block that part of me off. It became one of the hardest things I’ve ever done: to simply hold still as he walked by, just out of arm’s reach. Fortunately, he didn’t look at me. If he had, I strongly suspect my arms would’ve reached out on their own accord and I’d have lost my link to Isabel.

The day ends without any breakthroughs, but I do have the solid lead. Tessa and I communicate and I tell her about my theories. She mentions this is one of the quieter guys, though he has complained about Isabel off and on over the years. Tessa isn’t surprised he may be involved. She cautions me that he has good craft and is well known for spotting tails. In her experience, he isn’t that great in hand-to-hand and feels confident I would have the upper hand in any personal encounter. Based on her feedback, I decide to put some additional bugs where he switched cars to see if I can get further.

The next day I get lucky. He chooses one of the cars I’d bugged at the transfer location. Now I can follow him remotely. He’s visiting the part of the city that Tessa felt was likely to be where they’re holding her. I begin to do walkabouts there. There’s a large warehouse. I note the car is parked outside. I stay well back from the building and assume there are cameras and motion detectors all around it. I do wide circuits around the area, memorizing the streets, buildings, etc., prepping for tonight’s visit.

I return about two-thirty in the morning. The place is very poorly lit and, except for a few stray dogs, deserted. That in itself is interesting. The population pressure in Rio is so high I would expect squatters. I silently climb the roof of a building a block or so away. Using my scanners, I look for motion detectors and cameras. I see a number at that building, but am not seeing any on adjacent buildings. Perhaps they’re so confident they’re in control they’re not setting a wider perimeter. Thinking back, when Isabel and I first worked together, that team we took on also lacked defense in depth. Not to say that they were incompetent. Just not at a level that’s much of a challenge for me with my tools and experience.

I work my way over the adjacent roofs until I can extend my sensors over the edge to survey the area directly around the building. There doesn’t seem to be any effort to look above the ground. It seems I’m in the clear, as long as I’m on the roof. I work around until I can transfer to the roof of my suspicious building. After rechecking with my scanners, I slide over. With a sensitive microphone, I check the roof from time to time for sounds. All I’m finding so far is the usual creaks and groans of an old building. Slithering around, I start to get some sounds of human activity (there have been occasional sounds of animal activity) and start to zero in on the focal point. A skylight is nearby, so I go check it out. Not surprisingly, there’s a small hole in it. I have to imagine the inside is full of damp smells from the regular rain. Carefully sliding some scanners into the building, I use a thermal camera to look around. I see some heat signatures back toward where I heard the sounds. It looks like several people. Scanning the rest of the area, I don’t see anything interesting. I check for motion detectors and cameras. There are a couple, but they’re haphazardly placed and I can easily get between them.

Because I’m developing a strong conviction that this is the place, I decide to get Tessa involved as backup. I fill her in as she travels, while making a hole in the roof over a blind spot between the detectors. I tell Tessa where to wait and that I’ll call her as soon as I know one way or another. I slip down into the warehouse and carefully make my way toward the room where I expect them to be. Using the thermal goggles, I can make out what appears to be three bodies. One seems to be sitting, two others standing nearby. Sometimes thermal cameras can provide details through walls, but it depends on the materials. In this case, all I get are blobs that I’m assuming are human because of the size. Once at the room, I place my listening device directly on the wall. I hear movements, but no talking. A phone rings. I had the gain turned up too high and it’s quite painful. Now I have a ringing sound in that ear. I switch ears and lower the gain. They’re talking in Portuguese. I can tell immediately that I’m in the right spot. It’s a sitrep and is brief. I send the coded message to Tessa telling her this is the right spot. Then start analyzing the room to decide how to breach it.

The mic is picking up more movement. Using the thermal scanner I can see two of the blobs moving about. The one that appeared to be sitting is still sitting. I imagine it’s Isabel, so make my plans accordingly. My scanners aren’t indicating any active alarms on the door. I test to see if the door is locked. It isn’t. I ready myself, get my needler in my hand. Turning the knob, I burst in. The two guys do react quickly. But they’ve got dopey from the lack of stimulus and I’m easily able to take them down. I flip up the goggles and see that my supposition was correct. It’s Isabel tied to the chair. It doesn’t appear she’s noted my arrival. Her head is slumped forward and her once beautiful hair is matted and greasy. I can see that her clothes have been ripped and probably not-nice things have been done to her. I’m starting to regret bringing a needler instead of a gun.

I look around the room and note the alarm and camera controls. I put the cameras on a loop and turn the alarms off. Then tell Tessa to come in and how to reach us. I do a quick tour of the room, collecting weapons into one location and securing the two guys. I approach Isabel and gently reach down to lift her head up. She doesn’t open her eyes, but seems to be awake. I murmur in southern American English, the language from our first job together, that she’s all right now. She opens her eyes and then asks if she’s really awake. I assure her that she is, and gently touch her face noticing the bruises and small cuts. I go over and kick both men in the ribs until I hear cracks. At least they’ll be in agony when they wake up.

I return to Isabel and cut off the bindings. She can’t stand up. Indeed, can’t even grasp with her hands. I carry her over to the bed and lay her down. Tessa arrives shortly thereafter and immediately goes to the two guys and examines their faces. I can tell from the look on hers that they’re in for more discomfort than I provided. She joins us and sits on the bed next to Isabel. As she starts to massage Isabel’s arms and legs to get the blood flowing again, I find some water for Isabel to drink and for Tessa to wipe off some of the grime. Looking around more closely, I see some notes that appear to be written in code. I suggest Tessa look at that while I tend to Isabel, who’s starting to work her hands and stretch her legs. She’s in obvious pain. I imagine it’ll be awhile before she can move around normally.

I decide it’s best if I just carry her. She’ll be better off out of this dismal place. Tessa agrees. I leave with Isabel and head to the vehicle I’d earlier stashed nearby in the hopes this would be the right spot. Isabel’s lost some weight, so I’m having no problems carrying her, even though it’s a goodly distance away. She rests her head on my shoulder and puts her arms around me. I get to the car, gently place her in the back and head to the safe house via a roundabout way, closely looking for tails the whole time. I ask her if she can stand and walk. She sits up in the back and says she thinks she can, but not very far. I want to quickly drop her off in an alley near the safe house and ditch the car some distance away, in case it’s been bugged or recognized. Will she be OK with the wait? With the affirmative, I pause very briefly as she gets out of the car.

It takes me about twenty-five minutes to get back. I find her leaning against the wall. I help her in the back way. She’s clearly exhausted but follows directions. Finally, we’re in. I direct her toward the bed and she flops down. I grab some towels, warm them in water and gently start to remove the tatters of remaining clothes and clean her off. She tries to help, but is ineffectual. I’m seeing lots of bruising and a few more cuts. It seems clear she had a bad several days. There isn’t a whole lot I can do with her hair, but I do get the worst of the grime. After I’m done, I pull the blankets over her, turn the lights off and sit next to the bed, holding her hand. She murmurs and twitches from time to time, but seems to be dropping into deeper sleep. She should finally be able to get some rest. A couple of hours later, Tessa arrives. She motions me to join her in the living room. I have a few pangs about leaving Isabel. Must be that love thing again.

“I believe I know the people behind this now. They were careless with their notes. I’ll want to confirm with Isabel when she wakes up, but I know for certain the people who are immediately responsible. I’m going to pay a few a visit and do some questioning.”

I think to myself that these guys are probably in for a bad time. I wish I could add to it. I head back into the room with Isabel as Tessa leaves. This time I decide to lie down next to her and see if I can relax enough to sleep.

After I get back from my latest project, I log on to my job site. I see several notes from Tessa asking for an immediate contact. This is alarming. I check our secure form of verbal communication. There are several messages as well. Isabel is in trouble somehow. Tessa needs help getting her out of it. I immediately contact Tessa on our secure line, but she doesn’t respond. I leave a message.

It’s been a smidge over five years since Isabel and I met back in Venezuela. However, only six to eight months since Tessa and I last got together and weeks since we last communicated. It seems Isabel was meant to fail on the last job, triggering her downfall in their organization (Isabel knew the risk, but felt the reward would be justified). Her visibility after being successful made her additional enemies. As an effort to sideline her, several of her detractors maneuvered her into managing internal affairs. That just seemed to make things worse. I have a suspicion that Tessa’s contact may have something to do with Isabel’s relationship with certain co-workers.

Rather than unpacking completely, I start to lay out for a new trip, then make some preliminary contacts for travel arrangements. This is a new sensation for me: I find myself getting tense and angry. I even notice a slight tremor in a hand as I shuffle things around. Last time we met, Isabel and I talked about “love” and what it means to be in such a state, could lust evolve into love, could a psychopath/sociopath like me even feel it? I’ve thought about this off and on over the years, not the least because Tessa always seems to encourage doing so. Based on my research, I would say I have the “clinical” signs of being in love. Fearing that my love is in danger, my heart rate has increased. I’m getting little squirts of adrenaline which has led to the mentioned tremor. My palms are sweaty and I’m uncharacteristically having trouble focusing.

I decide I need to relax, so grab a cigar, take the phone and sit on the porch. The smoke and the view do calm me somewhat, though when I drop down into reverie, I find myself tensing again. I get up and pace back and forth on the deck from time to time. After realizing I’m not relaxing, I drop back down in the chair. Then, within minutes, find myself back up, pacing again, with no conscious recollection of having stood up.

At last, the phone rings. Jettisoning the cigar over the railing, I answer it. There’s a seemingly interminable period before the encrypted connection is finalized, though I know it really is only a couple of seconds. Finally, Tessa gets on the line.

“They have her Seacay! I didn’t think they’d go this far, but I clearly underestimated them. Other than feeling sure she’s still in the city, I have no idea where they’re holding her or under what conditions.”

“Slow down. Who are ‘they’ and what precipitated this?”

There’s a pause and I can hear her take a long, deep breath and slowly let it out. A little more in control now, she continues.

“ ‘They’ are her enemies in the agency. She was never popular, as I told you before, and her being maneuvered into IA turned out to be a big mistake for them. She’s a by-the-book sort of person and has a fetish for rooting out skimming for some reason. Over the last several years, she’s gone after a number of people who’ve been careless in how they skim off of projects. She’s made a few make financial amends and even forced a couple out of the agency. I’ve kept an eye on some of the loudest offenders, but it seems they weren’t the dangerous ones. Though it’s been made to look like she stormed off in some sort of huff, there’s no question in my mind someone in the group has kidnapped her. There’s a limit to how much investigating I can do without becoming a target myself. How long until you can get here?”

“I can be there in about seven hours.” I ask her if she knows about a particular airfield, she does. I tell her I’ll text her with the specific time and will meet her there as soon as possible.

After hanging up with Tessa, I finalize arrangements with Jim. He heads out straightaway. I go to the airstrip we agreed on, after he made whatever arrangements he needs in order to leave the country without being subjected to surveillance. Jim’s worked extensively in South America in general, Brazil and Rio in particular (though the capital has moved, many of the agencies have kept their operations in their old locations), so we’ll be able to get in without any problems. Though the flight will be fast in comparison to commercial, it’s still a long haul and I’m not looking forward to being idle that long. For the first couple of hours, I sit with him in the cockpit and we talk shop. I generally don’t discuss private matters at all; Agatha is the only exception. Jim doesn’t know anything about Isabel or Tessa and only knows I need to be at a given airport as soon as possible for some reason. Since I’d already traveled for a good half day before this adventure began, after a few hours I head to a seat in the passenger area to get some sleep.

As I lay there, I think about Isabel. Tessa described Isabel and her agency like Joan from “Covert Affairs.” The main difference is Joan has a husband in the ‘biz who helps look out for back stabbers; Isabel is all alone. Isabel might be a wee bit politically naive as well. She may have made too many aggressive moves too quickly when she started in IA. Perhaps, if she’d made her intentions known and given some time for people to clean up their act, things would’ve turned out better. Still, I think I know Isabel well enough to know that this thought wouldn’t have even occurred to her. She would have bulled straight ahead with her plans.

I eventually get to sleep, though don’t manage to do so soundly. I keep having dreams where I see Isabel tied up. As I move forward to untie her, she keeps moving away.

This is a psyops job. I’ve only done a couple of these. The idea is to change the way the target thinks, now and forever. This is intimate – like kidnaping. Not my favorite type of job, but the pay is exceptional. My analysis tells me that the target will react the appropriate way to my planned show. All that’s left is to put it on and test the results. The consultant I used for this job is someone I worked with back in the military. I don’t think he’s made that association. If he has, he’s been careful to keep it to himself. He’s moved into politics since he left the military; he uses his skills to design persuasion ads. I think he even acts as a jury consultant from time to time, but usually not openly. He was quite amenable to working with me anonymously, for cash.

Though the house has what’s considered a state-of-the-art security system, it’s mostly marketing hype. I know security and this is mostly for show: to impress the credulous customer and charge them top dollar. I occasionally amuse myself with the thought of selling effective security systems, but no one would pay what I’d need to justify becoming a working stiff. I’ve been here scouting, so made some modifications to the system, allowing me to disable it remotely. I enter through the back door, using the key I made earlier. Though I pick locks just about as fast as I use a key, there are so many moving parts to tonight’s show I didn’t want to add another. To the basement, silent as a ghost. I pull on my mask and start the gas into the air handler. It’s a matter of minutes before the house is saturated. It’ll keep everyone and everything under control until I’m done.

First things first: making one-hundred percent sure everyone is out. Next, I start arranging the stage for my play. I gather up what I need, set the mood lighting, add a little smoke, don my attire and am ready to begin.

I set the mother up in the place of honor, give her the appropriate drugs, and wait for them to circulate. Then I put a mask over her mouth and nose to remove the gas. After a few minutes, she starts to stir. I stand directly in front, waiting for her to notice me. She groggily rolls her head from side to side, then finally opens her eyes. It takes a couple of seconds, then she stares in shock, trying to scream around the mask and gag.

Using my own mask and a voice distorter much like what I used on Elizabeth years ago I say, “Hello Jennifer. So nice of you to join me for my show tonight. I promise it will be one you will never forget.”

I take out a single rose and lay it in her lap. It’s a Rosier buisson “Osiria,” A very distinctive flower with dark red on the inner side of the petal and ghostly white on the outside. I find it quite lovely and I don’t even like flowers. Her head tilts as she follows the rose down to her lap. The drugs are clearly working as desired.

“You have been a bad girl, Jennifer. Bad girls get punished for being so. Tonight we are going to have a banquet of punishment, all for your enjoyment...”

After some study, I’d developed what I thought was a hierarchy of “best among equals.” No loving mother will ever tell any of her children that one is better or more loved than another, but that’s rarely true in reality. Everyone has favorites. Sometimes the favorite remains the husband, but often the favorite becomes one of the children (I often wonder if the husband realizes he’s been supplanted; perhaps he wouldn’t want to know, it might be too strong a blow to his ego.) I want to save the best for last, so take the least favorite. Not the husband, neither first nor last, but the youngest, the boy. He’s quite the hellion. I grew to dislike the little bugger just listening to him whine on my bugs. I bring him in front of the mother.

“Watch closely, this is how bad girls are rewarded...”

I pull out a big butcher knife, place it on the boy’s neck. He’s staring straight ahead in terror, whimpering past the gag. I slowly reach around, place the tip against one ear, slowly insert it, blood flowing freely. His whimpers increase to small screams past his gag and he thrashes around until I complete my grisly task. Jennifer stares in horror.

Relax! He’s a dummy, the blood’s fake, sounds recorded. I’m a killer, not a monster.

“All for you, Jennifer. All because you have been a bad girl!”

I go to the next in line, her husband. His dummy is harder to get around, being so much larger. Getting these dummies made was an aspect of this job that drove the timing. They need to move around realistically, but also be light enough for me to manage them by myself. I go through the same gruesome routine, then cut the head clean off, placing it at her feet. If the lights were normal, there were no haze in the air and she weren’t drugged, my activities would look like a really cheap B horror movie. With all the atmosphere, coupling with the drugs coursing through her veins, she’s in a very suggestible state of mind and it’s all horrifyingly real to her.

I work my way to the second favorite. I disembowel her. Hugely messy, I’ll be some time getting all this stuff cleaned up when the show is over. Jennifer is clearly terrified. If I can make sense of her attempts to communicate, she wants to know what she did that’s so bad. I get her favorite, her eldest. Nice, young and tender at sixteen. Blossoming into womanhood. No doubt the boys have been pestering her already; she’s started to develop quite nicely. Like mother, like daughter: mom is well endowed. I suspect she had similar pressure when she was the same age.

“What’s that Jennifer? You don’t know what you’ve done wrong? Such a naughty, naughty girl. How could you not be aware?”

I can see from her eyes she’s in the throes of terror. She’s imagining all the horrible things I might do to her favorite. The boy, sure that sucked, but he was annoying. The husband, well, he’d served his purpose. Sad, but such is life. Her second favorite: while Jennifer was close to her middle child, she was still a little girl, not like her eldest who is finally old enough to take an interest in the womanly things they could partake together. I draw the terror out. Sometimes putting the knife at the dummy’s throat. Sometimes at its belly. Then I pause.

“Wait, she is a fine young thing. Surely still a virgin. Shall we put that to the test?”

I look at Jennifer. She’s shaking her head violently. I take a grip of the clothes at the favorite’s neck and, in one motion, pull them all off. I make little squealing noises. I run my knife down her belly and make as if I’m going to penetrate her with the knife.

“It seems I have your full attention now, Jennifer. Do you want to know what you can do to make all this go away?”

She’s nodding her head so much it’s giving _me_ a headache. I hope she doesn’t get a concussion.

“Whenever you see one of these roses,” I point to her lap, her gaze follows, “you will get instructions on how to be a good girl. Do you think you can follow them?”

Again with the nodding. She’s going to have a sore neck in the morning!

“Just to be sure, we’ll finish this last job up. Watch closely now. Let’s see if she really is a virgin...”

I gut the dummy from her privates to her neck. All sorts of gruesome things pop out and slither on the floor. I walk toward Jennifer, holding my knife out with the “blood” dripping. “Remember!” I get closer, lean toward her, “Remember!” Closer still, “Remember: whenever you see the rose, follow the instructions. Remember!” To finish the show, I grab her by her hair, put the knife on her throat, then give her some electric shocks that could only be interpreted as if her neck was being sliced. Then put her back to sleep by removing the mask.

I sigh. What a mess. Now I have to put everything back in order, clean up (I did put plastic down, but arterial spray, even the fake stuff, goes everywhere) and leave without any but the intended traces.

An hour or so later, I’m finally heading out the door. The gas has a short half-life. Everyone should be back to normal before the morning alarm clocks sound. I have a few more tasks to take care of, to make sure my little show takes, so my day continues.

I imagine when Jennifer wakes up, she assumes she’s had some bizarre nightmare and tries to shake it off. Other than carefully checking on everyone shortly after she wakes, probably in the order of most favorite to least, little would change. She’s too emotionally strong for mere nightmares to have any lasting effect. She probably goes about her morning activities just like any other day, perhaps taking a bit more comfort in the routine than usual. Everything seems like it’s gone back to normal, until she gets in her car, turns to look over her shoulder as she backs out, and sees a rose on the back dash. Surely that must bring a cold sweat to her brow. But she’s a strong woman with lots of ego. Probably makes up some story that her husband put it there, while ignoring the reality that he hasn’t bought her flowers in over a decade. She starts driving toward work and sees me, walking along the road. I’m wearing the same mask and carrying a half dozen of the same roses. I look into her eyes as she goes by. She stares back. I chose a location where the speeds are low and there aren’t likely to be any other people or cars. No doubt it takes a while for her focus to return.

I suspect she finds it a lot harder to banish the last niggling doubt now. When she gets to the office, I see she very quickly walks inside, looking neither right nor left. She’s ignoring every attempt to be friendly, and goes straight to her desk. I have one last surprise for her: on the back of the door, only visible once she’s inside and it’s closed, is a poster of the same flower with the word “Remember” written across it, stylized as if it were dripping blood. I’m observing with a high powered scope from across a parking lot and can clearly see the blood drain from her face. She staggers back against the desk and reaches up to touch her throat. After a minute of staring, she tears down the poster and shreds it into a wastebasket.

I feel fairly sure that she’s got the message and is all set and primed for the client to maneuver. Naturally, I have no idea why they want that power or what they’re going to use it for, but for me the job is done.

“What does it mean to be in love?” I ask Tessa.

We’re lying on the bed side-by-side, resting post coitus. She levers herself up and leans on her elbow to look at me.

“What’s prompted that question?”

“You.”

She gets a look of smug satisfaction on her face.

“In what regard?”

“Isabel, naturally.”

Looking quite self-satisfied, she sits up cross-legged. I push the pillows behind me and sit up as well.

“Love is wanting to be with someone all the time. Love is feeling like something’s missing when you’re apart.”

As I consider her statement, she peers at me.

“Do you want to be with her?”

“Sure! Even though it’s been years, I still think about her a lot and sometimes I even feel like I catch her scent. I blame all that on you, though. I feel sure I’d have moved on if it weren’t for your continued updates.”

“Do you feel like something’s missing being apart?”

I think about this for a while

“Yeah, I guess.”

My equivocation is greeted with a frown.

“You miss her, yet you seem fine without her. Perhaps you’re not in love after all.”

“I think about you at least as often, you know.”

“This is about Isabel. She’s also wishy-washy when I have this conversation.”

She said she keeps Isabel updated with my goings-on, but I didn’t think it went to such depths.

“So you aren’t sure she loves me?”

“Oh no, I’m sure. I’m not sure she realizes it yet.”

“And am I in the same boat?”

“I’m less sure about you, your ability to compartment things is so strong.”

I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling. Do my feelings change knowing that Isabel might love me? I think back to when Isabel and I talked about this. We didn’t really settle anything; our futures seem to be on divergent paths. When I bring that aspect up, Tessa looks frustrated and our conversation drifts onto more “safe” topics.

Though Tessa always keeps me up-to-date with Isabel and her goings-on, I only once did I get an image of her. Through our discussions, I knew Tessa is an amateur photographer. As the state-of-the-art shifted from film to digital, she kept pace. It seems she specializes in nature scenes, but at least one time took a portrait of Isabel. They were at some beach and Tessa got a picture of Isabel in a bikini. The sun is behind the camera and the background is an azure sea. There is the blue sky, with a few fluffy clouds, and just a small strip of beach where Isabel is walking. The wind caught Isabel’s hair, flaring it out to her side. The sun glistening on her skin, shiny from sweat and tanning lotion. Her tan offset by the white cloth of her suit. Isabel’s assets are amazingly well presented: her narrow waist, her amazing thighs and curves, her excellent breasts, firm arms, beautiful face; the picture is amazing. I have a blow-up of it printed from a high-quality printer and have it framed in my main house. I’ve resisted the urge to keep copies on my various electronic equipment, in case they were to fall in the wrong hands, but when I’m home, I enjoy drinking in that vision of loveliness. Tessa told me that day she’d been surreptitiously taking pictures of Isabel (who doesn’t like to have pictures taken, particularly scantily clad) the whole day, but this one was the only one that really looked good. Well, I think it looks way beyond “really good!”

The target is a guy who apparently uses this particular tract of wilderness as a base from which to occasionally lash out at society. Sort of like the Unabomber or the DC sniper. He pops up at random intervals, kills, apparently also at random, then disappears. The last time he did this trick, he killed the daughter of my client. The client is easily wealthy enough to afford my services. Of course, I need to find some evidence I can actually locate this guy before I take the project on. That has been the problem so far. I have some aerial surveys that gave strong indications that the target is operating in this area, but so far I haven’t come across any spoor. It’s a little bit tedious. I need to conduct a grid search without leaving any traces of my own and without attracting any attention. It’s a slow, sometimes painfully so, process. The client had to pay a lot more for my up-front feasibility fee. I knew this one was likely to be drawn out.

Part of my strategy is to set up at a local high spot where I have a large field of view and can sweep the area using thermal scanners. In addition, I have (disguised) motion detector cameras scattered around some promising areas. I’ve assumed the target has exceptional field craft, so use more patience and subtlety than I normally employ. This area has lots of game. No doubt what keeps the target alive. I get a lot of false positives in my scans and motion detectors. I have a sneaking suspicion that the target is also employing some sort of ghillie suit, which means conventional pattern recognition may be defeated. I’m assuming the target is well armed and has no qualms about taking shots at anything deemed suspicious. Yet more reasons to be slow and cautious.

After ten days, I finally get what I think is a lead. It isn’t much. No prints, but a small thread that’s clearly man-made. It’s caught on a bramble on the side of a game trail. I occasionally see animal hair caught the same way and the thread is colored such that it will blend in very well. It’s possible the target left this and didn’t realize it. It’s also possible the target left this on purpose and is seeking to draw me into a position where he can take me out. I can’t get too excited and give myself away. I really enjoy this sort of activity. Hunting dumb animals is boring. Having the head of an animal stuck up on a wall as some sort of trophy to hunting prowess seems silly. Deer can’t shoot back. But this, this is fun! There are actual consequences to failure, not like hunting for sport. Hunting for food when survival is on the line is more interesting, but just because it’s succeed or starve. Even bears are no interest to me. While they can be dangerous, in my experience they’ll always run away if given the chance. Here, I’m doing real, visceral hunting of prey that is equally (well, hopefully a bit less so) capable of turning the tables and hunting right back.

I do some analysis on the thread and find out it has a certain characteristic pattern of light absorbance. That means, with the appropriate filters, I should be able to make him stand out clearly against the vegetation. Returning to my main camp, I carefully check all my tells to know if someone has been by. Then I modify my binoculars with the appropriate filters. To get a good view using this method, I generally need clear blue skies. Dusk, dawn or cloudy days don’t produce enough polarized light. No doubt I’ll need several days and a little luck to see if this was an accident or a setup. I decide the risk of doing a grid search is too high. I’ll stick with thermal viewing at night and use the filtered scanning during the day.

I find my attention coming back time and time again to Isabel. Tessa as well, but in the context of Isabel. Our last meeting gave me food for thought, ideal for times like these. I can scan the countryside whilst thinking these thoughts. The entire point of using thermal imaging, or now the filters, is to have a very high contrast so it’s a lot less tedious.

Tessa, and her charmingly cryptic comments about characters in movies and parallels with Isabel’s and my relationship, have been interesting to think about. The idea of “true love” is kind of meaningless to me, despite “The Princess Bride” being one of my favorite movies (“That’s Incontheivable!”) Sex has always been a purely physical thing to me, a way to satisfy chemical needs or to enjoyably pass the time. The idea of lust turning into love needs consideration.

I’ve studied psychology over the years. Some of my jobs revolve around psychological torture, and I’ve been curious about how my thought processes would be considered in a clinical environment. My understanding is people who easily kill humans are considered seriously damaged, but I don’t feel so. I do know that some people kill for reasons that would seem deranged, my current target is a perfect example, but I always felt that for me it’s just a job. I wonder, though, if I’m like the alcoholic who swears off drink as he awakes after a bender, only to shortly turn back. Do I “need” to kill people? I certainly enjoy the process, but I imagine some surgeons enjoy cutting people open and rummaging around in their innards. Does that make them psychopaths? Surgeons retire all the time and there’s no spike in people being cut up as they walk down the sidewalk, so it seems surgeons don’t “need” to cut people open.

Perhaps I’m addicted to the thrill of killing people? I don’t really have many vices. I smoke cigars occasionally and like to pick up women for one-night-stands (or used to, anyway). Other than that, I don’t think I have anything I would miss. Well, I like eating great meals. But I guess I don’t “need” to do that either. When I’m on a job, food is just fuel; I barely taste it. Am I addicted to an adrenaline rush from my job? I recall going on jump training in the military. I certainly got squirts of adrenaline when we were jumping out of planes! Particularly at night! However, I never recall any strong desire to replicate that activity. Since my stint in the military, I haven’t once jumped out of a plane. I do enjoy rock climbing, trail running, etc., but can’t recall any time I felt any extra thrill I associate with adrenaline. I don’t get any adrenaline rush when I kill someone. Can’t get addicted to something you don’t experience, right?

...

I’m not getting anything but false positives with my thermal scans. Then again, I’m not spending the entire evening watching. The target might not be moving at night, or might be moving in irregular and wide spaced intervals. Of course, he might be in a stationary location trying to catch me and we both might grow old and die waiting for the other to make the first move. While watching during the day, there are plenty of intervals where, suitably camouflaged and limiting movement that would draw attention, he could move about fairly freely. Mornings and evenings are the best time to move around without being seen; surely he knows this. There are also those occasional weather periods where the skies are gray and there’s little contrast. I might need him to be impatient about something, leading to a mistake, to find him.

...

I’ve thought about those feelings after my encounter with those two lovely Asian ladies several times, but didn’t get anywhere. Suddenly my subconscious dredges up the explanation: guilt. I recall a definition:

“Guilt is a cognitive or an emotional experience that occurs when a person realizes or believes—accurately or not—that he or she has compromised his or her own standards of conduct or has violated a moral standard and bears significant responsibility for that violation. It is closely related to the concept of remorse.”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt remorse either, not on the job or associated with my manifold sexual encounters. Yet, thinking about the definition of remorse, I do believe I’m feeling that associated with my sexcapades on this occasion. It isn’t a very interesting feeling; I’m not sure, having experienced it, that I care to repeat it. Trying to understand this feeling, it seems to me that somehow I now feel mentally/morally obligated towards Isabel and thus my subconscious feels I’ve “cheated” on her by sleeping with those ladies.

I never got the impression from our discussions that Isabel felt any sort of proprietary interest in me. Thinking back, though, I recall a strange tightening around her eyes when I mentioned my “extra service” with Agatha. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but I can’t recall ever giving any of this any thought until recently.

It’s funny, though, I don’t associate this weird feeling with Tessa.

...

It’s nigh on two weeks since I started this job and I think I finally have him. It’s a clear blue sky and my routine scanning of the area indicates a patch of movement that, due to the filters, is likely him moving around. I get my high powered spotter scope and take a look. It’s certainly a human going to great lengths to remain undetected by other humans. I follow his movements, trying to learn if he’s too-ing or fro-ing from his base of operations. I’m having trouble seeing the face of whoever this is. He’s wearing his own ghillie suit and it blends admirably with the scenery. Indeed, I think without the filters I wouldn’t have ever detected him. He’s careful to move in such a way that the motion matches background movement. He’s moving steadily. Now that I can study him, I think I’ll be able to recognize him via his suit in the future. The pattern of the ghillie suit is a distinctive mixture, designed to blend seamlessly with the current environment. However, that generic nature has certain characteristics that stand out.

I follow the movement toward a place I hadn’t yet covered with my grid search. I get the feeling this is a return trip. The suit seems to be covering a backpack. Once the movement settles down, I start to memorize the surrounding terrain, rocks, streams, the species of trees and shrubs. Anything distinctive I can make out from my vantage point. Tonight, I’m going to make a careful visit to get a much closer look. I take a nap for a few hours, setting my internal alarm clock to wake me after midnight, when people tend to be their most relaxed. Being careful where I place my feet, I’m far from the only dangerous thing moving around in the woods and want to avoid the many poisonous snakes, I quietly make my way toward the location I memorized earlier. As I get closer, I get increasingly careful looking for traps, tripwires and other early warning devices. I start to find a few, which assures me I’m at the right place. They’re basic noise makers on strings stretched across the typical travel paths. Nothing high tech or electronic.

Earlier, I made the choice to ruin my night vision by using image enhancing thermal goggles. As long as I’m wearing them, and the batteries don’t run out, I have an advantage. Woe betide me if I’m discovered and the goggles fail! As I get closer to the location of interest, I slow down even more. Sometimes taking a minute just to move a few feet. It could be tedious, but I’m at my most alive at this point. This period is better than sex. My awareness is at its height. I’m fully present to the situation. All senses at high alert. This is the ultimate game against the ultimate quarry with the ultimate stakes: kill or be killed. No excuses. No second chances. Live or die. It’s like a breath of fresh air in my brain. All competing thoughts banished. Crystal clarity.

After a few hours, I find a small heat signature artfully concealed such that it’s impossible to find at any distance. Whoever this is, he certainly knows his field craft. An idle thought runs quickly through my mind: perhaps I should study his methods, I might learn a few things. I carefully approach, seeing my quarry “in the flesh” as a thermal image that’s clearly human. At first I think he’s asleep. There’s no movement. As I glide silently forward, it’s clear that I inadvertently gave away a tell or missed an early warning device or something: he reaches for what appears to be a gun. As he brings it to bear I fire a single shot. As usual, I’m using a sound suppressing mechanism. In the natural cacophony of the woods, there’s barely an audible sound.

After verifying he’s dead, I explore the area in case there’s more than one person. All indications are the camp is set up for just this one guy. Dawn is not that far away. I decide rather than risk a light, which can be seen clearly for miles, I’ll wait. To avoid the depression of sitting next to a corpse, I start going by touch through the materials in the camp, feeling for anything that isn’t directly related to survival. My goggles help somewhat, but image intensifiers need something to intensify, and there’s almost no light here, and the thermal aspect depends on temperature differential, and most of the objects have the exact same temperature. I find some notebooks and collect them to one place. I find a fairly well stocked larder, securely protected from animals. The trees growing over the location have been bent and interwoven to create a living screen and the sheltered place is probably quite comfortable even in the dead of winter, as it’s well out of the wind. All in all, an excellent bolt hole. If you enjoy camping all the time.

Gradually, the sky lightens, and I’m able to do away with the goggles and get a detailed look at my victim. Upon close examination it’s clear: I’ve found my intended target. This was supposed to be an exploratory mission to set a price to take him out. However, I charged enough for the job, even if I can’t squeeze out any more money from the client, it’s still time well spent. My understanding is they have some fingerprints and a bit of DNA as well as the couple of pictures I was given as evidence linking the crimes. I’ll take his fingers back with me as proof, as well as a number of photographs. I’ll also record the coordinates where I bury the body, though it’s difficult to guarantee that animals won’t get in and scatter bits about.

It takes me several days to get back to civilization. I bring my collected notebooks. Perhaps someone will be interested in what the target wrote. After skimming through them, I note he had some artistic skills: there are several well-done drawings of animals and plants. I notice a drawing of a woman repeated a number of times. No doubt that image was important. I communicate with my client and ask for more money, though am upfront and tell him the deed is already done. Happily, the client is fine with the extra payment. The client suggests I send my collected materials to a certain investigator with whom he’s worked. Since I knew the material was going to wind up outside of my control, I’ve been scrupulous to ensure I left no traces on it. The fingers I removed are all stored in salt, an excellent preservative that doesn’t harm DNA in any way. I package it all up, then take a several day trip to mail it from a location far from my base of operations. Several days later, I notice some comments in the news about there being new leads in the investigation. I wonder how they’ll handle things. It’ll only be random happenstance if I ever find out. I never set out to look into past exploits.

Over the last several years, I’ve got the construction all wrapped up. The final contractors have been in and out. I have the automated defense systems activated. It’s been a long ordeal, but it’s exactly the way I want it. I feel most relaxed here. Of all my safe houses, it’s by far the best. Of course, none of the others are anywhere as elaborate; the handful I constructed from the ground up were all small – cabins in the woods for the most part. The others are adapted from existing structures and mostly I just installed security.

Now that this project is finally over, I start to get back to my more traditional job routine. I take probably twice as many jobs per year. Sometimes they’re more involved and take longer to wind up. In any case, it means more money. I can start rebuilding the cash reserves depleted by the construction.

On a job, I avail myself of Jim’s private airline services. I steer the conversation to see if I can get any insights from him regarding my evolving feelings.

I ask, “How do you know you’re in love?”

“I’m not sure. How do you know you’re hungry?”

I shrug. As usual he doesn’t need any response from me to keep going.

“I’ve felt I’ve been in love with a number of my girlfriends. Even though I didn’t always feel in love when we first moved in together, and sometimes the relationship didn’t last long enough for me to feel that way, I always believed we were giving love a chance.

“Of course, it’s more than sharing a house, it’s sharing your futures. When you’re in love, well, at least for me, you talk about long-term issues. Sex is an immediate thing, once satisfied it’s done. Love is a long-term thing. More than just getting it on.”

He pauses his conversation with me to communicate with a waypoint. I’m not sure he’s helping me. I feel more confused.

“When I felt we were in love, we talked about things like growing old together, what to do in retirement, that sort of thing. Of course, that’s just a proxy for adapting into thinking of yourself as a collective unit.”

I look at him in confusion.

Jim explains, “Instead of two individuals, you’re now a single pair. You do things together instead of apart.”

I nod, at least that’s starting to make sense.

“As a couple, you agree with each other before you commit to something, since you’re now committing for the two of you. I find it takes some practice. Particularly when I’ve been between girlfriends for a while. But I like the feeling. Well, when I love my girlfriend I like the feeling.”

OK, so if I understand things, love is a pair thinking long-term together and not making independent commitments. I’m not sure that really helped. I’ll try again some other flight and let his conversation drift wherever it wants to go.

Because of all this business with Isabel and Tessa, I’ve been giving thought to my “relationship” with Agatha. Previously, I never considered it as anything more than a business exchange. However, since I’ve spent time with my ladies in decidedly non-business situations, I feel the need to reevaluate my view of Agatha as well.

As before, I want to discuss some issues with her in addition to my work-related needs. I call to let her know what I need and set a time to meet for the purchase, hinting I’d like some extra time with her. She sounds really excited about the prospects, which confuses me. Normally, I don’t get any impression that she looks forward to our meetings. I wonder if she’s being influenced by events as well.

When she greets me at the door, I understand her excitement. Clearly she’s between boys again. She’s really dressed to impress. A tight top that snugs up against her curves, but only reaches down to just below her crotch. It’s a vibrant red, yet slightly translucent. I leap to attention immediately. She grabs me, pulls me to her and starts grinding against me as we deep kiss. As I run my hands over her body. It’s clear the shirt is all she’s wearing. It’s not like she’s ever been shy in the past, but this is more than I remember.

After a while I need air, so pull back a little.

“Wow! I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted this way before!”

She asks, “Do you like it?”

“Yes, but...”

She looks at me, some of the fire ebbing from her eyes.

“But, what?”

“I recently learned something new about myself. It seems I can only enjoy sex with Tessa or Isabel.”

She pouts at me.

“I’ve been looking forward to this visit for quite a while now. All that anticipation for nothing!”

“I’m sorry, really! What happened to Bill? Isn’t he getting the job done any longer?”

She frowns, “Bill. Hmpf. For a while he really seemed like a keeper; he lasted almost eighteen months. But then he started to insist on knowing about my business. So off with his head!”

I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean that literally. However, if he was prying, it might very well be.

“Well, some of us are just not meant to be in relationships.”

As she gets what I need, she takes pains to continue her show. I’m enjoying it, but just don’t have any urge to take the next obvious step. She’s clearly disappointed that she can’t get more than staring from me. After a while, she seems a little depressed at the lack of engagement.

I think about this as I evaluate what I came here for. Perhaps I’ll be OK giving without receiving. When I mention that idea, she perks up a little. We decide to give that a try, once our business is done.

It’s not quite the same for me. However, since I enjoy seeing women in ecstasy, I actually feel I can focus a little better knowing it’s all about her. I find I’m able to enjoy the process, though it gets awkward a few times when she reflexively tries to return the favor.

As we’re relaxing afterwards, we begin our usual chatting.

She says, “I’m of two minds on this experiment. It’s certainly vastly superior to masturbation, but a large part of what I enjoy is the give and take. Only taking leaves me emotionally unsatisfied.”

That’s an interesting idea. I’ll need to think on it at some point.

She rolls me toward her for a kiss.

“Physically, though, I’m satisfied.”

She nuzzles my neck and ear. While I’m still at attention, this weird lethargy remains. It’s really odd that this feeling doesn’t happen with Tessa.

“Since sex is clearly not what you wanted to ‘discuss,’ want to talk about it now?”

I slide back to lie on the bed next to her, organizing my thoughts.

“When we met before and discussed the elements of friendship, we talked about trust.”

“I remember. You instantly responded with an affirmative, then immediately got introspective. You’ve had more time to think about it?”

“The last time I worked with Isabel she was with another team. Just two other guys. They’re gay, one of the reasons she likes to work with them. What was interesting to me is I was completely relaxed working with them. Much like how I sleep soundly with Isabel or Tessa, I wasn’t disturbed by their too-ings and fro-ings.”

Agatha considers this for a while. She rolls out of bed and pads out of the bedroom. Going for the dictionary, I guess. I enjoy the view of her naked, yet am content just watching. She exceeds Isabel in all dimensions except height, yet retains the hourglass figure. A very thick hourglass.

After getting back in bed, she sits up with pillows behind her. She opens the book and leafs through to the appropriate page, then reads out loud.

“Trust (1) : a charge or duty imposed in faith or confidence or as a condition of some relationship (2) : something committed or entrusted to one to be used or cared for in the interest of another”

She’s curious as she looks at me, “I trust you. Do you trust me?”

“Certainly.” I smile, “And without any introspection.”

“I think it’s because of how we met and the challenges we overcame together. You?”

I say, “Knowing how you respond under fire is clearly an element in my trust. I know I can rely on you to do the right thing and I know you have my back, so I can focus on what I need to do and not waste energy wondering.”

“Is it predictability? We can predict our respective behaviors in dangerous situations?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple. I wouldn’t trust you just because I correctly predict you’d hide under the bed.”

She nods at that, a serious expression on her face. She must be getting something of her own out of this conversation.

I continue, “When I was in the military and out on an operation, I always felt I could trust my compatriots in a firefight. I knew where they’d be, how they’d respond, what their next actions would be for a given situation, so I could do my job trusting they’d do theirs. That trust, though, never extended beyond the firefight and I never really relaxed around them.”

She looks at me, clearly thinking over the situation, “I’ve been a loner ever since I left my mentor, way back in my twenties. I felt the same. I trusted him when we were working, but I never felt comfortable outside of work. I always thought some of it was the sexism, though I guess that was just part of culture at the time. He leered a lot and pawed me from time to time, so I was always careful to keep my distance. I sometimes wondered if he was just interested in me for my body, yet he was always free with the technical information I needed and, as far as I was ever able to tell, made me known to all his contacts in the business. But I never trusted him. Really, I think I only trust you.”

Interesting. We’ve never spoken about her past. Our conversations have always been about business. Except when she wanted to know about Isabel and Tessa. Thinking about it, I’ve never told her much about my background either. This is the first time I mentioned anything about my time in the military. No doubt she guessed; there aren’t many other places to get my training.

I say, “When I was considering my trust for Isabel’s partners, I wasn’t able to get far until I turned the situation around. I asked myself ‘Why don’t I trust others?’ What do you think?”

She leans back against the pillows, thinking. She’s cooled off from our play, so pulls a blanket up over her, then slouches down, staring up at the ceiling. I decide to torment her a little for tormenting me, so snuggle up against her and start caressing. She grabs my hand and holds it. I guess she doesn’t want to be distracted as she thinks.

“As you’re well aware, I’ve had quite a few boys over the years. I let them in my house, yet never once even considered showing them anything about my business. I made it clear to stay away from my vault, explaining in detail the bad things that would happen if they went near. I don’t trust my customers, yet I show them the vault. I trust you, yet the only way I imagine I’d ever give you the access codes is in an emergency. I’ll have to ponder that. Clearly I just don’t trust people. Maybe it’s something in my psychology.”

She squeezes my hand, then brings it up to a breast and holds it there.

“Did you ever sort anything out when you thought about Isabel’s team?”

“No, not really. That’s why I brought it up with you.”

She lets my hand go, so I can let it wander around. Soon I have her warmed up again and she throws off the blankets. I’m glad I can at least participate at this level. I just wish I understood better why I can’t commit to lovemaking to anyone else anymore.

I’m at this bar, adjacent to a university in the heartland of America, relaxing after a job. “Dressed for success,” I’m showing off my hard earned body with carefully tailored clothes. I look around and try to decide which of the attractive women that draw my eye look like they may be receptive to a one-night-stand. I’m still mostly looking at curvy brunettes. The ones that appeal to me are either in apparent relationships or some other guy is already chatting them up. As I look around, I notice two women who seem to be talking about me. One is Asian Indian, while the other looks Chinese. Both are brunettes, of course, but skinny with short hair. The Indian one’s hair is a bit longer, perhaps touching her shoulders. They’re giggling, leaning their heads together and talking quietly, but glancing at me. I wonder if I have something on my face and am starting to get self-conscious, thinking a trip to the restroom is necessary to check. Just about the time I make the decision I need to see if I look like a clown, they stand up and walk toward me.

“Hey sailor, can a girl buy you a drink?” the Indian one asks, the Chinese one looking expectantly. That’s new. I’ve been come on by women before but this is an interesting opening line: turn the sexist thing on its head. While they were sitting at the table, I eyed them up and down. Both are attractive enough, though not conventional beauties either here or back in their home countries (though this might _be_ their home country, no sign of an accent from the Indian). They’re almost certainly college girls, maybe juniors, and as such are in the full bloom of womanhood. Were they fifty and looked as they do, they would be thought beauties. However, with the competition of all these other young twenty-somethings, they’re rather plain. Always happy to let a woman do the work on a pickup, I decide to see how far they want to take this.

“Sure, pretty ladies, no sailor could ever refuse such an amazing offer!” The Chinese one motions to the bartender for another round. He brings me another five-dollar club soda along with the girl’s drinks. I notice that their drinks are mostly flavor, very little alcohol. That’s an optimistic sign, drunks are lousy lovers and even tipsy women are generally a drag. Occasionally, though, the drinks will reduce their inhibitions enough for some interesting experimentation.

The Indian woman says, “This is my friend Huifen and I am Chandani.” Though pronounced how the typical American would say their names, I practice a couple of times doing my best to use the emphasis and tonality I recall from long-ago experiences in the relevant parts of the world.

Huifen exclaimed, “That’s amazing! Where did you learn to speak like that? Only relatives ever seem to get it right.” She also lacks an accent, so I guess both are already “home.”

Chandani adds, “I have the same problem and gave up correcting people; are you a language major?”

I give them the name I’ve selected for the evening and lay on some palaver about having studied language abroad. They’ve moved quite close to me, one on either side. Perhaps they want to stake out their territory and keep other suitors from challenging, though the bar is starting to fill up. Our conversations drift around. Sometimes it’s on topical elements, sometimes broaching intimate topics (for instance: which was better: the full Brazilian or the landing strip). I’m pleased they’re not chugging their drinks and neither appear to be even slightly tipsy. It seems clear it’s up to me how the evening ends. This could be fun!

They ask about dancing. I say sure, so we leave this bar and walk down the street to one with a dance floor. It’s loud. I doubt I’ll want to endanger my hearing by staying here long. Still, I enjoy watching women dance, so am looking forward to seeing how my dates express themselves. The dance floor is already well populated, so we need to stand very close together. I certainly don’t mind and I suspect it’s part of their plan. I decide to be passive and let them work their strategy; maybe I’ll learn something interesting. They’re both energetic and seem to have practiced suggestive dancing. I’m finding their gyrations increasingly absorbing my focus. Eventually I get to the point I’m not even glancing around at the “competition.” This goes on for about an hour and my ears are starting to hurt, so when we take a break I suggest, yell, actually, that we should find someplace quiet where we can talk.

We head back out to the street. Though noisy, it’s nothing compared to on the dance floor and the contrast leaves my ears ringing. They sidle up to me, one on either side, and each coyly reaches an arm around my waist. I put an arm around their shoulders and we walk down the street. We make slow progress. The sidewalk is crowded and, since we’re three abreast, we really disturb the flow.

Huifen leans forward to look over to Chandani, “What do you think, are we ready?”

Chandani looks back and nods enthusiastically. Huifen looks up at me (they’re both several inches shorter than I am) and suggests, “Handsome sailor, escort a couple of vulnerable young ladies back to their apartment? They need protection from all these bad men!”

I smile and respond, “I’ll do my chivalrous best to ensure the ladies will have a safe and pleasurable evening!”

They giggle at that and lead me toward their apartment.

It's not much to get excited about. A middle of the road college apartment. Larger than tiny, but just barely enough to have two bedrooms, each holding a twin-sized bed and desk. The apartment has one bathroom with three doors. One in the living room and one into each bedroom. Clearly this apartment was designed for women. As I use the bathroom to freshen up, I see it has two large sinks with plenty of room for all the odds and ends that women seem to need. After I return, Huifen says it’s her turn to freshen up. Chandani asks if I’d like to have a beer. Though I don’t care for the stuff, I figure it’s the path of least resistance, so accept her offer.

Chandani and I chat. She asks me my opinion of their place and I give neutral responses. After about ten minutes, Huifen comes back out. She certainly looks fresh now! She has a top that ties via a string at her neck and another at her back and comes to just below her breasts. Clearly not wearing any bra (how could she and not show it?), her nipples are prominently on display, poking at the thin fabric. Her midriff is clearly visible. She has a small belly, but such is so common nowadays that it doesn’t distract the eye. I’ve never objected to a small belly anyway. I think it can be sexy if the owner isn’t ashamed of it. She’s wearing a short skirt that flares out. The colors artfully show off her white skin. While I prefer tan women, Chandani, for instance, is very attractively, and no doubt naturally, tanned, I have no objections and I imagine the contrast of the two will be interesting.

As Huifen comes out, Chandani walks toward her. She’s critically looking Huifen up and down, then says something to the effect that there is lint on her shirt and reaches out to caress her top. The caress is quite interesting and Huifen reacts sexily. Chandani takes her turn in the bathroom; I’m looking forward to her transformation. Huifen joins me in the small kitchen and gets herself a beer. She manages to bend over quite low, revealing she's sans sous-vêtements. A very nice view; this is promising to be a memorable evening.

Since she’s pausing for an unnecessarily long time, I assume she’s waiting for me to show a response. I walk up to “assist” her in finding a beer and run my fingers lightly up the back of her thigh. She responds by pushing against my waist. As I’m now rising to attention, I press back. She gets the beer and, standing up, turns around and closes the door. She reaches to my crotch and starts to feel out my “package.” I lean forward to give her a kiss. She responds with alacrity, so I put down my prop of a beer and reach around to give her a hug. Her back is pleasant. Though lacking the magnitude of wonderful curves of Isabel, she does have some, and I enjoy running my hands over them. Huifen rubs her chest on mine, a most enjoyable sensation.

After Huifen and I have groped and kissed one another for a while, Chandani comes out of the bathroom. She’s wearing a very thin sari, tightly wrapped around her. It shows off her belly, as well as her other assets, to great effect. Neither are particularly well endowed, but I’m fine with small breasted women. It takes longer for gravity to wreck its evil spell on them. Chandani walks over to join us and casually reaches up Huifen’s skirt and rubs. Huifen closes her eyes with a dreamy smile and essays a small moan. I’m now quite uncomfortable with the stress I’m in; I need to be straightened out for some relief. I reach down to adjust myself and Chandani comments: “Look what you’ve done to our poor sailor, Huifen: he’s all tied up in knots!”

Huifen opens her eyes and looks down as Chandani reaches out to unbutton and unzip my pants. As she works on that, I reach behind to run my fingers up and down her back and caress her small rear. She presses back against my hand, so I slip my fingers between the sari and her skin and give her bare rear some gentle squeezes. This seems to distract Chandani, or Huifen is impatient. Either way, Huifen takes over removing my pants.

She gets on her knees to have better leverage so is perfectly positioned when I’m finally released from the pressure of my slacks. She seems happy with the result. Chandani is looking at the job Huifen is doing and absently reaches between her legs to rub. I reach down between her legs from behind. She widens her stance so I have an easier time. I don’t feel any hair, so perhaps the questions regarding the Brazilian weren’t just to make conversation.

I suggest we move to the couch. When we reach it, they push me back to lie down, taking off the rest of my clothes and running their hands all over my body. I peek up Huifen’s skirt. She has the full Brazilian. I’m guessing that Chandani has the landing strip. When she lies back on the couch to watch, she pulls the sari up and I get confirmation.

After an intense threesome, where I’m able to bring them to orgasm at the same time as they enjoy each other, we relax in the post-coital glow. I remark on the pleasure it’s been enjoying the evening with them. I’m curious about their take on the events. Huifen is feeling chatty.

“We’ve had poor luck with men the last year. We turned to each other to get some relief, but I guess we aren’t really lesbians; we prefer men. A couple of weeks ago we came up with this idea of double teaming and seeing if that would help. So many guys talk a good story about wanting two women, but we found it was as hard to get follow through as before. Though we did get plenty of attention from our antics at the bar.”

Chandani continues, “Last weekend, after striking out yet again, we decided we would take the lead and see if that would get us to get to the finish line. We saw you and you looked so handsome in your tailored clothes, showing off your hard body, we decided we would try our strategy on you first. You didn’t disappoint; you were just the thing we wanted.”

After I leave their apartment, I start to have strange misgivings. Almost as if I feel dirty. This is a bizarre feeling. I can’t recall ever having had it before. I had a great time. It’s clear they had a great time. Though rare, this isn’t my first time with two girls. Why am I feeling this way? As I walk along the dark, quiet streets, thankfully past the hour where all the bars/dance clubs have closed, I’m lost in confused thoughts. I’m trying to put my mental finger on why this time is different. I could probably count them all if I made the effort, but it has certainly been well over a hundred times, probably twice that, and I never once felt any sort of regret. The feeling doesn’t appear to be associated with the girls. It seems directed at myself. It’s really robbing me of the joy I felt while I was there.

Mentally I shrug, relegating the analysis to my next transoceanic flight. I head back home hoping that work will cleanse me of this dirty feeling.

https://keithalanwriter.com/wordpress/index.php/2018/03/11/the-sketch-that-started-it-all/

The second is a blog post (about 4,200 words) I wrote about my thought processes when developing the characters and stories (you’ve likely already been exposed to the ‘spoilers,’ so don’t have to worry about that aspect):

https://keithalanwriter.com/wordpress/index.php/2018/01/20/musings-on-diary-of-a-contract-killer-book-1/

At the end I promised an additional one for the second and third novels, though I never followed through. I can probably produce such fairly easily, if there’s interest for it, so lemme know if that’s the case.

This third is to all the content on that blog for DoaCK. It includes the two links above along with three that talk about my developmental editor experience, the query I initially developed when attempting to find a publisher and some stats on writing the first novel. Likely interesting only to those curious about the actual writing process.

https://keithalanwriter.com/wordpress/index.php/category/my-writing/diary-of-a-contract-killer/

As a by the by, if you find embedded links that don’t work, try adding ‘index.php/’ right after ‘wordpress/’ in the url. When I moved my webserver last time and had to rebuild everything, somehow I wound up with Wordpress creating different URLs for internal links (meaning to other blog posts) and never had the energy to sort out how to fix the issue.

Happy New Year!

This job is just about information collection, nothing more. It’s computer based, but the computer isn’t on any externally accessible network, so the client needs a “black bag” job. Since I’m quite skilled at bypassing alarms, as well as getting in and out without leaving any trace, this is pretty much a perfect match to my skills. Just without any bloodshed. Though I know a decent amount about computers, it’s far from my area of specialty. After breaking in, to case the joint and place bugs, I get a tool from a professional hacker tuned for the specific hardware and software the target is using.

Initially I used social engineering to get in during normal business hours. I made a visit on a spurious delivery and was able to get in and move around. However, the server room with the target computer only has one door and it’s in a highly visible location. Without any plausible reason to be near the door, let alone trying to open it, I discarded that idea. The organization operates 24/7, meaning there isn’t an ideal time to get inside. I study the habits of the late-night workers for a week, to try and find a window where I should be safe to get into the server room.

Since I’m doing most of my observations at night, I have the days “off” to sleep. I’m usually a fairly early person, so when I work a lot at night I tend to sleep less. I don’t feel dopey, fortunately, but I do tend to get more introspective for some reason. I wind up thinking about love, lust and psychopathy. An odd combination, I grant you, but one I feel is most relevant. According to my reading, psychopaths and sociopaths (the distinction isn’t really clear to me) lack empathy and, as such, are incapable of understanding other people’s pain, be it physical or psychological. I don’t feel like I match that description. Perhaps it’s the compartmental thing? When I’m on the job I block out empathy?

I like the conversations I have with Tessa and enjoy the time we spend together. Though much less frequent, the time Isabel and I have spent together has been “dense.” Though there’s certainly a strong current of lust carrying us along, you can only bang like bunnies so much. Thus I feel Isabel and I have also spent a lot of quality time talking and getting to know one another. More time (other than Tessa), I think, than anyone else since I was a child. I think back to that experience with Agatha, discussing my evolving feelings regarding Tessa. We concluded, after a review of the definition in a dictionary, that Tessa and I are friends. I have to imagine if we replicated that process, we’d concluded I’m now friends with Isabel. It’s interesting that it’s taken me this long to have these thoughts.

...

Since I’ve already tapped into their security system I can easily get in and out of the building and loop the cameras whenever I need to pass. There won’t be any trace when I break into the server room. I just need to ensure that no one wanders by while I’m in there. Though the late night people do wander at irregular intervals, eventually I find a time that seems to be reproducible where their activities are tied to their terminals. I believe it’s a game they play, or perhaps something online that’s only available at that time. Whatever, at least they all seem to reliably be at their desk for about thirty minutes. More than enough time.

Shortly before the predicted window, I let myself into the building and ease my way toward the server room. Right at the anticipated time, I go to the door and work the lock to get in. Most of these computers are on networks used throughout the building. The one I need is isolated in this room. I plug in the tool my hacker contact gave me, then watch as the lights change color. Red means no contact, yellow means the hack is on-going, steady green means the hack is complete, the green slowly blinking means the data is being retrieved, and when all three start to blink it’s safe to remove it, it’s completed removing any traces of its activities.

I was told to expect ten to fifteen minutes, so look around the room to kill time. Kind of dull, that is until I wander to a desk in the back corner of the room. There’s a large number of pinup pictures; clearly whoever sits back here is a collector. There are some reproductions of classics, and plenty that are more modern. I enjoy looking them over until my internal alarm goes off, telling me the job should be done. Yep, the lights are all blinking. I remove it, work my way out and issue the commands to the security system to reset itself, removing all my adjustments. Only the very best forensic work could reveal that someone was there, no amount will ever reveal exactly what I did.

Returning to my safe house, I upload the collected data and then package the tool for physical delivery as extra insurance for the client. It was a fairly straightforward job, once I caught on to the nightly routine of the workers.