by Bella Knight
“Granted,” said Bob. “You’re being remarkably adult about this.”
“That’s because I’m actually an investigator assigned to monitor this guy.” He pointed at the dead Homeland agent lying at his feet, with the push of his chin. “Rugers thought he wouldn’t be shot because he was actually on their payroll.” Michael grinned. “Didn’t tell you what kind of assistant I actually am.”
“Well, that’s just…” Bob sighed. “Just the icing on this shitstorm of a cake. You got a problem with the DEA taking the credit for the capture?”
“None,” said Michael. “Do you?”
“Not one,” said Bob. “Go on back to where you came from, and I’ll let the DEA clean up this mess.”
“On it,” said Michael. He got into his ex-boss’ car and drove away.
Keys
Wraith had a quiet moment of jubilee when she heard Silva and his murderous daughter had been taken in Pahrump. She booked a flight with Sigrun for Key West, leaving in twelve hours.
She spent the next six hours explaining how to be a “spider in the walls” to Thandie, who loved every second of it. “Daisy Chain is on the bad guy,” said Wraith.
“What? Wait. I know Sigrun and that Iron Knight guy (Ironsides) were on either side of the street in Pahrump when Silva went down. What bad guy?”
Wraith went white. “Dammit, so that’s where she went. She said she was ‘scoping things out.’” She breathed in and out for a minute. “Damn girl could have gotten killed.”
Thandie determined that she wouldn’t be losing limbs. “Sorry, I thought you knew. You know everything else.”
Wraith got her breathing under control. “Except for my own damn family, yes I do. Anyway…”
“What bad guy?” Thandie reiterated.
“The brass that covered up what happened to our girl, Joru,” said Wraith.
“Oh. Covered up a double rape, no apologies, and not even letting her file any paperwork.”
“She filed it, but he made it disappear,” said Wraith. “He had a rapist pair, made up of sniper and a spotter he wanted on duty, apparently because Mr. and Ms. Crazy would go anywhere and follow any order.” She narrowed her eyes. “Really, really want to make his life a living hell.”
“Got a name on this walking, virtual, dead guy?” asked Thandie.
“Virtual dead guy. Great way to approach it. His name is General Gary Walker Thomas. He’s a two-star general now. Enjoys a comfy lifestyle. Nice townhome in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia. Backwoods home in the mountains near Staunton, Virginia. One he uses for fishing; takes his buddies there. Trophy wife number two, divorced number one, and pays a fortune in alimony. Two kids, both teens, both with the ex-wife, who he never sees. Daisy Chain unearthed domestic battery charges that were mysteriously dropped. Policeman’s fund got a hundred-thousand-dollar gift the very next day.”
“This guy sounds like an asshole. Probably abuses the second wife. These guys don’t magically stop that sort of thing,” said Thandie.
“Hey, think I’ll abuse the wife, kids, or both. Wife leaves, takes kids. Marry much younger wife, preferably a bunny brain or opioid addict who will take my abuse,” said Wraith, voice heavy with disgust.
“Could get some charges if the cases aren’t too old,” said Thandie.
“I see a mom not willing to put her kids through that,” said Wraith. “She moved to California. Married someone new. Received a quarter of a million in alimony before marrying number two, six months ago.”
“Whoa,” said Thandie. “Don’t see a two-star general making that much money, do you?” asked Thandie.
“Nope,” said Wraith. “Daisy Chain is on the case. What I need from you are ways, subtle ways, devious ways, of turning this guy’s life into a living nightmare. His kids are set up, so feel free to wreck the halls.”
“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” said Thandie.
“And watch over my chicks. Anyone gets hurt or even mildly inconvenienced, bye-bye spleen,” said Wraith. “I will personally remove yours with a spoon.”
“I love it when you’re disturbingly vicious,” said Thandie. “Run along, I’ve got this.” She stood. “After a bathroom break. When do you pee, woman?” They both laughed until Coke came out from their noses.
The flight for Wraith and Sigrun to go to Key West was on a client’s private plane to Charlotte, then they caught a commuter flight to Key West. The women laid back in their seats, sucking on cherry water and eating chocolate-covered strawberries and a cheese plate. The staff served up real fudge and pecan-covered, chocolate mint sundaes. They giggled, then fell asleep holding hands.
At Charlotte, they were driven by limo to the other airport, and made it through security easily as they had backpacks with just their extra sandals, T-shirts, sundresses, shorts, underwear, and toiletries, and their tablets, of course. They were escorted to first class, where they were given lobster rolls and rosemary wedge fries, premium coffees, and Belgian chocolates.
A man with black pants and a light gabardine shirt held up a sign that said, “High Desert Security.” They humped their backpacks to the limo, and the driver took them to their hotel, the white-columned, blue-roofed one, distinctly named, The Marker Resort Key West. They were already checked in, which surprised Wraith to no end. They got their room keys, and quickly entered into a room with a wavy carpet design and one, pristine, white, king-sized bed with a blue cover. They dropped their backpacks in the closet and walked out to the veranda. They sat there, just breathing, until the heat made them thirsty.
“Bar,” said Sigrun.
The bar was right next to the pool. Saber sat on a blue stool, nursing a coconut drink, his face relaxed. He was wearing a white surfing shirt and blue board shorts, with a wavy design. Each woman kissed him for as long as they could without having to come up for air. They ordered strawberry-watermelon freezes and smiled at each other.
“Go back up and put on your swimsuits while the bartender is blending,” said Saber, his gold, saber earring glinting in the sun. “I’m not going anywhere.”
They ran up, put on suits —Wraith had an electric blue, two-piece that covered her scars, and Sigrun had a magenta bikini —and pareos to wrap around their waists, and silver sandals. They went back down and sipped their drinks. Saber took them both to the pool, and they slipped in. The water was warm, delicious, in fact. Sigrun swam while Wraith simply floated in Saber’s arms. He kissed her neck and held her gently. Sigrun swam a few laps, then it was Wraith’s turn to do laps while Sigrun kissed Saber. They tired themselves out and swam to the end. They got out and rested in the cabana. They finished their drinks, and more drinks came.
They dried in the sun, then wrapped their pareos around themselves, and Saber put on his shirt. They made their way to the hotel restaurant, and dined on a shrimp, bacon, sriracha pizza, and split a Caesar salad with spicy jerk chicken. They took advantage of the light, and then went out to see the harbor. They came back and took a soak in the soaking tub.
Saber told the women that he’d spent his deep-down time away from his loves, interestingly by hunting down a mercenary bomb specialist named Jared Foxx, a man with absolutely no conscience. A man who liked to sell bomb parts to enterprising bombers. He could rig you a suicide jacket that would expend most of its force toward the person (or people) you wanted to kill. Saber felt the man’s evil like an oil stain. No one wanted the man brought in alive for fear he’d blow up the arresting officers, except for the knowledge in his brain about to whom he’d sold the bombs. Saber posed as a jihadist looking to build several suicide vests to use in schools and shopping malls, within the US. He had a very good cover as a man wanted by the Thai police for several of these bombings.
The Foxx guarded his workshop, literally carved underneath his Texas home. He guarded his work materials, stealing them from all over so they wouldn’t show up on any manifests, and ordering harmless materials that he combined into lethal bombs, like alarm clocks, cell phones, Christmas tree lights, nails, a
nd other shrapnel. He had secret codes and burner phones, and he used the Dark Web for his transactions. What he didn’t count on was a “jihadist” that was willing to pay to learn how to make his own bombs more effective, step by step.
Saber spent ten days with an explosives expert, a former military badass woman who knew the ins and outs of various jihadists, their rhetoric, their sick motives, the way they talked and moved. Saber got a crazy fire in his eyes, a serious one, and a burning desire to improve as a jihadist. Saber asked The Foxx to tell him how to make better bombs.
The Foxx thought Saber’s self-improvement kick hilarious, until he got a brick of seized drug money in exchange. Then, he really got serious. Saber had all the toys —hidden camera, hidden microphone, ways to infiltrate Foxx’s computers, and even clone his phones. He did all that, and didn’t get caught, because he used the latest infiltration toys the joint FBI-ATF task force could come up with.
Saber ended the reign of the bomber when he waited until Foxx was in a public bathroom. And immediately after going on a buying spree for bomb parts. Two ATF agents were already in the bathroom, and Saber pretended to be arrested at the same time to keep his jihadist cover for later use. His high-tech, James Bond-esque toys were confiscated, and he was released and let go in a field. Saber walked two miles to the nearest Greyhound stop, got on the bus, took a blanket out, and covered himself up in the back of the bus. He changed his jihadist, crisp, khaki clothes, to worn jeans and a tank top, underneath the blanket. He mussed up his hair, put on a ball cap, and pitched the “nice” clothes at the next restroom. He’d picked up his voicemail at a drop, and then he changed buses to head to Key West.
The whole jihadist thing made him feel filthy, both inside and out. “Scrub me, ladies,” he said. “I can’t get this guy out of my brain. It’s like ants, inside and outside.” So, Sigrun went down to the spa and got some sugar scrub and three sea sponges, and they scrubbed him to within an inch of his life. He told them little things the man had said, the “kill record” he’d kept on a wall. “It was in the thousands,” he said. “The guy was proud of it.”
“I take it he’s in deep freeze,” said Wraith, referring to a federal Supermax prison, as she scrubbed Saber’s back.
“I hope so. I gave them everything I had, every note, every conversation. The day before the takedown, I recorded it all on video, and did a deposition with a federal prosecutor.” He blew out a long sigh. “Now, no talk, just scrubbing.”
Sigrun splashed water on him, then resumed scrubbing his right foot. “How are we supposed to tell you anything?”
“Sign language,” said Saber.
“Fucketh thee,” said Wraith, poking him in the back. “We’ve had a lot happen.”
“Do tell,” said Saber, forking over the other foot to Sigrun when she tapped it.
“We caught Silva the Insane.”
“Mexican cartel. No! How?” Saber was stunned.
“He shot up High Desert Security looking for Wraith, who was in the panic room. She’s working for them, yeah, we told you that. She runs it all. They call her the Spider, or Gunny.”
Wraith groaned. “I like Gunny. Spider is just… creepy.”
“What the fuck happened?” asked Saber. He held up an arm as Wraith scrubbed his side.
“Bad ADAs. Two of ‘em. Killed off Ray,” said Wraith.
“At Ren Faire, and tried to blame it on us,” said Sigrun. “But we had been with people all damn day, and we couldn’t have done it, obviously.”
“Wait, gotta back up,” said Wraith. “I was confused about going to trial on a case. I’d literally been the guy’s alibi.”
“Why the fuck did it go to trial?” asked Saber.
“Evil ADAs kept it from Ray, the District Attorney, that wifey here was the alibi,” said Sigrun, moving up to Saber’s ankle after scrubbing the bottom of his foot, making him flinch, slightly.
“It’s being investigated, but it looks like Silva’s organization did the murder that Rolly was accused of,” said Wraith.
“And, this stuff happened in other trials, prosecutions to send people to jail so the guilty could go free, one from an Eastern European cartel, one from Silva’s,” said Sigrun.
“I found out some things. I found the name of Silva’s cartel from The Thief.”
“How’s he doing?” asked Saber.
“He said Scarlett is dead,” said Wraith.
“No!” said Saber. “I always liked her.”
“Who the fuck is The Thief, and who was Scarlett?” asked Sigrun, moving up to Saber’s calf muscle.
“The Thief is retired. He’s an art collector who also used to steal what he wanted to collect.”
“Oh, you figured out his identity,” said Saber. “Figured it was him.”
“Did not,” said Wraith, smiling. “Anyway, he knew things about… almost everything. Whispers. We communicated a lot in the past. Scarlett was —extraordinary. A madam. Ivy was out in the desert when she was…”
“A lady of the night,” supplied Saber.
“And, she never met with Scarlett. Good thing she didn’t, or she might not have opened the bar,” said Wraith.
“Explains where The Thief got a lot of his information,” said Saber, loudly sighing when Wraith dug into the small of his back.
“Yes, that was her trade, not just sex, but information. She held it; traded it dearly. She had just the one House, but Scarlett’s Crimson House was the best.”
“So, what happened after you got the info?” asked Saber.
“We gave it all to the DEA, and they went after him, and got him in Pahrump. Robin, being Sheriff Bob, was there to help them take them down. A Homeland idiot got spiffed in the shootout. Robin says he stepped right out in front of a bullet or two. Turns out he was being investigated by his own people,” said Wraith.
“I was there. The guy very-much walked into two bullets,” said Sigrun.
Wraith glared at her. “One, you didn’t tell me, you just vamoosed off. Two, you went directly into the line of fire.”
“I was looking, the bullets found me,” said Sigrun. “And, I was wearing body armor. Thank Odin I took Henry’s defensive driving motorcycle course. Got right under the bullets without dropping the Harley.”
Wraith groaned. “You. Aren’t. Supposed. To. Be. Risking. Your. Life. On. Scumbags. I quit that job. That’s Saber’s job. We can’t afford to lose you.” And, to her own horror and that of her family, Wraith found tears streaming down her face. Saber dragged her around to his stomach when he felt the tears on the back of his neck, and they ended up in a three-person embrace. There were more tears, and lots of kisses.
“Sorry, love,” said Sigrun. “I was so busy trying to be a badass, and trying find out who made our Ren Faire a night to remember, but not in a good way, that I forgot to think about what would happen if you both lost me.”
“I’m sorry too,” said Wraith. “I get now how it feels from the other side. I can’t believe I stuck with it for so damn long.”
The women hugged and kissed, causing some water to slop out of the tub. They finished crying, and Saber said, “Scrubbing me-time is over. Wraith’s turn.” They both turned and got her scrubbed. Sigrun got her breasts scrubbed, and worked her way down Wraith’s stomach, while Saber scrubbed her neck and back. Sigrun couldn’t resist kisses all down her wife’s front, from in between her breasts, to just over her hip bones. Saber got her arms scrubbed, while Sigrun worked her way up from each foot to the thighs.
Saber held Wraith out of the water as Sigrun kissed and licked her thighs, then ran her tongue in flicks over Wraith’s clitoris. Wraith bucked and moaned as Sigrun made her come, again and again. Sigrun helped turn Wraith over and then slide down on Saber. Wraith clenched, and took her own sweet time making Saber come. They washed up, drained the tub, and made their way to bed. Saber was so exhausted he could barely walk. Wraith and Sigrun had been up for days. So, despite both Wraith and Saber wanting to pay attention to Sigrun, all three slept
when their heads hit the pillows.
They awoke to a gorgeous sunrise. They put on their swimsuits again, and after watching the dawn, went to swim. They went for a walk after they dried off, and had Cuban pulled-pork sandwiches at a cafe, and Cuban coffee that woke them up completely. They walked around and bought seashell necklaces and anklets. They went back for more amazing pizza at their hotel, and they laughed their way through a sun-drenched day by the pool. Saber took Sigrun upstairs to make up for lost time, while Wraith slept by the pool.
Saber showered and went back downstairs, and then sent Wraith upstairs to hold Sigrun in her arms. They snoozed a while, then Wraith woke up Sigrun by stroking her ass gently.
“Mmm,” said Sigrun. “Wifey.” She turned and kissed Wraith.
They took their time, the dreamy light bathing them in gold. They kissed and sucked on each other’s breasts, making each other come. Wraith slid down Sigrun’s sweaty belly, kissing her way down to her clit. She used her tongue to make Sigrun come. They fell against each other, then went to have a clean-sex shower where Sigrun blessedly returned the favor.
They dressed in sundresses in blue and gold, and they went down for dinner. They split pasta and jerked chicken, and they washed it all down with watermelon shakes. They went to see the sunset, enjoying the carnival atmosphere. They strolled, window shopping. Sigrun and Wraith bought cotton candy, caramel chocolates, and sodas. They got on a sugar high, giggling like loons. Saber just walked behind them, hands full of packages. Anything to make them laugh, he thought. Anything at all.
At the pool, Sigrun rubbed sunblock into Wraith’s feet, and Wraith twisted to get the middle of Saber’s back. She leaned forward, and he returned the favor. “Mmm,” she said.
Sigrun dug into her abused foot, the one she’d used to step on a rock in the water. Wraith groaned, then felt something relax, deep inside. Wraith laid back and slipped into sleep, and Saber kissed Sigrun, and took her into the pool. They swam around each other like dolphins, occasionally coming up for air.
