Stiletto Dolls

by C. L. Black

  “Let it go, Dame Jane. And forget the Brits. I don’t need another Dubai to clean up after. They want you put down. Besides; I need your better half on my senator. She’s been spending way too much time with the Lady Jack. Are you sure you never rubbered up with her before? She’s definitely a—”

  “No! Now tell me everything you have on the mouse? That was the deal, wasn’t it?”

  “Was it?” Pete opened his all-knowing case and produced another folder. “Here: read it and weep, Miss Smith.”

  Jane Sterling did just that.

  The first document detailed what the BND had on the TM. A Teufelmaus? Natasha. It was in German. Like KK, she had been a kitty—a child prostitute. A piece of Krump Candy. Bloody hell.

  Jane went hollow. Natasha had told the truth about Berlin. She did leave out a few key details. Mistress Sterling continued reading. It filled in the missing pieces; all the sick details of a stolen childhood and her life with Papa.

  Was Papa the Breeder? She studied the lone photo. Stamped ULTRA and dated 14 February 1989, it looked vaguely familiar. The boots… Is that me? The girl… She’s covered head to toe in white rubber. The rubber doll… Boris took her…that night… Was my Natasha also Boris’s Teufelmaus? Why can’t I remember that night? “Natasha.”

  Pete shook her back. “Hey, Janie…you okay?” He knew she wasn’t. She was high on Krump’s Kat-nip. “Stay with me, Cougar.”

  She nodded and pulled the next document from his hand. The old CIA report, stamped ULTRA, spelled it out. Since the Wall came down in late 1990, and until they were presumed KIA on 11 September, Boris and Natasha had worked exclusively for Papa. She flipped the pages. Bank records… Krump had purchased them all, from the Breeder. Turn the page. “Bloody hell!” Jane couldn’t believe it either. Not her, too? “Winter was one of Papa’s dolls?”

  Pete didn’t answer. He handed—he wasn’t sure—another intercept.

  There it was: Pete’s intel, sanitized and decoded. Jane stared at the NSA transcript of another Krump intercept: dated 9 September, 2001. Katrina’s last action order: Subjects in lounge. Traveling as Lady XXXXXX (Jack) and niece. (KK.) She laughed. Wait at safe house. XXXXXX (Boris) to arrive next evening with the rubber doll (Natasha…) as agreed. Exchange to occur at XXXXXX (Blachmann Securities in the North Tower) on 11 September at 0900. PS: Someone’s in love. It was signed, Papa-two. “Who’s Papa-two?”

  “Who was Papa-two? He’s buried next to Sir Katherine, remember?”

  Jane’s head shook, Nein. She was totally lost in the gray mist of Katrina’s denial. That night in New York. The entire assignment was another black hole. Why can’t I bloody remember? “What exchange?” Boris had the boots. “What did she—we do?”

  He decided Jane needed some stronger medicine. Anger. He began shouting, “Infiltrate, deceive, corrupt, blackmail, use, kill, then reward!” Pete’s yelling blew a hole in Katrina’s fog. “You know how this shitty game is played. Find your opponent’s weakness and exploit it. Face it, Kid, you’re blown. Two days before Christmas? You were at Sir Goody’s? He realized you recognized Snow.”

  “Natasha… Christmas…” Can’t bloody remember anything? “Why the fuck can’t I bloody remember?”

  “Your brain is Swiss cheese, that’s why. They’ve been pumping you full of Lima-six-niner-niner. You’re way out of whack…We saw the dolls, in his study.”

  “Dolls? What dolls?” She didn’t remember the study or the doll case. L699… “Fuck you!” She reached for the KGB stiletto.

  His DSS teammates were on their feet and approaching fast.

  “Easy, Tiger.” His eyes locked on the blade. “I’m just trying to help your friends get whole.” He waved the help off and handed her a folder containing the Term Sheet London authorized following the Dubai affair.

  “Are you Peter? Or—” She opened it. Jack’s signature. She stared at the head shots of, Boris and, Jane Smith. “Are you playing a bloody game on us too?” It made no sense. She closed the folder in disbelieve and stared at the razor-sharp blade. K-G-B… It’s Sir Katherine’s.

  The veil of denial slowly lifted. Katrina–Jane Sterling was whole again. For how long, she couldn’t know. She faced him. “You need a shave. Does Mum know?”

  “She knows… Hey, Janie: do you remember the last thing Sir Katherine told you? That day she got on that plane? You remember that day? The day she died?”

  “Yeah.” We may think we’re kings and queens. But we’re not, Miss Katrina–Jane Sterling. We’re all just bloody pawns in someone’s dirty game. Live long my brave and trusted GoodKnight. “Papa knew…I killed her.”

  “You didn’t kill her. Sir Katherine knew the game. You, me, Red, Snow, your vinyl doll. We’re all just pawns in this fucking game. This shitty mind-fucking game called Humanity. The game never ends, Janie. There’s no good, no right side. All the sides are bad.” He looked her in the eye. “You two made a mistake in Dubai. You killed a noncombatant. Guess you’re human after all. It’s okay…Janie?”

  “Shut it! Just shut it, mate!” She drove, Papa’s blade, through the folder in her lap and held it out. “Take it! I’m through with it. All of it! I won’t do it. Not this one.”

  Pete took the folder and the blade, tossing both in the diplomatic case, sealing it shut. “Let Papa go back to her grave, will ya Janie. You’re the Headmistress Jane Sterling now. Leave what happened in that orphanage to the past. And don’t worry. The Council will handle Lady Jack-off and Karla. The kid never has to know about Katrina Anastasia Teufelritter, Boris or Papa or Krump.”

  Pete had never before called Jane by her true name. Not to her face anyway. He’d never called Sir Katherine by her KGB code-name, Papa, before either. What else didn’t she know he knew? She stared at him for a long cold minute.

  Bloody hell… “Sorry; I haven’t been myself.”

  “Yah, we noticed. Now get some sleep, Mistress Sterling. I need you on your best game tomorrow. And stay out of the T and C. Understand? And no bird watching or candy tonight. I’ll have a steak sent up; hot, pink, and dripping bloody wet. That is still how you like ’em?”

  “That’s right, mate.” She snuggled against him. “You got our back. Like old times.” Jane’s eyes dropped shut the second she leaned into the once-familiar shoulder.

  “That’s right, Jane. Like old times. Now get some sleep. Please?” He pulled the blanket up over them both and shut down.

  Right… Jane wouldn’t stay down for, Long. Someone’s bloody pawn? Not Pete’s and not Jack’s… Not anymore. Rocky? Why in the bloody hell would he use that old code name? He’s been talking to Boris. She’s bloody alive.

  She didn’t let on when he pawed her. He’s got something. Sir Goody’s drool rag… How did that get there? What in the bloody hell is Pete up to? The GoodKnight fought hard to retain the intel as the sleep overtook.

  Awakened by the thud of the landing gear extending, Dame Jane struggled to remember how she came to be on the plane with Pete… We were talking in the RV. Maybe we did bump our head. Must have that lovely physician give us a good going-over on our return. Ja.

  Well, Miss Teufelmaus

  Room 869, 21:34 local

  The GoodKnight stood her ground, legs spread, back against the door, and stone-faced, waiting. “Well, Miss Teufelmaus. Out with it!”

  Natasha didn’t speak. She was shaking as she set her clutch on the table and removed her stilettos.

  The Cougar advanced, dropping her Louis Vuitton next to, Katrina’s Prada. That’s queer… How’d she get that?

  She towered over, Snow White. Pete’s intel was convincing. But, was it true? Had she been played by Krump? Teufelmaus meant devil-mouse alright. Krump was responsible for Natasha’s stolen childhood. Was she still under Papa’s spell? Was she the reason for Boris’s ghost? Jane was still putting the pieces together when she produced Natasha’s iPhone and held it up. “Or should I say BP?” Had Boris played them both with that twenty-year-old code? She stepped toward, that scared littl
e girl. How could it be? “Take it, BP.”

  “I had no choice!” protested Natasha, taking BP’s iPhone. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Right then. What more do you wish to confess, Miss Teufelmaus?”

  “But Papa—” Natasha tried to steady her emotions. She backed away. The bed was against her calf.

  “Sit!”

  Natasha obeyed, clutching the sheets—the vinyl sheets, not the soft satin they’d made love in only a week before. Another sheet of vinyl was at her feet. Forever… Just like “New York.”

  “Yes, what about New York?” Jane went dizzy. Her stomach tightened with pain.

  “No, please, don’t. She sent me.… That night; I wanted to—” Natasha was lost; back there. “To be with you! She promised us.”

  It was you, that night. “She? Boris is dead.” Confused and sickened, Jane fought off the pain growing deep within her gut. In that moment, she too felt lost, somewhere in her own dark past. She slammed the doll down on the bed. Jane leaped on top of Natasha and pushed her slender hands above her head. She heard the terrible sound of delicate knuckles smashing into the headboard. Only last week, I kissed each, so tenderly.

  Jane’s voice turned dark. “Not this time, sweetie.” In an instant she had Natasha pinned, her arms stretched beyond her head. The GoodKnight didn’t care. Her insides felt about to explode. “You lied. Boris is dead! They’re all dead!” Her eyes closed. She couldn’t witness it. Mistress Sterling would finish Katrina’s assignment. Eight years overdue.

  “What?” Natasha squealed. Stinging fingers reached out, grasping for life. They found the headboard. Long sharp nails clawed the old wood. Jane was too powerful, so wonderfully powerful, just like, “MK!”

  “Who is the pretender?”

  Natasha froze, locked in fear, as the kill hand neared. “Please. Wait!” She clenched the headboard in a true death grip. One by one, each finely manicured nail failed. The sound chilling, the pain unbearable, she felt powerless. “Mistress…Katrina…your daughter…lives.”

  Her eyes popped. Jane was back. The scene before her was awful. Her mind was a jumble. She heard Sir Katherine’s voice, “That’s right, sweetie. They’re dead!” She couldn’t bear to see those innocent blue eyes, now bulging from that terrified child. Jane shut it all out. It’s a bloody trick. Suddenly, images of last week appeared in the gray mist; their meeting, their dinner, and their lovely time in bed. Krump’s Beautiful Pawn… BP. She drifted further back. The one-armed doll, asleep in my arms. BP was the child in bed. No one will ever hurt you again. I shall keep you safe. “Time to go to sleep, my princess.”

  “Katrina!” Natasha pleaded in German, “You’re hurting me.” Her head propped forward by pillows, she felt the full weight of “Katrina” against her diaphragm, forcing the last air from her lungs. She had no way to remove the hand from around her neck. Natasha trembled as the KAT squeezed, tightening the death grip. Tears streamed from their eyes. Fear and mucus filled their throats. Struggling for one last breath, and barely able to see, the darkness had begun to close in—suddenly the grip of death loosened. She somehow managed to speak, “Ja! It was me that night. I remembered you…that night. I had to—”

  Bloody hell… That pain growing inside her dying gut was now excruciating. She faced her dead past and shouted back in her native tongue, “You were sent to do me, again!” Dripping with sweat, Katrina released Jane’s death grip and slapped Natasha, striking her white left cheek forcefully, turning it red. “Just like that night.” Her kill hand returned to take, the doll’s neck.

  What’s bloody wrong? Katrina struggled to maintain focus. Necks were her specialty. “It was you…that night… with. . . Bo-rissss.” Her speech was slurred. Her kill hand went numb. Then, everything went numb. Bloody hell… She called out, “Jane, don’t leave me.”

  Something terrible had happened. This time it was Dame Jane who had receded. Katrina was remembering. Boris told the truth. I had a daughter. One day later, Boris—I was betrayed. They were gone. Boris and the rubber doll were always gone when—she tried to regain her New York past. Nein! Fight it, baby! Remember… The other candy girl… The one in the bar… New York… KK… Ja. Jack! Jack had secured the tiger’s leash with her daughter’s teenaged charms… My hand—“Natasha!”

  Katrina was sick—sick to death. Her neck…so thin and delicate. “My little princess. Where is she? My baby? Is she dead?”

  “I knew it was you!” Natasha flashed back to that Monday night in New York eight years before. She couldn’t speak. She struggled to regain a voice. “They told us you both were dead.” That was it. The beautiful princess had barely any breath left.

  “Yes, I . . .” She fought against a slowing heart, pushing away her deepest emotions. Just another assignment. “Who told you MK was dead?”

  Besieged, Natasha mouthed her final word. “B-ull-wi-nk-le.” A gray world went black. My baby. . . Anastasia, Mommy loves you—

  Bullwinkle. The GoodKnight’s heart jolted Katrina’s lungs back to life. Jane shouted, “Bloody hell!” The KAT’s grip slipped from, Natasha’s neck… A final burst of adrenaline convulsed her. It wasn’t enough to change their fate. Her muscles all went soft. Her heart slowed. She could no longer find breath. Something’s wrong. Feel bloody awful. Her lungs were done. The room started spinning, faster and faster. Tailspin…going down…Katrina…help me…

  Katrina couldn’t help. She had split. She left Dame Jane to help herself. Jane collapsed over the side of the bed, puking her guts out. Her insides wrenched, over and over. She stared at the vomit-smeared vinyl covering the carpet. Jane couldn’t understand it. The Tits and Clits… The scotch…The bloody scotch… Her hand… Natasha had spiked it. Jane tried again to speak. Her lips weren’t behaving. Come back. Dame Jane was slipping away too. I’m wet… Nothing was bloody behaving. Bloody h—

  Natasha fought to regain a breath. The word fell from her lips in pieces. “Bu-ll-win-kle.” She reached out and squeezed. Her mistress felt so cold. Katrina’s dying. The thought made her heart break.

  Bull…shit…we’re done. Jane couldn’t move a muscle. I’m being turned over. Somebody… Natasha. You did…You killed us…alone…dying. She had been blinded by her own love. Pete was bloody right. “I love K—” The lights went out.

  Pleasant Dreams

  Blachmann Castle, 22:01 local

  Catherine stood before the sink, brushing her teeth. The after effects of Wet’s influence had greatly diminished. She still couldn’t believe she been under Wet’s effect for so long.

  Miss Christi entered to wish her, “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

  “You too; good night, Miss Christi.” She gave a wink. Their eyes stayed locked in the mirror.

  “My dear; I wish to show you something before bed.”

  She rinsed then wiped her lips dry in the hand towel, Dani’s been holding out.

  “May I come too Mum?”

  “Yes, dear,” said Miss Christi holding out both hands. She led them out into the hallway. “Do you see those?”

  Catherine studied the portraits. “Yes. Why are some blacked out?” There were too many to count. On the frame, their name and years of service were listed, followed by the day they had arrived at Blachmann, the oldest dated 1948. The handful still in silhouette were labeled KAT, followed by the arrival date.

  “Their identities must remain secret.”

  “Why? Are they assassins?” Catherine laughed, as she stared at the last KAT. The date was telling.

  “Some yes, some no. But you are partially correct. They were conceived to kill.”

  “How come some aren’t blacked out? Shouldn’t they all be secret?”

  “They no longer need us to mask their identity.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re dead, my dear.”

  Catherine’s throat went dry. That last Kat is—Fuck me.

  “That’s all for now. Run along to bed dear. Pleasant dreams.”

  She started off, bu
t turned back to see Dani fixed, staring at one photo.

  “Dani?”

  “You go.… I’ll be there in a minute,” snapped Danielle, a tear in her eye. She waved Catherine off.

  “Come, dear, she’ll be along. Just saying good-night to her mum.” Miss Christi escorted the stunned kitten back to the nursery.

  Cougar Down

  Room 869, 22:02 local

  Side by side on the bed, each faced the other. Jane was in a gray mist of her own. The same mist as that Monday night in New York. She couldn’t do that doll either. She had let another of Krump’s devil-mice live. That’s twice, Jane. She continued staring into Natasha’s eyes; the same eyes. His beautiful princess was alive. Are they all alive? Jane laid there, her body paralyzed by a massive drug overdose.

  Natasha was that same candy girl, who, eight years earlier, had kept Katrina GoodKnight from her own date with destiny. Had she not been drugged that night, Katrina-Jane would have been at Blachmann Securities head office in the North Tower when the first plane hit. Now Jane Sterling owed her life to that girl. That same lovely girl—all grown up. Mistress Sterling was in big trouble. Trouble would have to wait. Katrina’s ship was sinking—fast. Bullwinkle… Bloody hell.

  The connecting door opened. Bullwinkle rushed in, wearing latex gloves. “No mate, never heard of her? Bull-fucking-shit, Dame Jane!” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a syringe. Pete worked fast. Time was short. He tore open the antiseptic swab, flipped her skirt up. “Nice leather.” He tugged on the, “red silk,” and swabbed, “Figures.” He whacked that big blue ass once. “Katrina!” No response. “Fuck it!” He jerked off the safety cap and let the cougar have the full load—Flumazenil. “I tried to warn ya, kid.” He rolled her and brought his fist down hard, pounding new life into Jane’s quiet chest as she lay beside the Natasha doll. Her eyes fluttered. Figures…

  Pete turned his attention to Katrina’s lovesick doll and shouted, “Hi-ya, Snow!” Pulse weak, but steady. Natasha’s eyes opened. “Fuck, I thought we lost you.”