by C. L. Black
“Please, love, I think after that pleasantry, you may call me Miss Jane.”
“Hey, why can’t I see anything on this?” He shook the iPhone and held it out toward her.
“It’s special. Only works for Miss Jane. Biometric, voice and eye scan.” She held out cuffed hands. “Thanks, love.” She tapped on the display, and waited for the authentication challenge to appear. She raised the NSA special issue iPhone 3G-S to her face and entered the access code. The contact list appeared. There weren’t any names or numbers, only a list of colors. She selected blue and waited for the hookup.
A female voice answered. “Secretary of State Rodwell’s Office.”
“Hello, love, Miss Jane Sterling calling. Terribly sorry for ringing unannounced. I’m in a bit of a pickle. Is Miss Rodwell available? Thought I’d cut straight through. Save everyone the embarrassment.”
“Yes, Miss Sterling,” said a second voice everyone immediately recognized. The secretary sounded a little under the weather.
“Didn’t interrupt anything important, did I, Miss Rodwell?” They could hear what sounded like sheets rustling and someone giggling in the background.
“Just my assistant. How may I be of service, Miss Sterling?”
“Right, that. Would you be so kind as to speak with one of your FBI boys? I reasoned he might listen to your voice.” Jane raised her brow at Mr. FBI. “I’m sure it shouldn’t take but a minute more of your time, Miss Secretary.” She handed her iPhone to Mr. FBI and whispered, “Don’t call her madam.”
“This is Special Agent William Miller of the FBI, madam.”
“Yes, Miller, what can I do for you?” The secretary sounded hurried and a little winded.
“I have this Sterling woman in my custody. She’s claiming diplomatic immunity. She says you can back her, madam.”
“That’s correct, Miller! Miss Sterling is a dear friend, and a most trusted ally of our great nation. She is here on a top-secret mission of the greatest importance to our nation’s security. On behalf of the president, I order you to release her at once and forget that you saw her. You met with no one. She wasn’t there. Do you understand, Special Agent Miller?”
“Ummm, yeah, yes, I understand. Thank you, madam.” The line went dead. Special Agent Miller looked a little pale and less special.
“I warned you, sweetie. She truly despises the Madam label.” Jane held out her hands.
Mr. FBI produced the key and handed it to Agent Daniels, who promptly unlocked the cuffs, handing them, but not the key, back to the disappointed little agent.
“Thanks, sweetie. Now, Miss Sterling would be delighted to brief the Secret Service. Over lunch, perhaps?”
Agent Daniels took her queue. “Yes, this appears to be a Secret Service matter. Don’t you agree, Special Agent Miller?”
“Yeah.” He threw his hands up and said, “I’m pretty sure you can handle Miss Whoever without the FBI. You owe me one, Daniels.” Mr. FBI scraped his bloodied balls off the carpet and left, leaving Jane in the good hands of the fit able-bodied Secret Service.
“Room service or the dining room?” asked Jane, picking up the room phone.
“I was thinking room service.”
“Smashing.” Jane dialed, and handed the phone to “Miss Daniels."
“Hi there, I’ll have…” she ordered, and handed the phone back.
“Hello, love, please add a bottle of your finest champagne, two flutes, a plate of fresh strawberries with plenty of cream, and a selection of cheese. Oh, and a pot of hot tea, milk, and sugar for two as well.” Jane listened as Pete read the order back. “Lovely, 13:10 will be fine. Cheers.”
Click…
So, Miss Jane
Room 869, 12:22 local
“So, Miss Jane, what’s this really about?”
“Sex!”
“What?”
“Sex for secrets, love.”
“Is that your best line?”
“Not you, sweetie—the reason for my visit. Can you keep a secret?”
Daniels sat on the bed, both eyes trained on the black leather skirt. “Why do you think it’s called the Secret Service?”
“Right. Well, then.” Jane removed her blazer. Eager to get back to work, she began undoing her blouse. “Little less formal, don’t you think, Miss Daniels?”
“Miss Daniels? You used to call me Carol.” She pouted. “Did you really have to call the secretary?”
“I thought you’d find it amusing, Carol darling. When did you start working with the FBI?”
“Lucky for you! Your name came up this morning on an FBI threat list. I called the investigating agent and stalled him for as long as I could. I asked if he’d let me tag along. Your old Uncle Pete sent me. Said he didn’t need the FBI breaking down your door this morning, did we, Miss Jane?”
“Good god, Carol! Our naughty senator would have shit herself.”
“Speaking of which?”
Jane stepped aside. “The loo is that way, love. We had a lovely first session.”
“Good. When’s your flight?” Daniels stood and went.
“It depends on you, love.” Jane was sending old Uncle Pete a text. The flush gave her pause.
“I see.” Daniels had returned and took charge, loosening the last of Jane’s buttons, “I’ve missed you, Miss Jane. You never called.”
“Show Miss Jane.” She stepped forward, accepting the hungry tongue.
“Why haven’t you called?” Daniels kissed the exposed abdomen. “It’s been nine months.”
“Sorry, darling.” Jane unfastened her bra’s front clasp, exposing her breasts. “Couldn’t be helped.”
“The secretary has you doing more of her dirty work?” Daniels’s hands found Jane’s bottom, then her zipper. “So, was the senator a very naughty girl this morning? What did she want?”
“Can’t say.” Jane’s skirt fell, capturing Daniels’s full attention.
“Why not, we’re on the same side.” Daniels’s hands were now exploring. “Aren’t we?”
“Easy on the nipples, sweetie.” Jane winced. “It’s been a busy week.” She took hold of Daniels’s hands, guiding them to her waist.”
“So, you’re one of those spank-’em and forget-’em spies?”
“Not at all, darling, I did want to call, but—”
“You’re too busy fucking that little slut, countess.” She pushed Jane away. “I’ve seen you in the press, all hand in hand, lovey-dovey.” Daniels stood and unzipped her trousers. They fell, revealing her pink cotton boy shorts. They didn’t go unnoticed. She stepped out of her flats and trousers in one efficient motion and stepped forward, embracing Jane. “I know you’re on an assignment. It’s my senator? She’s investigating Krump, you know.”
“Miss Daniels…if you keep on this line of questioning, I’ll have no choice but to put you over my knee.”
“Promises, promises.”
Jane led the twenty-nine-year-old trim fit masochist to the bed. “Off with those right now, young lady.” She motioned with her left index finger as she sat on the edge of the bed. Standing before her, Daniels complied. “Good girl, now come here.” Miss Jane patted her lap. “Like a starter?”
“Please.” Daniels got all giddy with anticipation as she lowered herself across Jane’s lap.
Knock, knock. From the door came a voice, “Room service.”
“Brilliant! They’re much too bloody efficient here.” Jane directed the bottomless agent’s still-white ass into the bathroom to fetch a robe as she walked to the door. “Oh, it’s you.” She stood by, topless, as Pete set up the service. “Looks smashing, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He wasn’t looking at the setup. “Would you like me to pop your cork?”
“Not today, sweetie. Thanks for asking.” Jane pointed Pete to the door.
“Be careful, Cougar. I didn’t send her. Something’s up.”
“Right then.” She swung the door, almost hitting him. More work to do…meow.
&nbs
p; 16:05 local
“Bloody Christ,” we’re late. Jane glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed. “Carol darling, I really must be going.”
“It’s only…” Daniels looked across Jane’s bare breasts. “Where did the day go?”
“Very funny, young lady.” Jane smacked Daniels’s firm bottom.
“I thought we could go to dinner, and?” When Jane didn’t answer, Daniels added, “I’m off duty until Sunday at eighteen hundred hours.”
“Not today, love, I have a home-cooked meal waiting for me at the Castle this evening.”
“The Castle?”
“It’s nothing, love. Just helping an old friend with someone’s little brat,” said Jane as she picked up Daniels’s boy shorts. She checked the label. Russian: Made in Turkmenistan. “Perhaps you’d like to join me? I promise Miss Jane will have you back in time.”
“Sounds like fun. You’re sure no one will mind?”
“Never love, I’m sure they’ll be happy to set a plate for my date.” Jane sized up her foe.
Whack!
“Ouch!” Daniels rubbed her nicely pinked ass.
“Still keeping fit, I see.”
“Not for you. You’re in town and you don’t even call.”
Whack! Whack!
“Get moving, love, mustn’t be late for dinner.” Jane pulled on Daniels’s strap-on, prodding her to move. “There’s a game of Chessex on tap for tonight. How’d you like to be the prize?”
“This must be my lucky day. I’ll need to pack.”
“Negative, love. No time. I’m sure that we have everything you’ll need. Why don’t you pop in the shower for a quick rinse? And don’t forget your knickers, love. We mustn’t be late for dinner.” Jane waited for Daniels to enter the bathroom, then enabled her iPhone and typed in a text and sent:
Set an extra plate / bringing a special guest / 34B-25-34 / 5-8 / 130ish
“Shall we, love?” asked Jane over the shower as she verified that her dragon was loaded, before strapping it to her thigh.
So, What’s the Deal?
Blachmann Castle, 17:00 local
The morning’s sharing session had gone well, but Catherine hadn’t offered up any new details about the boots. Miss Christi didn’t press, except to stress that anything she revealed would never be divulged. From her chair on the upper veranda, Miss Christi smiled as Catherine neared for afternoon tea.
The love seat was dripping wet. Catherine set the towel down and seated herself in the usual spot. The sky to the east looked threatening. The New England spring had so far been cold and wet. The day had started out warmer with a pleasant breeze blowing from the west. As the day progressed, it turned to rain. A cold front was now pushing a line of thundershowers off shore. The July mugginess was still a few weeks away, if it was to come at all.
“So, what’s the real deal with Giselle or Danielle or whatever her real name is?”
“What do you mean, my dear?”
“I mean.” She stopped, looked around, took a deep breath, and fired, “How come every other time I see her, she changes from being mommy lovey-dovey Giselle to that bitchy drill sergeant Danielle, and then poof, she’s back to mommy Giselle. I don’t get her. Why doesn’t she like me? You know, when she’s Dani? She always likes me when she’s Giselle. Why? Even when I do something that gets her ass spanked; she still is nice to me. What’s with her? Is she like a Sybil? It’s something wacko like that, isn’t it? Is she? Tell me. Please, Miss Christi.” Catherine was out of breath and bullets.
“So you would like me to explain the girls?”
“Girls?” Nodding yes, she sat up straight. For once, she was all ears.
“Because, you see my dear, they are two distinct and individual personalities. Mommy Giselle as you now know is childlike, very outgoing, and gets much enjoyment from being a mommy. She loves taking care of babies. As I’m sure you’ve learned by now, she does have some anger management issues we’re still working through. Now, Miss Danielle, on the other hand, is the older personality. In many ways, she is a capable and mature young woman, but she is also somewhat shy. She doesn’t like caring for babies. Think of them as polar opposites. Each personality being the mirror image of the other.”
“Why does she hate me?”
“Why does who hate you, dear?”
“The Danielle one. She totally hates me.”
“Does that trouble you, if indeed she does hate you, dear?”
Catherine would not answer. Miss Christi used the pause to pour each a cup of tea.
“A good hit of cream, and four cubes. Is that right, my dear?”
The frown melted. “Yes, please, Miss Christi! You’ve been watching?” Her sun was shining.
“Yes, dear, I’m very observant of behaviors.”
She accepted the tea, took a sip, and set it on the table. “Thanks. I just think she doesn’t have to be so mean. Dani, I mean.”
“Have you ever heard of multiple personality disorder?”
“Well, yeah. That Sybil thing, right? But I thought that it was only in the movies. Is it real? Is that what Giselle or Dani has? Which is her real name, anyway?”
“Well, my dear, first let me try to explain what multiple personality disorder is, or at least, what the American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the DSM, defines it as. That’s like the rule book for us sex doctors.”
“Oh.”
“They call it Dissociative Identity Disorder; or DID for short. DID is the psychiatric diagnosis that describes a condition in which a single person displays multiple distinct identities or personalities. They’re known as alter egos or alters, dear. Often each alter is within its own pattern of perceiving and interacting with the environment. The diagnosis requires that at least two personalities routinely take control of the individual's behavior, with an associated memory loss that goes beyond normal forgetfulness. The DSM also states that the symptoms cannot be due to drug use or any other medical condition.”
“Hey, you sound like a real doctor.”
They both chuckled, and then picked up their tea.
Miss Christi sipped, and then asked, “Katherine, do you ever feel like a different person?”
“Hey! What do you mean?” She held the tea at her lips.
“Do you ever feel like you’re someone else? Ever had any memory loss?”
“No fu—way! Sorry.” Catherine’s tea spilled, splashing the hot liquid over her chest, triggering an explosion. “What the fuck! Do you think I’m some kind of fucking whack job? Is that what you think? Did my fuckin’ mom tell you that? That’s why she fuckin’ sent me here? Isn’t it?” She muzzled herself, using the cup of tea. Her pulse out of control, her face burning, she found it increasingly difficult to control her boiling emotions. She caught site of Miss Christi observing.
Eyes focused into the teacup, Catherine managed to stop her mouth before her words became hateful. She didn’t want to hurt Miss Christi, her mother, or herself. Not anymore. Miss Christi’s methods were time-proven, and getting off the mind-bending drugs helped. She continued to press the teacup to her lips. MK slowly lifted Catherine’s eyes and stared out towards the Atlantic. She focused on the whitecaps, deciding if she should tell. Several minutes passed when, off in the distance, a bolt of lightning shot from an angry cloud.
“Wow! That was intense. It hit that plane. Maybe we should we go inside?” Catherine realized she had spilled her tea. “What happened?”
Sweet Dreams Love
41,000 feet over New York City
Jane sat across from Agent Daniels in the Blachmann family aircraft. The Cessna Citation X was a midsize business jet that seated eight comfortably and was capable of transatlantic flights. Today’s fight made use of the Citation X’s greatest claim to fame, speed. The X was the fastest business jet flying. It could achieve a maximum cruise of .92 Mach—almost the speed of sound. Those Russian panties had Jane’s mind moving faster. She needed t
o get Daniels back to the Castle. The flight time from Dulles to Pease (KPSM) was expected to be about one hour and twenty, given the fifty-knot tailwind. But there was the weather to contend with.
The Cougar had worked an assignment with Daniels once before. Their brief affair had taken place in DC ten months earlier, a routine compromise screen. Her task was to come on to her at a party at the German Embassy. It was to test Daniels’s loyalties. The country had no problem with her sexual preference. It was concerned whether or not she could be compromised. Jane did the job, completed her assessment, and returned her findings to her unnamed client. She had marked Daniels as susceptible to compromise. Daniels never suspected a thing. Apparently, she still believed Jane’s cover: a British agent on loan to the DSS. Once Jane had Daniels back at the Castle, she’d have all the means necessary to properly interrogate her old girlfriend.
She handed Daniels the vodka cocktail. It contained a little something extra, Midazolam, a powerful and fast-acting sedative, hypnotic, and amnesic. Ten minutes after finishing her drink, Daniels was in la-la land.
“Sweet dreams, love.” The Cougar removed Daniels’s weapon, ejecting its magazine. She moved forward to the flight deck. “Good afternoon, ladies. Need a dummy mag for a SIG Sauer P229 pistol, chambered for .357 SIG cartridges.” The copilot reached into a satchel, producing a replacement magazine. It was loaded with dummy rounds, real bullets inserted into empty cartridges. She swapped the dummy magazine for the live one and returned the P229 to Daniels’s shoulder holster. She then picked up the dreamy sleep cocktail, replacing it with a glass of water containing a stimulant. Her work done, Jane returned to her seat and strapped in.
The captain had told her that it could be a dicey approach, thunderstorms. One look out the window confirmed that. A cold front was descending to the southeast from Canada, creating a line of thunderstorm cells. The towering dark clouds stretched all the way up the coast from New Jersey to northern Maine. They would have to poke their way through the front using the onboard weather radar.
