by C. L. Black
Years later, Jane would learn that Krump’s Stasi friends were jamming the CIA listening devices. It had been a trap. The Breeder had always known the Stiletto’s true identity. Jane Sterling was a composite. Using Project Stiletto and the British as cover, first he, then Sir Katherine had groomed the Stiletto’s multiple identities from their most gifted KAT.
Katrina felt the blade’s first pinch. His doll was rubbing it over, then between my breasts. What did she say? “Papa sent me…to do this.” Ja. The doll made the slice. She gasped at the sight. The doll’s first move—right between my bloody tits. That was bloody close. Two more quick cuts spilled them. I strained to see. That’s when I noticed the initials etched in the chrome. K-G-B—Papa’s stiletto…
Katrina, overcome with denial, pulled free and bolted, leaving Jane Sterling to fend for herself.
The Breeder’s princess doll giggled, then cut. Jane felt the rope’s tension ease. The ceiling was mirrored. Focus girl. Right…the rope. That doll had bloody nicked it. Their eyes met. Miss Jane promises to take you if—his doll kissed, my lips, then continued skinning my rubber. She made the same concealed cut to the other wrist binding then slowly sliced away strips of skintight latex. Her little hand was shaking. Her tea dress was spotted with my blood. Only a few strips of black covered my treasure—still intact.
The too-eager doll began her final assault. Blood flowed. Too much blood. She had sliced too deeply. Inner thigh—not good. The doll screamed, dropping Papa’s ceremonial KGB stiletto. Fuck! It had fallen, dangerously close, resting between warm wet thighs. The now hysterical doll climbed off and ran to “Papa?”
She called him, “Papa!” The Breeder was her Papa. “What’s wrong, my little pink princess?” She had his complete attention. “Now, Jane, Run.” Jane broke free from the weakened restraints, picked up Papa’s blade, then grabbed the taller one by the neck. “Pete said the tall one.”
A split second to choose, she started for the Breeder. Fuck! A Walther PPK pointed at the doll’s head—his little pink princess? “KK sat in his lap,” sobbing. She clutched his gun hand. An explosion. The pink dress grew dark. She screamed, “Papa!” The door opened. Black Hoods—Time to scat. Clutching the white rubber doll by the waist, “Cougar-Seven-Three” raised her heel, pivoted, and kicked open the French doors leading to the balcony. The rubber doll in hand, “Cougar-Seven-Three” leaped. They landed two stories below on the adjacent snow-covered rooftop and tumbled. The blade… I picked it up and ran; the doll still in her other arm.
The escape route… Sir Katherine, then Uncle Pete, made me rehearse it a hundred times. Down the fire escape and—run! South, two blocks, then east to that statue, then south, then… Fuck! I’m bloody lost! The pockmarked streets were deserted, bitterly cold and dark. It was bloody snowing again. Alone, and nearly naked, with a crying and wet—doll. Fuck, we’re leaving a bloody trail. Piss and blood? My blood. Bloody hell! The dogs… I could hear the GDR border guards. Fuck. Now she could see them. Think! The safehouse—what about the searchlights? The Wall—it’s bloody suicide. They’ll cut us to ribbons if I try the Wall. I grabbed the rubber doll and ran. The corner. That truck pulled up and stopped. A dozen men—all with grease guns, jumped out. Stasi—Fuck. Me and that bloody wet white rubber doll were done. “Nein, Jane!”
Out from the cold mist, snow and darkness came a black Mercedes. Snowflakes melting on the polished engine cover created a smokescreen. Over the front fenders—Soviet flags— diplomatic. Right. The driver got out. Tall. Ja, nice boots—The heavy green leather coat opened. Those boots—That corset! She was striking—ja, deadly too. She had a gun.
“You must be the new Mata Hari.” Her English was precise.
“M. H.” The code; what was the code? Right. “The time! Do you know the time!”
“Yes love, five till one.” The Stasi approached, Boris stayed calm. She was always calm. Why couldn’t you be like her?
“You’re Boris?”
“Yes, love. Bullwinkle sends his apologies.”
“But you’re a bloody woman!”
“Disappointed?” Gun shots… “Get in, baby!” The foggy veil of Boris engulfed her.
The distorted window into Jane Sterling’s connection to Katrina GoodKnight’s dark past closed as quickly as it opened. Jane fought to remember more. She needed Katrina to remember, the rest of that Berlin assignment. Katrina’s first and, until Dubai, only KGB sanctioned assignment.
The rest came from reading Pete’s After-Action report. It was two days later when Jane awoke in the West Berlin safehouse. Pete was there. Drink this. He handed her the water and told what happened. Boris is a double agent. Pete said Boris had taken her but not the rubber doll through Checkpoint Charlie to the safehouse. I never saw the doll’s face Janie, he said—bloody liar.
Neither had Janie… Bloody hoods. Boris had in fact delivered her back to Pete. Jane didn’t remember any of it. He said I was alone. The white rubber doll? The boots. Boris had taken her—the boots too. That’s when Pete handed me the stiletto; K.G.B. was etched into the blade. He said they were my initials. Boris said you earned it. But not the boots. Not yet anyway. He got away Janie. No trace. We missed him.
It was another six months before the two KATs next crossed paths. As it turned out, Boris liked her candy cold, hard and rubbery. Yes, Boris was attracted to the scent of the two-headed KAT. Boris took the still green stiletto doll she called Mata Hari, under her wing. And so began a most strange love triangle—two KAT’s, the Cougar, and their dolls. Each KAT possessed an undeniable hunger for the other’s doll. All would meet from time to time; a reward of sorts, for a job well done. Twenty bloody years later, one of those two-headed KATs was now Dame Jane Sterling, and she now finally knew who the Breeder was. “Sir Goody.” What about Jack?
A gust came out of the east. With all the force of a rogue wave, it slapped “Dame Jane Sterling” hard across the face and back into the “GoodKnight Katrina of Blachmann.” Her eyes opened wide. One again. She stared out at the Atlantic mist. “Some bloody holiday.” Face it, old girl, Pete’s lying about something. That kid is no pretender. She’s Sir Katherine’s clone. It can’t be—Ja, it can Jane. Katrina threw her good self off the platform. Katrina! Let me remember what you did. Please. Nein.
Splash…
Later that afternoon, Mistress Sterling invited Miss Black and Miss Wright to accompany her on horseback. Their ride took ninety minutes on the secluded trail that once served as the old rail spur’s roadbed. Some bloody holiday. She certainly didn’t mind the fact that Catherine still wore the pink baby dress, but those bloody vinyl rumba pants. There was no getting past that. It was Blachmann lore. Was it really her? Jane wasn’t sure. Katrina wasn’t talking. Not yet.
Catherine didn’t think her outfit looked so awful anymore. Not after adding a pair of Danielle’s riding britches and, my boots. It was her first time on horseback in months. Her mom had given a choice: Britches or short skirts? She insisted she could ride just fine in a miniskirt. Mom… That was the first sign of trouble. Her mom thought otherwise. Teenagers… The storm was brewing.
Jane enjoyed the distant vision the kitten in Papa’s boots provided, but would have preferred, Dani’s britches left on the bloody rack. Upon their return to the stables, her neck was as sore as their tired older ass. Too bad Elsa wasn’t there. Someone was in dire need of one of Elsa’s expert rubdowns. They headed straight for a soak in the cauldron bubbling atop the South Tower. It was to be followed by a long cooling shower with, Papa’s dolls… Pete did say to have a holiday… Ja.
I love your
The Headmistress’s bath, 22:15 local
Fifteen minutes past lights out, yet Catherine still sat before the dimly lit mirror. Danielle stood behind, rhythmically brushing all that hair.
“I love your—”
“No kidding. Definitely think you teased me enough, don’t you, Dani?”
“No! A little more, please, babe?”
“Okay. But you know I can d
o it myself.”
“But I—”
“Yeah, I know. I get it.” Catherine embraced the hand and gave an enchanting look. “Hey Dani, what’s with Miss Superbitch today? She’s been acting way different since you guys got back from the airport.”
“Different?”
“Yeah, like, way too nice. And, I sooo caught her, eyeballing me like, twice! She almost fell off her horse once. Didn’t you, like, notice?”
Danielle’s bald head shook, no. “Beats me, babe, maybe she’s into you.”
Babe… “Yeah right, sure she is.” Catherine stood, taking, the hairbrush. Is she… She examined the heavy implement. It seemed key to her tormentor’s fetish. The brush, hand carved from Ceylon Ebony, a very dense and intensely black wood native to southern India and Sri Lanka. Catherine tested its stiff bristles. These might give her a special little pleasure. She gazed into Danielle’s cautious eyes and said, “I seem to have that effect on someone else too. Don’t I, Miss Wright?”
“Really, I hadn’t noticed, Miss Black.” Her lying eyes stayed fixed. The hairbrush—“Don’t!”
“Liar!” Catherine twisted the implement then slapped it smartly to her palm. She admired the brush’s polished backside, stroking her free hand across its fine detailing. So familiar. She felt a strange connection. She grasped its handle tight. Fit and felt so perfect. MK had to try its magic for herself.
Whack!
“Hey! Don’t… That was your great grandmother’s. Don’t! You’ll break it.” Danielle held her hand out. “I’m serious. Give it. That’s an order, Miss Black!”
“Miss Black? Jeesss. What happened to babe or, Kat?” MK relented, surrendering the implement of both their not-so-secret pleasures. “Sorry, couldn’t resist trying it too.”
Danielle took the still-warm brush, examining it closely for cracks. “You could have broken it!” Satisfied, she set it gently on the table. “She left it to your Grandmother Katherine.”
Catherine took Danielle by the shoulders. “Sir Katherine? No way! Really? Hey Miss Danipedia, what can you tell me about Super—”
“Bitch?” She smiled. “Plenty! Come on, babe. I’ll tell you in the crib.”
Crib? “Yeah, sure.” Progress… Catherine pursued the powder blue silk cami and tap pants past Miss Christi’s king-size bed into the nursery and into her crib. ’Bout fricken time. “Hey, move over. I’m—shouldn’t we close the door?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t move! I’ll get it.” MK was out and back in a blink. Seconds later, the nursery went black. “Hey, I can’t see.”
Danielle whispered back, “And neither can Miss Superbitch.”
“Oh.” Yeah.
Someone’s Reality Check
The Headmistress’s bedchamber, 23:13 local
A reconnected Katrina-Jane was sprawled on the bed seeking answers. Miss Christi sought only sleep.
Pete was bloody right about one thing. Someone did need a holiday. Yes, a little R and R with the dolls. The room’s only illumination came from her iPhone. She continued peppering “Mum,” with questions as she viewed the live feed of the nursery. Been staring at these fuzzy thermal blurs for near an hour. Still, she had no hard answers.
“Please dear, no more. You agreed when I sent for you. No questions of her past. I can tell you nothing more unless she willingly gives back the boots. Now please, dear, it’s well past our bedtime. Please…Miss Sterling, put that evil thing away. I need my rest. And so do you, dear. You have a busy week ahead.”
“She’s not dead, Mum. Boris. Pete said you knew.”
“Yes dear. You should be sleeping. Close your eyes dear. Shall I sing Papa’s song?”
“Nein. What really happened in Dubai?”
Miss Christi rolled closer and took her hand. “Your tiger was awakened, that morning. I think by someone you both trusted.”
“Awakened?” Jane found herself awakened, and burning—the vision of her past was interrupted by the white hot mass glowing in her iPhone. “You mean activated. By whom?”
“Why does it matter, dear? Katrina’s returned to your good side now.”
“Who is she really?” She let go the blurry three-way techno porn fantasy, rolled to her side and put an aggressive grasp on Miss Christi’s exposed forearm. “Tell me, damn it!”
“Miss Sterling!”
Jane realized it was the KAT’s grip. “Please, Mum.” Disgraced, she fell back. “Please forgive her, Mum.” Katrina snatched Jane’s iPhone from the bed covers and resumed the surveillance.
Miss Christi waited until “Jane” had regained control. “Her mom is not that person you once knew. Not anymore. Neither are you, dear.”
“Has she seen me? Like this?” Jane’s face saddened.
“Oh, yes, dear.” Miss Christi brightened. “Union station, at the bar, and on the train.” She chuckled. “I spotted her right off.”
“Boris was on the bloody Acela?” I am getting bloody old.
“Yes ,dear. She sat with you. The airline pilot?”
Bloody hell! “She had a bloody beard. Don’t tell me she changed sides, Mum?”
“Oh, no, dear. Nothing so drastic. Just a rubber mask, a false beard, and some padding.” A soothing hand stoked Jane’s cheek. “My Katherine always said, costume and hair was a girl’s best cover.”
It shook Katrina—Jane back together. I sat next to my not-so-dead sister and your bloody stalker for two hours, from DC to New York. She felt that old tingle. “I’m not so dead yet either.”
“No, but you did come close, dear. This last one makes five. You’re running low of lives.”
“Pete said she’s working for Krump now?”
“Yes dear, but it’s not what you think.”
Jane darkened her iPhone. “I saw her again, Mum. Today on the trail. On Major. I see her all the time now. Jane was back on the trail and in her own baby dress. Sir Katherine was at her side. “I don’t know if I can.” She was lost in a frightened child’s past. “Papa, are you there?”
Miss Christi carried on in a calming voice. “Don’t worry, my dear. You just need some rest. I’m certain. Close your eyes my sweet child.” She waited.
Katrina came back. “Why was I put back on the assignment? Jane loves her you know.”
“It’s the drugs dear. It will pass in time.” Miss Christi wasn’t so sure it would—not this time.
“But it violates all protocols.”
“Yes dear, it certainly does. However, a traitor—”
“Traitor?”
“Yes, dear; Krump’s limitless wealth has corrupted one of us.”
“Who Mum?”
“That’s not our concern dear.”
“Tell me Mum,” The case… British. “Who tipped you—I was there?”
“Dubai? Jack phoned. She suspected your assignment had been tampered with.”
Bloody hell… “And, KK?”
“Yes, that. Something had to be done to stop her, dear. Well, it was Jane’s birthday.”
“Smashing. Should have sent a bloody card. You do know she’s in bloody love too.”
“Yes dear. I’ve always known. Fortunately, Kristin intercepted you before it was too late.”
“But it was.”
“Yes, that. Most unfortunate dear; London’s man, Chief loan officer for the Royal Scottish Bank’s Dubai branch.”
“R-S-B. Brilliant. Poor bugger.” Jane’s eyes burned. “She looks just like her mom?”
“Yes dear, our Katherine has returned to us. We must help her understand her gift. Don’t worry yourselves about London’s lapse dear. His family was informed, heart failure.”
Sir Katherine… Katrina relit Jane’s iPhone. “Come now Mum, you don’t really believe in all that reincarnation rubbish?”
“I do. With all my heart, I do dear.” Miss Christi gazed into the thermal image. “I’m sure it’s her. The DNA is a one-hundred percent match. And there is the—”
Katrina tried to speak but Jane interceded. “Why Mum?
Why now? Why’d you bring her back?”
“Because it’s time, dear. Did she enjoy your day together?”
“Yes, very much Mum. I hope to earn her another chance, some day.”
“Perhaps. We shall see. Now go to sleep dear.” Mum’s words were a comfort but also a warning. The holiday was coming to its end.
Jane permitted Katrina only a glimpse of the white hot image—Dani spooning my pretender, in the crib. Turned on that bloody baby music. Whispering. The hair—ear. Right. “Pete doesn’t trust me. Do you Mum?” The GoodKnight Katrina of Blachmann was back.
“Yes, I do dear. In fact, I had hoped a brief visit tonight. Should do us all some good. Don’t you think, my dear?”
Danielle slid from the crib, lifted the side bar and moved towards the door. She was startled to see, “Miss Jane,” still there and, still awake. She sighted the iPhone. Her face went beet red. Mistress had to know: she hadn’t pulled the trigger. She hadn’t claimed her first kitten.
“Right. Well, if you think it best, Mum.”
Miss Christi’s words remained hushed. “I do dear. And I think you owe our Miss Danielle a most proper apology.” Her voice rose. “Goodnight dear.”
Danielle backed off. “A GoodKnight indeed, Mum. Happy dreams. You too Mistress Sterling.” She left them, racing down the hall to the security of her own bedchamber.
Jane settled into a KAT’s slumber and waited until Miss Christi drifted off. She felt that old tingle. Eleven minutes later, Miss Jane rose from the Tempur-Pedic and headed straight to claim her prize. The Cougar’s heart was racing like a teenager’s.
The door creaked.
“Who’s there?”
“Don’t be alarmed, love. Did we wake you?”
“No, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
“I want you to do me.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. And I think we must go all the way this time. I’ll just pop in the shower.”
Danielle almost couldn’t believe her ears. She leaped from her bed. One of her oldest fantasies that involved Miss Jane was about to come true.
