SCI-ROTICA

by Cameron Hale

  “Who is that exquisite creature?” Armand asked with frank interest. “And why haven’t you introduced me?”

  Rico shook his head. “She wasn’t included in the agency selection list,” he said, abstractedly gulping his champagne. “Nor was she with the group arriving this morning. I definitely would have remembered her.”

  He watched woman uneasily. Something about her demeanor seemed vaguely familiar. Rico handed Armand his glass. “But I intend to find out who she is.”

  Armand spluttered as Rico slipped away to the private staircase leading to his suite. He pressed his hand to the DNA hand scanner at the reinforced gate barring the stairs. Quickly ascending, Rico watched the woman through the veil of twinkling trees. Her provocative laughter followed him inside, its cadence taunting him. He sat at his desk and retrieved the agency portfolio from the locked drawer. A brief inspection confirmed his suspicions. There was no one even resembling the woman among the blondes in the selection.

  Pausing to pour himself a shot of tequila, he replayed the security check-in footage at his desk. He studied each face intently and compared the biological ID data logged by the scanners. Each display matched that of the person passing through the system. He scowled as he stared at the screen. If the woman had managed to gain access to the island, a serious breach of security existed somewhere. He switched to patio surveillance. One of the surveillance eyes passed the blonde as she held court by the pool, her entourage of admirers growing.

  Zooming in at maximum, Rico halted the eye and studied her. Though she spoke with animation, something about her unusually dark eyes disturbed him. Their opaqueness had an inhuman quality, untouched by her laughter. Somewhere in her expression and mannerisms lay another face. Distant memories tugged at Rico, harkening back to his street days. He reached for the phone and called Alphonse on view mode, the integrated scrambler foiling any potential eavesdroppers.

  Alphonse discreetly answered, the expression on his creased, bovine face guarded. “Yes, sir?” he said. Behind him, a small army of staff observed an array of screens.

  “Alphonse, I’d like you to run a check on a guest by the pool. I’ve got her on camera three. She wasn’t among the guests arriving this morning and I want to know why.”

  “I’m checking camera three now,” Alphonse said. A lengthy pause followed while he ran a replay of the check-in on another screen. Rico heard the steady clatter of a keyboard in the background. Alphonse’s voice dropped as he urgently muttered to one of his staff.

  Rico impatiently tapped his shot glass, the woman’s face haunting him as it laughed from the surveillance eye. She nursed a glass of champagne the way a cat would lap at a saucer of milk.

  “What’s the problem, Alphonse?” he said, the man’s confusion disconcerting. “Surely you have some information on this guest? Can you explain why she’s not in the agency profile?”

  “We’re still checking, sir,” said Alphonse, his eyes anxiously scanning the data scrolling across a screen. “There’s nothing in our portfolio either. We’re running a profile check now. It may take a few moments. I’ll call you back when we have the information.”

  “Make it soon, Alphonse,” Rico snapped as he hung up. He felt his temper start to rise. Alphonse’s nervousness was definitely worrisome. Rico turned to another console and activated a concealed camera in the security office. Alphonse and his assistant hovered around their screens, the ceaselessly scrolling displays of text and photos obviously revealing no match for the woman. The other staff busily perused guest data spanning the last twelve months.

  “I don’t understand,” Alphonse muttered, his worried glance alternating between the woman on the monitor and the computer screens. “Everyone passed through the scanners. I confirmed each readout myself. She couldn’t have appeared out of thin air!”

  A swarthy, muscular woman sporting severely cropped black hair and a crossbow tattoo on the left side of her neck shook her head at the screen. “Security procedures check out, Alphonse,” she said. “Passenger manifests from the mainland confirm that no woman of that description boarded any of the transports. You know how thorough Gutierrez is at that end. According to our information, she doesn’t exist.”

  “That’s not good enough, Lucia!” Alphonse said, his face reddening. He retrieved a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and vigorously mopped his forehead. “You know how Senor Castanza feels about failure. If this woman has somehow breached island security, we could be in serious trouble! Have you forgotten Xavier’s execution already?” He lowered his voice when a few other staff anxiously glanced his way. “You and I both dealt with him at various times. We could already be under suspicion.”

  Lucia gestured angrily. “So tell me how she got around us, Alphonse! We use the most advanced security technology available. Senor Castanza monitors the guests himself. If she managed to get past all the safeguards then this is no ordinary woman.” She glanced uneasily at the screen and suddenly crossed herself. “Look at her. She has the devil’s eyes, that one.”

  Rico switched off the camera, disturbed by Lucia’s reaction. He had glimpsed genuine fear in her eyes, something he would not have expected from a former Central American guerrilla. He rose from the desk and stepped onto the balcony. Though the dancing continued, more guests had filtered onto the grounds and circulated in small groups.

  He was not surprised to find Naya and Kiri sandwiching an oriental man in the Jacuzzi while his female companion watched. The woman, a lovely, petite creature dressed in sheer yellow silk, lay openly fondling herself on the deck. Her fingers trailed through a dense ebony triangle of pubic hair before teasing her clit and slipping her fingers into her cunt. A spray of jet hair trailed behind her like a veil, her dressed pulled below her shoulders to reveal full, rosebud tipped breasts.

  While Naya slipped under the bubbling water to suck the man’s cock, Kiri obliged the woman by pulling her to the edge of the spa and spreading her legs. Oblivious to the growing audience, the woman lay back on the deck and closed her eyes. Kiri buried her face into the woman’s cunt. An excited bystander, a young man no more than twenty, lowered his mouth to the woman’s breasts. He had been smoking something in a pipe, probably a hit of Rico’s specially imported Middle Eastern hashish, and blew a waft of smoke into the woman’s open mouth.

  Naya, in the meantime, had knelt on the ledge in the spa and spread her ass in front of the man. He stared at her chocolate crevice with a raptness that only drugs could induce, his trembling cock disproportionately large against his slight stature. Uttering something incomprehensible, he slipped his cock into Naya’s tight anus and almost slipped into the water as he tried to control himself.

  Rico noticed the guard’s furtive glances. The activities would inevitably give way to a bacchanal that continued into the early hours of the morning. Yet there was something infinitely more tantalizing that drew his attention. The woman still held court by the pool, his brother Armand now part of her growing entourage. Some of the other women cast spiteful glances over their drinks as her laughter dominated the murmur of conversation. Certainly, the woman exuded a sensual aura unlike any Rico had ever seen.

  He positioned the telescope through a gap in the balcony and focused on her face. Lucia’s assessment had indeed been accurate. The woman’s eyes shone like agate chips. He panned the telescope down her exquisite body and glimpsed a gold flash on her hand. An unusual signet ring on her index finger caught his eye. Its finely etched surface depicted a griffin with extended claws, its eyes fiery rubies. Except for a pair of diamond cluster earrings, she wore no other jewelry.

  The griffin sent a tremor down Rico’s spine. He backed away from the telescope, the memory of a burning warehouse suddenly vivid in his mind. Thirty years flashed back to Rico’s roots in the old harbor district. The hit had been one of his first jobs, the rival boss a threat to his fledgling but profitable drug trade. Ignoring the warnings by henchmen to abandon his lucrative territory, Rico decided to personally deliver an unm
istakable message to his rival.

  He had easily infiltrated the decrepit dockside warehouse, the briny tang of tar and saltwater competing with the reek of rats and decay as he explored the cavernous interior. Anemic gray light filtered through broken windowpanes, the crumbling brick walls slick with mold. Erratic dripping accompanied his stealthy footsteps past rotting crates and coils of rope.

  Evidence of human presence lay everywhere in the guise of filthy mattresses and discarded food containers. Rico gagged as he passed a dark corner obviously used as a toilet. By the disarray of what appeared crude accommodation for several people, he guessed that the unfortunate occupants had been unexpectedly rousted. He cautiously approached a small waterfront office, the only section of the warehouse that had been restored. Two brawny, rock-jawed sentries lounged outside the door, their attention lax as they smoked and chatted.

  Rico crouched behind a pile of moldering boxes, his attention focused on the frosted glass panes fronting the office. The door suddenly opened and a muscle-bound bodyguard in a tight fitting suit summoned the two guards inside. He cast a stern look at their hastily discarded cigarettes. One of the guards mumbled something as he stepped inside.

  Agitated voices rose from the office. Rico waited only a moment before approaching a partially broken corner pane. Though the gap was small, it allowed him a narrow view inside the office. The scope was enough to encompass the obese figure of his rival, Pasqual Lauro, standing in front of a paper strewn conference table. Rico heard the gruff voices of three other men, their comments identifying them as business colleagues.

  It was there that Rico had first seen the signet ring, Lauro’s angrily gesturing hand sporting the massive gold nugget inscribed with a finely detailed griffin. The callused hand rose and stroked a florid, jowled face set off by a pair of startling amethyst eyes. Thick gray-streaked hair framed a once handsome face. Rico stared at Lauro as he paced, the exchange between himself and the others heating up. The arguments were familiar, consisting of territorial infringements and profit skimming.

  Rico retreated to the pile of boxes and removed the black bag slung over his shoulder. He carefully programmed the digital timer on the satchel charge and with an easy toss, hurled the device through one of the frosted glass panes. Though he immediately ducked, the force of the explosion winded him. A section of collapsing brick showered choking dust and debris onto the raging flames, the stink of charred flesh heavy on the air.

  Coughing and spluttering, Rico fled the burning warehouse. Reflected flames danced in his car windows as he jumped into the driver’s seat. The inferno raked the dusky sky. He sped away through a maze of vacant side streets, the raucous sound of sirens approaching in the distance. Decrepit dockland faded into city, the incident destined to create an uproar in the following weeks. Rico eventually became a powerful force to be reckoned with, the memory of Pasqual Lauro supplanted by a hundred more like him.

  He started as a several drunken guests jumped into the pool and splashed around. Others stripped off and joined what had now become an open orgy in and around the Jacuzzi. The blonde playfully sprinkled the head of one sodden guest with champagne as he grabbed the hem of her dress and tried to pull her into the pool. She easily kicked off his arm, the split of her gown revealing a flash of shapely bare thigh. The huskiness of her laughter reached up to embrace him.

  What the hell was going on? he wondered. Who was this woman, this stranger that dared flaunt herself on his turf?

  He rushed to desk and placed his finger against the touchpad bisecting a narrow slit barely visible above a bank of drawers. A wafer thin receptacle ejected, revealing an inlaid gelscreen.

  “Voice command only. Security level alpha nero doubloon.”

  The screen shimmied fluidly in response.

  “Request?” it asked in a sexless voice.

  “Database. Lauro. All references.”

  Impatiently, he waited for the search results. After a moment, the voice began to recite the biographical details of an entry dated almost thirty years ago. He sighed at its conclusion, his head slightly spinning from a combination of alcohol and adrenaline.

  The tinkle of breaking glass drifted from the grounds.

  “Terminate,” he said.

  The receptacle melted back into the desk. Rico moved to the full-length mirror by the door. He inspected himself and straightened his black silk tie, the scar above his right eyebrow adding a convincing touch of menace. His smile touched with faint irony, he returned to the party and casually picked up a glass of champagne. The woman immediately spotted him, her silken mane swishing like a horse’s tail as she playfully fended off an older man not quite able to keep his balance. Nearby, a waiter hurriedly swept up a tray of spilled cocktails.

  Rico wandered around the grounds. Though he appeared to study the guests, his eyes kept straying to the woman. Pale blue smoke rose from a variety of cigarettes, pipes and hookahs, the intoxicating cloud quickly whisked away by the invigorating ocean breeze. Warmly glowing thermal lamps offset the year round evening chill that gripped the island.

  House staff laden with bathrobes helped sodden guests from the pool and spa. Those still sober helped themselves to an endless parade of champagne, cocktails and liqueurs. Armand’s laughter rose from the poolside, his face beaming foolishly as he simpered around the blonde. Rico stared in surprise. Though he could hardly blame Armand for being entranced by the woman, the presence of his wife should have made his behavior more circumspect. Intensely shy, Blanca had elected not to attend the gala, preferring instead to remain in the family quarters with her children.

  Out of prudence, Rico decided to interrupt Armand before he became an embarrassment. Fond of Blanca and his three young nieces, they provided an element of innocence that Rico found refreshing after constantly dealing with the darker elements of humanity.

  He obliquely approached the blonde and started to signal to one of the incognito bodyguards mingling with the guests when the woman suddenly excused herself from her entourage. She sauntered gracefully toward a waiter in Rico’s proximity, her hips swiveling with ball-bearing grace. The waiter smiled foolishly and handed her a frosted margarita. Her tongue licked the salty rim before turning to Rico.

  “I haven’t had a chance to thank the host for a most wonderful evening,” she said, her voice a husky drawl. “This is really quite a hideaway you have here.”

  Rico smiled, aware of her subtle but peculiarly intense perfume. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said, his eye still on the bodyguard.

  “Well, then, the pleasure could be yours,” she said, her left eyebrow provocatively arching. She stepped closer, effectively blocking his view of the bodyguard, her height bringing her eye-to-eye with Rico.

  “I’m new with the agency. In fact, this is my first assignment. It was quite a last minute rush. One of the regular girls got sick, so they called me.” Her cheeks dimpled alluringly as she smiled. “So how am I doing, Mr. Boss Man? Think I might earn that bonus after all?”

  Rico felt the heat rise in his body despite the cool air. He noticed a few disgruntled looks from some of the male guests. Armand stared curiously at the woman, as though seeing her for the first time. He abandoned his drink and rushed indoors as though suddenly remembering his wife. Shaking his head to dispel a slight dizziness, Rico set his glass on a nearby table.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Miranda,” she said, sidling her body against his.

  “Miranda,” he repeated, certain that the name had not been on the agency list. Even if she were a last minute replacement, he should have been notified about her arrival.

  “I must have missed you this morning,” he said. “I certainly didn’t see you at the welcoming reception. I always make it a point to personally greet all my guests.”

  Miranda smiled enigmatically. “You probably didn’t recognize me without my makeup. Believe me, the difference is like night and day. Besides, there are so many other beautiful w
omen here to distract you.” She lapped at her drink. “So tell me, what can a girl get to smoke around here?”

  Rico read the meaning in her fathomless eyes and signaled to one of the waiters. “What’s your preference?”

  “Persian grade, if possible.”

  Rico whispered something in Spanish to the waiter who promptly reappeared with a discreet roll-up. She sniffed it appreciatively before lighting it.

  “Mmmm, excellent quality. Is it strictly private stock?”

  “I could offer you a selection of premium grades. Will you be staying on the island?”

  Miranda puffed languorously, her eyes half-closed as she savored the potent mix.

  “That depends.”

  Rico caught a whiff of smoke mixed with her heady fragrance. He began to feel aroused, a leaden sensation rising from his loins. Miranda watched him with a sideways glance and puffed lazy rings of blue smoke in his direction.

  Her inscrutable ebony eyes followed the soaring lines of the fortress. Banks of spotlights blazed around the property like star clusters, rendering the landscape in stark lunar relief. Guards relentlessly paced, the muted sound of patrol boats drifting in with the breeze. Miranda’s gaze rested on the filigree design of Rico’s balcony.

  “You must get quite a view from up there,” she said. “Bet you can see for miles. The king in his lofty castle.” She turned. “A dark Arthur in his Camelot.”

  Drawn by Miranda’s eyes, Rico slipped his arm around her slim waist and nuzzled her neck, the bittersweet taste of her perfume potent on his tongue. Miranda’s curtain of hair brushed his cheek with a silken caress.

  “I do appreciate a fine view,” he murmured, guiding her toward his private staircase. “Perhaps you’d like a closer look at the constellations. I have quite a powerful telescope. Some of the sights so far from city light are truly spectacular.”

  Miranda’s heels gently clicked as they ascended the stairs. They stood on the balcony and watched the ocean. Cloaked in star-spangled darkness, it tossed restlessly, the wind a siren’s lament. Rico poured champagne, the bottle icy in his hands. Miranda sipped, her elusive eyes constantly scanning the horizon.