“There is never any money exchanged,” Diako said. “I bring a woman here every week for Maboso, and he makes sure I have no problems in Goma.” I understood. Tits-for-tat, as it were.
We reached the location, a half-dozen ramshackle buildings in the middle of nowhere, and were greeted by at least ten leering soldiers, most of them shirtless with camo pants and boots, their dark skin glistening in the sun. I was already sweating from the ride as I exited the truck, tugging my hem down. There were loud comments in a language I didn’t recognize and everyone stared at me. I was a bit frightened, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. I took a few deliberate breaths, trying to keep my anxiety in check.
A soldier with a red sash appeared and stood in front of me, looking me up and down. Without warning he pulled my top down, exposing a breast, then squeezed it hard as I struggled to pull my dress back into place. He turned and said something to the others, who all burst out laughing. I glanced at Archer and detected rage hiding just behind the calm, cool look on his face. I nodded subtly to let him know I was okay, but his presence there felt reassuring. The soldier told Archer and Diako to wait at the truck and gestured for me to walk in front of him toward the least dilapidated building, keeping his hand on my lower back as we walked.
The building was clean on the inside. It reminded me of those temporary offices you see on construction sites. A front room had a desk and a few chairs, with three soldiers there, all of whom stared at the white hooker who’d just walked in. I tried as best I could to cop an attitude, the kind I thought a real prostitute would have. One of the soldiers immediately stood and knocked on an interior door. The door swung open and a soldier inside looked me up and down. He exited the room, holding the door for me.
My pulse raced as I stepped into the room and the door shut behind me. I recognized Maboso the instant I saw him, seated behind his desk in a room that had no other furnishings apart from a single chair against the opposite wall. He stood to greet me, his six and half feet towering over me. He had a thin, wiry frame and carried himself much like Sergei Gurov had, as if he answered to very few people. The camo combat fatigues he wore sealed the deal; this was one very intimidating man.
I smiled sexily while he surveyed me as if he were inspecting his troops, then startled me by saying in an absurdly deep voice, “Je n’aime pas perdre mon temps” — “I don’t like to waste my time.”
I’d been told he spoke fluent French. “Moi non plus,” I replied — “Me either.” Let’s get this over with so I can get the fuck out of here, I thought.
I removed my cardigan and tossed it on the lone chair, then turned to my target. “What would you like, baby?” I asked, trying to sound enthusiastic, yet weary from having uttered that line too many times before.
Maboso moved directly in front of me. Time stood still and my entire body felt like it was buzzing. We were both in boots, but I was still eye-level with his throat. He placed a hand softly on my cheek and looked into my eyes with no expression, then stepped back and pulled down the front of my dress. His hands found my exposed breasts instantly.
“You like?” I asked him with a sassy smile, getting no reply in return.
He removed his hand, then said, “First you will suck my dick, then I will fuck you.”
Maboso’s voice vibrated in my bones. “Right here?” I asked. I knew that he usually had sex with the women in his office, but a hooker might have expected a bed or at least a couch. Maboso merely nodded.
“Then let’s get started,” I said sexily, unbuttoning his shirt. I pulled it open and ran my hands over his sinewy chest and stomach muscles before reaching for his belt. I unbuckled it, then unzipped his pants, dropping to my knees. In a businesslike manner, I grabbed the sides of his pants and briefs and pulled down, then gasped.
Right in front of me was the longest cock I’d ever seen, hanging mostly limp. It would have looked even longer if it hadn’t been partially hidden by a thick nest of black hair. I looked up at Maboso and grinned. “Mmmmm,” I said, trying to seem excited. I wrapped one hand around the base and brought the head to my lips. He smelled like he’d showered, but still had a musty, sweaty scent. I opened my mouth and took him in.
I knew that to preserve my cover I needed to perform like a seasoned hooker. I went to work, faking enthusiasm, and Maboso responded, stiffening in my mouth. I tried to get my lips as far down his shaft as I could. Fighting to suppress my gag reflex, I forced myself farther and farther over his erection, acutely aware that he was touching me in a place no man had ever reached before. After repeating this a few times, I knew he was probably as hard as he was going to get.
Sliding my mouth off of him, I wrapped both hands around his shaft and stroked his hard-on while I looked up at him. Maboso simply nodded and gestured for me to get up, not offering a hand to help me. I stood, my breasts still exposed.
“Remove your dress,” he said, turning away from me and clearing space on his desk.
I froze. I couldn’t take off my belt. I didn’t know if I would be able to palm the bug without Maboso noticing, especially since we were obviously about to have sex. My heart skipped a beat when he reached into his desk drawer, but all he pulled out was a condom package.
It was obvious Maboso had cleared that desk for me. We were indeed going to do this right here in his office, on the desk. “The dress,” he repeated firmly, stroking that absurdly large cock.
Thinking quickly, I cooed, “I don’t have to take it off, baby,” then lifted the hem to my waist, exposing my panties.
Maboso nodded, then pointed at my pale blue see-through panties. “Take those off,” he said, ripping open the condom package. Patting the desk with his other hand, he added, “Then lie down here.”
I turned and showed him my butt as I slid my panties down. I sat on the side of the desk, watching as Maboso rolled the condom on, using the entire length of the latex sleeve. Walking around to the side of the desk, he spread my legs apart and slid in between them. I was relieved to find the condom was lubed, which would help. I leaned back a little, smiled luridly at Maboso, then closed my eyes and tried to remember being thrown against the hotel wall by Demarco. It worked and I lay with my back on the desk and my legs hanging over the edge as Maboso started to push into me.
I had never been with a man that large before and hoped to God I would never have to again. Despite the lubrication, it hurt like hell as he entered me. I moaned when I actually wanted to grunt. “Yes,” I said in French as he quickly increased his speed, then began squeezing my breasts. Again I loudly cried, “Yes!” I wanted the soldiers outside to hear me, and more importantly for their leader to know they heard me. My insides were burning and it had only been a couple of minutes. And I couldn’t possibly take the bug out of its hiding place and plant it in this position, with him playing with my tits. Then a miracle occurred.
Maboso forced into me hard, then came. Another thrust or two, then he roughly pulled out of me, giving me one final jolt of agony. He slipped the condom off and dropped it in a trash can. I still hadn’t planted the bug, so I had to act quickly. He had never been fully erect and was already beginning to droop again. I slid off the desk and took his slippery length in my hand. “Do you want some more, baby?” I asked, my other hand carefully positioned at my belt, deftly removing the bug and palming it.
“No,” Maboso said.
I released him, turned and put my hands on the desk, leaning over and offering to let him take me from behind. “Maybe like this?” I asked, turning back to look at him staring at my ass. As I did, the fingers of my left hand curled under the front lip of the desk and I worked the bug into the tiny crack between the front panel and the top. A push or two and it slipped in.
Just in time, too. “No,” Maboso said again, zipping up. “Get dressed. Time to leave.” He sat behind his desk and completely ignored me as I got dressed, choosing to play with his phone. This man had wanted nothing more than to quickly get his rocks off and send the whore on her way. Although it was
ideal for me, considering, it still grated. I had been used in a way I’d never known before, and some small part of me wanted to tell this cretin what I thought of him. Luckily, a smarter part of me knew that would be suicide. I grabbed my cardigan from the chair and sat to pull my boots back on, then stood in front of the desk.
“Thank you,” I said. “Maybe I will see you again.” Behind bars, I hoped.
Maboso didn’t even look up from his phone as he dismissively waved his hand toward the door, letting me know in no uncertain terms he was done with me. Done fucking and done talking.
The soldiers all looked at me with grins when I stepped into the front room. The red-sashed one poked his head in Maboso’s office and said something in Kikongo. I heard Maboso’s deep voice gruffly reply and wondered what was said.
I was escorted to the car by the man with the sash. Archer and Diako were waiting, the former politely looking at the ground and the latter grinning like an idiot. I climbed into the truck and shut the door, trying not to seem overly eager to flee the dismal compound. The red-sashed soldier opened the door and stuffed a few wadded bills in my hand, mumbling something in Kikongo. Diako turned to me and smiled. “He said that’s your tip. Maboso must like you.”
We drove back and I showered at the brothel, then put on my jeans, this time making sure Diako was nowhere around. The working girls there must have wondered who this white hooker was who dropped in for just a single day to service Maboso. Diako was complicit in the bugging of the office and would never risk his life by telling anyone who I really was.
Archer and I made our way back to Kinshasa, where I spent another comfortable night in his home. He was a consummate professional, making sure my mental state was stable after my mission without seeming to want to know anything other than whether I’d succeed in planting the bug.
As I waited at the airport for my flight home, I remembered the bills I’d been handed by the red-sashed soldier. I fished them out of my purse and inspected them. There were four bills, each valued at five hundred Congolese francs. Curious what that was worth, I found the exchange rates on my phone and my mouth dropped open. My tip for servicing Maboso was just over two American dollars. I laughed out loud, choosing to keep the bills instead of converting them. They would serve as a memento of the day I was a cheap French hooker.
It wasn’t until I was safely aboard the flight back to the states that I truly realized how absolutely batshit crazy of a situation I’d been in. I had been roughly fucked by a Congolese warlord on a desk in his compound in the middle of a strife-torn African nation, a white prostitute surrounded by dozens of lawless rebel soldiers who all knew exactly what was happening in that room. It was amazing things had gone off without a hitch.
The next morning I walked into Sills’s office for my debriefing with my head held high, no longer just a covert ops agent.
I was officially a badass.
Twenty-Six
After the standard debriefing with Sills, I returned to my office. I hadn’t been there five minutes when I got an email from Demarco.
Kudos. Glad you’re safe, kid.
Kid? Seriously? I sent a quick response.
Thanks, Dad.
His reply was equally rapid.
WTF?
I turned off my computer, then sat fuming at my desk for a while. When I realized I wasn’t going to get anything done in my current mental state, I considered taking the rest of the day off. I had my standard post-mission meeting with Morello scheduled, but nothing after that. Then it occurred to me that I had been working without any real time off for months and I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Maybe it was the stress of the Africa operation or the accumulated jet lag from two trips across the Atlantic in less than two days. The weird saga with Demarco certainly didn’t help.
Dr. Morello seemed happy to see me, greeting me warmly.
“I was concerned about you,” she said after I took a seat in her office. “That was a tough spot to be in for someone with less than six months in the field. Sills must really trust you. How do you feel about how the operation went?”
“I feel great,” I said. “I got the job done, and that’s all that matters.”
Morello gave me a sympathetic smile. “That not all that matters. Your state of mind during and after a mission is also important. Were you okay in Maboso’s compound? Did you feel threatened?”
“Dr. Morello, I was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a bunch of men who didn’t give a shit about laws and who likely hadn’t been with a woman in months. And they thought I was a prostitute. I was scared shitless. Any number of terrible things could have occurred. But I kept my anxiety in check by focusing on the mission goal.”
She looked across the desk at me, appraising me. Something was up. My lower lip began to tremble.
“What’s wrong, Anna?”
I started to answer, but couldn’t. I wanted to tell Morello about Ryan Demarco. Instead I just stared at her and my hands started shaking.
“Anna?”
I burst into tears. Morello came around the desk and hugged me tightly as I continued to cry. “You poor thing,” she said.
When I finally stopped, I felt silly and unprofessional. “What’s wrong with me?” I asked.
“Nothing at all,” Morello said, “apart from work-related stress. In this line of work, though, it tends to sneak up on you. I see it all the time.” She smiled, then added, “I’ve had male agents lose their shit in this office.”
The doctor agreed that I needed some time off. “Go home,” she said. “Right now. I’ll let Sills know. Take a few days. You’ll know when you’re ready to come back.”
* * *
When I got home, I took off all my clothes and put on some yoga pants and a plain white T, then curled up on the couch with a pint of Haagen Dazs. I checked my phone and realized it was still turned off. When I booted it, I found a text message from Demarco. How the hell had he gotten my number?
Seriously, Mercer, WTF?
That was followed by another, sent a short time later.
Whatever.
Then there was one from Sills:
Take as much time off as you need, Anna. Let me or Dr. Morello know if you need to talk about anything.
Finally, one last text from Demarco:
Where the fuck are you?
I turned my phone back off and watched mindless reality shows on TV until I fell asleep.
A knock on the door awakened me. As I stumbled to answer it, I realized I wasn’t wearing a bra and my nipples were visible through the thin cotton. I considered throwing on a hoodie, then thought, Fuck it. I don’t give a shit. The UPS guy gets a thrill today.
I opened the door to see Demarco standing there.
“How did you know…” I started.
“I’m a spy, Mercer,” he said sarcastically. “This is what I do.”
“What do you want?” I asked, irritated with him way beyond explanation.
“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked.
My heart wanted me to step aside, but my brain insisted I remain in place, blocking the doorway.
“No,” I said.
“We need to talk about what happened in Moscow,” he said, “and in London.”
Talk about it? Why, so he could let me know it was all in the line of work? That what had happened between us was only for reasons of national security? I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said coldly.
Demarco was clearly frustrated. He tried turning on the charm, smiling as he said, “Let me in. I promise to be a good boy.”
I shook my head and stared at the ground, trying to keep a calm exterior while my emotions spiraled wildly on the inside.
Demarco sighed and turned to go, then stopped and looked at me.
“Why did Morello send you home?” he asked. “Are you all right? Did something happen in Goma?”
“Nothing happened that wasn’t expected,” I replied.
“It was just stressful and I needed a break, that’s all.”
Demarco nodded, his eyes meeting mine and probing for the truth. I was a stone, though, absolutely unreadable. He turned to leave once more.
As he walked away he said, “We will eventually have that talk, Anna.”
It was the first time Demarco had ever called me by my first name.
Twenty-Seven
My little vacation lasted only two and half days. That first day I crashed hard after dinner and slept until noon the next. I did some cleaning and ran a few errands on the second day, but by the third day I had nothing left on my to-do list, was sick of bad TV, and felt like I was spinning my wheels. I had enjoyed my break, but being bored at home left me with way too much time to think about Demarco.
I resumed my training, which was entering its final few weeks. It had been nearly a year and a half since that fateful night when Dante Gutierrez saw me checking him out in that biker bar and came over to ask if I wanted to shoot some pool, and almost a year since I met Demarco, posing as Sasha Lazarenko in London. The more I thought about his insistence that we have a talk about our hookups there and in Moscow, the more it made sense. I could only believe that he saw both incidents as strictly business, something in which neither of us had much choice in both cases. Work-related collateral damage, nothing more. In order to wrap my mind around the fact that Demarco had no interest in me except as a colleague, I should talk to him about those two incidents and put them firmly behind us.
I pulled up the email on my computer and sent him a message.
You’re right, we do need to talk about what happened so we can both move past it. Let’s meet for a drink. Bonus: Since it’s strictly about business, we can expense it.
Sleeping With the Enemy Page 18
