As his men held her, the Lieutenant pulled himself up to his full height, stepped in front of her, and grinned malevolently. Then he swung his fist into her stomach, causing her to jackknife with pain. Savagely the Lieutenant gripped the neckline of Estelle's dress and ripped downward, parting the cloth from top to bottom. Another savage yank and her bra was dangling by the shoulder straps. The soldiers, as if reading his mind, tore away the dress and bra as their leader shredded her panties.
A whistle escaped from his lips, once Estelle was naked before him, and he ran his hands slowly over her body, hefting her breasts and digging his stubby fingers into her thighs as if she were just so much merchandise. His treatment was deliberately insulting, and Estelle spat into his leering face, causing him to again slap her. He nodded his head toward a long couch and the two men who were holding her in a vise-like grip lifted her and forced her to where he had indicated, although she struggled violently in an attempt to escape.
At a command from their leader, the men threw her onto the couch and held her as he forced her legs apart and threw himself upon her. Her hands tried to rise to fight him, and he hit her with a closed fist, stunning her slightly.
"Put a pistol to her head," he barked. "If she struggles, shoot her. Then we'll use the old woman to satisfy ourselves ... "
CHAPTER ONE
"Having discarded the notion of a perfect society as part of a mystical after-life, rational man set in motion attempts to create such a society during the only tenure of life that he could prove existed; thus creating in politics a religion of the now, the present, or at least of the immediate future, assuming that the perfect society was that which produced the greatest good for the greatest number of its citizens."
Thomas Kieth, Ph.D., late of the Central Intelligence Agency and now a member of the faculty of West Florida University, where he was a popular lecturer on existential philosophy, paused in his talk and looked up at the large class waiting for his next words.
Since the survey course that he gave on existential approaches to social institutions was one of the most popular on campus, the class was held in a large room with the seats rising in tiers above the lectern. Kieth's eyes swept over the crowd and came to a halt on a girl sitting in the row halfway up the tiered part of the room. As usual she was sitting so no one but Kieth could see her without turning their heads, and as usual she was seated in such a position that her skirt was folded back against her flat stomach. In addition, she had her knees parted so that he could have identified the color of her panties-if she'd been wearing any. Instead, he was being treated to an intentional display of the blonde triangle at the base of her abdomen. Kieth knew the display was intentional, because the girl had begun the year wearing panties but had recently started coming to class without them-despite the fact that it was getting cooler, although St. Petersburg, where the campus was located, was far from freezing.
He blinked as the girl, aware of his gaze, shifted in her seat to make his view even more spectacular. Of course, he knew what she wanted. It was the same thing that most of the coeds on the campus would like to have-him.
It wasn't just that he was good looking in a rugged sort of way, with unruly black hair and the body of a man who could do hard labor for weeks at a time without strain; it wasn't that he was a highly respected member of the faculty; and it wasn't that he had an air of excitement about him. It was a combination of those, plus the fact that he was worth approximately one million dollars!
Tom Kieth had been born a millionaire, thanks to several trust funds set up before his birth. And since he was the only member of his generation in an old and rich family, people kept dying and leaving him more money. Consequently, since his parents hadn't expected him and were, therefore, even more inclined than normal to spoil him, Tommy Kieth had grown up thinking that anything he wanted could be his.
Not that he was a snob or a bully with his money. He was, in fact, almost unconcerned with it. It was nice to have, but he had never bowed to it. Indeed, he treated it contemptuously. And he learned instinctively how to use it to its best advantage. For example, he didn't try to buy friendship with his money; but he let it make things easier for him and his friends. And he soon detected those people who had pretended to be his friends because he had money, and dropped them, he didn't need them.
Tommy Kieth was the type who would've had friends regardless of his money. He was naturally bright, naturally athletic, invested with a slight amount of talent in many fields, and had a flair for leadership. And, while there were others who were brighter, more athletic or talented, no one shone in all these areas as Tommy did. Others made better grades, but Tommy was the one who devised the plans for group projects that appealed to the crowd; there were others who were more competent at sports or who performed with more finesse, but Tommy was the one who made the play that the crowd remembered-the running shoestring catch, the smashing carry of an interception, the basket that started a rally-and Tommy was the one who held a play or a band together with the force of his personality.
Tommy Kieth had always attracted women. Some of them had been attracted only by his money; but most of them, whether his money had attracted them or not, soon fell under his spell. This was possibly because, in addition to his animal magnetism and good looks, he had a sixth sense that told him how to act with a girl, how to be what she wanted in a date. He knew when to be tender, when to be rough, when to be indifferent, when to be attentive. He knew which girls it was best to dominate and which it was best to appear to be dominated by. He could sense which girls to be shy and pleading with and which ones to be assertive and forceful with.
And Tommy appreciated women; he had a girl all the time, or even several. Not that he equated love with sexual appetite or desire. He decided early in his life that love was something that either hit a person or it didn't. You couldn't do anything about love to make it happen. But sex, now that was something different. Tommy learned that to most men sex was just another appetite to be appeased, like the hunger for food, and he decided to be as much of a gourmet when it came to sex as when it came to food.
His love of good food was instilled in him by his parents. His decision to be a master of sex was something he arrived at by logic. He realized that he and most people were most apt to do things with people who knew what they were doing, and that they were more apt to repeat things that they liked than things they didn't like. He could see no reason why sex shouldn't be the same, so he had become an expert lover, going on the theory that the more pleasure he gave a girl, the more she would want to be with him again.
Tommy snapped his mind away from the blonde in the back of the room, then returned to his lecture:
"Since, of course, there were so many different views on what constituted the greatest good, men came to admit that a truly perfect society could not be obtained and, therefore, began to compromise.
"This led inevitably to the degree of good in a given society as far as any individual was concerned, depending upon the way he reacted to the society and the way it reacted to him. If he could get what he wanted from society, either completely or by adjusting to his potential, then society was good; if not, then it was bad.
"And, since man is a social animal above all, since very few people are equipped to live in a vacuum or with the total absence of other people, it isn't surprising that as we view our society and our position in our society, so we view our entire life.
"Thus, just as we create our own hells, so we create our own heavens. When we are contented, when we have adjusted, when we are satisfied with our situation, then we can say we are in heaven-in an existential state."
A hand went up from one of the students and, after Tom acknowledged it, the boy asked:
"Professor, is there an existential purgatory?"
Tom chuckled along with the rest of the class.
"Well, purgatory isn't exactly a fully accepted religious doctrine, so I don't know whether we can consider it a valid philosophical one. But, yes, I'd say there is an existential purgatory, if you define purgatory as being neither in heaven nor hell, and heaven and hell as mental states resulting from happiness and contentment or unhappiness and discontent; purgatory is being in a rut."
The class roared and Tom, glancing at the clock, noted that it was almost time for the bell.
"That's it for today," he said.
Most of the students made a dash for the door, but the blonde exhibitionist came slowly down to the floor and moved toward him. One of her books fell from under her arm, and when Tom bent to pick it up, he found her leaning over in such a way that her blouse was dropped from her body and his eyes were gazing at her brassiere-less breasts. He raised his eyes and saw that there was a smile on her face.
"Miss, ah ... Baines, isn't it?"
"Yes, Dr. Kieth?"
Her voice was a sultry half whisper that held a vague promise of deep passion waiting to be tapped.
"I was wondering if you would be willing to do something for me?"
"Anything at all, Professor."
Tom's voice turned icy cold as he said:
"Good. Wear some underwear and sit more demurely, or I'll exercise my prerogative of lowering your grade for being a disruptive influence in class."
He turned and stalked away, leaving the girl staring open-mouthed after him.
As he walked across the campus toward his sleek sports car, Tom was greeted by most of the students he passed. He knew he was a popular man with them-both male and female-because of his attitude toward them. Un-like some professors, he didn't talk down to them, didn't treat them as inferiors. And he didn't use them as guinea pigs as some of the professors in the behavioral sciences did. Tom looked on his students-and the rest of them-as merely people who wanted to know more about the area he had specialized in and who could probably teach him a thing or two about other areas.
As he drove away from the campus, he tried to analyze what had made him so upset about the sight of Miss Baines' nubile charms being so wantonly displayed.
It wasn't that he objected to female nudity, or that he had a dislike toward wantons. And he didn't know enough about Miss Baines to dislike her, personally. Furthermore, there could be no objections on aesthetic grounds, since Miss Baines was a delightfully put together young woman. So, what was it?
The answer, when it came to him suddenly, was a disturbing shock that almost caused him to miss the turn onto the street where his large bachelor quarters were located.
Miss Baines, whatever her first name was, was a dead ringer for Tammy Sharp (now Tammy Thompson). She had been Tommy's first love.
Tommy and Tammy. Even their names went well together. He'd met her at a party while a senior in college, twelve long years ago, when he'd been a mere twenty-one.
Tammy'd also been a senior, but a year younger than he. A tall willowy blonde. She was the type of frail beauty that is associated with high-fashion modeling. Except she lacked the boyish build that high-fashion models have.
Her breasts weren't large in the sense that some movie stars' are, but they were large enough that a man realized they were there. In fact, a man couldn't help being aware of her breasts unless he was abnormal or blind. And after a man looked with longing at Tammy Sharp's breasts under the sweaters she always wore, except when in a swim suit or a party dress, his eyes would flow along her body to a waist that was so incredibly slim that it made her breasts and hips seem larger than they were. Not that Tammy's hips were little. They weren't. They were a long way from being the fashionably skinny hips of high-fashion models. Tammy's hips were generous, gentle curves that set men's minds to imagining things.
Her legs were as great as the rest of her body. And her derriere! It was a derriere to excite any normal man. Even when she was standing still, it drew gazes. And when Tammy Sharp walked, her buttocks were a symphony of motion. Tammy Sharp's derriere, in short, was the type that drew men's hands as honey draws bees.
At first Tammy had been upset by the pinches and caresses that men lavished on her derriere. But she gradually learned to be philosophical about them, accepting them as a tribute to her beauty and ignoring them, unless they became insistent. Then Tammy would make a comment that would cause the man to stop. Usually it was such a caustic remark that the target of it never again touched her butt.
It had been her wit that first attracted Tommy Kieth to her. He'd been dating a girl who was going to summer school at the small college in his home town, mainly to pass the time until he returned to school himself.
One night he went to a party at the country club and Tammy-a newcomer to town-had been invited to it. Tommy noticed her right away, since he always noticed pretty girls when he didn't know them. But he didn't really pay any attention to her until he was dancing near the spot where she was talking with several older people and he heard her talking, loud enough to be heard by people nearby but not loud enough to attract undue attention.
"Tell me, Doctor," she was saying, "isn't it a sign of senility when a man of Mr. Salt's age starts fondling young girls' bottoms in public?"
Mr. Salt, who was in his fifties, turned red, and his wife, who had turned just as red, led him away. Just then the number ended and Tommy surreptitiously signaled one of his buddies to cut in on him. So, when the music started again, he was free to ask Tammy for a dance.
She fitted comfortably into his embrace-not too close but not far away, either.
After they introduced themselves, Tommy said:
"When I fondle your bottom, it isn't going to be a sign of senility; it's going to be a sign of my good taste and appreciation of you."
Tammy stuck out her tongue at him and replied:
"You're either awfully sure of yourself or awfully fresh."
"I'm just honest. I admit that you've got a cute fanny and that I like to fondle cute fannies."
"And you think you're going to do that to mine?"
"Oh," Tommy acknowledged, "not right away. But sooner or later I will."
Tammy pulled back and looked at him in a speculative fashion, then moved closer to him, as she whispered:
"You're probably right."
He was! It was later, but not that much later. However, he had a lot of ground to cover before he really fondled Tammy's derriere.
To begin with, he had to teach her how to kiss. It wasn't that Tammy had led a sheltered life or that she'd never been kissed; but Tammy had never had to neck in order to assure her popularity, so she'd decided that she wouldn't neck until she found someone she really wanted to neck with. And she hadn't found anyone before she met Tommy.
It wasn't until their first real date that Tommy learned that he would have to teach her how to kiss. This was the second time they'd been together, because, after their first dance, they'd ignored everybody else at the party. And when the dance was over, Tommy had forgotten he'd brought a girl and left with Tammy. They ended up in an all-night diner, talking.
It was three-thirty when Tommy got her home and her parents had been waiting up for her. At first they were relieved just to see her, since they'd been worried. But when they heard the story, they got mad. Tommy smoothed them over by taking all the blame, admitting he should've brought Tammy home earlier.
"But," he said, "there are so few people in town that I can really talk to-I mean, talk and get something said that isn't just trivialitiesthat I just didn't pay any attention to the time. It's just lucky that I'm still not talking Tammy's ear off."
By the time he left, Tammy's parents were convinced that she was lucky to have found such a nice young man so soon after moving to town. And when they discovered who he was, they were really impressed.
As Tommy drove away, he realized that, for the first time in his life, he was falling for a girl. He called Tammy the next morning, which was something he'd never done before-call a girl right after he met her. He always waited two or three days.
He took Tammy to one of the drive-in movies that night. They'd heard that the movie was good, but their tastes were different from whoever'd told them. After twenty minutes had passed, they knew they didn't want to see the rest of the film.
And by then it was too late to go anywhere except to a diner or restaurant to talk. Which was what they did. But they made sure they left early, so they wouldn't get back to her house too late.
In fact, they beat her parents home. Tommy parked under a tree, where they were hidden in a darkness that was heightened by the lack of a moon. Tommy half turned in the seat, and Tammy shifted until he could put his arm around her. He did that, then pulled her closer.
At first he didn't kiss her-just held her, tightly-which made Tammy decide that she wanted him to kiss her. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Something about her action told Tommy that she was inexperienced, so he held back. This wasn't hard to do, since her lips were warm and soft upon his and the light touch of her breasts against him was satisfying.
But gradually Tommy wanted more, so he parted his lips a little. The fact that Tammy's remained in place told him what he had suspected was true; she was inexperienced. But this didn't worry him, since he knew what to do. He let his tongue creep forward until it touched her lips. Tammy knew-from reading and talking to other girls-what Tommy wanted, but she couldn't bring herself to open her mouth to his tongue.
And Tommy made no effort to twist or force her lips apart. Instead, he ran his tongue back and forth across them, until Tammy felt her lips part of their own accord. Then Tommy's tongue moved forward slowly until the tip of it touched the tip of Tammy's tongue. An electric thrill ran through her and she found herself closing her lips, holding his tongue captive in her mouth. The kiss went on for a long time and Tammy's tongue moved over and around Tommy's.
When they finally broke apart, she was slightly starry-eyed. They looked at each other for a long moment, then she let Tommy turn and position her so she was lying across him. Once again his mouth found hers, but this time her mouth was opened and ready to admit his tongue. And this time Tommy coaxed her tongue into his mouth.
His hands stroked her back, lulling her until she was only half aware when they moved lower, and even less aware when they passed the small of her back and reached her firm buttocks, then began to knead the rounded flesh. She didn't really react until Tommy pinched, then she jumped. However, she just grinned at him and stuck out her tongue.
"I was right; you are fresh."
"I told you I was going to do that," Tommy protested.
"Sure, I know you told me. But that doesn't change the fact that you're fresh."
"Okay," he agreed, "I'm fresh. I'll let you in on a secret." Tammy's eyes opened a little wider than they usually were, as Tommy bent over and whispered, "I'm going to be fresh again."
He was too, a number of times.
When at last he walked across the street with her, he kissed her good night at her front door. It was another long kiss, and he noticed that her hips moved restlessly against him as the kiss progressed and his hands moved over her butt. And, when he was ready to leave, Tommy pinched her again.
He pinched firmly and Tammy rubbed her bottom, as she stuck out her tongue at him and said: "You're awfully fresh!" Tommy grinned back at her. "Sure, I am. And you love it!" He was surprised when she agreed with him.
For the first time in his life, Tommy didn't make a concerted effort to see how far he could go with a girl. He was in love and he was willing to let Tammy tell him how far he could go, and when he could go farther.
The first few dates they had, all he did was neck with her-and feel her bottom. Of course, it was pretty torrid necking. Tammy may not have known how to kiss when she first went out with Tommy Kieth, but she learned fast. It took only three dates to teach her how to French-kiss as well as any girl he'd ever dated. And after a week she could get him just as excited by necking with him as the majority of girls did by letting him pet.
The only thing was, Tommy was just getting excited. He wasn't getting any real satisfaction-not from Tammy. And he was scared to find satisfaction elsewhere, because he didn't want to risk losing her. So he decided that he'd better get things going if he could, at least to the point where she'd give him partial release.
He reached the decision, after they'd seen each other every night for two weeks. By then there was a pattern to their dates: They would go to a dance, or a movie, or bowling, or they might play cards or go to a restaurant and talk; but no matter where they went initially, they would always end up somewhere in Tommy's convertible for a necking session. And Tommy wanted to turn these into petting sessions.
He knew he would have to do it gradually and that it would take time before he could get Tammy to do what he wanted her to. But he was sure that, if he took his time, she would agree to do it sooner or later. And from there it would be only a step to both of them indulging in heavy petting. Once they got that far, the next step would put them in bed together. Instinct told Tommy that Tammy Sharp would be the best partner of any of the girls he'd had in bed.
Luck was with Tommy the evening he decided to go beyond necking with Tammy Sharp. They'd spent the first part of the evening talking about sex, and Tammy had admitted that she'd be willing to pet with somebody she really liked. And if she was in love with the boy and he with her, she had said, she wouldn't insist on waiting until after they were married to go to bed with him. The discussion was more or less academic and concerned with morals in general, and Tammy didn't exactly say that she'd put out for the right guy without benefit of clergy or that a boy could make out with her. But from what she did say, Tommy knew she would.
And yet, he wasn't particularly interested in proving that he was the right guy. He was so in love with Tammy Sharp that he was willing to wait until after he'd married her before taking her to bed. However, he did need a sexual outlet of some kind. And since she had destroyed any interest he might've had in other girls, Tammy was going to have to provide it.
So, as usual, when they ended up in a secluded spot during the latter part of the evening, and Tammy shifted around until she was lying across Tommy so he could kiss her and fondle her butt, he knew that they were going to go beyond that. He didn't know how far, but he was going to go beyond mere kissing.
One of his hands moved around her hip and slid casually over her flat tummy. Inch by inch it crept up her body, until it was nestled against the underside of her breast. Tammy stiffened a little at that, and Tommy forced his hand to be still until she relaxed, then he cupped his hand around the bottom of her breast and lifted as if he were weighing the flesh that lay in his palm.
Then Tommy moved his hand again and covered her breast with it. Once again Tammy stiffened; but she gradually relaxed, and Tommy tightened his fingers a little. Slowly her breasts grew firmer and fuller, and even through her sweater and bra Tommy could feel her nipple extending. He shifted his hand to her other breast and felt it harden. Back and forth from one breast to the other went Tommy's hand, and Tammy twisted her mouth more intensely against his. Tommy knew, from that, that he could get his hand under her sweater and bra without too much trouble. But he didn't want to rush her. . .He knew she'd never done this before, and he wanted her to get used to it before going further.
So for the next few dates all he did was hold and caress her breasts outside of her clothes. He let her get used to this. Which didn't take long. It took only four dates, to be exact. Then, on the fifth date after he'd touched her breasts for the first time, as soon as she was settled, Tammy took his hand and put it on her breast.
Tommy played with her covered breasts for fifteen minutes or so, then moved his hand down over her flat tummy until it reached the bottom of her sweater. Gingerly he moved his hand under the sweater and over the smooth skin of her stomach. Then his fingers reached the rough cloth of her bra and slipped under it.
Tammy moved her mouth away from his and whispered:
"Don't, Tommy."
When he looked quizzically at her, she added: "You'll rip the straps."
He nodded and moved his hands to her back, as she returned to kissing him. Deftly he unhooked the bra and slid his hand back to her breasts. Tammy didn't stiffen when he touched her bare flesh.
Tommy moved his palm gently over her breast and the nipple rose to it. He caught the stiffening nipple and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Tammy liked what he was doing to her. He could tell by the way she was reacting; she was squirming in his arms, and her tongue was moving around in his mouth with more than normal ferocity. He decided that if she liked what he was doing to her breast, she'd like it even better if he did it to the other breast too. So he brought up his free hand and played with both of her breasts, finding out that he'd been right-Tammy did like it better when he did things to both of her breasts. And he knew other things to do to her breasts besides just play with the nipples, so he did them. Tammy liked that. And Tommy figured that, since he was doing something to her that she liked, she should be willing to do something to him that he'd like.
He caught one of her hands and moved it from the back of his head to his lap. Tammy guessed what he wanted. She knew that other girls did it for their boy friends. And she could see no reason why she shouldn't do it for Tommy. So she unzipped his fly and slid her hand inside his trousers, catching hold of him. Then she realized that she really didn't know what to do. Still, she was a bright girl; she should be able to figure out what to do. She did. And their hands moved restlessly over each other. Tommy caressed Tammy's breasts and buttocks, and her hands moved up and down. And suddenly, as he gasped and went rigid, she felt a surge of pleasure herself.
The next day Tommy took her swimming. She wore a brief, two-piece swim suit that caused Tommy's eyes to bulge and his breath to leave his lungs. And he wasn't the only one who stared at her with undisguised desire. But Tommy was the one who left with her.
They left the pool early enough so there was an hour and a half before Tammy had to be home for supper. To Tommy's delighted surprise, she was the one who suggested leaving and driving for a while. And it was Tammy who suggested that they didn't drive very long.
So Tommy drove to a secluded clearing and stopped the car. Instantly Tammy was in his arms, her mouth fused against his in a torrid kiss. Unhesitatingly Tommy reached behind her and untied the knot that held the top of her swim suit in place. Gently he peeled the halter away from her breasts.
Tammy moved away from him and knelt on the seat. She drew back her shoulders and her breasts stood out even farther than normal. Tommy almost drooled. Then she swung around and lay in his arms. Their mouths met again and their tongues went to work. His hands came up and cupped her breasts. Skillfully he teased them to hardness. Then he squeezed them, causing Tammy to arch her back. Tommy squeezed her breasts again, and her hand skidded over his chest and slid into his trunks. Her hand caught him and gave a squeeze, then began to move.
His lips moved. They left hers and went over her face, down her neck, and over her shoulders. They moved to her breasts and paused. Tommy's teeth took one of her nipples and tugged gently. His tongue licked at her hard breasts. Back and forth from one breast to the other went Tommy's lips, as her hand moved on him.
That was the pattern to all of their dates for several months after that-during the summer and then after they went back to college. like Tommy, she went to State, but she lived in a dorm while he lived off-campus, so they went out and parked in his car. Then he would bare her to the waist and his fingers and lips would seek her breasts and excite her, while her hand would give him relief from the excitement that built up within him.
The pattern finally expanded after the victory dance, celebrating State's win over their arch rival, at Thanksgiving. Following the custom of the school, the players-Tommy among them-broke training with a bottle. For the first time in her life, Tammy took a drink of something stronger than beer or wine. She took several of them and was a little high, when she and Tommy left the dance.
As usual they parked. As usual Tommy undid the hook and zipper on her dress. It fell to her lap. Her breasts rode high in her bra, swelling over the low-cut cloth. As usual Tommy undid the bra and laid it aside.
Tammy shifted until she was lying on the seat, resting against his chest. His hands touched and molded and squeezed her breasts for a while, then his mouth went to them and his hands moved to fondle her buttocks. Her hands opened his fly and began to manipulate him with the skill she'd acquired during the months they'd gone together. This too was as usual.
Then Tommy did something unusual. He moved his hand to her knee and slipped it under her dress. Slowly and gently he caressed the back of her thighs as his hand worked its way upward. Then it reached her waist and reversed its direction. Skillfully he slipped his hand into her panties and kneaded her buttocks with nothing between his flesh and hers.
Tammy didn't object. She wouldn't have objected even if she'd been completely sober. She'd been expecting Tommy to put his hand under her skirt for a couple of weeks or more, so she wasn't surprised when he did it. And she wasn't angry. She'd been looking forward to what he would do to her. She'd decided that, since she enjoyed him doing things to her breasts, she'd enjoy him doing things to her under her skirt.
When she hadn't objected to this new step, Tommy had let his left hand follow the route the right hand had taken, and now both of his hands were squeezing her bottom.
And suddenly Tammy realized that the elastic that held her panties up might not survive, so she whispered:
"Don't snap the elastic, Tommy."
He took her words as an invitation and maybe they were, because Tammy didn't say anything when he peeled her panties down. In fact, when they reached her knees, she drew one leg from them and let them dangle about her other ankle. Her skirt was halfway up her thighs by then, and
Tommy's hands left her buttocks and moved back to her thighs again. Then one hand went up to her breasts and he kissed her as the other hand moved over her legs, while he stroked her breast and chased her tongue with his, around the inside of her mouth.
Tammy breathed a murmur of pleasure when Tommy's fingertips brushed over the tender surface of her inner thighs. His hand went higher and higher on her until it reached the fringe that announced her physical maturity. Unconsciously Tammy parted her thighs a little more and his caresses grew bolder.
She shifted again, causing her pelvis to jut upward into a more accessible target for Tommy's hand. And the fires within her blazed higher and higher, as his mouth went back to her breasts and his fingers pried apart the delicate flesh at the base of her abdomen. Expertly Tommy added fuel to the flame that burned within her, until Tammy could stand it no longer. She pulled his head up from her breasts and glued her mouth wantonly against his, as her body shook under his caressing hands.
Tommy knew he could go farther without meeting resistance, but he didn't proceed. He loved Tammy Sharp and was, therefore, content to wait, to prolong the period in which all they did was pet. He'd forgotten the old saying-"He who hesitates is lost." And because of that, someone else picked the fruit he was planning on harvesting after he and Tammy were married.
CHAPTER TWO
He didn't find out until February, though, and by then several trips had been made to the well of her body. And if Tommy hadn't gone out to his car to replenish the whiskey in his flask one evening, he might never have found out that Tammy had another teacher in the erotic arts.
But at the Valentine's Dance one Thursday night, Tammy excused herself during the course of the evening, and Tommy assumed she was answering nature's call in the ladies' room. She was answering one of nature's calls, but not the one he suspected and not in the ladies' room.
After Tammy'd been gone a few moments, Tommy decided to refill the flask and went out to his car. On his way back to the gym he noticed a couple locked in a torrid embrace and, since he'd always wondered what it would be like to witness the act between two other people, he moved closer, just as the boy undid the girl's dress and bra and fell to mouthing her breasts.
The girl fumbled behind herself and opened the back door to a car, then Tommy saw the boy push up her dress and saw her push off her panties. They moved backwards and the girl took up the position so many girls had taken with him-one foot on the floor of the car and the other on the window ledge. The boy moved to her and their mouths and bodies fused into a frenzied movement. They were through fast and immediately made themselves presentable. Then the boy handed the girl a cigarette, took one himself, and snapped his lighter into flame. In the sudden glare, Tommy, with a shock, recognized the girl-Tammy!
Since he was in darkness, she didn't see him, although she did glance around before going back to the gym, where the dance was being held. Tommy followed her inside and mingled with the crowd, letting her find him talking to some of their friends. He smiled as she walked up, took his arm, and led him out to the dance floor. As she nestled close to him, he smiled back at her.
Before they realized it, time had flown and the dance was over. They left with the crowd and since Tammy, like the other girls, had another hour before curfew, Tommy hesitated as he pulled out of the parking lot.
"Do you want to park tonight?" he asked, as he drew her close to him. "It's late, you know."
In answer, she moved her hand to his lap and found him as she put her lips against his ear and let her tongue begin to play tricks. In a few minutes they were in one of the local lovers' lanes and locked in a heated embrace. Within seconds Tommy had her body bared so he could touch her, and his hands were busy on her body, demanding that she match his need and excitement.
To his surprise, she did. Also to his surprise, he felt no anger or disappointment over his recent discovery that Tammy wasn't faithful to him. All he felt was perplexity that she wasn't as he'd suspected her to be-which was a "good girl" and not promiscuous.
Finally they'd petted as much as they could stand and had to pull apart.
"Tammy," he said, "I want more than this. I.. .I want to have you completely."
Without a bit of hesitation she moved to assume a position which would make the end of his desires accessible.
But Tommy stopped her, held her close, and whispered:
"Not here. Not like this. Not in a car where someone could come along and catch us."
"Where then?"
"I don't have a roommate, any more. Would you sign out for home or somewhere over the week end and come to my apartment? Because I want it to be in a bed and with all the trimmings, for your first time."
Tammy bit her lip as if that was the only way she could remain silent. But she nodded slowly and Tommy knew that he still loved her and that nothing else mattered. Calmly they made arrangements for the week end, as they drove back to her dorm.
When Tommy picked her up the following evening, at the apartment of a graduate student friend of theirs who was married, Tommy noticed that she seemed disturbed.
"Well, where to?" he asked, not really wanting to go anywhere except his apartment.
But he was determined to let Tammy call the shots.
"I-there's nothing special going on anywhere. Let's just go to your place."
Wordlessly he drove off and a few minutes later he was helping her out of the car.
She looked at her overnight case and Tommy picked it up, telling her:
"You'll want your toothbrush in the morning."
A few minutes later they were in the apartment and Tammy spun around and torridly kissed him. Her arms went around him and her tongue darted between his teeth. Tommy dropped the overnight case into a chair and wrapped his arms about her, letting his hands slide down to her buttocks, as he pressed her tighter to him.
But suddenly Tammy drew away from him and collapsed into a chair. Her shoulders shook as she cried silently.
Tommy knelt beside her and tried to comfort her, as he asked:
"What's wrong, Tammy? What's wrong?"
All he got was tears for an answer.
Finally, though, Tammy's tears stopped and she looked at him.
"I can't lie to you any more, Tommy. I love you too much."
Tommy drew her closer and replied: "I love you too, Tammy."
"I know you do. That's why it's going to hurt me so much to tell you this. It's going to hurt me more than it'll hurt you. But, Tommy, I-I'm not a virgin any more."
Tommy kissed her and said:
"I know. And it doesn't matter."
"You-you know? How?"
Tammy looked at him in disbelief.
"I saw you last night ... in the car with that boy."
The color drained from Tammy's face.
"Oh!" she breathed. Then there was a pregnant pause, until she asked, "I guess you th'nk I'm an awful slut or a pushover, or something worse, don't you?"
"No! And even if you were, I wouldn't care. It wouldn't make any difference to me; I never expected to marry a virgin. If I did marry a virgin it would only be because I'd waited for you."
Tammy looked at him lovingly, then stood up.
She held out her hand to him and whispered:
"Take me to bed now, Tommy."
"You don't have to do this," he replied. "Not unless you want to. I'm still willing to wait."
"I've never asked you to wait. In fact ... in fact, I've almost wished, at times, that you hadn't waited-that you hadn't stopped with just petting."
Tommy rose to his feet then and they looked at each other once more. Then Tommy took her hand and led her across the living room.
"Would you like a drink?" he asked, as they passed the cabinet that served as a bar.
Tammy shook her head and Tommy left her standing, while he switched off all the lights but a small lamp by the bed, then turned on the record player, which was loaded with softly romantic music. Then he returned and reached out to embrace her.
Tammy held up her hands to stop him.
"I want to undress for you, Tommy," she whispered. "Do you mind?"
By way of an answer he sat on the bed, slipped off his shoes and socks, pulled his sweater and T-shirt over his head, and pushed off his trousers and shorts.
Deliberately Tammy unbuttoned her sweater and slid it down her arms. She draped it over the back of a chair and, jutting her hips provocatively to one side, worked the fastener and zipper on her skirt. Slowly that garment slid down to the floor. Tammy bent to pick it up and Tommy leaned forward to receive a brief glimpse of her nipples, as her slip and bra fell away from her body.
He wondered why a girl who was half-dressed aroused him more than a naked girl. But he didn't wonder long, because Tammy hung the skirt over her sweater and pulled the slip slowly over her head. Inch by inch her thighs were revealed, then her pale-blue panties, her flat tummy, and then her full bra came into sight and the slip joined the rest of her clothes on the chair. All that Tammy had on now was her bra, panties, and bobby-socks.
Once again she bent over, this time to remove the socks. Again she stood. Slowly she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. She lowered it slowly, teasing Tommy as she bared her breasts. Then all that was left was her panties. She rolled them down until the fringe of her womanhood was about to come into view, then she turned and pushed them the rest of the way off. She dropped the panties on the chair and turned, posing so that Tommy could get a good look at her complete nudity for the first time.
Then, as calmly as she had stripped, she walked to the bed. Tommy lay back, swung his legs onto the bed and shifted until there was room for her beside him. She lay down and rolled eagerly into his embrace, kissing him passionately as soon as her body came into contact with him.
The kiss lasted a long time, and it was Tammy who turned what they were doing from necking to petting as her hands caught Tommy's and moved them to her breasts. As his hands closed over the pear-shaped mounds, Tammy shifted until she was lying on her back with Tommy partially above her. Her breasts grew hard, and Tommy lowered his mouth to them and busied his hands elsewhere.
Then she moved her hands from his back and began to manipulate him. A few minutes later, she drew her legs up until they were doubled, with her heels against her buttocks, her knees against her breasts. Her tongue was a spear of fire in Tommy's mouth, and her fingers curled and shifted eagerly on him.
The position she had adopted was all the invitation Tommy needed, and he hurriedly swung himself between her parted legs and sank into the warmth of her body. Their tongues clashed harder together, sending electric thrills through them both. Tammy's nails dug into Tommy's shoulders, as he started to move over her and his hands went from her breasts to her buttocks to her thighs and around again continuously as it became evident that, whoever Tammy's other teacher of love had been, he'd taught her well. Her hips rose and fell as eagerly and effortlessly as Tommy's, and their bodies drove against each other in a seemingly endless motion, although at times one or the other of them would freeze for a moment as they were gripped by a crest in the wave of pleasure they were riding.
But at last they were too exhausted to continue. Tommy started to move away from her, but Tammy held him tightly to her sweat-slickened body.
When he finally gained control of his breathing, he whispered in her ear:
"Am I ever looking forward to when we get married and can go to bed together every night!"
Tammy rolled her head to one side then and began to cry again.
"What's wrong, Tammy? What's the matter?" Tommy asked desperately, unable to figure her out.
Her tears abated about five minutes later, and she answered him:
"Tommy-I'm not going to marry you."
"What do you mean-you're not going to marry me?"
"Just what I said, Tommy-I'm not going to marry you. Not now, not when school's out, not ever."
"But I love you, Tammy; I need you."
"I love you too, Tommy, and I don't doubt that you think you need me. But you don't. I don't know where you want to go in life, Tommy; maybe you don't, either. But it's going to be far and probably fast. And a wife would just hold you down and hold you back. And besides, I don't want to go anywhere. I just want to marry a good man and be a good wife to him and a good mother to his kids. That's why I'm going to marry Bobby."
"Bobby? Bobby who?"
"Bobby Thompson-the boy who lives next door to me."
Tommy knew who she meant. Bobby was a quiet, serious boy with nothing to distinguish him except an unboundless interest in wild life and nature. He was at State too, studying biology with a minor in conservation, and he wanted to work for the U.S. Forestry Service. Then suddenly Tommy remembered that Bobby Thompson was a redhead. And the boy he'd seen with Tammy the night before had had red hair.
"He's the boy I saw you with, isn't he?"
Tammy nodded.
"Why don't you break off with me and go with him?"
"Because my mother would raise hell and make life unbearable. She wants me to marry you, so she and Daddy won't have any financial worries any more," Tammy replied flatly. "See, they don't know about how Bobby and I feel about each other. They think he's just the boy next door."
"How do you manage to see him? How did you manage to find out how you felt about each other? Without your folks finding out, I mean? Has it started since we came to school?"
"Do you remember the night we had our fight?"
Tommy remembered all too well, since they'd had only one fight. It had occurred right after they had started petting, just before they left to go to college. They'd gone to a dance and parked afterwards. Tammy's dress had been skin-tight, but with a high neckline and a strap that went around her neck. And there wasn't any way for Tommy to kiss her mouth and get his hands on her bare breasts at the same time. He found this out after several minutes of futile attempts, and then, since he wanted to do both, he asked Tammy to take off the dress.
"After all," he'd said, "it won't be any different than the times I've taken off the top of your swim suits."
But Tammy had felt that it would be different. The idea of lying in his arms with nothing on but a pair of panties, her garter belt, and stockings, at that stage of their relationship, had seemed cheap to her. So they'd argued about it and Tommy had taken her home early.
"What about that night?" he asked.
"Well, I went in and changed clothes and then went outside. I told the folks that you'd gotten an upset stomach and brought me home early for that reason, and they didn't suspect anything was wrong. But I was sure that everything was wrong, and I sat on the bench by the garage and started to cry, because I was sure I'd lost you and I was suddenly really aware that I was in love with you.
"Anyway, Bobby was working in his garage and heard me crying and came over. He tried to cheer me up, but finally he just held me and let me cry on his shoulder. And when I could control myself, I told him what had happened and he said he was going to get into a fight with you. I asked him why, and he said that anyone who'd make me cry for such a silly reason deserved to be beat up.
"That's when I realized he must've had a crush on me and when I asked him, he admitted that he did. And since I was flattered that he loved me enough to fight because of me, even when he meant nothing to me, I kissed him. I'd forgotten that his arms were around me.
"So, when I felt them tighten, I opened my mouth in surprise. I guess he thought I wanted him to French-kiss me, because he did. And since I thought you wouldn't want anything to do with me after that, I kissed him back. I figured that if you and I were through, if I got involved with somebody else right away, I'd have less trouble getting over you, and Bobby seemed like a good alternate."
Tommy leaned across her body, pulled two cigarettes from the pack and lit them, then handed her one.
"Think you might like a drink now?" he asked, and, to his surprise, she nodded.
He padded into the other room and mixed two Scotch-and-sodas, while he listened to Tammy's story unwind.
"Bobby didn't try anything that night. In fact, he didn't even French-kiss me very long. But the next afternoon he came over to talk while Mom was gone, and we ended up necking and he tried to get his hand inside my bra. I told him the same thing I told you-not to rip the catch, and he told me to take it off. I couldn't see any reason not to, since I was figuring I would go with him to forget you. And I didn't think he'd try to go further than I wanted or not pay any attention if I told him to stop, since he'd said he was in love with me, so I stripped to the waist.
"He didn't go as far as I thought he would. I mean, he didn't know much about girls. I had to ask him to kiss my breasts, and when he said he'd been saving himself for the girl he married, I knew I would be safe with him. He was so shy and hesitant," Tammy chuckled. "I don't think he really expected me to open my bra, much less take it and my sweater off.
"Well, you called me that night and we made up; but Bobby kept coming over in the afternoons and we'd talk and pet a little. We didn't pet every time we saw each other. And when we did, I was usually the one who started it. I'd ask him to or I'd put his hand on my breast."
"How'd you see each other when we got to school?" Tommy wanted to know.
"We had a class together at two. And since you were at practice, we'd talk and so forth during the afternoons. Lately when you've been away at basketball games, I've dated him, really-you know, gone to a movie or something.
"You were the first to touch me between my legs, but right after that, I asked Bobby to do it to me. Only he wouldn't, just like he'd never let me do anything to him like that. So I told him that I was in love with him, and it wasn't a lie, either, what I told him. I was in a really mixed-up state by then, because I was in love with both of you.
"But I went home one week end, remember? And I did a lot of thinking about the two of you. I decided that I could never marry you-that I'd never get used to the things your wife would have and the way I'd have to live if I were your wife. And I knew that Bobby would be perfect for me. He's as gentle and considerate as you, and he'll do anything I want him to, but he won't really let me dominate him. I mean, if I asked him to buy me a cup of coffee or pet with me, he would; but when I suggested we go to a motel once, he just wouldn't hear of it, and the way he put his foot down I knew better than to argue with him."
"Was this before he'd had you all the way?" Tommy asked, as he took a long pull at her drink and reached again for the cigarettes.
He lit the cigarette for her and she took a drag, exhaled, then continued:
"No, we'd gone all the way before that. The first time was over the Christmas holidays. Bobby came over one morning and I was still in my pajamas. We started kissing and fooling around a little, while I was trying to get some housework done. He followed me around and we'd neck for a little while, then I'd clean up or get stuff ready for the laundry. We ended up in my room, still making out. By then, Bobby's hands were all over me, and when I lay down on the bed, he stretched out beside me and we got to petting real heavily. I suddenly decided not to settle for just that, so I pulled away from him and stripped and asked him to undress. He looked at me real funny, until I told him, 'I'm going to marry you, Bobby-if you want me to-unless something happens. But I won't marry a man until I know he can satisfy me in bed. Sex is too big a part of marriage to take chances on. If you want to marry me, you'd better prove how good you can take care of me.' "
Tommy interrupted her to say:
"I'll bet he set a new record for getting undressed, didn't he?"
"No. He was sort of hesitant, until I started helping him. And once we were both naked, he just kept petting me, until I pulled him on top of me. And I had to put him in me-he was that ignorant about girls and what to do with them. But he learned fast after that. We learned together, actually."
"Does he know about us?" Tommy asked, as Tammy pillowed her head on his shoulder.
"He knows we aren't goody-goodies, but he doesn't know how much we do. I told him that what I did with you wouldn't matter to him, because, while I love both of you, it's two different types of love and he's the one I'm going to marry. I doubt that he'll ever ask me about the extent of my sex life with you. But he knows that I've got to keep going with you because of the way things are at home-until I'm old enough to get married without needing the folks' permission."
"How are you going to marry him without your mother finding out?" Tommy asked, as he crawled over her and went to replenish their drinks.
"My birthday's just after I finish my exams-four days before graduation. Bobby has that four-day break too. We're going to run off to Elkton and get married. When Momma finds out, she won't be able to do anything, except raise hell. But I'm sure she'll gradually accept Bobby."
Maybe your mother won't be able to do anything, Tommy thought, but I might. I might be able to change your mind about who you marry. When you find out just how well I can love you, you might forget about marrying Bobby.
He took her glass, set it on the floor next to his, pulled her to him, and kissed her. It was a long kiss and Tommy used all of the tricks he knew about kissing, and before long Tammy started to tremble against him. Then Tommy set his hands to work. He caressed her and fondled her until Tammy began urging him to shift over her. But Tommy ignored her pleading hands and body and took her to the brink with his hands. Then, still with his hands, he shoved her over.
As soon as Tammy had recovered, Tommy started using his mouth to again raise her to the brink. He kissed around her face a little, then moved down to her breasts, which he covered lavishly, before going on to her flat tummy. And after kissing there for a few moments, he ran his lips down her side, over her hip, and along her thigh, calf, and foot. A short while later Tommy was working his way slowly up her other leg and Tammy was starting to croon in delight at the way he was affecting her. Then her croons turned to gasps-first of surprise, next of delight-as Tommy quenched the fires that were blazing in her loins in a manner that was totally new to her.
Then he positioned her and himself and took her up and over the brink again, carrying her there the way she was used to being carried. She threw her legs around him and pumped smoothly, as Tommy thrilled her, over and over again, driving her up until she could go no farther and had to fall down to reality again, screaming in delight.
Although he worked on her until she was limp and begging him to stop, she was still insistent that it was Thompson, not Kieth, that was going to be her new last name when he brought up the subject of marriage.
"How're you going to live? And where?" Tommy asked, determined now, after what he'd just had with Tammy, to find a way of keeping her.
"Bobby's already been assured of a job with the government. We don't know where he'll be sent, but I don't care where it is, just as long as I'm with him."
Tommy brought up other objections to her marrying Bobby, but she countered all of them neatly, and Tommy finally realized he was licked.
"So you're going to marry him between the end of exams and graduation?"
"Yes." Tammy smiled in anticipation, then a worried look went across her face. "You-you won't tell Momma, will you? Please don't."
"I could be nasty about it and say you had to sleep with me to keep my mouth shut, but I won't do that. I'll even make it easier on you-give you a way to get off the hook about marrying me."
"How?" Tammy asked, hopping up on her knees and staring down at him.
"We go home about three weeks before exams and let your folks 'overhear' us arguing about marriage, and I'll say something about not being ready to settle down. Then if your mom says anything, you can come back with the accusation that she pushed you into chasing me too hard and that I called things off so you married Bobby on the rebound."
"Ooooh, that's a marvelous idea!"
She threw herself on Tommy and hungrily kissed him. Several minutes later Tommy was teaching her that there was still a lot about sex that she hadn't learned.
That was the way the romance between Tammy Sharp and Tommy Kieth ended-almost. For one thing, they kept up the fiction of still being almost engaged, by dating a lot, and they still slept together once in a while. But both knew it was only a pretense, and Tommy proved he was a good loser by giving her a key to his apartment so she could make love with Bobby in comfort.
After Tammy and Bobby were married and alone in a motel cabin, she discovered a thickly bulging envelope in her purse. On the outside of it was a note from Tommy, and she knew he'd slipped it into her purse, when she'd stopped at his place to tell him goodbye. The note read:
Congratulations! Allow me to have the privilege of being the first to give you a wedding present.
The envelope contained nothing but fifty-dollar bills. Fifty of them. And Tammy cried with happiness, because she had the man she wanted as a husband and the other man she loved didn't hate her.
Tom Kieth shook his head to clear away the memories that his identification of the disturbing quality about his exhibitionistic student had brought back to him. Gradually, over the years, he'd managed to avoid thinking of Tammy, had submerged the hurt that came when he did think of her-the hurt she'd caused him.
There was, he knew, only one cure for this hurt. He had to get involved with somebody else, fast. It wasn't necessary to fall in love with her or to go to bed with her. In fact, it wasn't even necessary that it be a her.
Helping anyone solve a problem would be sufficient-but he had to get his mind off of himself. In the past it hadn't been too difficult to do this.
While he was doing his graduate work, he'd also done volunteer work with an agency that tried to combat delinquency. And then he'd gone into the CIA as a field agent, so he was in constant contact with people he could get involved with.
Since he'd left the agency four years ago to get his doctorate degree, however, he hadn't had the close involvement with people that was necessary to give him opportunities to get involved. And he cursed himself for that.
But his work with the agency had taught him the futility of getting really close to people. Involved with them, yes; but close to them, no-since it was often too painful in the long run. Tom thought of a girl-a member of British Intelligence he'd fallen for and she'd been killed while on an assignment-and a couple of other people who'd been killed, solely because they were friends of his or had gotten close to him.
But he had to do something, he knew. He could not continue to sit around the apartment and brood about the direction his life might've taken had Tammy married him, so he slipped into a jacket and left the apartment, deciding to walk rather than drive.
An hour later he found himself in front of a dimly lit celler club whose name seemed familiar. Then Tom realized that it was a place popular with the Bohemian element on the campus, and he wandered in, hoping that he could get involved in a conversation and drive the memory of Tammy back into his subconscious.
But none of the people wanted to talk, it appeared, since they were all listening to a girl singing folk songs. She had long, black hair that fell halfway to her waist; her eyes were green and starry beneath heavy lashes, and her lips were full and tempting. Tom bought a beer and sat down, noticing that her figure was a match for her sensual face and that there was a light-olive tint to her skin. That, plus the fact that she was singing in Spanish-Cuban Spanish-led him to believe that she was a refugee who'd come to Ybor City instead of Miami, as most of the fugitives from
Castro had done.
The girl's voice was like warm honey flowing over the room, and Tommy leaned forward, concentrating more on the singer than the songs. It'd been several weeks since he'd ended his last affair, and the animal magnetism of the girl was having an effect on him. He knew that he wanted to meet her, to get to know her, but he couldn't figure out a way to do so. Maybe the best way would be to simply go up to her, introduce himself, and try to get a date.
So Tom started to rise, when the girl slipped off of her stool, to hearty applause. But before he could leave his table, a couple of his students approached him.
"What'd you say, Professor? Are you lost or something? I mean, I didn't think this was the type of place you'd frequent."
"I'm extracting myself from purgatory," Tom replied, since all three of them had been in the class that afternoon.
As he'd expected, this produced a loud laugh from them and they indicated that they'd like to join him, so he reluctantly resumed his seat.
"Just what do you have against religion?" one of them, a tiny brunette with over-sized breasts, asked.
"Nothing. I don't get that close to it." When the laughter which that quip produced had died, Tom continued, "Religion, to me, is a myth, and a dangerous one at that."
"Because it serves as a crutch for emotional cripples?" one of the students asked.
"No. Because it's a crippler in a lot of cases. A good many people who could be doing something to make a better world for their neighbors, their children, and themselves prefer to exist in the sordid conditions they find themselves in and they collect their rewards in an alleged after life."
"But what about the people who are religious and still do things to improve the world-the people who run hospitals or settlement houses or schools or who try to aid the unfortunate in a religious context? How many of these people would be doing the same thing if they weren't religious? And how many of them are more concerned with improving their image, rather than doing what their religion decrees? How many are simply hedging a bet-paying insurance, so to speak, just in case what their religion says about a final, supernatural judgment and reward is true? How many cases can be shown where religion has really made a difference in a person's life? How many people have become entirely different as a result of conversion?"
"Aren't you blaming the institution for the failures of its members?" the brunette asked.
"If an institution can't do what it's supposed to, isn't that a sign that it's a failure? You don't approve of capital punishment, do you?" They shook their heads negatively. "Because it doesn't deter murder or the other crimes that it's supposed to. In other words, it's a failure. And you've got enough sense to realize that it should be replaced by something that has a better chance of working."
"So what would you substitute for religion?"
"A philosophy that a person could adhere to completely."
"Which is?"
"Up to the individual. No single philosophy is going to satisfy everyone, just as no single religion, or even denomination within a larger framework will satisfy everyone."
"And what's your philosophy, in essence?"
"To do only what will not hurt anyone. Or if someone must be hurt, to make sure that they would cause pain to a lot of other people if the one weren't hurt. In other words, the golden rulebut used in both directions. If possible, you treat someone decently; but if they won't treat you decently, then you assume they don't want to be treated that way."
"But the Golden Rule is the basis of Christianity," one of the boys interjected.
"And of several other religions," his friend added.
"True," Tom admitted. "I've never objected to the philosophical precepts of Christianity or any other belief. What I object to is the vehicle that carries the philosophy."
The conversation continued along those lines for a while, and somehow the four of them got involved with saints and sainthood.
"What about Sweitzer? Isn't he a saint?" the girl asked.
Before Tom could answer, a voice came from the next table:
"Sweitzer? Sweitzer went off to the jungle because he wanted to. A saint does what he has to. A saint could no more choose what his actions would be than a river could choose its course."
Tom turned and saw the singer leaning toward them. He moved his chair a little so she could join the conversation, as one of the students said:
"Okay, Estelle. But who is a saint these days, in that case?"
"Jean Genet! Or maybe Miller. Someone who lives-or tries to live a 'good' life under whatever conditions circumstances force upon them, without complaining about those conditions and with complete acceptance of things the way they are. Someone who tries to get people to see the beauty of life the way it is, not the way it could be or the way they'd like it to be."
A waitress appeared at the edge of the group and Tom held up five fingers to indicate she should refill everyone's glasses or cups.
Then he went back to the conversation, listening to the girl continue to expound on her theory of sainthood. He was a little amazed at her, because she wasn't afraid to use her brains, despite the fact that she was beautiful, and Tom had found that most people took the path of least resistance and did nothing that would interfere with their getting along, which meant that beautiful girls usually relied solely on their beauty, athletes on their ability, and artists on their talent. Even people who used their minds usually limited themselves in that.
The talk went on for several hours and grew until there were about ten people involved. Then Estelle started to yawn, and Tom realized that it was almost two o'clock.
"May I walk you home?" he asked her.
"Not unless you have nothing better to do."
"I was going home myself," he said, and she nodded at this.
He helped her into her jacket, paid the bill for the drinks the group had had, ignoring her attempts to pay her own.
"I hated having to break up the talk," she said, "because it's only once in a while that I get down there to talk. But I have a test tomorrow, and I want to get enough sleep. When you go to school and work-the way I do-sleep is usually short, although I suppose I'll get used to it."
"You're working your way through school?"
"Not really. There are a couple of people who are helping me with my tuition, but I insist on paying as much of my way as I can-which is only for my room and board and a few other things, like keeping my clothes clean or buying new ones. Oh, Dr. Amos would do that too, but I don't want charity. The only reason I'm in school is because he could work out a deal for me to help grade papers and things like that to cover my tuition."
"How'd you happen to know Dr. Amos."
"He and my father belonged to several groups together."
Since Dr. Amos taught international law, Tom asked if her father was a lawyer.
"Yes, but he didn't practice. He was head of his department at the University of Havana. Perhaps you know the name, Ernesto de Santos?"
Tom knew the name by reputation, since de Santos was a leading figure in the field of political theory and law.
"So you're a refugee?"
"Yes. Dad sent my mother and me out of the country when he and my brother joined the anti-Castro underground on an active basis. Momma-Momma died during the escape."
Her voice broke a little and Tom took her hand in a gesture of reassurance. She turned and smiled up at him.
"Where do you work?" he asked.
"At the Tropical. I sing there twice a night. At eight and ten. Tonight was my night off, which is why I was at the coffee house. Normally I go home right after the last show and finish my homework. "
Estelle started to turn into a building, and Tom was suddenly reluctant to see her go. He retained his grip on her hand.
"I'd like to see you again, if I may. Maybe for dinner tomorrow before you go to work?"
She considered his request for a moment, then nodded shyly.
"I know who you are, Dr. Kieth, and I think it would be nice to see you. You can stop by any time after six."
"Make it about a quarter after, then."
She nodded once again.
CHAPTER THREE
When Tom arrived at her efficiency apartment, Estelle was clad in a slinky cocktail dress.
"I thought that if I dressed for work now, we could have more time together. I do have to be at the club at quarter of eight," she explained.
"Well, since I want to hear you sing again, you'll have taxi service to the door in a Ferrari roadster."
During dinner, they made small talk about different people they knew or knew of. Tom was amazed at how relaxed he felt in Estelle's company and by the warmth she seemed to exude.
At the nightclub, she sang standards and popular show tunes, with a small combo behind her, then did a couple of solo folk tunes as an encore. And when she was finished, she came out and danced with Tom, letting him press her close to him after the first couple of numbers.
For her second appearance, she appeared dressed in a shortie pajama set and crooned torch songs, moving through the audience with a hand mike. It seemed to Tom that she lingered longer in front of his table than she did at the others. Even though the outfit was opaque and came to the middle of her thighs, it didn't disguise the fact that Estelle had an excitingly put together body, and Tom was looking forward to holding it again, as he made his way backstage to her dressing room after her second set was finished.
The waiter pointed to the door and, when Tom knocked, Estelle told him to come in. She was behind a screen, switching to her street clothes, as he entered the room, and a moment later she reappeared with her back to him. "Zip me, will you please?"
As Tom secured the top of the dress, he ran his lips over her bare shoulders, and she turned and surrendered her mouth to him as soon as the dress was hooked, Tom's arms went around her, and he held her tightly for a moment, before shifting so that he could raise his hand and cup one of her breasts. Estelle's lips were mobile on his, and she didn't seem to mind when his fingers explored her breasts as fully as possible.
After a few minutes she broke away, then said:
"Let's get out of here. I don't want someone to catch us necking."
Tom led her back to the car and asked her where she wanted to go.
"After all, you don't have classes tomorrow; you can sleep late."
"I I don't know. Some place quiet."
"The coffee house?" Tom asked.
"No, not on a Friday night. It's always packed then."
Tom thought a moment.
"How about my place, then?"
Estelle hesitated, and Tom was about to suggest somewhere else, when she nodded agreement.
Once they were in the ornate living room, Estelle kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under her, as Tom mixed a couple of rum-and-cokes for them.
As she sipped her drink, she ran her hand through his hair, while he massaged her shoulders in an easy gesture that was the result of long practice. Then the drinks were consumed and the glasses on the table, and Estelle came easily into his arms as Tom embraced her.
Once again they kissed avidly, and once again Tom moved his hand to her breast without meeting any opposition. This time, after he'd kissed her for a long time, he moved his lips to her throat, and she arched her neck under his kiss. But when he moved his hand to her knee, she stopped him.
"I'm not a pushover, Professor," she said, "no matter what you've heard."
"I haven't heard anything about you, Estelle," Tom replied honestly. "Until yesterday I didn't know you existed. And I'm sorry if I'm rushing you. If you want, I'll take you home now."
"That's not necessary." She lifted his hand back to her breast. "And maybe I shouldn't've accepted an invitation to your place so soon. But I like you and I'm not sorry that I came. And I won't be, if you'll be patient with me and let me get to know you first."
"Certainly. In fact, I'm glad you don't want to rush things. I mean, there's a lot of girls I can sleep with-students, women here on vacation or who live here, even call girls. But there are very few women I can talk to as we talked last night. I'll admit that I'd like to sleep with you, but I'd rather be your friend than your lover; because I think we'd get along well anywhere-not just in bed. But like I said, I can always find a girl to sleep with."
"I'll probably end up sleeping with you, Professor, but not tonight, not on our first date. You understand, don't you?"
"Sure," Tom replied. "And call me Tom, not Professor, or anything so formal. After all, that's not very romantic-the idea of you being so formal when we finally do get to bed with each other."
Estelle chuckled, then moved closer to Tom. Her arms went around his neck and she happily kissed him, as his hands tightened around her breasts. When he moved his hand to her back and undid her dress and bra, she only sighed. Her dress fell to her lap and the bra fluttered away to the floor, as Tom's hands came back to her breasts.
Slowly he caressed her, feeling her breasts swell up to his palm. Her nipples rose until they were like little rocks at the tips of her breasts, and she shivered when Tom began to finger them. He knew she was reacting favorably to his love-making by the way her fingertips were digging into his back and the way her tongue was darting around in his mouth, but he didn't try to go farther.
Then Estelle shifted on the couch, stretched out her legs, pulled up the hem of her dress to her middle and pushed her panties off. Tom only looked at her until she caught one of his hands and moved it to the bare flesh above the top of her stocking.
He adjusted his position on the couch until he could take her taut nipples into his mouth while he stroked and fingered her and then twisted a little as he felt her hand fumbling with his trousers. In a moment they were satisfying each other. Then Estelle was indicating that he could go farther if he wanted, but Tom held back and made himself be content with the soothing effect of her hand as he calmed her with his.
When their climaxes were over, Estelle started crying.
"Damn, damn! I wasn't going to be so easy. But it's been so long."
Tom slipped his arm around her and cradled her to his chest.
"It's all right, Estelle."
"Is it?"
She raised herself a little and looked at him, her hair-which she'd taken down-hanging like a tent over his face.
"Sure. Why shouldn't things be all right?"
"If you knew what I'd been, you might not say that."
Tom pulled her down and lightly kissed her, before saying:
"What you were isn't important. The only thing important is what you are. You can't change the past and you can't control the future to any degree of certainty. All you can do is be what you want at any given time-or as close to it as possible-and do things that offer you a good chance to become more what you'd want to be."
Estelle smiled wanly.
"If you say so. But if that's true, will you do me a favor and forget that anything happened tonight?"
"I couldn't do that, not consciously. No one who appreciates feminine beauty like I do could forget the sight of you. About the best lean do is promise to wait until you're ready for it to happen again."
She snuggled closer.
"That's okay."
"I can't promise I'll not wish it happens soon," Tom added, and she giggled at him as his hands traced her curves.
"If you were the type that didn't want me, I don't think I'd like you."
They kissed again, then Tom mixed two more drinks and when he got back he was glad to see that Estelle had fixed her clothes. As they sipped their drinks, they kissed now and then, but they were easy, short kisses with no design to build desire.
A week went past, with Tommy seeing Estelle every day, either for a date after she finished her shows, dinner before she went to work, or merely a meeting when they were both out of class. As he'd expected, getting involved with somebody took his mind off of Tammy and, after knowing Estelle for a week, he went into class looking forward to a glimpse of Miss Baines' thighs.
He was disappointed that she was wearing leotards, so he stopped her after class and said:
"When I suggested you wear something under your skirt, I didn't mean for you to go to such drastic extremes."
She blushed and tried to think of an answer, but Tom headed for the door, leaving her standing there wishing he'd make up his mind.
When Tom met Estelle at the coffee house that night, getting away from a faculty meeting as soon as possible, he found her tense and nervous.
"Is something wrong?"
"I-I don't know. There were a couple of men asking around the neighborhood if there was a Cuban girl there. A anybody who might be trying to contact me with word about my father or Roderique, my brother, would know my address; so I don't know what to think."
"Were they Cubans?"
"Only one of them. The other was an Anglo-Saxon, or seemed to be, from the description: blonde, a western drawl, blue jeans."
"It wouldn't've been somebody from here?"
"No. The people here know where I live. At least, generally. And the people at the club have my address. These men didn't seem to know if they were in the right area or not."
"Probably somebody trying to raise funds for one of the exile groups or trying to sell you something. Nothing to worry about."
"I wouldn't worry if.. .well, I called a man in Miami to see if he'd heard any word about my father or brother. He said there'd been a couple of people asking about me that he was suspicious of. They weren't Cubans, and he didn't know what it was about them that bothered him, unless it was that they wore guns."
"How'd he know they wore guns?" Tom asked, mildly interested.
"He was a member of the police force-not Batista's secret police, but the regular force-and he'd been with Interpol for a time. He wasn't suspected of being a counter-revolutionary or anything like that; he just left because he didn't like what was happening. And he said he didn't think these men were police of any kind. They didn't offer to identify themselves."
If there was one thing Tom had learned during his tenure with the CIA, it was to trust instincts and hunches, when they occurred to a specialist. And if an ex-Interpol man thought there was something funny about the men, chances were there was.
"Excuse me a minute?" he asked.
There was a phone on the wall across from the cash register, but Tom slipped across the street to a booth, then called a number in Washington, D.C.
"Mr. Ottaman, please," he said, when the impersonal voice came on.
Although he couldn't hear it, he knew that there was a thin whirring as electronic equipment went to work and transferred his call from the building that allegedly housed International Exports to the complex of buildings in Langley, Virginia, that housed the CIA Headquarters, where Mr. Ottaman was whoever the agent in charge of the Balkans and eastern Mediterranean section for the night happened to be.
A carefully guarded tone of voice asked:
"Yes?"
"This is Tom Kieth. I-ah, used to be an employee."
"Yes?"
The voice was less neutral now but still cautious.
"I'd like some information, if possible-for personal reasons, since a friend is involved-could you let me know if an order has been placed with any of the Cuban exiles?"
An order was coded asking if there was official interest.
"Ah ... that would depend. We are negotiating with several, but ... ah ... not in your section of Florida."
"This was for field glasses-in Miami-but the buyer decided not to accept the consignment."
In code again, Tom had said there'd been an attempt to locate someone, but it hadn't been successful.
"Ah. . . not that I know of. I could check, if you wanted to call back. But ... "
"Could you reply at my home later tonight? After two?"
"I don't know if I could locate the records by then. It might be tomorrow."
"As soon as you can. Don't worry about waking me; I'm an insomniac and just cat-nap."
This told the man at the other end of the phone that Tom considered the request important.
"Very well, Mr. Kieth. I'll try to get back to you soon."
Tom returned to . the coffee house and smiled at Estelle as he sat next to her.
"Just remembered I was supposed to make a call. And since I was supposed to be working tonight, I didn't want to call from here and have the people wondering."
"Am I keeping you from work?" Estelle asked anxiously.
"Of course not," Tom chuckled. "But I owe these people a visit, and they're terrible bores. So I told them I'd be busy tonight with something I'd been putting off and had to get done. I'll see them for lunch and then dash off to class tomorrow, I guess."
He and Estelle talked lightly with several other patrons, arguing about abstract expressionalism, and they left about eleven, since Estelle had been up late the night before.
When Tom parked his car across the street from Estelle's place, he didn't pay much attention to the car sitting in a "No Parking" zone. But then he noticed that the hall light was out on the second floor of the building-where her apartment was located.
"Hold on a second," he whispered to her, as his eyes flashed around, coming to rest on a pile of throw-away shopper guides.
A moment later he had rolled two of them into a narrow shaft, slipped out of his shoes, and motioned her to start up the stairs.
Estelle looked at him in bewilderment, but he shook his head to silence her and moved along the wall, keeping in the shadows. And when she started to unlock the door, he shifted her until she was facing the wall and not the door itself.
He wasn't surprised when, as soon as the door had been unlocked, it was swung open. But the men in the apartment were surprised by what happened.
Tom dove through the opened door, executed a twisting shoulder roll, and came to his feet inside the apartment. The two men were staring open-mouthed as he started toward them, weight on the balls of his feet and his make-shift stick in front of him. He feinted at one and drove the rolled-up newspaper into the other man's solar plexis, doubling him over into the knee that Tom threw up violently to smash his opponent's face. The man went down with a gurgled moan.
The tall, blonde member of the pair had a knife in his hand by then and moved toward Tom, who tossed away the paper and grinned, saying:
"Come on, buddy. Come on!"
As the blonde advanced toward him, the swarthy man who'd been the victim of Tom's attack managed to reach his feet. He caught at his partner's arm and muttered something, then staggered out of the small room with the blonde following him.
Tom charged forward, in case they tried to take Estelle, but she was down the hall and away from the staircase, huddled in an open door, her hands at her mouth and a motherly looking woman trying to draw her inside.
The blonde stationed himself at the top of the stairs and gave a shrill whistle. Outside the building a car's engine roared to life, and a minute later Tom could see the dark sedan that had been illegally parked outside the entrance. The swarthy man, moving in a hunched-over position, made it through the doors and into the car. Then his partner whirled, hopped over the railing and dropped to the main floor, where he took off at a run for the entrance.
Tom followed him over the railing, but when he reached the front of the building the car was already accelerating rapidly and Tom knew that, even with the speed of the Ferrari, he wouldn't catch them. So he slipped back into his shoes and returned to the second floor, where a quick check revealed that the bulb had been loosened in its socket to darken the hall. Tom moved swiftly through Estelle's apartment, scooping a single non-filter cigarette into an envelope, although he had little hope that it would reveal anything.
"Wh-what was all that?" Estelle asked, coming into the room.
"It's beginning to look as if those guys weren't going to try to sell you something," Tom replied. "You can't stay here tonight. Not that I think they'll be back, but we can't tell."
"Where will I stay? And who were they?"
"I'm not sure about who they were, but it's a cinch they aren't nice guys, not staked out inside your place with a car out front. I'd say they were planning on your taking a trip with them, whether you wanted to go or not."
"Kidnappers? Why me?"
"They might've decided I'd be willing to pay to get you back," Tom lied, certain that this was no ordinary kidnapping attempt. "As for where you'll stay-" he pulled her close and whispered, "-at my place." Then he hastened to add, "I'll sleep on the couch in the living room."
There were several people in the hall when Tom and Estelle came out and he squeezed her arm, then said in a normal voice:
"I'll check you in at the Sea Breeze. You'll be all right there."
They got into his car and Tom drove away, following a twisting route that soon told him that, if he was being followed, it was by an expert.
"What's going on, Tom?" Estelle demanded to know.
"I don't know, honestly. But you're getting to be too important to me for me to take chances with you. That's why I said you were going to be at a motel, in case someone came around asking any questions."
"But nobody would tell either of those men anything."
"Nobody saw the third man-the one driving the car. And he could claim to be a policeman investigating a report of funny business. Say they got a report of a man who'd been injured coming out of the building with a man chasing him, want to know what's going on."
A few minutes later Tom was parking his car inside the garage under his apartment house. And a few minutes after that, he was leading Estelle into his apartment.
"This might seem unnecessary to you, but that man with a knife knew what he was going to do with it. And since strangers have been asking about you, it's a good idea if you hide out until we find out who they are and what they want."
"You mean, I might be in danger?"
"I don't think those guys were waiting for singing lessons." Estelle suddenly clung to him, her arms around his waist and her face against his neck. "Don't be scared," he told her. "You're safe here."
"I know; I'm just glad I've got you to protect me."
Then Tom's arms went around her, cradling her protectively. A long moment passed, and then one of her hands caught the back of his head and pulled his face down, until she could glue his mouth to hers. Once again, as always before, the kiss started out to be a mild one, but it swiftly turned into a frantic grinding of lips, as her body pressed in against his.
Tom let her cling to him for a while, then gently pushed her away.
"You're safe now, Estelle," he said. "You can relax; I won't let anything happen to you."
"Thank you," she whispered gratefully.
"Why don't you put some music on while I mix us a couple of drinks?" Tom suggested, moving toward the kitchenette as he spoke.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched Estelle thumb through his records as he dropped ice into two glasses, then added rum and Coke. When he got back to the living room, she was curled up on the couch, and the first strains of a Stan Kenton disk were issuing from the twin speakers.
As he sat near her, Tom draped one arm over the back of the couch and Estelle immediately moved into the half circle it formed and rested her forehead on his shoulder. Tom let his hand cup her shoulder as she snuggled even closer to him.
Tom deliberately lingered over his drink, because he knew that Estelle was still shaken by the experience at her apartment and that he could easily seduce her in her vulnerable state. He didn't want to take advantage of her.
But when his glass was empty, Estelle took it and placed it beside hers, then turned his head and pressed her warm and parted lips against his. Tom tightened his arm a little around her. Her tongue slid forward to invade his mouth as her hands ran through his hair and pressed his mouth harder to hers.
Slowly Estelle twisted and sank back until she was lying on the couch. She pulled Tom down with her, then entwined her legs with his, as she strained against him, keeping the kiss alive and hot. Tom had been afraid of something like this, but the pressure of Estelle's nubile charms against him wouldn't let him push her away. He groaned inwardly and let his hands run down to the full crescents of her buttocks, where they lingered, stroking easily as he pressed her even closer to his love-starved body.
Estelle arched her midsection in toward him as his hands caressed, then she caught one of his hands and moved it desperately to her breast. Tom flexed his fingers against the solid, yet resilient swell of flesh, and Estelle made little sounds in her throat and her mouth became more avid against his.
Almost as if of its own volition, Tom's hand slid down to the bottom of her over blouse and then under the loose garment. In a second her bra was undone and his hand was cupped over the hardening breast, drawing the nipple up to hardness, as his palm rotated gently. Estelle took one of her hands away from his shoulders and wedged it between their upper bodies, undid the two buttons on the blouse and fiddled with it and her bra until suddenly the breast Tom was caressing was exposed. With a moan of desire she pushed his head toward the swollen tip.
As Tom's mouth closed over the shot-hard nipple and drew it into his mouth, his hands slipped lower, down to the hemline of Estelle's skirt and then reversed their direction and moved upward, stroking the velvety skin of her thighs with a delicate sureness that caused her to gasp in delight. Long moments went past as he caressed her thighs, moments that were almost too long as far as Estelle was concerned. She was already arching her hips away from the couch to facilitate things, even before he started to tug at her panties. The flimsy garments slid easily down her legs until Estelle could kick them free. She pulled Tom's head up and avidly kissed him, when one of his hands returned to her breasts and the other cupped the delicate flesh of her femininity.
Within a short time, Estelle's hips had begun a slow, unconscious churning, and her teeth were nipping at his tongue as she urged him to shift over her body. And in the state he was in, Tom didn't need much urging. He felt Estelle's thighs spread wider as he adjusted their positions on the couch, and he held himself poised on half-extended arms over her.
Estelle's eyes were merely slits under the lowered lids, her nostrils were distended, and her lips were slack as she stroked his cheeks with one hand and opened his trousers with the other.
"Tom-now!" she moaned, and he started to lower himself.
The phone rang, its shrill jangle startling them.
"Forget it," Estelle begged. "Let it go. Tom, please!"
But a quick glance at the clock showed him that it was two o'clock, and that this was probably the information he'd asked for.
"It might be important," he said, moving away from her and toward the phone.
"Swan's die slowly," was the first thing he heard, when he'd lifted the receiver.
"Unless it's their day," he answered, completing the recognition signal.
"What would your code name have been if you'd gone to Sophia to help Stein and Mossebert?"
"Lazarus."
"Good. This is Danlear, Kieth. Who's the subject you were interested in."
"Estelle de Santos."
"We thought so. There's been nothing official on her, but one of our men reports a couple of gunsels asking questions. We had nothing on them, so we checked with the rest of the family and Auntie gave us a make on one-a fellow that's got a fairly thick file with them as an organizer and strong-arm boy for the Concrete Workers Brotherhood, which was kicked out of the AFL-CIO for being Red infested."
Auntie was the CIA's nickname for the FBI, because of Hoover's concern for propriety, which reminded the CIA agents of an old maid aunt fussing at petty details.
"A skinny blonde with a finger missing from his left hand?"
"How'd you know? And how'd you know about something that happened in Miami?"
Tom quickly explained about the reports that had reached Estelle and about the run-in he'd had with the men in her apartment.
He finished with a suggestion:
"I'd check that phone in Miami for a tap. Someone could've gotten the exchange and started covering the territory it's assigned to."
"We already know there's a tap on it, besides ours, that is. But it runs into a switchboard for a large office building with two trunk lines, and we can't trace it through the board without tearing it to pieces, which would tip the other side off."
"What's going on?"
"I wish I knew. There's a lot of people, like the fellow you ran into, coming into the Miami area. We're pretty sure it's got something to do with the Cubans, but we don't know what. And we haven't had any excuse to have the local police pick one of them up to try and find out what's happening, although we're sure it's not the sun that's drawing them to Florida."
"I'd say it was Cuban too. The other fellow was definitely a Mediterranean or Caribbean type, probably a Cuban."
"Did he have a gold molar?"
"Did have is right. I knocked several of his teeth out."
"His name is Juan Jose Maccean. Allegedly he's attached to the UN Delegation. We know he was exiled by Batista and that he was in Prague a year ago, but that's all."
There was silence on the line for a minute, then Danlear, who was Deputy Chief for Internal Operations, asked, hesitating slightly:
"Kieth, I know you left partially because of a policy disagreement, and I may be sticking my neck out to do this, but, dammit, I'm short-handed as hell, and, well, since you're right on top of the situation there, will you go back on the payroll until this thing breaks or is broken? I'll send another agent over to aid you and bring you credentials, but I can't spare more than one person, and you know we like to have two people on an assignment."
"Sure. Consider me on, effective now." Tom didn't have to hesitate about answering him. "I'll break out my S & W .357 and stand by. But one thing-if I'm working, I'm head of the team."
"That's what I was hoping you'd say. Your assistant will be fairly new to field work."
"Well, as long as all you want is a guard, that shouldn't matter too much. It might be rough if we tried digging."
"Don't! We don't want them to realize that we're onto them. At least not until-well, not for several months at least. Wait for a green before going on offense." Tom started to protest, but Danlear cut him off, "I know that's why you left; you think we should let the circumstances dictate the course of action. But we don't want to upset the status quo at this time, not while we have our eyes on all of the opposition."
"Okay, I'll play it your way this time. But only because I want to be in on this."
He dropped the receiver back onto the cradle and moved toward a low chest in one corner of the room.
"What was it, Tom? Was it about what happened earlier?"
Over his shoulder he explained as much as he could of his conversation.
"Communists? And-Tom, that's a gun!"
"That's right. I used to be-well, a government agent of a type I can't reveal further. But I'm temporarily back on the job, to protect you, in case those guys try again. There'll be another agent in soon to share the job of covering you, so there'll be somebody nearby, around the clock. If you stopped going to school or to work, they might get suspicious.
"In the morning, you'll report a burglary to the police and say that the men were scared off. By then I should have credentials to get the police to cooperate enough to let the press have that story, although the police will know it wasn't a simple break-in."
Maybe Danlear wouldn't approve of this, Tom thought, but it's not really an offensive; it's just a mousetrap. If those three think we misinterpreted their action, they might try again and we'll have an answer machine to learn what's going on from.
Tom slipped the pistol to his waist and moved to Estelle.
There was a scared look in her eyes as he put his arms around her, so he didn't try to kiss her. He just held her to his chest and stroked her back and her hair while she trembled. Then, when her trembling stopped, he cupped one hand under her chin and lifted her face until she was looking at him.
"Listen to me, Estelle. I don't want the gun to scare you, but those men were professionals. I don't know what they have in mind, but they were waiting for you. They wanted you for some reason. I don't know whether they'll find you or whether they'll try to get you again, but if they do, I'll be there. You mean too much to me for me to let them hurt you."
There were tears at the corner of her eyes and he kissed them away. And then her mouth was a hot pressure against his and her tongue shoved its way past his lips and into his mouth as she strained against him. His hands moved down her back and caught her buttocks and pressed her tightly to him, as their kiss grew wilder and wilder.
Slowly, so as not to upset her, Tom moved his hand back up her body, until he was cupping her breast in his hand. He caressed her until he felt her breast grow heavy and swollen under his fingers, then he started to reach for the other breast. That's when she pushed him gently away.
"Excuse me for a moment?" she whispered, then moved away from him.
A second later a light came on in the bath.
Tom entered the kitchenette and made fresh drinks, then sat on the couch. The light went out and he waited, but Estelle didn't reappear.
Then he heard her call softly:
"Are you waiting in there for some special reason?"
He should've jumped to his feet and run, he knew. But he moved slowly, savoring the delay, waiting for what he was sure he would see. And despite the times he'd rearranged her clothes to easier touch her when they'd petted, despite the numberless women he'd had, the sight of her drove his breath from his lungs as if he'd been hit in the stomach by a heavyweight champ.
Estelle lay nude on the double bed, half on her back and half on her side. In the dim light that filtered in from behind him, Tom saw her more as a dim form on the white sheets. But then his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw her more clearly. His eyes swam over her, taking in the half-shut eyes and the sultry look of passion on her face, then dropping to her high, widely set breasts with their already extended nipples, her flat tummy and narrow waist, the flaring curve of her hips and the fullness of her thighs, and the fine curve of her calves. He smiled as her legs trembled very slightly in anticipation, then he let his eyes feast on the sight of the dark triangle that masked her loins.
Her arms reached out in invitation, and he hurried toward her.
"Aren't you going to undress too, Tom?"
Standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at her, he made his trembling hands move slowly as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off. He stepped out of his loafers and stood on first one foot, then the other, as he peeled off his socks. Deliberately he gathered them and his shirt and moved to the bath where he tossed them into the hamper. When he returned to the bedroom, he was as naked as Estelle and he heard her draw in her breath at the sight of him as he stood beside the bed and opened a drawer of the bedside table, to secure a condom.
Estelle must've known what he had in mind, for she smiled and whispered:
"It's all right, darling. I'm safe."
With that he went to her, seating himself on the bed and again letting his eyes run over her before reaching out his hand and tracing the gently flowing curves of her body with his fingertips as he smiled down at her. Her body rippled under his touch, and Tom was reminded of a cat being stroked by someone it loves. He wouldn't have been surprised if Estelle had purred under his touch.
Then he was stretching out beside her, his mouth immediately claiming hers. She shifted slightly, pressed the length of her body to his and rubbed herself against him as his tongue moved around in the warmth of her mouth. His hands slid over her, from her thighs to her buttocks, over her hips and up to her breasts, then down to the silky crest over her loins.
There was a tautness to her that was born of expectancy and desire, and Tom reveled in the perfection of womanhood lying in his arms. The breasts pressing against his chest were like ripe fruit for him to feast on and before long that's what he was doing. His lips moved from one breast to the other, back and forth, making her nipples harden even more and her breath become shorter and more ragged.
His mouth moved up to hers, and his hands squeezed lightly at her breasts, eliciting a muffled gasp of delight from her. Once again his mouth returned to her breasts, but this time he toyed with the extended nipples only briefly, then moved his lips down as he moved to his knees between her parted thighs.
With deliberate slowness, Tom moved his lips over her tummy and toward her hips, until Estelle was writhing her hips in an urgent attempt to communicate her desires to him. And when he seemed not to comprehend, she tangled her fingers in his hair and directed him, then gasped aloud as he showed her he was a master of the type of loving that she wanted to receive from him.
But master though he was, it soon became too little for her, and Estelle, with a little cry of wanton need, pulled Tom up and over her body. Her hips strained upward, seeking him, even as her hand moved frantically to give him aid, and then, when he was in place, she locked her legs high around his chest and thrust happily in time to his movements.
In a matter of seconds, the world started to shrink for them, until there was nothing left to it but the room they were in. Then the room shrank until there was nothing left but the bed. And still the limits of their perception shrank until there was finally nothing but their bodies and the surging rhythm that had infected them.
Suddenly that too caved in and there was nothing left but the fire they were falling and screaming toward, the fire that engulfed them and seemed to char into the very core of their bodies and beings. And when they were recovered, Estelle was delighted that Tom was still able to perform, that he was still moving upon her sweat-slick nakedness as if they'd just begun.
When Tom finally tried to extract himself from her tender grasp, Estelle wouldn't let him go. Instead, she held him even closer and pillowed his head on her breasts, as she stroked his back until he fell asleep. And, as she lay with the familiar weight of a man on her relaxed body, she thought about the men that had preceded him in her life, her affections, and her bed. And though she knew that what she'd just had with Tom might be coloring her judgment, she thought that he meant more to her than any of the others.
CHAPTER FOUR
Although she wasn't born until 1942, the story of Estelle de Santos properly begins in 1938, when Spain was in the third year of her civil war and the major powers in Europe-Germany, Italy, and Russia on an overt basis, the others less actively-were transforming the war from an internal affair to a forerunner of World War II, That was the year that Ernesto de Santos, an honored political theorist and professor at the University of Madrid, realized that no matter which way the tide eventually turned, he wasn't going to be in a good position. In the first place, he was openly anti-church, which wouldn't endear him to the Vatican-backed Franco. On the other hand, he was in favor of a democratic government with the real power placed in the hands of elected representatives of the people, and, at the most, a figurehead king, which wouldn't please the loyalists. Then too, he'd become depressed over the bombing and destruction of his hometown of Guernica in 1937. Taking what seemed to him the only safe course, he fled the country, arriving in Zurich two months later.
There Ernesto met Rachel Morris, an Austrian Jewess whose family, with a sense of what was to come in their homeland, had fled the genocide that Hitler was to impose.
Rachel, a shy, provincial girl, was swept off her feet by the attentions of the handsome, cosmopolitan Spaniard, and, when Ernesto accepted a position at the University of Havana, Rachel went with him as his wife.
Married life in Havana wasn't what Rachel had expected it to be. For one thing, she was completely inexperienced when it came to sex, and her hot-blooded husband often frightened her with the intensity of his demands on her body. Then too, as she spoke no Spanish, she had trouble communicating with her neighbors, and this problem of making friends was further complicated by her religion.
When Rachel de Santos discovered that she was pregnant, her first thought was that she was, at least temporarily, freed from her position in Ernesto's bed, and that she was to be given something to occupy her time and relieve her boredom. However, Ernesto continued to seek the charms of her embrace and, when her twins were born after a difficult pregnancy, he hired a nurse to care for them, leaving her in the same state she'd been in. Gradually she turned to alcohol as a means of escape, which widened the gulf between her and the other women on her level of society in Havana.
Ernesto was, meanwhile, becoming a very popular figure among the university students, but this time he was careful not to get involved with local politics at all, thus sparing himself any conflict with the government.
Ernesto took a father's customary pride in his children-the boy named Roderique after the Spanish hero El Sid and the girl called Estelle after his mother-and insisted upon the best for them. Since he was still anti-church, although less openly now, that fact led him to hire a tutor for them, which set them apart from the other children of their age in the neighborhood, since all of them went to schools run by either nuns or priests. Consequently, Roderique and Estelle formed a bond between them that was stronger than that found between brother and sister, even if they were twins.
Not that the de Santos twins were friendless. Their father had been prevailed upon by several members of the diplomatic corps to start a small school for children of the twins' age, and he'd done so, so they played with their classmates. Still, Estelle and Roderique played together more than most children of different sexes would've done under normal circumstances, even twins. Since their father was rarely home and their mother was usually drunk, they appropriated more freedom than most children would've had under normal circumstances.
But their freedom, that given to them and that they took for themselves, didn't turn them into spoiled or precocious children, possibly because, despite their being highly intelligent and mentally active above the level of their contemporaries, they were also quite level-headed for their age. The only thing unusual that their freedom brought them to that was unusual was that it resulted in Roderique and Estelle becoming lovers, when they were fifteen.
Havana, on the night Estelle submitted to her brother the first, and only time-after the first time, she was as enthusiastic about going to bed as he was-was unusually sultry. The city was oppressed under a thick blanket of heat that seemed to charge the air with an air of unreality.
Estelle often tried to convince herself that her affair with her brother started because of this sense of unreality, but the truth was that she was more than ready to lose her virginity that night.
For one thing, she had matured early, beginning puberty at the age of eleven and a half and developing a full, woman's body by the time she was fourteen. In addition, she was mildly narcissist; she used to take great pleasure in examining her naked body minutely in a mirror, stroking and touching herself, as she postured in a series of stances that showed her body off to its best advantage. When Roderique first attempted to make love to her, Estelle submitted because she thought it was only due homage to her beauty. After that, she enjoyed it as much as he did, and her narcissism gradually ebbed.
Roderique wasn't quite as aware of the physical changes in his sister's body, since the constant contact had minimized his concern with her appearance. And he certainly had no intentions of attempting to seduce his sister, when he came into her room that night in early September, just before their classes were to resume for the fall.
The fact that they were both in pajamas and that they sprawled on her bed near each other didn't concern him or motivate him, either, because this was something that was common to them, staying up at night and talking, after they were supposed to be in bed.
As usual they were serious at first when the excitement of doing the forbidden was still small in them. But gradually, as the hour grew later, the conversation grew lighter in tone, until they were giggling and trying to see just how outrageous they could make the statements they were uttering.
Then Roderique made a statement that Estelle knew she couldn't top and, in a fit of pique, she picked up a pillow from the top of the bed and swung it at her brother, catching him squarely in the face. For a moment, Roderique was stunned by her action, but then he decided that she wanted to play and, in an instant, they were swatting each other with pillows, as they scrambled off the bed and around the room. Somehow, in the excitement, Estelle's pajama bottoms started to slip. Rather than ask for a halt to their fun, she let them slither down her legs and stepped out of them as they hit the floor.
Estelle was unconcerned with the fact that she was now naked from the top of her hips down, but Roderique couldn't help being aware of her nudity or the fact that Estelle had grown to be an excitingly perfect woman. The horseplay between them grew progressively less restrained, and before long they were wrestling as much as they were pillow fighting.
Suddenly they found themselves in the middle of the bed, with Roderique on top, lying between his sister's parted thighs. All at once they stopped their shuffling and looked at each other with serious eyes, knowing that they were on the brink of the forbidden, despite the fact that sex was a subject that they'd never discussed with anyone.
During the course of their wrestling, the top of Estelle's pajamas had become undone, and now Roderique could see every bit of her ripened body. Just as she had lost the covering to her body, Roderique's pajama bottoms-all he wore-had begun to slip. Then he was holding himself over her on one half-extended arm, while the other hand pushed his clothing off. His eyes moved slowly over Estelle's body.
She stared back at him, her eyes as dark as a stormy sea and wider than usual, as they read the unknown emotion that was desire in his eyes and wondered if it was reflected in her own. As Roderique divested himself of his pajama bottoms, Estelle's pink tongue crept between her parted teeth and moistened her lips. She wondered if Roderique felt the strange hunger that was churning within her.
Slowly he lowered himself to her, fitting himself over her trembling body. Her arms, to the surprise of both of them, went around him, pulling him tighter. Their lips met, awkwardly at first, then more comfortably, as they learned how to position their heads to get the maximum satisfaction from the union of their mouths. And then, instinctively, they discovered the pleasure of kissing with their tongues as well as their lips. Their arms tightened around each other as they pressed together, body to body, while their tongues moved back and forth from one mouth to the other.
Uncounted minutes passed and all they did was lie there locked in their embrace, their mouths squirming against each other as their bodies touched from head to toe. Estelle didn't know what was happening to her, why her breasts seemed to ache so, or why her thighs were trembling, but she knew it was something to do with Roderique's being on top of her.
Then one of his hands shifted from its place on her ribs and the heel of it brushed against the side of her breast. With a little shudder, Estelle knew, somehow, what the exciting new feeling within her was, this feeling that seemed to make her nerves supersensitive and make her heart pound like crazy. Somehow she just knew that she was on the edge of womanhood, full womanhood, at last. She caught the hand that had brushed her breast and moved it back, placing it over the taut mound.
Despite the fact that this was new to him, as it was to Estelle, or perhaps because of that and her inexperience, Roderique excited both of them tremendously with his eager toying, stroking and squeezing. First one breast and then the other became the object of his attention, and then he pulled his other hand from beneath her and caught both of her breasts at the same time. Slowly he squeezed them, causing her to gasp in surprise at the pleasant pain this produced. Her mouth twisted even more savagely under his, and her hips started twitching against him, of their own volition.
Despite his lack of actual experience, Roderique had a little better knowledge of the mechanics of sex than had his sister, because he was the possessor of a deck of playing cards which were illustrated with pictures of a man and woman having sex.
Now, as the heat of passion grew higher in them, he mentally reviewed the pictures in sequence and moved his mouth from hers. Estelle started to protest this, since she thought he was going to abandon this delightful new experience, but before she could say anything, his lips closed over one of her nipples. She could only murmur with delight, as he teased the swollen bud with his tongue.
After a while, Roderique turned his attention to her other breast and Estelle began to twist uncontrollably under him. Back and forth from one nipple to the other went his lips, stopping now and then to touch the valley between her breasts or to kiss around the swollen mounds themselves before seizing on the dainty tips.
By now, Estelle was more caught up in what they were doing than her brother was, because, while he had planned or at least thought about making love to a girl, Estelle had never given love or sex much contemplation. The limits of her experience had been to press her lips to a boy's during kissing games at parties.
Slowly Roderique slid one of his hands over the slight curve of her belly and the sudden flare of her hips. And when he touched her tender thighs, Estelle pulled his head up and forced him to accept her tongue in his mouth. Then Roderique touched her more intimately, and Estelle began to feel a heat in her loins that was more than she could've thought possible. It was so wonderful, what he was doing to her, that she thought she would go out of her mind if he should stop.
He was losing control of the situation, he knew, as each touch of his hand to her body became more intimate. Roderique knew that he should get her to do something to him with her hands, but he also knew that it would be barely sufficient to relieve the desire within him and that, unless Estelle fought him-maybe even if she fought him-he would take the final step before the night was over.
Hurriedly he pulled his lips from hers and moved them over her face and neck.
And when they reached her ear, he whispered:
"May I? Estelle, please say you'll let me!"
She nodded her head dreamily, not really comprehending what he was asking, until he again whispered to her:
"Do you really want to?"
It slowly dawned on her what it was that her brother was suggesting. He wanted them to do what men and their wives did! At first, she was shocked, but she soon rationalized that they'd long ago crossed the border of propriety and that, by voyaging into this forbidden territory, they were sinners. Since there were no degrees of sin in her mind, why should they stop now? Besides, they were twins and twins were special, so maybe the territory wasn't forbidden to them.
With a voice that trembled and broke from excitement, she answered:
"Oh, yes, please. Roddy, please!"
He fumbled, trying to find her, and had to use his hand to guide himself. Suddenly as she shifted her hips in an effort to hold off the scream she thought would come if he didn't hurry, he was there and moving forward to the goal.
Estelle groaned aloud at the first stab of him, and she thought that, even if he didn't split her in two, the pain would drive her insane. Her hips bucked furiously, as she tried to throw him off, and her nails raked at his back, as her teeth sank into his shoulder to prevent a scream from issuing from the very depths of her. He realized that he must be hurting her and, with an effort, he stopped, withdrawing from her until they were barely connected. His mouth touched her eyes and kissed away the tears of pain, and his hands continued to stroke her breasts and thighs, and he contorted himself until he could touch his lips to her breasts.
And then the pain lessened and desire, stronger than that which had infected her before, replaced it. Estelle's arms clamped around him, her hands slid to his buttocks, and, with her urging him to, he moved forward once again.
This time, she welcomed him, wrapping her legs around him instinctively and moving her body in perfect response to his every thrust. Their mouths fused again, and their tongues were instantly at work as their bodies pumped together, sending them higher and higher into ecstasy, until they suddenly froze to savor the thrills that swept over them.
They soared high above the world, knowing pleasure that was beyond their powers of description, beyond their belief. And then they were dropped and lay together, on their sides, holding each other and kissing tiredly, while they regained their strength.
Roderique tried to withdraw himself from her embrace, tried to leave the bed, but Estelle held him close and whispered:
"Don't go, not yet. Please, not yet."
And he realized that his sister had gotten as much enjoyment out of their lovemaking as he had, and that she'd probably be willing to continue getting such enjoyment.
Tenderly he brushed his lips over hers and unclasped her hands from around his waist.
"I'll be back in a minute or two," he said, with a reassuring smile.
Although she was mystified, Estelle let him go. Once he was out of the room, she touched her still-taut breasts, ran her hands over her body, and shivered in remembrance of how she'd felt when Roderique had done that. On her thighs, her fingers encountered a sticky wetness, which she discovered was blood. Calmly she got up and went to the bathroom, where she cleaned herself. Then she stripped the bed of the linen which bore evidence of her activity, and remade the bed with fresh sheets. As she was completing the task, Roderique returned and beamed approval at her foresightedness. Estelle tucked the last corner, shrugged off her pajama jacket, and bounced across the room to throw her arms around him, kissing him eagerly as she pressed her body to his.
Then she discovered that he had something in his hand and, since she had a woman's basically curious nature, she wanted to know what it was. It turned out to be a deck of cards with pictures on them. At first, Estelle couldn't decipher what the pictures were of, but then it dawned on her, and she felt her blood rising to her cheeks. Roderique laughed at this. At first, she was angry, until she realized that it was funny that she should blush. After all, she'd done the same thing the girl in the pictures was doing.
Except that she hadn't, she discovered as she turned to a new card, done that. Gradually she discovered that there were a lot of things that she and Roderique hadn't done. But the only reason they hadn't done them was that she hadn't known about them, and he hadn't told her about them. Now that they both knew, there was no reason why they couldn't do them.
And Estelle realized that Roderique wanted to do the things that the couple on the cards was doing, or else he wouldn't've shown them to her. So she thumbed through them again, as she sat cross-legged on the bed. All the while, his hands were sliding over her body, teasing her with light caresses.
She glanced at her brother and saw that he was still aroused. There'd been a card, hadn't there, that showed what a girl could do to an aroused man, with her hands? Quickly she found it, then reached over calmly and closed her hand around him.
"Move your hand up and down, Estelle," he begged, and she did so.
In return, he began to grow bolder with his caresses. Suddenly he kissed her and they fell back to the bed. The cards dropped, unnoticed, to the floor.
They touched each other, building up the fires of passion within themselves again, until another spasm seized them. When they were recovered, they rolled together and sought the heights again in the manner they'd first discovered them. This time, it took them a little longer to arrive, and the thrill wasn't as strong, but they were too satisfied to complain, and lay locked in the embrace, savoring their memories.
Finally Roderique got up and put his pajamas on.
"It's better that I leave you before morning comes, for we mustn't let anyone suspect what transpires between us."
Estelle nodded agreement, then Roderique bent over and picked up the cards.
As he handed them to her, he said:
"If you study these, tonight when I come back, we can do some of the things we haven't tried yet."
Estelle didn't dare speak, as she took the cards and watched her brother leave her room, for she knew her voice would tremble with the excitement that infected her at the thought of what was to come. Once Roderique left the room, she got up and hid the cards in the back of a dresser drawer, where they wouldn't be found by the maid. Then she put her pajamas on, turned off the light, and went off to sleep, immediately.
True to his word, Roderique returned to her room that night. But Estelle had let his promise slip from her mind in the excitement of starting classes again and, consequently, after she'd finished her lessons, she'd put on her pajamas and gone to bed and fallen asleep, almost immediately.
A moment after that, Roderique slipped into her room and into her bed. He woke her up by slipping his hands around her to cup over her breasts. Sleep left her rapidly as he fingered the tautening mounds of flesh and then squeezed slightly. All at once, she knew what was going on, and she turned eagerly into her brother's embrace and passionately kissed him. He unbuttoned her pajama top and pushed the bottoms off. As her thighs were bared, Estelle realized that he'd either come nude from his room across the hall or that he'd taken his clothes off before joining her in the wide bed.
Not that she cared which. Not at all. As he continued to fondle her, to massage her breasts and touch her thighs, she ran her hands over his body, until she found him, and then she began to tease him with her fingers.
Instantly one of his hands raced to the junction of her thighs and began to add fuel to the fires of passion within her. Although they were both inexperienced enough to lack skill or finesse, they soon managed to satisfy each other with their hands, and Estelle began to urge him over her trembling body.
But he held back, kissing her breasts and caressing her, until she started to pant heavily with desire.
Then she redoubled her efforts to get him upon her, but he whispered:
"Let's do it to each other with our mouths, first."
This was one of the things that had intrigued her in the pictures, but she'd also been a little disgusted by the idea. However, she wanted Roderique so badly that she was willing to swallow her slight feelings of revulsion at the idea and go along with him. She figured that if she gave him what he wanted, she could expect him to reciprocate.
Hurriedly she reversed her position on the bed, thought of the picture until what she was to do was clear in her mind, then started. Their mouths found each other, and Estelle soon found that her revulsion was disappearing as she learned how much pleasure she could receive this way. She thrilled to the touch of Roderique's lips to her body, and she gloried in the thrills she knew she was giving him by the way he stiffened and trembled in her grip.
Suddenly they were both dissatisfied with that way and they swung together, their lips and bodies fusing, their hands harsh and demanding. Estelle started to roll onto her back, but Roderique forced her to move on top of him. Once again they used the cards as a guide, taking the position the people in them had taken. She leaned back against his up-thrust legs and started raising and lowering herself over him, while he handled her breasts and stroked her thighs.
And then they were finding greater thrills than they had before, and Estelle threw herself down to cover his mouth with hers and to fill his mouth with her tongue. As soon as their lips met, Roderique tumbled her over onto her back and continued the movements she'd started, forcing her to work along with him, making her pump her hips and thighs, making her strain to complete the course once more.
Not that it took much to force her. Or long for them to reach their goal. In fact, the time they took wasn't enough for Estelle at all. She could've gone on for hours and still had it end too soon. But she knew that they needed their sleep, since they had to go to school in the morning. Reluctantly she let Roderique slip back across the hall after their breathing had returned to normal.
CHAPTER FIVE
Estelle and Roderique were lovers for almost two years before anything other than nature interrupted their nightly trysts. During that time, they got to know each other's body so well that they could spend hours at the brink of ecstasy, without going over the crest to orgasm.
During the time their affair was going on, Cuba was changing. When they became lovers, Batista was firmly in control of most of the country, with only a few small bands of rebels operating in the mountains. These bands gradually grew larger and more powerful and then, suddenly, on January I, 1959, Batista and his henchmen fled the country, leaving it to Fidel Castro, who was hailed as a savior-the Bolivar of Cuba, the man who would create the first democracy in Cuban history.
But Castro began to clamp down on the population even more than Batista had, and by the middle of the summer, many people who'd supported him began to feel they'd created a Frankenstein-type monster. Already many of Ernesto de Santos' friends had left the country and gone into exile and counter-revolutionary bands were once again turning the mountains of Orientie province into a semi-no-man's-land. The bearded, green-fatigued Fidelestias swaggered through the streets with increased boldness. And the streets, which had once been full of Yankee tourists, were now full of drab little men who spoke the harsh languages of eastern Europe or the bell-like dialects of China.
Ernesto de Santos was in a quandary. He didn't like what was happening in Cuba, but he wasn't sure whether he wanted to leave and go into exile again, stay and hope things would take a turn for the better, or aid the forces that were trying to insure that they would. He knew that, at fifty-six, he was a man of the world in the sense that he was well known, respected, and at home in most of the important capitals of the world, since he'd represented Cuba on several international committees. But he didn't want to go into exile again. He'd given up his citizenship once and the red tape he'd have to go through to do so again was too much to contemplate.
In addition, he knew that any of the Latin American governments could topple almost overnight and that the red tape involved with getting citizenship in either the United States or Canada would be even more involved than in any other country in the Western Hemisphere. Furthermore, since teaching was his life, he was a little afraid to move, because he was sure that, even though he was respected in his field, he'd have trouble getting a position as a teacher in some other country.
So Ernesto vacillated between an optimistic hope that things would change for the better and a pessimistic fear that the change would have to come violently, brought on by the people, by men such as he and his friends operating underground and aided by the small bands operating openly.
While his wife worked her way toward a state of complete mental deterioration, due to alcoholism, despite Ernesto's efforts to stop her, and while, unknown to him, his son and daughter became masters of the tricks of sexuality, Ernesto wondered what was to become of him and his family.
The decision was made for him in a violent fashion, by the bungling of a Castroite official. Because of his reputation, Castro permitted Ernesto to leave the country at times when he was invited to attend conferences around the world, and he was out of Cuba three times in the first four months of 1959. In addition, he often went to different towns in Cuba, to confer with old friends on various matters, the least of which was what was happening to the country.
During this time, unknown to any members of his family, Roderique became an active member of the anti-Castro underground, joining a group of like-minded Havana teen-agers who made small forays against sentries on the outskirts of town or committed acts of sabotage. The group also attacked beach installations, and usually the weapons captured ended up being smuggled into the Escambra for use by the openly rebellious groups.
Not even Estelle knew about this part of Roderique's life. All she knew was that there were nights when he didn't come to her bed, and when she checked his room on several of these occasions, he was gone from his bed too. She was afraid to ask him about these nights, because she thought that he might reveal that he had another love besides her.
In a sense, she was right; but freedom was a mistress she would've gladly shared him with. In fact, she probably would've tried to join him on his raids, which was why Roderique didn't tell hit. sister about his underground activities. He was sure that such work was too dangerous for her to participate in, and he might've been right.
Ernesto and his son found out that they were both in the underground, by accident. The older de Santos and his friends had arranged for a shipment of arms to be landed on one of the beaches near Havana, since the coastal patrols along the beaches of Orientie were becoming too proficient at intercepting missions. However, once the arms were ashore, Ernesto and his group were unsure of how to get them to the mountain bands. It was finally decided to have underground groups relay them across the country at night.
Ernesto went to meet the leader of the group that would take the arms on the first leg of the journey and, to his surprise, discovered that it was his son. Roderique was just as surprised as his father, and both of them became highly emotional with delight at the discovery that they were both partisans.
The mission went smoothly until the very end, as Roderique's group was returning to Havana. Then they encountered a militia patrol and, in the ensuing action, Roderique was slightly wounded. It was quickly decided that he couldn't remain in Havana, but that was all right, since Ernesto owned a small farm in Oriente and got a friendly doctor to certify that Roderique was rundown and needed a change to recover his health.
However, one of the local security policemen grew suspicious at this and the increasing trips that Dr. de Santos made, and he decided to investigate him.
One morning when Ernesto was out of the house on a trip to visit an old friend of his who was near death, a squad of secret police arrived at the house and demanded entrance. The frightened servants let them search the place to their hearts' content.
Of course, Ernesto, being well versed in the ways of a civil war, had taken great pains not to hide anything incriminating where it could be found without knowledge of its location or the complete destruction of the house, so the police were unsuccessful in their search. But their suspicions were aroused by the absence of both father and son.
The Lieutenant in command of the squad learned from the servants that Roderique was recuperating from a nervous condition and that the master of the house was away, although they didn't know where or what the nature of his out-of-town business was. When Estelle was questioned, she gave the police no help.
They turned their attention to Mrs. de Santos, who was at the stage where she was in a constant and complete alcoholic fog when awake, and she'd lost contact with reality and the events of the past year. Indeed, when she saw the uniforms, she wasn't sure whether they were Franco's men looking for her husband or Nazi's after her father and brother. But she had no idea of where any of them were and, to complicate matters, when she finally was made aware of the fact that it was her husband she was being asked about, she said he was in Barcelona, behind the lines.
The Lieutenant, who thought she was lying to him and pretending to be crazy, was sure she could be forced to tell Ernesto's whereabouts and was just about to begin torturing her. Then Estelle walked into the room and perceived at once what was about to happen.
"Lieutenant," she cried, "I just remembered my father's been talking lately of going to Holguin."
Ernesto had done nothing of the sort and, in fact, had indicated he was going to be in the opposite part of the country, but Estelle, who hated the regime, was unwilling to do anything to aid Castro's security police. She wasn't sure whether her father would approve of the lie or not, but she suspected that his sympathies were no longer with the government, and she knew that hers weren't.
Her answer apparently satisfied the Lieutenant, but he was determined to make a show of his power. A former clerk in a small hotel, he hated everyone who'd had wealth or position in the old order and was openly contemptuous of the former aristocracy of Havana society, to which, because of his reputation, Ernesto had been a member.
To himself, the Lieutenant said:
I must show these rich bastards that they are no longer of importance. I must teach them to cooperate with the revolution.
In addition to his hatred of people in the de Santos' class, the Lieutenant had a hangover that morning, and he suddenly gave way to his feelings and began to curse Estelle, accusing her of betraying the revolution by her forgetfulness and demanding to know why she wasn't serving in the home guard.
"They said I was a capitalist and wouldn't have me," Estelle replied, telling him the truth.
But the man thought she was laughing at him and swung his open palm at her face. Estelle reacted instinctively and raked him with her fingernails, opening four parallel scratches down his cheek. The men in his squad laughed at the plight of their leader, as Estelle swarmed over him, her fingernails digging into his face until she'd backed him into a corner. Then two of them dragged her away from him.
As his men held her, the Lieutenant pulled himself up to his full height, stepped in front of her, and grinned malevolently. Then he swung his fist into her stomach, causing her to jackknife with pain. Savagely the Lieutenant gripped the neckline of Estelle's dress and ripped downward, parting the cloth from top to bottom. Another savage yank and her bra was dangling by the shoulder straps. The soldiers, as if reading his mind, tore away the dress and bra as their leader shredded her panties.
A whistle escaped from his lips once Estelle was naked before him, and he ran his hands slowly over her body, hefting her breasts and digging his stubby fingers into her thighs as if she were so much merchandise. His treatment was deliberately insulting, and Estelle spat into his leering face, causing him to slap her again. He nodded his head toward a long couch and the two men who were holding her arms in a vise-like grip lifted her and forced her to where he'd indicated, although she struggled violently in an attempt to escape.
At a command from their leader, the men threw her onto the couch and held her as he forced her legs apart and threw himself upon her. Her hands tried to rise to fight him and he hit her with a closed fist, slightly stunning her.
"Put a pistol to her head," he barked. "If she struggles, shoot her. Then we'll use the old woman to satisfy ourselves."
Estelle knew that he was inhuman enough to do it, so she made herself bear his heavy weight without fighting or crying out, although she wasn't usually stoic. But now, with her mother's life in danger, she could lie motionless beneath him as he rutted in her flesh. At last he was through with her and stood up.
But he wasn't really through with her. His hand lashed out and slapped her across the breasts.
"Hold her up," he barked, and Estelle was lifted to her feet.
Again and again the little man struck her until her skin had become an angry, mottled red. Then he tired of using his hands and sent one of his men after a belt.
The soldier returned, and Estelle was suddenly spun and forced belly down upon the couch. Another soldier gripped her feet and, once she was unable to move, the Lieutenant whipped her buttocks until she could feel blood trickling down her legs. And suddenly she was turned over and the Lieutenant was forcing her again, his hands squeezing her sore breasts and buttocks brutally as his stale mouth crushed down on her. Estelle's flesh crawled at his every touch and her stomach churned. She was careful to give no sign of the revulsion she felt, though, for fear of what would happen to her mother, if she did.
The gross little man rose from her and motioned the enlisted men forward. Again and again the soldiers took their pleasure from her until she lost track of the number of times she was violated. The men continued endlessly, stopping only when their leader decided he wanted to use the belt or his hands on her, once more.
He was using his hands, when the door to the room opened and two men walked in. And he was so engrossed that he didn't notice his squad members snapping to attention. Then a rifle butt slammed into the base of his spine and he fell to the floor. Automatically he reached for his pistol and started to roll to his knees. A foot kicked him under the chin and he bounced off of the floor as a boot came down on his wrist, making him release his weapon. His eyes slowly widened in terror as he recognized the uniform of a general on the man who stood over him. Suddenly the room was filled with members of the elite guard, and his squad was stripped of their weapons. A civilian was comforting the girl and, at the barked orders of the General, a trooper left to summons a doctor.
The Lieutenant was jerked roughly to his feet, and the General slashed him across the face with a riding crop.
"Pig! Unspeakable filth! Son of unspeakable filth! Son of a diseased animal and an insane person of unimaginable habits. How dare you treat the daughter of such a good friend of the revolution in this manner?"
The Lieutenant's mouth dropped open. He, like most of the people of Cuba, hadn't known that Ernesto, at a severe risk, had indeed aided Castro while he was in the hills. He had been fooled by the stories that indicated the bearded leader was a modern-day Robin Hood or Simon Bolivar.
"I'll personally give the firing squad their orders to execute you, you foully conceived unspeakableness," continued the General.
He turned and ordered the entire group to be marched at gun point through the streets to prison, where they were to be locked in a single cell and given only bread and water until he said otherwise.
Just then, the Doctor came in, and, after a thorough examination, he proclaimed Estelle in mere shock, but not harmed otherwise.
"Not physically harmed to any great extent," he amended, "because the cuts and bruises, while painful, will heal easily and she doesn't have any signs of internal injuries. But what this has done to her mind is another question. If she was lucky, she managed to shut off her mind and forced herself not to think about what was happening to her. In which case, she might not remember what was done to her, or, if she does remember, she might not be affected by it."
"But she could have suffered mental or emotional damage?"
The Doctor could only shrug as he gave Estelle a sedative and ordered her to be kept in bed until the week was over, promising that he'd be back the next morning.
Ernesto de Santos didn't sleep any that night, but he paced the floor by his daughter's bedside, until early in the morning, when her eyelids fluttered. As soon as she saw her father, Estelle burst into tears and he dropped by the bed and tried to comfort her, cursing Castro and the revolution when that failed. Gradually she calmed down and told her father exactly what had happened. And once again, he cursed the new regime.
"You're in the underground, aren't you, Daddy?" Estelle asked, making a guess at the reason for his curses.
When he nodded yes, she smiled wanly.
"Then what I did was helping, and it was worth it?" Then another thought struck her. "Is Roderique fighting in the mountains? Has he been in the underground too?"
Once again her father nodded and Estelle's smile was stronger now that she knew what had kept Roderique from her bed.
"I guess I did some fighting for our side too," she said. "I'm causing Castro to lose a whole squad of secret policemen."
"Maybe," Ernesto said. "If they haven't been executed by the time you're well, they probably won't be." He stood up and smacked a fist into the palm of his hand. "As soon as you're well, I'm sending you and your mother to the United States and joining Roderique in the Escambra. And when we all disappear, they may forgive the louse that did this to you."
"But they don't suspect you now, do they?"
"No. Very few people know I'm not loyal to the revolution."
"Then insist that the men be shot this week. Say you'll go to Castro himself if they aren't. The people who aren't as important as that won't want to do anything to get him mad, so they won't risk offending someone as important as you. If you do have to talk to him, I'm sure he'll figure that as long as he has people like you who are friendly to the regime, he can fool the rest of the world as to what life here is becoming. Then, after they're dead, you can say Mother and I've gone to the farm so I can rest in peace and recover. That way, no one will suspect that we aren't all loyal supporters of Castro-until it's too late to do anything but rave about our defection, that is."
Ernesto was amazed by his daughter's display of logic and thought that her plan just might work. Which it did. With his friend the General supporting him, he was able to get the secret policemen tried and found guilty, within two days.
The officials were so anxious to please him that they offered to let him execute the Lieutenant himself.
Ernesto pretended to give the matter great thought, before saying:
"As much as I dislike bloodshed, except as a last resort, I will do as you propose, to show that all men must do what they can to rout out the counter-revolutionists. This must be an example of how traitors to the people must be treated-as if they are mad dogs."
With that, he emptied a machine pistol into the Lieutenant's stomach, then suggested that he be denied the coup de grace, so he would be a greater example of how scum were treated and a more powerful example to those who might be tempted to follow in his footsteps.
As the Doctor predicted, Estelle recovered rapidly from the beating she'd undergone, and she was soon able to move about without pain. Most of the cuts were completely healed, and she was assured she would bear no scars.
Of course, she wanted to go to the mountains with her father, wanted to fight actively against the Castroists, but he managed to persuade her that it would be better if she went to the United States and told the world, from there, what Fidel was doing to Cuba and its people.
Estelle wasn't really persuaded until Roderique slipped into Havana secretly to see her. She was amazed at the change in her brother. Where he'd been calm and cheerful, he was now tense and moody. He'd lost weight from lack of food and sleep.
Ernesto left them together, while he went to make arrangements for Estelle and her mother to leave the country. When they were alone, Roderique told Estelle that life in the mountains was a dreary, dirty semi-hell.
"We live like animals, constantly afraid. I hadn't had a bath from the day I left until I got here. The only reason we shave is because beards are associated with Castro."
They were in Estelle's room and Roderique was lying on her bed, clad only in a pair of trousers. As she looked at him, her heart swelled with love for him and, almost without realizing it, her hands came up and began to unbutton the blouse. Roderique was so preoccupied with talking to her that he wasn't aware of what she was doing, until she'd stripped to her bra and panties and was unhooking the former.
"No, Estelle, no! Not after what happened."
But Estelle dropped the bra on the floor and peeled off her panties. As the triangle at her loins came into view, Roderique, despite himself, found that he wanted her. It had been so long since he'd had a woman.
"Roddy, it's because of what was done to me that I want to. I have to, to find out if that destroyed me as a woman. I've got to know if I can feel, or if I'll shut myself off in my mind and not be wholly a woman for the man I'm with. That's why it's important that you take me now. If I can't be a woman with you, I'll never be one with anyone else."
She stretched out on the bed, her long hair falling over her breasts and hiding her nipples, and her legs apart so that her womanhood was fully exposed to his gaze.
Slowly, because he knew it would be wrong to rush her, he took off his trousers and joined her on the bed, stretching out beside her. One of his arms slipped under her shoulders, and he turned her a little as he drew her to him and covered her lips with his in a tender kiss.
At first, they were content to merely lie like that, their bodies barely touching, their mouths soft against each other's. After a while, Estelle's lips began to press harder against her brother's, and he let the kiss become more involved, taking her tongue, when it voyaged forward, and sucking easily on it. Estelle pressed tighter to him and Roderique casually moved his hand and brushed the hair away from her breasts. As his fingers stroked them, he felt her hips begin to stir against him. A few moments went by, and he dropped his head to surround one of her nipples with his lips and Estelle reached for him.
Encouraged by her response, and desperate with desire, due to the length of time since he'd had a woman, Roderique moved one hand down his sister's body until he felt the fringe that announced her womanhood. Hurriedly Estelle guided his fingers until he was intimately touching her. There was an urgency in his caresses now and an eagerness in the way that she was responding.
Estelle arched her back and pressed his mouth harder against her swollen breasts. Then she felt him shift his body over her, and she swung her legs around him and welcomed him. His mouth came up to meet hers and they strained against each other in the harmony that long sessions had perfected in them. On and on they went, meeting crest after crest of excitement and continuing to the next.
But finally there was no strength left for them to use in continuing, and Roderique went to sleep with his head pillowed on Estelle's breasts. And sleep claimed him so swiftly that he didn't have time to hear her crying in relief that she was able to join her body with a man's and enjoy the ecstasy that accompanied this act.
CHAPTER SIX
True to his word, Ernesto de Santos made arrangements for his wife and daughter to leave Cuba at the first opportunity. One of his former students hadn't been as enthusiastic about Castro as Ernesto had appeared-and still appearedwas on the government's list of unnecessary citizens, and this man decided to leave before Castro got rid of him.
At first he was reluctant to trust Ernesto, but when the underground explained the situation fully, he became convinced that it wasn't a trap and explained the escape plan. The boat would leave the first night that there was no moon and, after slipping out of Mariano silently, they would head under full power to Miami.
"It'll be better," he said, "from what you've told me, for your wife and daughter to come to my house now, as soon as possible. I have a concealed room where they can hide, and the government will think they have gone to your farm. Then they can travel with my family. The others meet us at the docks."
Ernesto nodded and made arrangements to have the two women smuggled to his friend's house that night. As he expected, Estelle balked at going, since she still wasn't fully convinced that her place wasn't in the mountains with her father and brother. But when they said that if she was determined to be with them, they would go to the United States with her and abandon the fight, she agreed to do as they wished.
"Besides," Roderique told her, "a beautiful girl like you, you could be interviewed on television to tell our story. This would win us friends, when people find out what Castro's doing to the country. And perhaps when things are starting to go well, you can return and be a soldier, if you insist on that."
So Estelle accompanied her mother into hiding, helping to keep the older woman quiet as they stayed in the tiny room and as they later moved quietly to the docks.
They had a tight moment there. The moon wasn't completely gone, but there were rain clouds in the sky and this was too good a chance to miss, Senor Mezensa insisted, so, carrying what they could, the refugees-to-be made their way toward his boat, but they found a guard at the docks. They cursed this new security precaution and wondered what to do. Senor Mezensa was afraid to attack the guard, because he might be able to raise an alarm and the rest of the guards might arrive in time to prevent the escape.
Then Estelle had an idea and whispered it to him. At first he was reluctant to let her go through with it, but she insisted.
"I'm sure Daddy wouldn't mind if I did this to aid us. After all, women have often used their bodies as a weapon."
Slowly he nodded, and Estelle began to walk boldly down the dock to the guard.
She was only a short way from him, when he sensed her presence. He spun around, his rifle leveling at her.
"What're you doing here?" he barked.
Slowly Estelle stretched, causing her breasts to thrust out.
"I'm a present from your commander," she said. ' 'Your friends are having a party and your relief may be late. I'm here to keep you company while you wait for him."
The guard seemed to hesitate, and Estelle laughed throatily, then continued:
"Are you afraid of a mere girl, such as I? What could I do to a hero of the revolution like you? That you didn't want me to do, that is? I'm even unarmed," she drawled.
Without a trace of shyness, she bent and caught the hem of her dress. Slowly she pulled it up, revealing her skimpy panties and bra. The dress cleared her head and fell to the street. Estelle reached behind her back to unhook her bra.
The guard shook his head in disbelief, but he wasn't one to argue with fate.
"Come here," he told her, indicating a deeply recessed doorway to one side of his position.
Calmly Estelle picked up her dress and bra and followed him into the darkness. As soon as they were out of sight of the street, the guard dropped his rifle and crushed her to him. His hands were instantly busy on her, and Estelle barely had time to get out of her panties, before he was forcing her backward to the bare earth and taking her.
He was so engrossed in the bounty of her womanhood that he didn't hear the footsteps behind them. The first awareness he had that they weren't alone was when a knife entered his back. Then he gave a little gurgle and tried to rise, but it was too late. Hurriedly Senor Mezensa pulled him from over Estelle and turned to motion the others forward, while she slipped back into her clothes.
Then they moved silently to the boat, got settled, and cast off. Luck was with them, for not only was the tide going out, but a breeze had started. Estelle, Senor Mezensa, and his son raised the sail and they sped out of the harbor. However, their luck didn't last long. When they tried to start the engine an hour later, it wouldn't catch and they had to depend on the erratic wind to get them away from Cuba.
Then the sun came up and the wind died and they drifted. The sun beat down on the open boat, and they lay on the bottom with dresses or other clothing draped over them to shield themselves from the fierceness of the sun. Since Senor Mezensa hadn't figured on the trip taking more than four or five hours, he hadn't brought much food or water. Now he announced that what little was left would have to be rationed. There were groans of despair.
All that day they drifted beneath the sun, and when night fell they hadn't made much headway. The breeze failed to return and the passengers went to sleep filled with despair and the surety that they were all doomed. Senor Mezensa's son Carlos was particularly bitter. He sat next to Estelle, apart from the others.
"I wanted to go to the mountains," he complained. "But Father said it was too risky. So now? Now I die an ignoble death from lack of water! At least I might've had a chance to die as a man should, fighting for what I believe. But this way? I die without even becoming a man, never knowing a woman or anything."
Estelle felt sorry for him. He was so much like Roderique in looks and temperament. She also looked on the journey with a fatalistic air, since she doubted if any of them would survive to reach Miami. And, she decided, if she must die, she wanted to enjoy herself once more before she did so. That she wanted to do one more thing that would bring pleasure to someone else.
Slowly she dipped her fingers into the sea and moistened her lips, then did the same to Carlos. As her fingers touched his lips, he grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips. And then Estelle pressed her lips to his. He was dazed by her action and unsure of himself, so she took him into her arms and pressed herself to him. Slowly his lips parted under the pressure of hers and she slid her tongue forward.
By then Carlos' arms were around her, and Estelle caught one of his hands and moved it to her breast, then she pressed it against her throbbing flesh. He understood what she was offering and instinct took over. Minutes passed, long minutes, and finally Estelle could take no more. Hurriedly she moved away from him and told him to undress.
In a minute or less she was naked and moving back to him. His body was lean and hard against hers, and she shivered as he touched his lips to her breasts in an untutored manner. And then he was over her and she showed him the way to what they wanted, and they strove together to seek a last bit of pleasure while they had the strength to claim it.
It didn't take them long to reach a climax. When they did, they rolled apart and dressed again. Estelle drifted off to sleep and didn't notice that
Carlos was lighting match after match as he scribbled on a pad. She didn't feel the touch of his lips to hers or hear the faint splash as he went over the side of the boat, sacrificing himself so that the others might have a little better chance to survive.
The sun was even brighter the next morning and the heat was more intense. By then the refugees were too exhausted to care, though, and they just lay in the boat and suffered.
After three or four hours of the heat, Mrs. de Santos began to rave deliriously. Suddenly she stood and stepped over the side of the boat, calling to someone from her past to save her a drink. For a moment everyone just stared, and then Estelle struggled to her feet and started to go to her mother's aid.
Senor Mezensa grabbed her and said gently:
"It is useless, Senorita. Even if you reached her, you have no strength to get her back to the boat. This way she suffers less than any of us."
Estelle knew he was right, but she couldn't help the tears that formed in her eyes and caused her shoulders to shake.
On and on they drifted under the merciless sun. Then one of the group called feebly and pointed. On the horizon a boat was coming toward them at full speed. With great difficulty they got to their feet, waving and calling to attract attention. And then Estelle saw what the boat was and groaned aloud.
"It's one of Castro's gunboats."
One of the women started to go over the side, saying she would die before going back to a captive Cuba. Senor Mezensa lifted the rifle he'd taken from the guard on the docks and muttered defiantly. Just then they heard a whine overhead and saw four jets of the United States Navy roar over them and bank in tight curves. The pilots wiggled their wings in a gesture of reassurance and the sea between the two boats was churned by a stream of bullets as the planes told the gunboat to stay clear of the refugees. The gunboat turned and slunk away, but the planes stayed overhead and kept the refugees in sight until a Coast Guard vessel came over the horizon and pulled alongside the smaller vessel.
Eagerly the remaining refugees climbed a rope ladder and found themselves being made welcome by the crew. They were given water and examined by the ship's doctor, who proclaimed them as well as could be expected, following their ordeal. And in a few hours, they were in Miami, where they were met by reporters and television men.
Since Estelle was the only one who spoke English well, she was chosen to speak for the group and to interpret. After their questions were all answered, Estelle read the letter that Carlos Mezensa had written before leaving the boat. It was a wretchedly pathetic document, questioning why the United States and God had permitted the things that were happening in Cuba. There were no dry eyes among the reporters.
Two days later the refugees were permitted to start their lives over as best they could. Estelle had been asked by her father to go to St. Petersburg to talk to a friend of his, and she was permitted to do so. The friend convinced her that she would be better off staying there and going to school.
"After all, Castro's killing a lot of lawyers, doctors, and school teachers. When he's overthrown, these people will have to be replaced, won't they? Why shouldn't you begin training now for one of those positions?"
She saw the wisdom in this and agreed to let him get her a scholarship to the pre-law section of the University, but she wouldn't hear of him doing more.
"I'm able-bodied and will earn my way as much as I can," she insisted, and Dr. Ross finally relented.
After all, while her father was a friend of his, he owed this girl nothing, and besides, even if she'd accepted his invitation, he probably couldn't have seduced her without his wife discovering what he was up to.
That afternoon, Estelle began to look for a job and immediately ran into trouble, for there were very few jobs she was qualified for, since she couldn't type or take dictation. Besides, if she was going to go to school, she couldn't work in an office. But she couldn't live on the small salary waitresses earned, even if she got tips. She was about to accept Dr. Ross's offer. Then she noticed an ad she'd overlooked-an ad asking for a singer in a nightclub.
Estelle giggled at the thought. But then she sobered.
Why not? She had an excellent voice and all singers had to start somewhere, didn't they? The worst that can happen is that I'll be turned down, she told herself.
She got directions and went to the nightclub, talking to herself on the way and telling herself that she was going to try to get the job. She was so persuasive that, when she found several other girls after the same job, she didn't lose heart. Even when she listened to the girls sing and realized how professional they were, she didn't lose hope.
Finally she was the last girl there. She made her way to the stage and stood nervously behind the microphone, while the club's owner asked her questions in a bored voice. He seemed to lose interest in her, when he learned she'd never sung in public, but then one of his assistants leaned over and whispered in his ear and he sat up.
"You're the girl that just escaped from Cuba, right?"
Estelle nodded and he brightened. After a hurried conversation, he asked her to sing. Luckily it was an old standard that he asked for, and, also luckily, Estelle's voice was strong and clear, because she knew none of the tricks the other girls had used.
When she was through, the owner talked again to his assistant, then called her and the combo's leader over.
"Frankie, think you can teach her a few mannerisms so she won't stand so stiff?"
"I guess so," Frankie replied, shaking his head.
"Well, it's a cinch that's about all we've got time to do. We can't teach her all the tricks, but it might be a good gimmick, having a girl that just sang-not warbled, groaned, crooned, or babbled." He turned to Estelle, then said, "Honey, you read music?" She nodded. "Play anything?"
"I can play chords on a guitar."
"Hell, we can have her do some folk songs then. Can't we, Frankie?"
"Sure. If she reads and plays, it won't be too much trouble."
The owner nodded that Frankie and the other men were dismissed, then indicated that Estelle was supposed to follow him. A few seconds later they were in his office.
"I don't know whether to hire you or not," he said. "There's another girl who's more polished than you, but, like I said, simplicity might be a good gimmick. I don't mind hiring an amateur, particularly when you've had all that publicity. That would pull people in at first, but after a while you'd need something else." He lit a cigar and puffed furiously on it. "Let's see. Maybe if you were a stripper? No, it'd take too long to teach you."
Estelle sat silently while he puffed away, until she had an idea.
"Excuse me, sir," she said, and he blinked at her.
"Yeah, yeah, you thought of something?"
"Maybe if I wore a-a negligee? And sang love songs to the men? Would that do it?"
Once again he puffed furiously.
"It just might," he said. "Even better, you wear a kinda skimpy dress and sing sophisticated stuff-suggestive but nice for the first show. Then you wear the negligee the second show, and we give you a hand mike so you can go from table to table. That might do it. This is a funny business-rough. You never know what'll work. But a man's got to look out for himself, you know?"
He looked thoughtfully at her. Estelle thought he was trying to picture her in a thin nightgown.
"You'd have to have a good figure to get away with a stunt like that," he remarked.
"I have a good figure," Estelle replied, her heart pounding, as she suddenly sensed what was going to come next.
She was right.
The club owner wet his lips and told her: "Let's see."
Slowly she stood and reached for the buttons on her blouse. When they were undone, she shrugged the garment off and then took off her skirt, standing before him in just her bra and panties.
His eyes bulged a little and roamed over her skimpily clad form.
"You know, I might just take a chance on you. But I'd hate to do it and find out you were going somewhere else after a while, or changing your mind about the job. I mean, I'd want to be sure that you appreciated the chance I was offering you. If I offer you this job."
Estelle's heart beat faster, and she glanced nervously at the drab couch that stood against one wall of the small office. The man noticed her glance and rose from the chair, moved around to sit on the corner of the desk. Now there were only a few inches between them.
"It's a big chance," he said, "hiring an amateur. I don't ask the girls who work for me to do what some guys do. You wouldn't have to sit with the customers between shows and get them to buy drinks. But I'm still not sure you're the one for the job. I mean, the other girl knows her way around."
"Please," Estelle said, hating herself for begging, but knowing she really had no choice. "I need the job."
His hand moved then and touched her shoulder. Slowly it slid down her body, pausing to cup her breast, before trailing down to her knee.
"How badly do you need it?" he asked, his eyes going deliberately to the couch.
It's not being a puta, a whore, Estelle told herself. I do need the job. I gave myself so I could get away from Cuba. If I give myself to this man, it will be the same sort of giving, not dishonest, just ... impersonal.
"How badly do you need the job?" he repeated, his hand running slowly back up her thigh.
In answer Estelle reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Then her firm, young breasts were uncovered.
His hands lifted to her breasts, and he toyed with the nipples, making them rise languidly, as she pushed her panties off.
"Does this tell you how much?" she asked, as she moved away from him and lay down on the couch.
He nodded and after he'd shoved his trousers and undershorts down to his ankles, he was on top of her, seeking his pleasure immediately, as his mouth, tasting of cigars, crushed down on hers and his sweaty palms fitted over her breasts.
A few minutes later, after he was satisfied, he rose from her.
"Bring a shortie PJ set tomorrow and report at two in the afternoon. I'll pay you for the week you rehearse at fifty dollars. You get seventy for performing." He looked at her as she fastened her skirt, then muttered, "You need an advance?"
Estelle turned him down on that. Her father had given her money, and she could stay at the Ross's until she got her pay check and could afford a place of her own.
The next morning she bought the type of outfit she'd been told, taking care to pick the least transparent one she could find. As an afterthought, she bought a pair of slippers with high heels, knowing that they'd make her legs look even better. They did too, because the combo whistled when she walked self-consciously onto the stage.
She worked hard at rehearsing for four hours. And then as she was changing clothes, the owner came into the dressing room and led her across the hall to his office, where he again enjoyed her (a practice he was to follow every afternoon or evening for three weeks, until he was attracted to a new hatcheck girl).
By then Estelle was on her way to becoming a local celebrity. People who came to hear her because they'd read the story about her in the paper or had seen her on television were already coming back just because they liked her. She appeared on a local television show and was offered better salaries at two other clubs. But she didn't take them. All she did was tell the owner she deserved a raise and that if he lost interest in the hatcheck girl, he wasn't to look at her as a replacement. To her surprise, he agreed.
He also gave her one night a week off. After a few nights spent in her apartment, she started looking for company. One of the men in the combo told her about the coffee house. She went there, then returned, because she liked the conversation. By the time she realized that it reminded her of the way she and Roderique had talked, she was too much in the habit to stop.
And now, she thought, I've found someone who's like Roderique in more than just talk.
In fact, Tom had so reminded her of her brother that she'd almost called him by her brother's name as they made love. Silently she reviewed the men who'd had her: Roddy, the thirteen secret policemen, the guard, Carlos, the nightclub owner, and a few boys who'd taken her home from the coffee house-twenty in all. She hoped very much that Tommy wouldn't mind the others. She knew she would tell him, and she hoped he'd understand and forgive her. Which made her realize that she was in love with him, so she shook him awake and told him.
He drew her close and gently kissed her, then stroked her back and returned her words of love. Hesitantly she told him of her past and he said it didn't matter at all to him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Are you sure, Tom?" she whispered. "Do the other women I've had bother you."
"No, but men are supposed to be different. They're supposed to want virgins."
"Every girl's a virgin to me, until I've made love to her. Virginity, these days, is a state of mind. There are girls who still have their hymens but who act like the most depraved whores, otherwise. And girls who've been forced to do things they didn't want to do but who're still pure in their hearts. Do you see that?"
"Yes," she whispered, pressing her lips to his chest.
His hands reached around to touch her breasts, and she gasped and rolled onto her back, bringing him over her. They made love then, slowly, torturous love that left them as exhausted as if they'd run a mile. And when they were finished, they drifted easily off to sleep, their lips pressed together and their arms around each other.
They wouldn't've slept so well if they'd known of a phone call that was being made at that time from a man in Washington to a cheap rooming house in Tampa.
The man who was listening was tall and blonde and wore western clothes and boots. In his pocket was a switchblade, and the hand that held the phone was missing a finger.
He listened very carefully, as the voice on the phone said:
"Well, take Juan up to the house in Jacksonville, where he can be cared for, then return and wait for orders. You'll get a phone call telling you what to do. The code words are 'Green feathers falling'; you reply, 'Not on my block'. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. And this time ... be alerted for the man. Be prepared to kill him if necessary. But get the girl!"
"Yes, comrade."
The blonde hung up, then returned to his drab room and woke up his friends. Quickly he explained what he'd been told, and the three men left silently, the one called Juan being half-carried by his friends, since he was doped up to ease his pain.
As Tom had predicted, his credentials arrived the next morning, delivered by a courier, who also told him that another agent would be arriving in the next day or two. Furthermore, the package Tom was handed contained a thick file on the two men he'd encountered in Estelle's apartment, as well as information on known Communists in the western part of Florida.
"Now what do we do?" Estelle asked, as Tom drove her to the campus.
"You go to your class, while I check in with the Dean. Then we report to the police and you move."
"Move? Why?"
"Those guys traced you here from Miami for a reason, and I don't think it was because they wanted to recruit you for a jai a-lai team. Furthermore, as long as they know where you live, that just gives them one more place to try to get to you. If you're in another place, they'll have to try to locate you, unless they want to work in a crowd."
"So, I move into your place?"
"Maybe. Maybe you move into the apartment across the hall. The people who live there are going to Europe soon and might let you use the place, particularly when I tell them who wants you to live there. The man is a former Army Intelligence Officer.
"On the other hand, after we've talked to the police, they might get lucky and find the men who're after you. If that's the case, that would be one team out of action and might make the man who's in charge of this operation think a little before sending someone else." He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Go to class; I'll talk to the Dean, and then we go to the police."
The Dean was incredulous when Tom told him the story, omitting only the extent of his relationship with Estelle.
"Wh-what will you do, Dr. Kieth?"
"It depends on what the situation dictates. If we're lucky, we'll be able to guard her here. But there's a chance that we'll have to take off. In that case, you'll have to let word out that I'm sick. I'll have a doctor's report for your files to back you up, saying that I need a rest."
"All right, all right, anything that you think is necessary."
Tom could tell that the Dean was upset and realized that if he did have to drop out of sight, it might mean the end of his career as a teacher, at least at West Florida. But that didn't bother him, because the old excitement of operating on the edge of danger was back and Tom Kieth knew he could always return to the CIA if he lost his job. Or he could become a free-lance writer, turning the cover he'd had as an agent into a reality, since he had more than enough money to live on while he was writing, even if he never sold anything.
He posted a notice that his classes were canceled for the day, left his car parked on campus, and took Estelle to the police station in a cab. He explained that they'd rent a car, in her name, to use when they returned to her apartment.
As he'd expected, the police had heard about the fight the night before and were more than slightly upset about the delay in getting information. But when he produced his identification, the mood changed and they became very cooperative.
"So you want it released as a simple robbery, eh? But what do we say about you? If we give your name, it points to where you are, and that points to the girl."
"I was an unidentified visitor to the building. Someone reported a radio playing in the apartment-or at least that they heard noises-and when Miss de Santos said she didn't own a radio, I volunteered to go in first, in case something was wrong."
"Right. You want us to check on the motel?"
"I don't think it'll turn up anything. If one of them had gone back and heard that, they'd have tried already. If they come back now, all they'll know is that a man helped her move and that it was a rented car, if they get that far."
"Car points to you too, doesn't it?"
"Not if she rents it and gives her old address."
"Do you have a license, Miss?" the detective asked.
"No, I don't," Estelle replied.
Tom started to say something, but the cop stopped him.
"I'm way ahead of you. Instead of renting a car, I'll just lend you one of those we've impounded. We've got an old Hudson on the lot that was a 'shiner's car. It'll outrun ours, and we wouldn't have gotten it if a train hadn't blocked a street."
"I'm surprised Treasury doesn't have it," Tom said, knowing that the government usually impounded bootleggers' cars.
"They do. They just use our lot to park on."
A short time later Tom and Estelle were loading the last of her clothes into the deceptive-looking machine and leaving her apartment.
Then Tom followed another circling route back to his building and, once Estelle's clothes were inside, he took her across the hall, where he quickly explained the situation to his neighbors.
"Sure, she can stay here while you're gone.
I'll even dig out my old .45, in case there's trouble."
"I doubt there will be," Tom said, but Major Charles already was taking the gun out of a desk drawer and checking the clip.
When Tom returned the keys to the Hudson, the detective informed him that reporters wanted to talk to Estelle, since they recalled the story that had run on her when she'd first arrived in this country.
"And those boys might dig out your address. Unless I warn them off."
"No, let them get it if they can. If the men show up, I'm ready for them."
Tom flipped back his coat to reveal the .357 in his shoulder holster. The detective whistled in admiration at the small cannon.
Tom reclaimed his Ferrari and returned to his apartment. He was about to enter the Charles's apartment, when he sensed that something wasn't right about the apartment he occupied.
Slowly and silently he retraced his steps, until he came to the window that opened on the fire escape. None of the windows on his apartment fronted on the escape, but there was a large ledge that ran along the building. A minute later he was on it, edging his way toward the window of his bedroom, which he knew would be opened.
Carefully he eased the window a little higher, then slipped out of his shoes and crept into the closed room, lifting the shoes off of the ledge once he was inside. Gun in hand, he moved on tiptoe to the living room door.
He was glad that the hinges on the door were so well oiled, because it didn't make a sound to alert the blonde girl who was looking through his desk.
"Okay, freeze!" Tom barked, hugging the wall beside the door so he wasn't a target if the girl tried anything. But all she did was stand still.
"Let's see your hands," Tom told her, and she moved them out to her sides. "Okay, keep them there," Tom added, when he saw they were empty.
Swiftly he crossed the room and let her feel the muzzle of the revolver against her back for a minute, before pulling it away so she'd have trouble disarming him. Expertly his hands moved over her body, from her shoulders to her knees, both front and back.
The girl stood silently as he searched her, not protesting even when his hands touched her in what was as much a caress as an attempt to discover a weapon.
"Okay, now suppose you tell me what you're doing in my apartment."
"Swans die slowly," came the reply, shocking him.
But it didn't shock him enough that he didn't give the countersign.
"My identification's in my purse on the chair," came the girl's voice, and again Tom thought that it was vaguely familiar.
After he'd extracted her credentials and glanced at them, he knew it was, because the credentials introduced her as Gizelle White.
And Gizelle White had been Tom's first mistress!
"May I turn around now?" she asked. "Yes," Tom mumbled.
As she did so, he took a long look at her and knew that if he'd seen her face, he would've recognized her. Slowly he returned his gun to its holster.
"Hi, Zel," he greeted her, motioning to a chair. "When'd you join the rat race?"
Gizelle's mouth dropped open as she recognized Tom.
"Wh-do you mean you're the man I'm supposed to take orders from? I I'll be damned!"
"Small world, isn't it?" Tom grinned, moving toward her. Then when he saw her stiffen slightly, he took the chair next to hers. "Have you been briefed?"
"Just the basics."
Tom filled her in on the details.
"I'd still like to know why you were going through the desk?" he asked, after he'd finished.
"I was sent here to help you guard a girl. You weren't here, and I was looking for some clue that might tell me where you'd gone. I'd just started when you came in."
Tom could accept that, since Gizelle would've had no way of knowing that Estelle was across the hall. And it wouldn't've done to leave a note, in case the men after Estelle had traced her to his apartment.
"Okay," he said, then pulled the file he'd been sent, from a hidden drawer. "Here's what the agency sent on the other team in this area. The Cuban-Maccean-is out of action, I think. But the blonde-Manny Lewis-is still running around. I didn't get a look at the driver."
"What procedure will we follow?" Gizelle asked, as she accepted the material.
"Standard watch. At least, that's what Danlear said. But ... " He told her what he'd done about putting the story in the paper that said the attack was considered a robbery, ". . .so they might come crawling around here. I doubt they'll make an attempt where there's a lot of people around, but they may tag after her on her way back from class or her job."
"Then we don't try to lose anyone who follows?"
"Hell, no! Nobody knows why they want her. If we get our hands on someone, we'll know, and we can crack down on a lot of others too," he explained.
Gizelle settled herself in the chair and started to read. As he watched her, Tom let his mind flash back over the sixteen years since he'd last seen her, back to the summer before that when he'd first taken her to bed.
He'd been exactly fourteen years and five months old then, when it had happened. He'd decided, months before that, that he was going to be a master of sex.
Not with just any woman, either. One specific woman, actually, one specific girl, for Tom had already decided that his first experience in sex was going to be with Gizelle White. He'd reached this decision several months earlier, when he'd learned the truth about her family-when he'd learned that her mother had been anybody's girl before she got married, and that marriage hadn't really slowed her down any. And the birth of her first child hadn't slowed her down any, nor had the second, nor had her third. Even the fact that she was now approaching forty wasn't slowing her down.
The first child was now nineteen, and following in her mother's footsteps. The second child had died in imagine, and the third was Gizelle. She was just about to turn fourteen at the time, but she already showed promise of becoming a great beauty to anyone who looked. The only thing was that almost everybody took only a glance and, consequently, saw only the tomboy that she was.
Tom Kieth was one of the few people who saw past this, who saw past the still skinny figure, saw the breasts that were slowly developing and the roundness that was creeping into her hips. And he knew that it wouldn't be long before those things were noticed by everyone. Then the older guys, the ones with cars and letter sweaters, would be attracted by her figure and her mother's and sister's reputations, and they'd start chasing her. Then it would be hard for him to compete with them for her favors. Unless ... unless he'd already had them and taught her the pleasures she could gain from her body. Then she might be dissatisfied with the way the older guys made love and would gladly return to him, when he'd asked her to.
So Tom Kieth had gone hunting for Gizelle White and found her fishing in one of the streams on the Kieth's estate. Technically the estate was posted, but, as a friend of Tom's, Gizelle was allowed to hunt or fish there when she wanted.
Gizelle was a friend of Tom's for several reasons. The first was that both her father and her stepfather had worked for the Kieths (her stepfather still did) and, when she and Tom had been babies, they'd played together. But more important, Tom admired excellence, and Gizelle was a better boy than a lot of the males Tom knew.
It was because she thought of herself as a boy that Gizelle went with Tom when he asked her to. After all, he was the leader of the crowd, and she was just another loyal follower; there was no reason not to follow him.
He took her to the second floor of what had been stables in back of the Kieth house. His parents had converted the building to a garage and, as a birthday present for Tom, had converted the upper story into a place where he could indulge his many interests or whims. The second story now contained a gym, a stage, a lab, a dark room, and a den for meetings. This was Tom's domain, inviolate, except by his invitation. None of his friends would enter without permission, and even his parents asked if they could come in, since they believed that children have rights just as adults.
Gizelle White had preceded Tom Kieth up the stairs to the second story of the building, and Tom had licked his lips nervously as he'd watched the already sensual wiggle of her buttocks. Of course, the wiggle was unconsciously produced, since Gizelle hadn't started to think of herself as a girl. Her sister had told her that she ought to wear a bra, but Gizelle hated them. They were even more of a nuisance than her periods, which were, at least, only temporary and left her free to do as she wished for twenty-four days out of every twenty-eight. She was quite surprised when Tom turned her around and crushed her to him, pressing his lips inexpertly against hers.
She started to struggle, but he held her tightly. Then he moved one hand and grabbed her breast, and she started to struggle in earnest. But he was too strong; she couldn't escape his embrace, his kiss, or his caress.
Then he let go of her and pulled his polo shirt over his head.
"You can either get undressed and let me, Zel, or I'll rip your clothes off and do it anyway," he told her. "But one way or the other, I'm going to. And if you tell anyone, I'll say you let me and then wanted money, and when I wouldn't give it to you, you decided to get me in trouble. With the reputation your mother and sister have, everybody'll believe me."
He undid his jeans and shoved them off, standing naked before her.
Dimly Gizelle realized that Tom held all the aces. She was going to become a girl, whether or not she wanted to. More exactly, she was going to become a woman without ever being a girl.
Numbly she unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor. Tom stepped forward and kissed her, and this time he met no resistance. Slowly his hands came up and cradled under her small breasts, lifting them. Then he bent and kissed them. He was still kissing them, when Gizelle pushed off her jeans and panties and stood as naked as he was.
Tom shuffled her backward to the wide couch without taking his lips from her breasts. He arranged her unresisting body on the leatherette surface without taking his lips from her breasts. And he didn't move his lips from her breasts while he robbed her of her innocence.
He hadn't planned to be so hurried in his conquest of her, but the sight of her nakedness had ignited fires of desire within him that he couldn't ignore. His plans to arouse her to a fever pitch before having her fell by the wayside, as his weight bore down on her and he learned her body with his.
Gizelle bore the pain stoically, lying there un-responsively as Tom moved frantically to completion. When it was over, she was a little disappointed. Was this what her sister made such a big fuss over going with boys? Gizelle had figured, the few times when she'd thought about sex, that it would be like battling a rainbow trout or hitting a game-winning homer.
"Is that all there is to it?" she asked in bewilderment.
Tom moved to lie beside her and slipped his arm under her shoulders, while his other hand stroked her belly, as he answered:
"No, there's a lot more to it than that. But it's not a one-sided thing, Zel. You've got to cooperate to get any fun from it."
He paused, then asked:
"If I give you one of my spinning reels and a rod, will you let me teach you what the rest of it's like?"
She hesitated, and he went on:
"You've lost your virginity now, so it doesn't make any difference how many times you do it."
"All ... all right," she whimpered. "If you'll give me some lures and promise you won't tell anyone."
Tommy nodded agreement and drew her closer. His lips met hers, then he pulled away and whispered:
"Suck in like you were trying to siphon gas."
Gizelle obeyed and Tom's mouth covered hers and his tongue filled her mouth. He shifted her so he could stroke her back with both hands as he kissed her. He kept his tongue in her mouth for a long time and then coaxed her tongue into his mouth, as his hands moved to her buttocks. He played with them for a good many minutes before turning his attention to her legs. His mouth left hers and moved over her face, stopping at her eyes and ears, then moved down her neck and over her shoulders.
Once again his mouth covered hers and his hands came up to her breasts. At first he just drew his fingertips over them, but gradually he touched them more solidly, and soon he could feel the nipples on them rise to hardness. Slowly he ended the union of their lips and moved his to her breasts, drawing the nipples into his mouth and licking them with his tongue, as his hands went back to her thighs. He noticed that Gizelle was rapidly becoming less passive, that her body twitched now and then, and her hands were starting to stroke his back.
For the first time, his hands touched her inner thighs, and he felt her tremble violently. Her breath began to come faster and harder. Tom tightened his teeth around her nipple a little, and her fingers pressed into his shoulders. He filled his mouth with her breast and she arched her back to him. A glance at the clock showed him they'd been at it for three-quarters of an hour in this second session.
Then his fingers met the sparse fringe at the base of her abdomen, and he caressed her gently, pressing his hand lightly to her and drawing it away. But each touch was a little firmer and lasted a little longer, and Gizelle's hips began to shift in the rhythm of love, as her breath whistled between her clenched teeth.
Tommy shifted his lips back to hers and she accepted his tongue, eagerly. He shifted his body until it was over hers, and she guided him home as she drew up her legs until her heels were against her immature buttocks. But this time she didn't lie stoically under him. This time her body moved unrestrainedly as he stroked upon her. Her arms tightened around him and her mouth squirmed as torridly as her body. When he was too tired to continue, she was sorry.
"You know where my tackle is," Tommy said tiredly. "Take what you want."
Gizelle just lay there, starry eyed.
"Now I know why Bonnie's always talking about sex," she breathed.
"Did you like it?"
"Ummmm, yes." She kissed him then, taking the initiative for the first time.
Tom repeated his instructions about the tackle, and she replied:
"I don't want anything, unless it's permission to come back for this again."
"Not permission, Gizelle; but you do have an invitation. You can come back every afternoon, if you want."
"Okay, I will."
And she did. Every afternoon until she had her period, and then Tommy told her to come anyway, and he showed her things she could do to him and things he could do to her. He taught her well, and Gizelle decided that she liked being taught. She liked it so well that she still came over after school started. She liked being taught so well that she did anything Tommy told her to, without questioning any of his suggestions.
Tommy had a lot of things for her to do, because he learned a lot of things that men could do with women or women could do with men, since he had access to all of the books his father ordered, those which dealt with sex.
They tried pain and discovered that they neither enjoyed inflicting or having it inflicted. But that was the only thing that they tried that they didn't like. The other ways of making love, no matter how complicated they were, were all great.
Of course, there were some things they liked better than others. Both of them liked it when Tommy kissed her all over, and he liked it when she did the same for him. Gizelle didn't particularly care for that, but it made Tom so happy that she did it, because he made her happy most of the time.
And then Tommy did something that ripped the lid off of their affair. It happened one afternoon after they'd been playing ball. Gizelle, who'd been Tommy's mistress for over a year by then, left early. As he and the others watched her curvy figure going away from them, one of the boys commented that the first person to score with her was going to be lucky.
That's when Tommy made a mistake.
He grinned and said:
"I sure was."
The boys didn't believe him, and he said he'd prove it to them, figuring out an easy way to do it. He'd just have a party the next Saturday night.
As usual the guys wouldn't have dates. But there would be girls there. And the boys as usual would try to get a girl in a dark corner and kiss her, or do more. This happened at all the parties, and afterwards the boys would compare notes and see who got the furthest with which girl, which could kiss the best, which liked what.
But this time they would have more to talk about than stealing a kiss or touching a breast or a thigh. They could talk about what it was like to go all the way. Because Tommy would get Gizelle there early and hide her somewhere, and the boys could go in and make love with her.
The boys and Tommy thought it was a great idea.
Gizelle didn't. She didn't like it at all.
But, when Tommy told her, "Either you do it with the guys or forget about doing it with me," she agreed.
Things went as Tommy had planned, and the next morning the guys all talked about what they'd done to Gizelle. But one of them did not know all he'd done to her. And Gizelle didn't, either.
Not until she missed her period. Then she came and told Tom. Tom told his father. He told him everything, almost. He didn't say anything about the other boys having her. And, when he was done, he said he wanted to do the right thing and marry Gizelle. But his father convinced him that that wouldn't be wise.
Then Mr. Kieth talked to Gizelle's stepfather, who became angry. But, after Mr. Kieth had talked some more, Gizelle's stepfather lost his anger. Some money-ten thousand dollars to be exact-changed hands, and Mr. Kieth was assured that Gizelle's stepfather was happy. Still, he was relieved when they moved the next morning.
Tommy wasn't. He tried everything he could think of to locate Gizelle. But he failed. Even the detectives he'd hired hadn't been able to find her.
But now fate had reunited them. And he found that he had nothing to say to her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tom snapped his attention away from his thoughts and saw that Gizelle had finished the report and was looking at him with a faint touch of amusement in her eyes.
"How've you been, Gizelle?" he asked, well aware of how ridiculous the question sounded.
"Just fine. And you?"
They talked in that manner for perhaps half an hour, before they ran out of trivialities. Since neither of them seemed willing to bring up serious matters, they adjourned to the other apartment, where Gizelle and Estelle seemed to hit it off instantly.
"Tom, what're we going to do now?" Gizelle asked.
"Sit, I guess. Unless you've got an idea."
"Well, I came down here so fast that I didn't get to go to my place for clothes. Could you take me shopping?"
"Sure. Estelle can stay here, can't she?"
"Certainly," Major Charles replied. "I'll finish teaching her how to play cribbage."
As they drove downtown, Tom told Gizelle he'd meet her later.
"I'm going to police headquarters and see if there's any word on those men. I'll also use their phone to report your arrival."
Tom wasn't the only one who made a phone call. About an hour after he'd talked to Washington, Manny Lewis got a phone call that told him where he could locate Estelle. He returned to his room and broke up the card game between Lou
Dennis, the man who'd driven the car the night before, and Roy Holmes, who'd come back from Jacksonville with them.
"Let's go. We've got the girl spotted."
"What's the plan," Roy asked, as they trooped down the stairs.
"She's in an apartment with some middle-aged man. Now, she may have recognized me last night, so I'll handle the car. You two go in, grab her, and hustle her down the back elevator."
The others nodded.
At that moment Major Charles' daughter chose to stop in to say goodbye before he and her mother left for Europe. And he discovered that there were no ice cubes in his apartment.
"I'll go over to Tom's and get some," Estelle said.
She was closing the door to Tom's apartment, just as the men left the elevator. It took them three steps to reach the Charles' apartment, and they went through the door fast, their guns out. Major Charles wasn't in the living room, and the men had his daughter gagged and handcuffed in an instant and were hustling her out of the door as he returned.
Something made Dennis turn, just as the Major reached for his .45, but the .38 in Dennis' hand barked twice and the Major toppled, two bullets through his skull.
"Fast now," Dennis barked. "And use the stairs; for two flights, it's faster."
Estelle heard the shots and stood huddled inside Tom's apartment, her heart pounding. What should she do? She heard what the men said, but she was still afraid to leave what was safety to her. She did the only thing she could think ofshe rushed to the phone and called the police, telling the detective she'd talked to earlier what she'd heard.
If she'd stopped to think, she might've looked out of the rear window, to get a look at the license number of the getaway car. If she'd looked out of the window, this is what she'd have seen: Lou and Roy, dragging the helpless daughter of Major Charles, rushed through the back door and to the car. Manny already had the engine running, since he'd heard the shots.
"Who the hell's that?" he barked, as he saw the redhead between them.
"The girl from 312," they answered in chorus.
"She might be from 312, but she ain't the right girl."
"Then what'll we do with her?" Roy asked.
In answer Manny raised a .38 and shot the girl three times in the left breast. As she fell, Lou and Roy were already hopping in the car, which Manny was starting to accelerate.
"Gezus!" Roy breathed. "Why'd you shoot her, Manny?"
"She knew what we look like. Now she won't tell anyone."
Estelle heard the shots from outside the building and heard the car roar off. But it was several minutes before she got up enough nerve to cross to the window and peer out. And when she saw the crumpled form of Major Charles' daughter, she fainted.
When Tom and Gizelle pulled to a stop in front of the building and saw the police cars, they hopped out and left the car in the middle of the street.
"Hey, mister, you can't leave that car there," a uniformed policeman yelled at him, as Tom sprinted toward the building.
Tom quickly flipped his ED out and explained that he was on official business. The patrolman wavered. Then Tom and Gizelle were in the lobby and taking the stairs. The patrolman shrugged and decided he could direct traffic, if necessary.
The hallway and the living room of the Charles' apartment were swarming with policemen, and Tom bullied his way through the crowd to the plainclothesman who seemed to be in charge.
"What's going on here?" he demanded, his eyes taking in the Major's body.
"Maybe if you tell me who you are and why you want to know, you'll get an answer," the detective told him.
"CIA," Tom replied, flipping his ID open.
The detective looked at the hardness in Tom's eyes, then wilted a little.
"I know about as much as you do. We got a call that there'd been shots fired, so we dispatched a car. When they found the girl out back ... "
"What girl?" Tom barked.
"So far we haven't identified her. But she was wearing cuffs and a gag. Anyway, a second call went out. We checked out the apartment that'd been mentioned in the call and found him. He's got a .45 in his hand. And I'd like to know why the CIA's involved?"
Tom ignored his question and came back with one of his own.
"Who made the call?" he asked.
The detective shrugged, then said:
"All the desk clerk said was that it was a female with an accent."
Tom and Gizelle looked at each other, then charged through the crowd and across the hall, with the detective in hot pursuit. At his apartment, Tom fumbled with the key and shot forward, skidding to a stop, when he saw Estelle lying on the floor.
"Dammit!" the detective cried. "Another one." But Tom was already kneeling by the girl and shook his head.
"She's just fainted. Get your ME in here to revive her and put a man on the door. Nobody, but nobody, gets in here without my permission. And now let's get a look at the girl downstairs."
A few minutes later it seemed clear to Tom what had happened.
"She's the daughter of the man upstairs," Tom explained. "The girl in the apartment across from his is a Cuban exile. Somebody made a snatch attempt last night on her and missed. They obviously made another today, shot Major Charles when he tried to stop them from taking the girl out of his place. But they got the wrong girl. There was probably a driver, who realized this, and shot Miss Charles to prevent her from giving a description."
"Oh, great!" the policeman moaned. "So we got a double kill with no clues at all."
"I'll give you a description of a man involved in last night's caper who's still in condition to operate. Since he was spotted, he might've driven the car this time and sent others to do the snatch. If you can pull him in, we'll find out who the others are."
"If he talks," the detective replied.
"He'll talk, if you get him," Tom replied in a flat voice.
"We don't use third-degree methods."
"So? Within an hour after you have him, he'll be full of sodium pentothal-truth serum-and be singing like a bird."
"I still don't see how you got involved."
"It started by accident. But the girl upstairs is a Cuban exile, like I said, and one of the men last night was a Cuban attached to their UN staff, allegedly. The other's a home-grown Commie. Does that answer your question? In addition to the CIA, I'll bet you get Immigration and the FBI before the night's over."
"And James Bond comes in tomorrow morning," the detective muttered, as he followed Tom and Gizelle back to Tom's apartment.
As they went in, the saw that Estelle had regained consciousness. She rushed to Tom and held tightly to him. A few questions seemed to support his theory and he told Gizelle to give the police officer the file on Manny Lewis.
"I don't suppose the young lady's available for questioning?" the policeman asked, as he looked over the report.
"She's given you what she knows," Tom replied. "And an hour from now she won't be in town." Gizelle's eyebrows went up. "We take off as soon as you two get packed. They know about this place, and I'll be surprised if they don't try again. I think a change of territory is advisable."
"You mind if we put a team here?" the policeman asked.
"Feel free. You could say you were baffled by the slaying, keep a few men here for a day, then withdraw them, and if you had a policeman and a policewoman here, they might try again."
"Your car'll be easy to follow, Tom," Gizelle reminded him.
"Go downstairs and park it, then come back up here. I'll rent a car, and we'll get the Lieutenant to have one of his men drop us at the rental agency."
"If you'll give me the route you're following, I'll have the departments along the way keep an eye out for you-keep a trace on you. Then if you're too long getting from one town to another, the state patrol can check."
"Let's say, 19 and 27 into Tallahassee for today." Tom looked at the girls. "That'll take five hours, and we can stay there overnight."
"Good. I'll drive you myself and put your license on the air as soon as I get to Headquarters," the Lieutenant said.
"Check. I'll call Washington while Gizelle's moving the car. Estelle, you pack. One suitcase apiece."
The Lieutenant wasn't the only one watching Tom, Gizelle, and Estelle, as they drove away from the rent-a-car agency. A nondescript little man noted their license number, then made a hurried phone call.
"They're heading for Route 19, all right. A dark-blue Ford, 55S481. One of the girls is driving. All three are in the front seat," he said.
A moment later Manny, Lou, and Roy were entering a battered panel truck, with plates that had been stolen from a Cadillac on its rear display. Skillfully Lou maneuvered through the traffic, until he reached a roadside parking space just north of town.
"We wait here for twenty minutes," he said. "I doubt if they're ahead of us."
"Then what?"
"We make sure it's the right girl and start looking for a place to move in."
"A planned ambush."
"Why not?"
"Too much could go wrong. Another car could come along; we could miss them. I say we keep them in sight and move the first chance we get," Manny answered.
"I still say we should've asked for another crew to back us up," Roy complained.
"Don't you think we can handle one guy and two girls?"
"Sure, but-say we get the girl and somebody spots the action; if we've got a back-up crew, we give them the girl and scatter. So they find the truck. Maybe just one guy's driving it, where the cops are looking for three. Or the other crew takes the truck and we use their car to head for Jacksonville. The other guys don't match our description, so somebody got the wrong license number."
"Okay, okay! Call Schruddick; give him what we have and tell him to get two other guys and roll after us."
Schruddick was a local member of the Communist party, who'd been instructed to give Manny Lewis any help he could. Roy hopped out of the car and scurried to a phone booth.
In a few moments he returned.
"He had another guy there and they're getting a third guy, who's got a souped-up Pontiac. They figure they'll be up with us in an hour. The car's a convertible with a kinda rusty body. They'll wave when they pass us, then cut off and fall in behind after we've gotten by them."
"Good! Maybe we can box the girl in, if nobody else is around."
"Coming up," Lou warned, and the rented car went past at a slow speed, giving all three a good look. "The one in the middle's the one we want," Manny announced. "The guy's CIA, and I don't know who the girl is."
The truck pulled out behind the Ford. As they passed through New Port Richey, a sheriff's deputy pulled alongside and made an okay sign with his thumb and forefinger.
Gizelle started to nod, but Tom told her to pull off, then he said:
"Tell him we'll stop for lunch at Crystal River."
Behind them, the three men in the panel truck looked at each other.
"Act natural and pass them," Manny said. "We haven't been behind long enough for them to get suspicious."
The panel truck was chugging sedately along, when the rented Ford caught up and passed it. Lou was content to hang back and let them stay ahead.
They stayed that way until they pulled into Crystal River, at which time the other car joined them. But as Lou started to pass the rented Ford, Gizelle, on Tom's instructions, pulled into a diner.
"What do we do now?" Roy asked.
"Pull off, Lou," Manny ordered.
When the truck was stopped, with the convertible back of it, he hopped out and motioned for the other two to follow him.
Rapidly Manny approached the car, then said:
"They're back there at the restaurant. We'll leave the truck here and drive back, take them there."
"How ya gonna get nine of us in this heap?" asked one of the men with Schruddick.
"We want only the one girl. The other two are unnecessary. But we can always take their car too."
Manny, Lou, and Roy climbed into the back seat of the car and Schruddick's friend made a U-turn and headed back toward the town.
Tom sat in one corner of the booth, next to Estelle and opposite Gizelle, waiting for their orders to arrive. His eyes flicked out the window as the Pontiac went past, unable to cross because of oncoming traffic, but with its blinker flicking. It was only after it had passed that he realized that the driver had gained three extra passengers and that one of them had blonde hair and had a finger missing on the hand that was tapping on the side of the door in impatience.
Calmly he excused himself and moved to the phone, pausing to ask the cashier for the police department's number.
"Just ask the operator to connect you."
When Tom was connected, he didn't wait for pleasantries.
"This is the CIA agent you were looking for," he said. "Get a car up to Simpson's on 19 in a hurry, and be ready for trouble."
As he left the phone booth, he saw the car stop in front and saw the men get out. All doubt left him as to whether it had been Manny Lewis in the car or not. It had been.
Watching him, Estelle couldn't believe that he did all he did so fast. One hand grabbed a sugar container and threw it through a window as the other hand pulled his gun from its holster.
"Hit the floor, everybody!" he yelled in a commanding voice, as he ducked against a wall so he could fire through the window.
The men outside and the people inside stood frozen for a moment, until the .357 boomed and Manny Lewis flipped backward with a slug through his head. Then all hell broke loose, it seemed.
The five men with Lewis ducked behind cars and started returning Tom's fire. A gun appeared in Gizelle's hand, and she threw the ash tray she'd had in her hand through the window as she moved swiftly. Grabbing Estelle and yanking her to the floor, Gizelle took up a better position in order to fire at the men outside.
"Make your shots count," Tom yelled, and she yelled something back at him. "Is there a back door to this place?" Tom yelled.
"B-b-behind you," the cashier finally blurted out, from behind the counter.
"Estelle," Tom yelled, "watch the corridor. If you see anyone in it, scream. And just hope it's not somebody from the kitchen, because if anyone comes into that hall, they're dead."
He snapped a shot at a head and was glad to see a man slump from behind a car.
"That's three, Tom," Gizelle called, and he nodded. Down the highway they could hear a siren wailing and a moment later the patrol came into view.
Apparently the driver saw the men outside, because he slid the car sideways. A moment after it was stopped, he and his partner were behind it, with riot guns in their hands.
This was too much for the three men still fighting, for a white shirt suddenly fluttered from behind a car.
"Hold your fire," Tom yelled, ducking into a crouch and moving to the door. "Okay," he called out, "into the open with your hands high. Way out on the highway."
The three men shuffled out, their arms straight up from the shoulders. Tom went swiftly through the door.
"Cover them," he called to the police, as he moved rapidly to look at the three on the ground, finding all three of them dead.
Slowly he moved toward the captives.
"Sit," he barked, and they did as they were told, lowering themselves to the concrete very slowly.
To Tom's disgust, they didn't know anything, only that they'd been called in to aid Lewis after two previous attempts had missed.
"Well," Tom said, after the prisoners were locked up, "at least we solved two homicides for St. Pete. From what these guys were told, it was Lewis's two friends who pulled that attempt at the apartment."
Gizelle nodded, then asked:
"And what do we do now?"
"Go right on as we planned." Her eyebrows went up, as did Estelle's, and he explained, "Somehow those guys knew where we were, where we were going. That means there's a leak somewhere. Maybe another team'll try, and we can get a line to it. The three here were brought in after the information came to Lewis, so they're no help at all."
Danlear didn't like Tom's idea when he heard it, but he could see nothing else to do.
"You check in from the motel, though," he said, "and I'll have the local police put a watch on your cabins so you can get some sleep."
Luckily the rented car hadn't been damaged by the gunfire and, when Tom got through filling in forms, the three of them left the Sheriff's station and drove hard, arriving in Tallahassee about seven that evening. They took a suite in a motel, then showered, changed clothes, and went across the court to eat. Tom used a phone booth to call to the Washington Headquarters with the name of the motel and the room number.
As he walked back across the restaurant, he knew he was the object of considerable envy from the other men in the place. After all, he was with the two best-looking girls among the patrons. Estelle had switched to a playsuit that fit snugly to her torso and half of her thighs and left the rest of her body uncovered. Gizelle was a little more conservatively dressed, but her pullover sweater and velvet capris were both skin tight.
As he reached the corner booth where they'd been seated, Gizelle rose, so he could resume his place between them.
"I feel like a sultan," Tom said with a grin, "having such beautiful women around me."
Just then the waiter appeared with their meals and they ate in silence, until they'd finished and were sipping their after-dinner liqueur.
"What's on the agenda now, Tom?" Gizelle asked.
"We've got several alternatives," he replied. "We could cut back across the state toward the
Atlantic and end up in Jacksonville, or turn south at Lake City and go through the interior; or we could head west for Pensacola, either through the interior of the Panhandle or across the bottom of it, along the ocean; or we could head toward Montgomery. I'd prefer to stick to main highways so the police can keep an eye on us," he added, and the girls nodded.
"But you aren't expecting trouble?"
"There's a leak somewhere," Tom reminded them. "Whether the other side waits for several days and hopes we relax, or whether they move fast and figure it'll catch us off balance, I doubt that they'll give up. They've made three futile attempts and, if for no other reason than to restore their own confidence, they'll try again."
"You mean there'll be more fighting?" Estelle asked in a worried tone.
"Not necessarily," Tom answered. "They'll run in a new team-one we don't know-and try to make it smooth. We've just got to be careful not to get friendly with anyone and to watch for faces we've seen before too often. If we think someone's following us, we'll just have the police stop them for questioning."
"Won't they get suspicious if they see us talking to a policeman?" Gizelle injected.
"What if they don't see us? I'm going to talk to the local boys. Alcohol Tax Division or the Bureau should have a car with short-wave and a hidden antenna. We'll be able to keep in touch on a minute-by-minute basis, if we need to."
"That means we won't be taking off right away, in the morning?"
"No, about noon. I'll be busy setting up things in the morning."
"You're leaving us alone all morning?" Estelle asked.
"Hardly. There're several Tallahassee policemen stationed around this place with an eye on our suite and high-powered rifles to back them up. You'll be safe."
They rose from the table and Tom left a large tip, then paid for the meal, despite being told he could settle for it with the desk at check-out time.
"Why'd you do that?" Estelle asked.
"The suite's already been paid for. I want to be able to move on a minute's notice if need be," he replied.
They reached the suite and Gizelle hung back, motioning for Tom to do the same. When Estelle was a few feet in front of them, Gizelle asked:
"At the risk of sounding impetuous, what are the sleeping arrangements going to be? There are only two beds in the suite-or are you going to take the couch?"
Tom chuckled.
"I doubt if you're hinting; so, to put your mind at ease, Estelle and I were dating before this happened. As a matter-of-fact, I came out of retirement for this case because of my involvement with her."
Gizelle colored a little, just barely enough for Tom to notice it.
"Well," she said, "in that case, since I'm behind on my sleep, I'm going to turn in. Good night, Estelle," she called, and a minute later the door to one of the bedrooms was closed behind her.
Estelle looked into the other bedroom and noted that it, too, had only a double bed. Then her eyes moved to the couch in the room they were in.
"Are you going to keep up a front for her?" she asked, indicating the closed bedroom door.
"She's a big girl now," Tom replied. "I'm sure she knows the facts of life by now. Why should we waste half of that bed? Unless you want to keep up a front."
"The only front I'm going to keep up is to my playsuit, and that can come down as soon as the door to that bedroom is closed," Estelle replied with a grin.
Then she turned and sauntered off, walking in such a way that the natural wiggle of her buttocks was exaggerated. Tom made sure that the door to the suite was locked, as well as the windows, then followed her.
Once inside the bedroom, he pushed the door shut and leaned against it. Immediately Estelle moved toward him. His hands shot out and caught her by the waist, then drew her closer.
Her arms went around him and her lips pressed easily, eagerly, to his, as his hand found the zipper at the back of the playsuit and pulled it down. Slowly he ran his hands over the smooth curve of her back, then slipped them lower, into the suit and onto her buttocks. As soon as she felt his hands touch her, Estelle started to undo his clothes, and Tom pushed the playsuit down until it fell to the floor. A moment later he was also naked.
Their bodies ground against each other's, then Tom scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He casually dropped her on the center of the sheet and flopped beside her, gathering her to him once more as soon as he touched the bed.
Their mouths came together in a fiery kiss, with Estelle's tongue stabbing into Tom's mouth. It was the type of kiss that they both knew could go on very pleasantly for a long time with no other embellisliments other than the touch of body to body. But this wasn't to be the case, because, after just a few moments, Estelle grabbed one of his hands and moved it to her breast.
Tom would've been the first to admit that of all the breasts he'd handled-and there'd been a lot of them-Estelle's were probably the best. They weren't spectacularly large, but there was certainly enough of them. And the way they stood up so firmly of their own accord made them particularly nice to handle, as did the fact that, while there was a definite resiliency to them, they were still yielding under Tom's fingers. Tom handled Estelle's breasts for quite a while, before he remembered that her breasts were nice to kiss too. He kissed them, alternately touching his lips only to her nipples and then trying to cover all of the mounds with his mouth.
After a little of that, Estelle began to toss restlessly on the bed, arching her back and pressing his head down, as he mouthed the twin globes of flesh rising up to him. Then one of his hands slid down her body until he was stroking her thigh and Estelle's breath came in. short little gasps, as he moved his hand higher on her thigh, coming closer and closer to her womanhood. Suddenly he was touching her as intimately as possible, and Estelle also set her hand to work.
It didn't take him long to arouse her to a fever pitch that surpassed any heights she'd reached before, since she was still oddly stirred by the violence that she'd been a witness to that afternoon. She opened her mouth, intending to urge Tom not to delay, not to torment her with a long buildup, but to possess her as soon as possible; but all that came from her throat was a keening cry of delight.
And Tom, after continuing to caress her for several more long moments, moved his lips away from her breasts and down her body, caressing her with the tip of his tongue, as he worked his way to the top of her thighs. Desperately she guided his head to where his kiss would be most effective and, at the same time, tugged at him, until he shifted to a position that allowed her to return his oral caresses.
They tantalized each other, utilizing all of their skills to keep the other right at the peak of sensation but not giving the ultimate thrill. And finally Estelle could stand no more.
"Please," she muttered in a thick voice, as she pulled away from him and lay on her back with her legs opened to the utmost.
Tom moved over her but didn't lower himself to her twisting body. Instead, he stayed poised over her, his eyes taking in the flushed skin of her face, her slack lips and distended nostrils and the way her eyes were rolled back to show a lot of white.
"Please," Estelle begged again, drawing her legs up until her knees were resting on her breasts.
Tom teased her a little by ducking his head and kissing the skin between her breasts.
Slowly Estelle raised her legs, and Tom, when he sensed what she had in mind, lifted a little until she could throw her feet back toward her head. Then he was moving to her and her ankles locked behind his neck, as his hands slipped under her buttocks and raised her to meet him.
"Ahhhhhhh! God!" Estelle moaned, as their bodies joined flawlessly.
His mouth came down on hers and his tongue delved between her parted lips and teeth.
Estelle's fingernails dug into his buttocks as he moved over her, plunging frantically forward, letting the wantonness of her pelvic twistings spur him to a greater frenzy. Climax after climax came and passed, and they still continued until it was physically impossible for them to utilize the strength they had left for movement.
Tom couldn't have left Estelle's embrace if he'd wanted to, and he just lay there, tiredly kissing her and stroking her flank until strength returned to them. He'd been amazed by the way she'd matched him, movement for movement, and now, as she felt his touch become more deliberate-a sign of returning strength-she wiggled under him, asking him for more, which really amazed him.
"Was it that good?" he whispered.
"Ummmmm," she murmured against his mouth in reply, and Tom let her set the tempo this time too, glad that she was going with long slow thrusts that would enable them to continue for quite a while.
He knew the position she'd taken and not relinquished must be painful for her, so he maneuvered until she was stretched out full length, then when she started to wrap her legs around his waist he realized that she wanted him as deep as possible, and he slipped a pillow from the top of the bed and stuffed it under her buttocks to aid her.
"Thanks," she whispered, as his hands went back to her swollen breasts and his fingers tugged at the nipples.
And then she arched and slammed her mouth against his, as the heights of pleasure were reached once more. And neither of them noticed the door to the room click as it was shut.
CHAPTER NINE
When Estelle woke up the next morning, she was in bed alone. She slipped into the playsuit she'd worn the evening before and checked the apartment, finding a note from Gizelle saying that she'd gone across to the restaurant for coffee, and that Tom had gone downtown to arrange for a car with shortwave.
A moment later Estelle had Gizelle on the house phone:
"Would you bring me back some breakfast, please, Gizelle?"
Estelle was in the shower when Gizelle returned, and her first indication that she wasn't alone came when the blonde stuck her head into the stall.
"Hmmm," Gizelle murmured, "that looks like a good way to cool off."
"Is it hot outside?" Estelle asked, as she ran her hands down her body to get the excess water off, then stepped out and grabbed a towel.
"Not so much hot as it is close. I'm sure we're due for a hard rain, possibly the edge of the hurricane that's heading for Mobile."
"Do you think we'll leave here if it does storm?" Estelle asked, a note of worry in her voice, since hurricanes scared her.
"I don't know. Why? Don't you like the idea of traveling in a storm?" Gizelle asked.
Estelle shook her head, then Gizelle told her:
"Then we'll stay here until the storm's passed."
Estelle started to dry her back and Gizelle took the towel from her and turned her gently around, then patted her dry from her shoulders down to her ankles. Estelle didn't notice that the other girl took an extra long time to get the job done.
Just then there was a knock on the door, and Estelle jumped a little. Instantly, Gizelle was motioning for silence as she moved quickly to the door, ducking low to get by the window.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"Chambermaid, ma'am."
"Come back later," Gizelle said, tucking the gun back into her jacket pocket.
"But-I always clean this room at this time," the maid protested.
"I said, come back later," Gizelle repeated, with a tone to her voice that showed she meant it.
The maid sniffed and moved away.
Estelle was huddled in a corner of the bedroom, her hand to her mouth, when Gizelle returned.
"You've had a tough time, haven't you, honey?" she asked, taking Estelle by the hand and leading her to the bed.
Slowly she stretched the unresisting girl out on the sheets and rolled her onto her tummy, then said:
"Let me give you a massage to calm you down."
Her hands went to work, kneading the top of Estelle's back, until she relaxed and lay easily on the bed.
"Isn't that better?" Gizelle asked, then bent and pressed her lips to the nape of the brunette's neck, causing her to shudder slightly.
Slowly Estelle turned over and looked up. Gizelle was staring down at her, her eyes aglow with something, and her tongue was on her lips, moving nervously back and forth as she watched Estelle. Slowly Gizelle raised on her hands and let the fingertips brush over Estelle's cheek in a caressing motion. She leaned forward a little, her lips coming closer and closer to Estelle's, and shifted until one of her bare knees rested against Estelle's hip.
Estelle wasn't sure whether Gizelle was a complete Lesbian, or just bisexual, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that Gizelle wanted her. The danger and excitement and violence that had surrounded her the last few days had stretched her nerves considerably and, in a manner of speaking, primed the pump so that she was ready for sex at the first gentle touch of someone who desired her. She knew that, in the warmth of another's embrace, surrendering to her sensations, she could forget what was going on outside the bed and regain some tranquility.
Then, too, Estelle had read several books about Lesbian love, and all of them had described the sex act between two women as being more exquisite than that between a man and a woman, although admitting that the thrills were of another nature. And Estelle had often wondered if this were so but had never had a chance to find out. Of course, there'd been times when she was a girl in Havana that she might've been able to experiment with this girl or that, but she'd never been sure whether or not the other girl had the same desire to sample the forbidden fruit, so she'd restrained herself and held her curiosity in check.
Now the situation was different. Estelle could almost feel the desire that Gizelle had for her. It would be so easy to let Gizelle have what she wanted. Unless she was making a mistake! What if Gizelle wasn't trying to seduce her? But then the touch of the blonde's fingertips removed that doubt from Estelle's mind, and she realized why Gizelle was being so cautious-Gizelle wasn't sure of how Estelle would react, wasn't sure that Estelle would permit her to follow her desire. So it was up to Estelle to let her know otherwise.
The first thing to do, Estelle decided, was to get Gizelle out of her heavy jacket.
This was accomplished by a question:
"Aren't you warm with that on?"
Gizelle nodded, unbuttoned the knee-length garment and shrugged it off, revealing that she hadn't bothered to dress that morning. She'd merely put the jacket on over her bra and panties.
This time, when Gizelle returned to stroking Estelle's cheek, she leaned forward until her breasts were pressing against the other girl's.
Estelle looked up at the blonde's starry eyes and pouting lips. Hesitantly she reached up and placed her hands on Gizelle's cheeks, then pulled her head down and kissed her.
A few seconds passed and Gizelle lifted her lips and looked directly into Estelle's eyes.
"Are you sure, honey? Really sure?" she asked.
"Yes," Estelle breathed, her heart thumping. Again Gizelle started to reach for her, but Estelle stopped her. "I've never done it before-made love with another woman. You'll have to be patient and teach me what to do."
Slowly Gizelle turned on the bed until she was stretched out beside the brunette. One of her arms went under Estelle and turned her until they were touching, breast to breast, on their sides. And then Gizelle's mouth was lowering to hers.
It was a kiss unlike any Estelle had ever had, and she savored the fire and sweetness of it as it grew. Un-like the kiss of a man, there was no hard crush of lips to this kiss, merely a pressure that grew deeper and deeper and teased her lips to the utmost. And when Gizelle's tongue moved forward, it wasn't with the suddenness that men's tongues did. It crept forward ever so slowly, making Estelle twist her mouth against Gizelle's in a wordless plea for more of it.
They did nothing but kiss for a long time, until Estelle's body ached for more than kissing, ached so hard that she felt she would scream in frustration if she didn't have it. But she didn't know how to let Gizelle know this. And she decided that if she wanted Gizelle to move, she'd have to move too. So she lifted one of her hands to Gizelle's breast and let her fingers curl around the bra-covered mound.
Instantly Gizelle reached back and unhooked the strapless bra, then tossed it away. Her hands went to Estelle's breasts, stroking them skillfully. Again it was unlike with a man, because Gizelle's fingers moved like feathers on Estelle's skin, moved with such soft gentleness that Estelle wasn't even sure they were there, until she felt her nipples go hard and her breasts swell in passion, and then she knew Gizelle's hands had to be on them. And when Gizelle's fingers closed over one of her nipples and tightened, it was enough to cause Estelle's hips to churn violently against the blonde's.
Then Gizelle was breaking the kiss and moving her lips down to Estelle's breasts, and the brunette thrilled as she'd never done before. Desperately she hugged Gizelle's head tighter to her heaving breasts and was rewarded, when Gizelle put her teeth into play with gentle nips at her flesh.
Hours seemed to pass as they twisted and tossed against each other on the bed, and Estelle grew to know just how much she could enjoy having her breasts the center of amorous attention. She enjoyed it so much that, when Gizelle stopped and moved her mouth up for a reunion of their lips, then pressed Estelle's head downward in an indication that she was to reciprocate, Estelle was happy to oblige. Her hands closed around one of Gizelle's large breasts and directed its ruby-like tip between her lips, which clamped down. It became Gizelle's turn to thrill as a pair of soft lips moved on her breasts, as teeth nipped softly at her skin and lips tugged her nipples out farther.
During their twisting, they'd switched position, and Gizelle was flat on her back under Estelle's weight. The blonde moved her hands to her own hips and started trying to get her panties off, and Estelle released her hold on the girl's breasts to aid her. Between them, they got the panties off. Then Gizelle started stroking Estelle's thighs, and if her mouth hadn't been filled with Gizelle's breasts, the brunette would've cried out with pleasure at the touch of those feathery caresses along her tender flesh. As it was, however, all she could do to show her appreciation and delight was to duplicate Gizelle's actions with her own caresses.
Gradually the caresses they bestowed on each other became more and more intimate, and suddenly Gizelle pulled the younger girl's head up and their lips fastened on each other's and feasted. As the pleasure became almost too much for them to endure, they went spiraling off into space and a universe where worlds exploded with a force neither of them had known previously.
Estelle didn't think she could stand any more of what she was experiencing, but Gizelle continued to caress her, and she found out that she was wrong. She not only could stand it, but she wanted more, and her hips began to undulate in the rhythm of love as an indication of this. Then Gizelle started kissing her face.
When her lips reached Estelle's ear, she whispered:
"Do you want to go further?"
Estelle wasn't sure of what Gizelle was implying, but if there were further, greater thrills to be had, she wanted to sample them. She could only murmur contentedly, as Gizelle slipped one hand up to fondle her breasts again.
Gizelle interpreted the murmur as consent, and she slowly turned on the bed, shifting her position as if just the thought of what was to come was sufficient for the moment. Then she was over Estelle with one of her large breasts dangling above Estelle's lips. Then she lowered her own lips to Estelle's breasts, and the younger girl reached up and positioned the blonde so her breasts could be kissed in return.
Estelle was unsure of what was to come next, until Gizelle finally left her breasts and started kissing the flat plane of her tummy. As the blonde's rounded tummy came over her face, Estelle knew what the next step was to be, and she was reluctant to take it, until Gizelle's mouth reached its destination and moved on to her partner's thighs in a manner that said the act was going to be a reciprocal, if it was performed. And since she wanted it to be performed, Estelle complied with Gizelle's unspoken demand, caught the blonde's firm buttocks in her hands, then kissed her where she wanted to be kissed. Instantly Gizelle's head shifted. Her hands crept under Estelle's body to grip her buttocks, and they began to roll about on the bed, tossing fitfully, as they satisfied each other again and again.
Then, as if she were forcing herself to do it, Gizelle moved away from her partner.
"We'd better get a shower and dress. Tom should be here soon, and we don't want him to catch us like this, do we?"
When Tom arrived back at the motel suite, he found them fresh and clean and sitting in the living room, as they played cards to pass the time. Both of them looked up at him as he shut the door.
"Is it raining outside?" Gizelle asked.
"And more to come this afternoon," he replied. "In fact, it isn't supposed to clear up until tomorrow morning."
"Then let's stay here. Estelle doesn't like to drive in a storm, and with the police guard, we're safe here."
Tom looked hesitant for a moment, then relaxed and nodded.
"After all," Gizelle said, "she's had a rough time, what with three kidnapping attempts against her in the last two days. It might be a good idea if we got a doctor to check her over-to make sure her nerves are okay and see if she needs some pills to sleep with."
Despite Estelle's protests that she was fine, Tom agree to that too.
"It's just as well that we do plan to stay here tonight," he said, "because the radio car won't be here until late tonight. The man in charge of the local department came up with a good idea. When we leave here, we'll drive to an indoor parking garage, where only policemen will be on duty, temporarily. Then one of you girls will put on a wig. The other two of us will hide in the back seat, and a policeman will drive the car to the edge of town. Then we can be on our way with no trace of how we got out of town."
"What about our car-the one we have now?"
"A uniformed policeman will take it to the agency here."
"Well, I just hope they don't rent it for a while. It would be just terrible if a man and two girls were riding in it and the Communists attacked them by mistake, as they did when they kidnapped Miss Charles."
"I imagine the network has given out your description by now," Gizelle said. "Although it was sloppy work that made them grab the wrong girl, they should've known Miss Charles wasn't a Cuban, by looking at her."
"Thank goodness they picked the wrong apartment," Estelle said. "If they'd come to Tom's apartment, they would've found me getting ice, and been successful."
Neither she nor Gizelle noticed the strange look that entered Tom's eyes.
He switched on the television set and, when the girls became engrossed in an old movie, he slipped out and was gone for over an hour. When he returned, there was a doctor with him, who, after examining Estelle, said that her blood pressure was up a little, but that otherwise, there was nothing wrong with her. However, he did agree with Gizelle that she needed lots of sleep and left some pills for her to take.
The day passed slowly after that, with their stay in the suite interrupted only by their trip to eat at the restaurant on the other side of the U-shaped building.
Since they'd decided to get an early start, after a revised weather forecast called for clearing before dawn, Gizelle suggested that they get to sleep early.
"You know," she said, "if we left in an unmarked police car, say, and left our car here, with the guards still on duty to noon or so, we might fool anyone who was watching the suite."
They decided to follow that plan, as well as the switch in cars Tom had arranged.
Then they turned in. Gizelle suggested that, evidenced by Estelle's high blood pressure, she was suffering from a mild reaction to what she'd undergone, Estelle should sleep alone, and she said she'd take the couch. Tom told her to go ahead and take the other half of the double bed with Estelle or keep her bed and let him use the couch. However, when she repeated that she'd use the couch, he didn't insist on their doing things his way.
CHAPTER TEN
It was still raining, when, after midnight, Tom was awakened by someone softly calling his name. But when he opened his eyes, there was no one in the room. Silently he slid from the bed and moved to the door in time to see Gizelle leave the suite. In a couple of strides, Tom was at the window, and he watched as she moved to a telephone booth at the rear of the motel.
Now what's she up to? he wondered, as he returned to his room and dressed hurriedly.
Long minutes passed and Tom, from near the window where he was dressing, watched Gizelle feed coins into the phone and knew she was making a long-distance call. Suddenly things started to fit together.
Quietly, so as not to disturb Estelle, he called the St. Petersburg police and asked if they'd located the place where Manny Lewis had been staying. When they told him that they had, he wondered if they'd checked to see if there'd been any long-distance phone calls to a phone there, and learned there had been one-from Miami. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
When Gizelle returned to the suite, Tom was waiting for her. As she stepped through the door, he slammed the edge of his hand against the back of her neck, then caught her before she could fall to the floor. Effortlessly he hauled her to a chair, stripped off his belt and bound her hands, then moved back to his bedroom. In a second he returned, shredding a sheet into long strips, then securing her so she couldn't move. As an added precaution, he gagged her.
Making sure that she was still unconscious, he left the suite and moved to where one of the police guards was stationed.
"If you hear anything from our suite, disregard it," he said, as he showed his credentials, then moved back through the decreasing rain.
Pressure on Gizelle's nerves brought her around, as Tom had known it would from his study of the healing side of judo, and she looked at him in bewilderment, when she realized her position.
"Are you going to be a good girl and cooperate?" he asked mildly. "Or will I have to persuade you to give me the information I want?"
She glared at him from above the wide gag and shook her head, as she cursed him ineffectually. His hands rested on her shoulders, and he suddenly pressed his thumbs down, causing her to twitch and strain against the bonds. A look of worry came into her eyes.
"You never could take pain, could you, Gizelle?" he reminded her. "You better agree to talk, baby, or you'll really find out what hurting is."
"Tom!"
He spun and saw Estelle standing in the doorway, her body only partially obscured by a diaphanous nightgown.
"What're you doing?" she asked.
"I'm going to find out what she told her Commie friends just now, when she called them."
As Estelle's face took on a look of complete bewilderment, he went on:
"She's the leak I've been worrying about."
"She-she couldn't be, Tom. Not after what-well, she just couldn't be."
"Not after what? What has she done to sway your mind?" Then he recalled the way Gizelle had looked when she'd learned that he and Estelle were going to sleep together, the look of relief when Estelle had gone to bed alone. "Not after she made love to you? Do you think a traitor would hesitate to seduce someone she wanted to harm?"
From the look in Estelle's eyes, he knew he'd hit the reason for her doubt.
"Want me to prove she's the leak? Okay! The police have located the place where Manny Lewis was staying. He got one long-distance phone call from Miami. The instructions he got must've come from someone on the scene. Then when they made their second attempt to get you, they ignored my apartment and hit the Charles'. So the leak couldn't've been from Washington, because they never knew you were at the Charles' apartment."
"But that doesn't prove Gizelle's the one," Estelle protested. .
"Sure, it does," Tom replied. "Who else knew where you were? I did, but if I'd been on the Commies' side, I'd've let them take you at your apartment or given you to them any time. Major Charles and his wife knew, but the Major was killed. He wouldn't have been if he were the leak, and his wife didn't know which road we were taking out of town. His daughter couldn't've been the leak, because she wouldn't have known who you were, and Lewis and his friends wouldn't have shot her if she was the leak. She'd have identified herself and sent them across the hall to get you. That leaves nobody but Gizelle."
As he'd spoken, his eyes had watched the blonde girl, and he'd seen her shoulders slump.
"I'll bet that, if they checked her phone, they'd find a call to the Miami number that called Manny. Wouldn't they, sweetie?"
Again an almost unnoticeable change in Gizelle's position indicated to his trained eye that he'd hit the truth.
"At least, let her try to explain. Maybe she isn't the leak."
"Okay, Estelle, I'll give her a chance."
He started to remove the gag and as he did so, he told Gizelle:
"One scream from you and I'll knock your teeth out."
Then the gag was undone.
"Gizelle, tell him it isn't true," Estelle begged.
Gizelle laughed harshly.
"Why should I? He's hit the nail right on the head every time." Estelle recoiled and Gizelle chuckled. "Now maybe you'll stop thinking with your glands."
"Wh-what' ll happen to her, Tom?" Estelle asked.
"She'll answer my questions, and Headquarters will probably have a lot more for her. Then she'll go to prison."
Gizelle sneered.
"You've got all the answers you're going to get from me, Tom."
"Is that so?" He raised his eyebrows. "I'll bet that within an hour you're spilling your guts out, telling me more than I can write down."
"You-you're not going to torture her? Please don't, Tom. She may be a traitor, but don't torture her. I couldn't stand that."
"She got to you that much? Sure, I guess she could. I know she could-she got to me that way, once. I know what she can do with that body of hers."
As he spoke, Tom had ripped Gizelle's blouse, and now he cut away her bra and his eyes saw her naked breasts for the first time in sixteen years.
Slowly he took a pocketknife from his jacket and opened it, then got a flame from his lighter and rested the tip of the knife blade in it.
"I-I don't see how a girl as smart as she is could be a Communist," Estelle murmured.
"Maybe she got caught in bed with a girl and was forced into being a double agent," Tom said, as he picked up the knife and moved toward Gizelle. "How about it, sweetie? How'd you happen to switch sides? You can tell me, or I'll burn your nipples off."
Gizelle stared at him with hatred in her eyes, until she could feel the heat of the blade as it neared her breast.
"All right!" she screamed. "I'll talk, I'll talk!"
"Go ahead," Tom said flatly. "Tell us about how the Commies caught you with a girl and blackmailed you into switching to their service."
Gizelle laughed bitterly.
"I was a party member long before I joined the Agency, you bastard. I've been a member ever since your old man threatened to have me jailed after you or one of your friends got me pregnant."
Tom was so surprised that he dropped the knife.
"After my father did what?"
"After he made us leave town to avoid a jail sentence."
"I don't know what you're talking about. Your stepfather got ten thousand dollars so you could have the best care and could keep the baby. And I would've married you as soon as I was out of high school. I called at your house the day after Dad did, and you were gone. And I've got reports at home from the detectives I hired to track you. They traced you through college and then you disappeared from view. They talked to people you'd lived near, and they couldn't come up with a thing."
Gizelle looked at him with eyes that were stretched to the limits.
"Are you telling the truth, Tom? You're not lying to me, are you?"
Suddenly she was crying, and Estelle rushed to comfort her.
"I should've known better," she continued. "I shouldn't have believed Roy, when he told me that story about us having to run. But I was confused, and I was mad at you for that stunt at the party, and I believed him. He kept talking about how the world wasn't going to be any good until people like you and your family were gone and everybody was equal. I finally joined the party to work for that. They had me stay away from other members and get a degree, then managed to get me into the CHP, when I joined the Army. From there, it was easy to get into the CIA.
"And you're right about this case. I did contact Miami, and Manny Lewis was taking orders from me. I told him where Estelle was, where they could find us, after that failed. I was talking to Miami just a while ago. I suggested that I give you some of the pills the doctor gave to Estelle, then switch you to a truck and fill it with something and smuggle the three of us to a port somewhere, where a party member had a boat," she concluded.
"To Cuba?" Tom interrupted, and Estelle's hands went to her mouth as Gizelle nodded. "Why?" Tom asked.
"Hostage-they'd planned to let her father know that they had her and promise that, if he came out of the hills, neither of them would be hurt. Then they'd make him broadcast a statement saying that Castro is the only good leader in the hemisphere, that he'd done a lot of thinking and was sorry he'd turned against the revolution and that he'd believed the lies of the CIA and had become a traitor to Cuba.
"Originally Estelle was supposed to go alone, and I was supposed to stay here, but I got them to agree to let me go too. I would've renounced my citizenship and told a lot of lies about CIA subversion in Latin America."
She was interrupted by the sound of Estelle retching in the corner. Tom hurried to the girl and tried to comfort her, but Estelle slapped him away.
"You-you wouldn't tortured her. You're no better than the Communists, yourself," she said. "Tell me I won't be a prisoner here, even if you call it protective custody. Tell me you'll let me walk out of that door."
"We can't let you be in danger," Tom protested.
"Suppose I want to go back to Cuba?" Estelle asked. "Would I be allowed to?"
"I I don't know, honestly. But I doubt it."
Estelle ran into her bedroom and shut the door. Tom started after her, but Gizelle stopped him with a look.
"What the hell do I do now?" he muttered, almost to himself.
"Call Langley and tell them about me. Tell them I'll talk voluntarily. Tell them the Miami Headquarters is Apex-Inter-American Trading, and to raid it fast. Estelle isn't the only target."
From behind the closed door, they could hear Estelle sobbing. Tom looked at the door, then at Gizelle.
"If I cut you loose, will you promise not to run or do anything but try to comfort her?"
"My gun's in my purse. If the door was open, I couldn't do anything you couldn't see."
In an instant Tom was hacking at the bonds.
"I'll tell them you recanted voluntarily after we got to talking and that you learned you'd been duped into joining the party," he said, as he cut the last bonds.
"Thanks! Thanks a lot, Tom," she told him, as she gave him a wan smile. "After I tried to betray your girl and maybe get you killed, it takes a big man to do that."
"I owe you that much, Zel," he answered. "I should've taken you with me when I talked to Dad, and made him let us get married. I could've saved you a lot of heartache and pain. Hell, I should've kept it a secret about us and not started things, in the first place. That I regret-the other guys. But I don't regret what we had."
"I don't, either," she answered. "I never hated you for that."
"I'll hire a lawyer if they decide to prosecute. I'll talk to people on Capitol Hill that owe me favors, and at the worst you might get a short sentence, after I pull strings. And I'll wait if you do. I'll make things up to you."
Gizelle placed her lips briefly on his cheek, then smiled.
"No, Tom. It wouldn't do any good. I'm a complete Lesbian now. We're no good for each other, except as friends. I could never be a wife."
"It's a waste of a beautiful woman, as far as I'm concerned, but it's your life. I'll still be friends if you want, and I'll still help."
Just then the door opened, and Estelle came out with the sleeping pills in her hand.
"Here, take these-one of you, before I be a baby and take them myself."
"Are you okay?" Tom asked, stepping toward her.
She held out her hand.
"No, Tom, I'm not okay. I'm sorry about what I said. I know you're not as bad as the Communists, but you're not the man I fell in love with, either. I-ask your boss if I can go to an Army camp or something, where no one will be able to get to me. I don't want to be a target any more."
Tom nodded, then said:
"I think that'll work."
It took two days to clear things up. After talking to Danlear on the phone, Tom and the girls waited at the suite for several hours, then drove to the airport where a government plane was waiting to fly them to Fort Benning.
Estelle was taken to the visiting BOQ and settled there until it could be decided where she would be kept while under protection.
Tom and Gizelle were ushered into an office where, not to their surprise, they found several of the top men of the CIA waiting for them. Tom grinned to himself at the look they gave him. After all, he'd raised a lot of hell within the Agency before he'd left, and he didn't think they'd remember him with affection.
He was surprised when they welcomed him cordially, and even more surprised when they seemed more interested in talking to him than in questioning Gizelle.
Finally he grinned openly.
"So you've decided my way's best, after all?" he asked.
"Er.. .not exactly. Not in all cases, but we've reached the conclusion that there are times when direct action has its uses. Which is why we're activating a new group of agents whose sole mission will be to engage the enemy in direct action. These agents will be assigned to a problem and told to correct the situation that caused it, at their discretion."
"Yes," Tom said, "I'm interested."
"Well, then. Suppose you clear up things with your present job and make arrangements to relocate. A cover story will be devised that will let you travel at odd times and-"
"Make me a free-lance writer," Tom said. "A Norman Mailer type of writer. Now what about Miss White?"
The officials looked at each other, and Tom said:
"Remember, I have friends in Congress."
"We're well aware of that. I-well, let's say that, since Miss White has indicated a desire to reform, she'll be given a chance to do so. After she's given all the information she has, it'll be decided whether to allow her to prove her loyalty by acting as a triple agent, or whether she'll be released by the Agency. But I doubt there'll be a formal statement as to her-shall we say?-devious behavior? Oh, she may be asked to testify before a Senate group; indeed, I'd say that was a distinct probability. But no trial is contemplated. We might even assign her to a non-sensitive post as a translator."
"May I speak to her, alone?"
Once again there were guarded looks, then permission was given. In the corridor, Tom looked softly at Gizelle.
"It might be a good idea if you resigned from the Agency, in view of yourer-tastes. If you do, I'll arrange for a job for you with one of our companies at a good salary-and a stipulation that you be retained as long as you do the job, no matter what your off-duty activities are. If you like intelligence work, we can find something in plant security."
Gizelle looked as if she were going to burst into tears.
"I-I-just thanks a lot, Tom, I guess."
"Keep in touch through the home office of Kieth Enterprises. In fact, check with them once a week to let me know you're okay. If I don't hear from you, I'll start things jumping."
"I'm a big girl, Tom. I can take care of myself, and I doubt if I'll get more than I deserve."
When they returned to the office, only the chief official was there.
"Miss White," he said, "if you'll go with the guard, there's a team ready to start taking your testimony. All we want right now is more information on this last assignment, then you can get some sleep before they start going over the past."
Gizelle left, and Tom looked at his boss.
"Memorize this number," he was told. "It will be your control. You won't have to go through channels any more after you've been given an assignment. In this new group, results are all that matter."
Two hours later Tom was driving back to St. Petersburg in a car provided by the base. At Tallahassee he would retrieve the rented car and return it to the agency in St. Petersburg.
As he drove rapidly through the post-dawn hours, Tom felt comfortable at the thought of being back in action. Even the loss of Estelle didn't cause dejection. After all, it wouldn't be long before he found a replacement for her-particularly since he was going to be a playboy writer, who would always have at least one girl in his life.
And just as he barreled into Tallahassee, a face came to his mind.
Ah, yes, he thought. Now, what is Miss Baines' first name?
