Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ________________________________ This is a story about a sexual FANTASY
written for consenting adults.  If you're not both of those, don't read it.
Characters in a FANTASY don't get sick or die unless I want them to.  In
real life, people who don't use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do
get sick and die.  You don't live in a FANTASY so be safe.  The fictional
characters in my stories are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY -
don't try to do what they do - someone could get hurt.

   If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here,
congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the characters
in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, since all of
these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination.

   This is my story, not yours.  Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. 
You can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact,
but if you make money off of it without my permission, you're breaking the
law and pissing me off.  _________________________________ Body Guards II:
Stolen Secrets - Chapter 1 (C)Copyright 2005 - Shakes Peer2B
shakes_peer2b@NONOsbcglobal.net (remove 'NONO' from the above address to
contact me)
http://storiesonline.net/library/author.php?name=Shakes_Peer2B
/files/Authors/Shakes_Peer2B/

   ________

   The little 'fishing' boat, showing no lights, slipped quietly into the
estuary.  All my previous visits to England had been to London and points
East, where the land is mostly flat.  I was a little surprised, then, to
see the rugged Devon coastline with its jagged rocks, emerging in huge,
slanting slabs from the black water of the English Channel.  The lights of
Plymouth, to the west, were suddenly blotted out by the rocky bluffs at the
mouth of the inlet.

   As we rounded the bend in the river, I could see that the villages on
either side of the Yealm river estuary were asleep, with few lights
showing. The night was clear and cloudless.  Even though the moon was not
full, there was enough light for reasonable visibility.  I could see, in
the pale moonlight, the ends of the vosses (stone walkways across the
estuary that are covered by several feet of water at high tide but exposed
at low tide) beginning to show as the tide ebbed.  The craft had a shallow
draft, but the captain wasn't taking any chances.

   He turned the little vessel in mid-channel, and with the muffled engines
idling in reverse against the pull of the tide and the flow from the river,
held her position long enough for a rowboat to pull alongside.  A crate was
lowered into the rowboat, and I clambered in after it.

   Silently, the man in the boat pulled for shore as the delivery vessel
drifted back toward the open water.  I didn't know or care what was in the
crate.  My cargo was sewn into the lining of my jacket.

   Neither of us spoke a word as I paid the smuggler, in US Dollars, for
getting me safely to shore.  A short climb up to Riverside Street, then a
trudge up the hill, back toward the English Channel, through overhanging
trees.  I went through a latched gate, and suddenly, I was out in the open
on a footpath, moving steadily upward as I neared the mouth of the estuary.


   My life as a confidential courier is often a dull, uneventful series of
flights to various parts of the world.  Once in a while, though, I get a
commission that challenges me, and puts all my skills to the test.  This
was one of the strangest ones I had ever taken.  The request had come to my
triple blind email box from someone who wished to remain anonymous: Pick up
a package from a specific location in San Francisco, and deliver it to an
undisclosed location in Europe.  There would be people trying to prevent
the delivery, so I was to watch my backtrail, and leave as little trace of
my passage as possible.  Time was not critical, as long as the package was
delivered safely.  I would be responsible for getting across the Atlantic
without a tail, from there, my client would handle the travel arrangements.
My guess was that he or she wanted to be able to check for followers, as
well.

   The price was set, the upfront money paid into my receiving account in
the Bahamas, then split between four other accounts in various locations
around the world.

   It's strange what some people think of as security.  The package
contained a CD and some specific instructions about where to go for the
first leg of my journey.  Just for grins, I duped the CD, and mailed the
copy to myself.  If all went well with the delivery and final payment, that
copy would be destroyed.  If things went wrong, however, I wanted to have a
little insurance.

   It was my responsibility to get myself to a certain latitude and
longitude in the North Atlantic by a certain time.  After that, my employer
would handle the travel arrangements.

   Making my way across the US was simple: I drove.  Well, okay, I drove
one of several nondescript vehicles that I own under different names from
San Francisco to Biloxi, Mississippi.

   From there, I hired a man with a fast boat, with whom I had done
business before, to get me across the Atlantic.  We met up with the
smuggler's boat at the designated coordinates.

   GPS systems have revolutionized the art of smuggling.  In the old days,
ocean-going ships that needed to meet up somewhere had to pick a
recognizable landmark that both knew, which put them in sight of land and
potential spies.  Nowadays, such rendezvous are held on the open ocean, and
cargo is transferred far from shipping lanes or prying eyes.

   Satellites?  The paths and assignments of US spy satellites are
available to anyone who's willing to pay the price, and these guys knew
exactly when, where, and for how long they'd be out of view of the eyes in
the sky.

   I just had one little difficulty to overcome.  It's one thing to step
from the deck of one small vessel to another in the quiet of a sheltered
harbor, and quite another to transfer between two wildly pitching boats in
the open ocean.  They dressed me in a wetsuit and transferred me the same
way they did the cargo: A line was tossed from the receiving vessel and
attached to the cargo (me, in this case), then the cargo was tossed
overboard (okay, I stepped into the frigid water with my meager travel kit
in a waterproof bag) and hauled aboard the vessel that was to make the
final delivery.  I didn't see any point in letting them know I could have
made that swim on my own, without the rope, blindfolded.

   I was bundled into a small cabin to change out of the wetsuit, and was
surprised to find a small Chinese woman waiting for me.  Instantly on the
alert for trouble, I opened the velcro pocket of the bag to reach for the
9mm inside.

   "You will not need the gun, Mr.  Winchell." The petite, black-haired
beauty said calmly.  "I am not here to keep you from delivering your
package."

   Maybe.  And maybe I was going to sprout wings in the next few minutes
and finish the trip by air.  I got a grip on the weapon and flicked the
safety off, but left it where it was.

   "Who are you, and what do you want?" I asked.  Not very original, but to
the point.

   "I believe you know Mr.  Stephen Hastings, do you not?  You have done
some work for him." She said.

   Yeah, I had done some work for him.  Nice guy, but those security people
of his gave me the creeps.  The stories people told about those four little
Chinese women...

   "Which one are you?" I asked, without answering her question.  If she
was who I thought she was, she already knew the answer.

   She smiled, and it was truly a beautiful expression, enhanced, somehow,
by the scar running down her right cheek.  I had heard the stories of the
epic struggle Steve Hastings and his bodyguards had survived to get his
first product on the market, and before she replied, I knew the answer to
my question.

   "I am Jun.  I see you know our reputation."

   If the reputation I knew was even half true, that gun in my bag was not
going to do me any good.  I put it back on safety and slowly withdrew my
hand from the bag, making sure she could see that it was empty.

   "I thought you people always worked in pairs." I said.

   Again she smiled.  "I will be joining my sister shortly.  For now, I
need to talk to you without anyone else knowing."

   For the first time, I realized that she, too, wore a wetsuit.  A dive
mask and fins lay on the tiny bunk.

   "Does anyone else know you're aboard?" I asked.

   "No." She said.  "It's best left that way.  What you're carrying was
stolen from our employer, and we want to get it back, but not before we
have discovered who commissioned the theft and eliminated the threat.  I
trust you will destroy your copy when this is all over."

   Holy shit!  This chick was amazing!  Not only had she been able to track
me down in the middle of the Atlantic, and get aboard this boat with no one
the wiser, but she, or THEY, had somehow found out about my having copied
the disc!  I didn't find out until later that it was the disc, itself that
told them I had copied it.

   "Of course." I replied, trying not to look surprised.  "My business
depends on my reputation.  I do not violate my clients' trust unless they
violate mine."

   "Good." was her reply.  "We need you to work with us to track the person
responsible for this theft.  There will be...  rewards, and your reputation
will not suffer."

   "How can you say that?" I answered.  "Already the mission is
compromised. If I don't deliver this package, word will spread, and I'll be
out of business."

   "You WILL deliver the package." She said.  "We will not act until your
client has received it."

   "How do I know you're even who you say you are?" I asked.  "I assumed,
when I saw you and you mentioned Hastings, that you were one of his
security people, but how can you prove it?"

   "How much have you heard about us, Mr.  Winchell?" she asked, reaching
behind herself to pull down the zip on her wetsuit.  "Have you heard of our
physical, shall we say, anomalies?"

   "I had heard rumors that you were women, but that you had, um, equipment
for a man, too." I replied.

   "That's one way to put it." she smiled.  I couldn't get over the beauty
of that smile.  "Here is my identification from Gemini Security."

   She handed me a laminated badge that identified her as 'Jun NLN' of
Gemini Security.  That was the security firm run by Hastings' bodyguards. I
was busy staring at her small, perfectly shaped breasts and it took me a
moment to focus on the badge.

   "What's 'NLN'?" I asked.

   "'No Last Name'" she replied.

   "Oh." I said.  "Okay, but that could be forged."

   "Of course." she turned away from me and finished wriggling out of her
wetsuit.  My delighted eyes took in the luscious curves of her bare
buttocks as she bent to push the suit downward.

   She bent further forward and said, "Take a good look, Mr.  Winchell."

   Nothing loathe, I studied her rounded buttocks and the lovely, moist
folds of her little pussy, lightly lined with straight, black hair.

   "Nice." I said, "But I don't see..."

   She turned as I spoke, and the thing I didn't see almost took off my
kneecap in the tight confines of the cabin - a huge, raging erection!

   "Oh." I mumbled.  "And it's real?"

   "Please," she said, "feel free to determine that for yourself."

   Mesmerized, I slowly stretched out a trembling hand.  The warmth of it
struck me first, then the smooth, velvety texture.  I could feel her pulse
beating within it, like holding a bird in the palm of my hand.

   Long after I should have been convinced, I still held that miraculous
shaft, unconsciously stroking it softly.

   "Perhaps..." she rasped in a hoarse whisper, taking my bag from me and
dropping it on the bunk, "a closer inspection?"

   A closer inspection indeed!  I dropped to my knees, staring that
bobbing, weaving, rigid snake in its single eye.  Of its own volition, my
mouth opened, and my tongue flicked out to taste the clear droplet that
oozed from the slit in the purple plum.  I have been bisexual for years,
but this was something so totally beyond my experience that I felt I was
drowning in a fantasy!

   Since Jun didn't object, I opened wider and allowed that slender rod to
slip effortlessly down my throat.  Small, strong hands gripped my hair and
guided my head up and down that improbable staff!  I could tell from the
urgency of her hands and the way her pelvis arched to meet my face that she
was enjoying my ministrations, but not a sound issued from her mouth.  Even
her breathing, though faster, remained quiet as she fucked my throat with
long, quick thrusts!

   In moments, her cock pulsed, and I withdrew far enough to capture the
second round of her slimy discharge in my mouth, savoring its extraordinary
sweetness before gulping it down to make room for more!

   Still no sound emerged from her as blast after blast shot from her
slender cannon, filling my mouth and forcing me to swallow rapidly! 
Seconds later, she withdrew and bent to kiss me tenderly.

   "I think we will work well together, Darren." she smiled, "All you need
to do is not react if you see me or my sister as you make your way to your
destination."

   "Uh, okay, but you should know, they're only giving me one leg of the
trip at a time." I said, "I think they've got watchers to see if I'm being
followed."

   "We surmised that this would be the case." She smiled, lithely
re-fastening her wetsuit.  "Do not worry.  We will be able to track you
without following, just as we did this time."

   Another kiss, then she was gone, taking the mask and fins with her.  I
waited tensely for the outcry that would signal her discovery by the crew,
but none came.

   ______________

   Jun's super sensitive ears told her that no one was nearby as she
slipped from the tiny cabin and silently lowered herself into the frigid
water.  Holding her breath, she dove beneath the waves before stopping to
don the fins and mask.  Turning face up, she blew air from her nose while
lifting the bottom edge of the mask.  When the mask was clear, she rose to
the surface for one more deep breath of air, just as the engines of the
smuggler's craft engaged.  Sinking silently again, she stroked upward with
her hands, pushing her body well below the waves before bending into a dive
that would take her deeper.  When the fins on her feet moved, this far
below the surface, they made no visible disturbance.

   Jun touched the button on her belt as she dove still deeper, and at a
depth of about fifty feet, detectd the sled rising to meet her.  She first
felt the vibrations of its engines and then saw the dim glow of the
instrument panel.  Nearing the limits of the oxygen in her lungs, Jun
quelled her body's instinct to dash for the surface and calmly felt with
her gloved hands until she located the mouthpiece for the sled's air
supply.

   She used the air in her lungs to clear the water from the mouthpiece,
then took in a cautious breath.  A few droplets of salt water still gurgled
in the tube, to be cleared out by her next forceful exhale.

   No longer lacking for oxygen, the slender Asian fit her body into the
passenger compartment of the sled, lying prone within it as she closed the
transparent canopy, and turned due east.  With the throttles open to max,
the jets drove the teardrop shape through the water at more than thirty
knots.  The passenger compartment remained full of water, but the bullet
nose and long, pointed, rear of the tiny craft minimized the drag and
turbulence of the water, while the jets, whose pumps were enclosed within
the sled's body, operated almost silently on electric power.

   Exactly twenty eight minutes after starting, Jun cut the throttles and
waited until she was dead in the water, then set the locator blip.  The
sled emitted a quick burst of sound, received an answering burst from the
pick up vessel, and sent it back, receiving the sled's answering blip. 
Computers on the mother craft calculated direction and distance, and in
less than a minute, the larger boat came to a stop directly over the sled.
When the doors in her bottom opened, Jun deftly guided the sled through the
portal.

   "Have you forgotten our training, Sister?" Sun scolded as Jun emerged
from the shower, drying her hair.

   "Did you enjoy that, Sun?" she smiled, "I...  improvised.  If you had
seen the look on his face, you would know why."

   "Did you at least remember to plant the tracking devices?" Sun tried to
ignore her sister's obvious enjoyment of the situation.

   "Oh yes." Jun said, nonchalantly.  "One in his bag, one in his hair, and
one in his stomach."

   "In his stomach?" Sun looked at her sister as if she were crazy.

   Jun nodded smugly.  "On a hunch, I inserted it into my penis just before
I asked him if he wanted to inspect it more closely.  When he swallowed my
cum, he also swallowed the device."

   Suddenly, Sun was laughing.  "You ARE crazy sister, but what better
place to put the device so it won't be discovered!  I wondered what you
were doing to yourself while you had your back to him!"

   "Well, don't be too happy sister." Jun smiled.  "In a day or two he'll
pass that one, but it should get us closer to our goal."

   "You're right, of course." Sun said.  "Let me make a report, then you
can suck me off to make up for letting him do you while you were on duty!"
______________

   In a daze, I stripped off my wetsuit and took a quick, water conserving
shower.  Vessels this size couldn't carry an evaporator, and fresh water
was only what they could take with them.

   Another day, and a few hours spent pretending to fish, and the
smuggler's craft deposited me in Noss Mayo, Devon, England.

   After rounding the headland on the footpath, I peered through the
darkness downslope, toward the ocean.  I had walked for maybe half an hour
when I spotted it - a WWII vintage pillbox, situated about halfway down the
rocky slope between me and the water.

   It was slow going in the dark, even with the moonlight to light the way.
Shadows were tricky and I had to take care not to step on any of the loose
rocks on the slope.  There was probably a path, but I couldn't make it out
in the dark, so I took my time, placing each foot with care.  I finally
reached the rectangular concrete structure, and feeling around the base of
it, on the left side, I located a loose rock.  Underneath was the envelope.

   I stuck it in my pocket, feeling something lumpy inside.  I would have
time to open it later, but first I wanted to get back on the path.  It was
highly unlikely that anyone would be on that path at a quarter past two in
the morning, but just in case, I would attract less attention if I, too,
were on the path.

   Returning was a little easier, as I found the path leading up from the
pillbox.  Once there, I used a penlight inside the flap of my jacket to
quickly scan the instructions and retrieve a set of car keys from the
envelope.

   Okay, back down the path to the village.  My timing was perfect.  By the
time I reached the bottom, the tide had receded enough to expose both
vosses, so I wouldn't have to hike around to the bridge.

   I knew I had missed the access to the Noss Creek voss when I saw the
Ship Inn looming in the dark to my left, and had to back track, but soon I
was making my way across the little creek that split Noss Mayo, taking care
with my footing on the slippery stones of the voss.  At the other side, I
stayed on the exposed, rocky bottom of the inlet and walked to the Yealm
River voss.  This one took me across the estuary to the village of Newton
Ferrers, near the Blue Dolphin.  A steep climb up the street, and a quick
left turn at the closed co-op, and I was able to locate the little Renault
in one of the marked parking spaces along the street.  Right hand drive,
naturally.

   I noticed that the number tag didn't have the little blue sticker that
would allow the car to be driven outside Great Britain, so I was either
delivering to somewhere in the UK, or this was just another leg of the
journey.

   I carefully studied the map that accompanied the instructions in the
envelope before starting out.  Thank god there were no other vehicles on
the road!  The lanes I took to get to the A379 were barely wide enough for
the little car I drove, and the hedges and stone walls on either side would
prevent any evasive maneuvering.  If I met another car, one of us would
have to reverse to one of the microscopically wider spots that looked as if
they would allow passing, as long as neither vehicle had an extra coat of
paint!

   Once on the A379, the signposts pointed the way clearly, and before
long, I was on the four lane divided carriageway numbered A38, headed north
and east.  Just south of Exeter, A38 became the M5.  With little traffic on
the road, I was tempted to floor the accelerator, but this wasn't the
Autobahn and I kept it below the nominal speed limit of 70 mph.  I didn't
need the police noticing me at this stage of the game, especially since I
had entered the country illegally.

   I continued North on the M5.  At Bristol, I turned eastward onto the M4,
and finally took the exit for Windsor and Maidenhead just as the sky began
turning orange in the east.  It would be a couple of hours before I could
get the instructions for the next leg of the journey, so I parked in a long
stay car park, using some of the coins I kept in my travel stash to pay for
four hours parking.  Stuffing the keys in the Renault's tailpipe, and
leaving the parking slip on its dash, I headed into Windsor.  _____________

   "Okay, he's headed for London, so we can at least start up the Thames."
Jun said, watching the plot of the courier's progress on the map overlay.
"That should get us close.  I wish we could get a position check more
often!"

   "You know why we don't, Jun." Her sister admonished.  "We signal the
transmitter only once every fifteen minutes, and it turns on for a couple
of nanoseconds, then goes dormant again.  That way, if they're scanning for
electronics, the odds are vastly in our favor that they'll miss it."

   "Yes, I know." Jun said, but there was something in her tone of voice
that caused Sun to turn and study her.

   "What is it, Sister?" Sun asked softly.  "We cannot have secrets between
us."

   Jun stared at the sunrise beginning in the east as their craft bounced
across the waves at high speed.

   "This one is...  different, Sun." She said, not daring to look at her
twin.  "I, I think I - we - could work for him..."

   "Ah." Was Sun's only reply before she, too, became lost in the sunrise.

   No further discussion was needed.  The two knew each other better than
any other pair of humans, with the possible exception of Mei and Wei, and
volumes were conveyed in that single syllable.

   No words were spoken on the bridge of the vessel as it sped Eastward,
then North, before turning again to the West and slowing to join the ship
traffic entering the Thames.

   "He's stopped.  Windsor, near the Castle." Sun told her sister,
interpreting the last two readings from the tracker.

   "Okay, we'd better get close.  He might make the drop, and if not, maybe
we'll have time to plant a couple more devices on him." Jun said.

   "I'll go this time." Sun said firmly.

   "We'll both go." Jun smiled, pointing to a detailed map of the Thames.
"Look - we anchor here and take the motor launch upriver.  We can stop at
this hotel between Windsor and Maidenhead that has it's own dock and take a
taxi from there.  We'll be tourists."

   _____________ Past closed souvenir shops, up the stairs beside the
elevator that was not working, across the footbridge, and a quick walk took
me through the Windsor Royal train station where the proprietors of
restaurants and boutiques were just beginning to stir.  I had coffee and a
pastry at the Starbucks across Thames Street from Windsor Castle, and
killed a little time, waiting for one of the other places to open.

   I ordered another cup of coffee at McDonalds when it opened, getting a
strange feeling about frequenting such patently American businesses in the
heart of England.  This McDonalds was set up as an Internet cafe.  Leaving
the coffee on the table beside the third terminal from the end, I used the
supplied username and password to get into the URL specified in the message
from the pillbox.  I was starting to feel that the whole James Bond thing
was getting out of hand, when it got even worse.  The screen that popped up
said only "Reach under the table." Then it was blank.

   Another envelope, also lumpy, taped to the bottom of the workstation's
table.  With the privacy shields on each side and my back to the window, I
opened the envelope and read the instructions.  Great.  Another drive.

   An old asian lady bumped me as I left McDonalds.  Her dowdy daughter
scolded her in Cantonese as they made their way across the street to be
first in line for the opening of the Castle.  Neither said a word to me,
apology or otherwise.

   I headed down the street and around the corner onto River Street,
walking toward Brown's restaurant.  Sure enough, the black Saab was parked
in the short stay car park behind the restaurant.  Back on the M4, again
headed toward London.  At the M25 junction, I got off the roundabout going
north on the M25.  A quick circuit of the Northern half of London, and I
turned off on the A12 headed east.  Traffic was picking up by then, though,
thankfully, most of it was headed toward London.  I figured I had a little
time to kill, so I stopped off in Colchester and had lunch at a pub.  The
barman thought I was crazy for ordering mineral water (still, not fizzy)
with my Steak and Stout pie, but I still had a way to go on this journey,
and as good as English beers are, I needed a clear head.

   Back on the A12, I got to Ipswich with time to spare, and drove down
A137 to the West Side docks.  It took me a while to find the right place,
and when I did, I drove on about half a mile before ditching the car in
another car park.

   I was making my way back toward the little shipping office along Bath
Street, watching the reflections in the windows across the street when they
jumped me.  I saw the movement in the glass while watching for a tail, and
stepped backward, almost in mid-stride.

   The guy with the cudgel missed and lost his balance.  I helped him keep
going, hard, into the cobblestones of the street.  The sound of indrawn
breath helped me locate the second attacker, the one with the knife, and
plant a heel in his gut.  Turning, I finished him off with a couple of
blows to sensitive nerve bundles, then did the same to the recovering club
wielder.  It was the guy standing behind them a few feet down the alley
that I wanted, and before he realized the fight was over, I was on him, my
gloved hand shoving the edge of his partner's blade against his jugular.

   "Who sent you?" I asked calmly, giving his crotch a gentle squeeze for
emphasis.

   He tried to draw the gun in his peacoat pocket, but my knee pinned his
wrist against the stone of the wall behind him, cracking a couple of bones
in the process.

   "Nobody, mate!" He cried.  "Nobody sent us!  We just see some bloke
walkin' along like 'e 'asn't a care in the world, seems easy pickins'!"

   I have interrogated prisoners who were trained a hell of a lot better
than this guy, and I knew without thinking about it that he was lying.  I
upped the ante.  Swapping hands, I began throttling him while using the
knife to cut his woolen trousers open, then started working on the dirty
briefs.

   "Okay!" He shouted, then grimaced in pain as the would-be gun hand tried
to stop my knife and bones grated in his wrist.  "Don't know 'is name! 
Some German bloke - paid us in Euros!  Bloody yellow 'air 'e 'ad, an' a big
ruddy nose!  Almost as big as you!"

   "Is that all?" I asked, tightening my grip on his throat.

   "Said where an' when we'd find you." He hastened to add, and I relaxed
my grip a bit.  "Said to kill you an' get some fuckin' computer disc off
you."

   "...and?" I asked, making circles in his crotch with the tip of the
knife.

   "...An' meet 'im in the freight office at three!" He was sweating
despite the chill in the spring air.  "That's all!  On me mother's grave!"

   I drew a little blood with the knife, then released him, taking the
revolver from his pocket as I did.

   "Take your friends and get lost!" I told him.  "If I see any of you
again, I won't go so easy on you!"

   I really wanted to drop them all in the River Orwell so I wouldn't have
to watch my back, but I didn't need Scotland Yard or the local constabulary
poking around, looking for a murderer.

   The other two were just coming around, and were only too happy to follow
their comrade back up the alley and out of sight.

   The revolver was a Webley Mark VI, .455 with a six inch barrel and a
swivel on the butt for a lanyard.  This was a WWI vintage weapon issued to
British officers.  A quick examination showed it to be in such poor
condition that it might not have fired had the owner managed to extract it
from his pocket.  I removed the ammo and tossed the rusty hunk of metal
into a trash bin.  The switchblade, while inexpensive, was, at least,
reasonably sharp and operated smoothly, so I stowed the blade and put it in
my pocket.

   The freight office was my intended destination, so either my client was
trying to pull a fast one on me, or someone else had intercepted enough
information from him to track me.  Either way, I was less thrilled with
this commission every time I thought about it.

   I watched the freight office from cover for a while, noting the comings
and goings of people, including some blonde bimbo and her crude boyfriend
who kept trying to feel her up.  Mostly, though, the passers by were
seagoing types.  I saw no one matching the description of the German.

   ________________

   "Ipswich." Jun said, turning from the computer plot of the last few
readings.  "He's stopped in Ipswich."

   "Okay," her sister responded, "we'll tie up downriver and go in in
disguise."

   "I'm glad we got the extra transponders into his clothing in Windsor."
Jun continued.  "That internal one must be just about ready to pass."

   "You can be the blonde this time." Sun said, tucking her hair up under a
short brown wig.

   An hour later, a small, blonde haired tart with a lower class British
accent wriggled her way up the dockside cobblestones in Ipswich, pausing
periodically to adjust the oversize cleavage in her too-tight top.  Her
slender, brown haired boyfriend with too many tattoos and too much hair
gel, played with her ass as they walked, despite her protestations of "'Ey!
Leave my arse alone!" and the occasional slap at the offending hand.

   "Hands off!" the blonde pouted as the boy, reaching around her shoulder,
gave her tit a squeeze.

   "Across the street from the freight office." Sun, dressed as the
boyfriend whispered in her ear as if saying something dirty.

   "Watching the freight office." Jun whispered back, then raised her
voice, slapping her sister in outrage.  "I will not!  Watch your tongue you
cheeky bastard!  You ain't even bought me dinner!  What kind of girl do you
think I am, anyway?"

   Sun, as the boyfriend, grinned lasciviously and replied, "Oh we both
know what kind of girl you are!  We're just hagglin' over the price!"

   ________________ At quarter to three, I slipped into the freight office,
stilling the bell above the door with a gloved hand before it could sound.
There was no one behind the counter, and I could hear the sound of a
television through an open door.  I quietly jimmied the lock on an
unoccupied office across from the empty counter and positioned myself so
that I could watch the entry through the crack I left in the office door.

   It was five after, by my watch, when a burly fellow with blonde hair
stepped through the front door, causing the bell to jangle loudly.  The
sound of the TV died immediately and a scrawny fellow appeared from the
back room.

   "Has he been here yet?" the blonde asked.  Veins were visible on his
nose - an indicator of too much drink - but his dusky skin gave the lie to
the bleach job on his hair.  The German accent was passable, and would fool
a casual observer, but I put him somewhere in the middle east.  Syria,
Jordan, or Saudi Arabia would be my guess.

   "Ain't seen 'im." The freight clerk replied.  "You wanna wait in the
back?"

   Blondie nodded, and I waited for the clerk to turn and head back the way
he came before leaving my hiding place.  I had a hunch this guy wasn't
going to be as easy as the thugs in the alley, so I sucker punched him in
the kidneys and grabbed his right arm, twisting it behind his back.

   He was quick and strong, and almost twisted from my grasp, despite the
shock of the blow, but I slammed his body against the counter and jammed it
in place with mine.  Gripping the captured hand with my left, I snapped
open the switchblade and jammed it far enough through his clothing that the
tip pierced skin just over the spot I'd just bruised with my fist.

   His struggles ceased as the message became clear, and I thought I had
things under control, when the clerk reappeared from the back room with, of
all things, a cricket bat.  Now the situation got sticky.

   "Tell him to drop the bat, or I'll have no choice but to kill you before
I deal with him!" I told my captive.

   "I am ready to die, pig!" The blonde spat, and began struggling again
and shouting something about Allah in Farsi.

   He may have been ready to die, but I still had a few questions for him
and didn't really want to leave a mess for the police to find.  As he
braced to force himself backward, I brought a knee up hard into his groin,
then put him down with a couple of blows to pressure points at the back of
his neck.

   I was turning to face the guy with the bat when the blonde bimbo I had
seen earlier emerged from the back of the shop, and, moving faster than I
thought possible, quietly disabled the clerk before he even knew she was
there.  Her boyfriend leaned against the doorway from the back room,
smirking.

   Up close, something about these two didn't quite fit.  The eyes weren't
quite right.  Then I realized that they had used makeup and putty to
minimize the natural epicanthic fold of their eyes.

   "Sun and Jun, I presume." I said, trying to get my breathing under
control.

   "We meet again, Darren." The blonde smiled and it was the smile I
remembered from the boat, scar and all.

   "So you must be Sun." I said, turning to the 'guy' in the doorway.

   "I am, but would you mind telling us why we're beating up these two?"
Sun said.

   "This one," I kicked the blonde guy for emphasis, "paid a couple of
local street thugs to do away with me, so I wanted to find out why.  If he
works for my client, as I suspect, then my contract is void, and you can
have the disc back right now.  If he works for someone else, I'd like to
know how they knew where I'd be and when.  Either way, my client is not
keeping his end of the bargain.  Which brings up another point: How do you
two keep finding me?  That WAS you who bumped into me in Windsor, wasn't
it?"

   "One question at a time." Jun piped up.  "I recognize this person in
spite of his bleached hair.  He is part of an organization with both the
resources to organize the theft of what's on that disc, and the capability
to put it to use.  I'd say the odds are good that he works for your client.
We will find out for certain when we have a chance to question him."

   "Maybe I should do the questioning." I said.  "So far, they don't know
you're on the trail and it might be best to keep it that way, if possible."

   "It may be best for now." Replied Sun, not questioning my ability to get
the information I wanted.  "We will stay nearby, but out of sight, in case
of trouble.  Do you want us to handle this one, or will you question him,
as well?"

   I thought on that for a moment, weighing the fact that the freight agent
would have to be removed from the playing field, at least for the duration
of the exercise, against the benefit of getting independent corroboration
of whatever blondie told me.  It was a little risky, but I figured the
agent was a 'temp' hired for one small part of the job, and wouldn't be
missed by my client if he should disappear for a while.

   "You and Jun work him over and we'll compare notes." I said.  Then, not
wanting to let my earlier question drop, I asked, "About those tracking
devices..."

   Sun and Jun smiled at each other and touched fingertips.

   "The disc itself has an embedded tracking device." Jun replied for both
of them, "But I planted three more on you on the boat, and Sun attached a
couple to your clothing in Windsor."

   "On the boat?" I cast my mind back to the pitching cabin and the feeble
light of a single yellow bulb...

   "Okay, one on or in my bag..." I thought some more, "...one in my
hair... but where did you put the other?  I still had my wetsuit on and it
wouldn't have done any good to attach it there."

   Jun beamed that lovely smile of hers in my direction before replying, "I
put the other inside you."

   "Inside me?" I thought back to that night again.  "OH!  And here I
thought we had something special on that boat!"

   I grinned at her to let her know I had no hard feelings.

   "We did, big boy," Jun replied, still smiling, "but I still have a job
to do."

   I shook my head, clearing away the vision of that long shaft sliding
down my throat, and replied, "Yeah, so do I.  Okay, you want to take him
somewhere else, or find another room to work on him?"

   As I spoke, I turned over the sign on the front door, moving the hands
on the little clock to eight o'clock - opening time the next morning. 
Locking the door, I went to retrieve my blonde haired charge and dragged
him into the office in which I had hidden earlier.  Sun and Jun had already
disappeared with the freight agent.

   I stripped the guy down to nothing, tied him in an awkward position with
his genitals on display, using the cords of a couple of phones, then, none
too gently shoved the handle of the cricket bat up his rectum.  It wasn't
long before he came around, groaning from the pain in his ass.

   "Now," I said conversationally, wiggling the cricket bat to get his
attention.  "I'm going to ask you some questions, and if I don't like the
answers, by the time you get to heaven, those virgins won't do you a damn
bit of good, because you'll be just like them, and this cricket bat will be
a permanent part of your anatomy, got it?"

   I pushed the button on the switchblade and let the tip of it score his
scrotum as it flicked open.  His eyes went wide with understanding, and
sweat broke out on his body as a trickle of blood ran down his ball sack.

   "Who do you work for?" I asked, deliberately giving him some wiggle room
in the question.

   "Al Qaeda!" he answered proudly, "But Allah is my master!"

   I resisted the temptation to remind him that Allah wasn't the one who
had him by the balls at the moment.

   "Who hired me?" I asked, again allowing him to be vague.

   "Also Al Qaeda!" this time he was belligerent.  I could live with that.

   "Why did you try to have me killed?" I asked.

   "Orders." he replied sullenly, then spat, "You were no longer needed! 
By killing you we cover our tracks and save money instead of paying it to
western pigs like you!"

   "What were you supposed to do when you got the disc?" Again, a little
room to hold back.

   "Take the boat across the Channel." He replied.

   "And when you got to the other side, what then?"

   "A car.  I was to drive to Nurnberg." A nice, safe answer, but true.  By
now, he must be thinking me an amateur.

   "And then?" I prompted.

   "A member of the local Al Qaeda cell would direct me." He replied.  It
was true, but I could see in his eyes that he thought he was putting
something over on me.

   Okay, I figured I had the outline, now I would bore down on the details.
Two hours later, Ahmed's dick and balls were a bloody mess, but would heal
with proper care, and I knew the location of the boat, the recognition
signals at each stop along the journey, the name of the person who would be
waiting with the car, and the name and contact arrangements for the
Nurnberg cell.  I also knew that he was to make a phone call as he neared
the pickup point in Normandy.

   I knocked my prisoner out again and turned to find one of the Asian
ladies slipping through the door.  The remains of the bimbo costume told me
this was Jun, as did the scar, now that she had cleaned off the makeup.

   "Well done, Darren." Jun rewarded me with another of those smiles I
enjoyed so much.  "The freight agent didn't know as much, but what he told
us corroborates what this one said."

   "Okay." I replied.  "You know the agent's got to disappear until this is
over.  My contract is void, but if I let those bastards get away with
trying to kill me, and then stiffing me on the bill, word will get around
and I'll be out of business before long.  You and Sun can have the disc. 
I'm going after the sons of bitches that tried to do this to me."

   I started to open the lining of my jacket to retrieve the disc, but Jun
stopped me.

   "The disc is worthless, as is your copy." She said quietly.  "We wiped
it remotely almost as soon as it left our building.  We, too, would like to
prevent any future occurrences of this sort of thing, so what do you say we
team up to do it?  Would you like to hire Gemini Security to help you track
these people down and teach them a lesson?"

   "I suspect you're a little steep for my budget." I said, "But I wouldn't
mind having you along, if even half of what I've heard about you is true."

   "It's a mere formality, Darren." Jun smiled.  "We are programmed to be
loyal to our employer, and while we already have one employer, it would
work best in this situation if you subcontracted our services.  For this
job only, we'll offer you the bargain price of one US Dollar per day, to be
paid on successful conclusion of our mission."