Captain Happy closed his eyes against the assault on his senses. Damn! He couldn't believe it! Where was the dowdy woman in the frumpy English clothes? This tiny little but oh-so-well-built blonde could not possibly be an ambassador's wife… or could she. It was well known that Ambassador Harper had just married. Happy had considered it a bit of luck that a new man was coming with a new wife. It was just the thing that would win people's sympathy to the pair and assure the success of Happy's demands, he had figured. But for some reason, he had assumed that it was a second or third marriage. Well, maybe it was… for the ambassador. The big man's brown eyes quickly appraised the generous tits, if they weren't padded, and the neat and shapely stockinged legs. She was a pert little dish, he admitted to himself with a second jolt in his hardening cock. Hopefully, the ambassador, who was on the other side of the jeep, in the custody of two of his more burly men, was old enough, Happy thought, that his little bride would be interested in something on the side!
Now he went back to his desk and sat down. When Bou came in, he found the captain so engrossed in his work that he didn't even know they were there.
"We got them, Captain," he announced with youthful fervor. Bou was only twenty-two and had a lot to learn.
The Head of State looked up quickly. "Oh? Good! Send in the bag," he ordered the boy, who studied him quizzically, afraid to make a mistake with orders he didn't understand but just as afraid to ask what those orders meant. Happy saw his confusion. It was exactly what he hoped to produce. "A bag is an old woman," he explained to Bou.
"Well, she isn't exactly… Yes, sir. You want the ambassador's wife, sir!"
Happy grinned at him in mock appreciation of his intelligence. He nodded. The boy disappeared.
When Bou returned with the girl, Happy ordered him out, not to return until he was called, and the Head of State turned his full attention to the prisoner, staring up and down and around at the tiny but abundant figure, appraising her deliberately while being amused to see her knees shake. He let his brown eyes rest on each of her salient points.
"I'm very sorry to frighten you. We don't really mean you any harm," he tried to explain, to calm her down. "Here, sit on the couch and I'll get you a drink," he offered.
"Where… where's Doug," she whispered hoarsely.
"Doug… Douglas Harper," Happy rattled on while he poured two scotches over two glasses of ice cubes that were always ready in his little cooler. "Douglas Harper… excuse me, Ambassador Harper is of no value to us unless he is alive and well, I assure you. If in the course of being here, you misplace him from time to time, don't worry. We'll take very good care of him." He handed her one of the glasses and noticed that her hand trembled uncontrollably as she took it. Yet she did take it. She probably didn't know just what she was doing at this point.
"I bet you will!" she rasped boldly.
Happy sat down beside her on the couch where he had placed her. He didn't want her to think they would care for him for nothing! "Cooperative hostages are always well cared for. It's those that don't do as they're asked who get into trouble."
"Who are you and what do you want?" she found the strength to ask.
Happy paid no attention to her question. She was quite a prize! She was tiny, in her early twenties, and her hair was the silkiest, softest looking blonde he had ever seen. She had large blue eyes, emphasized, he noticed with black pencil marks around the rims, but his attention returned to her hair. It fell below her shoulders and was just curly enough to defy matting. She certainly did not look like an ambassadors wife. Surely she was the kind who would prefer more excitement in her life than endless tea parties and reception lines and hypocritical smiles! He wanted to run his fingers through that hair, but it took him a moment to realize that since she was a prisoner, he had every right! And so he did, briefly. She pulled away.
He stared at her with his sternest look. "What is your first name?" he demanded.
At first she didn't look as though she was going to answer, but she swallowed hard and said finally, "Prudence."
"Prudence Harper, you are a prisoner of war! Cooperative prisoners live… and," he added as an afterthought, "so do their husbands!"
The young girl blanched even whiter than she was. Her skin was like alabaster. Happy could not resist reaching out for her hand to place it in his big black one. The difference in size, the contrast in color, seemed to fascinate her as well as him.
"Do you understand me?" he asked.
Prudence said nothing, but tears skirted the rims of her blue eyes and reddened them. Without thinking of what she was doing, she dipped her head and then raised the glass of scotch, finishing it nervously.
"Weeeellll," the big man stared and then got up, taking her emptied glass. "I'm glad you like my scotch, anyway," he said while pouring her another, a double shot this time. As he handed it to her, he again eyed her voluptuously full tits that pushed out of her suit that was in disarray. "You do like it, don't you?" he asked, his eyebrow raised almost menacingly.
She took the glass that he had filled while talking to her and tentatively sipped again as though she had not previously tasted it. She couldn't remember what it had tasted like. She couldn't even concentrate on it now. It was like liquid sawdust that burned a path down her gullet. The only thing on her mind was Doug and their predicament and trying to figure out how she should act and what she should say to help herself and her husband out of this!
"Oh, yes," she said automatically. "It's just fine, thank you!"
Happy almost burst out laughing. "It's just fine, thank you," he mimicked. "It's just fine, thank you, Mr. President. It's just fine, thank you, Your Highness. It's just fine, thank you… fine, thank you… fine, thank you…" he went on, bobbing his head to the rhythm of the words. With a big grin that showed all his pearly white teeth he looked up at her. "Before you married your ambassador, Prudence, did you stop to think that you're going to get mighty tired of saying that?" He kept chuckling and shaking his head. "How old are you?"
Prudence could not decide whether she was afraid of this big black man or not. He was much more human than she had expected. She thought kidnappers were rough and cruel and evil-looking.
"Twenty-three," she told him, sipping on the drink now. It was relaxing her beautifully, she had to admit. She didn't know much about drinking. She had not been allowed to drink until she was twenty-one, and coming from a strict family, she had never done much of it even then. Douglas, the son of an ambassador and now an ambassador himself, knew much more about it. His father had started him as a child.
"Twenty-three!" he marveled in a loud voice, "and dedicated already to a life of 'fine, thank yous'. Tch, tch," he said, shaking his head mournfully. "Well, at twenty-three, how much do you know about kidnappers?" he asked with a serious expression. He wanted to throw a charge of fear into her, just a little tremor, enough to make her more cooperative. He had taken her hand successfully once. He took it again. An electric spark pulsed from her hand right down to the pit of his stomach. She was loosening up, too, he sensed. Now she had the presence of mind to be confused by his touch. He saw the confusion and as she started to withdraw her little white hand, he took it more firmly and held her fast by it.
"Prudence, I enjoy having you touch me," he told her, pulling her close until their knees were touching and all the while staring at her with no smile, only the vague hint of a threat. He saw her toss her hair and take another healthy swallow of scotch. Her big blue eyes stared, frightened, back at him.