‘This is becoming such a meaningful exchange I think we should continue it in bed.’
‘I’m invited back?’
Her wicked look. ‘Command performance.’
25
SAUNA AND LATER
Eve left him around six and headed for the shower. ‘Deadlines. Got to hit the ground running.’
He went back to his room for his togs and walked down the back stairs to the atrium. As he passed Stromlo’s room he heard him moan. ‘Am I not myself when I’m asleep, oh Lord?’
The quote was from Augustine. Did the old boy have nocturnal emissions? Gandhi had confessed to them into his sixties, so it was physically possible.
He dived into the pool, struck out and, on the way back from the deep end, had a view of the gymnasium. Jane was seated on an inclined bench doing dumbbell curls, her slim body in a one-piece swimsuit.
On the return lap, he saw the red light on above the sauna door. Alpha, like many Antarctic bases, had a sauna and he enjoyed them. So, after four hundred strokes, he climbed from the pool and went in.
He was met by pleasing dry heat. He ladled water onto the coals, sat on the second bench up, closed his eyes and thought of Eve. She was proving the most sensuous of women — her body, moans, movements, a delight.
Muffled splashes outside. Jane was having her plunge. He let his mind drift, moisture pouring out of him.
The door clicked. The towel-draped Jane entered and ladled more water on the stove. She undid the towel and sat on it next to him, expressionless and naked. Slim strong legs and arms, trim hips, underdeveloped breasts. She was an exercise freak, his brief had explained. She looked like a bent schoolboy on oestrogen. She leaned against the wooden wall. ‘You shouldn’t wear a costume in here.’
‘Want me to take it off?’
‘You’d feel better.’
‘Okay.’ He stripped.
‘How was Eve? Satisfying?’
‘Very.’
‘I suppose you know we share things.’ She put her hand on him, working him hard. Then she moved over and impaled herself on his lap. He cradled her small moist breasts. ‘You’re an unconventional family.’
‘You mean, honest about what we want?’
Soon they were lying on the bench. It was pleasant but odd. He had his fingers on her clitoris, but his knuckles were being mashed into the wood. She raised herself a little to help him. She was awkward, determined. No sound. No frills. Just the intention to be satisfied in the most practical, efficient way.
She said, ‘On the floor. It’s wider.’
They disengaged and she lay on her back on the floor. The boy’s body, short hair, half-masculine face. He entered her again from the front. Her hands on his bottom were guiding him to thrust higher on her, harder.
She started to grunt, determined to come, body tensed, teeth gritted, hands clamped on him as if arresting him for possession.
After the savage delight of her climax, she relaxed and let him finish in her. Although the floor of the sauna was cooler he felt as if his head would explode.
‘Swim now,’ she said, as if it was the next part of an exercise routine.
They fell into the pool, needing to cool off fast.
When they surfaced, Stromlo was standing by the fernery, sipping orange juice, the cord of his frayed dressing gown trailing on the tiles. He shook his head sadly, turned and shuffled away.
‘Dirty old hypocrite,’ she said. ‘Tells us how sinful we are. But he perves.’
The staff were back and the capable Chinese cook packed them an excellent lunch. He left Stromlo holding the fort, Eve working on her moulds, and went bushwalking with Jane.
She was a practised tramper with a persistent steady pace and, on steep climbs with fewer toes, it was tough keeping up with her. She’d brought a machete and hacked at encroaching branches. For three hours they barely spoke. He tried to relate the trails to a walking map she’d given him of the area.
They ate near the peak of a mountain beside a tarn ringed by daisies where robins fluttered in the underbrush and squabbling parakeets drifted on the air. The view was impressive — thickening forest of beech and rimu dotted by huge tree ferns and mountain scrub.
‘So what’s your take on the poltergeist?’ he asked.
‘It’s a fact of life.’ She stared at mist trapped lower in the valley. ‘I try to work around it.’
‘Nina seems very disturbed.’
‘Don’t cry for that sneaky little minx.’
‘You all need to leave here. The Russians have tried the polite approach. Next time they’ll march in and grab you.’
‘Leave this?’ She waved at the opposite peak. A ribbon of white water cascaded down its rocks. ‘Leave my job, the gym, the sauna, the pool?’
‘But if they pinch you, you’ll have nothing.’
She just stared at the stream of falling water.
It was an all-day tramp. Some of the track was overgrown and they saw no one. On a long descent during the afternoon, they reached a mountain stream, undressed and dunked. The water was very cold and they had no towels so sat on her space blanket, letting the weak sun dry their skin.
She pointed to his holstered SIG and the two clips.
‘What’s this?’
‘Tool of trade.’
‘Fully deductible?’ The expressionless look that could be either dispassion or disgust.
He began to stroke her arms, wanting her again, licked the last droplets from her neck.
Almost irritably, she lay face down, legs apart on the blanket. Her attitude to sex had the rough practicality of a guerilla fighter on the trail.
He mounted her and it was good. Strong back and small neat buttocks — she seemed to prefer it from the rear. She lay as if uninterested for a while before she started to grunt, push back, then came in her repressed, explosive way.
After it, he tried to fondle her but her emotionless manner discouraged him. She pointed to his foot. ‘You’re getting a blister.’ She rummaged in her bag, peeled a sticking-plaster, slapped it on his heel. He imagined it was the nearest she came to an expression of affection.
When they reached the house, it was almost dusk. Stromlo must have picked them up. He was framed in the back door, looking at his perimeter handset, the plonk smell heavy around him.
‘Buona sera,’ Cain said. ‘Everything okay?’
‘No. I’m glad you’re back. Intelligence report. Five guests tonight. From Russia!’
Jane took her boots off on the back porch and walked past as if she barely knew them. Cain waited till she’d gone and said, ‘Five? Hell. We’d better get set up.’
He got the large khaki metal box out of his car boot and lugged it to Stromlo’s room. The Grade Four priest had his ordinance spread on the bed. It contrasted oddly with the crucifix on the wall and the statue of the Virgin.
As well as a BDA9 automatic, he had an M249 with a 300-round belt and five prepacked plastic boxes of thirty that rattled as Cain sat beside them. The MINIMI was a congenial and accurate weapon but Cain didn’t know why EXIT had decided a machine-gun would be helpful. There were fragmentation and smoke grenades and a set of Bowman hand-held portables. The Great One was equipped for a field spat — not an ambush in a house.
One item was interesting — an M983 Gen III night-vision monocular that could be used as a goggle, hand-held viewer, pocketscope and day/night weapon sight. It would have been a blast, he thought, with standard red-dot aiming. Cain opened his box and lifted out two new P90s and some 50-round plastic mags. ‘These make sense.’ He handed one over.
‘Non posso più. What is it…?’ Stromlo stared at the weapon — a hunk of oddly shaped black plastic casing with an almost fully enclosed barrel. A smoked plastic mag lay along its axis above the receiver.