'I was called to a meeting at Langley before I came here,' he said. 'Just me and the Exec. Director. We've also lost two of our operatives. Like you, in the last two weeks. One of them was only yesterday.'
‘We know.’
‘What?'
‘But we aren’t responsible.'
‘Prove it.'
'You had one of your scientists nearly killed in Cannes.’
‘So. We haven’t lay that at your door. Yet. Should I be getting concerned?’
‘We know the same method was used in Cannes as that which took out our sleeper. We’re not sure who the target was' Sorge stated flatly.'
'No shit?' Nowak blurted out disbelievingly.
'Why should I lie?'
'Fuck it, Dimi. The guy used a shotgun..
'He didn't. The Kraut was already dead. Before he was shot. The French pathologist didn’t check beyond the shotgun wounds. But we found a weapon nearby that we believe caused cyanide poison to cause death,'
'It doesn't make sense. Except that our people are convinced that they were after the scientist. You sure he was dead before he got hit?'
'As I said, it was a tried and tested KGB procedure.'
'So why tell us?'
'Because our hands are clean. Because someone's taking us both on.’
'Hi, boys,' Mary appeared at the bedroom door. 'Look what Santa's brought you.
They both looked in her direction, saw her standing there in a red, fur lined top that barely covered her firm breasts, pushed out by the white lace bra that clasped together at the front. She wore no panties or G string, only a Father Christmas false white beard that covered her most private part. Long suspender straps stretched down her thighs and fastened to sheer dark tan stockings.
It was definitely a conversation stopper.
'So. Do you boys want to fuck or do you want to make love?' she went on.
'What's the difference?' asked Nowak.
'Three hundred dollars or five hundred dollars.'
The two men laughed at her bawdiness and Sorge stood up.
'Let's talk in the bedroom,' he said.
The girl turned on her five inch red stiletto heels and went into the bedroom, the two men following her.
The lights were off and five slim candles in small red glass containers now flickered, lighting the room. The attache case stood open on the floor, empty, its contents laid regimentally on the dressing table.
There were two whips, one with delicate leather thongs no more than ten inches long, the other much more brutal which Indiana Jones would have been proud to own. Next to these were a selection of dildos. The smallest was narrow, no more than three inches long, hard plastic and rough surfaced. The largest was what could only be described as an implement, smooth and pliable rubber over fourteen inches long and with a large penis shaped head at each end. The three that lay between them were of various shapes and sizes, it was a selection to satisfy all demands. There was also a variety of rubber underwear, men's leather briefs and a selection of pornographic photographs.
Mary swirled round, letting them enjoy her body, and envisage what was coming. She was in her element, a long way from the demure professional executive who had walked through the hotel lobby some fifteen minutes earlier.
Nowak walked over, picked up the smallest flesh coloured dildo and held it up towards her. ' Bit out of its league, isn't it?'
Mary laughed and took it from him.
'Sit down, boys,' she purred. 'Show time.'
The two men sat, Sorge on the only chair in the room, Nowak on the edge of the dressing table. He picked up the photographs and started to leaf through them as she climbed onto the bed, rolling over onto her back so that she faced them, her legs splayed, visions of depravity opening before them. She slipped the beard off and then started to slowly rub her opening, turning her warmth and dryness to wetness. They heard the sound of her fingers caressing her juices, saw her smiling face taunting them.
Once she had moistened herself, she slipped the little dildo into herself, probed her inner flesh with short sharp jabs. Then, she pulled it out and licked it, rolling it with her lips. Finally she put it between her legs and slipped it into her other entrance, the hell to her frontal heaven.
Sorge unzipped his trousers and, pulling his hardness out of the shelter of his clothing, started to stroke himself. Nowak said nothing, just looked at her as he put the photos back on the table.
'Look at it, boys. Look at it,' she commanded, enjoying the power she knew she excited in them, urging them on as she rotated her hips invitingly at them.
'You ever do it for nothing, honey?' asked Nowak, his eyes transfixed by heaven and hell splayed before him.
She laughed, safe in the knowledge that these two tricks were good for the price. 'Once had a boy, no more than eighteen, who got me into his hotel room. Keep looking, you bastard,' she swore at Sorge, who had looked away from her openness to her face as she spoke. He went back to watch her seduce her own flesh. 'You just keep your eyes down there, baby, you keep your eyes on the action. That boy only had twenty dollars. Twenty fucking dollars, that's all. I told him I'd have the twenty, but only stroke him for it. But when he took his pants off, wow, when I saw what he had. He was big, something else. Well, I just had to have that thing in me, boys. Just had to. And did he go. Eighteen years old and the biggest cock I ever saw. After that, I just couldn't bring myself to…he saved himself twenty bucks. Boys, if you want my best, it's going to be worth every penny. Now just keep looking, just keep your heads thinking.'
Nowak stood up suddenly and climbed onto the bed, lying flat, his head between her open legs, only inches from her.
'Keep looking, boy. Keep looking.'
Sorge leant forward in his chair, saw Nowak's head move sharply forward, saw it bob up and down as he manipulated his tongue into her; first by sliding it in long deep strokes up and down her valley, then rubbing his nose and full mouth into her wetness, washing his face with her juices, licking at her until she started to respond as he wanted, not as a $500 dollar an hour hooker, but as a woman. No eighteen year old boy was going to outdo Nowak. She moved sharply, bringing her legs upwards as she released the small dildo that she had inserted into her rear, grabbing the top of his head with her hands and pulling his face deeper into her. He stopped licking as he sensed her urgency, now jabbed at her small mound of heaven, probed that pointed peak that was hard and sharp under his tongue.
'Don't stop,' she ordered Nowak, her voice low and deep in her hunger. 'For fuck's sake, don't stop. Don't stop.'
Sorge watched them, watched his friend's head bobbing up and down between Mary's wide stretched legs, watched her arched body as this sudden unexpected passion absorbed her, saw the whore scream and release all over his friend's mouth and tongue. As her body suddenly went limp, as her legs straightened and collapsed back on the bed, Nowak looked up at her, then turned and grinned at Sorge.
'Yankee know how,' he said, pushing himself up so he was now kneeling between her legs.
'The Najinsky of cunningulus,' Sorge joked back.
'Wow!' said Mary, turning her head to Sorge. 'What's he like when he takes his clothes off?'
'What evidence?' asked Nowak, taking his jacket off, followed by his tie and shirt. 'Your people in Cannes. What evidence did they find?'
'Something you wouldn't be looking for.' Sorge stood up and started to undress.
'The police, and our people, combed the whole beach. They found nothing. What sort of weapon is that good that…' Nowak had kicked off his shoes and was now unzipping his trousers.
Mary watched him, her legs still open as he knelt between them.
'Trust me,' interrupted Sorge.
'Too much coincidence.'
'No. Not enough coincidence.'