Passage 1 - Options
jiminski wrote:Queen Bitch
They engulfed the forest like lion-sized insects on a raid. Delving, crushing antennae, each arm fed the hive-mind. She, queen-bitch; commanded and sifted through the fragments. Joining thought to experience, all-knowing, all seeing, omnipotent to a hundred yard circumference.
Suddenly as one they halted, the stench of shit and fear careering through every beating nostril.
A cowering, 300 pound monster edged, reluctant toward her queen. Her armoured green skin tightly clenched over muscles, primed by a lifetimes sororal struggle.
The Bitch widened and softened her eyes as she stooped to gently grasp her daughters scruff. At that frozen moment they were joined in a perverse natural parody; a caring mother carrying her kitten to safety.
But there were no secrets in the hive-mind.
With a tightening of her massive jaws and a twist of her obscene neck, she bit down. 4 inch daggers mashed and severed. The daughter rocked lifeless on her Queens jaw.
Sackett58 wrote:All Work and No Play
"All work and no play makes Sack a dull boy!" was all Sackentine could think of while he was tied to the stake outside the nest. Once a year his kingdom would sacrifice a male in his 19th year to the foul insects that inhabited the bowels of the earth. The sacrifice to the insect queen was to prevent attacks on the kingdom and also believed to bring in a good harvest.
Sackentine thought back before this last year of his life; working in the fields all day, coming home, eating and then going to bed. The same routine ever since he learned to walk. Until the day the Holy Man came to the door and informed his parents of his destiny. For the honor of being chosen as sacrifice he would enjoy a year of food,drink and pleasure.
Sackentine thought how this last year wasn't as dull as the previous years. Oh! The debauchery and the endless nights of drink and busty women at his disposal; now it all came to this. His naked muscular, tanned, oiled body glistened in the sun while he awaited his fate.
mandyb wrote:Rude Awakening
A sliver of light pushed against the muggy, grey dawn; wound it's way though the chinks and cracks of the heavily curtained window and across the unlit bedroom; resting finally, on the pale face of the woman lying there.
Ordinarily, it's magic had little effect on Catherine. It was still early and she was a sound sleeper. Add to that the long days and late nights....even her excrutiatingly loud alarm was only able to rouse her after a good two minutes of insistant buzzing.
But today was different.
Today she was already wide awake - had been long before her alarm's rude awakening, long before first light infiltrated her room.
The church bells rang again: another relentless reminder.She had long since given up hoping they would stop or better still, rewind. But no amount of wishing could prevent their steady toll towards this day, this moment.
Reluctantly, she turned to the man lying beside her; gently shook his shoulder and whispered:
"Stephen."
"Stephen, it's time."
Fruitcake wrote:Park Lane Hotel conference room, 27th May 2013
Pulling the pocket-sized PC projector out of his briefcase, Geoffrey Dymock carefully adjusted the focus button before inserting it into a USB port on his laptop computer.
The busty conference room waitress asked if he wanted tea or coffee. Engrossed in fiddling with the projector, he didn’t even bother to look up.
“Mineral water” said Dymock bluntly. It was obvious Dymock was in no mood for discussion. The assistant, who was actually gagging for a coffee, also ordered mineral water.
Dymock set the PC projector on the conference room table, the contents of his laptop screen reflecting sharply on a large screen. He opened the presentation and tested the first couple of slides to make sure they were legible. Then he tested them again.
Reluctantly, with nothing more to do, he sat down, and then they waited. Two nervous suits in a big London conference room sipping mineral water.
A mere twenty five minutes later, bang on schedule as far as Dimitri Balinova was concerned, the great man entered the room, a lackey but two paces behind. Without preamble, without fanfare, and without so much as a smile, he took a seat at the head of the table.
“Ok” said Balinova, throwing sunglasses, car keys and mobile phone onto the table, “what have you got?”
william18 wrote:Buzzzzzz, Alien Attack
The banging on the door got louder and louder, and the hinges were creaking and cracking. Jeremy Hoofler hurriedly pushed a desk towards a pile of furniture blocking the door, in a desperate attempt to strengthen the ever weakening barricade.The bugs seemed relentless, they were banging for hours, never stopping.
This type of desperation is uncommon among the creatures.
Jeremy began to recollect what happened, in what seemed to be so quick. Earth had been infested by these vermin approximately a year ago, when the space faring insects entered our solar system. NASA noticed them just as their fleet were at Pluto, giving the major powers more then sufficient time to prepare for all outcomes.
The world was in a buzz, but soon that term would become literal. As the fleets approached Earth, humans attempted to make communication, but the aliens destroyed the satellites.
As the other-worldly ships cut through the atmosphere they were bombarded with millions of missiles. No shield system they possessed could withstand the humans barrage.
got tonkaed wrote:In Some Major American City
Everyone wants to believe there is some grand narrative to their lives. It was a clever man who said that everyone had at least one great book in them, simply sharing the story of their life – even though it wasn’t remotely true.
Or if it was true, it was because there simply was very little difference between most people, sure the names and the dates changed, but the substance was the same. Running around chasing things without rhyme or reasons, forming a few transient bonds, and then they die. It is no wonder surely why there are so many overdone happy endings in the films these days, because the average person couldn’t muster whatever it took to make one of their own.
Jamie Briggs was never the type of person to fall into that trap; he knew what it meant to have a life worth living. It was never going to be enough to live a life for the cause, the cause had to make you different, it had to make you something that the plebeians never could be, someone who had broken away from the lie of middle class morality.
The1exile wrote:Dawn over the Kara Sea
The morning sun glistened off the snow prettily. Dmitri almost smiled as he leaned against the door, fag in hand, surveying this peaceful northern vista. Times like this you could almost forget your conscience... and on a good day, even ignore the radiation tendrils eating you up inside.
He flicked his cigarette butt away carelessly, and turned to re-enter the shelter, but too late out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure behind him. He jerked forward to run but the unknown figure had him, garotting him quickly. As he twisted and writhed, the figure hit him in the spine with a knee.
As he collapsed, the silhouette against the sun looked down at him with utter contempt. It would be the last thing Dmitri ever saw.
heavycola wrote:
If i'm still in time?? (You certainly are!)
Ry'arr's scales shimmered like a mirage. Briefly his forked tongue poked out between a set of perfectly aligned senatorial teeth, caught a passing housefly and retreated back into what had already become a smooth, reptilian snout.
Sarah almost gagged. She'd been up to her elbows in moose guts countless times, had watched men ripped apart by blood-crazed bears, but there was something about these shapeshifting bastards that made her gorge rise, even now. Maybe it was the sideways blink over alien eyes, or those endlessly flickering tongues.
'You... have dissspleassed ussss,' the lizard hissed. At almost seven feet tall he usually towered over her tiny frame, but now he was stooped forward, eye to eye with the governor.
'You didn't tell me that bitch Couric wasn't chipped,' she said, small and defiant.
Ry'arr took her chin in a scaly hand. 'Sssssarah... I would sssuggesst you calm yourssseelff....'
Sarah shuddered at his dry touch. 'I'm just a goddam hockey mom from Alaska,' she thought for the twelfth time that day. 'What the hell am I doing here?'
The answer came immediately. 'No one will believe you are anything more than a corrupt, small-town moron,' Commander Obama had told her. 'You're perfect. The world needs you.' And with the recollection of his words came the memory of his bottomless eyes, the way he had touched her arm and smiled straight through her. She knew why she was doing this.
Curmudgeonx wrote:8 years ago
It was too painful to move. A pain, similar in texture as a hundred times before, the queasy stomach, the buzzing sensation that made his ears hot like the proverbial plague of locusts were scurrying across the front of his head. Eventually the eyes opened due to the bile rising in his gullet and the overfull bladder demanding that he move, and move pretty fucking quick. Lurching up and over the side of the bed into a three point stance, gaining momentum towards the hallway and the bathroom down at the end.
Progress was being made, certain areas of the body, now sated, lapsed again into unconsciousness. The brain still burned, periodically flinching from memories of the night before, frantic memories, sizzling and crossing his mind like meteors preceding Armageddon. Impacts leaving craters to be filled with guilt and longing. Why, he asked himself, why is this the normal progression of my life? What were others doing this morning? Already at work at their gray painted pressboard desks, swapping stories about sitcoms with the other fucking drones. Truly believing that everything was right in the world, that with patience, luck, and the appropriate amount of ass-kissing and manoeuvring, that they would reach the nirvana of success. Whatever that may be for each respective drone.
Passage 2 - Options
ENTRY NOW OPEN, PLEASE COMMENCE YOUR NARRATIVE.
Read each Option, when poll is posted on Saturday - Vote for your Favourite Passage and the most popular will continue our epic tale!
got tonkaed wrote:
“The initial findings seem to be inconclusive, but we are optimistic that we can still move forward,” Dymock started. His assistant nearly squirmed uncomfortably, until Dymock shot him a glare that suggested it would be the end of his job if he did.
“How so,” queried Balinova, who if nothing remained unconcerned. No matter what the results were he was not the type of man to be bullied by a PowerPoint. Dymock sensing this eased momentarily, realizing he might not be in such bad shape.
“The drug isn’t having consistent results within different populations. While in terms of initial effect we are still operating around 100% in nearly all populations, the rejection levels remain high. In Manchester, 7% of subjects are still rejecting, while abroad we are getting numbers as high as 13-15%.”
“That isn’t nearly enough progress, nor does it explain why we are getting the results we are outside of England,” Balinova stated with a quizzical look toward Dymock. Dymock considered breaking in but he realized it would be fruitless.
"We may have no choice but to pursue other strategies, Mr. Dymock. Figure out how to get results soon, or figure out how to forget the last year and a half of your life,” Balinova cautioned sternly. Dymock didn’t have to be told, he understood this from day one.
jiminski wrote:
Geoffrey slid forward in his seat, bowing his head as he did so. Fuckit! The movement dragged the gesture deeper than he’d intended.
“Good morning Mr Balinova, your journey was pleasant yesterday? No problems with customs I imagine!” Each word was slow and deliberate. He rounded them with a conspiratorial smile as his eyes settled on the waitress’ breasts. Mr. Balinova did not accept the invitation.
“Something to drink perhaps Dimitri!?” he polished his syllables further to ensure comprehension.
“I am biiizzy mian Meesta Dimic, pliz procid viz presentachun”
As he turned to the waitress, the Russian’s expression unfroze a degree,
“Nothing to drink for me thank you Gloria, that damn Chateaux Lafitte bloats me so!” His perfectly formed words looked square at the establishment which had trimmed them.
‘Gloria’ left them alone, steeling a last glance at his cobalt eyes as she closed the double doors. She left floating on a cloud of possibilities.
Cunt! Rally man, Rally! Oliver you are fucking fired!
“Shut the blinds please Oliver!” Geoffrey flashed an uncharacteristic smile at the downtrodden Assistant and Brief. I can be a man of the fucking people too.. bloody Bolsheviks!
“Thank you Oliver!” Another smile, Oliver began considering oversees job opportunities.
Dymocks flushed face now gratefully wore the mask of the darkened room. He flicked determinedly on his mousepad until all faces were twilight-lit by the glowing blue screen!
“If you look to the bottom left of the schematic Mr Balinova, you will se….” Bam!
The words were cut short by the crashing-open of the conference room doors!
PLAYER57832 wrote:
Dymock changed his scowl to a smile and, after a good long pause, looked up. “Got? ”, he repeated, “Nothing much .. Just the answer to all your dreams.”
Balinova paused a moment. Would this peon make the game interesting for a change?,He wondered to himself. It had been a while. Then again, if he was getting too big for himself .. that could be fun as well.
Balinova sat back and let an obviously insincere smile course his face. He looked around, checking that no one new had come into the room. The only one there was the waitress, who gave Balinova his usual, Mt Dew (no need for HIM to order!) And quickly left. Then he slowly turned to Dymock, “I’m ready to hear”, he said.
Dymock opened his laptop, turned the screen to Balinova, push a button and said just one name: “Daniel P. Pinkwater, the third”.
As Balinova watched the gyrating figures on the screen, he saw things that should have turned even his hardened stomache. Instead, he turned to Dymock, his smile sincere this time and said, “very good”, welcome to our team!
“Your official position will be in advertising, with a small office downstairs. Since I personally approve ALL advertising, you will occasionally have reason to meet with me. In a few days, you will find you have inherited a good deal of stock, a house in the Hamptons and a nice stipend from various offshore concerns. BUT, let me warn you ... you will have to occasionally produce some real advertising.”
“And,” Balinova leaned close, his face most definitely not smiling now, “I know gems like these,” he pointed at the screen, “are hard to come by. I am certainly not unreasonable. BUT, should I find you have let anything slip through your fingers, our relationship will end .. permanently!”
With that, Balinova took the disk and walked out of the room.
Dymock stared at the closed door, wondering if he the dreams he had just made come true would turn out to be his nightmare. Abruptly, he picked up his laptop and left. His assistant followed, brushing past the waitress as she came in to clean up.
It was time for everyone to get to work.
william18 wrote:
"We..well there se..seems to be a problem at the mi...mining station" stuttered Geoffrey.
Balinova glared at Dymock fiercely, making him more nervous then he was.
" What problems?" asked Balinova sternly. Dymock started to shuffle his papers nervously.
"Well we were mining far de..deeper th..then we should of, approximately 40,000 fee..feet. The something happened in the sta..station. We lost communication and we don't kn..know what happened. When we ra..ran a diagnostic on the bui..building, we discovered da..damage." Dymock lit a cigarette to calm himself." But that's not all we found. Aside from the workers there, we gathered enough data to conclude there are other beings in there. Most likely terrorists have hijacked the plant, but we aren't sure. The readings are giving us some weird notions on the beings in their but I just assume it's a flaw."
Balinova had his elbows on the table, and was deep in thought."I'm going to send in recon teams to observe the situation".
Dymock didn't think that was the best idea." I don't think that will do sir. There are dead civilians in there. And a large amount are probably held hostage. This isn't simple sir. I suggest sending in heavly armed teams".
Balinova gave Dymock a mildly naive look." Dymock, some unusual terrorists is nothing that a heavly armed squad should be involved in. A few untrained, and poorly equipped men can easily be wiped out be light infantry. They are human you know"
Dymock gave him a grim look. " I never said I was sure the intruders were human".
The1exile wrote:
Fighting to keep his knees under control, Dymock got to his feet.
"Sir, what we've got is, I must say, not good."
The man clicked the remote on to the slideshow, flicking through the first few slides - mostly with graphs of recent stock changes on "dangerous" markets - though any dealings with Balinova were bound to be fraught with danger; you didn't get a reputation for being tougher than a bulldog shot full of morphine by playing it safe, not in this business. He considered saying something, but didn't; he wouldn't have anything to add to what was on screen that would help matters, and Balinova was smart enough to follow and powerful enough to be fully entitled to blow a gasket if he considered himself as a victim of patronisation.
"I see..." Balinova's voice was silky smooth.
"Sir, you must believe me, we had no idea!"
"And what do I pay you for then, Geoff?" the big man asked, fury rising in his eyes while his outward demeanour was the epitome of calm collectedness.
"There were unforeseen consequences..." Geoff muttered. He realised he was sweating like a pig, and hastily wiped his palms on his trousers. "We lost contact with our man in Berlin - I've got guys looking into it as we speak, but my hands are tied here, due to our... other problem."
Balinova shot him a look that spoke volumes. After a moments consideration, he nodded, and turned to his lackey-come-loogan.
"I think myself and Geoff will need a few moments to discuss confidential matters. Why don't you take our friend here," he nodded to Dymock's assistant, who had been silent and pale throughout, but now started, "and go for a little walk? I think we'll need 10 minutes. I'll call if needs be."
The lackey looked mildly uncertain, but considered his future career options and decided that arguing was not the best path to take.
Geoffrey, for his part, nodded to his assistant. "10 minutes," he muttered, "and you might want to call a cab."
Frop wrote:
“Good morning, Mr. Balinova. I’m terribly sorry, but - ” was all Dymock could say before he was interrupted.
“I’m sure you’re sorry, George. I bet you’re sorry for screwing my daughter too.” belched Balinova. Dymock wondered if the fat bastard knew “George” was servicing Balinova’s wife as well.
Balinova pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Did you get it? Tell me you got it, George”. Dymock sighed. “Yes, we’ve got it. It didn’t come cheap though, right now we’re looking at an expenditure of –“
Balinova interrupted yet again. “That will be all, George. Don’t bore me with the details.” Balinova got up, looked at Dymock with the usual contempt and paced out of the room together with his assistant.
Dymock turned to his own assistant. “This always happens, don’t worry about it. Go outside and get some fresh air, I’ll clean up here first”. His assistant nodded and left in a hurry. The poor guy was visibly uncomfortable, but who could blame him?
He was almost done cleaning up when he heard the lock of the conference room doors snap into place. He turned around only to find the same busty waitress in front of the doors, eyeing him nervously. “What’s going on here?” he exclaimed.
She didn’t answer, but a sly smile appeared on her face. “What’s going on here?” he repeated. She flicked a hand through her long, red luscious hair. “Not much, yet…” she replied.
He was about to repeat his question for the third time when he noticed her erect nipples poking through her blouse. It was starting to look like his assistant was going to get plenty of fresh air.
Fruitcake wrote:
Dymock launched into presentation mode, rationalising this, explaining that, itemising the other.
Balinova interrupted. “Just cut to the chase, show me what you got.”
“Well, it seems our target is worth some 200 million dollars, lives on a large purpose built 210 ft Palmer Johnson Yacht just off Acapulco. It is fitted with all early warning systems, SAM ground to air missiles, all the usual trappings of a man of his wealth…”
“Yeah yeah” interjected Balinova, not interested in hearing that this man was worth more then him…..”So can he be got at?”
“So what would you like to know?” asked Dymock irritated. This presentation had taken over 45 man hours, mainly his man hours, and it was being flushed down the toilet by this Russian ingrate.
“What do you mean what do I want to know?” said Balinova, starting to get riled, a feat which never took too much effort. “I want to know whether the man we have in the frame can be got at!!! That’s what we’re here for isn’t it?”
“Well I’m coming to that” said Dymock, reluctant to abandon several slides of meticulously gleaned data.
“Well for f*ck sakes come to it now” growled Balinova.
“OK, we have managed to overcome the main security in his computer system, but we still have to gain access to the top level security priorities…”
“OK, OK, I get it, but you can fix all that, right?” interrupted Balinova impatiently.
“Right?” he repeated.
“Well yes” said Dymock, “we’re working on some software that should bypass the levels...”
“Don’t give me ‘should’ Dymock,” snapped Balinova “give me ‘will’ will bypass the security levels, this is kindergarten computer class shit.”
“Yes” said Dymock tensely “we will bypass the security levels...”
“And the man, can we get to him?” asked Balinova, rapidly getting angry.
“We have an operative going through the final stages of joining the crew as we speak”
“Well you had better hope he gets the fuckin’ job Dymock”
Dymock sighed, as others played, this was what he spent his weekends working for. This was what he had given his life up for…
heavycola wrote:
Dymock leaned forward. ‘Mr Balinova, sir, thank you for coming. First of all I should warn you that the doors to this room are now locked, and that you have a loaded and silenced gun pointed at your back.’
Confusion swept across the russian’s face, followed fast by flame-cheeked anger. He turned around in his chair and was met with a sharp dig in his kidneys from something hard. The man behind him smiled.
‘What the f*ck are you…’ Balinova snarled.
‘You never offered me dental cover. Always niggled, that. Now turn around and listen to what Mr Dymock has to say before I shoot you in the neck.’
‘Just watch the video, please,’ Dymock called.
Balinova was quaking with rage as the screen flickered to life. It was a home video – a darkened room, a cone of light illuminating a whimpering figure on a chair. A man wearing a ski mask emerged from the shadows and tilted his captor’s face towards the camera. Balinova roared.
‘This,’ said Dymock, ‘is your daughter, Mr Balinova, and unless you do exactly as we say, William there is going to do some unspeakable things to her. You know who we represent, I take it.’
The russian’s knuckles whitened on the tabletop. Low sunlight lit him through the darkened windows, dust motes jigged in the air, and in the silence, a low buzz. Balinova’s cellphone was ringing.
Sackett58 wrote:
"Well," Geoff replied, "I ..." At that moment, he experienced severe vertigo and dropped off his chair like raw cookie dough onto a baking sheet.
She slowly ran her fingers through his hairy chest as she straddled herself on top of Geoff. Geoff was going to enjoy the ride with this one as she purred in his ear. A stunning blonde with all the right accessories, she started to rock back and forth like a cowboy as Geoff started yelling, "yippee ky yeah". The blonde, in her most sultry voice, asked Geoff, "what have you got?". "Baby, I have too much for you to handle", as Geoff fired his gun. Geoff stopped all of a sudden and wondered what the hell he was doing with a gun?
"Geoff!!! Wake up!!!" Geoff kneeled on the floor, shaking his head, still a little dizzy, and looked across the table at the body of Dimitri Balinova. Blood was pouring from his head. Geoff looked down at his right hand which held some sort of handgun/silencer combo. His assistant Mike, eyes bulging, stared down at the floor. Geoff followed his glance and found Dimitri's assistant in a pool of blood.
"What the hell happened Mike?"
"I don't know. When you passed out, something or someone hit me from behind." Mike replied. Time stood still as both men stared at the listless bodies.
Geoff was trying to get his mind around what just happened. He was only here to see if he could find backers for a new casino in Las Vegas. Balinova was going to be one of the bigger contributers.
The deafening screams from the waitress pierced Geoff's head like acupuncture needles.
mandyb wrote:
Dymock's crisply starched shirt felt uncomfortably tight.
He resisted the urge to loosen his tie as he rose with calm deliberation and went back to his laptop.
Beads of sweat dotting his upper lip were all that betrayed his increasing nervousness - a fact which did not escape Dimitri's attention, but then nothing ever did.
Dymock had a lot riding on today, a helluva lot, which is why when the lights went out he found it hard to hide his frustration.
Jesus, this was all he needed, a godamn power cut! And where the f*ck were the emergency lights!!
A blow to the head and a violent shove stopped him mid thought, however, and sent him sprawling and dazed to the conference room floor.
He lay stunned and bewildered in the persisting darkness. Vague noises; a muffled cry, breaking glass, an urgent whisper, a door opening and closing...then, silence.
Dymock struggled painfully to his feet. Then, as quickly as they had gone out, the lights returned, illuminating a scene that took him an instant to visualize, but several more to assimilate.
A child could have spotted the differences: an upturned chair; the table now empty, save for a pair of sunglasses, a broken tumbler and a small pool of water making it's way to the edge. And Dymock was alone.
Alone that is, save for the Russian. Still seated, but with his head now lolling backwards, his arms hanging lifeless at his sides and a glaring gash like a clown's painted smile running from ear to ear.
He felt the bile rise in his throat, not from revulsion (he'd seen worse) but from the most devastating difference of all - his laptop was gone.
The water reached it's destination and Dymock watched transfixed as it dripped gleefully to the floor and began mingling with the darker pool already speading there.
What was he going to do now?
sttng wrote:
Geoffrey opened up the first Powerpoint slide. "This first slide shows the least expensive choices, in the $10,000 range. They are all, of course, perfect, but on the smaller size." Balinova just nodded his head.
Geoffrey continued, "The next three slides show the items in increasing size and price range. Feel free to peruse them."
Balinova flipped back and forth between the slides. He narrowed his eyes. "Isn't there something else you'd like to show me?"
A small bead of sweat formed on Geoffrey's brow. He cleared his throat. "Well, um, yes sir." He typed in a password to open the last slide. "This is the rare Green Dragon Diamond. It is not actually in my possession at this time, and acquiring it could be quite difficult and dangerous. Needless to say, the price would reflect that." Balinova studied the photo. "I need a moment," he said. He and his assistant put their heads together and whispered for a few minutes, reviewing the slides again.
"I've come to a decision", Balinova stated.
"Yes, sir. Now, which diamond would suit your fiancee?"
ENTRY 1
Smith stared out at the gorgeous view through his yacht's sliding doors, then looked across the table at Ivan. “So… you’re telling me you’re deliberately permitting a spy to join my service staff? A spy who works for an organization that may well intend to kill me, or attempt to seize control of my business interests in some way? And all this… on top of the security breach in the computer system Johnson found yesterday? What kind of security chief are you, anyway?!?” The two men glared at each other.
As usual, Smith cracked first. He considered himself an excellent poker hand, having practiced his poker face through years of careful business dealings, but Ivan was a rock. And besides, the mere idea that Ivan, his security chief for the past 20 years, would deliberately put him in danger, was too amusing for him to keep a straight face for long. The two men laughed.
“Sounds like fun. Keep me updated on this spy’s actions, and tell Johnson to keep shuffling the code protecting the higher level security files. The breach into the mock mainframe is no big deal, but I don’t want anyone figuring out that our entire organization’s real business is kept on an entirely separate network… and if the hacker gets into our security files, they’ll realize nothing’s there. Give them a few more days, then make like we found the breach and shut them down.” Smith always enjoyed a good game, and this player was relatively new, or they would’ve known not to attempt anything so… over-attempted.
“Oh, and Ivan?” Smith said as his security chief stood to leave.
“Yes, sir?”
“Send… what’s he calling himself this time, Dymock? Send him his usual payment. We wouldn’t want him to forget who really pays his bills, now would we.”
“No, sir.”
ENTRY 2
It was a balmy 85 degrees as the water taxi made its way through the harbor. Frank Dasher was relaxing, taking in the visual display of rich and poor that Acapulco had to offer.
He was going over in his mind the last minute details of his mission. A couple months ago he was approached by a Geoffrey Dymock , who had heard of Frank’s expertise in Special Reconnaissance. Eight years as a Navy Seal and another 4years in Black Water made Frank a valuable commodity.
The taxi was slowing down as it approached a 210 foot luxury yacht. On the bow he could make out the name of the ship, “Miguel Grau”. Frank smiled to himself and remembered the many stories his grandfather had told him of the great Peruvian Admiral Miguel Grau who fought and died during the 1800’s. At 6 feet and 200 pounds Frank could easily pass as a South American or European. Basically Frank was a mutt. He was not only of Peruvian heritage but also French, Scottish and Italian.
Maybe his small bit of Peruvian ancestry helped Frank get on as a crew member of the “Miguel Grau”. The ship’s owner Antonio Arinos was one of Peru’s leading businessmen and involved in most of Peru’s mining ventures. It was no secret to those who knew Arinos that he was ruthless and had a total dislike for anything Asian. His dislike stemmed from the disappearance and subsequent bullet-ridden death of Arinos’ father, who was a key member of the Fredemo Party during Alberto Fujimori’s presidency.
As the water taxi pulled up to the ship’s landing, Frank grabbed his duffel bag and launched himself aboard. Two imposing figures led Frank inside to a luxurious and spacious salon where two men were having a conversation.
Frank waited at the far end of the salon as he watched one of the men stand up, shake hands with the other man, and walk out a door at the far end. Frank was led to the remaining man.
ENTRY 3
The following morning, Dimitri Balinova emerged from the shower in suite 1211 of the Dorchester Hotel. Walking out of the bathroom he flicked a playful towel across the shapely buttocks of the blonde he had picked up the night before.
“You have to be leaving me soon my darling” said Dimitri pausing to kiss her shoulder and admire his bronzed torso in the mirror where she was bending forward to apply her make up.
“Busy, busy, busy day today!” he whispered in her ear.” But it’s been fun, and maybe we will do it again.”
“Oh when will that be then?” said the girl putting on an earring.
Dimitri shrugged, his attention diverted to the news broadcast on the TV screen. “You have a number I can reach you on?”
“Better still” said the girl slipping on a short tight fitting skirt that Dimitri was determined to have no one witness emerging from his suite, “why don’t I call you?”
“Kathy…it is Kathy isn’t it? I could give you my number but then I’d have to shoot you”.
In anything other than a Russian accent this would have been laughed off as a clichéd bit of horse play, but with Dimitri’s coal black eyes and spy thriller delivery you couldn’t be so sure.
“I’m joking” he said lightening the mood. “I’d love to, but unfortunately my company does not permit me to give this number out – I’m sure you understand.”
He looked genuinely pained at his inability to hand over this vital piece of information.
She took the bait, and she took the £1500, and after careful inspection of the corridor, she took the lift down to the lobby with one last patronising pat on her bottom from Dimitri as she left.
Dimitri shut the door, opened the wardrobe and withdrew a tie rack groaning with sartorial choice. He picked three from the rack and held them up against his shirt in the mirror.
Selecting one, he sat down on the bed and opened his widescreen laptop, switching to a live feed, he lit a cigarette and waited.
A few minutes of a dull, stationary room view followed. There was a knock at the door of the adjoining suite. A tall distinguished looking man in his mid forties came up close on the screen. He looked vaguely like one of those celebrities that you can’t quite place. The kind that drives you nuts for hours afterwards.
He would have been a typical handsome blonde surfer dude in an earlier life, but his hair was turning white from too much California sun, and the crows feet were digging in their claws around his fathomless blue eyes. However, the perma-tan was deep just as the model books had shown.
“Hi Mr..?”
“Dymock –Geoffrey Dymock” said Balinova’s flunky.
“My name’s Lyle..Lyle Catchcart” said the ageing surfer extending a muscular tanned hand.
Ignoring the hand, Dymock asked "The position secure?"
"Of course" responded Lyle nonchanlently.
ENTRY 4
‘She, sir,’ said Dymock. ‘It’s all been taken care of.’
**************************
‘Who shall we be today, today, who shall we beeeee today…’
Constanza Mille-Fleur Rococo tried to stand on her tip-toes to peer out of the French windows at the glorious autumn morning, but the mattress was too soft and she teetered backwards. Giggling, she planted a hand on the bedstead and flicked her legs up and over the dead body lying next to her, flashing a heart-stoppingly perfect bottom and a pair of white panties to any telescope-wielding gentleman lucky enough to live in the buildings across the park.
‘That’s for you, boys,’ she growled huskily, before laughing again and collapsing in a gangly heap next to the bed. Beneath it was a large suitcase, blocked by a fat, lifeless arm hanging down from the mattress. Constanza tutted and sighed.
‘Now now silly, I told you to keep your hands to yourself.’ She tried to push the arm to one side, but it was as stiff as a pipe wrench. She rolled her eyes theatrically, placed one foot against the offending elbow, reached for the wrist and pulled it with a movement of sudden and violent strength. There was a crack.
‘Bang!’
Constanza placed the now dangling limb next to its body on the mattress, gave it an affectionate little pat, pulled the suitcase towards her and opened it. Humming happily, a quizzical finger at the side of her mouth, she drew from it a viciously bobbed black wig, a pair of enormous sunglasses and a beige raincoat.
‘Natalia!’ she squealed. ‘It’s been too, too long!’ She clutched the wig to her chest and hugged it. A phone in the suitcase began to ring. She flicked it open and glowered.
‘Da,’ she growled.
‘Bucephalus – its Dymock. You need to be in Mexico in five hours. As arranged.’
‘Who? You hev wrong number.’
Dymock sighed. ‘Angelina?’
Silence.
‘Natalia…’
‘Da.’
‘Natalia, stop fooling around and get down to Acapulco immediately. You know what to do.’
‘Go loco?’
Click.
Constanza dressed quickly, pulled on her wig, closed the case and took a last look towards the bed.
‘Bye bye,’ she cooed. The door closed behind her. She had a plane to catch.
ENTRY 5
She slinked into the hotel bedroom clothed only with perfect tits, a shaven pussy and glistening dew from the shower-nozzle. It wasn’t much but it seemed to be catching his eye.
As she worked those hips, one foot in front of the other, drawing a line of attack from muff to mountain. She glanced dryly at the pyramid in the bed sheets.
“Hmmm it seems you started without me!”
He had no answer; he reached to the depths of himself for something cool and sexy. What the f*ck would James Bond say? He had nothing, nothing except the grey mist which befriends the outnumbered.
The air-conditioning hummed as it tweaked her damp nipple into action. Jesus Christ! Keep quiet boy, you are on fire!
“So what am I going to do to you!?” It wasn’t a question it was a threat.
Shh
“I know just what little boys don’t like..” she prowled to her overnight bag and pulled out her weapon. The mans eyes widened, his jaw lowered, his rectum tightened.
“Now role-over bitch! Let’s make a man of you!”
A good f*ck always relaxed her before a difficult job!
