The Diaries of Ayesha

In the aftermath of Gulf War II, The Iraqi War, whatever you want to call it,the search for weapons of mass destruction continued apace with our guys replacing the UN inspectors in the field.

This sort of activity requires the finest minds and skills the United States Government can find both in military service and in the civilian world.

And in searching for the best and brightest occasionally rocks get overturned and things and people come to light that should have stayed in the dark.

"Miss Dawes," the young man said as the Mistress sipped her pina colada as she lay on a white sand beach in Jamaica, "Your government needs your assistance."

The Mistress looked up and shrugged. "Which government would that be?"

"I represent Her Majesty and the MOD."

"The Man from MOD?" I asked quizzically.

"Ministry of Defence, Michael" the Mistress explained patiently. "What do you want?"

"We are given to understand that you were involved in an incident involving nuclear materials in Iraq."

The Mistress carefully set her drink down on the sand and looked at me sharply.

"Is this your doing Michael?" she demanded.

I shook my head in denial.

"I'm just as surprised as you are Mi'lady. It seems that once more certain people can't tell the difference between fact and fiction. Just like that White House report about the tubing. I swear I'm going to have my lawyer file suit for copyright infringement for using my ideas without paying for them."

The Mistress rolled all the way over exposing her nakedness to the young man who tried not to stare.

"Listen to me carefully. I've made peace with the world. If it can't make peace with itself, that's it's own problem."

And with that the Mistress rolled over on her towel and laid face down, her naked ass daring the man to persist.

"I'd suggest you tell them the answer is no. In fact, I think I may speak with authority and say hell no on behalf of the young lady," I said.

"Very well," the lad replied through tight lips. "I'll pass the message along."

Later that evening as we ate dinner on the terrace overlooking the bay, an attractive young black woman appeared carrying a small clutch purse and without an invitation sat down at our table.

"There is someone who would like to see you," she said in a soft Jamaican accent.

The Mistress looked up from her bowl of strawberries in cream and replied gently, "They could always go to hell instead."

"A very important person would like to see you," the girl pressed.

"Oh really?" the Mistress said in that tone of voice of hers that sounded amused but was instead annoyance. "Well, tell them to make an appointment in the morning with my husband."

"This person is not interested in waiting until morning. They insist on seeing you tonight. And I can be most persuasive if necessary."

"And how persuasive is that?' I asked standing up from the table.

The girl just smiled and shifted the purse slightly and squeezed the clasp. A moment later there was a sharp ping and a stone flowerpot a few feet away shattered spilling dirt and flowers onto the floor.

"I think this is a case where a Smith and Wesson beats four aces," I commented to the Mistress.

"I agree," she said sliding her chair back and standing, her tone now unruffled and cool.

This was a sign of trouble to come for someone. I was glad it wasn't me.

The girl rose from her chair and indicated that we should walk down to the beach as she kept a short distance behind us the purse moving casually from left to right as we made our way across the sand towards the nude beach we'd been at earlier in the day.

Even after dark there was still were still a few people out on the sand, mostly in couples and in a couple of cases larger groups, but we kept trudging along past them and were herded to the bar that was located in a thatched hut on the far side of the beach.

A heavyset woman sat smoking a cigar and toying with the olive in a martini as we walked in. She looked at us, signaled for the bartender, slipped him a bill and then nodded towards a booth in the far corner.

Our gun-toting escort maneuvered us into the booth and then sat across from us, the purse at the ready. The heavyset woman sat down next to her and said nothing until the bartender delivered a pitcher of martinis and a tray of glasses to the table and left the room. Also to my amusement was a pot of coffee and a cup.

"I know you don't drink," the woman said. "It's a pot of Blue Mountain coffee."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Blue Mountain runs about $40 a pound and only grows in Jamaica.

"Thoughtful of you," the Mistress said. "But neither of us drink with strangers anyway. Now, what do you want?"

The woman stubbed her cigar out in a blue glass ashtray and smiled.

"I want to hire you to do a job for me," she said.

"I don't think I understand,' the Mistress said. "You want to hire me to do what exactly?"

The Fat Woman leaned back in her chair and folded her hands across her ample stomach.

"I understand that you and your husband have been in the Middle East in the past year."

The Mistress looked at me and shrugged.

"And where exactly did you get your information?" she asked.

"Oh don't misunderstand me," the woman said waving a ring-covered hand. "I'm not with any government agency, I'm strictly a businesswoman and as a businesswoman I have contacts with certain companies in Switzerland, companies with Mideast connections who mentioned a shipment of pipe."

Before I could say anything though, the Mistress stepped up to the plate and swung.

"Let me explain something to you. I was kidnapped and taken by force to Iraq. My husband made use of a few business contacts to get passage into and out of Iraq. As to import and export, you'd have to talk to someone else." the Mistress announced and stood up.

"Sit down Mrs. Forbin. Unless you'd like to become a widow?" The Fat Woman said as the woman who has escorted us to the meeting positioned her purse pointing directly at me.

"Lady, I never thought I'd have to use this cliche again, but I seem to be forced to. I've been threatened by experts before. I don't rate you very highly," I said sliding my hands under the table.

"Michael, please be polite, after all they're doing their best," the Mistress said. "And after all they don't know how heavily armed we are."

The Fat Woman glanced at her partner quickly.

"You did search them didn't you?" she said.

"Didn't think I had to," the armed woman said.

"It's obvious you didn't think. Check them both for weapons."

The gun-toting woman rapidly patted the Mistress down and then turned to me.

"Stand up," she ordered.

"No problem," I agreed and did, making sure I tipped the table over at the same time. There was a muffled thump as a shot hit the heavy wooden table and then a louder thud as the Mistress karate chopped the shooter to the floor.

"Now, it's our turn," the Mistress announced picking up the purse and aiming it at our hostess. "In the words of Richard Nixon, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I'm not available. I'm going to lie on the beach, drink pina coladas, and the only work I'm going to do is on my tan."

The Fat Woman gazed levelly at the Mistress and I, then laughed.

"You Mi'lady are a pip. I don't suppose you'd care to loan me your husband for the job would you?"

"I'm sorry, I can't be loaned out. Slaves have to be sold," I countered.

The Mistress looked at me sharply.

"Mind your place Mister," she said. " Or you'll be wearing concrete galoshes."

"Cement overshoes."

"Whatever," she said turning her attention back to The Fat Woman.

"Stay away from the both of us and we'll get along just fine," the Mistress warned.

The Fat Woman raised her eyebrows in amusement and then reached down and picked up her cigar and lighted it again.

"I think you'll be anxious to see me again," she said taking a long draw on it. "But for now, we'll play it your way. Good evening."

With that she helped her assistant to her feet and walked out of the bar leaving us with a mess, an unpaid bar bill, and a sense of foreboding.

The Mistress and I maintained a careful watch as we walked back to the hotel waiting for the other shoe to drop so to speak.

It didn't until we got back to our room and found the door ajar.

The Mistress flattened herself against the wall on one side of the door, and I took the other side. She pantomimed kicking the door open and flashed me three fingers. I nodded and waited for her signal.

One finger, two and three!

She kicked the door open and dived to the left as I dove through to the right side and landed on the couch and fell to the floor.

"That was impressive," RJ Preston, United States Air Force Special Operations Command said from a chair at the far side of the room next to the window. "I'd suggest you take that act on the road actually."

The Mistress rose to her feet brushed herself off and then closed the door before saying anything.

"I hope you're here for a social visit and not a professional one," she said, noting he wasn't in uniform.

He leaned his chair back and looked at the ceiling.

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other. I seem to be the ranking expert available on a certain Project Mediggo and the Powers That Be would like me to debrief anyone else involved."

"The powers that be what?" I said.

He leaned forward again and shrugged ignoring the question.

"That means you. I'd also like to speak to your Israeli friend, but since officially nothing happened I can't. I'd also like to talk to the young lady who was with us when we found a certain object," he confirmed.

"Bzzt, I'm sorry that's the wrong question, but thank you for playing," the Mistress said. "Besides you could always have a peek through the files of the Christians in Action if you're all that interested."

"Well, lets just say there are factions in the Administration who would frown on that."

"In other words you can't get a warrant to check out a Christian group, but you can kick Islamic ones around all you like," I snarked.

"It's not my government, I just work for it. Besides, legally I can only investigate overseas anyway."

"Point taken. The Christians in Action are technically not your problem, we understand that. But why is the Administration's problem with a lack of evidence of WMD's our problem?"

"It's the worlds problem. Look, it's a golden opportunity to nail the little snots before they can try again and you know they're going to move on and try to set up somewhere else."

"Sounds like a serious problem. Just not our serious problem. We've retired, we're no longer on field duty, in fact we are only vaguely connected to our former organization," the Mistress explained.

"Ok, I understand what you're saying and I'm not asking for anything more than talk. Look, it's getting kind of late; how about breakfast on the terrace tomorrow morning about eight and then we can take a walk down the beach and discuss it?" he offered.

"Who's paying?" I asked.

"Well I am, but technically you are as taxpayers."

"I see. I'm buying, he's paying."

"Everything is food," RJ replied and with a bow departed the room.

The Mistress and I slept together, her with purse-gun she'd taken off our insistent flowerpot murdering friend and I with her boot knife under my pillow.

We'd taken a couple of extra precautions such as double bolting the door as well as blocking the balcony door closed, but still worried about less subtle intruders than we'd faced so far.

As I lay there restlessly I started trying to sort the players so far into their respective categories.

First we had the British Government in the form of our unnamed young man.

Second, we had a female Kasper Gutman and her crude imitation Wilmer.

Gooseberry lay my ass.

And last but not least, the United States Government in the form of RJ Preston USAF SOC.

We could probably play numbers one and three against each other, but the wild card of number two was another matter entirely.

I was surprised the next morning to be invited to shower with the Mistress as she had been a bit standoffish about intimate contact for the past few days, but you never look a gift Mistress in the eye.

As I scrubbed her back she outlined a plan to deal with at least two of our problems in a unique and frankly amusing manner.

"If P.P. Ph.D. MP knew what was going on in his bailiwick he'd be very unhappy."

"You know that is damned near evil," I said.

"And not only that, it's deniable."

"But is it legal?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Too bad. It's so evil it shouldn't be."

"Turn around Michael, I'll do your back now."

A quick stop in a phone booth for the Mistress as we passed through the lobby enroute to breakfast set the wheels of her devious plan in motion and then it was off to face the inquisition.

RJ was already waiting at a table that overlooked the bay and there was no sign of the dead flowerpot of the night before.

We were not alone however as the man from MOD sat in a corner where he could watch us and The Fat Woman saluted us with a raised Mimosa while her pet sneered at us from another table.

The whole thing started feeling like a scene from The Presidents Analyst where James Coburn's character decided to see if he was really paranoid or really was surrounded by enemy spies while sitting in a restaurant.

His method of discovery was to fake being shot and did discover that he was not being paranoid, he really was surrounded by spies.

Including his girlfriend.

"So how did you two sleep?" RJ asked as he signaled for a waiter.

"With the doors double locked thank you, " the Mistress said acidly.

"Because of me?" he asked amused.

"You and everyone else in the last twelve hours," she amplified.

He sat a little straighter in his chair and his whole body language changed.

"Who else is everyone?" he asked scanning the patio.

"Oh now don't pretend you don't know how popular we've been in the last day. About the only people who haven't shown up yet is the Canadian Secret Service and I expect they'll be along any time now," I said enjoying his paranoia.

The waiter arrived at that point to take our orders, which cut the conversation short.

"My name is Marcel and I'll be your waiter this morning. May I suggest a Mimosa this morning or perhaps a Bloody Mary before ordering?" he asked with a light French accent in his voice.

"I'd like a pot of Earl Gray, hot myself and the lady will have..." I said nodding towards the Mistress.

"Champagne and bring the bottle," she directed," and the other gentleman will have coffee, black and bring the pot."

"Very good Madam," he said and hurried off to fill the order.

"Michael, I'm serious," RJ said. "Who else has been to see you about this matter?"

I nodded towards the MOD man hiding behind a copy of the Daily Gleaner and then towards The Fat Woman who smiled and waved.

"The gentleman trying to look inconspicuous claims to be from the Ministry of Defence and as to the lady, she's a businesswoman who is interested in hiring the Mistress and I for a job in the Mideast based on our past travels," I indicated.

RJ looked in both directions and then turned his focus towards the MOD man.

"He's poaching on my territory. I'll have to deal with him first," he said as the waiter arrived with the drinks and took our meal order.

As RJ said "my territory" the Mistress just smirked at me.

In deference to the potential security issues we kept the conversation trivial and light until after breakfast at which point RJ announced that he was going to take care of the MOD problem before we took our beach walk.

"Well as Marion Michael Morrison put it, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do," I said raising my cup in salute.

He snorted at that and got up from the table and walked over to where the MOD man was still sitting with his newspaper and pointedly ignoring us.

It was about that time a pair of uniformed police officers came out onto the patio and approached the waiter who after a moment of conversation then turned their attention to RJ and the Man from MOD.

"I hope they all have a really miserable time," I said softly to the Mistress.

"Don't worry, they will," she said in Marvin The Paranoid Android's tones.

There were some momentary raised voices at the table, but both the men were soon escorted away by the police.

"How long do you think it will take for them to get out?" I asked as the Mistress sipped her champagne.

"Well that's hard to say. Assuming they're both armed and probably haven't entered the country with the cooperation of the local authorities, a couple of days. On the other hand a couple of phone calls to London and Washington may have them out in a matter of hours. Not without a little embarrassment though."

"I'd forgotten that Jamaica was an independent country. I still thought of it as a British Colony," I admitted.

"Yes and sovereign states get a little touchy about intelligence operations without their permission. I met P.P. Ph.D. MP at a UN reception a few years ago, so when this problem cropped up I thought about him first," the Mistress concluded as she drained her glass. "Now what do you want to do today?"

"The same thing we do every day..." I replied.

"If you say Try and Take Over The World, I will insert this bottle in a very delicate opening of your body and shove it in with my foot," she interrupted picking it up.

"I was going to say a little sun, a little sand and then maybe a short sail on the bay."

"That is one of your better ideas."

Marcel came over at that point with the bill for breakfast and the Mistress looked at it and signed without a pause.

"So we did get stuck with the breakfast tab after all," I grumbled.

"Not at all. It seems our corpulent friend picked up the tab in admiration for the way we handled the situation. It also came with a lunch invitation which I declined citing a previous engagement. I have to give her credit, she is persistent."

"Just don't tell me you're changing your mind."

"Don't be an ass Michael."

The Mistress relaxed on the sand of the beach while I sat reading and occasionally scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble as well as watching the unclad young ladies stroll by.

Did I forget to mention we were sitting on the au natural part of the beach?

It's real hard to conceal a weapon when you're in the altogether.

When we returned from our short sail across the bay The Fat Woman greeted us at the dock with a cheerful grin on her face.

"How was the water?" she said.

"Cool enough for comfort and warm enough for swimming," the Mistress replied politely as we climbed onto the dock.

"Yes, well I'd suggest if you prefer comfortable water temperatures you stay away from the main hotel for a bit. The water over there is a bit hot."

"Is it now?" I said making the mooring line fast to the stanchion.

"Seems that your friends got out rather quickly and decided to team up with the assistance of the local authorities."

"I see."

"Now I could help you out with that little problem if you like," she offered.

I looked at the Mistress and shrugged.

"Could it hurt to listen?" I said.

"Depends on how loud she talks," the Mistress replied. "Go ahead, make us an offer we can't refuse."

"Let's retire to the bar on the beach were we met last night and I can show you."

"After you."

It was the same bartender as the night before and he started to say something but was cut off by The Fat Woman dropping a large denomination bill on the counter along with verbal instructions to set up a round of drinks including Blue Mountain.

When we were settled in, The Fat Woman took a set of photos out of her purse and handed them over. They showed a stone vase with the image of a building carved in it, and on the back was written an address and the name Tufak.

"So what are we looking at?' I asked.

"Just a stone vase I want."

"Stolen I take it," the Mistress said looking carefully at the pictures.

"I have no idea and I really don't care to know. I want it for my personal art collection and I'm willing to pay for it. You were recommended highly for your skill and knowledge of that part of the world as well as for dealing with the former government."

"And where is the profit for us right now?" I asked.

"You've been paid. You've been warned that they're on the lookout for you. What you do with the information is none of my business. I'm just pointing out that the chance to make a fair amount of money is about to leap into your lap, if you're smart enough to accept it."

"And what makes you think that we'd be willing to break more than a few laws and risk serious prison time for something like this?" the Mistress asked.

"Because you've broken laws before and even technically risked being charged with treason by trading with an enemy government. This would be a very bad time to have facts like those become public knowledge eh Mrs. Forbin? Bad for business all around."

Incidentally the Mistress doesn't give a heap of fetid dingo's kidneys about threats of this type; She's heard them all before. And frankly, so have I.

And we weren't in any real trouble with the authorities that couldn't be settled over a cup of tea in a private room.

We just didn't want to be bothered was all.

"Where is the vase now?" the Mistress asked.

"In a safe location in Baghdad. All you need to do it pick it up and bring it back."

"And how do we get to Baghdad?" I asked.

The Fat Woman pulled out a cigar and lit it.

"I'm sure you can think of a way."

The Mistress looked at her and then over at me.

"Deal."

"With all due respect, are you out of your mind?" I asked.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head or you won't have a tongue at all," she warned.

The Fat Woman stood up

"I'll leave you to make your arrangements. When you have it, I'll meet you at the hotel."

After she left I poured a cup of Blue Mountain and sipped it slowly before speaking.

"Is that your method of counting to ten in Greek before speaking," the Mistress asked amused.

"You could say that yes. And speaking of the word yes, why did you agree?"

She sighed.

"Michael, the only way we're going to get any peace and quiet at all is to cooperate. We may not cooperate in quite the way they want us to, but we'll go along to get along. And then they'll leave us alone," she explained and then smiled that evil smile of hers.

"You have a plan?" I asked.

"I have a plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel."

"And people talk about me being on the jazz" I moaned.

The Fat Woman was right; there was a reception committee waiting for us in our room composed of RJ, the Man from MOD, no less than four uniformed police officers and a well-dressed black man.

"Hello P.P. it's nice to see you again," the Mistress said holding out a hand towards him.

"Arrest them both," he said coldly.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" she said as one of the officers cuffed her and the other started for me.

"Old friends do not embarrass each other," he said as the second officer cuffed me.

"We'll take over now," RJ said handing over an envelope to P.P. who tucked it in his jacket.

"Let me apologize again for your earlier treatment," he said.

"Not at all Minister. These things happen in our profession," the Man from MOD said.

A few more exchanges of pleasantries as well as handing over the handcuff keys and we were left with RJ and the Man from MOD who still hadn't introduced himself.

"Now, let us reason together," RJ said pulling out a chair for the Mistress to sit in.

"I'm always reasonable. I just find what you want to be unreasonable. I was debriefed in Germany and that should have been enough," the Mistress said sitting down.

"Yes well the Ministry wasn't granted access to those records at the time," the MOD man said scowling at RJ. "We'd like to hear your story."

"Is that the Imperial we, or just that you'd like her to relive one of the worst periods in her life for the both of you?" I said.

The Man from MOD didn't even twitch.

"That is the Imperial we Mr. Forbin. As to you, I think you would be better off out of the room. I'll have questions for you later," he said.

RJ walked me to the bedroom and locked me in.

The first thing I did was to locate Mistress Minx's toy bag and fish out a set of handcuff keys.

Important reminder for law enforcement types: Most people in the Scene have handcuff keys somewhere and know how to use them even if the hands are cuffed behind them which in this case they weren't.

Having shed the cuffs I dug into my wallet for the all-purpose lock pick, a credit card.

Never leave home without it.

I slipped the cheap hotel lock and cracked the door open just enough to get a look into the room. I could see the Mistress, reflected in a mirror, calmly answering questions. She spotted my image in the mirror and blinked and then smiled slightly.

"Is something funny Mrs. Forbin?" the Man from MOD asked seeing the smile.

"Oh, just you. After time with Saddam's interrogators you strike me as inefficient. Of course I told them everything I knew and threw in a few guesses as well."

"So do you want me to start beating you?" he said in annoyance.

"Go ahead. It would only get me hot."

RJ turned away trying to stifle a grin.

"Edmund, I don't think that's going to be necessary as much fun as it might be. Just ask your questions and then I'll ask mine," he said.

"He has a name after all? How delightful," the Mistress purred.

"Captain Edmund Black," the Man from MOD said sarcastically.

"It's a pleasure to be abused by you," she replied sweetly.

That did it for RJ. He started laughing which pissed off Captain Black.

"Preston, this is hardly a matter for levity," he snarled.

"I don't know about that. Seems that she has the advantage on you. I won't say on us, because I know her a little better than you do." RJ said.

"If you think you can do better Sergeant, go right ahead."

" Pazhalsta " RJ replied

" Spahseebah." Mistress Minx countered

"I don't think we really want to continue this in Russki, so lets stick to a language we both know better. Let's say, English perhaps?" RJ said.

"English perhaps," she said mockingly.

"You're really funny tonight. I do understand your point of view, but the fact of the matter is, we need your help."

"For what?"

"Well the only real evidence of WMD's we have so far is bubkes. You spent months in Baghdad and frankly, maybe you heard or saw something and don't know it."

"And?" she prompted.

"I want you to tell me everything you can remember about your time in Baghdad from the day you were kidnapped to the day Michael rescued you."

"You know about quite a bit yourself because you were there. How much do you want Captain Black to know?" she asked.

RJ looked at the Captain and then back at the Mistress.

"I think you can skip a few things. We're really more interested in what happened while you were in Baghdad."

She looked into the mirror at me and then called me out.

"Come in here Michael. You should hear this too."

I stepped into the room and knelt before her ignoring the startled looks from RJ and Edmund at my lack of handcuffs.

"Is everyone comfy? Good, because Mama Minx is going to tell you all a story and she's only going to tell it once," the Mistress said staring off into the distance.

"My partner and I had checked into the hotel in Beirut and were running down leads based on the shipping documents she had when a man stopped us just before we got in the elevator to go back to our room.

"He introduced himself as Uriel, a member of the Christians in Action and invited us to dinner that night at their compound.

"There wasn't any reason not to, so we left with him. We didn't know at the time of course that his people were the smugglers."

"The Christians In Action missionary group?" Captain Black prompted.

"Yes, the same ones who take care of sick children and feed the starving masses also have a few people interested in mass destruction," the Mistress explained.

"What were they smuggling?' Captain Black asked pulling out a pipe and stuffing it with tobacco.

"Stolen plutonium from India. My partner had arranged for transshipment to Lebanon with the intent of stealing it and giving it to the United States, then lost track of it."

"You have interesting friends," he said starting to light the pipe and then waiting for her permission.

She indicated he could and continued her story.

"We were taken out into the desert and held in a buried cargo container at an archaeological dig that was a front for a laboratory working on assembling a nuclear device.

"After a few days we were taken out and gagged, then rolled up in rugs. I heard someone they called Abbadon order people to pack up the equipment and the material and load it into a truck.

"The rugs were bound around us and I almost suffocated. I know I must have passed out at one point for sure because when I woke up I was in a bed somewhere."

"Did you ever see the person named Abbadon?" RJ asked taking notes.

"No, I just heard the name. I didn't learn the names of many people at all except for Gabriel. He wanted to know everything that my partner and I knew about the Christians In Action.

"The few Iraqi military people we had contact with were polite enough and were more than a little annoyed at Gabriel for our presence in Iraq. One of the generals could see the potential hostage value in us, or at least me. We were treated well for the most part, that is until we made an escape attempt."

"Go on," RJ prodded.

"That was when they decided that Gabriel could interrogate us. Up to that point we were pretty much ignored." She paused momentarily. "I know a lot of methods to extract information, but he must have learned from a real pro. Ex-Nazi or KGB. So I talked and so did my partner."

"You were tortured," Captain Black said.

"No shit Sherlock. He didn't bother with drugs or anything like that, just pain. And when he had everything he wanted, he threw us in a hole in the wall and that's where we stayed. Sometimes we got fed. Sometimes we had visits from soldiers. They stopped doing that after the first few broken bones. I don't relax and enjoy the inevitable Captain Black. I fight."

She stopped and looked into the distance again.

"We were there for a long time and other than the guard who fed us when he thought about it, we were left alone."

Her gaze returned to me and she smiled gently.

"And then one day the door opened and I heard a voice say ' I'm Luke Skywalker and I'm here to rescue you'."

"Michael," RJ surmised.

"Is there some other line you use when you're rescuing a princess from the Evil Empire? If so, tell me," I said looking at my beloved.

"No I suppose not. All right Michael, your turn to tell us a story."

"Not much to tell really that you haven't read in my written report as well as the debriefing in Germany. I'm sure you can give Captain Black a copy of it." I said.

RJ sat for a moment and then looked at the ceiling briefly before speaking again.

"You had a fair amount of freedom while you were there in the Palace, and you're a pretty observant guy for the most part. Could you identify any of the people you saw while you were there?"

I thought about it and agreed that yes, I probably could. Then of course came the real question.

"Why do you want to know?"

"How would the two of you feel about going back to Iraq and looking around?" RJ asked.

"No, absolutely no! Get me pictures of the suspects and I'll look at them and finger the ones I know, but I am not going to Iraq again."

"It's not like you have a choice in the matter," Captain Black said. " Your wife is a British citizen and I do have the legal authority to transport her there with or without her consent. So since she's going, you might as well come along too."

"Are you sure your name isn't Blackadder you horrid little man?' the Mistress said. "You realize that I could put a stop to this with a single phone call."

"Actually I don't, not that you're going to have a chance to make a phone call anyway. Sergeant Preston has already made arrangements for transportation."

"Sorry Michael, Mi'lady but in your own words Affairs of State come before affairs of state," RJ apologized. "Besides you do owe me one."

He was right of course, but I didn't have to like it.

"This is beginning to remind me of Father Mulcahy's answer to Hot Lips on how such a degenerated person as Hawkeye Pierce ever reached a position of authority in the Army," I said.

"Oh?"

"He was drafted."

RJ had indeed arranged for transportation for us. By boat to Guantanamo Bay Naval Base and then via C-141 that was returning to Afghanistan. And just for us making a special stop at Baghdad International Airport AKA the former Saddam International Airport.

Of course it wasn't all cookies and cream as there were questions about us arriving without passports or other supporting documentation.

It seems that RJ's authorizations hadn't quite made it across the Atlantic in less time than we did flying.

We waited in a room guarded by two Marines outside the door and watched RJ through a window as he argued with an Army Captain about our right to be there while Captain Black talked on a telephone.

"And here we are again in the land of sun and sand," I remarked to the Mistress." I had less trouble getting in the first time."

"So did I. Then again the former residents were better organized than the new ones."

"They were here longer."

Captain Black hung up the phone and motioned RJ to join him. They talked for a minute or two and then left the room with a wave at us.

"Why do I think we're going to be here for awhile?" I said watching them go.

"Because we are. By the way, you asked how we were going to get here. Now you know." She said.

I just stared at her for a moment and then grinned.

"You are so good. And they are so dumb."

"Not that dumb. We still need to get out of here and pick up that package." The Mistress warned.

"Are you really going to do it?" I asked surprised.

"Of course, if it's at all possible."

"I know you better than that Mistress. You're not a thief or a smuggler, at least not without a real good reason. What do you have up your sleeve?" I pressed.

"Michael, I'm just going to let nature take its course. Nothing more and nothing less."

It was a long wait as predicted although we were fed and escorted to the bathroom by the ever-watchful Marines. I suspect they were watching the Mistress even more after she flashed them, but she can be a tease.

That's part of her method of torture.

Anyway RJ finally showed up with a handful of documents that roused the Army Captain behind the desk to take action up to and including coming to attention and saluting.

RJ motioned the Marines away from the door and unlocked it.

"Come on kids, time's a wasting." he said.

We followed him with the Marines as an escort, outside to a waiting Hummer where Captain Black sat behind the wheel.

"That will be all gentlemen, dismissed." RJ ordered.

They saluted and walked back into the building with a last backward look at the Mistress.

"Since when does a sergeant rate a salute?" I asked.

"Since I was field promoted to Major for the duration of this operation. After all I can't be outranked in a military investigation by an ally, so they had to bump me all the way up to Major to keep parity with the British."

"Well yes sir, by your command sir," I mocked. "What are your orders sir?"

"I'm still RJ, so knock the sir shit off."

I helped the Mistress climb in and got in beside her.

Quite a difference from that old Pink Panther your friend drives, this vehicle is state of the art," RJ bragged as he got in the front passenger side. "State of the art everything including communications. I requisitioned an AN/URC-110 radio, so we have real time communications via satellite if we do find something."

"The Pink Panther had charm," I said. "This is just a heavily armored recreational vehicle."

"Palestine Hotel Captain, and don't spare the horses," RJ directed.

"Isn't that the place that our own troops shelled that killed a few people?" I asked.

"Yes, but they were reporters. You're not."

I made a mental note to keep my press card buried in my wallet.

The hotel was a zoo, the lobby crammed with all sorts of people, some in uniform, some in native clothing, still others with PRESS badges.

The decor is an '80's throwback that's heavy on brown and orange and frankly would have closed a long time ago if it wasn't for the fact it was the best hotel in town, or at least the best that hadn't been looted. It has the same charm as the International Hotel in Beirut and just about the same sort of clientele.

There weren't any rooms for us until RJ took matters in his own hands, selected a likely looking junior officer and ordered him out of his room.

"But Major, I need that room," he objected." I'm General Watson's aide."

"But you're not General Watson, so I outrank you. Tell you what, we'll just share it with you for the night, how about that?"

"Is that an order sir?"

RJ looked at Captain Black with a "What is the younger generation coming to?" expression and then back at the lieutenant.

"Yes lieutenant, that's an order."

The next morning after a very bad breakfast consisting of eggs rubbery enough to be used as a tire patch, we started for the palace at Tharthar.

Like most of the palaces it had been pretty well looted and the grounds trashed, broken glass and shattered masonry strewn across the once neat grounds.

"The first team that got here was looking for senior Iraqi officials, not scientists or weapons experts so they didn't secure the area properly. The locals ripped the place to shreds as soon as they withdrew with the people they did find," RJ explained.

"Really? I thought the maid just forgot to clean up around here," I said sourly." You're lucky that you weren't involved in the planning RJ, because I'd call this a goatfuck."

"Off the record, so would I from an intelligence standpoint. But the idea was to move fast and keep the bad guys off balance and it worked."

"Except now you can't find what or who you're looking for in the chaos."

"That's why you two are here. We know who we're looking for officially, but you can identify the unofficial ones."

"So now what?"

"We've got some people confined in a villa here that we'd like to have you look at. If you know some of them fine, and if not no problem."

We walked across the massive compound and into areas I hadn't seen on my first visit including of all things an amusement park.

"I didn't even know this was here," I said looking at the Ferris Wheel.

"The Palace is actually two areas, the one you and the lady were kept in which is a VIP area, and the rest is the Presidential compound. It's actually over a mile square," RJ explained.

We finally came to a house well separated from the rest of the buildings and guarded by a squad of soldiers who ordered us to halt a discreet distance away from them. RJ and Captain Black walked forward and showed their identity cards and then waved for us to come join them.

"Mr.Forbin and his wife are here to interview the residents," RJ explained to the sergeant in charge of the unit.

"Yes sir. If you'll come with me please," he said and led the way into the house along with one of his squad.

There were about ten people gathered in the main living room of the house as we entered a mixed group of Iraqi military men and civilians, and two Europeans.

"Is this all of them sergeant?" Captain Black asked looking at them.

"No sir. There are five more, but they usually stay in their rooms."

"That's the group I want to see first Captain Black. Sergeant, I want you to bring them down one at a time. Is there a place I can speak privately with them?" the Mistress ordered.

"Yes Ma'am, there is a room set up in the back of the house for interrogations. The corporal will show you where and translate for you if necessary."

The corporal led us to a back room near a kitchen area and waited.

The first person that was escorted in wasn't familiar to me at all and the Mistress didn't indicate that she knew him either.

After the third interview, we were getting discouraged.

"This is just not paying off at all," I said sipping a bad cup of coffee that RJ had brought in.

"Just remember it doesn't have to Michael. This whole thing could be a waste of time. And if it is, so be it," the Mistress reminded me.

"I suppose. I'd just rather be on the beach watching the girls go by."

"So would I. Have the next one sent in."

By late afternoon we'd interviewed every one of the people in the villa with no more results than when we started.

"Well, that was pointless." I said tossing my note pad aside.

"Probably so," the Mistress agreed. "Not one of those people claimed to know anything and neither of us could identify any of them."

RJ sat down at the table with us and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Don't feel bad. Those people could have moved out of here the day after you left and we wouldn't have known. It was a long shot anyway," he said.

"Most of what you've got are servants and cleaning people, one cook, one mechanic, basically nobodies," Captain Black said reviewing the note pad I'd tossed aside.

"Wait a minute," the Mistress said. "Maybe we're going at this the wrong way."

"How so?" I asked.

"Well Gabriel and the others had to eat."

"So?"

"Do you really think they went native and ate what the locals ate?"

I thought about it and considered what I had observed while around them.

"No, they avoided pork of course, but pretty much ate typical American meals. Oh wait a minute, I see where you're going with this," I said as the light dawned. "RJ do you know if any of the records for this place survived?"

"What do you mean records?" he asked.

"The bills for the food or at least the receiving records for this place. When the quantity of food dropped, that's when they bugged out. There must have been fifteen or twenty of them, so it would show up for sure," I explained.

"That's bloody brilliant thinking," Captain Black breathed.

"Let's just hope that we can find the records," RJ said.

"If not, we should be able to get the information from the cook about how often he ordered food. He might not have known who the food was for, and I doubt he was encouraged to ask questions, but he should know when he had to order less of it," the Mistress reminded.

The sergeant returned about an hour later with a bundle of papers in his hands.

"The squad managed to find this much so far Major," he said addressing RJ and placing the bundle on the table.

"Have your men keep looking sergeant," Captain Black said. "Also find the motor pool records as well, specifically the inventory of vehicles and mileage records if any."

"Major?" the Sergeant questioned.

"Sergeant, on this assignment unless I say otherwise you'll carry out Captain Black's orders as well." RJ instructed.

"Yes sir!" he snapped, but in his voice I could hear the mental reservation on the word sir, thinking instead cur.

"It says in the Bible that no man can serve two masters. You're making life hard on the man," I commented.

"You serve two Mistresses Michael. Is that a complaint?" Mistress Minx teased.

"Mistresses?" Captain Black said with a raised eyebrow.

"Captain, do yourself a favor. Don't ask," RJ suggested.

We dug through the stack of paper with the help of the corporal and the cook who was drafted to help translate what the corporal couldn't read.

"Looks like the amount of food ordered dropped off sharply about three months after we bugged out," I said finally.

"Interesting timing on that. I would have expected it to happen sooner if they thought you were a threat," RJ remarked.

"Maybe not," Captain Black observed. "As I recall there was a UN inspection of this facility about a month after the dates you say you escaped. Perhaps it was part of the clean up."

"Hell after the accident with the piping I would have bet that the General would have shot them all right there and then," I replied.

"Piping?" Captain Black asked.

"The ransom for the lady was a shipment of stainless steel pipe. The person who arranged for the delivery also arranged to sabotage the tubing. I saw a news report about an industrial accident involving broken piping a few weeks after we escaped."

"He probably did sir," the corporal volunteered. "Looking at the delivery orders, there is about a two week lag between order and delivery from the central military warehouse in Baghdad.

"If the sergeant can find the motor pool logs, we might have an idea where to start looking. Unless they had them shot here, they would have had to take them someplace." Captain Black explained.

"Let's take that idea a little farther. Where did the industrial accident take place?" the Mistress asked.

" Radish something. Is all I can remember." I said.

" Rashdiya, just outside of Baghdad,' RJ said. "There's a nuclear research facility there. Primarily it was for gas centrifuge development."

"They would have needed high pressure lines to feed the centrifuge uranium hexafluoride. Of course when the lines started leaking they had a major problem," I explained.

"Radiation?" the Mistress asked.

"No, if the stuff hits water vapor, even the amount in the air it's enough to make hydrofluoric acid. That shit will eat through everything and anything and the gas it released is pure hydrogen."

"How do you know so much about it?" Captain Black asked.

I looked at him and smiled.

"Captain, you would be amazed how much I know about all sorts of things. Let's just say in my previous line of work I had to know a little of everything where weapons were concerned, be they biological, chemical or nuclear."

"What was your clearance?" he persisted.

"I'm sorry, but if I answered that, I'd have to kill you."

"Amusing."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?"

RJ put a stop to the sparring with a raised hand.

"Captain Black, you don't need to know anything more than the fact that any information these two have is from very good sources and they are cleared to have it," he said. "Now, do we want to go take a look at Rashdiya?"

"I'd suggest a two pronged approach. Can we have someone here look for signs of a mass grave and a team look at Rashdiya for the same thing?" the Mistress suggested.

"Sure," RJ said. 'But if we don't find them dead, where do we look?"

"Damned if I know." I replied.

"That is not the answer I was looking for."

That night we stayed in one of the abandoned villas rather than driving back to Baghdad, so we were at least less crowded even if not more comfortable than the night before.

"Just don't go wandering around before sunup," RJ warned. "The security teams have their orders and they're nervous. "

"In other words shout HALT three times and kapow!" I said.

"About that yes. Seriously, this area is secure in name only and there are still problems with looters, so stay inside and keep the doors locked. Also stay away from the windows, just in case of snipers."

"This is beginning to sound like instructions to someone in the Witness Protection Program."

"Same idea. I do have a responsibility to keep you alive."

He bid us a good night and then left, but through the door we heard him order a soldier to keep a close watch on the place.

"Feeling safe and secure?" I asked the Mistress.

"Not especially, no. This process is proving to be a bit more tedious than I first thought it would. Oh well, the best laid plans of mice and Femdom," she mused.

"Trying to find out what happened to those guys is going to be damned near impossible under these conditions. No working law enforcement, no stable environment, hell, no phones or power for the most part. And of course as Imperious Leader keeps saying, the country is the size of the state of California. They could be anywhere or nowhere," I grumbled.

"Losing faith Michael?" the Mistress asked.

"Not in you, but the Universe as a whole is getting me down."

She gave me a quick hug.

"Me too. Let's see what we have for dinner in these lovely MRE packages."

I didn't sleep well that night as there were occasional bursts of gunfire in the distance and it seemed that I had hardly dropped off to sleep when the Mistress shook me.

"Huh, what?" I said startled.

" I know where to look for them," she said excitedly.

"Who? Oh sorry, still waking up. Where?"

"Check the hospital records. If any of them were treated there should be medical records," she explained.

I sat there for a moment while her words sunk in.

"Holy sweet Pete," I finally said. "You're right. If any of them were injured at all, there would be a record of it, including their names."

I rolled off the bed and grabbed my shorts and headed for the door with the Mistress close behind me half-naked.

At the first the guard on the door thought we were nuts and then he stopped caring, especially when we knocked him on his ass and he had to run after us swearing and chattering on his radio.

RJ and Captain Black met us at the door of their villa in varying states of dress. Captain Black was taken somewhat by surprise by a half naked woman, but RJ took it in stride.

Once we were inside RJ chewed us both new assholes for taking chances, but when the Mistress explained what she had thought even he was excited.

"Damn, the answer was right in front of us. Let's go," he said.

"Like this?" the Mistress asked archly, spreading her arms.

"Sergeant, get these two their clothes and then have the corporal bring our transportation around. I'll need him to translate as well, so I'm taking him with us."

"Yes sir," the sergeant said sourly.

"Is there a problem sergeant?" Captain Black asked annoyed by the tone in his reply.

"No sir, no problem at all," he replied.

"Captain, could I have a word with the sergeant in private?' RJ asked.

Captain Black walked away stiffly and then RJ addressed the sergeant.

"Ok, sergeant, I know that tone of voice. You think I'm wrong. Why?"

"Permission to speak freely sir?"

"Go for it."

"Sir, I'm short handed enough without you taking my only translator. I'm not thrilled about civilians in my area, especially when they expose my team to additional risks. I can't do my best work for you in the dark. I'd like to know who these people are and why."

RJ frowned for a minute and then shrugged.

" For your information, the people we're looking for aren't Iraqi, they're Americans and they already tried to blow up the Temple Mount in Jerusalem to start a war a couple of years ago. These two are the only people who can finger the bastards and that's why they're here. That is technically more than you need to know."

"By the way, " he continued," the only reason I let you run your mouth at all is my permanent rank is also sergeant, with a temporary field commission to Major just so I outrank Captain Black. But I've been a sergeant in Special Operations for damned near twenty years and I know how to carry out my orders even when I don't understand them or like them."

The sergeant stepped back and saluted respectfully.

"Sorry sir," he apologized. "If I may be excused?"

"Carry on sergeant."

The sergeant saluted and left then RJ turned his attention to us.

"I don't know what this new breed of soldier is all about sometimes," he mused.

"Less Nuremberg and more Hague," I suggested. "We were only following orders wasn't a defense then and isn't now according to us. Unless it involves us of course. Then it's to hell with everyone else."

"When we get back and you're I'm off duty, we can argue the merits of international law, but not here and now."

"Only a fool fights in a burning house," I quoted.

"And this one is still pretty hot."

All shy things, breathless, watch
The thin white skirts of dawn
The dancer of the sky,
Who trips daintily down the mountainside
Emptying her crystal chalice....
And a red-bird, dipped in sunrise, cracks from a poplar's top

A poet described sunrise over the desert that way, with words flowing trippingly off the tongue, but so far as I was concerned it was too bright and too soon.

We were rocketing along the road back to Baghdad having gotten dressed, and headed for the hospital nearest Rashdiya to check out the Mistress' hunch.

Myself, I was slumped in the back watching the scenery and comparing it to the last time I'd seen it.

This time there were wrecked cars and debris everywhere along the roadside and the few people who were out and about at that hour were staying in the rapidly shrinking shadows.

Not that the place was great the first time, but at least it was cleaner and garbage wasn't piled up in heaps.

Supporting Saddam however was akin to the old quote about Mussolini: Mussolini may have done many brutal and tyrannical things; he may have destroyed human freedom in Italy; he may have murdered and tortured citizens whose only crime was to oppose Mussolini; but 'one had to admit' one thing about the Dictator: he 'made the trains run on time.'

He didn't by the way: It was propaganda.

The Al Yarmouk hospital was further proof of war being hell as it was crowded even at that early hour and the floors were filthy with shards of glass still scattered across the floor.

"Corporal, see if you can find someone in charge here," RJ directed.

We waited for a long time and finally the corporal returned with a thin, tired looking man wearing a stained white lab coat.

"This is the chief of medicine sir," the corporal announced.

"I am Dr Karim," he said. "General Garner promised me some additional assistance and supplies. Have you brought them?"

"I'm sorry doctor, but no. We're here for another reason," RJ explained.

The doctor shook his head.

"I have sick and dying patients here. I have no time for anything not directly related to caring for them," he said and turned away.

"Doctor, this is urgent military business and I need your assistance now," RJ stated.

The doctor turned back and faced him with restrained anger in his eyes.

"Unless you are dying, you have no need for my assistance at all. There are other people here that do."

It was pretty clear that Dr. Karim's Hippocratic Oath was a higher priority to him that anything that we wanted but before RJ or Captain Black could say anything, the Mistress spoke up.

"What do you need doctor?" she asked.

He looked at her and his features softened.

"We need drugs and equipment very badly. The drugs the looters didn't take were ruined by the lack of refrigeration. We need pain killers, heart medications, and simple things like saline and Ringers, bandages, IV kits, just to name a few."

"Tell you what doctor, give us five minutes of your time and we'll hand carry the supplies to you personally," RJ bargained.

Dr. Karim started to argue and then shrugged.

"What do you want?" he asked tiredly.

"All we need is access to your medical records and to talk to the head of your burn unit," RJ explained. "We're looking for any one who may have suffered chemical burns in an accident at Rashdiya."

"Come with me."

Dr. Karim led us down a long hallway and opened what was left of a door to show us the records department.

It was a disaster area. Papers were scattered everywhere; cables dangled where computers had been literally ripped from the walls in some cases leaving part of the network card still attached.

"This is what is left of the medical records," the doctor said. "You are welcome to look through them. We use the same medical codes as you do, so look for code 940."

"OK, kids, start sorting. I need to make a phone call," RJ said walking towards what was left of the door with the doctor behind him.

"Who you gonna call?" I asked.

"Not Ghostbusters."

We started a chain sorting the papers into piles, scanning quickly across the ICD numbers and discarding the ones that didn't match.

It was a long process and we acquired more than a few paper cuts in the process before we got all of the 940 series paperwork we could locate sorted out.

RJ came back in and announced he'd twisted a few arms and that the promised medical supplies would be arriving in an hour.

"Otherwise I told them, I'll be there and take the things myself and make sure they come with me," he explained picking up a stack of sorted paper and thumbing through it.

"How do we know what kind of burn is what?" he asked.

I picked up a battered ICD codebook off the floor and tossed it to him.

"RTFM"

He flipped through it and grunted.

"Looks like ICD codes 946 to 948 would cover it. Radiation, chemical burns, internal and external."

"Here we go again," I said passing out stacks of paper.

By the time we finished we were down to nothing. No reports at all.

"I was sure we could find them this way," the Mistress sighed wiping the sweat from her face.

"They might have been taken to another hospital. What about military hospitals?" I said.

"That's possible if they wanted to keep the incident totally secret," Captain Black agreed.

"No, it made the news services, so we may just be looking in the wrong place," I disagreed.

"Or there were no records at all," RJ commented.

"Then we start interviewing the doctors," the Mistress said.

RJ shook his head.

"No Ma'am. I'll have an intel team come in and they can interview the doctors. We're going back to the base for a decent meal and a shower."

I got slowly up from where I'd been sitting on the floor and helped the Mistress to her feet.

"I don't know what sounds better," I said groaning.

"I know you'd smell better with one than the other," the Mistress commented.

"I'd be insulted, but I'm considering the source, Miss Dirt on your Nose," I replied.

"Come on," RJ said." You can settle this later."

We had just walked out the door when a truck pulled up marked with a Red Cross and the driver jumped out and saluted RJ.

"Major, I've got those supplies you requested. Can you sign for them sir?" the driver asked.

RJ took the forms and signed them rapidly and then handed them back.

"Get them inside and ask for Dr. Karim. Anything else he wants, he gets is that clear?"

"Yes sir!" the soldier snapped with a salute.

"Carry on." RJ directed and then turned back to us.

"A promise made is a promise kept." he said.

We didn't have to wait very long for chow when we got to the base, as the presence of the Mistress caused soldier after solder to let her move ahead in line, including a fair number of the female members of the troop.

The meal for the day was a melange of noodles, meat and spaghetti sauce, call it Mil-Spec Heifer Assistant and you've got the idea. Dessert however was a very fine chocolate cake and I'll admit I had an extra slice. Okay, two.

"Are you sure you should do that?" the Mistress asked.

"I'm a growing boy," I replied.

"Yep, right around the middle...pig," she teased.

"Oink."

The showers were not coed sad to say, but welcome after a couple of days without one. RJ requisitioned a couple of flight suits in our approximate sizes, so we could get our laundry done.

We sat around the makeshift officers club waiting for the laundry to finish and reviewed the results so far, which were none at all.

"You had a good idea Ma'am. We just can't do all the legwork ourselves," RJ reminded.

"Yes, despite my initial reluctance, I do have to admit that you've both been very helpful and given us additional paths to follow," Captain Black agreed.

"Then can we go home?" I asked.

"What do you think Major?" Captain Black asked.

"You want to leave all of this," RJ said waving his hand around the club.

"Yes!" the Mistress and I chorused.

"Okay, tomorrow afternoon, I'll have you shipped back to Jamaica. Satisfied?"

"No per diem?" I asked.

"Per Diem? For what?"

"Hey, you think we give ideas away?"

"You think you want to stay here for another week or two?" he countered.

"In light of the situation, I withdraw my claim." I said swiftly.

That night at the hotel, we had a room of our own and RJ and the Captain had their own, as the lieutenant we'd displaced the first night pulled rank on another junior officer to liberate his room.

As they say, shit flows downhill.

Sleeping however was not on the agenda that night, for as I started to drop off to sleep I heard a small noise and looked at the door just in time to see it closing. Flipping on the light I saw that the Mistress was not in the bed.

I pulled on my clothes and left the room just in time to see the stairwell door closing as well.

Damn.

I knew I wasn't going to be able to catch up with her that way, so the only thing I could do was try the elevator.

My luck was in; it was working.

I got down to the lobby just in time to see an abaya-clad clad figure leave the lobby and walk down the street.

Wrong girl.

Or was it?

I followed in time to see the person turn the corner and fade into the darkness.

I knew I couldn't run after them without attracting attention and if it was the Mistress, then attention was the last thing either of us needed.

There was an alternative however.

The area around the front door of the hotel had become a marketplace and one of the stalls I could see in the light of a campfire was stocked with bicycles.

I picked my way through the people camped in the foreground of the hotel and roused the owner of the bicycles.

It's amazing what $20 US Dollars will buy with an exchange rate of 2000 dinars to the dollar.

For that I got a bicycle with new tires and a rack on the back.

I would have haggled, but I was losing time and my Arabic sucks anyway.

I peddled off in the direction I'd seen the person go and soon spotted them ahead of me again in the sporadic light of passing military trucks.

Keeping in mind the curfew and the possible problems of being accosted by the MP's, I stuck pretty close to the shadows myself.

Of course the other problem is I couldn't just call out. If it wasn't her, it would be a BAD idea to attract attention.

So I didn't call out, I just started whistling "Daisy" as I rode along.

The form stopped walking and turned in my direction as I rode past and then I heard a voice start singing softly in response to the whistling. The anti-version if you will.

"Henry, Henry here is my answer due

"I'd be crazy to marry a bum like you

"If you can't afford a carriage, there won't be any marriage

"'Cause I'll be damned if I get crammed on a bicycle built for two."

I stopped and the Mistress walked up adjusting her abaya.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"What do I think I'm doing? I'm out here on a bicycle looking for you. Where the hell are you going?" I said pointedly.

"I'm going to pick up the package. If we don't get it tonight, we won't get it at all," she explained.

"Under these circumstances, we could pick up a serious case of lead poisoning if not from the natives, from our own troops for being out after curfew. Just forget about the package and lets go back to the hotel," I said.

"The only way we're going to get The Fat Woman out of our hair is to show up with it. Otherwise, she'll assume we have it anyway and that would make the situation worse."

"As in more dead flower pots worse," I said ruefully. "Okay, I see your point."

"So go back to the hotel and I'll be back soon. I can do this better on my own."

I shook my head.

"Despite your power to cloud men's minds Mistress, I think speed is more important. Hop on," I said indicating the handlebars.

She looked at me disdainfully.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Theoretically."

She shook her head and then climbed on.

"What ever you do, do not start singing "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" she warned.

She gave me the directions and off I peddled down Rashid Street while humming " Gaudeamus igitur" in my head as I felt like I was riding the wrong way down the middle of the freeway. I safely evaded potholes, shell craters, piles of debris, burned out cars and one very determined dog that almost sent the two of us into a curb.

When we finally reached the address The Fat Woman gave us to discover a burned out storefront with boards covering the windows. Further up the street we could see a squad of soldiers on guard at the Museum itself, so we slowly backed into the shadows and decided to see if there was a rear door.

There was a back door and it groaned open when we pushed on it. The light leaking in through the boards covering the shattered windows in the front of the ruin showed us a number of parcels wrapped and scattered across the floor.

"Which one do we want?" I asked softly.

"Who is that?" a voice asked from the darkness.

A flashlight came on and we found ourselves staring into the muzzle of an AK-47 held by a disheveled looking Arab.

"We're here to pick up a package from Tufak," the Mistress said without moving from her position.

"A package?" the man said. "At this hour?"

"We do our best work in the dark," I said trying not to sound nervous. I kept trying to remember how much pressure it took on the trigger to fire one of those things.

He lowered the gun and pointed the light at a parcel still sitting on a shelf.

"Take it and go," he said.

The Mistress moved slowly across the room and picked up the indicated object and then made her was back to join me.

"Protect it with your life," the Arab said and clicked off the light leaving us in the dark in every sense of the word.

We didn't waste any time retreating from the area and probably made better time getting back as frankly I was still freaking out about having a gun shoved in my face.

Nasty noisy barbarous inventions of the Devil in my opinion.

The next morning my legs were sore from the bicycle ride and so was the Mistress' fundament, but we had accomplished our mission.

Now the real question was, once it was delivered could we go back to working on our tans, or would we be pushing up the daisies?

I crawled out of my nest of blankets on the floor to see the Mistress sitting at the table gazing at the package unopened.

"Well aren't you going to look at the McGuffin?" I asked.

She jumped at the sound of my voice.

"Don't do that!" she growled. "No, I'm not going to look at the McGuffin, whatever that's supposed to be."

I joined her at the table and explained.

"A McGuffin is the thing that everybody is looking for in a Hitchcock movie, or in this case considering who we're dealing with, it's the black bird. And if you don't look in the package, we might get back to find a McDonald's Happy Meal glass. This would probably be blamed on us."

"Point taken," she agreed and carefully unwrapped the parcel.

Cushioned inside multiple layers of paper, foam and bubble wrap lay a stone vase. Looking more closely at the image carved in it I could see it was that of stone structure, possibly a palace.

"It's the chalice from the palace," I said lightly and then realized I wasn't far off the mark.

"What?" the Mistress said seeing the look on my face.

"It really is the chalice from the palace. Hammurabi's temple about four thousand years ago. I saw it on a news story about stolen items from the National Museum."

"So this thing is hot." The Mistress announced flatly

"Severe radiation, can you say that? Good, I knew you could."

"Okay, so we're now in possession of stolen property that for practical purposes is priceless. Now that we have that information, does it change the situation any?" the Mistress prompted.

"Well no, I guess not. We're really going to deliver this to The Fat Woman?"

"Yes indeed we are," the Mistress confirmed.

"Well I'm sorry to disagree Mistress, but in the words of Henry Jones Junior, that belongs in a museum."

"And that where it will ultimately wind up. Trust me on this, I know what I'm doing."

We carefully rewrapped the package and the Mistress stuffed it in a duffel bag just as RJ showed up to drive us to the airport.

"How was your night?" he asked handing me a cup of coffee.

"Not bad," I said sipping it.

"So where did you two go?" he continued.

That rated a spit take.

"Excuse me?" I said wiping the coffee off my chest.

"I saw the two of you coming back in around three this morning," he said. "Frankly it was better that I was watching rather than Captain Black. You wouldn't have gotten any sleep at all."

He turned his attention to the Mistress.

"You look pretty good in a abaya by the way." he commented.

"We went out to pick up a package with a four thousand year old vase in it that we're supposed to turn over to someone when we get back to Jamaica," she said coolly.

"Okay, can I see it?" he replied.

"Sure," she said and handed him the duffel bag.

"You're serious," he said.

"Of course I am," she said without blinking. "Why would I lie about something like that?"

He started to look in the bag and then stopped and laughed.

"You really had me going for a minute," he said putting the bag down.

"I'm telling you the truth, " she said calmly.

"Okay. Anyway what possessed you two to go out last night?"

"We'll it's not like we had a chance to do any shopping for postcards or get a tour. I bought a bicycle from one of the stalls outside and we took a ride around," I said following the Mistress' lead.

Tell the truth but in a way that you're not believed.

"And what did you think?" RJ asked as the Mistress finished dressing.

"It was a lot nicer before the war, but than again you could say the same thing about Dresden," I replied setting the coffee down and reaching for a shirt.

"Ouch."

The drive to the airport was uneventful, other than the short burst of small arms fire that was aimed in our general direction, which just had the corporal, who was driving, speed up and Captain Black release the safety on the M-16 in the front seat.

"Another normal day in the cradle of civilization," I said.

"Just stay down you two," RJ ordered.

"Yeah, makes it easier to get my ass shot off."

We made it without any bullet holes added to the Hummer, shook hands with the corporal, and then RJ signed us over to the scheduling officer for transportation back to Jamaica.

"Major, we don't have anything scheduled for that area of the world for another three days. I can divert a flight from Kabul to pick them up and carry them to Guantanamo and then arrange for transportation to Jamaica, but I can't get them out of here until then," the captain in charge of flight scheduling explained.

"These two have diplomatic priority authorization, Captain," RJ explained showing her a set of papers.

"I understand that sir, but I don't have any aircraft flying that route right now."

RJ just looked at her and then leaned on the counter.

"Captain, I don't care if you have to get a C-20 from the 89th Air Operations Group at Ramstein, I want it here and I want them gone as soon as it arrives and refuels," he explained in those oh so patient tones that only a senior sergeant can master.

The one he uses just before he assigns you to clean the floors with a toothbrush.

"Yes sir, let me see what I can arrange," she said and retreated to the back of the office where she picked up a telephone.

We sat there for an hour or so while the captain dealt with the phone and other people waiting for flights while RJ fidgeted and Captain Black glowered at the captain.

"I'm sorry this is taking so long," RJ apologized.

"It's not like you have any control over the situation. If you want, you can just go. I'm sure the captain will take care of us. And if she can't, she can't " the Mistress said philosophically.

Then something occurred to me.

"Hey RJ, would it be easier to get a flight out of Kuwait or Jordan? I mean the commercial flights are still running out of there," I asked.

He thought for a minute and then shook his head.

"The problem with that idea though is safety. Convoys are being attacked even with escorts, so I don't think it's a good idea."

"Major Preston, " the captain called. "I've got a flight for your people, but they're going to be on the scenic route. Here to Incirlik then to Ramstein. It's a crew rotation flight as far as Ramstein and then I can transfer them to the 89th for the rest of the trip."

"Is that the best you can do?" RJ pressed.

"I can have them out of here in fifteen minutes, or I can have them out of here in three days. It's your call sir."

"Get on the plane kids," he said turning to us.

Mistress Minx gave him a quick kiss and we both shook hands with Captain Black before we followed the captain outside to a jeep that drove us into the cargo bay of a waiting C-17, it's engines running.

The cargo ramp closed behind us as the driver shut off the jeep engine and we could see we were not alone in the cavernous hold of the beast; There were fifty or sixty soldiers strapped into seats along the sides of the hold that were looking at us with curiosity.

The driver helped the Mistress out and indicated a seat for her while I was left to fend for myself which didn't surprise me. Beautiful women in a military setting generally get first priority.

Actually that rule applies to nonmilitary settings too, come to think about it.

An Air Force sergeant strapped the jeep into place and then told the pilot he was clear to taxi on his handheld radio.

"We'll be taking off at a rather steep angle to make sure nobody can get a missile off at us, so don't be surprised by things falling," the sergeant warned.

"What about our gear?" I said nodding towards the jeep where the bags were still sitting.

"No problem," he said and strapped a set of bungee cords across them and came back "I'll be back later with a box lunch and something to drink. I don't know if you've ever flown in a cargo bird before, but just to let you know, it's noisier than a commercial jet."

"We've flown on a DC-3 sergeant. We know what were dealing with," I acknowledged.

"You don't look that old sir," he said and made his way forward.

He wasn't kidding about the takeoff angle or the loose objects warning, but I didn't expect he was. The Mistress was a bit concerned when it seemed we were going nose up and a flight manual flew past us towards the rear door with a "whump" as it hit metal, but other than that, nothing exciting.

"Didn't that bother you at all?" she said as we leveled out.

"Nope. Remember I've done the same thing and worse in the shuttle simulator in the past as well as a run in a RAF Tornado simulation. On that we were doing a low level strike and pulled up to toss the bombs onto the target."

"But you hate roller coasters," she said smugly.

"You bet. They get me every time. Bleah."

The flight wasn't as bad as it sounded and the box lunch was adequate. The soldiers were making do with MRE's so we were way ahead of the crowd so far as the cuisine was concerned.

One interesting incident occurred when the Mistress made her way forward to use the bathroom. She was walking by one of the younger soldiers who was reading what looked like a skin magazine when she stopped and looked at the cover.

The young man stopped and blushed and tried to hide it but she casually took it, flipped a couple of pages and then asked if he'd like it autographed.

He stammered agreement and she took a pen from his pocket and signed a page, kissed him on the forehead to the howls of amusement of his peers and then proceeded on her way.

"What was that all about?" I asked when she returned with the eyes of most of the soldiers following her as she made sure to walk hot, slow and sexy back to where we were sitting.

"He had a copy of the magazine I did pictures for when I was younger. I couldn't resist," she explained.

"You wouldn't resist you mean," I grinned. "Doing your bit for the boys in uniform."

"The girls too in case you didn't notice there are a couple in that group," she corrected.

"My apologies, there's a polar bear in our car."

The rest of the trip doesn't even bear discussing, as it was a simple point to point, or in this case Turkey to Germany to Cuba to Jamaica route with a short stop for lunch in Turkey.

We ate at a Burger King of all places, which shouldn't have surprised me after the McDonalds in Jordan and the Mistress bought a Lord of the Rings collectable glass.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"You gave me an idea earlier. I'm going to carry it out."

Our reception back in Jamaica was a bit frosty despite the eighty-degree plus weather.

The customs agents weren't thrilled by the diplomatic paperwork we were carrying, but honored it which let us get back into the country without having the bags searched. If they had known what was in the duffel bag, they might have locked us up anyway diplomatic paperwork or not.

Luckily the hotel had held our room and we collapsed onto the beds gratefully.

"How long do you think it will be before The Fat Woman shows up?" I speculated out loud.

"Probably not very," the Mistress warned.

"Then I am going to get a shower," I said rolling off my bed and reaching for the duffel bag while motioning her to keep silent.

"I'll join you. I could use one after that long flight," she said.

We went in the bathroom and turned on the shower and I pointed to the ventilation duct mounted in the wall and the duffel bag.

She pried the vent open and slid the package into it after removing the wrappings and closed the vent again making sure the vase was far enough back not to be seen. She then slipped out of the room and returned a moment later with the Gandalf collectable glass and wrapped it up in the paper from the vase then placed the whole mess in the bag and carried it out of the bathroom.

She came back in naked and motioned for me to join her in the shower, which I did without hesitation.

"Now we wait, " she said as the water pelted us.

"I take it you expect that we'll have a visitor before too long?" I said reaching for the soap.

"I think we should take a very long shower," the Mistress said.

We were both resembling prunes by the time we got out of the shower but totally clean right down to the bone, although nearly parboiled from the steam.

She peeked out the door and then looked back at me with a smirk.

"Hook, line and sinker," was all she said.

"You mean stinker." I corrected.

We dressed for dinner and made our way to the patio after a stop at the main desk to complain about the air conditioning in the bathroom being bad, the both of us keeping our eyes open for any sign of The Fat Woman or her assistant. No problems, no sightings, not even an unkind word pointed in our direction. It was almost disappointing to be that ignored.

Almost disappointing.

I'd rather be ignored than shot at.

Dinner passed without any problems at all and Marcel our waiter had just delivered the coffee and Chateau Yquem to go with the schaum torte when we were joined by The Fat Woman and her pet who tossed the Gandalf glass down on the table, her expression dark and menacing.

"Good evening," the Mistress said. "Won't you join us? Marcel, two more glasses please and some torte for the ladies."

He bowed deeply and withdrew from the table as The Fat Woman leaned over it towards the Mistress with her displeasure evident.

"Very funny. " she said.

"I thought it was when Michael mentioned it," the Mistress said cheerfully

"Where is the vase?"

"The robbery of the wicked shall destroy them," the Mistress quoted. "I read that in a book once."

The Fat Woman's pet slid her hands under the table and I heard the click of the slide of a gun being pulled back.

"Keep that up and you'll be picking lead out of your navel," she hissed.

I couldn't help it. This was way too Dashiell Hammett to pass up.

"The cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter, eh?" I quoted.

"What?" The Fat Woman said turning towards me.

"Look, you tried to steal the McGuffin from us. That indicates a certain lack of trustworthiness on your part. You could have joined us at dinner and just asked for it and we would have given it to you. But you had to get cute," I said using my best Sam Spade imitation

Her eyes narrowed and she turned her attention back to the Mistress.

"What's he talking about?"

"He means that if you want it, you have to ask for it nicely. That's all. We'll tell you exactly where to find it."

"What about your money?"

"We can discuss that later."

"Just go and get it huh?" the pet said disdainfully. "And the cops are probably waiting for us."

"I doubt it. The only people who know about the package are the four of us," the Mistress said as Marcel returned with the additional dessert and wineglasses.

After Marcel left The Fat Woman sat back slightly and shrugged.

"We'll do it your way then," she agreed.

"Good. Have some wine and relax," the Mistress invited.

"Put the gun away," The Fat Woman directed her pet. "I don't think they're planning on anything especially stupid."

"No, just spectacularly stupid," I replied. "That's our usual style."

We chatted casually about the conditions in Iraq and the news reports of missing artifacts and as the Mistress poured the last of the wine into the glasses, a man in a business suit approached Marcel and then they both approached the table.

"Mr. and Mrs. Forbin, I understand you had a problem with the air conditioning in your bathroom?" the man in the suit asked.

"Yes, it doesn't seem to work at all," the Mistress confirmed.

"We found out why. The vent was blocked. "

"How did that happen I wonder?" the Mistress said calmly.

"Who are you?" I asked. "Hotel maintenance?"

"I'm the hotel detective," he said pulling out a badge and showing it to us. "We've had your room under observation since the military was here. What we found in your bathroom vent had us contact the local authorities who informed us that there was an Interpol agent on the premises."

Marcel took a bow.

"Claude Coupe, Interpol Mr. Forbin. Your two guests are under suspicion for several thefts from museums but without evidence I couldn't arrest them. I just couldn't figure out your part in the plan until that incident with the two military men. Then it became clear that it was part of your cover. I salute you; it was brilliant."

The Mistress opened her purse and took out the picture of the vase with The Fat Woman's handwriting on it and gave it to him.

"This should be enough to tie up the loose ends," she said.

Marcel, that is Claude took it and smiled.

"This should be more than enough to get an arrest warrant," he said taking out a pair of handcuffs.

A few moments later the two women were cuffed and in custody.

"Good-byes should be short. Adieu," was all The Fat Woman said as she was led away.

Her pet was a bit more expressive in her farewell, but far less printable.

It was late that night as we got ready for bed that I thought to ask the Mistress about the quote she had used about thieves.

"Oh that. It's in the Bible in Proverbs."

I pulled the ever present Gideon Bible out of the nightstand drawer and flipped through Proverbs until I found the quote and then looked at the Mistress.

"I wouldn't have thought that you had read that much of the Bible."

"Sunday school Michael. My father insisted."

Then something occurred to me.

"How many Christians are there in Iraq?" I said.

"Probably not many. Why?" the Mistress asked.

"I was just thinking that the easiest place for a group of Christians to hide is with other Christians. If they didn't leave the country, maybe they joined another group."

She looked at me thoughtfully and then spoke.

"Give me the phone..."

We were on the nude beach a couple of days later when a message was brought to us that read simply:

"Located Christians. Fed Lions.
"RJ."

"I'd say that, yes. Now perhaps we can turn to more important business."

"What kind of business?" I asked cautiously. "There isn't anything left to do is there? I mean besides enjoy the scenery," I said watching a really spectacular set of tits go by on a tall blonde.

"And that's not important too?" she said following my gaze and then turning to wink at me.

I just sat back in my beach chair and watched the world go by as an old tune ran through my head.

I've got me ten fine toes to wiggle in the sand.
Lots of idle fingers snap to my command.
A lively pair of heels that kick to beat the band.
Contemplatin' nature can be fascinatin'.
Add to these a nose that I can thumb,And a mouth by gum have I,
To tell the whole damn world if you don't happen to like it
Deal me out,
Thank you kindly
Pass Me By
Pass Me By-y, Pass Me By-y-y.
If you don't happen to like it Pass Me By.

Chapter 32 Sections 1 to 6
Pass Me By
Vive la Compagnie
Bubbles in the Wine
Merry Birthday To You
Japanese Banana
I'm Not a Very Good Damsel in a Dress Am I