Chapter 7
"So how's the porn king today?" Rodriguez and Thomas joined Richards at lunch on his second day.
"Fine," replied Richards noncommittally.
"Any, you know, action yet?"
"Yeah." Richards pushed the chow mein on his plate around with a fork.
"Yeah? You've been watching hot sex scenes and all you can say is, 'yeah'?"
"Um, have you guys ever imagined what we might be like in 30 years? After we've spent our whole lives doing this?"
His friends looked at each other in consternation. "Are you feeling okay, Richards?" demanded Rodriguez. "You've just started to shave. Why are you worrying about what you'll be like when you're old?"
"Yeah, you'd be better off worrying about getting shot or stabbed in the field," added Thomas.
Or betrayed or manipulated or tortured or imprisoned or disillusioned, thought Richards to himself. "Never mind."
**
"But I don't know how to dance," Jack protested feebly. A kaleidoscope of multi-colored lights played over the converted warehouse in which they stood.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll be a fast learner," said the Countess in a suggestive voice close to his ear. "I'll show you." She grabbed him by the hand and led him out onto the crowded dance floor where hundreds of other dancers bumped and ground their bodies to the beat of the deafening music. The Countess had recovered rapidly from her "indisposition" and had lost no time in inviting the Professor out for one last night on the town before the end of the conference.
"All you do is move your hands like this," she demonstrated. "Come on, Professor, you do it."
Feeling slightly silly, Jack copied her movements, waving his hands in the air.
"Then rock your hips like this," encouraged the Countess, moving her hips in a deliberately provocative manner.
Jack made a half-hearted attempt at moving his hips.
"Good!" said the Countess. "Now do both together."
Groaning inwardly, Jack began gyrating, slightly out of time with the music.
"Splendid!" clapped the Countess. Together they danced in the pulsating crowd, the Countess inching closer and closer to him until she was thrusting her hips into his, her breasts rubbing against his chest.
"Countess. Margit," panted Jack. "I-I can't take much more of this. I'm feeling a little faint."
A brief flash of exasperation flitted across the Countess's countenance, swiftly replaced by concern. "But of course, Frederick." At that moment the song ended, and the Countess' ears perked up. "Oh, Frederick. A *slow* dance." She reached up and put Jack's hands around her back and snuggled close. "This might be more your speed. You're such a romantic."
A smothered cough echoed over Jack's headset. Damn Vaughn.
Richards turned in curiosity to the support base screen.
Vaughn covered his mike and turned to Weiss. "Do you think the security tapes for that rave might be available?" he asked innocently.
An expression of rapture crossed Weiss' face. "I'm on it," he said rapidly, picking up the phone. He stopped abruptly as realization dawned. "Wait a minute," he said suspiciously.
Vaughn grinned. "That's right. When Jack goes looking for those tapes - ,"
"- and you know he will -,"
"- he'll find out who got them, and -,"
"-you'll have the tapes. And I'll be dead. Some friend you are," he complained, putting down the phone.
"Seasoned professionals," Richards muttered to himself. "Support base considered and discarded an approach to gather supplemental documentation of mission."
The Countess draped her arms around Jack's neck and began giving him a full body rub. "There, isn't this nice, Frederick?" she purred.
Jack mumbled an assent, then carefully stepped on her foot. "Oh! I'm sorry, Countess," he apologized. One more night, he reminded himself.
A disruption in the seething mass around them caught Jack's attention and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the cause. His hand grabbed for his glasses.
"Watchtower, we have lost transmission. Repeat - ,"
Richards automatically began scanning the crowd with a practiced eye. Ah, he thought, there she was. His eyes widened.
Jack looked on disbelievingly as Irina, clothed in a sleek outfit that appeared to be only marginally larger than a washcloth, cut through the crowd, an escort at her side. Jack swallowed as he saw that she wore her hair down and loose, an emerald brooch around her neck that fell enticingly between her breasts. She was…magnificent. Her eyes locked with his and his body responded immediately, only to be inflamed by the Countess' movements. An involuntary groan escaped his lips.
"Professor?"
"I-I'm sorry," said Jack flushing as he stepped back from the Countess. Anything to reduce the unbearable pressure. "I don't know what came over me."
The Countess scanned his face with satisfaction then, glancing down, her eyes took on a speculative look. "Well, well," she said appreciatively.
Jack cursed silently as he read the reassessment in her eyes.
"I'm sure *I* don't mind." She moved to close the distance again.
"Do you mind if we sit down?" Jack took another step backwards.
"Perhaps," the Countess trilled, "we should leave? While this is still…fresh in your mind?" The Countess grabbed his hand and turned, only to come face to face with Irina's escort.
"Margit, what a lovely surprise!"
"Ralf!" replied the Countess, with slightly less enthusiasm.
"Margit, may I introduce to you Sonja Berinzen? She's an old family friend." Irina gave the Countess a feral smile.
"Charmed," said the Countess frigidly, assessing the competition. "This is Professor Frederick Bartholomew. Frederick, Ralf Van Moergen."
Jack extended a limp hand. "Pleased to meet you," he mumbled.
"Would you mind, Professor, if I stole away the Countess for one moment? I have a small matter to discuss with her."
"G-go right ahead. Miss Bernz? Could I get you something to drink?"
"Berinzen. And I'd prefer to dance."
"He's tired," stated the Countess firmly.
Irina cocked her head. "It's a slow dance. I'm sure he can manage." She flashed Jack a sultry smile and, without looking back, dragged him onto the dance floor.
"So, is that a gun in your pocket or -?"
"Very funny," he snarled. "Where's the rest of your damn dress? You have negligees that are more modest than that."
Irina gave him a brilliant smile. "Ralf likes it."
"B*tch." Jack swallowed the rest of his reply as he saw the Countess watching them with narrowed eyes. He perched his hands gracelessly on Irina's waist and began to shuffle his feet. "What are you doing?" Jack hissed when he saw the Countess turn back to Ralf. "You promised."
"I might have another entrance to the villa."
Jack looked at her skeptically.
"Ralf is an ex-boyfriend of the Countess. He claims he knows of an underground tunnel that the Countess uses for her more discrete liaisons."
"And he told you because?"
"He owes me some favors."
Jack surreptitiously glanced over at Ralf, noting the youthful, sculpted body. "What kind of favors?" he growled quietly as he stepped on her foot. "Oh, I'm so sorry Miss Betz," he said in a louder voice. "I'm not a very good dancer."
"Berinzen, you bozo. You are so dead," she muttered.
"When you say 'might have an entrance', what does that mean, exactly?" Jack looked downwards, watching his feet carefully.
Irina hesitated. "It means he might be able to find it again, if it hasn't been closed. It was several years ago."
They danced in silence for several moments, before Jack observed regretfully. "It's not enough. If I miss this window and the entrance doesn't materialize…,"
"I know," she admitted grudgingly.
He squeezed her shoulder. "Thanks anyway."
The band wound down the song with a flourish, and Jack stood immobile in the middle of the dance floor with Irina, pensive. "Irina, I -,"
"The b*tch is back," interrupted Irina, sotto voce.
Jack closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, once more every inch the bemused academic.
"Frederick? Our car's here. It's time for us to go." The Countess smiled sweetly at Irina. "So nice to make your acquaintance, Miss -,"
"Butz," interjected Jack helpfully.
"Berinzen."
"-Miss Berinzen," finished the Countess with aplomb. "I'm afraid the Professor and I have plans for the rest of the evening. Don't we, Professor?" While her question was directed at Jack, her eyes rested pointedly on Irina's hand, which remained on Jack's arm.
"Uh, y-yes, if you say so, Countess," Jack stammered.
"And unfortunately," the Countess added in a silky voice, her gaze traveling down to the crotch of Jack's pants, still noticeably distended, "sometimes three's a crowd. I'm sure you agree, Miss Berinzen?"
Not a muscle moved in Jack's face as Irina painfully gripped his arm. Only the sure knowledge that she couldn't be hiding a gun or a knife in the scrap of fabric that constituted her dress kept him from leaping between the two women.
"Yes," replied Irina, her voice low and dangerous. "I agree. Three is definitely a crowd."
"Well, then," said Jack quickly. "Since we're all in agreement, perhaps we should go?"
Flashing a triumphant glance at Irina, the Countess allowed herself to be escorted off the dance floor.
It wasn't until the door closed on the Countess's limousine that Jack began to breathe again. He reached up and switched on transmission.
"Base to Watchtower. Receiving transmission. Lost you for 10 minutes. Everything okay?"
The Countess leaned back against Jack. "Oh, Frederick, we're having such a wonderful time tonight."
"Wonderful," answered Jack glumly.