Bombshell

After everyone left I cleared my desk of everything except the Peruvian research but it was hard to settle. I had just convinced myself that I had been in some way used when Clem came in with a tray from Starbucks.

I waited for her to broach the subject of the previous evening but she was briskly professional.

"I was thinking. Why were we not tapping Deryan's calls? Why was it necessary to have a face to face?"

I decided that if she was going to be bloody-minded then I was too. Two of us could play at that game. I spoke to her as if she were a student.

"Her calls were routinely monitored as soon as her cousins' terrorist credentials became clear. They were close and whilst it was never believed that she was directly involved it was thought that she was helping him out financially.

At the time of his arrest the American's made us aware of intelligence that they had gathered which suggested that the next spectacular was codenamed 'Edinburgh'"

"You think that they were planning bombs in Scotland?"

"It's a possibility that has to be considered. It's the annual festival next month and Edinburgh will play host to half a million visitors from all over the world."

"But is it safe, now that her cousin is in custody?"

"We just don't know. What we do know is that, shortly after his arrest, Deryan made one call and received another both of which mentioned 'Edinburgh'"

"Could it be coincidence?"

"Possibly, but since then she has changed her mobile phone every single day and sometimes twice a day; a new SIM card every time. She just sends out one of her flunkies to buy them. She always makes her calls in central locations with lots of mast traffic. We have access to her calls but it takes us time to tie them to her and even longer to verify who she is calling."

"So she's dirty?"

"That's our surmise and we can't take a chance if there is a genuine threat to the festival"

"Did you get the 'hot book' update from the Peruvians?"

"It came this afternoon…"

The 'hot book' was the shared database of possible terrorist activity from around the world. In Europe and the US it is updated daily but information from South America is always slower to come through.

"…Just one incident, a break-in at Equipos Industriales. It's only of note because they have the maintenance contract for the Peruvian Navy. Their battleships are so old that the ammunition is inherently unstable and has to be sent for periodic safety checks. The shells weigh nearly more than one hundred pounds, not something any self-respecting terrorist would be interested in but the audit has shown one short. It might just be a paperwork error."

"It's a pity we're not looking for a drug connection. It looks as though all of the Maoist guerrillas in Peru are now employed by the drug barons to fight their turf wars. There is hardly a terrorist organization worthy of the name."

We decided to give it one more night but, in my heart of hearts, I had already given up. I was rubbing my eyes and thinking of calling it a day when Clem ran back into the office her face beaming.

"Ponchos!"

I looked at her slightly bemused and asked her to explain. She answered almost breathlessly.

"I knew I remembered Peru in another connection. It's Deryan's winter collection. It's centred around poncho's, or more particularly capelets, and guess where they're sourced from?"

"Peru?"

"Correct. I've checked the shipping manifest database and guess who had a container loading at Lima the day after the break-in?"

"Oh you clever little girl!"

Without thinking, I held her face, pulled her towards me, and planted an expansive kiss on her cheek. Having released her she did not pull away but remained with her face just inches from mine her eyes shining.

"So, do I get a reward?"

I felt my heart skip. I feared what she was about to suggest but at the same time I felt an undeniable yearning that seemed centred on my sex.

"It's a long held fantasy of mine…"

As she said it she leaned forward to whisper in my ear. I listened to what she said and found myself whispering urgently in reply.

"I can't, not right here in the office."

"Of course you can. We're all alone. Who'd ever know?"

It had been an outrageous suggestion but, now that the seed was planted, I found myself undeniably excited by it. I got up from my chair allowing Clem to sit down and then I hesitated.

"Couldn't we just…?"

She replied with just the tiniest hint of petulance.

"No, it has to be right."

She wheeled the chair away to give access to the enclosed space beneath my desk which suddenly appeared uncomfortably small.

I was having serious qualms, especially about getting undressed, but the memory of what she could do with her mouth when my turn came was a compelling incentive. Even though I knew the office to be empty I cast a furtive look around before I started to unbutton my blouse.

I folded it and laid it down on the desk before unfastening my bra and was pleased to see the look of lust on her face when my breasts were revealed. In the chilled air my nipples immediately began to stiffen and I felt like a naughty school girl carrying out a dare.

"I love your tits…"

The crude, but well meant, comment increased my arousal and I removed my skirt with the panache of a seasoned stripper. Clem laughed and clapped encouragingly as I peeled my stockings down my legs and then flipped them at her with my toes.

She added them to the pile on the desk and watched eagerly as I teased my way out of my panties and then stood naked making a "ta da!" gesture. It felt oddly liberating to be standing like this in an office which, in only a few hours, would be a hive of fevered activity with no one any the wiser.

Clem pointed beneath the desk.

"In you go, you little bitch, I need some attention."

I found the juxtaposition of her youthful looks and the theatrical abuse disturbing but I could already feel my sex itching for attention. Somewhat awkwardly I got down onto my haunches and backed into the confined space and vowed to be more careful in my eating habits as my bare knees encountered stray biscuit crumbs.

"Take off my panties."

Clem had wheeled her chair closer, to seal me in my cell, and I was suddenly conscious of the absurdity of my situation but I could not renege having come so far.

Her legs were bare, still benefitting from the dying shade of her early summer tan, and I reached hesitantly beneath her short skirt. She wore simple, white, cotton briefs which may have started out looking pristine but were not going to survive the days end. Even in the poor light I could see that the crotch was damply discoloured.

I wondered, briefly, if this was how she had planned the evening to pan out even if she had not made the Peruvian connection and I was momentarily uneasy. Things were moving too quickly, and I knew I had to stay in control, but, for now, I could see no further than the enticing delta between her legs.

She brought her legs together so that I could divest her of her panties but immediately opened them again hemming me in.

Any question about her being a natural blonde was now answered. Her mons was surmounted by a neatly trimmed triangle that pointed the way downwards to her sex and I immediately noted her labia. They looked ripe and relaxed and the answer came unprompted.

"I've been creaming myself just thinking about you. I haven't been able to leave myself alone."

I was jolted by the confirmation that, whilst I worked in my office, she had been outside awaiting this moment but her brazenness only helped to stoke the fire that was smouldering deep inside.

"Taste me. See how wet you've made me."

As she said it she brought the chair under the desk and her coltish legs squeezed either side of me. Had I wanted to escape there was nowhere to go. In an Edgar Allan Poe moment her sex drew slower nearer until she pressed herself to my mouth.

I put out my tongue to meet her and I was surprised by the fullness of her taste. I guess that, subconsciously, I had been expecting something lighter, more youthful, but this had the same maturity as Adrienne no doubt helped along by her self stimulation.

Having got over the initial shock I began to lick purposefully trailing my tongue along her labia whilst above me I could hear the rustle of papers as she lived out her fantasy."That's nice…just like that."

I kept up a regular rhythm and every now and again her sex would contract and there would be a welling up of moisture. I was having to swallow to keep my mouth clear but the taste seemed to grow sweeter as the minutes passed.

"Let me feel you inside…"

Gratefully, I worked my tongue deeper. It was getting very warm beneath the desk, as evidenced by the slick of perspiration on her thighs, and it felt harder to breath. In the gloom the air, heavy with her scent, seemed starved of oxygen.

My tongue pressed easily inside to an excited, molten, interior and, almost without thought, I closed my mouth about her and began to suck gently.

"Oh yesss...!"

Her hips lifted a little to meet me and my tongue was squeezed firmly, keeping me in place. I thought that the end was in sight but, quite suddenly, her body relaxed. I wondered if I had done something wrong and then my blood froze.

"Is she in?"

The voice was unmistakably that of Jane Bullington and, as her footsteps drew nearer, Clem deftly scooped all of my clothes out of sight on to the floor.

"Oh yes, she's definitely in."

As she said it she eased forward just a fraction giving a clear signal that she did not want me to move.

"So have you made any progress?"

"Oh yes, she's on to something really hot, she's really very excited about it."

I could not believe that game she was playing and I felt my face flush.

"Do you think she'll be long?"

"I hope not."

As she said it she gave me an admonitory squeeze with her legs. She expected me to carry on whilst Bullington was still there!

"I'll wait for a moment or two. Are these the notes?"

I could not believe it. Bullington sat down in the visitors chair just inches behind me and separated only by the desks' modesty board.

The bizarre situation had an immediate effect on Clem. Her sex grew warmer and I was treated to a fresh outpouring which almost choked me. The only thing that I could do was to close my mouth over her sex to stifle the impulse.

"Please stay as long as you wish. I'm going to be right here until she finishes."

Her meaning was clear but unwelcome. I desperately wanted Bullington to leave but Clem was going to do her best to stop that happening until I did as she wanted.

I had no choice; I had to get it over with. I eased my tongue from her sex and worked my way upwards until I found her clitoris.

"This is very interesting…"

Bullington seemed absorbed in my notes which was just as well as Clem began to squirm.

"She has a real talent for hitting the right spot."

I cursed inwardly. Clem was taking it too far. I licked a little harder but carefully. I did not want her coming too violently. Her body began to stiffen, heralding the onset, and I eased off coaxing her gently to the summit.

To her credit she came almost imperceptibly, the only obvious sign being a painful squeezing of her legs, but it seemed miraculous that Bullington could not smell her. Her scent enveloped me like a fog and I was longing for fresh air.

"Are you feeling okay? You look a little flushed."

"I'm fine. A bit of a cold perhaps, I think I'll call it a day."

"A good idea. Have her come and see me first thing in the morning we need to discuss these findings. Enjoy the rest of the evening."

With that Bullington was gone and Clem laughed loudly as she freed me from my prison.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

"That was such a rush."

"You could have got us fired."

"Exciting though wasn't it?"

She reached forward and cupped my sex with her hand slipping a finger deep inside. I had not appreciated just how aroused I had become. I closed my eyes and gasped.

"Oh God. I want you to eat me…"

She reached up to my shoulder and pulled me down.

"All in good time. You haven't finished yet, not by a long shot…"

Chapter 4

As I stood in front of Bullington's desk the next morning I was dog tired. My knees, neck, and tongue were vying for first place in the soreness stakes and my eyelids felt heavy.

"Let's assume that they have managed to smuggle an artillery shell out of Peru. How viable would it be?"

I had to force myself to focus. For an unreal moment I had been imagining someone under her desk using all their skills whilst she tried to keep her composure. I had never thought of her in terms of being good looking but I suspected that with her hair loose and the right clothes she would turn a few heads.

"I'll find out this morning. I was going to try the Imperial War Museum to see if they've got someone who can help."

"Good thinking. Let me know what you turn up, but now I need to ask something of you."

For half a second my mind played tricks. If she were to ask me to kneel, would I do it?

"I took what we had to the Cabinet this morning. They want it put on the imminent threat list. That means that we will need to get close to Deryan. I told you last time that I had no right to ask you but I'm afraid I may have to ask you again."

I felt a curious mix of emotions. On the one hand I was proud to be asked but she was not to know what she was potentially exposing me to and I felt a disquieting sense of unease.

"I'll do whatever you need me to do."

"I somehow knew you would."

After a frustrating half an hour of being shunted around the War Museums' telephone system I was finally given the number of a Professor Denby an expert on naval gunnery. When I got through I was surprised to find myself talking to a woman. She seemed very nervous but that may have had something to do with me introducing myself as a police officer. This was a common ploy as people were generally more willing to open up to the police than they were the security services.

Within fifteen minutes I had my notes in order and I presented myself to Bullington once more.

"I'm told that it's most improbable that they would try and fabricate a gun barrel and, even if they did, their chances of hitting a particular target would be negligible. They would be more likely to blow themselves up.

That leaves us with explosives. The good news is that the shells we are dealing with have relatively small amounts of gunpowder. It's the weight of the shell itself that does the damage. There's a propellant charge and a bursting charge, both low grade powder. They can easily be sniffed out by dogs or chemical detectors. I am also told that without a high end detonator it would be hard to get a reaction."

"Could the shell just be dropped from a high point?"

"If they dropped it on to thick sheet steel there's a remote chance. Otherwise it would just bury itself."

She mulled over this new information and appeared to reach a decision.

"So we know the who, the how but not the where. 'Edinburgh' may be a complete red herring and we certainly don't have enough to bring Deryan in yet."

"Could we check the container for traces of gunpowder?"

"We could but unfortunately it's already on its way back to South America. Its bound for Brazil this time and we'll get the Brazilians to run tests as soon as they can. In the meanwhile…do you have any sort of entrée?"

I went back to my own office and retrieved the business card that Deryan had given me over dinner. She had issued an open invitation to come and look round her London design studio but, now that she had got what she wanted from me, I doubt that she would have expected me to take her up on it.

As I waited to be put through to yet another extension it occurred to me that Deryan must receive hundreds of cold calls from fashion wanabees and my story sounded shallower the more I retold it. Eventually I recognized a familiar voice. She had not spoken much over dinner but it was definitely Veronique.

"Ah yes, our little translator from Paris. I think we could spare an hour after lunch. Would that suit?"

There was a definite hint of condescension in her voice, perhaps even amusement, but the door was open and I had to step through it.

The studios were just off of Bond Street where a modest frontage failed to hint at the opulence to be found inside. The reception area was oak panelled with retro-styled gold fittings and the receptionist herself could have just stepped out of a magazine cover.

Veronique's assistant was dispatched to collect me and on seeing her I began to feel decidedly underdressed. She was a tall blonde, mid-twenties, wearing a simple, but clearly expensive, white dress which showed off her long legs and pert breasts to distinct advantage.

As she walked me through the building it seemed that fine clothes were de rigeur for the staff and I was grateful to find, on entering Veronique's office, she was more soberly dressed.

"Miss Hargreaves…"

It took me split second to react to my assumed name but then I shook her proffered hand. The make-up team had worked quickly to restore my Emma persona but the truth was there was little to do. I was so taken by the look that they had created for me that I was happy to live with it.

"…I didn't think that we would have the pleasure once more. I'd love to be able to show you around but I'm tied up just at the moment. If I may, I'll leave you in Megan's capable hands."

She indicated her assistant who flashed me a radiant smile and I guessed that this was a young woman who would not be shy in front of the cameras. I had her marked down as an airhead but in the course of the next hour, as she showed me design studios, cutting rooms, fitting rooms and, finally, a photography studio, she proved both well spoken and knowledgeable.

Veronique met us in the studio at the end of the tour. The set was dressed with a cutaway Bedouin tent furnished with hanging silks, harem cushions, and faux Arab adornments. In the centre, on a raised platform, was a high backed, wooden, chair and Veronique had made herself comfortable.

"So how was the tour?"

"It was most enjoyable. I was hoping for a word with Adrienne, just to say than you."

Veronique made no move to rise but looked at me knowingly. For a moment I feared that I had somehow given myself away. I was more than ever convinced that Veronique was not employed for her couture skills but I was still not sure how she fitted in.

"Come here."

I moved a little closer to the dais and she rested her chin on steepled fingers.

"Shall we speak frankly? We all know that Adrienne prefers women, but what you now know is that she prefers to take and not to give."

Her forthrightness shocked me but I saw little sense in denial. I let her continue.

"Now, if you want to get to Adrienne, it means one of two things. Either you enjoy giving or you want something from her."

An alarm bell sounded in my head but I tried to keep my expression neutral.

"Most of the young women I see come here to get a boost in the fashion industry. With you it may be something different but, quite frankly, I don't care. If you want to get to Adrienne you are going to have to please me first."

For a second I thought, indeed hoped, that I had misunderstood but the sly smile on her face left no room for misinterpretation. Driven by self respect, I turned to walk away refusing to be blackmailed, but, just as quickly, I weighed up the cost of failure.

I turned back to face her.

"What exactly do you want from me?"

"Don't be naïve. You've got a pretty little mouth. Let's see if you know how to use it."