Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 06

Amanda concealed her surprise. They had not discussed this story beforehand, and it was not one she would have chosen.

Iskandar preened, puffing out his chest and smoothing the lapels of his frayed uniform. "The uncle knows of my connections here, and he contacted me. Kareena tried to run away, but we caught her in the market. The uncle and I performed the second virginity test ourselves."

He turned to Amanda and shook his finger at her. "You're very foolish. Everyone knows to check the sheets for blood the morning after the wedding. The groom's father would have killed you, and nobody would blame him."

"Let us see her," Samir repeated.

Iskandar gestured for Amanda to undress. After a moment, she lifted off her niqab, then pulled the large clip from behind her head and shook out her dark hair. She watched Samir for a reaction, but he only rolled his hand in an impatient gesture.

She'd known stripping down was part of the bargain, and table stakes for this mission. She would experience much worse before it was over. But she'd avoided thinking about this moment until now. Nevertheless, any embarrassment would be worth it if she helped to kill some terrorists. The SEALs were all deadly shots, and none of the perpetrators would likely survive.

She remembered the first deer she'd killed, a young doe. The innocent animal walked into the crosshairs of her 30-06 rifle at the wrong moment, and it had been upsetting to watch the blood drain from her body, staining the earth.

The men she hunted now were far from innocent. They'd killed the ambassador's bodyguard, and threatened his family, forcing him to make a video 'confessing' to his crimes: corrupting and murdering innocent Muslims, and desecrating their country.

Of course, these weren't the particular terrorists who killed her father. But they supported Osama Bin Laden, and fanatically embraced his objective: death to all Americans. It would be a privilege to stain the earth with their blood. If any survived their wounds, she intended to make them suffer.

Samir grew irritable. "Do not try my patience."

Her thoughts strengthened her will. She lifted the abaya over her head. Dark circles stained her cotton shirt beneath her armpits. She raised her arms, peeled it off, and dropped it atop the abaya. Turning her back, she drew a deep breath, unhooked her plain white bra, and added it to the pile, covering her breasts with her hands.

Iskandar slapped Amanda, then grabbed her arm and jerked her around to face Samir. "You're a whore now. There is no place for such false modesty."

She didn't have to feign her shock. She raised her hand to her throbbing cheek.

Any further provocation risked more violence. She lowered her arms and let them look.

After a time, Samir pointed at her lower body. She nodded, bit her lip, and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her baggy cotton pants. Swaying gently, she slid them to her hips, then skimmed them down her legs. She straightened to stand before him wearing only her plain, conservatively cut white cotton panties.

Both men's faces betrayed their interest. With lowered eyes, she grasped the elastic and pushed them to her ankles. Fighting the urge to cover her crotch, she put her hands on her hips and turned toward Samir. Remembering herself, she cast her gaze to the floor.

"Come closer," said Samir.

She drew in a breath and moved to stand an arm's length away. She waited, her hands clasped tightly together behind her, the sound of her own pulse in her ears.

He hooked his hand behind her and drew her in, until she stood inches from his face. In his low chair, her navel was level with his forehead. She felt his breath on her vulva.

"Legs apart, whore." His voice was harsh.

She flinched, but she saw she had no choice. After a moment, she complied.

His eyes bored into her bare slit, and she felt her chin begin to quiver.

He reached out, and she closed her eyes. She felt his fingers spread her labia. He's looking inside, she thought to herself. She struggled to contain a squeak.

"She's not a virgin," said Samir.

"I just told you that," said Iskandar, exasperated.

Samir pushed his middle finger inside her. She bit down on her lip. He wiggled his finger inside her for a long moment, then finally withdrew it. He put his finger in his mouth, savoring her flavor.

Iskandar stepped to her side and wrapped his hand around her breast. "She is quite beautiful, is she not?" He shook her breast at Samir. "Much prettier than Yasmin."

"You sold Yasmin for only 60,000 Rial," he grumbled, but his eyes never left Amanda's quivering flesh. He frowned wryly, pulled a roll of bills from his pocket, and counted out 500,000 Rial.

Iskandar did not waste time on further pleasantries. As he pocketed the cash, he rose to his feet and returned to his car. Amanda heard the whine of his engine as he sped away.

Now I've done it, she thought, I'm completely on my own. Looking down at her own naked form, she shivered despite the oppressive heat.

Samir signaled her to pick up her clothing, then took her wrist and led her into the next room. One of the women sat up and glanced at her, then stared off into the distance, glassy-eyed. The others didn't stir.

Samir pointed at an empty bed. "That one was Yasmin's. Now it's yours."

When she didn't move, he pushed her forward. "Get on your hands and knees."

The thin mattress was stained, and she caught a sharp odor as she knelt upon it. She swallowed and looked back over her shoulder at Samir. He knelt behind her and chuckled as he leaned forward to take her breasts in his hands.

The sound of a diesel truck engine grew louder as it approached until it filled the courtyard. The engine turned off, and a voice yelled for Samir. He groped her breasts a moment longer, then rose and went out.

She remained in position for a time, but when he didn't return, she put on her bra and panties, then faced the glassy-eyed woman. "I'm Kareena."

"Fatima. That's Huda, and Tahira, and Nayla." Beside her, Nayla opened one eye, looked her over, and shut it again.

"What happened to Yasmin?" She began to pull on her blouse and skirt.

Fatima shrugged her shoulders. "She overdosed yesterday."

"I'm sorry."

Fatima snorted. "She was a whore. Nobody cares."

Amanda didn't know what to say. It was sad but true: nobody would miss Yasmin, or notice her passing.

Suddenly she felt very tired. Her body was still on east coast time, and she hadn't had a proper night's rest in days. She stretched out on the bed and was instantly asleep.

* * *

She awoke to a heavy weight pressing her body into the mattress. Her eyes opened, and found Samir's jowly, unshaven face. His breath reeked of cumin and onions.

His thick hips lay across her open thighs, and her pants and panties hung from one foot. Her left arm was trapped beneath her. As she became fully alert, she felt his hard cock pressing against her entrance. He was slippery with some lubricant, and as he thrust his hips forward, he slid inside her.

You're CIA, she reminded herself, and National Clandestine Service. This is what you do for your country. This is how you earn the opportunity to avenge your father.

She turned her face away from his hot, malodorous breath, and her eye fell on the faces of her four companions, watching impassively. The setting sun lit them from behind.

Play your part, said an instructor's voice from long ago. You're a whore. Be a whore.

When she'd first awakened, she'd instinctively raised her hand, and had been on the verge of clawing at his eyes and gouging his face, but now she let her hand fall to her side. Letting out a long breath, she pulled up her knees to give him better access.

Then his thrusts came more rapidly, and soon she heard him groan as he spurted his cum deep inside her. He slowed and then rolled off her, tucking himself inside his sirwel.

After he'd gone, she lay still, her legs still splayed apart, lacking the energy to straighten her tangled clothing. The reality of her new role hit home to her. She'd trained endlessly with Percy, and given her body on her last mission, but still she found herself unprepared to be used so callously, to be treated like a thing rather than a person. It was difficult to endure. But she suspected the worst was yet to come.

* * *

Three hours later, Samir loaded them all into a small pickup truck. None of them wore a niqab or abaya, publicly marking them all as whores worthy of scorn and derision, and Amanda was thankful they didn't pass many people as they drove the short distance to the waterfront.

Samir's dingy lay chained beneath a disused pier. Fatima led the way down a wooden ladder and jumped into the boat, crouching in the bow. Amanda followed, then the others. Samir started the outboard, and they headed out into the harbor. Minutes later, he opened the throttle and pointed the boat southwest.

As she sat beside Tahira on the center thwart, the wind streamed her long hair behind her and threatened to raise the hem of her skirt, and she automatically pressed her palms to her thighs to hold it in place. Samir had disliked the modest, loose-fitting shirt and pants in which she'd arrived, and he'd insisted she change into a modern, garishly printed blouse and skirt that had belonged to Yasmin. She had an awful thought that these might be the clothes in which she'd died.

As the swells slapped against the bow and cold spray stung her face, she wondered about the fate that awaited her. There would be thirteen terrorists on the boat. How many would she have to service personally before the SEALs arrived?

She remembered Percy's recent words to her: It's always you who gets fucked. Never truer than right now, she thought. She felt a lump in her throat and tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.

In the distance, she spotted a large trawler. As they approached, Samir exchanged signals with a lookout and maneuvered alongside. The lookout dropped a rope ladder, and she moved quickly to climb it.

While waiting for the others to climb up, she took stock of the trawler. It was quite old, and large patches of rust and peeling paint spoke to years of neglect. Long booms, designed to support trawling nets, swung from either side, next to powerful winches. Large lockers for nets and floats crowded the main deck, and a decaying wooden lifeboat sat askew on the raised foredeck. Above her loomed the wheelhouse, deserted behind its wide glass panels.

When they were all aboard, the stern lookout pointed them toward the galley. As they passed, Amanda glanced up, noticing the position of the second sentry, just visible on the foredeck. She turned and followed the others.

Belowdecks, the galley/mess compartment was on the starboard side. As they all went down the companionway, Amanda spotted the entry to a fish storage hold opposite, secured by a padlock and chain. From within, she heard voices speaking English.

She let the others enter the galley ahead of her. When she followed, she saw the mess was crowded, and the men occupied all the seats.

Turning her back, she spoke in a low voice, hoping the SEALs were within range. "This is Four. I'm in position in the galley. Eleven targets present, and four neutrals. Two sentries on deck, fore and aft. Hostage location is port fish storage hold." She faced forward again, but remained behind the others, hunching her shoulders and hiding her face behind her hair.

All four of the other women were well known from prior visits, and each attracted her own following. Huda behaved passively toward Gaffar, the vain, boastful team leader who approached her, and after he pushed her clothes aside, her eyes deadened and her limbs flopped like a rag doll's against the surface of the galley's food prep counter.

Tahira's expression remained vacant, and her behavior was as lifeless as Huda's. Nayla was more animated, teasing and toying with a younger man whose experience with women was apparently limited. As their clothing came off, Amanda compared the length of the tracks on the girls' arms and concluded Nayla was a more recent arrival.

In Fatima's manner, Amanda saw a hard-edged bitterness not present in the others. Had she encountered more adversity, or was she simply more able to see their collective future?

Some of the terrorists remained seated on the benches surrounding the communal table, eating and drinking. At one end, in the only armchair, sat a man older and paunchier than the others. Part of one ear was missing, and his nose was misshapen. With his close-set eyes and pock-marked cheeks, he was quite unattractive. Amanda recognized him as Khalid, the commander.

Khalid hadn't paid much notice to the other women, but he gave Amanda's face and body a thorough appraisal. She knew he wasn't the mastermind behind the plot, but as the senior man aboard the trawler, he played a leading role. She considered how frightened the ambassador's two young children must be, confined within the ship's hold while Khalid threatened their father. How she hated him.

Sensing her anger, he rose from his chair and got right in her face. She noticed all his teeth were bad. She shuddered and took a step back.

He loomed closer again. "You're new. You don't look like the others." He wrapped his hands around her narrow waist.

None of the men had bathed recently, but Khalid's body odor was particularly strong. The hair on the backs of his arms was matted, and bits of food were embedded in his scraggly beard. She wrinkled her nose and grimaced, raising her hands to push him away.

He signaled two of his men. As they held her arms, he touched the base of her throat, then drew his finger downward, bumping over the buttons of her blouse, passing between her breasts.

Amanda pulled at her arms, but the two men held her easily. I can't move, she thought. I'm helpless. They can do whatever they want to me. She struggled to catch her breath.

She looked left and right. Both men stared obviously at her chest. They want to grab me and squeeze me, she thought, and they won't be gentle. Despite herself, she felt her nipples harden.

When Khalid's finger reached the waistband of her skirt, he continued more slowly, down across her lower belly, and reflexively she tightened her abdominal muscles. She kept her eyes locked on his, breathing jaggedly through her teeth as she tried to discern his intent.

He's going to do it, she thought. He's going to touch me there, in my place. Between my legs. And I can't stop him. Her legs began to tremble.

She felt an involuntary, unwanted surge of warmth in her crotch, and she realized she was lubricating. What is wrong with me, she wondered.

Slowly he continued his descent, moving lower, pressing the material of her skirt into the space between her legs.

He's so close, she thought. He's almost there. She didn't dare look.

He moved an inch lower, and paused with his fingertip resting directly on her clitoral hood. It remained there, motionless, applying steady pressure, tightening the coil deep within her as effectively as turning a crank.

When she felt the urge to thrust her hips forward, it came upon her so suddenly that she was already moving before she realized it. With an effort, she stilled her hips, but it was too late.

Khalid had felt her rub herself against his finger, and his grin exposed the remnants of his rotted, broken teeth. He cackled at her gleefully, mocking her.

He moved his finger from side to side, watching her face intently as he masturbated her through her clothing. She pressed her lips together tightly in an attempt to contain the groan that arose from within her, but it was still audible. He laughed again.

What's happened to me, she thought. I really have become a whore. I'm not pretending any longer. My father would be so ashamed of me.

"She is beautiful, but she has been corrupted," said the man on her right. He grabbed her breast.

He groped her too firmly, with none of the kindness and affection she told herself she wanted, but she registered the quickening in her pulse and heard the needy sound in her throat. Yet a part of her remained unwilling to be objectified and disrespected. She pulled away from his grip.

Khalid smirked. "She is spirited, Hamad. Perhaps she will fight." He raised his eyebrows at the prospect.

The man on her left, who was named Raj, reached beneath her skirt and clapped his hand over her crotch. His thick fingers pushed clumsily against her entrance through her cotton panties. "Three cocks. One for each hole. What will she say when all her holes are filled?"

Hamad snickered. "Mmf, mmf, mmf." The other two roared and slapped their knees.

She failed to see the humor. Why weren't they content with simple sexual intercourse? She didn't understand their purpose, unless it was to further humiliate her.

One thing was for certain. None of them was getting even a finger inside her asshole, much less any other appendage. Her rear orifice was strictly one-way, outbound only.

Khalid shook his head at his men. "You will have your turn with her later." He pushed Raj's hand aside. "Put her on the table."

As Hamad and Raj lifted Amanda, pushing a couple of dirty plates to the floor, she heard the first commands from SEAL Six in her earpiece, directing One and Two to board the stern of the trawler. Three would join Six at the bow.

To Hamad, Khalid suggested, "Melissa will tell us if she's going to fight." He turned to Amanda. "Melissa is my six eyed sand spider."

Amanda's eyes widened. She was terrified of spiders. But the critical moment of the assault was approaching. It was imperative she remain calm and keep them occupied.

Raj grabbed a plastic cup, reached into a small glass terrarium, and scooped up a spider. At Khalid's nod, he dumped the spider onto the cuff of Amanda's blouse.

Her scream betrayed a total loss of self-control.

The spider landed on its feet and gained purchase on the coarse fabric. As it climbed up her sleeve, Amanda trembled and wailed, but the two men held her fast.

Khalid chuckled. "Melissa doesn't bite unless she's threatened. But her venom is cytotoxic, and the lesions are dermonecrotic. Sometimes the victim survives, sometimes not."

The spider paused at the edge of her collar, its forward legs churning. Amanda sensed its proximity, and her body grew rigid. Urine pooled beneath her and dripped onto the bench.

"You're not going to give me trouble, are you?"

Amanda shook her head frantically, her eyes bulging. In her ear, she heard, "One and Two are aboard at the stern." Please let them hurry, she thought.

Khalid waved Raj forward, and he returned the spider to the terrarium.

"Take off your clothes," said Khalid.

Amanda let out a long breath and tried to calm herself. She needed to play for time. She slid down from the table and began to turn and sway as she unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the rounded cups of her plain white bra. Turning away from Khalid, she rocked her hips as she freed the tails of her blouse from the waistband of her skirt. Her eyes flicked toward the terrarium, making sure the spider was still inside.

A long burst of gunfire erupted from the deck above. Amanda recognized the sound of an AK-47. One of the lookouts must have spotted a SEAL and emptied his magazine.

The terrorists reached for their weapons and dashed out, a few of them zipping up their pants as they ran. Khalid, Hamad, and Raj stayed behind, listening intently.

Khalid pointed at Hamad. "Take the women across the passageway. Lock them up with the others."

Hamad looked crestfallen. "What about Kareena?" His eyes returned to her torso.

Amanda really didn't want to be locked up. She toyed with the shoulder strap of her bra as she pursed her lips and looked at the men through her long eyelashes. Khalid watched her and finally shook his head. "Leave her here." He ran his fingers along her ribs, then cupped her breast.