ANGELS AND ENGLISHMEN

"Have you met the new girl, Ollie?"

Oliver Linden looked up to find Simon Poole hovering over him. "I haven't, no. She's a secretary?"

"Consultant of some sort," said Poole. "They sent her over from the main office. A German girl, I think. You really must chat her up, old boy."

"Oh? And why must I do that?"

"Well, she's a pretty little thing, isn't she?" said Poole. "And she's single. Right up your alley, I'd say."

Oliver smiled politely. As the only bachelor in the office Linden was used to his co-workers living vicariously through his sexual conquests, but the winking and smirking sometimes got to him. Childish, really.

"I'm sure we'll meet soon enough," he said. "Er...was there something else, Simon?"

"No-no. Just wanted to give you the old heads up Ollie. Cheery-bye."

Jeremy Sims, who headed up the acquisitions department, brought the "new girl" around just before lunch. "Oliver? I'd like you to meet Miss Aniela Schell."

Oliver rose and extended his hand. "How do you do, Miss Schell?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. linden." Her hand was soft and fine. She had a confident smile and a grip to match. Poole's right, thought Oliver. She's very pretty, indeed.

"Oliver here is our top man in mergers," said Sims. "You'll be working closely with him."

Linden looked up from Aneila Schell's impressive bosom. "What is it that Miss Schell and I will be working on, Jeremy?"

"Oh, yes. You haven't been briefed yet, have you old boy?"

"Not yet."

"It's the Egyptian proposal," Sims explained. "Miss Schell is here to help us iron out the finer points. Dot the i's and cross the t's, make sure we've all done our sums. She's crackerjack at this sort of thing aren't you, my dear?"

The woman frowned briefly at Sims' familiarity but recovered quickly. "You're too kind, Mr. Sims," she said graciously.

"I take it then you're fluent in Arabic?" said Oliver.

"As spoken and written. Have you been to Egypt, Mr. Linden?"

"Afraid not. Came here to Rio right after the war and never got to travel about much."

"It's a beautiful city," she said. "Perhaps some day you might show me more of it."

"You may start with lunch," said Sims. "Someplace nice, mind you Oliver. Expenses paid. Take your time, get acquainted, kick the old ball around a bit."

"That's very generous of you Jeremy." Oliver turned to the woman. "I know a lovely outdoor cafe."

Sims leaned against Linden's tidy desk and watched them walk away, his eyes on Aniela

Schell's seductively swaying behind. Lucky man, our Ollie, he thought.

***

They ate feijoada with orange slices and manioc root and washed it down with a bottle of Barca Velha. "This is good," said Aniela, pointing a fork at her plate. "But I expected it to be spicier."

"Do you like spicy things?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you like pierogi?"

"Should I?"

"Well, you're Polish, aren't you?"

"Yes I am." She took a sip of wine. "Most people assume Schell is a German name."

"You've only a trace of an accent," he said, "but it's not German."

"You have a good ear, Oliver."

"Something of a hobby." He shrugged modestly. "Aniela means angel. doesn't it?"

"So I'm told." She took a sip of her wine. "Let me take a stab at you. Let's see..." She closed one eye and looked intently at his handsome face. "East Sussex?"

"Brighton, actually. Bravo."

"I cheated. I've snooped through your personnel file."

"Find anything of interest?"

"Well..." She looked away to avoid his steady gaze. "You're staring at me again."

"Sorry. I don't mean to be rude."

"Do I remind you of someone?"

"Not at all," he said quickly. "It's just that you're quite beautiful."

She rolled her eyes. "Rio de Janeiro is full of beautiful women."

"True. But I'm partial to blondes."

"I'm a fraud," she said. "It's dyed."

"I know. It doesn't matter."

She pushed her plate away and crossed her hands on the table. "Am I going to find you difficult to work with, Oliver?"

"How do you mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Aniela touched a napkin to her red lips and then dropped it onto her plate. "This is an important assignment for me, you see. A significant advancement is possible if I do well."

"Do you suppose me the sort of man who would sabotage your career?"

"Not deliberately. But I need your complete cooperation on this project," she said. "I need you to be focused on the work and not fantasizing about whether I'm a good fuck."

He into her eyes for a long moment. "I suppose there's only one way to put that question to rest."

"My hotel's not far from here."

"I think we'd be more comfortable at in flat."

***

Oliver set down the stylus and Frank Sinatra's This Is The Night crooned from the speakers.

"You like American music, then?"

"Some of it. Can't say I'm fond of their rock and roll. Jungle music, that."

"I like Elvis Presley," she said. "And Johnny Mathis."

"Are you keen on their handsome president, as well?"

"No, but I wouldn't mind having Jackie's wardrobe."

Oliver tossed his jacket and tie at the sofa. "Drink?"

"Maybe layer." She nodded at a door set in the far wall. "Bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Where's the loo?"

"Through the kitchen."

"I'll only be a moment."

Aniela retrieved the large handbag she'd dropped on the floor and disappeared into the kitchen while Oliver kicked off his shoes and sauntered into the bedroom. He stripped quickly, both himself and the bed leaving only the white linen sheets and thick pillows. He stopped to check himself in the bureau mirror. He needed a shave. Well, she shouldn't mind a bit of whisker burn. He turned from side to side searching his ash-blond hair for grey. It hardly showed. She'd never guess his age. And what if she did?

He slipped between the cool sheets and leaned back against a stack of pillows. No, she wouldn't care if he'd fudged a bit on a job application. As long as Aniela Schell was in Rio, Oliver linden would own her. She'd fuck Methuselah himself if it would win her that promotion, he thought.

She entered the room silently on stockinged feet. "Would you mind closing the curtains?"

"I'd rather not. I want to see you."

"All right." She began unbuttoning her silk blouse. "I think I'd like for you to see me, Oliver."

She undressed slowly, deliberately, as though each movement was choreographed for an erotic ballet. She slipped out of the blouse and let it float to the floor in a soft pile before lowering the zip of her skirt; a slight tremor of her hips sent it to her feet. She locked eyes with Linden as she reached back to unfasten her brassiere. Hooking a finger between the pointed cups, she pulled it away from her breasts and held it out from her body, balanced on her finger.

"Magnificent," said Oliver, and he meant it. Aniela's breasts were pendulous but firm, with smallish, pink nipples. She gave him a good long look before she dropped the bra and reached for the snaps of her garter belt.

By the time she'd rolled her stockings from her thighs to her toes, Oliver's prick had raised a considerable lump in the sheet. She peeled the garter belt down over the flare of her hips and daintily stepped out of it, but she turned her back to remove her white panties. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and drew them ever so slowly over the taut cheeks of her bum and then bent nearly double to slip them from her feet. She opened her stance a bit giving him a brief glimpse of her vulva nestled below the cleft of her buttocks.

Cheeky little Polack. Oliver smiled. You did that on purpose didn't you?

Aniela straitened and turned to approach the bed. A dense triangle of black curls covered her cunt. He stared as though mesmerized by the sight. He'd expected her bush to be dark, not many women would pour peroxide on their pussy. But this? It seemed impenetrable. Ominous.

"So now you've seen me," she said startling him from his thoughts.

"Yes. You're very beautiful, Aniela," He reached for her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers. "Very beautiful, indeed."

She leaned down and whispered. "I want to suck your cock."

I didn't even have to ask!

Oliver slid down in the bed and lay flat on the mattress. She knelt on its edge and leaned over him, supporting her weight with on hand. She took is uncircumcised cock in her free hand and pulled back the foreskin to expose its thick head. A tiny drop of fluid glinted at her like an eye. She touched her tongue to it and then licked all around the flanged rim. He laid his hand on the back of her neck. Obediently, Aniela lowered her face and sucked him. Her blond head bobbed rhythmically up and down.

Oliver's hand traveled down her spine making gentle, circular motions on her skin. He kneaded the firm flesh of her bottom and traced a delicious path down the crack to her soft pussy. She moved her knees apart inviting him to touch. He pushed a finger into her wet opening and she murmured her approval. He explored a bit further. His reach was limited but she rocked back accepting what he could offer. He wanted more.

He squeezed her satiny thigh and brought a light pressure to bear, guiding her toward the headboards. Aniela released him and re-positioned herself. Straddling his chest and facing the foot of the bed, she lowered her face to his prick and offered her eager pussy to Oliver's waiting mouth. She's a marvel. I don't have to say a word.

Her plump lips open to him, beyond she was dewy pink, shimmering like a jewel. He grasped the smooth mounds of her arse and pulled her close. Her scent was fecund and enticing. He pressed his lips to her hot slit and licked the tender folds. She moaned and ground back against him. He speared her with his tongue and massaged her bung with a fingertip.

The bedsprings began to sing as she bounced more forcefully on his cock and on his tongue. Hungrily, he sucked and nibbled at her. He wanted to make her come thought he didn't normally bother with such things. Oliver felt her legs tensing, her buttocks clench. She let his cock fall from her mouth and he knew she was close. He reached between her legs and felt the fiery nub he'd always thought of as one of God's little jokes on mankind. There!

Aniela raised herself up on her hands and pulled loud gulps of air into her lungs. Animal noises came from deep in her throat, then a sharp cry. She bolted upright, her back stiff and ramrod straight. Her body trembled and she pushed down hard on his face, then she gasped and dropped forward, her cheek pressed to the damp sheet between his legs.

Oliver lay smiling beneath her, listening to her labored breathing. He studied her quivering, wet cunt and decided it would be nice to have a photo of little Aniela in just this position. Of course it would be better if she'd trim some of that horrid bush. Maybe when I get to know her better.

He pushed her buttocks with both hands. She crawled forward on her elbows and knees just enough so he could sit up and extricate himself. He knelt behind her and stroked her moist thighs. Aniela made contented sounds and tried to lie flat but Oliver took her by the hips and pulled her back.

"Stay just as you are, pet." He leaned into her, pressing his crown against her beckoning pussy.

She bridled and closed her legs. "I don't like it that way."

"But I do. Be a good girl, now."

"Not in the arse."

"No, not in the arse." Not this time, anyway.

He guided his cock to the juicy split of her cunt and buried the length of it with one thrust. Aniela gasped at the sudden intrusion.

He took a firm grip on her waist and began plunging at her with force. His pelvis slapped on her bum and his balls swung against her with each powerful thrust.

"You may touch yourself," he said. "Please. I want you to."

Instead, she reached under and circled his slippery prick with her thumb and forefinger. He felt her vaginal muscles flex and clench.

You want me to come quickly, you minx. Very well, then!

At the last moment Aniela jerked out of his grasp and slipped off his spurting cock. He shot his sticky load onto her back in warm, pearly drops. She scooted away and bounced onto the floor. She watched him still on his knees, sweat streaming down his face and chest. His seed dripped in slow-crawling trickles down her skin. A faint shudder rippled through her body. She seemed suddenly shy.

"May I use your shower?"

"Of course."

Oliver was dozing, splayed beneath the sheet when she returned carrying her handbag, a towel and an ashtray. Her wet hair was combed straight back and her makeup had been scrubbed away. She looked years younger. Drops of water winked like diamonds in her inky black thatch. Her skin glowed a rosy, dull pink.

"You look positively scalded, darling," he said. "The spigots can be tricky...I should have warned you."

"I like it hot," she said. "Hotter the better."

She swung her bag onto the bed and set the ashtray on the nightstand. He frowned at it. "I hadn't notice you smoke before."

"I don't much. But I like to have one after fucking. Don't you?"

"No, but you go right ahead."

"Let's tidy you up first, shall we?"

The towel was warm and wet and felt wonderful in her capable hands. She washed his legs and crotch, wiping away the sticky semen and dried sweat. His cock began to swell when she drew back his long foreskin to swab the head. He reached for her breast.

"None of that now," she warned with mock severity. "I haven't had my fag yet."

She mopped the towel across his chest and belly. On the underside of his left arm, above the elbow she found a patch of roughened skin the size of a British schilling. Dark blue fragments dotted the scar tissue. She dabbed at it with a towel.

"What's this, luv?" A tattoo of some sort?"

His eyebrows knitted, then relaxed. "It was, yes."

She peered at it, then looked expectantly at him. "Well?"

"It was the initials of a girl I once thought I loved." He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "Silly, really."

"I think it's quite sweet." She leaned down and kissed the scar. "It looks like you tried to destroy it."

"Well, she broke my heart, didn't she?"

"Her loss. I'd like that smoke now."

He sat up and put his hands behind his head while she rummaged in her bag for a lighter and cigarette packet.

Aniela put the filtered end between her lips and lighted the other. She sucked a puff of smoke deep in her lungs and blew it out with a satisfied sigh. "Ah, but that's good. Sure you don't want one?"

"No, thank you."

She took another drag and tapped her cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. "My mother had a tattoo, you know."

"You don't say."

"Oh, yes indeed. My sister, too."

His eyes flicked but saw nothing amiss. His voice was neutral. "Interesting."

"In fact," she went on cheerily, "my brother, my aunts and uncles...Nearly everyone in my neighborhood had a tattoo."

His nerves sang with warning but he'd mentally rehearsed every possible scenario. He was outwardly calm, relaxed. He tried a joke.

"You must have been raised in a circus."

"No," she said matter-of-factly. "Krakow."

"You're speaking of the camps." He affected a contrite look. "I shouldn't have been flip. Please forgive me."

"Yes, the camps." She took another puff and smiled at him through the cloud of smoke. "Camps. Sounds like a jolly place for children on holiday, doesn't it?"

"I'm so sorry," he said, his mind racing. "I didn't know."

"Of course not. How could you?"

She stabbed the burning end of her cigarette into his navel. He shouted and batted it away and in the doing, gave her the split second she needed to reach the gun in her handbag. It was a thick revolver. Oliver recognized it as American made.

"Aniela! What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like?" She stood and pointed the ugly muzzled at his face. He fought to keep his voice under control.

"Put that bloody thing down. This isn't funny."

"No." Her voice was flat and cold. "It isn't meant to be."

"You're going to shoot me? You just made love to me."

"I fucked you. Nothing more."

He glared at her and wondered if he could spring at her and get the gun. Not likely.

"I fucked you and now I'm going to kill you, Oliver. Sound familiar?"

"You're crazy. Insane. You belong in..."

"How many girls did you fuck before you killed them?"

"You're mad! I never..."

"I wonder, she interrupted, "if the words 'making love' ever occurred to you when you were raping Polish Jews."

"You're wrong!" His voice sounded shrill in his ears. He took a deep breath. Speak slowly. Don't excite her. "You've mistaken me for another man, Aniela. I've never been to Poland or even Germany. I am an Englishman."

"You could have been," she said.

"I am. My name is Oliver..."

"Your name is August Eric Haupt. Your father worked for Krupp Armaments and ran their London office for many years. You grew up there. You were educated at Eton and then Oxford. Knew all the right people, joined all the best clubs...You were for all intents and purposes, and Englishman."

She sounds like she's reciting a bloody lesson!

"Do you still think I'm mad Herr Haupt?"

He closed his eyes and said, "No." She's working for the Israelis! How else would she

know all this?

"You could have stayed in England and escaped the madness. Not many had such a choice."

"My father was recalled."

"Your father returned to Germany in 1938 to take a high position in the War Ministry. You didn't follow until six months later."

"I had to go back," he said. "It was beyond my control."

"Was it? You were twenty-two years old. Educated, well connected..." Her bland expression finally gave way. Hatred gleamed in her eyes and her voice became a hiss. "Were you afraid to miss out on all the fun, Herr Haupt?"

His shoulders sagged and he felt suddenly exhausted. Think, damn it! Don't just surrender to this Jew bitch!

"I joined the army, " he confessed. "I felt it was my duty."

"You joined the SS. The elite." She pointed the gun barrel at his left arm. "That tattoo used to read AB. It's your blood type, you sonofabitch, not the initials of some piece of English quim."

"If you say so. It still doesn't make me a killer."

"You were at Dachau."

"But you weren't."

"My father saw what was coming," she told him. "He took me along on a business trip to Switzerland. It was to be our new home, he said. He left me with some friends while he went back for our family. I never saw any of them again."

"I had nothing to do with the prisoners," he lied. "I was little more than a clerk."

"Don't be so modest. You were a Sturmbannfuhrer and the camp quartermaster." She shifted her bare feet on the carpet but never took her eyes off him. "You did your job well. The guards always had plenty of bullets. Dachau never ran out of gas on your watch."

"I followed orders. Nothing more."

"Oh? What about the cot you kept in your office? What about the women and girls you 'made love' to? Orders again? No, it was strictly verboten. No commingling with inferiors, especially Jews. But that didn't stop you did it? They were going to die anyway so where's the harm in it? Right?"

"You're telling this fable, not me."

"My sister was fourteen years old when she stepped down from that cattle car." Aniela thumbed back the hammer of the revolver. "She was still fourteen when she died."

He hadn't heard such malevolence in a human voice since...Think! Change the subject before she pulls the fucking trigger!

"So, you are Mossad?"

"No."

"You mean to kidnap me and smuggle me back into Israel as you did Eichmann. True?"

"I work alone. I have no interest in trials or prison."

"Only executions?"

"Only justice."

"Ah, yes. Aniela the avenging angel. Tell me, is that your real name?"

"It's what my mother called me."

"And this is your usual modus operandi?" He waved his hand at the soiled sheets. "You have sex with your suspect and then shoot him?"