Another Springtime Ch. 10

"Want some strawberry ice cream with me?" she called over her shoulder.

That had been the day before yesterday, and she hadn't worn any panties since. In a playful mood, she was one delectable little piece of fluff.

Remembering that was a nice break. The dashboard clock said 04:10 AM.

How had they found us? The thought kept coming back.

There had to be a solution to the riddle. What? Are they watching for us to show up at "Foggy San Francisco" right now? Is someone parked down there watching for us? Do they have an ident on our car? I needed more info, but there seemed no other possible source.

When dawn came I had seen nothing suspicious, but I could not be sure in my own mind. I roused my sleeping beauty and shifted things a bit so I could drive while she slept and we made it to the Navy BOQ at Smokey Point in about forty minutes. We were in bed together fifteen minutes later, done in from the long night, and sound asleep.

The laptop's ding-dong bell announced the receipt of an email and for some reason that brought me fully awake. I had left it plugged in to charge the battery while we slept. It was from Joe. The previous evening the technical guys had intercepted a cellular signal with the telltale sign they had identified earlier as possibly referring to Christine, and they had traced the call back to the originating cell tower in north Seattle. Were we all right and did this help any?

Well, suddenly an entire new world opened up to me. Somebody was hot on their trail and making some progress. I knew enough about signal intelligence techniques from my Navy time that I could deduce, generally, what was going on. They were listening in and scanning cell phone transmissions and had isolated a data stream that, somehow, they identified as emanating from the syndicate field operatives. Considering the volume and diversity of cellular signals, to manage that was a serious step in the right direction. One piece of that data stream was a designator for the target, and they had seen this now at least twice and thought it identified Christine. I was glad to hear that someone was getting the drop on these scallywags.

Then it hit me. We were not being chased and hounded by some team seeking to follow our trail they had picked up somehow. They would not have needed to transmit such a signal to confirm their target. They would have known who the target was and felt they were closing in. They were not – if such a field investigative team was out there at all – they were not the ones doing the break-in. Someone else, another team perhaps, some other functionary had found us, taken Christine's photograph, and thus initiated a fresh inquiry altogether. Now the picture made sense, even if the matter of two teams vs. one made the entire scene more dangerous than before.

That meant, however, that someone had taken her picture during the two days we had been back from our honeymoon, they had received a green light in response, and crashed into our apartment on day three, evidently without checking whether we were actually at home. Of course, we had been all the previous day, and had departed that afternoon only about an hour earlier. Somebody in the "Balmy Biloxi" complex had a digital camera and had spotted my wife and made the connection. Another hair's breadth escape through nothing more than the mercies of Providence. If I found out who the culprit was, the fellow or fellows were going to get to meet with Mr. Colt as well, or at least one of his associates.

"Hey, Babe!" I reached over under the covers and tickled her foot and she yelped in surprise. "Good Morning, XO. I need your help!"

She sat up and reached for her hairbrush, and soon wanted me to read the emails to her as she brushed, holding the sheet up to cover her breasts modestly. She had slept more than I had, and was immediately alert and questions came readily. She followed my reasoning easily, poked and prodded, then approved my email response to Joe filling him in on what had happened.

With that done I turned to her and found her already at work. Who had taken her photograph? She saw it just like I did. The picture was most likely taken during the short period between our return from our honeymoon on Monday and the time of intercept of the cell signal noted in Joe's email, 10 PM local Seattle on Tuesday, with the break in Wednesday afternoon. Who? We went to the market Monday evening only briefly, did laundry… her moving back and forth to the apartment building's laundry room… four trips altogether, we recalled, only two with me with her. Possible; but how and when?

"There are also those cameras everywhere in the building to watch for things and, for security, right? How do they work, Dace?"

Bingo! I hadn't thought of that before.

"XO, you are one smart gal!" and gave her a big smile. "Thanx for your keen thinking!"

Well, I won't be the first to say it; two heads are better than one. That is certainly for sure if one is as keen and pretty as Christine's.

"Dace?" Her voice was delicate and tender like only hers could be.

I turned to her, as desirable as they come with the sheet held up in front of her shyly, and her hair tossed all about her.

"Is it appropriate for the XO to be…" she paused moment, and then that impy little smile was all over her, "madly in love with the Captain?"

She flounced back down and pulled the covers up over her head.

They don't come any cuter than my girl.

After that we worked out a scheme to recover some of our stuff, cut every imaginable tie with the place and the management office, turned the info over to Joe for further field work, and went on with our lives, wiser than before, and more in love than ever.

]

It was more than three months or so after the encounter in LeGrande that I got some e-mail feedback from the agency, from Joe.

I had reported the encounter at LeGrande, of course, and he or at least someone had cleared things with the local police and other authorities, and the matter was now calmed down.

His email passed on a thumbnail sketch of what investigators had come up with, however, and that was what disturbed me a great deal. In the green station wagon they had found a very sophisticated electronics suite which the men had used firstly to photograph Christine, evidently in the restaurant, download the ten digital photos to their computer and used a software package to firstly analyze her image and match it against some search criteria, then transmit her photos and the analysis over their cellular internet connection to a recipient in San Francisco. Joe warned me against such potential situations in the future, and that they had known the syndicate had sought to acquire such capability but to date had no indication that they could actually use it in the field. Altogether, considering how scant had been the intelligence support on the case heretofore, I considered the information quite extensive.

From my own experience I could fill in the blanks at least with relative accuracy. I had encountered such computer imaging technology for identification of people while in Germany at the Berlin Document Center. The German Federal Police used something along this line in identifying and tracking criminals, and it had been a strong element in identifying the remains in Brazil of the then deceased Nazi Dr. Joseph Mengele, the infamous doctor from the KZ at Auschwitz. By running the program on both known photographs of the doctor when alive in the 1940s and the skull of the remains in Brazil the fact that the program produced a high percentage of congruence between the more than three hundred discreet measurement criteria led the medical examiner and the legal authorities to deem the identification highly probable if not actually conclusive. Very impressive technology.

That such could be accomplished under conditions we experienced in LeGrande, Oregon, of all places, suggested to me that the danger was quite substantial. Clearly, the syndicate was deploying technically well equipped teams to search and screen potential targets. Of course, by the first years of the 21st Century such technology was available over the counter to anyone with the bucks.

There were two other features that emerged as well. For one, my earlier idea allowing that not all those who hunted her would be swarthy middle-easterners now proved well taken. Then too, the San Francisco email address indicated that the syndicate laundered their email through a Stateside Internet Service Provider, thus masking the actual location of the syndicate's headquarters. The computer could be programmed to download the report to a file and transmit it via a land line to a address anywhere – perhaps only another computer on the next table in the same room, from whence it would be emailed to a computer overseas. Possible… and very, very difficult to trace.

Digital cameras, laptop computers and cellular technology made such procedures practical, thus the threat was now not only very real but also, as I said, quite substantial.

What seemed evident to me as well was that, in our experience at Le Grande, the recipient of their sighting report almost surely responded with a go signal to actually make the pick up, which then resulted in the confrontation in the parking lot. Total elapsed time, not more than half an hour!

This meant to me that, among other things, I was up against an enemy that was well equipped and functioning very smoothly. That it had nearly caught her in a little town in Oregon meant too that the operatives were many, perhaps even plentiful.

I never heard anything about the four men, and never bothered to ask.

The intelligence on the syndicate's operations was very sobering; my security plans and procedures would have to be reevaluated, and modified and strengthened accordingly.

]

The break-in had been on Wednesday, mid-afternoon. By Friday late we had a salvage scheme worked out and in place. It worked splendidly, like clockwork, and Saturday brought some new features of my love life to the fore as well.

Here's how that happened.

Still lounging in bed together at Smokey Point, my pretty little vixen snuggled up to me as we read a story together, the solution fell on me out of the clear blue.

"I think I know how to get your wedding dress back, Babe."

She stopped reading her part immediately and turned to me, anxious to hear my idea, her pretty breasts pressing against me as she lay across my chest, and waited, eyes twinkling with anticipation, and her long hair falling about us in profusion..

"We send ineinen Bergungskommando… a ‘neutral' salvage team. We call Jenny and suggest that she and her girl friends and maybe some fellows they know might be interested in going in to clear the apartment of anything useful… they get everything in it that they may want, wrecked or not, save a couple of items special to us… a set of kitchen knives, the two liter bottles of Ginger Ale in the reefer, I think I had a spare printer cartridge there, too." I knew she was right with me. "I can't think of any else particularly…."

"My dress! You big teaser! You just like to tease me." She pounded on my chest with her fist and put on a pouty face that I would even play at forgetting her dress.

"Oh, yes, of course. How could I have forgotten that? Your dress."

She knew, of course, that I had not… but like often happened, she used my teasing to play at pouting so I would pay attention to her. It worked almost always; I was helpless!

"Remind me again, Babe. What dress was that? Your green one?"

"My wedding dress, Dace!" More pounding and pouty face, sweet and desirable like nothing else in the world. "You know I don't have a green dress."

"Oh, that's right… of course, your wedding dress." I rolled her over on her back, pinning her to the bed as I growled at her deep in my throat and then drew one nipple into my mouth and sucked on her gently.

"Oh, my Darling," she cried softly, "Ohhhhh!" Heavy lashes drooped and there was a low moan from deep in her throat as she thrust upward to meet me for more. "I'm yours forever, ohhhh! Yes, please, Darl…" gasp "Darling, oooooh! don't ever stop loving me….please!"

I didn't then…, and I never will.

Jennifer was only a couple of hours from her date for the evening picking her up, but she thought the idea very much something she wanted to do. Allan had a pick up truck, and she thought he might be interested in helping. She'd suggest it and they'd call back when he got there.

Christine was all woman, and all mine. She hadn't had a stitch on since I pulled her dress off her when we checked in that morning. She was aroused by our wrestling, and now wanted me to make her. I mauled her breasts until she was frantic and begging, played with her bottom and fingered her little flower, licked and then sucked on her at my considerable leisure and enjoyed her free-flowing sweetness until she was nearly out of her head, frantic for me to make her. Only then, when I was ready for her, I fucked her good and proper with long and powerful strokes, burying myself in her to the hilt, and immensely satisfied at her begging and whimpering, and the feelings of stuffing her to capacity.

The image that will always remain in my heart is of her total surrender to me that afternoon in our bedroom. She lay on her back on our bed, I had her legs open and mounted her, and she gave her self to me in the sweetest, most feminine way a girl can possibly do. Her arms were out to the sides above her head, her beautiful breasts dancing in rhythm with my thrusts, her pretty mouth open, cheeks rosy and flushed, and her heavy lashes closed in abject submissiveness and whimpering as I lifted her with me into a sensational flight of fantasy. The visual image of her beauty and blissful surrender to me was superb, and that rocketed us together into a heaven far beyond the known universe. I filled her with everything I had to give, and in the process, she both drenched our union and drew from me with her begging and caresses every bit of moisture available. The experience was consciousness-shattering.

She was ecstatic and sated and nearly blown away with happiness at my making her climax so powerfully, and as beautiful as always when she knew I loved her so. Flushed and glowing as never before, she snuggled up into my embrace, a freshly fucked little fox in the forest, whimpering her appreciation.

In addition, I was fully spent and satisfied as well.

She was a treasure of the first magnitude.

Jenny and Allan called at 7:30. They had it all arranged. There would be six of them, three couples. Allan and two of his pals from the crew squad had been dating Jenny and two of her girl friends, and they would team up to do the job, two pick ups between them. I let them in on the situation and said that important to us were Christine's wedding dress in a white storage box, her few clothes in the closet, and the kitchen knife set. All else of any use or value was theirs for the effort, including two pieces of blueberry pie, which I recommended highly. All else leave behind. We arranged to meet for dinner early in the evening at the Mongolian Bar-b-que place on Broadway, our ticket.

Done.

With that, we were back in each other's arms. After a time at rest we checked out and went home to ‘Foggy San Francisco.'

We hadn't been in the apartment ten minutes and she disappeared into the bathroom for a little freshening up, as she called it. After a while, longer than usual, I sensed somehow that she was playing and I left the laptop after plugging in the battery and stepped behind the door and out of sight. Sure enough, she appeared in a second or two, looking for me cautiously. She had changed from her dress, now wrinkled and for the laundry, for the cutest get up yet. Her white hip-huggers that she enjoyed so much were now topped with a flimsy, see-through piece of gossamer around her shoulders, and not much more.

She heard me growl and, with a big smile on her face, turned to find the wolf laying in wait for her behind the door, giggling girlishly like she did when she knew I was chasing her. The cute little top was just tied behind her neck, made of that gossamer-like raw silk material she had found in the imports shop, short sleeved and, as I could readily see as she turned to me, with a high scoop neckline and draped only low enough to barely cover the magnificent swell of her beautiful breasts.

She had not dressed to show me her bare tummy since that one time months back. Besides that, there was a very subtle shading to her lashes and brows and the slightest tinting of sky-blue about her eyelids, like she had done on our honeymoon. She was alluring to me well beyond what any pretty girl might ever reasonably hope to attain.

"Thou hast this day, Sir Knight," she started off with a lady-like, maid Miriam voice, soft and courtly, "slain the most fearsome of dragons… I have prepared myself to reward thy labors as promised with a gentle kiss upon thy fevered brow, should it be, Sir Knight," and a lovely mirth danced in her eyes, "that this poor maid finds favor in thy sight."

It was a memorable moment that I shall enjoy to my last day. She stood there in front of me with a sweet and shy surrender that was Christine, my sweetheart, through and through. I loved her dearly.

"M'Lady, no maid hath yet caught and captured my heart as thy sweetness and devotion, and my eye as thy fair beauty… and surely there can be none more desirous in all the realm than the cherished favors thou dost so tenderly bestow upon thy devoted servant."

Staying in our little charade, I bowed my head to her and knelt respectfully before her on one knee.

I could hear her delightful giggle in response and so I reached out and filled my hands with her cute little bottom and pull her to me, and kissed her on her bare tummy and rubbed my whiskers on her tender skin. She giggled some more as I tickled her, but moaned softly when I growled and blew into her navel, and she held my head to her tummy in pleasure.

Marvelous!

With the lights down low, we spent the evening on the couch. I lay back comfortably, and she knelt facing me at my side.

"How many kisses do I get for one dragon, M'Lady?" I asked playfully.

"There is no fixed number, M'Lord Knight. It depends."

With a fingertip, I lifted gently the bit of gossamer covering one pretty breast. Almost instantly I could feel her excitement increase at my boldness.

"Depends on what, M'Lady?"

I knew her breasts to be very sensitive, and teasingly touched gently her pouty little nipple with just the tip of my finger. Her body jumped involuntarily with the jolt of pleasure that shot through her.

"On what, M'Lady"

Breathing heavily now, she was having trouble staying in the game. "On the services provided, Sir Knight." Her voice had become breathy.

"Services?" I tweaked her sensitive little nipple gently, causing her to gasp softly. "Be there a list of such services to read somewhere, M'Lady?"

She whimpered softly as her composure began to crumble.

"Doth M'Lady dress so sweetly all the time for all the citizens of her kingdom to appreciate her beauty?"

At my question she raised her heavy lashes, her emotions now very evident in her eyes. Her voice seemed no longer available to her, and I squeezed her little nipple lightly between my fingers and she began to tremble.

"And why doth M'Lady cast spells with the beauty of her dark eyes… tinted delicately with a hint of her signature sky-blue… what purpose might M'Lady have in mind? Me thinks mayhap she doth conjure her spells to some end…."

My questioning in play caused her emotions to steady and she resisted the decomposure that my caresses usually brought on so easily. I could see her eyes twinkling brightly as she looked down at me. Then, tenderly, with both her hands she took mine from her nipple and held it gently to her breast close to her heart.