Assassin Ch. 11

Republic of Singapore

Every year, on Christmas day, she marked her birthday alone. Orchard Road in Singapore was as good a place as any other to celebrate yet another lonely birthday.

"Are you ready to order?" The waiter asked.

"Give me another minute," she was deep in thought and had forgotten to look at the menu.

Two hours ago, she had arrived at the ultra-modern Changi airport on the Eastern part of land-scarce Singapore. Sitting entirely on reclaimed land, the world-class airport was crowded with people all over the world. The taxi took only twenty minutes to get to Orchard, the shopping belt of the tiny island-nation.

As soon as checked in, she placed a call to her old contact, a man with the nickname Pork Ribs. Ribs was out of town and his right hand man gave her another name and number. Said he was reliable and could help her.

"I am a friend of Pork Ribs," she used her most feminine voice.

"Okay. I can meet you tomorrow morning at the beach in Marine Parade. Do you know where it is?"

"I can tell the taxi driver."

"Okay. Tell the driver to drop you off next to the tennis courts."

"What time?"

"Be there around nine to nine-thirty."

"Anything else?"

"What do you look like?"

"I have medium length blonde hair, green eyes, five nine without heels."

"Wow, very tall. Okay, wear a bikini with white top and black bottom to make it easier for me to identify you. Walk along the edge of the beach until I show up."

"What do you look like?"

"Don't worry about me. When it is safe, I will approach you. I will ask whether you know Spare Ribs."

"What should I say?"

"Say you are not yet hungry."

"What should I bring?"

"Nothing. Just wear a bikini and nothing else. It will save me the trouble of searching you."

She liked it that this man was careful. With Alan Wong and possibly other unknown enemies lurking nearby, it was reassuring to work with a professional. To remain inconspicuous and blend in with the conservative culture of Singapore, she could hardly walk into a taxi wearing only a bikini. She planned to wear her bikini inside her tank top and shorts.

>>>>>

Her hotel phone rang at seven the next morning.

"This is a wakeup call. I am the man going to meet you in two hours."

"How did you know where I was staying? I called you with a disposable cell phone."

"I spoke to Spare Ribs. He spoke to your friend in Miami."

"You have been doing some work on me. I am impressed."

"I have my orders to treat you like a VIP. Marine Parade is only fifteen minutes by taxi. But please arrive early. I need to observe you for at least ten minutes to make sure."

"Is that really necessary? I am a helpless woman here alone, with no idea of how the city works."

"You have powerful enemies. I've my orders to ensure you are not being followed."

"I hope they have good breakfast downstairs."

"Please do not eat at the hotel restaurant. It might not be safe for you. I will bring you breakfast when we meet."

"So why wake me up so early?"

"I thought you need all that time to toss around your hair and mess with makeup."

"Your research is lacking. I am not that kind of girl."

"If I'm wrong, I apologize. Take a long shower and hot bath. Drink the vodka or Jack or Johnny Walker or whatever else they have. I am paying the hotel bills and driving you to the airport when you get out."

He said it as if she did not have a choice. She usually did not like men who told her what to do. But she made an exception for him. He seemed to genuinely want to help.

>>>>>

She followed his instructions to the T. From the hotel, she wore jogging shorts, sneakers, and a tank top. Her black and white bikini was hidden beneath. She carried an untraceable mobile phone.

She arrived thirty minutes early. The beach was already packed with joggers, walkers, couples, inline skaters, skateboarders. She removed her outer wear and tossed them into the trash bin next to the tennis courts. When she stepped on sand, she removed her sneakers and trashed them as well. She was wearing only her bikini and her phone.

Her phone rang.

"Toss the phone as well," the same voice as last night spoke with some urgency.

"You are really paranoid," she looked around the crowd to see who was on the phone. It was hopeless because a dozen people were glued to their phones.

"Walk into the ocean with the phone and it'll stop transmitting your location. Do it and I'll meet you waist high in the water."

Ribs was ex-CIA and very careful. It served him well in his career. More importantly, it allowed him to survive in the post-Cold War environment where friends and foes were almost impossible to distinguish. Megan relaxed in the knowledge that her old-school pal had not lost his touch.

She shoved the phone inside her bikini bottom and walked in. There was a slight electrical buzz as the phone was submerged. She enjoyed the tingling spark around her pubic area before the phone went dead.

She was half swimming and half walking, parallel to the beach, going east then west. The beach was packed, with dozens of men, women, and children around her. No longer able to tell the time without her phone, she waited what appeared to be a long time before a man in green trunks bumped into her.

"I am sorry. Do you eat ribs?"

"I would love to, but I am not yet hungry."

He moved away from her and signaled for her to follow. He stepped out of the water and on the sand, his sneakers still on him. She followed barefoot, as quickly as she could. He picked up the pace to a full running speed, zig zagging around the multitudes of human flesh on the sand. Handicapped by her lack of footwear, she kept up, but the distance between them was widening. She was mad he was trying to flee. It made no sense. In her mind, they had gone beyond professional caution to paranoia overdrive.

He sprinted to where the sunbathers thin out, hopping over them as if he was the running back determined to score a touchdown. She closed the distance, mad as hell and determined to slap him when she caught up. He was heading toward a pair of police officers sitting on the sand, slowing down. She sped up, focused on jumping him when he was within spitting distance. In her rage, she did not register the odd sight of two fully dressed officers sitting on a public beach on a hot and muggy day.

Time seemed to slow down when he hopped like a kangaroo and whistled to the officers. She followed the same route intending to go pass the men. In perfect timing, the officer nearer to her stuck out both of his long legs when she was close enough he could see the color of her eyes. Too late, she noticed his crooked smile. She tripped and rolled several times on the sand.

Both officers had their guns out when she stopped spinning.

"Police officers. Stay on your knees and put your hands where we can see them."

She knelt facing them, hands raised with empty palms facing them. The man running away from her had circled back. The crowd was gathering to watch.

"You are suspected of being a member of a terrorist organization. Under Singapore law, you are not entitled to an attorney. However, you have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law." The officer recited from memory, still gripping his gun with both hands. The other officer covered her from a ninety degree angle, aiming away from the crowd. Both followed standard operating procedures for handling suspected terrorists, although she was the first female they had to apprehend.

The man in green trunks pushed back the crowd, which had formed a semi-circle. "Police business, please step back." He flashed his credentials.

Megan felt a black hood over her face at the same time that her arms were shackled by handcuffs at the wrists and at the elbows. Her ankles were hobbled by leg irons eighteen inches apart.

"No pictures. You are breaking the law and interfering with police work if you take pictures with your mobile phones." She could no longer see, but recognized the voice of the man with green trunks. She guessed he was the detective sent to take her down.

With her blinded and chained, the officers relaxed and kept their guns. She felt their bony fingers on her elbows.

"Sir, where do you want to take her to?"

"Let me take over from here. Both of you can proceed for routine business."

He took her to a full sized van with blacked out windows. A man and a woman in civilian clothes emerged and led her inside. Megan was made to sit between them. She had no idea where she would be taken to. But she felt relaxed and oddly delighted to be taken this way. Ribs could not be too careful. Anyone watching her would report to their superiors she had been arrested and brought to a black site, probably handed to the CIA or other American agencies to be interrogated. Only Ribs had the ability and connections to stage something as elaborate as this. But she was still mad at how she was manipulated. Ribs could have warned her. That bastard. She would make him pay and give him unspeakable pleasure, all at the same time.

A minute after the van started rolling, Megan felt a needle pricked her chest.

>>>>>

Pork Ribs took the boat out at a steady pace, both hands on the steering wheel at the front of the boat. After more than ten years in Singapore, he had built a solid relationship with the Singapore PD. The relationship was mutually beneficial. Ribs was in the import/export business and knew a lot of the players the PD wanted to keep track of. Ribs himself did not get involved in illegal activities, except for smuggling of goods from low-tax Singapore to the surrounding countries. Law enforcement overlooked that in return for critical intel associated with suspected terrorist activities in the surrounding countries of Malaysia and Indonesia, both with significant extremist Islamic cells.

Through his considerable resources, Ribs knew that Megan was in grave danger. Her enemies had eyes and ears everywhere. Ribs could not risk meeting her openly. He had to do it in a roundabout way. Captain James Lim of the Singapore PD was a good friend and agreed to set up the phony arrest of a suspected terrorist so that Megan could be taken out of Singapore to an island in the South China Sea.

The numerous small islands off the coast were owned by tycoons from around the world. From Indonesian timber kings to Chinese government officials to Middle Eastern oil money, no questions were asked as long as money was wired into the Swiss accounts of the appropriate officials.

Megan and Ribs were alone in the small open boat when she woke, face up on a thin sofa at the back. Ribs wore a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt with a Glock tucked in his back waistband. The onboard engine hummed at a low tone. Moonlight lit up enough for Megan to recognize him from the back.

After checking her bikini was still intact and untouched, she tip toed to his location and pressed her body against his back, her arms wrapped around his hairy chest. He lifted one hand to draw her head in, then turned to kiss her on the lips. Their tongues found each other.

He slowed and then cut the engine. They were floating aimlessly in the middle of the South China Sea.

No satellites were zooming in to the action. But if one had been set up, it would see, with the help of infra-red technology, two bodies with rapidly rising temperatures, tightly coiled and wrapped around each other like two poisonous snakes. Both were deadly and could kill with their bare hands. Each had hands on the other's throats, restricting breathing through the noses, with lips still tightly locked and cutting off air flow.

After a minute, she bit his upper lip, drawing blood. At the same time, she hooked his ankle and pulled him in. He would have landed dangerously on his face and broke his neck if not for his quick reflexes, remarkable for a man in his fifties. He twisted his body and landed on his side before crashing against the steel floor of the boat. The gun fell loose, bounced, and tipped overboard, sinking rapidly.

"What the fuck was that?" He rolled to face her, his back against the cold steel. He pondered for a second before deciding not it was impossible to find the gun. The ocean here was deep enough for a supertanker.

"This is for not letting me in on your kidnapping plan," she spit out the words like bullets.

Before he could reply, she dropped one knee on his six-pack stomach and let the rest of her body land on top of him, followed by a bare-knuckled punch on his nose, drawing blood.

"Stop or I'll hit back," he cried as he wiped the blood off both his nose and upper lip with the back of his hand.

"Pain and pleasure," she continued as she slid the straps of her top from her shoulders, wet from the perspiration of the passionate tongue action and the subsequent wrestling struggle. "That's how you used to like it."

"And still do," he said as he helped her removed her top and tossed it into the ocean. They both sat up and watched as it floated away from the boat. She was straddling him, sitting open legged on his lap, both turned sideways with the white bra top bobbing up and down until it could no longer be seen when the full moon was covered by a large low-hanging cloud.

A few drops of rain came from behind her, hitting her back. He turned to look at her eyes a second, then hid his entire face in her chest, closing his eyes, hands cupping her butt. She wrapped her elbows around the back of his head, burying his face against her breasts and squeezed, again stopping his air flow. He was no longer sure whether the up and down feeling came from the boat or his oxygen-starved brain cells. He let her push him on his back, her full weight now on him, bouncing on his joystick with the rhythm of the boat. They removed the rest of the clothing clumsily, tossing them overboard. He screamed with pleasure at the top of his lungs when she arched her back and allowed him to fully enter her.

Her bikini and his trunks floated past a man with oxygen tanks behind his back. On his shoulders was an infra-red equipped camera, capturing the sights and sounds from the boat. The water-resistant camera had only one hour of battery life and was transmitting the images via cell phone towers to two men in two parts of the world.

One of them was monitoring the steamy scene from thirty thousand feet above. He shook his head with disapproval when he saw her bopping up and down on the man. "What a whore this bitch is," he mumbled to himself with Chinese accented English. "Definitely not my type," he said as he quietly watched it on his cell phone, chewing on the cashew nuts served in the first-class cabin of Cathay Pacific. He was on a three-hour flight from Hong Kong to Kuala Lumpur, the capital of Malaysia. A helicopter was on standby in Kuala Lumpur, ready to take Mr. Wong from Kuala Lumpur to the private island as soon as he arrived.

Ten years ago, Ribs would have lasted ten minutes when she worked her magic. but age came with wisdom and control. He held back for half an hour until she felt the first hint of exhaustion after she climaxed twice. Feeling her weakened state, he flipped her over, letting her feel the hard floor, no longer cold from the fiction of their bodies.

A few drops of rain were followed by a heavy downpour. It was welcomed by both heated bodies. He lifted her by the back of her knees and pumped her hard, holding back again and again just before ejaculation. The rain had filled up the open boat so there was an inch of water sloshing around. He lifted her back a few inches, then spun her around like wheel of fortune, ready for some sixty-nine action. She laughed out, loud enough to be heard under him and above the roar of the heavy rain.

As suddenly as it began, the rain ceased, as if on cue from the movie director. The blurry images sharpen again, allowing the man with the camera to zoom in.

Unlike Alan Wong, who felt disgusted by the images he was receiving, the man in Dubai enjoyed every frame of the video feed. Abdul-Alim Hashim was watching it on his eighty inch LED screen he recently installed in his office on the thirty-second floor, overlooking the Persian Gulf. He looked at the sunset and saw several boats he imagined to be the same size as the dark images on his screen. He could not see her face from the live video feed, but had a picture of her opened on his laptop. He tried to imagine her wet hair spread out on the boat's floor, the rain and wind tossing and rolling her body under him. The man in the image was too gentle with her. If it were Abdul, he would slap her around and twist her nipple until she submitted to his manhood. He would use heavy clamps on the bitch's nipples and slutty cunt. She would be hogtied on her knees and his penis would choke her. He would have her hair ponytailed and tied to a fishing hook in her ass.

Abdul closed his eyes and stroked himself to maintain keep the blood flow from leaving. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the man fingering her G-spot, trying to pleasure her. Abdul was perplexed on why Western men insisted on mutual pleasure. Then Abdul saw something even more disgusting. He saw the man on the boat licking her like a dog drinking water. At the same time, she cupped her fingers and guided him into her mouth. He was irritated the man was so gentle with her, even though she was clearly submissive below him.

Abdul continued to enlarge himself with his right hand, not daring to close his eyes. He saw her roll his organ around her mouth, sticking out her left cheek, then right, below her tongue, and naughtily biting it. He increased the rhythm when the rain started again. Abdul cursed as the images blurred. But he could still see the bodies humping and the boat bobbing violently, the ripples spreading in circles until it reached the cameraman.

Thankfully, the rain stopped and the zoom worked again. He had finally let himself go. She let him pull out and spread his sticky seed all over her lips, cheeks, nose, eyes, eyebrows, forehead, and hair. She even played with it and tossed it all over her hair as if she was spreading peanut butter on bread.

Alan and Abdul were both repelled by the last images before the camera ran out of juice. They did not speak to each other that night but were in agreement. This slutty bitch had to be punished like an unfaithful whore. The only questions were when and where. And whether to torture her before or after the interrogation. After all, she knew more than she should have known. Security had been compromised and they need to punish everyone involved.

Abdul decided she would be forced to watch all who cooperated with her die, after they were forced to watch her submit to the most creative sexual assaults his men could devise. Alan would simply be told of his plans at the right time. After all, he was financing Alan's plans against the Great Satan.

>>>>>

The rain stopped. Ribs dug up dry towers and clothing from zip locks hidden in compartments under the sofa. They towered off and dressed before enjoying the sunrise together. Megan wore his oversized shirt without using the buttons, knotting it just below her ribcage. She wrapped a tower below her waist, exposing her midriff and showing off her navel ring.

Dressed only in a pair of white trunks, Ribs fried eggs and bacon on a portable grill. He had small 50 ml sample sizes of Jack Daniels to go with the greasy breakfast. They finished the food and alcohol before Ribs restarted the engine. He drove the boat northeast, past Tioman Island off the coast of Malaysia. She stopped tracking where they were, safe in the hands of one of her closest mentors. She knew that Ribs knew far more about her enemies, but that can wait until they had fully enjoyed each other, perhaps on one of the islands he had access to.