Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 04

Beck didn't need to be on the set of a Bond flick to know the mirrors were only one way, and beyond them, an audience was observing her every move through the glass. "Who's in there?" she asked, cupping her hands around her eyes and leaning into the pane. A big yet soft and oddly feminine hand wrapped around Beck's upper arm.

"I beg you, My Lady! That is not permit."

Beck took one look at the hand and shrugged it off. "Hands off the merch, Nurse Nancy."

Pacing the perimeter, still trying to see through, Beck walked straight past the king. Invisible to her, he sat right on the edge of a deeply cushioned, red velvet seat, feet splayed, forearms propped on his thighs, staring wide-eyed at the apparition before him. With the audio turned up he could even hear her breathing, and a miracle was stirring beneath the folds of his gold-trimmed robes. "It's her." he said, almost a whisper.

Behind him in the dark, Doctor Khan stood trembling, her own heart trying to leap out of her chest, watching the little blonde wildcat stalk the confines of her enclosure. "Sire," she quavered, "it pains me insufferably to serve up such a shoddy offering. By your leave. We have a girl from France of barely fifteen years, whose breathtaking radiance puts the very sun to shame. Or the Iceland girl-"

The king raised his hand. "Hold your tongue!" and a tense silence settled over the gathering. Heavy-breathing, the king fell captive once more to the heart-stopping spectacle of the defiant young female pacing the fishbowl, jaw set, face impassive, eyes intense. He mashed a button on the intercom beside his seat. "Let me see what she's made of."

Head inclined, earpiece pressed into her ear, the nurse listened to the king's demand, relayed by security. With a nod, she stepped up and lay her hands on the little blonde's shoulders. "Come!" she said, jockeying Beck into the middle of the five-meter octagon.

"What's that?" Beck piped. "We all done? He's finished jacking off in there or whatever?"

"Please," the woman said, kneeling at Beck's feet, "be still."

"That's better." Beck snorted, one silk-slippered foot still planted firmly in La La land. "Now... arise, Sir Loin of Beef!"

The woman took hold of Beck's gold silk slip by the hem. She stood, lifting it as she rose.

"HEY!" Beck shouted, trying to fight the gown back down. "What the fuck?"

Perpetuals trained for weeks for this most tender and intimate moment. The Big Reveal. The baring of their bodies, and by that fact their souls, under the eyes of the mighty king. It was a gift, an honour, surely she knew, so why was this little white girl resisting? The nurse seized Beck's arm, struggling to keep her still, while trying to reef her slip off overhead. The hem had hardly made it halfway over her hips, when Beck yelled, "NO!" and punched the woman as hard as she could in the sternum.

The nurse landed flat on her ass and sat, dazed and wheezing, feeling like she'd just been port-holed. Beck stepped back, massaging her hand, suddenly sober and mortified by what she'd just done. "I said no!" she quavered, bending at the waist, extending her hand, "Didn't you hear me? I'm sorry if I hurt you but that was all your fault."

Beyond the black mirror the king whispered, "Niqiya..." then stabbed the button on the intercom. "Tell them to leave her alone. I've seen enough."

Hands clasped, Khan dropped to her knees. "My Lord!" she wailed, secretly thrilled that the little blonde whore had just sealed her own fate, "A thousand apologies. I had no idea this little... harlot... was so... so... so uncivilised."

"I've made my choice." the king said and Khan almost swooned with relief. "She is to be a travelling wife."

Khan blinked, wondering if she'd just heard him right, as the king struggle to his feet and beckoned his entourage- 4 members of household security, two teen boys in national dress, and 2 Western girls, teenagers, in sheer cotton shifts which, in the right light, revealed a total absence of anything underneath. "Travelling wife?" Khan echoed. "But... my lord... so rough, so uncouth. Did you not see?"

"I did." the king nodded. "She defended her honour, as any maiden should."

"But Sire... a Travelling Wife? When scores of girls await the blessing of your scrutiny

"And I will gladly view them. But I have decided. This girl here... she will be mine."

Khan bowed her head to hide her dismay. "As Your Majesty desires."

"Good, Doctor Khan, that's exactly what I wanted to hear." Turning, he took one long, last look at Beck, now energetically confounding the very best efforts of two frightened nurses to stuff her back into her niqab. "In fact..." he said, brow furrowed, thinking, "in fact... Doctor?"

"My Lord?" Khan replied, praying for a reprieve.

"Take her to the wedding cake."

There was the subtlest suggestion of a collective gasp and Khan blanched. "My Lord?"

"You heard me. I will take this girl as my Perpetual."

Khan blinked. "Your Perpetual?"

"That is my decree."

"But... my lord... without judging the others?"

"I don't have to judge the others, my mind is made up."

"But, My Lord..."

The king pinched the bridge of his nose. "Doctor Khan. That is the very last 'but' you will ever utter in my presense. Do you understand?"

Khan dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor. "As your majesty commands."

"Indeed." the king rumbled, "As I command. Take her to wedding cake. Make her ready."

*************************************************************************************************************

"Kev?" Bragg whispered hoarsely into the phone. "Are you awake?"

Bragg heard a groan and the smacking of lips. "Barely," Kevin the IT guru replied, then paused to yawn. "What time is it?"

"Seven-ish." Bragg said in a low voice. "What's up, you still sound half asleep. I thought you old people were meant to get up early."

"I'll have you know I've only just gone to bed. I was up all night playing with Alan. Hang on, let me rephrase that, just in case somebody heard. I was up all night modelling climate on my computer."

"Doesn't worry me. Either way."

"That's as may be, but I'd hate to be the subject of any salacious rumours. Hold on, give me a sec to flash up some encryption. Won't take long."

Bragg's phone went dead and he snuck a look over his shoulder, at two naked, brown-skinned stunners, who were busy making fat white man's wildest fantasies come true. His phone leapt alive with a dazzling light show and Kevin was back on the line. "Well, Rodge," he said, "out with it. I know you'd only call if it was really, really important."

"Kev," Bragg said, cupping his hand around the phone, "Gideon Woodrow-Munt."

"A little early for limericks, isn't it? Though I can see where it might be going. Munt. Let me see. Something about his wife, perhaps? Getting kicked in the head or somewhere unfortunate?"

"You've never heard of him?"

"Hang on. It's a real person?"

Bragg flipped Chuck's wallet open. There, in a clear plastic slip, Chuck the Spec Ops Warrior, lone-wolf and stone-cold killer, sat surrounded by his little smiling family, a fat, frumpy wife, two fat, sweet little kids, Chuck in the middle beaming with pride.

"Rodge? This Munt character? Real or not?"

Bragg hastily closed the wallet. "Listen. Everest Genetech. Does that ring a bell?"

Far away in the land downunder, Kevin pushed upright and sat on the edge of his bed. "No, it's not leaping out at me."

"What if I said 'East European orphanage'?"

There was a moment's loaded silence then Kevin replied, "Ohhh... he's that Gideon Munt?"

"How many Munts do you know?"

"Good point." Kev snorted, "What a name! You'd think he'd have it changed. Fred Munt or something."

"When you're as rich as he is, Kev, you probably don't give a shit. I need you to do some digging."

"For what?"

"I need some leverage."

"Ah!" Kevin said knowingly. 'Give me a lever and a place to stand'-"

"And I can move the world. Or in this case a billionaire recluse."

After a brief interlude of perplexed silence, Kevin said, "Okay. I'm sure you'll explain when you're ready."

Bragg checked over his shoulder again. All he could see of Chuck was a pair of chubby white legs. And the soles of his feet, still in socks, one big toe poking through a hole. And his big hairy balls. And, as the lithe, little brown body on top of him bounced up and down, fleeting glimpses of a hardworking shaft, slick with spit and girl juice. Eye to eye with the cowgirl, straddling Chuck's face, a second dusky goddess was tongue kissing her friend, fondling her breasts, long groans of ecstasy emanating from her crotch. "I'm just uploading a bunch of files into my phone." Bragg huffed, in a hurry to be gone, nevertheless enjoying the display of consummate sexual expertise. It had taken the girls five minutes flat to extract the safe's combination, on the pretext of storing Chuck's valuables. Passport, wallet- his real one, rather than the mugging wallet he'd had at the pub- mini iPad, brimming with his employer's personal data, his itinerary- all the background the palace would need to prepare for the billionaire's visit.

"Just to be clear." Kevin said, "Has this got something to do with your present predicament?"

"Oh you're clear Kev." Bragg nodded, watching Rachel fake an orgasm, cranking her hips backwards and forwards, gyrating her ass. "Clear as a bell on a cold winter's day."

"I see."

"Mister... I mean LORD... Munt is soon to be a guest of his majesty." Bragg said hastily. "If we can bargain with him-"

"You mean coerce?"

"I mean bargain. Who knows, he may be able to help."

"The man who stole the stem cells? From those newborns? At the orphanage?"

"Allegedly, Kev. Allegedly."

"You want his help to rescue Rebekah?"

"He's one of the richest men in the world, and most obscure. If you can just do some backgrounding, you and your computer. He might have a soft spot for puppies or something."

"A quicksand bog in the Amazon for example. From the little I know, he's not exactly brimming with decency."

"Everyone has at least one chink in their armour." Bragg said flatly. "How do you think I got where I am?"

"Perhaps..." Kevin hedged.

"Come on, Kev, we gotta think outside the box. If this guy has access to the royals. He could buy Beck back with the change from his ashtray."

"Buy her?"

"Acquire her, then. On our behalf."

"And what about Alana? Or shouldn't I ask?"

"I'm working on that. I'm about to throw myself on the mercy of the government."

"Hmmm..." Kevin said, "You may have been out in the sun too long."

"Look, a great man once said, nothing happens by accident. Munt's flunky turning up tonight, it might just be a gift from the Universe."

"You see now the importance of wearing a hat in those climes."

"Kev, throw me a bone. Just a little run-time on your AI. And just think, there's all sorts of stuff in this download. You might make some coin."

"You really think I need a cash incentive?" Kevin teased. "I'm dying to see it."

Bragg exhaled with relief. "You're a boss, Kev!" A progress bar on his phone signalled the successful conclusion of the theft. Briefly checking his new friend was still fully occupied, Bragg restored Chuck's property, leaving the safe unlocked in case of a revisit. "There. All done. As soon as I get back to my room I'll send you the lot."

"Standing by." Kevin said, then added, "And Roger?"

"Uh huh?"

"There was a young lady from Bude,"

"Uh huh..."

"Who went for a swim in the...?"

"Nude?"

"Lake, Roger. Lake. A man named Munt, stuck an oar in her...?"

Bragg opened his mouth to reply then on second thoughts closed it again.

"...ear," Kevin went on, "and said you can't swim here it's polluted."

Bragg heaved a deep, ragged sigh. "Kev. I've said it before and I'll say it again. You're a genius."

Letting himself quietly out of the American's room, with a quick thumbs-up to his naked associates, Bragg returned to his own room, a little tipsy maybe, but still focussed as a laser. First things first. The lawyer sent a copy of the download to Kevin, and Alan, Kevin's homemade AI. With hours to go before a meeting of a different kind, Bragg dived into the loot with forensic enthusiasm, as if it were all just part of a big, juicy brief, with a court case pending and millions at stake.

The enigmatic Lord Doctor Gideon would soon be enigmatic no more. Even at first glance, he was a rich and ruthless venture capitalist, and former fighter pilot, who'd once summited Mount Everest, losing the rest of his team in the process. 88 years old, a citizen of England and Switzerland. Owner of Everest Genetech, deliberately named to cash in on his earlier exploits. A blue-sky therapeutics company, with fingers in a number of fringe biotechnologies, some with particularly shady reputations.

Before Bragg knew it dawn had arrived. Shoddy diet, sleepless nights, too much alcohol, and reams and reams of information, he felt just like the Roger Bragg of old. Ready to face battle, raring to go, in some high-stakes court case, a fight to the death. While Kevin set to work on the liberation of one of his girls, he, Bragg, was about go after the other. Through the Justice Ministry, undeterred by the previous day's snubbing. The good General Musharraf had stood him up as a matter of course. No hard feelings, it was just protocol, just the way the locals did business.

Sure enough, after another interminable hour in the same frigid anteroom- the desert-derived locals seemed fixated on recreating the arctic indoors- a door swung open and a tall, impressive figure strode in, dressed in the smart, tan uniform of the Ab Aldafran army, with a chest full of ribbons and a jaunty green beret. He was flanked several minions, the two closest tapping text into their phones, taking dictation on the run. As the party came abeam, the tall military officer pointed at Bragg and snapped his fingers, then beckoned. Bragg pointed at himself- 'Who? Me'?- but his attempt at sarcasm was lost on the General's back. Getting to his feet, Bragg buttoned his suit jacket, then straightened his tie and dutifully tagged along.

A young, effeminate male in a tailored Navy uniform, held the door open as Bragg stepped through, into the general's office at the back of the pack. On his feet behind the desk, the officer issued half a dozen directives- 3 executions, 1 expulsion, 2 life sentences and a flogging, plus 2 shawarmas with pickles on the side and a fruit shake. Summarily dismissed, the general's aids turned as one, squeezing past Bragg, quickly dispersing to do the general's bidding. Musharraf threw his beret on the desk, then offered his hand. "Mister Roger. Greetings."

They shook over the cluttered desk, Bragg's hand cool, the general's grip limp, typical for this part of the world. "Please," he gestured, sit down."

Bragg pulled the chair back and settled onto the red velvet seat, as the general sat down opposite. Head down, the general busied himself with some paperwork, blithely ignoring his guest, while Bragg surveyed his surroundings. Not huge by any means, the office was still of a generous size, the walls papered in green and gold, hung with several portraits of the sovereign. The king, in his younger days, dressed in a simple white dishdasha, and red checked keffiyeh, rocking aviator sunglasses, shoulders draped with gleaming bandoliers of 7.62. And the king, in black robes and aviator shades, looking... well... majestic, astride a magnificent white stallion. In a neighbouring portrait, the king, in an Air Force overalls, complete with beret and G-suit, in the power stance beside the nose of fighter, helmet under his arm, eyes invisible behind a pair of gold-rimmed aviators. In yet another photograph, the king at a meet and greet with a US president- keffiyeh, dishdasha, aviator sunglasses. Looking from picture to picture, Bragg idly wondered whether the king had a side-hustle in Ray Bans.

Signing the paperwork with a flourish, the general sat back. Flipping open the lid of a carved silver box, he tipped it towards his guest. "Cigarette, Mister Roger?"

"Thank you, no." Bragg shook his head.

"May I call you Bragg?" Musharraf asked amiably, plucking up a cigarette and twisting the filter into a short ivory holder.

"By all means." Bragg nodded, going with the flow. The general lit up and sat back smiling. It was a friendly, gap-toothed smile, the smile of a man who was not just happy with the power of life and death, but absolutely revelled in it. Tall, dark and dashing, even in his fifties he was still strong and fit. "Now, Bragg," the general smiled, then took a deep draw on his cigarette, "I believe you have something for me."

Bragg had anticipated nothing less. Word of his largesse was bound to have spread, but he played for time, on the off chance he might yet hang onto his cash. He looked at the general, feigning surprise. "I do?"

"Come now, Bragg, no need to be so coy. My brother, the brigadier, was most effervescent in his admiration."

'Effusive.' Bragg thought sizing up his prey.

"A true friend of the country, the Brigadier said. A friend of great munificence."

"Ah..." Bragg said, still stringing it out, "you mean the envelope?"

Musharraf narrowed his eyes. "I was referring more to the contents."

"I see. Well, that was merely a token of my great remorse, for my employee's unfortunate actions."

"But..." the general persisted, "ten thousand for a brigadier? How much for a general?"

Bragg slipped a hand inside his jacket and withdrew a thick white envelope. "Forgive me, General, I would love to give more, but ten thousand dollars is the limit of my meagre means." He lay the envelope on the table and pushed it as far as the intervening paperwork.

Musharraf picked up the envelope and flipped it open, then riffled the cash. 100-dollar bills. 100 of them. "I graciously accept your gift." Musharraf said, pulling open a drawer and slipping the envelope inside.

"So we have a deal?"

"Deal?"

"My pilots?"

The general took a drag of his smoke and blew a thick blue plume between pursed lips. "Your pilots?"

"The ten thousand." Bragg frowned. "I understood the money was for the release of my crew."

Musharraf feigned surprise. "You did?"

"I... but... did you read the brigadier's letter?"

"The personal communique? The one addressed to me? Why? What did it say?"

"Well, I, he..." Bragg fumbled then picked up the ball. "I have no idea, General, but the brigadier assured me, he would enlist your aid in releasing my pilots. One held in the naval prison, the other whereabouts unknown. And I thought... you know... the ten thousand dollars..."

Ivory cigarette holder clamped between his teeth, Musharraf gripped the edge of the desk with two big hands and looked at Bragg. "So you are saying this is a bribe?"

"What?" Bragg baulked, "No, sir! Of course not."

"Because if you are suggesting I am the sort of man who can be bribed. An officer of the crown. A general no less, head of the Justice Ministry. Trusted servant of His Majesty the King."

"I would never suggest such a thing. Not in a thousand years."

"No Mister Roger, of course not. Because unlike the officials of your own country, those of mine are honest and incorruptible. We are, to a man, unable to be bought. Not even for ten times ten thousand, not even one hundred times ten thousand. Our honour is priceless, do you understand?"

"Of course, General, of course."

"So this is a gift?" the general asked, nodding at the desk, and the drawer which had just swallowed Bragg's ten grand. "Do you agree? Out of the goodness of your heart."

"Absolutely, General, of course. But, sir. If, out of the boundless goodness of your heart, you could see your way clear to intervene. To secure the release of my two missing pilots. Then your reputation as a caring, generous man, a man of compassion as well as great wisdom, would only shine all the brighter."