Cumulative Probability Pt. 01

"Colonel Davidian? I apologize for intruding on you out of the blue. I'm Max Samuels from the U.S. State Department, and I am calling you on a government matter. Do you know an Erik Thorlund?"

There was a pause then, Carlo spoke.

"Maybe. Is there any problem?"

"No, nothing like that. In fact he may be of assistance. But if I can impose on you, I'd just like you to identify him if you wouldn't mind."

I spoke up. "Hi, Carlo, you're on speaker I'm right here."

"Hey Erik. What is this? Is someone fucking with you?" Carlo was direct. "Did you get in trouble after you left?"

"No Carlo, no trouble. I've run into some nice people at the Federal Building that may need a hand. I think they just want to know that I am who my ID says."

Even hung over Carlo was sharp.

"You watch your ass Erik. And remember you're a civilian now. Don't go volunteering for goat fucks."

He paused a moment, thinking.

"What gift did we give you yesterday?"

"An art poster. The Storm."

"Right. Max was it? That's Erik. We gave him that art print yesterday. As long as he's still about 6'1" and has brown hair it's him. He's a good physician, you should know that."

"Thank you Colonel, much appreciated and again I apologize for intruding," Max said. "One additional question. Do you know whether Dr. Thorlund speaks Turkish?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. I've never heard him speak it, but he's crazy good with languages." Carlo chuckled. "It's one of the reasons women like him."

Ani's hand had remained on my arm during all this. I hadn't minded at all. I'd liked it. Now she removed her hand. I glanced at her. She looked at me but revealed nothing."

Carlo continued, "Hey Max, give the phone to Erik for a second. Erik, take me off speaker."

Max handed me the phone and I flicked off the speaker.

"Hi Carlo, speaker is off."

"Are you in trouble? Say the word 'surgical' if you are."

"No. But I'm not sure exactly what this is about."

"Listen, I was serious about not volunteering. My experience is the State Department guys are true professionals, really good, but half of the people who say they're State are really CIA."

"Got it."

"Don't get involved in any CIA crap. Call me later it you want."

"Will do." I looked at Max.

"Ok to hang up?" He nodded.

"All right, bye Carlo."

I hung up and handed the phone back.

"It appears I am Erik Thorlund," I said. "And I do speak Turkish. So what now?"

We all looked at each other. Max spoke.

"Dr. Thorlund, I'm Max Samuels. This is Ilsa Berring," he indicated elegant woman, who nodded gracefully at me. "And this is Ani Terssen."

Max looked thoughtful.

"I'd like to get out of this building and go where we can get a decent slice of pie. Would you care to join us?"

VII.

They waited for me in the atrium while I took the elevator up a few floors, and dropped off my military identification. I signed two forms and, magically, my obligation to the U.S. Army was no more.

While riding the elevator down I thought about my identification card. You know who you are. But people only believe badges or cards that say, in essence, "Someone has verified that this person claiming to be X really is X." The identification is more real than the person, the symbol more real than what it supposedly symbolizes.

I joined the three in the atrium and we exited the building. We walked to a café in Tribeca. It was not full and Max headed to a booth against one wall. Max and Ilsa sat down on one side of the table. I looked at Ani.

"Would you prefer inside or outside?" I asked.

"Outside."

I sat on the inside and she sat down next to me. We all looked at each other; more specifically they looked at me. The waiter came over. I was still hungry so, what the heck, ordered a slice of blackberry pie.

Ani broke the silence, speaking to Max and Ilsa.

"He knows Anglion. Says it has good steaks. And an excellent bread pudding."

Max was attentive.

"I've been there but I haven't had the bread pudding. Good you say?"

"Mouthwatering," I nodded. "But you have to ask for it."

"Duly noted. A good bread pudding is hard to find. You didn't by any chance go there last night and give our translator food poisoning?"

"No," I responded. He nodded.

"I'm glad to hear that. Well, thank you for your patience, Dr. Thorlund. Here is our situation. We work for the State Department. This evening at 7 there's an informal private reception for various trade delegations who are in the City for some WTO thing. The party's on the Upper East Side. Several contingents will be there, including one from Turkey. It would be helpful to have an observant person there who speaks Turkish."

"In order to translate," I said. "And please, call me Erik."

He evaluated me with a professional eye. I had the sense his evaluations usually were accurate to within a few grains. I was conscious of Ani's body close to mine. Just on the near edge of my olfactory perception, a faint clean skin smell wafted from her. I liked it.

"Erik then, thank you. Please call me Max. No, not to translate per se. Nearly all of the Turkish diplomatic personnel speak English."

He paused.

Ilsa leaned toward me.

"No, we just want someone there who has the ability to understand Turkish. Perhaps you. So that if some of them talk with each other in Turkish, and you happen to overhear, you can later tell us what they said. That's it."

She leaned back.

Max picked up.

"To be candid, we don't want you actually speaking Turkish, or them knowing that you understand Turkish. We just want you to listen."

I smiled.

"You want someone to eavesdrop on them."

"Not to eavesdrop, just to listen in," Ani said dryly. "You're good at making that distinction."

I looked at her.

"Are you going?"

She looked at me, surprised.

"Yes, I will be there."

"Yes, I'll do it," I said. "Happy to help."

Ilsa spoke.

"You seem very uncurious about this, Dr. Thorlund. You haven't even asked if there is anything particular we might want you to listen for."

She was a "within a few grains" person also.

"Please, call me Erik. You're correct, I'm not curious. You say you're with the State Department. You want me to go to some party, I suppose you'll be able to get me in somehow. If I happen to hear anyone speaking Turkish I'll tell you what I heard. That sound about right?"

She nodded.

I went on.

"If you told me to listen for something in particular that might predispose me to wrongly hear it. I've got no plans today, so yes, I'll do it. I've never been to a diplomatic party."

Max and Ilsa exchanged a glance such as Carlo and I might have given while implanting a defibrillator into a particularly tricky cardiac patient. The "it's going too smoothly look."

"Thank you for being so accommodating," Max said.

"I do have one question though," I added. They all looked at me.

I indicated Max. "Should I wear a suit, or something more casual?"

Max smiled now. "Yes, a suit would be fine, and a tie if you have one."

"That's settled then," said Ilsa. "Ani will take you to wherever you live, so you can change, and then will take you to the event."

The blackberry pie was good, sour-sweet and fruity, with a soft crust.

VIII.

Ani called a cab and took me back to my apartment. It was late-afternoon. Max and Ilsa had left after the café.

We took the elevator in silence and walked down the hall. I opened the door to my unit and went in, Ani following. The apartment was quiet and still. The door clicked shut behind us.

With her in the apartment, I saw it with fresh eyes. I wasn't particularly impressed. At least there were two nice paintings on the wall.

I started walking to the kitchen when Ani spoke.

"We need to talk."

I turned around. She was facing me about ten feet away, her back to the front door. She'd placed her jacket on the floor. She hadn't drawn the gun in her hip holster, but her hand was resting on it. She was fully alert.

I nodded.

"Go ahead."

"I don't like coincidences. The translator gets taken out and you just happen to be on the scene. Able to speak Turkish."

I looked at her.

"Coincidences don't care whether you like them or not. I was there to drop off my ID and you know that's accurate."

"Where did you learn Turkish?"

"I picked it up along the way. I'm good with languages."

"That's evasive," she said.

"Yes, partly. But it's true."

Her hand tightened a fraction on the gun. The muscles in her neck were tense. A beat passed. Then, slowly and distinctly she spoke.

"Why did you agree to go to this party? That I want answered."

I nodded. That was easy.

"That's easy," I said.

Can people ever really communicate? The voice flashed in my mind.

I looked directly at her.

"It's you. I find you attractive. I have no idea whether, on deeper acquaintance, you're a good person or not. Or whether I'd genuinely like you or not. Or whether you'd like me or not. I'm still evaluating. But I find myself hoping. I find you striking. Your whole affect. The you behind your eyes."

I paused.

"So, since you said you were going, I said I'd go too."

She looked at me a long moment, coiled with tension.

Now it was me who spoke slowly and distinctly.

"For me, that's an easy decision. That's how I think."

A pause, then I added, "If you're okay with me touching you... I'll show you."

She stared at me with disbelief as she comprehended what I was saying. Disbelief, but not anger or fear. Something else.

"So... may I touch you?"

Time slowed. I thought of a jar of marbles, colored red and white.

Her mouth was dry. "Yes."

Yes.

My pulse raced. I stepped slowly towards her. She was motionless. I stopped a foot away. We looked at each other.

"Yes," she nodded.

I reached out slowly, grasped her upper arms, and pressed her back against the wall. Her hand dropped away from her gun. I pressed my body lightly against her, feeling her warm body through her shirt. The sensation was delicious. I held myself still against her for a few seconds, us both adjusting to the intimacy of another person within our personal space, me communicating with my body that I was not a threat, but something quite different. Her breathing deepened, and she trembled slightly against me.

I slid my hands down to her wrists, and grasped them lightly. I looked at her. Her face was flushed. She again nodded slightly. I tightened my grip firmly on her wrists and then raised her hands over her head, holding them there. She gasped. I kissed the side of her warm neck, then licked her throat. Then I kissed her mouth. She opened her mouth to me as I kissed her, our tongues twining, her mouth sweet and warm, wet with saliva as she kissed me back.

I brought her hands down and held both of them behind her back with one of mine. I kissed her again. Then my free hand stroked her stomach and hips. I grasped one of her breasts, gently cupping it for a moment, and then squeezed firmly. She moaned. I unbuttoned her shirt and reached my hand inside, unhooked the front clasp of her bra, and then squeezed and rolled her firm breasts. Her skin was warm and smooth. Her nipple was hard, and I took it between my thumb and forefinger, and tugged and rolled it slowly, stretching her nipple deliberately. "Aaahhh," she moaned. I put my hand on her throat, lightly, and she tensed reflexively for a moment, then moaned more as I applied my mouth to her nipple, gently licking and tonguing it.

I put her hands against the wall by her side.

"Keep your hands there, don't move them," I said softly. She nodded.

I undid her belt, and put aside the belt and holstered gun on the floor. I knelt down and removed her shoes. I stroked my hands over her legs, and then slid her pants down over her hips to the floor. She stepped out of them, clad now in only her panties and an open shirt and open bra. Her body was fantastic, athletic and feminine. I stood up and pressed myself against her thigh, making her feel my stiff cock through my pants. I stroked my hand down her hips, and then began slowly stroking up the inside of her thigh. She looked at me, her brown eyes liquid.

"Spread your legs," I instructed. She moved her legs apart.

"Wider," I said, and she spread her legs further.

My fingers stroked higher up the muscles of smooth inner thigh, and then cupped her pussy through her panties. She tilted her head back, biting her lip. My fingers traced the outline of her pussy lips through the thin fabric, which was moist from her arousal. I moved her panties aside, exposing her pussy. I held my fingers up to her mouth. She opened her mouth and sucked my fingers, licking them. I reached down again between her legs, and ran my saliva coated fingers over her pussy. Her lips were full and her wetness obvious, the saliva unnecessary. I slowly stroked her channel, running my finger gently over her swollen clit. She was breathing deeply.

My free hand reached up to the back of her head, making a fist in her hair. She arched her head back.

I stroked the shaft of her clit, lightly tugging and circling it. She was breathing deeply. I slowly inserted two fingers into her, feeling her hot and creamy pussy grasping me as I pushed deeply inside. She felt great, slick and smooth and wet. I stroked her internally, slowly and deliberately. Her hips moved involuntarily against my hand, seeking more. She was moaning continuously.

I spoke in her ear, my voice low, soothing, the words flowing unplanned out of my head, the tone saying as much as the words.

"You know I like you. And I can feel how much your pussy likes this. I know your body likes it. [She gasped assent.] I can tell you are accomplished. [Moaning in her throat, her neck arched back.] I can tell you're smart, and strong. [Her stomach muscles tightened.] And sexually you're also a good girl and a dirty slut, aren't you? [A new wave of wetness coated my fingers.] That's right, your wet pussy likes this, doesn't it? [Trying to nod her head with my hand still grasping her hair.] Such a sexy bitch. Cum on my fingers and show me what a good girl you are."

With a deep gasp from her diaphragm, she came shuddering, her hips jerking, clenching herself on my fingers, wet, her legs shaking. I stroked her softly, drawing out her climax as she moaned and dripped. Slowly she came down, panting. I released her hair. She looked at me. I withdrew my fingers.

I held her gently, as her breathing slowed.

Finally she said, "I really liked that."

She placed her palm against my cock and looked at me.

"My turn," she said.

I was rock hard. I leaned back against the wall. She sank to her knees, and her hands undid my belt and freed my stiff cock from my pants. She looked at it for several seconds. Then her lips parted and her mouth closed deliciously over the head of my cock.

Her mouth was fantastic, hot and wet, and her tongue played over the head of my shaft. Her hands grasped my thighs and ass as she moved her mouth up and down, licking and mouthing me. She paused, then took me deeper into her mouth, and my cock pressed into her throat. I could feel her throat tightening on the head of my rigid cock. Saliva drooled out of her mouth as she moved her head up and down. Her hand stroked and gently tugged my balls.

She withdrew her mouth for a second and looked up at me.

"Fuck my throat. I can take it," she said. Her eyes were invitations.

I wrapped a hand in her hair, gripping. She put her mouth back on my cock, wet and eager. I started fucking her mouth in short, slow thrusts, not wanting to go to fast. Feeling her throat on my cock as I went past the back of her mouth. The pleasure was intense. She was moaning and squeezing my thighs, spit running down her chin, letting me know I could do more. I held her head and thrust deeper and more forcefully, feeling her throat contract deliciously on my shaft. Her eyes were watering. I gave two more powerful thrusts, each forcing my cock fully into her throat. My orgasm welled from deep inside then exploded. I groaned "uhs" of pleasure as I came in long hot spurts, my legs shaking with the strength of the release. She swallowed my semen, milking my pulsing rod with her mouth. She kept my cock in her mouth, letting me enjoy the sensation of her coaxing the last drops out.

I finally withdrew my cock from her mouth and leaned against the wall. She stood up. Her lower face was coated with a mixture of saliva and cum, and some of the mixture had dropped on the tops of her breasts. We looked at each other. She ran a hand across her mouth, and licked her fingers, showing me she was tasting the last of my cum.

She finally spoke, composed.

"Well, I have no idea whether, on deeper acquaintance, you are a good person or not. Or whether I'd genuinely like you or not. Or whether you'd like me. I'm still evaluating."

She paused, and then added with a hint of a smile.

"But you make a good first impression."

Then seriously.

"But I do want to know how you learned Turkish."

I nodded and got us each a can of cold sparkling water from the refrigerator.

//end of part 1//