Spy Nude Pt. 02

Spy Nude

Part Two

by The Preve

Interlude

Jim lay in bed, going over his options. He needed to be careful. The bungalow was most likely bugged, with hidden cameras as well. He'd already found the hidden passageway in his closet.

Probably has secret passageways and tunnels all over the island. The island has blockers. They'll have to be neutralized first.

Jim knew "Melanie" and his lives were on a timer the moment they set foot on the island. He'd figured how the game would go the second he made contact with Krakov.

Of course Heinrich wouldn't want witnesses outside the pool of buyers. A minor pimp and a college girl exotic dancer are expendable. If the rumors are true, the buyers are high enough in their organizations to cause trouble for Heinrich if he caps any of them. Then again, he does have a rep for being unpredictable. Anyway, we both won't be getting off the island unless I can neutralize those blockers. Plus, I have to find where he's keeping the formula.

Jim's thoughts turned to Brittany.

She has to be doing okay. She's done good so far, hasn't given us away, and her performance at the airport was terrific. I don't think I should tell her Krause likely plans to kill us at the end of the auction. So far we haven't ended up like poor Harry; too bad for him.

Jim instantly pegged something off about Harry Rogan, that first meeting with Krakov, in Boston.

Krakov was a thug and killer, as Jim took from his profile. Harry's profile read like a petty criminal looking to upgrade. He didn't act the small timer trying to break into the big leagues. His demeanor was a little too polished, less shifty and nervous.

Not too good a job acting. Didn't seem like a throwaway or discard though.

Still, Krakov's aeration of Harry's brains was a shock. Jim wondered, for a split second, if he was next. A second earlier Krakov made a joke about CIA spooks in the park, then boom! When Brittany walked into the scene, Jim acted on instinct. He didn't so much save Brittany's life as extend it, given the circumstances. Now he had to figure how to extract themselves from this trouble.

Time to sleep Jim.

He was too tired to try anything today. Besides, his commission was not just the formula but the seller and the buyers.

Hope nobody kills me today. It's still morning. Maybe I can recon tonight.

****

Brittany woke with the taste of sour milk in her mouth and a slight headache. Her joints ached. She wondered, for a moment, why her dorm bed felt different. Then she came fully awake.

Oh God!

Brittany looked around and remembered. It wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare, a luxurious, exotic nightmare.

She drew her knees to her body and curled, rocking for a few seconds' vulnerability, before composing herself.

Get up Brit. Gotta do this or we're dead.

The shower was a repeat of the previous day. The effect left her refreshed but not relaxed.

She left the bathroom. A scent drifted to her nostrils, complimented by a corresponding rumble in her stomach.

"Food? Breakfast!"

It was on the dining table: hot oatmeal with brown sugar, a slice of banana, a pat of butter, and accompanied by bacon and eggs, and a glass of orange juice.

Plus a letter: "Melanie Swann, as our sensor indicated you have woken up, we took the liberty of preparing breakfast for you. An attendant will be by within the hour, to escort you to the spa for a complete treatment. Your Host."

"Complete treatment? What does that mean?" Brittany wondered with some unease. Her worries did not affect her appetite however. She attacked her breakfast with gusto. It was the best meal she'd had in ages.

She looked at the clock on the wall, after breakfast.

Someone should be here any minute.

Something was wrong, though. It took several minutes to register.

"Oh!"

She was naked.

Between the worries over her current situation, and focus on breakfast, Brittany completely forgot about clothes.

Where are my coveralls?

She didn't find them in the bedroom.

Did somebody take them while I was asleep?

The closet was empty.

Fuck! So now what?

Brittany occasionally went nude around the dorm. She never considered herself an exhibitionist, but eschewed excessive modesty. Her mother taught her to be comfortable in her skin. Her boldness about a mischievous streak in the park came from that philosophy. She'd even considered trying out as an art model for extra coin.

Her ease with nudity didn't rule out discretion. It would be awkward to meet an escort in the buff. As it stood, she ran out of time. The doorbell buzzed, the intercom spoke.

"Miss Swan? My name is Jason. I'm here to escort you to the spa for treatment. If you can please step outside."

Oh crap! What do I do now?

Brittany hesitated. Stepping out nude was out of the question. Doing nothing, though, could put herself and Jim in danger. She knew Jason needed a reply, but what? A few seconds' thinking later, Brittany decided on the truth.

"Uh, Jason you said? Um, I, um, don't have any clothes on right now. Can you, uh, wait a moment? Maybe I can wear a towel or bed sheet."

"Oh!" said Jason. "That's not a problem. Mr. Boorstadt instructed me to escort you as you are. He said you most likely won't be wearing clothes for your visit."

What the fuck?! Brittany thought, and then further reflected, Oh yeah, it does make a kind of weird sense.

She'd expected to be supplied with a bikini or some other suit appropriate for a Caribbean resort.

Jim said I'm the entertainment. I better play the part. "Okay, I'm coming."

Brittany opened the door. She let out an involuntary gasp on seeing the man before her.

He wore a white polo shirt, loose khaki pants, and sandals; basic uniform dress for a concierge in a tropical resort. His looks drew the gasp from Brittany.

He was pale; extremely, almost frighteningly, pale. No color to his skin whatsoever, along with no hair. None on the head, nor eyebrows, or even lashes.

Her first thought was, "Albino." His eyes, however, while pale, displayed enough color to belie the assessment. Her second thought, "Alopecia." She'd heard of it. A cousin of hers suffered from it. Total hair loss.

The man was young, average sized, shorter than herself, with a slender body, toned without athleticism. He looked younger than her; a college freshman to her junior.

The look on his face was bland, a little sad. He didn't react to her nudity in any way she could detect.

"Miss Swann? Please follow me."

He led her to a golf cart parked in front of the bungalow. The passenger side had a towel spread on the seat.

The ride to the spa was short, uneventful, and quiet. Jason didn't make a sound. Brittany glanced, occasionally, at him.

Should I ask a question? No. Too dangerous.

Her best chance at safety, she decided, was to reveal as little of herself as possible. Too much talk increased the danger of compromise to herself and Jim.

Brittany's curiosity about Jason perplexed her. Something's off about this man.

It couldn't be his pale skin and hairless body. They were strange, yes, but not remarkable.

He's sad. Yes, that's it.

It was more his melancholy with a hint of something else. He's sad, desperate, maybe a little afraid.

Brittany had a good idea on the origins of his fear. I don't think he's a henchman. Maybe he's a victim.

The cart stopped in front of the spa.

"We're here," Jason said, "I'll be back when you're done."

Brittany got out of the cart. Jason made to drive away, but then he turned to look at her. She stepped back, shocked at his sad and desperate eyes.

He's worried for me!

"Be careful around this place," he said. "Please."

Brittany said nothing, but nodded quietly. The cart drove away and Brittany entered the spa.

They were waiting for her; two women, one man, dressed in white uniforms, with the resort's logo over their left breasts.

The trio were middle-aged and bland in appearance. Brittany would not notice them if she passed them on a sidewalk.

The woman to the left, a white-haired matron who reminded Brittany of a nurse from her old high school, stepped forward.

"Miss Swann," she said, "We've prepared everything for you. Please follow us."

They walked down a corridor, a stark white passageway, featureless with florescent lights, looking to Brittany more like a hospital than a spa.

However, when they came to a gray door at the end and opened it, Brittany barely suppressed another gasp.

The arena-sized room was more garden than spa. Tanning bed, cots, and cutting edge-looking equipment surrounded a large pool. Flowers and shrubs decorated the area. Hidden speakers piped out classical music. No one else was in the room, other than Brittany and the three cosmetologists.

"You're our only client," the male cosmetologist replied to her unspoken question, "We were brought in just for you."

The trio led Brittany to one of the benches and asked her to lie down. Once she was positioned, they went to work.

The following hours were a trial both memorable, and excruciating. On the one hand it represented a treatment reserved for the richest power players, most famous film stars, and other types from the 0.001% of the one percent. On the other hand, it was a full body hair removal, of considerable discomfort.

Brittany was waxed, lasered, and electrolysized head to toe, until any faint blemish on her body became a distant memory. Every follicle, every hair cell below her hairline, was removed. Her eyebrows received a Hollywood quality sculpting.

The shampoo they used on her hair was so revolutionary, it wouldn't be on the market for a decade. One bottle cost over $1,000,000. The shampoo was known only to a very select few.

"It uses a new technology involving nanobytes," the matron explained, "They're designed to absorb and reflect light, enhancing the color of your hair. They'll permanently bond to your hair and roots, repelling dirt and oil, strengthening each strand. You'll rarely have to wash your hair after this treatment, nor worry about hair loss or going gray."

Brittany could not help but be stunned. This type of treatment could only be available to the wealthiest billionaires. And I'm getting this for free!

The body lotion they used on Brittany was a variation of the shampoo, with the same technology. A bottle, impossibly, cost even more than the shampoo, adding another half-million to the price.

"The nanobytes bond permanently to your skin cells," the male explained, "They'll enhance the glow on your skin, and prevent body oils from forming blackheads. You'll have nice, healthy, clear skin for the rest of your life."

Other cutting edge cosmetics, lip balm and teeth whitener, using the same technology, ensured her lips would never chap, and permanently brilliant, white teeth.

All in all, Brittany's treatment ran into the millions, and she didn't have to pay a single dime. The trio finished their work in the late afternoon.

If they kill me, I'll make the most beautiful corpse they'll ever see,Brittany thought, viewing the end result in a full length mirror.

Jason was waiting when she left the spa. She looked back at the trio, staring impassively at her.

My God, they look like three androids.

The trio, the world's best cosmetologists, would be off the island by evening, and back at their Malibu headquarters by morning. They spared no thought to the fate of the woman, nor asked questions. Heinrich Krause paid them good money to transform an, admittedly, already lovely young woman into a goddess. They took great pride in executing their greatest work. Their only regret was the prohibition on taking pictures.

Jason's troubling melancholy seemed to brighten on seeing her. His eyes raised slightly when she smiled at him.

Why did I do that? Brittany asked herself later.

She was supposed to be aloof, unsmiling, and Jason was working for a genocidal maniac, but something about him told her this man needed some sort of kindness. A smile was a minor but good start.

He darted sly glances at her on the way to the bungalow; not unlike the shy geeks in high school or college.

A chill, equal parts nostalgia, fear, and sadness, passed through Brittany's body. College was light years away. Everyone and everything she knew, may as well be on the other side of the world.

Brittany had been one of the popular girls in high school, but never a mean one. Her parents didn't raise her that way.

Kindness and compassion, her mother said, Always.

Protect the weak, her dad said, Don't prey on them.

It's not to say she didn't compromise. Some of her relationships, with her classmates and sorority, attested to those choices, but cruelty never came to her.

It was at that moment Brittany understood the true gravity of her situation.

Cruel, evil men surrounded her, with more on the way. The only way out was to truly compromise herself, and her only ally was just as cruel in his own way. Maybe this man, boy really, who said a kind word at the beginning of the day, could be another.

That thought provided the explanation for Brittany's kiss; an impulsive act, just a peck on his cheek, and telling him, "Thank you."

She went into the bungalow, leaving Jason with a blush, and the stunned look of someone for whom kindness was water to a dying man in the desert.

Prepared food waited for Brittany when she entered the kitchen. A spinach salad with pasta, a souffle, and Pinot noir. A note on the table requested her presence for lunch at the pavilion the following day, and to meet and entertain the guests.

She shuddered, "Well it's happening."

Nothing of significance happened for the rest of the evening, and she retired early.

****

Jim woke early the same morning. Like Brittany, he'd slept through the day and night.

I was more tired than I thought, or they drugged my dinner, or maybe piped gas into the room. Either way, I think they wanted me out cold.

He showered and ate the prepared breakfast.

These guys are on everything. That means constant surveillance. I'll have to be careful. I need an excuse to reconnoiter.

Jim went to the hotel and and spoke to the concierge.

"I'm getting a little stir crazy here. Can I borrow a bike so I can work it off?"

"Of course. Bicycles are freely available for our guests," the concierge smiled.

He selected a Schwinn mountain bike and rode the pathways. The look around confirmed it.

This island's tighter than a whore's buttplug.

Cameras were everywhere, carefully hidden and disguised. The best surveillance tech by experts. They were good but he was better. Still, Jim knew for every camera spotted, ten others were not.

An island carpeted with surveillance plus signal blockers. We're in a box alright.

The bike trail took him along the beach. The beach was dotted with rocks, which he thought odd for this island, until he saw several move. What?

He parked his bike and went to investigate. They weren't rocks. Sea turtles.

Jim rode back to the main building, an idea forming in his head.

"I saw some sea turtles on the beach. Anyplace I can get a camera to take some pictures?" he asked the concierge.

"Oh! The South Calicos sea turtle. This is their spawning season. It's one of the few islands where they lay their eggs. Careful, they're a protected species."

"Oh really?" Jim smiled. "Don't worry, I just want to snap a few photographs."

"Well, we sell cameras and other equipment at the store. I'm happy to inform you, Boorstadt opened it for your convenience."

"That's great."

The store sold another product which fell into Jim's plans.

"Superglue?"

"Some of our guests might require minor repairs to their luggage or other items."

"Makes sense." Perfect! "I'll have a tube. Could help with a loose shoe heel."

Jim rode back to the beach, took the camera, and snapped some pictures. The surveillance cameras captured him kneeling beside a turtle, his back to the bike path. The guard monitoring the surveillance didn't think much of the act.

Jim left the beach and rode back to the hotel. I hope this works.

He returned his bike and went back to the bungalow to consider his options.

Best bet is to try for the formula while everyone's distracted. If she can keep them occupied, that is. He'll have it in his safe. Krause likes to keep his toys close.

Jim spent the rest of the day sketching out and discarding escape scenarios.

If this op doesn't work we're dead. At the very least I'll need to take out Krakov and Boorstadt.

He neither spoke to nor saw Brittany that day. Boorstadt, when Jim asked, informed him of her makeover.

She be more than alright, I guess. If they killed her because of a flaw in the profile, I'd be dead moments later. I wonder how she'll look when they're done?

The guests began arriving that evening. They came by plane and boat, and a string of shuttles cycled between the airfield and resort, well into the night.

Boorstadt handled most of the arrangements. The concierge and remaining staff were present to help the guests. The guests did not sign in. The concierge and staff did not ask questions. The doors to the store and cafeteria were kept unlocked for easy access.

Once the guests were settled, the concierge and staff immediately went to their quarters, changed their clothes, took their bags, and got on the shuttle to the airfield. The plane took them to Florida, after which they scattered to their respective homes, friends, and vacations to sit out the subsequent events.

The turtle laid her eggs. There was some delay because of the man earlier, which annoyed her immensely. Egg-laying was difficult enough without some idiot land-dweller hovering about.

She finished her task and buried the eggs, rested, and then trundled her slow way into the ocean. She entered the water at half past midnight, where her progress greatly improved. The turtle swam from the shore, hoping to catch a nifty Gulf stream to South America.

To Be Continued.