Spy Nude Pt. 03

The four Islamists displayed feelings of shock, outrage, repulsive disgust, and complete and utter lust in equal measure.

Ahmed Ali trembled on the edge of a conniption. This infidel bitch! Unclothed! Before all these men! A walking, breathing illustration of the Shaitan-worshiping decadence of the West.

Goin' to be some changes when I'm caliph.

Moreover, it'd been awhile since he'd gotten some, and this woman's presence wasn't helping his control.

Heinrich's formula (a decadent German, yes, but at least he hated Jews) was the key to Ali's jihad; a super soldier army to sweep the Middle East and re-establish the Islamic Empire. All he needed do was maintain control and outbid these unbelieving scum, and the path was open.

He glanced over to his lieutenant. Selim's face was blank, no expression.

Fuck! This man's blood is ice.

Many things about Selim terrified Ahmed. Killing people seemed the only time his lieutenant came to life.

If not for his blood lust, Selim would make a great Vizier but... I'm going to have to find some way of getting rid of him.

Ahmed never could bring himself to admit it but... outside the use of children, Regrettable but necessary, the rumors of Selim and those women could no longer be ignored. He hated to use such a decadent Western term to describe Selim, but serial killer was the most apt.

Not that Ahmed cared about women exactly but the deaths were drawing the wrong kinds of attention. Selim was driving away parties whose support Ahmed needed for his planned takeover of ISIS.

Still, for the purposes of this meeting, Selim was useful. He was reasonably reliable, and his presence and reputation intimidated the others.

"This formula will break open so many opportunities for us," Ahmed thought, but another thought, the possibility of giving such power to a man like Selim, sent an uncharacteristic chill up his spine.

Mike and Harry, aka The Kampala Boys, watched the white girl in awe. Yes, a white woman couldn't compare to black, but it didn't mean they couldn't appreciate a hot one. This "smokeshow", as the Americans called it, had the goods.

Mike flashed back to the good 'ol days when he and Harry, petty low-life criminals, used to cruise the streets of Kampala, snatching and raping women, doing a little sex trafficking, an occasional murder when some bitch had the nerve to call Mike out on his... problem.

Arms trafficking became Mike and Harry's ticket to the big time, and then they stumbled onto a scam that nailed them even bigger bucks: religion.

Mike and Harry were total atheists; certainly the God they didn't believe in would have serious issues with their current activities. They knew how to use the church, though.

A few years traveling the country as evangelicals to recruit followers, followed by a spate of kidnapping and child trafficking, and the Lord's Power Army was born. Once they took control of the conflict jewels business, the money started to pour in.

The guns came shortly after, and so did the pussy. The Kampala Boys quickly found with all the money and guns, they could get all the pussy for free. No real need to waste dollars on prostitutes when one could kidnap as many bitches as one wanted.

Plus, in building an army, pups were useful as well. Parents and siblings, too old or young to be useful, had to go of course. Harry was a bit too enthusiastic in that aspect.

"Maybe I shouldn't have given him that book on Pol Pot," Mike mused.

A bit of rough stuff as part of the initiation process helped things along. Harry particularly liked forcing the kids to kill their parents. "Helps with team spirit," he said.

The idea to take over Uganda, possibly the entire region, was a recent one for the Kampala Boys. A formula like Krause's, or so they heard, could be the key to billions, possibly trillions of moola.

"We play this right, by the time we're done, we'll rival Bezos," Mike thought. "That's if these piece of shit Nigerians don't fuck up the deal."

Mike hated Nigerians; too rich by half, and these two pricks' scam was dangerous 'cause they actually believed their own message.

Fuckin' fanatics are bad for business.

Akeem and Yakub were equally impressed. This white infidel woman was a little old for their taste, but her distraction was good nonetheless.

The trip to the island was harrowing. The ship's captain, who'd smuggled them out of Africa, charged them extra on discovering their true identities. The brothers shelled out the money, but privately made a note to add him to their hit list when they returned.

If any, their main worry was the Kampala Boys. Degenerate, infidel Ugandans, and probable competition for the region's wealth. They needed a contingency plan in case these pricks outbid them.

"We got to find how they got here so we can intercept and kill them," Akeem thought.

Hiro gazed on the girl with a dropped jaw. Dollar signs marched through his brain with the howling rage of the Imperial Japanese Army.

Fuck! The money I could make with this gaijin hot shit!

He made a note to ask Heinrich if she was part of the deal. If not... well kidnapping and procurement were his specialties after all.

Onibaba was looking at the girl with a mix of curiosity and wry amusement, so far as Hiro could tell; difficult with that man's face.

Hiro could never quite figure him out. He was brutal when he needed to be, rarely spoke, took and carried out orders unquestionably, but... never reacted the way one expected to these situations.

It wasn't suspicious, just odd. Hiro suspected Onibaba was smarter than he looked. Odd reactions were one thing in the business, intelligence was another. Hiro resolved to keep a closer eye on Onibaba in the future.

He'll either be a good second, or a rival.

Jim watched Brittany move among the guests, pouring wine into the goblets provided. He noted, with a wry smirk, the Islamists were as strong imbibers as the others.

So much for alcohol prohibitions.

Boorstadt was smiling, occasionally glancing at his watch.

Waiting for Krause probably.

He didn't wait long.

The curtains at the entrance parted and in walked Krause. He looked older than in the pictures. Krause was a pale man, with cold, gray eyes, and a shock of white hair. His height was average. His dress was casual; khaki pants, and a white shirt. He had the look of a college professor.

Near dead ringer for his father. He used to be a college professor.

Krause stopped upon viewing Brittany. The coed stared back with a slight smile.

Krause looked on "Melanie" not with lust, but the appreciation of an artist to his work. The moment passed. Krause had work to do. The guests were staring and he needed to set up the next phase.

Krause strode to the bar, picked up a mug, and held it out.

"Miss Swann?"

"Melanie" walked up to the scientist and filled it, with nary a twitch to her body. Krause took a gulp, still watching the woman. Most exquisite. He turned to the guests.

"Greetings honored guests," Heinrich's voice was mid-Atlantic, with a Teutonic lilt, reflecting his Northeastern US private school education. "I trust you're satisfied with the accommodations."

The guests grunted affirmatives.

"Most of you know me from past business projects we engaged in together, heh, heh."

The guests didn't laugh back; most weren't known for a sense of humor.

"Ahem! Well, the partnerships and business we participated in, proved very beneficial to my long term project. I have made an amazing breakthrough and, in gratitude for your assistance, albeit unknowing on your part, I've invited you for a chance to acquire the formula"

Krause took another drink from his goblet.

"The formula represents the greatest breakthrough since the discovery of DNA, and one of you, if successful, will receive the keys to an empire vaster than any created in human history."

Jim listened to Krause speak. Brittany stood near the table, holding the pitcher, and filling a goblet when a guest indicated a refill.

"Now, you have all traveled a long way, and I'm sure you're anxious for the bidding to begin. Such things must wait until tomorrow, however. I find it better, and more preferable if my guests are well rested and relaxed. Today is a day for such... and a bit of fun."

A few of the guests growled; fun wasn't familiar to their personalities.

"I would rather this be over with, Heinrich," Senator Forrest frowned. "I'm sure my sentiments are shared by my fellow... guests here."

The others growled agreement.

"Yes, I'm sure you are impatient, but certain... arrangements need to be made. A wait of at least twenty-four hours is required. I'm sorry, but hopefully, the repast and the... company will more than compensate for the inconvenience."

Forrest and the others glanced around. Many eyes fell upon Brittany. If the attention made her nervous, she didn't show it.

Senator Forrest beamed the broad salesman smile that helped him get elected.

"Well, I can think of worst ways to pass the time. Don't you agree gentlemen?"

Fuck You's smile matched Jack's. The others' expressions ranged from Jack's enthusiasm to contemptuous distaste to ice cold impassivity. The tension in the room eased slightly.

"My cue to go," Jim thought. Brittany glanced at him. He nodded back. "Keep them occupied," the unspoken message.

Jim turned to Boorstadt. "Well, looks like my girl's working out. I don't see anything else I can do here, plus my bladder's a bit full. Mind if I step out for a tinkle?"

"Of course," said Boorstadt. "I agree there's little for you to do here. I'll keep an eye on young Melanie. If you wish to stretch your legs, exercise, see some more of the island, you're more than welcome."

Boorstadt had no worries about this man. There were no secrets on this island, other than the formula, and that would be resolved soon.

If he's trouble, today, tomorrow, won't make a difference.

"Good... uh, is the bar still open?"

"I'm sorry but the bar is closed out of sensitivity to our Islamic guests. Plus, it wouldn't be wise for this group to become too inebriated... at least outside our controlled area."

"Got a point," Jim smiled.

"We have some champagne in the kitchen. Take a bottle or two, on the house."

"Hey, thanks."

"No, thank you. You've presented us with a terrific woman." You poor idiot.

Jim headed for the kitchen, quietly tense. His survivor's instinct, honed by years of clandestine service, told him to be careful.

I might have to dodge a bullet here, literally.

The kitchen offered no ambush point, though, but he remained alert.

It'll be tomorrow. They'll pull something off then, most likely.

He found several bottles of champagne in an ice bucket, took one, and left with a friendly wave to Boorstadt.

I need to figure a way to kill this fucker tomorrow.

Jim walked out of the tent, nodding to the security guards, who took no interest. They stood around the tent, exuding a casual air.

Pretty relaxed.

Jim noted their concentration constituted the bulk of security on the island. He wondered again if Heinrich was setting up a hit. The guards' weapons looked bad enough. He dismissed it. The guards' casual stance seemed not that of killers. Jim had seen and done enough of that business to know the signs.

Well, Jim, enough lingering. Let's go get ourselves a formula. Start with Krause's house.

Jim took a deep breath and set off.

To Be Continued.