For King & Country. Chapter 4
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For King & Country
This is an erotic spy novella set loosely in the James Bond universe, and was originally written on commission back in the 1990s. For more background, please see the intro to chapter 1. It's re-presented here for posterity, despite being highly cheesy. In hindsight, though I think this all action final chapter is really good, especially the fighter jet chase at the end...
Chapter Three: Tsuruga, Fukui Pref., Japan... Red Fist of Justice Complex ("The House")... and Kamchatka, Eastern Siberia
"THE PROBLEM IS," said the voice, "YOU HAVE NO FRAME OF REFERENCE FOR THIS EXPERIENCE, DO YOU?"
"No," I replied. "It's just that this is so insane that I can't fucking believe any of it."
I was still sitting on the floor.
I was sitting on the floor of an enormous, natural cavern, within the hillside.
Within the hillside, The Red Fist of Justice had created something.
The fabric of the rock surrounding me had been interlaced with circuitry. The cavern had been converted into a huge computer. It was, to borrow a cliche, as if the circuitry in the walls had somehow been "grown" rather than built. But that was impossible, surely?
I'd been in Westminster Abbey a couple of times. This space felt as big as that. All over the rock walls was a delicate tracery of integrated circuitry. In certain areas, the filigree was concentrated into nodes of greater complexity, like ganglia, which glowed a brighter blue. The circuitry disappeared into the distance and into the vaulted ceiling above me. It pulsed softly in the floor beneath me. The gentle, blue light made me feel sick, powerless. It was as though it was inside my head. I remembered the first time I had experienced the blue glow and trembled.
I'd learnt during my degree that it was theoretically possible to build an AI large enough to simulate all the synaptic junctions of the human brain. That in the end, we were after all reducible to the level of machinery.
I'd believed then that it would be insane to even attempt such an enterprise.
I looked down at my hands, on which I leant my weight. I noticed that one of my prettily buffed and painted nails was broken. The gentle blue pulse of the integrated circuitry surged around my fingers. The cavern was alive with the pulse of intelligence. I looked up. I was terribly afraid.
The weirdest thing was that my gun had fallen right by my hand, but I found it impossible to bring myself to grab it or do anything except just look dumbly at it lying on the floor. Something had my mind in a vice like grip. I realised that every time I'd been near this part of the House, my thoughts hadn't entirely been mine. Perhaps that explained my inability to act decisively earlier as Sato had first revealed himself in the anteroom.
Sato was standing to my right, that hateful smile on his pretty face. I looked past his leather-clad legs to where the blue light was most concentrated.
In the haze, I could make out two small figures. The twins. They moved out of the miasma towards me and my heart jolted as I recalled my desire to take them away from here. I knew too well now how false those wishes had been.
I felt an uncomfortable itch in the back of my head as the boys opened their mouths to speak. The voice, with its curious multiple timbre, made my teeth jar as the boys walked forward. Inexplicably, my mouth filled with the sharp tang of battery acid.
The boys said, "HELLO, COMMANDER PIERCE. WE ARE AKAGUCHI. WE ARE THE RED FIST OF JUSTICE." Smiling, they put their small arms under my shoulders, raised me up. Together, we walked forward into the light.
The blue glow enveloped me.
As my eyes acclimatised, I could see that we were in an alcove in the cavern wall, about the size of my bedroom in the House. The blue glow was so intense that I could hardly keep my eyes open. An intense electrical buzz filled the inside of my brain in time with the pulsing of the blue light. I felt sick. Dizzy.
The boys stepped away.
I looked up. In front of me was a shape. I squinted to try and cut out the blue glare that was emanating from it.
It was a large, cylindrical tank, about twice my height and the width of two telephone boxes. It was filled with a viscous blue liquid. The whole thing was so blue that I felt my mind caving in from the intensity of the colour.
In the middle of the blue tank floated a figure. A slight, nondescript looking, Japanese man with a wispy beard and long hair, which floated around his serene face like a halo. He was totally naked. His body was impaled by electrical cables, which penetrated all parts of his body and face. His eyes were open, but unseeing. Pale, faintly luminous globes. Frightening in their blankness. The boys were standing to either side of the tank, looking expectantly up at me.
"Akaguchi," I breathed.
The boys smiled, in unison. They spoke, but I knew that the voice really came from the figure in the tank.
"YES. WE ARE AKAGUCHI."
Suddenly, I felt absurd, standing in my skimpy bikini. I wrapped my arms around my chest.
How ironic. In the kind of superspy moment that hardly ever happens, I was playing the wrong part. The dolly bird. I turned and saw Sato behind me, that faint smile on his face, as ever. I wanted to hit him, but I couldn't move a muscle. Everything was screwed up.
I swallowed and tried to focus my thoughts.
"This AI..." I said slowly. "You've dispersed your consciousness into a computer."
The boys nodded.
"Why?" I whispered.
The hollow chorus of a voice rang out again, shaking me to my bones.
"WE WERE DYING. CANCERS CAUSED BY MUTAGENS RELEASED BY CIA IRREGULARS DURING THE KOREAN 3-DAY CONFLICT OF 2010. 1KM AIRBURST OVER THE VILLAGE IN WHICH WE HAD SETTLED OUR JRA CELL..."
The voice paused. Sato had come to stand beside me as the Akaguchi went on.
"WE RETURNED TO JAPAN AND FOUNDED THIS ENCLAVE WITH OUR LOVER, BEAUTIFUL SATO. ALL WAS WONDERFUL... WE BROUGHT THE POWER AND PRINCIPLE OF ANARCHY TO A LAWLESS PART OF JAPAN. WE MADE OUR PLANS. WE PREPARED TO DIE, TO BEQUEATH OUR LEGACY TO SATO. OUR CANCER WAS UNTREATABLE. MULTIPLE METASTATIC SECONDARIES. SATO HELPED US CLONE THE TWINS. HIS IDEA, TO PERPETUATE US. BUT THE TRANSFERAL OF OUR CONSCIOUSNESS WAS NOT PLANNED. NOT THEN..."
Again, Akaguchi paused. Sato had moved to the tank, and had taken the boys' hands. He was looking at the wasted figure of his lover with the tenderest expression I'd seen on his cruel face. The lights flared again and I winced.
"THEN, WE HEARD ABOUT YOUR SCIENTIST, LIME. WE HYPOTHESISED A WAY IN WHICH WE COULD PERPETUATE NOT JUST OUR PHYSICAL BUT OUR SPIRITUAL SELF, USING HIS KNOWLEDGE OF MOLECULAR MECHANICS AND BIOMACHINERY. ACQUISITION OF LIME AND HIS KNOWLEDGE BECAME OVERRIDING PRIORITY. YOU DELIVERED HIM TO US. OUR THANKS, PRETTY AGENT PIERCE."
"AFTER YOUR ESCAPE, LIME WAS ABLE TO ASSIST US. HIS NANOMACHINES BUILT THIS COMPUTER. THE NANITES MAINTAIN A MOLECULAR LEVEL PSEUDO-PSIONIC LINK BETWEEN OUR BRAIN AND THE CIRCUITRY. WITH OUR CLONE BODIES TOO."
The boys gestured to themselves.
"SOON WE WILL BE ABLE TO VACATE DYING BODY AND ENTER NEW VESSELS. ALL THE FEMALE RECRUITS TO THE FIST, INCLUDING YOURSELF, ARE NOW INFECTED WITH THE PSEUDO-PSI LINKS IN THE FORM OF A SEXUALLY TRANSMISSIBLE VIRUS, WHICH WILL ENABLE US TO EXCERSISE TOTAL CONTROL OVER YOU. ALL MEN YOU SLEEP WITH, ALL THEIR LOVERS, SOON, ALL HUMANITY, WILL BE OURS TO CONTROL."
"I don't believe it." I whispered.
I heard Sato at my side. "Why do you think this room hurts your brain so much? The nanite virus is already converting your mind into a remote node for the master to manipulate. Soon, you'll have no free will left. The same with all the men and women who work here."
Sato put his hand on my arm. I flinched. "Why," he went on, do you think we hired the most beautiful women in the world to work here? When they go out to spread our seed in the world, no one will resist. Our projections suggest that we'll have control of the whole world within three months."
"THREE MONTHS," said the voice of Akaguchi, from the mouths of the twins, and from all round me. I felt the loss of self starting from deep within my mind, and bit my lip.
"WE ARE BECOMING THE FUTURE OF THE EARTH. EVERY HUMAN WILL BE AKAGUCHI."
"What you say is impossible," I said. "It's insane. I don't believe it."
"NO," said Akaguchi, chuckling softly. The sound was like ice crystals shattering in my mind. "WE ARE INSANE. BUT THE PLAN IS NOT INSANE."
"I don't believe it," I repeated.
"Believe it," said a quiet, ragged, weary voice from my right. I turned slowly.
Someone I hadn't noticed before was watching me from the darkened part of the wall on my right. The gaunt face and shaved skull didn't prevent me from recognizing the wasted figure of Professor Adrian Lime.
Apart from his face, Lime was barely recognizable. His torso and head projected from the mass of circuitry embedded in the wall. It was difficult to see whether the rest of his body still existed or not. His shaven head was studded with cables and tubing through which pinkly glowing liquids and electrical signals pulsed and throbbed.
His arms disappeared into a mass of tangled circuits, which seemed to grow straight from the bone and muscle.
Most horrifying, a row of four pairs of small breasts had grown on his chest, with engorged nipples upon which suction cups and tubes were attached. Glowing colourless fluid leached constantly from his new mammaries into the tubes, to be collected out of sight in the walls.
"Oh, Lime..." I whispered.
Incredibly, he smiled. "The cash cow," he whispered, before wincing in pain.
"LIME IS OUR SANTA CLAUS MACHINE," said Akaguchi.
I blinked. "What?"
"What he means," whispered Lime through gritted teeth, "is that... I can bring him anything he asks for. When he captured me, he did a very clever thing... Instead... of going to the effort of having me constantly work on solutions for him under duress, he made me do one thing only... develop a nanite serum that would turn me... into a nanite factory. A molecular machine that could produce any nano-solution he wanted..."
"From there to here," he looked around the cavern, "was a short step. It's quite brilliant. In less than a year... I've become... the mother and father of a whole family of new technologies. And the means of production..." his quiet voice and patient eyes were suffused with an unknowable pain.
I found that I was sitting down again. It was brilliant. Akaguchi had won...
Or had he?
"So," I said quietly, "Lime can produce any nanite serum to order?"
"YES."
"Even to make me into a man again?"
"OF COURSE. IS THAT WHAT YOU DESIRE, LITTLE JEWEL?"
"It'll hurt," said Lime.
"It's what I want. You've beaten me, Akaguchi. Please let me lose the battle as Anthony Pierce. Not as," I gestured at my bikini-clad body, "this."
There was a pause. I was conscious of Sato's eyes on me. But he made no move to intervene.
"VERY WELL."
Lime looked up at me, pain in his eyes. "The top left nipple", he whispered, grimacing.
I stepped forward till I was a few inches from Lime's face. His blue eyes were fixed on mine. The blue itch in my mind was almost unbearable. It was almost like a voice. I reached up to pull the tube from the swollen nipple. It came away with a quiet pop. A few drops of colourless liquid collected at the tip of the erect nipple.
Then I realised that there was a very faint voice in my head, like the whisper of a dying man lying at the bottom of a deep well...
"Not... man...... change... serum... sorry." Lime's eyes pleaded with mine. It was his voice, in my head. "Aka... guchi.... virus.... antidote... get back... to west... inoculate...." he tailed off.
I nodded, then glanced up at the cables and nutrient pipes in his body. I raised an eyebrow. Imperceptibly, Lime nodded. "do.... it...." his voice scratched in my head, "so... tired..."
I bent to suck at Lime's engorged nipple. Lime gasped. As I swallowed the tasteless fluid, I felt the blue light fade from my mind. I could move and think, quite clearly.
I reached up and grasped a handful of cables from Lime and wrenched them out. Sparks flew across the cavern wall as microcircuitry fused and shorted.
Lime gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes.
"WHAT IS HAPPENING?? STOP NOW!!!" screamed Akaguchi.
A bank of circuitry next to his tank blew and knocked Sato to the floor. Before he could rise, I turned and kicked him in the ribs and ran out of the alcove.
The gun was still on the floor where I had left it. I rolled and scooped it up, before turning and firing a volley at the tank.
A row of holes appeared in the glass.
The twins screamed. Their own, shrill voices.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the twins dropped to the floor, lifeless, like a couple of puppets whose strings had been severed.
A hideous moaning filled the air. Akaguchi was screaming now too, as a tracery of fine cracks appeared in the walls of his tank.
The glass bowed outwards, as if in slow motion.
Then with an explosive crack, it shattered.
The blue suspension fluid flooded into the cavern. There was a shower of sparks and all of the lights went out.
The moaning stopped, abruptly.
Illuminated by the flickering orange light from the burning circuitry, I could just see the still body of Akaguchi, bloody in the debris of his tank, the small shapes of the twins, his future vessels, lying next to him.
I don't know why, but I pointed the gun at him. I was weeping, uncontrollably. I could feel the dull thump of explosions going off in the rest of the complex as the House's control systems gave in without the moderating influence of Akaguchi in his cavern. I went to check the little bodies of the two boys for a pulse. They were quite dead.
Then suddenly I heard running footsteps and saw the door to the far end of the cavern slamming shut.
Sato.
I ran out of Room 497 to see Sato disappearing around the corner.
Out in the main corridor, there were frightened figures milling about as the complex began to shake itself to pieces. Sato was agonizingly out of reach and I didn't want to shoot as I would have killed a lot of people in the busy passageway.
I chased him up two flights of emergency stairs and almost stopped him as a deep rumble shook the stairwell and he staggered back on his heels. With a snarl, he lashed out with his booted foot and almost connected as I swayed back to avoid him. I half lost my footing and he got away again and I saw his lithe, catsuited form disappearing into the connecting door to the main Level 7 corridor.
I sprinted up the remaining stairs and yanked open the door, looking to either side to try and locate my quarry in the press of white coats and catsuits. No sign. Stay calm. Think.
Level 7.
Airstrip.
Feeling in my bikini cup to retrieve the smartcard that Trish had given me, I sprinted down the passage towards the hangar deck, shoving bodies aside.
At the door to the flight deck, I paused to check my gun. I was again acutely aware that I was dressed in a skimpy Gucci swimsuit and tarty make-up and nothing else.
Taking a breath, I swiped the card in the doorsystem and pushed it open. I passed though a deserted anteroom with changing facilities and a row of flight suits hanging on hooks on the wall. No sign of Sato. I pushed open the connecting door to the main hangar.
I saw him immediately. He was taxiing one of two variable geometry DornierSystem jump jets towards the open hangar doors. His canopy was still open and he was about to put his flight helmet over his spiky black hair. His cockpit canopy started to fold shut as the jet taxied towards the exit, its airfoils sliding into STOL configuration.
"SATO!!!!" I shouted, unleashing a volley of flechettes. He turned just as the canopy closed. The darts detonated against the bulletproof glass and I caught a faint smile tracing across his lipsticked mouth.
"SHIT!" My shout echoed across the deserted flight deck. I turned and legged it back to the locker room and yanked down a flight suit, pulling myself into it. Behind me, I heard a roar as Sato's jet took off. I turned round to see it disappearing into the early evening sky.
Grabbing a helmet, I ran back into the hangar towards the second jump jet. All the other aircraft had evac'd the hangar already. There was a shout to my left and I turned to see another pilot coming out of the men's toilet and running towards me.
"Fuck off!" I yelled, pointing my gun at him. He ducked back into the toilet.
The canopy of the jet was invitingly open, I leapt up the recessed footholds in the black hull and sat myself back in the crash harness, snapping the webbing shut over my snug fitting bodysuit. Luckily, the pilot must have been caught short after performing his preflight checks, so I was able to taxi out and start the launch sequence immediately. I must have been barely thirty seconds behind Sato.
The thrusters fired and I was creamed back into the G-harness as my canopy snapped shut over my head.
The small, black, bug-like jump-jet leapt out of the hangar onto the short airstrip ramp and shot into the orange sky. I activated the pursuit guidance system and picked up Sato's trajectory. I punched a sequence into the computer. The air around the jet gave way with a crack as I thumbed the burners and left the exploding Red Fist House far behind me.
I managed to plot a direct course that cut off the wide loop he was performing and made visual contact with his craft after a minute or so flight time.
Our course was taking us out over the Sea of Japan. He'd be heading for one of the Red Fist strongholds in Siberia, but the course would take us through the neutral Aleutian Free State. I had to try and bring him down there. I did a quick check on the weapons manifest and confirmed that the jet had no weapons on board. I guessed that Sato's craft was unarmed too or he would have engaged me by now. We were pulling over Mach 2 in ground effect mode - bouncing about at twice the speed of sound practically on top of the waves - and I was calculating that we'd be making landfall over Kamchatka in a few minutes. I started planning a shutdown sequence, programming it into the avionics computer while maintaining pursuit distance.
Soon, I saw approaching land. Pulling back incrementally on the stick to try and gain altitude without alerting Sato, I adjusted the variable geometry of the airframe to increase lift. I felt the plane's flexible panels shift around me as it assumed its new shape and it leapt 500 metres into the air. I noticed Sato gaining height to try and match my altitude - perhaps he suspected something. Then I triggered the shutdown sequence. All the major systems went down one by one and the plane started dropping again into a controlled glide pattern. The final command in the sequence initiated a massive undirected electromagnetic pulse. I was struggling to keep her under control but could still see various electrics on Sato's plane below me sparking as they gave up under the effects of the EMP. His running lights went out and, still in high velocity configuration, Sato's aircraft dropped beneath me like a stone into a still pond.
I watched it for a while but had more worries of my own. If I didn't manage to power my jet up soon, I'd be smeared all over the ground alongside him. I wrestled with the stick to try and keep her level while I reactivated the systems one by one. With a hum of power the avionics came back on-line and they in turn reinitiated the engines. The aircraft kicked forward and started gaining height. I allowed myself a small smile.
I returned to level flight then turned to trace Sato's descent trajectory, which the computer told me had been taking him towards the icy Arctic north of the archipelago. I found the plane fairly quickly. It was beached at the end of a huge scythe of ploughed snow at the sea's edge of an icebound coastal plain. Amazing. He'd been lucky, or a genius flyer (or both). The plane looked intact. Seemed that Sato had managed to crash-land it. I did a quick circuit of the crash site then executed a swift VTOL descent a hundred yards from the downed jet, powering down the systems and unhooking myself from the crash webbing.
The environment systems in my flight suit detected the extreme cold when I opened the canopy and kicked in, pumping heated liquid through itself. I raised my handgun and was about to exit the jump jet when a thought occurred to me and I punched a series of instructions into the flight computer. I jumped down beside the cooling airframe and paused to look around the bleak landscape.
It was snowing lightly. The featureless white beach stretched inland for miles before blending into a distant and jagged ridge of mountains to the west. A dead-looking orange sun was low over the tombstone peaks. The icy slate grey sea lapped at the rocky fringe of the beach two hundred yards to my right. Even inside the environment suit, it was blisteringly cold. Up the bay was Sato's aircraft.
I had to make sure that he was dead.
I exhaled a plume of white breath and set off up the beach. As I approached the plane, I could see it was hardly damaged. The cockpit canopy was burst open and I could see footsteps in the snow leading away from the fuselage. They ended about fifty yards away in a snow-covered bundle. A gloved hand poked from the snow and I could see the tatters of a flight suit in there as I walked towards it, gun raised.
I reached down and brushed the snow away from the body. Suddenly, I realized that something was wrong. The environment suit was empty, just draped over a roughly body-shaped heap of snow and rock. I began to turn my head-
Suddenly the side of my chest exploded in agony as a boot connected with my still tender ribs. I fell awkwardly on the pile of rock and my weapon flew out of my hand, clattering down five yards away. I twisted and rose quickly to face Sato. Having discarded his environment suit, he was dressed only in his leather catsuit, which was torn across his chest and torso revealing the shreds of his silk bustier. One of his false breasts had come unglued and was flapping by his side. His spiky black hair was disheveled but save for a bloody bruise on his left cheek, his make-up was still perfect. Damn, how did he manage that? He must have been freezing, but he still had that faint, cruel smile playing on his pretty red lips. "Never turn your back," he said quietly, dropping into a fighting stance.
His eyes glanced down at my gun to his left and I used that moment to attack, turning my forward momentum into a series of punches and kicks. Sato blocked them easily and riposted with a series of flying fist attacks, which I struggled to master. I noticed again his pure Shotokan style, which contrasted with my rather uglier hybrid style. I gained the upper hand again when a rabbit punch connected with his side and I pressed, trying to drive us towards the weapon. He did an outrageous sideways flip and wound up on top of the mound of rocks to evade me, breathing heavily. We paused for a second, then engaged again. I was getting nearer the gun and this time I allowed Sato to drive me backwards with a series of balletic kicks till I could sense that I was a yard off it.
All this time, we had been maintaining eye contact and I could see the pure desire to kill burning in his insane eyes as he flew into the air hurling punches and kicks at me. The fury was unbelievable, the rage in our combat sexual. The icy sky was rent with our cries as punch after kick connected with blocking muscle and bone. Transvestite killers battling for supremacy at the top of the world.
The gun would be a yard behind me and to the right. If I could just bend down I'd be able to pick it up. Then I made a mistake. Despite every cell in my brain screaming out to me not to look down, I still broke eye contact and glanced sideways. Immediately, Sato leapt into the air and brought his boot round in a beautiful aerial roundhouse, which connected with the side of my head. My head snapped sideways and my body followed. I landed with a jarring impact on the icy ground. I tried to rise but he was on me, jamming his knee into my armpit and savagely twisting my wrist and upper arm.
My shoulder dislocated. I screamed.
Then he was standing, quite casually, pointing my gun at my head. He was no fool, standing far enough away to ensure that I couldn't attack him in any way. The gun was booted and ready to fire its payload of tiny explosive darts into my head. Sato smiled, his finger tightening on the trigger. I closed my eyes.
I actually heard the electronic beep as he pressed the trigger, then a loud explosion followed by a ragged scream. I opened my eyes to see Sato on his knees, holding the bloody stump of his right hand. The flechette gun had exploded. It must have been the cold in the mechanism.
Sato looked up. "You fucking bitch!" he shrieked, "I had you! Admit I had you! I had your blonde ass cold. You're dead! You're DEAD!!" He got up, cradling the wreck of his hand and, making a decision, set off in a shambling run towards my plane.
I was drifting into unconsciousness and I watched with a curious sense of detachment as he struggled into the cockpit and initiated the powerup sequence with his one good hand.
Soon afterwards the cockpit closed and the vectored thrusters lifted the jump jet smoothly into the air. I hoped that he hadn't noticed that I had set the password protected self-destruct mechanism just before I'd left the plane. He'd find out soon enough. He activated the forward thrusters and the jet leapt into the air, roaring away over the ocean until it was a distant dot on the darkening horizon.
Then it blew up.
I regarded the fireball with a sense of finality. Even if he'd spotted the self-destruct and managed to eject in time, he would be down in the middle of the Arctic Ocean without an environment suit. It was over. Sato was dead.
So was I, unless I managed to do something, quickly. It struck me that with his plane in such good condition, some systems might yet be salvageable. First I had to do something about my arm.
I picked myself up. My nose was bleeding from the impact of Sato's kick. I supposed that without the flight helmet, I would have been concussed. Supporting my dislocated arm with my other hand, I walked slowly over to Sato's jump-jet.
Leaning my shoulder against the fuselage and using my good arm as a brace, I took a deep breath and pushed sharply with the full weight of my body. With a loud pop, my shoulder slipped back into the socket.
I screamed.
Soon, the pain had subsided to a dull ache. I hoisted myself up into the cockpit, plugging my environment suit into the reserve battery to conserve power. If the suit expired, I was finished.
I keyed the bootup sequence on the flight computer. Nothing. I suppose that wasn't surprising. The EMP would have fried the delicate microcircuitry in an instant. I reached up with my good arm and drew the canopy shut with a click. As I reached, a sharp wave of pain hit me from my shoulder and ribs. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Don't lose consciousness. Not now...
I looked down at the dead circuitry. My eyes picked out the emergency analogue radio transceiver. Flicking the power switch, I was relieved to see the operating lights flicker on and burn steadily. I pulled the connector cable from its recess and plugged it into the multijack on the side of my flight helmet. Crackling static filled my ears.
I reached down to locate the SIG emergency carrier frequency on the tuning dial. I punched a manual scrambler code into the unit and spoke into my helmet microphone bead.
"Agent down. Request extraction. Immediate. Repeat. Immediate. Here is my field ID and approximate co-ordinates..."
I must have nodded off after a while. I had been repeating the message every minute or so, hoping that one of the monitoring stations dotted about the globe would pick up my mayday.
I stretched myself in the cramped cockpit. My arm felt better and the pain from the kick in the ribs was almost gone. I looked up through the clear glass of the canopy at the stars twinkling in the clear night sky above me. Different to the sky I was used to back in Britain. So much clearer and brighter, like I was somehow nearer the stars here at the top of the world.
Unexpectedly, tears again clouded my eyes. I felt the new contours of my body through the warm fabric of the flight suit. If I got out of here and back to Britain, a new life was waiting for me all right. There would be no miracle rebirth for Lieutenant Commander Anthony Pierce. Would it be possible for me to reintroduce myself to my parents? I didn't think so. Security issues aside, it would be too painful for all of us.
Better to leave it all behind then, to accept the identity of Jane Masters and the fresh challenges that would bring. I wondered if Trish had got out of the House. I knew that if she had, she would come for me in London. If I got back to London.
The stars were beautiful.
I had to get back. The antidote to the Akaguchi virus was swimming in my veins - it would be important to get that back to 'Q' branch at the very least. But there was more than that. I had to get back because my life was full of promise. In a sense I'd just been born. I wasn't going to let it end now. I switched on the transceiver again.
"Agent down. Request extraction. Immediate. Repeat. Immediate. Here is my field ID and approximate co-ordinates..."
I woke with a start. There was a face pressed against the canopy above my head. I sat up. Flat, Asian features, distinctive ruddy complexion. Aleut.
I sat up and looked round. A group of what looked like Aleutian fishermen in sealskins were gathered round the aircraft. The sun was high in the piercingly blue sky. I raised my hand and unclipped the canopy. I felt strong. Good.
The Aleutian jumped down to allow me out of the aircraft. I stepped onto the hard ground and pulled off my helmet, shaking my blonde curls free. As expected, the five men just stood and gawped. I tried to put an unthreatening expression on my face, and opened my arms in a gesture of appeal. The Aleuts were a free state without affiliations since Alaska and North Eastern Siberia had seceded from the US and Russia respectively in the year of the Domino. Hopeful that I could gain their trust, I said slowly, "I need help. Does any of you speak English?"
The lead man smiled, showing gappy teeth, and reached into his skins.
He pulled out a large Glock automatic, pointing it at me. The other men withdrew a motley assortment of weapons. They too smiled. The leader gestured me towards a trio of large snowcats parked nearby.
I sighed, raising my hands and walking off ahead of them.
The leader bundled me into the back of one of the vehicles and got one of his men to cover me. He did so zealously, leering down at the bulge of my breasts in the figure hugging environment suit. I smiled at him, fluttering my lashes and parting my lips, looking to use my allure to exercise some sort of advantage for later.
I looked around the vehicle. Nothing except a spare petrol can and some more skins.
The convoy turned north, up the coast and we travelled through sparse woodland for a couple of hours. I tried to get comfortable in the cramped rear of the snowcat, and my wriggling seemed to excite my guard further, so I kept flashing him the occasional smile.
I wondered where we were headed and what was in store for me. I guessed that we would be arriving at some sort of trading post where I would be bartered for something. The thought of being sexually violated crossed my mind too, but these boys were in for something of a surprise were they to pursue that line of reasoning further.
At any rate, it made sense to wait till our destination before I made any sort of move. Cutting loose here would leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere. I leaned back and flashed another pout at my heroic captor.
Another hour passed and we found ourselves pulling into a settlement built around a wide bay. This was clearly a major trading post. A rag-tag flotilla of ships was harboured at the docks. Trawlers, freighters, a few military cast-offs, and even one dilapidated tanker.
A ramshackle shanty town had sprung up around the bay, with a higgledy-piggledy collection of brothels, bars and gambling dens jostling for space on the bustling waterfront. There was an unbelievable mass of people. Predominantly Aleut and Inuit, but I also saw Russian uniforms, and a smattering of Caucasians and Oriental faces too. This was the sort of lawless frontier town where you could barter anything for anything. Boys, girls, Class A, animals, arms, whatever.
We dismounted at the quayside and my captors tied my arms behind me, using the dangling rope to pull me along behind them. Smells of cooking meat assaulted me from all directions as we walked through the crowds on the teeming waterfront and I found myself salivating from hunger. Attracted by my looks, we quickly gathered a throng of hangers on, who did not refrain from groping me or passing lewd comment in many languages, I was spanked, my hair was pulled and felt up by many pairs of hands. I felt my flight suit tearing in various places.
It was utterly humiliating.
I looked up grimly and saw that we were approaching a boat. A gleaming white yacht, it stood out like a sore thumb among the rusting hulks that surrounded it. The Kitsune Maru, registered out of Yokohama.
Three of the Aleut traders stood aside and let the leader and my guard drag me up the gangway. As the crowd got a clear view of me and my ripped flight suit, a loud cheer went up, accompanied by wolf whistles and ape hoots.
On deck, I looked round, but there was no indication of who the yacht's occupiers were. But clearly a transaction had already taken place. I had been sold to whoever had chartered this luxury craft and had the gall to sail it into these lawless waters.
As we walked up the deck towards the stern, I tried to get a mental picture of the boat's layout but was hurried along by my guard with painful tugs on my rope. We went below through a wooden door amidships and down a steep flight of stairs. I was ushered through a door into a luxurious stateroom, where the guard pushed me onto a satin-sheeted bed.
The leader smiled crookedly at me and left me with the guard, who let go of my leash, but continued to cover me with his gun. I heard the leader's footsteps receding down the gangway. I looked around. The room was decked out in dark wood panelling. Sumptuous furnishings and fur rugs. The double bed was covered in chocolate coloured satin sheets. A bar and fridge on the far wall completed the fittings.
I let my body slump sideways onto the bed. For a while I closed my eyes, luxuriating in the softness of the sheets on my face.
I opened my eyes and saw the guard looking at me. I smiled. He smiled back. I parted my lips and ran the tip of my tongue over my front teeth. His eyes widened. I wriggled upright, arching my back and pointing my boobs at him. I looked down at the rope, then back up at him, pouting and raising an eyebrow.
He nodded, ambling forwards, putting his gun down on the sideboard. He bent down and picked up the trailing end of the rope. He indicated with a grunt that I should turn round so my tied hands were facing him. I complied, holding my wrists out and looking seductively over my shoulder.
Instead of untying me, He shoved me in the small of my back so I tipped forward onto the bed. He then quickly tied my ankles with the remaining length of rope. I couldn't move. I was trussed up with my hands and legs tied behind me and my round ass sticking into the air.
I couldn't believe it.
Behind me, I heard the guard sigh, pick up his gun from the sideboard, and leave the room quietly. I heard his footsteps move away.
Well, what a situation. This was ridiculous.
For a while, I just lay there, seeing whether there was any give in my bonds. But my guard obviously knew his knots. They were locked into place like steel manacles.
I heard the door again, and footsteps approaching me from behind. I was unable to turn my head to see who it was. Completely vulnerable. It was quite thrilling.
A hand planted itself onto my rump, with a sharp "slap!". I gasped. Then the hand started to stroke me gently on my behind. I let out an involuntary, "oooh..." Another hand quickly came round the front and started massaging me softly on my left breast. I began to melt, a moaning sigh escaping my parted lips.
I felt the rumble of the yacht's engines starting up beneath me. The room jolted slightly as the boat started to move. But I was moving already. Firm hands picked me up and turned me over and I found myself looking into the smiling face of Commander James Bond.
"I would have come sooner," he purred, "but I heard you were all tied up." He produced a vicious looking fish knife from behind his back.
"Oh James," I breathed as he cut my shredded flight suit away to reveal my beautiful new body in its white bikini. "Take me on a trip around the world..."
He encircled my bound body in his strong arms and we melted into the greatest kiss.
Welcome to your new life Jane, I thought, as I entwined tongues with my Controller. It's going to be a ride. Oh yeah.
Epilogue: Dunham Village, Buckinghamshire, England
In the cloudless winter sky, I saw a jet plane flying high above, condensation trails dispersing slowly in the cold air.
The small churchyard was quiet. Breath frosting in front of me, I weaved my way through the headstones. Surrounded by the skeletons of trees, bare fields glittering with hoar frost. Spring would be here soon, I knew. The late January wind snapped at my bare stockinged calves.
I had a bunch of flowers in my leather-gloved hand as I clicked through the country churchyard on my black regulation heels. My woolen uniform coat flapped around my legs. There it was, in the far corner away from the church. A small hedge separated the grave from a field, which stretched away into the haze of the middle distance.
I looked down at the new looking stone, removing my uniform cap. Bending down, I brushed some dirt off it then knelt to place the irises at the foot of the headstone.
ANTHONY STEPHEN PIERCE
1983-2014
He Gave His Life For King and Country
"Did you know him well?"
I jumped and turned. For a moment, I couldn't speak, standing there with my mouth open, staring at the new arrival.
Christine. My former girlfriend. She stood there looking at me in my Royal Navy dress uniform coat and skirt. She looked different. Something in the way that she had done her hair. She was still tall and beautiful, the sunlight in her red hair brought things back, uncomfortable. She smiled, extending her hand. "I'm Christine," she said. "Anthony and I were... engaged."
I removed my glove and shook her cold hand. "My name's Jane," I said. "I... worked with Anthony. I've been away... first time I could visit the grave." I tailed off.
Christine looked down, and then up at the bell tower of the old church. She took a breath. "It's funny. Sometimes I think I see him more now that he's...." she tailed off, glancing down at the grave. "The problem with his..." she looked up at me. "With your line of work, is that there really can't be anything else, can there?" She paused again. "I like to come out here every now and then. It's not far from where I live in Maidenhead."
I could say nothing so I looked down at the headstone. There was a minute of utter silence. Somewhere in the distance, a bird began singing. Further away, the low drone of cars on the M4.
I drew a breath. "I'd better go," I whispered, making to turn. Christine stopped me with a hand on my sleeve.
"Tell me. You knew him. Was he good? At his job? He could never talk to me about it. I just need to know that it was all worthwhile. All this."
"Christine," I said, "in my memories, Anthony Pierce was a credit to his country. He did his duty till the end. I hope I can carry on his legacy." I looked fixedly into her eyes, searching for any sign that she recognised me.
Christine let go of my arm. "Thank you, Jane." she said quietly.
I turned and walked quickly towards the gate, wiping the tears from my cheeks. At the gate, I looked back. Christine was still standing there, in the quiet corner of the churchyard, head slightly bowed, looking down at my grave.
"Goodbye," I whispered.
I shrugged off my overcoat and slid into my green Beetle, which was parked up the lane from the village church. I started the engine and pulled away. Soon I was cruising up the frosty country lanes.
My cellphone chirped on the passenger seat. I picked it up, pressing the answer button. I shifted up into fifth. "Jane Masters," I said.
"Miss Masters," said Bond, "you're needed."
I smiled, the excitement rising up through my body like a promise.
"On my way James," I said. "On my way."
I sped off towards my new mission.
THE END
of "For King & Country"
Jane Masters will return in "Colourful but Ordinary"
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For King & Country. Chapter 3
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For King & Country
This is an erotic spy novella set loosely in the James Bond universe, and was originally written on commission back in the 1990s. For more background, please see the intro to chapter 1. It's re-presented here for posterity, despite being highly smelly and cheesy, especially this chapter, which (*warning*) is prime corny shemale tat...
Chapter Three: Tsuruga, Fukui Pref., Japan... Red Fist of Justice Complex ("The House")...
I was frozen to the spot.
Feeling my knees buckle involuntarily, I had to put my hand out to stop going over on my high heels. My mouth opened and closed noiselessly. A hundred different thoughts crowded in at once, fighting for attention, but I felt unable to organise them into any meaningful order. I guess I was, not to put too fine a point on it, fucked.
After what seemed like hours, but must have been scant seconds, Sato fired a challenging "well?" in my direction. I raised my eyes to see her stood there with her hands on her hips, a thin smile snaking across her face. She strode forward deliberately and slapped my face, hard. "You don't do a very good impression of a goldfish, do you?" Tears sprang to my eyes at the shock of the stinging pain. And she laughed, cruelly. A horribly pretty sound.
She nodded to the black-catsuited guards who had gracefully appeared at my side. They lifted me up easily by my elbows. I felt a prick as a needle penetrated my soft buttock and then felt myself being carried out of the controlled area. As a tear-blurred darkness descended over my vision, I saw the twin boys regarding me. Receding into the distance. I tried to speak, to explain, or something, but no words emerged from my m-
When I came to, my first thought was that it had all been a terrible dream.
That fond illusion was rapidly extinguished by the deep ache in my joints and a burning pressure from my bladder. I was literally unable to move a muscle.
I slowly opened my eyes, wincing at the bright light. Whatever they had used to knock me out had left my head feeling like the aftermath of a night of Tequila slammers with the girls from the Vauxhall office. I was in a small, featureless tiled white room with no windows and a single door. I was lying on the floor, trussed like a turkey. Above me was a shower-head. Near my feet a circular drain.
While insensible, I had been very skilfully bound (or should I say mummified) with black silken rope that had left me not an inch of free play. My catsuit had disappeared and beneath the bindings I was butt- naked. The only parts that projected visibly from the silken bundle were my face, breasts and genitalia, which had shrunk dramatically since the onset of the hormone treatment. In as much as a cock and balls could look "feminine", that was what they looked like. By shuffling around, I could see that my cock had been painted red and ominously, it seemed that a thick black marker pen had been used to draw a dotted line around my genitals. A similar marker line ran in the fold underneath each of my small boobs.
I writhed unceremoniously as I tried to ease the pressure on my bladder without shamefully relieving myself. It was impossible and I knew I'd have to wet myself soon, unless help came. I simply wasn't strong enough to break the bonds and if I struggled any further, I knew that I wouldn't be able to stop myself from peeing. It sounds pathetic, but controlling my bladder was the only shred of dignity and hope I felt I could retrieve from this hopeless situation.
As I lay and tried to stop myself from bursting into tears, the full horror of my circumstances hit slowly home. I'd been compromised. My mission was fucked. Worse, I was now in the clutches of that frightening sadist Sato, who knew (or had guessed) that I was Lt. Commander Anthony Pierce under the hormonally assisted feminine curves of Jane Masters. Could I try to outface the accusation? It seemed unlikely that I could do anything but come clean and admit the truth. Perhaps-
I didn't have long to worry as the door sprung open and Sato strode in, followed by two of her catsuited guards. She was provocatively dressed in a one-piece, skin-tight black leather catsuit with impossibly vertiginous heels. Her long, black hair was piled high on her head. She looked obscenely beautiful.
"Well, Commander Pierce, what have you got to say for yourself?" Sato casually leaned forward and flicked my exposed testicles hard with a black-gloved finger. Excruciating pain shot through my groin and I would have creased up immediately had I been able to move an inch. "Not a very impressive piece of equipment, Commander", she sneered. "A trifle sensitive is it?" She bent down and started stroking my balls, which was, if anything, even more unbearable. With a smirk, she rose and turned away.
Unbelievably, I found myself asking her to allow me to go to the toilet. She swung round, slapped me hard in the face again and brought her thigh-booted shin straight into my groin making me scream in agony. "I ask the questions round here. You are Commander Pierce, aren't you?" she whispered in my face, bending down to flick my balls again. This time, I was unable to bear the pressure any more. I let out a wracking sob and relaxed, sending a steady stream of hot, golden urine onto the floor. It began pooling around my buttocks, up my back and soaking my blonde hair.
"You disgusting little worm", Sato hissed, leaning down. I couldn't meet her eye. I had never felt so humiliated in all my life.
"If you can't control yourself," she said, wrinkling her nose, "I'm going to have to make you wear a nappy." She rose. "OK girls, turn on the shower and hose him down with cold water. I can't possibly torture him when he smells so bad." With that Sato almost sensuously ran her fingers over my shrivelled genitalia and leaned in again. "Whatever happens, this pathetic little slug-thing is gone for good. You know that, don't you? Not that that is going to make much difference to anything, as far as you're concerned." With this parting shot she strode out of the door.
The guards untied me and kicked me until I stopped struggling, giggling in their high-pitched Japanese voices. I think I felt a rib go, and a finger as I lifted my hands to fend them off, but I was past caring. When I was still, I lay on my side and watched their high-heeled feet click over to the wall. I heard a a tap being turned and a jet of ice cold water struck my bruised body and aching face. I closed my eyes.
After a while, I thought, "what the hell," and started crying. The cold water washed my tears away and I felt myself floating. Cleaner and colder than I had ever felt. I was in a cold, small, high place on the very edge of myself.
The tap was turned off and I lay, shivering, on the clean, white tile, gasping like a beached fish. The guards left the shower cell.
Some time later - it could have been minutes or hours - I heard the door open again behind me. By this time I felt as though my body was frozen in place. Footsteps approached. I smelt a strangely familiar smell - a perfume. Then felt a sharp jab in my bottom, which took me away into merciful blackness.
I came to trussed even more tightly than before. I was on my front, my arms stretched out behind my back and I couldn't help thinking once again that I must have looked like the family turkey ready for the Christmas meal. With all those hormones swimming inside of me, I guess it was not a bad analogy.
Suddenly through the door appeared a metal contraption that resembled a mobile clothes rail, pushed by the guards (the same ones?) They hoisted me roughly up on it and I felt an excruciating stab of pain from my right chest. They secured my arms with thick leather straps and let my bound legs dangle free. I could only just reach the floor with the tips of my toes, which meant that I was in perpetual agony from my arms, which felt as though they were being wrenched out at the shoulders. One of them forced my mouth open and gagged me with a rubber ball.
I was wheeled out along the corridor. I couldn't help but be aware of my cock, which was embarrassingly and horribly exposed. After an interminable and agonising journey through half-darkened corridors, the contraption rolled to a halt in front of the door to Sato's office. The guard rapped on the door.
It swished open and I saw Sato behind her desk, a faint smile on her face. The guards rolled me forward till I was right in front of her desk. I could not move a muscle, but could hear the guards leaving. Once again, I noticed that naggingly familiar perfume and sensed someone behind me in the corner of the room. I tried to turn my head but it was useless.
With a smile over at the person standing quietly behind me, Sato stood, leaned over her desk and reached to force my mouth open and remove the gag with a loud pop. I ran my tongue round my aching mouth marshalling my reserves. I felt as if my arms were going to pop out of my shoulder sockets any minute, and considered asking her for some relief from the standing frame, but on the whole I thought it better not to risk further scorn. I found that by stretching the tips of my toes out till they reached the floor, I could relieve the strain for short periods of time.
Sato came round and perched on the edge of the desk so the hem of her pencil skirt rode up above her knees. She pursed her lips in a playful smile. "Well, Commander Pierce," she said, patting me on my cheek, "how typically arrogant of British Intelligence that they should think that they could infiltrate Red Fist with a transvestite". I felt my face break into a red flush. I'd never have considered myself a 'transvestite' but I supposed that, to all intents and purposes, if it looks like a chicken and clucks like a chicken, then it probably is a chicken.
"There's no point in denying it - we know your whole sad story. I could have you snuffed out at an instant, but the children do like you and I'm tempted to keep you on as their tutor. What do you think Commander?" She didn't let me reply and went on, "but there is one problem, Akaguchi-san does not employ men here as you may have noticed." She glanced down, raising an eyebrow. "I am afraid that that miserable appendage is going to have to go. Fortunately we can facilitate your complete transformation into Jane Masters through the medical facilities and staff in this very complex. We'll be able to utilise your female side fully in a very short space of time. I am sure it will prove a delicious irony to have the pleasure of screwing His Majesty's Service whenever we feel like it".
"How did you know?" I said, very quietly.
"Oh, believe me, the disguise is extremely persuasive. In fact, we would probably never have detected the subterfuge." She laughed. "Fortunately, we did have very good advice." And then she nodded at the figure breathing softly behind me and when who duly came round to join Sato and I suddenly realised why I had recognised that perfume. And I also realised with a sickening feeling why I had been so easily compromised, as Dr. Mary Dwyer smiled and softly said, "hello again, Commander Pierce."
For a moment, there was silence. I realised I was expected to react. To cry or something like that. I also realised that I was not going to give them the satisfaction any more. I had given them an unacceptable advantage already by showing weakness, tears. I would not buckle again.
The two of them looked at me. My persecutor. My betrayer. My enemies. By the end of this, they would lie dead by my hand, probably alongside me. I felt clear in my head again, the pain from my shoulders and ribs cutting a razor line to my brain. I was smiling.
The two of them laughed as the guards re-entered and I was efficiently wheeled out of the office into the corridor. As I was taken back to my white cell, I realised that there was an undercurrent to my feeling of excitement. When I realised what it was, I was shocked. I was feeling a tremor at the prospect of truly being used and abused as a woman, especially by Bond. As if all of my life I had secretly envied the role of being Bond's girl. To be fucked and discarded by the most powerful, beautiful men in the world. I felt a thrill that ran down my bound body to my groin and my little cock struggled to attention. I found I had a smile on my face. How perverse.
"You can reach a transcendental state when being tortured. This fact, I'm sure, is drummed into you during your British Intelligence survival training."
Sato circled behind me. I was strung up on my frame, bound with wide, leather straps. The rubber ball gag was again in my mouth. She went on. "The over-zealous torturer can inflict so much pain that the subject goes into a zen-like state where they begin to chase the pain as a starving man chases food, or the addict chases his next fix." She had tied my hair back, painted my face with crude, whorish make-up and forced my legs into black, sheer hold-up stockings and six inch heels, which just failed to reach the ground. Otherwise, I was naked. I was in agony. Starving. Thirsty. Due to the elevation of my arms and my weakness, I was completely unable to move.
"You see, when the subject enters that state, the torturer has lost. That's why I do not often inflict pain on my victims unless I intend to kill them." She went on, heels clicking behind me as she walked. "Torture is a very simple thing, you see. It's not about inflicting pain. Pain is merely a tool. Torture is about deprivation. Deprivation from material necessities, food, water, sleep. Deprivation from personal freedoms. We use torture as a scalpel with which we pare away all the signs of the self. At the bottom point you will no longer have any sense of yourself left. Then you will find it easy to tell me the truth - or to accept new truths."
She looked into my face, removing the gag with her finger and thumb. I ran my swollen tongue round my parched lips, making sure I retained eye contact with her, show no weakness, though I hadn't slept for a couple of days, probably - so hard to keep a sense of time when the light was always bright and guards always came to wake you with their electric nightsticks just as you were dropping off to sleep.
Sato leaned forward and kissed me, sticking her tongue deep into my mouth. I sucked on the moisture there, not wanting to let it go. She pulled away. "Thanks for the drink," I said, in what I hoped was a strong, defiant voice. "You're right about my training though," I went on, trying to massage some feeling back into my face by talking. "It'll take more than a bit of sleep and food deprivation to make me do your bidding, I'm afraid."
Sato was standing watching me, apparently amused, her leather clad arms crossed. "Oh really," she said. "Just exactly how long do you think you have been awake in here?"
"Not long," I tried to shrug. "A couple, three days at most."
Sato smiled, leaning forward to stroke my rouged nipples with the tips of her red nails. I shuddered. "And how to you feel, my brave British agent," she purred.
"Thirsty and tired." I said. "But I'll live." I looked with defiance into her eyes.
"I'm glad to hear that," she said, straightening and walking toward the door, "I have such wonderful plans for you." At the door, she turned. "Oh, and by the way, you've actually only been awake for twenty-two hours. I'll come back again when it really has been three days and then let's talk again, shall we?"
She looked up at the hidden camera. "No sleep, no food, no water. 1.25mg scopolamine, every 12 hours." Then turned back to me with a dazzling smile. "See you later, my dear."
Perhaps I lasted for a couple of weeks. Perhaps only a few days. I have no idea. The drugs and the sleep deprivation were hard to resist. I tried to die, but I couldn't. Sato's visits were the only punctuation in my long unrelenting tiredness. I felt as if I was disappearing and leaving a flat, paper version of myself behind. I just wanted to sleep. If I could sleep, it would be OK. I would get up, break out and run down the corridor, killing guards on the way until I got to Sato's office. I'd break her arms, then kiss her and then-
The next time Sato came back, I found that I could not look at her any more because of the hallucinations. Also, my neck did not seem to be working. So I had to speak to her without looking into her face, which I found embarrassing. She told me that I had done very well to remain awake for so long and as a result she was going to let me drink a bit of water as a reward. I think I cried then, but a kind of very painful, dry crying. She put a wet sponge to my mouth and I sucked on it, but could only take a couple of drops before I felt sick. I retched but nothing came out. She asked me if I was tired and I nodded. She said that she would let me have a nice sleep soon. I smiled.
Sato carried on talking to me in a low, and very soothing voice. She told me a lot of things, which sounded confusing, but as she went on I realised how stupid I had been. All this secret agent nonsense I had been filling my head up with was so utterly far fetched. A trivial romance that I had made up to make myself feel more important. It was so clear now.
I'm Jane Masters. I'm twenty-two. I was born a boy but always felt that I should have been a girl. I grew up in Surrey but ran away from home with my sister's clothes on when I was seventeen. For a while I tried to make money as a prostitute in King's Cross to pay for my hormones, but because I was so pretty and talented by the time I was twenty-one, I was spotted by one of the agents from the Red Fist, who said that they would be able to pay me enough to pay for my operation. Lucky or what?
I'm a dancer at one of the Red Fist clubs in town now. My stage name is Jewel because I shine like a diamond. I make a lot in tips because the men love me. I'm having my boobs done this week. I'm SO excited cos I always felt that they were too small! I love dancing because I love making men happy, but soon, I'll have enough to have the whole operation done then I might go home to England, find a nice sweet man who'll love, cherish and protect me, and settle down. I'll be the happiest girl in the world!
"Well done," said Sato quietly. "Sleep now."
I slept.
"Look," says Candy coming off the stage to loud whistles and cheers, "your boyfriend's there again." I peek through the curtain. He is there. The very handsome, tall Japanese boy with the spiky hair. I get a kind of strange, jelly feeling in my knees and up there when Candy calls him my "boyfriend". I know he's a gangster - they all are round here. That's kinda exciting and dangerous...
"He's not my boyfriend," I whisper, feeling shy, giving Candy a little punch in her arm. But he's very nice looking and he always puts money in my thong, which has my name, "Jewel" in rhinestones down the front.
Then Mr Yahata announces me and the crowd roars. I'm so proud cos they always give me the best cheer. It's cos I'm blonde and tall, and since I had my new boobs done, I'm really big up there too. I love it when men look at me. It makes me so horny I feel like I'm going to cum right there. I love dancing. Soon I'm going to be a real girl, too. I'm so-o-o lucky!
I sway onto the stage to the music and begin to bump along, spinning and grinding round the pole. My inch-long jewelled nails sparkle in the spotlights. All my piercings with the rhinestones make me glitter like a diamond.
I do a couple of dips on the pole, spreading my long legs and wiggling the silver tassly bits on my nipples and the crowd goes mad. They are shouting "Jew-el! Jew-el!! JEW-EL!!" and I think I'm going to go mad too! Then I stride down the catwalk and they run to me, shoving money with their sweaty hands into the band of my thong.
At the end of the runway he is waiting for me. I feel all hot suddenly and I stop at the end to dance for him. His eyes are all over me and I can tell he is hot too. He is suddenly much, much bigger up front! I turn and walk away as the music fades. But I have to see him later. I hope he comes round the back and asks for me.
Later, me and Candy are having some vodka and some speed in our dressing room. I feel all giggly as I'm quite a bit drunk. My side hurts from when that punter hit me a few weeks ago but I feel really horny and I'm kind of pretending to grope her and stuff. She's my best friend. She's from Singapore. I like her.
Then one of the newer girls comes in and says something, like someone's looking for me. My heart jumps and I get all fluttery. Candy looks at me with a smile, then gets up to leave, patting me on my arm with a wink. I go over to the mirror and quickly fix my make-up. Someone knocks on my door.
"Come in." I say and then I have to cough as my voice sounds all shaky and croaky. The door opens. My face must have really fell, cos the red-haired woman who came in looks all worried. She comes over and sits down. I know who she is. I think she's called Trish and she's one of the pilots from the house. I find them scary because they're very hard.
She asks me what's happened to me, calling me "Jane" like she knows me, and I say nothing, I'm fine. Then I ask her what she wants and she tries to get me to come with her because she's worried about me dancing in this place, and I tell her that it's none of her business and I get all upset and start screaming then Mr Yahata and Candy come back in and throw her out but it's too late because I'm really upset and I'm crying and nothing's right.
Later on, back in my uniform catsuit, I decide to walk for a bit before getting the bus back to the house. It's very dark, but when I leave the club, I can see him standing there. He lights a ciggy and offers me one. We smoke for a bit, and while I'm smoking he starts stroking me on my bare back. He's just a little bit taller than me, which is unusual for a Japanese so I have to look up a little to let him kiss me.
"Why are you trembling?" He says in a surprisingly soft voice. I am crushed up against him and I can feel something hard and metal in his suit. A gun. "I'm scared", I whisper, in the littlest voice.
"Don't be. I won't hurt you." I think he will if he finds out my secret in my pants. But I can't help it. You see, I'm addicted to sucking cock and they pay me well for it because I'm so talented. All the men in this town know that. He kisses me again, then beckons me to his car, a big, silver Mercedes. We get in the back, and he undoes his trousers.
My jewelled nails tickle his hard cock in his pants. He moans. I pull the pants down and I stick my pretty tongue out and begin my happy meal. Meat lolly and cream. Mmmm...
He zips himself up and hands me a wad of notes. "Take me home now," I say, quietly.
In my bedroom high up in the house, I'm crying. I really fancied that tall spiky-haired boy but instead my muddled old head went all automatic on me and I gave him a blowjob for money instead of talking to him.
Now I'm just a cocksucker whore to him. But even if we could talk, why would a good-looking young gangster want to talk to a little airhead like me, anyway. I'm his quick bang. And I can't even do that properly because of what I have in my panties. I cry myself to sleep.
The next day, I see Trish again, looking at me in the canteen. But I ignore her. That night I give my young gangster head again in the backstage area. Then I dance some more to forget.
"Jewel-chan," he says, "I think I'd like to see more of you." And my face lights up.
We're sitting in the back of his car, two weeks later. It's parked up looking at the night-time harbour and my heart is pounding. I've just finished wiping his cum off my face and fixing my make-up. I put my hand on his thigh. "I'd like that too," I whisper.
"You bring me luck," he says, taking my hand. "Whenever you suck me off, I feel stronger and better. I figure that if you stick with me, my career's going to seriously go places."
That wasn't quite what I wanted, but-
"You know," he goes on, " I'll make sure you're comfortable and everything, but I want you to stop going with other guys and only go with me, right?"
"Of course, honey," I say quietly, smiling, but crying inside.
My life gets really comfortable after that. My gangster is definitely going places and I'm the top dancer in the top club in Fukui. I find I don't have to do any thinking at all any more. I just let my man take me with him on his journey. I just have to look pretty on his arm and suck him off whenever he asks. It's a simple life. I never see him unless I'm summoned, and he only summons me if he needs me to accompany him or if he needs a blowjob. He gives me an apartment on a beach and an endless supply of gorgeous clothes and things.
Most nights, I don't even go back to the Red Fist house on the hill anymore, and I see less and less of the girls. Candy was moved to another club and I never see her again.
Three months pass.
I'm doing some grocery shopping in the supermarket. I'm feeling kind of nervous today for some reason. I'm wearing a very brief leopard halter top that shows off my brown, trim tummy and my lovely, yummy, tanned cleavage, over which my softly permed, long, blonde curls tumble very prettily. I also have on some very short white PVC hotpants and some nice strappy stiletto sandals that my gangster bought me. They make my brown legs look ve-e-ry long. That means that men's eyes pop out when they see me and women just look annoyed. Just like I like it!
I've got this hot new frosted pink lipstick on that tastes yummy like bubble gum, and I'm just refreshing my lip gloss in the household detergents aisle when I realise why I feel nervous. I see this man watching me in the mirror of my compact.
For some reason, he looks really familiar, though I can't place him. Something about a train. My silly mind's so fuzzy. I can hardly remember anything if it happened longer than a few months ago. Gosh, I'm so dizzy! He's a kind of shabby looking middle-aged Japanese man. Nothing special. But suddenly it seems to me that he has been following me all day. Or maybe weeks. I'm really scared. But I try to behave normally and take my shopping to the till. I look around as I put my shopping in the bags but he seems to have disappeared.
Out in the car park, I see him again. He's waiting at the opposite end of the lot, smoking a cigarette. I hurry into my little car and drive off, getting my cellular phone out. I sit in the traffic in an agony of indecision. I'm not supposed to call my gangster - he's supposed to call me. But I'm really scared. I get so distracted that I almost cause an accident and I have to pull over. I switch the engine off and burst into tears.
After a while, I compose myself and decide that I'm OK. I look in the mirror but there is no sign of the man. Maybe I imagined it, or he just fancied me. Yes. That would be it.
I take a deep breath and pull out into the coastbound traffic.
Back at the flat, I put the aircon on and start to run myself a bubble bath to start getting ready for work tonight. I strip off my clothes (it doesn't take long) and pad around the cool flat in my sandals, with my little cock hanging out, cellphone in my hand, debating whether I should ring my gangster.
After a few minutes of agonising, I decide that I don't want to make him angry, so I put the cellphone back on its charger and go and have a nice, hot bath.
I come out of the bathroom in a robe patting my hair dry and almost jump out of my skin. The man is sitting there in my nice armchair. Next to him is that woman, Trish.
"D-d-don't kill me." I stutter, backing away to the kitchenette.
"Commander Pierce," says the man. "What is your status? Have you been compromised?"
I suddenly realise he's speaking in English. He's talking nonsense, but in English.
"Wh-wh-what? I don't understand. Please, my boyfriend is a gangster. He'll-"
"As surmised," he says to Trish, who nods. "He is brainwashed. Probable chemical component maintaining the fugue state."
"Is there something we can do for her... I mean, him?" asks Trish.
While the two mad people are having their mad conversation, I have managed to put my hands on a large fish knife in the kitchenette. Keeping it behind my back, I edge forward. "Look, I don't know what this is about, b- but you can't just come into people's houses like this."
The man looks up. "Just a minute", he says to Trish, then he raises a small gun. He pulls the trigger, and before I can scream, I feel this blow, like someone's punched me on my exposed upper chest. I look down and can't believe what I s-
"He's coming round." A woman's voice.
I tried to open my eyes, but the light was so bright that I had to shut them again immediately. "Oh, just a minute," said the voice, which had an Australian accent. "Shibata-san said that you'd be sensitive to bright light." I heard footsteps walking away then the sound of drapes being drawn.
Cautiously, I tried again. This time, the room was dark, the pain duller. Trish was leaning over me, smiling, with the small Japanese man behind her. Suddenly, I remembered him, from that train as I first arrived here so long ago. Then I remembered the house, my mission, Sato, the twins. I remembered room 497, being betrayed, captured, beaten and tortured. I remembered-
SHIT!
I sat up and lifted my robe aside, looking at my breasts. They were huge. I'd been a B cup, these must be a D, at least. Then images of baring them in front of leering men, glitter, rhinestones and every single cock that I'd had in my mouth over the last few months overcame me. I scrambled up and ran to the toilet, where I spewed up my guts into the bowl.
Trish was sitting with her arm around me as I sipped a weak camomile tea.
"It must have been the water in the club, or something," I said quietly.
Shibata nodded. "It seems likely that the drug that was maintaining your programming was being administered in that place. Fortunately, antidote is commonly available. After I tranquillised you, we were able to inject you with it." He nodded again. "As British Intelligence contact in this territory, I was naturally worried about the condition of the mission when I saw... state that you were in..." He tailed off.
Trish cut in: "I think Shibata-san made contact with me when he saw me trying to reach you. Could have knocked me off my stool with a feather when he told me you were a bloke, darlin'." She stopped and I managed a weak smile. "Still, since then Mr Shibata and I have been planning your rescue."
"It is major risk for me to break cover in this way," said Shibata, "but seemed only solution to your problem, Commander Pierce."
I nodded and took a deep breath. "Now what?" But I knew anyway.
"Mission parameters are greatly enhanced by this development, Commander," said Shibata. "Now you have opportunity to double-bluff Red Fist in new guise as dancer, "Jewel". Your objectives may now be speedily executed and mission concluded to His Majesty and world community's advantage."
I closed my eyes and nodded.
I couldn't believe how much I had changed in the months that I had been Jewel. Sure, I'd had a good figure before, but now I had the taut, tanned body of a high-class lap dancer. I was leaner, my tummy flatter and more defined, my navel pierced and jewelled, my ass and hips bigger in comparison to my tiny trim waist, my legs impossibly long and toned. The breasts still shocked me. The implants the Fist had given me made me big and busty, the nipples long, shapely and turned upwards just so. My long neck and my beautiful face were now framed by chest length hair, honey blonde with platinum highlights in a tumbling wave that contrasted with my rather severe straight bob of a few months back. I'd obviously spent time on the beach, as I was a deep, gold tan all over, cinammon skin, except for a triangular shape at my crotch and two lighter patches at my boobs. Fuck, a bikini tan. That always used to turn me on so much when I had been Anthony Pierce.
God, I was hot. I could see just why I was the most popular dancer at the club. Any man would pay good money to see this body dance, and more. Yet there in the closely trimmed blonde thatch at my groin was nestled the little lie. My dainty tiny morsel of a cock, all pert and lost in my ravishing femininity. It was quite literally all that remained of Lieutenant Commander Anthony Pierce. The rest was all Jewel. Cocksucking dance queen of the Kitty Club.
I tore myself from the full-length mirror, glancing for a moment at the exquisite jade butterfly tattoo in the small of my back, then pulled on my restraining G-string. Cock all gone. I didn't need a bra for the stupidly tiny green dress I pulled on. Then I sprayed some Coco on and slipped into a pair of cork-heeled wedges. A short car journey and I'd be in the club to shake and grind in front of a roomful of drunken men.
I was more frightened than before any mission.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps in the lounge. I crept to the connecting door and peered through, acutely aware that I was unarmed and I might have to fight in a micro mini and 5-inch wedge heels. I smelt smoke.
There on my sofa was the gangster, a cigarette between his sneering lips. He was looking handsome in a black fitted suit and open-necked black shirt. His shades were pushed back on top of his expertly waxed spiky quiff. I remembered first seeing him on that train, how he'd smiled at me over his sleeping girlfriend's shoulder. He'd changed since then too, grown in measure, in stature. I think I'd even back then felt a spark from this dangerous man who boasted to me about his kills.
He was here for a blowjob.
My heart was pounding but I would have to get through this somehow. I opened the door. "Hi daddy," I said in my schoolgirl voice that I knew he liked so much.
"Does daddy have a treat for Jewel?" I went on, walking over and snuggling up to him. He put one of his skinny arms around me and smiled, looking down at the erection in his Gucci trousers.
"Come on baby. I need you to do me," he said in a menacing whisper. I suppressed a shudder and bent down, breathing onto the mound in his crotch to warm him up. He began to breathe heavily. "Daddy has a meat lolly for Jewel," I simpered, and cupped my palm around it. "It's so big!"
Then I used my other hand to tease open the fly, tickling him with my jewelled nails. I was breathing hard now too, and it suddenly struck me how much I actually enjoyed doing this, being the submissive little sweet- smelling jewelled plaything of a man who had the power of life over me. That made me think of Bond, and his very tasty cock and I got even more excited. Seems that Commander Pierce had gone AWOL in more senses than just the physical.
I teased his cock free and he moaned as I breathed softly on the tip, where precum was glistening. Then I began to lick the helmet, making little delighted noises which turned him and me on even more. The salt tang of his precum was so delightful that I began to forget who I was and started sucking him in earnest, starting shallow then teasing him deep into my throat without missing a breath. Such a useful talent for a pleasure girl. Oh, how I loved to have a hot cock filling my throat! All that power at the mercy of all the little muscles in my mouth and gullet.
Very soon he was grunting and bucking, mashing my pretty face into his crotch with both hands. I was lost too, my nose buried in his musky place, oh my God he was going to-
A torrent of salty cream hit the back of my throat. I pulled back so that I could taste it all and I kept sucking and sucking until he was spent and empty, and I rolled on my back looking dreamily up at his handsome, lean face. He looked amazed.
"Jewel-chan. That was fucking fantastic," he breathed. "The best time yet. You're so hot, baby, I don't think I'll ever get tired of you."
I smiled up at him, licking the semen off my pretty lips. "Daddy, you never will."
I think it was there, lying contentedly in the lap of a killer, with his spunk still jewelling my chin, that I knew for sure that I would most likely never be a man again. Or should that be, never want to be a man again.
The next day, as was my right, I returned to the Red Fist house on the hill. All the dancers, all the hostesses, all the prostitutes in the town were Red Fist employees. The local economy operated in this way. The town a whore, pimped by the massive criminal brute that was the Red Fist of Justice. No questions were asked. That was how it worked. Who was I to argue? I simply had a job to do. I'd decided the plan as had danced last night, my jewelled body in the lights burning as bright as the thoughts dancing like quicksilver through my head.
I developed the plan in my mind while shaking my breasts and bum at the sweating punters to the pounding music in the small, tacky nightclub with the sticky floors. Hands reached out from the audience to grope me and thrust notes in my waistband and I drifted, working out the mechanics of how I would bring the Red Fist down. I whirled round and round the pole and strode up and down the runway in my silver stilettoes as I worked out how exactly I'd make my way back into the house, the restricted zone, get the mission information back to MI6 in Vauxhall, unlock the secret of room 497 and put an end to Sato. I knew by now that there was little likelihood of escaping alive, although I reckoned that if I managed to get back to town, I might be able to organise something through the vague notion of involving the gangster and/or Shibata. Escape was a secondary consideration to me now, though. The only drive was to complete my mission. No one said anything about getting out alive.
As I danced and polished my plan like the dazzling Jewel I'd become, I began to think that Sato had done me a favour. She was right - the process of torture had stripped away my Self. Washed my identity away like a leaf fallen into a cold, clear stream in a mountain pass. But what was left was not Jewel, airhead shemale whore, as Sato had intended, but something far harder and shinier. Jewel was the chrysalis, a transitional stage that I had inhabited while the metamorphosis initiated by my brutalisation had taken place. I had now emerged from the chrysalis the very essence of a cold, perfect, ruthless super-spy. Pierce was gone - just another identity to be worn then discarded. A mask. Jewel too, a brief pupal half-life. What is revealed when the last mask of humanity is removed? I knew the answer now. The primal, female essence of the killer that I had now become. Faceless, graceful, and quite deadly. I was ready.
The house was before me as the shuttle bus pulled up the hillside path. Alongside me were fellow catsuited young women, pawns in the Red Fist's game. The bus pulled up at the massive iron gates and a laser scanned the identity bar on the windshield. The gates creaked open. It was a hot, clear day, the sky a dazzling azure that blended to a pitiless cobalt blue as it merged with the sea far below us. No wind at all, and humid. The aircon in the bus barely compensating. The bus rumbled up the final switchbacks and I contemplated the house, taking in the layout of the grotesque building, the location of the airstrip cut into the hillside.
Soon the bus pulled into the shade of the carport and the string of girls debarked, me included, blending seamlessly among the crowd of ravishing showgirls - blondes, brunettes, redheads. What was Akaguchi up to, gathering all these Western women around him? And where was Akaguchi himself? Would I get a go at him or had Sato disposed of him already? The nanite transmitter signature in our blood passed us through the security system than we all dispersed our different ways, some giggling and happy, others seemingly thoughful. I made my way quickly up to Habitation 4 and my room.
From my room, I called Trish. After a few minutes, she knocked on my door and I let her in. She was wearing a stunning, yellow, off the shoulder asymmetric swimsuit, her straight red hair tied back in a perky ponytail. She grinned as she saw my admiring reaction "Day off," she said.
I sat her down on the bed and knelt down next to her, looking into her eyes. "Look," I said. "I need you to get out of here. It's going to get very dangerous very fast if things go according to plan and I don't want you getting hurt. Not after what you did for me."
Her bottom lip stuck out. "I can look after myself, sugar."
I grasped her hands in mine, looking into her blue eyes. "Please. You don't know what you're mixed up in. Just find a way to get out of here." I stood and walked over to the window, looking out at the bright blue sky. "I dunno - go down to the town - get Shibata to find you passage to the UK. But for my sake, please go. You're my friend Trish. I've lost too many in my life so far."
She looked up at me from the bed. For all her brassy attitude and model looks, she looked very vulnerable at that moment. What was it with me and redheads? First Christine, then bloody Mary Dwyer, now her.
"OK," she said presently, smiling sadly. "For your sake..."
She pursed her lips, reaching into the small blue purse around her shoulder and pulling out a smartcard. "Here," she said, handing it to me. "You might need this." I raised an inquiring eyebrow. "It's the pass key to flight deck 7. Just in case you can fly an aircraft and need to make a fast escape, Ms. Superspy," she said, grinning.
"Thanks," I said, palming the card. "Look, you'd better go."
She got up. "Will you get in touch?" she said softly, putting her hand on my arm. "Y'know, after all this?"
"Of course I will," I said. I didn't want to tell her that I probably wouldn't even survive the day.
"OK honey," she said, leaning in and pecking me on the cheek. She turned to walk away, then paused, looking back at me over her shoulder.
"Will you become a man again?" she asked in a very quiet voice. "Could you?"
I didn't speak for a very long time.
When I answered, my voice was shaking. "I... I can't answer that question... I don't..." I looked down at the ground, unable to go on. Trish walked back over to me, putting her arms around me, hugging me tight.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's just that I've never met anyone like you. I fancied you from the moment we first met, but I knew that there was something... different with you from the other girls." She was stroking my back now, and whispering into my ear, "all I'm saying, Jane, is don't worry about what you look like. You'll find someone who'll care for you whoever you seem to be."
I pulled back so that I could look into her face. She looked back, smiling, then leaned her face nearer. I let myself kiss her, and felt myself melting away as her lipstick mingled with mine. Trish started unzipping my catsuit as her lively tongue explored the inside of my mouth.
I stepped out of the catsuit and stood naked except for my thong and my high-heeled sandals as Trish peeled off her swimsuit to reveal her beautiful body. I bent down to unstrap the shoes and she said, "don't - you look kinda sexy like that." I could feel something stirring in my groin and reached eagerly down to pull down my panties, releasing my little cock. Trish sighed with happiness as it popped free, clapping her hands together. "Oh, you are such a treat for a girl who goes both ways!" she breathed, stepping up to me. Her warm hand crept down and started to play with me as our breasts touched. I gasped and closed my eyes as our nipples started to rub together, electric sensation, oh... and I could definitely feel something happening below...
I lay myself back on the bed and arched my back as Trish's talented mouth started to suck and nibble on my erect nipples, which had blown up to the size of jelly beans. Then she moved down and started to nuzzle my pubic area, blowing warm air over my cock, which was continuing to grow as I writhed and fondled my large breasts and teased and tweaked my amazingly sensitive nipples.
I arched my head back like a porno actress and saw us in my dresser mirror, two beautiful women, lithe, tall and big bosomed, intertwined on the bed, sweating in the midday heat, the redhead with her face buried in the blonde's groin, the blonde with her head arched back, eyes half shut, glossy mouth open in an 'O' of ecstasy. The image captivated me and I couldn't tear myself away as Trish sucked my penis deep into her moist mouth and sucked, and teased, and sucked, and nibbled and-
I turned my body around and worked my face down to Trish's warm, musky crotch as she worked my cock and happily buried my nose in the familiar smell of a wet pussy, licking and pulling at her engorged nub. We were so hot... After a very short while, Trish began to scream and buck and soon I felt a glorious warmness spreading from my breasts down to my groin. Here it comes. Here it-
Afterwards we lay in each other's arms for a few precious moments, and then I watched as she dressed and left, with a smile and a sad little wave.
I lay there for a while, then got up and looked at myself in the mirror. The familiar, gorgeous, naked blonde smiled back at me, as I bent down to remove my heels. They were killing my feet. I padded into the shower and went over my plan again as the hot water jetted into my pores, massaging my still sensitive nipples.
I emerged dripping from the shower and dried off, picking up my catsuit and sandals off the floor and stuffing them in the wardrobe. I drew the blinds and waited for my eyes to acclimatise to the gloom. Then I went over to my desk tablet and after a bit of nosing round the local network, managed to disable the lights and set off an intruder alarm for my room. Quickly, I powered down the tablet and lay down half-in, half-out of the bathroom so that it would look as though I was unconscious or dead when someone came in. I lay there with my eyes half open and breathed shallowly and evenly, waiting.
Not a minute later, I heard someone at the door. It opened and I heard a set of footsteps come in. My visitor tried the light switch with no result, then I heard the footsteps come into the room, then pause. I guess the guard had seen my naked legs projecting from the bathroom doorway.
The footsteps padded right over to me, but I waited and waited. I heard breathing, the rustle of movement. Then a gloved hand on my face.
I snapped my eyes open and exploded off the floor, hitting the guard with the braced heel of my palm to the underside of her jaw as she bent over me. She went over like a shapely sack of spuds. I leapt over her prone body as she struggled to bring her sidearm to bear and landed lightly behind her. Taking her helmeted head from behind in both arms, I twisted and heard the satisfying crack of the neck breaking. She went limp in my arms.
I dragged her over to the tablet and powered it up, pulling her sightless face to the screen. I held her eye open and logged in using her retinal scan. Then I disabled the intruder alert and logged a short error report saying (as the guard) that I had investigated and found nothing unusual.
Turning away from the computer tablet, I quickly stripped the guard of her uniform and put it on myself. Luckily she was quite tall and the neoprene stretched nicely to fit my curves. I tied my long blonde hair up in a bun and concealed it in the bulbous helmet which was loaded with a suite of sensor apparatus. The black gloves and combat boots completed the ensemble. I picked up the flechette gun and checked the load on the digital display mounted above the handgrip. It was full. Good.
A quick recce of the various belt pouches on my black shiny guard's catsuit revealed three more loads of ammo, some computer data slugs, a lipstick (Clinique Berry Buff). I also found three ampoules of clear liquid with tiny bubbles suspended in it, each with a disposable compressed air hypo head. If this was the "access all areas" nanoliquid that had given me entry to the restricted zone previously, then my plan was right on track.
But was I going to chance it? Was I fuck.
I opened the blinds and the door. Blinking in the light, I stepped onto the balcony, looking quickly around. There was quite a lot of activity around the building. Probably too risky to try and dump the guard's body over the balcony into the thick forest below right now. Never mind. I went back in and dragged the corpse under my bed. I wouldn't be around long enough for them to discover it.
Then I went back to the tablet and did a quick search of the personnel records for the location of the working quarters of a certain Irish doctor. A red-headed doctor with whom I had a few words to exchange and who would, I hoped, be the passport to the next phase of my agenda.
Dr Mary Dwyer came out of her office on the seventeenth floor in workout clothes, her flaming hair tied back in a loose ponytail. I followed her along the bustling main corridor. There was a small refectory opposite the gymnasium from where I could keep an eye on her. It was awkward because I couldn't, for obvious reasons, remove my helmet so I must have looked rather strange as I sat and quietly sipped some fruit juice through a straw.
She worked out for forty-five minutes then emerged, toweling sweat off her pretty, freckled face. The face I'd made the mistake of trusting. I got up and followed her again as she walked towards the bank of lifts at the end of the floor. As I walked, I got some looks from some of the throng of male technicians on their lunch-breaks. I guess I must have stood out from the other guards a little bit as I was taller and, shall we say, bigger up top than most, and my body must have looked absolutely spectacular in the form fitting black neoprene catsuit.
She got into a lift with some other women and I squeezed in next to her. I could have quite easily killed her there and then.
We alighted on floor 4 and I followed her to her room. She went in and the door clicked shut behind her. I went to the door and listened. After a few seconds, I heard the shower running. To get into the room, I needed to use the dead guard's retinal scan again. You really don't want to know how I accomplished this. It's far too revolting. Let's just say that the key to the door had been in the guard's head and was now squishing about in one of my belt pouches. I unlocked the door. Ugh.
She was in the shower with her back to the door, rinsing soap off her pale, toned body. I'd fancied her, back in that Bicester half-way house. As Anthony Pierce, I'd laid awake fantasising about having her after she'd made me back into a man. I smiled bitterly. No such luck. My train had come so far off the rails that it wasn't even remotely funny. I stepped into the bathroom as she turned the water off.
"Does my bum look big in this?" I said.
She whirled with a little scream.
I raised my gun and motioned for her to be quiet, removing my helmet with my free hand. "Hello Mary," I said, smiling. "We meet again," I went on, slipping into a corny movie villain accent, "but this time, the advantage is mine."
She stood there, covering her rather small breasts and gingery pubes as best she could. "H-how did you get in?" she asked in her Irish lilt.
I shrugged, "Let's just say that I have an eye from a beautiful woman." I gestured with the gun for her to come out into her bedroom. She looked over at her bath towel. I picked it up, but instead of passing it to her, I threw it onto the sodden floor by the shower, where it began to soak up the cooling water. She looked venomously at me then led me out of the bathroom.
I motioned that she should lie face down on the floor with her hands behind her back. I picked up the remote for the roomsystem and turned the aircon right up. "I'm rather warm," I said, "aren't you?"
A cold blast of air hit us and Mary immediately started to shiver, the drops of water on her body evaporating slowly in the icy atmosphere. Goose pimples came up on her back and her teeth started chattering. I sat on the bed next to her prone body and jammed the barrel of the flechette gun into the back of her head. She went rigid.
"This gun fires six kinds of round." I said. "At the moment, it's set to fire normal anti-personnel flechettes. If I pull the trigger, hundreds of tiny explosive darts will emerge at supersonic velocity from the pepperholes in the barrel that's pressed against your skull. Messy, but very effective in close quarters combat. I'm afraid you'd have more than a bad hair day, Mary."
"Wh-what do you want," she said in a ghost of a whisper, through clenched and chattering teeth.
"What's in Room 497?" I asked.
There was a pause.
"I don't know," she replied.
I flicked the arming switch. The gun emitted a chime and clicked and whirred as it loaded rounds into the breech mechanism. I heard her start to sob, quietly. "I hope you're not lying to me, Mary."
"I swear I don't know what's in there. No one's allowed there. I haven't even seen Sato go near there. Please. I don't want to die. I'm telling you the truth. Please, Anthony!"
I stiffened at the mention of that name. I looked down at her shivering, naked body and felt nothing. Aroused neither by the sight of her beautiful curves, nor by the power I had over her.
I felt nothing.
I shrugged and pulled the gun away. She didn't know. I turned the aircon down and opened the windows to let some of the afternoon heat into the room. "Sit up." I said.
She sat, leaning against the bed and wrapping her arms around herself. I sat down next to her. "Why, Mary?"
She sniffed, rubbing her tears away with the back of one hand. "It's very complicated," she said, voice barely above a whisper. I was silent and she took a deep shuddering breath before going on. "It's my father. He was in the Service all his life. He was pretty mixed up, I suppose. A Catholic from Derry, the Bogside. He grew up during The Troubles but married an English girl, joined Her Majesty's Service. What a mess of confusion for a boy from the bogs..."
She stopped for a while, looking out at the blue sky.
"He was one of the first into Baghdad during the first Gulf conflict back in the nineties. I was four, almost five and my mammy wouldn't tell me where my da was. But he was part of a covert cell in Saddam's fortress city sending back targeting telemetry for the cruise attacks. That was where he and his group were infected by a retrovirus. No one knew whether it was one of ours or one of theirs. But I don't think that Iraq had bioweaponry back then. He started to develop symptoms of a progressive degenerative disease ten years later. I was already working for the Service while working on my doctorate and I watched him turning into a living corpse before my eyes. Ma went off the rails. She left us. I tried to get compensation but the government wouldn't listen. Terrible thing was he was locked away in there. I could see the pain in his eyes. But the body had become a useless instrument. I was working for the government bastards that had put my father into this state and then turned their back.
"Then I started hearing about the studies that Professor Lime was doing in Cambridge. Especially the way that he was using nanite systems to create control links between the brain and prosthetic organs. How he'd enabled blind animals to "see", amputees to control limbs. NanoCybernetics. I began to think that perhaps such therapy could be designed that would unlock my father's torment. I tried to contact Lime but he'd disappeared. Defected to the Red Fist. With you. How fucking ironic...
"Soon after that I heard from The Fist. They convinced me that they had made significant advances in Lime's techniques since his defection. In return for working as their mole in the service, they'd treat my father. Give him back his dignity. Of course I agreed. Your reinsertion just happened to coincide with all this. Obviously, I had to let the Fist know about you."
She turned her head to look at me. "I'm sorry," she said softly, putting her warm hand on my thigh. I pulled away.
"What do they want with me? Why go to all this trouble?" I asked.
"I don't know, Anthony. Do you really think that they tell me anything? To be honest, I think it's just that psycho Sato getting her sadistic jollies. You're right about Room 497 though. That's where the solution is. I've thought about it a lot. But nothing makes sense."
"You can say that again," I said sarcastically.
"Do you know what the most ironic thing is?" she said, her voice trembling. More tears were coming to her green eyes. " My father died a week after I arrived in Japan. It was all for nothing. Nothing." Her head fell and she shook with the force of her tears.
I stood and watched her, feeling angry and cold. She recovered a bit and looked up at me. "I fell in love with you," she said. "Even as we were changing you into Jane Masters, as you became this smooth, unmasculine thing, I used to fantasise about us together. I fell in love with the man inside the woman. Anthony, I-"
"Shut up. Don't. Don't do this. It's not right." I didn't know what I felt now. Suddenly I realised I was crying. I raised my gun.
She looked up again. "Are you going to kill me?" she said in a very quiet voice. "I-I don't want to die. But it would be the right thing. I know. Are you going to kill me?" she repeated.
My hand was shaking. "Everyone dies today," I said softly. "But not yet."
As we walked the corridor towards the restricted area, Mary confirmed to me that the ampoules in my belt pouch contained the colloidal nanoliquid that allowed access to the forbidden zone. "Each dose lasts 24 hours," she said.
"You better be right about this," I replied, injecting myself in the neck. "You're going to be right with me so it's slice and dice for the both of us if you're playing games." She nodded, her face pale but set.
Soon, we were at the entrance to the restricted area. "How many will be in the control room?" I asked in a low voice. Mary shrugged. "Three, four technical staff at most. No guards usually." I nodded, drawing my gun. I peered into the red lit corridor with the door at the end leading into the control area. Where everything had come unravelled.
I indicated to Mary that she should go ahead of me and we entered the corridor. At the door, she showed her eye to the retinal scanner and it opened up.
Inside, the room looked very different. It was brightly lit and a lot of the clutter seemed to have been cleared away since the first time I'd been in here. There were several geeks in the room and they looked up and gawped at me but soon went back to their work when they saw Mary. I sat down at a console away from the others and motioned for her to sit down next to me.
Opening a text editor window, I typed, "I DON'T WANT TO KILL THESE MEN. WHAT ARE THEY DOING IN HERE?" Mary leaned over and typed in reply, "PROBABLY PLAYING SECOND LIFE OR SOMETHING. I'LL GET RID OF THEM IF YOU WANT." I looked at her quizzically as she keyed some commands into the terminal. Over on the other side of the room, I heard a pager bleep. One of the technicians got up, looking at his PDA. He said something quietly to his nearest colleague and they both left the room. I leaned over, blocking her from the keyboard. "THEY'D BETTER NOT BE GETTING HELP OR YOU'RE DEAD!!" I actually typed two exclamation marks.
Mary shrugged. "THEY'RE NOT," she typed, issuing another set of commands. This time, the pager command got rid of the remaining three techs.
I quickly got up and looked round the corner to make sure they were gone, then went back to Mary. "Do you want to be tied up or shall I stun you?" I asked. She shrugged again, her eyes blank. I couldn't read her at all. She had either given up or she was up to something. I found some lengths of networking cable and quickly and securely tied her to one of the chairs, gagging her with a piece of her clothing stuffed in her mouth.
Then I quickly stripped off the guard uniform and helmet, untying my hair. Underneath, I was wearing a very brief white Gucci bikini with gold chain links that looked sensational against my deep tan. I rummaged in the beach bag I had retrieved from my room and got a pair of gold wedge mules and slipped them on. Very quickly, I freshened and tarted up my make-up. If all went to plan, Jewel was going to be walking out of here very much alive along the winding beach path. As I liberally applied gloss to my plump lips, I caught Mary's eyes on me and looked away quickly.
When I was happy with my appearance, I sat down at the terminal and got to work. First of all, I called up the video netstation server and opened up several security camera feeds as windows on my screen. One for the corridor outside this room, one more for the three banks of lift doors on this floor. I was also curious about Sato so I managed to locate a feed from outside her office on the schematic. Finally, the front entrance of the building so I could monitor arrivals and departures. I lined the camera windows up on the top half of the screen so I could scan them quickly every now and then.
I had decided while formulating this plan (which was going to the letter so far) that I could not afford to spend a long time rooting around the network this time round. The most important thing was that Vauxhall got access to some data to analyse. What I did was this. I knew the layout of the security firewall around the Fist's core systems pretty well from my previous visits. It was actually quite simple to add a small range of machines in Vauxhall to the inside of the Red Fist firewall. It was actually eight PCs in my cryptology lab back there. Once that was done, I popped a short encrypted message onto one of my colleagues' desktops back in Vauxhall and closed the session. The message read, "I've left the window open. Don't forget to shut it when you leave."
My deputy, Needham, would pick up this message and, having traced it back to here, suddenly realize that the whole Red Fist network was available to them at the highest security level. I hoped that this would give them enough information to start to bring this organisation down. If they closed the hole quickly enough, no one would even know that the breach had occurred. I could picture Needham now, coffee in hand, cigarette in mouth, looking gobsmacked at what I'd done. Mind you, he'd be pretty surprised by how I looked as well...
I hoped he would realise that my message also meant that the MI6 network was wide open to Red Fist as well. The only difference was that the Fist didn't know it. It was a calculated risk but Needham was a good man. Thorough. He'd know what was going on. Once he'd taken a snapshot of the data, he'd close the loophole.
I got up and walked over to the connecting door to the corridor that led to Room 497. I remembered the sense of foreboding I'd felt before and my heart started to pound. Steeling myself, I looked through. The corridor was brightly lit. At the end, the door to room 497. The room itself was in darkness. No repeat of the eerie blue light spilling through the window. I realised I was holding my breath. I exhaled.
I went back to the console to check the CCTV feeds. My mouth dropped at what I saw. The spiky hair and tall frame was unmistakable. As was the trademark black suit and the shades pushed on top of the hair. My heart began to pound with a chaotic mixture of fear and excitement. My gangster was walking down the corridor towards this room, carrying a large black suitcase in his hand.
I had a split second to decide what to do. Quickly, I opened the door of a storage cupboard in the far wall and untied Mary, bundling her into it. I followed, easing the door shut behind me, making sure that she could see my gun clearly, just in case she decided to try anything. Through slats in the door, we could both see what was going on in the room outside.
A few seconds passed, then the gangster entered the room. He looked around, then locked the door behind him. My heart fluttered with excitement on seeing him, but I tried to stay calm, collecting myself by breathing evenly. Behind me, I felt Mary shift and I turned my head to shoot her a warning glare. Then I turned back.
Fortunately, the gangster had put his case down away from the console I'd been using. I couldn't remember if I'd shut things down properly. What was he up to? He had opened the case up and was rummaging in it. Then he began to undress, hanging his suit neatly on a hanger that he got out of the suitcase. He then unbuttoned his black silk shirt, removed his sunglasses from his head, and finally removed his socks and boxers, fully revealing his beautiful, toned butt. Turn around... I thought to myself, becoming aroused despite myself, that familiar, lovely warm feeling coursing through my groin and breasts at the thought of that luscious cock between my velvety lips. I squirmed, trying to put the thoughts out of my head.
He folded all his clothes neatly and then sat down. I got a good glimpse of his cock from the side then, and smiled.
Now I could see not that the inside of the lid of the case was a mirror, with lights around it. Like a make-up mirror. And he was starting to put foundation on his face, with deft, practised strokes. What the...?
Then I started to notice other strange things. How hairless his legs were. And not just his legs - the armpits too and the rest of his muscular, lean body. He had no body hair at all, except above his semi-erect penis. And that was neatly shaved into a small, feminine triangle. And his toenails were painted a bright red. I was standing there mouth agape and almost let the door to my hiding place creak open, I was utterly stunned. He was a transvestite.
Like me, I thought, ruefully as I watched him finish applying his foundation. He then reached into the suitcase and got out a pair of flesh coloured breastforms, which he glued onto his chest and held there for several seconds. He then started to blend some thick-looking make-up around the edges of the breasts and over his upper torso and neck, blending the tone in with the foundation on his face. Soon, there was very little to show that the breasts were not part of his natural anatomy. He admired them in the mirror, striking glamour girl poses. Jesus, he was really getting off on this. His cock was now fully erect. I was getting pretty hot too, watching him, as he got a beautiful black, boned silk bustier out of his case and slipped himself sensuously into it. The wired lace cups pushed the false breasts up and together, giving him a spectacular cleavage. He looked in total ecstasy as he adjusted the cups and fondled himself. My God. This reverse striptease was turning me on totally. I felt like I was going to burst!
The bustier had six suspender straps hanging down, and next he got a pair of sheer, black, seamed stockings out of the case and rolled them up his lovely, smooth, toned legs till they were encased in black gossamer, fastening the clips deftly. He then set to applying the rest of his makeup. First the eyes, dusky, black and dramatic, in stark contrast to the porcelain paleness of his flawless skin. Just a hint of blusher on the cheeks, then the lips, full, red and glossy, set in a familiar, loathed permanent half-smile...
Oh, now I know you...
As he set to gluing the long, clear false nails on his hand and painting them a matching red, I felt a tremendous mixture of desire, anger, confusion and anxiety well up inside me. This beguiling creature with the spiky, punky hair and the angelic face set on the long, athletic body had ensnared me, tortured me, seduced and enslaved me. First as a woman, then as a man. Finally as this half man, half woman chimera.
Sato stood and stretched, luxuriating in his divine, his devilish beauty.
"Turn around," I said in a shaky, small voice, gun raised, emerging from my closet.
Sato raised his head, then turned slowly, letting his long, black wig drop >from his hands. "Well, well," he purred in his low, male gangster's voice. I shuddered, hearing that voice come from those luscious red lips. "If it isn't Little Red Riding Hood..." The cruel smile was there again after the momentary surprise that had crossed his face. He had now slipped on a pair of spike-heeled black leather ankle boots and had a black leather catsuit in his hands as he advanced towards me.
"S-stay there," I said, unable to keep my hands from shaking on the barrel of the gun, or my eyes from wandering down to that erect cock nestling shockingly amidst all the alluring female signs of his costume.
"What's the matter, my little Jewel?" he went on. "Not so keen on another man muscling in on your territory? You're not the only one who can play girls' games." But he stayed still, keeping one eye on my gun. I was careful to keep my distance. "How about one for old times?" he whispered, nodding down at his cock. "Come on, Jewel-chan. Daddy wants some pleasure..." The words sounded obscene coming from his pretty red lips.
"Shut up." I said, cocking the gun, which emitted its beep and whine. Indicators lit up along the barrel indicating it was fully primed. "I ought to kill you now."
"Yes," said Sato, sneering as he slipped into the black bodysuit, which squeaked and stretched tofit his form perfectly, except for that incongruous bump in his groin. "You ought to. But you've become a weak woman, Commander Pierce. Look at you, in your little white fuck me swimsuit and your fuck me sandals with your fuck me tan and your fuck me blonde bimbo curls. All you're good for is sucking cock and being punished. I'm a survivor. Don't forget that. I survive and escape, just like I escaped from the Aum-Shinri-Kyo dressed as a girl when the police raided us fifteen years ago. A survivor. Not like you, you little victim. I bet Bond likes having you around as his doormat. Does he tell you that you're good? He says that to all his bitches. But they never stick around somehow. Tomorrow, when he finds out about your death, you'll be just another notch in that Aston Martin gearstick. Used, discarded, forgotten. A pathetic shemale whore impaled on His Majesty's S-"
"SHUT UP!!" I said again. In a red mist, I began to squeeze the trigger.
Suddenly, I noticed movement behind me. Mary had emerged from the closet and was leaning over a computer console stabbing commands into the keyboard. I whirled the gun and she looked up. She still had her gag in her mouth. For a moment her eyes locked on mine, wide in mute fear, then in resignation.
I pulled the trigger.
There was a hissing report as a payload of flechettes left the barrel, then Mary's head exploded, projecting its own red, sticky payload over the wall and computer console. I watched as her headless body crumpled, ever so slowly, and collapsed to the floor.
I heard Sato's voice say, "Oh well done," right behind me and I turned instinctively to block his fist with my wrist. My gun went clattering off somewhere behind. Sato pressed his attack, fists flying. His karate style was Shotokan, pure - deadly but possible to predict - if you were fast enough. I blocked and blocked but could gain no advantage and was soon pressed back against the row of consoles. Sato leapt gracefully up above me onto the bank of desks and brought his right foot up in a high, straight-leg kick, the arms wide in the winter crane form. I anticipated and let my body go soft as the kick connected with my chin, using the momentum to flip myself back and up to join Sato on the desking.
For a second, we faced each other. Then I noticed him lose focus slightly and realised he was looking to the connecting door. At that moment I attacked, pushing him back with a fierce series of punches and kicks until he was teetering on the edge of the table, blocking me whist maintaining balance with the soles of his spike heels, which projected over the edge. Incredible strength and balance.
Finally, a side-foot trip overbalanced him and he fell, cursing, to the floor, a lithe creature of leather and spikes brought down. Without waiting, I leapt sideways over the bank of computers to where my gun had fallen, landing and scooping the weapon up, snapping it up and about only to see Sato disappearing down the corridor that led to room 497. Gasping with rage and excitement, I gave chase, wrenching the door open and launching a volley of shots after him. He dropped to the floor, phenomenal reactions, and they detonated noisily on the door to room 497. Suddenly I felt a wrench in my head and saw that the blue light was back, pulsing quietly in the window.
Sato scrambled to his feet and reached the door, opening it by punching a command sequence on the security panel. He went through and the door started to close. With a yell, I sprinted down the corridor, dropping the gun as I scrambled through the dwindling gap.
I smelt the zing of ozone and was enveloped in the tranquil pulse of the blue light.
"AH, MISS JANE!" boomed a voice that seemed to resonate from all about me, "WE WERE WONDERING WHEN THE NEXT LESSON WOULD BE." I looked up and around. I was in room 497. And I knew then that the world was insane and it was beyond saving.
The end of CHAPTER THREE
Jane Masters will return in CHAPTER FOUR
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For King & Country. Chapter 2
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- Coda
For King & Country
This is an erotic spy novella set loosely in the James Bond universe, and was originally written on commission back in the 1990s. For more background, please see the intro to chapter 1. It's re-presented here for posterity, despite being somewhat cheesy...
Chapter Two: Tsuruga, Fukui Pref., Japan... Red Fist of Justice Complex ("The House")...
It seemed that upon the breakup of the Aum Shinri Kyo in the late nineties, certain elements of that sect had gone into hiding in the mountainous North coast of Western Japan. There they hooked up with an active Japanese Red Army cell who were already harbouring sect refugees after the Shinjuku subway Sarin gas incident earlier that decade.
After the collapse of the Far East economic sphere in 2008, following the multiple nuclear accidents on mainland Japan through that period, the whole region around Fukui prefecture that centred around the enclave had become destabilised and lawless. The decommissioned generating facility at Tsuruga soon became the national headquarters for the faction, who had, by then, realigned themselves and been reborn as the Red Fist of Justice. At their head was the charismatic ex-JRA cell leader called Akaguchi, who had been in hiding in North Korea but had safely bought passage back to Honshu after the collapse had brought chaos to the region.
I thought about this and about a great many other things as I approached Tsuruga station in the silver and red local train that had been waiting for me at a sinister, deserted waystation somewhere up the line from Kyoto station. JR rail services to the Fukui region had been suspended since the Red Fist had made the area an independent enclave. Now a thriving local economy had sprung up, running everything from black medical practices to brothels, data laundering to pirate line local railways.
As the train meandered through picturesque Japanese countryside, I'd used the opportunity to scan the other three passengers in my carriage. A young couple, initially staring at the tall gaijin lady diagonally opposite them, had quickly returned to a subdued canoodling. Soon, the girl fell asleep, her long bleach-blonde hair spilling over her face and into her open mouth. The boy retrieved a breezeblock-sized manga rag out of his rucksack and began to flip listlessly through it, sucking at a tin of vending machine Oolong Tea; they must have been in their early twenties.
The other passenger looked more like an operative. A shabby Japanese man in his forties, he looked too much the nondescript sarariman to truly be so. He studiously avoided catching my attention, instead using the window glass to keep a furtive eye on me. Either he'd been sent by the Fist to monitor me or he fancied me. Probably both. I remembered that he had been with me ever since Kyoto. I'd seen him first smoking a Mild Seven on the Maglev platform as I left the express from Kansai Airport with my baggage. Later, he'd vanished, but reappeared with the passengers switching to the Fukui train as we alighted from the JR local service at the suburban waystation.
Now here we were on the outskirts of Tsuruga, a pretty coastal town a few kilometres up the coast from desolate Fukui City, where I'd been before as Pierce - a different kind of warrior. Dusk was falling as the train slid through still sidings dotted with bits of rolling stock. The orange streetlights and gaudy neon of the town looked welcomingly surreal to my tired, blank gaze. In the distance, the glint of the moon on the sea - sandy beaches, I recalled - and in the lee of the bay, atop a forested hillside, the giant shadow of the disused nuclear facility.
We pulled silently into the station. My companions were already on the move as the train squeaked to a halt. The two youngsters stretching and yawning, hoisting large backpacks off the overhead racks, the young, handsome boy with his spiky hair helping his pretty girlfriend but simultaneously casting a cheeky grin in my direction. I returned it. The shabby man had already debarked and was showing his papers to the guard, pulling another cigarette from his grey suit in the blue dusk.
I stood and stretched, taking my luggage and stepping out from the air conditioned train into the humid evening. I was wearing just a linen shirt and shorts, but the prickly heat I remembered so well immediately began to draw sweat from all over my aching body. I looked up and saw the station guard approaching. Beyond him was the shabby man, fiddling with a vending machine in the brightly illuminated ticket office. The young couple were already gone.
"Excuse me, your transit papers please," the guard said in Kansai-tinged Japanese.
Without replying, I retrieved the papers of authority marked with the logo of the Red Fist, chrome sunburst abstract, and presented them to him along with my passport and ticket. They'd already been examined twice either side of the border with the rest of Japan, but I was just too tired to try and explain.
While he examined them, I lit a Silk Cut and looked surreptitiously over his shoulder. I could no longer see the shabby man. Maybe I'd been mistaken. I knew that there was a maildrop in Tsuruga Town which I could use to make contact with a local operative. Perhaps this had been him - monitoring my arrival into his territory.
"Thank you," said the guard, handing back my papers. As he turned to leave, I said, "Can I get a taxi outside the station?"
"There is a driver waiting for you Miss Jane," he replied, "shall I help with your bags?"
I reached down for my two cases. "Thank you, no."
The operative had arrived in enemy territory.
I didn't need any distractions on this mission. Nevertheless, I found myself thinking a lot about sex recently.
My sex.
The thing was, I felt completely void of any "normal" urges. The driver who had come for me was a beautiful American brunette called Lori, typical of the kind of talent that the Red Fist employed in its heartland to service its upper echelons. I felt no attraction for her at all - though I did think she was very attractive - and that was what was worrying me, especially as she was wearing a black shiny catsuit, which one might have described charitably as completely indecent.
Come to that, the blonde girl whose pretty reflection greeted me in the mirror every morning would certainly have stirred Pierce's attention when I had been him. In fact, Jane Masters was just the kind of girl that Pierce might have ended up bedding...
On the other hand, I couldn't stop thinking about Commander Bond. In fact, the events of my last evening in Britain had filled my thoughts on all the planes, trains and cars on the journey over; I'm ashamed to say that it got me quite... excited...
The weeks of acclimatisation in London had passed uneventfully. Essentially, I had to give the impression that I was Jane Masters. As my legend went, I had just returned from a short break and was temping as an Account Executive at a marketing agency on Buckingham Palace Road (Universal Digital, a legitimate company who were nonetheless one of the Department's many front organisations, of course). I dutifully went into work every morning and left at six-ish. I went out for drinks and meals with an artificial circle of friends. In public, I occasionally tried to spot the Fist operatives who were surely surveilling me but of course that was futile. I flirted with male colleagues and went to the women's room with my girlfriends. I went home, ate M&S dinners and watched telly or practiced my feminine Japanese, different as it was to the male form of the language I'd learned at Uni. But mainly, I was bored out of my skull.
I was due to depart on a Saturday afternoon, so that Friday was my last day at Universal. I was going through some oddments of paperwork when an email appeared on my terminal from Diane, my "boss":
Jane, the presentation to Vauxhall's been brought forward. I need you to finish the account plans this evening so I can fly out with them in the morning. I'll come and have a chat at eight to see how you're doing.
Sorry, D
This was a coded message. It meant that someone from Vauxhall (MI6 HQ, just up the road) was coming over at eight to brief me on changes to my mission parameters. The sub basement of this building was linked by tunnel to Vauxhall meaning that operatives could come and go freely. I was to pretend to be working late until the briefing happened.
I went over to the teapoint and refilled my bottle of water. Ashia, one of my "friends", a pretty young black woman with whom I had become genuinely friendly, was there. She turned and smiled. "Not long now eh? When are you off?"
"I'm flying tomorrow afternoon. Can't wait!" I replied enthusiastically and automatically.
"Aw, I'm so jealous. Always wanted to see Japan. Sounds so cool. Listen girl, you still up for drinks tonight? We've gotta see you off properly, after all."
I frowned, "no I can't. Just got a mail from Di. She's got to jet off to the GM Vauxhall planning meeting a day early so I have to finish the account plans tonight. Typical, huh?"
Ashia rolled her eyes. "Well you make sure you come along later. Usual place. OK?"
"Promise," I smiled. "Though I have a feeling it might be a long night."
Around six, people started filtering out of the office. I got well wishes, cards, little girly gifts and kisses. By seven, the only two people left were Diane and myself. At seven thirty-five Di also left, wishing me luck. She paused at the doorway and gave me a strange look that I couldn't read. Of the twenty or so people in the building, only she and a couple of others knew of the arrangement their company had with the Secret Service. Perhaps she was curious about me and my history. She knew nothing about my mission parameters nor the fact that this attractive, modern-looking young blonde woman in a dark suit and pink top was, in fact, a man.
The building was empty. I sat and waited. I was a little breathless with anticipation and couldn't concentrate. There was no reason that it would be Bond who'd come and brief me, but he was my operator so there was perhaps hope. Hope for what? I shook my head, confused. There was little doubt that, sexually, I was now as attracted to men as to women. Mary Dwyer had told me that this might happen. I felt guilty, somehow weak, and felt I had to try and control it for the good of the mission.
But what was the problem? I was, in appearance at least (and possibly more) a young woman now. It was clear enough to me that these changes were less temporary the longer they lasted. I might be able to abandon the hormones and return to something approaching my original physical shape. I'd never have the same body again though - no body hair, faint masses in my chest, and those new kinks in my brain... I enjoyed dressing as a woman now. Smelling nice and having men admire and desire me. I did want to become Anthony Pierce again, but could I? Would my brain switch back? Would I be happy?
At five to eight, I got up to go and have a pee and touch up my face. In the harsh light of the toilet mirror, I appraised myself as I blotted my lips. Not bad. A little tired round the eyes, perhaps, but definitely very well put together. "Tidy", as my brother Tim would say. Ooh. That thought gave me a little weird jolt. I tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind my ear, smoothed out my knee length pencil skirt and left, turning off the light.
He was sitting in the semi-gloom at my desk when I came out. He had switched the other lights of the office off, leaving only my desk lamp illuminated. As soon as I saw him in his perfect suit, my heart started pounding and a nervous heat rose through me, just like I remembered from Bicester, on that road, in that car. He smiled faintly and indicated that I should be at ease.
Bond rose and perched on the edge of my desk, beckoning me to sit down. He loomed over me as he spoke.
"We've got some fresh information, Masters."
He seemed huge as I looked up at him. Controlled power in a made to measure suit. It made me feel small and vulnerable. But I wanted to feel that way; to be enfolded in his big arms and made his. He was obviously looking down the cleavage of my lacy pink top as he spoke. I wriggled and smiled, giving him a better view. I felt trivial, a feminine concoction in frothy perfumed wrapper. I wanted it. I was lost. Consumed so quickly.
"According to our sources, it appears that Sato is in command of the complex where you will be working." He leaned down and kissed me on the nape of my neck. I flushed, and rose, standing to encircle his neck with my arms. "This gives us an opportunity," he stood himself, caressing my bottom with his large, warm hands.
I moaned, closing my eyes as he went on, "Our strategists project that within three years, Sato will become a larger threat than Akaguchi." I hitched up my skirt to free my legs and he lifted me up bodily. The crotch of my panties was soaked and sticky with precum from my stirring, semi-hard cock. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist. He turned, lowering me and roughly using my body to clear papers and objects off my desk, before placing me down on my back. My desk light clattered to the floor, casting crazy shadows from our entwined bodies on the ceiling. He leaned over me, smiling. "Masters, you are quite unbelievable".
I looked up at his cruel, handsome face. His grey eyes. The grey crew cut. The scar under his thin mouth. The cleft of his chin, stubble coming through. I smiled back up at him, passing my tongue slowly over my upper teeth.
"Shut up, sir, and kiss me." I said.
Later, I lay close to naked on the sofa by the office kitchen as he made us coffee. I looked at the clock above the kitchen door, which read 20:46.
Jesus.. I remember a jumble of recollections. Thinking, shit, a man's kissing me. With tongues. Mmm. Looking down at the bulge in his trousers as he unbuttoned my top, just wanting to hold it, unbelievably much. His rough thumbs tweaking my nipples. Electric, joy. Almost coming from that. Ohh. More, then his cock, and me naked except for my stockings, writhing on the table. So soft, the foreskin, like velvet. I tickle it, fingertips, then tongue.
Finally my small, very small, little hand was grasping the base and my mouth, very talented, was going up and down, up and down. Keeping the Commander under command. So full can't breathe. Then he comes. I swallow; nice. I expect I look quite depraved, lying back on the desk, my desk with my work scattered all round, naked except for laddered stockings and suspender belt. Smiling, so lovely with a string of his cum on my lips and chin and white neck. And a little cock, just there to confuse and beguile, there in the pale triangle between black lace garters... you like that, sir?
He sat by me, gave me the coffee and finished briefing me. Akaguchi had vanished and Sato was left, the heir apparent, ruling The Fist as regent from the Tsuruga house. Our sources suspected some sort of incipient coup, though Akaguchi's kids were still safe there in the house. My instructions had changed because of these developments. I still had to go for the data as planned, but there was more - find Akaguchi, or find out what had happened to him. Liquidate Sato.
I still had my license to kill, of course.
Bond left me after that. I got myself dressed, set the alarm system and left the office for good. Down Victoria Street, I looked in at the windows of the wine bar at Ashia and the others. Laughing and drinking. But somehow I didn't feel like joining in. So I went home to Jane Masters' flat, packed my cases and went to bed.
Hours later I was in the air, on my mission at last.
The black Mercedes had been cruising along the coast road, past kilometres of white sand beach. We were beginning to go uphill, and soon we were gliding through a set of steep switchbacks that took us deep into the forested hillside, forbidding in the bluish gloom.
"Almost there now," said Lori in her sweet voice, "I think you're gonna really love the house. It's so beautiful. And the chairman's boys are so cute. They can't wait till you finally arrive! Y'know, I think you're gonna be the first English girl there. It kinda reminds me of that movie, y'know that old one with the bald guy and his kids and the English teacher..."
She broke off, raising her perfect eyebrows in the mirror for help.
"I think you mean 'The King and I'?" I said, wishing I didn't sound so bloody posh.
"That's it. Boy, you're accent is just so..."
"So how many of us girls are up there?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Oh about thirty to forty at any one time. You'll meet some of 'em tonight in the dorm. Well, that's what we call it. They're apartments really. Real modern too. Yep, they sure do know how to look after us. Anyhoo. Here we go."
We pulled round another corner and then I saw it for the first time, at the end of a long clear path in the treeline. For a moment I was fooled. It looked tiny, then I realised that was because it was still quite a distance off. The hill road was interrupted by a pair of iron gates, beyond which was the continuation of the switchbacks, leading to the... house... It was cut into the side of the mountain and looked like a Japanese castle that had been suspended upside down by some miracle of gravity, then teleported half way into the rock face and left there. Tiny lights glimmered under its pagoda roofs and after a while I realised that these were windows. At several levels, terraces had been cut into the hillside to form grassy pastures and expanses of farmland that were big enough to contain several football pitches. One of the terraces looked to be some sort of airstrip. The view would be unbelievable. It would also be quite hard to escape - a far cry from the factory complex I had operated in before.
Lori had noted my silence. "Ain't it something?". I nodded dumbly as we pulled up to the gates, which parted smoothly to let us through. We negotiated the remaining switchbacks, the house getting bigger with every turn, until we were finally swallowed up underneath its grotesque mass...
In the carport, where Lori pulled the Merc up alongside a fleet of identical vehicles, I was scanned for weapons by a guard carrying a Uzi flechette launcher. Then Lori took me through to reception, where my papers were scrutinised once again by another beautiful Caucasian woman in another revealing catsuit. I was told that I should leave my luggage, and it would be taken to my room. I knew it'd be searched so hadn't bothered locking it.
In contrast to the multi-layered grandeur outside, the interior of the House was stark and minimalist, both in layout and decor. Lori kept up a bright stream of chatter as we strolled through a series of bland, white, over-illuminated corridors until I had totally lost my bearings. I mentally stopped and checked myself. In my tiredness, I was forgetting things like basic orientation. I walked on, taking more notice of my surroundings, but my Gucci loafers were beginning to hurt and the bright fluorescents were causing my head to spin. I'd noticed this in the last few weeks - as Jane, I had less stamina than Pierce.
Eventually, we came to an airlock at the end of another white corridor. Lori waved her arm in the direction of a reader panel next to the door. With a hiss, it opened and we went in, the door sealing behind us. Interesting. I wondered how that worked. There was another reader inside, which opened a second door, letting in a waft of flower-scented air. We were in the 'dorm'.
The living area was much less harshly decorated than the area we'd come from. The lighting was low and yellowish, and the walls and floors were wooden. The part we were walking through seemed to be full of leisure amenities. I noticed food machines on many corners. Bilingual signs pointed to facilities such as "Gymnasium", "Swimming Pool", "Onsen Baths", "Game Centre" and "Viewing Platform". Every now and then, we passed groups of young, smiling Western women, who greeted us with friendly little waves. They were all dressed in the catsuits of different colours, which I supposed indicated different functional roles.
Lori led me to a bank of lifts and called one. We travelled without any sensation of movement up six floors to "Habitation Level Four" which, as I'd anticipated, looked very much like a hotel corridor. The rooms were numbered; mine being room 404. Lori let me in with another vague wave of her arm, gave me a little smile and a hug (a bit unexpected), then told me I'd be paged soon, and that I'd find full instructions (for what?) in my personal data tablet. Then she was gone, with the ubiquitous little wave.
I was alone at last.
Aware that the room was almost certainly peppered with surveillance devices, I lay down on the bed and tried to behave unsuspiciously. Eyes half-closed as if tired, I swept the room, its features, exits and obstacles, committing them to memory. Not difficult in the box-like confines of the room. I stretched, rose and walked to the bathroom, again ostensibly just to freshen up. I made sure that I made a lot of steam with the shower before stripping down, just in case there was visual surveillance in there - didn't want any unexpected anatomical details to be captured.
The shower was excellent and I felt a lot better when I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling scrubbed, fragrant and hot in my black panties and bra. I walked over to the window and slid it open, walking out onto the small balcony which overlooked a sheer drop. High up on the mountainside in the gathering gloom, the heat was less oppressive and the freshening breeze ran cool fingers over my bare skin and hair.
Looking over the treetops to the glinting sea, I was again struck by the great beauty of the Japanese countryside. Quickly, I scanned for paths and escape routes. Apart from the main switchback road along which we had ascended to the House, I could see a narrow, steep, winding path cut into the forest, which seemed to lead directly down to the ocean side. Promising. Otherwise, the thick forest seemed impenetrable.
I heard a gentle chime from the room behind me. Back inside, a purple light was pulsing softly on my desktop tablet. I went over and touched the screen to read the message.
"Please report to Commissar Sato's office in your uniform, 20:00 hrs."
I dismissed the message and sat for a while. Things were about to get interesting.
The first thing to be clear about over Sato is that she is physically incredible. One of the most striking women I've ever encountered, in fact. Tall, statuesque even, for a Japanese, she just outstripped me by a couple of centimetres in her spike heels. A brutal face, yes, but porcelain perfect, as always with flawless, doll-like make up - beautiful in its cruelty. She had the poise of an athlete-hunter, of a creature who lived purely by instinct and sensual response, as she walked up to me in the softly-lit corridor outside her office, coolly appraising me with no expression on her face. She was dressed in a tailored leather skirt suit, flaunting her long, rangy body; her to-die-for legs encapsulated in sheer black stockings. A mannish white shirt and black tie completed the ensemble. The starched cuffs of the white shirt projected from the leather sleeves of the jacket and were fastened with an unusual and elegant pair of carved wooden cufflinks. She noticed me looking.
"You like them? They are from my hometown in Shikoku. Renowned local carving style. Hello. I am Commissar Sato, Miss Jane. Please come in."
She swept into her office, flicking her jet-black, die straight waist length hair behind her. She sat on a sofa and beckoned me to sit next to her as she offered me tea. The last time I had seen her she had just removed the eyes of a young deserter with her thumbs and laughed at his screams for a full minute before shooting him dead through the mouth. Nevertheless I sat, smiling pleasantly. I wanted to get close to this beguiling, murderous woman so that she would divulge her secrets to me before I ended her life.
As I sipped the tea, Sato explained the security arrangements, which, it turned out were built into my uniform. The uniform catsuits, into one of which I was now squeezed, were not only extremely snug fitting, but laced with some pretty sophisticated tech, which meant that none of "us girls" could step out of permitted areas of the House without setting off some rather lethal-sounding countermeasures. As I had been forced to submit all my own clothing to the care of House security, five catsuits was all I had to wear for the foreseeable future. Ergo I had some thinking to do if Jane Masters was to investigate the complex without ending up as steak tartare.
My suit was made out of some reflective, dark red material similar in look to latex but with a skin feel closer to neoprene. I have to confess that when I opened up the wardrobe and saw five of the bloody things hanging there, I swore. Did I really feel confident enough about this body to flaunt it so extravagantly? I was finding out now (as if I had much choice).
It was a one piece that you stepped into like a leotard, very tight on the thighs and bum. Above the waist it became a very skimpy halter that left my back completely bare and didn't leave much to the imagination in the chest department either. The split in the middle of the halter plunged down way past my boobs and finished well below the navel. A little chain link belt was stitched onto the hips, finishing the look. Before I had fastened it all up, I'd made bloody well sure that I was extremely well tucked. Didn't want any unexpected bulges spoiling the smooth, shiny front down there. Also in the wardrobe I'd found a very cute pair of pink trainers with a silver Converse star on either side and two-inch block heels. I'd slipped them on and taken a look in the full-length mirror.
Wow. Well, you could tell a man must have designed these things. It was made to please men's eyes. I'd had to look away because I was getting turned on and I didn't want to have to take it all off to retuck myself. I felt proud in a confused sort of way. Proud of my curves, which were outstanding (literally) in this outfit. Confused, and a bit ashamed for thinking that too. I felt very sexy though. I could definitely have fun with Bond in this getup.
I studied Sato as she went over some of the facilities at my disposal. I have to admit that I felt extremely attracted to her as well. I knew that she was a cold-hearted and sadistic killer. But there was just something dominant and powerful about her flawless beauty that made me go all gooey below. I shook my head and tried to stay calm, sipping more tea. Jesus, my mission would go west bloody quickly if I kept going all nympho at the slightest provocation. But what could I do - they'd dressed me like some filthy Barbie doll slut.
Sato lit a cigarette and offered me one. I took it and let her light it. Again, I'd completely stopped paying attention and had to try to focus again.
"-so you will be meeting Masakazu and Koichiro, the Director's twins tomorrow morning at breakfast. I will also expect to see an initial study plan which I can pass on to Akaguchi-san at that time."
"Will I get to meet the Director? It would be interesting from a teacher's point of view to get the parent's perspective - their hopes, aspirations?"
Sato shook her head. "Regrettably, not in the near future. Director Akaguchi is very busy on overseas business at the moment. But I," she tapped her chest with the tips of her red nails, "am fully authorised to act as the parental proxy."
"In that case," I said, "may I ask you what you think the objectives for the twins' education are?"
Sato nodded and paused before resuming. "One day, the Director's sons will inherit the organisation. At that time, we will be a global brand with leverage across many races and cultures. English is a language that is, I believe, widely used." Sato smiled, showing slightly pointed teeth behind her crimson lips. "The Director's sons must be fluent in the languages of our... customers. That is your task, starting tomorrow."
I had no reply to this and simply nodded, so Sato went on. "I'm sure that you will find the task rewarding, Miss Jane. The boys are extremely conscientious and diligent pupils. They will show respect to an educator who respects them." Sato smiled, blowing a cloud of smoke.
I was more convinced now than ever that Akaguchi had been deposed, probably murdered, by Sato, who had taken his place at the head of the Red Fist of Justice. But how did the children fit in?
Sato wasn't wrong about the boys. As I sat and listened to them sing the alphabet song in our beautiful classroom, high above the forest, I could tell that they were special. They were spooky in the way that identical twins often were, acting almost as though they were locked telepathically, but it was more than that. They both had a stillness about them. I think that, if I was being a cliched westerner, I'd say "Zen-like". It made you feel calm being around them, as though they were somehow charmed. I guess in conventional terms, they were unbelievably charismatic and beautiful. Big round heads and lovely long-lashed anime eyes. Unspoilt by age, uncorrupted by power, untouched by greed. It was outside my mission scope, but I felt a strong moral urge to protect them and stop them from growing up into powerful and ruthless killers, which they would surely do if left in this tainted environment.
On a more superficial level, I really enjoyed teaching them too. They were receptive, attentive, funny (as little Japanese kids often are), unbelievably bright and polite. I think they've taken to "Miss Jane" too. Yeah, we hit it off. Of the two, Koichiro, the first born was slightly the more assertive and extroverted. Masakazu tended to reflect longer and come up with more considered thoughts. They were seven years old. Eight next month.
I had been teaching them two hours a day now for a week. An hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon except Wednesdays which was my afternoon off (tough life, eh?). The rest of the time I spent putting on a convincing social front, swimming, tanning myself on the deck and exercising in the gym. For security reasons the girls were not allowed out individually, so I fell in with a group of South African and Australian women who seemed to hang out together and welcomed a "toffee-nosed pom" into their clique to use as the butt of their good humoured jokes.
We went down to the private beach at the end of the winding forest path and talked about boys, travel, home. A couple of times we drove down to the small town to look round the shops and markets and hang out. Of course, a group of loud, long-limbed, athletic Western women in a provincial Japanese town tends to attract attention in the same way that a carcass attracts hyenas. Ogled is not the word. Trish, a straightforward Aussie, who was one of the incredibly glamorous flight of all-female helicopter pilots employed at the House, put it nicely as we sashayed past a group of slack-jawed youths: "Jane, I'm contemplating the sound of one jaw dropping. And another one. And another one..." Of course Red Fist owned the town and the men of Tsuruga knew that the reprisals should they touch one of us Fist girls would be quick, decisive and terminal.
Look, but don't touch, boys. Poor things.
While in town, I noticed the boy from the train several times. He had obviously developed quite a thing for me and would smile shyly every time I made eye contact with him. I thought he was going to have a coronary the first time he saw me strut into town with my girlfriends in my red catsuit. He seemed to be one of a group of chimpira (wannabe mobsters) who'd hang around the bars in the dock area running little rackets or zooming around on scooters with the goal of trying to get noticed by Red Fist. I marked him out as a potential last resort ally if things got sticky. The other man from the train - the middle aged type who I'd had marked as an operative was nowhere to be seen. Could be I made a wrong call on him.
So the week had passed quickly. On the quiet, I was snooping round the network from the tablet in my room trying to get a feel for the sort of security in place. My hacking 'ware was well disguised as a set of commercially sold English teaching tools. To the observer I was conscientiously working on the boys' lessons while poking round the data reefs of the Red Fist of Justice. I was 100% certain that I could look round the public parts of the House network without leaving a trace, unless someone specifically knew that I was in there. Even then it would take an exceptionally good human operator to trace me back. The standard software wouldn't have a chance.
Over a couple of days, it became rapidly apparent that while non-sensitive information (laundry invoices, general personnel records, vehicle requisitions) was quite easy to acquire from my room deck, I would not be able to get near any of the good stuff from this terminal. That made my mission strategy clear:
- Disable security countermeasures in my uniform
- Locate and hack physical terminal within secure network
- Acquire data, encrypt and transmit back to Vauxhall
- Kill Sato
- Escape alive (tricky)
Tough, but doable...
I finished the day's afternoon class by going though the animal flash cards with the boys as usual. They would read in turn: "Lion, Zebra, Dog, Monkey (they always giggled at that one - don't ask me why), Goldfish, Cat, Rabbit (they'd mastered the "L" and "R" sounds amazingly quickly), Bird, Elephant, Snake, Panda, Frog, Mouse, Duck."
I smiled. "Very good boys. Tomorrow, we'll start a different set of cards. Please come back in the morning with five English words that begin with "C". Okay?" Then I switched to English. "Now what do we say?"
All together we shouted "Goodbye!!" waving our hands. They stood and bowed and walked to the door as I picked up my things. At the door, Koichiro paused and said in halting English. "Miss Jane. Thank you. We like very much." He blushed furiously and ran off after his brother.
I stood in the empty classroom for a while, unsettled by Koichiro's comment but not knowing why.
I bumped into Trish on the way back to my room. She was heading for the bar and invited me along for a game of pool. Probably because of her tomboyish nature, and my, er, boyish one, we had discovered a mutual love of the stick game.
It was 16:30 and the bar was empty. She got a can of Asahi from the vending machine and I got a small bottle of chilled Sancerre. Loud music was playing on the stereo. We played three games quickly and she beat me 2-1, on the last black. I made a joke about The Ashes and we sat down. I lit a cigarette. Trish doesn't smoke.
I got on so well with Trish because I found her unpretentious and honest. She was a great beauty, like most of the girls here. Tall, with beautiful, wavy auburn hair. Open, appealing face with pale blue eyes and a strong nose. In all, very aristocratic looking, but she carried herself as though she was on her uncle's farm in the outback in dungarees mucking about by the billabong with her brother Roy. We talked about our families for a while (I gave her the "Jane Masters Story", abridged edition). Turned out that Roy had died from an AIDS related illness in Sydney the year before. Trish had cut loose after that and gone travelling, finally ending up here where her pilot's license had come in useful.
"Can't complain, y'know mate," she said, "we live in the lap of luxury here. I get to fly every day and work on my commercial license. You can't turn a blind eye to what Red Fist does forever. I suppose. Look, I won't be here forever. Just till I get myself out of a money hole - and I guess you have to put up with the downside," she said, grimacing and twanging the strap of her navy blue catsuit's halter.
I looked down at my own shiny red attire. To be honest I was by now so used to wearing it that I'd forgotten how ridiculous it had seemed at the beginning. In fact, I was in a competition with some of the other girls to come down to breakfast looking as vampy and saucy as possible. I'd certainly had a couple of interesting hairstyles and faces on in the last couple of days.
"Yeah," I replied. "I guess so. To be honest, I don't even notice I have it on any more."
"Yeah, right," she laughed, "except at brekkie! Christ girl, what did you look like this morning? I didn't know whether to snog you or send you out onto the street to earn a living." She laughed raucously and I joined in as I recalled how I'd sauntered into the refectory with my hair curled and piled on top of my head, and the most outrageously salacious gothic makeup on my face. "I hope you wiped that muck off your face before you went in to 'educate' those poor boys," Trish went on.
"Course I did," I said, sipping my wine, "they're far too young for that horror movie." There was a lull in the conversation while the music changed tracks.
Trish leaned in conspiratorially as another loud track started thumping out of the speakers. "Course, we know that there's another reason apart from the eye-candy one as to why we have the uniforms. I heard once that a girl accidentally walked into a secure area - she was drunk and didn't see the warning signs." She shuddered.
I was suddenly interested. "What happened?"
"Laser mesh." She made a Zorro-like swooshing movement with her hands. "Diced receptionist. Apparently they were cleaning the corridor for days. Ugh." She finished her Asahi and made to get up. "Hey I'm gonna go to the steam room. Wanna come?"
I shook my head. "Got to plan my next week of lessons. Sato wants the plan on her desk tomorrow morning."
Trish made a "bitch" face, smiled and waved and was gone.
Laser mesh. Interesting. Meant that the countermeasures were not built into the clothing itself. Some sort of tracer with a personal ident? I passed my hands over the smooth, seamless contours of my costume but could feel nowhere where a smartchip might be concealed. Unless.
I unclipped the belt and looked at it. Looked perfectly normal. Too obvious, surely. A plan was beginning to form in my head.
Two hours later, I was walking in my robe from the solarium after spending half an hour under the sunbed. I was carrying my uniform and make up bag in the crook of my arm. I was taking a circuitous route via one of the observation decks, as I knew that it took me past one of the restricted areas.
I stopped for a moment at the entrance to the North Deck and went out to have a cigarette. Dusk was one of the most atmospheric times to be outside. The deck was deserted and I walked right to the guard-rail at the very edge. From here, the mountainside fell away quite sharply down to the sea. The drop was vertiginous. I looked down, imagining myself falling to be pulverised on the rocks jutting from the sea. That started the adrenalin flowing. I was about to do something risky and I needed to be sharp. I finished my cigarette and put it out in one of the ashtrays dotted about and walked back to the doorway stopping to bend down and loosen one of the straps on my while high-heeled slingbacks. Two girls (unknown to me) walked past me out onto the deck followed by three guards. They went to the rail and stated chatting. I rose and went inside.
I walked round the corner. At the end of this corridor was the red lit entrance to a restricted area. There was no door. Just red lighting and black and yellow warning stripes painted onto the floor where the line of demarcation was. I squinted and could now make out the fine mesh of holes in the walls and ceiling which must have been the laser countermeasure system.
As I walked up, I could feel the looseness of my right sandal. I had to calculate this precisely. Four feet away, I suddenly stumbled out of my loose shoe and fell with a small squeal, letting my uniform catsuit spill off my arm. As I hit the floor, I threw out my arm and my catsuit flew away from me into the red zone. It landed on the floor with one leg sticking out into the safe area.
Nothing happened.
I picked myself up, acting shaken, pulling the catsuit by its leg out of the red zone. By rights it should have been burnt to shreds by laser fire. I redid the strap on my sandal and turned the corner away from the restricted area back to my room, pulling the robe around me. I had some thinking to do.
Unless I was very much mistaken, my experiment had shown that the intrusion detection in the restricted zones was not intrinsic to the uniforms. Clearly the catsuits were a ruse. So how were the lasers triggered?
I lay on my bed, naked except for a pair of bikini briefs. The balcony door was open, letting the twilight and the cool breeze in; otherwise my room was dark. The only other explanation was that the tracer must somehow have been introduced to our bodies. But how? There had been no time when I'd been unconscious long enough for chip implantation to have occurred. Maybe it was something in the water. I smiled, then realised that maybe that wasn't such a foolish notion. After all, the reason why I was embroiled in this mess was because of nanotechnology. Perhaps there were nanites swimming round in my body right now broadcasting my identity and permission level to the intelligence that ran this grotesque building. I shuddered. In that case there was no way I could infiltrate the security systems unaided...
Coming to a decision, I quickly rose and shrugged myself into my catsuit. I looked at the clock. 19:56. Time to work on the kids' study plan, I thought. I padded over to the desk and surreptitiously reached behind the tablet, loosening the power connector slightly. Then I pressed the power stud. Nothing happened. I did it again, a couple of times.
I put the table lamp on and got on the phone to the IT desk. A man answered.
"Oh hello," I said breathlessly, "I'm Jane Masters in room 404. I'm afraid my tablet seems to have broken down.... Would you be able to send me someone? I really need to do some work for Cmr. Sato tonight.... Oh thank you.. Yes, yes, I'll be waiting."
I hung up and walked to the bathroom to beautify my hair and face and make myself smell nice. Might as well use the new tools the department had given me. Men were men, but techies were often desperate... Let me be the answer to their dreams. If it got me what I wanted.
I had fluffed up my newly curled hair and done an expert job of bedroom make-up. Smoky seductive eyes and deep red glossed lips; a dusting of dark blush and a spray of Cashmere Mist. I pushed my boobs up so that they were absurdly prominent and teased my nipples so that they stuck out under the restriction of the red fabric. Well, there was no point in being subtle. I had one chance to make an impression.
When the technician arrived, I immediately felt sorry for him. He was in his twenties, with thinning hair. I could have sworn his pebble-like specs steamed up when I answered the door with a breathy "Hi." He was short, about up to my chest and had bad teeth and was sweating. This was too easy.
He sidled past me and buried himself in his work. I slowly walked back into the room, my heels making pronounced clicking noises. I could see that he was aware of me even though he had his back to me. I sighed and sat on my bed, crossing my legs and pouring myself a glass of chilled Viognier. "It's such a lovely night," I said, in Japanese.
His shoulders stiffened. I sipped my wine but received no other reply.
After a while, I heard a chime and my tablet powered up. "It is power," he said in halting English, with his back still to me.
"It's OK, I speak very good Japanese," I said, "and you've fixed it. You're so clever!"
He finally turned. His face was red. "It was the power cable," he said, and giggled. "It's a technical support joke. And you did it!"
I smiled. "I'm just glad you fixed it." I indicated the bed. "I want to show my gratitude in some way. Would you like a glass of wine?"
"I shouldn't," he said, but he sat down. In a chair, not next to me on the bed. I poured him a glass and handed it to him, making sure that our fingers touched as he took it.
"My name is Jane. What's yours?"
He swigged his wine down on one go, "I know you are Miss Jane. Everyone is talking about you. That you are very good with the Director's children. My name is Takahashi."
It was obvious that he had been drinking already. I moved to pour him another and he accepted, offering to pour me one in return, the Japanese way. I let him pour a dribble into my glass. "What are they saying about me? If you don't mind me asking?"
"Oh, that you are a very good teacher. Commissar Sato has been saying good things about you. I'm sure that the Director will reward you personally. Also," he smiled mischievously, "my friends will be very envious that you called when I was on duty."
"Why's that?" I said, uncrossing and recrossing my legs. He couldn't take his eyes off that.
He downed the wine again, looking mortified. "We all think that you are the most beautiful of the women that we are fortunate to share our employment with."
That one actually penetrated my defences and I blushed. "Thank you Mr Takahashi." I said, "that is a great compliment and I'm sure you and your colleagues are being over generous to me." I'd slipped into formal Japanese - fake humility. I got back onto the point. "You know, Takahashi-san. I'd be fascinated to see where you work. As you know, we girls only get to see half of what goes on here. Do you think-?" I looked submissively up at him as I poured him another.
He immediately pulled away. "I can't allow that Miss Jane. It's strictly forbidden. If Cmr. Sato found out, she'd..." he trailed off, taking a swig of wine.
I sipped my glass. "It's just that.." I let my fingers trail down the bare flesh between my breasts, trying to hypnotise him. "I find technology so sexy... that's one of the reasons I came to work here. I'm sure I could make it-" I looked into his eyes, and reached to gently touch his arm, "you know, worth your while?" I drank the rest of my glass of wine quickly, licking my lips.
I looked down to his crotch. There was a definite bulge there. I had him.
Suddenly, his pager bleeped and he jumped. Shit, shit, shit! He looked at it and got up.
"I must go." He started moving towards the doorway. I had to make a move.
I stood and strode over to stand in his way, stopping him with a hand on his. He turned. Shit. I couldn't believe I was about to do this.
I bent down and brushed his lips with mine, closing my eyes and thinking of England.
Nothing happened for a couple of days. In fact it all got a bit pathetic and high school-ish. I tried to attract Takahashi's attention in the canteen and other public places. Smiling and waving, but he either blanked me if with his gang of spotty techies, or looked acutely embarrassed if alone or working. Trish thought I was insane. I tried to explain that I found ugly small men irresistible and that he was really sweet, when you got to know him.
I carried on teaching the kids and spoke a couple of times with Sato, who expressed satisfaction at my work.
Then, at 03:30 on the morning of the fourth day, there was a knock on my door. I got up from bed and opened it, rubbing my eyes. There was no one there. Then I noticed a note on the floor. I picked it up.
Meet me on the North Deck in twenty minutes - Taka
I quickly dressed, freshened up, put on my most glamorous shoes and tripped along to the observation deck. Takahashi was waiting for me, there. I took his hands. "Hello Mr Takahashi. You wanted me?"
He was trembling in the warm night. "I couldn't get that kiss out of my mind," he said. "If I show you the technology area, will you-?"
I nodded. Giving him another quick peck on the mouth. "Let's go," he said, leading me quickly off the deck. As we walked along the corridor, he handed me a vial of colourless fluid. "Drink it," he said.
I stopped, looking at the vial. "What is it?"
He grabbed my hand and made me carry on walking, whispering, "unless you have that substance in your system you won't be able to pass the security grid. Please drink it, then give the vial back to me."
Nanites. They must be. I quickly downed the contents of the vial and handed it back to him. Tasted just like water.
We turned the corner and the red zone approached. I held my breath as we walked through, but nothing happened. I was in.
We walked down a short, darkened corridor then emerged into a dark, low-ceilinged room full of computer terminals. Sadly, just a tech support IT room with the usual clutter of parts and cabling strewn across the floor, but hopefully I could access something a bit more useful through this area. The only illumination came from the red light spilling in from the corridor and the dim glow of the computer monitors. There was another door that led on somewhere.
I had to act turned on by this, though. "Ooh, hardware!" I said, breathlessly, feeling a little absurd, "come here." He was breathing very hard as I embraced him. I could feel his little hard-on poking into my thigh.
I gently jabbed my thumb into the nerve cluster above his collarbone, and he collapsed with a soft grunt. I found some cabling and bound and gagged him. I'd have to dispose of him later. But now I had work to do.
I sat down at one of the active terminals, reaching into my hip pocket for the disk from my English teaching kit that contained the incursion software. I stuck it in the Unidrive and watched it spin up.
The 'ware began by spoofing my room terminal so that it appeared to the network and anyone monitoring activity that I was working on lesson notes in my room at 4 AM. Very conscientious, Jane. Once the cloak was up, I started investigating the local subnet for weak spots. I did this by sending out a pack of sniffers who'd scamper away disguised as normal network processes and come back having aggregated a visualisation of the security systems in the local area.
While this was happening, I took off my shoes and padded to the door at the far end of the room. A diffuse red light spilled through the circular viewhole onto the ceiling. I looked through and saw a red-lit corridor, with a single door at the far end. The number 497 was printed on the door. A gentle blue light pulsed from the viewhole of the door to Room 497.
I was about to go through to investigate when a soft chime sounded from behind me. Torn between two courses of action, I decided to go back to analyse the results of the sniffer run. I padded quietly back to the terminal, sat down and pulled up the results window.
Suddenly, I felt a prickling sensation of nerves, became aware of a feeling of being watched. I looked round, but there was no one there. I looked behind me at Takahashi, prone on the floor. But he was still out cold.
I stood up and walked over to the corridor through which we had entered. Pressing myself against the wall, I looked round the corner. But the corridor was still, empty. Perhaps I was spooking myself unnecessarily. I hadn't been under this type of mission pressure for a while now. I went back to the terminal and sat down, studying the screen.
Once again, I felt like I was being observed. I shivered. My exposed arms and back were starting to goosebump in the air-con atmosphere. I looked around again, licking my lips, which suddenly felt horribly dry. I felt an irrational desire to fix my lipstick and wished I had brought one with me. The room was empty. But was it my imagination or had the light from the door at the far end of the room brightened? I tried to concentrate on the screen, but was suddenly gripped by fear. I tried to swallow to lubricate my dry throat and mouth.
I got up, looked round and sat down again, rubbing my hands together with anxiety. Suddenly, I wished I were far away from here, in a pub in Chelsea with some mates watching the match. Dressed in jeans and sweatshirt. Not in some species of hell, halfway across the world, freezing to death in a sleazy red rubber catsuit. Shit. I began to cry.
After a while, I collected myself and looked over at the door again. Taking a breath, I rose and made my way through the mess of computer parts and diacarded Jolt Cola cans to the door. I sat down with my naked back on the door and looked up. Something had changed. Before, only the red corridor light had spilt through the viewhole from beyond. Now, I could clearly see the faint blue pulsing light mixing with the red glow thrown onto the ceiling.
Trying to slow my breathing, I rose and peeked through the viewhole. I gasped. The blue light that had been pulsing gently in Room 497 was now throbbing bright and angry, casting crazy shadows into the dark corridor. I was mesmerised, unable to rid myself of the feeling that whatever was in Room 497 was alive. What's more, that I'd woken it and it was watching me, somehow.
I watched and waited, hardly daring to breathe, and slowly, the intensity of the light from Room 497 diminished till it was back at its original level. I wondered if I should go through. I told myself that it was more important to get at the data on the network. Actually, I was terrified by the malevolent presence of Room 497; had a terrible foreboding that I was to find something utterly vile and incomprehensible in there.
So I turned and went back to the terminal, faced what I knew, rather than what I didn't want to know. I began to study the schematics of the network's security system.
Then something moved in the periphery of my vision, from the direction of the door.
I swallowed and slowly forced myself to turn my head.
One of the twins was standing there, ten feet away in the semi-darkness, just looking at me, with a frighteningly blank look on his face.
As I watched, mouth agape, he slowly raised a hand to point at me.
Once my heart had returned to its normal place in my chest, I got up and walked over to him. As I did so, he pointed behind me. I turned. The other boy was behind me, the same look on his face. His hand raised to point as well.
I knelt down, trying to calm myself. I reached out my hands and they came and took them. I tried to smile reassuringly and whispered, "you shouldn't be here, you two. It's very late." I stood. "Come on. Let's get you to bed."
But they hung back, not coming with me.
"What is it?" I whispered urgently. "We have to go. It's terribly dangerous. You might get hurt."
"Oh no," said a voice from behind me.
I whirled. From the darkness of the corner of the room stepped a tall, black-clad fighure. "I rather think it's you who might be hurt, Miss Jane," said Sato, a dangerous smile on her face
She tilted her head, slightly. "Or should that be Lieutenant Commander Pierce?"
The end of CHAPTER TWO
Jane Masters will return in CHAPTER THREE
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For King & Country. Chapter 1
- Chapter menu:
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- Coda
Introducing "For King & Country"
A little preamble before you start reading this fiction serial.
First of all, it's very different to anything else I've written, which tend to be surreal, very personal stories based on my own life experiences. As you can probably guess, this one has very little to do with my life experiences! Unless you count being glued to the telly-box everytime a Bond film came on during my childhood...
For King & Country started out as a commission for a friend who was publishing tranny erotic fiction books back in the 90's. He wanted a spy thriller in the mould of the Pierce Brosnan James Bond films. Hi-tech, action packed, with superficially dramatic characterisation.
I sketched out a story outline and wrote the first chapter (which youll see below) and most of the second chapter, but he went out of business so the book was never completed. In the initial version, Jane was called "Fiona" and, for obvious copyright reasons, all the direct Bond references had been removed and replaced with fairly unsubtle copies. So 'M' was called "C", Q Branch was the "Special Projects Division" or "SPD", Bond was Jack Blunt, Agent C7, etc. It was originally entitled "On His Majesty's Secret Service".
The main setting and intended resolution were also very different - the story taking place in a mafia and terrorist ridden former Soviet Republic (much like the movie Goldeneye) rather than a decaying, near-future Japan.
I came to rewrite and complete the story in 2000 as I felt it needed finishing, and published it on my own website (the pre-blog version of the draGnet). At this point, I relocated it to Japan and restored the proper Bond Universe nomenclature as well as renaming Fiona Michaels to Jane Masters, which just seemed more of a "female Bond" name. When I pulled down that version of my site and replaced it with my weblog in 2004, the story didn't really fit into the more 'serious' writing I felt I was doing there so it lay unseen for a while, then appeared in 2007 on Fictionmania with minor rewrites and now here, again, with minor tweaks.
I don't claim to know anything about the espionage community or how the military operates. So apologies if my lack of research shows as it often does. Also, the Bond world I depict isn't directly drawn from either the books or the films, many of which I love very much. It's more of an amalgam in my head of my retained impressions of those very different universes.
At about 43,000 worlds, it's a slim novel and it has many flaws, but I'm pleased with it on the whole. It's unashamedly written as a pornographic diversion. It gets pretty explicit later on, and I will flag those chapters accordingly.
For a while espionage media seemed to fade out of fashion, but now we're in a bit of a golden age again, with the fantastic Bourne movies, Spooks on the BBC and of course, the superb reboot of the old franchise itself with Casino Royale (slightly let down by the rather vapid sequel).
I'd also urge fans of the genre to go and check out the excellent old BBC serials Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and Smiley's People, based on the John Le Carre novels and starring the marvellous Alec Guinness. Also highly recommended is Greg Rucka's brilliant series of graphic novels called Queen & Country after which this story was homagefully renamed.
Prologue: Tangier - Heathrow - Vauxhall
I heard the sea breaking below my window just before dawn and woke. I knew I was to fly back to London that morning. My leave of absence was over and I was to return to work. I lay in bed, feeling the grumble in my belly and rubbing the stubble on my chin from three days' growth.
The heat was rising now, inexorably moving the coolness of the night aside as the blinds rippled in the rising haze.
I raised myself up, wincing from the pain in my side, and drew the blinds and sat, watching the sun rise slowly over the rim of the bay, the smells of the waking souks spiralling up through the stillness of the morning air.
Sweat sprang over my body as the temperature climbed, and I watched a gecko scuttle over the plaster ceiling, little sticky toes, as I lit my last cigarette. I closed my eyes.
Seven hours later, I was stepping onto the tarmac of a rainswept Heathrow apron.
Henderson awaited me.
"Afternoon, Commander," he said, flipping me a sheaf of papers, "and welcome home, sir. How was Tangier? You're fully recovered, I hope, sir."
I grunted a noncommittal reply and took the papers. Just the usual port of entry documents. As a member of His Majesty's Secret Service, it was customary to bypass the usual immigration channels when re-entering Britain. I signed the papers without studying them and handed them back. Henderson led me back to his parked department Focus. I eschewed the front seat and clambered in the back, allowing him to take my bags.
The journey up the M4 was punctuated only by the metronome of the windscreen wipers and the spark of my duty-frees; every time I lit one, apparently oblivious of the sign on his dash that read 'thank you for not smoking', I took pleasure in seeing the back of Henderson's neck stiffen. It was a way of kicking downwards in the pettiest possible way, just as I fully expected would happen to me back at Vauxhall.
At Heston, we pulled in to take on fuel.
The rain was increasing; the sky brightening behind us, to the West, but London to the East was obscured by sheets of darkness.
I sat opposite Doctor Amanda Marsden, head of 'M' Branch, watching her read through my report for the third time. She closed the file and paused. At length, she stood and walked over to the large bay window overlooking the Thames, so she stood framed by light, her back to me. She clasped her hands behind her, and finally spoke.
"Thank you for your report, Pierce. Very thorough. Very interesting"
She turned to look at me. I could make out nothing in her expression.
"I had the opportunity to glance over your service record earlier this morning," she continued, walking back to sit and face me, her heels clicking over the oak flooring.
"Lieutenant Commander Anthony Pierce. Age 32. Honours in Artificial Intelligence, Imperial College, London. Top of 1998 graduate pool at the Royal Navy Officer Training College, Dartmouth. Rose to become youngest head of the cryptography division of the RN Communication Corps within two years and subsequently transferred to the 'service' at my predecessor's request."
She opened up her laptop and punched a couple of keys, viewing God knows what about me, or nothing to do with me at all, perhaps.
"Notable successes included the decoding of the Santander armament cartel encryption key algorithms, leading to information which proved crucial in the seizure of 20 kilos of Uranium intended for Russian Mafia use on Merseyside in December 2005. You requested transfer to field ops in 2008 and completed basic in six months. Transferred to 'M' division in November 2010, where you received your license to kill and took over as agent 004 in early 2012."
She looked up.
"You've shown yourself to be dedicated, self- motivated and ruthless in the execution of your license to kill. In short, 004, you were a high- flyer in the Service."
Here it comes...
I listened to Marsden's measured breath as she again consulted her screen. She typed a few words and hit the 'send' button, then raised her eyes.
I met them.
"I'm debriefing you personally, Lieutenant Commander Pierce, because your failure to complete your mission has not only jeopardised our chances of retrieving the goods in question, but your actions have severely compromised the cover of many of our people in the field.
We've been receiving fragments of encrypted material that your home team has been sifting; we believe that they indicate that Lime has been compelled to break cover and make a border run. We also know that Hignett is dead and of Section Chief Grice we have no intelligence."
I endeavoured to maintain eye contact with her, but this information was causing a spiralling sink to drain in the pit of my stomach. Marsden continued.
"These events have all been precipitated by your break of cover and subsequent extraction by 'F for Freddie'."
She paused again, looking intently into my eyes.
I finally dropped my gaze for a moment, then met it again with resolution. I took a breath.
"I accept full responsibility, ma'am. I will, of course immediately tender my resignation."
Marsden smiled tartly.
"I'm afraid not, Pierce. That would be contrary to our interests and for you, if I may be permitted a cliche, an easy way out."
She decisively closed her flip terminal and pressed the tips of her fingers together. When she next spoke, I knew I was expected to give my life for my country.
"We're going to reinsert you."
As I drove to the 'Q' Branch facility in Oxfordshire, my mind mulled over the contents of the rest of my debrief. 'M' had informed me that I was 'dead' - standard operational procedure for field agents whose cover had been compromised during the course of an uncompleted assignment. I had signed the release papers and was now effectively at the mercy of His Majesty's Government with all its vagaries and whims; to refuse to comply now would be seen as treasonous and punishable in suitable fashion. I was to be allocated a new identity and reinserted into the operation in Japan; the precise details remained opaque.
I was to be briefed by an unidentified superior upon reaching Bicester.
CHAPTER ONE:
Bicester, Oxfordshire - 'Q' branch Special research facility
A 'Q' branch man called Dennis met me in the anonymous looking waiting room of the divisional facility. Like all really top secret establishments, it was hidden in plain view, in this case in the cover of a large and rambling country house in four acres of deciduous British woodland. A couple of semi- retired agents ran it as a perfectly normal house and answered the door to me as if I was a long awaited friend.
The pretence was short-lived and they had soon ushered me into the cellar. As the cellar door shut behind me, I saw a man dressed identically to me take his leave, and soon after, the sound of my car being driven away.
At the bottom of the cellar was a two way airlock door hidden behind a false brick party wall.
Penetrating this facade led me to the waiting room and the waiting Mr. Dennis.
Dennis appeared to be the personification of the waiting room, carrying as he did no perceptible hint of personality or character save the faint whiff of detergent and antiseptic, as well as the slightly shabby air of a well thumbed Sunday supplement. He had an irritating and apparently unnecessary habit of pushing his completely immobile black rimmed glasses back onto his face with his middle finger and a definite problem with pronouncing the letter 'r'. He was as anonymous as this facility, with its air of cleanliness and its look, positioned somewhere inbetween lab complex and industrial park unit. A faint but pervasive reek of disinfectant was the only thing that distinguished it from the IT facility at Denham. The staff, from what I could see, were all dressed in laboratory coats, and there seemed to be more than the usual complement of clean areas, in which I glimpsed masked figures in white one-piece overalls.
As we toured the facility, Dennis efficiently pointed out the various amenities at my disposal, including a nautilus room, a swimming pool and a well stocked library cum lounge, before conducting me to my quarters. He left me, informing me that I would be collected for a briefing and medical at 16:00. I glanced at my TAG. It was one thirty in the afternoon.
After unpacking and familiarising myself with my drab confines - "Holiday Inn for agoraphobes" - I left my room to wander and gain my bearings. I very soon realised that there was a compelling reason for the efficiency and brevity of Dennis' tour.
There was really very little freedom to be had for 004.
After a few fairly fruitless minutes peering in at various depressingly restricted areas, I sat for a while in the deserted library, eating some fresh fruit from the food dispenser (sadly no junk food in sight), drinking spring water and leafing listlessly through a copy of Vogue that had been left on the table. After contemplating a swim, I decided against and went to the gym to try and loosen up. I returned to my room and changed into sweat gear, and returned to the nautilus room, where I was surprised to find I had a companion, an attractive young woman with a fit air and a cascade of red curls surmounting a pretty freckled face. She completed a set of bench presses as I began to go through some stretches, and then looked up and smiled.
"Commander Pierce, isn't it?"
"That's right," I replied, unsurprised by her perspicacity.
She stood and extended a hand, which I shook, before climbing onto a treadmill. She continued in a voice which carried a pleasant hint of Irish.
"I'm Doctor Dwyer - Mary Dwyer". I nodded assent as she continued, "I'm afraid we're going to be seeing rather a lot of each other. I'm on the away team working on your reinsertion project."
At this, I looked up at her more closely, and smiled. "In which case, I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances."
She moved onto a set of standing weights and started a rather radical set as I went on, "I presume that there's to be some sort of plastic surgery involved?"
"Yes..." She paused, finishing her set again before proceeding.
"There will be a fair amount of reconstructive work..." She paused again and I was aware that she was looking over thoughtfully at me now, examining where she had previously been conversing. Then she put down the weights and stepped away from them, continuing in a more formal fashion.
"You'll receive a full specification at your briefing this afternoon.
Speaking of which -" She glanced at the clock above the door "- I'd better get going so I can go over the major points with the team before Commander Bond briefs you."
I was surprised. "Bond's in charge here?"
She laughed. "No, no. But I understand that 'Mandy' Marsden's assigned him to supervise your reinsertion project". She lowered her voice, her eyes twinkling. "- which I gather he's none too pleased about. I don't think Commander Bond's at all fond of 'Q' Branch."
With that, she turned and left. I watched her recede down the corridor for a while, then turned back to the machines.
Commander Sir James Bond, VC, MBE, KCMG, perhaps the most celebrated, certainly the most flamboyant of all the Cold War MI6 operatives, had aged exceedingly well. The musculature was still evident under the classic lines of the charcoal grey bespoke Hardy Amies suit; the silk Old Etonian tie; the Alfred Dunhill cufflinks; the shock of silver hair surmounting the deeply-lined but still strikingly handsome face with those infamous steel grey eyes that had reputedly turned many a beautiful spy's allegiance, not to mention her heart. A mythological collage, or some sort of antediluvian PR spin? Perhaps. I had thought so, but now, in his presence for the first time, I could see that his equal reputations for charisma and cruelty were indeed founded in reality.
Bond's evident displeasure at his current assignment didn't make the briefing any more pleasant for me. He was flanked to his left by the primly white- coated Dr. Dwyer and a middle aged Q Branch operative called Easton, who did not utter a word during the whole two hour meeting, but was constantly looking at me and tapping away at her flip terminal. To his right was a young and dazzlingly beautiful brunette called Miss Loth, who was clearly everything but, judging from the obvious enthusiasm with which she took notes of the Commander's utterances and leaned over to pass him various papers.
Bond wrapped up the formal introductions and stubbed out his third Cartier of the session, smoked in flagrant disregard of the overzealously deployed signage, and turned to face me.
"Well, Commander Pierce, I suppose you're wondering exactly how we're intending to reinsert you into the situation in Fukui."
Bond proceeded at great length to brief the room on the strategic and technological significance of the situation that had arisen in Japan, which was an effective and calculated slap in the face for myself, being the operative closest to the principals in the operation.
It had begun when we received a triple blind 128-bit encrypted message via an anonymous server in New Zealand.
It arrived in a top secret ministerial eyes-only mailbox marked urgent, which is why myself and my hastily hand picked away team had been assigned to decrypt it. This happened in due course and the contents and the implications had proven to be the proverbial dynamite.
The message was part of a string of secret correspondences between a research Physicist at the MRC in Cambridge and a Japanese terrorist organisation called the Red Fist of Justice, whose objective was to bring about the total collapse of the Capitalist powers by a shady process they called attrition deconstruction, whereby they would systematically degrade and destroy European, Asian and American civilisations through the continued supply of drugs, prostitution, gambling and armaments and the active encouragement of military and civil insurrection in sensitive areas.
Once the ordained collapse had been engineered, Red Fist argued, then they would mobilise a global return to permanent Revolution, and the second international Supreme Soviet would reign for eternity. The Red Fist had storefronts everywhere, and links with the major crime lords throughout the globe and, more dangerously still, was actively bankrolling the expanding sphere of armed unrest in the former Soviet bloc states. Being a diffuse and amorphous organisation made them difficult to pin down, let alone prosecute, so any possible lead was welcome.
The correspondence told how the MRC scientist, Professor Adrian Lime, currently seen as the world's foremost authority in the burgeoning field of molecular engineering, popularly referred to as nanotechnology, and being a good Marxist with little regard for the late capitalist landscape of Europe, was on the verge of agreeing to sell his research on the applications of nanotech and brain chemistry to the Red Fist.
Naturally, we stepped in and naturally, during the course of protracted 'negotiations', Lime conceptually re-defected, pledging undying allegiance to the King and mammon. Having been "induced" to realise the error of his ways, it was now put to him that he would be serving his country best if he proceeded with the sale and, better still for the technocracy of the Red Fist, agreed to a physical defection. It would then be a matter of simplicity for Lime to insist on bringing his brilliant young assistant (yours truly) with him on his journey.
The bait proved irresistible and soon Lime and I found ourselves in the back of a Red Fist Mercedes on the way to our new accommodation on the outskirts of Fukui, a bleak post-industrial coastal city pockmarked by pollution and waste, where a Red Fist research complex had been set up.
I was detailed to break the ice surrounding Red Fist's mainframe and squirt the data on their global whereabouts and operations back to London, while Lime made suitably distracting foreground noises.
In any event, it all started promisingly, with Lime wowing the local Red Fist commissars with some spectacular results using nanotech smart drugs on several "volunteers".
This induced the Red Fist to work their hardest to procure many more loyal 'volunteers' from the local community of petty criminals, failed Red Fist-niks and the down and outs, and Lime kept them amused while I made steady progress on the network security surrounding the Red Fist central core. Two and a half months passed in this happy state.
Then the unhappy event happened.
I was close to securing the desired information when I saw the local cell leader, a frighteningly efficient sadist called Sato, shepherding the latest batch of volunteers into the complex. I was shocked to see that among their number were Grice and Hignett, two agents with whom I was familiar from the Osaka field office. My mistake was clear. I reacted visibly, and Sato noticed.
I then made one of the most cowardly decisions in the history of espionage. I collected all the data I had amassed, left the compound directly after lunch, and requested extraction. Bond went to great lengths to explain exactly what this action implied to the continuing good health of Lime, Grice and Hignett. He was very emphatic on the fact that I should not have left, but stayed and worked it out. But I had seen one thing that he hadn't.
I had seen what Lime's smart drugs had done to the 'volunteers'. Now they were going to send me back.
Having completed the ritual humiliation, Bond lit another Cartier and prepared to continue. Dr. Dwyer looked a little bored and Miss Loth was making coffee. Easton was still tapping into her terminal.
"As you'll no doubt have gathered, Pierce, an opportunity has emerged which will allow for your reinsertion. You know the Fist systems better than anyone else, which is why it has to be you." Bond smiled, showing immaculate white teeth. "As you know, the Red Fist central committee chairman has a private residence in the mountains down the China Sea coast, which he visits at least once a month. He also entertains there and his two children are there most of the time. The staff is all female." He walked over to stand by Dr Dwyer. "Now, part of the cachet with this place is that a lot of the staff are Western women. You can probably understand why this is a big thing with the Fist, Pierce?"
I nodded.
"Now, obviously there is an extensive vetting process that goes on to ensure that the girls he hires are clean. This is," he smiled again, "where you come in. We've managed to place operatives in his screening organisation here in London".
So that was it.
I was going to be helping insert a female agent into the Red Fist dacha to spring a honey trap. It wasn't as bad as I'd feared. Just sit in an enemy office in London and ensure that one of our agents was on the next plane East. I stayed quiet and listened.
Bond lit another cigarette and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.
Dwyer and Easton looked on expectantly.
When Bond next spoke, it was to utter the most surprising ten words I'd ever heard in my entire life.
"You are going to become one of those girls, Pierce."
I must have sat in complete and stunned silence for quite a while as Bond, who was clearly expecting a reaction, was forced to continue.
"Doctors Easton and Dwyer will be the principals you report to from now on, Pierce. I'm also leaving Miss Loth here to help with your reorientation. I'll return to finish your brief when your time here is complete. To answer your question, that will be 120 days from tomorrow."
He began to collect his papers, then looked up, with a faint smile on that cruel, handsome mouth.
"Good luck, Pierce. It's an unusual mission."
With that, Commander Bond nodded smartly to Dwyer and Easton and left, accompanied by Miss Loth.
For a moment, there was silence. I was unable to make eye contact with Dwyer or Easton, nor make any sense of the thoughts tumbling freely through my head. Finally, I rose.
"It's impossible!" I shouted. "How can you do what he said you were going to do to me! I refuse to co-operate."
"I'm afraid the release you signed at Vauxhall leaves you with very little option, Commander, as you well know," said a voice from the doorway. It was Miss Loth, re- entering the room with a clipboard and a quietly efficient air quite at remove from that she had exhibited in Bond's company.
Sadly, she was right. I had signed my life away in a few seconds of remorse. I felt a bitter coldness churn in my belly when I realised quite how skilfully 'M' had manipulated my guilt this morning.
I sat down again, and tried to gather myself. I looked up at Loth, who was smiling quite pleasantly at me.
"So what happens? Am I going to have a sex change? Is that it? Then what? I'm not sure that a whore in the Red Fist dacha's going to have much access to sensitive information-" I choked as I realised what I was saying.
"Is that what I'm going to become..?" I buried my face in my hands, unable to continue.
Loth came over and put her hand on my shoulder, knelt by my face, and spoke in a surprisingly sensitive tone.
"I'm sorry. I really am, but it's been decided that operational details such as those aren't going to be divulged to you until we've completed your transformation.
"You're going to be in a very fragile state mentally, and we don't want that to prejudice how you view your new mission objectives until you stabilise. Please understand. It's for your good and the good of the mission.
"Yes?"
I nodded dumbly.
"Good." She rose and leant back on the desk, crossing her black tights- clad legs at the ankles. I again noticed how beautiful she was, quite dark, with big green eyes, long, straight brown hair and unbelievable legs. She noticed me looking and smiled unselfconsciously. She glanced over at Easton, who paused very slightly in her note-taking, then went on.
"To answer your first question, no you are not having a 'sex change'." She parenthesised the words deliberately. "We will be carrying out some of the therapy associated with gender reassignment techniques, but none of the non- reversible surgical work."
She could see the relief in my face as she went on, "in fact, there's absolutely no reason why you wouldn't be able to revert to a completely normal male life after the completion of the mission.
Now, are you ready for a brief medical? I realise it's been a long day, but time is of the essence."
With that I realised that it was this morning that I had awoken in Tangier. Amazing how your life can change in a day. I took a deep breath and nodded.
"Excellent," smiled Miss Loth.
Doctor Easton was a cosmetic surgeon. During the briefing, she'd been taking initial notes on my appearance and physique. Doctor Dwyer was explaining this as she conducted a brief medical examination in a room adjoining one of the clear areas. A pretty blonde nurse called Kirsty Reeves has taken my clothes a sample of blood and some urine from me and given me a powder blue gown to wear. Now I was breathing in and out as Dwyer examined my thoracic area from behind a radial PET scanner. Dwyer kept up a constant stream of chatter as she tapped away at her terminal.
So I discovered that Easton was a plastic surgeon and Dwyer was a research endocrinologist. I knew enough to be able to translate this in my head as 'hormone doctor'. In the glass partition behind the endocrinologist' s head, I could see the reflection of the 3D colour display of the inside of my chest cavity as she directed the cursor around.
After a while, she paused and clicked an icon which allowed her to freely rotate my physical position so that my genital area was on display. She looked up, with an apologetic look on her face.
"I can do most of the internal examination on the computer, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to do a very quick cavity inspection to check the state of your prostate."
I closed my eyes and nodded. She went on, "it's good that you're still quite young, you know."
Good for whom? I wondered.
"Your body will be more tolerant to the therapy.." she tailed off, concentrating on the screen for a moment.
"What exactly is the therapy to entail?" I asked pointedly, sick of the magical mystery tour.
Dwyer sighed, looking up. "I'm afraid I'm under instructions not to tell you. Commander Bond and Miss Loth are insistent on that. I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as me," I muttered.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
I decided to change tack.
"What's your background, Dr Dwyer? How did you end up on this mission?"
She didn't look up from her work, but answered promptly, "This is the perfect job for me. I wanted to do security work - my father was in the Service. When the endocrinological research post came up, I went for it."
Somehow that didn't ring true, but I decided not to press it. How about Dr Easton. Have you worked with her long?
"No. In fact we only met yesterday. But her reputation is brilliant, both in reconstruction and cosmetics. I think you're in safe hands."
"I hope so. I don't want to end up looking like her."
Dwyer sniggered, looking askance at me from her monitor. "I don't think there's any danger of that.
"She told me that from her initial look at you that she was confident of an excellent result."
Excellent for whom? I wondered again. "And what about Miss Loth? She seems an interesting character."
Dwyer pursed her lips.
"Yes... I'll bet you find her very interesting...
"Actually, I don't know her very well either, but she is the Director of this facility, so it doesn't do to argue much."
Noting the surprised look on my face with another of her smiles, she got up and reached for a box of sterile gloves.
As if on cue, Nurse Reeves returned with a tube of lubricant.
It was time for my cavity exam.
Apparently, I was in perfect condition inside and out. Dwyer told me that I could please myself for the next hour, and suggested that I might want to go to the canteen to eat. It was 20:30. She asked me to return at 21:30 to finish my exam. I got up and must have been looking a little confused.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"I - er, my clothes?"
"You'll be fine in your gown for now, Commander.
"Everyone in this complex is used to it." I looked down at the gown which covered me to just below my groin, and shook my head.
"I don't think so. My trousers please." Again, she looked a little embarrassed, and gave her little sigh.
"I'm sorry Commander. Miss Loth has instructed us that you are not to wear trousers from now on. It's for-"
"The good of the mission. I know.
"What can I wear?"
"Leggings or a skirt."
I sighed. "Give me some leggings then." I guess I wasn't quite ready to lose the seams between my legs.
Nurse Reeves brought in a pair of navy blue leggings, which I struggled into with a great deal of embarrassment. I then turned and left the examining room without a word.
In the corridor leading to the canteen, I passed a couple of security staff, who turned out to be tough-looking RN maritime policewomen. They saluted and I saluted back, feeling foolish.
I glanced back as they passed me but they were either well trained, or completely disinterested in my plight or my ridiculous appearance. The canteen was similarly deserted to the rest of the complex. I got a light pasta from the bored looking girl behind the counter and sat down with a glass of apple juice to eat in lonely silence.
All I could hear was the hum of the omnipresent air-conditioning and the clatter of my cutlery. I wondered what was going on in the house above me. Probably the two old dears were watching the box. Suddenly feeling emotional, I finished my pasta and left the canteen, walking quickly to my room. I lay face down on my bed in the darkness, thinking about my parents.
They'd be doing the same as the old couple above now, settling down for a quiet evening before bed. I wondered if my funeral had happened yet. Probably. I wondered if Dad had cried with Mum. If only I knew either way it'd be a little better. And Christine. We'd split up just before the mission. But she had remained close to my parents. Had she been at my funeral? I thought of her often, still.
Ridiculously, I realised my eyes were watering. I wiped them with the back of my hand and lit another cigarette.
It was nine o'clock, and I was quite alone.
"Are you all right, Commander Pierce?"
I nodded. I must have seemed very subdued after the relative levity of just an hour before.
Dr. Dwyer was looking at something on her flipscreen. I was lying on the examining table in my gown and leggings, looking blankly at the ceiling. I heard her rise.
"You'll be pleased to know that the result of your blood and urine was very positive. We can proceed as planned." She walked over with a glass bottle filled with a clear liquid.
The bottle had a rubber cap into which she was inserting a hypodermic needle. "I'm just going to give you a small injection, then you can go to bed. I'm sure you're exhausted."
She put the hypodermic on a tray exposing my left arm and swabbing it inside the elbow joint. She picked up the hypo and leaned over. In a rapid movement, I grabbed her wrist and dug my index finger into her tendon, painlessly rendering her unable to hold the needle. She gave a startled yell as the hypodermic clattered to the floor. I held onto her arm, careful not to hurt her. I looked into her face, which was set, and beautifully calm.
"I'm sorry," I said. "Just please tell me what it is. Do you have any idea what it might be like for me? I'll take it, but tell me what I'm taking."
I let go of her wrist. She continued to look into my eyes for a moment, then broke off, picking up the needle and throwing it in a sterile disposal unit. She got a new hypodermic out of a vacuum pack and refilled it, before coming over, and sitting down by me so that her head was next to mine. She held up the needle so I could see it.
"This is a dilute solution of the complex of hormones which my away team and I have synthesised for your treatment programme. I'm not obliged to tell you anything, but I'm going to because I respect you and the sacrifice you're about to make. I'm administering this low dose tonight so that we'll know if you have an allergy to any of the constituent drugs in the mixture." She got up again and swabbed my arm.
She looked down at my face. I nodded. I felt the needle enter the vein and closed my eyes as the liquid entered my system. Doctor Dwyer continued, "this dose won't have any effect on your body, but very soon, if the allergy test proves negative, I'm going to start you on an aggressive treatment programme, which, over the next few weeks, will give you the body chemistry of a pubescent girl."
She pulled out the needle and I heard it clatter into the disposal. Dwyer went quiet and I could hear her tapping notes into her terminal. I turned my head.
"Please go on... I don't want to lie in silence.." I heard her come over to me and sit. Her hand took mine. She went on in a soft voice.
"There are four main types of hormone in your personal cocktail.
"They're going to work together in your body to make it all happen. There's the two female hormone types, oestrogens and progestogens which will do the main work of transforming your body shape into a woman's.
"But they need help because of all the testosterone floating round your body which will stop them having the optimum effect.
"We're sending in two more types of hormone to work against these - otherwise we'd have to castrate you. The androgen receptor antagonist will effectively stop the testosterone from being able to have any effect on your body, and the androgen inhibitors will tell your testes that there's enough testosterone already in your body and they'll cease producing any more."
She got up but continued talking as she went back to her terminal. "Once the hormones kick in, you'll notice many changes. Your breasts will grow, maybe by even a cup size or two. Your aureolae and nipples might swell a bit too and everything will be much more sensitive.
"Your penis and testes will shrink. Your face will become more typically female in shape. Your body fat will move away from the waist and toward the hips and bottom. Your body hair growth will slow and becomes less dense, and may lighten in colour. You'll tend to lose muscle tone and be prone to putting on weight with less food. Your skin will become finer and softer, and more sensitive.
"You'll sweat less and smell nicer. Your hair will become fuller and grow faster. You may lose your male sex drive but gain a female one." She sighed. "All these things have been documented, but you might only experience some of them. It's all very unpredictable."
She came and helped me sit up. "There's one thing you should know. We've tried to calculate your programme so that we'll get the best results possible in the shortest possible time.
That was the brief. That means the treatment programme is exceptionally aggressive. You will be very ill for a week or so once we start the course. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that."
She paused looking into my eyes, pursing her lips. "I thought you should know."
I took her hand. "Thank you Doctor Dwyer." I said.
She placed her free hand over mine. "Mary," she said.
The terminal in my room woke me with a triple chime. I knew as soon as I awoke where I was and why, and felt curiously more purposeful today. I flipped the screen open and checked the morning headlines. The arms buildup in Kazakhstan was continuing, and fresh combat had broken out in Georgia and the Ukraine. The little red flag waving on my mailbox icon showed that I had correspondence.
I clicked it open and was greeted by a video message from Miss Loth.
"Morning Commander. I hope you slept well. The enclosed document is your agenda for today. We have no items until eleven hundred so please feel free to take a stroll and a swim, and we'll see you at eleven. Please do not shave this morning, Commander."
I opened the agenda file:
====================== Agenda - Commander Pierce ====================== 11:00 | Procedural and Welcome | D Loth | Director's Office 11:30 | Initial consultation | Dr S Easton | Room 206 13:30 | Lunch | D Loth | Lake Consequence Room 15:00 | Laser therapy | Dr S Easton | Room 206 17:00 | Consultation | Dr M Dwyer | Room 214 =======================================================================
I bluetoothed the agenda to my personal tablet and then looked in the wardrobe.
There was my first shock of the day. My clothes were all gone. In their place a range of unfamiliarly feminine-looking garments.
Frowning, I picked out a rather fitted black top with a low-cut neck and a pair of black leggings. I looked in the mirror.
Ridiculous, and the leggings did very little to conceal the unfeminine looking bump on my groin. I selected a pair of brand new Fila trainers and left the room carrying my data tablet.
I had noticed one thing. Well, noticed is probably not the right word. A realisation had seeped into me over the last hours suddenly surfaced in me as I waited for Ms Loth.
There were no men here.
Apart from Dennis, who had vanished as quietly as he had entered my life the previous evening, and Commander Bond, who had also, I presumed, left the facility, everyone in the complex, from MP to cleaner, was female. I was in a world of women. Of course, I was no fool and the reasoning behind this situation was obvious, but he realisation hit me with some force nevertheless.
So I sat in Ms Loth's spare but elegantly furnished office, awaiting my appointment.
The small, kidney-shaped desk seemed to be finished in a black, stone- like surface like obsidian. I looked at my pale face in the mirror-like stone, wondering how long it would remain familiar to me.
"Good morning Commander!"
Loth's voice snapped me from my reverie.
Once again she looked spectacular, dressed in a simple but beautifully cut black trouser suit; I found myself admiring her as she poured tea and we made small talk. Then a small thought popped, unbidden, into a corner of my mind...
....I hope I look as good as that by the end of this...
What was that all about? I sipped my Lapsang Souchong and continued to smile and listen, smile and listen.
Pep talk aside, one aspect of my meeting with Ms Loth had been useful. In her schedule overview for the first fortnight, she had indicated that I would be spending most of the first ten days out of commission due to Dwyer's drug therapy.
That in itself was worrying. More so was what I was hearing from Doctor S. Easton as I lay naked under the scrutiny of a vast array of scanning equipment. Ms Loth had walked me to Easton's consulting rooms where I had for the first time spoken to this extraordinary dried out husk of a woman. Tall and exceptionally slender, she was a sinister combination of schoolmarmish frump and vampire glamour.
She spoke in a cigarette-ravaged basso profundo and punched the air with half inch scarlet talons as she made a point. The faded tweeds she sported were an uneasy counterpoint to the black patent stilettos on her feet. Every five minutes or so she would emit a rumbling cough from her red, lipsticked mouth.
"Good. Your body hair is quite fine," she said as I lay naked, cold and embarrassed before her, fearing for the little hair I possessed. She continued her computerised examination of my anatomy, droning on in her bass monotone about the changes I was to undergo.
Much of it sounded a little too permanent for my liking, and I said so.
She paused and walked over to me. "Commander Pierce," she said, "I think you know that we all owe a debt to our country. Some more than others." She turned and went back to her console, then went on to finish her consultation in silence.
That afternoon I had my body hair removed.
Permanently.
Doctor Easton had had me drink a strange, tasteless blue fluid at lunch which she had explained to me was a specially developed enzyme with a radioactive marker attached to it, designed to affix itself to the base of all the hair follicles in the body. This was used to create a targeting matrix for an advanced computer-guided laser system that her laboratory had developed that would quickly and painlessly remove all the targeted hairs.
There was a large machine at the back of her consulting room which comprised of a metallic framework inside which was a suspension harness big enough to accommodate a human body. The framework was mounted on a set of articulated gimbals which permitted 360 degrees of free rotation in all axes. At the top of the framework was the laser projection assembly. It seemed like a pretty efficient solution and I wondered if the government developed these sorts of things all the time. I supposed that they could make quite a lot of money in the commercial market.
"This will be going into production and on sale in the US later this year," said Doctor Easton, clicking over to me in her spike heels, as if reading my thoughts.
"Remove all your clothing please."
Dumbly, I complied, and stood self- consciously, trying to cover my groin. Easton had a tube of a colourless gel in her hand, which she proceeded to smear all over my scalp, eyebrows and pubic area.
"This is a barrier gel which prevents the marker signal from being read by the targeting system," she explained efficiently as I stood in acute embarrassment while she worked the excruciatingly cold gel into my pubic hair. She then gave me a pair of dark blue goggles to put on. "These will prevent removal of your lashes and protect your eyes from the laser mesh".
After a while, she stood back and looked me over. Apparently satisfied, she nodded, and indicated that I should follow her to the depilation machine. I stepped inside the spherical framework and Easton began to strap me into the harness, which attached at the wrists, upper arms, ankles, knees, waist, chest and neck with translucent straps which I supposed would allow the laser mesh to penetrate. Then she went over to the control panel and pressed a combination on the touchpad which made the harness retract into the framework so that I was raised up and suspended in mid-air, my arms and legs wide open. It felt utterly perverse.
I heard her moving around behind me, then a cold sensation in my buttocks, followed by a sharp needle. A coldness seeped out from where she had injecting me, and I realised I couldn't move.
"The targeting computer works best when the subject is immobile," I heard her intone emotionlessly. I heard her pressing another combination of keys and the framework began to rotate slowly. I was bathed in a cold, blue light in which I could just distinguish individual, infinitesimal laser beams. It was not an unpleasant sensation, somewhat like being tickled very gently all over my body; after a while I drifted off into a semi-sleep.
When I came to I was covered in a thin layer of ash. Easton was using a small hand-held vacuum cleaner to remove it all, and I realised that this was the remains of my hair. The paralysing drug was wearing off, and I began to flex my arms and legs, which had pins and needles. Easton went away and came back with a rather nasty looking pen- shaped implement.
"What's that?"
"Pen laser depilator. I'm going to sculpt your eyebrows and bikini area."
I thought that that sounded too much. "Wait a minute. I mean, is that really necessary? I thought women did that kind of thing themselves?"
Easton stopped, and shrugged. "I thought it might be more convenient for you. It's your choice."
"No thanks. I'm not going to be wearing any bikinis anyway.
And I'd prefer not to have no eyebrows for the rest of my life." Easton shrugged again and clicked away. After a while, there was a whine from the mechanism and the harness lowered me to the floor.
"Go and shower thoroughly in tepid water," she said, handing me a towel. "Then report to Doctor Dwyer."
The machine had done its work. I was as smooth as a baby all over and it felt very strange. A red rash had appeared on my skin, but Easton had told me this was normal and would wear off overnight. The sensation of clothes on my hairless skin was novel and intense. Mary Dwyer was not in her consulting room when I arrived, and I was puttering about when she walked in.
"Hello, Commander Pierce."
"Doctor Dwyer. What's the news?"
She smiled. "Good. Your blood's come back fine. Any ill effects? Dizziness, nausea?"
I shook my head and sat down.
She stood and looked at me for a while. Then appeared to come to a decision.
"Well, I don't see any sense in delaying." She walked over to a cupboard and came back with a bottle of colourless fluid, with a label that said "PIERCE" on it, and a large syringe. As she was filling the syringe, I began to panic.
She noticed me sweating and shivering, and stopped.
"Afraid?" she asked, gently. I nodded. My mouth had gone dry and I couldn't speak at all. She walked over and put her arm around me.
"You're a very brave man," she said quietly, "and your government doesn't deserve you." I couldn't say anything.
"Shall we proceed," she went on, "or do you want to wait?"
I couldn't answer for a while, then I looked into her green eyes, and whispered, in the tiniest voice, "do it."
She rubbed my upper arm with alcohol and then the needle went in. I watched the colourless fluid drain into my vein.
I don't remember much of the next few days. Mary told me later that they had to keep me sedated for most of the time as I was too sick to cope. I don't remember undergoing any of the procedures that they completed during that time. I don't remember. All I remember is a sensation of falling into a deep, dark well, revolving slowly until I was utterly consumed...
I woke up and looked at the bedside clock.
It read 6:30. I had no idea whether it was morning or evening. I had a vague recollection of needles and hands manipulating me in my bed. I had a sick, dry taste in my mouth and a sharp pain in my groin. There were dull aches all over the rest of my body, especially around my face, chest, abdomen and bottom. I tried to raise my head but that was too much.
After a short rest, I found that by concentrating very hard, I could raise my hand to my bedside table for the glass of water there. But when I tried to close my fingers, there was no strength there to lift it. I sighed and closed my eyes, drifting into sleep.
I opened my eyes and looked up to see Dr Easton looking down at me. I found it hard to focus on her face. She had taken the sheets off me and was examining me with a terrifying briskness. I felt her hands move over my hairless body feeling my chest and groin, flexing my arms and legs. Then she nodded at someone I couldn't see and covered me up again. I heard footsteps then the light was turned off and my door clicked shut. I let my eyes close again, vaguely aware of a dull pain in my chest.
I woke again, feeling stronger. I could turn my head and raise my arms, and felt very much more alert although still dizzy and nauseous. I noticed the drip in my arm through which a colourless fluid was passing. I identified a sharp pain my groin as I moved, and the same soreness in my chest that I had felt earlier. The clock read 2:00 and I had the feeling that it was early morning. The facility was quiet. I was madly thirsty and wanted to get rid of the stale, chemical taste in my mouth. I reached for the glass of water but couldn't locate it, so I turned on the bedside lamp and sat up, letting the sheets fall from my body. I was overcome by a moment's intense nausea, then realised from the tug that the pain in my penis was caused by a catheter. I found the water and sipped eagerly.
I looked down at my body for any changes, but apart from the strange hairlessness the only thing that was apparent was the shocking amount of weight that I had lost.
I had prided myself on my taut and muscular build, but that was gone, replaced by a pale, fragile gauntness. For the first time I wondered how long I had been out. I looked at my chest. I was no idiot, and I knew what the pain signified, but I could detect no changes there. I felt my chest and was greeted by a sharp pain from my nipples which began to discharge a weak, colourless fluid. Shocked, I moved my hands away and mopped up the secretion with a tissue from my table. I smelt it. It had a musty, familiar smell, like milk and old laundry.
Suddenly exhausted, I dropped the tissue by my bedside and collapsed into a sudden sleep, no dreams.
I woke sometime later to find that someone had come in and covered me again, taken the tissue and refilled my water glass. The light had been turned off and the clock read 6:43. I sat up again and turned the light back on, noting that I felt much less dizzy this time.
I pulled the sheets down and examined my chest closely.
The pain came again, accompanied by the discharge, which seemed more viscous this time. I also noticed that the sudden pain was accompanied by a feeling of intense pleasure running through my body, accompanied by my nipples standing erect, like little brown jelly beans. I felt the area around the nipples and noticed a hard mass under each nipple, which was extremely tender. I realised with a sinking feeling that my breasts were growing more than I had previously thought. I found that the sensation of manipulating my hard nipples was extremely pleasant, sending little jolts of intense feeling down to my groin. Oddly, but probably for the good, I did not get an erection. I turned the light off and lay down, fiddling with my nipples and spreading the mucus discharge around them. I soon fell asleep and had an intense dream of making love to Mary Dwyer in a huge red bed shaped like a heart.
I woke up and was embarrassed to see Mary smiling down at me. I smiled back.
"Good morning," she said, "I hear that you've been waking a bit. How do you feel?"
I thought for a moment. "I feel fine. My nipples are very sore and I think they're growing a bit"
She leaned down and began to examine my naked, hairless body. I noted that the drip and the catheter were gone and I was ravenously hungry, which I took to be a good sign. The sensation of her hands on my chest was driving me crazy and she noticed me squirming.
"Rather an intense feeling?" she said.
I nodded.
"It will be," she continued, "for a while. The development seems to be proceeding fine. Once we get you back on solids, you should experience some real growth."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
There was silence for a while, while she completed my exam. Then she straightened, punching some notes into her tablet.
"Good." She sat down next to my bed. "Let me fill you in on what's been happening.
"You've been in and out of it for a couple of weeks. During that time, the hormone cocktail has done its work and you have the body chemistry of a teenage girl now. What we did a couple of days ago was take you off the aggressive programme and implant a slow release package into your abdomen. This will help stabilise you and get your body used to the dosage which you'll have to maintain for the duration of your mission."
Again, I could think of no suitable response.
Mary rose. "At the same time, Dr Easton has been doing some more work. The body hair is gone for good, and she's started doing some collagen work on your face. it's quite striking actually. Your hair's grown out quite a bit too - that's been accelerated by the hormone programme."
She paused, glancing at her watch. "I have to go now." She started moving towards the door. "Are you cold?"
I nodded. She went to the cupboard and got me something. It was a white silk night-shirt. She helped me put it on. The silk felt fabulous against my hairless body.
"I'll get a nurse to bring you a meal. Liquid for now, I'm afraid." She grimaced. "Bye for now."
After she left, I spent a while feeling myself through the sheer fabric of the nightie. I was assailed by unfamiliar feelings of utter sensuousness and pleasure.
Then suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by fear and anguish and broke down in a racking fit of tears.
I woke again to find that I had made stains in the chest and groin of my nightie. I noticed the glass of Complan by my bedside and felt a wave of shame at the idea that the nurse would have seen the state I was in. But the hunger overcame me and I drank all the Complan and some more water, before drifting off into a confused sleep.
When I woke up next, I felt fitter and stronger. There was another glass of liquid food next to me and I drank it down with relish. I decided to try and get up and was pleased to find it quite easy, with only a little shakiness. I walked to the loo and had a pee, wincing at the pain, which I guessed was from the catheter. Then I walked over to the sink to wash, and saw my face.
I was shocked at the change. The face that looked back at me was gaunt and pale, but the changes that Easton had made were clear to see. She had built up my cheekbones and given me a very noticeable lip implant. I looked, in fact, very petulant and, I'm embarrassed to say, kissable.
Then there were my eyebrows, which were thin and arched, accentuating the blueness of my eyes. With a flash of rage, I looked down and saw that my pubic hair too had been sculpted into a neat triangle, sat incongruously on top of my hairless cock and balls. Bitch. My choice, indeed.
Startlingly, though I had not shaved for two weeks there was not a trace of stubble on my smooth face. My hair also seemed much thicker and longer. I stepped back and looked at the whole picture and was astonished at how female I looked already. From the noticeable bumps in my chest to my reduced waist and my almost entirely hairless body.
Topped by that face. For the first time I believed that they could do it. That I could. And, strangely, it made me feel better. I went to the cupboard and found a pair of black cotton panties, which I slipped on, then put a fitted black v-neck top and a pair of brown flared slacks on top. Suddenly curious, I went back to the mirror to see what I looked like.
"Very good," said a voice behind me. I whirled guiltily. It was Miss Loth. She walked up to me and around.
"Actually remarkable. You look like one of those emaciated and rather strange-looking girls that were popular with the fashion editors a few years back. What do you think? Does it feel all right?"
I sat down on the bed. "Actually, I'm quite surprised at how un-upset I am." I said, speaking slowly and carefully.
Miss Loth nodded. "I hear that a shift in psychological perspective often accompanies these treatments. Are you in pain? Dr Dwyer said that she spoke to you yesterday and that you seemed to be over the worst."
I nodded.
"Good. We need to build you up a bit now so that we can complete the reconstructive program and begin the behaviour training. The schedule is short and Commander Bond is coming to review the results in a month. Are you reading those?"
She pointed to the pile of women's magazines and catalogues on the coffee table. I shook my head.
"I think you should. I've been authorised to buy you any clothing you see that you like in the catalogues.
"I'll call in later to get your choices."
Then she walked briskly away, closing the door behind her. I sat for a while, then walked over to the mirror again, looking at the feminine figure looking back at me. She was right, the chemicals had changed the way I thought about myself. There was no doubt about it. I should have felt disturbed and outraged at what I saw, but didn't. I walked resignedly to the table, sat down and picked up the copy of Scene that was top of the pile of magazines.
Over the next two weeks, I went back onto solids then was put on a highly pleasant high protein diet that built me up quickly. This was combined with a regular series of gym and aerobics classes that quickly put some shape onto my bones. And I have to say that the shape was quite a good one.
I had not filled out in the areas I was accustomed to. My breasts had grown and I now filled a 36A bra. Weight and muscle had gone onto my thighs and bottom, but my waist remained a trim 28". My hair grew some more.
Doctor Easton had reviewed my progress and told me sniffily and with some disappointment that she did not consider further reconstructive liposculpture necessary in my case.
Mary and Miss Loth both praised me at all turns, and secretly, I took care of my appearance as I found that I valued their praise. Loth also told me that Commander Bond had been called away to The Honduras on security business and had postponed his review and briefing 'till a fortnight's time.
Meanwhile, I began weapons and combat training again in the tactical arena and found to my pleasure that I had not lost any of my edge. Allied with this, I began to take voice coaching and deportment training.
Suddenly, the facility was bustling with feminine activity centred around me. A hairdresser called Mindy visited me and gave me a nice, fashionable cut.
Beauticians attended me to pamper, manicure, massage and treat me. I learned make up quickly and new clothes arrived daily as I became carried away by the adventure. I began to experiment with different styles of appearance and Mary would often find me turning up to our daily check-ups dressed in a crazy variety of costumes, from slinky evening wear to mutton-dressed-as-lamb club-kid style.
I built up a collection of wicked lingerie and learned cunning ways of concealing my cock to a highly convincing degree. I began to realise that a new personality was emerging and "she" was quite extrovert, and enjoyed attention and dressing up.
By the time I was to be debriefed by Miss Loth, prior to the arrival of Commander Bond the next day, I felt that we had achieved the impossible.
I was a mission-ready Miss.
I walked down the corridor to Miss Loth's office. I felt utterly and confidently female. Through aggressive reinforcement therapy, they had turned Lieutenant Commander Anthony Pierce into a convincing analogue of a young, fashionable woman. My mannerisms, my voice, my patterns of speech, everything down to the way that I walked, had been modified and programmed.
So I clicked down the corridor in my red Gucci spikes. I was wearing a burgundy fitted suit from Miu Miu with big lapels, flared cuffs and a pencil skirt with an asymmetric slash up the back. My long, slim legs were encased in sheer pale tights from Jonathan Aston.
My face was made up to match my outfit, with pale shadow, a smudged brown under-eyeline and dramatic carmine lipstick, Rocker from MAC, and matching blusher. There was a coat of clear gloss over my lips which were pouting like they would explode. My bob was pulled back into a severe bun with a diamante butterfly pin from Anthropology offsetting the severeness.
Underneath, I wore black shantung silk underwired bodice and panties from La Perla. My cock was tightly restrained behind. I smelt lusciously of Extravagance d'Amarige, Givenchy.
I knocked and entered. Miss Loth was there, and Mary. Doctor Easton had left the facility a week ago, and most of the other workers were already gone. I suddenly realised that I had not seen another man since Bond had left that eternity ago. I walked over and sat, smoothly crossing my legs at the knees. I smiled.
"Hello Commander Pierce," said Miss Loth. "I must say that you look spectacular as usual." With a pang, I realised that I now must look as good as she did, and thought back to that strange thought that I had had way back when at one of our first meetings.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"I'm reporting for my debrief, ma'am."
"Yes," said Miss Loth. "First, we have to say goodbye to Miss Dwyer. Her task is finished and she's being relocated back to her research post in Durham. She requested to see you before she went." With a quick smile, Miss Loth left the room.
I got up. Mary walked over to me and we hugged. I was surprised to see that she had tears in her eyes. "Commander Pierce," she began.
"Anthony" I interrupted, aware that this sounded a bit ridiculous now.
"I'm... sorry." she went on.
"Sorry?"
She looked up, smiling. "Sorry, yes. To change you against your will. You bear it so well, and I'm very proud and happy to have worked with you."
"Mary," I said, taking her hand, "you made it easy for me by being my friend." I was crying now too, "like you said, it's not completely permanent. At least I'm fortunate enough to be enjoying it. I must have been some kind of perv in the first place.
"Please let's keep in touch.
"Once I get back and I'm back to normal, I'll call you."
At that, she looked at me for a while with a strange expression on her face, then nodded and squeezed my hand. "Goodbye Anthony. My car's waiting."
I leant and kissed her softly on the cheek. She started to move away, and I stopped her.
"Lipstick." I said, wiping her cheek. She let go, walking to the door. She turned and looked back at me, a little wave, then she was gone.
A moment later, Miss Loth returned, and gave me a hanky for my tears.
"You and she were close, weren't you?" she asked.
I nodded.
Miss Loth had informed me that Commander Bond would be coming to see me at 0830 to brief me on my new identity and my reinsertion strategy. She had prepared a Navy dress uniform for me as Bond had requested a formal debrief.
I now sat in my room, dressed in my Royal Navy uniform blouse and skirt suit and regulation black stockings, completing my make-up. I'd eschewed the regulation clumpy heels in favour of a pair of black spikes that were still sober, but a little higher. It was 0814. I gave myself a quick spray of Chanel No.5 and waited, trying to gather my thoughts. I was now extremely nervous about everything from the mission, the start of which would conclude what had turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable phase of my life, to a return meeting with Bond, whose presence I awaited with a strange mixture of terror and anticipation.
How would he judge me, this strange neutered thing? Would he treat me with contempt? Or would he like what he saw? I felt hopelessly confused.
For the first time in a long time, I thought about Christina and my parents.
Would they recognise me now? My dad would be horrified, I was sure. It was better that they thought I was dead. Or was it?
Suddenly overcome, I cried, burying my head in my hands. What had I done? What had I let them do to me? I looked up into the dressing table mirror. Mascara running, my face a mess, I suddenly saw Anthony Pierce in there and realised that in serving my country, I had become irrevocably a traitor to myself. I gazed into the mirror, tears running down my face, unable to move.
The phone rang.
I looked at the clock and realised I was late for my briefing. I picked up the phone. It was Miss Loth. I apologised and set about fixing my face, giving myself an extra, defiant coat of red lipstick.
Then I rushed from the room.
Bond said nothing as I entered. He was standing with his back to me, by the desk. I snapped to attention and saluted.
"Lieutenant Commander Pierce reporting as ordered, sir!"
Bond turned, raising an eyebrow as he took in my appearance. A smile twitched across his mouth. "At ease, Pierce. Take a seat."
I sat, crossing my legs. It came naturally now.
Bond sat at the desk opposite me.
"The situation in Japan has progressed since we last met, Pierce. We now have an ideal insertion opportunity for you."
"Sir?"
"How are you with children, Pierce?"
"Sir?'
He rose. "Follow me Lieutenant. We're going for a drive."
Bond's DBX was parked in a country lane a quarter of a mile from the concealed hidden exit of the Q branch facility.
I walked, enjoying the fresh air of a cool late summer morning, realising that I had never before been outside in my female disguise. Bond was silent beside me. I felt very tense and alert, nerves on edge.
Bond held the door for me and I slid into the passenger seat of the bullet grey Aston, legs together, like a lady. Again, the smile twitched across his face. Again, I noticed the scar across his chin, and wondered how he had got it. I glanced up and caught the full attention of his steel grey eyes.
We looked at each other for a moment, then I looked away, confused. Bond shut the door and got in the other side. He started up without fastening his seat belt, lit up a Cartier and we drove on.
As we drove through the hazy sunlight, Bond briefed me on my new cover legend. I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead, very aware of his presence next to me. My new name was Jane Masters. I was 24, a Cambridge graduate in Oriental languages (that fitted with my almost fluent Japanese, at least) who had been temping as an account executive at a West London media agency for the past two years before leaving this week. Prior to that, I had travelled extensively on a parental inheritance. I was by all accounts the sort of posh, fashionable trash who hung out at 192 and the Fifth Floor of Harvey Nicks.
I had a little flat just off Powis Square in Notting Hill and drove a metallic lime green Volkswagen Beetle. I liked soul music, salsa clubs and New York. Now I had applied for a job at the Red Fist's London recruitment organisation to be an English language teacher for their leader, Akaguchi's twin sons. My interview was scheduled for late the following week.
I was to leave Bicester and immediately to immerse myself in Masters' identity. A network of "friends" had been set up for me to facilitate this. As Bond filled in the details of my new life, I began to feel an increasing sense of panic and loss of control. His powerful car was hurtling down the side roads past sleepy Cotswolds villages and I looked across at him as he talked for the first time. I knew just exactly why I felt nervous.
Commander James Bond was a handsome man, even now. I watched him as he spoke and a wave of fluttering heat passed through my body as he shifted up and down the gearbox. He glanced across at me, then down to my legs, where my skirt had ridden up exposing my lacy stocking-tops and the shiny clips of the suspender-belt that held them up. I looked down then back up, catching his eye, and realised that I was flushed with excitement.
"Something on your mind?" he said.
"Nothing at all sir," I replied, having to catch my breath.
He crunched up into fifth as we hit a long, straight stretch of deserted B road. His hand came off the gearstick and his fingers found the inside of my thigh. I gasped as an electric shock of desire coursed through me.
"What do you want, Pierce?" he asked, seemingly amused.
"I... I don't know, sir. I..."
I tailed off as his fingers moved up my inner thigh towards my groin. I looked at his cruel, beautiful face and realised how much this man and his associates had had me changed.
I knew what I wanted. I wanted to please this man and make him find me pleasing. I reached over and cupped his warm groin in my hand. I felt his cock stir to attention, and I unbuttoned the fly of his blue pinstriped suit trousers, struggling to release him. He popped free as I unbuckled my seat belt with my free hand and bent over to service His Majesty's secret man.
Later he took me back to Bicester and left me in the deserted complex. The facility was to be shut down after my departure.
Invisible secret hands had mysteriously squirreled away the contents of the building while Bond and I had been away.
Miss Loth was gone. My stuff was gone, to my flat in Notting Hill. I had a make-up bag, a small handbag and nothing else to show for my thirty-odd years of existence.
As I walked through the empty halls with my meagre belongings, I thought about what I had just done. I thought about how much I had enjoyed being James Bond's little cocksucker. I thought about just exactly how much I wanted to do it again, and about the little hormone pump in my belly that was releasing the substances into my body that made me think these things. I stopped, and said out loud, "We are all whores."
Bond didn't care about me. He was somehow testing how far and how convincing my transformation had been. He was as much a company man as any of the others. M, Miss Loth, Doctor Easton; even Mary Dwyer, for all her kindness. For a while I wondered how free Lime had felt when trying to betray his country. But it came back to claim us all in the end. Lime was now dead, or a prisoner of a hostile power.
Was I any different? I didn't know. I just wanted to be right back where I had been before this mess had happened. There in that corridor, I resolved that if I ever made it back and became a man again, that I would resign my commission and do something else with my life.
Again, I thought about Bond. I had heard from people at the Service that he had once married. That he had been in love with a beautiful and unusual woman called Tracy who had been assassinated by an agent of that defunct terrorist organisation SPECTRE as they drove to their honeymoon. How she had wanted to take his bulletproof Secret Service DB5 but he had talked her out of it, frivolously wanting to drive her ragtop Alfa Romeo Spyder.
It was as hard to believe that Bond could ever love anyone again as it was to believe that he thought of me as any more significant than that pot plant in that corner, or the moth fluttering there by the flickering fluorescent light. I felt utterly desolate. I too had loved.
Christine. And now she might as well be dead. A tear appeared at the corner of my eye and rolled down my cheek. I brushed it away and started walking again towards the room from where my new life would begin.
I stood at that door and took a deep breath. Once I entered this room the rest of the complex would be a dead, dark shell, no longer accessible. Here was my future. I reached for the handle, turned and pulled, and entered. A dim bulb clicked on automatically. I could sense and encroaching darkness behind as the complex switched itself off. I walked in. The door swung shut behind me.
I heard the deadlock fall into place; there was no handle on my side, just smooth metal, riveted, impermeable. At the other end of the small, narrow room was another door, next to the door an electronic keypad to which I knew the only combination. I sat at the dressing table and ran my hands through my hair, raising it off my face; the face that gazed back at me in the mirror, becoming familiar now, more familiar than I would have thought possible, back then, at the beginning of a chain of events that would lead me here, to this room, here, today, now. It still shocked me, I suppose; but each time the shock was less.
A young woman looked defiantly back at me, face strangely familiar but subtly softened by surgery and hormones.
Beneath my fashionable clothes, the breasts were quite real - perhaps the most striking change, with their definite, graspable, new mass; just how graspable was indicated by the bruise marks Commander Bond had left on them that afternoon.
They had large and definitely feminine aureolae and full, upturned nipples. No hair, of course, and the body, still toned and muscular, noticeably more slender and delicate in posture and balance.
On the table was a Gucci keychain with car keys and a couple of other keys which I knew belonged to a flat in West London. I let my hair drop and used the fitful light to touch up my make-up. Well, Jane Masters, I thought to myself. Welcome to the world.
I got up, smoothing my tweed, Liz Claiborne skirt and went over to the door to punch the keypad as I had seen Bond do earlier that day. I walked confidently up a short, dark corridor and heard locks shut behind me. In darkness, the only guide another faintly luminous keypad.
I keyed in the combination and the second door swung open, allowing the smells and sounds of a warm August night into me. I emerged, strangely calm, from a door concealed in an overgrown brick wall, which swung noiselessly closed behind me. The harvest moon was huge and coppery near the horizon, so utterly beautiful that I was becalmed for minutes, my head to one side, just gazing. Beyond the road, a rippling field of some corn-like crop; there an owl, hooting, melancholy. In the distance the dull roar of the Motorway.
I opened my handbag and found a pack of cigarettes. I lit one and enjoyed the hit, before walking down the road to find Jane's lime green VW Beetle that was surely parked there, and to which my key would surely fit.
The signs read 'London 10'. The yellow sodium lights of the M40 illuminated the inside of my car balefully. I checked my watch. 2.30 AM. I looked at my pretty new face in the rear view mirror, trying a smile. The car sped on towards London.
The end of CHAPTER ONE
Jane Masters will return in CHAPTER TWO
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I'm a Musician, writer, photographer, designer, transgendered z-list celebrity. Insomniac's boyfriend. Tragic glamour and sleepless nights are my fellow travellers. Skinny jeans and pointy shoes are my mode-us operandi. I like cats. Especially the ones who talk. Oh, and David Lynch.
