The attack had been carried out with merciless swiftness, with intensity, and with absolute professionalism. One moment the party had been in full swing, eight businessmen and four beautiful young women; there'd been music, dancing, full glasses, laughter. The next, the doors had exploded inward and a team of five ski-masked commandos had come bursting in. The "phut!" of silenced guns had echoed around the room, and in seconds, the six businessmen in the main room and one of the girls--hit accidentally as she tried to flee in panic--lay dead or wounded on the floor. One of the commandos had taken charge of the other three women, herding them into a corner and keeping them there, his weapon trained on them, his manner terrifying them into silence.
Orders were shouted; while the one man remained, keeping the three girls captive, three of the others scattered through the house, looking for their last two targets. Meanwhile, the last commando methodically checked each of the dead and wounded, searching their clothing thoroughly, finishing off each man he found still living with a dark--bladed commando knife, stabbing the man in the chest, through the heart. The girl who'd fallen he found was not dead either, and he did not kill her; instead, he grabbed her wrists and dragged her, moaning, to the corner where the other three were huddled in fright.
From upstairs, a "phut!" and a cry announced that one of the other men had been found; not long afterwards, a similar set of sounds from outside duplicated the previous incident. A few minutes later, the three commandos came back to the front room.
"Good job," one of the men said. He spoke with a distinct accent. "First-rate." He looked at his wristwatch. "Nine minutes, much faster than the plan called for. We have twenty-one minutes before pickup. Did anyone find the merchandise?"
All the men shook their heads. "What're we gonna do with the girls, chief?" the man who'd been guarding them asked.
The Chief turned to look at them; there was a certain sadness in his eyes. He took off the ski- mask, revealing a lined face with hair graying at the temples. "Do you girls know," he asked them, "who these men you were entertaining were?" As he spoke, the other commandos, following suit, removed their masks as well.
One of them, a girl with blue eyes, short dark hair, and a superb figure, spoke up. "No," she answered. "They called the agency, they asked for four escorts, they were willing to pay whatever the asking price was. The agency--the Executive Escort Agency--sent us over. That's all we know." She pursed her lips. "Look, mister, Suzanne's hurt real bad..."
The chief nodded. "Yes, I can see that. You understand, that she was hit was an accident?"
"I guess so..."
"It was." He hesitated. "What's your name, honey?"
"Amanda," she told him. "Amanda Thompson."
"Amanda," he repeated. "Nice name, Amanda." He gestured toward the men lying dead around the room. "These men," he went on, "were terrorists. I know, they don't look it. And that's what made them so dangerous... that's why our government sent us after them. To eliminate them. As we did, with extreme prejudice; we didn't want them in jail. If they were--even if they were on death row--their comrades would take hostages and demand their release, we know that."
Amanda stared at the bodies. "Terrorists?"
"Yes. They were here to steal a small electronic device, a very high-tech item--and their mission was successful. This device could be used as a miniature trigger for a nuclear device. I guess you can understand why we had to take this so seriously."
Amanda nodded. "But... it has nothing to do with us..."
"I know. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, let me ask you--did these men give anything to any of you? A small black cylinder, an inch in diameter and three inches long? If so, it'll be much easier if you tell us about it."
"Not to me," Amanda said. She looked around at the other two girls. "Michelle? Jenny?" Both girls shook their heads. Suzanne, the wounded girl, was conscious enough to hear and she shook her head as well.
The chief sighed. "Ladies, I imagine you're telling the truth. But we have to be sure, you understand? The size and shape of the device... means it can be concealed easily on--or even in--one's person. I can't afford to take a chance. I'll have to ask you all to remove your clothes. All of them, please."
Amanda frowned and for a moment looked like she was about to protest. But then, setting an example for the others, she stood up, reached around her back, and pulled the zipper down on her bright red party dress. While the others waited, she pushed it down and, matter-of-factly, stepped out of it. Her bra followed, and then her pantihose. As she took each item off, she handed it to the chief-- who in turn handed it to one of the other commandos, who checked each item carefully. Amanda was even more stunning nude than she was dressed; her breasts were high, firm, and shapely, her stomach flat, her legs perfect.
"From what you said," she said cooly, "about the size and shape of this--whatever it is, I assume you'll want to check and make sure none of us have it concealed--inside."
"I'm sorry, Amanda, I--"
"It's okay," she interrupted. She spread her legs. "Check."
The chief walked over to her; while she stood looking at his face impassively, he slipped a finger into her vagina, and then into her anus. "She's clean," he said, pulling a tissue from a box on the desk and wiping his fingers. Amanda didn't even ask for her clothes; there wasn't much of a reason for it, the commandos had torn them in the course of their search. She sat down instead, seemingly not self- conscious about her nudity; she even posed for the men a little.
The other two girls looked hesitant, but at last the one Amanda had called "Michelle" stepped up. She was at least part-Asian, dark-eyed and dark-haired, very voluptuous, and dressed to show it off in a tight short dress. She too stripped naked, revealing large rounded breasts and flawless golden-brown skin. And, just as Amanda had, she spread her legs and invited the chief to do his search. He did; again he came up with nothing.
Jenny was next, and, though she'd seemed very reluctant at first, the fact that the other two girls were already nude seemed to put her at ease. Blonde, pretty, and well-built if very slender, Jenny seemed proud of her body; like Amanda she posed for the men after she'd stripped, although she seemed uncomfortable with the search--which, as before, yielded nothing.
The chief then turned his attention to Suzanne, who was the tallest of the four girls, and who had for the most part regained consciousness. As gently as possible, he and one of his men stripped off her bloody clothes. With an expert eye he examined her wound, a neat little hole to the right of her navel. She didn't resist the examination, but, again, nothing was found.
"Looks like none of you do have it," the chief observed. "I'm sorry, we had to be sure. None of you have seen it, have you?" The girls shook their heads.
"So..." Amanda asked hopefully, "are we free to go?".
The chief pursed his lips. "My dear--no, I'm so sorry, but no, you aren't. I hope you can understand this, at least a little. We represent a foreign government, we took extreme action on U.S. soil. If we were exposed there would be an international incident, there would be formal protests and strained relations between our countries. We would not be free to carry out missions such as this in the future. We--"
A look of terror passed across Amanda's features. "We wouldn't say anything," she said swiftly. "Look, we don't even know where you're from! Your secret is safe with us, we--"
"I'm sorry," the chief said, cutting her off. "Very sorry. You are very lovely, and what we have to do is regrettable. But we cannot leave witnesses."
The girls--all four of them--began pleading and crying. Patiently, the chief, his head shaking steadily, waited until they ran down.
"We have," the chief said, speaking above the girls' hopeless sobs, "some time and some flexibility. We'll give you choices; we can do this here and now, or we can take each of you into the next room, one at a time. If you cooperate with me, I'll try not to hurt you more than is absolutely necessary."
"You can't expect us to do that!" Michelle cried. "We can't! Please, please don't do this! We haven't done anything at all!"
"I know," the chief said. "As I said, it's regrettable. But we--"
His words were cut off by Jenny, who suddenly panicked. Breaking past him, she ran full speed for the door, a slender naked figure. The chief turned, drew his pistol, and fired. Jenny gave a little cry and collapsed heavily, blood welling from a neat little hole in the small of her back. Clawing at the carpet, she continued to try to make her way to the door. The chief rose, holstered his pistol, and walked toward her, drawing his commando knife as he went. Reaching her, he knelt over her, one knee on each side of her waist. He lifted her chin.
"Be still," he told her in a soft voice. "It'll all be over in just a second." Ignoring him, she continued to struggle, kicking her legs. He pulled her head back a bit further, holding her mouth closed so she could not scream, and plunged his knife into her bare back, under her left shoulder blade. The blade went all the way through her chest, the point emerging from her left breast. Blood sprayed on the carpet. Jenny flailed her arms and kicked violently, but only for a moment. Then she relaxed, moaned deep in her throat, and, her heart pierced through, quietly died.
The chief wiped his blade on the carpet and came back to where Amanda, Michelle, and Suzanne waited, all of them trembling in fear. He looked down at Suzanne. "You've suffered long enough, honey," he told her.
Tears welled from her eyes. "Please, I don't want to die..."
"I'm sorry," he said. "I really am." He looked up at Amanda and Michelle. "Shall we take her into the other room?"
"No, please!" Suzanne cried, her voice choked.
"Very well," he agreed, apparently taking that as an answer. He motioned to two of his men and they grabbed her wrists and ankles, pulling her arms and legs out straight. A third man took her head, holding her mouth shut. Wasting no time, the chief knelt beside her, laid his left hand on her left breast and pushed it up a bit. Then, with one smooth motion, he buried his knife between her ribs, under her breast. As blood erupted she shook violently, her eyes very wide. Already injured, she didn't even last as long as Jenny had. When the men released her, her body merely twitched a few times before becoming totally still.
He turned back toward Amanda and Michelle. Amanda had watched in horrified silence; Michelle had turned her face away. Now, though, knowing that it was over, she turned back to the chief.
"Please don't kill me," she begged, her voice husky. "I'll do anything--anything--you want..."
The chief shook his head. "All I want you to do is try to understand. That's all. I don't want to kill you ladies--I have no choice." He crooked a finger at her. "Come here, honey."
Standing up, she shrank from him. "No... no... no, please, oh God, oh please please..."
She hadn't noticed that one of the other commandos had silently moved around behind her. With a sudden lunge he grabbed both her arms and pinned them behind her back. Her eyes flew wide open in surprise.
But the chief did not give her a chance to do or say anything. He lunged forward too, and in an instant his knife was buried in her body below her breastbone. She lowered her head slowly, looking down at it. Then she began trembling, and her teeth chattered just as Jenny's had. The chief jerked the knife down and out, slicing a six-inch rip in her smooth silky abdomen.
Blood poured out; Michelle's eyes rolled back in her head and she sagged against the man holding her. He lowered her to the floor rather than letting her fall. The chief checked for a pulse in her neck. "Not quite," he murmured. "But she'll bleed to death in a matter of seconds, she'll never regain consciousness." He looked up.
Amanda hadn't moved. "I guess," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "it must be my turn now, huh?"
"I'm afraid so," the chief said.
"I do not want to die," she told him. "Is there any way--any way at all--I can talk you out of this?"
"Amanda, I simply can't leave you alive. That's all there is to it."
She looked down at the floor. "So there's nothing. Nothing."
"I'm sorry..."
"Yeah, you've said that, over and over." She spoke without raising her head. "You're 'sorry,' you're 'afraid you have to,' all that. It doesn't matter, does it? The result is the same as if you were some psycho killer."
"There's no way I can argue with you. You're right, of course. All I can tell you, Amanda, is that your death--and theirs--serves a good purpose. It keeps us free to do the job we have to be able to do..."
"Which makes me a martyr," she mused. "Yes. Well, I can't be sure of that, of course, but I'm going to choose to believe it, because it makes me feel a little better about all this." She shook her head and sighed. "Do me a favor, will you, chief?"
"If I can."
"Sit down in that chair there."
He frowned, but he did as she asked. "Now what?"
"Now this." She rose, came to him, and sat down on his lap, one perfect leg on either side of his, and put her hands behind his head. "And now," she went on, looking into his eyes, "you stick your knife in me. Do me the way you did Michelle, stick it somewhere where I'll bleed to death. Then hold onto me until I'm... gone."
He put his arm around the small of her back. Her breasts were close to his face. "You're a very brave girl."
She choked off a sob. "No, I'm not," she told him. "I'm scared, I'm so scared..." She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, then opened them again. "Stick your knife in me, chief," she urged. "The longer you wait the more scared I get..."
"I understand," he said softly. Then, holding her back tightly, he plunged the knife in under her ribs.
Her eyes flew wide open and she leaned forward against him. "Oh, God, oh my God, my God, my God..."
The blade wasn't quite buried in her body; he glanced down at it. There wasn't much blood flowing yet, just a thin trickle down below a neat hole, her skin puckered a bit around the blade. Pulling her toward him slightly, he forced the heavy blade on in deeper, continuing until the fingerguards were pressed hard again her abdomen. She trembled, she grunted, sighed, gasped, then grunted again; her hands clutched at his shoulders. The chief pulled the blade down slightly and blood erupted, spilling down her side and over his pants, splashing on the floor. For several long seconds he merely held her, the knife standing deep in her body. She finally pulled back a little, looked down at the knife, then looked back at his face.
Then he started pulling the knife back, and as he drew it back he pulled it down, cutting smoothly through the skin and muscle of her abdomen. Amanda's body went rigid, her face a mask of pain. The knife came free and even more of her blood came pouring out.
She leaned back against him, her body shaking. "That's it," he told her, speaking into her ear. "We're done, just relax now, relax and let it go, let it all go..."
"I'm scared," she mumbled in a choked voice. "I'm scared, I'm scared, God, I'm so cold..."
There was a huge pool of blood on the floor around their feet. "It'll all be over in just a few seconds now," he told her, almost crooning. "Just a few more seconds..."
"It... doesn't... even... hurt anymore..."
He patted her back. "That's good. That's good, I didn't want to hurt you."
She raised her head and stared at him, her eyelids heavy and her mouth slightly open. A slightly confused look on her face, she cocked her head to the side. Then her eyes fell closed and she suddenly went limp in his grasp.
The chief lowered her to the floor and stood up. "That's done," he said. "Come on, we have a
search to do. And now, we don't have a lot of time to do it in!"