Patiently, the two men sat on the couch and waited for Charlotte to return. She wasn't gone too long, but it was long enough to make the two British agents nervous; one of them, David Poor, kept his hand on the butt of his gun the whole time. They couldn't help staring at the young Irishwoman as she came in. In her own home, Charlotte O'Keefe was weaing clothing that would've gotten her arrested on the streets of the Arabic country outside--a very short black skirt, a white silk top with the top buttons undone, heels, and no bra. Charlotte was a small, slender, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who filled the outfit perfectly. Walking over to the couch, she handed Michael Hatcher, David's partner, a black leather valise.
She sat down in a chair across from them and crossed her legs while Hatcher opened the case and pulled out some papers. Looking over them, he whistled softly. "This looks very good indeed, Charlotte," he said. "Indeed." He whistled again. "All their plans, in detail. The dates, everything. They were planning an invasion; look here, they'd planned to assassinate the Lebanese president, fomet civil war behing the scenes, and then be positioned to send in troops under the guise of stopping the war. It might've worked, without this intelligence. Beautifully done, Charlotte."
She shook her head. "No, gentlemen. Not as well as you think. There were problems."
The men exchanged glances. "What sort of problems?" He patted the valise. "How did you get this, Charlotte?"
She lowered her eyes. "The defense minister spent the night here last night, at my urging; I waylaid him as he was en route to deliver these plans to Faid, whom as you know is in hospital at the moment. It's pro forma, but Faid must approve these plans. At any rate, the minister naturally had the valise with him, it was handcuffed to his wrist." Her cheeks reddened a little. "Naturally he could not keep it chained to his wrist all night, and therefore he chained it to the bed. This morning, he was quite unable to find the key. Most unfortunate."
Poor scowled. "And so? Why didn't he send for an aide or something?"
"He was embarrassed to, of course--chaining it to the bed so he could have sex with me was a major violation of protocol, he'd be shot if it were to become known. So he went to his office, to get a duplicate key he keeps there. I expect his return in about--" she glanced at her watch--"an hour."
The British agents stared at her. "But--but that gives us no time to--"
She nodded. "No time to copy the materials, I know--since there are no facilities here. Gentlemen, this was the only possible way I had of putting these materials in your hands. You'll simply have to take the valise and go."
"Well," Poor said, "you'll just have to come with us, then. It's unfortunate, but your usefulness as an agent here is at an end. When the minister comes back and the valise is not here--"
She nodded. "He'll know. Yes, naturally. And, sadly, I cannot go with you. as I have gained entry to the highest levels of government here, I am known and watched. The security people at any of the airports here would stop me from leaving. They will not, however, stop you."
"But, Charlotte--"
"Further," she went on, interrupting, "once Ali does come back, and learns that he's been betrayed, I will surely be tortured, and severely, to make me tell them who I've passed the information to. Their methods of torture are very effective, I cannot be certain I can withstand them without telling them what they wish to know. And it's best, gentlemen, if they do not learn your identities, you might not be out of the country by then, and in any event their agents in London will be alerted and ready to do whatever is necessary to stop you from delivering this to the government there."
"But--"
"And therefore," Charlotte went on, "I think the only good solution to this predicament is for you gentlemen to kill me before you go. I suggest you do it in my bedroom and make it look like a robbery, possibly with sexual overtones. Ali will then presume, I'd imagine, when he finds me dead, that his valise was stolen by common street criminals." Her voice was level and calm as she made these suggestions.
"We can't do that!"
She smiled at them. "Yes, gentlemen, you can. You've killed before in the course of your service to Her Majesty's government, and you'll probably kill again before you retire. This is just one more, and I'd hazard that few of the killings you've done in the past are for such a good cause as this one." She stood up. "And now, gentlemen, I'd suggest we get about getting the job done. Your time is quite limited."
"Surely there must be some other way!"
"There's not. Come along, gentlemen."
With obvious reluctance they rose, and they followed her as she led them up the stairs and into her bedroom. She went immediately to the little nightstand beside the bed, pulled open the drawer, and reached inside. While the agents watched, she used a handkerchief to lift out two knives. She tossed them on the bed. They were slim-bladed and double-edged, not expensively made. "You'll need to use those," she told them. "The local criminals do not have guns, they can't afford them. Weapons like these are typical. I'd propose leaving at least one at the scene of the crime, suggesting perhaps that the criminal ran in panic."
Poor was still frowning. "Charlotte, I--"
She came to stand in front of the bed. Adopting a stance with her legs spread, she put her hands on her hips. "I'd suggest," she told him, "that you stab me once or twice while I'm dressed, and then cut or tear my clothes off of me." She smiled. "The locals do not see European women naked often, they wouldn't miss an opportunity. I'd also caution you not to do this too expertly, that might arouse suspicions as well."
Hatcher, after slipping on a pair of leather gloves, picked up one of the knives. "David, she's right," he said. "This is the best way..." Standing in front of her, he laid a hand on her shoulder.
"The only way, unfortunately," Charlotte agreed. She looked down at the knife. "Please proceed. I shan't make any cries."
Poor, with a sigh, nodded, put on his own gloves, and picked up the other knife. Hatcher hesitated a moment. "Ready?" he asked Charlotte.
"Yes," she answered. He drew his hand back slowly, so she wouldn't be taken by surprise. Then, with a smooth stroke, he stabbed the knife into her stomach, above her skirt, plunging the blade in deeply.
She grunted, but, true to her statement, she didn't cry out. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were tight; her hands fluttered, as if she was trying to control them. A red stain began to spread rapidly over her white top. Hatcher snicked the blade out, and the stain began to spread much more rapidly.
While she fought for control, Poor moved around behind her. He wrapped his left arm around her upper chest, pulling her body back against his. She didn't struggle at all, she relaxed against him, and he quickly buried his own blade in the lower part of her chest, under her right breast, forcing the blade deep between her ribs. She grunted again and could not help laying her hand on his arm, but she didn't try to stop him. He pulled the knife out and her blood flowed freely, washing over the once-pristine white top and down over her skirt.
"I... would like to sit down," she said in a weak voice. "It's very... painful..."
Responding quickly, Hatcher and Poor helped her down onto the bed. Bending over her, Hatcher grabbed the lapels of her blouse and pulled it to the sides, tearing the fabric and popping the buttons. She nodded with approval as he pushed it back over her arms. He then slid his knife up between her breasts, under her bra, and cut through it. It fell away, exposing high, firm, and beautifully -shaped breasts. The men tossed the bloodstained garments casually on the floor. She looked down at herself; there were two very clean elliptical holes in her body, one under her ribs on the left and the other between them on the right, and blood was pumping out of both steadily.
Crouching before her, careful to avoid getting blood on his own clothes, Poor hooked his blade under the top edge of her skirt and cut through it as well. Pulling at the edges he expanded the cut into a tear; at the hem he was obliged to use the knife again, but after that her skirt fell away. He then grabbed her thin panties and pulled, tearing through them and ripping them off. Naked now except for her shoes, she sat quietly, her long shapely legs slightly spread, waiting for the men to proceed. They paused for a moment to stare at her; she was extraordinarily attractive.
"I can see," Poor commented, "why Faid could not resist the temptation..."
Charlotte smiled at him wanly. "Thank you," she murmured. She looked at each of the men in turn. "I know," she said, "that there is a certain erotic power in killing a woman, especially with a knife." Her gaze was frank. "There is a certain erotic element in being killed, as well, for the woman..." She winced. "The problem is, I have only this once..."
The two normally staid and businesslike Englishmen exchanged glances. "I don't believe," Hatcher said, "that I'd recall anything you might do here, David," he told his partner.
"I feel the same," Poor replied. He looked down at his sleeve. "I also think there's a certain risk here," he went on, "of getting blood on our clothing. A risk easily eliminated..."
Hatcher slipped his jacket off in one quick movement. "I entirely agree." Poor imitated his action, and, very quickly, the two men had undressed. Putting one knee on the bed and reaching down to caress Charlotte's breast, Poor kissed her; she reached out and began massaging his rapidly-rising erection. Hatcher, meanwhile, pushed her legs apart a little more and moved between them, using the head of his already hard cock to rub her sex.
Then, while still kissing her, Poor pressed the point of his knife into her right side, just under her ribs. She jumped slightly at the touch, but then began kissing him hard. He held her head with his left hand, keeping her face against his, and plunged the blade in.
Her body jerked again, her lips twisting against his, her eyes closing for a moment; she squeezed his cock with her hand. Only part of the blade was buried in her side; Poor, holding onto her tightly, pushed it on deeper, feeling it rip through the soft tissues inside her. More blood came spilling out, but, even as he forced the blade far into her body, she made no sounds other than soft grunts. Looking down, he saw that Hatcher was pushing his cock into her even as the blade was going in--and that she, in an amazing display of discipline, was guiding it with her other hand.
Leaving the knife standing in her side, Poor climbed up onto the bed and held his cock close to her cheek. Turning her head, she looked up at him. She seemed to be weakening quickly--which wasn't surprising, considering the amount of blood she was losing. Gamely, still keeping her eyes fixed on his face, she slipped his cock between her lips.
She wasn't really able to do much, though. Passively, she lay there on the bed, letting the two men do whatever they wanted. After just a few moments, she moaned softly, closed her eyes, and quivered with obvious orgasm. It was too much for Poor, it pushed him over the edge; he groaned loudly and began filling her mouth with semen. She was able to swallow a little of it, but more welled up over her lips, spilling down the side of her face, colored bright pink from the blood that had risen up in her throat.
Poor drew his cock free; Charlotte, blinking her eyes, looked up at him while Hatcher continued to slide his own erection in and out of her. "Let's finish her," Hatcher said, picking up his knife. "Now. Don't wait for me..."
"Remember," Charlotte whispered, "don't do it expertly... don't concern yourselves with my pain..."
Poor nodded. Holding her head, he slipped his knife quickly out of her side; then, just as quickly, he stabbed her again, through her breast, driving the blade deep into her chest. Her body arched up as the blade sank in. While it was still rigid, Hatcher drove his own knife into her solar plexus. She couldn't restrain a little cry of pain as the blade went deep. Pushing hard on it, Hatcher forced her back down on the bed; he began moaning with his own orgasm, lashing his head from side to side, and as he came he kept grinding the blade relentlessly into Charlotte's body.
Poor snatched his knife out of her chest. Seeing that she was losing her control in her last few seconds of life, he covered her mouth with his hand and stabbed her yet again, again through her breast, this time almost squarely through her nipple. Freed to cry out, she let out a choked scream behind Poor's hand. Her legs spasmed and she clamped her thighs around Hatcher's hips.
Then, abruptly, she went limp. She looked up at Poor's face and blinked rapidly several times. When she stopped blinking her eyes were wide open. Her breathing ceased; her pupils began to expand.
"She's as lovely dead as she was alive, don't you think?" Poor said mildly.
"Indeed," Hatcher agreed. He pulled his cock out of her. "Well, I expect we'd best clean up, old chap," he said. "Won't be too long before Faid returns. And we don't want to be here when he does."
"No, we don't." He kept staring at Charlotte's corpse. "I do believe," he said, "that we should put her name in for a commendation on our return."
Hatcher grinned. "She deserves several," he noted. "But I'm sure she'll get one, at least..."