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A Crude Business
by James Anderton (jma202@techemail.com)

***

An intellectual exercise at university leads to 
unexpected wealth. (MMF, nc)

***

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS 
ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you 
are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, do 
not read any further. As always, purposeful criticism 
will be welcomed.

***

THE POWER BROKERS. A CRUDE BUSINESS
An Entertainment in several parts by James Anderton

***

This story results from suggestions from correspondents 
that I add more chapters to my earlier story "The 
Ambassador's Wife." As the idea grew, I decided to 
incorporate characters from "Vengeance" another of my 
previous works.

I decided to use a long established literary device 
used by thriller writers for centuries? pioneered (on 
the internet, at least) by Parker and others in their 
"Bangkok Slaver" Stories, by writing a series of linked 
stories, rather than a lengthy novel. "A Crude 
Business" can be considered the scene setter for the 
series, to be known as the "POWER BROKER" stories.

***

PROLOGUE: AUTUMN 1987 - ENGLAND

Smoke drifted lazily into the air from the end of 
Gerald Knebworthy's huge Cigar. Before him, a select 
group of his brightest students, all mellowed by 
several glasses of good brandy, eager to share with him 
the conclusions of their private project. It had 
started as a post-grad joke, three years ago- "Write a 
business plan to create an organisation which will be 
the most powerful organisation in the world within 30 
years." 

Paul Hegarty rose to his feet.

"As Managing Director Designate," he started with a big 
grin, "I will introduce you to The GODS Corporation, 
Global Organisation for the Destruction of Society, 
bringer of pestilence to the world's major powers."

His audience chuckled, as he launched into his 
presentation.

"First, what sort of enterprise? Political?, 
Industrial?, Financial?"

Knebworthy sat forward in his seat. The guys had 
delivered...

"...only criminal certain enough, need a real business 
plan..."

Knebworthy's mouth fell open. The plan being proposed 
was exactly the proposition he had come up with, but in 
a level of detail he had only dreamed about.

"...need seed capital, Rashchid's father could... 
operating cash from drugs? prostitution?"

Knebworthy smiled to himself. This was going to work if 
they all bought into it.

"...all-pervasive power is essential... political... 
financial... violence... coercion..."

"What about the competition? You don't think people 
like the Mafia will just let you take over their path 
do you?" Knebworthy smiled to himself. Typical of Dan 
Hegarty to put his brother on the spot.

"No, of course not bro. We need new suppliers, new 
customers, niches, like these..."

Two hours later, Knebworthy, the newly elected CEO of 
GODS inc. dismissed his board and set them loose on the 
world.
 
***


CAPE TOWN - SOUTH AFRICA 1988


The sun was going down. As it settled slowly against 
the horizon, two of the three girls sitting on the 
veranda got up to go. All three of them had been 
invited to the party, but Mathilde Steenburg didn't 
want to go. Sharp as a tack, Mathilde had excelled at 
her studies, graduating in chemistry at the top of her 
year, but she was still deeply unhappy. She looked 
across at her friends, blonde, lithe, good looking, 
laughing joyously about life and inwardly cringed. 
Mathilde knew she was plain. Not ugly, but always last 
to be asked to dance, avoided by the good looking young 
men to whom she was attracted. No, she did not want to 
sit by herself through another party. Her friend Judy 
came back to her and pulled at her arm.

"You have to come, Mattie, you need to be seen if you 
are want that grant for next year."

Mattie knew she was right. Jobs were impossible to come 
by, even for someone as talented as her. Growing strain 
within the government, and terror attacks from a few of 
the black majority were rapidly eroding the White 
economy. However disillusioned she might be, she needed 
the research grant to keep her going until things 
improved, and good networking was essential. She got up 
and headed off to get dressed for the occasion.

Professor Wyatt always threw a good party, and as soon 
as they arrived it became clear that this would be no 
exception. Unusually, he was a defier of conventions. 
Black faces mingled with the white. Not many, it was 
true, but it was still illegal to mix in the wrong 
areas, and only brave blacks were prepared to run the 
risk in their search for a multicultural social life. 
The lights were low, and a disco unit created swirling 
patterns of colour against a background of throbbing 
music.

Within minutes Judy and Alice had been whisked off to 
join the throng of dancers, and as usual Mathilde found 
herself leaning against a wall, glass in hand, people 
watching. Time was hanging heavy as people got on with 
their socialising. If Mathilde had been on her own, she 
would just have left, but that wasn't an option. 
Suddenly, things took on a different complexion. 
Professor Wyatt sauntered across the room with the most 
stunning man Mathilde had ever seen. He was gorgeous. 
Tall, slim, but with a body rippling beneath his 
smartly casual shirt, and with a skin deep coffee 
coloured giving him the air of a well-to-do, confident 
businessman.

"Mattie, may I introduce you to Patrick. He's an 
English writer, doing a book on our scientific 
education establishments."

"Pleased to meet you, Mattie." The voice was soft, 
deep, and welcoming. Mattie responded warmly, as the 
conversation flowed freely. His questions about her 
life at university slowly changed focus, becoming more 
personal as the evening wore on. Time seemed to stand 
still as their relationship deepened unbelievably 
quickly. Mattie knew she was falling for him. She 
wrestled with her feelings. 

Relationships with blacks was forbidden, but she was 
having difficulty recognising his colour. All she could 
perceive was the interest in his eyes and the soft 
seductive tones of his voice. At the critical point in 
her deliberations he made his move. He raised his hand, 
and with the lightest touch, stroked her cheek with the 
back of his knuckles. She nearly fainted at the 
unexpected delicacy of his touch.

"Please," he murmured "follow me."

As if in a trance, she simply followed, up the stairs, 
and into a small bedroom at the end of a short 
corridor. He held her gently in his arms and explained 
that the next day he had to return to London. The surge 
of disappointment she felt was quelled by the simple 
expedient of a kiss. She melted. She yielded her mouth 
to his, as his tongue probed gently, but insistently 
around her lips. As he lay her gently back on the bed, 
he stealthily undid the middle of her button-front 
dress. She felt the cool press of his hand on the flesh 
of her waist as his lips moved slowly across her cheek, 
and down into the crook of her neck.

His hand moved slowly upward, initially cupping her 
breast through her underwear, then sliding her straps 
off her shoulder to free her soft skin to his touch. 
She was losing control now, this was a new experience 
for her, and the feelings she experienced as his lips 
gently sucked on her nipple were almost too pleasurable 
to bear. She had always had her defences planned - 
don't let him get his hand between your knees, keep his 
groping to the outside of the thigh - but nothing had 
prepared her for this.

She felt his lips move down over her stomach, sending 
little tickling feelings scattering all over her 
midriff. She didn't even notice his hand slide under 
the waistband of her knickers, but as his hand 
continued it's exploration there was no escape from the 
intense pleasure triggered by the touch of his finger 
on her clitoris.

Responding to his encouragement, she lifted her hips to 
allow him to remove her knickers. As he did so, his 
lips dropped to her groin and he began to slowly lap at 
her pussy. Her head back, rocking gently side-to-side, 
she struggled for breath. Her whole body seemed to be 
twitching with desires she had never felt before. Her 
cunt flushed with the juices of passion, as her legs 
fell open, inviting him to move on. He moved off her. 

She clutched desperately trying to pull his head back 
to her fanny, but he had other things in mind. Sliding 
his trousers down below his knees, he freed up his 
dick. Long and thick, he was inordinately proud of it, 
silently thankful that Mattie would feel it before she 
saw it. As his lips returned to her neck, he thrust. 
Gently, but in one smooth stroke, his dick swept into 
her well lubricated cunt, taking her breath away.

It filled her, she gasped with the shock at it's size, 
but immediately began to grind her hips against his 
groin, making every effort to maintain contact between 
his dick and the centre of her pleasure. Rapidly the 
heat built, she began to chew on her bottom lip as her 
head now thrashed from side to side. Her cry of wonder, 
when it came, must have been heard in Bulawayo. She 
screamed with pleasure, right into Patrick's ear, as 
her legs tightened around his waist and her feet 
drummed uncontrollably on his buttocks. Mathilde had 
discovered sex.

***

NORFOLK - ENGLAND 1994


Samantha Roberts was pretty pleased with herself. As 
owner and chief pilot of Roberts Air Cargo, she was 
about to cast off the burden of VAT forms and Company 
returns and get back to flying. Leasing a long distance 
cargo plane had seemed like a good idea at the time, 
but it had stood idle for weeks. Then, out of the blue, 
a saviour had turned up. Mark Harrison, a tall, good 
looking man would be welcome any time, but bearing a 
contract for a weekly delivery of machinery spare parts 
to Africa made him doubly so. Her only problem, a 
suitable available co-pilot, was solved by the customer 
himself. 

The following day, Captain George Dickens turned up, 
presented his credentials, and volunteered to "get 
stuck in" straight away by supervising the loading of 
the first batch of cargo. Dickens was a scruffy, 
unkempt individual, but had impeccable references, so 
despite her misgivings, Sam climbed aboard, went 
through the full gamut of pre-flight checks and set off 
into the sun.

Two hours out, however, Dickens went AWOL. Sam, 
concerned about the safety of her flight, found her 
worst fears confirmed when he returned an hour later, 
clearly the worse for wear. The smell of alcohol made 
her turn her head away, and his aggressive response 
made her decision to leave him alone and get on with 
flying, a good one. Another hour and almost a full 
bottle of vodka later, he collapsed in a drunken 
stupor, leaving Sam alone with her thoughts as she flew 
onwards.

Earlier that morning, Mark Harrison pushed his way 
through the double doors of the Stardust club, took the 
stairs two at a time and bounced into his boss's 
office. Steve Washington, Six foot four of mean, looked 
up in anticipation. 

"What's up man?

"Nothing, boss. Just thought you would like to know 
that the bird is on her way."

"Fully loaded? Dickens on board? Excellent!"

In the outer office, Jane Harrison (nee Janey Jeavons) 
sat staring at the wall. Her life was a mess. Hooked on 
coke by her now husband Mark, she had been raped, made 
to perform with animals, used as a whore, and finally 
forced into a marriage of convenience to the man 
responsible for her troubles just to protect her 
stepfather's reputation. Still she needed a fix, and 
there was only one way she could get it. 

As Harrison left, Washington reached for the phone. It 
had been more than six years in the making. With the 
help of oil money from Raschids father, the Emir, the 
big plan was just about to take off to another level. 
For too long his operation had relied on small 
shipments at sporadic intervals to establish his 
business. Now the demand required volume. It was time 
for the first bulk shipment. Dialling the international 
number that would connect him to his "brother" Samuel, 
he rattled off the details, re-assured himself that 
Samuel's men knew what was necessary and sat back to 
wait. It would only take a few days.

Mark closed the door behind him leaving the boss to 
make his call. Janey got up out of her chair and 
pleaded with him.

"Just one, Mark, I'm your wife for Gods sake."

"Listen, bitch, the only reason we're married is to 
protect your Stepfathers reputation so don't push your 
luck!"

"Please?"

"Fuck off!"

The door slammed behind him.

Jane sat, shaking, getting up the courage to ask Steve. 
She walked across the floor, knocked quietly at the 
door, and stuck her head nervously into the room. Steve 
was sitting with his back to the door, concluding a 
phone call. He waved his hand to indicate the chair, 
leaving her to pad quietly across the room and take a 
seat. He hung up, turned, and slowly smiled as he saw 
her sitting there, waiting.

"Long time Jane"

"I know, Steve, and I know you told me never to come 
back, but Mark won't talk to me, and I need someone to 
help me. You know I will do anything to get my fix..."

She blushed with the shame of what she had done before, 
but she knew that she would have to make a special 
effort if Steve were to get her what she needed. 
Putting on her sexiest look, she slowly unbuttoned the 
top two buttons of her blouse. When Steve told her to 
stop she almost panicked, but he reached into his desk 
drawer, pulled out a small packet of white powder and a 
business card.

"That's to hold you over. Be at that address at 9.00pm 
tonight. Don't be late, and tell no-one."

"OK., and thanks."

***

PERIGORD - GUJANGA 1994


The heat and dust were getting to him. Bouncing around 
in the back of his Landrover, President Samuel Mwamba 
wondered to himself what the hell was he doing holding 
the meeting out at the farm instead of his air-
conditioned office in Gujanga city. The farm was 
unique. Named "Perigord," presumably to remind the 
previous owners, the Rochas, of home, it bore no 
similarity to its namesake. Apart from being the 
largest in Gujanga, it had two distinct halves. 

One was typical African plain. Dry for most of the 
year, but lush and green through the two rainy seasons, 
it was ideal for traditional cattle rearing which 
formed the basis of the farms legitimate (and public) 
business. It was the other half, however, which was the 
reason for his interest. A sharp escarpment ran through 
the middle of the property leading to steep slopes of 
semi-tropical bush and forest, ideal not for 
traditional horticulture, but for the growing of 
Mwambas cash crop... the coca bush.

The GODS business plan required a supply of drugs. 
Traditional sources were sewn up by the cartels so a 
new source had to be developed from scratch. It was the 
misfortune of Eduardo Rochas, and his French-born wife 
Alexandra to own the farm. When Mwamba set his 
henchman, Major Ibo Ngoro on the job, he had no idea 
just how effective the abuse of power could be.

It was Ngoro who had accused Eduardo of treason, beat 
him, subjected his wife to sexual abuse of the worst 
kind, confiscated the farm and finally threatened them 
with death. Eduardo eventually was allowed to return to 
the farm as "Manager," his organisational skills put to 
new use growing cocaine. His wife also returned to the 
farm, as housekeeper for the notional owner, Tembo, one 
of Ngoro's secret service agents and trusted follower. 
It was Tembo who welcomed him as his Landrover slid to 
a halt.

"Welcome, Sir, the others are already in the study."

"Thank you, Tembo. I will call you when we need your 
report."

He strode purposefully across the well-appointed 
hallway and pushed open the study door. Three of the 
men inside stood to meet him. The fourth, Ngoro, 
remained seated, his shorts round his ankles whilst the 
head of a young woman bobbed furiously up and down 
servicing his giant cock.

Mwamba crossed the floor, a big smile on his face, and 
signalled the girl to leave.

"For Gods sake, Ibo, don't you know there's a time and 
place for everything?"

"I sure do, boss." grinned an unrepentant Ngoro. "I 
just can't find time for meetings..."

***

CAPE TOWN - SOUTH AFRICA 1988

"Jesus Christ." Judy Bergsson jumped to her feet and 
backed away from the splintered door. Four uniformed 
figures leapt through the door, automatic rifles at the 
ready. 

"What the fuck do you think you are doing!" she 
screamed at the top of her voice.

A fifth figure, in plain clothes walked slowly across 
the room. Stopping in front of her he smiled a slow, 
scary smile. Before she saw it coming, he backhanded 
her across the room bouncing her against the wall. She 
slid to the floor in shock, her legs splayed, her 
nightie sliding up to reveal all to the intruders' 
gaze.
Scary smile raised his hand, and without a word being 
spoken, the uniformed policemen left, closing what was 
left of the door behind them.

"Where is she" he hissed, looking down his broken, 
stubby nose at the cowering girl below him.

"Who?" Judy asked innocently.

"Don't get fucking clever with me, bitch. Your 
flatmate, Mathilde Steenburg, I'm told she fucks 
Blacks."

"She's not here."

Scary Smile leaned down, gathered a handful of her 
nightdress and hauled her up the wall, leaving her 
dangling, feet off the floor, virtually naked.

"I didn't ask if she was here, did I. I know she's not 
here, I asked where she is."

Judy hung there, terrified, unable to issue any more 
than a squeak. Scary smile lowered his face to hers. 
His free hand moved to cup her naked breast, and his 
knee pushed between hers, forcing her thighs apart. 
Judy's hands let go of the wrist at her throat, and she 
began thrashing about, desperate to release his grip.

"Put your hands down."

Judy couldn't believe how evil he could sound. 
Instinctively her hands lowered to her side. His free 
hand tightened his grip on her breast until it was 
almost unbearable, drawing tears from her eyes. His 
grip released, but his hand set off on an inexorable 
journey toward the junction of her thighs.

"No. Please. I would tell you if I knew."

His hand completed its journey, cupping her mound and 
insinuating its middle finger into the folds of her 
labia. Her inevitable struggle simply made things 
worse, helping him enter, and then tear at the walls of 
her cunt. Tears of frustration and anger rolled down 
her cheeks as, for a moment, she thought he would stop. 
She should be so lucky.

"No! NO! AAAAaaarrrggghh!"

Within seconds, his other leg joined the first, 
spreading hers still further. He had taken the 
opportunity to free his dick, and as she relaunched her 
struggle, Judy felt him push himself deep inside her. 
Fear ensured that her cuntwalls were as dry as sticks, 
and within seconds his thrusts began to cause 
irritation and pain.

"Where is the bitch? Where is the bitch? Where is she?"

"OOph! I don't know. OOph! I would tell you if I knew. 
OOOph!"

The pain was unbearable. Her cunt was sore, the back of 
her hips rubbed raw by the rough wall, and the back of 
her head ached from the rhythmical banging induced by 
his thrusts. 

"Please...Stop!"

The gush of his climax took both of them by surprise. 
He stepped back as he withdrew, dropping her 
unceremoniously onto the floor. Fastening his pants, he 
swivelled on his heels, and strode towards the door.

"Tell her! Cunts who shag blacks have nowhere to hide. 
I'll be back!"

***

ROBANA AIRPORT _ GUJANGA 1994


Sam Roberts was beginning to get concerned. She had 
been sitting on the chair in the small reception room 
for nearly two hours and still had her cargo manifests 
on the table in front of her. The heat was oppressive, 
and her decision to wear Company uniform added nothing 
to her comfort.

She had removed her jacket as soon as she stepped in 
the room, but now, perspiration had created damp 
patches on her starched white blouse. She removed her 
tie, placed it in the pocket of her jacket, loosened 
the top three buttons of her blouse, and sighed with 
frustration.

The door opened quietly behind her, as two uniformed 
officers and two soldiers in fatigues came into the 
room. She stood up as the two soldiers stood either 
side of the door, The younger officer took her chair, 
twisted it around and sat on it backwards, his arms 
folded in front of him across the chair back.

The older officer sat on the chair opposite her and 
introduced himself as Captain Mpenza.

"Well, Samantha, you've been a naughty girl, I see."

Sam looked at him in disbelief.

"My name is Captain Roberts, to you, and I would be 
obliged if you would refrain from patronising me."

"I will call you whatever I like, Samantha," he 
intoned, pompously stressing her name for effect. "You 
are in serious trouble, so you had better get used to 
it."

Sam's mouth dropped open in amazement then horror as he 
quietly informed her about the search of her cargo, the 
discovery of AK47s, Dickens' confession that they were 
destined for the rebels, and his assertion that Sam was 
a major player.

"So you see, young lady, we have a cast iron case, 
which has already been heard in our local court, and 
you have been sentenced to death."

Sam stared at him, her mind working overtime as the 
full implications of his words began to sink in.

"You can't do that, I'm a British Citizen, and demand 
to see my Ambassador."

"I'm afraid that will not be possible," he answered 
evenly. "This is only a small country, you have only a 
small Trade delegation who have already decided not to 
take an interest in your case - It is too politically 
and economically sensitive."

Sam was panicking now. As she stepped forward to 
protest her innocence she found her arms pinned to her 
side by the two soldiers. She needed to think, get some 
time.

"I must have the right to appeal," she muttered, almost 
under her breath.

"Only the President himself can overturn this decision, 
and I certainly am not going to ask him in this case."

To her left, the tall figure of the younger officer 
stepped in front of her. Despite his age, he was 
clearly the senior of the two, and, towering over her, 
he raised his hand and cupped her chin, drawing her 
eyes to his.

"I might," he said.

***

BIRMINGHAM - ENGLAND 1994

Jane sat slumped in a corner. The address Steve had 
given her proved to be an almost abandoned block of 
flats in the seedier part of town. The damned elevator 
was out of commission, its broken door jammed half 
open, stinking of urine and worse. She took the stairs. 
In her condition, the climb was a trial. Her last fix 
had worn off, she felt dreadful, her temperature high, 
her joints aching, she was desperate for a fix. Now 
that she had reached the flat, she rang the doorbell. 
No Reply.

Panic struck. Wildly she pushed at the door, which 
opened under her assault. A frantic search of the place 
revealed nothing but an empty slum. The place stank. A 
mouldy carpet and cold gasfire were the only 
furnishings in the larger room, and apart from a cooker 
and a couple of cupboards the kitchen was in just as 
bad a state. The effort was all too much. Tears of 
despair ran down her face as she slumped against the 
wall.

She didn't hear the man enter the flat, closing the 
door behind him.

"Hello, Jane," he said softly.

"Clyde? What do you want, get lost, I never want to see 
you again."

Clyde smiled.

"I'm not surprised after what you did to the Great Dane 
last time we met, but Steve sent me with this."

Jane looked across at the package he was holding in his 
hand. There was more H than she had ever seen.

"Great, give it here. I knew Steve wouldn't let me 
down."

Clyde smiled again.

"Not so fast, bitch," his tone harder now that he had 
her attention. "It needs to be paid for."

Janey knew it couldn't be that simple. These bastards 
never let you alone. She smiled as sexy a smile as she 
could muster.

"I don't have any money, can we do a deal?"

"Same old Janey, eh? What have you got to offer, as if 
I couldn't guess?"

"Please, Clyde, don't make me do it, I need the stuff."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch, and get on you knees. If I 
remember well, you love it that way."

Jane moved away from the wall, and lowered herself to 
her knees. 

"Turn around. Pull your skirt up. Knickers to your 
knees. Face on the floor."

Jane waited, face down on the stinking carpet. 

Clyde pulled a hypodermic from the package he was 
carrying, took off the cap and inserted it into Jane's 
buttock. Taken completely by surprise, Jane squealed as 
he depressed the plunger. Her hands reached 
instinctively behind her to protect herself, but it was 
to no avail. A simple push with the sole of his boot, 
and she slumped in a heap face down on the carpet. 

Casually Clyde pulled up her knickers, lowered her 
dress, and rolled her over onto her back. Leaving her 
to sleep, he walked across into the kitchen, switched 
on the gas and returned. Taking a telephone from his 
bag, he plugged it into the wall socket and left, 
closing the door behind him.

The blast, when it came, took out more than half the 
twelve storey block. Clyde was not around to watch it.

***

CAPE TOWN - SOUTH AFRICA 1988

The insistent ringing of the doorbell echoed through 
the house. John Wyatt left his guest and padded across 
the wooden floor. 

"Good God, Mathilde, you're shaking. What brings you 
here at this time of night?"

It was a good quarter of an hour before they could get 
any sense out of the distraught girl.

"My flatmate... the police raped her... they were 
looking for me... They know about Patrick... they said 
they would come for me... I don't know what to do."

She was sitting in his study. As she poured out her 
story, Professor Wyatt listened intently. His guest, a 
tall, handsome black man dressed in a dark suit also 
hung on every word as Mathilde described her finding 
Judy slumped on the floor of their flat covered in 
blood and semen.

"Why are you worried girl?"

The soft dark tones of his voice startled her, surely 
he knew that she had broken the law by sleeping with a 
black man.

"They will arrest me, treat me like Judy, but they will 
also ruin my career. I will never be able to get a job, 
and they won't let me leave the country."

"Tell me what you do, child."

"I'm not a child. I have a PhD in Chemistry, and I need 
a research grant to continue working. Jobs are not 
easily come by."

"What's your specialty?"

"Chemical Synthesis."

"Then why not come and work for me?"

Mathilde looked at him as though he was crackers.

"What would you want with a chemist, and how could you 
protect me from the police?"

"General Mwamba is not South African, Mathilde. He is 
President of the Independent republic of Gujanga."

"That's right young lady, and I'm here to ask Professor 
Wyatt for help in finding a production manager for a 
small pharmaceuticals venture we intent to start-up. He 
had just suggested your name when you turned up. 
Perhaps the gods are smiling on me. I can offer a good 
salary, excellent prospects, your own workforce, and, 
most importantly, sanctuary."

Mathilde stared at him, unable to comprehend her good 
luck, as he continued.

"I'm leaving for my home at first light in the morning. 
Smuggling you across the border as diplomatic baggage 
will be no problem, but I suggest you stay here the 
night if you intend to join me."

"I will," spluttered Mathilde, taking the opportunity 
before she thought too much about it. Memories of poor 
Judy flashed through her head, taking away any need for 
further thought. "I will."

Wyatt's maid appeared as if by magic as the discussion 
ended.

"Ah, there you are Joceline, please see Doctor 
Steenburg to the spare room. Oh," he added as an 
afterthought, "see if you can find her some appropriate 
clothes for a week or so in the bush. That should do 
don't you think."

As Mathilde vanished up the stairs, Wyatt raised his 
glass to Mwamba.

"Perhaps we should drink a toast to the gods?" 

"Don't forget that the Gods had a little help, 
professor. Here's to our friend Inspector Walwijk."

"I second that," whispered a voice, as their friend, 
Scary Smile, joined them in a toast.

***

ROBANA AIRPORT _ GUJANGA 1994


Samantha Roberts was not a stupid woman. She stared up 
into the deep brown eyes of the officer. Her mind was 
whirring, control had returned, options were being 
considered. It was pretty clear what he wanted, and it 
was equally certain that he would ignore her wishes in 
the matter. She knew the real threat was violence. That 
frightened her enough to make her mind up to co-
operate. Putting on her most innocent expression she 
explained that she had nothing but the deepest respect 
for the Gujangan authorities, and pleaded with him to 
intercede with the President on her behalf. 

"I might, but that depends on you." 

"What do you want from me?" she murmured, "I've told 
you the truth."

"I will need much more than that."

"Please, send the others away, and I will fully 
cooperate."

He smiled at her, bent his head and whispered in her 
ear. "They are staying! and you are going to show your 
respect, starting with Mpenza here." He grabbed a 
handful of her hair, and, none too gently pulled her 
around the side of the table and stood her in front of 
the older officer. "Why don't you show him how much you 
want to leave."

Insistent pressure on her shoulders was enough to push 
her to her knees in front of him. Nothing more needed 
to be said. Sam was angry more than shocked. She tried 
desperately to hide the thoughts whirling round her 
head.

Two things were certain, she decided. The first was 
that this had nothing to do with sex. Sex was only 
being used as a weapon to make her more amenable to 
something else. The second was that she had better 
resign herself to the task in hand. If she resisted, 
she would be seriously hurt. She had no doubt that 
violence was a normal part of life with these people. 
She had to buy time, see what they were after.

Leaning forward, she loosened Mpenzas trousers. He 
raised himself slightly off the seat and allowed her to 
pull them down his legs. They dropped to the floor, 
revealing a short, stubby penis already glistening with 
precum. Sam had done this before, but never in this 
sort of situation. Tentatively she opened her mouth, 
dipped her head, and licked the end of his diminutive 
dick. A quick upward glance at the young officer told 
her she was doing the right thing, but then, she 
thought to herself, that was bloody obvious.

Slowly, she sucked him in, effortlessly, and ran her 
tongue around the inside of her mouth. The effect on 
Mpenza was immediate. His breathing quickened, he began 
to shake and within seconds, shot his load of watery 
sperm into her mouth. She began to move her head 
backwards, off the thrusting organ, but a hand pushed 
it forward, forcing her to either swallow, or choke. 
She swallowed.

Still on her knees, she was pulled by the hair until 
she faced the two soldiers at the door. The briefest of 
nods was enough for the first of them to position 
himself in front of her, his erection pushing at the 
front of his uniform, demanding relief. She almost 
forgot her predicament and had to suppress a wry smile 
as his tool sprang from his loosened trousers. 

This was a much bigger task altogether. Eight inches of 
black manhood hovered in front of her face. If it had 
been clean, she shuddered, this could be a pleasure, 
but the rank smell of him made her retch. The officer 
holding her noticed her reaction and acted swiftly. One 
hand twisted a handful of hair, causing her to yelp 
with pain, the other grabbed her nose, forcing her to 
open her mouth to breathe. As she did so, he pulled her 
onto the soldier's dick.

This time, the soldier's reaction was more measured. 
Disinclined to indulge in foreplay, Sam grabbed his 
arse and set her head rocking, backwards and forwards, 
rhythmically, in time to the thrusts of his hips. It 
seemed like a lifetime before she sensed the familiar 
tightening of his buttocks, the low animal groan, and 
the ejaculation splashing into the back of her throat. 
She swallowed again.

***

ARIBUNDI - GUJANGA 1994


Ngoro sat back in his chair. It was good to get back to 
his air-conditioned office after the baking heat of the 
Airport. The relatively large grey and glass building 
stood incongruously amongst the harbourside chic of 
downtown Aribundi, capital of the republic of Gujanga. 
Most of the buildings in the city were the same as any 
other African Capital, huge steel and glass monuments 
to the Capitalist bastards who held the countries to 
ransom by lending money they know is never going to be 
repaid. 

Around the harbour, however, beside the original 
fisherman's cottages which still stood along the 
water's edge, the buildings were of an altogether 
different quality. The Presidential palace, 
Chancellory, and several other Government buildings, 
splendid examples of French colonial majesty, had been 
left behind by their erstwhile conquerors as permanent 
reminders of past glories. 

Ngoro occupied the top floor of a long low building 
which contained the most feared members of Gujanga's 
ruling class, the secret service, and police force. 
Even the Army, of which Ngoro was also a member, left 
them alone to get on with anything they felt they 
needed to do. He loved this view, watching the eclectic 
mix of fishing boats, expensive yachts, powerboats, and 
a single massive cruise liner keeping the economy of 
Gujanga ticking over. Mwamba could keep his palace, 
this was enough for him... 

A purposeful knock at the door startled him out of his 
reverie. 

"It's time sir, you're guests have arrived."

"Thank you, Jacob. Meeting room? or Suite?"

"I've put them in the suite, sir."

"Excellent."

There were four of them, three men and, surprisingly a 
girl. Paul Hegarty, MD of GODS, Raschid Al-Benarbia, 
CFO and two others who he hadn't met. 

"Hi Paul!" he gushed. "It's really great to see you 
again. And Raschid! a real pleasure, it's been a long 
time."

"Too long, my friend," beamed Rashid.

"Where's Steve? As head of Marketing I expected to see 
him here as well.

It was Paul who responded.

"Steve couldn't come, he had some urgent business to 
attend to, but I would like you to meet a couple of 
people from his organisation. Mark Harrison, Safety 
officer (he chuckled to himself at the stupidity of the 
Enforcer's title) and Sonja Jenkins, Business 
Development Manager."

"Welcome, to both of you." Although he said both, his 
eyes never left those of the stunning young woman in a 
white short dress, who returned his stare with such 
frankness that for a moment it was he who felt nervous. 
Unbelievable, but true.

"So!" he said, braking the tension. "Let's get down to 
business.

Over the next hour or so, the four of them reviewed 
progress. It was clear that things were going better 
than Paul had hoped. Ngoro gave a lucid account of 
developments at Perigord. The first harvest of coca 
leaves had been brought in successfully. Growing 
conditions did indeed prove to be perfect. Tembo had, 
through a mixture of fear and finance created a small 
dedicated (for Africa) workforce to run the farm and 
both the Rochas' had adapted to their new roles with 
much less resistance than expected.

"I'm a bit concerned on the money front," confessed 
Raschid. I don't seem to be seeing all the bills. We've 
only spent half our budget and I don't want the Emir to 
get stung by huge year-end bills. On the other hand, 
there seem to be a number of invoices which I don't 
connect with our business. Bottles, labels, contract 
packaging and stuff like that."

Ngoro laughed out loud.

"That's Mathilde, our Chief scientist. We got her from 
South Africa, as you know. She has been amazing."

"Why?"

"She's motivated. She loves young black men."

Sonja chuckled. "Don't we all?"

"Anyway," continued Ngoro, "She was much better than we 
thought. She put together designs not only for the 
cocaine plant, but also for a specialist pharmaceutical 
operation using the same processing intermediates. If 
anyone gets suspicious, we have a dummy company, and a 
warehouse full of legal drugs to explain our purchases. 
That's where the extra invoices came from. By the way, 
we learned that trick from the Iraqis. She also built 
the Coke plant at less than half our budget. Now she 
spends all her time either processing coke or fucking 
native houseboys. She's in paradise."

"Excellent. Does that answer all your questions 
Raschid?"

"Sure!"

"Then I suspect we've finished."

"Not quite!"

It was Mark who spoke.

"I'm still not happy with the thought of using Mules to 
get the coke into Europe. It only needs one of these 
people to land at the same time as flights from 
Columbia, Asia minor, or even Amsterdam, and they risk 
being caught. I'm not bothered about losing the odd 
load, but I don't want the link with Gujanga to become 
obvious. I would prefer an alternative."

"I agree," nodded Ngoro, "but I have a solution for 
you. You know the pilot you used for my Arms delivery? 
well she turned out to be more than the bimbo we 
expected. The plan was to enjoy her, fuck her silly, 
and export her to the Emir until he got tired of her."

"Anyway, I used her to reward old Mpenza and she gave 
him such a great blowjob that she nearly blew his 
brains out. Then she gave me a lecture about wasting 
her talent. She said any woman can be trained to be a 
great fuck, but not many of them can fly planes. Why 
not put her to better use. I have to say I agreed, so I 
locked her up, until we can decide what to do with 
her."

"So what's your plan?"

"I think we should use her to fly our Coke to Europe." 
We can put the coke on the inside of pallets of 
coffee."

"What the fuck to want to become a coffee trader for?"

"Gujangan coffee is amongst the best on the planet. 
It's a legitimate export, The pilot needn't be told... 
oh, and it masks the smell of coke from sniffer dogs."

Ngoro paused for thought whilst his audience recognised 
the opportunity.

"Sounds like a much better plan to me." Mark confirmed.

"Right then, let's do it. If that's all, I guess that's 
the end of our meeting."

"I know you have a couple of hours before your flight 
home, so I have arranged a little entertainment for 
you." said Ngoro. "It's a little sexist, so perhaps 
Sonja would like to go shopping for a while?"

"Not likely! I'm a fully paid up member of this 
organisation. What's good for the goose is good for the 
Gander,"

"OK, please yourself. But please don't get upset with 
me if you don't like what you see."

***

ROBANA AIRPORT - GUJANGA 1994

Samantha Roberts was free but very suspicious. She had 
been released in the strangest way. Dickens had re-
appeared, surprisingly sober, waving a sheaf of papers 
in his hand.

"I don't know how you did it, but we are going home. We 
have a shipment of coffee to deliver."

Sam looked at him askance. She had been right, it was 
not just about sex, but why the hell would anyone pay 
that amount to ship coffee? Especially since she had 
already been paid to deliver the guns. One last look in 
the mirror confirmed that she was almost back to her 
old self. Blouse fastened to the neck, small black tie 
back on, jacket fastened, hair combed, almost 
presentable. 

She set off across the tarmac to where Dickens was 
supervising the loading of the final pallet. As she 
approached she slipped on a couple of beans on the 
floor. Still suspicious, she stepped on one hard, 
crushed it beneath her heel, bent down and sniffed it. 
Coffee! and bloody good coffee at that. Was she being 
too suspicious? She didn't know.

What she did know was that she wished Dickens were 
somewhere else, and she knew she wanted to get off the 
ground as quickly as she could. Ten minutes later, as 
the plane lifted into the sky, she sat back in her seat 
and sighed with relief. All she had to do now was set a 
course and wait for Dickens to fall over drunk. 

As if on cue, Dickens got up out of his seat, mumbled 
something about the boy's room and headed for the back 
of the plane. An hour later, he had still not returned, 
so Sam, needing the toilet herself set the autopilot 
and headed back down the aisle. There was no sign of 
Dickens as she closed the loo door behind her. Having 
completed her ablutions, she left, closing the door 
behind her. 

A hand reached across her shoulder and pinned her 
against the door, squashing her face sideways against 
the cold laminate.

"Give us a kiss sweetie," hissed Dickens in her ear. 
"Or you could give me what you offered the locals to 
get us the contract."

"Piss off you cheap piece of shit" squeaked Sam, 
struggling to form the words.

His elbow increased the pressure on the back of her 
neck, squashing her face further, while his other hand 
slid round her waist and grabbed her breast. Suddenly, 
just as Sam was beginning to be thankful for the fact 
she was wearing trousers, he let go. His hand shot up 
and grabbed her by the hair, and she was hauled 
unceremoniously backwards and dumped on her back in the 
middle of the aisle. Dickens lurched drunkenly and sat 
himself down astride her, his crotch just under her 
chin.

"Cheap am I, Cheap am I," he repeated, "With my share 
of this cargo I could buy and sell you any time I 
liked."

"You wish! you won't get much from this lot, the coffee 
price is falling."

"Stupid Bitch. What do you know. There's enough coke on 
this plane for it to fly back without an engine."

Sam Looked at him. Stunned! So that was what the deal 
had all been about. Dickens carried on as though 
nothing had happened. He was too drunk to understand 
the importance of what he had said.

"Come on, Chicken!" he slurred, struggling to free his 
dick. "Get your laughing gear round this."

As he spoke, he started to struggle to lower his zip, 
but in his drunken state, and with his ungainly 
position perched on top of a struggling Samantha, all 
he succeeded in doing was to fall forward, his stomach 
covering her face. As he struggled to recover, Sam took 
her chance. She grabbed the only thing she could reach, 
a small metal tool case, and brought it to bear on 
Dickens head. He went down poleaxed. Gasping for breath 
beneath his stomach, his belt buckle pressing painfully 
against her chin, Sam slowly struggled free, and stood 
up. Dickens was lying face down unmoving. She stooped 
and felt his wrist.

"Shit," she thought to herself. "No pulse."

Slowly she made her way back to her seat to think.

***

ARIBUNDI - GUJANGA 1994

Jacob led in the girl. She was late teens, mixed race 
or Indian descent, Sonja guessed. Her lovely coffee 
coloured face was streaked with tears, her hands 
secured firmly behind her back by what looked like a 
Velcro cable tie. She wore a simple, button through 
shift dress which cane to just below the knee, and 
apparently nothing else. Mark looked sideways at Sonja, 
unsure of how to proceed in the presence of a young 
woman participant so Sonja decided to take the 
initiative. She loved the fearful look in the girl's 
eyes as she walked around her, inspecting her. Ngoro 
was fascinated.

"Like her? Sonja?"

"She's lovely. What's she done?"

"She was caught thieving."

"Did she take much?"

"Not really."

"Not worth the death penalty then?"

The girl's mouth opened in shock, wanting to say 
something but unable to form the words. Sonja slapped 
her across the face.

"I didn't say you could speak!"

The girl hung her head and sobbed silently to herself. 
Sonja slowly, ever so slowly, unbuttoned the front of 
her dress down to her waist. The girl stood still, like 
a frightened rabbit in a car's headlights. Sonja's 
hands moved back to the girl's throat. The men stood 
together in a small group, each of them sporting 
painful erections as the erotic display continued. She 
parted the dress and slipped it off each shoulder, 
baring the flesh of her breasts, but leaving the 
nipples covered.

"Do you want to go home to your husband?" asked Sonja 
gently, noticing the brand new wedding ring on her 
finger.

"Please don't hurt me."

"I said do you want to go home to your husband?" Less 
gently this time, and said as Sonja walked around the 
girl making her turn her head to follow her. The 
movement of her head pulled her dress, uncovering one 
nipple, and raising the men's temperature by another 
couple of degrees. All three of them were beginning to 
enjoy Sonja's act. They knew what the finale might be. 
Sonja was now standing facing the men over the girls 
shoulder. 

"My friends won't let you." she whispered. "Do you 
think we could persuade them?" As she spoke, she 
lowered the dress the rest of the way down the girl's 
arms, slowly revealing her beautiful breasts in all 
their glory. The girl looked back at her as best she 
could, unsure what she was getting at.

"I don't know."

Sonja's hands slid round her waist, and moved slowly 
upward to first stroke, then cup her breasts, slowly 
massaging them with small circular motions. The effect 
on the men, unsurprisingly, was obvious. Less obvious 
was the effect on the girl herself. Sonja smiled in 
quiet victory as she felt her nipples stiffen under her 
ministrations. She removed her hands, and gripped each 
nipple between finger and thumb. Squeezing gentle, she 
rolled them this way and that. The girls breathing 
became shallower.

"What should we do for them? Should we kiss? Should we 
fuck? Or should you fuck them?"

"I-I don't know," muttered the girl, growing more 
agitated by the minute.

Sonja pulled the tie off her wrist and turned the girl 
around to face her. She returned to the task of 
unbuttoning the dress until it was free to drop, but 
Sonja held it in place. She moved her face forward and 
placed a gentle kiss on the lips of the now acquiescent 
girl. Very slowly she extended her tongue and gently 
forced open her lips. At the same time she slowly 
lowered the dress, revealing a most wonderful arse to 
the attentive audience. 

By now, Ngoro was getting seriously frustrated and had 
extracted his dick from its covering. It stood out 
fully erect as his hand masturbated it slowly. Sonja 
stepped backwards until her own backside was resting 
against the edge of the table. Letting go of the girl, 
she raised her own dress, and leaned backwards exposing 
her naked cunt to the girl. She pushed the girl on the 
top of her head, onto her knees. Unbidden, the young 
woman slipped her face between Sonja's thighs and began 
to lick long strokes up the length of her quim.

This was all too much for Ngoro. As far as he was 
concerned his time had come. Despite the charms of the 
girl, Sonja was much more to his liking, so he ignored 
the naked arse bobbing up and down in front of him, and 
presented his dick to Sonja's mouth. She gazed up at 
him with a look of frank admiration at the size of his 
dick, and parted her lips. 

He wiped the end of his tool along her bottom lip, and 
slowly pushed it into her mouth, forcing it wider as he 
did so. Sonja arched her back slightly as the tongue on 
her labia found her centre, sending a series of tingles 
up and down her spine. Her head went back as Ngoro 
pushed again, and this time Sonja accommodated the 
whole width and most of his ten inch length. Mark 
approached the young girl. Pulling her head out of 
Sonja's crotch he asked her name. 

"People call me Gem," she whispered, her head bowed in 
supplication.

Mark didn't bother replying. He simply shrugged off his 
pants and slid into her from behind.

"No, No, please, don't..."

Mark had absolutely no intention of doing anything but 
fuck her, and her constant sobbing was beginning to get 
to him. Another loud sob spurred him into action. He 
leaned over her back so she felt his presence beside 
her face.

" If you sob again, I'll give you something to sob 
about. Understand?"

She stifled the next one immediately and bit her lip 
furiously as Mark began to pound into her cunt for all 
he was worth. Over Gem's head, he saw Ngoro rearrange 
Sonja on the table. She now lay face down, Ngoro's 
todger sliding in and out for all it was worth. Sonja 
had her eyes closed, and her gasps slowly grew from 
almost mute to long, drawn-out wails as her climax 
built. 

The rhythm was contagious. Mark found himself fucking 
Gee at the same pace as Ngoro. As Ngoros climax built, 
so did Marks. Gem found herself coming to the boil 
despite herself. Her cry of surprise when the dam burst 
caused Mark, in turn, to climax. He gave one final 
push, and remained buried to the hilt as Gem lay 
gasping beneath him.

Whatever Gem thought about her ordeal being over, she 
was wrong. Paul's instruction to "Get over here, Girl" 
was soft and quiet, but brooked no argument. Still on 
her knees, she crawled across the short expanse of 
floor, her head bowed, waiting for the inevitable.

"I think," mused Paul," I shall use your arse. Turn 
round." 

"NO!>"The girl went pale. No-one, not even her husband 
had used her there, and she was not simply going to let 
these bastards do it to her here. She stood up and made 
a bolt for the door. Unfortunately she got no further. 
Twisting the handle this way and that, panic set in. 
She looked around like the cornered animal she was, 
searching for any way of avoiding her anal rape. 
Raschid was the first to reach her. Grabbing her hair, 
he pulled her down to her knees, and slapped her, 
right, left back-hand, right. Her head rocked backwards 
and forwards, the whiplash effect on her neck making 
her cry out in pain.

Raschid dragged her, now with Mark's help, across in 
front of Paul.

"I've got a better idea." he muttered, "it's tea time, 
I'm ready for a sandwich."

With that, he sat down on the sofa and pulled the 
hapless girl up onto his lap. Mark realised what 
Raschid had in mind and helped him lift the struggling 
girl onto Raschids rampant dick. She screamed and 
struggled, but eventually his organ achieved full 
penetration, and she was left wriggling like a stuck 
pig. Raschid wasted no time, rocking her backwards and 
forwards on his pole, until he began to create a 
response from the girl. Just as he was getting into the 
swing of things, Paul got into the act.

"Hold her still for god's sake! I never was any good at 
hitting a moving target."

Raschid chuckled and wrapped his arm around the 
wriggling girl, locking her tight against his chest. 
Meanwhile, Paul advanced his erect prick and eased the 
end of it up against the girl's little puckered 
arsehole. 

Her cries became pleas. Tears ran uncontrollably down 
her cheeks as she tried to prevent his attack. 
Unfortunately for her, the same wriggling that was 
designed to fend him off, simply helped the end of his 
tool worm it's way into her nether orifice. Paul, 
sensing just the right moment, gave a sharp push. Her 
sphinctre gave way, and with a cry of triumph "Yes!" he 
was in. 

The effect on the girl was just as momentous, but from 
an entirely different perspective.

"NNOOooooohh! OOophh!" The pain flooded through her 
arse, and exploded up her spine. She clung to Raschid 
in a desperate attempt to cope, and cried loudly 
against his chest. As the pain began to subside, she 
felt Paul begin to move. With each thrust, she 
experienced the same stabbing pain, but with each 
thrust it seemed to diminish. She had never experienced 
anything like this. Her whole lower body seemed to be 
crammed full of dick. The nearest she had felt to this 
was trying to expel a particularly recalcitrant turd, 
but even that failed to describe what was going on in 
her cunt.

As Paul began his thrusting motion, Raschid began to do 
likewise. The friction across her perinaeum began to 
replace the pain she felt with small pleasurable 
twitches that slowly built until she wanted to do 
nothing more than feel the two of them pistonong in and 
out. Raschid adjusted his position so that he increased 
the amount of contact between his dick and her 
clitoris, and at the same time Paul increased his 
stroke, making huge sweeping thrusts up what seemed to 
be the entire length of her body cavity. Meanwhile 
Ngoro, having finished with Sonja, watched the slow 
change overtaking the sandwiched girl. 

Gee, her eyes closed in what had now become pure 
pleasure, began to pant in time to the thrusting 
invaders. Suddenly she became aware of another taking 
interest in her body. Ngoro knelt to one side, offering 
up his immense dick to her mouth. Without thinking, Gee 
opened her mouth and slipped it around the end of his 
tool. Gently at first, he began also to thrust in and 
out, fucking deep into her throat until he matched the 
rhythm of the other two. 

Gee was powerless, fully absorbed in the wonderful 
sensations her rapists were creating. As her excitement 
built, she could no longer keep control and abandoned 
herself to the first of what proved to be several 
orgasms. Wave after wave of exstacy sparkled around her 
body. Ngoro withdrew, and began to spray semen around 
her face and neck. 

In truth it was a good job he did because the next 
orgasm ripped through her, causing her to clamp her 
teeth shut so hard she bit her own lip, drawing blood. 
Wave after wave, she found herself jerking spastically 
as she lost all control. Raschid and Paul, both came 
together, pouring their jism into her willing body, 
and, as things subsided, grinned at each other in their 
pleasure.

***

BIRMINGHAM - ENGLAND 1994

Steve Washington was a worried man. The whole plan 
appeared to be going south. He knew that the plane had 
left with all the cargo on board, but from there, 
nothing. Mark's intention to meet the plane at the 
airport had been thwarted by an emergency landing his 
BA flight had to make en-route to Heathrow. When his 
men visited Roberts Air Cargo they found the place 
locked up, a cargo of coffee in the hanger, and fuck 
all else. Samantha Roberts and the cocaine had 
disappeared, and Dickens hadn't been heard of since 
boarding the flight.

He was on the point of phoning Sir Gerald when there 
was a brisk knock at the office door. He glanced across 
to the bank of CCTV monitors and found himself looking 
at a very determined Samantha Roberts.

"Come in!"

She strode through the door and plonked herself in the 
chair in front of his desk. She was wearing her 
Captains uniform, but with a pencil skirt which rode to 
the top of her thighs as she sat down. She followed his 
gaze to the hem of her skirt.

"Don't even think about it, you bastard. You know why I 
am here, and it doesn't include that!"

"I'm sure you're right miss Roberts, but I believe you 
have something of mine."

"I certainly do, but first we have some things to 
discuss."

"OK. Why don't you tell me what you want."

"First, I want to join your organisation."

Steve was gobsmacked. This was not what he was 
expecting. "So why should we be interested?"

"First, I have your cocaine, second I have left papers 
with my solicitor which implicates all of you if 
something untoward should happen to me, and thirdly..."

"Yes?"

"You need a regular way of shipping cocaine, and I have 
a business to run."

"OK, tell me where my cargo is, and I will let you 
know."

"Come on Mr. Washington, we both know that's not good 
enough. Call your principals now. Let's establish a 
working relationship and then all things become 
possible. I will be on the call."

Steve picked up the phone, dialled Mwamba, waking him 
in the process, and conferenced in Paul and Sir Gerald. 
After their initial shock, Samantha outlined the deal. 
She wanted no more than a regular contract with bonuses 
at their discretion. She was very reasonable, and it 
was a matter of minutes before the partners agreed. The 
call ended and Samantha turned to leave.

"Just a minute! Where is the coke?"

"Where's my money?"

Steve crossed to a cabinet by the wall. "It's right 
here," he said, extracting a large envelope and giving 
it to her.

Samantha took it without stopping to check it. She 
could always come back if it was wrong. She handed 
Steve a card.

"Your coke is at this warehouse. It's labelled as 
Bicarbonate of Soda, but I wouldn't recommend baking 
with it."

Steve laughed as she turned to go.

"Oh, by the way, where is Dickens?"

"He went for a swim - 200 miles off the Liberian coast. 
Why? will you need him?"

"Not any more... partner."

***

It was late when the doorbell went.

Sam glanced at her watch, and considered ignoring it. 
She decided not to, and opened the door.

Steve Washington stood there, a big grin on his face, a 
bottle of champagne in one hand, and a small leather 
briefcase in the other. She waved him in.

"We have one last round of business to conclude. For 
you - Dicken's share as a bonus - £20,000. For me? I 
fancy sampling some of the skills you showed Ngoro in 
Gujanga. What do you say?"

"I say you shouldn't listen to big boy's bravado." She 
loosened the belt of her robe, "I may not be half as 
good as they say... Partner."

THE END

The stories of James Anderton can also be found on the 
ASSTR website.

Copyright James Anderton 2002

Please don't post on pay for view websites, and please 
make appropriate attribution on free ones. 
Thanks
James

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 40