attracted to the idea of resettlement, or even retirement, he was considering testing the waters for potential investors who might provide him with an acceptable exit strategy. Whether he would leave Asia altogether was a question he would address when appropriate, the temptation to remain diminishing with opportunities being created by a revitalized Europe.
The normally dispassionate American closed his eyes and nestled with anticipation into the coarse canvas of his ride and, swept with images of the imminent rendezvous, squandered this moment of reflection as the former beauty queen-cum-actress danced tantalizingly across his mind.
* * * *
Angelina Panjaitan examined her image in the mirror. The pul-chritudinous starlet tilted her head from one side to the other, gently dabbing her neck with L’Air Du Temps, the flowery, sandalwood fragrance lingering in the air-conditioned room. A hand brushed an out-of-place strand of hair into position and, satisfied that she was as ready as she would ever be, Angelina sat quietly in narcissistic repose, pondering her future with the wealthy American.
Introduced at a society wedding several months before, Angelina knew she had lucked out when, on the first date, Andrew Graham presented her with the most exquisite Versace bracelet. The following day when she had the gift valued Angelina became determined to do whatever it would take to maintain her latest beau’s interest. She accepted Andrew’s conditions concerning their relationship and became his mistress, willingly surrendering her body upon demand, accommodating his sexual preferences whenever they rendezvoused to play. Andrew had insisted that their assignations remain their secret; Angelina was forbidden from calling either his office or residence but was to remain at his beck and call. Resolute, she withdrew from her very public circle of friends hoping this would demonstrate the sincerity of her commitment, even when weeks often passed without word from Andrew – these periods of frustrating silence in no way improving her volatile temperament, this most severe of her character flaws carefully disguised whenever in her lover’s company.
It was only a matter of time before Angelina’s trysts came to the attention of a senior recruiter from BAKIN, Badan Koordinasi Intelijen, the Indonesian Intelligence Coordinating Body, the country’s counterpart to the CIA. BAKIN’S recruitment of models and film stars of both persuasions was common to complement BAKIN’s many covert operations designed to penetrate both the diplomatic corps and foreign commercial interests. Amongst its most recent accomplishments was the agency’s successful compromise of a Jakarta-based, Australian assistant political attaché whose homosexual relationship with a local Foreign Affairs’ officer facilitated access to the foreign mission. The substantial flow of sensitive information provided the Indonesian Government with a greater understanding of how the clandestine Australian Secret Service, ASIS operated, and the identity of its operatives in Indonesia.
When summoned by the agency Angelina’s initial reaction had been to decline; photographs showing her naked flagrante delicto in a home movie convinced the actress that she should, indeed, do her part for her country. Unfortunately, the American never brought his business affairs to their rendezvous and rarely held any meaningful discussions over the phone. As the first months provided nothing of any real significance Angelina was suspected of holding back, the not-so-veiled threats exacerbating her dilemma. Pressed, she had pointedly inquired into Andrew’s business activities and he had rewarded her inquisitiveness with a warning not to pry then left her hanging for more than two weeks. Relieved when he called earlier that day Angelina had hurried to the apartment, anxious to demonstrate to Andrew that she had learned her lesson, accepting that she may be obliged to fabricate information to keep BAKIN off her case.
Angelina sensed the maid’s presence and turned.
‘Tuan is on his way up,’ the woman announced before disappearing into her quarters. Angelina rose and swept out into the lounge where she checked the curtains to ensure the fidgety servant had not altered the desired backdrop, then stood pensively, waiting for Andrew Graham to arrive.
When the front door opened she remained poised, with her classic Sumatran face half turned into the filtered sunlight, for maximum effect.
Andrew stepped into the lounge and paused, Angelina’s captivating beauty momentarily stealing his breath away.
‘Have you missed me?’ he asked, extending open arms.
Angelina moved without hesitation. ‘Every moment of every day,’ she purred, moving into his embrace, the tantalizing effect of her body against his and the exotic, sandalwood fragrance stirring his loins.
‘Then we should waste no time,’ he whispered, leading Angelina into the bedroom.
Andrew discarded his clothes and rolled onto the bed watching his mistress slowly undress, her rehearsed movements provocatively erotic, his erection growing as she cat-walked naked around the bed on nine centimeter heels and stood at his side.
Andrew’s eyes drifted following her hand as she caressed firm breasts then trailed down to the mesmeric, minute mound of pubic hair and gently stroked her body. She released her pumps and crawled onto the bed with slow, sensuous, catlike movements. Lowering her head, Angelina cradled Andrew’s testicles in one hand and licked softly. Then she inserted her tongue under the foreskin and circled around teasing the end of his uncircumcised penis with the warmth of her mouth.
Andrew’s hand gently squeezed her nipples then wandered down to the soft, wet mound. Aroused by the stimulating strokes Angelina raised her head and body, mounting her partner, rocking against the length inside her, pushing down hard as his hands grasped and roughly kneaded her breasts.
‘I’m coming,’ he cried, hoarsely, pelvic thrusts increasing with climax now ineluctable, Angelina’s cry of pleasure driving him to completion as her body was racked with recurring cycles of rhythmic contractions, the euphoric sensation plateauing as both achieved orgasmic spell.
An hour passed. Quietly motionless, pleasantly intoxicated by the exotic woman’s sweet, musky fragrance as she lay naked by his side, Andrew Graham admitted, resignedly, that he would most likely persevere with the status quo, continuing to build wealth whilst accommodating Langley – at least, until he was presented with no other alternative but to graze, elsewhere.
East Indonesia – Sulawesi (Poso)
John (Jack) McBride cried out loudly, his flailing arms entangled in the mosquito net as he struggled to flee the demons from his past – the imagery of a Somali militiaman standing over his body painfully vivid when he was jolted from the recurring nightmare. Outside a cock crowed. McBride lay motionless amidst tangled, sweat-saturated sheets, his nostrils assailed by the pervasive stench of vomit – the missionary silently castigating himself for having fallen off the wagon. Squinting through the gray morning light he fossicked for painkil ers in a bedside drawer, fumbled the bottle open and swallowed two tablets, closing his eyes while waiting for the pounding between his temples to subside.
The village stirred. He rose gingerly then slowly attended to his morning ablutions, the former Special Forces soldier shaking his head admonishingly at the crumpled face staring back vacantly from the cracked mirror. His thoughts turned to the letter that had taken six weeks to arrive from Tennessee.
Raised in the Buckle of the Bible Belt by Methodist parents, Jack McBride was exposed to an environment of religious servitude, his attendance at the Vanderbilt University another accommodation of his strict father’s wishes that he follow into the clergy. His own preference had been to study medicine however, due to his family’s financial situation and his father’s intervention Jack had attended the
