what I call Stefn because she’s Quest’s question mark.” Polax looked back to the monitor to all the clothes on the floor in the elevator. “As you can see she’s a bit scattered at times. But like cream, Q always seems to rise to the top. However, she’s not an endurance player—which is what you’ll need for this mission.”
Bjorn’s gaze returned to the monitor. Scattered was a good word for her, he thought. Polax’s “cream” had turned the elevator into her own private dressing room.
“Here at Quest we call Q our ‘candy queen,’” Polax continued. “She’s got a sweet body, and she’s not shy when it comes to sharing her sugar to disarm her target. I can assure you that every man who finds himself in Q’s bed ends up with one helluva toothache. But then, if my number was up and I had a choice, I’d elect to die high on sugar, wouldn’t you?”
With a hearty laugh, Polax pressed the zoom button on his remote and double-sized Nadja Stefn’s sweetness—making all her treats larger than life.
Without conscious thought, Bjorn fit people into three categories: the doers, the talkers and the assholes. Polax was of the asshole variety. He had an obsession for electronic gadgets, as well as super-sexy female spies.
The wall-size monitors had pulse-sonic sound and a state-of-the-art zoom feature that could find a grain of salt in a sugar bowl. And then there was Polax’s desk chair. The motorized yellow leather contraption was voice sensitive, and had been following him around the room for the past hour like a pet puppy. On the chance he felt like sitting on a second’s notice, all he had to do was plop.
He’d plopped twice since Bjorn and Merrick, his Onyxx commander, had arrived.
Bjorn glanced at his commander. Adolf Merrick was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His attention wasn’t on Q’s ass or show-stopper legs, however; he was staring directly at Bjorn—watching him with an intensity that would have made a lesser man squirm. Bjorn didn’t squirm. He didn’t even flinch. He turned back to the monitor at the exact moment Polax zeroed in on a chocolate-colored mole on the candy queen’s inner thigh.
The commander of EURO-Quest more than enjoyed the fringe benefits of his job. Bjorn had come to that conclusion an hour ago when he and Merrick had followed Polax as he paraded through the agency corridors like a sheik with a harem. A sheik with itchy fingers—he was now fiddling with the super-sensitive sound control, tuning into Nadja’s rapid breathing as she worked quickly to strip off her naughty little red garter belt.
Bjorn raised his eyebrows just as Polax looked over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong, Agent Odell? You did ask to examine the candidates. I thought a profile expert such as yourself would accept nothing less than a head-to-toe private audit of what we offer here at Quest.”
Bjorn kept his ass on the corner of Polax’s desk as he looked on. It was true he had requested a private viewing of each candidate before they actually met them. As a profiler he didn’t base decisions on file stats alone. He considered body language and mannerisms as well as data. He listened to voice tone, verbal communication and motor response. But more importantly, the silent communications that lay hidden under the surface.
“Our goal is to impress you with our product.” Polax sent his drab green eyes over Bjorn’s broad shoulders, down his solid chest and athletic long legs. Taking his measure, noting the obvious differences in size and height, and possibly the importance of keeping the bigger man happy, he added, “Speaking of impressed, I’ve read your profile, Odell. You’re a damn hard man to kill.”
“You say that as if it’s a flaw.”
“On the contrary. I respect any man who can survive seven years in the hot seat. But then, I’m not surprised. Only the best are commandeered to join Onyxx. And only a handful of those become rat fighters. Merrick’s elite are simply the best anywhere. That’s why I feel it’s important that we select the right partner to complement your consummate skills. My agents are also quite talented. Quest trains only the top two out of every hundred that make it to the evaluation stage. Stefn…” Polax motioned to the monitor. “I interviewed her as a favor to an old friend. I never believed for a minute she’d meet my criteria.”
“Meaning?”
“Her injuries automatically made her ineligible. That’s the reason I gave her the name Q. Once I read her profile… Well, the gift she’d been given was far too remarkable to ignore.”
“Gift?”
“Stefn has an incredible tolerance for pain. Both emotional and physical. As you know, one of the obstacles agencies face in finding suitable operatives is their ability to survive whatever comes their way. A tolerance for pain goes hand-in-hand with survival. Nadja is not only our candy queen, but she’s also the queen of pain. Her pain threshold is simply the best I’ve seen in all my thirty years in the business. That kind of discipline makes her a sought-after commodity in the intelligence world.”
Bjorn picked Q’s file off the desk and opened it. “It says here that she was born in Switzerland. That she was an Olympic gold medal hopeful. You mentioned injuries. What sort of injuries?”
“A skiing accident. It’s all there in her file, every surgery. The gory details. Her grandfather was a gold medalist. Q was supposed to follow in his footsteps. At age eighteen she was expected to win gold. Instead she crashed on a slope in Zurich doing sixty miles an hour. She broke damn near every bone in her body.”
Polax walked up to the monitor—his pet chair on his heels. He angled his head as if searching for something, then ran his hand over the screen, touching Q’s right knee. Slowly he moved his hand upward over the screen, stroking her leg like a man who knew her intimately. Or a man who had lain awake nights contemplating the idea.
“She has a tattoo that is quite spectacular.” Polax turned and looked at Merrick, then Bjorn, before he sat on his pet chair. As it took off and rounded his desk, he said, “It’s located in an area I call the ‘dead zone.’”
Bjorn ignored the comment and asked, “These old injuries—do they limit her in any way?”
“Not in her percentages. But only because I’ve tailored her missions. That’s what it’s all about, you know. Finding your agent’s gift and exploiting it. Right, Merrick? Isn’t that how you became so successful with your rat fighters?”
The commander of Onyxx only nodded. Adolf Merrick wasn’t known for inane conversation, or explaining his stratagem.
“If a femme wants to work at Quest,” Polax went on, “she’s got to have something special we can market.”
“And what is that something special that Agent Lenova has?” It was the first Merrick had spoken since they had cloistered themselves in Polax’s office to examine his agent lineup.
“Pasha’s durability is extraordinary—my rain-or-shine agent. Desert heat, or arctic cold, Lenova will match you every step of the way. Q’s something special is getting on top quick in the bedroom. Since this mission will be a chilly affair, you’re going to want an endurance player.”
“It says here Stefn trained for the biathlon.” Bjorn scanned the file for more data.
“That’s true, but Lenova is the true biathlon queen. She shoots ninety-eight percent,” Polax quoted from memory. “You’re going to need that, going
