Our project was meant to preserve the African jungle, The irony of tearing down a stand of old growth forest to set up the satellite data links we would need and the structures to house our operation was lost on none of us. We justified it by the fact that once our buildings and antennas were up we would be able to monitor wildlife over a broad area, spot poachers in record time, and preserve the habitats of large numbers of species both threatened and endangered.
We had support from several African governments. Our main opposition was poachers who didn't like the idea that we would cramp their style, so we were had and armed squadron of Black Water ops to protect us. That seemed to do the trick, but someone kept getting into our compound and causing mischief. It was not major damage, a caterpillar truck might be vandalized or stakes marking construction sites would be broken or moved. It was more an irritant than a real impediment to our operation. We eliminated poachers from the suspect list as they, if they had been the interlopers, would have slit our throats while we slept or torched every earthmover and smashed all the electronic equipment. We knew it wasn't the locals because we had bent over backwards to be accommodating towards them. No, it seemed like the work of one guy, unsure of his aims and purposes.
We could not figure out how the intruder was getting in. We had erected a barracks and laid the foundation for our main building. A storage shed sat between the two. The mysterious comings and goings seemed almost supernatural. The guards never saw or heard anyone. It was like we were being visited by a ghost. Jokingly, Bryers suggested Tarzan. We asked the locals, all of whom were mum and awed to silence about our enigmatic visitor. At last one of them, in a reverent whisper, said something about a "golden queen" but would say nothing more. We were completely mystified.
It was only when we moved the security and infrared cameras around that we got our answer. Our visitor was not a he but a she. She was gorgeous, flowing blonde hair, trim athletic figure, huge tits and unbelievable legs. She was clad only in a cheetah skin and was armed with a bow and arrow and a Bowie Knife. She could not have been past her early twenties. We knew that we could not report this to headquarters back in Kinshasa, because they would have thought that we had lost our minds or were all succumbing to jungle fever. One thing did puzzle us. As she made her nightly circuits, of our campsite she spied on every sleeper in the barracks, for some reason, returning time and again to gaze at me during the night. On more than one occasion she stroked my hair and patted my face while I slept.
"Bob's got a girlfriend!" the guys teased. But night after night she visited. Despite the fact that we knew she was getting in, our security guys could never catch her. Our security chief was pissed, primarily by his spectacular failure. He heard it good and loud. "If some chick can get in here, you KNOW that the poachers can too! Halloran, you have to stop this NOW!"
Our security chief doubled down in his efforts to catch our exotic interloper. I for one would not want to piss off Halloran, he is ex-military, still wears the buzz cut, and is linebacker huge. He has muscles on his muscles. We wanted her taken alive. Although she was armed with the bow and knife, she never used it against any of us. We also thought it bad PR to kill a woman, especially since we were mostly environmentalists working to preserve life. That was fine with our security guys, as most of them had had their fill of killing in their former jobs in Iraq or Afghanistan. Once you've seen civilian casualties, you really did not want to see another dead non-combatant.
For the next two weeks our beautiful stranger eluded our every plot. None of her damage was insurmountable, but it was delaying our operation. We had to make up some really convincing lies to our bosses about our little problem to keep her existence secret. Finally we were woken in the middle of the night by Halloran's exultant voice through a bull horn.
"Success, gentlemen! Please fall in at the storage shed."
We spied her behind the bars where the ammunition was stored, mad as a hornet. She was spectacularly nude as Halloran pawed through her cheetah skin. Next to our security chief was her knife and bow. Her beauty was almost unreal and we horny, lonely collection of guards and scientists stared open mouthed at her. The anger in her eyes departed when she saw me, "Pretty man!" she said.
Halloran wore a shit eating grin, "Our little flower child knows what guns can do, she complied when I cornered her and aimed my AK-47 at her. I do not exaggerate, tracking her was harder than tracing the Taliban amongst civilian population centers. Its a good thing we had an impromptu jail to throw her in."
"Halloran," said our chief, "You didn't have to make her strip."
"Oh I didn't did I? Take a look at wat I found on her." Halloran pointed to a cluster of objects. "Bow and arrow, surgically sharp knife, In the bag around her waist I found several small, river polished stones and a garroting wire. Under her skimpy costume, around her hips I found the sling for the rocks. I have no doubt that she's as skilled with that sling as the legendary King David She could probably take down a charging water buffalo with no problem. Imagine what these rocks could do to our skulls."
I could not help but stare at our alluring visitor. She was tall and phenomenally well built. Her legs were lithe and muscled like a dancer. Her entire body seemed to be coiled sinews ready for action. It was obvious that she was a white woman but she was sun bronzed everywhere. Her skin was flawless and smooth and her breasts youthful and ripe with the most amazing and succulent looking nipples. Aside from a gold ringlet about her left arm, her only adornment was a thick honey colored muff at the juncture of her legs. She seemed completely devoid of embarrassment and made no effort to hide her considerable physical charms from view.
My eyes met hers and for the first time our prisoner smiled. I could not believe how much more gorgeous the change in countenance made her. I smiled back and she nodded at me. Our silent communication did not go unnoticed by the other guys present.
"Who the hell is she?" asked our chief.
"There's no ID on her," replied Halloran. "She whined plenty when I captured her but she's been a virtual clam since I got her behind bars. The first time she said anything since I locked her away is when she praised Redburn here."
When Halloran pointed to me the girl again said, "Pretty man!"
The guys all got a chuckle out of that. As their laughter terminated Halloran finished examining the cheetah skin and handed it through the bars back to his prisoner. The girl slid the garment on as though she were the only one in the room. The skimpy outfit clung to her every curve and did little to hide the arch and allure of her fabulous breasts. It did a good job covering her downstairs though.
Our chief approached the cage and asked a series of simple questions. It was clear that she heard him and I had a sense that she understood Frank's words but her cobalt blue eyes stayed cold and her features became rigid. After a while it became obvious that the only thing she was paying attention to was Me! I didn't know how to react. I've been told that I am a handsome guy by more than one beautiful woman but I really never followed up on it. I'm an ecologist for whom human female biology is largely a mystery. Oh I've gotten laid lots of times but my relationships had all vaporized when the women In my life realized that I was incapable of any meaningful conversation. I love to talk about nature and biology but nothing that women care about. Even female scientists have dumped me because I am so shy and noncommunicative around them. Part of the appeal of this current assignment was that it was stag. I could read and research and toil and try to forget my overwhelming loneliness. There would be no women present to remind me of my many relationship failures.
Finally Frank, our chief, said to me, "You seem to have a rapport with her, Redburn. You try talking to her."
I licked my lips, gazed into her spectacular eyes and asked, "Who are you?"
Her voice was melodic and every bit as beautiful as she was. "I Sheena."
"Sheena?"
"Yes, I Sheena, this MY jungle. Only bad men cut down trees and hurt forest. You must go!"
