The Roman Gambit Pt 01

With nothing better to do than watch it rain here in Ann Arbor, I thought I'd kill some time by putting up a tale I posted a while back on another site.

Two thousand years ago Quintiles Varus lost three Legions and an uncountable treasure in the forests of Germany. Now, some of that gold has begun to turn up in Paris and the "Organization" is getting paid to track it down. Follow our two stalwart agents through the twists and turns of this long serialized novel as they battle their way to the eventual answer.

CHAPTER ONE

Life's funny. I didn't have a dad for my first twenty years. He died before I was born. But he was a war hero. Mom and I would visit his grave in Arlington when I was growing up. All I remember was hugging his tombstone and crying.

I DID have a control freak who passed for a dad. That only lasted a few years. My mom and I had been doing just fine without a man in our life. But mom's extended family never let up. I think it offended their Victorian sensibilities that a woman as beautiful as my mom hadn't coupled up. So, they kept throwing men at her.

Mom finally met a guy who was handsome, considerate and almost courtly in the way he treated her. The fact that he was the local big-deal Representative to Congress spread a lot of blood on the water for mom's snobby family. He showered me with gifts and attention, which was a sure-fire way to my mother's heart. So, she eventually consented to marry him.

That was a big mistake. The minute she said, "I do," he changed into a hyper-possessive, insecure son-of-a-bitch. My mother is a rare beauty. Men are naturally attracted to her. But she was never anything but steadfastly loyal and loving to the man. She gave him two beautiful children. Still, he just couldn't believe that she could stay faithful.

You would think that a man as rich, powerful and good-looking as he was would have a little more self-confidence. But this guy was a hollow shell. He went nuts if another guy as much as talked to mom at a party. It was bad for a long time, a lot of accusations and yelling. Then he started taking it out on me.

One day he rapped me in the mouth because I had the gall to defend my Mom. The papers arrived the following week. It didn't exactly scar me for life. But I'll tell you; it will take some serious proof of mental stability before I get into any life-long partnerships with a man.

Of course, I have the world's greatest role model now. Everybody thought my dad had been killed in action. They even had one of those big funerals for the charred remains they brought back from Iraq. But it turned out that he had survived the explosion of his helicopter and the Iraqis had squirreled him away as a prisoner of war. The U.S. freed him when we settled up with Saddam. But that was twelve long years later.

Daddy returned to find that the love of his life was married to another man, a rich and powerful guy and he was heartbroken. So, he let the government bribe him to go away. Then he drifted around the Mediterranean for six years.

Mom discovered him by chance. He had become popular in the blogsphere and she saw his picture on the internet. So, that very day she snatched me onto a flight to the island of Rhodes. That's when I met my dad for the first time.

Once we got the dramady of errors about his supposed "death" sorted out he was like some kind of fairy tale Prince. And he and my mom haven't been apart for one minute since they finally got back together. Their love just seems to get stronger day- by-day.

That's why, I made an unbreakable promise to never compromise on the person I choose as a life partner.

My mother is, and still is a world class beauty. That is, if you like voluptuous women. She is also very brave and forceful. I look just like her except I am taller and a lot lither. I have her face and her thick head of auburn hair. But where her eyes are hazel, mine are azure blue, the same as my dad's.

We are both dusky. You might wonder how a person who is a product of the English aristocracy could look so Mediterranean. The reason is that my mother's people are the original inhabitants of the island, Celt-Britons, not Anglo-Saxon or Norman and that is the origin of our dark Irish looking features. Still, I am more agile and muscular than my mother. I believe I owe that to my dad. He is a competent, almost dangerous looking man.

We live in Europe because of my dad's situation with the government. So, I went to school in England, rather than at my mom's alma mater in the States. I've always been a nerd. I know that I got that from my dad, who is a technical genius. So, I chose Imperial College London rather than Oxford or Cambridge.

That is because I love mathematics and physical science and I have been told I am a savant in all of that. I know that I got my first serious contribution to a top academic journal at 23 and that is rare for anybody. That was what brought me to the attention of the Organization.

They are an enigmatic English group, very elite. I've worked for them for three years and I still don't know anybody in the organization but my handler and a few of the functionaries who recruited me. You might compare them to our CIA. But they do private work for anybody who can afford them. We agents get ten percent of the value of the recovery. My first job saved an automobile company's designs. That was worth $40 million. You do the math.

I do special jobs for them that require my mix of knowledge and physical talents. And no, that doesn't include seduction. That's Mel's job.

Melissa Brown is my partner and my best friend. We are perfect team of opposites. She is arguably as hot as I am, but in a totally different way. Where I am tall and agile with a reserved air, she is short incredibly voluptuous and a genius when it comes to charming people. More important she is the loyalist, most caring and the warmest person I know.

I was in-between assignments. So, I packed my Lotus Super 7 and headed up to my parent's estate. Packed is perhaps an overstatement since there is very little room in the Lotus. It was designed to be a street racer. But not in the drag racing sense. It can go from your house to any road course. Take out the baby. Win the race. Then drive home.

As a result, most of the creature comforts were sacrificed to get the superior handling and weight to power ratio. Hence, I was driving up to my parents place strapped into my Recaro racing seat, with a backpack strapped in the other seat.

I turned off the Skirmett road and onto the long drive leading to the estate. I like to see if I can get all the way through the gearbox in the half-mile to the house. I had called when I got into Henley and daddy was standing outside waiting for me with his buddy Buster standing at attention by his side.

My dad is an impressive looking person in his fifty-first year. He is an avid sailor and so he has a year-round deep-water tan. The fact that he could be tan in Great Britain in the month of April, when most of the denizens are as white as the belly of a dead fish, speaks to his having the money to escape to sunnier, places.

He must have canine DNA. That's because, he appears to converse with his dog. Since I do the same thing with my Egyptian Mau Bastet I totally understand. Buster is a Bouvier de Flanders. They are a big military dog. My daddy claims that Buster is a former sergeant major in the French Foreign Legion. I heartily doubt that. But my dad has always been a little nuts when it comes to dogs.

Buster is as tough and intimidating as my Daddy. I might also add that he has a set of fangs that would make a Tyrannosaurus-Rex jealous. Bouvier's are loyal, gallant and brave to a fault. Those qualities got most of them killed-off in the trenches of France during World War One.

I jumped out of the car and threw my arms around my daddy's neck and covered him with kisses. He has always treated me with honesty and respect. And as a result, I will not tolerate anything less from any man who is a lesser creature than my dad.

As soon as I got disentangled from my Daddy I had to deal with Buster. That big lug seems to think he is dad's companion in arms. That is because whenever he greets me, he will sit rigidly, like he is standing at attention. Still, he is also very French; suave and debonair with a constant twinkle in his eye. It must be something in the drinking water in that country.

My mother appeared at that point. She is 53 now, and the picture of the beautiful mature woman. Her intelligence and deep sense of self have combined with her years to produce an appearance that is striking in the degree of wisdom and humanity that she projects.

She still has formidable curves and her face is still gorgeous, which is what good bone structure does for you. My dad looked at her with twenty-five years of adoration written on his face. I will NEVER settle for a man who doesn't appreciate me like that.

I used to think that she was hell bent on squashing my individuality. Then I grew up and saw her for what she really is, the person who loves me the most. She looked at me with the same serene love she has always shown and said, "Hilley, what a wonderful surprise."

I said, "Hello mother. I wanted to spend some time with you two before my next assignment.

I added, "Can we take a ride?" She knew exactly what I was asking her since we have gotten into a habit of riding out into the estate when I need her advice.

She said, "I'll have the stable boy saddle a couple of horses and let's meet out there in a half hour. You have your riding gear in your room?"

I said, "Yes mother and went upstairs to change."

*****

When I got to the stable, I was in my skintight riding pants, knee high boots and black coat. We took a couple of riding helmets down from their pegs and they brought out the horses.

Mother's was a big coal black stallion which would not have looked out of place jumping fences at Epsom. It did everything but actually breathe fire.

Mother swung up onto it, it began to fuss, and she immediately calmed it down with a touch of her thighs and her hands on its neck. I had the ironic thought, "Mother can control any unruly male creatures that she can fit between her legs".

I am not nearly the rider that she is and so when I got onto mine, I almost fell off the other side. Fortunately, the horse I was riding was as docile as a little lamb and it didn't move a muscle as I tried to get my "seat" on the thing.

We galloped off toward the place where we like to talk. It is the highest point on the estate, and you can see everything from there. Buster was running beside us. We were only at a canter, mainly because I was hanging onto my beast for dear life.

Buster would run past us and turn with a look in his eye that said, "Can't a dog get a little exercise?" Then he would run off for another mile with his tongue hanging out behind him like a pennant. We got to our spot and stopped. Buster was sitting next to us, pant-pant-pant-drool-drool-drool.

Mother turned those infinitely deep eyes on me and said, "Spill daughter. I want it all."

I said, "It's men, like you suspect".

She said, "It's always men my dear child."

I said, "I have gotten to know some men over the past few months who stir things inside me that I have not felt before".

The look on my mother's face told me that those feelings weren't news to her. She said, "And you are confused about what they mean; and what to do?"

I thought, "She still reads minds!"

I said, "Yes. I am not talking about marriage. I don't want to marry anybody. But I feel like I want to have more than just the casual relationship I have had so far. But I have not met the total package yet. And I will NEVER EVER settle for less than that. I would rather be an old maid the rest of my life".

My mother looked mildly amused and said, "Old maids don't have sex. I assume you do."

I gave her my best "Really? Seriously?" look and said, "That is part of the problem. They all rock my world in different ways."

She said, "But not enough, right?"

I said sadly, "Yes I suppose so."

She said, "When you find the right one you will know it. You will absolutely know that person is the one you can love for the rest of your life. I believe the line from the vows is 'Forsaking all others' and the right guy will make you feel that way".

*****

Daddy had said something about dinner. What he had not said was that the reservation was on the boat and I was the cook. He said, "How much time do you have this week?"

I said, "I have no idea, it depends on when Sir Alex calls with the next assignment."

He said, "How about taking a little trip with us, just like the old days."

I said, "Where?"

He said, "We have a permanent berth in Honfleur, and I thought it might be nice to have dinner there tomorrow night. You haven't been over there with us yet."

I agreed that I hadn't been there, but I told him that I was also planning on getting a little work in before our next assignment coordinating the next adventure with my side-kick Mel.

He said, "Is that the gorgeous little Indian girl you work with?"

I said, "Yes, she is my cohort in these assignments."

He said, "Is your friend Mel available also?"

I said, "She works with me and so she is always available when I am." Daddy said, "That settles it then. Invite her along with us and you two can work while enjoying Normandy."

I thought about it and I knew that I wanted to spend some time with my mother and dad. In fact, the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea of Mel and me and my parents alone on a sailboat, in a nice peaceful little Norman coastal village. So, I picked up the phone and dialed Mel's number.

Mel is one of the simplest and sweetest little women you will ever meet. She is also a cockney who thinks that she is the twenty-first century equivalent of the Artful Dodger. The latter part of her personality gives her the ability to mimic anything she sees or hears.

It's an uncanny gift. She uses it to make people laugh. So, the person answering Mel's phone was somebody with a Belgravia accent that was slightly plumier than Camilla Parker-Bowles.

I had to take a minute before I said, "Mel?" The voice said "Yeeaaasss"

I went back to laughing. I said, "We were going to take a little time in Normandy and we were wondering if you would be able to come with us?"

The voice said, "Prrrrrhops? Will there be othhhahh people of quality theah?"

I said, "Only you and me and the servants, better known as my mother and father."

Mel said, "Wellll in thahhhht case I believe I can cleaahhh my social calendahhh."

I said, "Can you take the train down to Poole and meet us at the boat?

She said outraged, "What ahhnd travel with the riff-raff?"

I said, "Just this once M'Lady".

She said, "Wellll if I MUST I MUST."

I said, "I'll meet you at the Poole railway station at 7:30. Pack for a couple of nights of fun."

The old Mel said, "Fun it is! I can do FUN". I hung up laughing.

*****

I was standing on the platform when Mel emerged from her second-class coach.

She made a lot of money on our last venture, enough that she could have come down to Poole in a limousine if she had wanted to.

But she spends money like the Cockney fish and chips girl that she was for the first 23 years. And until she recently moved, she lived in Stepney with her parents and four sisters. So, it was probably natural that she would travel with the people she had known her whole life, rather than up in first class.

Mel is a genius when it comes to getting to know people. I just don't have her interest in my fellow human beings. But Mel loves everybody, and she really sincerely wants to hear their stories.

As a result, there is nobody in the world who can resist her charm and she will generally have the life story out of total strangers in the matter of a train ride from London, complete with all of their dirty little secrets.

Mel was chatting amiably with an older woman and man as she came up the platform acting like they were long lost relatives.

She had not seen me yet, so I studied her. It is hard to decide what the best term to describe her is; "gorgeous" or "striking". She is very small, roughly five feet and perhaps 100 pounds. But probably 15 of those are made up by two of the biggest breasts ever hung on a female.

The impression is "top heavy". As a woman I know I am not supposed to notice things like that, but Mel is that exceptional in the boob department.

She has beautiful long, thick glossy black hair that she wears Indian style down to the top of her round little ass. Her face is like something out of an Indian temple goddess, round with huge, almost oversized glitteringly intelligent black eyes.

The rest of her features are exquisite with the exception of the widest, most sensual mouth in the history of sex and womanhood. The mouth is either looking seductive, almost carnal, or it is in the warmest widest smile that just radiates her incredible sense of humor.

Mel can only be described as round. She has the tightest little body imaginable. It is not sleek, muscled and athletic like mine. It is more adapted to fucking and raising babies, with very wide hips to perfectly balance those beautiful boobs and short muscular, but very trim legs.

Her coloring lends itself to bright prints and since she has come into money she has started dressing like a woman of means. Today, her café au lait skin was offset by a vivid print dress that made you think of dark jungles and Bengal tigers.

That is an appropriate analogy since if Mel was an animal, she would be a mongoose. She will try to charm anybody who threatens her, but she is a ferocious little creature if she has to be.

Her capacity for clear thinking and legal reasoning is what attracted the attention of the Organization. But she has one other talent that the Organization finds useful.

Mel, plain and simple, is the most unrestrained master of sexual gymnastics in the entire British Isles. She loves sex and she sees no reason why she should not be allowed to satisfy her appetites within a very carefully proscribed boundary of moral rules that she sets. Because she is such an exceptional sexual athlete, she is the perfect femme fatale in situations where a woman's favors might be required.

It is not that she is slutty. It is just that she is brave and uninhibited enough to act on and satisfy the thoughts that all women have; but in most cases are too afraid to act on. I have been around her when she is enjoying the act of love. And she clearly has the capacity to pleasure a man far beyond the limited abilities of most women.

She saw me coming up the platform and her face lit up with delight. Mel would not be a good poker player. What she is feeling, or more accurately what she wants you to THINK she is feeling, is always written in bold letters on her face and body.

She shrieked "Hilley" and came cannoning down the platform like we had not seen each other in a long time. She threw herself into my arms and squashed her tits against mine. Between the two of us we share perhaps six inches of projecting breast flesh. So that must have given the local men quite a show.

I said, "Did you enjoy the trip down?"

She said, "It was wonderful. I met two very interesting people from Shepherd's Bush, and they told me all about their family." Since nobody from Shepherd's Bush is EVER interesting, that was more a testimonial to Mel's ability to empathize with people.

We swung her little travel bag in the back of the Bentley. I had the top down and she got into the glove leather seats. She said, "What kind of car is this?" I said, "It's a Bentley, haven't you ridden in a Bentley before?"