Unpriestly Behaviour

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My fingers were still redolent of Abby's vagina as I removed the string Fr Sean had untidily secured around the wrapping paper. I carefully uncovered the painting, stood it up, and examined it. It was hideous, not least because the proportions were all wrong.

As I'd noted before, the gilded frame was old and solid, but on closer inspection there was an inner frame, secured by small wooden wedges, over which the canvas was stretched. The canvas was at most 20 years old and I saw why the proportions were out: it had originally been larger but had been cut down to fit. Curioser and curioser.

Tucked behind the canvas was a small packet of carrot seeds. Yes you did read that correctly: carrot seeds. On the outside of the packet someone had highlighted the phrase "show stoppers at your table!". I thought of taking a photograph, before I remembered that my phone was up at the Manor.

I took a closer look at the two frames themselves. The small wooden wedges securing the inner frame to the outer were clean white wood - brand new. One of them was at an odd angle and I tried to straighten it. I fumbled the movement: it pinged out of the frame and dropped to the floor, where it neatly fell into two pieces.

I stared down at it in shock. There was a rectangular inner recess, skilfully and purposefully made, in one half. Nestling in it was a tiny memory card. Carrots, and a memory card. What. The. Fuck.

"Careful, Jamie boy," I thought. What to do? The painting, along with its secret contents, had to go up to the Manor, that was clear. But equally, I needed to know what was on that card.

I found some nitrile gloves - I didn't want to leave any fingerprints. First I carefully removed the carrot seed packet and inspected it. It seemed completely genuine; unopened, and I could hear the little seeds rattling inside it. I replaced it carefully. Then I picked up the memory card.

I had an special PC in the study and I turned it on. It began slowly booting into Linux - slow, as it was booting from a CD. No hard drive. I pulled out the Ethernet cable as it finished booting and slotted in the memory card is found. I then picked out a spare usb stick to copy to, and plugged it in. I flashed up a disk cloning app and set it running: the memory card seemed almost empty - a single folder; half a dozen files - but this would copy everything on it, byte for byte. Leaving it running I went over to the church for evening mass.

I got back through the front door to the sound of the landline ringing. It was Fr Sean, in full inquisition mode. Why was my mobile turned off (he knew); where was I (which, since I was answering my landline, did not count as the most intelligent question he could have asked); where had I been (in church after deflowering Abby; I only mentioned the church); what had I been doing (ditto); and by the way the Bishop was about to tear me a brand new arsehole and I'd best brace myself. I did.

"One job! One job I gave you!" Bishop Patrick sounded more than a little angry. "Get that painting up to the Manor, James my boy, and do it right now! You do still have it?"

I apologised: I'd been unwell when I got home; perhaps it was the nuns' tuna sandwiches (I felt a twinge of guilt about this lie: they'd been excellent). I'd been in bed all afternoon (not untrue: id been enjoying the carnal delights of the said teen's tight virgin pussy). I was feeling better now. I'd just celebrated evening Mass and I was about to go up to the Manor with the painting. Straight away Bishop. Immediately Bishop. Yes Bishop."

I assume that he attempted to slam the phone down: I heard the handset clatter across the desk and a cry (which quite cheered me up) of "Fr Sean you useless fecking idiot ..."

The cloning program had completed. I closed the PC down, thus erasing any trace of my activities (no hard drive); grabbed the memory card, dropped the USB copy into my pocket, and went back to the painting. Eight minutes. Two more minutes to put the original card back in place, reassemble the wooden wedge, push it back in between the two frames and re-wrap the painting. I tried to mirror the original badly tied knots. Then I drove it up to the Manor.

I wasn't the only visitor. I parked next to a non-descript plain white Transit van with, in the passenger seat, a non-descript passenger, whose face I could not see. Mandy and Nusrah answered the door to me. They looked worried: Mandy, wearing a plain tee shirt through which her nipples were punching little thimbles, was twirling her brunette locks in her fingers. She looked as if she'd just come out of the shower. Nusrah, in plain flannelette pyjamas, had been crying, though she was trying to hide the fact.

Nusrah turned her big eyes on me in mute appeal as Rupert's voice rose from a room nearby. "So it will be sorted. Tonight! Yes - it's just arrived ... yes yes ... all of them." Then, more quietly, so that I could hardly hear him, "Tell him I'll do the transfer tonight!"

A voice I didn't recognise murmured a few words. After a brief silence I heard one of the inner doors closing, and footsteps elsewhere in the house. An outer door closed before I heard the unmistakable sound of the Transit being driven away fast.

I thought it prudent to knock on the door before I walked in with the painting under my arm. Rupert and George were waiting for me. Rupert looking agitated; George surprisingly neutral for a man I'd knocked out less than 24 hours before.

Rupert made a visible effort to control himself. "Oh James, is this the painting Bishop Patrick promised us? Good, good! He took scissors from a drawer and cut the string - Philistine! - and because I knew what to look for I saw his relief as he observed the securing wedges.

He looked up at me. "Really there was no rush." Yes, and the moon's made of green cheese.

"Now George has something to say," he added, "don't you George? And something for you?" George looked up, then reached into a pocket and pulled out my phone. "Battery's flat. And ... well, sorry Boss." To my surprise he looked and sounded as if he meant it. But, 'Boss'?!

"Anyway, we mustn't keep you," said Rupert, manoevering me to the door. "The girls will see you out. Off you go." I thanked him, and, as the girls were nowhere to be seen, let myself out. I got back in the car, plugged the phone in, and left for the presbytery.

I didn't get there. There had been a pleasant smell of freshly washed teenage girl in the car when I got back in, so I'd guessed there was at least one young woman hiding in the back. I wasn't sure I had the energy to fuck whoever it was, as I'd had such a good workout with Abby earlier, but it had seemed churlish to let on I knew she it they were there.

Ten minutes down the road, however, I heard a sneeze from the back of the car, followed by a whispered "Shush,Nussie - he'll hear!" Two teenage girls! This could be a challenge. I stopped the car. "Good evening girls. It can't be very comfortable back there on the floor. Wouldn't you like to sit up? Who's going to join me in the front? Mandy?"

More whispered conversation, then Nusrah - surpringly because she was so quiet - spoke up, "Please don't send us back. Not tonight. All hell's broken loose!"

"Please Father," added Mandy, "we're frightened!"

This was crazy. I'd fucked Beth and Abby, and I was being blackmailed to deflower and train these two delectable eighteen year olds as well - but on Rupert and Jeremy's terms. This felt like some private scheme of the girls, maybe even a bid to escape. Or it could be a trap set by the old queens, though that seemed unlikely.

As the girls untangled themselves from the floor of the car, and Mandy got into the front with me (I noticed she was wearing only pyjama bottoms with her tee shirt, but with a quilted jacket over her top for warmth), I reached for my phone, which had reluctantly come back to life, albeit with a mere 2% battery, to call the Manor.

But I didn't make the call. Not then at any rate. The phone rang just as I picked it up: St Mary's Catholic hospital, some seventy miles away. It was Sister Benedicta: I knew her slightly; elderly, intelligent, caring. "Fr James? We've a Mr Jean D'Estain here. He says you knew him a few years back?"

That rocked me back in my seat. "Yes," I said, "he's a former colleague. We're good friends." He'd been Sergeamt D'Estain when I knew him. "Um ... how is he?"

I was intrigued. Jean D'Estain was his real name, and other than me only a handful of fellow Foreign Legionnaires had known it. It might been written on a couple of French police files somewhere in a dusty basement, but it certainly wasn't written on his grave in the dusty African cemetery: that simply read "Un Soldat de France". I shivered with the memory: I had been no more than a few feet from him when the RPG-7 took him out.

So whoever was waiting for me in the hospital was not Jean D'Estain; not unless he had had an unlikely resurrection. Henri for a thousand pounds, and either my car was bugged or my phone was compromised. This was his ruse to get me to an emergency meet.

The Sister's voice dropped to a confidential whisper, "He won't last the night, Father. Will you not come and read the last rites with him?" I agreed immediately, started the car, and set off for the hospital.

"You're not taking us back are you?" asked Mandy.

"I should," I replied, for the benefit of the hidden microphones. "But you heard the Sister. I have to get to the hospital now. A dying man can't wait, and the Manor's back there." I gestured vaguely behind us. "So I'll have to take care of you -- or rather, Sister Benedicta will."

Mandy giggled and put her hand on my crotch, causing a dangerous swerve across the carriageway: "We'd rather you did, Father James." Good grief; what were they putting in the tea at the Manor? I shushed her. "Now be quiet. I'm not taking you back, but I do have to ring Rupert and Jeremy."

I rang: it was engaged. I rang back and got through. Jeremy."Get off the line, James. Wait: we've lost two of the girls: have you got them, the silly bitches? Get them back here right now." A whispered conversation in the background, then, "No, not now: in the morning. We've get enough ..." More whispered conversation, then, "Fuck! Fuck them both; just ..." He paused, and I could hear Rupert's urgent tones in the background, and Jeremy's reply "I'm doing it!"

"They're here with me" I interjected. "Must have hidden in the car when I was inside. Look, I can't bring them back now: i've got a pastoral emergency. Don't worry, I'll sort them out. Tomorrow morning, maybe the afternoon: it's a deathbed visit."

Jeremy addressed me again; urgent: "Just get off the line. Tomorrow ... fine. Fuck 'em!" He rang off.

Mandy's hand began to caress my growing tumescence: "Oh yes please Father! Please do what he says. Fuck us both!"

"Please Father, we need that big dick - don't we Mandy!" added Nusrah, then, "Hey Mandy, is it as big as Beth says?" For answer, Mandy continued her ministrations, and tried to push her hand down into my trousers.

Now, the highway code doesn't say anything specifically to forbid driving whilst a teenage girl is following ones private parts, but I think it comes under the general prohibition on distractions. I pushed her hand away, and drove. "Maybe later, if you are both good".

She answered in a breathy 'little girl' voice: "Oh yes, Father James, we'll be very good, won't we Nussie? And Nussie, I think it is: I think this big sexy cock's at least as big as Beth said!"

She reached over and groped me again. I briefly considered making a formal complaint of sexual harassment.

The car was warm, and I noticed Mandy slip off the jacket, and then a slim hand reaching over her shoulder and into her pyjama top. Nusrah was leaning forward and caressing Mandy's boobs with her right hand. I could hear and smell where her other hand was; and Mandy was following suit, taking advantage of the easy access offered by the open fly of her pyjamas.

To the pleasant sound and scent of two eighteen year old girls masturbating to a simultaneous orgasm (they sounded so practised that I was certain this was not their first time) I drove on through the night.

I had two immediate thoughts when Mandy yet again began fondling my erection. The first was blunt: at this rate my dick was going to fall off. I mean; in the 'Légion étrangère' we train hard and get really tough; but it's mainly about closing with and killing the enemy and in fact I couldn't remember any instruction about taking the innocence (a generous description in this case) of numerous young women in an inhamanly short period of time.

The second thought was that if the car was bugged, I didn't want any more compromising recordings of my sexual antics.

On reflection too, I had to keep up the pretence of driving to a dying man. So I pushed Mandy's questing hand away and drove on to St Mary's. Just over an hour later the hospital loomed large, and I drove to the "Priests' only" car park - perks of the collar.

I couldn't leave the girls in the car, but a hospital is the one place where pyjamas don't look out of place. I got Mandy and Nusrah out of the car, and gave the naughty minxes a strict warning to behave themselves. "But Father," said Mandy innocently, "we're good girls!"

"All we want is a chance to show you how good we are," Nusrah added, sighing. "But you need to look after your friend, so we don't mind waiting."

I walked them into Reception, where the plain and bespectacled nun on duty called Sister Benedicta. Almost immediately she bustled in through a door marked 'Staff Only' and greeted me warmly: "Mr D'Estain's very weak, but he's been asking for you. He wants to make his confession."

Her sharp eyes took in the girls with an appraising glance. I suspected she was not for one moment taken in by their 'butter wouldn't melt in our mouths" innocent gazes. "And these young ... ladies ... are ...?" But she didn't press the question: instead she called to a younger nun who was passing, "Sister Juliana, Father James' ... er ... neices look ready for bed: put them up in the nurses' home guest flat will you?" I looked at them incredulously. My neices?!

Neither girl missed a beat as they dutifully gave me chaste kisses on my cheek - albeit Mandy adding a slow, sly wink and Nusra looking me straight in the eye whilst surreptitiously licking her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Good night Uncle James." they chorused as they left with Sister Juliana.

Sister Benedicta turned to me again: "I'll take you straight up, Father." She appeared to notice my phone for the first time. "Oh - I'm sorry Father. No phones allowed on the Ward, please, we can't have them interfering with the medical equipment. We'll keep it safe for you."

She plucked the phone from my hand and placed it in one of a bank of steel phone lockers, marked with an 'EM Safe' logo. I slipped the key onto my key ring, only for her to take the whole bunch from me, with a brusque, "I'll look after those. Now come along, Father". She led me up to the private ward.

The ward was in semi darkness; a convincing looking male nurse, who I nonetheless recognised as one of Henri's bodyguards, stood by the bed and a monitor pinged softly and regularly by the bed. I turned to the bulky figure huddled under the crumpled sheet. "Jean, my old friend," I said, "before I hear your confession, I have something to tell you. I lied to you. It was I who put the frog in your water bottle, not Henri. I've felt guilty ever since you punched him for doing it!"

The 'dying' man opened one eye. "You bastard! He nearly broke my arm! But I put him right the day before he met the RPG - if he'd not bought it he was going to give you the biggest hiding of your life! But anyway...."

"Hello Henri," I said, "This sounds serious. I'm assuming the car's bugged?" Henri - for he it was lying on the bed - nodded. "Your phone. Your phone for sure. We'll check the car too. There's a lot to say, but we can go somewhere more comfortable while Jean takes his time dying."

Two more men, also dressed as nursing staff entered the room, stripping off their uniforms as the door was closed. Henri and I put the uniform tunics on over the top of our clothes. One of the men was wearing a dog collar, and the two, now transformed into priest and patient, took our places. We walked over to the nurses' home with the first pretend nurse; Henri entered a code into the keypad and the three of us went through to a comfortable kitchen/diner.

I pulled the USB stick which was the clone of the memory card out of my pocket, quickly putting Henri in the picture about the painting, the memory card and even the packet of carrots seeds, with its highlighted phrase. With a few quiet words Henri handed the USB stick to the bodyguard, who took it away, smiling to me and saying to Henri, "I'll put him on it".

Henri pulled a couple of cold beers out of the fridge and we sat, not speaking, for a few moments; just enjoying the taste and the quiet. Henri broke the silence. "So, James, what sort of a shit storm have you landed yourself in?"

Proverbs 17:28 says that even fools are thought wise when they keep silent, so having nothing useful to say I kept shtum.

"OK James; the spyware my man put on your phone has got us into their network - a back door into their server. Did I mention that he's the best? He really is, otherwise, we'll we don't know yet. The spyware: it was a soluble agent - deleted itself once it had delivered. So when your friends hacked your phone this morning they found nothing."

I turned cold. "Jeremy and Rupert hacked my phone?" I was also incredulous.

"Not exactly. They called someone in, or more precisely, someone was sent in."

I told Henri of the unmarked Ford transit which had been at the Manor earlier. He frowned. "Yes. They found your phone this morning and reported it to their control. They took only

six hours to tee-up and dispatch a hacker: that's quite impressive. Well we don't know, but we assume there is bugging software on your phone, because we tracked the software download. And we are reading their emails.

"James, I need your permission to get help. This is bigger than I can deal with. That technology is really good, we were lucky this morning. But I need more expertise than I have access to, maybe even some really heavy duty muscle."

I didn't hesitate. "Of course. I know to be expensive. I've got access to some immediate

funds, depending how much. Maybe £100,000?" Henri laughed grimly: "Not enough. You can't afford the help you need now. Don't worry James, the people I have in mind ... they don't work for money. So, leave it with me." That meant governmental, or perhaps, but less likely, one of the very discreet African proxies who owed Henri a favour.

Henri is one of those people who, when they say it will be alright, you just know it will be. I relaxed, and took another swig of my beer. He frowned again. "I must get back to Michelle and the kids. You stay here overnight James, don't go back. My men will act out the little drama in the ward and we'll work out a plan. I'll see you in the morning. You get some sleep -- you look as if you need it! But maybe you have other plans: what's this I hear about nieces? You never had any before!"

There was a knock at the door and the bodyguard and Sister Benedicta entered. The bodyguard wanted to know the exact phrase which had been highlighted on the packet of carrot seeds. This was becoming surreal. Mystified, I told him.

The nun was making domestic arrangements. "Your ... nieces should be asleep by now. The bedrooms are ensuite so you won't be disturbing them. We've put out some clean things for you, and there's some bits and pieces for breakfast. I'm sure you can shift for yourself.