Dangerous Games Ch 02

Disney Cruise, Port Miami

This time, the sexual heat was not red hot. Instead, it smoldered. The smoke drifted and teased my body.

The heat from the sun, on the other hand, was nuclear hot. There was not a single cloud in the Port Miami sky. The vapors from the parking lot blacktop rose to caress my bare thighs. The heat molecules passed through to my clit. I was not sure if my wetness was from the sun or something deep inside.

Victor walked half a step in front and to my right. I kept pace, my five-inch wedge slowing me down only slightly. Moments before, he had driven while I retouched my makeup. The car was parked under a small palm tree. Disney Liberty casted a deep shadow, but somehow missed the entire open parking lot.

It took us two hours to cover the fifty miles from Palm Beach International to Miami. He was careful, driving in circles to shake off potential trails. My makeup mirror helped me look at the heavy traffic behind us on the busy Interstate 95. I did not see a single car appear twice.

We were both silent. He had his game face on. I was smiling and barely able to conceal the slow burn. It was the anticipation I lusted after. Better than the actual penetration.

He had one hand out the window, the other holding the steering wheel a little too tightly.

"Nervous?" I broke the odd silence, pulling back the strap of the thin white sundress that had slipped off my left shoulder.

"Of course not," he said, a little too quickly.

"Why not?"

"I'm not the one doing the heavy lifting."

Whatever anyone could say about Victor, he was secure enough to know I was the muscle of the team. He usually did the easy job of planning. This time was different. He had to be with me half the time. It would arouse too much suspicion if I were to operate alone. Couples were the norm in the cruise ship market.

He changed the topic. "Did you know that Disney just got into the cruising business recently? Disney launched its first ship in 1998." Older than me, Victor had a different sense of time.

"Oh yeah?"

"With only four ships, Disney is the new kid on the block."

"That's kind of unusual, right?"

"Correct. Disney is usually the eight hundred pound elephant in the room."

"So how could they compete?"

"Well, size is not everything."

"You must be right. I enjoyed you even though you were average in size."

He looked away. I should not have reminded him. Victor was just six inches. But it was hard and juicy. Too bad it happened only once.

He was clearly uncomfortable. So I changed the topic. "What kind of cabin did you get us?"

"Standard size. Two hundred square feet with a balcony."

"The government is too cheap to get us a suite?"

"It's not a budget issue."

"Then why not?"

"We have to keep a low profile. Just another loving couple." He raised one eyebrow just a tad.

I turned to look at him. He looked straight ahead, pretending not to notice. I was unwilling to let the moment pass.

"Did you just describe us as an item?"

Silence. I should not have pushed. The question remained unanswered.

Disney Liberty was larger than most cruise ships, able to carry more than six thousand passengers. Security had been informed. They waved us through without looking inside my Mickey Mouse backpack or my cute metallic gray purse slung across my chest. Nor did they bat an eyelid when Victor rolled his small suitcase up the ramp.

Ten minutes later, we were on Deck Four with everyone else. Disney cast members cheerfully explained the mechanics of putting on a life jacket while we looked at our cell phones. Soon, when the ship sailed away, we would be outside the range of the Miami cell phone towers. Victor shot off a quick coded text. He was probably letting Langley know that everything was okay.

After the mandatory safety briefing, we took the stairs up to Deck Nine, starboard side. I sat on the queen bed and he sat on the sofa.

"So which deck is his cabin?"

"It's better if you do not know."

"Why?"

"You'd look more natural that way."

"But you know?"

"I do not know as well. So we can both be natural around the ship."

"Just another loving couple."

His gaze shifted in my direction. I looked at him through the mirror, one eyebrow up. He maintained his game face and did not smile.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Give me a second to slip into something more comfortable."

I brought my backpack into the small bathroom and changed into denim shorts, cropped top, sneakers and got out of the tiny cabin. We had fruit and iced tea on Deck Eleven, next to the smallish swimming pool. I looked at everyone in the pool area, memorizing the male faces. I imagined him to be short and middle aged. Probably accompanied by his wife. There were a few couples who fit the profile.

Dinner was unremarkable. He wore a sports jacket and I put on a low-cut black dress that ended mid-thigh. Victor had to visibly struggle not to look down my cleavage. I focused again on spotting my potential target. We looked like a couple married for a long time, eating without looking at each other and not even talking.

"We have to engage in polite conversation to fit in," he finally said something.

I speared my salmon and took my time. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Something, anything."

"You want me to carry the conversation?"

"I'd appreciate if you can."

"I'm already doing most of the heavy lifting, remember?"

We were even arguing like a pair of long-married couple. I finished my salmon and ordered key lime pie. He wanted a plate of fresh fruit.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you." Half a dozen Disney cast members gathered to sing to the round-faced man next to our table. He was grinning, his hand on the thigh of a young woman half his age. I had a strange feeling he could be my target.

"I have a question," we were back in our cabin before we spoke again.

"Go ahead."

"I understand we need to look natural."

"Correct."

"But how can I eliminate him if I do not know who?"

"You will be informed at the appropriate time."

"Will you be the one telling me?"

"I assumed so. There are only two of us here."

"Why do they need to tell you in order to tell me? Why not tell me directly?"

"I understand they will text me a coded message at the appropriate time."

"Couldn't they text me directly?"

"My level of clearance is higher than yours."

That was his way of telling me that even though I was physically stronger and more lethal than him, he was the boss and gave the orders.

At midnight, the rolling motions of the ocean made me drowsy. I slept on the bed. He slept on the couch.

The heat continued to smolder.

>>>>>

Jamaica

After what Disney called a fun day at sea, we arrived at Ocho Rios, Jamaica. We held hands as we stepped ashore. His palm holding me was sweaty. His other hand was holding his cell phone. The phone vibrated.

"Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom," he said.

I waved him away with a knowing smile. While waiting, I bought a fresh coconut from a street vendor. I gave him five dollars American. He handed back one hundred Jamaican dollars. I was about to sit down on a bench to enjoy when he showed up.

"Walk slowly with me," Victor pointed to the taxi stand.

"Is he on the island now?" I asked when all the tourists from our ship had passed.

He typed his password and an image appeared on his phone. "Take a good look and memorize." He let me look at the JPEG file for five seconds. Then he erased it.

"I remember him. The middle-aged man who just celebrated his birthday."

"What a coincidence."

"Is that a good thing or bad thing?"

"Bad. They might remember us."

"He won't remember anything when he is dead."

"But she might remember."

"So is the mission still on?"

"I believe so. Unless I receive the abort signal."

"What's the timing?"

"Any time after I return to the ship."

"You are not staying on the island with me?"

"No."

"What happened to the loving couple?"

"Those are my orders."

"The upstairs people do not trust you or they do not want you to be in danger?"

"How the hell would I know?"

After Victor turned around and headed back, I walked back to the port. Fortunately, my target had booked an excursion through the ship and was in a group waiting for everyone to debark. The tour guide was counting heads and frowned.

"Are you missing one person?"

"Si, senorita. Are you Ms. Morgan Strong?"

"It's Megan."

"Oh. I so sorry for wrongly say your name. English second language, senorita."

"It's okay. You're doing well."

"You confirm you ride horse?" He pronounced each word carefully, with a heavy accent.

"Si, senor," I struggled with my high school Spanish. "Gracias."

He did another count and proceeded to lead us to a colorful bus without air conditioning. I was glad I wore only my bikini top and a pair of jeans riding low. Even so, my back was dripping wet. I forcibly pushed the heat out of my mind. I needed to focus on the job.

I sat on the last row. My target and his much younger companion were diagonally one row in front. Her head rested on his chest. His hand on her thigh again, this time higher because he thought no one was looking. With a dozen people on the bus, I could not see any way to send him to the next universe. I would have to be patient.

The bus sped up and the wind from the window was pleasant. But the air was thick and heavy. My mind started to float aimlessly.

I wondered how to describe the relationship with Victor. Was our association purely professional? Apart from the one time we united our bodies, did he think of me simply as an operative? Did he regret the one night stand or was I more than a temporary need to satisfy his physical urge?

As the bus climbed up the Blue Mountains, my ears popped. I was quite sure Victor thought of me as more than a colleague. In the last year and a half, he would arrange a special reward after each job. The last one was particularly memorable. I closed my eyes and could still remember Victor's face as he was forced to watch my spreadeagled body tied naked over the legs of the pool table.

So what was he if not just a regular boss? Was he a friend who understood my peculiar sexual demands? A friend with benefits? A lover who loved to watch?

The farm was on the mountain slope, with a spectacular view of Port Antonio. Too bad I was here for business and not pleasure.

We were welcomed by a Jamaican couple. He was wiry and short. She was also short, and very skinny.

"Welcome to Jamaica," his English was accent free and excellent. "Jamaica is an island of 2.7 million happy folks living in an area of 4,000 square miles. It is the third largest island in the West Indies, and the most beautiful. And I don't mean the weed."

The group gathered around him laughed. My target, standing directly in front, laughed so hard he coughed. I wondered if he would laugh whenever his goons reported the kidnapping of helpless girls forced to sell their bodies. Perhaps he rationalized that he was simply providing logistical support to the world's oldest industry.

Laugh all you want. You would soon not be laughing or breathing.

"You are now near the top of the Blue Mountains, elevation 7,402 feet above sea level. If you feel high now, it's not just the elevation."

Another round of laughter. This group of vacationers was in a good mood.

His female companion continued, "In Jamaica, we don't drink and drive. We smoke and fly." More laughter. She was dressed in knee-high boots, tight jeans, and a string bikini. On her bony torso, she looked boyish rather than sensual. She reminded me of cancer survivors.

"Alright, this excursion is for those who have never been on a horse. Don't worry. We are going to assign only the safest horses to you. None of the horses have smoked anything today."

Yet more laughter. My target bent over in laughter. His companion punched his arm in jest.

I was assigned a white horse with leopard spots. Riding together, my target and she sat on a horse coated with liver chestnut. Starting out, we rode in single file. I made sure two horses separated us.

Half an hour later, we were divided into two groups. The male guide took all the horses with couples riding together. I was stuck with the malnourished woman with all the single riders. Bad luck.

Another thirty minutes and we were all back at the starting station. There was a small cafeteria selling refreshments and bathrooms at the side.

I bought a diet coke and sat on the bench two tables away. When his female companion went to the ladies' room, he hustled over. "My name is Miguel," he stuck out his fleshy hand.

"Megan." I squeezed moderately. He held my hand a second longer than socially appropriate, winking before letting go. He sat beside me, on the same side of the table.

"Does your husband not like horse riding?" He spoke with a BBC British accent. My target is well educated.

"He's not my husband."

"Boyfriend?"

"Not my boyfriend."

His companion came back. She eyed me for a second, then sat on the other side of him, a hand on his thigh. All three of us sat facing the same way. He was trapped in the middle.

"Sabrina, this is Megan." He brushed her hand away. "Megan, this is Sabrina."

We shook hands.

"I was just asking her about her friend." He moved nearer to me. "She said he's not his boyfriend."

Sabrina stood up. "I'm getting something to drink."

"She's not my girlfriend, in case you are wondering." A slight hint of embarrassment. Anyone touching a girl half his age should be embarrassed.

"So we're both single?" Perhaps there was a way to draw him out to where we would be alone.

"Not exactly," he said. "My wife is back in Colombia. She knows I play when she is not around."

The man might be evil. But he had the audacity to be brazenly honest. My pulse quickened.

"Is she your play thing?" I lowered my voice.

"She was," he said with a crooked smile.

"You want me to be your new play thing?" I leaned sideways, letting my elbow brush him casually.

His lips were an inch from my ear, "No, I want to be your toy."

"Let's hook up back in the ship," I said without looking at him.

"Where and when?" His breathing was audible.

"Do you know the Europa dance club?"

"The adults only area on Deck Four?

"Be there midnight."

"My cabin or yours, assuming of course you're interested after strong drinks?

"Yours."

"Just you and me, or you prefer threesome or foursome?"

It would actually be the fulfillment of my fantasy to fuck and get fucked by Miguel and Victor at the same time. Sabrina was too young and not my type.

So I said, "Why? Aren't you big enough to satisfy me by yourself?"

I knew Victor would not approve. But what the hell. I was not his bitch.

>>>>>

The Ship

I told Victor I did not get the chance to close the deal. There were too many witnesses. I did not tell him I also wanted to personally humiliate the notorious gangster. I knew Miguel was involved in human trafficking and deserved my personal one-on-one service.

Victor was nervous. It would be done tonight, I assured him. I told him not to worry. It would not involve him. He should just stay in the room while I head out just before midnight. Would I be back before sunrise, he asked. I was touched by his concern. If I was still alive, I joked. He returned the joke. He said he just wanted to make sure he would not be interrupted in his sleep.

"What would you like to drink?" His round face looked sinister in the dim light.

"Whatever you are going to drink."

"Two whiskies, on the rocks."

Miguel had the slender body to carry off a red silk shirt, the first two buttons undone to show a chest with red curly hair. His pants were tight and showed a toned butt. I had to admit his body was better than his featureless face.

I downed the whisky quickly soon after our glasses connected. He was a split second behind me.

"Wow. You drink fast."

"I had some practice. I went to a party school for college."

"Which one?"

"Florida. You?"

"I did my MBA in Harvard."

"Wow," I placed my arms on his shoulder and moved down to squeeze his rock=hard biceps. "Smart man."

I caught him looking down my cream halter top. I turned away and removed the remaining button of my red jacket. When I turned back, he was smooth enough to be looking at my eyes.

"I like your diamond green eyes and champagne blonde hair, straight until it tickles your shoulders, then curly to the middle of your shoulder blades."

I tossed my hair back and smiled. "You have a way with words, Romeo."

"I also liked your strappy spiked heels. You Americans call them stilettos, right?"

"They are called fuck me shoes." We stared at each other a couple of seconds before bursting out in laughter.

The heat had returned.

"Two more whiskies, please."

We downed them as soon as the glasses hit the granite bar. This time, he was faster.

"Two out of three?" His inflection made it sound like a challenge.

"You got it alligator," I backhanded him playfully on his stomach. It was like hitting a concrete wall. This man was not to be underestimated. Perhaps this was why he had no visible bodyguards on the ship.

"You lost again," he said as he smacked down the glass on the bar. "So you have to dance with me." He pointed to the dance floor.

"Okay, but let me go to the ladies first."

In the bathroom, I decided to remove my Glock from my purse and taped it under the sink. Holding my hair with one hand, I took out a two metal clips and piled up my hair on top.

I removed my jacket and turned around to look in the mirror. With the hair out of the way, the backless halter showed off my tanned and toned back, drawing the eyes to part of the green snake on my lower back, with the head peeking out of the waistband of my leather miniskirt.

One last step. I locked the door to the corner stall and stuck my index finger deep inside my throat. After wiggling it around, I purged myself and ejected ninety percent of the alcohol. I washed my face, reapplied dark crimson lips, rinsed my mouth with Listerine, and emerged with my jacket in one hand and purse in the other. He immediately ushered me to the dance floor, leaving my jacket and purse hanging on the back of the high stool.

I tried to dance without drawing much attention. But he would not allow me to do so. He was a great dancer, twirling me round and round and attracting the attention of the DJ. All eyes were on us as they DJ called us out. Miguel pulled me to the stage. The crowd clapped and cheered as if they were in a sports bar watching the Superbowl.

As we danced, his expert hand explored every inch of my back. When he moved down my butt, he realized I did not wear anything under the leather. When he turned me around, he pushed his hardened cock against my butt and wrapped his hand around my waist. I closed my eyes and grinded against him.

When I opened my eyes again, my purse was no longer on the stool.

"Let's go have another drink, this time vodka." I shouted at him above the pounding music.

"Wow. You are a real party girl."

I led him through the crowded sweaty bodies, my eyes focused on the stool. Who the hell had stolen my purse?

As we were halfway across the dance floor, Miguel spun me around and kissed me. I let him stick his tongue into my throat for a few seconds before pushing him away.

"Later, okay?"

"Sorry. I was overwhelmed by your sexual energy."

When I turned to face the bar again, my purse was again next to my jacket. Somebody had searched it. One of Miguel's people? Or maybe he tipped the bartender to do so.

We downed three vodkas, straight up, until Miguel was started to slur. Then we switched to rum, downing three more. Finally, we had three Tequilas. Miguel won all the speed contests.