"White Rabbit" chapter 6 by TdFmN

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esercito sconfitto
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"White Rabbit" chapter 6 by TdFmN

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A .22 caliber pistol can be almost completely silenced. The .40 caliber weapon that Colonel Davis held in her right hand was too powerful for that. The silencer (technically – the suppressor) would greatly reduce the pistol’s report; enough so that the colonel was not particularly worried about anyone inside the house hearing it. But the guard at the rear of the Chambers residence was another matter, despite the luxurious house’s impressive size. Colonel Davis had considered trying to take out the guard at the front door with a knife or garrote. But the guard – mid 20s, a tall brunette cradling a shotgun in her arms – was unusually alert. Maybe she was ex-military. Maybe she was an ex-cop who found the pay better working for the other team. Or maybe she was a highly experienced torpedo and streetfighter – a cut above the typical thugs and punks who made up the bulk of Danielle Chamber’s muscle. After all, it made sense that the crime boss would have her best gunslingers guarding her home. But whoever she was, her level of alertness and the brightly lit porch on which she stood watch made it impossible to get close enough to use the garrote, even with the camsuit. So the colonel waited. Ten more minutes, she estimated, until the time was right.

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---“AHHH!!! KATHY!!! I can’t…”

Millicent Blandings arched her back toward the ceiling as an almost unendurable climax racked her body. “Kathy” had teased the woman mercilessly; several times bringing her to the brink of orgasm and then backing off again. The exhausted information broker was already on the edge of unconsciousness when the White Rabbit gently but firmly pressed her thumbs against the spasmodically jerking woman’s carotid arteries. Blandings slipped into blissful oblivion. Sayaka kept her thumbs against the carotid arteries a while longer – long enough to ensure her victim wouldn’t wake up for a while but not long enough to do any real damage. The assassin kissed her way down Millicent Blandings’ belly and planted a final kiss between the soft thighs. Then she silently slipped out of bed and headed for the information broker’s secret computer room.

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It was actually twelve minutes before the colonel’s chance came. Prior to the Cataclysm, air travel had been quite common. But that was prior to the Cataclysm. Now it was mostly used for military operations and as a travel means for the wealthy or for government VIPs. Still, the Youngstown Airport was, by post-Cataclysm standards, a busy one due to the city’s revived importance as an industrial center. As the roar of the departing aircraft’s engines passed almost overhead, Colonel Davis squeezed the trigger. Even she could hardly hear the muffled gunshot, or the soft “thud” as the .40 caliber jacketed hollow-point tore through the gunwoman’s trachea, exited the woman’s neck, and imbedded in the door jamb casing behind her. The guttural grunt from her victim and the softer thud as the woman’s body hit the porch were completely inaudible. The colonel was sure the guard at the rear of the house had heard nothing untoward. Quickly but quietly the colonel ascended to the porch to check the body. The torpedo was already dead. Michelle Davis had shot her through the throat to prevent her from crying out. Her eyes stared sightlessly in surprise and horror, as if, in literally the last second of her life, she had realized that something was going horribly wrong. Colonel Davis stashed the body where there was no chance of anyone seeing through the front door or living room windows, should anyone happen to look. She didn’t bother to collect the spent brass, which had been ejected somewhere into the grass. Finding it would have taken precious time and she had wiped down the cartridges as she had loaded the magazines, ensuring there were no fingerprints on them. After hiding the dead woman’s body, the colonel carefully slipped around the side of the house to deal with the second guard.

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The license plate indicated that the car was a rental; rented to a Gertrude Becker, another European-sounding name. Becker, if that was her real name, had rented the car in Nashville, in the Alabama-Tennessee Administrative District. Sayaka was surprised and disappointed that Millicent’s source couldn’t give an address for where Becker was staying. What kind of car rental agency rents a car to a customer – a foreign customer – who doesn’t provide an address? Damn! She had thought the license plate information would allow her to track down the women – by now she was certain they were Pisces – who had been following her. But she seemed to have blown it. Well, she was confident they would continue to follow her and if necessary she could employ more – direct – methods to learn what she needed to know.

As long as she was using Millie’s computer anyway, she decided to check the information broker’s files to see what she had been able to find out about Devereux Consultants. It seemed that Annette Devereux herself was a computer expert and that a lot, though by no means all, of her prior work for Pricom had involved hacking into competitors’ information systems, whether to steal data or to plant malicious code. Her team had included “dirty tricks” specialists of various kinds and shortly before they had quit Pricom they had learned something important about “Generation 5”. Millie didn’t seem to have any idea what that meant but Sayaka had some suspicions. Sayaka was a product of the “Special Projects – Generation 6” experiments, in which Pricom, and Devereux’s corporate nemesis, Dr. Fontaine, had been key players. Though Sayaka didn’t know what “Generation 5” itself was, she suspected Mickey – Colonel Michelle Davis – would know. In any case, Devereux’s accidental discovery of something about “Generation 5” had caused her and her team to leave Pricom and set up Devereux Consultants. Sayaka noted with interest, but not surprise, that Devereux Consultants was located in Nashville. As she wiped all traces of her recent activities from Millicent’s computer and headed back towards the information broker’s warm bed and body, she wondered how Mickey was doing in her impersonation of the “White Rabbit”.

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Mickey was silently stalking the second guard outside the Chambers residence. The buxom young guard, probably about the same age as the Chambers daughter that Davis had dispatched less than two hours earlier, was clearly less diligent and less competent than the guard at the front door had been. Her submachinegun was leaning against the side of the house and the girl appeared to be daydreaming. Her daydream turned to nightmare as the colonel silently slipped her garrote around the girl’s neck and jerked her violently backwards, off balance. The terrified young gangster clutched at her throat, desperately – and futilely – trying to loosen the wire that was closing off her carotid arteries far more completely and brutally than Sayaka’s gentle thumb pressure had closed off Millie’s. As the lethal wire cut off the flow of oxygen-carrying blood to her brain, the frantically struggling victim could only squirm helplessly, before lapsing into a week, spasmodic twitching. In a few seconds the doomed hoodlum went completely limp. Unlike Millicent’s unconsciousness, this girl’s would be permanent. Michelle Davis coldly lowered the shapely, inert body to the ground and drew a lock pick from her belt pouch.

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Sayaka absentmindedly stroked Millie's soft body as she lay in bed beside the still-sleeping information broker. She was trying to sort things out in her mind. Devereux had discovered something about "Generation 5" and shortly thereafter left Pricom and formed her own "dirty tricks" company. Later, Devereux had run a lethal op against her former employer, using the services of some unknown but highly competent agent who used a silenced .22 caliber pistol and who might or might not be a member of this "Pisces" group that was tailing her. The infiltration against Pricom was how she had presumably learned about the "White Rabbit" and "Generation 6". Devereux had then contracted with Millicent for “White Rabbit” to retrieve a file called “Bright Angel” from the Army base at Fort Monmouth. Devereux knew "White Rabbit" was a genetically engineered super-assassin and suspected – but wasn't yet certain – that Sayaka was "White Rabbit". But... what did it all mean? Devereux was Pricom's and Dr. Fontaine's enemy. But she didn't seem to be on the same side as Sayaka and Mickey. Mickey wanted to ensure "Generation 6" was not restarted. And Sayaka wanted to kill the women responsible for Hannah's death, hence their temporary and uneasy alliance. But did Devereux also want to destroy Gen-6? Or was she playing her own game? Maybe Devereux wanted to find out as much as she could and then sell the information to someone else, one of Pricom's corporate competitors perhaps. Sayaka knew she should discuss it with Mickey, but she also hated waiting once her “hunting instincts” were awakened. When she went into town tomorrow, some Pisces chick was sure to follow her. As Sayaka lay there fondling the Blandings woman, who had started moaning softly as she gradually awakened, the assassin made up her mind. It was time to take more... active measures.

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Colonel Davis listened intently at the newly unlocked door. Not hearing anything, she slowly – slowly – pushed the door open a few inches and slipped a small mirror into the opening to scan the rear foyer. It was empty. She could hear two women talking in another room, but clearly on the ground floor of the two-story house. She adjusted the brightness and color of the camsuit to match the beige paint in the dimly-lit room and slowly – slowly – stepped into the Chambers residence. At such close range inside the lighted building the camsuit couldn’t really hide her. But even a delay of a fraction of a second before her targets noticed her could mean the difference between life and death. The two women, probably the chauffeur and another bodyguard, were conversing in a room up ahead and off to the right. The colonel couldn’t help smiling briefly as she heard sounds of a very different character coming from upstairs. Two more women, almost certainly Danielle Chambers and her attorney and consigliere Linda Carruthers, were engaged in – apparently very energetic – sex. If the colonel didn’t foul this up, it would be the last pleasure either would ever experience. The image of Annette Chambers’ sensual nude body sprawled lifeless on her apartment floor sprang unbidden into the colonel’s mind. “Keep your mind on the business at hand, idiot” she told herself as she crept down the corridor with the silenced pistol in hand.

Just outside the door into the occupied room she knelt and used the mirror to peer around the corner, this time holding at floor level so that if one of the women did happen to be looking toward the door at that moment, they would be less likely to notice it.

Damn!

It wasn’t the chauffeur (whom Mickey recognized from having watched her drive Chambers around town) and a bodyguard. It was the chauffeur and a maid. Mickey had felt relieved when she had realized Annette Chambers’ true nature. No need to feel remorse about killing that girl, her youth notwithstanding. But karma, they say, is a bitch. She was going to have to kill this maid, who was probably about the same age and probably innocent of any crime.

For a brief moment her resolution faltered. Once upon a time the colonel had been a naïve young lieutenant – so certain that she was on the side of good and right. Many of the women she had killed on the battlefield might, though enemies, have been good and honorable soldiers who believed in their country as much as Davis had believed in hers. It was unfortunate that she had had to kill them, but she had told herself that her country really was in the right, and that killing them was a regrettable necessity. But now she was no longer quite so certain that her side really was objectively better than the Texans or the Quebecois – she hadn’t been certain for a while now. And this girl was just a maid. Undoubtedly she knew her employer was a notorious crime boss – but still. Damn! Thinking that way at a time like this! She had gotten soft and if she didn’t shape up it would literally be the death of her. The colonel steeled her resolve and prepared to take down her two targets.

The chauffeur was sitting on a couch in just her panties and a close-fitting tee-shirt. Oh… and a shoulder holster. The maid was wearing some ridiculous “French Maid” outfit, which exposed a great deal of cleavage and the girl’s gorgeous thighs. They were watching television and also giggling when the noises from upstairs became… particularly enthusiastic. On the table was a salver with two plates, two glasses, a covered casserole dish, and a bottle of wine – unopened. The maid must be waiting to take her mistress’s late night repast upstairs. Between the sounds of the television and the obviously… distracted… state of the two upstairs, the colonel thought it very unlikely the silenced gunshots downstairs would be noticed.

------“So, how much longer do you think the boss and Miss Carruthers will be… UGHH!!!!”

The chauffeur jerked violently, a look of shock on her face and a spreading red stain on the front of the tee-shirt. She gave a soft guttural groan as her eyes rolled back in their sockets and she pitched forward onto the floor. The terrified maid stared at the colonel, paralyzed with fear. As the girl was obviously no threat, the colonel took a brief extra fraction of a second to aim carefully. The doomed maid flopped back onto the couch, twitching just once, a bullet hole in her forehead two inches above her staring eyes. The unfortunate girl had to die but the Colonel Davis saw no reason for her to suffer any more than absolutely necessary. The colonel listened carefully – no indication that the two upstairs suspected anything. As she surveyed her handiwork, the colonel felt both ashamed and guilty at the excitement and pleasure she had experienced – just as she had felt with Annette Chambers an hour and a half before. But guilty or not, she couldn’t deny that she had enjoyed it.

Looking at the voluptuous maid in the ridiculously skimpy outfit, the colonel was shocked by the idea which came to her. The girl, while about 10 years younger than Colonel Davis, was of similar height, similar hair color, similar hair style… The colonel was more athletic and less … buxom… But if her targets upstairs weren’t paying attention and didn’t see the colonel’s face, they might easily think the colonel – in the maid’s clothing – was the maid herself. Colonel Davis knew she shouldn’t do it; knew also that she was going to do it anyway. Swiftly but silently she stripped the scanty uniform from the dead girl’s body.

She could – sort of – justify using the maid’s uniform to gain surprise on her two targets upstairs. But as she had removed the blouse, exposing the girl’s breasts, the soft white flesh and pink nipples, and as she had pulled down the very short dress and eyed the panties snug against her victim’s pubic mound, it was only with difficulty that she resisted the temptation to remove the girl’s panties as well.

Michelle Davis headed upstairs carrying the salver with the late night snack for the crime boss and her consigliere-lover. But the casserole had been left downstairs with the two slowly cooling bodies and the casserole cover now concealed a silenced .40 caliber pistol. She stopped outside the upstairs bedroom door to listen. The two were evidently through for the night and were now discussing Danielle Chambers’ troublesome daughter, unaware that she would cause no more trouble – ever.

----“I’ve made a large “donation” to the dean and she has agreed to quash the expulsion proceedings. I gather that Professor Stephens was none too happy, but can’t do much about it for now. As long as your daughter doesn’t… cause any more problems, the incident will probably be forgotten soon enough.

--------“Good work, Linda. But you know Annette. It’s only a matter of time… I know, I know… I’ve spoiled her and now she thinks any problem can be solved by violence.”

----“Killing some street punk who steps out of line, or muscling some small business owner who doesn’t want to pay for our “protection”… those can be hushed up easily enough. A timely donation to the Patrolwoman’s Benevolence Fund or Judge Ericson’s re-election campaign… But killing, or even roughing up, a professor at the university, could have political repercussions that, I’m afraid your daughter just doesn’t appreciate. We could do it if we have to. But it would be very expensive to smooth things over.”

Michelle could hear a woman climbing out of bed.

--------“I know, Linda. Well, we’ll decide how to handle that professor if she doesn’t shut up later. I’m going to take a shower. Have Tammy bring up dinner.”

----“Yes, Ma’am. Maybe a carrot-and-stick approach would be best for Professor Stephens – a generous “research grant” while simultaneously letting her know that continuing to cause trouble could be unhealthy.”

--------“Worth a try, I suppose… Honestly, that daughter of mine will be the death of me…”

The colonel couldn’t help grinning. “Actually, you’ve already been the death of her.” She heard a door close and a few seconds later the muffled sound of a shower running. A buzzer was audible from downstairs, doubtless summoning Tammy with dinner. Colonel Davis waited a few seconds and then entered the bedroom. She held the salver so that the woman lying on the rumpled bed couldn’t see her face. But though the salver was between the two women’s faces, the colonel could see that Carruthers’ body was spectacular.

----“Put it the side table, Tammy. Miss Chambers will…, Tammy, have you been working out? You seem… mmmfff!!!”

As Michelle had set the salver on the table she had kept her back to the consigliere sprawled nude on the bed. Spinning around suddenly, she pushed the consigliere violently back onto the bed, her hand covering the surprised woman’s mouth to smother any scream. The muffled cry would not be heard above the sound of the shower. Carruthers was presumably a highly competent lawyer and expert at bribery, blackmail, and similar skullduggery. But she was no fighter. Rather than go for her attacker’s eyes or throat, or perhaps try to grab and break an individual finger, she grabbed the colonel’s wrists and tried to pull the killer’s hands away. This was a struggle the much stronger, combat-experienced ex-Special Forces soldier was sure to win. Colonel Davis knelt on top of the helplessly struggling attorney and slowly suffocated her. Michelle knew she should kill the woman quickly, but the rising excitement she had felt ever since her lethal encounter with Annette Chambers had gotten the better of her. She tried to keep her eye on the door to the bathroom, in case Danielle Chambers should emerge. But the feel of the dying consigliere’s torso writhing against the colonel’s inner thighs; the helpless, pleading, terrified look in the victim’s eyes; and the way those perfectly shaped breasts bounced and jiggled with Carruthers’ death spasms made it difficult. The silenced .40 caliber pistol was within easy reach on the table next to the bed. But Danielle Chambers evidently liked slow, luxurious showers.

By the time Linda Carruthers had stopped squirming and lay utterly inert on the rumpled bed, Michelle Davis was sweating heavily and her heart was pounding. Not from the effort of the fight – which had been easy enough – but from the excitement of this seventh… very personnel… kill. The colonel climbed off the bed and picked up the silenced pistol. She took one last lingering look at the dead attorney sprawled nude on the sheets. Her body, a promise of sexual paradise, was even better than the Annette Chamber’s, and the teenager had been gorgeous. Even relaxed in death, the beautiful face, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, testified to the terror of her final moments. Colonel Davis knew she should feel guilty about the pleasure she felt – knew she would feel guilty later – but at the moment she felt only exaltation.

The colonel headed for the bathroom, where her last target for the night was still enjoying her shower. A scene from an old movie – pre-Cataclysm, since the main character was male – flashed through her mind. The man had run an out-of-way hotel and, in the movie’s most iconic scene, had (while dressed as his mother) stabbed a female hotel guest to death in the shower. Davis smiled at the notion. But she had left her knife downstairs with the camsuit, when she had changed into the maid’s uniform. And while Linda Carruthers hadn’t been a fighter, Danielle Chambers had been a streetfighter and thug in her younger days. And she might well have a pistol hidden in the bathroom. Best not to take stupid chances.

--------“Mmmmm… Linda, come on in and join me.”

The mob boss moaned softly in the shower as one hand fondled her own breasts while the other worked between her thighs. Though 39, Danielle Chambers was still very sensual and sexy, having kept herself in excellent shape. Once upon a time she would have been a real “MILF”, though that word was now only known to scholars of obscure pre-Cataclysm slang. Her eyes were closed and rivulets of water ran over her face down her smooth curved body. She heard the door open.

--------“Linda, I… oh, it’s you Tammy. Well, don’t just stand there. Take off that… unifo…”

As Chamber’s vision cleared she realized to her horror that the “maid” wasn’t Tammy at all – realized, too, exactly what that meant. But though frightened, she didn’t panic. She glanced toward the bathroom cupboard, gauged the distance, and realized she couldn’t possibly make it in time unless she could distract the obviously professional killer with the silenced pistol. At the moment Michelle Davis would have bet a month’s pay there really was a pistol in the cupboard.

------“No!!! Wait!!! Let’s talk about this. If you’ve gotten this far, you’re really good. I know you’ve already killed Linda, but we can still work a deal. I’ll pay you twice whatever that bitch Vossler is paying!”

Colonel Davis stood silent as she contemplated her final victim; the full breasts, the soft round belly, the dark tangle of pubic hair. Putting a bullet into that beautiful shapely body would be a perfect climax to the most enjoyable evening she had had in a long time. Was this what it was like, being the “White Rabbit”?

------“You don’t have to do this! I said I’ll pay you twice as much! You’re doing this for the money, right? Answer me!”

How the hell was the colonel supposed to answer that? “No, I’m doing it to mollify a genetically engineered assassin because I need her to ensure the program that created her isn’t restarted?” That had the advantage of being true, and the countervailing disadvantage of sounding nuts. And it was verbose as well. Better to keep it short and sweet. The colonel smiled.

--“No. I’m doing this because I enjoy it.”

The silenced pistol sounded quite loud in the close confines of the bathroom. But there was no one left to hear it. The mob boss gasped out an agonized half sob, half moan as she slumped to the floor of the shower, an ugly little bullet hole between her large beautiful breasts. The colonel watched for a brief moment as Chambers’ wet body twitched in the shower spray and then lay still. She methodically wiped clean everything she had touched, recovered her camsuit and other gear from down stairs, and headed for the bus depot. She took the maid’s uniform with her to dispose of somewhere far from the crime scene. She dropped it in an old oil drum behind a factory two blocks from the station. Even if anyone found the uniform, the oil residue would completely contaminate any DNA traces she might have left.

The colonel observed the bus station for about half an hour to ensure there was no undue law enforcement activity. During the previous two days she had scouted out alternate escape routes from the city in case the murders were discovered before she had gotten away. But evidently no one had found anything yet. She boarded the 1:00 AM bus for New St. Louis a few minutes before its scheduled departure and was soon heading westward. Tomorrow, as “Bianca Lapin”, she would call the number Sakura had given her and report her success, using the words Sakura had coached her in.

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---“Uhhh… Kathy, you’re up early.”

Millicent yawned and wiped the sleep from her eyes. The White Rabbit had already showered and dressed. She grinned as her eyes took in Millie’s nude body as the information broker stretched and climbed out of the bed they had so… energetically… disheveled the night before. Just a few weeks ago Kathy, AKA Sayaka, the White Rabbit, had resolved that sooner or later – probably sooner – she was going to have to kill Millicent Blandings. The prospect was not unpleasant. Sex and killing had been linked in Sayaka’s mind ever since they – the Special Projects team and the even more shadowy women behind it – had taken Hannah from her.

But things had changed. At least for now, she wanted to keep Millie alive as an alternate information source so that Sayaka wouldn’t be too dependent on Colonel Davis for information. Indeed, preventing Millicent Blandings from realizing her lover, “Kathy Takagi”, the freelance photographer, was the same person as “White Rabbit” the lethal assassin whose services Millicent hired out to clients who could afford her price, had been the whole reason she had convinced the colonel to undertake an assassination as “White Rabbit” while Kathy herself was with Millicent. If everything had gone according to plan, the colonel would have killed her targets last night and would be calling Millicent this morning, using the “White Rabbit’s” code words.

-“Yes. I have to meet someone in town today, about a possible job.”

---“Oh?”

Was there a hint of a pout on Millie’s face? “Are you jealous Millie?” The assassin thought to herself. Their relationship had never been exclusive. Sayaka knew that some of Millie’s other employees kept her bed warm when Kathy was out of town on “photography” assignments. And Millicent surely realized that Kathy didn’t necessarily sleep alone either, on such occasions. Of course, Millicent didn’t realize how many of those conquests had ended up dead after Sayaka had had her fun with them. Sayaka herself didn’t know the precise number of women she had bedded and then killed. But whatever it was, it was going to go up today.

Millicent turned and walked into the bathroom. She did not close the door behind her. From where “Kathy” was standing she had an unrestricted view into the spacious shower which the two of them had shared on numerous occasions. Millicent soaped herself slowly and sensuously. Her pout gradually turned into a lascivious grin as she saw how intently Kathy was taking in the view. Millicent Blandings’ expression might have been somewhat different had she known that, just for the moment, Sayaka was imagining how those full soft breasts would bounce if… someone… were to put a .40 caliber slug into the information broker’s chest. Sayaka winked at Millie and headed out the bedroom door. Tara, the ex-Marine who was Millicent’s chauffer/bodyguard drove the assassin into town.

Sayaka spotted her prey shortly before lunch. It wasn’t the same girl who had followed her earlier. No doubt that blonde Englishwoman was worried that “Kathy” had spotted the previous tail and had assigned a different girl to follow her this time. But it made no difference. A few random stops at different stores convinced White Rabbit that this girl was indeed the one. But unlike the previous tail, Sayaka had no intention of ditching this one – quite the opposite, in fact.

Rosabella De Luca followed the girl called “Kathy” into the department store, anxious not to lose her. She recalled the tongue-lashing Miss Smythe-Turner had given Annelise the night before. The beautiful raven-haired Pisces operative had no intention of letting herself be subject to the same dressing down. Kathy was headed to the lingerie section. Rosabella tried to remain inconspicuous as she watched Kathy examine a see-through peignoir. There was something about the way the half-Asian girl’s athletic body moved; something, too, about the way Kathy Takagi smiled as she ran her hands over the shear fabric – like she was imagining how her lover’s body would feel through the peignoir. Rosabella De Luca felt flushed and beads of sweat had formed on her forehead despite the air conditioning in the store. She moved closer to the young photographer, trying not to stare at the girl.

-“You want me, don’t you?”

The voluptuous Pisces agent’s head was pinning as she suddenly found Kathy staring into her eyes – like a snake hypnotizing a mouse…

-----“What? No, I… uhh… You’re mistaken.”

Sayaka couldn’t quite place the accent; not French this time; Italian maybe?”

-“I can tell you want me. You’ve been following me.”

Kathy smiled – a smile that was somehow lusty and demure simultaneously.

-“It’s Okay. See, umm… there’s this woman… Millie? She’s pretty and sexy… but she’s older… 32. Sometimes you want to be with someone your own age, you know?”

The White Rabbit glanced quickly around the room and, satisfied that no one was watching, grinned conspiratorially as she suddenly pulled De Luca into the changing room. The assassin kissed her victim passionately and slid one hand inside the waistband of the Pisces operative’s skirt, and then inside her panties. The Italian girl moaned and whimpered, trying desperately not to cry out loudly enough to attract the attention of other customers or the store’s staff. Overwhelmed by the feel of Sayaka’s hands, the scent of her body, Rosabella felt like she was about to feint. She almost sobbed when Sayaka slowly pulled her hands back.

-“We shouldn’t do this here. Someone will find out.”

-----“Fairmont Hotel… we have… ahhh… ahhh… a suite there.”

-“We?”

-----“Three others… ahhh… th… they won’t… ahhh… be back until …AHHH!!!... after five o’clock.”

-“By the way, I’m Kathy”

-----“I’m Rosabella.”

-“That’s a pretty name.”

Quickly the two girls “recombobulated” themselves and headed for the hotel. Miss Sims glared at them as they exited the lingerie department. Such “extracurricular” activities in the changing rooms were strictly prohibited. Still she couldn’t help admiring the beauty of the girl, perhaps 19 years old, with the hourglass figure and the long black hair. When the clerk had approached her, the girl had asked Miss Sims about the price of a bra. She had a foreign accent. The clerk couldn’t help recalling how much she would have liked to see this foreign girl – without – a bra. She sighed. Prohibited or not, such “hanky panky” was inevitable, she supposed. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen the other girl, the short-haired one who looked so athletic, come into the department at all. Nor did she take notice of the fact that even as they exited she never really saw the athletic girl’s face.

No one at the Fairmont Hotel saw that face either. Kathy had explained that Millie knew lots of people downtown and it wouldn’t do if word got back to her that the photographer had been seen going into a hotel room with a girl a dozen years younger than the information broker. Rosabella easily accepted the explanation as they took the stairs and avoided the main lobby. Soon the assassin and her prey were writhing on the bed in one of the two bedrooms that opened off the suite’s main living room. The Pisces agent kissed and licked and fondled Sayaka’s firm breasts and then worked her way down the taut stomach and between the White Rabbit’s muscular but perfectly shaped thighs. The assassin reciprocated until the doomed Italian girl was screaming in the throes of the most intense orgasm of her life – and the last. As Rosabella De Luca flopped back exhausted onto the sweat-soaked sheets, Sayaka casually reached into her purse on the nightstand beside the bed. The Italian woman’s eyes flew open in shock and fear and her back arched violently upward from the bed. But her scream was smothered to an agonized moan by Sayaka’s left hand, as the assassin’s right hand slid a dagger into the Pisces agent’s belly – angled upward under the ribcage and into the heart.

Quickly Sayaka toweled herself off in the bathroom, and cleaned her knife. She tossed the towel into the large bathtub, quickly got dressed, and donned a pair of synthex gloves. She wiped clean everything she had touched – everything except the voluptuous nude body spread eagled lifeless on the bed. The assassin grinned as she surveyed her afternoon’s work. She fancied she could still faintly taste Rosabella’s body, though it may have been her imagination. But she wanted everything cleaned up before the other three Pisces operatives arrived. The assassin placed the corpse in the tub with the towels and also the sheets and pillow from the bed. She ran enough water in the tub to completely cover its contents. Then she pulled a vial from her purse and poured half its contents into the tub full of water. By the time anyone found the body, the solvent would have done its work. Any DNA evidence would be completely contaminated and unusable. Of course, most police labs wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of her DNA anyway. The results would be so… odd, that the police would assume the sample must have been contaminated. But now she was going against the Special Projects people – or someone with comparable expertise. Better not to take any chances.

The assassin turned off the light in the bedroom and waited in the dark, silenced .40 caliber pistol in hand. When the other three Pisces operatives returned, she hoped they would discuss the situation in the living room, perhaps allowing her to glean some useful information before she killed them.
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