Chapter One: "Stop And Smell The Roses . . ."

The last thing that the Special Agent John Ross heard before getting two
nasty blows to the back of his head was, "Ya in de wrong turf now, mon . . .
"

Ross didn't have time to turn and see who struck the blows, as the inky
blackness of unconsciousness reached up to take him into it's murky
undertow . . .

*********

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Ross slowly returned to the land of
the living. His head throbbed in pain from the blows. He reached around to
the back of his head with his left hand, feeling the raised bumps from the
blunt object. Flecks of dried blood adhered to the oil on the skin of his finger.

"Great! Just fucking great!" he cursed under his breath.

Ross closed his eyes again, delaying for the moment, recognition of his
current situation. First things first. His superbly organized and analytical
mind demanded he review the circumstances which brought him to this point,
before proceeding beyond.

He, John Ross, was Special Agent 157 of the NSA. 13 years of sterling
service, 5 bullet wounds, 3 knife scars, countless concussions, and at least
one poisoning had earned him a rare honor. Ross was assigned those cases
where he had to locate and apprehend manical individuals bent on ruling the
world. Many times, in the pursuit of such mad, would be world conquerors,
he had to use deadly force.

Usually, he could avoid killing anyone, but several times he was forced to
kill more than a dozen men. Once, he had to eliminate hundreds to stop a
powerful organization from overthrowing three governments. The papers
reported it as a cult suicide. The only thing that allowed him to sleep at night
was the comforting knowledge he was making the world a better place to live
in.

The main problem with his occupation was that Ross's singled minded
pursuit of truth, justice, and the American way had left no time for romance.
It had been literally years since he had even slept with a woman. Even then it
was a prostitute which the target of his mission had procured for him . . .
nothing like a real relationship. He really had no one in his life. Ross had
come to grips with his personal sacrifice a long time ago.

However, the hurt, longing, and sensation of the void in his life was still
there. His emotions were just buried very deeply, surfacing only now and
then in the form of sarcasm or anger. To those who knew him, he seemed a
real life personification of James Bond.

James Bond, indeed, grumped Ross mentally. If only that fictional agent's
lifestyle were real! The life of a spy was seldom as attractive as a writer could
make it sound.

Ross's target this time was one Sebastian Rose, another megalomaniac. His
particular modus operandi was irrelevant. What had been relevant was that
Rose was on the move, amassing men, money and materials for something
deadly. Ross's instructions from headquarters had been correspondingly
simple. Locate Rose and bring him in, or bring him down. If all else fails. . .
Sebastian Rose was to be sanctioned.

It would not be the first time Ross had sanctioned such men. Right now he
fervently hoped it wouldn't be the last.

The chase led to Kingston Jamaica, which was, as Ross had managed to
discover, Rose's stronghold. It made sense. Rose after all, was a British
national, and where else would he go to escape justice but a former British
colony. The states, in his opinion, were devoid of the niceties or civilities to
which he had grown accustomed.

In the end it would make no difference. Jamaica had an independent
extradition treaty with the NSA. All Ross had to do was to catch his prey.
Although the Jamaican government recognized the NSA authority, they had
announced in no certain terms they would provide no assistance. They were
too close to risk involvement, and Sebastian Rose had too much influence on
their soil. Many in the government were terrified of the man. The rest
considered themselves lucky to have never encountered the man.

In other words, a good number of the people who possessed the resources to
help him were on the take or scared witless. Ross was on his own, deep
within enemy territory.

An unexpected break in the mission came right after Ross checked into his
hotel. He was given a note from the desk clerk. It was from Drake.

Leroy Drake was Rose's right hand man, and his chief enforcer. He was a
large ugly black man, with facial scars from his service in the American
military before going rogue several years ago. It was rumored that Drake and
Rose were on the outs. Perhaps this meeting was Drake's way of getting
back into the good graces of his own government.

It was logical that Drake would take this opportunity. Ross and Drake had
been partners in a rather intense multi-departmental mission about twelve
years ago. They had to rely on each other over and over again for their very
lives. Ross had saved Drake's life on that particular mission. Maybe that trust
was still there. Certainly, if Rose ever found out about the note, Drake would
be forced to trust Ross with his very life again.

The note read:

John:

10:30 tonight. Tiki-Bar.
We need to talk
I'm ready to come back

Leroy

It was Drake's handwriting all right.

That is how Ross ended up in the dark Tiki-Bar. He had just spied Drake
sitting at the bar, staring directly at him, when the blows to the back of the
head came. Ross had been set up all along! This was possibly the worst part
of his job, never being able to trust anyone else.

Nevertheless, it was also part of his job to risk his life if men like Drake
could give him information which he needed. This time, he would have to
carry on without the edge such information would have provided him. That
is, if he was able to proceed after Drake carried out whatever he and
Sebastian Rose had in store for him.

He opened his eyes fully now, the mental review completed. Now it was time
to take stock of his current situation. Ross groaned in pain from his head
wound as he sat up too quickly. He glanced around. He was laying naked on
a filthy cot in a room with no windows, and only one door. There were no
other furnishing other than the well used cot and a weak light bulb on the
ceiling. It provided minimal illumination.

Of course, he did not lack for company. The light was bright enough to let
him see hundreds of large cockroaches skitter about the dirty floor.

Ross eased himself into a standing position. Using force of his will alone, he
got up, and determined that the door was indeed locked. All the while, his
head kept on throbbing and pounding. He grimaced. It could be worse.

I've had hangovers more painful than this, he thought to himself. At least I
am still alive. I can work with that . . . it is their first mistake.

Chapter Two: Weeding Out The Problems . . .

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Kingston, Sebastian Rose consulted one of
his most skilled and dangerous allies. She was an old Jamaican woman
whose snow white hair contrasted sharply with her deep ebony skin. She
was slightly overweight which translated into a rather pleasant, and
superficially jolly countenance.

This was deceptive indeed, for the face was a pleasant mask that dsguised a
highly skilled practitioner of the blackest of arts. The wrong look from her
could make the strongest Jamaican male tremble and wet himself.

Madam T'jal was the chief authority of the voodoo practiced on the island.
Rose considered himself lucky to consult with her on matters of great
importance. He smiled, thinking about when he first came to Jamaica.

He, like all cultured Europeans, were laughing doubters of her practice. Time
and results had made him a true believer. T'jal's predictions of the future had
never failed Rose . . . never once in all these years was she proven to be
wrong.

T'jal welcomed Rose as he took the battered chair at the other side of the
table. A single black candle burned brightly in the center of the worn, scarred
table. It was the only light in the cloistered room.

She looked at Rose with her impassive face. She hated white men, especially
Europeans. The Americans at least were straight forward without guile, and
made no illusion of their intentions. T'jal could deal with them. European's,
however, with their bloody history of continual mass murder, and bloody
conquests, were another matter altogether. They were subtle . . . complex,
and would cheat even themselves. Beneath the veneer of gentility and
civilization, they were worse than tribal savages.

The English the very worse of a bad lot. She felt she never knew what she
was dealing with when she faced a European.

Often, Madam T'jal wondered why she had allied her self with such a savage
predator as Rose. She sighed and thought to herself, I guess money is the
universal language.

Rose smile genially. "He came, T'jal, just as you predicted. "

She scowled at him.

"Sorry, Madam. I forgot I was not to use your name. I do not have that
privilege. I do keep forgetting myself. I suppose I'm just a twit of an
Englishman. Please forgive me. The important thing is that he came when
and where you said."

Her scowl deepened. How she hated this man. "Has T'jal ever been wrong,
MR. Rose?"

The word "Mister" was said with a sneer.

"Never!" he answered

"Then why you so surprised? You kill him like T'jal say?"

"No, my dear Madam. Rather, I have him in a place where he can do no
harm!" replied Rose with a winning smile. He affected the technique spoken
of in Hamlet . . . a man may smile and smile and be a villain.

"FOOLISH MAN!" she spat. "What is the vision I see for you?"

His mind went back a week. "You said a white man comes from over the
ocean. He is very powerful, full of trickery. You saw that he will be my
undoing and eventual death" Rose intoned. He was justifably proud of his
near photographic memory.

She nodded her white head. "That is so. So why you not kill quick? It matter
little to me, but de only way to prevent your death is his death. There is no
other path. You mus' kill him quick, fool!" she warned.

Rose shrugged. "Not possible. He's just too terribly valuable to me alive.
The information he carries in his head, particularly the entry codes into the
NSA computers could easily double, or triple, my power. I would be
untouchable, my dear Madam," he smiled and paused, leaving her name
unspoken.

She stared at the pompous fool. At last, she advised heavily, "This be not
good, Rose. Not be good at all! He be your doom, he be your death. He this
Ross . . . be de thorn to your Rose."

She stood up slowly. "I be not responsible for what happen if you fool
enough not to heed T'jal's warnings of death and doom."

It did not surprise Rose that T'jal already knew his captive's name. He smiled
reassuringly at her.

"That is why I have come to you now, my dear Madam." Rose turned on his
best continental charm. Bitter medicine always goes down with a bit of
treacle. "My problems need your all so unique special touch. Only you can
solve them to my satisfaction. I need a special favor from you."

T'jal sat back down . . . intrigued. "What de favor be, Sebastian" she asked.

"Rumor has it, dear lady, that you can switch people's souls between bodies
with your magic. If you can do that . . . ." Rose smiled expansively.

"You be fool! You seek to cheat fate by placing your soul in the body of
another?" She was amazed by the man's audacity regarding fate itself!

"Oh NO, Madame . . . Not MY soul! I am quite happy where I am right now,
thank you very much! No, I was referring to Mr. Ross's soul, assuming he
has one . . . ." he chuckled at his own small joke.

"You wish me to place de soul of dis Ross in another body. Fate is not to be
cheated, Mr. Rose. No, sir! Fate will put her bony hands around your throat
and take your life for dis affront!"

"Did not your own magic say that a WHITE MAN will be my undoing?"
Rose chuckled, thinking of what was to come. "If you do me this favor he
will be neither white or a man. Thus, your vision can hardly come true, can
it?"

"You intend to . . . with a woman?" she asked, startled once more by his
efforts to halt his fate, yet gain all he desired. "It be not nature's plan, Rose."

"No matter, I shall do it anyway! One mustn't ignore a great inspiration like
this!" Rose said to her with far less excitement than he let on. "Rather a
brilliant idea if I do say so myself! Well? Can the great maker of magic do
this for me . . . her old friend?"

"I can do this." Madam T'jal looked at him. However, she thought, if this
great fool seeks his own doom, perhaps it is wise for me to let him walk
down that dark path.

Mr. Rose, he feel so wise, so superior, so European! So be it!'

He smiled. "Let me do the thinking, you prepare the magic. If I am right, and
I am sure that I am, I can have my cake and eat too. Avoid my death, and
have my priceless source of information."

"I think this be last favor I do for you Mr. Rose. It is time for me to move on.
This body, this life not please me anymore. You wish to hear price for this
'Favor'."

"How much? " he asked cautiously. It would be worth millions to him, but
he didn't get where he was by playing fair market value.

She smiled, and he could not help but shudder at the gleam in her eyes.

"Not money this time, Mr. Rose. A certain English lady be staying with the
governor. She inherit much property on Jamaica, yet treat black folk badly.
Cut their pay, make work very dangerous."

"Lady Constance Smallbridge?'

"That be the one. She has even insulted my son when he protested the
selfish, wicked tings she do. He lost his position as aide to government. She
is not a good person. Very wicked. Her wickedness must be stopped."

"She is young, beautiful, and rich. Sought after qualities in this world of
yours. She will suit me very well. You must give me all information on dis
lady, and then kidnap her. Bring her to me. No one must know she be
kidnapped or where you bring her. I not need her for long."

"Are you going to hold her for ransom?" he asked cautiously, already
suspecting, and dreading, what this black old woman wanted with the
English Lady. He went against his prejudices to do such a thing. But some
sacrifices must be made. The beautiful, charming Lady Constance would be
the sacrifice.

Idly, he wondered how she would like trading her life for that of an old fat
poor black woman in the Kingston slums? Constance would be a few miles
from the very same lands that she had inherited, stranded in a part of town
that she would have refused to be driven through yesterday.

"I bet a smart man like you know my intentions almost before I plan them,
Mr. Rose," Madam T'jal smiled.

It was not hard to read his thoughts.

"When you bring the information and then the woman, then you get your
potion."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she looked adamant.

"Oh, very well, I promise. I will need one other tiny thing . . . a mere trifle
really."

"What dat, Rose?" She knew his tiny things were seldom . . . tiny.

"You see, NSA agents have been trained to withstand torture, mind control,
drugs, hypnosis, and who knows what else. I need a way to get the
information from . . . him. Do you have a way for me, Madame?"

"Maybe. As a woman I know more than man sometimes a person be
persuaded with de soft touch rather then de brute force."

She gestured, he approached, and Madam T'jal whispered in his ears.

He smiled. Her words reminded Rose of something else that he had read on
Ross's dossier. This would solve two problems at the same time.

"That's perfect! I know just what to do. I will miss you, Madam. But I am
sure you will enjoy your, shall we say, retirement."

******************

Rose brought the information, and a struggling Lady Constance. Madam
T'jal looked her up and down and smiled. She was beautiful. She would be
perfect in so many ways. Madam T'jal's sons entered to hold down the
terrified young blond aristocrat.

"Would you like to see de potion in action? Perhaps try it out yourself first,
Mr. Rose? No? No matter."

Madam T'jal got up and waddled to a shelf in the corner of the room.
"Everything be ready."

She returned with two small vials. She handed them to Rose. "The black one
be your first favor. The clear one be de last. Once taken they be activated by
eyes meeting eyes. De eyes be the windows of de soul. I suggest you not
admire your work this one time unless you want to be a part of de mix."

She laughed at the image in her head of Mr. Rose staring down in shock at
the body he intended for another. A shame the man was too good to make a
mistake like that. She would have enjoyed watching him.

Rose took the vials and bowed. "Thank you immensely, my dear lady!"

"Our business be forever done. You go. Never bother Madam T'jal wherever
she be ever again."

She looked at the frighten English lady, trying to speak but the gag prevented
her.

"As you wish. I will miss you."

Soon after Rose left the hut a woman with a deep, Jamaican voice screamed.
A short time later a beautiful blond English woman with an imperious
appearance left the hut. The limo she had called for had arrived. The
chauffeur opened the back door and she got in. She looked back only once at
the poor house where a fat old black woman with white hair was crying in the
door way.

She screamed again as she stared at her elderly arms and the wrinkled ebony
skin which covered them. Two large black men on either side of the old crone
kept her from running after the car. The men waved with their free hand to
the departing Lady Constance, wishing "mother" well.

"Ta ta!" the young lady responded, in a perfect English accent, from the open
window the car. It drove off to a better part of the island.

"Dat be muh body!" cried the old fat crone, her eyes wide at the diction of her
own new voice

**********

As soon as Rose was back in his car he flipped on his cellular phone. From
memory he dialed the number of his local contact, Edward.

"Hello?" a rather brutal voice answered.

"Sebastian Rose here. I need a favor. I will pay you well for your help."

"Name it my friend. There is nothing that I could refuse my good friend, Mr.
Rose." Edward spoke the truth. Those that refused to do favors for Rose
ended up as shark food . . . or worse.

"That's what I like to hear. Listen, Edward, I want you to round me up, oh .
. . let's say ten, of the best looking Jamaican women you can find. And . . .
this is very important. They can't be anyone who would be missed.
Understand me?"

"I sure got you, Mr. Rose. You be clear as the crystal. Ten disposable babes
coming up. Where and when do you need them?"

"Say two hours at my place." Rose instructed.

"Might be a little tight, but for you I can do it. I'll see you in two hours."

"Excellent. Good-bye, Edward."

He snapped shut the cell phone and a big smile covered his face. "Now to
deal with MR. Ross and on my terms."

He smirked, thinking of what he had in store for the famous agent.

Chapter Three: A Weed Is Hard To Kill . . .

Several hours of painstaking, frustrating examination only yielded a locked
door. There was no way out for Ross. Drake and Rose had taken the
precaution, damn them, of stripping him completely naked. Therefore, his
hidden tools and chemicals were long gone. He was at the mercy and whim
of Sebastian Rose . . . a man not widely known for mercy.

He returned to the cot, leaned back, and took a energy conserving Yoga
position. He must have patience. Discipline dictated that he wait for Rose, or
a guard, to make a mistake. He focused his energies on stopping the pain in
his head.

A few minutes later he heard the locking mechanism disengage. Three huge
guards entered his room. Following them was a smiling, urbane Rose. A
servant followed behind Rose, who placed a straight back chair for his
master.

Rose gestured to the frightened servant who hurriedly placed the chair near
the cot, and then fled the room.

Rose smiled politely, and inquired, "May I?"

"Be my guest" Said Ross ironically.

"Thank you." Rose sat. "I wouldn't even think about attempting anything
Mr. Ross. These two strapping fellows would not be gentle. Keep your
prone position. Let us be civil and discuss the matter like two gentlemen."

He grinned charmingly, his English accent as always was smooth and
elegant.

"Just tell me what you want, Rose!" stated Ross, propping himself up on his
elbows so he could see the infamous Mr. Rose. The guards clubs came down
menacingly. When it became apparent that no aggression was forthcoming,
they resumed their prior, cautious stance.

"The best guards that money can buy. I am quite generous to those loyal to
me, Mr. Ross. Your friend Mr. Drake can attest to that fact. I could be quite
generous to you."

"What could you offer me that is so precious?"

"As a start, say . . . your life. I admire you. What a splendid record you
have. I would be proud to be your friend."

"I don't think we can be friends, Mr. Rose. Shall we move on. You're
boring me."

"I beg your pardon! We don't want to bore our guests, now, do we? An
English trait I fear. Well, the surprises I do have in store for you will hold
your interest. I can guarantee it. What do I want? Quite simply, I wish the
secure phone line to the NSA computer along with the security codes and
passwords. That's all." His eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Good luck!" John Ross actually laughed. "Even if I had that info, which I
don't, you would never get it out of me."

"Ah yes, you are trained, are you not, against, shall we call them retrieval
techniques by the NSA?"

"Top of my class."

"Then might one assume that truth serums or hypnosis would be useless as
well?

Ross just smiled. "Try them if you like. I'm not going anywhere."

"Touche'! Just idle curiosity, old man. What say some criminally disposed,
perhaps vulgar fellow were to put you to torture?"

"I love pain. I would have thought you would be more creative than the
methods you have listed."

"I see . . . . Unfortunate for me, what? You are quite amusing, Mr. Ross. Do
you remember an old TV show, "Get Smart?" It was recently on Nick on the
Sky High 1 satellite."

John Ross flushed with anger. "You're not comparing me to that imbecile
Maxwell Smart?"

"Actually I am. Sorry. He always says, when told he would be facing torture
and death, that he loved it! Are you sure you won't be more reasonable, Mr.
Ross. Surprise me. Oh, never mind. I can see this is quite useless. No, Mr.
Ross I think you will find my methods of obtaining the infomation which I
seek are far more creative than the ones to which you so bravely sneer. Yes. I
dare say you are in for a pleasant surprise. At least I hope and trust you will
find it pleasant."

John Ross smiled grimly. "Whatever you will try, it will fail."

"We shall see, won't we. I will make you a bargain, Ross. I think I have a
technique that will succeed. If you cooperate I will give you my word as an
English gentlemen that I will let you go free if it fails. How does that for an
appeal to your sporting blood?"

Ross's lips curled into a sneer. "The word of a criminal is no word of all!"

"You wound me, sir. Really you do. I am an English Gentlemen and my
word has always been my bond. Anyone will tell you that. Whenever
England went to war, my noble ancestors were in there fighting, bloody
swords in hand. Besides, Mr. Ross you have two choices. You can do this
the easy way, or I can force you with my very willing and able assistants.
I'm sure you can see the former is far more logical and less painful."

"What do you want me to do, Rose."

"Please call me Sebastian. I feel we are going to be such good friends."

He smiled, and pulled out the vial that contained the black liquid. "Drink this.
Down the hatch, as they say in your country!"

"Poison?"

"I can hardly extract information from a dead man. If I wished you dead, you
would have simply never woken up. Surely, even you can see that. No, this
is no poison, but you must drink it! If you wish to find out what it is, you
merely have to take it. The effects are most wonderful, I assure you. I say,
where's the bravado with which you defied me before. Are you truly afraid
of me?" Rose taunted.

Ross eyed the vial uneasily. Either way, it was going to be put into him. At
this point it was pointless to resist. He unsnapped it and drank down the
potion. A sudden warming gripped Ross's throat and spread rapidly through
his body.

"Guards!" snapped Rose. "Out. Quickly!"

The door flew open and the guards ran out. Rose spoke to Ross without
looking back. "You won't be lonely long. Someone will be in shortly to keep
you company."

Chapter Four: "A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet"

Just outside the door, Drake waited uneasily for his fearsome boss. With him
was the slimy Edward, and ten frightened local beauties. One of those
lovelies he recognized. Drake didn't know her name or anything about her,
but he would never forget the day when he'd seen her in Kingston. Drake
couldn't help staring at her from first sight! He thought her the most beautiful
woman in the world.

She could only be 17 or 18, barely old enough for him to consider dating.
Drake had tried to speak to this woman of his dreams, but she just ignored
with a haughty air. The communication that she forcefully sent with her few
words was that she was too good for him. Even so, ever since that day, her
face, her body, and her grace haunted his days. She walked in his dreams at
night.

"Drake! So good to see you, old chap. I have a gift for you." beamed Rose
genially.

"A gift, Boss?"

"Ah, yes. Edward here has been good enough to locate ten of the loveliest
creatures on our little island! Chose! Whomever you pick is yours."

"You got to be joking, Boss!"

"This is not a joke, Drake! For your many years of faithful service, I have
decided to award you with a woman of your very own."

"What if she doesn't like me, Mr. Rose?" I know I have scars and an ugly
puss."

"Impossible! With your wit and charm, not to mention your manly good
looks? And, if those qualities fail to work , well Madam T'jal has given me
something to thaw the iciest of hearts."

Drake felt a chill. "I don't know about this, Boss."

"Choose!" yelled Rose, his eyes glittering.

"Of course, Boss! This is very generous of you. You are quite right as usual
. . . What woman could resist my manly charm. I hope I didn't sound
ungrateful, because I am very thankful. You are far too generous to me.
Then, everyone knows how giving you can be. Just look at the variety you
offer me!"

Drake knew all too well not to defy Mr. Rose in this frame of mind. He
pretended to survey the women again, but he only looked at the girl that
haunted his memories. Drake's eyes drank in her petite 5'1" form with the
mind blowing curves. She had to be about 38DD-21-35. Her extremely dark
skin came close to matching his own dark flesh. Her long, dredlocks hung to
the middle of her back, adding to her erotic beauty. Her face and lips were
beyond compare, but her eyes stood out even more. They were almond
shaped, like those he had seen on the pictures of the Egyptian Gods that Mr.
Rose had on display in his mansion.

The girl stared contemptuously at him. Could the Madam's potion really
make this goddess love him, ugly face and all?

Drake's voice was choked with passion, "Her!" He pointed with a shaking
finger at the suddenly fearful girl. "I want that girl!"

Rose smiled. "Excellent choice, my friend, Excellent! Very good indeed. I
approve your superior taste in women. She stays, and the rest can go. Drake,
would you mind escorting the other girls out?"

Drake didn't trust himself to speak. His eyes did not leave the girl of his
dreams. He forced himself shake his head as he herded the relieved, but
cautious women out. They remained quiet, not wanting to attract undue
attention from such a powerful and dangerous man.

"Edward? A minute if you please."

Edward and Drake's dream girl remained. She was trembling quite visibly
now.

"Has she been photographed and fingerprinted?"

"All is as you ordered, Mr. Rose."

"Excellent. You may take the girls back to wherever you found them. Tell
them they are not to talk of their little adventure or they won't be talking at all.
Tongues are such fragile organs, you know! Then, give them each fifty
pounds for their trouble." He paused for a second. "Wait, Edward. The two
tallest girls, send them to that sheik that I do business with. He can always
use a few more wives in his harem."

Edward hurried out. Sebastian Rose shifted his intimidating gaze to the
frightened girl.

"Now, Miss if you don't mind. Please step through this door."

"Please, Mister Rose, I'll do anything you want, just don't hurt me! I beg
you . . . " she stuttered in a thick Jamaican Accent.

"I really must insist." Sebastian grabbed her by her soft and slender arm, at
the same time that he opened the door to Ross's room. In one swift move, he
thrust her into the room. Rose slammed the door behind her.

Then Rose grinned, thinking of what was to happen to Ross. He realized he
would have to look up the Madame again someday. He wasn't getting any
younger himself. That would be decades in the future, for his father and
grandfather had died in their eighties. Perhaps when he turned sixty.

"I do believe that you will be more open to information retrieval soon, Mr.
Ross!" he remarked to the closed door. Rose laughed . . . a good long laugh.

**********

In the scant few minutes, since imbibing the viscous black liquid, the intense
warmth spread over every inch of Ross's body. He felt it from the top of his
head to the tip of his toes. Oddly, the warmth somehow mutated . . . initially
to a tingling, then into an edgy buzzing. The progression ended with a feeling
of extreme disorientation.

Ross struggled to move, but his body stubbornly refused to respond to his
mental direction.. His waist, toes neck and head all throbbed as if engorged
with blood. Fortunately, it wasn't really painful.

Ross felt as if he was in the grip of a waking nightmare. Without warning,
his door flew open, and a beautiful Jamaican woman was forcibly thrust
therethrough. No, not a woman, but barely more than a teen-aged girl, he
thought to himself

She stumbled a few steps before her inherent grace let her right herself. She
was very beautiful, admired Ross, with a strange detachment.

Everything was unreal, more like an eerie dream than life. It had to be drugs
in that potion, Ross mentally cursed himself for taking Rose's word.

The girl sensed his presence in the poorly illuminated room, so she lifted
those wonderful almond shaped eyes to see who it was. Those deep, almost
totally black irises locked into Ross's own baby blues.

CONTACT . . .

Ross felt like he was being ripped in two. He felt a sensation of separation,
somehow as if he had lost a part of himself . It was a part which made him . .
. whole. He vainly tried to scream, but he could make no sound, or move a
muscle to stop the separation. Instantly, he was floating somewhere, freed
from that other part of himself. It was not unlike like a boat drifting from it's
anchor.

Evenutally, the sense of movement returned. The drifting feeling increased in
speed, as he was drawn swiftly . . . somewhere else. Words could not
explain it, but somehow it felt like a spiritual black hole. He could not resist
this unholy pull.

However, Ross knew with every fiber of his being that whatever was
happening was very, very wrong. Ross tried to scream again in vain.

Just as suddenly, there sound returned. Ross could see and hear again,
enough to recognize that two people were screaming. A man and a woman.
The woman had stopped screaming.

Where there once was a feeling of eternal separation, now was a sensation of
being whole again. Nevertheless, Ross felt somehow . . . different?

It was a totally different sense of wholeness than what he knew only
moments before. Ross experienced more fear than at any point in his life.. It
was accompanied by feeling of being small and helpless.

The immobility was slowly leaving his shocked body. At least Ross could
move again. Thank God, he thought with relief. It was then that he turned
towards the sounds of the man's yells.

Ross saw, with his eyes widening in horror, as a man who could be his twin
continued screaming on the other side of the room. Crazy thoughts flashed
across his mind. If I am over there screaming, then who am . . . .I?

Where is the woman who was screaming? The sounds sounded very close.
Wait! There were only two people in the room. If he . . . Ross . . . was
across the room, then he must be the GIRL?

With every increasing dread, Ross already knew that the woman's voice that
had filled his ears was his own. He forced himself to look down to confirm
his worse case scenario. The lush cleavage was now his/hers.

The emotional trauma of the switch shut down Ross's mind faster than a
circuit breaker. His/her new voice squeaked out a feminine groan as his/her
limp body slumped to the floor with a soft, dull thud. Ross desceneded back
into a state of blessed unconsciousness.

Ross's male body followed suit across the room..

Chapter Five: A Bouquet Is Made From Cut Flowers . . .

Rose waited outside, a bemused smile adorning his face, as he heard the
screams. They died away to be replaced by the twin thuds of two bodies
falling unto the floor. The deed was done.

The mask that Rose wore slipped for a moment as the self-congratulatory
thoughts surfaced.

Ross no longer had the qualifications to be his enemy. He was no longer
male! He was no longer white! Sebastian's grin twisted into one of pure evil.
Indeed, he looked like Lucifer himself, returned from the gates of hell. Like
Satan, he gloated upon the success of his plan.

Then the mask of a smiling, urbane English Gentleman was in place again.

He called out to Rollie.

Rose heard heavy, shuffling foot steps as another local henchmen ran to do
his dread masters bidding. Rollie was one of Rose's favorites since the man
had absolutely no conscience. It was a pity the man was so fat because it
limited his effectiveness. It was a shame he couldn't get a good supply of that
potion. Putting Rollie in a strong young native man's body would create a
nearly unstoppable assistant.

Rose had the foresight to save a tiny portion of the potion for future analysis,
but it might not be enough. Regardless, there was always the old fashioned
answer.

"Tomorrow you go on a diet, Rollie. My people don't go around huffing and
puffing from a few seconds of exertion."

"But boss . . . " Rollie tried to plead.

"But nothing! I didn't bring you here to discuss your lack of physical
conditioning. Go into Ross's room and drag him out here. Leave the woman
for me. You're not to touch her." Rose gave Rollie his marching orders.

Rollie fearfully enter the room alone. He knew well the legends of the great
John Ross, and had no wish to face him alone. His pistol quivered in the
fleshy hand. Ross's unconscious body was on the far side. The man seemed
to breathing oddly. He could be faking.

Rollie stayed far away from the person he believed to be Ross as surveyed
the room. There was a beautiful girl closer to the door. Rollie sighed. He
would love to cop a feel from her big boobs, but Rose would probably cut
off his balls and feed them to the crocks if he went against orders.

He attempted to lift Ross. The man weighed too much for him to do it alone.
So he gripped Ross under the arm pits and began to drag the nude body
across the room towards the door. What a shame the man was nude and the
girl was dressed, thought Rollie. Why couldn't it have been the other way
around?

Rollie sighed. He was thankful. The girl's body did not block the doorway,
so it was resist the temptation to sneak a forbidden feel . . . or two!

Once Rollie managed to get outside, Rose asked for Rollie's gun and
silencer.

Rollie looked bewildered as he complied. "What're you goin' ta do wit' him,
Boss? I thought you wanted da mon alive for information?"

Of course neither he, nor anyone else, knew that a mystical transmigration
had just occurred. Only Ross and Rose would have that knowledge to share.

"Changed my mind, Rollie, if it's any of your business." Rose intoned
coldly. "Why, are you planning to start telling me what to do?"

A frightened Rollie shook his head vigorously." Not me, Boss. I just be
surprised, is all! You know you are number one in my book, and always will
be!"

Ross stopped teasing the man in order to get down to business. He pressed
the weapon right up against the temple of Ross's head. He smiled as he
pulled the trigger It sent a slug through the skull, murdering the person who
now occupied Ross's body. A shower of blood, skull fragments and hair
burst from the exit wound on the other side of the man's head.

Idly, Rose wonder if there might be some bookkeeping problems on the other
side? Ross's body died, but the soul was that of the young beautiful Jamaican
girl. Would she have to pay for Ross's sins from a long and violent career, or
would the case be tied up in heavenly courts until Ross s soul joined her? It
was an amusing idea.

Rose chuckled at his own conceit.

He tossed the pistol back to Rollie who once again marveled at his Boss's
coldness.

"Deposit the body where it is sure to be discovered by the authorities, and
destroy the gun in the usual manner. I wish to send a strong message to the
NSA. If their top man fails so miserably to stop me, nobody can. They will
now hesitate, and think twice before sending other, lesser agents up against
me. Yes, I do well believe that Ross's dead body will communicate my
message rather well. Oh, and Rollie . . . "

"Yes, Boss?"

"Do have someone come and clean up this mess! You know how I like things
neat and tidy." Rose paused. "And don't forget that diet! You start tonight,
right?"

"Of course, Boss. I just started it right now."

As Rollie went about his tasks, Rose gazed down at the unconscious body of
the beautiful Black girl.

"My dear Ross, I dare say you are going to be quite surprised when you
wake up. You are going to feel like a new man. And, after you drink the
second vial, you will feel like a whole new woman. Yes, I think you are
going to be much more cooperative."

He laughed openly now, and bent over, easily scooping up the petite body
that encased Ross's spirit. Slowly, almost tenderly, he kissed the smooth
young forehead.

"I'd do you myself, but I am not into multiracial liaisons. Hardly something
for an English Gentleman. No, you are for your old friend Drake. He is
going to love you, as you will him. I wager you never thought this is how
your distinguished career would end. A black whore for one of my
assistants."

Rose slung the body over his shoulder. He gently carried Ross off to a
traditional bedroom, laughing at his jest all the way. Ross's large bosom
repeatedly bumped into the man's back with the rise and fall of each padded
step.

Rose took immense pleasure in holding Ross even as he made his way to a
lavishly decorated bedroom. He could hardly wait for the overloaded circuits
of her new mind to recover. Those of his staff that heard his laughter
shivered. It was nothing short of diabolical.

He was met in the bedroom by another, older Jamaican woman by the name
of Monique. Rose gently laid the incredibly feminine body he carried out
upon the canopy bed. He looked at Monique's dark features.

Rose inquired, " I trust everything is in readiness?"

"Yes Sir. All of de arrangements be made, an' just as you say," replied
Rose's female assistant.

She too had heard the laugh. Rose was in one of his moods. Anything could
happen! She had to stay on the ball tonight or she might wind up far worse
off than this poor girl.

Rose gestured at the unconscious figure that lay peacefully on the bed. "Has
her photograph been taken?"

"Dey be taken when de man bring de otter girls. Dey all be taken."

"Excellent! Then all we have to do is apply those pictures to the false identity
that we have created. That identity had been set up, has it not, Monique?"

"As you request, it is done, Sir. Your people down at de Council of Records
have taken care of everything, just as you ordered, Mr. Rose."

Monique perspired nervously. Her duties as Rose's executive assistant while
he was on the island included many nasty things. She had personally
witnessed murder, torture, and abuse. For some reason, which she could not
yet explain, erasing a pretty girl's identity, to give her another, bothered her!
That emotion leaked through to her face.

"You object to this?" Rose observed lightly.

"Sebastian. I have never questioned you on anyting . . ."

"Which is most wise, Monique, most wise." he interrupted.

" . . . but dis? It seems wrong. I know de girl is meant for your mercenary,
but why take her identity as well? Any island girl would do as you wish."

"My reasons are my own. I doubt you would believe me if I were disposed
towards telling you them, which I am not. Now then. What name have you
selected for her?"

Monique sighed. She would not win this battle.

"La Shauna Baptiste."

"Very nice, and very pretty. It is feminine, with just the right island flavor.
Age?"

"The girl is 17, but I chose 18 for variety and to make her a legal adult."

"Good . . . good. Birthplace?"

"Negril, Jamaica."

"Parents?"

"Both deceased."

"What about the girl's real parents, Monique?"

"As we speak, dey are being told their little girl died at de hands of American
drug runners. We assure dem that we took care of their girl's murderers, and
made them take the large amount of money the men were carrying on their
person. Dey won't ask any more questions."

"Good work, Monique. You think of everything. You do such an excellent
job of making the natives believe, they, know that we are their protectors
against a cruel, unfeeling world," praised Rose, sincerely.

Monique had to. She had no choice! She shuddered to think what would
happen to her if she did not have such an eye for detail. She remembered
watching as Rose had her predecessor skinned alive for small failure.

"Now. I'll want all of her new ID documents to be ready , say in the next 30
minutes. And Monique . . . I'll need you to prepare our guest for her ( he
smiled broadly at the pronoun) meeting. Something very sweet, sexy and
feminine, and of course, revealing. Nothing too trashy. I am sure you know
what to select. She'll be out for awhile, so she shouldn't give you any
difficulties."

"I will, Sir. I think I know just what you want."

"You always do, my dear." Rose spun on his heel to go, but then
remembered one last thing. "Oh yes, Monique. I almost forgot. When she
wakes up, she may ask you things like how to do make up, how to dress
properly . . .women's things. I want you to teach her all that you know. I
want you to make a real lady out of her."

"But Rose? De girl is 16 years old. Shouldn't she already know all dese
things?"

"I have it on good authority that she does not. A small mental condition
which has been . . . corrected. Give her a course on feminine hygiene as
well. She may have forgotten some of the details. However, she'll need to
know such feminine things if she is to keep Drake. We wouldn't want her to
disappoint my friend, would we. She would be devastated. See to it!"
commanded Rose.

"I will, Sir!"

What had this monster done to this poor, innocent young girl, that she
wouldn't even know the basics of taking care of herself? And what would he
do to her in the future? Monique did not consider doing anything beyond
Rose's orders. She knew better!

"I'll leave it to you then. I am sure the results will be splendid!" Rose looked
at his personally prepared diamond Rolex. "Ah, it is time for me to met the
fortunate Drake. Please have Miss Baptiste ready in one hour."

With that, Sebastian Rose left the plush bedroom.

**********

While Monique got La Shauna/Ross ready for her "meeting" with Drake,
Sebastian Rose was explaining to Drake his reasons for disposing of his
former friend. Rose was wary in the way he made the explanation. It came
out sounding, as always, rational, sensible, sane, and even good for
business.

"I did all I could, my dear Drake. Ross would have been very valuable to us.
I offered him his life and wealth, but he chose death instead. It is regrettable,
but i look at it from our point of view. Ross, in reality, committed suicide."

The need for caution was evident. There was already a rift between Rose and
Drake. Drake was clearly dissatisfied with the life that he had chosen, and, in
short, he wanted out. Nevertheless, Rose wanted Drake to stay . . . he
needed Drake, and his knowledge, in his operation. The worst case scenario
was if Drake double-crossed back to the American authorities. The death of a
former friend like Ross could provide Drake with the final impetus to make
the break.

Rose needed some way to keep Drake in the fold. He needed to construct
asituation wherein Drake would never want to leave. The only sure way to do
that was the love of a good woman, who would keep him happy between the
sheets. A woman of Drake's own choosing! The only thing that Drake would
not know, must never know, is that the woman, in actuality, would be his
former friend, the troublesome Ross.

Fleetingly, Rose thought of Madam T'jal. I wonder how she is doing now.

A cruel smile crossed his face. Of course I promised her, most sincerely, that
I would never use her again. Nor will I. Lady Constance . . . ah . . . she
would make a valuable ally! One day, I shall need her again. I will have to
think it over carefully. That is for the future.

"Before you meet your eager bride to be, old chap. I have another treat for
you." Rose snapped his fingers, and a number of formal looking men came
forward. "You will be given a new haircut from my own stylist, a wardrobe
update, a warm oil message . . . . In other words the works. My dear fellow,
please don't thank me. Your look of gratitude is thanks enough. It's just a
small token of thanks for the years of hard work you have given to me."

He waved airily at Drake, and gestured at the servants who turned white
under his gaze. "You will do Mr. Drake proud. I would be vexed, very vexed
indeed, if he complained about your efforts."

A bewildered Drake was led away. He was wondering what was going on?
First Rose has him pick a girl, and then gives her to him as a man might give
a puppy to a child. He kills my old comrade Ross, only to give me a fuckin'
makeover!

**********

Beaming proudly, like a kindly uncle, Rose paced up to Monique. "How is
our sleeping beauty?"

"Still sleeping, Mr. Rose."

"Woman are such fragile creatures, are they not?'

She nodded her head. With Rose in this mood she would have agreed that up
was down.

"Do you mind if I see your handiwork?" Not waiting for an answer, he
entered the lavish bedroom. A vision of feminine loveliness smote his eyes.
She was a petite, black Venus, barely over five feet tall but, with a figure
Rose estimated at a 38D or possibly DD breasts. A tiny waist, and wide
childbearing hips only accentuated the effect.

Monique had done well in choosing a negligee for her. It was blue and gold
which went superbly with the ebony of her flawless skin. The nubian
beauty's face had been made up to accentuate her natural loveliness rather
than cover it.

"Drake had chosen well," Rose murmured, under his breath, "very well
indeed."

Rose was genuinely surprised. He thought Drake an excellent killer, but a
man of inferior taste. He was like all people who did not have the good
fortune to be an English gentlemen.

The girl's eye lids fluttered as the began to open.

"Excellent! I am very pleased, my dear. You may go now."

Monique bowed her way out. She gravely concerned for the girl whose
identity had been stripped by Rose. . . for reasons that only he knew.

Chapter Six: A New Flower Blossoms . . .

Ross felt strange. He slowly awoke, wondering what drug that devil Rose
gave him to make him think he had exchanged bodies with a black teenaged
girl.

Speak of the devil, he thought. There was Rose grinning wildly at him. His
toothsome smile would have done justice to a great white shark!

"Ah, awake at last, Ross, or should I say La Shauna. Pretty name for an even
prettier girl, don't you think?" Rose gestured at a mirror on the wall."

Ross looked down at himself, and screamed.

Outside, Monique shuddered. The poor girl sounded like a soul in torment.
She knew better than to listen at the door despite her innate curiosity.
However, the screams were impossible to ignore.

Ross looked down at a great expanse of cleavage, slim, dark arms, beautiful
legs, and small feet with red toenail polish. He felt the weight of large breasts
hanging from his chest.

He was barely wearing some frilly nightgown. Ross rushed to the mirror,
and almost fainted again from the strange sensations his mind was receiving.
It hadn't been a drug induced hallucination after all!

Long, dark dredlocks falling to a slim waist pulled his head back. Ross's
huge shapely breasts heaved and bounced as he approached the mirror. Ross
fought for control. He was almost hyperventilating.

"Still think I lack imagination, Ross . . . I mean La Shauna?" Rose laughed a
low laugh, that seemed to have somehow escaped from the depths of hell.
"Still so sure of your strength and my weakness? By the way, your breasts
are great! And your eyes are the eyes of a goddess. A man could lose his soul
in those wonderful almond shaped eyes! Although, technically speaking, I
suppose you have already lost your soul to that lovely form. Isn't that right
Ross? Sorry . . . I continue to be rude . . . La Shauna?!"

"You be given to me my body back!" uttered Ross in a perfect native
Jamaican accent.

"I do, do I? Are you sure that is part of my job description? Rose, ruler of the
world and refunder of lost bodies?" He patted an shocked Ross on a shapely
behind.

"I trust that didn't hurt. You are well padded there now. By the way,
charming accent. I was rather counting on that! However, I am willing to
listen to reason. That is, if you are forthcoming of a few trifling secrets. I
might entertain the possibility of restoring you to a male body again.
Otherwise, I will send the girl, who is a trusted employee back to your
agency to see what she can discover."

"She never git' way wit' it, Rose!" Ross tried to say in American diction, but
to his horror as he listened, his words were still accented with a Jamaican
accent!

Shit! Double Shit! He thought.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Plenty more where she come from. The
world is not underpopulated with people who will do anything for money,
after all. You know that as well as I. I will leave you to reflect on your
options . . . La Shauna. Cooperate and regain your gender and life or, well .
. . my brothels around the world can always use another willing worker."

Rose bowed his way out of the room. "I shall give you some privacy now,
my dear."

**********

Ross stood petrified in front of the mirror. What could he do trapped in this
wet sex dream of a teen-aged body? Especially against perhaps the most
powerful man in the world? Ross hated being a woman! It felt totally alien to
him. Even his arms and legs felt strange. He had to get his real body back.

He was almost tempted to make a deal with Rose, but his pride wouldn't let
him. Pride, coupled the fact that he knew Rose was a twisted snake, who's
word was only as good as Rose wanted it to be.

The door opened, and a woman entered. Ross started to speak, but she held
her hand to her lips, signifying the need for silence. Then, she quitely handed
him a note. Ross read it.

"Don't speak! The room is bugged. I am the girl whose body you have. That
bastard Rose thought it amusing to switch us! I can't believe he can be so
cruel, but he is. He didn't think I could do any harm in your body so he
assigned me to the kitchen. I managed to get some of the potion that he gave
you, and swapped bodies with another girl here. I want my own body back,
though - NOT some stranger's. I overheard him planning on sending your
body back to your agency with me in it. I know they will torture and kill me.
They will awaken the girl soon and discover my escape. If we hurry, I can
get us out of here, but I must have my own body back first to make freeing
you worthwhile. If you want to get your own body back, take this magic vial
and drink it. I have another one waiting with your own body in a cell down
the hall. I drugged the door guards. I'll check for other guards while you
prepare for the switch."

Hope dawned suddenly like the tropic sun over the island where was trapped.
Ross nodded eagerly to the woman. She handed him a vial, and left the room
as quietly as she entered.

With a smile on his reddened lips, Ross downed the clear liquid in a single
swallow. It filled him with a wild delight similar to the other potion.. The
door opened.

Eagerly, Ross turned, expecting to see his rescuer. It was not she, but, Drake
who came through the door. He looked ill at ease, with worry creasing his
face. Ross's newly darkened eyes sought the aid of his former friend.

It was as if he was hit by a lighting bolt! He was going to exchange bodies
with the man who had betrayed him into losing his own body. At least Drake
would get the body he had intended for me, he thought to himself.

Unfortunately for Ross, that was not the effect of this particular potion! His .
. . no . . . her tits, and the sensitive points at their peaks, grew large at the
sight of Drake. Her eyes widened in realization of what was happening, yet
she couldn't force herself to look away. She grew wildly warm and wet
somewhere down below.

Her body was on fire for Drake!

Ross wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her repressed
past life. Her differences with him seemed like nothing worth remembering
anymore. His face was . . . beautiful. His body so . . . so . . . . wonderful.

She heard her sexy voice cry out with her Jamaican accent. It no longer
sounded strange to her ears.

"Drake. I be in love wit' you! Take me, love me! Never leave me!"

An amazed Drake, with an unbelieving smile stretching across his ugly,
scarred face, came forward. He eagerly clasped the beautiful girl in his arms.
Her hungry mouth descended on his slowly as if she had never kissed a man
before.

When their lips met, though, it was like she wanted to suck the soul from his
body! Her tongue tangled with his. He felt her wonderful breasts squish
against his hard chest.

Her breathing became harsh and it was arousing him as he had never been
aroused before . . . except in his dreams. This dream woman was real
enough, and gazed adoringly at him with those wonderful almond eyes. He
was lost in them. He loved her. He would do anything for her. He would kill
anyone who hurt his goddess!

Ross rolled down on her back, smiling hungrily up at him, and tossed the
sweet smelling negligee at his brawny chest. Never in her entire life had she
known such desire! Her slender hand grasped his vastly swollen member and
guided it to a waiting pussy.

She screamed as he entered her!

Drake felt himself in enter another world when his dick buried itself into the
hottest most wonderful pussy in the world.

She screamed again, eagerly and instinctively wrapping her wonderful soft
legs around his waist. Drake could no longer contain himself, and his long
suppressed sperm flooded inside a fertile plain.

Ross was in love. For the first time, in a long, suppressed life she felt loved
and in love. She wanted Drake! It was the the only thought that the vessel of
her mind could contain. She wanted him. She would do anything for him.

Her body was still on fire for him, despite the evidence of his love now
leaking from her feminine crevice. His least little touch was ecstasy! She
heard a woman's voice scream . . . it was her own!

Hearing it just made her ever the more excited.

Drake's mouth tasted of coffee, yet it might as well have been the nectar of
the Gods. She loved it! She would be the cream! Ross giggled and guided his
eager dick down to her pussy again.

For a moment, this felt strange, like she was holding it from the wrong end.
Ross chased the idea from her mind . . . it didn't matter. If he didn't fuck her
she would just die.

She had some trouble putting his throbbing member into her pussy. It was as
if she had never done it before. It didn't take long to find a home for the
lovely firm part of her lover, though. Ross just knew she would die if he
took any longer. She screamed again as he entered her tingling femaleness.

Ross wanted him more than life itself. Never had anything, could anything
feel as glorious to her as it felt to have the man she loved in her arms. She
never wanted him to leave her wondrous new pussy!

Chapter Seven: A Rose, Is A Rose, Is A Rose . . .

From another room, Sebastian Rose watched the torrid sex scene over closed
circuit TV. He couldn't helping laughing with sheer delight. This was no
ordinary skin flick!

"Ah, Ross. If you could only see yourself now! You make quite the fetching
little black girl. In fact, you look like quite the good fuck, a tasty morsel
indeed. I do hope you will forgive my little joke with the woman and the
note. I so love to raise hopes only to dash them down. It is quite amusing.
Call it a weakness if you will . . . I venture to say that, as of now, you would
spurn a chance to return to your old body. I am so glad. I'm so very touched
you like my gift to you. You can thank me later. Ah, yes, I so like being a
benefactor to my fellow man . . . . and woman."

He laughed again, loudly, and for a long time.

**********

Drake fell back on the bed, exhausted. "My love, you have completely worn
me out!" he whispered into her ear.

Ross giggled. Then she stretched her lovely young body across Drake's, and
covered his face with kisses.

"I be in love wit you, Drake. I would do anything for you." She started
covering his body with kisses to arouse his wonderful manhood again. Twice
was definitely not enough!

However, twice in such a short period of time was too much for any man.
Ross knew from experience that Drake's beautiful dark member would need
more direct encouragement.

Drake moaned with ecstasy as her thick, fleshy lips devoured his body. Soon
he felt his dick rising to the occasion and the attention. Ross raised her head,
rotated, and mounted it with a smile of delight. Her velvet softness plunged
down the length of the shaft.

He cried out one more time with passion, although her screams were mingled
with his. Ross rode him Drake for orgasm after orgasm.

For a long time, they lay sated in each other arms.

Drake knew he loved her with all his heart. He knew that through some
miracle, she now seemed to return that love instead of the disdain she had
expressed when he had first seen her. There was only one thing he wasn't
sure of. It embarrassed him to ask it after all the activity in which they had
partaken. He needed to know it, and there was no time better than now to ask
her.

Ross had never been so happy. Just holding her man in her arms felt better
than anything she could remember as a man. It was infinitely more
pleasurable than even her finest dreams. She thought her breasts would burst
with love as she drew a heart across his hairy chest. Through the fog of her
emotions she heard her beloved's voice:

"What is your name, darling?"

Rose leaned forward to watch the screen closely.

Ross hesitated for a moment. If she told Drake who she really was she might
lose him. She would do anything to prevent that . . . lie, cheat, steal . . .
anything! She would rather thrust her hand into a roaring fire than risk losing
what she now possessed.

"My name, my lover is La Shauna."

**********

"Yes! YES!" Sebastian roared in triumph! "Victory is now within my grasp!
Madam T'jal has come though again." He laughed a crowing laugh.

Rose saw the two lovers sipping champagne, toasting their passion for one
another. It was California champagne, of course. Rose had arranged the
whole thing, but there was no sense in wasting the good stuff on them. They
wouldn't appreciate it , or the strawberries.

Their eyes never left each other. Things were going according to his plans, as
they usually did. Rose treated himself to a glass of champagne. It was Dom
Perigon, of course, and he toasted his victory.

He stood in front of a mirror, admiring his countenance. "To you," he
declared, raising a glass to his image, "The world's greatest Genius!"

He modestly drank the toast only to refill the glass. Rose's attention shifted
back to the screen of the monitor. He couldn't help but grin one more time.

"Why the little Minx!" She was working on Drake again. "Oh, well I suppose
she feels the fourth time is a charm!"

Rose felt himself growing hot. He never had a taste for black women.
However, if he did, the one on his screen would definitely be the one. The
clear potion a clearly made her insatiable sexually.

"Send in Jane!" he commanded.

Soon, a frightened, trembling, blonde girl, barely over the age of 18, was
standing before him. She tottered into the room naked except for high heeled
thigh high boots. She had been, until a few weeks ago, a sweet innocent
schoolgirl from Britain on a holiday from University.

Rose saw her, and was instantly attracted to her innocence and beauty. It was
more the innocence than the beauty. Few things gave him more pleasure than
the degradation of innocence and virtue. Rose tied her, spread eagled to the
bed. Then, with a special electric whip he lashed her flesh.

All of her plaintive screams were music to his ears. It beats Beethoven any
day, he thought.

Rose's own dick grew harder by watching the activity on the screen, and
hearing Jane's screams.

"If you want the pain to cease, you know what you have to do, my dear
Jane."

Desperately she nodded, "Please . . . hurt me. Kill me!"

"Now that's a good girl!" Rose rolled her over, and smiled. He was always
smiling, even when he shoudn't be. The effect on Jane was stark. Her blood
seem to congeal in her veins.

How amusing, Rose pondered analytically. She actually expects me to rape
her. What a silly chit.

Rose slid a dagger in and out of Jane's heart, in the same perfect beat of
Drake's pelvic thrusts into the willing pussy of La Shauna.

"So sorry my dear. You'll be happy to know you served a good cause," he
laughed as he came. The girls blood mixed with Rose's sperm in an ugly
mess.

Her lovely, sweet blue eyes stared lifelessly up at him. Rose whispered, "I
will always treasure this lovely moment."

He gave orders to take Jane's body and dump it by the Cuba embassy. That
should stir up international difficulties, Rose rationalized. The knife was to be
placed in a Cuban's room. The local police would find the man's fingerprints
on it.

"Waste not want not", said Sebastian Rose as his terrified servants carried the
girls body out. Even they were shocked at the depravity of the scene.

He turned back to the touching scene of the ugly Drake worshipping La
Shauna. She, with those Goddess eyes, reflected, if not magnified, that
emotion. They feel asleep in each others arms.

"Ah, such a touching scene of love" said Rose, well pleased. "We will soon
see, my dear La Shauna how much you love Drake. "

**********

Rose himself rarely slept. He considered sleeping to akin to dying. A couple
of short naps each day was all he needed. Any more was a waste of your life,
he thought. Therefore, while his victims slumbered, he descended into the
fortress's depths to examined the new stolen British missile Sub.

Only a few of the crew were trustworthy. The rest had been sent to his meet
one of his countrymen . . . old Davy Jones.

Yes, his plans for world conquest were ripening. Already his men controlled
half the crime in Russia. Rose owned as many US Representatives and
Judges as he cared to buy. Soon, very soon, the world would be fortunate
enough to be under his wise and benevolent, albeit absolute rule.

He nodded complacently, but stated with genuine sincerity. "The world will
be lucky. How they will love my firm, but just rule. Yes, a new dawn is
coming. A new age. Historians the world over, will call it the Age of Rose.
Perhaps, they will even wax poetic, when all is said and done, and say that
under Rose the world blossomed like a flower!"

Rose chuckled, highly pleased with himself.

**********

The lovers were hardly less ardent the next morning, or indeed the next
afternoon. For that matter, their passion hadn't cooled by the next night.
Rose was constantly amazed at their stamina, as he continued watching them.

Then, on the third day, the event that Rose had been awaiting, finally
happened.

Drake asked La Shauna to marry him. She hurled herself into Drake's strong
arms, kissing his scarred face as if it were a baby's face.

"YES! YES! YES! I would die for you, my darling Drake. I would do
anyting' for you. I never be so happy in my life until dis moment!" The
Jamaican accent came even easier now that La Shauna accepted her new
reality.

The wonders of modern, or more accurately, ancient chemistry.

"Touching, very touching!" laughed Rose. "How the mighty have fallen,
Ross, how the mighty have fallen, indeed!"

Rose's servants took advantage of his rare good humor and dared to tell him
of an Indian Cabinet Minister who wanted more money. He was threatening
to back out of his support.

Rose's genial face turned into a thundercloud of fury. He actually hissed for a
moment; his servants drew back in terror, but then the urbane mask was in
place again. He sat back . . . considering.

Often, his genius had the knack of turning troubles into positives. For about
an hour, he contemplated the dilemma. Then his face adopted an expression
of sweetness and grace.

His servants shuddered, yet again. It seemed that they were always
shuddering for some reason or another. This time, they had good reason, for
they knew that coutenance well. It meant death, death, and more death.

"Yes, this will dovetail perfectly with my other plans," declared Rose simply.
He gave his assembled seconds no indication of the meaning of the statement.

**********

Rose went riding, as if nothing else was going on in his hectic life. He
wished that he was back in England. It is April was there, and April is such a
fabulous time to ride with the hounds among the heather.

It wasn't April in reality, but the metaphor suited his mood. Why should he
be subject to the seasons? Rose's ego wouldn't permit him to be subject to
the boundries of any rules . . . even the laws of nature!

Why Ross . . . La Shauna . . . was living proof of that notion.

On returning, he was informed that Drake wished to see him. This request
was hardly unexpected.

He nodded graciously at the man, as Drake entered with a happy face to end
all happy faces. He grasped Rose's hands warmly.

"Mr. Rose. I am forever in your debt! I have never been so happy. I am
yours to command forever and a day!"

"Quite the right spirit, Drake,. Quite the right spirit! I am glad my little gift
pleased you, and has made you happy. I do want my people to be happy.
You are my friend as well as my employee. From your expression, I gather
more than gratitude brings you here."

"Sir, as always, you are right. I want to marry La Shauna Baptiste!"

"A bit sudden isn't it, old chap?"

"Yes, but she has agreed, and I don't want to take the chance on losing her."

Sebastian Rose nodded sagely, "Yes. Quite right. Happiness, like life itself,
can be a fleeting thing. Very well, if that is your wish. However, first I have
a vital mission for you to attend to. Don't look so sad, my friend. You can be
back in a few days to your bride to be. She can make use of the time to pick
up clothes or other items that women find so necessary. She will need time to
plan the wedding. I will pay for everything, and will myself give the bride
away."

"That's very generous, Mr. Rose."

"Not at all. Not at all. Jolly glad to be of service. I am loyal to my people.
Now, as you know I like my politicians totally honest."

"You mean once bought they stay bought."

"Exactly! But a foolish fellow in India thinks he can take my money, and like
Oliver Twist, he has asked for more. A lesson must be made of this fellow,
don't you agree?"

"Of course, Mr. Rose."

"I am so glad. I want you to fly to India on the concord. Find his schedule,
say for the next month. Tell me of his movements and plans, and then come
back to your happy bride to be."

"You don't want me to kill him?"

"No! Not on the eve of your wedding? You must think me a heartless
Monster!"

Drake controlled his face, with out saying a word. That's what he usually
thought.

Rose contiued, "Surely, you know I would never risk a valuable man like as
yourself on such a job. I wouldn't dream of it. Now I mustn't keep you from
the bride to be any longer. Your plane leaves in two hours. You should still
have time for a touching, long farewell."

**********

Drake told La Shauna that he would have to be away for a few days.
Naturally, she wept at the thought of being separated from him. She hardly
appeared to be reassured when told that Rose had consented to their marriage.
Drake told her that he intended to give the bride away himself!

That was hardly music to her ears. Despite the erotic spell that she was under,
she still had the functioning mind of John Ross. She just didn't think of
herself as . . . him anymore. When she looked in the mirror she saw a small
buxom black girl. She liked it that way because that is what Drake wanted!

Yet, she didn't trust Rose. He was up to something.

"Its a real honor he is paying us, my precious."

La Shauna couldn't tell Drake what she really thought of Rose giving her
away. Again, she would die before she let her lover know that she had once
been a male. Let alone his old friend Ross. She might lose Drake forever!
She would do anything rather than risk that!

Hungry for her man, she made the most of their hour together.

**********

"Now mon of mine!. Don't you be getting sex from those hot blooded
Indians!" she warned at their parting.

"How could I even think such a thing when I have a goddess of love awaiting
me on my return! Besides, you have sucked me so dry I couldn't even if I
wanted to!"

She giggled and smiled smugly. She sure had her man wrapped around her
little finger!

**********

Soon after Drake left, Rose came in the room. He was smirking like a cat
about to play with a mouse. Ross shrank back in fear.

She thought, I have so much more to lose now. I have love and Drake. What
is this fiend up to?

"I understand congratulations are in order, Miss . . . . ."

"Yes, what you want, from La Shauna?"

Rose was extremely happy to see Ross accept her new identity so easily.

"Why, what I have always wanted. Your passwords, and the other access I
need to the computers of your late agency. By the way I have a tape of your
heroic funeral. There was not not a dry eye in the house. Even I was
touched."

"I tole you fore you wasting you time, Rose."

"I don't think so! No I rather think this time you will see the light of reason,
La Shauna. Simply put, if you do not tell me what I need to know, and assist
me with its execution, I will alert the man that your beloved Drake is spying
upon. I can guarantee you the man he is observing will have your precious
fiance tortured to death and killed."

"NOOO!" she screamed with primeval emotion. Not her man! Not her love!

He nodded sadly. "I don't want to, mind you. Drake is one of my top men,
but you would really be the one responsible for his death. Your refusal would
be what kills him."

She started sobbing uncontrollably. He patted her kindly on the shoulder and
offered her a linen handkerchief. "There, there. It will be all right. I'm sure
you will do what you must to save him."

La Shauna thought furiously, trying to see a way out of her dilemma. There
had to be one . . . I can't let him die, I just can't! I love him too much! I can't
lose him, and his love! Not now . . . just as my barren life has blossomed.

"Will you promise to leave us alone? You not harm us? Give me your word.
You say you got famous word of honor as an English Gentlemen?"

It wasn't much to hold on to, but it was something.

"Of course, I would only be too happy to do that! I can't tell you how
delighted I am to welcome you into my intimate circle of friends. You will be
the finest flower in my garden. Believe me, my charming young lady, you
made the right decision. Governments come and go, but only love survives.
Now shall we get to the computer room where your expertise will be very
welcome? To preserve your . . . ah . . . present charming identity, I have
taken the precaution to empty it. It will be just us two. We wouldn't want
Drake to know who you really are, would we?"

"No," she agreed. Tears came to her eyes. "No."

From this moment on, Ross, now and forever La Shauna, knew she was
Rose's abject slave. She could never risk having Rose let Drake know who
she really was. She might lose him.

"Might I say, my charming lady, that you sound as native as any Jamaicam
born. Nobody would ever guess that you weren't born a poor black girl in
the island. I approve . . . it suits you."

**********

Rose was ever so delighted to access the NSA computers, that he was
genuinely friendly. His victory over fate had put him into an excellent mood.

"I will send Monique in to help you learn how to dress and to put on make
up. Now that you have embraced your femimity with open arms, I wish to do
everthing that I can to help you. However, if you wish me to find you
another male body, I can do that also."

"No. Please. Not tha' mon. I is La Shauna now!"

"Fascinating! Your love for your friend has prompted you to accept being a
woman in all of its myriad aspects. No, La Shauna. I will not take your
wonderful body from you. Do you mind me asking you a question?"

"What be dat, Rose?" answered La Shauna warily, as she worked the
keyboard with her long, scupltured nails.

"Just this. Do you like being a woman? A black woman at that."

Rose couldn't tell that La Shauna was blushing due to he dark ebon color of
her skin. She licked her fleshy swollen lips, and involuntarily lifted her other
hand to touch her broad, flat, yet upturned nose.

"Yes. I like it very much!"

"You wouldn't go back to being a man . . . ever."

"No. I likes it dis way."

"You realize, of course, that if Drake ever takes you back to the States your
former race will be prejudiced against you. They will call you by racial
epithets. You could even find yourself on welfare . . . or worse. This does
not bother you?"

"Not's long as I gots mah Drake. Drake like dis body, so's dis is the one I
want's."

"You don't care that your speech makes you sound like an uneducated
heathen?"

"Drake be likin' the way ah talk. He even call me his Island Mama.

Rose couldn't believe the profound job that the love potion had done on
Ross. To accept all of this for love? There was much about love that
Sebastion decided that he didn't know.

"May I ask you what you plan to do now that your NSA career is over?"

"Me n Drake are gon ta have a bunch a kids. We talk about it already, n' he
be wanting a big family."

"Just amazing," Drake shook his head. This woman was no longer a threat to
him. Now she was nothing more than any native girl to him.

Still, she had a unique perspective that he couldn't resist exploring.

"What's it feel like to have breasts . . . big breasts at that?'

"Dey wonderful. I love de feel of der weight on my chest. I love the feel of
der jiggle n' sway. I surprised at you Rose. Wit de English interest in cross
dressing, I think you try it de other way by now. You would like dis as I do,
I sees it in your eyes."

Rose harumphed at the affront to his manhood. The friendly demeanor that he
exhibited evaporated quickly.

"Anyway, Monique will take you into town to help you select a wedding
dress and, trousseau."

"Aren't you afraid I will escape?"

"Escape? A loving bride to be? Why would you want to escape such a life
and such a love! Drake would just be heart broken. You couldn't do that to
him, now could you?"

He chucked her under the chin with a gesture men have made to women for
millennia to attempt to lift their spirits.

Humiliated, she realized she couldn't bear the thought of not being with
Drake, not bearing his children, and not sharing his life.

"No, No I couldn't!"

He smiled." I didn't think so. Ah, young love! "

He dismissed the girl with a wave of his hand, and sent for Monique. Rose
gave her instructions. It amused Rose to see her puzzled fearful amazement .
What would she think if she knew her young charge had once been the pride
of the NSA . . . Ross?

He wished to tell Madam T'jal of his triumphant victory over the bony
clutches of fate.

Chapter Eight: A Rose So Sweet

Rose learned through his sources that Lady Constance would be at the
governors ball tonight. Therefore, Rose dressed in his Saville Row's best,
and off he went to the party. It only took a single call. They were only too
happy to invite him. To Rose's eternal emusement, his security people were
allowed a free hand.

Everyone smiled at him, while curried his favor. It was really rather
gratifying, Rose thought with that ever present smile. Did he ever frown? It
was as if he had two speeds, which could mean almost anything. A smile,
and a bigger smile.

The governor approached for an audience, his fat face wreathed in a cautious
masque.. He was trailed by a lovely young blonde, an aristocratic looking
woman.

"I don't believe you have yet met Lady Constance, Mr. Rose."

"No, I haven't had the pleasure" he said smoothly. Their eyes met and
crossed like rapiers. Still, he took her hand, and pressed his lips to the
delicate skin.

After the formal introductions, the band struck up a Strauss waltz. Rose
bowed with more than a hint of irony.

"May I have the honor of this dance, Lady Constance?"

"Of course! " she replied with an upper class accent.

Rose took her gracefully into his arms, and they joined the other white
couples on the dance floor. She certainly looked lovely with her blond hair,
Paris dress, youth, vigor and diamonds.

Rose asked, "Are you enjoying your stay in Jamaica, my Lady?"

Her smile was as ironic as his own. "Yes, it has been, let's say, a life altering
experience."

"Ah. For the good I hope."

"Depends on the point of view, Mr. Rose."

"Of course, of course. How foolish of me. Jamaica is full of the most
fascinating people, and the natives here are so superstitious. Can you
imagine? They actually believe in voodoo and voodoo queens."

"How utterly quaint. But the natives here have aroused my compassion. You
may have heard that I reversed my earlier decisions on salaries, work hours
and number of employees?"

"I have heard something of the sort. Most generous, most generous indeed! I
dare say, the natives were happy with your decisions."

Rose couldn't help but make a point to let her know just who was in charge.
"You will find, my Lady, that the darkies are a rather unappreciative lot. They
are not the same as your or I. I am sure you are learning that. I would venture
to say that it shan't be long before you reverse your policies yet again."

That drew an icy glare from the aristocrat. She shook it off . . . the game of
double entendres was on!

"Most unlikely. By the by, Mr. Rose, did you ever have any dealings with
these voodoo queens?"

"Ah, there you have me, Lady Constance. I admit that I did. One warned me
of my doom to come, but not only am I still alive but the information I so
sorely need has been given freely to me by a young black woman in love. So
I guess I have slipped from the bony death grip of fate."

"So it would appear, Mr. Rose. Who was this voodoo queen who so falsely
warned you?"

"Ah, a certain Madam T'jal! Delightful old lady."

"A strange coincidence, Mr. Rose. A certain Madam T'jal now does my
laundry. She is full of useful information about many things."

"Really? Small world, that? Is she happy with her work?"

"I fear not, Mr. Rose. But it is a living after all, and beggars can't be
choosers, can they?"

"No, I suppose not. You see? You are already in the spirit of the thing!"

"Did you make any promises to this voodoo queen, Mr. Rose?"

"As a matter of fact I did. I was not to see her again, and I haven't been near
her since. I am an English gentleman, I trust. But, I am fortunate that I have
made no such promise to you LADY CONSTANCE, as it would deprive me
of your skill with a waltz."

Her eyes were as hard as the diamonds that encircled her young neck. They
danced and whirled around the other men and women.

"I see, Mr. Rose."

"I rather thought you would."

"My fiancee is arriving from England tomorrow. He's Lord Peter Winter."

"Ah, yes, good show! He's related to the royal family is he not?"

"Yes. I am looking forward to having his children."

"Well, if something were to happen to about 12 Royals, a son of yours might
well become King of England."

"Hardly likely!" she laughed.

"If I can be of service, any service at all, please let me know, My Lady. I
believe our interests might lie together some day."

"A word of advice, Sebastian. I hear that the voodoo queens are very
powerful. Their visions are given to them from a source beyond. They are
not to be interpreted by mere mortals, only heeded. I hear it is said that
nobody can escape their fate."

"Not to one who makes their own fortune, my Lady. You should know
better! You have an education, and know this is just stories to scare the
locals."

"I would beware anyway, Rose!"

"No need. I have everything well in hand."

She smiled a Mona Lisa smile, and he took his leave. The current Lady
Constance mused humorously, so you think you have escaped the bony
hands of fate, do you, Mr. Rose? Fate is not to be cheated, no matter how
you load the dice or mark the cards. Fool! Fool! Ever the fool!'

**********

La Shuana despaired. She so much wanted to please Drake, but cosmetics
were so hard to learn. Monique patiently helped her with it all, and of her
new clothes. She wanted to always look her best for her man and keep him
away from other girls.

She inspected her reflection in her new red outfit.

To her horror she actually found herself thinking kindly of Rose . . . for his
unlimited clothes budget. A local seamstress was hired to produce the
wedding dress. Even though she was now a poor black girl, she would look
like a Princess.

La Shauna's mind went into dreams of Drake, and tears flooded her eyes.
She missed him so.

Monique kept her thoughts to herself. That Mr. Rose not only take her
identity, but all her knowledge of even being a girl! She did not know how to
do make up, bras, slips, stocking, or even purses. There was nothing that all
girls learned while growing up. What did the fiend do to her?

She wrongly concluded that Rose had given her some concoction from T'jal
to erase her memory. The petite girl probably stumbled onto something she
shouldn't. Fortunately, one of his men took a shining to her, and she was
spared. In Rose's scheme of things, losing one's memory was getting off
light!

"Still, she be happy with Drake, and he love her so," Monique sighed. "If
only I could find me a man who would love me that much!"

**********

The buzzer on the intercom system sounded, distracting the deep thoughts of
Lady Constance. She looked around her immaculately decorated office to
determine the source of the noise.

It was coming from the sleek phone that rested upon the teakwood desk. The
Lady knew from experience that the line would be open so that she could
communicate with her personal assistant.

"Yes, Harriet?"

Another cultured English voice answered back. Lady Constance should have
hired one of her own former countrymen as her assistant, but she did not yet
possess all of the details of the real Lady's life. Harriet would have to stay
until she felt comfortable with those details.

"My Lady. There is a lady here to see you. She claims that it is most
important. She claims that her name is Moniquie. Lady? I recognize this
woman, and I believe her to be a second of that awful Mr Rose. Shall I send
her away?"

Lady Constance hardly needed Harriet to advise her who Monique was . . .
she had personally dealt with her on many occasions as Madame T'jal. And it
couldn't have come at a worse time either.

She was still shaken by the news of her last appointment, and the last thing
that she needed was trouble from Rose. Unfortunately, she knew all too well
that if she did not hear what Rose had to say, he would be back.

"No Harriet. I will see her. Give me a minute to collect my thoughts. Perhaps
you could fetch me a spot of tea?"

"Right away ma'am!"

What can that insufferable Rose want now, she wondered. Constance
gathered that she would know soon enough.

Her lovely blue eyes glanced down at the picture in her hand. It was the
picture of a beautiful Jamaican girl . . . Betty Ann her parents had explained.
They were no ordinary parents, but in actuality the first cousins of her
previous existence Madame T'jal. In fact, they came to Lady Constance's
estate seeking the guidance of Madame T'jal.

Lady Constance sighed. It seemed these days that Madame T'jal was busier
than she had ever been. It necessitated that Constance gather her former body
to protect the illusion. While the former Constance toiled down in the
laundry, the new Constance interposed herself as the Madam's intermediary.

That made Constance glance at the door in the back of her office. Nobody
would ever guess that behind that door was a well stocked room for a
practioner of the black arts.

Lady Constance had a reputation to protect, after all was said and done.

Still, the picture angered her greatly. Someone had taken, or potentially slain
her great niece! Her parents, Lady Contance's former cousins, were
distraught. They did not believe the words of Rose's men when they said that
she had died in an American drug deal. Their precious Betty Ann would
never keep company with Americans, for she hated them so!

Others friends had sighted a girl whom the believed to be Betty Ann in the
Kingston market place. She was in the company of an older Jamaican
woman. Contance graciously promised, on behalf of T'jal to find this older
Jamaican woman, and to get to the bottom of this mess.

The sound of Harriet's voice announcing the new visitor in caused the blonde
English woman to lift her eyes from the picture. It was a good thing that she
did, as her blue blood was beginning to boil. The young girl in the picture
was so innocent . . . she did not deserve such a bad fate.

"My Lady Constance, please meet Monique St. Jean. She seeks your advice
on a most urgent matter."

"Thank you, Harriet. That will be all, but please don't forget my tea."

"Yes, my Lady."

With that, Constance motioned for Harriet to depart, leaving them in privacy.
Then she gestured for the new comer to be seated.

"What does your Mr. Rose want of me, Miss St. Jean?" inquired Constance,
careful nott to call her by her first name, and provide a clue as to her real
identity.

"I come not for Rose. It be more of de personal matter. I do not even seek
your help Lady Constance, but that of Madame T'jal. When I went to look
for her in her hut, she be gone. Her sons, dey tell me to see you. Dey tell me
you now act as de Madame's go between. Is dat so, Lady?"

Monique was careful to be respectful. She had heard many positive things
about Lady Constance lately, and didn't want to do anything to change her
opinion of the island natives.

"That is true, Miss St. Jean. What is this personal matter of which you
speak?

"Lady. Please call dis poor woman Monique."

The black woman's deferrence caused Constance to smile slightly. Had she
ever been so passive in the presence of white people when her skin was so
dark?

"Very well, Monique. Tell me of your personal problem. I will ask Madame
T'jal to do what she can."

"You must promise never to speak of dis to Rose. He kill me if he find out of
dis!"

Constance patted Monique's hand, and whispered so only they could hear,
"Yout secret is safe with me. Believe me when I tell you that there is no love
lost between Rose and I."

"Really? I not know dat you know Rose. I keep all of his dates."

"Oh. We go way back . . . farther than you could ever imagine."

"I see. I trust you. I know not why, but I do. What about Madame T'jal? She
a confidant of Rose's. She have her chubby finger in all of dis."

Monique's reference to Constance's former inflated anatomy made her
chuckle. She sincerely doubted that her counterpart saw it that way.

"Monique, Madame T'jal has had, shall we say, a change of heart, since
coming into my employ. I think that I can vouch for her silence. So if you
would please tell me what your dilemma is. Neither I, nor T'jal can help you
if you do not open up."

"Okay. Der is dis girl at Rose's estate. I tink she a victim of T'jal's magicks,
at Rose's insistence. I tink he give her a potion dat take her memory n'
identity. It very sad."

That made Contance's ears pick up. Many of the pieces began to fall into
place. They young girl, an older Jamaican women, shopping in the market
place, and Rose's unmistakable fingerprints. A verification was necessary.

"Could you describe her for me?"

Monique proceeded to describe La Shauna to the most intimate detail.
Everything began to align.

"Have you been shopping with this girl in the market place, Monique?"

"I have. How you know dis?"

Constance showed her visitor the picture in her hand. "Would this be the girl
of which you speak?"

Monique's eyes lit up. "What is dis? You know did girl . . . you know who
she really be?"

Now Constance's blood was at full boil once again. Rose had unwittingly
abducted her former grand niece, taken her soul, and most likely dispatched it
to the great beyond in the body of the white agent. Nevertheless, she
maintained the masque of civility.

"I do," she replied softly. "Her parents have also come seeking Madame
T'jal's aid. They seek to locate their daughter."

"Rose never allow dat. She is to marry one of his men, in her new identity.
He kill her, kill dem all first."

"What is it that you seek, Monique?"

"I want only to give back dis innocent's identity. I want de antidote for de
potion. If she still love de man she is to marry, den fine. I will be happy for
her. She deserve to make de choice for herself . . . not as another."

Constance was moved by the woman's motives. She risked much to go
against her employer. However, the machinations of fate's bony hands could
not be ignored. Monique had incorrectly guessed the nature of the potion
within the girl's bloodstream.

Nevertheless, an antidote was clearly called for. The white agent, freed of the
embrace of the love potion, would know doubt exact revenge upon Rose. He
. . . or now she . . . would complete her mission.

Sometimes one could assist the bony hand of fate . . . hasten its inevitable
conclusion.

Rather than getting involved in any further disertation, Constance instructed
her, "Wait here!"

She proceeded to her conjuration room to retrieve the antidote for the love
potion. This was was an opaque green mixture. Constance waited a judicious
amount of time, in order to make it appear that she had comsuted with T'jal.
Finally, she returned.

Constance handed the small vial to Monique, who was waiting patiently.

"The Madame says that you can count on her aid, as well as her silence. She
regrets her ivolvement in this affair, and begs your forgivness."

Monique eyed the vial, nodded, and the stated firmly, "It be given."

Before Constance could comment further, Monique addressed the girl who
was not present, "Dis is for you La Shauna. Did is your wedding gift child . .
. I give you back yourself!"

It wasn't until Monique was gone that Constance had a chance to reflect on
this latest turn of events. She had warned Rose . . . she did. Fate had a way
of readjusting itself to complete its dire task. She knew that. If one avenue is
blocked, fate will take another. All of Rose's unwitting actions were proof of
that. Indeed, fate's bony hands were already aroung his neck, he just didn't
know it yet.

Constance chuckled. What were the odds that his man would pick T'jal's
grand niece, thus insuring her intervention? Maybe they were good odds after
all! The antidote would see to it that the original prophecy would come true.
The agent would ultimately be Rose's undoing.

Constance turned her attention to other matters. She instinctively knew that
her part in this matter was done, and now it rested in Fate's bony hands

**********

My wedding day! thought the former Ross happily. I never be expectin' to
have one, and not as de bride! Lately, even her thoughts had taken a distinctly
Jamaican flavor. However, it happened so slowly, and naturally that she
didn't even notice.

Not that she would have tried one bit to prevent it. The nature of the potion in
her bloodstream was such that she would do anything to be what pleased the
object of her desire. In this case, that object wanted a backward Jamaican
girl. So that is what Ross had become . . . heart and soul.

Oh, he still retained all of the knowledge and skill of his former identity. It
just wasn't that useful anymore, so it was pushed to the back of her mind.
These days, her thoughts were occupied by girlish things . . . and of course,
pleasing her man in bed.

"I am marryin' de man dat I love with all of my heart and soul." she told
herself aloud. "I was so worry dat me dress not arrive in time, but Mr. Rose,
he called de seamstress. Suddenly it be done!"

La Shauna continued to comtemplate audibly the reality of her new existence.
"I hear of people be drunk wit' many tings, power, drugs . . . drink. I never
know dat de most potent drink of all come from de wine of love."

She swooned, the very mention of the word "love" conjuring the image of
Drake in her mind's eye. La Shauna's idle musing continued, inwardly now,
yet still in her new native dialect! I love Drake so much! My body it ache for
his touch an' his kiss. I need de sweet piece of meat tween his legs. But also
for his smile, his tenderness, de feeling of safety I have when I wit' him.
How much I enjoy his complimenting me. I so blessed to possess dis
attractive body. I been a good girl, and worked very hard. Wit Monique's
help no one guess I am not born what I appear to be.

"I am a Jamaican girl now!" she declared truthfully, aloud once more. "I can
wear de clothes, dance in de high heels, put on de make up. I even know de
difference tween a chemise an' a slip now! All of dese tings so natural to me
now."

La Shauna hugged herself tightly, feeling the pleasant presence of her big
breasts on her forarms, and pressed against the inside of her upper arms. She
twirled around in a display of uninhibited joy, her skirt flaring slightly as she
did so.

She knew in her heart of hearts that she would do anything to make her man
happy . . . anything! Once again she saw Drake's face. However, this time,
her errogenous zones resonded to her mental images. Goose flesh raised on
her dark, ebon skin. The reaction upon the wide darker circles upon the very
tip of those breasts, and the junction between her legs was not so subtle!

The nubian island beauty felt like yelling for the whole world to hear, "God .
. . I love him so much!"

She settled for looking at the woman that Drake loved in the full length
mirror. She looked at those full, lush lips . . . lips that would do any woman
of African descent proud. Then she closed her eyes to imagine those lips
wrapped around the length of Drake's erect manhood.

She didn't have a clue whether the former occupant of this body was drawn
to all things oral, but lately La Shauna had almost a compulsion toward it.
She loved to feel Drake's big lips upon her even plumper ones. She loved to
brush those fleshy lips lightly against his skin. Must of all, she thrilled to the
sensation of Drake's cock sliding between them.

Now the new girl was all hot and bothered in earnest. "I tink I better stop
dis," she decided with a soft giggle.

Instead, she inspected other parts of her reflection. It was a visage to which
she had become quite accustomed . . even proud! There were the almond
eyes that Drake calls her Goddess eyes. He was so sweet, but even Rose had
commented on the eyes!

All in all, she stared at an impossibly happy girl!

La Shauna's white teeth gleamed brightly in stark contrast to her very dark
face. At times she worried that her skin was too dark, and that her beloved
would prefer some lighter, coffee colored girl. Drake reassured her that he
loves its deep ebony color.

The girl's eyes flickered down to where the large bulge of her bosom stuck
out like a shelf. La Shauna imagined that her breasts must stick out at least six
inches from her otherwise narrow chest. Any other man who suddenly found
himself adorned by such bounty would be horrified by the encumbrances.
Yet, she swelled with feminine pride at the very sight of them.

The bodice of her white wedding dress was cut low enough to display the
deep black cleavage. It was the one thing which Drake insisted on in the
entire wedding preparation. She sighed, even as she lifted the firm, yet soft
and pliable treasures into her hands.

Drake was a man after all. She hoped that he liked big breasts because there
was every indication that she would grow even bigger. Chronologically, the
body was only seventeen years of age. That meant that production of the
hormones that specifically regulated breast growth had not yet reached their
peak.

"Nah! He like dem well nough!" La Shauna declared trumphantly, vocal once
more.

There was every indication that Drake was a breast man. After the passion of
just making love had begun to wane, the two lovers had explored . . . other
facets of the universal language. The man showed a definite interest in
making love between the soft flesh of La Shauna's dark breasts. She didn't
mind one bit. Anything that made him happy . . . made her overjoyed. As far
as she was concerned, he could spill his seed anywhere that he liked!

There was one aspect of their love making which would take the new girl
sometime to get used to. La Shauna turned sideways to inspect her round
firm bottom. There was still something unnatural about taking Drake there. It
hadn't been exactly . . . unpleasant. It was just unusual.

Nevertheless, one thing did make her frown. Drake complained on more than
one occasion that her behind was not big enough! It seemed that he liked
large bottomed girls. Therefore, La Shauna had begun to indulge in extra
helpings of the rich food on Rose's table at meal time. Soon enough, her
derierre would be large enough to delight her lover.

The white gown cost $ 2000, but was magnificent. It made her feel just like a
goddess.

She ordered her mind to always remember this moment. It was the happiest,
most important day in her life! It would be haappier still when she told Drake
that she was with child. La Shauna smiled with her secret knowledge.

It was no wonder that the images of her past life as John Ross no longer even
haunted her dreams. Yes . . . she was exactly what she appeared to be. A
poor native Jamaican woman child.

La Shauna repeated the reality of her existence yet one more time, just to
verify that it wasn't just a dream, "I be marrying de love of my life, my
Drake. We will be happy . . . I have never been happy as Ross, as a man, as
the great agent. I have discovered a secret. Pride. Dat's all I had before,
pride. It not happiness, and pride is noting' compare to love. I swear dis
oath. I never tink of myself as Ross again. Someone else is dat miserably
unhappy man. I am La Shauna! La Shauna! De wedding music start up an'
my body move to its calypso beat."

**********

La Shauna reached for the door knob of the way that lead to wedded bliss.
The heavy beat of the steel drums was audible through the closed door.
However, the beat was loud enough to set her feet to dancing, and heart to
soaring.

She was just about to open it, when Monique rushed up to her. The elder
Jamaican woman pressed something into the palm of La Shauna's hand.

"What dis. Monique?" even as she gazed down at the vial of green liquid.

"It be your wedding present, chile'. Just drink it quickly," advised Monique.

La Shauna giggled. "I bout to be married, womon. Can't dis wait til later?"

"No!" Monique insisted. "You must drink it now, before you walk down the
aisle."

Confusion appeared upon the bride's lovely dark face.

"Girl . . . Rose give you a magic potion. It make you lose all of your
memory, and he steal your identity like a teif in de night. It not right that you
marry dis man less you know who you really are . . . you're family be
looking for you! If you take de antidote an still loves dis man . . . dat fine.
You need to know."

La Shauna hugged her benefactor. She knew Monique was wrong, of
course. That part of her that was John Ross had long since surmised that she
was under the influence of a love potion. The only thing was . . . she didn't
much care. It had given her everything that she had been denied as Ross, life,
love, sex, and eventually a family. That part of her that was Ross knew this
without a doubt, yet retreated to the back of her mind just the same.

It had retired gracefully to allow her knew self to have all of those things
denied for so long as a Government agent. The sacrifice wasn't as great as
one would imagine!

"I take it Monique. I promise. Now . . . you go to your seat."

Monique disengaged herself from the embrace of the younger girl. She
promised, "I wait for you outside de door. Just in case."

Then Monique exited. It left La Shauna with the small vile. She held it up to
eye level just to inspect it a little closer.

She thought, wit dis liquid, I be myself again. Would I not love Drake den?

La Shauna weighed all of her options. In that vial lay her possible salvation.
With it, she would not be subject to Rose's influence by threatening Drake.
She could evetually find a way back to a male body. That part of Ross in the
back of her mind knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was a way back.

Images of her life, both before and after the potion, flashed before her eyes.

It was that part of her mind that was Ross that dumped the potion in to the
potted plant.
 

**********

La Shauna exited the door into the assembled ceriomny. She survey all of the
people there, and the were all staring at her. She never knew such all
encompassing joy in all of her life!

Monique was waiting just outside the door. Despite the expectant looks of the
wedding party, and Rose, La Shauna leaned in to whisper into Monique's
ear.

"It okay. I know who I am now . . . and I still love dis man. I love Drake,
Monique. I want to be wit' him as his wife. I chose dis. I choose to remain as
La Shauna. Do not worry . . . I keep your secret. Rose never know what you
do for me!"

A single tear rolled down Monique's face. It was a tear forr this innocent
child, and a tear for the power of love. Perhaps there was some goodness left
in the world.

She hugged La Shauna one last time before scurrying off to her seat.

La Shauna sighed. Everything was now perfect.

La Shauna took one graceful stride toward Rose and her chosen destiny. It
didn't bother her that she walked with the natural sway of a woman, quite the
contrary . . . she embraced it. If anything, she noe moved with more ease and
soft grace than any woman born. Once she made her decision to be what she
had become, the dominos just fell into place!

Rose met her, and offered his arm. Surprisingly, she took it, for she was not
going to let even one such as he spoil her big day!

La Shauna directed her big almond eyes forward. At the end of the aisle her
man, Drake waited for her. She smiled when she saw the stunned reaction to
her beauty. He loved her . . . that was plainly obvious.

That was the miricle of it all, at long last love! It was a testament that even a
flower can grow in the most foul of environments. Rose's twisted
machinations are created something so magnificent, and something which he,
himself would never have.

Rose surrendered La Shauna to Drake with a depraved smile of victory. This
may well be his finest hour!

**********

The ceremony ended with the happy couple kissing with a passion that
threatened to consume the church. Rose saw their big lips hold each other
tenderly. For the briefest of moments, he wish that it was he that were
kissing her plump, edible lips.

Can't have that, Rose mused to himself. It wouldn't be civilized for an
Englishman to cavort with a native darkie. The thoughts came easily now, his
ego regarding the former NSA agent as nothing more than an ignorant black
bitch.

Rose occupied his attention to other things while his underlings slobbered
primitively all over each other. He looked around to see the Lady Constance
Smallbridge approaching.

She was wearing the best that Saville Road had to offer in the way of cocktail
dresses. He imagined that it cost more than a laundress in the Jamaica slums
could earn in a lifetime of hard labor. Rose was quite surprised at her good
taste, prompting him to volley a little tease

"Did you choose that tasteful frock yourself, Lady Constance?"

She smiled an aristocratic, cool smile at him, making Rose wonder what on
Earth did she have to smile at? Didn't she realize by now that she was still
within his sphere of influence?

Lady Constance ignored his disguised venom, as she introduced her fiancee,
Lord Peter, to Rose.

He is young and handsome, though not particularly bright, thought Rose. He
now well believed that he had access to the royal family through these two.

"You may present me to the bride, Sebastian. These local wedding are so
quaint, don't you think? Of course, Peter and I will be married in
Westminster."

"I see, my Lady. When shall you be returning to England?" inquired Rose for
future reference.

"I will be leaving soon . I have turned over management of my Jamaican
interests to a good man, a Mr. T'jal. He used to be an aid to the governor.
However, I will miss this charming island, even though I have been here
only a few weeks. In a sense it almost feels like home."

"Really?" said Rose with a knowing smile.

"Yes," responded Constance softly. "I so wanted to see the young couple
before I departed."

"Then by all means, allow me to introduce you to the two lovebirds. There
union was almost . . . Magic?" Rose enjoyed his own jest.

La Shauna and Drake were rather overwhelmed by the regal pair. They
stammered their thanks to the royal couple for coming to their wedding.

Lady Constance stared for a long moment into the bride's wonderful eyes.
She only met her grand niece once, when she was but a child, but she
certainly had grown into a lovely, albeit petite girl. It was a shame that the
real Betty Ann was no longer around.

Nevertheless, Constance felt a familal affinity to this small black girl, and
only hoped her antidote would ultimately reunite this body with its parents.
She owed that much to her cousins . . . to the memory of Betty Ann.

"You have lovely eyes, my dear. Truly wonderful. It's silly I know, but I
seem to see many children in your future," Lady Constance said lightly.

"Yes, as our Shakespeare says, there is a destiny that shapes our ends, rough
hew them as we will," she added, almost as an afterthought.

That said, the once and future voodoo queen directed her attention to her
intended, "Darling? The Governor and the American Ambassador's dinner!
We will be late. Would you mind terribly gathering my wrap?"

"Of course, sweetness. I'll see you soon."

The Lord kissed his fiancee' on the cheek. By that time, Drake and La
Shauna moved on to other well wishers, leaving she and Rose alone for the
last time.

Constance told him so, "I wanted to see you one last time. I thought that you
deserved to know that your own hubris will prove to be your undoing.
Already the bony hands of Fate are about your own neck. You just do not
feel their icy touch yet."

"Another fairy story, my Lady? I thought we had resolved this issue?"
retorted Rose, no longer smiling.

"No story . . . truth. I have told you once, you can not cheat fate. She will
always find a way. In your machinations, you have already sown the seeds
of your own doom. Are you that blind?"

Rose gestured to the bride. "Look at her? Does she look like she could harm
me in any manner? She is just an ignorant black girl, like you used to be, I
might add."

"The last card has not yet been played, Rose. It would be folly to think that
you hold all of the aces. When you feel that icy touch, you will know that I
have told you nothing but the truth."

"You have no faith, Madame!" replied Rose, consciously utilizing the term of
respect.

"On the contrary, it is faith that I do have. I simply chose to place it in Fate . .
. not you. We shall not see each other again."

With that, Constance walked away toward her new life.

It didn't stop Rose from declaring under his breath, "Oh but we shall, my
Lady!"

The young noble couple left, and all the guests save one followed them with
awe.

**********

La Shauna thought her honeymoon was wonderful. Drake was so virile, and
he loved her with his every breath. God, she was so happy! Sex was
wonderful, life was wonderful. Her life before Drake seemed like a drab
nightmare.

Not once did she regret the decision to dump the green potion.

However, every honeymoon eventually ends. Real life will not wait, nor for
that matter will fate. In this case, Fate wiggled her bony finger beckoning La
Shauna forth!

Chapter Nine: A Thorn In The Roses

When they returned, La Shauna was shattered out of her idyllic dream world
by a summons from Rose. She and Drake escorted hand in hand into a large
TV studio. Images of an ornate Indian palace from all possible angles played
out on multiple screens, and most of Rose's inner circle were in attendence.

"I know that place," commented Drake.

"Darling," questioned La Shauna, curiously

Rose arose and padded to the podium. "Welcome. I especially welcome my
right hand, Drake, who gave us the information to make this event the
resounding success it deserves to be. In fact, I might say I think matters will
go off with a bang!"

He continued with that air of superiority that was so insufferable, "As you
know the Indian Minister of security and defense has taken my money. He so
arrogantly refuses to deliver on his promises. Foolish man! He is now in his
palace surrounded by his numerous family and their children. He has even
gathered the children's children for a celebration, believing that it will serve
as a human shield against my ire. The gang's all there, if I may be excused an
American colloquialism.. Through the modern miracle of satellite
communication we are watching a live picture."

Rose gesture grandly in a sweeping motion toward the muliple screen
images. He then looked at his watch. "Ah! Now!"

La Shauna whispered into Drake's ear. "I don' have a good feeling about dis,
Drake. Dos are children . . . babies.

Drake never had a chance to resond.

There was a blinding flash of fire and light. When the images cleared, all
could see and palace was a smothering ruin. Fire trucks raced to the scene,
and bodies of men, woman, children and mere babies were carried lifeless
from the ruined building.

Only a few were alive, and screaming in agony.

"How?" asked Drake.

"A Smart missile!" said La Shauna, the knowledge, skills, and abilities of
Ross awakening from a slumber.

Everybody except Rose turned to stare at La Shauna. There was no way that
an uneducated island girl could possess such sophisticated knowledge.
Drake, in particular, was taken aback.

She was so frightened that the a clue to her identity had inadvertnantly
tumbled out that she had to turn from her beloved. When he did, she saw the
look of righteous anger on Rose's face.

He was also not pleased with La Shauna's faux pas. His expression rapidly
readopted the masque of genial smiles.

Drake queried "La Shauna?" to her back.

"Very perceptive of you my dear," noted Rose. " What's the use of having
smart missiles if one doesn't use them!? Now I think there will be no more
defections from my 'honest' politicians after this sharp lesson. Ah . . . truly it
is a glorious sight is it not?"

La Shauna ignored her husband for the moment to address the genocidal
madman.

"Dey be jus' children . . . babies! How could you . . . you monster?"

Rose glared down at her from the podium, and spoke in a tone of voice that
shook her to her very soul. "Children, especially babies, are merely emtional
pawns to be used. They are just as disposable. As long as people continue to
have babies, I will have a vehicle to have their family do as I will. You
should remember that . . . girl!"

Rose winked at her.

He know, thought La Shauna in wide eyed horror. Dat message meant for me
. . . he threaten my unborn babies.

That was when she knew for certain that she would never be safe, never be
truly happy until the problem of Rose was eliminated. Prompted by that threat
to her family, the disparate parts of La Shauna merged into a totally new
person. John Ross was back, albeit in a new form, with new motivations.

Most of the others were looking in horror at the smoking ruin. An entire
extended family, and their servants were wiped out in one savage blow.

"Thank you for coming. Those who wish may leave now. For those of you
who wish to stay, we will be serving canapes and champagne as we watch
the aftermath on CNN. Their commentators can be so humorous, don't you
think? I wonder what terrorist group their wise commentators will blame this
on? That's always amusing."

Everyone was afraid to leave. All save one, and she stayed in order to draw
closer to her target. No option was left remaining except the sanction. La
Shauna was encouraged by the knowledge of no reprisals from the others
once the deed was done.

They all recognized the threat of Rose on this day.

**********

That night, it took a considerable amount of dancing with the truth for La
Shauna to explain away her slip. She tried a story of seeing a story of modern
weapons on the television, or reading it in a newspaper. He just didn't
believe her reasons because, in his mind, there would be no way that a
backward girl from the hills of Kingston would have access to those types of
media.

Finally, she broke down and began to cry. Now a woman's tears will move
any man, particularly one who was in love with the woman. It was a facet of
La Shauna's blooming womanhood that she was only now discovering.

Drake relented in his cold war.

"Why are you crying, Baby?"

La Shuan sobbed, with her latest prevarication. "I not want to tell you, but I
was with de man dat sold de missles to Rose, before I meet you. Dat is how I
know what dey are. I thought . . . you would leave me if you know I was
wit' a bad man"

Drake bought that one. "Jackson? You were with Jackson before?"

"Yes! Dat de one, Drake," she readily agreed before launching into a torrent
of tears.

In Drake's mind it explained everything. He took her into his arms, calming
her as he did so. "It's okay. See? The truth is not that bad. Don't you know
that I wouldn't leave you? It's not like you are really a man or something.
Now that is a whole different kettle of fish."

Drake looked meaningfully down into her dark eyes, those hypnotic eyes, to
continue his attempt to sooth her wounded spirit. "Listen. My past isn't
exactly something that I'm proud of either. What's past is past. This is a new
start for both of us. Let's just forget it, shall we?"

Drake had no idea how close to the truth that he really was.

La Shauna managed a smile. "You right, Darling. We not mention it again."

They sealed the bargin with a deep kiss.

**********

That night as they lay warmly and cozily in bed together Drake whispered to
his wife. "I know I owe Rose so much. It's just that . . . sometimes he goes
way too far."

His wife whispered back "I think so, too, my love . . . ." The refreshed
images of the mutilated children and babies caused La Shauna to tremble.

It was reaction that didn't go unnoticed by Drake. "You are shaking , Baby.
What's wrong? I know that what Rose did was wrong, but he would never
hurt us."

La Shauna chose this time to divulge one of her secrets. She had hoped to tell
Drake in happier circumstances, but time was now of the essence.

"I be heavy wit' your child, my love. Rose, he scare me so."

Drake postively beamed from ear to ear. "You're pregnant? That's great
news, La Shauna! You're going to be such a great mother."

"You not hear what Rose say to me? He not hesitate to use de baby against
anyone . . . even us. He knows I be wit' child. Rose threaten our beby, I
know dis'. You must believe me."

The petite woman shook violently.

Drake expression turned dour. He knew that his wife was right, and if that
threat ever came, he would deal with Rose himself.

"I'll think of something, Beloved. I won't let him hurt you or our infant. You
are safe here with me. I promise."

That was just the type of reassurance that La Shauna needed. As she embrace
her husband, she noted that the first step in her plan was now complete.

Rose would never threaten her, or her family ever again. She would see to
that detail herself, and all it took was a little planning. Despite her bravado,
La Shauna's trembling was quite real!

She momentarily turned her attention to something else . . . one minor loose
end to tie up. "By de way, I hear a strange rumor that he somehow turn de
American Agent Ross. He sent him back to spy on his superiors."

Drake was startled. "Where did you hear such craziness. Rose blew him
away with his own hands. He had his body hanging from the flagpole of the
American Embassy. I felt really bad about it, too because he was a friend. I
am very saddened by his death, but I had no options. I have no desire to die .
. . especially now that I have found you!"

The death of her former body was something that she had long suspected. La
Shauna comforted her man, yet was glad to hear that Drake still thought of
Ross as a friend.

The bottomless depths of Rose's duplicity astounded her. Her sorrow was
not for her former shell, but for the innocent occupying it at the time of death.
Sebastian Rose had casually stolen an innocent young girl's body, and then
her life. It was with no more compunction then one would crush a fly.

It only had reinforced her to stop him. Only now, she had a name to avenge .
. . Betty Ann. She even knew the how. Something that would turn every
misstep back against him.

La Shauna guided the man's hardness to the soft, moist folds of her
wonderful womanhood.

**********

La Shauna was walking with Drake a few days later in theKingston markets
when a man and woman rushed up to her. The looked old before their time,
and began to weep.

The elderly black woman sobbed said over and over again." MY baby be
alive, alive! You've come back to us, Betty Ann!"

"There's some mistake " Drake said kindly. "This is my wife, La Shauna.
Show them your identification, darling."

Sick to her very heart, La Shauna realized that she was wearing their girl's
body. She had no choice in the matter. At this point she couldn't risk any
complications with her husband, and would need his full support to deal with
Rose.

She showed them her ID papers and they were just crushed . . . absolutely
devastated.

"I thought my baby, back from he dead. She be our only child." The mother
put her head between her legs and sobbed, heart broken. The weeping man
tried his best to comfort his wailing wife.

La Shauna was broken hearted also, and had to do what she could. An idea
flashed into her mind. She recalled something that Monique told her at the
wedding, an assumtion regarding her condition.

"Could you find out about dem please, Drake? I be curious. Perhaps we be
related."

**********

La Shauna went to work for Rose as a personal assistant. It was critcal that
she stay close to him, encourage his trust. All the while she longed to smash
in his smug face.

He had to be killed. He was so well protected, and his people were terrified
of him. Something extraordinary, and ironic, was called for.

For Rose's part, he relished having La Shauna as his personal assisstant.
Ever since the Indian palace incident, she could not be trusted. Rose correctly
concluded that Ross was not as submerege as he truly thought.

He tried to honor his word as an Englishman, he really did. However, in the
end, the honor of an Englishman could not disguise the true nature of a man.

Rose devised a new, and diablical way to deal with La Shauna, or Ross or
whoever she was for good. This dastardly deed was specifically shatter her,
and leave her in a state that would render her harmless. It would strip her of
everything that she held dear.

He would lose Drake in the process, but he had lived out his usefulness. The
direct link to the NSA computer had rendered him quite obselete with time.
There was no need to leave any loose ends, and muscle was so cheap these
days.

It was with a sneer that Rose had La Shauna sit on the other side of his
massive mahogany desk.

"You need me for someting' Sebastian?" she queried with feigned respect.

"There is no need to act anymore, La Shauna . . . or Ross . . . or whoever. I
just though that you might like to see this before I show it to your lover."

Rose slid a videotape across the table.

"What is dis, Rose?" Clearly, the kid gloves were off. Time for one more
turn of the cards.

"Why it is a videotape of you switching bodies with the original occupant of
your body. It also includes the video tape of you taking the love potion, and
it's aftermath. You have figured THAT out by now I trust."

"NO," La Shauna protested. "You can not show dis to Drake. It would crush
him. He never love me again."

"Exactly, my dear. Elegant, is it not. Let me draw a picture for you. Drake
suffers for a few days, until I send him on some insanely perilous mission to
get his mind off of you. He'll die of course suffering all of the way.
Meanwhile, I'll take you back to your home country, the Untited States.
There you will live out yours days as any black woman does, having ever
more children to get more welfare. It is one of the blights of your society that
will serve me well. It will ensure your eternal suffering. I dare say that not a
day will go by that you don't think of your dear Uncle Sebastian."

La Shauna launched herself at the maniac, but her small body was no equal to
his. He swatted her away with a vicious backhand that sent her sprawling.

Rose roared, unchracteristically raising his voice. "How dare you presume to
touch my person, you nigger whore. That is what I have made you, and so
you shall live out your days."

He made a kicking motion at the poor girl, who rolled out of the way just in
time. La Shauna hurried from the office with Rose yelling after her.

"Get out of here before I beat you like my fore fathers beat all of the slaves."

Rose's true colors, if in fact they were ever in doubt, were now showing!

**********

The time was now! Just that.

All of La Shauna's ability to think on her feet, and resourcefulness, of her
former existence was firmly in play. She made one impromptu stop before
intercepting Drake in the garden.

The skills of Ross, combined with the dark sexuality of La Shauna made a
formidable waepon.

She sighed. The sight of him still, after all that she knew, brought a lump to
her throat. She had one last card to play, a desperation move really. It was all
that she had left.

La Shauna asked Drake to take her for a walk in the woods.

"Baby, I can't. Rose summoned me to his office. You know how he gets."

"It be about de Rose," advised La Shauna softly, meekly. "It is someting'
you should know before you see him."

Now Drake's curiousity was piqued, and he relented to her retiring plea.

In the woods. That was where she told Monique to meet them, so that is
where she had to be. La Shauna took Drake by the hand, and led him into the
thicket of trees.

Before playing her card, she had to build up the urgency of the situation, for
it had to be most dire. She trully regretted the lie, but it was necessary.

"Mr. Rose is putting H-bombs in every major city in the world. I see dis wit'
my own eyes. I fear to god he will use them."

Drake frowned in response to her false news. La Shauna held her man close
and comforted him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the familiar face
and form of Monique walk up.

The dam burst, and the waterworks flowed. La Shuana released a virtually
waterfall of tears. She trembled so violently that her teeth chattered.

"That's not all is it?" guessed Drake correctly, ignoring the presence of
Monique. He incorrectly presumed it was a more personal summons by
Rose.

"No," she paused. "It not!"

Drake waited patiently for his love to work her way through the sobbing.

Finally . . . it came.

"I really be did Betty Ann. Rose, he give me de potion from Madame T'jal
that make me forget who I am. Monique, she give me de antidote."

Drake glared over at the other woman, who nodded, and remarked, "It true,
Drake?"

La Shauna straegically gave no time reference as to the recovery of those
memories.

"Rose he raped me, my love! On that first night when we met." Tears flooded
from almond, goddess eyes.

"It makes sense now. I could never figure out why you dismissed me at the
market before, yet loved me passionately that night. It was because you
didn't know who you were. All of this . . . an illusion."

She pulled his face to hers, kissing his lips passionately. She had no idea of
the prior meeting in the market place. La Shuana had to account for it now!

"Is dat illusion? I didn't know you den . . . I do now. I love you, Drake.
With all of my heart and soul. Believe in dat. Would I trust you with dis if I
not?"

It was enough for Drake. His face contorted into a look of blind, uncontrolled
rage. He stormed of through the woods toward the compound.

**********

White with killing fury, Drake stalked like into the office like an animal in
bloodlust. He shot the two bodyguards, who were caught off guard.

He saw all that he needed to know by looking over at a shocked Rose at his
desk. Behind the desk, a monitor was playing images of he and his love
making love on that first night.

Drake closed the distance in one beat of the heart, and then started strangling
Rose. He croaked out one word. "Why?'

"You slimy bastard, you raped my wife!" Drake screamed the words at him.

It was only then that Rose felt not Drake's hands around his throat, but the
icy, bony fingers of Fate. T'jal/Constance had been right all along. The last
sight this dealer in lies saw, as the world grew dark, was La Shauna's
smiling face, peering over her husband's shoulder.

While others pried her husband's fingers from the long dead body, La
Shauna secretly dispathed the only evidence left . . . the videotape.

Chapter Ten - Epilogue: From The Ashes, New Flowers Grow . . .

La Shauna took over Rose's empire with her husband Drake's support. To
everybody's surprise, she just had a knack for it! Slowly, but carefully, she
changed the focus of the operation. La Shauna altered the very reason for the
organization's existence.

The vast resources and network of Sebation Rose was used to atone for the
sorrow that he brought to so many lives. Everybody worked to make the
world a better place.

She eventually approached the parents of Betty Ann, telling them that she
discovered that she was their daughter. Monique explained how Rose had
brainwashed her. She had forgotten who she was for a time, but some of her
memories had finally returned.

They were overjoyed. La Shauna was motivated out off pity, or a sense of
guilt, because, through no fault of her own, she possessed a body that truly
didn't belong to her. That guilt faded. Her kindness was repaid many times
over by their love and warmth.

It was hard to say who was the happiest when she gave birth to twins. It was
hard to tell who was prouder, Drake or the Grandparents. La Shauna,
retained the name that her husband knew. To the approval of all, she named
their children Betty Ann Drake, and John Ross Drake.

**********

In England, the moment Rose died, Lady Constance felt a chill. It was as if
icy, bony fingers had brushed her throat.

Sensing her concern, her husband pulled away from her.

"Anything wrong, darling?"

"No, Peter. Everything is as it was meant to be.

A pleased smile appeared on her face. The circle was closed, and they could
continued their nocturnal activities.
 

Fini