Princes of Mannsborough, Part 15

by Vulgar Argot

(MF, MM, FF(imp), FM+(imp), rape(imp), fMM(imp), asphyxia)

Thule sat in his car, parked on the mountain across from the Vandevoort Estate, smoking a cigarette and watching. The party was obviously a much larger event than he had anticipated. The first guests were already arriving and handing their cars over to valets who were driving them over to the empty, grassy space a quarter mile down the road. Assuming they expected to fill the lot they'd cordoned off, there would be easily five to six hundred cars by the time they were done.

Stripping out of the shirt he'd put on for the party and folding it neatly on the passenger seat, Thule trotted quickly into the woods around where he'd parked.

As always, it took Thule a couple of minutes to find his lookout post. He'd hammered wooden handholds into an ancient oak and built a duck blind about thirty feet up. The woods around here were full of them, although few were this close to anyone's house.

Balancing himself on the blind, Thule strapped his duffel bag to his back, reached up to a thick branch, and continued to climb. Another twenty feet up the tree, the handholds started again. Eighty feet up the tree, Thule had built a second platform, much too high for hunting ducks. This platform existed because it gave him a line of sight over the conifers that acted as a natural fence around the Vandevoort estate, allowing him to see right down into the back yard of the estate itself.

There were three main buildings to the estate--the main house and two guest houses, arrayed around what was probably an olympic-size swimming pool. The fourth side of the pool, normally open ground, was now covered by an immense tent, big enough to house a small circus.

Thule put the duffel bag down on the platform and extracted a shotgun microphone. It took a while to set up and fine tune until he could hear voices. Everything he heard was small talk except for a few details of how security was being maintained.

Thule made note of those details, but they were mostly old news to him. He'd been collecting information on the estate's security for years. It hadn't been easy. Ivan Vandevoort's security chief, Vil Umanski, was a world-class professional paranoid who ran a tight ship. Even details about the man himself had been scant and hard to piece together.

Thule knew that Umanski had served in the NKVD during World War II. In 1954, he had quietly defected to the United States a few weeks in advance of the founding of the KGB, an event that probably would have landed him in a Siberian gulag or an unmarked grave. He'd signed on to work with Ivan's father in 1964. Thule had been able to find out almost nothing about him, but he must be at least eighty years old by now, based on his history. Despite the fact that Ivan barely acknowledged Umanski's existence, his thorough handling of the Vandevoorts' personal and corporate security had been the main obstacle to all of Thule's plans and the reason Thule had to keep everything he did so low-key, to stay below the old man's radar.

Compared to Umanski, Thule was an amateur and he knew it. Thule only had two advantages over the old man. The first was the location of the estate itself. Isolated in the foothills of the mountain Thule now sat on, it was surrounded by acres of undeveloped land, much of it higher in elevation than the house. Even with the considerable security resources of the Vandevoorts, it was impossible to keep a watch on more than a small fraction of the surrounding countryside. The second advantage Thule had was Umanski's neophobia. His techniques and technology lay firmly planted in the past. He used new technology only grudgingly. Thule suspected, if he could get inside the security office on the northwest corner of the estate grounds, he would probably find an enigma machine.

Still, Umanski was neither stupid nor careless. A little over a year ago, Thule had taken advantage of a county-wide blackout and placed an electronic shunt in the surveillance system that was used to watch over the estate. If it had worked, Thule would have been able to watch everything that went on in front of a security camera there. But, within 24 hours, the shunt had been found and destroyed.

Still listening to the microphone, Thule extracted a pair of high-powered binoculars and scanned what he could see of the grounds. Even though the party wasn't scheduled to start for another half hour, a slow stream of cars was already disgorging passengers onto the front steps. The cars were expensive, the clothing elegant. Security guards escorted them into the main house, then out the back and out to the eastern guest house. Thule assumed they were Vandevoorts. But, there were a fair number of Asian men mixed in with them. From previous surveillance, Thule had wondered who these men were. They dressed immaculately and were preceded by their own security--men in black uniforms who arrived in black vans. As they climbed out of their vans, they collected in a cluster off to one side of the front steps, not mixing with Vandevoort's men.

Shortly after the vans, a group of three black towncars pulled into the long driveway. The strange security men sprung into action, forming a security cordon around the side of one car. A man and a woman stepped out of the car. Thule adjusted the focus to get a better look at them, but had only the sense of an older Asian couple before they disappeared into the house.

No sooner had they disappeared into the house than a pair of long, red conversion vans pulled into the driveway. Thule recognized the thug who had delivered Ivan's money to him when he got out of the driver's seat of one of the vans. But, it wasn't really the thug who was interesting.

Out of each van stepped a half-dozen women. They were dressed like high school and college girls, but carried themselves like they were college age or older. Some already had plastic cups that they sipped from. They gathered around the thug, who seemed to be giving them some sort of instructions before leading them around the main house to the western guest house where Randy and his brother Kolya lived most of the time.

Thule recognized that they weren't local. Even from here, he could tell that they were universally pretty. Whoever had chosen them had done a good job. They didn't look like strippers or pros, but Thule knew them for what they were--ringers, girls brought in specifically to ratchet up the party atmosphere of an event. He'd never heard of Randy using ringers before, though. Their presence was a clear indicator that this was probably going to be bigger than any party Randy had thrown before.

He stayed on his perch until he'd seen a dozen cars that belonged to students arrive. Then, he collected up his gear, piled it carefully back into the duffel bag, and worked his painstaking way down the tree again. Once back in his car, he popped a couple of internal pockets, emptying them of their contents. The items in them were too bulky to pass scrutiny in a pat-down. Most he put in the glove compartment. The Swiss Army knife went directly into his pocket, since it might be reasonable to be carrying one and he could always surrender it if necessary.

Taking a deep breath, he started the car and drove up to the front gate. His car looked out of place in such surroundings, but not much more than those of Randy's other friends. Some members of the football team came from wealthy families, but many more were working class or poorer. That fact did not keep the valet from sneering at Thule 's car when he took the keys. Thule just smiled as if he didn't notice.

Trotting up the long driveway, Thule reminded himself that he'd never been in this house before. He knew the layout, had spent countless hours watching the place, knew many of the employees that worked on the grounds and more who used to. As he approached the wide marble front porch, a security guard, complete with sunglasses and ear wire as if he were in the Secret Service, stepped out from behind one of the broad Doric columns on the uppermost landing. He took Thule's name and gave him a perfunctory patdown that probably would have missed a gun if Thule had been carrying one.

"Check that guy out good," said Randy, lounging against the front door, his voice radiating good humor. "He's fucking nuts."

"Yes, sir," said the guard, ignoring the suggestion.

"Hey, Postal," said Randy jovially, a hand on Thule 's shoulder, drawing him to one side of the porch, "glad you could make it. After you were a no-show at the warm-up, I thought you weren't going to."

Thule shrugged, "I was out when you called. But, you can count me out for that sort of shit, anyway."

"Postal," said Randy, chiding, "don't tell me you've got a fucking conscience about that sort of girl? You're not going all social worker on me. Are you?"

Thule chuckled, "Fuck that. I just don't stir another man's tapioca. That's nasty. If I want pussy, I know where to find it." He lit another cigarette, hoping to prolong the conversation since he knew he couldn't smoke in the main part of the house, "So, who was it anyway?"

Randy wrapped his arm around the back of Thule 's neck so that they could talk with some discretion before he said, "June Kane," his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"No shit," said Thule . "That might have been worth it." Then, quieter, he added, "Won't Brianne be pissed?"

Randy waved the suggestion away, "Nah. She was supposed to provide some dreg girl, I don't know who. But, June's not exactly Brianne's favorite person right now. Even if her little present had shown up, we probably would have fucked her, too."

Thule had a hard time not letting his rage get the best of him. It took him a few seconds to ask, "You think Brianne set June up on purpose?"

"Fucked if I know," said Randy, "Ah, well. You didn't miss much. Cops showed up before we could get much action. Half the guys didn't even get a go. Besides, I expect there will be much better pussy here tonight."

Thule smiled as if savoring the prospect of good pussy. Really, he was mentally filing the information he'd just received. Also, he was remembering how many times he'd spotted Randy out by the pool from his perch up on the hillside and realized he could end the young man's life with a high-powered sniper rifle. He didn't actually own a sniper rifle or a rifle of any sort, but he now found himself more sorely tempted to buy one than he ever had before.

He calmed down by reciting the same mantra he'd used when the thought of a quick kill had occurred to him before: A quick death is too good for Randy. Randy was going to go to jail and pay for his crimes. "Some dreg girl," indeed.

Provided that he'd gotten a decent recording today, Thule was about ready to go to the FBI with what he knew. If it was obvious that the police knew what was going on and did nothing, even better. That meant that he was going to have to move quickly against Brianne if he was going to do so at all. Once the FBI's scrutiny hit Mannsborough and him, Thule would never be able to continue to operate in anonymity.

"Come on," said Randy, taking Thule by the shoulder again, "My father wants you to meet the family before we get to the real party. Watch your back, though. The bastards are always up to something." He said it jovially, but his eyes were deadly serious.

Thule wondered, with more than idle curiosity, how much Randy knew about the machinations of the Vandevoorts. Hours of poring over the dry language of corporate reports, wedding announcements, and the careful doublespeak of official press releases had revealed a family that could give the Borgias a run for their money. But, Thule knew how much he had to read into what he could get his hands on to come to that conclusion. If he were skirting the edge of paranoid dementia, maybe meeting the Vandevoorts en masse would be a sanity check. Of course, it might also confirm his most paranoid fantasies.

As Randy led him through the house, Thule gawked as discretely as he could. The front door led onto a ledge that ran around the edge of the main room, a palatial chamber done mostly in the same white marble as the front steps, polished to a glossy shine. Thule didn't know much about furniture, but what he saw looked old and expensive. The rug that defined the center of the room looked like one of the handmade Persian ones that took a whole village a year to make and probably cost upwards of a half million dollars.

"Tell me you're not going to pack this place with high school kids," said Thule , almost involuntarily.

"Here?" asked Randy, "Lord, no. By even walking you through here, I'm violating some dire, unwritten rule. Ivan doesn't bring anybody in here unless he's trying to overwhelm them with how much money he has."

Thule didn't raise an eyebrow. Did Randy even realize what he had just said? Why not just say, "I'm taking you through here to show me how much money I have?" Of course, it could also be Randy's way of saying, "I don't play games like that," which was, of course, a game in and of itself.

Still, Randy led Thule down the sweeping, curved staircase, through the main room, down a long, wide corridor, and out the back door. Everything in the main house was remarkably tasteful--from its neoclassical architecture to the starched gray and white uniforms worn by the staff as they moved silently around the two, engaged in their daily routines. Outside, he led Thule down a brick path, bordered by a high hedge that separated it from the pool area.

"So," asked Thule , "where does the actual party happen?"

"My house," said Randy.

"Your house?" asked Thule , "Don't you live in the main house?"

"Sort of," said Randy, "I have a room there, but my half-brother and I spend most of our time in the larger guest house. I'll show you." Navigating around a few more hedges, he led Thule out to the pool area, where the ringers were standing around, chatting among themselves. Ignoring the women, he pointed to the left, "That's the large guest house. Kolya and I live there, more or less. That's where we'll have the party." He pointed to the right, "That's the small guest house. We've put the family up there, those who came early enough to need rooms and are too young or too old to enjoy the atmosphere in my house. I've been playing host to about a dozen cousins of various ordinals and removals there."

As he walked past the pool, Randy continued, "The official party is going to be in the tent and at the pool. That's where the family and my guests will comingle."

"Your guests?" asked Thule , "Isn't this your party?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Randy, "It's sort of a family tradition. It goes all the way back to when the Vandevoorts were running ships out of Amsterdam ."

Thule raised an eyebrow, "So, I take it you're not talking about a kegger."

Randy shook his head. He was all serious now, "It could be. In some of the less prosperous branches, it's been that or worse. Because Ivan is seen as the family patriarch in America , he'll do it up the whole nine yards, no matter what I might have wanted. But, it's really his party."

"So," asked Thule , "what's going to happen?"

Randy shrugged, "It's a family thing. Ivan will announce that I'm getting the bulk of his estate when he kicks off. We'll introduce my fiancée officially. Then, Ivan will tell everyone what arrangements he's made for me, during and after college."

"Arrangements?"

Again, Randy shrugged. Thule noted that his brash confidence was gone now, replaced by a quiet uncertainty. Also, his speech patterns had changed, becoming more sophisticated. Thule knew that he was being let far more deeply into Randy's confidence, but as of yet, didn't know why.

"He hasn't told me a damned thing," said Randy, "but the usual form is a house somewhere near school, followed by a plum job at one of the family's businesses. Even the branches that have fallen on hard times have their tuition paid by a trust my great grandfather set up and some sort of job. The Vandevoorts look out for their own."

"Admirable," said Thule , not entirely ironically.

"So," asked Randy, "what are your plans after school?"

Thule wondered for a moment if that was all this was, some form of one-upmanship. He bristled a little at the idea and almost blurted out what he really intended to do. But, in the few steps it took him to calm down, he said, "Work for Jonas. Make sure he can't live without me. Convince him to take up golf and other retirement-type activities."

Randy laughed, "I hear you, but don't knock golf. Jonas has probably lost a metric buttload of money because he doesn't play. Try fly fishing."

"So," asked Thule , "why the sudden interest in my future?"

"What do you know about my family, Thule ?"

Thule felt a chill go up his spine, but he forced himself to shrug nonchalantly, "Just about what everybody knows."

Randy stopped walking and eyed Thule evenly. For a few seconds, Thule thought the who game was up. But, when Randy spoke, he said, "My father has a man named Vil Umanski. Before my father took over, Vil worked for my grandfather. His official title is head of security, but he keeps the whole ball of wax operating. The funny thing is that Ivan has no fucking idea how important Vil is to his operation. Either that or he chooses to belittle the man at every opportunity out of some mistaken desire to keep him in his place."

Thule nodded, "Every organization has a few people like that."

"No," said Randy, his eyes flashing, "Not like Umanski. He's one of a kind. He's ex-KGB, never takes his eyes off the prize. He's completely indispensable," He took a deep breath, then went on more calmly, "And he's older than dirt. At some point, he's going to die. Even if he hangs on another twenty years, at some point, I'm going to have to replace him."

Thule felt his shoulder muscles starting to ache from keeping a poker face throughout the conversation and a single bead of sweat ran down his spine. Still, he managed to say calmly and with a reasonable facsimile of clueless curiosity, say, "What does that have to do with me?"

"Jonas has a controlling interest in a Boston electronics firm called Spartan Security Systems," said Randy, "As far as I know, his management of it has been completely hands off since he took it over from its insolvent founders. You should work there."

"In security?" asked Thule , "Me?"

Randy laughed heartily, "Such modesty. Postal, I've been watching you for a while. When I found out that little Latin piece I did freshman year was yours, I saw the looks you would give me and thought you were going to try to kill me. So, I kept an eye on you. When you didn't come after me, I thought you were weak. But, then I figured out, you're just smart--smart enough to know how to pick your fights. And you've got this incredible self-control. If the situation had been reversed, I would have killed you in a second, not thinking about the damned consequences."

Thule nodded, as if acknowledging the correctness of Randy's assessment.

Randy went on, "But, until recently, I thought you had no ambition. Then, you moved in on Tarr. I don't know how you did it, but it was smooth. And I realized that there's not one person in this whole goddamned useless school I'd want watching my back but you."

Thule nodded a little in acknowledgement, "I'm flattered, but..."

"Don't be," said Randy, "Listen, in a few weeks, I have to give up all this high school bullshit. I've been sloppy about a lot of shit, but I always had my old man and Vil to cover my ass. Once I get out of college, I'm pretty much on my own. I need somebody like Vil."

"You think I'm like Vil Umanski?" asked Thule , absurdly pleased.

"Not the old part, of course," said Randy, "but I imagine you're like he was at your age, when he first joined the KGB."

"NKVD," said Thule .

"What?" asked Randy, puzzled.

"If he's as old as you say he is, there wouldn't have been a KGB when he was my age. The Soviet intelligence division at the time was called NKVD. The KGB wasn't founded until 1954."

"See?" said Randy, "that's what I mean about an eye for details. I'm figuring, if you can get Spartan to acquire or build an armed security division, I'll contract you to handle my security and you can be my Vil Umanski. After Jonas and Ivan retire, we can take it a lot farther than that. In some ways, my father is real stupid. Something happened between him and Jonas's wife a long time ago and he's let it drive him crazy ever since. I don't know the details. But, if you and I are simpatico, there's no limit to what we can do together."

Thule nodded, "So, all I have to do is take over a multimillion dollar electronics firm and build a new division while attending MIT?" He laughed, "You're putting a lot of faith in me."

Randy chuckled, "I know. If you can't do it, you're not who I think you are." He laid a hand on Thule 's shoulder, "You'll manage it. Now, let's go meet the family."

-=-

The house where the extended Vandevoorts were was laid out similarly to the main house and in the same classic revivalist style. The furniture still looked expensive, but not nearly so much as Thule had already seen today. In one corner, a pianist played something soothing. Everyone seemed to be dressed for a much fancier party than Thule was. But, Randy's outfit seemed just as out of place, so Thule didn't worry much...at least, not about that. He'd always viewed Randy as sort of a vicious animal, one who might perhaps be able to rule through cunning and instinct. Again, he'd underestimated the opposition. It was becoming an unfortunate habit. Eventually, it would probably get him killed.

"For the Vandevoorts," said Randy, "keep your friends close and your enemies closer is redundant. Half the time, my father spends keeping an eye on the competition. The other half, he's watching the rest of us."

The first person to detach from the rest of the crowd was a statuesque, red-headed woman in a backless black dress who looked to be in her early twenties. When she spoke, her Russian accent was heavy, her voice faintly cross, "Randall, you know you're not to bring your friends in here. This is strictly a family party."

" Thule ," said Randy, "this is my stepmother, Sveltana. She's been in charge of the planning for this whole event. Sveta, this is Thule Roemer, Marigold Tarr's intended. Ivan wanted me to see that he gets introduced to everyone."

Svetlana's eyes registered her surprise, "Oh," she said, her accent still heavy, but the ire gone, "you're that Thule ." Her accent softened the "th" diphthong so that it became a soft "d."

Thule did not bother to wonder aloud how many other Thules (or Dules for that matter) they were expecting at this party. Instead, he accepted her traditional Russian greeting of a kiss on each cheek, after which she slid an arm around his waist. From the smell of champagne on her breath, he wondered if it was for support, but she walked with the easy confidence of an experienced drunk. Gently, she guided Thule towards the knot of people gathered around the long sitting room table. There were almost two dozen people in all. Other than Thule , Randy, and Svetlana, only one woman looked to be much under forty. Svetlana directed Thule straight to her, Randy in tow.

"Dule," said Svetlana, "this is Randy's older sister, Tryne."

"Tree-neh?" Thule asked, mimicking Svetlana's pronunciation and extending a hand to shake. When Tryne smiled at him, he said, "I'm Thule Roemer, a friend of Randy's."

Tryne's smile had been insincere to the point of deliberate rudeness. The handshake was brief and abrupt. The whole time, her glance was on the intersection between Thule 's body and Svetlana's. Thule himself would have to admit that Svetlana was pressed awfully close to him, considering that they'd known each other less than ten minutes.

Glancing at Tryne's hand, Thule noticed the slightly lighter band of skin on her ring finger, indicating that she'd recently taken off a wedding ring.

Randy seemed to notice the glance, "Tryne's recently divorced. She's been living in the main house for about a month now while she arranges other accommodations."

"Thank you, Randy," said Tryne, pulling her hand away from Thule as if burned, but her voice cool, "Perhaps you'd like to show him my bank balance while you're at it." She turned to Thule , "Whatever my brother may have told you, I am not a brood mare to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. So, save your breath."

" Thule ," said Randy, speaking a little more loudly, "is Marigold Tarr's intended."

"Oh," said Tryne, her hand flying to her mouth, "I'm sorry. I..."

"No harm," said Thule magnanimously, waving her off, "I'm sure you must have many suitors." The word, so archaic, seemed to fit in here. Among the Vandevoorts, everyone seemed to talk like they lived several hundred years in the past.

Tryne seemed mollified for about a half second before she turned on Randy, "More than enough," she said, "who actually know me. Plus at least a half dozen you and Ivan have tried to set me up with since I moved back in." Her smile at Thule was a little bit more genuine this time, "I apologize for assuming you were another one of them."

"We're only looking out for your happiness, Tryne," said Randy.

"Funny how you assume I would be happiest with the sons of Dad's business associates," snapped Tryne.

Whatever Randy said in response was lost in the general babble of conversation as Svetlana led Thule away from them, "Come on," she said, "once they get started, they can go for hours. Let me get you introduced to the rest of the family."

What followed was a quick succession of more than a dozen introductions, made in ones and twos, to a variety of older men and women, the men all named Vandevoort, the women all introduced to Thule as "Soandso nee Vandevoort, wife of Soandso" followed by a recognizably blue-blooded surname. Many of them displayed the sandy-haired good looks or the aftereffects thereof one would expect from the finest Dutch maritime stock. To a one, they also showed a razor-sharp mind as each asked carefully guarded questions meant to determine Thule 's status with the family and if they could turn it to their advantage. Thule hoped his responses indicated a basic loyalty to Randy, but a willingness to hear any offers people might have of a strategic move.

When they had a moment away from other people, Thule asked, "So, who are all the Koreans? I didn't think the Vandevoort family extended so far."

Svetlana laughed and laid a hand on Thule 's arm as if he'd said something particularly witty. For the hundredth time since they'd walked in the room, Thule glanced over at Ivan. Despite the fact that the man's wife was draped over Thule 's arm, he hadn't so much as glanced in their direction.

"Nyet," she said. "They are business associates of my husband's. Ivan does not discuss business with me. I am not smart enough to follow these complex deals." She gave Thule an ironic smile, "But, I have heard him refer to the man he is speaking to as The General. Come. I will introduce you."

Thule nearly balked as Svetlana guided him towards the cluster of people where Ivan stood talking to the General and an imposing, older Chinese woman who appeared to be the General's wife. Walking around with Svetlana attached to his arm like some kind of trophy was one thing. If Thule got up in Ivan's face about it, the situation would become impossible to ignore. Experimentally, Thule tried to step out of Svetlana's grip, but she hooked a finger into one of his belt loops so that he couldn't do so without hurting her.

Thule slowed his feet and looked down at her. Svetlana looked up at him. She was still smiling, but there was a determined set to her jaw that told Thule she would not be easily swayed from her course. Thule didn't know why, but she wanted Ivan to see them together.

Knowing he was seconds away from getting dragged into a scene that would probably get him ejected from the estate and possibly ruin all the work he'd done to get into Randy's graces, Thule searched for anything he could do to prevent it. Just then, a waiter walked by with a tray of champagne flutes. Thinking to spill one on himself or Svetlana, Thule reached out. Instead, Svetlana pulled him on an angle towards Ivan that caused his fingers to miss the tray by inches.

Realizing he wasn't going to get away, Thule decided it was necessary to take desperate measures. He'd worked too hard to get into this party just to get thrown out before it had really started. Searching his memory for everything he knew about Ivan Vandevoort, he came to a snap decision. Wedging his arm between his body and Svetlana's, he managed to lever himself free. Before she could turn it into a wrestling match, which would probably serve whatever purposes she had in mind, Thule slid his own arm around her waist, pulling her in close.

Svetlana looked up surprised, but didn't protest. Instead, she let her hand rest lightly on Thule 's chest. Guiding her as she'd guided him, Thule fixed an arrogant sneer on his face and approached Ivan Vandevoort.

He knew this approach was going to make Ivan angrier at him, but hoped it would keep the man from making a scene now. If Thule understood how Ivan thought, he would never speak up over Thule 's obvious grab for what belonged to him. To do so would draw attention to the fact that he'd been challenged. Thule had no doubt there would be an ultimate retribution, but it probably wouldn't be tonight. He would have to deal with that problem when it occurred.

"Ivan," said Svetlana. "I believe you know Dule. He wanted to meet the General."

Ivan didn't even bother to glance at Thule , but shot his wife a look of barely-contained rage. Not entirely able to hide his anger, he said, "I wasn't expecting to see any of Randy's friends in this house."

Svetlana didn't answer, just smiled at Ivan, a challenge clear in her eyes.

His voice under control now, Ivan said graciously, "General Pak, may I present Thule Roemer? Mr. Roemer is out associate Mr. Tarr's most likely successor." He glared at Thule , as if challenging him to contradict what he'd said. When he saw that Thule had no intention of doing so, he said, " Thule , this is General Jin-Ho Pak."

Thule took the General's hand and shook it. The General inclined his head slightly as they shook. His grip was firm, but not so firm as to be a challenge, the look on his face one of keen intelligence. Even without the security guards arrayed around him, he radiated an obvious aura of power--one that he felt no need to hide or accentuate. Next to him, Ivan looked like a smarmy schoolboy trying to curry favor with the superintendent of schools.

"Svetlana," said Ivan. "Now that your new friend has met the General, perhaps you would like to show him where the more...age-appropriate activities are being organized."

Again, Ivan's eyes raked past Thule without even bothering to look at him. Unless the man had gained a ton of self control since their last meeting, he really wasn't any angrier at Thule today than he'd been yesterday. His only angry looks had been for his own wife.

Svetlana pressed her chest into Thule 's, letting her hand drop to his stomach, "Da, Dule. I am sure I can find some age-appropriate activity for you."

Thule took one more glance at the people around him. No one seemed to be paying either of them the slightest bit of attention. Ivan and the General were back in deep conversation. The security men had apparently decided he wasn't a threat and were now looking for the next possible problem.

Then, Thule caught the eyes of Ivan's thug, the one he'd had dealings with before. Even behind his dark glasses, the man's eyes bored angry holes into Thule 's skull. It was all Thule could do not to smile in relief. Finally, someone was behaving the way he expected them to.

Even as he noticed, Svetlana was guiding him away. Thule allowed himself a sigh of relief before looking up to see an old man shuffling from where he stood to block the doorway they would have exited through. Now, Thule did balk. He'd never seen this man up close before, only through high-powered binoculars.

Looking up at what had stopped him, Svetlana frowned, "Dule," she said, nearly dragging him towards the old man, "I would like you to meet my jailer, Vil Umanski."

Umanski put his hand out to shake, "Mr. Roemer, it's a pleasure to finally meet you." Turning to face Ivan's wife, he added, "Mrs. Vandevoort, you are looking as radiant as ever. However, I am afraid that the details of this party's security are keeping me on my toes." He gave a slight salute as if he were tipping an invisible hat, "Do svidaniya."

Before Thule or Svetlana could say anything, Vil had turned away and was walking in the opposite direction.

-=-

Despite the fact that Vil Umanski had spoken less than a dozen words to him, Thule was troubled by them. He had no doubt that the old man's words were deliberate and carefully chosen. And, the message was clear. Umanski knew who he was and claimed to have known for some time. Thule looked hard for any additional meaning that he could have gotten from the man's words or demeanor. But, there was none to be found.

So wrapped up was he in his thoughts that it didn't really register that Svetlana had led him out of the guest house through a side door. Instead of walking across the pool area where the party was setting up, they were alone on a long path that ran along the back of the tent.

Thule looked around, "Mrs. Vandevoort, where are we going?"

Svetlana had gotten her arm around Thule 's waist again. Now, she pressed herself against him a little more tightly and chided him gently, "Dule, we are practically same age. Call me Sveta."

Thule looked down at her, keeping his focus firmly on her eyes and away from the generous amount of cleavage this simple, black dress she wore exposed. It would definitely raise a few eyebrows if he referred to Ivan's wife by such a familiar form of her first name. He'd done worse already. But, he still didn't think it wise to keep pushing his luck.

However, they were alone and the path ran far enough away from the tent that no one would overhear the, "All right, Sveta. Where are we going?"

"Like my jailer said, I am taking you to the fun part of this party."

Searching for a topic that might get them away from Svetlana's plans, Thule asked, "So, how long have you and Ivan been married?"

"Four years," said Svetlana, "I am third wife. He was married to second wife for three years, so I am already 'past warranty.' We met at club in Moskva. He saw me dancing with friend, Larissa. By end of night, he asked me to fly to America with him. He was very handsome and very rich."

The conversation was definitely not being driven in the right direction. Thule tried again, "What did you do in Moscow ?"

She shrugged against him, "I did not do anything. I was eighteen. I was secretary and party girl. America was just going to be one big party. We did not marry, then. Ivan kept me in apartment in Chicago and I kept him happy. He was still with wife number two at the time. He proposed a year later, more or less."

Thule nodded, not sure of what he could say to lead the conversation in the right direction. But, they had already traversed slightly more than half of the length of the tent. He might be able to make it by being strong and silent. Svetlana kept talking, "Now, I live here in his house. Servants buy food. Servants run errands. Any time I leave, he sends Jake with me. Jake was big man scowling at you back at house, but he is really very nice." She sighed, "Still, he does what Ivan says. I would do anything to get out of this house on my own."

The word "anything" effected Thule greatly, but probably not the way Svetlana had intended. Having Ivan's own wife as an ally was far too compelling a prospect to not give it serious consideration. Besides, something else was nagging at his mind. As vile a person as June Kane was, he knew it would haunt him that he'd been unable to save her. He didn't know what kind of person Svetlana Vandevoort was, but found himself wanting to help her.

"Oh," said Svetlana, stumbling against him as they came within sight of a stone bench. She looked down, "I broke strap on my shoe." She reached down and picked up one of her shoes, black with enough of a heel to elongate her already long legs. Leaning on Thule , she took a single hop towards the bench. As she landed on the other shoe's heel, she almost fell over.

Thule sighed quietly. He could see the shoe in her hand was intact. If Svetlana had just asked him to help her get off the estate, he would have gladly done so. But, she seemed determined to play things out her way.

He decided that, if he was going to play Svetlana's game, he might as well do it right. Reaching down, he laid one hand across her bare back, the other across the backs of her knees and lifted her into the air. Svetlana wrapped her arms around Thule 's neck.

"Oh," she said, laying her head on his shoulder. "What a gentleman."

Thule carried Svetlana to the bench, sitting her at one end and himself at the other. He took the shoe from her hand.

"The strap isn't broken at all," he said, making a show of testing it. "It must have slipped off of your ankle is all."

He reached for the ankle in question. As he took it, Svetlana slid her foot over his hand and up his arm until it rested lightly on his groin as if she were just resting it there. Thule gasped from the touch and Svetlana's eyes widened as if she were surprised by what she found there.

"Dule," she said, "you're..."

Thule had already decided to go along with whatever Svetlana had in mind, but didn't want to appear too eager. He stood up rapidly, taking the shoe with him so that Svetlana couldn't easily follow him, "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean..."

"Dule," said Svetlana. "It's okay."

Thule tried to look relieved, "It is?"

"Yes," said Svetlana, patting the bench right next to her. "Come. Sit down."

Thule resumed his original seat, as far away from her as he could sit and still be on the bench. Sveta moved closer to him, her hand on the inside of his thigh. Thule said quietly, "I didn't mean..."

Again, Svetlana interrupted him, "It's okay," she said soothingly. "I'm flattered. No one looks at me like that anymore."

"I find that hard to believe," said Thule . The line required no acting. Whatever else she must be, Ivan's wife was a beautiful woman, barely older than himself.

"You are so sweet," Svetlana said, "but, it's true. My husband, I'm sure he has someone else in Chicago now...or New York or Los Angeles . He is always flying somewhere. He surrounds me with old men and frightened women. Already, I am too old for him and I am only twenty-two."

Thule didn't bother to point out that she had to be at least twenty-three based on the chronology she'd recounted earlier. Svetlana went on, "You are very sweet, but we couldn't. If my husband ever found out..."

Again, Thule found little acting required to produce a rakish grin, "It would probably kill him."

Svetlana slid her hand up Thule 's thigh, lightly wrapping her fingers around his cock through his pants. As terrifying as the prospect of being caught with Ivan's wife was, he was already hard.

Thule wished he'd had cooler circumstances in which to consider his options, but Svetlana had moved things along too quickly for quiet reflection. He knew damned well that Svetlana had chosen him as the instrument of her plan because he was the only person not in a security uniform young enough to make it remotely plausible and wondered who would be foolish enough to believe that this rich, beautiful woman would be so taken with them that she would be unable to control herself.

Ivan would fall for it, he realized. Randy would, too. So, by extension, so would Randy's close friends. If Thule had really been who he pretended to be, he probably wouldn't think twice about Svetlana throwing herself at him. After all, this sort of thing would be his by birthright.

So, he decided to play the role that was so clearly expected of him. Reaching up, he wrapped his hand around the back of Svetlana's head, pulling her towards him, kissing her full on the mouth. His free hand stroked her back.

"Dule," she said, alarmed and breathless. "My lipstick."

"Fuck your lipstick," Thule growled, then kissed her again, ferocious and possessive. His other hand slid underneath her, lifting her until she straddled his lap, her skirt riding up until his fingers stroked the bare flesh of her bottom.

How long they went on like that, Thule couldn't say. It was long enough that, had Svetlana really wanted to stop him, she would have spoken up far sooner. But, finally, she said, "Dule, stop."

Thule did, but held her on his lap, not letting go.

Svetlana lowered her head, "If I am missing too long, Ivan will send Jake to come looking for me. I do not want to ruin my marriage over this."

Thule suspected that was exactly what she wanted, but didn't bother to say so. Instead, he rasped, "I want you, Svetlana."

Svetlana smiled down at him, "And you will have me, Dule. But, not now. Find me when the party is in full swing and we will slip out of here." She kissed him again, "Then, you can have anything you want."

Thule nodded, his eyes hungry. And that required no acting at all.

-=-

Svetlana had slipped away to make herself more presentable, leaving Thule alone on the bench. He had rearranged his clothes and smoked a couple of cigarettes before feeling composed enough to go and find a bathroom where he could wash off whatever traces of Svetlana's lipstick he hadn't been able to clear away without a mirror.

As soon as he stepped into the western guest house, Brianne's boyfriend Ian called him over, " Thule , question."

Thule looked for some avenue of escape. But, Ian was making a beeline for him. There was nowhere for him to go.

"You're a computer guy, right?" asked Ian.

"More or less," said Thule . "Why?"

"What do you know about websites?" asked Ian.

"I think," said Thule , shouting a little to be heard over the music, "that I would need a more specific question."

"Well," said Ian. "If I wanted to start a web site, what would I need to do?"

"Like a commercial web site?" asked Thule .

"No," said Ian. "It doesn't have to make money. I just want to put up some pictures...from my vacation."

"There's a lot of free services out there," said Thule , "and you can download some free packages that'll make pretty slick sites."

"What if some of the pictures are kind of....risqué," asked Ian, "you know, like at Mardi Gras and stuff?"

Thule nodded, "A lot of free sites might take issue with that. There are a couple that don't seem to mind, but they're full of popup ads and stuff. So, tell anybody you send to the site to get some kind of popup blocker."

"Right," said Ian, "which hosts are those?"

Thule gave him a few names, which Ian wrote down. Then, he repeated the names of the software for making the web sites. "So," he asked idly, "where'd you go on vacation?"

"Cancun," said Ian, patting him absent-mindedly on the arm, "I'll send you the address when I put the pictures up."

Thule nodded absentmindedly, just glad to be able to get away long enough to wash his face.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Thule took a few minutes to get his bearings. Architecturally similar to the other guest house, everything he'd seen of this building had been decorated in early American frat house. The main room was big enough for a pool table off to one side, a live DJ to the other, and a keg to the third. Whatever furniture had been in the center of the room had been moved out to make a large dance floor.

The ringers were easy to spot. Half were barely dressed for the pool. The other half looked like extras from a rock video. For the most part, they were perfectly made up and coiffed, far too perfectly for this sort of event. Still, the guys didn't seem to notice. Every one of them had at least one and some a whole cluster of admirers.

On the other side of the room, Brianne stood near the keg, surrounded by a loose circle of cheerleaders. Except, they didn't look very cheerful. In fact, they looked pissed. And none of them looked as pissed as Brianne.

Thule looked for Ian, then spotted him and Elliot talking to a cafe-au-lait colored ringer dressed in a tight denim skirt and a form-fitting white tank top. Thule started to look towards Brianne again, but suddenly did a double take.

He recognized the ringer. Careful not to stare, he searched his memory for where he'd seen her from. It took him a minute to remember.

-=-

He'd been coming back from an evening of surveillance up on his perch. Just as he'd secured the duffel bag in his trunk, a pair of headlights swept past, indicating a car approaching. Thule wasn't particularly worried. The dirt parking lot he used had been created for hunters and was still sometimes used for that purpose.

Still, he was surprised when the woman had stepped out of her car. Dressed in a jogging suit and barely five and a half feet tall, she didn't look like much of a hunter.

"Can I help you with something?" Thule asked.

She shook her head, not getting out of the car, "No, thank you."

"All right," said Thule agreeably, turning to go back to his car. As he reached the door, he said, "Only, there's not really much up here."

She got out of her car then, "So, what are you doing up here?"

"Hunting," said Thule .

"Really?" she asked. "Where's your gun?"

"In the trunk," said Thule , opening the door.

"Could I see it please, sir?" she asked. Only, as Thule remembered it, she hadn't really asked. She'd phrased it in that way that people who demand things but want to make it sound like a request do.

Thule knew how to deal with that, though. He shook his head as he got into the car, "Nope." Before she could make any further requests, he'd started the car and driven away.

-=-

At the time, Thule had wondered if she worked security for Vandevoort, even though he'd never seen a woman in that role. Now, he wondered again what her game was. After a few seconds of trying to puzzle it out, he gave up. There were more than enough mysteries for him to deal with tonight. He didn't need to go looking for them.

Instead, he strolled over to where Brianne was standing and poured himself a beer with lots of head on it so it would look like he'd drunk more than he was going to. Brianne pointedly ignored him until he walked right up to her.

Brianne looked at him, "What are you doing over here?"

"Getting a beer," said Thule , taking a sip and wiping suds off of his nose.

"Impressive willpower," said Brianne, "considering that no one else seems to be able to tear themself away from the new girls long enough to even do that."

Thule deliberately turned his back on the side of the room where the ringers stood and the sharks circled. This side of the room looked like the girls' side of a gym during a junior high school dance.

"Oh, yeah," Thule said casually, "there are some new people here, aren't there? Cousins of Randy's or something?"

Brianne asked, "You didn't notice them? It's like Randy invited a bunch of models or something."

"I suppose," said Thule , sounding bored, "if you like the model type." He looked Brianne up and down, his eyes lingering in all the right places, "I like women who actually look like women."

Brianne, who would be a model type herself if she were six inches taller and a little less endowed in the chest, beamed.

"You should smile more," said Thule . "You really light up a room when you do."

"Flatterer," she said, but her eyes kept the shine they'd gotten when he said it, "Get me a beer, won't you?"

Thule poured Brianne a beer, tilting the cup so as to get a minimum of foam, then handed it to her. Brianne stepped in close to take it. Thule hoped that anyone seeing them would just assume that they were trying to talk over the music.

"So," asked Brianne, laying a hand on his arm. "How is your crusade going?"

Thule laughed, although his stomach dropped out, "What makes you think I'm on a crusade?"

"Oh," said Brianne, "a little bird told me. Besides, you're always so intense. You radiate crusade."

Thule changed the subject. About ten minutes later, Randy tapped Thule on the shoulder and said, low in his ear, "The ceremony's about to start in the tent. I want you to see this." So, Thule followed him outside.

As soon as they got outside, Randy turned to Thule , "Postal, what are you doing with Brianne?"

"I told you," said Thule , "I'm going to fuck her."

"Not cool," admonished Randy, "Particularly not cool here. Ian's still..."

"I know," said Thule , "one of your boys. Let me worry about Ian."

"Don't fuck this party up," said Randy, "It could cost me with the family."

Thule smiled, "You can rely on my discretion."

-=-

Randy led Thule to sit at a table with himself, Ivan, and Svetlana. Placing Thule between himself and his father, Randy unwittingly placed Thule so that he was staring directly at Svetlana. When no one was looking, she bit her pinky at him. When people were looking, she stared across at Thule , absent-mindedly twirling her hair, occasionally passing her hands over her breasts and even stretching like a cat once or twice as she feigned a yawn. Thule , not being made of stone, kept missing bits of conversation and wound up eating less than half of his dinner. Still, Ivan paid absolutely no attention.

The only mercy of the setup was that the table was too big for Svetlana to get her foot past Thule 's ankle. That gave him some protection at least.

At some point during the meal, Thule realized that Svetlana's display wasn't just for him. Some of her smoldering glances were directed at Randy. More incredibly, this young monster who thought nothing of arranging a gang rape to set the right tone for a party, looked genuinely uncomfortable about it. Thule found that he actually enjoyed watching Randy squirm.

The emcee for the event announced Ivan and Randy's names. They rose and walked to the stage. Even before the applause had died down, Svetlana was sitting right next to Thule , her hand in his lap, stroking and teasing him. Thule did what he could to maintain composure, but soon sweat was running down his back. Fortunately, the tent was only lit by little candles at each table and lights on the stage. Coupled with the fact that they were seated as far away from the stage as they could be, no one even glanced in their direction.

"I swear to God, Sveta," Thule growled in her ear. "If you don't stop what you're doing, I'm going to throw you over this table and fuck you right here."

Sveta laughed melodically, "I dare you," she said, unzipping his fly.

Before she could get any farther, Thule batted Svetlana's hand away. She looked at him, determined to resume. But, a second later, his hand was pressed between her thighs, his fingers easily gaining entrance into her already damp pussy. Svetlana gave a sharp intake of breath. Maybe somebody had to sweat, but Thule would be damned if it was going to be him.

Having gained the advantage, Thule whispered, "If you make another sound or move in any way you shouldn't, I will stop what I am doing, make my excuses, and leave. Do you understand me?" As he talked, he rubbed a fingertip roughly over her clitoris. Svetlana nodded emphatically.

So, as Ivan talked about family history and legacy, waxed philosophical and poetic, deliberately drawing out the speech to build suspense, Thule slid his fingers in and out of the man's wife. Long before Ivan got to the point, Svetlana was breathing heavily, her eyes rolled back in her head, her body trembling with pleasure. The music from the west house was loud enough to keep anyone from hearing her breathing.

By the time Ivan had named Randy his primary heir and Tryne as his secondary and explained the house he'd bought Randy in the Georgetown area, Svetlana leaned toward Thule, "Dule," she begged, "Dule, please stop. I can not keep quiet. If you don't stop, I'm going to scream."

Thule considered the threat and the pleading, supplicating look in Svetlana's eyes. Then, he said evenly, "I dare you."

Instead, she laid her head on the table and moaned low into her arm. It wasn't quite loud enough for anyone to hear over the applause, but Thule decided he had pushed his luck as far as it would go and slid his fingers out of her. Svetlana sat up shakily, trying to glare at him and failing miserably.

Thule handed her a clean cloth napkin, "Pat yourself," he said. "It's hot enough in here to explain some sweat, but not that much." Svetlana nodded and did as he said.

When the speech finished, without surprises, everyone got up to mingle and glad-hand. Thule got up as well, leading Svetlana to the front of the tent so that he could hand her off to her husband and stepson with the intention of getting back to the party where all he had to deal with were scheming cheerleaders, rapacious football players, and covert prostitutes.

" Thule ," said Randy, "hang on a minute, will you? I need to talk to you about something."

Thule nodded. Svetlana gave him a guilty look. Randy detached himself from the throng of well-wishers and led Thule out of the tent.

Thule said, "Did I mishear or is your fiancée also named Vandevoort."

Randy nodded, "Second cousin, once removed. There are a lot of us. But, listen, that's not what I want to talk about. It's about my stepmother."

Thule couldn't find his voice to ask, "What about her?" Fortunately, Randy went on.

"She's made it pretty clear that she's going to slip away and head over to my house as soon as she can," said Randy. "She's been hanging out a lot over there. And, she talked like she was going to before the party started."

Thule said, "Okay."

"This is hard for me to say," said Randy.

Thule looked shocked, "Don't tell me there's something going on between you two?"

"No no no no no," said Randy, "Not like that. I mean, I know we're much closer in age than her and Ivan, but it's not like that. Not at all. We're just friends. That would be too weird. No," he shook his head, "It's just that the party might get a little wild and Sveta used to be a bit of a party girl back in the old country...not a slut or anything, just kind of wild. And I think that she's starting to miss it."

Thule waited for Randy to finish, not sure where he was going with this line of reasoning. Finally, Randy said, "If Sveta does come over, will you keep an eye on her, please? I don't want her doing something stupid with one of the guys. It would be really bad for Ivan."

Thule nodded, not bothering to hide his sigh of relief, "Sure, buddy," he said, "I can do that."

"Great," said Randy. "And, Postal. Your fly is open."

-=-

By the time they got back to the west house, the tenor of the party had definitely changed. Several couples were sitting on the various couches making out. One of the ringers was sitting on the edge of the pool table, being kissed by one of the football players while two others looked on hungrily. But, most of the girls now on display were locals. A lot of clothes had come off. One of the freshman cheerleaders swayed to the music, bare from the waist up.

"Christ," said Thule . "This is going to turn into an orgy any freaking minute."

"No," said Randy, grinning, "My boys know the drill. You want to fuck, you go upstairs. This room, the den, and the downstairs bedrooms are off limits." Even as he spoke, a cheerleader led a football player and a Vandevoort cousin upstairs.

"The cheerleaders seem a little out of control tonight," observed Thule .

"Yeah," said Randy, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "I was thinking about what you said about Brianne only holding the flow of quality pussy by tradition and not having any real power. So, I decided to show her just how easy it would be to take that power away from her. If you can deal with Ian, she's all yours, man. Consider it a signing bonus."

Thule looked around the room, "Where is she? I don't see her."

Randy shrugged, "I don't know. But, don't worry, man. Everybody knows that she's off-limits...to anyone but you, anyway."

"Thanks," said Thule , not sure if he really meant it.

"Don't mention it," said Randy, "Now, if you'll excuse me." He went over and started dancing with the topless cheerleader in front of the stereo. By the look of her, she was about fifteen. Looking at Randy, her eyes were full of hero worship and something else, probably of the chemical variety.

Thule winced inwardly, but knew he'd never be able to save everybody. He went looking for Brianne and found her coming out of one of the downstairs bedrooms. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading, " Thule ," she said, "I can't find Ian. And, I think someone slipped my girls something or...put something in the beer. They're all acting like total sluts."

The chemical gleam was in Brianne's eye, too. Beyond that, she looked so fragile and vulnerable that Thule 's heart went out to her for a moment. Then, remembering what he'd seen in the locker room this afternoon, he steeled himself and asked, "What about June? Isn't she helping you ride herd on them?"

"No," said Brianne, waving the question off absentmindedly. "She's sick today. I'm really more worried about Ian."

With that brief gesture, Thule knew that Brianne had written off the girl who was supposed to be her best friend, thrown her to the wolves. Brianne had been in Avery Jefferson Hall earlier today, had known June was going to the locker room to set up Dawn, had known she didn't come back when she should have. But to her, it was already ancient history.

Thule decided to make his move, "I'm sorry, Brianne. I shouldn't say anything, but I saw him going upstairs with one of the new girls."

"That son of a bitch," she said angrily and started to march away.

Thule caught her arm. With one last glance to make sure that they were alone, he said, "You don't need Ian."

Brianne opened her mouth to reply. Thule swooped in with a kiss. He'd meant to keep it somewhat perfunctory, but Svetlana had gotten him too worked up. After a moment of surprise, Brianne returned the kiss, as fierce as Thule had been.

Thule slammed her back into a wall, harder than was strictly necessary. His hands went around her waist, lifting her off her feet as the kiss continued. Brianne wrapped her arms around his neck, running one hand over his head.

Thule meant to keep Brianne pinned so that she couldn't do much more than kiss him. That worked until she bit his neck, just hard enough to make him drop her.

When he did, her hands went straight to his waist, undoing his belt. Thule was surprised enough that she already had his pants down before he could react. Thule buried one hand in her hair, keeping her from going any further. Leveraging her to her feet, he kissed her again.

Thule had been taken off guard twice now within a short period of time. Of course, Svetlana had been trying to ruin her marriage.

He wanted to smack himself on the forehead. All the sex was starting to go to his head. Brianne wasn't responding to him any more than Svetlana had been. She was just looking for some revenge on Ian. Thule should have realized that and never made his move. He wasn't thinking straight.

He would have to backtrack, insult Brianne, and make it up later. He didn't want to. But, he wanted to break his promise to Marigold even less. Looking Brianne in the eye, he said, "You don't need Ian. You don't need a boyfriend. A girl like you, all you need is a good fuck."

Brianne didn't break eye contact. Thule braced himself to be slapped or spit on, his hand covering his groin in case she felt the need to be more violent.

Then, she smiled at Thule . He glanced down to see her step out of her panties and start to raise her skirt.

"Do it," she purred. "Show me what kind of girl I am."

Thule cursed internally. For the second time tonight, he considered faking a heart attack or some other ailment. He decided to try another tack first. Letting his hands roam over Brianne's body to keep her distracted, he said, "Of course, Ian will still have some uses."

"Fuck Ian," said Brianne. "What do I need him for?"

"I don't know," said Thule . "Were you planning on going to the prom?"

Brianne's eyes widened. Before she could think, Thule pressed on, "I've got to take her royal highness." He shrugged, "I suppose I could have one of my boys take you."

Brianne caught his wrists, " Thule , nothing personal. But, I've seen your boys..."

Thule wanted to jump for joy. Finally, someone was behaving the way he expected. Instead, he gave Brianne a reluctant smile, "I see your point. You'd better go find him before he embarrasses you more."

"Come with me?" Brianne asked. She looked genuinely scared at the idea of going upstairs unescorted.

"I can't," said Thule coldly. "I promised Randy I would do something."

"I can't go upstairs alone," said Brianne "It's not safe."

Thule wanted to laugh. It was too ironic. Instead, he said, "Anybody tries to lay a finger on you or even looks at you funny, you come down and tell me. If you can't, you tell them Thule will kill them if they so much as lay a finger on you. No one will start with me any more than they would start with Randy now."

"Thank you," said Brianne, kissing him gratefully on the mouth.

As he walked back up the stairs, Thule wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He was actually starting to feel like a bastard for the way he was playing Brianne. He needed to go outside, get a breath of fresh air, and clear his head.

In the main room, Thule noted that Randy and the young cheerleader were nowhere to be seen. Sveta, however, had arrived and was dancing close with the cafe-au-lait ringer Thule had recognized. A half-dozen pair of hungry eyes tracked them as they moved. The ringer was down to blue jeans and a demi-cup bra. Thule had a feeling he'd better intercede soon or Sveta might well find herself at the bottom of a gangbang. He didn't know how Svetlana would feel about that, but it would really screw up his burgeoning alliance with Randy.

He took one more longing look at the door. Then, he cleared his throat and said loudly, "Sveta."

Sveta broke the kiss she'd just planted on the ringer and looked up. Her eyes were glistening, but she smiled broadly, "Dule, this is Matika."

"Nice to meet you, Matika," said Thule , taking Svetlana by the wrist, "Now, if you'll excuse us." He pulled Svetlana away. The boys watching gave a collective sound of disappointment but, knowing their place, did not try to stop him.

Thule led her over by the keg.

"Dule," she asked, "are you mad at me?"

Thule , who was dispensing two cups of beer, said, "That was very foolish, Sveta. Too many people saw you."

"So?" she asked. "I was just having a little fun. No one knows who I am."

"I know," said Thule . "And, not knowing who you were, they would have been dragging you upstairs, not that you looked to need much dragging." He handed her a beer, "You're mine tonight. Don't forget that."

Sipping from the beer, she looked slightly shamefaced, but mostly mischievous, "I just wanted to find another girl to play with. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

Thule 's knees almost buckled. He glanced over at Matika, who was making out with one of the Vandevoort cousins. He was so frustrated, he wanted to scream. Instead, he said evenly, "Sveta, you're barely upright."

She kissed him, "You could remedy that by finding some place for us to lie down."

"Sveta," he hissed. "Randy's around here somewhere. Behave yourself. What did you take?"

Svetlana shrugged, "Just some things to make me feel good."

Thule scowled and, taking her by the arm, half-led, half-dragged her down the stairs.

"Ooh," she said, giggling. "Are you going to be rough with me?"

"Probably," said Thule , leading her to a bedroom door. "Now, get in there."

She looked at the door he'd pointed out, "But, that's Randy's room."

Thule looked around for another bedroom, but then changed his mind, "Good," he said, "I'm going to fuck you over the edge of his bed."

Svetlana giggled and kissed him again, "I like the way you think, Thule ."

"Sit down," he said, handing her one of the beers he'd poured. "Have a drink. I'll be right back."

Svetlana sat on Randy's bed and took a deep drink, "Where are you going?"

"Get undressed," he said. "I'm going to go see about finding us a playmate."

Svetlana lay back on the bed, shimmying out of her dress. Her movements were sluggish. Thule hoped the rohypnol he'd slipped in her beer would just knock her out and not do any real damage.

"Get Matika," she said drowsily. "I liked her."

Thule left the room without answering. He'd formulated a plan and it didn't involve the mysterious Matika. He went off looking for Brianne.

He didn't even get up the stairs before he ran into Ian coming down.

"Hey, Ian," said Thule as casually as he could. "Where's Brianne?"

"Dude," said Ian, wrapping an arm around Thule 's shoulders and leading him back down the stairs. "It was awesome. She walked in on me and Randy double-teaming one of her cheerleaders. She screamed, threw shit at me, and ran out the door. I saw her out the window. She's out of here."

"That's pretty funny," said Thule evenly. He handed Ian the cup he'd prepared for Brianne, "Here, have a beer."

"Thanks," said Ian, "fucking cheerleaders is thirsty work." He drained the cup in one swallow.

Thule smiled at him coyly, "Let me know if you get tired of cheerleaders."

"What?" asked Ian, immediately interested, "what do you mean?"

Thule approached him until they were practically touching, "I think you know. I've got this hottie practically passed out back there, but really ready for it."

"Dude," said Ian. "We're not allowed back there."

Thule chuckled, "Randy won't mind. He's probably too busy to even notice." He reached out and traced a line on Ian's chest, "One-time offer. I usually don't do this sort of thing."

Ian's eyes widened, "I don't know," he said unevenly.

Thule knew he had to sell the other boy on the idea. Bracing himself, he reached down and wrapped his hand around Ian's tool, which sprang to life, "Come on," he said, walking off down the hall. He just hoped the Rohypnol kicked in soon or this might get really ugly.

Ian caught Thule in the hallway, pushing him back against the wall, kissing him hard on the mouth. Thule felt himself start to panic. It had never occurred to him that he might get himself raped by one of the football players. Gathering his strength, he pushed Ian away, "Easy, tiger," he said, smiling, "Not here. In there."

Ian staggered into the room. Thule , standing in the doorway, saw that Svetlana still had not succumbed to the effect of the mickey yet. She looked up hungrily, her eyes glazed over. Somehow, she'd actually managed to get out of her clothes. By all rights, she should be completely passed out by now. Ian, twice her size, was already staggering like he was punch drunk. Ian sat down on the bed next to her, rocked unsteadily and fell to one side.

"I'll be right back," said pom15