ONE

Agent Gerald Maytag had no intention of getting laid when the night started. After all, he was not in a hotel room with a nineteen year old girl for his own personal reasons. He was there as a Special Agent of the FBI. But, as was often the case with Maytag and his partner, Special Agent Heather Stanton, one thing led to another.

The first thing was that Maytag forgot to adjust his watch to the Central time zone when they arrived in Chicago from Washington, DC. They were in a rush to meet their contact, and he simply made a mistake. So they arrived at the meeting point far earlier than arranged. That led to his being alone with Nadia in the hotel room for an inordinate amount of time while Stanton waited in a car on the street. Another circumstance was that Nadia, born in the Ukraine, spoke little English. What little she knew came from working in a Prague brothel for the last year. Communication was impossible. Nadia could not understand what Maytag wanted in the room if not her.

Maytag told her that he was there for Ilya. She smiled knowingly and started to unbuckle his belt. Maytag told her to hold it, and that was precisely what she proceeded to do. Desperate, Maytag quickly stepped back and held up an index finger to indicate, "Stop!" Nadia held a fist in the air and unfurled a finger of her own as she smiled, a gesture that mimicked Maytag's and hinted at an erection at the same time.

Maytag pushed his palms out and said, "No, no. Wrong."

Nadia's playful look melted to concern. "Gay?" Nadia asked.

"Gay?" Maytag asked. Every word she used was a surprise, practically to both of them. But that was the winner so far. "No, I'm not gay."

Nadia's impish smile returned. That made her even prettier. The beauty was the last "thing" that led to the final coital "another". Nadia was an absolute Eurobabe. She was thin enough to fit into her imitation rattlesnake skin pants, and curved enough to fill them out in the right places. Her full chest held her short sweater away from her body, revealing a vertical band of smooth skin above her waist band. A seemingly endless stream of blond hair fell from the top of her head to a spot behind her back. She wore glossy lipstick and birthstone earrings, and neither shone as bright as her green eyes. Pretty soon Maytag could not understand what he wanted in the room if not her.

"I hate waiting like this," Maytag had said aloud, meaning waiting for Ilya to show.

"Now?" Nadia asked. She must have understood something about "wait" and "hate".

Maytag turned to look at her, and found that she had pulled off her sweater. He found himself staring at her breasts, each about the size of his fist, curving away gently from her chest, ending in a nipple as pink as her hair was blond.

"Oh, my," Maytag said.

Nadia grinned and made the gesture with her finger again, mimicking Maytag's growing hard-on. One thing had just led to another.

The bed was old and the springs had given out long ago. Not that it mattered too much. Soon enough, all Maytag felt was the wet engulfing warmth of her mouth on his cock and the tickling sensation of her long hair dusting his chest. With a loud slurp, Nadia slid her mouth off Maytag's cock. She rubbed the fat tip, covered with spit, against her cheek and chin. Nadia gripped Maytag's cock by the base, with her palm nestled snug against his cock. She appraised it, and that grin reappeared on her face.

"Happy," she said. With her accent, it sounded more like "hoppy". Either way it meant sense, as Maytag's cock playfully twitched in the air.

"Yeah," Maytag agreed. "He's hoppy."

Nadia rolled over on to her back. Biting her lower lip, she raised her knees and spread her legs slightly. No translation was needed for that.

"He's about to get hoppier," Maytag said. Nadia giggled, not from understanding but from watching the man's cock point out into the air as he moved along the bed.

Maytag brought his face down to Nadia's crotch. His chin brushed against the fine whisps of her pubic hair, and he noticed their color was as light as the strands on her head. Gently, he pushed her thighs apart. The seam of her pussy stood out bright and pink against the pale white of her legs. He took a moment to drink in her scent before enveloping her twat with his mouth. Maytag began to lick slowly, but before long he had a solid hold on each of her buttocks, and his tongue delved eagerly among the soft folds of her labia and the rigid nub of her clitoris. With that two handed grip on her cheeks, he lapped at her pudenda like it was some fruit of paradise delivered to a man starved.

Nadia began to moan, and Maytag flicked at her clitoris in a frenzied manner. She clenched his hair and bucked her quim at his face. She arched her back in a spastic display of orgasm and uttered some Slavic words that Maytag assumed were complimentary. It may not have been genuine, but if it was an act, Nadia was a true credit to her profession.

As he slid his pelvis up to meet Nadia's blond bush, Maytag said, "I want some of that." It might have been his cock speaking for him.

Maytag pressed the swollen head of his cock against the glistening coral of her cunt lips. With one thrust of the hips he sank in to her slippery shaft until his balls slapped against her ass.

Nadia was an active partner. She thrust her hips back at Maytag and placed a hand on the small of his back to guide him. Maytag rested his weight on his fists, arms straight out, to allow Nadia to squirm underneath him.

Hovering above her like that, Maytag looked down at her face. The blonde hair seemed to radiate away from her now. She was somewhat in the shadow cast by his body, but the earrings and her eyes still managed to scintillate available light. Her cunt was hot and slippery. The muscles in his arm tired.

His climax approached. Nadia wrapped her legs around his ass and forced her pussy upon him. She held on and fucked him from below. Her weight and motion added to the strain on his arms, and they began to shake from the effort. Maytag came in a quick tremor, and collapsed on top Nadia in a spasming heap.

"Oh, fuck," Maytag said.

"Yes," Nadia said carefully. "Fuck."

As quickly as the blood drained from Maytag's waning erection, it returned to his brain. Maytag dressed swiftly. He realized that Ilya might arrive any second. He sipped, buttoned, and fastened. Then he slipped into his shoes. Maytag relaxed again, knowing he was prepared for Ilya's entrance. That was when the gunfire erupted.

Training took over Maytag's motor system. He had his 10mm in hand and his back to the wall beside the door before Nadia knew enough to start gibbering in Ukranian. Maytag listened for more shots, but heard none.

"At least two," he muttered to himself. There had been at least two distinct sources of gunfire. One close, most likely in the hall outside. The second from further away. A set of stairs took up part of the hall on each floor of the fleabag hotel. The other shots might have come from the floor below. In any case, they were rapid.

The hall was quiet. There was no shouting, no running footsteps. With a quick turn of his wrist, Maytag opened the door. Nothing. Maytag darted across to the other side of the door, weapon extended. He took in as much of the hall as he could in that quick motion, but saw no one. Maytag licked his lips and swallowed. He saw Nadia crouched down in the corner, staring at his gun. Maytag lifted one palm in an attempt to calm her, and then brought the hand back to his 10mm.

Semi-automatic clasped with two hands, Maytag twirled, and went through the door in a genuflecting motion. His arms and head swept through 180 degrees. His legs uncoiled and propelled him to the corner of the hall. Maytag had a full view now, and still saw no one. Residual smells of gunfire peppered the air. Maytag advanced toward the stairs, weapon extended. When he reached the top of the stairs, he looked down and saw the barrel of another gun.

"Maytag!" Stanton shouted. Quickly, both agents had their weapons raised to shoulder level. "Boy, am I glad to see you."

"Likewise," Maytag replied. "What the hell happened?"

"Our guy showed up, alone, and went inside. Soon after that I heard gunfire. I called 9-1-1, and headed in to make sure you were OK."

"What about Ilya?" Maytag asked.

"As I was getting out of the car, I saw him come through the hotel and run down the street. I rushed inside and some tart almost knocked me over in a rush to head out. The shots must have spooked her. Ilya wanted to talk to us, right? Simple exchange of information. So what happened here?"

"I heard shots in the hall, and came out of the room to investigate. I saw no one. I'm guessing Ilya was involved, but I could swear I heard more than one gun."

"Did you see anyone else here? Anyone waiting downstairs when you came in?"

"I don't know. But that tart that ran into you might have been the other shooter," Maytag said.

Stanton bit her lip. "Umm. Brunette, short black skirt, make-up. She wasn't in the room with you and ran out after the gunshots?"

Maytag had forgotten about the wire they had rigged up as a precaution. "No, blonde." Definitely blonde, he thought. Embarrassed, Maytag asked "So what exactly did you hear?"

"Not much, and it wasn't in English," Stanton replied. "I was hoping you could tell me what was going on. And what the hell does 'hoppy' mean?"

TWO

The Chicago police department is old enough to have a forensics department whose facility look more like the stained wood appointed offices of a University English department rather than the steel and concrete surroundings of a Physics lab. But the equipment looked the same as any number of other such departments: microscopes, fume hoods, and computers. Lots of computers stood on desktops, or off in corners, connected to equipment, or to other computers.

Maytag and Stanton were speaking with a ballistics expert. He was in his late thirties or early forties, a wiry guy, with hair that was both graying and thinning. He spoke excitedly. "OK, so we recovered shells, all 9mm. Two different kinds, supporting Agent Maytag's belief that there was more than one shooter. We pulled five slugs from the wall at the foot of the stairs, and analyzed them. So far, it would seem like just another shooting, nothing special about a 9mm semi-automatic. But it got a little more interesting. Very interesting."

"How's that?" Maytag asked.

"Some of the shells are Winchester Rangers, nothing special there. The others? Wolf, from the Tula Arsenal in Russia."

"Our guy is Russian," Stanton said.

"Yes, and it's possible that he gets that ammunition here if he likes it. I made some calls. There are dealers in Illinois who stock it. But from the slugs, I started checking for weapons matches and I came up with a Makarov 9mm."

"OK, so he really likes his ethnic cooking," Maytag said.

"Sure. Until I ran it through NIBIN," replied the smiling expert. That got their attention. NIBIN, the National Integrated Ballistic Information Network, combined records from the FBI, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, and hundreds of law enforcement agencies across the United States. It acted as a library of gun 'fingerprints'.

"You got a cold hit?" Stanton asked.

"Yes, I did. And you'll never guess from where."

"I'll bet it was from our guy," Stanton said.

"You'd lose," said the expert. "Quantico."

"What?" Maytag asked. "You mean they had it on record at Quantico?"

"No," the expert said, with a wide grin. "I mean the gun was previously fired at Quantico. There's a date on the file, and a note about a demonstration. Looks like the shooter is a friend of yours."

Maytag and Stanton shared a puzzled look. "Like I said," the expert added. "Very interesting."

Interesting enough for Maytag and Stanton to pull out their mobile phones and place a couple of calls. They each had their own favorite contacts within the bureaucracy of the FBI's headquarters, and they each started inquiries at the Puzzle Palace to find out the same thing: who fired that gun at the Quantico FBI training grounds, and why?

The two agents also had a standing bet for these informational races. After Stanton's phone rang at lunch, Maytag fished out a twenty dollar bill from his pocket even before she started taking notes.

"What do you have?" Maytag asked when Stanton ended the phone call.

"The gun belongs to Valerie Patrikov, Russian national. The Bureau held some sort of seminar with the Russian National Police force, and they demonstrated the ballistics lab at Quantico, inviting the Russian police to take part with their own weapons. Apparently, Valerie Patrikov was participating, and the lab kept her records on file."

Maytag's phone rang.

"So close," Stanton said teasingly, alluding to their bet. "Maybe next time."

"Maytag," he said dejectedly.

"Gerry?" asked the voice on the phone. The speaker's accent made the name sound like "Zherry".

Maytag abruptly sat up straight in his chair. "Ilya! What's going on? What the hell happened yesterday?"

Stanton stopped eating and watched her partner closely.

"There was unexpected man at hotel," Ilya said with a thick accent.

"I know. And an unexpected woman, too."

"Woman?" Ilya asked.

"Valerie Patrikov," Maytag said. "Getting in a shooting match with Russian police in Chicago isn't such a hot idea, Ilya." There was laughter on the other side of the phone. "What's so funny?" Maytag asked.

"Valerii is name of man," Ilya said.

"Oh."

More laughter spilled into Maytag's ear. "You no watch hockey, Zherry?"

"Not really," Maytag answered. "That's beside the point. Seems you're in trouble with the Russians, Ilya."

Ilya cleared his throat. "I have confession," he said. "I am Valerii Patrikov."

"What?" Maytag asked.

"We must meet," Ilya said. "I explain everything."

"When?"

"Today. You give address, OK?"

"Not OK," Maytag said. "Explain some things first. What was the shooting about?"

"I am here to track criminals. They bring women from overseas, sometimes against their will."

"Like Nadia?" Maytag asked.

"Nadia is with me," he answered. "She is not against her will. She is very willful, no?"

Maytag ignored the comment. "Is that why we were meeting? Did you want help?"

"Yes. Information. Help. Maybe you can arrest bad guy. Justice here not so easy to buy."

Stanton watched with interest, listening to half the conversation.

"Russian was waiting for me," explained Valerii. "We shot guns. I chase."

"You chased the gunmen?" Maytag repeated, to which Stanton raised a finger.

"I saw him run out of the hotel," Stanton said. "He was the only one to flee. He wasn't chasing anyone."

"When you left the building," Maytag said, "You weren't chasing anyone." Let him chew on that thought for a moment, Maytag thought. He doesn't know I have a partner.

"He takes back way. How do you say...ollie?"

"Alley?" Maytag prompted him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?" Maytag asked.

"I don't know. Hired gun. Criminal is Pavel Smerov."

"Do you know where he is?" Maytag asked.

"No. Nadia does. I call her, yes?"

"We'll call her together," Maytag said. Then he told the man on the phone their hotel and the names to ask for at the desk. "When will you get there?"

"Today. I must be careful. Pavel finds me one time, maybe he finds me again."

Maytag and Stanton finished their meal, paid the bill, then left to meet the man they used to call Ilya. Outside, two people sat in another car, watching the agents step into their sedan. The driver of the other car put out a cigarette and gripped the wheel as Stanton put the car in reverse and began to leave.

"Terpenie," said the passenger. He spoke Russian. The word was 'patience' and it was met with an uneasy sigh from the driver.

"Don't fret, Nadezhda Ivanovna," he continued in Russian. "You are an excellent driver. We shall catch up to them shortly."

"And you are an excellent shot, Valerii Gregorovich," she answered him. "But you missed him the last time. So you'll pardon me for worrying."

"Stop worrying and start driving," the passenger said. "They will lead us right to him. So how does it feel going up against FBI Agents?"

Nadezhda piloted the vehicle away form the curb. "Ask me after we have won," she said.

THREE

"We're being followed," Stanton said.

"Are you sure?" her partner asked.

"Not totally."

"Do you want to dump them, Stanton?"

"No," she answered uncertainly. "I'm kinda curious to see who this is." They drove on in silence for a while. They were headed north to the hotel. "Two cars back now," Stanton said as they stopped at a light.

Maytag looked at his partner. He wanted to put down the visor and check the possible tail in the mirror. But that might have tipped off their shadow that they had been made. Instead he trusted his partner.

The light turned green and Stanton moved through the intersection. "The car turned," she announced. "Guess it was nothing."

"Maybe they're using more than one."

"No, I only spotted one. There were no handoffs."

Maytag shrugged his shoulders. "Nice work, though. Good to be careful."

Within a mile they made the turn for the hotel. Stanton nosed the car into the parking ramp entrance. As they waited to get the ticket from the machine, Stanton exclaimed "Shit! That was the same car!"

"What car?"

"That tail. It just went down the street. They must have gone parallel to us back when they turned." That indicated some skill, especially if there was only one person in the car.

"What do you want to do? Maytag asked.

"We'll go in the hotel," Stanton answered. "You wait for the call, I'll go down to the street to see if our friend is still in the neighborhood."

"Fine. I want to call the Russian Consulate and check up on our friend Patrikov."

*

"What now, Nadezhda?" asked the passenger.

In response, the driver pulled the car to the curb in front of a hydrant. "That was a hotel parking lot," she said. "I will wait inside. You stay with the car."

"What do you intend to do?" he asked.

"The first time, this FBI man was distracted by the whore. Perhaps I can repeat the feat."

"There are two of them, you know."

"Of course I know that. That is the only reason I said 'perhaps'."

Nadezhda darted to the hotel. She ducked into the revolving door. The lobby was grander than the other Chicago hotels she had seen. A passing man in a suit gave her an approving appraisal, and she smiled at him in turn. Then she took a seat in a plush sofa facing the door. Within a few minutes, her targets entered the lobby.

Nadezhda was relieved when the dark haired woman said a few words to her companion and then returned outside. That gave her a chance. She stood and approached the man in his blue suit, overcoat, and short brown hair. "Excuse me," she said in carefully formed English. "I am friend of Nadia. I am supposed to meet someone here."

Maytag heard the accent that was becoming familiar to him: the way the r rolled off the tongue, the flatness in the vowels. She was older than Nadia, to be sure, and dressed to match. The shoes, the hose, her jacket, were all more sophisticated than the juvenile clothes Nadia had worn. Her dark hair was also in contrast. "Did Valerii send you?" Maytag asked her.

"Who?" she asked, surprised.

"Ilya?" Maytag probed.

"Oh, yes," she replied. "He uses many names, this one."

"Yes he does," Maytag agreed. "My name is Gerry."

"A pleasure," she said, turning the word to plehzher, which certainly sounded like she enjoyed it. "I am Nadezhda." Aloud, her name had the same velveteen quality that she gave to the word pleasure.

"We should talk," Maytag said. "Come with me."

*

Stanton pulled a pair of sunglasses from her bag as she exited the hotel. She put them on, and started walking down the street, looking for the car that had followed them back to the hotel. Holding her head still, she did her best to look out the corner of her eyes in her scan of the street. It took a little while. She went around one entire city block before she found the car parked at the end of the block, with a man behind the wheel. Stanton moved across the street and walked up the stairs to the elevated train platform.

Inside the car, the man behind the wheel cursed. He scribbled a quick note for Nadezhda, then alighted and made his way to the stairs. The man bounded up the stairs. He bumped against the turnstile which refused to yield to him without paid fare.

"Ebat kopat," he cursed again. He was sure he missed her now. He hurried to the cashier, paid his fare and made his way to the platform. Carefully, he moved down the platform, checking both sides for the brunette woman. He could not find her. Then he realized what had just happened.

"Styerva," he muttered. The scoundrel bitch had dumped him. She maneuvered him up the stairs, then back tracked to lose him. He felt the fool. Dejected, he made his way down the stairs, and back to his car. He slumped in his seat and sighed. He almost jumped out of it again when the door flew open.

"Looking for me," Stanton said. Her 10mm was out and trained on the man's chest.

"I should have known," he said calmly in excellent English. "Who takes a train when they have a car in this country?"

"Get out," Stanton ordered. "Hands first." She backed away to leave him room. The man did as ordered. "Now close the door, and put your hands on top of the car."

"Have I done something wrong," he said.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Stanton replied.

She patted him down and felt a bulge at his waist. Quickly, Stanton reached under the man's coat and removed the gun from his hip holster. "I hope you have a permit for this, or I just found something wrong." Stanton pocketed the weapon. She continued the quick frisk.

"You are making a mistake," he said. "I can explain. If you will just allow me to show identification."

"Don't move," Stanton ordered. "Where's the ID?"

"In my pants."

"Then take them off and hand them to me," she said.

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. Give me your pants."

"Please. This city is not Moskva, but it is still not the warmest of towns."

"Give me your pants!"

"If you insist," he said. From the lined face, Stanton would have guessed the man in his late thirties or early forties. When he took off his pants, she was surprised to see that his legs looked muscular. She was also surprised to see he wore briefs. And quite brief they were.

"I can see why you might be cold," she said. "I'll be right back."

"You plan to leave me here like this?" said the man, incredulous.

"You're right," she said, throwing him her handcuffs. "Get in the car and cuff yourself to the steering wheel." Stanton watched as he did just that, and then she walked back to the hotel.

*

In Maytag's hotel room, Nadezhda took a seat by the window. She lit a cigarette and only afterward started looking for an ashtray. There was none. "How uncivilized," she said.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Maytag said. "Just use one of these." He handed her one of the glass tumblers from the hotel courtesy tray. "What can you tell me about Ilya?"

"Why do you want to talk about Ilya?" Nadezhda had already taken off her jacket. Now she crossed her legs in front of her. Her short black skirt rode up her thigh. She tossed her brunette hair over her shoulder and stared at him with large dark eyes.

"He has information I need," Maytag said.

"Nadia tells me you are more interested in her."

"Nadia is mistaken."

"Mistaken because she is not interesting?" Nadezhda asked, taking a long drag on her cigarette.

"Nadia doesn't even speak English," Maytag replied.

"I speak English," Nadezhda said. "Does that make me interesting?" She crossed her legs the other way, and the skirt managed to move farther up her leg. The newly uncovered portion of her hose looked darker, as if they were stocking tops, as if she was wearing a garter. Maytag said nothing, and it was at that point that Nadezhda knew she had him. "Is that bar?" she asked, gesturing with her cigarette towards a cabinet on the other end of the room.

"Yes," Maytag said. "Would you like something?"

"Is there wodka?"

Maytag walked over to the cabinet. He ripped the cellophane seal from the handles of the double doors, and then opened it. He pulled out the miniature bottle of vodka, and held it up to show her.

Nadezhda laughed. "We have tradition in Russia. Once bottle is open, you must finish. This one looks easy."

"Would you like ice?" Maytag asked her.

"Yes, please."

As Maytag fixed the drink he asked her, "Where is Ilya?"

"I don't know," she answered.

"How did you know to come here?" he handed her he drink, and sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. Now she had two glasses, one for ashes that grew in time, and one with vodka that would disappear.

"Nadia," she said. "She said you could protect me. I expect her soon. Maybe we three together could have easy time finishing small wodka bottles." She took a sip of her drink.

"What would Ilya say about that?"

"He likes it more when we charge money. Is he coming here?" she asked.

"Soon," Maytag said.

"Then we have little time," Nadezhda replied, sipping her drink. She put out her cigarette.

"Time for what?" Maytag asked.

Nadezhda rose from her seat and crossed the short distance to the bed. "Time for this," she said, before pressing her mouth against his.

Her lips were cool from the ice but tasted smoky from her cigarette. It was a strange sensation, made stranger by the hint of the soft warm tip of her tongue. When there lips parted, Maytag found himself looking into her dark eyes to avoid staring down the front of her blouse. Either way he was doomed. Meekly, he tried to stop the affair. "I don't think this is a good idea, Nadezhda" he said.

"Why?" Nadezhda asked. "Am I not interesting yet?" Somehow she had a hold of his hands and she placed them on the back of her legs. She guided his hands along her thighs, and he felt the grainy hose give way to smooth bare skin, which gave way to slippery panties stretched over a round ass. They kissed again. Maytag leaned back until his shoulders touched the bed.

Nadezhda straddled him. She broke their embrace and nuzzled her nose against his neck. He felt her breath against his skin, and then her tongue against his ear. "Get your legs on the bed," she told him.

Maytag swung his legs onto the bed, and moved his head to the pillows. Nadezhda slid down until her face was at his waist. She pulled his shirttails out of his pants, and unbuckled his pants. She pulled them off and made no comment about his handgun. She let the trousers fall gently to the ground. Then moved so that her crotch covered Maytag's face.

Maytag caught only the barest scent of her slit, and stared at the smooth insides of her thighs. He wanted to lick at her, and craned his neck to do so.

"Eager," Nadezhda said. "I like."

She pinned his hands to the headrest and pushed her twat against his mouth, ribbing herself along his chin. Maytag mumbled enthusiasm.

"Very eager," Nadezhda said. "It makes this difficult." Maytag did not exactly hear that, as Nadezhda's thighs muffled his ears. But he didn't need to hear the clicking noise to know it came from handcuffs. He could feel them on his wrists.

Maytag tried to move but it was too late. Nadezhda was off of him in a quick movement, and he was bound to the bed.

"Sorry, Zherry," she said. "But I must do this."

"My guh--" Maytag stammered before catching himself. Suddenly we was very nervous. His cock receded faster than it had been growing.

He hadn't finished the words, but Nadezhda knew what he meant to say. "Silly boy," she said. "I have my own." She produced a pistol from her jacket. She did pick up his pants, though. "I will take this, though. And I have work to do."

FOUR

As Stanton returned to the hotel, a slightly different version of the previous day's events unfurled. The day before, outside a dilapidated hotel, Stanton heard shots, then saw a man run out of the hotel followed by a woman. This time, outside an impeccable Chicago hotel, as Stanton approached she saw the same man walking into the hotel. She took a few quick steps to catch up to her target. Stanton entered the lobby and now saw the same woman advancing toward the man. It was if the sequence had been run in reverse.

"Smerov!" the woman called. The man turned to face Stanton and the brunette produced a handgun from somewhere. It seemed the sequence might play forward again. This time, however, Stanton was not caught off guard. She dropped the trousers she had been carrying and drew her own weapon.

A bystander noticed the guns and shouted. The Russian man certainly saw and tried to run out of the hotel, but Stanton stood in his way. He found himself between two pistol wielding brunettes.

"FBI!" Stanton called "Get down!"

The other woman yelled something in Russian.

"I--" the man stammered.

"Get down!" Stanton yelled. He dropped to his knees. She turned her attention to the other woman. "Now you! Put the weapon down!"

"You put your gun down," Nadezhda said plainly.

Stanton calmly announced, "I am Special Agent Heather Stanton of the FBI. This man is an operative of the Russian Government. Put your weapon down now."

"Russian operative?" Nadezhda repeated, puzzled. "This man is Russian criminal."

It was Stanton's turn to be confused. It was worse when the man on the ground started shouting "She is lying! Stop her! Shoot her!"

Stanton looked at the woman. "This man is Valerii Patrikov, a Russian policeman."

"This man is Pavel Smerov, criminal. He smuggles women illegally to work as prostitutes. I am Nadezhda Skaya of MVD. Valerii Patrikov is my partner and he is waiting in car outside. We are here to arrest fugitive."

"Oh, shit," Stanton said under her breath. "Prove it. Put down the weapon and show me ID." She decided not to ask this Russian to take off her pants this time. Besides, she was wearing a dress.

"You won't let him go?" Nadezhda asked.

"It's all a trick!" the man shouted.

"Lie face down and keep quiet," Stanton said. She faced the desk, "Someone call the police!"

"We did," called a voice from behind the desk. Stanton hadn't noticed, but everyone in the lobby had fallen to the floor long before.

Nadezhda put her pistol on the floor. "Kick it away," Stanton ordered. "Do you carry handcuffs?" she asked.

"Yes," Nadezhda answered. Then she remembered where they were. "But not now."

"Damn!" Stanton said. Her cuffs were also occupied elsewhere.

"This is big misunderstanding." the man said.

"Shut up!" Stanton and Nadezhda both said at the same time.

"We have restraints back in the office," a voice said from behind the desk.

"OK, listen! This is Agent Stanton of the FBI speaking. Things here are under control. Just come out with the restraint and you can go back to behind the desk." A moment later, a plastic restraining device came flying from behind the counter. "Or you can do that," Stanton mumbled. "Thank you!" she called audibly.

"Cuff him," Stanton instructed Nadezhda. The Russian tied the man's hands together, digging her knee into his back for good measure. Then she disarmed him. sliding that gun away to meet the other.

"Now let's see that ID," Stanton prompted her.

Nadezhda handed her a laminated card. It had a gold, two headed eagle under a crown with a tricolor shield, a picture of the woman, and an explosion of Cyrillic letters that were all meaningless to Stanton. It didn't matter if she couldn't read it, she was beginning to believe the Russian woman.

Stanton tilted her head behind to her right. "Now pick up those pants behind me and show me the ID stuck in there somewhere." Stanton heard sirens.

Nadezhda retrieved the ID, and recognition hit her instantly. "This pants are from Valerii!"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Stanton said. "He's OK, I promise you. Now show me his ID."

It looked just like Nadezhda's except for the picture. Stanton holstered her weapon, and pulled her FBI shield for when the Chicago PD arrived.

They busted through the door like gung-ho marines, not a care in the world. Stanton hoped they wore bullet proof vests if they acted so cavalier. She showed her bona fides, explained who the man and woman were, and told them to put the man under arrest. Then she headed to the door to make up for an earlier mistake.

"Wait! What do we arrest him for?" someone asked.

"Criminal possession," Stanton said. "That'll be enough for us to start extradition proceedings." She nodded to Nadezhda and headed out. Stanton didn't notice the pair of pants that Nadezhda retrieved from the ground. But she did wonder why she was not in more of a panic to find her partner.

The two were, of course, related. Nadezhda had her own mistaken captive to worry about.

FIVE

The sky was darkening. Stanton hurried to the car, weaving through squad cars and curious pedestrians. Somehow in the street scene, it seemed no one noticed the man with no pants handcuffed to his steering wheel. Stanton fished out the keys from the trousers she carried and unlocked the passenger door. Valerii looked relieved.

"Sorry about that," Stanton said. "You're Valerii Patrikov."

"I was trying to tell you that," he said.

"We caught Smerov," Stanton said. She pushed the keys in the ignition and started the motor. I was dark in the car, but she managed to open the floor vents and turned the heat on full without turning on the headlights.

"Who is we?"

"Nadezhda and I," Stanton said. "We almost shot each other."

"Is she hurt?" asked Valerii urgently.

"No, she's fine. It was just tense there for a while."

"Yes. I saw the police and though the worst. Where is Nadezhda?"

"Actually, I don't know. As soon as I found out who you really were I couldn't wait to get back to apologize and let you out."

"So why aren't you letting me out?"

Stanton looked over at him and smiled. "Well now the emergency is over, and you just look cute."

"Wonderful," Valerii said dejectedly.

"So you were at Quantico," Stanton said.

"Yes. My English is quite good, so I was a natural candidate for visiting your FBI training ground. I found it fascinating."

"And this trip was just to get Smerov?" Stanton asked.

"He deals in women, Agent...What is your name?"

"Stanton. Heather Stanton."

"He fools these women Agent Stanton, holds their passport, forces them to sell themselves. Very ugly business."

"Well, we got him. You should have no trouble extraditing him."

"Why were you protecting him?" Valerii asked.

"We weren't," Stanton answered. "He said he had information for us. He probably wanted us to remove competition. After the shooting he claimed to be you. I guess he was just buying time."

"It almost worked. We chased each other."

"Yes, sorry about that."

"Is taking a man's pants standard FBI procedure?" Valerii asked.

"Just seemed like a good idea at the time," Stanton smiled. "By the way are you getting warmer?"

"My legs are still a little cold, but yes, thank you."

Stanton leaned over to rub his legs. "There, how's that?"

"That's kind of you, but I would rather you just uncuff me and give me my pants."

"No fun in that," Stanton said. She moved her arm to rub his other leg when it brushed against his briefs. That's when she noticed his hard-on. It must have been too dark to see it, which was amazing to Stanton as the organ was just about ready to spring out of his tight shorts. "Oh, my," she remarked uncontrollably.

"It's the heat," Valerii said. "The sudden return of blood to my extremities. Please excuse me."

Stanton brought her hand back to his crotch and squeezed. "That's some extremity there, Valerii. I'll never doubt that's a man's name again."

"Please, Agent Stanton. You must not tease me."

"Who said anything about teasing," Stanton said with a smile. "Besides, how are you going to stop me? You're handcuffed."

"Please, Agent Stanton, don't!" Stanton had worked her hand into his tight briefs and pulled out his cock. She gave it a quick stroke. Valerii pleaded again for her to stop, but Stanton just smiled and ignored him.

Somewhere between Stanton's first stroke and the time she started using both hands, Valerii stopped pleading for her to stop. Instead he began to think how much warmer her mouth might be, or her other parts.

"Something wrong, Valerii?" Stanton asked. "You stopped telling me to stop."

"I was just wondering..."

"Yes?"

"As long as you're not stopping, maybe you'd like to, you know..."

"Oh, Valerii, I thought you'd never ask!" Stanton ducked her head under his arm. Her face was wedged between the steering wheel and his stiff prick. Stanton needed a little more room. She reached around the chair for the release. She found it.

"Slide back!" she called.

He did, and she devoured his cock. Valerii's arms were fully extended in front of him, linked to the steering wheel. Stanton's head bobbed up and down between the weary limbs as she worked on his cock. Her mouth was warm and wet, and she sucked hard on him with every upstroke. Fingers worked his balls and a thumb rubbed his urethra at the base of his cock.

"You're so good," he said.

Stanton worked faster, as if spurred on the compliment. It was all a little too much for Valerii.

"I'm going to come," he warned her.

Stanton just moaned appreciatively and slapped his thigh, as if to say, "let it rip, big boy."

Which he did. He filled her mouth with warm slippery jism, and Stanton could not hold all of it in her mouth. Three salvos splashed inside her cheeks, and she kept sucking him off the whole time. Valerii's arms strained so much against his bonds that she thought he might hurt himself or the steering wheel.

The waves of his orgasm subsided, though, and Stanton concentrated on not drowning. She took a swallow, maneuvered her head out from under his arms, and wiped off her chin.

"Thank you," Valerii said. "Thank you so much."

Stanton smiled. "All that gratitude," she said. "And I haven't even uncuffed you yet."

SIX

Maytag heard footsteps and froze. He had been trying to move his body to give his feet a shot at knocking the phone to him. He planned to use his nose to dial the operator.

Nadezhda walked into the room and giggled. "Sorry, Zherry," she said. "I don't mean to laugh. But you look silly. I used your room key. Do you mind?"

"What's going on?" Maytag asked.

"Do not worry. Stanton and I capture criminal."

"Stanton? Is she OK? What criminal? What the hell is going on here?"

"Your partner Stanton is good police woman. Pretty, too. We catch Smerov together. He pretend to be my partner. Very confusing."

Maytag was still confused. Nadezhda kept talking. "I am so sorry for locking you up like that. Can you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? Sure. Just let me out of these cuffs and we'll talk."

Nadezhda sat on the bed. She looked Maytag over with a wry smile. "But I like you this way. And I do not want to talk." Nadezhda ran her hands over Maytag's chest, then back down his legs. She ran her hands over his cock and balls, and rolled the loose piece of flesh like it was dough on a breadboard.

"What are you doing, Nadezhda?"

"I try to say I am sorry. Please."

"Who are you?" Maytag asked.

"I am Nadezhda Skaya, of Russian Internal Ministry." She said smiling. She kept at his cock as well.

"You're a cop?" Maytag asked

"Yes. Like you."

"I could use some vodka, now," Maytag said.

"Of course," Nadezhda answered. She stood. "Let me get comfortable first." Nadezhda kicked off her shoes. She unzipped her dress, and pushed it down over her hips. Maytag strained his to neck trying to look her over. Slowly, Nadezhda stripped out of her blouse, one button at a time. It seemed to hang onto her shoulders forever before joining her dress on the floor. Maytag grew thirstier.

Dressed now in matching black bra, panties, garter belt and stockings, Nadezhda walked across the room to grab a bottle of vodka from the cabinet. Maytag struggled to hold his head and watch her. He had been duped, handcuffed, and left to worry about his life and his partner's. But he was almost as frustrated now that he couldn't freely watch this lingerie clad woman prance around his room.

Nadezhda returned with a glass of vodka poured over ice.

"You'll have to let me out to drink that," Maytag told her.

"I think no," Nadezhda answered him. She took a mouthful and leaned forward. Her breasts hung pendulously from her chest, threatening to spill out. Leaning over Maytag, she brought her face to his, and opened her lips to let the cool liquor pour into his mouth. It felt cold on his tongue, and warm down his throat. For a chaser to the cocktail, Nadezhda offered a long, wet kiss.

"Maybe I don't need to get out of these," Maytag said.

Nadezhda smiled and kissed him again. She bit his chin, licked his neck, and then worked her way down to his shirt. Mercifully, she unbuttoned his shirt faster than she did her own. Because of the cuffs, though, she could only open it to expose his torso, she could not take it off entirely.

There was no such obstacle for his underwear. They came away easily, and as soon as they were gone she took his cock into her hands, and brought her face down towards the head. She gave it a quick swirl with her tongue, then licked down the side of his shaft.

"That's nice," Maytag said.

Nadezhda reached the root of Maytag's cock and slid her mouth right down to his sac. She rolled one of his nuts around in his mouth while tugging on his meat. His cock stiffened. Nadezhda shifted her mouth to his other ball, then let that fall from her mouth, all the time maintaining a solid grip and steady stroke on his shaft. She licked between his balls, then back up the length of his engorged cock.

"Oh, Nadezhda," Maytag moaned as she engulfed the pulsing head of his tool in her mouth. She pumped the base while sucking at the top. Spit flowed down the side and began to lubricate her motion. The fist began to slip and slide rather than tug and pull.

"Turn around," Maytag said.

Nadezhda lifted her head. Maytag's cock fell against his abdomen with a wet slapping sound. Smiling and kneeling on the bed, she unhooked her bra and moved forward. She leaned in and pushed her tits against his face. Maytag responded by kissing a nipple, sucking on it and biting gently when she pulled away. She moved her body so that he might give the other nipple the same treatment.

Nadezhda unfastened her garters and took off her panties. Then she refastened the garters. Maytag smiled when he saw what she did. He got a close view, too, when she straddled his face.

"Zherry, you have good mouth," Nadezhda said.

Truthfully, his mouth was all he could use with his hands tied behind his head. Maytag swept his tongue over her sex. He slipped his tongue inside her slit. He licked around her clitoris, and when it felt as swollen as a mosquito bite, he took it into his mouth and sucked on it.

Nadezhda reached back and took hold of his cock. Maytag responded by licking faster. His cock felt full, thick and hard. It was heavy in her hand and pulsed. "I want it," Nadezhda said.

"Take it," Maytag answered, pausing momentarily from fluttering against her pussy.

Nadezhda put a hand on the bed and moved back. She lifted her hips, and reached back again to take hold of Maytag's pole. Hovering, she brought herself into position, and pressed the head of his cock against her juicy slit. Nadezhda leaned back and took all of his length into her. She sat down on his prick, taking in every bit until her cheeks hit his thighs and the crack of her ass nestled against his balls.

In that position, Nadezhda just rocked back and forth for a while. Maytag watched her, entranced. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was half open, and her nipples stood straight out from her chest.

She rocked through a greater distance each time, and soon, the rocking of her hips became sliding. She reached down between her legs and rubbed at her pearl. Maytag tried to rock his hips in time with her. Her orgasm was approaching. Her hand moved furiously, and her rocking and sliding grew irregular.

Maytag pushed up at her, trying to make a steady rhythm for her. Nadezhda licked her lips. Her chest heaved. She leaned back. Her hand motion grew irregular and she stopped rocking entirely. When her orgasm came, she made a small crying noise, a series of high pitched "ohs". Her cunt seemed to clamp on Maytag's cock, and he lost control as well. She squeezed an orgasm out of him as well.

Nadezhda kissed him. She kissed him deeply.

"Wonderful," she said.

"Yes it was," Maytag agreed.

Nadezhda got up and went to the bathroom for a towel.

"Are you planning on letting me out now?" Maytag asked, when she returned.

Nadezhda looked at him quizzically. Then she picked up the glass of vodka, still half full. "First we must finish bottle, remember?"

End