index


Message-ID: <43444asstr$1058645402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: juliancoreto@operamail.com (Julian Coreto)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: 19 Jul 2003 08:36:56 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Alan, Chapter 23
Date: Sat, 19 Jul 2003 16:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Author: Julian Coreto
Title: Alan
Part: 23
Summary: Alan and Kate both come home; a nemisis expolres a new
avenue.
Keywords: mc MF

Chapter 23
An easterly wind blows

Lord Thornbow leaned back; the leather desk chair squeaked slightly as
he did so.  Mr. Patel stood to the right of his boss's desk, facing
the visitor, his eyes had a distracted look about them, but his ears
taking in all.

"I might have a way, but," the supplicant began, his accent thick, but
Thornbow cut him off mid-sentence.

"I am wholly uninterested in `mights,' Takuya-san.  Have you, or have
you not?"

The visitor hesitated, and shuddered slightly, either in fear of his
host or his proposed solution, he knew not.  "Hai.  Y-yes." He nodded,
his body language communicating that he was pulling out the last
resort option, an option he would sooner not have to use.  It was not
too late, he mused, though if he continued on this course, the point
of no return was imminent  Mr. Patel excused himself to the small
private office just off that of his Lordship's.  The smaller room was
wired for sound, so he would be able to hear the offer without Takuya
knowing.  His choice was now made.  There was no turning back.

As the Japanese visitor handed over a folder he pleaded with Lord
Thornbow, "In exchange for this you must promise me two things.  I
must regain complete control of my family, and," dropping his voice to
a whisper, "He must die, he must--this I demand."

Thornbow slowly turned the pages in the folder, moistening his the tip
of his index finger as he did so to facilitate the action.  He did not
answer until he had completed the dossier.  As he closed the folder he
deigned to answer.  "Agreed, but you must leave the artifact with me."

Takuya opened his attaché case and removed a small chamois bag with a
drawstring at the top and handed it across the desk to Lord Thornbow,
who opened it and removed a piece of mineral greatly resembling
obsidian, about the size of a child's fist.  Oblong, tapering to the
end to form a blunted point, the dark glass-like substance seemed to
have a luster to it belying its black hue.  Lord Thornbow noted that
it was surprisingly warm to the touch.

"When she has completed the task for me, when delivery is made, I will
return this to you, and not before.  Then he will die. The control of
your family will once again be yours.  I need not say, Takuya-san,
that I am a man of my word."

"No, indeed, Your Lordship, you need not," was the answer the Japanese
visitor gave as he stood and then bowed formally.

Mr. Patel returned and showed the visitor to the door.

* * *

It was a hot day in the concrete jungle that is Manhattan.  Alan
waited on the stoop in the early morning, the contractor due to arrive
at any moment.  A few minutes before nine Wilkins arrived, his
briefcase bulging.  The closing on the house, a medium-sized
single-family brownstone in the West Nineties, just west of Amsterdam
Avenue, had taken place at Wilkins's office the Friday before, and
Jack would be arriving in two days, renting an apartment on a
short-term basis at the Apthorp until the renovation and modifications
were complete.  Alan was glad to see Stan, because he himself did not
have a set of keys with which to allow the workers to enter.

Wilkins pressed Alan about coming into the office one day over the
coming week.  "It's a feeding frenzy!  The amount of money just laying
around is enormous. I've talked to Bernard, and he thinks this
contract could just about equal all of the work the company has ever
done, in pure dollar amounts."  The chaos in Iraq, specifically the
looting of the National Museum and Library had necessitated the U.S.
government to put out a request for bids for contractors to coordinate
the restoration of the collections, including recataloging all of the
recovered items, and a setting up of a system, in conjunction with
Interpol, for tracking the illicit trade in looted artifacts.  "We're
talking low eight figures, Alan.  We need to set up a conference call
with Rome, us, and Neil.  We need Neil back here, or at the very
least, in Rome. We need to hire a lobbyist, someone who knows who has
the juice in Washington, and most importantly we need Jack to get in
on this.  He has the most knowledge."

"Yeah, totally," Alan put in, trying to stanch the lawyer's over
enthusiasm.  "I'll talk to him when he gets in.  Pencil in Thursday or
Friday, but I'll let you know."  He checked his watch, worried about
the parking meter and missing Kate's flight.  "It's a good thing Jack
can travel so soon," he added absently, as he bid a good day to his
attorney, and headed to his car.

Kate's flight was late, so he bought a coffee from a stand in the
Marine Air Terminal at LaGuardia.  She had taken off from a small
airport in Maine, and then transferred to the shuttle in Boston.  When
the flight arrived, only about ten minutes late, Alan watched the
stream of passengers as they came out, but Kate was one of the last
off the plane.
"Am I ever happy to be home," she said wearily as they made their way
to out of the terminal.

At first glance she looked good.  Alan had never really seen her with
a tan, but even her near-religious application of sun block during her
canoe trips in Maine had not prevented Kate's usually porcelain from
bronzing.  She was wearing a halter top tucked into khaki shorts, and
sandals.  Her upper body was toned, real definition to her arms, but
her belt was cinched tight.  Alan could tell she had lost weight, and
she looked over-thin.  They kissed in the terminal, the commuters
averting their eyes to their wet reunion, and he took her duffel bag
and led her to the car.

"What are you doing?" he asked with alarm as she began unbuckling his
belt, leaning over his groin to better see what she was doing.

"You have to ask?" she giggled.

He grasped her by the shoulders and put her back in her seat. "Not
here," he said with a grin. "Patience," he counseled, pulling out of
the lot and steering the car towards the Grand Central Parkway.

The ride back to their hometown was fast due to the lull in heavy
traffic common at midday.  Kate filled him in on the going on of her
summer.

"Well, for a pilot project, it went really well.  We had three groups
of girls, and each group spent a week in the canoes, and then three
days doing life skill building exercises.  This summer we put through
thirty girls in three groups in forty-five days.  Next summer I want
to double that, so I'm going to start drafting grant proposals for
next year right away."

"Isn't it your dad who hands out the grant money?" he asked with a
smirk, not taking his eyes off the road so she couldn't see the
expression on his face.

"Yeah," she admitted, "But don't forget, there's still all the
committees each proposal has to pass, and then the board of
directors."

"Yes, the board of directors.   Your aunts and uncles.  Cousins.  Your
brother Cal.  Your dad's old college roommate."

"It still has to be a good proposal," she sniffed.

"Are you going to do it yourself, or get professional help?"

"I'm thinking that if I can squeeze the money out of the foundation
I'll hire a full- or part-time employee.  Something to talk to my dad
about.  Someone t  handle all of the organizational stuff, and the
proposal writing, and I'll just supervise and participate in the
summer programs."

"Cool.  It's nice to see you getting into something like this."

* * *

Michiko did not understand why the abbot of her monastery wanted to
see her.  A novice, a boy of twelve or thirteen, had interrupted her
in the midst of her morning meditations, not at all a happenstance
occurrence, handing her a small square of rice paper with the message
upon it.  Straightening her robes as she stood, she followed the boy
through the hewn-stone passageways to the central courtyard.  The
novice stopped in place as she crossed the open area to the opposite
side, towards the abbot's office, not following her along.

She scanned the boy's mind as they parted, hoping for a clue as to the
nature of this unusual summons.  She had lived at this holy place near
the northern end of Hokkaido almost half her life, rarely even leaving
its walls.  Now twenty years of age, at first a novice, then a
student, and now a Mistress of the Art, a teacher of others; the last
nine years had been spent honing her skills, deepening her abilities. 
Sadly, however, her sweep through the mind of the young messenger told
her nothing.  It was, of course a breach of protocol for her to even
probe him at all, but he was new, unskilled in the Art, and would know
nothing of her trespass.  She was only slightly worried that the abbot
would learn of her bad manners; he himself had recently told her that
her own skills surpassed his, implying that at his retirement he
planned to push for her to succeed him, to become the abbess.  As she
reached the entrance to the abbot's place she put her worries behind
her, confident she could suppress within her the act she had just
committed from his ken.

The door to the abbot's office stood before her, a door made entirely
of wood, not a nail or any other metal a part of it.  Even the hinges
were of wood.  The ritual upon entering his office was simple.  One
did not knock, but merely pulled the door and entered.  There was a
small stand holding a candle, and the visitor lit the candle, which
illuminated the anteroom.  The anteroom was separated from the main
room by a rice paper screen, and the abbot would know the visitor had
arrived by seeing the light from the opposite side of the screen. 
Michiko did this, and then knelt.  Mere seconds passed before the
abbot bade her to enter.

"Much of what I am about to explain to you, young mistress, will not
seem to make any sense to you, but listen you must nonetheless."

She nodded.

He continued: "From time to time masters and mistresses are required
to do service outside these walls.  Often in the past, young one,
these tasks have been distasteful, perversions of our code.  Service
to the Empire, to the emperor himself, made demands on our order,
demands we would have been happier not to undertake.  Gladly, those
days have passed.

The abbot reached for a small glass of water on the table between
them, and Michiko did likewise.

"I regret to inform you that your services are needed, needed outside
the confines of our monastery."

A loud knock on the outer door interrupted him, startling them both. 
The abbot closed his eyes, frustration and dread upon his face. 
"Enter," he sighed.  The new party opened the door and pulled the
screen open without invitation.  The man who intruded was big,
especially for a Japanese, more than six feet tall.  He wore a black
Western-style suit, a white shirt with solid black necktie, but what
caught her eye the most was the collar.  Not the collar itself, but
what was peeking out from the top of it.  She saw the edge of a lick
of flames, brilliantly inked into the man's skin.

Yakuza.

A gangster.  The last sort of outsider she had ever expected to
contaminate the purity of this place.

"This man," the abbot said, not bothering with proper introductions,
"Will inform you of your task."

The gangster grunted, at which the abbot blanched.

"If you would be so kind," the abbot said to the Yakuza, gesturing to
the door, but the man failed to budge.  His mission orders were
explicit: once in sight of the mistress he was not to leave her side
until she was delivered to Tokyo.

<You must follow him, Mistress Michiko.  The future of our order
depends upon the success of your mission.> the abbot projected.

<Why, Abbot, why?>

<I wish there was more time to explain, young mistress, but this
barbarian arrived sooner than I had expected.  The stone has been
stolen, held for ransom by this man's obuyan.  It will be returned if
you complete the task.  I do not have to tell you what this means for
our order.  Go with him.>

She bowed to her abbot and followed the man out.  In the car to the
airfield she scanned the gangster's mind, finding no information
contained therein the slightest bit helpful.

* * *

When Alan and Kate arrived at her house they found it empty. Conchita,
the family maid, was on a long vacation, Pauline was at her job, as
was her dad.  The question her mom's whereabouts were solved by a note
left on the kitchen table.

"Hi Kate,

Welcome home.  Sorry I'm not here to see you, but Aunt Vicky fell in
her apartment.  We think it's her hip, and I'm at NYU Medical Center
dealing with the doctors.  You can reach me on my cell if you need to.

Love,
Mom"

"Who's Aunt Vicky?" Alan asked, reading the note over her shoulder.

"Not my aunt, my mom's aunt.  She's like really old, eightysomething."

"Oh yeah, I think I met her at Pauline's sweet sixteen."

"Probably.   You know what this means?  We have the house to
ourselves."  She took his hand and led him to the stairs, but they
were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.  It was a steady
BEEP BEEP BEEP, rather than its usual trilling ring, signifying that
this was a call coming in on the secure line.  Alan released her hand
and answered the call.

"Sorry about this, I have to take this call," he said to her as he
brought the phone up to his ear.

"Alan?"

"Yes, Karick, it's me."

"I'm back in New York, at the office.  You have to come in.  Now."

"Now?" he asked with some exasperation.  He was really looking forward
to some alone time with Kate.

"Yes, it's imperative.  Are you at home?"

"No, at my girlfriend's."

"Good.  Do not go back to your house."  Karick hung up.

Slightly puzzled, Alan pocketed his own phone and shrugged his
shoulders as a form of apology to Kate.  She had heard his side of the
conversation, so he didn't need to explain.  "I'll see you later," he
said as he kissed her cheek at the door.

Karick had called immediately after he had cleared customs at JFK, and
his cab reached the entrance of the office building just as Alan was
walking up.

"What's the big deal?" Alan asked as they entered the building. 
Karick put his finger to his lips and whispered that he wanted to wait
until they were behind closed doors.  Locking the door behind them the
former Czech intelligence agent rushed to the computer in the corner
and booted it up.

"So?" Alan asked again.

"The team in London.  They've spotted him.  He's moving.  Coming here.
 The Indian, Patel."  Karick often spoke like this when he was excited
or anxious, spitting out short sentences in machine-gun fashion.  He
beckoned Alan over and tilted the screen.  A slideshow of surveillance
pictures was running, the first showing Patel, the man who had
arranged Alan's kidnapping last Thanksgiving weekend (which Karick had
carried out), leaving a Belgravia mansion in a black car.  Karick's
London team had trailed the car to Heathrow, calling him on the way,
and Karick had grabbed the next flight.  It was the first time the
London team had spotted Lord Thornbow's right hand man since last
year.

"Where is he now?"

"The Marriott in midtown.  I have a small group watching the hotel."

Alan understood why his summons had been so urgent.  Patel meant
trouble.  "So what now?  I can't go home?"

"No, I have a team headed up to your place right this moment.  I
needed you here, and not there, to give them time to get settled."

The phone on the desk started to ring, and Alan answered.  It was
Jack, calling from London.

"Sorry to put a bit of a scare into you, young man, but Tadeusz and I
discussed it, and we decided that his place was next to you, for the
moment."

"No, no, it's cool.  I understand.  When are you coming in?"

"Two days from now, and a good thing, too.  I think I'll be needed. 
When my step-brother makes his move through this Patel fellow he will
be in for quite a surprise.  I don't think they reckoned they were
going to face two Vessels, as opposed to just you."  He bade his
good-byes and hung up.  Five minutes later Karick's team called in to
say they were in place.  Alan agreed to lend his car to Karick for a
few days.  It was better that way, anyway, since Thornbow's people
undoubtedly knew of his, and he could always borrow either his mom's
or dad's.

"Be careful," Karick said as Alan walked out into the hall.  The door
to the office clicked shut behind him.

* * *

The burly gangster said nothing to her on the drive to the airfield,
instead concentrating on the road.  To her surprise, upon leaving the
abbot's office, she saw that her belongings had been packed into a
small suitcase, her sword in its scabbard placed neatly to the side.

A small private plane was waiting on the field's lone runway, its
engines already turning, and they boarded forthwith.  Thankfully, from
her point of view, the gangster (his name Kozo, a fact he had not
volunteered, she had to steal it from his mind) took the seat farthest
from hers.  Without having anything better to do with her time she
leaned back in the plush seat and slept.  Danger would come to her,
she knew, but it was on a distant horizon; Kozo, though dangerous, was
not the slightest danger to her.

The sun was high in the sky, near midday, she guessed, as the plane
began its descent.  The change in pressure, that faintly uncomfortable
popping of the inner ears, awakened her.  A limousine was waiting for
them at the bottom of the small set of stairs which protruded from the
aircraft's hull, but to her surprise Kozo did not follow her in after
depositing her things in the trunk.  The chauffeur closed the door
right after she had settled in and pulled away with her alone in the
rear.  The windows were dark, not merely tinted but completely opaque;
the divider separating her from the driver was raised, so her view of
the outside was entirely blocked.  She shut her eyes and opened her
mind, her powers allowing her to follow the route precisely.  They
were leaving the city, traveling southwest.  The highway was jammed as
always, and the going slow.  She opened her eyes, no longer
interested, deciding instead to use the time to meditate.

Lost within herself she was shaken out of her trance by the opening of
the door.  The chauffer offered her his hand as she got out of the
car, but she gestured him off.  The house before her was modest in
size, but the garden was large.  She walked the path the driver had
indicated, and it was less than a minute before she came upon her
host.  He stood square in the path, blocking any progress.  He
welcomed her and invited her to a small sitting platform next to the
garden's artificial pond.  The man was all business, and their
conversation was short.

Quickly they went through the dossier, and in less than a half hour
after arriving she was back in the limo, headed back to the airport; a
copy of the dossier and a mobile phone awaited her on the back seat in
the limo's passenger compartment.

Though her host had told her his name was Hiroshi, she knew that he
was Takuya Tagumi older brother of the head of one of Tokyo's biggest
Yakuza clans.  One of his men had stolen the crystal, and in return
for her first killing this Alan Marshall person, and then performing
the other more distastful act which she chose at that moment not to
dwell upon, her order's property would be restored.  On this she
concentrated, caring little about the target himself.  Her training,
which included hours in the classroom participating in long and drawn
out ethical debates, should have stirred revulsion within her at the
mere thought of this mission, but she was following the dictates of
her abbot, the head of her order, and so was able to push these
feeling to the back of her mind.

On the long flight over the Pacific she reviewed the dossier
repeatedly; according to it Alan Marshall was a Master, like she was,
but his power was derived from some other source.  There were no
gaijin in her monestary, and knew of no other similar institutions. 
If he really did posses powers like her own, which a small part of her
doubted, she would have to move swiftly.  She could not afford to
stalk him for any significant amount of time, for he would be able to
sense her presence.  Her contact in New York, a man named Patel, would
tell her where the boy could be found, and she would set out for his
location forthwith, and do the deed.  She would work at night.

* * *

"What was that all about?" Kate asked on the ride back to her house
from the station a few hours following his abrupt departure.

"Just some report I was working on.  The deadline was moved up, so I
had to go into the office to put on the finishing touches and send it
off."

She kissed him.  "Well, it's nice to have you back, but unfortunately
we're no longer alone."

As she led him into the house he heard voices from the kitchen. 
Pauline was back from her summer job, and was chatting with their
brother Cal, their Mom, and to Alan's surprise, his mom as well.  The
were all having dinner together, the Marshalls and the Van Devanters. 
The dads were on their way, taking the next hour's express from the
city together.

Dinner was taken in the dining room, for with all of the members of
the two families present the kitchen table would not have been big
enough to accommodate.  It was still early when the plate were cleared
away by Kate, Pauline, Cal, and Alan.  Cal was going into Manhattan to
meet up with some of his college buddies (borrowing Kate's car), and
Pauline was going to the movies when her boyfriend, Brian, whose
summer job didn't let out until 8, was able to pick her up.  Alan and
Kate set out on foot for a jaunt around the neighborhood.  The two
sets of parents were in the den, Mr. Van Devanter setting up for a
four way game of Scrabble.

As the reached the foot of the Van Devanter's drive Alan held out his
crooked arm, and Kate weaved hers through it.  Arm in are they walked,
and it wasn't long before they had tunred off Westervelt Road and onto
Vaughters Lane.  Alan's house was near the end of the cul-de-sac.  The
didn't talk much on the walk over, Alan distracted by the ominous
reappearence of Thornbow's agent, and Kate was a little tired from
traveling, and just happy being with him.  Alan stuttered his step at
seeing the surveillance van parked two houses up the lane from his
own, but Kate didn't seem to notice, lost in her own thoughts.

After they climbed the three porch steps to his front door Kate
wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him down into a kiss. 
Breaking the kiss Alan smiled and put his mouth to her ear, licking
and sucking at the lobe.  She ground her body against his, her long
skirt swaying in the light breeze, the hem of its soft material
tickling her calves.

"How much time do you think we have," she asked, her voice muted,
breathless.

"Hmm...at least one Scrabble game amount of time," he said back,
releasing her ear to do so.

She plunged her hand into his pants pocket.

He straightened up with a jolt.  "Hey!  Not out here."

"No, silly," she giggled, continuing to fish around in his pockets,
"I'm just looking for your keys."

Upstairs in his bedroom they stood at the side of his bed as they
undressed eachother.  Alan leaned into her and she fell back onto the
bed, her skirt on the floor, her blouse unbuttoned and open. 
Something was bothering Alan, and had been since he had collected her
from the airport, and now, watching Kate take off her blouse it dawned
on him.  He could see Kate's ribs through her skin.  When he had
hugged her at La Guardia she had seemed slighter to him, but seeing
her full in the flesh was nearly shocking.  The cups of her bra were
loose around her breasts, and her panties were similarly baggy, the
elastic of the waistband bunched up around her hips.  Her skin was
ever so slightly slack over her flesh.

Kate could sense something was wrong just by the way he was looking at
her.  Her feelings of concern was mirrored by the look of worry in his
eyes.  She followed his gaze down her body.

"Lost a little weight on the trip.  But it's not that bad.  A little
aerobics, and some other stuff, and I'll tone right up.  Been meaning
to shed a few pounds, anyway."

"A few pounds, Kate?  How many have you lost?" he asked her pointedly,
his tone demanding

She sat up on the bed and looked away from him, his staring highly
unnerving.  "Fifteen," she answered in a tone so low Alan had to
strain to make it out.  A small clear drop formed at the corner of her
eye, and she turned away farther, swinging her legs over the far side
of the mattress, so he wouldn't see.  "You think I look awful, don't
you?" she sniffed.  Alan sat down on the bedspread behind her and
enveloped her in his arms.

"No, baby, no," he soothed her.  "It's just," he paused, his mind
floundering for the right way to put what he needed to say into words,
"It's just that you look so, uh, unhealthy, that is, I mean to say, it
just seems so unhealthy for you to have lost this much weight."

She wriggled out of his grasp and fell on him.  "I'm sorry," she
sobbed.

"Don't apologize.  You had a very strenuous summer, and the food
couldn't have been that good, right?"  She nodded, her silky black
hair running up and down over his chest, hot tears dripping over his
skin.  He held her awhile longer, until she mostly quit shivering, and
then she looked him in the face and drew him into a kiss, which warmed
her to the point that her trembling ceased in full.  She positioned
him on his back and then straddled him, reaching around behind herself
to deal with the clasp of her bra, but before she could release it he
opened his eyes and took her in again.

"Milkshake," he said evenly.

Kate stopped what she was doing.  "Pardon?"

"Milkshake," he repeated, scooting out from under her.  "Get your
clothes on, were going out for milkshakes.  Maybe some chili fries,
too."  He gave her a playful sway on the ass.

"Uh, Alan, don you want to, uh, you know?" she asked with a blush.

"Milkshake."

She didn't move except to drop her hands from the clasp, and looked at
him with an uncomprehending gape.

"Do I need to make it an order from you Master?"

She grinned, reaching for her blouse.

* * *

She was achy and tired from the long flight.  Following the
instructions she had removed from the pouch back in the second limo
she hailed a cab and directed it to midtown, to the Marriott.  Halfway
across the Triboro bridge the cell phone in her pocket rang, and she
answered it promptly.

"You have arrived?"

"Hai, yes."

"Good.  Listen and do not speak. Your room has been reserved.  You
will find further instructions and information in there.  I will be in
touch with you by means of this phone regularly.  We have been
tracking the boy's movements, and we will let you know where he can be
found when the time is right to move against him.  You are
understandably weary from your travels.  I will call again tomorrow,
around midday."  The caller clicked off.

She didn't like the sound of what she was hearing.  She was the
trained Mistress of the Art, and she, she felt, should be the one
deciding when the correct time was to make her move.  If the target
was as dangerous as the dossier had made him out to be then only she
was qualified to be the judge of these things.  Too tired to be
indignant she settled back into the seat of the cab, looking forward
to a long night of sleep and an uninterrupted meditation session in
the morning.

* * *

"You have some chocolate on your chin," Alan told her, an amused tone
to his voice.  She ran her finger over it and licked it off.  Alan had
just started up his dad's station car, an ancient Cadillac sedan, more
than twenty years old, only used by Mr. Marshall to drive to and from
the Metro-North station on work days.  The engine was old and somewhat
unreliable, and the car never left the borders of their small suburban
village.

They had had a nice time at George's, the diner/ice cream parlor.  As
they entered they saw old classmates arrayed around the establishment
in knots and bunches. A few friends who hadn't yet been seated when
Alan and Kate arrived invited them to join them, and the hostess led
them through the restaurant section to a booth in the back, away from
the jam packed ice cream counter.  Alan ordered a large chili fries
for them to share, and a coke, and Kate chose a chocolate milkshake. 
All in all they spent a happy hour, gorging themselves and catching up
with friends.

"Well, that was fun," he offered, and Kate agreed.

As he turned off State Street towards their neighborhood she put her
hand on his arm.  "No, keep going, up to Staunton Road."

"Huh?" he asked.

"Trust me," she shot back, a sly smile crossing her lips.  She
directed him to a back road, behind the old, now disused, post office,
and he pulled the rickety car into a small opening among a copse of
trees.  In an instant they were in the spacious backseat.  As they
kissed Kate pulled his shirt from out of his waistband and ran her
palms up and down his body.  Alan had his hands on her butt, massaging
her gently.  She moaned, her tongue vibrating within his mouth, and
before long he was stripped to the waist.  Now it was Alan's turn to
moan.

Kate had broken their kiss, attacking his nipples with her lips and
tongue as her hands went furiously to the task of unbuttoning her
blouse and shedding her brassiere.  That done, she slipped out of her
skirt as he was unbuckling his belt.  She grabbed at the waist of his
chinos and yanked them down, her fingertips curling around to grab his
briefs as well.  As Alan kicked off his pants from around his ankles
and sat back, she descended on his hardening cock, first licking
around the head, and then taking him in a few inches.  He ran his
fingers through her dark hair as she did this, and it wasn't long
before he was completely erect.

He pulled her off of him and laid her down on the wide bench seat. 
She scooted back and brought her knees up, spreading them just enough
so he could settle between them.  As he caressed her inner thighs as
he moved to her, she began to hum to herself.  It had been ages, she
realized, since she had been with him last, and she really missed it. 
His shaft settled against her moist and hairless slit, and she loosed
a small moan, calling out to him.  Slowly he rubbed himself against
her tacky flesh, and after a very short while his cock was coated with
her secretions.

"Oh, Alan, yes," she hissed as he entered her slowly, their eyes
locked to each other's.  Before she knew what was happening he was
laying atop her fully, his mouth once again pressed to hers, his
slithering tongue seeking hers.  He began to fuck her gently, only
very gradually upping his pace, and even then he never approached a
full head of steam.  To Kate it seemed to be going on forever.  He
moved back into a crouch after a few minutes, and she could see the
moonlight shining off their sweaty bodies.  The insides of the car's
windows began to steam up as she moaned out her passion.  He was still
giving it to her slow, and it was inscrutably pleasurable, his thrusts
making her climb higher and higher on a ladder of ecstasy, though not
permitting her to make the ultimate leap.  Through near chattering
teeth she began to chant, "Alan, Alan, Alan..."

He realized something as they made love.  He had been home for nearly
a week, but until this moment he hadn't really felt fully returned. 
Being with Kate was special to him, though she wasn't his only
partner, and wouldn't be going forward.  Lost in his musing he wasn't
paying full attention to her, and the suddenness of her climax
startled him back into the here and now.  Her back arched, and she let
out a stifled scream, her teeth grinding together in an attempt to
control her volume.  Alan at last began to increase the rapidity of
his thrust, and after a few minutes of this they came together.  He
collapsed, falling off the backseat for a moment before righting
himself.  Kate turned on her side and made herself small against the
seat back and the snuggled together for a while, chatting of
frivolities, her hands languidly rubbing all around his bare chest. 
The necked for a bit, and then redressed and made for their
neighborhood, laughing at their luck at not being caught.

* * *

The sleep did her good, though she had found the soft mattress less
confortable than her usual spartan sleep mat.  She was up more than
two hours before the call was expected, so she meditated for one of
those hours, and used the other to do her sword exercises.  If she had
her way she would move against him this very night.  She was anxious
for the call to come, and anxiety was very out of character for her. 
With nothing left to do she went over the maps and photos once again. 
There was a particularly good aerial shot of the target's house, and
she pored over it, focusing on the large tree in the front yard.  A
good place to conceal one's self, a good place from which to strike. 
Five minutes after five.  "What is this delay?" she thought.  The
phone chirped, and she speeded over to the table to answer it.

* * *

The whole day seemed off putting.  Something was seriously wrong.  If
he was more of a comic book fan he might have said his spider sense
was tingling.  As it was, all day long the small hairs on the back of
his neck were standing on end.

He didn't know it, but Jack was having the same experience.  All
through his long trans-Atlantic flight he couldn't shake the feeling
that something was going wrong.  He had planned to head straight for
the sublet apartment, but by the time he landed he had changed his
mind, directing Karick to drive straight to Alan's house, hoping
against hope he was not too late.

Next chapter: If I had a hammer...

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+