CHAPTER TWELVE.

         Zakaria Ferahian deplaned at Orly in the early hours of that Saturday morning.

         A French security official met him at the plane and walked him past an array of customs booths to a waiting vehicle. As quickly as the doors closed behind him, the vehicle moved away from the airport. A police escort led the way and an unmarked car followed. At that hour, little traffic interfered with their hurried trip to a safe house on the periphery of Paris proper and not too far from the airport.

          The police escort turned off its blinking lights and veered away to the left as Zakaria’s vehicle went on to the safe house yet several miles away. The vehicle following stayed right behind until the two vehicles reached their destination. Only Zakaria’s vehicle entered the gates of the safe house compound.

          Walking inside the safe house alone, Zakaria met Caroline, a Persian woman ten years younger than he. She had been living as a French citizen in Paris since her childhood years. The French government had hired her to be the housekeeper of the safe house for those durations in which Zakaria might be present. Otherwise, Caroline worked as an interior designer for a rather prestigious firm in the nearby Parisian suburbs.

          While he was aware of Caroline’s relationship to the French government, Zakaria felt honored to have the services of such a fantastic woman. He could avoid revealing to her anything of substance while benefiting from her care. She cooked as his mother had once cooked, and she needed no better introduction than that. More, she had certain skills of a courtesan quality that at least flattered him. She had always given him excitement he couldn’t easily control but he had thus far managed to behave himself. Seeing her again, with the evidence of her excitement to see him once more, made him wonder if he couldn’t give in to her charms just once.

          “I have about three hours before my first meeting, Caroline. Can I have some of your food? Then I’ll need a bath and a change of clothes. I presume I have something clean here?”

          Caroline, ever attentive, revealed her perfect set of white teeth as she mouthed her words of response. “Have I ever let you down? Trust me! In fact, I have your food ready now. Just follow me.”

          Zakaria did trust her. He didn’t mind following her, either. The view made it all worthwhile. Caroline served him breakfast and sat with him as he ate it. She enjoyed the moments as he carried on a decent conversation with her. She knew better than to pry. If there was something he wanted to tell her, that was fine but her job was not to be a ferret. Hospitality for a distinguished gentleman had long been her purpose.

          Zakaria had always made Caroline feel as if she performed perfectly for him. She didn’t understand why he had never sought the charms she could bestow upon him. He had always left her with the hope that one day he might try her. She could live with that much of a promise. She hoped this trip might be the one. She had long wanted to give him a ride. She knew Zakaria knew it, as well. It would only be a matter of time.

          On inspiration, Zakaria mentioned something Caroline hadn’t expected to hear from him.

          “I have a worrisome problem, Caroline. That’s why I’m here now. Two French soldiers have abandoned their station. The station is important to me. If these two Frenchmen are discovered without proper identification, we have a problem. Or, if they become forced to reveal too much, then we might have an even greater problem. Under these circumstances, I’m afraid the men could bring embarrassment to the French government. I’m not sure how to present this problem to the French government here. I believe the problem is more important than it may sound.”

          Caroline understood something. She knew Zakaria meant for her to take a message. He wanted to depend on her to help him get the importance of his message across. She and her message would go one way. He and his message would go another way. Together, their messages would have greater impact than either message alone. For Zakaria, she would do it. Her reply, though, didn’t promise much. She thought it might be imprudent to reveal her intents. She’d see how he might react.

          “Zakaria, with the French, I find it better to be polite but very blunt. I can be very blunt at times.”

          Zakaria’s head nodded ever so slightly as he read into her response. His grin hinted at his satisfaction with her. His eyes turned more mellow then. He looked at her hungrily, as if desire had suddenly hit him.

          As Zakaria rose from the table, Caroline rose as well and immediately led him to the master bedroom just down the house’s corridor. There, she prepared his bath as he removed his clothes. Caroline, once she had tested the water, waited for him by the shower stall. Accustomed to seeing him naked, she held no further expectations of him. Still, she anxiously waited to see even more of him. When he appeared from within the bedroom, she examined every aspect of his body with the hungriest looks any paramour might conjure up. Her looks made him laugh but her swollen nostrils revealed her greater truth.

          Zakaria understood instinct. He knew Caroline wanted him, that she always had. Stepping into the shower stall, he let her close the door behind him as he began to shower and to consider whether the time had come. The more he thought about her hunger, the more excited he became. By the time he turned off the water and pushed back the shower stall doors, he had a presentation for her, a rather erect one that captured her attention instantly.

          Caroline gasped and then, after seconds as her vision remained fixed, she glance up into his eyes. Her face had that look of askance but she didn’t ask. Instead, she pushed the towel in her hand all about his body to get him dry. When her towel reached his swollen part, she paused and looked at him more carefully for a second. Then she gambled. She took his pride into her towel and gave it her slowest strokes as she kept her eyes on his. She didn’t beg, however. In time, she pushed her towel down further to finish her duties. That’s when she heard Zakaria say something else she hadn’t expected.

          “Caroline, I can’t make demands of you but if you’d care to, you can make yourself ready.”

          Stunned, Caroline dropped her towel. She stood up straight as she held his gaze to learn about his sincerity. With no doubts in her mind, she turned about and walked back into the bedroom. She went to the bed where she turned back the covers. Then she began to remove her clothes. When she finally stood naked, she turned about once more to face him. He looked her over carefully before he took the steps necessary to take her into his arms. He felt her heart beating wildly then. He kissed her lightly on her lips and let her go as he spoke softly.

          “You don’t know how often I’ve dreamt of doing this with you, Caroline.”

          Caroline giggled. Then she crawled onto the bed, placed herself, and extended her arms to him. Zakaria knew where he belonged right then.

          ***


          Jimmy Dean "The Streak" Johnson looked himself over carefully.

          The full length mirror fixed to the door of his private bath gave him an adequate view. Proud, if not a bit arrogant, Jimmy wouldn’t allow even a slight bulge of fat to appear anywhere on his body. Satisfied with his vision of himself right then, he turned about and walked into his office as his secretary entered it from the opposite direction. Bitsy Smith saw Jimmy, the County Commissioner, adjusting the French cuffs of his shirt. She knew it would be a good time for her to compliment him.

          “You’re looking sharp as usual this morning! I suppose you’re ready for your first appointment now?”

          After reaching for his coat, Jimmy held it open as he pushed an arm into its sleeve and replied. “I don’t even know who’s coming in, Bitsy. Tell me.”

          “It’s that strange man of God, the one and only Reverend Obadiah Parris.”

          Jimmy’s chest deflated quickly, as if he had suddenly realized he didn’t have to look good for this particular visitor. With the intake of a deep breath, he said, “You’re showing your usual attractiveness this morning as well, sweetheart. Can’t you convince the Reverend to go someplace else?”

          Bitsy giggled as if she wished she could. Then she explained, “He’s mission-oriented, you know. He thinks God has sent him here to save the County.”

          Dread fell across Jimmy’s face as he listened to his trusted aide. After a second more, he replied, “Doesn’t he understand how the polling procedure works? He should get out the vote if he wants representation of his kind.”

          Bitsy let him finish, realizing there would be no sense in rationalizing their visitor. She added another comment, however. “You’re the pragmatist, Jimmy. He is a fantasist. There’s a big difference between you two.”

          “What can I do for him today, Bitsy? You know?”

          “There’s nothing you can do for him. He doesn’t operate on our frequencies. His communications go only one way, like always out and never in. I’d say it might be wise to dispatch him as conveniently as you can.”

          “Well, if I must. Show the nut in.”

          Obadiah Parris looked carefully about the office before he stepped through the doorway. Bitsy waited and closed the door behind him. The snap of the door lock caused Obadiah to twitch, as if he would have preferred to have had the door left open. He was reticent to take Jimmy’s hand as Jimmy walked around his desk and extended his arm in his usual manner of welcoming guests into his office. Obadiah managed to lift his paw enough for Jimmy to grasp it.

          Jimmy saw and felt a sickness about the man in front of him. Only the eyes looked alert enough to do any sort of business. Instinctively, Jimmy’s hand went back to his rear pocket where he checked to make sure he still had his wallet. Only then did Jimmy say anything. “Good to have you here, Reverend. Have a seat there if you please. Then tell me how I might be able to help you.”

          Obadiah, the titular head of a cast-off Baptist congregation on the south side of Carrollton, had many connections, some far beyond the Carroll County, Georgia boundaries. Just how strong those connections might be had long been questionable but lately, there had been some rumors of undeniable strength. Obadiah had begun to back the increasingly militant movement to get God recognized as the basis of all laws. That issue, Jimmy finally concluded, would be the concern Obadiah might present now that he had commanded an audience with no less than the County Commissioner.

          Taking a seat on the edge of the chair Jimmy had shown him, Obadiah composed himself carefully and then he uttered only a few words softly. “God wants us to pray, Mr. Commissioner.”

          Jimmy shook his head. He wasn’t sure he heard all that he should have. He decided to give the visitor another chance. “Excuse me. Would you elaborate? I’m not sure I understand.”

          Obadiah tried to be assertive but he didn’t have the body for that much of a show. The strain of his voice, possibly from nervousness, became obvious as he added, “We should begin all of our county commission meetings with prayer.”

          Jimmy sized up the man in front of him. Then he showed a measure of discretion as he tried to introduce humor into the discussion. “Which prayer would you prefer, the Rabbi’s or the Priest’s?”

          The redness of the Reverend’s face became pronounced as he mustered up his response. “We are Christians here in this county, Commissioner! A man of God should lead us! It is your prayer that is important! You should offer the prayer!”

          Jimmy grinned, and he noticed how that much of a reaction added to the Reverend’s frustrations. Jimmy didn’t care if frustrations existed or not. After a moment’s reflection, Jimmy made a suggestion.

          “Reverend, you know, prayer is a very personal matter. In fact, prayer is an intimate act. It reveals a very close relationship with...”

          To seize the opportunity, Obadiah chose to act. Believing the commissioner had defined the issue at hand well enough, he almost blurted as he interrupted Jimmy’s plea. “Would you join me in prayer now, Commissioner?”

          The surprise caused by the Reverend’s sudden request registered across Jimmy’s face, enough to signal the Reverend of a possible error in thought. Jimmy, seizing the pause that followed, continued.

          “Let me have my say first, Reverend Parris. I said prayer is a personal act, a very personal act. Prayer, as an act, is close in procedure to masturbation. You don’t masturbate in public, do you? My office is a public office. Do you want to be caught praying with me in public?”

          Obadiah sat still, stunned beyond his ability to recoil immediately. Finally, given enough time, he realized the error in his attack and launched a countering tirade. “You are being preposterous! This is abnormal! People pray all the time, wherever they want! A simple prayer to God will allow him to direct our ways! Where, when could it be more important...”

          Jimmy knew he had made his point well enough, and that shock action helps the hardest heads absorb what they don’t ordinarily. Still, he couldn’t resist adding, interrupting, to enhance the shock.

          “Reverend, we shouldn’t be fantasying in public, either. You see, in commission meetings, we must deal with cold, hard, and, often enough, pragmatic fact.”

          Deflated to an extreme, Obadiah sat still for a moment. Then he asked, “You aren’t about to listen to my request, are you?”

          Jimmy didn’t gloat. He answered as respectfully as he could.

          “Reverend, in government, we must do the work of all men. We must keep concepts of our very personal gods to ourselves. I believe you should prefer that your people come to your place, your church, to talk about your God. You don’t want me telling your people how to deal with God in their lives, do you? I’d prefer you do that, not me.”

          In showy disgust, Obadiah Parris rose up from his perch on the edge of his chair and walked out of Jimmy’s office. Jimmy got up as well as he watched the minister leave. Then, as his mind moved on to other matters, he called out to Bitsy, “Who’s next, Bitsy?”

          Bitsy walked into Jimmy’s office, closed his office door behind her, and then she began to spray room deodorizer all about the room. She didn’t suppress her wild grin very much.

          Jimmy didn’t feel like laughing. He said, “Bitsy, this is a hell of a way to start a Saturday morning! Am I free this afternoon? My son’s first football game is here already. I can’t miss it.”

          “You’re home free, Jimmy. Have a nice weekend.”

          ***


          At Nine A.M., Marc Louseau walked from his office to The Louvre.

          Once inside the main door that Saturday morning, Marc moved immediately toward a side door where an unmarked car awaited him. Once inside it, it moved away from the museum with a purpose, followed by two motorcycle policemen who would be sure nobody might follow Marc. Thirty minutes later, Marc found himself inside the safe house compound his agency provided for whatever purposes Jonas might choose.

          Caroline heard the door bell ring and offered to get it for Zakaria. He declined the offer, telling her he could get it himself. She quickly explained that she would like to collect some flowers out in the garden while he had his talk. Zakaria saw no problem with her doing that. She went her way while he went his.

          Marc, relieved to find Jonas answering the door, had been thinking of a thousand things that could have gone wrong when the Premier himself waited for a word from him. He smiled as he recognized Jonas but it was a very tired smile. He didn’t mind when Jonas invited him inside.

          Caroline put on her apron and placed her cell phone in its pocket. She stepped out through the back door of the safe house then. As she walked through the garden, she talked rapidly to her contact to impress upon him the importance of two missing Frenchmen somewhere. She had no idea where, she explained. Then she couldn’t provide answers to the barrage of questions fired at her. Finally, she snapped her cell phone shut without saying good bye. There were limits to her abilities and right then, she felt she had surpassed them. Besides, she wanted to cover her antics by grabbing at least some flowers.

          Believing it too early for drinks of most any kind, Marc declined all measures of hospitality as he explained his efforts to arrive on time for the meeting. He didn’t mind letting Jonas know of his missed vacation days, his abandonment of his family in the mountains, his troubles with his hierarchy, etc. Zakaria listened well and bided his time as he tried to think of a way to make it all worth Marc’s time. He remembered Caroline’s words then and chose to be blunt.

          ”Marc, you know much of my operations, I’m sure. You know of my reliance on the French to perform. You know I can’t do nearly as much as I’d like without your help. You know of my need for stability with my fixed targets. You know why I need that flexibility. Now, suddenly, two of the Frenchmen at one very important fixed target have left the site without permission. This is why I came to see you. I don’t know what to do and I need your advice about the matter.”

          Marc listened and asked, “Which. May I ask, Jonas?”

          Zakaria nodded his head. “Why not? It’s no use right now and it may never be again. It’s for the submarine base at Kings Road. You can see how vital that particular target might be, can’t you?”

          With as rapid a set of thoughts as he could muster, Marc tried to grasp the meaning of two missing men. He was about to offer a solution when Zakaria interrupted his thoughts.

          “Marc, I’ve recently learned myself that you people have a secret. One of your men always keeps his missile computer processing chip on their person at all times. The missile will not work without that chip installed properly. Now, hear this carefully, Marc. The CPU is missing from the compound holding that missile. We have a French nuclear device which we cannot blow up should we be on the verge of being discovered.”

          Suddenly, Marc felt wide awake. Never had he contemplated such an effect of two lame soldiers going on leave without permission. It was such a stupid matter; two soldiers wanting to get fucked, likely. Yet their entire nation could become subjected to the full force of American military might, something that has never happened before. He could see that Jonas had more to say.

          “Marc, one of those two men have that CPU on their person right now, likely. Would they intend to turn it over to the Americans? Would they reveal it should they become drunk, or possibly searched? That CPU is specific to France and specific to its missile. Discovery of that CPU on American soil will prompt a massive search, without doubt. A likely target isn’t hard to grasp within that area. The finding of the missile there will be interpreted as a declaration of war, will it not? Should I be faced with this conundrum some day, I must decide to attack or, failing to be able to do that, to give up France. This is not my decision alone to make. So, I’m presenting it to you. Please tell me what you would like for me to do now. I’d like to get back to my operating site as soon as possible. I have reservations out of Orly tonight at Eight-thirty.”

          Marc couldn’t believe this. Yet, he had to believe this. Immediate actions hinged on the decision Jonas had spelled out well enough. He resigned, since it was beyond him. He gave Jonas a grin of admission and stood up from his chair as he explained himself.

          “Jonas, you have been lucid with me. Now I must be equally lucid with my superiors who probably have no idea what this circumstance means right now. That missing CPU is a nightmare in the making, isn’t it?”

          “If it makes you feel any better, Marc, I’ve only come to that conclusion myself within the last few minutes. Please, prove me wrong if you can.”

          “With your permission, Jonas, I’ll leave now. Let’s hope they don’t shoot the bearer of bad news this day.”

          “Now you know how I’ve been feeling as I’ve flown across the Atlantic. Be careful, Marc. This could be a lot more serious than two Frenchmen wanting a fuck, but it could be nothing more than that.”

          ***


          The room at the Holiday Inn near Clemson University suited.
          
          The shower stall in that room has a seat on which a disabled person can sit while bathing. John Mahaffey, arriving early that Saturday morning, assisted as Andy Millet made his way from his wheelchair to that bench. John had volunteered to help Andy get ready for the big game beginning at Noon but, while Andy remained occupied within his bath, John removed the first aid box from beneath the seat of Andy’s wheelchair. He placed the contents of the box beneath the bed in Andy’s room. Then he placed his bomb inside that box before reattaching the box to the wheelchair. He slipped the remote control device into the leather pouch suspended from the back of Andy’s seat. From that point on, it would be a gamble whether the Clemson Stadium security team might give a regard for the presence of the two strange devices.

          The game, scheduled for television viewers nationwide, attracted a huge crowd in addition to Andy Millet and his small entourage. The security people were as awed as anyone else over Andy’s expected arrival. They watched with a sense of reverence as Andy rolled right on past their beeping warning systems. While John helped Andy’s old roommate get Andy to the stadium, Andy’s old roommate insisted on himself rolling Andy inside and before the anticipated wildly cheering crowd to that place reserved for one of Clemson’s heroes. A specially constructed place in the midst of the stadium crowd, it aligned precisely with the middle of the press box. Other honored guests were seated all about him.

          While helping get the wheelchair positioned, John retrieved his remote triggering device and slipped it into his pocket. Then he took a seat within the aisle nearest Andy’s location. Nobody objected to John’s assumption of such a seat since they could see the role he played with regard to their guest of honor. He sat there contemplating the timing of his statement.

          ***


          Criminal faculties go easily uncontrolled.

          Horst Lubel, a man known as a German chemical and biological warfare weapons expert, walked through the door at Zakaria’s invitation about an hour after Marc had left that Saturday morning. A big man, he carried his muscles in tightly wrapped skin. When he had his first drink in his hand, while alone with Zakaria in the safe house study, he exploded with his most curious, long-held question for Zakaria.

          “How in hell did you talk Sadaam into giving you all of his weapons of mass destruction?”

          Zakaria grinned as if it wasn’t such a big deal. Then he explained.

          “Sadaam refused us at first. He didn’t believe we could, would, use them as he would like. I sat him down and convinced him I could do better than he could if he would trust me with his weapons. I promised to have you people help me get them into America itself. That convinced him. He believes you people can do it for us better than we can help ourselves. So, he sold them to us at a price twice as high as he probably paid for them. And we are paying you twice what you deserve to get them into America for us. How are you doing, bye the way?”

          Horst grinned in his knowing way before he made estimating gestures.

          “Right now, I’d say about eighty-five percent of it is in. Maybe fifteen percent is still on ships or waiting off shore underwater. I’m glad the Marines haven’t caught onto our little amphibious tricks yet. So far, we’ve not had one problem getting them inland. Your people have been down right greedy in taking the stuff off our hands then.”

          Zakaria looked lost for a moment. Then he offered, “Horst, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation! Who would have expected us to succeed in such a wild endeavor? You’ve been perfect in your performance! How can I ever thank you enough?”

          Horst didn’t feel comfortable then. He didn’t believe it himself. He had suspicions that the Americans might be onto him in some way but hadn’t yet revealed their interests. He didn’t believe he’d ever get over worrying about what he had contracted to do for Jonas. Horst’s words became plaintive.

          “Zakaria, you’ve done enough. Let’s just get through with this operation and then we might find a way to relax.”

          That’s when Zakaria finally understood Horst’s anxieties. Zakaria also knew that the end of the importation work amounted to the beginning of the more serious application effort. There was so much more work yet to do, he realized. He helped Horst to another drink and had one himself. Rarely did he touch the stuff but right then, while learning of Horst’s worries, he understood some of his own better. For an hour longer, those men celebrated in such ways as they could without revealing too much more of their concern.

          ***


          Marc couldn’t believe something again. He knew the feeling well by then.

          The Premier’s Intelligence Coordinating Committee assembled for a second time within hours. Admiral D’Ivry, Generals Chapelle and Levallois, Marc’s Director, Luc Dupay, the head of SIA, the Strategic Intelligence Agency, and Jean Lamotte, the foreign minister were all there and all were more nervous than normal. Their preliminary messages hadn’t read well.

          Luc Dupay led the meeting off as he described his first contact of the day with the primary issue at hand. It hadn’t been Marc but an ill-defined woman who had talked with Jonas earlier in the day. That woman’s tale made the situation sound far worse than that of a couple of Frenchmen wanting to get fucked. Nonetheless, her emphasis prevailed within the meeting from that point on.

          The Premier’s emotions hit the roof. Treason became his primary concern. The Army’s representative tried to reduce that charge to no avail. In fact, General Chapelle suggested the entire Army might be guilty of treason if a desire to get fucked might be the criteria. That was when the Premier asked General Chapelle how long he wanted to remain chief of staff.

          Recovery of the CPU became the theme then. A hit squad for the treasonous ones arose as the first item on the agenda. Replacement of the CPU chip via Embassy pouch came next. Then General Chapelle agreed to replace those two men with a more reliable pair. The Premier cut off the discussion then.

          Issuing his orders, the Premier made his points quickly. He ordered four hit squads to take the men dead or alive, one squad each sent immediately to Columbia, South Carolina, Atlanta, Georgia, Jacksonville, Florida, and Tallahassee, Florida. He wanted two reliable soldiers to replace the CPU immediately, or sooner. Then he commanded a review of all other sites where such circumstances might occur . Before the day could end, the Premier wanted measures put in place to keep this problem from ever coming up again. Finally, Marc should tell Jonas that the French would take care of the problem, that the French believed the two men only wished to find a chance for access to women, and that in the future he might consider that manly propensity within his normal security procedures. The Premier called that meeting to a close then without further comment.

          ***


          Aimee-Jacque felt proud. She had survived the morning’s rough trade.

          Alone within her kitchen, while preparing Saturday’s lunch for the three of them, Aimee-Jacque took the time to muse. The rougher stuff, she knew, had reduced her desire somewhat. She chuckled as she accepted a fact; she had been fucked hard. She had taken it hard, willingly, because she had known how. She had been fucked hard before, well, a few times, at least, but that hadn’t been happening to her very much lately. Then a spark of her intuition prompted a realization; Jean-Marie and Adrien were better, more bold, rougher, with her than Alain and Pierre had been. She understood something else then; she had been given ample reason to never forget that scene of Jean-Marie and Adrien pointing the way with their sign.

          Over lunch, Aimee-Jacque discussed with her lovers their plans for leaving her. As she listened to the vague signals they gave her, she discerned they had no clear cut plan beyond going to Atlanta. That’s when she mentioned a friend of hers, a woman living in Atlanta.

          Aimee-Jacque’s latest lovers, surprised again, became intrigued. She called her friend and made a recommendation. Her friend agreed to meet the lovers at Lenox Square Mall, by the entrance to the Tivoli Movie Theater, at Three-thirty that afternoon. Explaining to her latest lovers that she would drive them to Lenox Square Mall herself, Aimee-Jacque gained their acceptance, as well. That schedule would allow her to return in time to drive on to Waycross to meet her husband later in the evening.

          ***


          Virgil Tanner often sits in his Baptist Mission Center office, usually alone.

          The telephone rings got Virgil’s attention just before Noon that Saturday morning. His computer screen revealed the name of the person calling. Considering that person, Virgil acted as if duty might be calling. He quickly learned that Obadiah Parris stood in the need of prayer, again.

          Obadiah could pray all by himself but he had, not long back, learned something new about praying. When Obadiah prays with Virgil, the prayers get a higher priority. With Virgil in earshot, the answers to the prayers have a way of working out more quickly and sometimes in mysterious ways. In that sense, Obadiah felt sure that Virgil had become more blessed than most mortals. Recently, any strong urge to pray always causes Obadiah to bring in Virgil.

          A half hour later, Obadiah and Virgil were on their knees as Obadiah ranted and raved while pleading for a show of the wrath of God. Obadiah did all the praying while Virgil listened and moaned from time to time, “Oh! Yes, Lord!”

          Later, just after lunch when the County Commissioner and his family were away from their house, Virgil sent one of his Mission Center men to find his way into the Commissioner’s bedroom. There, the man searched through the medicine cabinet until he found the most suitable of implements. Sleeping capsules, prescribed for the Commissioner, one before bedtime, looked most opportune. Removing two of the six capsules left, he threw the remainder of the capsules into the john and flushed them. The remaining capsules he opened, tossed the contents down the sink’s drain. Then he filled the empty capsules with a compound from a pouch he had carried into the house with him. He returned the two contaminated capsules to their container and set it back in the place he had found it.

          After cleaning behind himself carefully, Virgil’s man unlocked the sliding door leading from the master bedroom to the porch at the side of the house, a porch partially fenced in as it held a sauna bath. Then, after checking for possible voyeurs, he made his way out of the house quickly and found relief as he learned that nobody had given him any regard.

          ***


          Marc had little choice. He went back to see Jonas right away.

          Just after the Noon hour, while along his way, Marc worried about that agent, that woman unknown to him, who had preempted his own presentation to the Intelligence Coordinating Committee. He realized he’d never be told who it might be. He didn’t have a need to know that, they’d say. The attitude she had conveyed about the meaning of the two missing soldiers had prevailed within the committee meeting. Her words made his irrelevant. He felt lessened, considerably.

          The housekeeper met Marc at the door and led him to meet Jonas. As he followed the housekeeper, he noticed the smell of recent sex about her. Suddenly, Marc associated the sex with a woman and his feelings of being lessened. He suspected he might know the source of that prevailing message. Instantly, he began to look upon that housekeeper in a different light. Then he wondered if his behavior might reveal his new awareness and get the woman into trouble. He had a mixture of feelings as he found himself confronting Jonas once more.

          While Marc explained the little he had been instructed to say, Jonas only laughed at the outcome. Then Jonas wished Marc good luck in finding the two missing Frenchmen. “Maybe the men will have been fucked once or twice while on their sojourn,” Jonas added as he led Marc back to the front door of the house. As he left that safe house compound, Marc wasn’t too sure that Jonas cared one way or another about what might happen to the two missing Frenchmen.

          ***


          The hurried, after lunch departure brought relief to Aimee-Jacque.

          An exit strategy had been a concern from the outset of her affair, when she had picked up two very strange hitchhikers. Now, by taking her newest lovers to meet yet another willing woman, Aimee-Jacque believed she might be putting the icing on the cake or even performing a complete trick. She felt very confident then, pleased with her performance. Her lovers had made her feel like a woman again.

          Aimee-Jacque drove onto the interstate highway that Saturday afternoon and, almost immediately, Jean-Marie made a suggestion. She listened and then pulled off the road long enough to allow Adrien to begin driving the vehicle. Aimee-Jacque followed Jean-Marie into the back of her SUV where she already had the set up for a pad of sorts in place. While the darkened windows allowed light and barred prying eyes, she knew Adrien would be watching them through the rear view mirror.

          Jean-Marie didn’t wait for Aimee-Jacque to remove her clothes and she didn’t mind as he pushed her smock up high. She took the trouble to get his trousers down for she felt sure he would prefer later not to have her wetness spread all along the front of his trousers. That’s when Aimee-Jacque began her last slow fuck with her preferred of her two lovers. He let her come time and again, until she couldn’t do it anymore. When Jean-Marie finally made his own exhausted exclamations, she had tears in her eyes. Believing that would be the last of his cries she’d ever hear, she let him sleep for a half hour before she asked Adrien to pull off the highway again. Adrien had complained; he wanted his turn.

          Expecting more rough trade from Adrien, Aimee-Jacque became surprised when he tried to behave even more decently than Jean-Marie had. He was also more pent up, having been listening, watching, and smelling for too long. Then she noticed something more as Adrien shucked his clothes. He had tears running down his cheeks. She hadn’t expected that much of a show from him. He had been far too rough a character to show his emotions that way.

          Uncertain of how to handle Adrien at the moment, she took the effort to remove her smock, to be as naked as he. Then she fell down onto her back and waited on him to make the first move. Turning towards her and looming over her body as he tried to touch her lips with his, Adrien whispered, “Ma femme...”

          Aimee-Jacque could taste his tears. They were real enough, she knew. When he continued to nurture her in his most delicate manner, she became impressed. She pushed him away and then onto his back as she assumed a position above him. For once, she intended to be the rough one. She would give him the ride that might last for the rest of his life. With her hands sliding from his shoulders to his groin, she let him know he should relax and let her have her way.

          Kisses followed where her hands had been. As her lips approached his cock, she used her hands to hold it as she took it into her mouth. Taking him in deep time and again, she bathed his stick and polished his bulb well. Then she backed off to use her hands to take a measure of his length when so rigid. Two and a half palm widths caused her eyebrows to raise as she looked into his eyes approvingly. Adrien, already proud, radiated anyway. That’s when she turned her body around, threw a leg over his head and pushed her pussy tight against his mouth. Then she took his cock in hand again to begin her most serious ministrations. She frustrated him time and again, until he cried out in anger. Her response was to push her pussy more tightly against his face and she kept doing that until he became kind enough to treat her seriously, to begin tonguing her as he should. He convinced her of his ardor, eventually.

          Satisfied with her treatment, Aimee-Jacque rolled away, to allow Adrien his chance. He took it in an aggressive way, pushing her body back and down and then ramming his cock deeply without further foreplay. She watched his huge cock slipping and sliding between her pussy lips, filling her over and over again to mash himself hard against her pelvic structure. Then, as his cries grew shrill, she felt her belly churning and grasping to keep him close. With her arms and legs wrapped tightly about him, she urged him on, to do it. She felt his hot gushes as her own convulsions wracked her body. Then she held him tight. She wouldn’t let go of him. Even when he gasped for his breath, she kept him close, wrapped in her limbs. She didn’t want to let him go.

          The pouch Adrien carried around his neck had sharp edges. It had been scratching her breasts too much. She reached around his neck and removed it. She didn’t look inside of that pouch but she did something else. She wanted something to remember her lovers by and that pouch was about the only item they had between them that she had seen them both respect. So, she slipped that pouch beneath the SUV’s carpet near the wheel base. Maybe they would forget it, she prayed.

          Aimee-Jacque did let Adrien go, eventually. She suddenly felt seriously depressed for some reason then, as if she might be washed out, soon to be left alone. Her wristwatch said it was only Three O’clock.

          Aimee-Jacque didn’t bother straightening her smock very carefully before she began driving the SUV again. Time had become more precious as they entered the Atlanta suburbs. She made her way by memory to Lenox Square Mall and parked near the movie theater. Moments later, Aimee-Jacque’s friend, with another girlfriend in tow, parked right beside the SUV. Looking Aimee-Jacque over carefully, her friends didn’t miss the obvious about her very wrinkled, smockish attire, or her smell, but most of all they discovered Aimee-Jacque’s attitude about her most recent lovers.

          That’s when those women turned their attention to the two Frenchmen and to introductions. Her old friends didn’t speak French but that didn’t hold them back. The intrigued look on her old friend’s faces then let Aimee-Jacque know that she could go back home in peace, knowing that she had performed a complete duty for her latest lovers.

          As Aimee-Jacque turned to leave them, her old friend grabbed her arm and held her back long enough to shove a shopping bag into her hand. Surprised, Aimee-Jacque started to ask about the shopping bags contents but her old friend only grinned while placing a finger to her lips to suggest a need for discretion. Acquiescing, Aimee-Jacque moved quickly then to avoid prolonging the good byes.

          From the driver’s seat of her SUV, Aimee-Jacque took a moment to look at her latest lovers for the last time. Then she started her engine, shifted her gears, and tapped her gas pedal. Adrien, preoccupied with his newest friends, didn’t notice as Aimee-Jacque drove away. Jean-Marie did, though, and he had tears in his eyes as he threw her a kiss.

          Aimee-Jacque’s emotions of that moment allowed her to forget about her gift in a shopping bag for a time. She forgot about the souvenir hidden beneath the SUV’s floor pad, altogether. For a time, she tried to remember that departing scene. Then she got caught up in heavy traffic as her mind turned to the duties she may have been shunning for a time. Two hours of traffic fighting later, while still on the interstate highway south of Atlanta, she finally allowed herself to relax. Her mind went back to her most recent blindfolded experiences. Her hand found its way beneath her smock where it lingered and fingered, come after come.

          ***


          Delays often bring delight.

          ”Youness!”

          Zakaria immediately recognized that voice coming to him over his cell phone that Saturday afternoon. The Arabic expression equivalent to the word Jonas made Zakaria feel honored, proud. His felt his chest rising as he replied, “Mahdi! I didn’t expect your call!”

          “Neither did you expect me to be visiting with you tomorrow, I bet! I’d like an appointment with you, my friend! We need to discuss much, the two of us, together. It has been too long, my friend!”

          Zakaria didn’t bother to check his schedule. He knew nothing could be more important. He replied right away. “Of course! Just say when. I’ll change my reservations so I can meet with you as long as you wish.”

          “Tomorrow morning should be enough, Youness. Your time is too valuable for me to consume too much of it. I should arrive there by Nine in the morning. Several hours later, we should be talked out, I imagine. How is Caroline?”

          “Caroline has never been better, Mahdi. She will be pleased to see you, too.”

          “I’d rather her not be around while we are talking. Can you handle that?”

          “Of course. I’ll send her away after she serves us breakfast. She can return later to prepare us a late lunch.”

          “Don’t worry too much about the food, OK? And thank you for altering your schedule for me. I’ll see you at Nine tomorrow.”

          Zakaria walked back to the kitchen looking for Caroline. When he found her, he explained the changes in his schedule to be sure she could support him for the duration. Her coquettish behavior as she listened delighted him. When he thought to conclude his remarks, he added, “And Caroline, would you be inclined to prepare yourself again?”

          Blushing greatly, Caroline waved her arm toward the master bedroom, as if she might dare him to reject her. Zakaria grinned wide as he replied, “I thought you might. I’ll be glad to support you.”

          ***


          In the mid-afternoon, Virgil Tanner remained in his Mission Center office.

          In the Mission Center line of work, patience had become a virtue. Virgil had found the patience to work over the Reverend Obadiah Parris well, to cause him to buy - in the name of his church - the old, almost forgotten, textile mill in Carroll County. The rationale that worked: convert the old textile mill into a mission center. Being mission-oriented, Obadiah had no problem grasping the opportunity as soon as he realized that Virgil could arrange for the financing. In fact, Virgil assured Obadiah of a considerable surplus in the operations of the mission center. He, himself, Virgil assured Obadiah, would manage the entire center on behalf of Obadiah’s church. The prospects had teased too much for Obadiah to refuse.

          At first, there had been considerable expense to get the old mill water tight again. Then new partitioning, arranged according to the new purposes of the facility, cost a bundle. There were dorm spaces for homeless people, men and women separately. There were dorm spaces for others who might be responding to emergencies within the community, or for families who might have needs because of local emergencies. Then there were storage spaces, warehousing spaces for used clothing collections. Clothing and other items appropriate for relief efforts underway in Africa, for example, supported a reasonable cause. Finally, a free medical center, from which low cost drugs could be dispensed to the elderly became an instantly famous feature. Cheap drugs made Obadiah’s congregation very comfortable in their association with their new Baptist Mission Center

          Virgil never bothered to explain in detail how the finances worked. He wasn’t sure himself, he said. The local bank didn’t have a doubt about the finances, however. The Mission Center soon became more solid that the church itself, financially speaking.

          What kept Virgil sitting there for so long that day was the hijacked eighteen wheeler due in any time soon. He had the warehouse doors open already. The truck could back in quickly. The team of workers living in one set of special dorm rooms would off load the truck almost instantly. The truck could be on its way again in no time at all, but without its cargo of expensive prescription drugs. Within days more, a fleet of small vans would have the shipment of drugs widely distributed among some eighty-three such warehouses that existed for similar purposes throughout the nation.

          The hijacked drugs didn’t present a problem for Virgil. He’d received such a shipment once a month for almost a year without a problem. That large scale operation took some planning but the planning proved successful beyond expectations, so far. Hardly anyone knew about the stocks of other drugs, the illicit kind, within the warehouse. And beyond the last partition, nearest to the loading dock, there were stocks of mortars, mortar shells and a variety of sealed containers that Virgil had been gathering for months now. Virgil kept a special set of guards on this particular stock. Only six people knew what rested behind that last partition and three of them stayed far away.

          Right next door to Virgil’s office, located on the old textile mill’s top floor, his operations office existed. That office was usually manned by four men from the middle east. He trusted his A-rab buddies but not completely, because they forced him to consume most of his time keeping track of them. He never knew for sure what those four men may have done without his knowledge.

          Unexpected news finally brought Virgil out of his chair there in his office that Saturday afternoon. His operations office explained that another U-Haul-It truck was inbound from the Georgia coast with yet another mortar with its shells. That little detail required his personal involvement.

          From within his operating room, Virgil contacted by radio the U-Haul-It truck. He wanted to have it parked someplace else until after midnight. That’s when he’d prefer to take a chance on off-loading such equipment. At that hour, most normal people living in the area would care less about whatever might be going on at the old textile mill. He recalculated everything in his mind. He believed he could move the eighteen wheeler before midnight. Satisfied with his arrangements made, Virgil went back to his office. There, sitting before his computer, he felt the urge to review again the recent messages among the related set of eighty-three such installations like his and the Canadian-based Jonas Operation.

          ***


          The triggering device looked as if it might be a portable radio with ear plugs.

          John Mahaffey knew from his instructions that he could turn the device on with one switch to hear a tone indicating an active fuse. Then, whenever he pressed the red button on the radio-like device, the triggering signal would cause the explosion. He studied all those factors for a time, until at the beginning of the third quarter of the game, the die-hard Clemson fans became restless enough to give up hope of winning the game. The first few people leaving the stadium alerted John. The time for the statement had come. A glance at his wristwatch revealed the time of day: Three O’clock sharp.

          His decision made, John thought he’d first turn on the device while he might be near the bomb to see if the signaling tone could be heard. Then, he’d make an excuse and walk toward a restroom until he might be a safe distance away or until the signal stopped. If the tone should stop, he knew he wouldn’t be able to explode the device. So, before he bothered to make his excuses to leave, he turned on his device, just as he’d been instructed, and the bomb exploded.

          Ibrahim Rumani, at the time an Indian exchange student attending Clemson’s School of Natural Sciences, became shocked as others did when the explosion occurred. He couldn’t believe it. Then, as quickly as he understood the implications of the blast, he knew his life could be in danger. He knew of the so-called red-neck reputation of the local populace and that much knowledge caused him to quickly but slowly walk away from his seat within the stadium.

          Making his way to the exit ramp closest to his seat, Ibrahim was the first within his area to arrive there. Walking down that ramp more quickly, he heard the first shout about him, about him trying to get away. He broke into a run but the running only added to his problems. From everywhere around him he heard shouts. Mad shouts, those people wanted to hurt him, for sure, he believed. So he ran harder, for his life, and he didn’t stop until he locked his dorm room door behind him. Only then did he wonder if the dorm room door might be a sufficient safeguard.

          ***


          Every man has his limits but only the rare man understands them all.

          General Chapelle, on leaving the Intelligence Coordinating Committee meeting, returned to his office in a state of shock. He didn’t believe he had many days left within his position after the Premier dismissed his words so hastily. After all he had done for the Premier, his well-considered recommendation had been summarily dismissed, given no regard whatsoever. It made no sense, all this Premieristic erratic behavior over a problem as simple as two long-deprived soldiers looking for a piece of ass. Then he thought about two of his own soldiers by putting himself in their place. He believed he could envision the plight of those two young men as a series of hit squads descend upon them.

          Alone within his office until late that Saturday afternoon, General Chapelle had several strong drinks while in the throes of a profound decision. Not with his complicity, he decided after a time. Then, leaving his office and his building, he walked several hundred yards to the Ambassador Concord Hotel. On the fourth floor of that hotel, he found himself welcomed by an American who would, without fail, be hospitable.

          General Chapelle asked for permission to call Washington on a secure line. Shown to a room where he might find at least the semblance of privacy, General Chapelle called his friend, General Colin Powell, in Washington. They had a decent chat about two Frenchmen who only wanted a piece of ass. General Chapelle didn’t mention the CPU chip that might be found around the neck of one of those men. He did ask for help, a special effort to find those two men quickly. General Powell agreed to be as helpful as possible before their conversation ended.

          General Powell had more of a gleaning than most might expect from that most unusual telephone conversation. Only decades of sustained cooperation can explain why that intuitive grasp might accept the request as reasonable, even actionable in the sense of urgency. Within fifteen minutes, he had called on old friends as well, to have a modest but hopefully effective manhunt begun immediately. The manhunt’s motto became, “Anything for two men who only want to get fucked.”

          The wiser of those Americans involved within the manhunt understood something; generals don’t ask for even the simplest of favors without first having reasonable cause.

          ***


          Answering prayers takes time, and much more.

          Late that Saturday evening, Virgil Tanner tuned his scanner and sat back to listen to the emergency channels. Nothing caught his attention for hours on end. Around midnight, Virgil sent one of his men to a convenience store from which he dialed the Commissioner’s telephone number. There had been no answer, as expected. By the time the man got back to Virgil’s office, he learned that emergency vehicles were on their way to the Commissioner’s house.

          Moments later, while driving toward the Commissioner’s house, that man pulled to the side of the street to allow the emergency vehicle to pass him. Then he waited as the Commissioner’s family members piled into their family car and followed the ambulance. After the surrounding community returned to normal, Virgil’s man pulled his car up to the Commissioner’s house. Then he walked through the side porch’s sliding door and into the bedroom. There he removed the last capsule from it’s container and flushed it. He didn’t bother closing the sliding door behind him as he left the premises without any trouble at all.

          Jimmy Dean “The Streak” Johnson’s death, due to cyanide poisoning, had no easy explanation. Routine police evaluations revealed no clues beyond the most probable cause of death. An investigation continued consistent with State regulations on the death of any public official.

You are now at the end of the road again: Peachtree Road, Chapter Twelve.

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