THE MYSTERY OF FLIGHT TEN-SEVENTY (Chapter 9)


By KATZMAREK (C)


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AUTHOR'S NOTE


This is a work of fiction. It remains my property and must not
be used for gain without my permission in writing.


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Ari Ramcke was finding himself out of his depth. Normally reticent, he was not used to being hounded by the Press, day and night. He should've realised what a bomb he'd let off, particularly in these politically volatile times, and he cursed his miscalculation.


The atmosphere in his office was also becoming politically charged. After a period of cool relations with the US, Germany now had a conservative government anxious to rebuild bridges. His insinuations about corruption at the American NTSB had brought pressure on him from Berlin to retract his comments. Stubborn, this he refused to do and demanded an official enquiry. Soon, though, he was finding himself isolated at the BFU and his most vociferous supporters were the usual bunch of populist, scandal-mongering, opposition politicians.


So tight-lipped had he become, his colleagues began to call him 'Doktor Nein' (Dr No), behind his back.


He knew the CNN reporter, Ella Hernandez, had an agenda. They all had agendas, and that was to dig as much dirt as they could and keep digging. He also knew that every story had a shelf life, and he figured, the 1070 controversy had about a week to run unless some new revelation ensued. Whether his career could survive the buffeting, however, he wasn't sure.


Perhaps, he thought, he might find an ally in Ella Hernandez? Besides, he found her 'interesting.'


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"Come," Marina whispered. Ben followed her as if in a dream. The sexual charge in the atmosphere was making him shiver with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.


'She's someone else's wife,' he told himself, 'this is wrong!' But nothing in this place seemed to comform to his idea of morality. He felt hugely out of place, here, yet it all had a compelling fascination at the same time.


Marina noticed his diffidence. "Are you OK?" she asked, "y'know, you don't have to do... or perhaps you might like to ask one of the girls? Or boys? I'm making assumptions..."


Ben blushed furiously and his face felt frozen. "No!" he croaked, as adamantly as he could.


"You, maybe, don't like me?" she asked, "I saw you looking and I thought..."


"No!" he said, "you're fine! It's just..."


"Just what?" she stopped and turned to face him, "what's wrong?"


"Well, ma'am," he told her, "you're married! I don't want no trouble..."


"Oh!" she laughed, "is that all? You think my husband will return and, what? Pull out a six gun? Like in the wild west?"


"No, ma'am, I don't think that, although I know some folks who would. I don't steal other people's wives. Now, I know you folks have a different way of living and that's fine." Ben saw Marina break out in a wide grin and was momentarily put off. He collected himself and continued. "This ain't my way of living."


"Oh, Ben," she laughed, "do you honestly believe I'd make an offer to you if my husband didn't approve? Do you think I don't take my promises to my husband seriously? Look, I am autonomous and I make my own decisions. I love him and wouldn't dream of deceiving him. You cannot steal me from him because I'm no-one's property. Love isn't about ownership..."


"Yeah, I know all that," he hastened to say, "I know I must sound a bit old fashioned, but it's the way I was brought up. Marriage is kinda sacred!"


"Oh, it is, I agree," she replied, "but you're not marrying me. Is marriage only about sex?"


"No, ma'am, it's about a commitment to be faithful."


"And you don't think I'm faithful? D'you think I'm going to run away with you? If so..."


"No, ma'am, I don't think that."


"Then, what are you saying? You don't want me?"


"No, I can't say that, either."


"Y'know, we don't have to fuck. There are lots of things to do. Perhaps you'd like a massage? I'm very good, so my husband tells me," she smiled.


"A massage, ma'am? I guess..."


"Good!" she replied, taking his hand. "Unlike my daughter, I prefer a room. I've never liked draughts."


Ben was grateful there was no-one about as they made their way through the pool area to the main house. Marina lead him to a room at the end of one of the wings. It had its own door and she guided him inside with a gentle hand on the small of his back.


"Hmm," she stood facing him, apparently appraising his physique. She ran her hands over his chest and down his sides. "You take care of yourself," she told him, "that's obvious."


"Yes, ma'am," Ben replied, "I, ah, work out when I can." His pulse rate quickened. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.


"That's good," she nodded, "I take exercise as well, but not as often these days. I am retired now, and have no need to keep fully toned."


"Oh? What line were you in?"


"Line? Oh, I see, y'mean what job did I do?"


"Yes, ma'am."


"Assassin!"


"Come again?" Ben asked, shocked.


"I killed people." 


There was scarcely a change of expression on the woman's face. She looked at him sweetly as if she'd just told him she'd been a checkout girl at the local supermarket. "Hell! Who for?"


"The Guardians."


"The who? Is that some kind of secret government agency?"


"Not government," she replied, "more like a private agency."


"Oh," Ben said, doubtfully.


"You will learn more about it the longer you stay," she explained, "I promise you, you're in no danger, here," she smiled, "we wouldn't let you into our home if we intended you harm. Would you care to take off your shirt?" she asked, "and lay down on your front? You may keep your trunks on if it'll make you feel more relaxed. I promise you, you'll have a good time."


"I guess." Ben took off his shirt and lay on the bed. He kept his trunks on. Marina fetched a bottle from the side stand and poured some oil onto the palms of her hands. Rubbing them together, she, again, told him to relax and think pleasant thoughts.


Ben tried to do as he was told. Marina's hands were cool and he flexed a little when she touched him. She was good, very good, and gradually his muscles relaxed. Faintly he heard music, something soothing, and Marina whispered that it was by Gustav Holzt. She told him that the beat of the music exactly matched the heart when it was at rest. She said it was the music of love. 


Ben listened carefully and found his breathing slowing down. The rushing in his head seemed to ease and he scarcely noticed Marina's soothing fingers as they slid easily over his muscles.


"How do you feel?" she asked. Her voice matched her fingers. It was smooth, quiet, and somehow mesmerising. Ben was drifting away and it took him a while to answer.


"Fine," he managed to say.


"Some say it's like smoking a joint," she whispered, "we can, of course, provide some marijuana if you would like a toke?"


"No," he said, "jus' fine!"


"I like to do this, you don't mind?" 


Ben felt the tickle of two warm nipples along his spine. He was too relaxed to object. In fact, he quite liked the sensation.


He hadn't been aware Marina had taken off her top. Even as he felt the warm, smooth flesh of her large breasts on his back, it still took a while to sink in. Additionally, he gradually became aware she was sitting astride his leg.  He felt the soft sensation of her cotton covered pubis pressing down on his calf and the heat from her thighs. Ben slowly developed a hard on. It began as an itch and started to swell slowly.


"Over!" she breathed, and urged him onto his back with her hand. Dumbly he complied, too blissed out to think too much about what he was doing.


He dared to open his eyes and saw Marina hovering over him, topless, with a wide grin on her face. Her breasts seemed even larger, and dangled down just inches from his chest. "You have a nice body," she told him, "you should be proud."


"Hmm, thank you, ma'am," he managed to say.


"You're too polite," she said, "call me Marina, Ben? And it is not necessary to thank me for a compliment. I only tell the truth, and that doesn't require gratitude."


She reached out and massaged his temples with her fingers. Her crotch moved up his leg until it was rubbing his thigh. Ben was aware of her heat, the powerful scent of wild roses and lavender from the massage oil.


Her fingers traced down the sides of his face until they enclosed his neck. Her thumbs pressed firmly against the soft tissure. Ben stared at her in alarm.


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"Ari!" Ella gushed down the phone, "I'm glad you called. What's the deal?"


Ari Ramcke had stewed all day before calling. He was conservative, and terrified his invitation might be misconstrued. His biggest fear was making a fool of himself, of being a laughing stock among those he had to work with.


"I wonder," he began, uncertainly, "whether you'd care to, ah, have, ah, dinner? Perhaps tonight? This is not appropriate?"


"Appropriate?" Ella laughed, "why? You wanna be inappropriate?"


"No, of course not, never! I just thought..."


"Sure, honey, where're we goin'? Do I need to dress up?"


"Um, I don't think that's necessary. There's a small Turkish restaurant, not far, very discrete."


"Discrete, Ari? What are you planning?" she teased.


"Nothing! I swear! Look, you understand I'm married. I couldn't..."


"Don't worry, honey, I won't take advantage. Sounds fine... you pick me up from the Hotel? What time, so I can dab on some perfume?"


The thought of Ella and her scent momentarily unnerved the air crash investigator. He recovered himself in time to suggest a time and she rung off.


Well, he'd done it. Ari Ramcke had invited a woman to dinner. A woman who he felt a powerful sexual attraction towards. His feelings were a heady mixture of anticipation, excitement and guilt. He rang home to tell his wife he'd be late home; how late, he didn't know. Something important had detained him; something he couldn't tell her about. He spent the rest of the sfternoon agonising about his decision, talked himself out of it a few times, then took his hand off the phone again.


In a few days he was going to be fifty. Fifty, and he'd never done anything wild in his life. His life had been impeccably correct in every way, just like the dark suit and conservative tie he always wore. Well, tonight he was going to act out of character.


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"Hmm," Marina told him, "you have a strong neck. Suggests character." Her hands moved from his neck, around his chin, to encircle his face. "You are a very handsome man," she said.


She bent lower so her big breasts pressed down on his chest. Lightly, she pecked his bottom lip. By this time, Ben was rigid and her burning crotch practically squatted on it. Marina raised her eyebrows a little and smiled. "Mr Shepherd," she whispered, "I think you like me."


"Yes," he croaked.


"Perhaps, later, I'll take care of that for you. Would you like me to?"


"I guess."


Ben closed his eyes as her fingers lightly stroked his chest. His sense of morality whispered that he should spurn this woman's advances and apologise for encouraging her. The man in him wanted to wrestle her on her back, strip the remaining clothes from her, and nail her. But, as she licked and nibbled him, it was easier to remain passive and enjoy.


Marina took one of her breasts in her hand and touched his bottom lip with her protruding nipple. It tasted faintly salty as he enclosed it with his mouth. She hummed encouragement as he sucked for all he was worth.


"Yes, Ben," she said, "you're a sexy man!" Her crotch gyrated on him steadily; pushing, insistant. She was breathing quickly, now, with excitement.


She rose suddenly and left him. Ben, eyes still closed, could hear her shuffling down her pants. When she climbed back on, he felt the sensation of  aroused pussy and warm, moist crinkly hair massaging the head of his dick. It was all a bit much, and he felt himself pulsing, ready to come.


Marina pulled him free, then, and pushed his pants down to his thighs. She continued to massage his dick, holding tight to the knob, until he was slick with her fluids.


"You cannot hold on much longer," she told him, matter of factly, "I think it's necessary that you should come. Then we shall see what happens after, shall we?"


"Sure!" His voice strained and barely a whisper.


Marina urgently shuffled down and popped him into her mouth. She sucked rapidly and expertly, humming as he exploded down her throat.


"Uh... My," she swallowed, "you choke me... so much semen! I think you musn't wait... ah... so long, next time, no?"


"No!" he panted.


"A moment," she said, "I must rinse my mouth... so much!" Ben heard her pad out of the room. He opened his eyes in time to see her bare arse wobbling as she left. He closed his eyes again and lay back.


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'Miklagaard,' was the name Scandavian mercenaries and traders gave to the Byzantine Capital, Constantinople, in the 8th century. 'Miklagaard' has a faintly Wagnerian sound to the name. It's also the name of a discrete Turkish restaurant in Conrad Adenaur Weg, near the centre of Hamburg, Germany.


Only a small sign above the red door marked its location. Painted, gold, plaster moldings adorned it, scrolling, Arabic-style letters. Ella was amused, because she was sure the Turkish language was written using Latin script.


Ari had heard that 'Miklagaard' was a popular tryst for illicit office  affairs. Apparently, it was very romantic and, perhaps more importantly, out of the way. 


He'd barely spoken to Ella, besides timid compliments about her appearance. He was so nervous he was practically shaking. While she lounged under the Hotel portico at the appointed time, he'd waited for a bit, down the street, in his self-drive, BFU, silver Audi.


Ari wrestled with his concience and was almost going to turn around and drive away. At the last minute, he siezed his courage, gunned the car, and screeched to a halt outside the Hotel like some hot-headed teenager.


The waitresses were the usual mixture of German students and East European immigrants; the only people who'd tolerate long hours, poor working conditions and low pay. They bobbed about with broad smiles and limited language looking for tips. A slim Turk in a fez guided them to a table, a two seat concealed by bright wall hangings and fake silk curtains. In the background was some shrill, clangy Eastern music and a wailing singer.


As Ella wrestled herself into the chair, Ari wondered to himself how she could possibly wear a skirt so short and tight and still maintain her dignity.


"A drink?" he asked.


"A beer," she smiled, "cocktails make me horny!"


"Oh, I see," he coughed, "two beers, then?" The 'fez' slipped away with an ingratiating smile.


"You think we can stick to English, Honey? My German's Ok, but..."


"Of course!" he agreed.


"My sister, now she'd have no problem. She'd talk to the Turk in Turkish, that Pole in Polish and that chick over there in Romanian. She'd do it without pausing to think. I guess I never inherited the gene."


"You think that girl's Romanian?"


"Sure! Y'see that necklace she's wearing? Y'see the Orthodox cross? Then look at that coin? It's a 'Leu,' a Romanian baptism gift. The priest places it on the baby's forehead when he blesses her. Supposed to ensure good fortune."


"Astounding!" Ari looked at her in wonder, "I'd never have noticed."


"Why should you? It's my job to notice things."


"Yes, I see. What else do you notice?" he asked.


"Well," she replied, "I've noticed you've been shitting yourself all evening. What's the matter, honey? You've never had a romantic dinner with an American chick reporter before?"


"No, can't say I have. You must forgive me. I don't usually do this."


"Do what, honey? You haven't done anything except sip a beer. Chill out a little, ok? Otherwise you'll be a nervous wreck by the main course."


"Yes, I'll try. You married?" he asked, a little too hastily. It wasn't lost on Ella.


"No. My man and I never bothered. We've been together twenty years, now. He's a German, y'know, a scientist."


"Ah, a scientist? So that's where you got your interest?"


"Sorta."


"You man, he is not with you?"


"No, he has some business to take care of over in Berlin. We'll hook up in a month or so, back home in Mexico."


"You live in Mexico? But you're American?"


"Born and bred."


"I see. Are Americans and Mexicans changing places, now?"


"Huh? Oh, I see, you made a joke? I guess it's funny. All these Mexicans wanting to go North and here's me..."


"Yes."


"Well, if you have lots of money, Mexico is a great place to live."


"You have lots of money?"


"My family has, yes. Tell me? What does your wife do?"


"Ah," he stammered, "um, very little... not much at all."


"Oh? Why?"


"She is 'hausfrau,' she keeps home. She doesn't want to do anything else."


"That must be boring."


"Boring? Yes, I think so. I really don't know how she fills in the time," he explained, distractedly.


"Maybe you ought to ask her? You never know, honey, she may be seeing her tennis coach on the side?


"Tennis? You know? I don't know if she plays."


"Hell. What *do* you guys say to each other?"


"I... uh... you know? I really don't know what we say. I've rarely thought too much about it. We seem to live quite separate lives."


"You don't tell each other things? Maybe in bed with a little wine, a little loving?"


"No, we don't do those things... not for a long time. It is my fault, I think. I am always too tired and she is always reading... romantic novels, foolish stuff."


"Whew, Ari, why don't you just whip the book away and jump her bones? I'm pretty sure she won't say no."


"I don't think so," he blushed, "I couldn't do anything like that. She, ah, just doesn't, ah, attract me in the way she used to. It's my fault, I can't help it, but that's the way it is."


"I wish I had a dollar for every time a married guy said that to me. The next line goes like this, 'now if I had *you* for a wife, things would be different'."


"I'm sorry!" he looked stricken, "of course, you must think..."


"I don't think anything, honey. I'm not going to sleep with you tonight even if you asked. We're just having dinner, right?"


"Yes, yes, of course!" Ella noticed a flash of disappointment on his face. She knew, then, she had him hooked and could do pretty much whatever she wanted with him. Sometimes, she thought, just the promise of possible things to come is enough.


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Ben awoke in the wee hours of the morning. Marina was beside him, asleep and naked. He was on his back and her thigh was draped over his groin, warm, sweaty and arousing. His dick was stiff and lay trapped by her flesh to his stomach. The feel of her soft skin was exquisite.


Her head was tucked into the crook of his arm. He reached up with his hand to her shoulder blade and lightly stroked it with the tips of his fingers.


She stirred and her leg twitched, stimulating him still further. "Whazzup?" she mumbled, "Oh? You are?"


"Hi, you awake?" he asked, pointlessly.


"Mmm... what time is it? Oh God, that early?"


"I'm sorry I woke you."


"I'm not," she wriggled her leg. "Most girls would be happy to wake to that."


Not long after, whispered conversation evolved into Ben furiously suckling Marina's breasts. She pulled him with her as she rolled onto her back, humming and sighing with the attention.


From somewhere in the big house, Ben could hear a faint, rhythmic banging. He'd no doubt it was some other couple, perhaps one of the girls, enthusiastically screwing. The thought sent his body into a desperate overdrive and he pushed Marina's legs apart with his knee, reaching down and cupping her sex with his palm.


"Hold on," she cried, "just a minute?" Pushing his hand away, she replaced it with her own fingers. "Are you sure, Ben?" she asked, "Amelie... uh, perhaps Peta? They have tighter... ah... bodies?" She began shaking as she rubbed herself between her legs. "They may want to fuck a sexy man like you, Oh! I am loose...Oh..." She gritted her teeth, then opened her mouth in a gasp. "Ok," she said finally, "I'm ready, put it in, now. If you're sure?"


Marina spread her thighs in invitation. It had been nearly a year since he'd had made love to his wife. Gail and he had not got along for a while and their sex had become mechanical. When he'd made advances she'd sigh, almost in annoyance. He'd open her PJ top, she'd pull down her bottoms and give his cock a brief rub. She lay passive while he worked himself in and out. Afterwards she asked him if he'd finished. That, above all, killed any romance, in his view.


Marina gasped and thrust back with enthusiasm. She grabbed his arse for leverage, setting a frantic rhythm. She moaned encouragement and made him feel he was the greatest lover on Earth. He blew all too soon and she whispered for him to 'give me all you've got.' Afterwards, she told him to stay in place while she finished with her fingers.


Ben knew he'd been too anxious, too desperate, in the art of lovemaking. Marina smiled and complimented him, but he knew the truth. Instead of elation, he felt sorry for himself.


His ex-wife Gail had been little help. They'd married too young, he concluded, and neither of them had much experience. The women, here, both excited and intimidated him. He'd tried, but he felt he hadn't past the test.


"What's the matter?" Marina asked, breaking his thoughts, "you seem sad?"


"Nuthin'," he mumbled, "sorry!"


"Sorry?"


"It wasn't that good for you... I know... it's my fault."


"You're too hard on yourself," she laughed, "you just need more practice. My husband will be home shortly, but maybe one of the girls? Perhaps you'd like to try your charm in the village? A friend of Raul's has status around here. You could use that to your advantage? We have no problem if you wish to bring a woman back here. If she turns out to be a spy, well, we have ways of dealing with that."


"Why would anyone spy on you?" Ben asked.


"Ah, Ben, I think you are being disingenuous. You are an intelligent man, I think you know the answer."


"Y'mean the time travel thing?"


"Ben? I am 52 years old. I was born in 1994."


"Um... er... I see." In truth, Ben wasn't surprised at the news. He'd sort of suspected in any case. "So?" he asked, "when did you... y'know?"


"I jumped in 2028, two years before Reiner, Jurgen and Arnim. False lives had already been planted in our memories. There're many people who work for us that have no idea who we are. They perform small things for us, such as falsifying birth records and such."


"So who *are* you, exactly? What're you doing here?"


"We're here to protect time and evolution."


"From who?"


"From unauthorised interference. There're people who are using temporal shifting for their own selfish ends."


"Temporal shifting? Oh, I see, that's what you call time travel?" Marina nodded, "and you're some kind of Law enforcement people?"


"Some kind."


"And what Government do you work for? Maybe the United Nations?"


"Neither. The technology is far too important to leave in the hands of Governments... or a committee of self-interested nations."


"Hell, I've so many questions..."


"It's better you don't ask then," she said," it is against directives, our protocols."


He watched as she rose out of bed to go the bathroom. Her arse, her flanks rippled as she walked and he wished they could start all over again. The next time he'd be more patient and receptive to her needs. He was done for the moment and her husband was going to be returning soon. Perhaps, he thought, he could try again?


But then she was not the only fish in the sea. He was now free to date whoever he wanted. At his age, he'd never figured on attracting a teenager; it was beyond his frame of reference. Of course he'd noticed the talent at the local Malls and he'd fantasied about bedding one. But one had caught him looking and the expression of scorn and contempt had burned into his memory. He'd felt guilt, foolishness and concluded he was out of the game for good.


Marina had talked as if droves of attractive, willing women were just waiting for him. Despite it all, he felt a wave of contentment, of expectation. Perhaps Trinidada had been the right decision for him after all? Perhaps it was 'where he was meant to be,' as Raul would say? An opportunity to open new doors and put his life back together?


Marina swayed and flowed back into the room and he took one last look at her nakedness before she threw on some PJs. Her skin was glistening and pink; she'd evidently had a brief shower. Ben was suddenly aware of his own stale stink and he asked if he, too, could shower. She nodded and indicated the way she'd come.


"Don't be offended, Ben," she told him, "but I wish the bed to myself, now. Your room is through the bathroom." She must have caught the look of disappointment on his face because she added, "sometimes I like privacy. It has nothing to do with you. My husband understands. He, too, sometimes sleeps in there. Are you still horny?"


"No, not now... ah... thank you."


"We must find you are regular girlfriend. You have a lot of catching up to do, I think," she smiled. "And, hey?" she called as he was leaving, "you're a great fuck. I'm always slow to get going, even with my husband. I often use my fingers when we have sex, he understands."


He didn't quite believe it but he smiled in acknowledgement anyway. He crawled into bed in the other room and was asleep almost instantly.


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"Thank you Ari," Ella breathed, "it was a great evening." Ari doubted whether he'd been the best company, but smiled at the compliment anyway. They were still sitting in the car by Ella's hotel and Ari noted she wasn't in a hurry to get out. Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he was waiting for her to invite him up to her room?


He didn't know what to say. Her scent filled his senses in the confines of the Audi. Her short skirt seemed to have ridden up a fraction and her long legs stretched out in front of her. He wanted to run his hand up that flesh, along the inside of her warm thigh, and discover just what she had to offer. His mind was a riot of erotic thoughts that left him lost for words. He was terrified of betraying his lust and making a fool of himself.


She turned to face him, fiddling with her earring, and smiled. The darkness seem to brighten a fraction. He watched her body adjust, the slight movement of her chest, as she talked. He watched her lips move and the fall of her long, thick hair; the way her eyes danced as she talked. What was she saying to him? He couldn't remember.


"Ari? Is something wrong?" The question penetrated his numbed senses and alerted him to possible embarrassment.


"Sorry, I drifted away for a minute."


"What were you thinking about?"


'Was she acting dumb?' he thought, 'surely she realised the effect she was having on him?' "I was just thinking," he said, slowly lect he trip over his tongue. "I was thinking... how beautful you look... tonight. Is it all right I say this?" he added, suddenly stricken that he'd gone too far.


"Why, Ari!" she bubbled, "what a nice thing to say!" Her voice seemed to tinkle like wind chimes, but lower, throatier, as someone who'd once smoked, perhaps, but had subsequently given up. She moved her knees a little apart and his face froze with indecision. Was she offering him a grope up her skirt, he wondered? "I'd better be getting inside," she said. The assertion in her tone of voice told him she meant it and it wasn't some coy invitation to follow her into the hotel.


Then she bent over and kissed him. It wasn't some goodnight peck on the cheek from a female friend either. She hit him full on the lips, open-mouthed, moist and sexy. Her hand circled his head, her face turned side on and her tongued probed past his teeth. He reeled at the assault in surprise and shock. When she slipped out the door, adjusting her skirt, he remained there, eyes wide and open mouthed. The taste of Ella's lipstick was smeared candy-like over his mouth. Her lingering perfume suffused the car with the scent of Spring days. He watched her negotiate the steps to the hotel doors in her tight skirt before turning and waving goodbye. It was then he was aware of the passers-by in the street and what they must be thinking. Suddenly, he didn't care, he felt ten feet tall.


A little later, Ella lay on the bed in her underwear and reached for her cellphone.


"Arnie?" she called, "Ella. You got my report?"


"Of course, what've you found out?"


"I've just had a date with the most boring man I've ever met."


"How so?"


"Talk about a repressed individual! It took him 3 hours before he passed a compliment and then he had to ask permission."


"Don't be so hard on him," he replied, "Ramcke's old school. I bet he was way out of his comfort zone."


"No, this guy is really weird. He started to talk about his wife, except..."


"Yes?"


"He didn't really know anything about her?"


"Maybe he didn't want to discuss her with you? Perhaps he was guilty, and..."


"No, he genuinely didn't know. How can two people live together and be totally ignorant about each other?"


"Happens, I guess. What's your theory? I presume you have one?"


"I'm not sure. Either he's a complete fake and he really lives alone with his cat, or..."


"Or?"


"Someone's been dicking with his memories and he's unable to separate out real and implanted endgrams."


"If that's true, someone's been messing with his head that shouldn't be; someone who doesn't know what they're doing. It may explain the mood swings, obsessiveness, social discomfort..."


"On the other hand, it could just be that his parents were control freaks and he needs a coupla years of therapy?"


"That's more than possible, too. Are you up to finding out? I could put someone else..."


"No, I can handle him. I think he's fallen in love with me."


"That so? Then be careful! You could be touching off long repressed emotions."


"I can take care of myself."


"You need a minder, there? Amelie, perhaps?"


"No. If I need an assassin, I'll call you, ok?" she laughed.


"Don't get too cocky, Ella. I'm worried you could get be getting out of your depth."


"I'm fine," she said, "don't worry!"


As she prepared for bed, she wished Fuller could be with her. She missed his comforting arms and advice. Most of all she missed his body next to her's.


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KATZMAREK © 

