Chapter 2
Ginger had worked for Bernie's industrial security agency for three years. She started, and spent one year, with an intelligence agency. The collapse of the arch enemy cut short her career, so she hired on with Bernie.
In addition to the normal security services, Bernie also provided industrial espionage, and she figured her earlier training would fit right in. Fat chance! So far, the only assignments she'd had were low-level, gofer jobs anyone off the street could do.
Bernie was pacing the floor when Ginger arrived at the Logan Clinic, ten minutes late. He looked at his watch and grumbled, "You're late, dear. You know we don't like that. A good operative is always punctual."
"Bite my ass, Bernie. You ruin my chance to enjoy a good screw, cut short my vacation, and then bitch about ten minutes."
"If I did bite your pretty ass, dear, you would never forget it."
"I'll bet!" she said, barely hiding her sneer.
"Let's get with this so very important job, whatever it is."
Bernie sat down and poured coffee for both of them.
"In two weeks, Ilsa Kroncke, a brilliant Hungarian chemist, will come here for a symposium. She has been working on a formula for a new fuel that will replace gasoline. We know very few details. Rumors say the base is soy beans, or hydrogen-which, as you know, comes from water and is very plentiful-or rice, or corn, or wheat, and even sugar beets! Everything but orange juice."
"Maybe orange juice is too sticky," Ginger quipped.
Bernie scowled at her flippant remark and continued. "I'm not at liberty to disclose the identity of our clients, but they are an oil cartel and are not from this country. As you can imagine, they are frantic. Whatever Ilsa is doing, if she's successful, she can disrupt the entire world economy. At least as far as the countries that depend on oil production are concerned. Our economy would also be disrupted, but not fatally, and not for long. Our big oil companies would merely shift gears and keep going."
"We've heard all of this nonsense before about cars running on water," Ginger said. "Why do you think this Ilsa person can do what no one else ever has?"
Bernie grinned wolfishly. "Frankly, my dear, we don't give a damn. We're in this strictly for the money. And there's plenty of that available." He slid two photos across the table. "Ilsa's mother was Hungarian and her father was German. East German, before the wall came tumbling down. Mother and father worked for the old USSR, and Ilsa was educated in Moscow. Her mother was also a chemist of some repute. Her father was some sort of engineer, barely known to us. Her mother died five years ago. We don't know what happened to her father.
"Ilsa speaks Hungarian, German, English and Russian. You speak English, German, Russian and a smattering of French, hence your selection."
"To do what?" Ginger interrupted.
"Ilsa will be accompanied by an old guy, in his fifties. A bodyguard or something, we're not sure. We do know he seems to like young women with big tits. Seems to prefer redheads. Your job is to get close to him and distract him. Someone will move in on Ilsa and buy the formula from her.
"We've made arrangements with the sponsor of the symposium for you to be their security liaison, which gives you a perfect reason to be around them. And, since you're skilled in the martial arts and are an expert marksman, you're qualified if any trouble does arise. The entire operation shouldn't last more than three or four days."
"You have to be kidding," Ginger said quietly. "You want me to seduce this old guy so you can make a run at Ilsa?"
Bernie nodded and smiled. "If necessary. It might not come to that."
"You know he'll want to fuck me, and so do I. Why else would you tell me he-likes young redheads with big tits? You don't pay me enough for that, Bernie."
"Yes, I thought you would take that attitude. I'm authorized to offer you a million. Half when you finish your training, if you finish, and half when we have the formula."
"A million what? Dinars or rials, or whatever they call their money?"
"Dollars. U.S., " Bernie said. "A mixture of cash and stock in various companies."
Ginger shook her head. "I'm not even sure I want to be trained as a courtesan, Bernie, but for a million dollars, I'll take a shot at learning to stand on my head and suck cock. Payment up front, however, or you find someone else to do your dirty work. No diamonds or gold, or whatever, and definitely no stock. I'd be stupid to take something that will become worthless if I succeed. I might be crazy, but I'm not stupid. Just good old U.S. greenbacks. Tax-free, in a Swiss bank, whether you get the formula or not."
"You drive a hard bargain, Ginger snap. You'll thank me for the training you're going to get, believe me. Tell you what, I'll give you a fifty thousand dollar bonus right now, which you can keep it whether or not you finish the training course. If you finish the course, you get the million. Paid as you specified."
"Done." Ginger reached across the table to shake his hand. "I just hope I don't live to regret this."
Bernie pushed several forms across the table. "Read these and be sure you understand them before signing. One word of warning. Your training will start at once. Obviously, it includes sex, and you will be exposed to things that will seem outlandish at first. You will not be abused or mistreated in any way, of course."
"Of course," Ginger said cynically. She signed the forms and pushed them across the table to him. "Does the old guy have a name by any chance?"
"Bruno Mueller. He-likes to be called Duke. John Wayne is his favorite movie star. I'll make arrangements for your payment and check in with you later." He pointed toward a door across the room. "Just go right through that door. The nurse is waiting for you." He tapped the papers together on the top of the table, put them in his briefcase and stood. "Good luck, Ginger. Try hard not to fail."
Ginger had a bad case of nerves as she walked to the door. She always did when facing a new experience. And this wasn't an ordinary experience, by any means! She knew about using women for what the intelligence services call a honey trap to trap and blackmail foreign agents.
She never expected to be part of one voluntarily. How did they train a concubine? Who trained a concubine? She took a deep breath and opened the door.