Part Nine: The Dreams

Running full speed through the trees in New Delhi's central park was like making a mad dash on foot through an operating car wash. It didn't help that he was running directly behind his "package", Dr. Rafi Hameed Usmani, and the branches the scientist passed by were snapping back at him as he approached. He barely noticed them, though, as his main concern was the Pakistani assassins hot on their trail.

It had only been eight hours since he had picked up his package in Lahore, Pakistan. The defecting nuclear scientist had been passed off to him by a deep cover MI6 agent who had risked a great deal in making the delivery. He hoped the agent had been able to avoid detection, and was pretty sure he had; they had figured on a twelve hour window before the scientist would be discovered missing. Getting him to the eastern Pakistani city had eaten up seven of those hours. Soon after that, frantic messages must have filled the airwaves. As it was, he and Usmani had just crossed the border into Punjab when the first spotter aircraft buzzed overhead. From there, they had to seek cover several times before a sortie of Punjabi fighter jets streaked overhead to chase away the smaller prop-jobs.

Hitching a ride in a covered truck, they made good time all the way to Mansa, where they were able to catch a train to New Delhi. The timing had been perfect, and he was confident they had not been followed as they boarded. The situation quickly changed when they detrained in New Delhi, as a Pakistani agent was spotted scanning the crowded platform. They managed to escape that particular agent, but as they moved through the crowded vendor plaza he caught a glimpse of two men moving parallel to them. They were professionals. 

Using the crowd to hide their movements, they zig-zagged across the busy station to a staircase leading downward. A moment later they were exiting the station through a rear service entrance and into an idling taxi. What a stroke of luck to find a taxi there! The driver happened to be taking a break in the alley, but the roll of bills he pushed into the man's hand was persuasion enough to return to service. There must have been more than one Pakistani team at the station, though, because it wasn't long before they had unwanted company. From the direction of their flight, the opposition could deduce they were heading for the British Embassy, and the closer they got the more emboldened was the effort to thwart their arrival.

Shots rang out as they neared the park, and the tires of the taxi were hit. Grabbing the scientist, he pulled him out of the cab and into the park. Crossing the tree covered expanse was the fastest way to the Embassy, and provided the most cover. While they ran, he removed a micro-SD card from a slit in his belt and inserted it into his cell phone. Powering it up, he pressed a single digit and was connected instantly with the Signals Officer at the Embassy. Bad news. There was an obvious Pakistani presence outside the Embassy. They would call back with instructions momentarily.

Peter's head tossed to the side on his pillow, and he rolled over as he dodged yet another bullet in his dream. It was a dream he had when the stress of his job churned in his stomach and his mind could not find that restful state it needed. Even though it was mid-day in his dream, the forest was dark and foreboding. Some nights he dreamed that great gray wolves launched themselves from their hiding places along their route. More than once Dr. Usmani had been devoured by one of the jagged toothed beasts. This was usually enough to wake him from the nightmare, but the wolves were not there this night.

The ring of his phone made him groan as, in his dream, he answered the call. If they could make it to the Nehru Memorial Museum, just north of the Embassy, there would be someone there waiting for them. WHO?! He was told he would recognize the agent. Usmani was slowing down, and he was trying to help him move faster as a bullet splintered the branch next to his head.

Peter tried to wake up, knowing now that this was a nightmare, but he was caught in it, just as he had been caught in it twenty years ago. There was no stopping. Stopping meant sure death. He pressed on, pushing his package in front of him, until they cleared the forest. Knowing he was fully exposed, he held his hand up to stop traffic as horns blared and breaks squealed. Another shot rang out, and Peter moved directly behind the scientist to shield him as they reached the far side of the street. The museum was directly ahead, but where was his contact?

More horns blared behind him and he knew the trailing hit team had crossed the street. Now there was a pain in his chest that was squeezing him like a Python. Must...reach...Museum!

A subdued flash near the side of the huge building attracted his attention and he saw Jessica Smythe half hidden in an outside stairwell, leveling her silenced Osprey .45 towards the street. Peter knew at least one of their pursuers was dead, maybe more. At that range, Jessica was not likely to miss.

Once they were in the stairwell, Jessica fired off four more rounds in rapid succession and then ducked to guide Dr. Usmani through the door. As he entered the basement room a figure behind him closed the door. He looked back to see a petite young woman in a smart blazer and skirt.

"He's hit, Miss," the woman said.

"What? Peter! Oh God!"

Looking down, he saw that his shirt was soaked in blood. His blood. As he lost consciousness the dream's grip on him faded also. He woke up, sweating and disoriented.

It took a few minutes for his breathing to return to normal and to shake off the effects of the dream. He looked over to see his sleeping "wife", Abigail, facing him from her side of the bed. There was a pleasant smile on her face, and in the aftermath of his nightmare, she looked like an angel.

Although he was now awake, his mind was still in New Delhi. When he had regained consciousness he had found himself in the Embassy infirmary, with Jessica sitting next to him. Bit by bit the events that unfolded after he had passed out were related to him. The woman in the Museum basement had been Jessica's new asset, Abigail Stewart. She was fresh out of the Fort Monckton training camp, and on her first overseas assignment. New Delhi was a favorite training ground for the Service because the Indian government was on very friendly terms with the Crown, and the two countries had mutual cooperation agreements when it came to Security. Stewart's cover in the city happened to be that of a tour guide. She owned an agency in London, and guided many tours to cities all over the world. The fact that Peter was even alive was due to Abby's knowledge of the Museum, and her quick thinking when it was discovered that he had been shot. Jessica knew enough first aide to slow his bleeding, but Abby knew the staff at the Museum and had arranged for the on-site paramedics to respond. Several minutes later a security team from the Embassy arrived and they were all whisked safely, and discretely, away.

Looking at Abigail now, sleeping, Peter's heart ached. He loved her, but knew her heart belonged to another. Jessica. He could never take her place, nor had he tried. He watched her as her smile widened and she flinched reflexively. She was dreaming, but it appeared to be a much happier dream than he had just awoken from.

Indeed, Abby was in the arms of her Mistress.

They had been together all weekend, and had sated their sexual lustings several times in those two days. She had been tickled 'til she cried, whipped 'til she cried, and had orgasms 'til she cried. Her tears were her safe word, and she didn't cry easily. Early in their relationship Jessica had rejected the idea of continuing until she cried, but she had convinced her Mistress that it was a good measure of her limits. She knew the pleasure Jessica derived from abusing her, and she craved that abuse just as much, and she was constantly pushing herself and her limits for their mutual benefit. They were a perfect match for each other.

Her Mistress was pressed up against her back as they lay on their sides, naked, together in their bed. One of Jessica's arms was draped over her shoulder and her fingers were toying with her breasts. Every so often her fingers would clamp onto her nipple and pinch, making her flinch and smile. Jessica loved her nipples, and would spend considerable time toying with them, kissing them, squeezing them with nipple clamps, or tapping them with one of her canes. Now, other than the occasional pinch, she was merely caressing them. It felt so good to have her Mistress' hands caressing her flesh; it was arousing her again.

This was not the frenzied love making that had consumed them on Friday night and well into Saturday. It was not the lustful bout of BDSM they had shared on Saturday afternoon and evening. It was the Sunday morning "I want to feel you close" caressing, the "I never want to let you go" embracing, the "I'm going to miss you so much" cuddling. In the morning she was off with a tour group to Venezuela on a four day excursion to three of the country's largest cities. She had messages to pick up in each city. No big deal. But it meant another week away from Jess.

She felt her lover pull gently on her shoulder and let herself fall backward onto the bed. Jessica pulled her hands upward over her head and then held them together with one of her hands. She could've wrestled them free with no trouble, but she submissively allowed her arms to be held in place. Leaning over, Jessica began planting kisses across her chest, and around her breasts. It felt wonderful. She breathed in as the kisses began to fall along her side, trying to prevent a giggle as the soft lips grazed her ticklish areas. Even without her Mistress holding her hands up now, she kept them in place as the kisses ventured further down her stomach and finally centered on her mons veneris. To aide the lips in eliciting excited gasps, Jessica's tongue joined it.

BAM!

They both jumped as a loud crash could be heard coming from the living room.

"What the fuck?" her Mistress said as she looked towards the door.

Seconds later a man entered wearing full MRU assault gear, and leveling a SIG Sauer MCX assault rifle at them. Two men entered behind him, and then a third.

Mistress grabbed the sheet and pulled it around her as she went to rise off the bed. "What the hell is this?! Get the fuck out of here."

The first man who entered the room grabbed Mistress by the hair and pulled her off the bed.

"Oww! Fucker!" Jessica kicked the man in the shin and a loud snap was followed by an anguished howl. She had broken his leg.

Three rifles were immediately aimed at her Mistress and one of the men pushed her up against the wall while his comrade cuffed her hands.

"NOO!" she yelled out, and then realized she had been dreaming! It was dark; she was in her bed with Peter. Peter was awake and looking at her.

"I'm sorry, darling, did I wake you?"

"You were dreaming, it's okay," Peter replied. "I was already awake."

"Oh..." Abby closed her eyes, glad that she didn't have to relive the horror of being pulled out of bed and thrown, naked, into the back of a SecuroShuttle.

After a moment of silence, Peter said, "I have to go up to the Signals Station at Gretna the day after tomorrow, Abby. I want you to come with me." He reached over and smoothed out a strand of his wife's hair on her forehead.

"You do?"

"Yes, I think it'll be good for you to get out of the house and take a nice drive."

"Will I be allowed to get that close to the border? I thought the Station was just on our side."

"You can stay in the hotel in Carlisle while I go to the Station. No one will give you any trouble there."

"That would be wonderful...thank you."

Abby hadn't been an active agent for over two years, but her spy-senses tingled into life. Peter was up to something.