Quid Pro Quo

Lightning flared, casting the world in argent which left its imprint seared into Lilith's eyeballs as the subsequent thunder growled like a loitering lioness overhead. She lowered the sniper rifle and blinked hard three or four times to clear her vision before raising the Dragunov to her shoulder once again.

Sergei had been typically economical with the details when he had briefed her about the assignment two days earlier. He'd provided a name, a location, and the time her flight left Moscow; anything beyond that was strictly need-to-know. Lilith preferred it that way. It meant no connection of any kind with the target when the time came to blow a hole in their skull.

From her rooftop vantage point, she sighted down the scope and began to slow her heartrate and her breathing until the view through the lens was rock steady. She ignored the rain which had started to fall in sheets now and focused her concentration squarely on the three-car cortege easing up against the kerbside over half-a-mile away. At this distance the shot would have presented a challenge to any sniper. But in these conditions, and with the window of opportunity so narrow.... Lilith tried to control the adrenalin surge which threatened to thwart the hit and very gently tightened her finger on the trigger.

A flurry of activity surrounded the cortege; flash photography vied petulantly with the intensifying storm as several bodyguards struggled to keep the besieging paparazzi at bay. One of them opened the rear door of the leading silver Daimler and international opera sensation Natalya Patanova stepped out on to the sidewalk.
Lilith tensed. She had the target directly in her sight, the notched crosshair perfectly positioned over the back of the head of the russet-haired diva as she accepted the adulation of her fans and the media. Lilith began to squeeze the trigger....

A sharp intake of air hissed between her teeth as Patanova was suddenly cut off from view by a huge umbrella. For one mad moment, Lilith considered taking the shot anyway, like that time back in Kabul.... But back then the desert conditions had been far more favourable to her blind assault through the drapes of the US embassy. She could not risk it here.

Her eye remained glued to the sight, catching brief glimpses of Patanova as the umbrella danced almost balletically around her. At one point, Lilith thought that she could make the shot as the target paused  to scrawl her moniker for several of her more insistent fans. But before Lilith could commit herself fully, Patanova turned and was once more hidden from view as she retreated ever further towards the garishly lit theatre behind her.

The window of opportunity, so narrow to begin with, was now almost closed completely. Yet still Lilith did not move. Patanova had reached the theatre entrance, over which her name burned in gold neon; and when she turned for one last time to acknowledge her admirers -- as she surely would -- Lilith would guarantee that it would be the star's final curtain-call.

On the threshold of the theatre, Patanova paused, and Lilith steeled herself to make certain of the six figures that would be wired directly to her account once the hit was confirmed. She knew that she could rely on the BBC World Service to spread the glad tidings.

Patanova turned, emerging from the cover of the umbrella to raise a hand to her fans, and to pose one more time for the drooling photo-journalists. It was all the opportunity Lilith needed, and she homed in on the centre of Patanova's forehead; the pristine whiteness of her ermine coat formed a perfect canvas for the assassin's bloody artistry.

But as Patanova blew a kiss, Lilith froze. It was an innocuous gesture under the circumstances, and must have been intended for the cameras. But it was the way the opera star seemed to be looking directly back at her, and the all-too-familiar smile that spanned the distance which alerted Lilith to the unforeseen deception.
She whirled, too late. She let off a shot that zipped well-wide of the figure that leapt at her out of the darkness. Then a crushing blow delivered to the back of her head by an unseen accomplice sent her sprawling. Then nothing.


II
She awoke to the unmistakable smell of blood, and knew immediately that it was her own. The unforgiving glare of stark strip lighting assaulted her vision as she tried to open her one good eye. The other languished uselessly beneath a swollen lid that throbbed intolerably.

The chair to which she was cuffed faced a table -- the only other piece of furniture in the stark, musty room awash with cold fluorescence. Behind it sat the woman she had mistaken for Patanova, still in her evening dress, with some shaven-headed thug in a suit alongside her that Lilith presumed to be British secret service. She guessed he was responsible for the beating she had taken.

The woman smiled and sat forward, steepling her fingers beneath her chin. "So kind of you to join us," she said airily, as though she were indeed the opera star she had been impersonating greeting a fan. "My apologies for the subterfuge. Unfortunately, the real Natalya Patanova has a prior engagement at Covent Garden."

Lilith coughed and winced at the pain lancing her ribs as her interrogator opened up a file on the desk and began to idly leaf through its contents.

"You've been a busy girl, Lilith Bukowski. Afghanistan, Iraq, Latin America. Thirty-five hits, all with your name on them. Quite an impressive tally."

Lilith coughed again. "Still nothing compared to the number of people you must have fucked to get to the top, Angelica."

"You really don't care, do you, Lilith? Did that dishonourable discharge actually make you so disaffected that you send your own countrymen back home in bodybags?"

Lilith shrugged. "Everything's ad personam. Usually I just go where the money takes me."

Angelica shook her head and waved her hand dismissively as the immaculately- tailored thug at her side made as if to continue using Lilith as a punchbag.

"Go," she snapped, closing the file and rising from her chair as the agent left the room. She removed the auburn wig and carelessly tossed it aside to reveal a natural brunette bob beneath. As much as Lilith hated to admit it, Angelica Blake still looked fabulous at thirty-five. The figure hugging electric-blue dress -- split to the thigh and plunging daringly at the front -- accentuated the perfect Monroe-esque figure that had done her ascent through the ranks of military intelligence no harm whatsoever. Angelica was the original Mata Hari.

A low beep -- rhythmic and persistent -- suddenly began to sound from somewhere to her left, and Lilith frowned and turned her head to see a squat black box on the bare floor, up against the wall. Several diodes intermittently flashed red and green on its fascia.

"I see I haven't lost my touch," Angelica said with a smile. She perched herself on the edge of the desk and seemed to thrust out her ample chest just that little bit further.

"What the...?" Lilith began as her eyes followed a thin coiled cable which ran across the bare floor from the mysterious box, and up between her legs. She caught a glimpse of her inner thigh where her one-piece stealth suit had been torn open, and  for the first time Lilith could feel something fitted snugly inside her.

"Unlike Agent Cresswell," Angelica continued, "I don't always believe in pain as the best means of obtaining the truth. That box is a little something rustled up by our technicians to gauge sexual arousal. And it is quite obviously working."

"Very James Bond," Lilith snorted. "But don't flatter yourself; I'd say your box was fucked."

"And I'd say you're in denial," Angelica replied. "But let's see, shall we?"

Lilith stared back defiantly as Angelica reached behind her back and picked up what looked like a television remote.

"You do realise that this more than constitutes entrapment," she challenged, but Angelica simply gave a wry smile.

"You're an enemy of the state, Lilith. Several states, in fact. Do you really think anyone would give a damn? Besides, if I remember correctly, you always liked it a bit kinky."

"And you hope to gain...er, what, exactly?"

"The Oculus Organisation. You're going to tell me everything you know."

Angelica depressed a button on the remote and Lilith caught her breath at the tingling sensation triggered deep between her thighs. Consciously, Angelica's methods were leaving her singularly unimpressed; but the insistent beep and light show over in the corner betrayed her subconscious dichotomy.

Lilith tried to regain her composure and resumed her insolent stare. "I once had to lie in wait for two days in
the Arctic Circle before I could take out the British ambassador to Norway. If you think your oversized vibrator's going to make me talk, you're in for a big disappointment."

She jerked again, the front legs of the chair leaving the floor for a split second as Angelica once more pressed the button.

"Pain thresholds can be almost superhumanly high in even the most unexpected individuals. Sexual yearning on the other hand  is the most irresistible drive of the entire animal kingdom," she replied as Lilith gasped.
"You'll talk."

Lilith shook her head and curled her lip. "Just because we were fuck-buddies for what -- six months? -- don't presume to know how I tick."

"Oculus," Angelica repeated slowly. "They're planning a high profile hit on someone much bigger than a tacky diva prone to spilling the Russian premier's pillow-talk. I want to know who it is."

"Well I still say you should be doing a Guantanamo on me and pulling out my fingernails if it's that big," Lilith sneered. She narrowed her eyes. "Or is this more about you, Angelica? 'Cos the way I remember it, you always did like to be in charge of the proceedings."

"You never used to complain." Angelica sighed.  "And back then, we used to share everything."

"Like make-up, the occasional boyfriend," Lilith rhymed scornfully. "For God's sake, we were nineteen years old! And you weren't the deputy head of British Intelligence."

"No," Angelica said grimly. "And you weren't a member of an international network of anti-western guns for hire."

"Well, it beats social security."

Angelica just smiled and gave Lilith another few seconds of sensory stimulation which left the assassin gaping for air.

"Oh, God," she groaned, only half-consciously. The box was lit up like Blackpool tower; as much as she fought to resist its effects, that bloody device was beginning to break down her defences. And it didn't help that she hadn't got herself laid in over a month. She'd  known she'd end up living to regret passing up that one night stand with the hunky Pole down in Soho the night before....

"Come on, Lilith," Angelica coaxed. "We know you're close to the head of Oculus. All I'm asking you to do is share one more time."

Lilith hesitated as the blood pumped madly in her ears. Suddenly, the swell of Angelica's breasts was looking exceptionally inviting....

She shook her head to clear it and drew a deep breath. "Sorry, can't help you -- "

The rest of the sentence was swallowed in a protracted groan as Angelica kept her forefinger on the button for a full half-minute. Lilith felt as though she were melting in her seat, and she strained towards Angelica with a hungry look in her eyes.

Angelica sauntered round behind Lilith, who felt her ex-lover's breath warm on her neck.

"You want me as much as you ever did," Angelica breathed. She smoothed her hands over Lilith's shoulders, her fingertips locating the unobtrusive zip of her stealth suit. "As much as I still want you."

The zip was suddenly down to Lilith's navel, and she snatched a breath as Angelica cupped a hand beneath each of her breasts and caressed them with a reverence one might reserve for some holy relic. Lilith's eyes fluttered closed as the box blared its own erratic son et lumiere.

Then suddenly Angelica's hands were gone as she moved back round to face her tormented captive. Lilith opened her eyes to find Angelica's own misty gaze locked on to her.

"A little information, Lilith. That's all I need. And in return...." Angelica smiled and gestured loosely towards her amazing body. "Do we have a deal?"

Lilith could barely think straight. "And afterwards?" she broached. "I'm an enemy of the state, remember?"

Angelica shrugged. "We're British Intelligence; we can do what we want. I'm sure we can come to a mutually
satisfactory arrangement."

"So what about a down payment?" Lilith tossed her loose blonde hair to one side and regarded Angelica like a famished woman ogling a full English. "You know -- an added incentive to deliver."

"Quid pro quo, Lilith," she croaked, the breaking of her voice betraying her own sexual tension. "Let's call it a sign of good faith."

Lilith let her gaze rove wantonly over Angelica's body as she conceded: "Target Seven; that's the designation."

"Where?" Angelica pressed.

"Here. London."

"When?"

"As soon as." Lilith smiled and ran her tongue over her lips suggestively. "Now, are you going to come over here and fuck me, or what?"

Angelica returned the smile and stood just that little bit higher as she folded her arms across that voluptuous chest of hers.

"Afraid not, Lilith," she sighed with a rueful shake of her head. "As much as I want to."

"You conniving bitch," Lilith hissed.

"Takes one to know one, Lilith," Angelica parried. "You must be holding out on me, because that was just way too easy. So maybe I was wrong; maybe Agent Cresswell's way is the most effective one to extract the God's honest from you."

Lilith set her jaw as Angelica crouched beside her chair and stared into her eyes. "Which is such a pity," she murmured, fingering stray strands of Lilith's hair away from her bruised cheek. "Such a waste."

Her eyes flickered from Lilith's eyes to her lips as she very slowly leaned forward to brush them with a kiss.
Lilith's heart skipped at the contact which unearthed so many long-buried memories. Angelica drew back an inch and met Lilith's eyes once more, before kisssing her again. Harder this time. Deeper....

Lilith responded as Angelica ate into the caress, yielding to the thrust of her tongue as it forced its way hungrily between her lips. Angelica's hand was behind her head now, running through her tousled hair, her nails biting into her scalp; her other hand had slipped back inside Lilith's stealth suit to clamp over her breasts in turn.

The change in mood took less than a second as Angelica pulled away, coughing. She tried to stand, stumbling backwards against the desk which sent her veering off at an angle, clutching at her throat. She tried to speak, but only her wide, unblinking eyes could communicate her horror.

Lilith just stared impassively as the poisoned tooth dissolved in Angelica's stomach acid, releasing its lethal cocktail into her bloodstream. The results were agonising but swift, and the deputy head of British Intelligence collapsed, thrashing wildly on the floor as the chemical concoction waged an all-out assault on every single one of her vital organs.

In less than a minute it was all over. Lilith was surprised at how little real emotion she felt at sight of the inert corpse of Target Seven lying just a few feet away. The designation had been her own, a personal reminder of the number of zeros that would make up the sum wired to her account by grateful Irish Republicans. The price on Patanova's head looked like small change by comparison.

Still, she was never one to renege on a contract. Covent Garden, Angelica had said. Now all she had to do was get out of these bloody handcuffs.

The box in the corner was blaring like a burglar alarm.