Leslie Fields took a quick glance at her Rolex. Oops—running a bit late.
She had to pick up the pace.
Ziv lived in a condo on Queen Street West, which was just a short subway ride north from her apartment on King. Well, she could walk it just as easy, but tonight she’d have her overnight bag with her, so it was more convenient to just hop the train.
She ruffled through her dresser drawer—the bottom drawer where she kept the special stuff. Out came the leathers—well, really just leather singular. It was a onesy, with a zipper at the back which slid down right to the bottom of her ass. Impossible to get zipped up all by herself, but Ziv would help. She’d arrive at his condo half-zipped and he could take his time finishing her off.
Once he finished zipping her up, she’d order him into the bedroom to wait patiently for her, flat on his back. Oh, yes, he’d be nicely surprised tonight, but she knew full well he was up for it. He just didn’t know she knew, or how she knew.
She reached into the bottom of the drawer and pulled out her leather Cat Woman mask. Even though the onesy was tight, black, and sexy as hell, she knew the mask would be his favorite. She just knew. Something about being a predator, and since he’d been a predator on the streets of the world for most of his career, being the prey for a night would be a fantasy unlike any other for him.
She knew Ziv had a lot of fantasies. He’d just been afraid to talk about them with her so far. So, tonight would be the moment of truth. When the utter glee on his face would give him away. Cat Woman would make him as hard as a rock.
Sometimes the simplest things had the most powerful effect. The human brain was unpredictable, and of course well known for being the most erotic sex organ. Nothing happened if it didn’t happen in the brain first. Why some people had such powerful fantasies, Leslie had no idea. She was willing to play the game, of course, no harm in that. But, she didn’t really understand it.
Perhaps something that happened in childhood, some shock or something extremely erotic and impactful? Images from childhood were the most powerful, and they generally molded the way people thought for the rest of their lives.
Leslie sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the Cat Woman mask. She smiled, thinking how excited Ziv would get when she slipped it on.
Then her smile turned upside down when she recalled the night he’d poured his heart out to her about his late wife, Isabelle.
A car bomb in Paris meant for Ziv. But, Isabelle beat him to the car, anxious to tour the city on the first vacation they’d taken in years.
In fact, as a couple, they hadn’t left Israel for at least five years. Ziv had traveled many times, of course, in his role as a Mossad agent, but Isabelle had never accompanied him. So, all of their vacations had tended to be in Israel, for security reasons.
But they got careless once and went to Paris. Isabelle and their rented car blew into a million unrecognizable pieces when she turned on the ignition. Ziv had been crossing the street, intending to hop into the passenger side when it happened.
Isabelle had wanted to drive that day.
The blast blew him off his feet and rendered him unconscious, suspended in a medically induced coma for several days. When he awoke to the news that the love of his life was gone, taken instead of him, he vowed that he would kill the animals if it was the last thing he did.
And he did.
With the help of the Mossad, he tracked them down in Lebanon a year later. One of them died instantly from a concussion grenade installed under his mattress. The other killer died while Ziv watched from a phone booth across the street. One call was all it took for the telephone to become a deadly weapon.
That was twenty years ago, and he hadn’t allowed himself a serious relationship since. Leslie felt honored to be the one. Yet, she had to be careful not to allow herself to get too close. Close meant complications, and she didn’t want too many of those in her life.
She smiled when she thought of what a paradox Ziv was. He was strong, handsome and confident. And very intelligent—he had to be, just to survive in the job that he’d done for most of his adult life. One of the most well-trained intelligence operatives on the planet, which could probably be said of anyone who’d worked for Mossad.
But, the paradox of Ziv was, in a nutshell, a man who was trained to be in control in his job—but, from a sexual standpoint, he was apparently more than willing to completely give up control. In fact, after tonight when she opened up his secret, he would be begging her forever to be the one in control. And, probably at times, to even make it hurt. Leslie just knew these things.
As far as she was concerned, that was okay. It made everything so much easier.
She went into her bedroom and squeezed her body into the skin-tight leather suit. Left the back unzipped from the bottom of her ass. Then, she stuffed a change of clothes into the overnight bag, along with the mask, four sections of rope, a ball equipped with a thick elastic band, and an ominous looking bull-clamp. Then she pulled up the handle on her case, and wheeled it towards the door. Last but not least, she donned a long, stylish London Fog trench coat to cover up the erotic suit and her exposed ass. Couldn’t have scummy men getting excited on the subway. That wouldn’t do, because despite the way she was dressed, Leslie was a classy lady.
One last look in the hallway mirror before she made her exit. She smiled at her reflection. As usual, not much makeup. She liked it that way. Because she was looking at the real Leslie Fields. And, with the real Leslie Fields, she honestly didn’t think there were many men who could resist when she put her mind to it.
After all, the mind was indeed the most powerful sex organ.
*****
Ziv was pacing back and forth, excited as hell. He could feel his heart pumping hard, which was what always happened whenever he’d been on assignment for Mossad.
Missions that took him around the world, sometimes dangerous, sometimes benign. But, it was the chase that got him—the clues that took him from point A to point B. The satisfaction of getting to point B.
And it felt as if, right now, he was close—very close. To point B.
Tonight was doubly exciting—the clues in the letters were starting to form a pattern in his mind. And, as a bonus, Leslie was coming over in about an hour. That alone always got his heart pumping.
Ziv took one final look at his notes. He had to phone Brad before he burst. Picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Hi Brad. It’s me. We need to talk.”
“Want me to come over?”
“No. I have a date tonight, but I wanted to talk to you now. Didn’t want to put it off. I’m pumped at what I’ve found out. And you will be, too.”
“Should we talk about this over the phone?”
Ziv hesitated for a second. “I think we’re safe. No one knows what we’re doing.”
“Okay, then. Give it to me.”
Ziv shuffled his papers. “Well, first off, I put all the notes through that program I told you about, along with all of the data that we have about Hal’s arrest, the dates, his family information, etc. A definite pattern starts to form.”
“We already discussed the dates of those four particular letters—how they seemed significant.”
“Yeah, the program picked that up right away too—how those four dates correspond with famous dates of possible false flags or cover-ups. And the word nonce was used twice, which seems to be an attempt by Hal to pound away at the fact that he’s writing in code. But, there are also two phrases in one of the letters that are interesting. One is two different directions, and the other is on the wings of a dream.”
“What’s so intriguing about those?”
“They’re both titles of songs by the late singer, John Denver.”
“He mentioned another John Denver song, too, when he was writing about his wife, Anne— Annie’s Song. He talked about how that song reminded him of her.”
Ziv was tapping his pen furiously on the desk.
“Yes, Brad. I think all three of those references to John Denver were very significant. And not only is Denver a city in Colorado, but John Denver also lived in Colorado—and was a pilot. Which was actually how he died.”
“Okay, I’m trying to follow you.”
“Let’s keep in mind that Hal Winters was definitely trying to say something, create a pattern, but he had to do it cryptically. Otherwise, the letters would never have been allowed to leave the prison. He had to get them past the prison screening filters. And he succeeded. So, we have to try to think like him here, and then tie in some other key facts.”
“Carry on.”
“Right. Some of those key words you pulled out of the letters are intriguing: mirages, tricks of the brain, eyes are playing tricks, seeing things that just aren’t there. He also wrote about being given a bad deck of cards, and that one of the guards bought him a new one. And remember again those three John Denver songs that he squeezed into his letters: Two Different Directions, On the Wings of a Dream, and Annie’s Song.”
“I’m trying to follow you, Ziv. It’s pretty muddled right now, but I’m keeping up.”
“Okay, here’s where it gets even more interesting. The ninth letter—the one you said was the one that Colin gave to you—was dated September 11. In that letter, he states that he just weighed himself and was shocked to see that his weight had dropped to 175 pounds. And then he goes on to ask this Richard Sterling guy to send a birthday card to his eldest son, Logan, as his birthday was coming up on 17/5. So, May 17 of the following year. But, the kicker here is that in America, they would show that date as 5/17, not 17/5 like you Canadians would show it.”
“Hey, you’re a Canadian now, too.”
“True, but I still think of myself as Israeli, and in Israel we would also show it as 5/17. But, Hal, being American, went against the grain and showed it as 17/5.”
“So, he asked that a card be sent to his son, and he went to a lot of trouble to use the number 175 twice; once for his weight and once for the birth date.”
“Exactly. But, get this. What’s really interesting, in addition to the number 175, is that his eldest son’s name is Garret not Logan. And his other two sons are named Heath, and, of course, Brock, who you’ve already met. And none of them have a birthday in May.”
“That’s strange.”
“Yes, it is. He went out of his way to squeeze into his letter the number 175 and the word Logan.
“I did some digging. The newspapers all said Hal was dressed in a pilot’s uniform that day that he walked into the Mall of America. But they never said what airline’s uniform it was. There’s video footage of him in the open mall area before he changed out of his clothes. I managed to get a look at it through my contacts back in Tel Aviv. Don’t ask. Anyway, the uniform was United Airlines, and it was a captain’s uniform.”
“Jesus!”
“Yes, and let’s remember that this was just four days after 9/11. Two United Airlines and two American Airlines planes were hijacked that day. And then there Hal is, four days later, dressed in a United Airlines captain’s uniform in Minneapolis. I’m scratching my head over that. Coincidence?”
“He’s trying to tell us something from the grave with these letters, Ziv. I don’t think there’s any coincidence here at all.”
“No, me neither. And my nifty little computer program doesn’t think so either. I’ve plugged everything into the program and it spit out a summary. We used this software at Mossad for years—I think they have a newer, better version now. But this thing still works pretty good. Mind you, bear with it—the summary isn’t necessarily logical. We have to attach our own logic to it. It just takes all the facts and comes to some conclusions, even if they’re illogical. I’ll read the summary to you:
Subject Hal Winters, a trusted black ops agent, skilled pilot. Refers to deceptions and mirages. Was involved in trickery. Dates of letters correspond with historical deception dates. Consistent with use of number 175, wrong birth date of son and deliberately incorrect name of son. Seen wearing United Airlines uniform close to 9/11 terrorist attacks. Incorrect name of son, Logan, refers to Logan Airport, Boston. United Airlines flight 175 departed from Logan Airport before being hijacked and crashed into south tower of WTC. Consistent reference by Winters to John Denver songs is deliberate message. Evidence points to subject matter being airline flight. Subject Winters was a pilot, John Denver was a pilot. Subject Winters was dressed in United Airlines captain’s uniform and references flight 175 and Logan in his communications. Focuses messages on John Denver songs with no apparent linkage as to why. Conclusions: Subject Hal Winters was the pilot of United Airlines flight 175. Key message intention is Denver International Airport. Existing data on said facility consistent with deception messages from subject Winters.
Ziv heard a gasp at the other end of the line. “Brad, are you there? You okay?”
“What the fuck, Ziv? This is crazy!”
“I know, I know!”
“Do you really trust that program? Geez—this makes no logical sense at all. Flight 175 crashed on September 11 into the south tower. And Hal Winters was arrested four days later, way off in Minneapolis.”
“I warned you. It’s computer-speak. We have to mull this over and attach our own logic to it. It merely assembles all the information and assimilates it in a fashion that would take our brains forever to process. Then it comes up with calculated conclusions—not necessarily logical, but calculated.”
“I can’t believe the Mossad relied on this too often. How can we make sense out of it?”
“Well, all I’ll tell you is this: the program was accurate ninety percent of the time. So, I think we need to sleep on this and talk some more tomorrow. Deal?”
“Good plan. But, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep too much after hearing all this. My brain is just spinning now. Here’s a crazy thought—if this is indeed accurate, what the fuck does this tell us? Where does this take us?”
“I know, I know. My brain’s spinning, too. Let’s just put it out of our heads for now, and we’ll hash it out tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thanks for this, Ziv—I think.”
Ziv hung up the phone and poured himself a glass of Merlot. He glanced at his watch. Well, at least he knew that he would have a wonderful distraction in just a few minutes. Something to help him forget the craziness of the Mossad program conclusions.
He shut off the computer, bundled the twenty letters up into a neat little pile and carried them over to his open wall safe. Stuffed them inside, closed the heavy door, and spun the dial. Nice and safe now.
Tomorrow, he and Brad would debate the findings.
Tomorrow was another day.
And tonight was tonight.
He jumped with excitement at the sound of the doorbell. He walked—no, ran—to the door and opened it wide. There she was, his intoxicating new love.
Leslie sashayed through the door, pulling her trusty little suitcase behind her. She let go of the handle and wrapped both arms around Ziv’s neck. “Well, my favorite secret agent, do you think you can handle a rocket scientist tonight?”
He kissed her. “You know it. Great to see you, Les. Just finished up my work, so I’m all yours for as long as you want me.”
“You know I want you. But, first I want a glass of wine, and I can see that you already have a bottle open. So—pour.”
Ziv laughed. Leslie closed the door behind her and pulled her case into the bathroom. “I’ll change later. Right now, let’s toast to something—anything.”
Ziv reached for her coat. “Don’t you at least want to take off your jacket?”
“No, my dear. I have a surprise underneath, and even more in my suitcase. So, you can fantasize about that for a few minutes while we toast.”
They sat together in the living room and clinked their wine glasses. Ziv leaned forward and kissed her neck. “I’m intrigued. But I’ll put my curiosity on hold for a few minutes. So, what shall we toast to?”
“Well, how about that project you’re working on?”
“Sure. As good a toast as any.”
They clinked their glasses again.
“How’s it going, by the way? You haven’t told me much about it, but from your intensity over it, it must be kind of exciting.”
“It’s going okay.”
“Secret agent stuff?”
“Ha, ha. You know I retired from that.”
“Yeah, but you mentioned you still do some consulting.”
“A wee bit here and there. Nothing earth-shattering. Why don’t we toast instead to what you’re doing?”
Leslie laughed. “Trying to change the subject, huh? Okay, well, I’m working on a new advanced telescope that’s going to be installed on the International Space Station. The most powerful telescope ever invented, and it should give us earlier warnings of near-earth objects. See, now? I’m not secretive at all. Not like you.”
“No, you’re not. But I won’t tell anyone about your telescope, don’t worry. I don’t think anyone would give a shit, anyway. But, how do I know it’s not some secret weapon being installed up there?”
“Now, that would be silly, Ziv, since we share the ISS with the Russians.”
“Oops—forgot about that. Okay, good answer. I think I’ve had too much wine. Why don’t we stop talking and have some fun before I make the mistake of pouring another glass?”
Leslie flashed him her sexiest smile—a smile that Ziv knew always preceded a sexy romp in bed. She grabbed the empty wine bottle and took it into the kitchen.
“Okay, I’m going into the bathroom. Why don’t you get ready, then come in and join me? I’ll actually need your help for one part of the surprise.”
Ziv’s heart felt like it was trying to leap out of his chest. And his jeans suddenly felt far too tight. “Deal. Call me when you’re ready.”
He ran into the bedroom, then into his ensuite bathroom. Quickly ran the electric shaver across his face and splashed on some cologne. Then he heard an authoritative summon; a tone in her voice that he’d never heard before.
He ran back to the other bathroom and cautiously opened the door. There she was, clad in tight leather from her neck to her toes. Her shapely ass was exposed, and her face was shrouded in a mask. She looked more authentic than the movie version of Cat Woman.
He stammered. “Wh-what’s this?”
She took hold of his hand and guided it down to the zipper at the base of her ass. “Shut up and just zip me.”
Ziv was shocked. But, nicely shocked.
How did she know? Have I given her clues?
He was eager to obey her command, but before he did he couldn’t resist slipping his hand between the crack of her exposed bum. He slid it in as far as it would go.
Leslie whirled around and slapped him across the face. “You’ll have to wait. Zip me up. Now! And then go to your room and lay on your back!”
He fumbled nervously with the zipper and managed to get it all the way up to the base of her neck. Then he quickly headed back to his bedroom. Laid on his back and waited.
She was there in seconds, standing at the foot of his bed, resplendent in black from head to toe. And that mask—it did things to him.
She had her case with her and opened it up. Said not a word, but went straight to her work. She pulled four sections of rope out of the bag. “I’m going to restrain you. Because you’ve been such a bad boy.”
Ziv could feel his body shivering with excitement. She ripped open his shirt, popping the buttons off in the process. Then yanked off his jeans, underwear and socks.
Next were the restraints. She tied his feet to the footboard—tight, but not tight enough to cut off circulation.
Then she slithered her leathered body on top of him and sat on his chest. Pulled his arms back over his head and tied his hands to the headboard. Again, not too tight, but tight enough. He knew he wasn’t going to escape from this, but he didn’t care either.
Leslie reached down into her bag and pulled out an odd looking ball. “Open your mouth, you naughty boy!”
He obeyed. She shoved the ball in between his teeth as far as it would go, and pulled an elastic attachment up and around the back of his head. He couldn’t move, talk, or even scream now. But, Ziv didn’t care. This was a game she wanted to play with him tonight, and one that he wanted to play, too. He trusted her.
She started licking his neck, and then quickly moved her tongue down to his chest. Continued on down to his navel, and then her mouth pounced on his penis. She bit it gently at first, but then got more aggressive. Her teeth were scraping hard against the head of his penis and he moaned. Her hand reached down into her bag and pulled out the bull-clamp. She attached it to his left nipple while her teeth continued scraping hard against his penis.
Ziv shook his head from side to side. He wasn’t liking this too much at all. She took the cue immediately and popped the clamp off.
His penis had already started retracting with the discomfort, so she went to work with her hands. In a few seconds it was hard again and she slid her crotch up on top. Ziv’s eyes were like saucers as he watched her gyrate. And he discovered something wonderful about the skin-tight black suit. It had a gaping hole in the crotch, that she accentuated by spreading her legs outward. Suddenly, he loved this Cat Woman even more. He could fuck her with the entire leather outfit still intact. He loved the feel of leather.
He entered her smoothly and they began to rock together. Ziv gazed up lovingly at the masked face. Seeing those exotic eyes gleaming through the slits made his penis even harder. He had the feeling that the orgasm that was on its way was going to be the biggest blast he’d ever had.
She closed her eyes and rocked harder now—frantically. He could hear her heavy breathing as well as his own. With his mouth constrained by the ball, he was finding it hard to get enough air just through his nose alone. Made the sensation even more exciting, almost dangerous.
He was starting to feel lightheaded. She was rocking now just as if she were riding a stallion. For a weird second, Ziv wondered if she’d ever owned a horse. Slapped his thighs as she rode, bent his penis to extremes—stretching it to limits it had never experienced before. It was exhilarating.
All of a sudden his eyes were distracted by movement through the open bedroom door.
Out in the hallway!
The front door had opened and two dark figures were entering; slowly, quietly, hunched over in commando fashion.
Why is that door open? I always lock it!
He started moaning as loudly as he could to warn Leslie, but her eyes were closed, her moans were louder than his, and she wasn’t paying any attention to him at all.
They entered the bedroom quietly, each brandishing pistols. Dressed in black, including balaclavas covering their faces.
One leaned across the bed and pistol-whipped Leslie across the side of her head. She flew off the bed and crashed to the floor. The intruder then walked around the bed and put the barrel of the gun up against the back of her head. The other stranger shoved his gun into Ziv’s forehead while at the same time holding one finger up in front of his mouth.
“Shh. I’m going to take this ball out of your mouth. Don’t yell out or my friend will kill her. Understand?”
Ziv nodded his head. He noticed the man had a British accent.
The man pulled the elastic off the back of Ziv’s head and popped the ball out of his mouth.
“We’ll be quick. Give me the combination to your safe.”
Ziv swallowed hard and drank in a deep breath of air.
“Now! If you don’t tell me the combo, my friend will kill Cat Woman over there. And then you’ll be next.”
Ziv didn’t have a choice. If his hands and feet were free he could do something about this. But—he was a captive audience and completely helpless. A feeling he wasn’t accustomed to at all.
He whispered, “Okay. Don’t hurt her. We’re cool here. It’s 35-14-27.”
The man shoved the ball back into Ziv’s mouth and walked out to the living room. Ziv heard the spinning of the dial and the sound of the safe door cracking open.
Within seconds, he was back in the bedroom with the pile of Hal Winters’ letters under his arm. His friend pulled the gun away from Leslie’s head, and her shoulders sagged with relief. She hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the apartment, but her eyes behind the mask reflected sheer abject terror.
The leader was all business. Quick and focused. He nodded to his friend. “Okay, let’s go.”
They both shoved the pistols into holsters on their hips, saluted Ziv mockingly, and left the apartment without another word.
Ziv thought to himself that these guys had known exactly what they wanted. Slick and professional. No mess, no unnecessary violence.
They were professionals, just like him. This was exactly how he would have done it.
And—at least one of them was British.