The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I got to the Air and Space Museum around ten fifteen. I checked to see if my pass was still valid; it was, one of the few benefits to academia. Walking in, I glanced around—there, upper deck on the right—Janice. I continued looking around as I headed for the stairs; I didn’t recognize anyone else.

“Good morning,” I said as I walked up to her.

She hugged me. “I was worried—we were worried.”

“Thanks—I’m okay. How are you? Why are you here?”

She managed a smile. “I’m here on my own, if that’s what you mean. Roger, it’s chaos—I don’t think anyone knows what’s going on. Was it true?”

“What?” I asked.

“Some kind of bug? In your body?”

I nodded. “As far as I can tell, yes. Luckily mine was botched and got infected, which helped show the thing up. I understand other people had them as well.”

She nodded. “That’s the rumor—they’ve been screening everyone. A few folks have been sent off to Pittsburgh or other sites.”

I started walking, looking around as I did. “Spot anyone else?”

“I haven’t recognized anyone, or seen anyone suspicious. I understand you’re meeting the Director at 10:30?”

“Yeah.” Some secret that was.

She shook her head. “Hard to believe what’s happened.”

“No, pretty easy, actually.”

She smiled and nodded. “What can I do to help?”

I hugged her at the top of the stairs. “You’re doing it. I’m meeting people at 10:30, 11:30, and 12:30. Watch my back? But please—watch yours as well.”

She nodded, but her face still showed concern, unease. “You’re really working for ... them now?”

“Janice, I don’t know who I am or am not working for. Am I working for another organization without a name? Supposedly they’re interested, but they’ve fucked up too. Am I still working for Hammond? I’m not too sure about that, either.”

She shook her head.

I hugged her again. “That’s okay—I don’t understand it either. I’ll probably be going to lunch at the cafeteria in the History Museum.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered.

“So am I, believe me. Thank you for being here.”

“Here’s my cell number—call me if you need anything.”

I took it with a nod, then hugged her again. We separated. I turned to the stairs.

I looked up at Rutan’s Voyager, hanging from the ceiling. Hard to believe, two people flew around the world nonstop in it. I shook my head as I walked down the stairs—who was crazier—them or me? I sat down to wait.

Hammond was right on time. I stood up and shook his hand. We sat down together.

“Up on the balcony to the right—he one of yours?” I asked, still looking at him.

“Brown leather jacket, light colored knit shirt, black hair?” he replied without turning around.

“Yeah.”

“Ken is one of ours. Is Janice working for you now?”

“She works for herself. I didn’t invite her, or tell her.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Doctor Hawthorne, Roger, thank you for agreeing to get together. I owe you an apology for what happened in Miami.”

Even though I’d been thinking about it, I still didn’t know how to respond. “It’s over. How many others were there? What have you learned?”

He shook his head again. He looked like hell. “Fifteen so far, with a number of people yet to be checked. Two of the fifteen are still scheduled for surgery. I spoke with Doctor Richards personally—she was duped, twice, and she’s mad as hell. Similar reports through the organization—they were very thorough. If there’s a pattern, I sure as hell don’t understand it. Another cancer...”

We talked about the organization. He was trying to hold things together; some clients had deserted them, some hadn’t—yet. He thought I was probably doing the right thing by moving on.

I felt like a Father Confessor—he was sitting leaned over, looking down, his elbows on his knees. I worked to focus him forward, looking for things which had gone well. It was hard.

About twenty after eleven—I noticed a man standing on the other side of the hall from us. He blended in so well that he stood out. Plain topcoat, relaxed stance, face breaking into a wry smile. He approached.

When he was about fifteen feet away, Hammond looked up and stopped what he was saying in mid-sentence. He sat back. “Alain?” he said, his voice full of emotion.

The man stepped forward, smiling. Hammond stood up. The two looked to be about the same age, mid 50’s. Alain was in a lot better shape, undoubtedly psychologically as well as physically. The two embraced. Alain pounded Hammond on the back. Hammond returned the greeting.

They walked away from where I was sitting. They stood talking for a few minutes. They talked European-style, about a foot apart, glancing over to me occasionally. I eventually figured out they were both speaking French. At one point I could tell I must be the subject of conversation. I wasn’t sure whether I liked that or not. They came over to me.

Alain was amused; Hammond wasn’t. It took a few minutes to convince Hammond that nobody had put me up to this—not Alain, not Barbara, and certainly not those clowns in Miami. Why had I done it? I wasn’t sure. Hammond asked me point blank if anyone had put me up to this. I told him no. Did I know the history of the two groups? Hell, I didn’t even know their names! He and Alain stepped away again. I was worried initially, but eventually they hugged and came back over to me.

“Doctor Hawthorne, thank you—I think,” Hammond told me. We shook hands. He turned to Alain, and told him he’d wait for him for lunch. Hammond walked away, shaking his head, and chuckling.

Alain looked at me, that wry smile on his face. “Doctor Hawthorne, you continue to surprise us,” he said, almost laughing. We embraced, Parisian style, then sat down to talk.

He was quite amused. Why had I thought to bring him together with Hammond? I still didn’t know, but I felt it was the right thing to do—gut feeling. He laughed and shook his head. We talked about the dinner party in Miami. I told him what happened, and called his people “cowboys.” On the other hand, the driver had been superb. He asked what I thought of the clinic, and the island resort. I gave him general answers. When he got more specific, I got more general. He smiled and nodded.

He asked what skills I offered his organization. I told him he had it wrong—I didn’t give a rat’s ass about his organization, or Hammond’s for that matter. He might want to think about what his organization had that might interest me. That sat him back, but still with a smile. I gave him my thumbnail analysis of the relationship between trust and betrayal and left it at that.

He nodded. He sat for a bit, then told me he needed just the skills I’d demonstrated—and not the martial arts skills. He needed a new set of eyes to look things over, someone who didn’t come in with the prejudices of a person who’d worked in the area, someone with maturity who was more interested in victory without conflict.

He smiled and looked at his watch. Was I interested in joining him for lunch with Hammond? It should be quite interesting. No, I had another appointment. He sat back in shock—who else? I laughed and told him I was meeting a fellow physicist.

He shook his head. He told me he was also impressed with my ability to inspire others, and to inspire loyalty. He hoped he would be adding to the organization, rather than losing someone. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

I spotted my lunch appointment and let Alain know. He stood. We embraced again. With a laugh, he wished me well, and told me he would be in touch.

I walked over to my physicist friend and greeted him. He hadn’t spotted me. As we were walking out of the building, I nodded to Janice. She looked bewildered. I laughed out loud.

I stopped for flowers on the way back to Barbara’s place, getting there a little after five. The afternoon had been quite productive, and the morning very interesting. I was looking forward to the evening, and whatever it might bring.

But when Barbara opened the door, that changed. Even though she smiled, hugged me and thanked me for the flowers, I could tell she was irritated and upset.

“Barbara, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “My plans for this evening were cancelled. I’m so ...”

I interrupted her with a kiss. Still hugging her, I whispered, “Then we’ll just have to find something else to do.”

“Oh Roger,” she said in an exasperated sigh, “I was so looking forward to it—for both of us.”

We walked to the kitchen, my nose leading the way. “Smells delicious,” I told her, putting an arm around her waist. She was holding herself tight as she walked. Why?

I refilled her wine glass and filled mine. We sat at the small table in the kitchen.

“What else?” I asked her, holding one of her hands.

She smiled, giving me a questioning look.

“Is there something else? You’re upset.”

She frowned again. “You’re right. Oh Roger, some of these people are such ... idiots. Taking off with you was either the best thing or the worst thing I’ve done.”

I kissed her hand. “You know how I feel...”

She wrinkled her forehead, looking at me intensely. “Oh you feel wonderful—so warm, so passionate. I need to be held, especially in the morning.”

I kissed her hand again. “Thank you—I need to be held as well.”

She smiled, taking a big sip of her wine. “I could have stayed another week or two with you.”

I smiled. “Barbara, so could I—I know we’ll go back. We just need to figure out when. Oh shit—I didn’t get the info on the bedding, and I don’t know how to get in touch with them. I really want to send them a thank-you note.”

She smiled a little more. “I can give you the information on both. The best way to contact Paul and Gail is e-mail. Oh, I got a message from Paul—he’d like you to give someone a call tomorrow morning, see if you can meet with him, and contact some people back in your area when you get there.”

“That can wait until the morning. Tonight we have each other.”

She started to speak, her forehead furrowing and her shoulders going up at the same time.

“Remember the last few days, during the storm?” I whispered.

She murmured. “Oh yes...”

“The storm is still around us, but we’re together. Right?”

“Oh Roger—I wish I had your patience.”

I laughed. “So do I, dear...”

She shook her head.

“What?” I asked.

She frowned. “I still find it hard to believe. That idiot Carl—he had the unmitigated gall...”

I raised an eyebrow. I figured if she wanted to tell me, she would.

“He actually told me to use my ‘charms’ and do whatever it took to get you.”

I managed a slight smile. I reached over and held her hand.

Fire flashed in her eyes. “And I told him that wasn’t the kind of organization with which I wish to be associated.”

Was that what Alain meant?

I took a chance. “Like to move West for a while? You won’t have to worry about sunscreen in Seattle.”

She stopped and looked at me. Her smile returned and she nodded. “Let’s see how dinner is coming,” she said, standing up.

“Any chance you could show me one of your museums tomorrow afternoon?”

She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled.

“Did you know how much I like the way you move?” I asked her.

She gave me a steamy look—that was encouraging. “Oh Roger—you’re the one who moves so well.”

I stood up and took her in my arms. “I don’t understand,” I whispered, kissing her neck.

“What don’t you understand?” she growled as she ran her hands over my back.

“So much—what you do to me in bed—what you do with the touch of your fingers, pressing on my back with your hands...”

“Mmm,” she said, her fingers more energetic on my back. “Or holding your head? Maybe there are some things you don’t need to understand...”

I held her. “I’ll consider it a woman’s secret.”

She laughed softly and kissed my neck. “You’ve taken me to some interesting places recently.”

“You deserve the best.”

“I’ll settle for you making us a salad,” she whispered in my ear.

“Ah, romance!” I said, giving her a squeeze.

She swatted me on the bottom as I retrieved the lettuce from her refrigerator.

We reviewed Friday’s tentative schedule as we ate. I’d make my call early, as Paul suggested. Depending on that meeting, we’d do a museum in the afternoon. We already had reservations for dinner Friday night.

Dinner was over. She reached for my hand. “When do you fly back to Seattle?”

“Sunday, I guess. That leaves us Saturday.”

She nodded somberly. “I can check for you, if you like.”

I liked the feeling of her hand in mine. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “What will you do when you get home?”

I shook my head. “Depends on what happens. Finish the semester, but after that, I could take the next semester off—or the whole year.” I looked into her eyes. I was getting to an intense place again. “I don’t know if I need time to think, or what. Part of me says to think things over.”

“And the other part?” she asked with a lecherous grin.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I felt the tension—what to do? All of a sudden I understood better what Christie went through. “With all I’ve been through, some times I don’t know what’s real any more. I don’t know if a feeling is mine, or if it was put there—I know how weird that must sound, but it feels a whole lot weirder. What I do know is how wonderful the time I’ve spent with you has been. I enjoy being with you. Maybe we should go see this Dumas woman in Paris—maybe she could help me understand.” I didn’t know which was the bigger mistake for me to make—telling her I loved her, or not telling her.

Her chin was in full pre-cry wobble and her eyes looked full. I wanted to bury my head in her lap or her bosom again. But I moved my chair over closer to hers so I could hold her and hug her, holding her head to my shoulder, supporting and comforting her. She started sobbing softly.

“Barbara, help me figure it out. I know what I feel for you. I know how special you are to me.”

So many things were running through my head. I decided the thing to do was shut the hell up and hold her.

After a few minutes she started to straighten up. I reached for a napkin and handed it to her. She wiped her face, managing a smile.

“What was that you said about me? Always full of surprises?”

She threw her arms around me. “You certainly are,” she said in a broken voice.

I let her compose herself. “So what do we do now?” I asked. “I mean, after we take care of the dishes.”

She looked at me incredulously, then started laughing. I held her and we laughed together.

“Let’s do the dishes,” she said eventually.

We stood side by side in her kitchen cleaning things up. As I wiped down the countertops with one towel, she dried her hands.

She shook her head and gave me a half smile. “Roger, there were times this afternoon when I was wishing you’d sweep me off my feet and take me away with you.”

“I could sweep you off your feet quite easily, my dear, but you don’t know how to fall.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “That’s what makes you so interesting—some times you are so unpredictable!”

I walked over to her, putting my arms around her waist. “And some times I am oh so predictable—like when you hold me.”

She turned us and pushed me back against the cabinets. “I know,” she said softly. “And you are so nice when I’ve got you.”

“So what do we do?”

She shook her head. “Roger, I don’t know. And there haven’t been many times in my life when I’ve said that. I’m in the same pickle—part of me says to think it over, and part of me says to call the moving company. Another part says to take you upstairs and stop all this silly thinking.”

I nodded. “Sounds like a good answer to me.”

After we got ready for bed, she surprised me. Leading me back to the bedroom, she spread a robe on the floor. “Roger, will you humor me tonight?” she asked.

I ran fingers up her side. “I’ll do whatever you like.”

“On your back,” she growled.

I made it down to my back. She lowered herself on to me and started rocking back and forth. She moved a hand between her legs to help, closing her eyes, her head going back. I caressed her breasts, taking my cues from her vocalizations. I focused on her, trying to hold myself back. As she got closer, she moved one of my hands to a nipple. I took the hint, rolling both her nipples gently. That worked, increasing her bucking and her volume. “More,” she panted—I squeezed her nipples more, rolling them between thumb and forefinger as I held her breasts. She cried out, holding both my hands to her, her hips slowing.

She lifted her head, then looked down at me. Her smile turned to lust as she put her hands on my shoulders, pressing down, pressing a moan from me. As her eyes burned into me, she started grinding on me, swirling me around inside her, pressing into her. I held her waist, moaning, my eyes closing and my head moving side to side. I moaned as I moved semi-coherently under her. She didn’t slow as I came deep inside her, continuing to move me until I couldn’t move anymore. She leaned down and kissed me, an energetic and triumphant kiss. I participated as best I could; I was wiped out.

She cleaned us up and dragged me to bed. I shuddered as my mouth found a nipple, and she held me close. We both sighed as we settled in.

“I hope you didn’t mind,” she whispered to me in the morning. I was snuggled up to her back, one arm under her head, the other draped over her waist.

“What?” I asked, kissing her neck.

“Last night—I needed that.”

I kissed her again. “Did you hear me complaining?”

She chuckled. “You made a lot of noise...”

“So did you, and I hope you enjoyed it. I certainly did.”

She rolled over, pulling me to her embrace again. “I’ll be gentler this morning.”

“Be yourself,” I whispered before she filled my mouth.

She rocked me, singing to me, then moved me to my back. She rode me, she rode us, but so softly, so gently, so lovingly.

“Time to shower,” she whispered, waking me later.

I made my phone call as she was taking care of her hair. After speaking to an assistant, my call was transferred to a man. Could I meet him in 45 minutes? Where? He gave me the name and address. I repeated it to Barbara, who nodded. Fine, ask for him at the desk.

“Where am I going?” I asked as she put on some powder. I took the powder and put a little on myself. She giggled at that.

“It’s an old men’s club. I’ll call you a cab.”

“Call me whatever you like, dear... Is it an old club, or what?”

She smirked. “It’s been around for a while. Old-boy’s network, that kind of thing.”

We dressed, only fooling around a little.

“You didn’t mind last night?” she asked again as we headed downstairs.

“No, why? It was quite an experience.”

She smiled. “I needed to be in control, to control you.”

I held her close. “Whenever you feel the urge, please—I didn’t mind, really...”

She gave me a squeeze. She wrote out the address of a place to meet for lunch, then called a cab for me.

Handing me the overcoat, she told me, “Tip the cabbie if you want, but it’s paid for. Behave, and I’ll see you for lunch.”

I kissed her again. “Yes, dear.”

I was outside the restaurant when I saw her. Before I could see her face, I could see it in the way she walked. Uh oh, not a good morning. Her face confirmed it, even though she put on a smile.

We hugged. “Tell me about it?” I asked.

She sighed as she held me. “Let’s go in and sit down first.”

We went in. She was recognized, and we were quickly shown to a table, to the apparent dismay of the crowd waiting in the lobby area. I let our host seat her.

After a sip of water, I took her hand. “Not a good morning?”

She tried to smile. “Oh Roger... Consistent at least... The flights Sunday were all full, so you’re going out tomorrow—it was that or Monday.”

“I’m sorry. My offer still stands. I keep a clean house.”

She managed a smile. “I believe you.”

“So how bad is it tomorrow?”

“Your flight leaves at 9:45, goes through Dallas, getting you home around five.”

“Quite civilized, thank you. What else?”

She frowned again, and glanced around. I took that as a hint. “How was your morning?” she asked.

“You were correct about the old boy’s club... Some folks are sniffing me over to be part of an arbitration panel. The two sides have each picked a person, and now they’re looking for a third, neutral one. One party is Japanese, the other is French, and it involves electronics. That’s about all I know.”

“But they’re interested?”

“Damn noncommittal, as you might expect, but I think so. This morning was the French side. I’ll talk to the other side next week. I don’t have any axes to grind. They wanted my suggestions for neutral venues.”

“And you suggested?”

I held her hand. She has such pretty hands. “They’re saying four to six weeks, possibly starting mid-January. I suggested Arosa or Geneva in Switzerland, Toronto, or Hawaii, the Kona coast.”

She chuckled. “And their response?”

I shrugged. “They’re poker players. Who knows? The world won’t end if they don’t like me. Not my problem.”

She nodded and squeezed my hand. “Good for you.”

We had a quiet lunch. We decided to walk to the museum, only a few blocks away.

“How are you?” I asked, arm around her waist.

“Oh Roger, I don’t know. I had a very rough morning. I almost booked myself on the flight with you...”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit,” I said, holding her.

“I know—I’m not sure. I told ... someone this morning that while my smile, my wit, and my charm were still available, my body was not.”

“And?”

She managed a chuckle. “He rattled on for a few more minutes, and finally I took his hand, which had worked its way into my lap, and put it in his, and told him it was his problem, not mine.”

I could still feel the tightness and uncertainty in her. “What can I do to help?”

She stopped, turned, and put her arms around me. I held her, turning us to protect her from the people walking by.

“Should I stay?” I asked after a bit.

She shook her head, and we resumed walking. “No, that’s not the answer. I need to work it out.”

The familiarity of those words didn’t help me a bit. “Barbara, I don’t want to lose you. The time we’ve had together has been very special.” Why was I so scared to say three little words?

Her arm went around my waist again. “I know, Roger—it was very special to me as well.”

She showed me part of a museum. I could tell she was in her element. I asked questions, which she answered politely.

As we were heading from one wing to another, her phone sounded. She took it out of her bag and looked at the display. “I should take this,” she said in a resigned and none too pleased tone. I nodded and pointed to the museum store. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and went off to handle her call.

When she found me in the shop she seemed more resigned, I guess. She wasn’t the relaxed person I’d spent the last almost two weeks with, that was for sure.

“Find anything interesting?”

I pointed to a series of books on one shelf, authored by one “B Macmillan.”

She managed a smile. “I can get you an autographed set, if you’re interested.”

I took her arm in mine. “I much prefer live lectures.”

She held my arm. “That’s the best way—it would involve some travel, though.”

“I could insist on Geneva or Arosa—we could take breaks in Italy.”

“Oh Roger—some times I think it would be so much simpler if you just swept me off my feet...”

I slid my arm from her waist to up under her shoulders, pivoted pulling her across my body as I caught her legs in my other arm, holding her. She squeaked in surprise and put her arms around my neck.

“Your wish is my command,” I told her, wiggling my eyebrows lecherously.

She gave me a most curious look, surprise, sadness, and I’m not sure what else. She kissed me on the nose. “You’re not making things any easier.”

I put her down. “I’m a big help—a lot of people have told me so.”

She nodded. “I can believe that.” Another big sigh. “I want to get to bed early—we have to be up early.”

I held her. “I can stay—just say the word.” Why couldn’t I say three words?

“I’m coming out to visit, I promise.”

I sat her down at a bench. “Soon, I hope. I need your help.”

“Oh?” she replied, furrowing her brow.

I touched her forehead. “Relax, please. I called the mattress gal before lunch and ordered the whole deal. She even gave me a discount.”

“She did? What did you tell her?”

I held her hands. “I told her I’d been given her name by Paul and Gail—I’d just spent a week and a half at their place, and I mentioned your name. She asked me how you were.”

She responded to the smirk on my face. “And just what did you tell her?” she asked, smiling again herself.

“It was just the way she asked it; I said the first thing that came to mind. I told her you were delicious.”

Barbara turned a little red as she laughed. “You did, didn’t you? You actually told her that.”

I nodded. “Yes, I did. That’s when she asked if I wanted the spread, pillows, the whole deal, and offered me a really good price. I took it.”

Barbara smiled a little, raising an eyebrow, leaning back. “What color spread?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I had a choice of cream, brown, or black. I took the brown.”

She shook her head slowly. “Did you see the one at the island? There’s a set, but it’s only brought out for Bill and his wife Nancy.”

“Nope. But that’s why I need your help.”

“Why?”

“The bedroom set I have is old, and a weird size—it came with the place. The new one is a ‘California King,’ so I have to get a new bedroom set. I have this chromosomally-linked disorder that makes it very difficult to pick out furniture.”

She smiled and laughed. “And you’re wise enough to admit it... When are they being delivered?”

“Two weeks from yesterday—a week from this coming Thursday.”

She nodded. I could see the wheels turning. “I’ll be out to help break it in—I promise. You don’t know about the spread?”

“Nope. Should I?”

“I’ve come close to ordering a set for myself. Some times I’m glad I didn’t.”

I didn’t understand that at all. “What now?”

She took a deep breath, looking around. She looked at her watch. “If we leave now, I can have my way with you, a short nap, and we can still make it to dinner.”

I helped her to her feet. “The best offer I’ve had all day.”

She hugged me again, gently. The look on her face was wistful and sad as we headed for the door.

We started kissing just inside her door, shedding clothes as we went upstairs. The contrast between the coolness of her skin and her hot, wet, tightness surrounding my cock was intense. Neither of us lasted very long—I tried to pace myself, but her hands were so insistent, pressing on my lower back, urging me into her deeper. Even though I’d been on top, as she pulled the bedspread over us and moved me to her bosom I thought of a picture one of my Judo instructors had shown us. It had been titled “Judoka attacking from bottom.” I may have been on top, but I wasn’t in control. And as I snuggled in, holding her as she held me, I didn’t care.

We napped and snuggled together, finally getting up to shower. “Who will wash my back?” she asked, pouting. “I will, whenever you want me to,” I replied.

Dinner was elegant, the food superb, the service efficient. So why were we both so quiet?

Back at her place, we quietly packed my things, leaving out the clothes I’d need for the plane. We left the bag I’d check down by the door.

In bed, I tried to go down on her.

“Not tonight,” she whispered, pulling me up and nestling me between her breasts. We made love gently, snuggling together to go to sleep.

“You’ve spoiled me,” she whispered as we snuggled in the morning.

“I’m not sorry,” I told her, holding her closer. We didn’t make love. We held each other, snuggling. Finally, it was, “We need to get up—the cab will be here in a few minutes.”

“When will I see you again?” I asked as I stood just inside the door.

“Soon,” she told me, her voice full of emotion. I could see the tears in her eyes.

“Thank you again,” I told her. We had one more hug, and a kiss. Then it was into the cab and off to the airport.

Had I done the right thing? That was my question as I rode to the airport. Tell her, or don’t tell her I love her? But do I? I felt screwed up. And who could I turn to? No empathy with or for Doctor Richards. Christie? I understood better what she was going through. The gal in Paris?

I remembered one of the things that had happened on the island—Barbara holding me as I cried, getting through something, somehow. I didn’t know what it was, or the resolution, but I knew we’d worked through something significant. Did I need more of that? I smiled and laughed to myself softly. Who wouldn’t want to be held like that.

I paid the cabbie and went through the initial screening before I could even check in. As I was looking around, heading for the first-class checkin queue, I saw Janice, queued up with the masses.

“Good morning,” I told her. “You on 1213 through Dallas?”

She gave me the most curious look—surprise, awe, I’m not sure what. “Y... Yes, I am,” she stammered.

“Give me your ticket—anything to check?”

She handed me her ticket. “Nope, just carryon. You really did it? Have you heard what’s happening?”

I shook my head. The first-class queue was empty. “Nope. We can talk about it in a bit, though.”

The woman behind the counter greeted us. “Good morning! Your destination?”

I handed her my confirmation and Janice’s. “Seattle via DFW. I believe first class is still open—I’d like to upgrade this ticket to first, two seats together.”

The price was only mildly outlandish. I paid it.

“Thank you,” Janice said as we walked off to queue up for yet another useless screening.

“Thank you—I need someone to talk to, anyway.”

“I can give you a lift home from the airport,” she offered.

“That will help.”

As we approached the metal detectors, I emptied my pockets into a side-compartment of my carryon. I started taking off the coat Barbara had given me.

“Leave it on—some times they freak out over those coats,” Janice whispered to me.

I left it on, scanning the faces around us, trying to sort sheep from goats.

We made it through unscathed.

“Did she put you up to it?” Janice asked as we walked to the gate.

“To what?”

“Bringing them together like that. I was so surprised! A lot of people are still in shock!”

I smiled more. “Nope, she didn’t. I don’t think she knows they met yet. Both of them wanted to know if she’d done it, and I told them no. I did it on my own, on impulse. Things just worked out that way.”

She looked at me in amazement, shaking her head. “You want a cup of coffee?”

We had about twenty minutes before we were due to board the plane. “Sure—black. I’ll save us places to sit.”

She gave me her bag, and went off to the Starbuck’s.

“Have you heard what’s happening?” she asked when she returned with our coffee.

I shook my head. “Nope, and everyone seems to think I know a whole lot more about this than I do—what’s the big deal?”

She gave me that look of amazement again. “You really don’t know?”

“Nada—zilch—zippo—squat. If you do, please enlighten me—and start at the beginning.”

She shook her head. “Hard to believe... Something else we have to thank you for. Where to start... You don’t know anything about how they started?”

“Nope.”

“The three of them?”

“Nope.”

“Oh my...” She took another sip of her coffee before she started. “The three founders met through the auspices of the OSS during the Second World War. Rossman from France, Hammond from the States, and a young British intelligence officer, fresh from Cambridge...”

“Let me take a really wild-ass guess—his name was Macmillan?”

She nodded and smiled. “Sure you haven’t heard this?”

I gave her a stern Sensei look.

“Okay—after the War ended, they started a company, based in Switzerland. Hammond ran things in the States. The families got together frequently, from what I understand spending most summers in France or Switzerland. Ben Hammond and Alain Rossman grew up together, practically brothers. They schooled together for a number of years. The company grew and prospered.”

“What happened to Macmillan senior?”

She nodded, sipping her coffee. “He married, started a family. His wife and both of their children were killed in an auto accident outside London. He remained very active in the organization. He remarried years later—a Swedish beauty queen half his age; he moved to Switzerland, becoming a Swiss citizen. Barbara was born in the States, though, and has dual citizenship.”

“Okay, but there are two organizations—what happened?”

She shook her head. “Nobody knows for sure, at least I don’t. Something happened in the mid-sixties. That’s when Macmillan remarried and moved to Switzerland—don’t know if it’s related to the split or not. Anyway, Hammond split off and started his own show here in the States, taking most of the States-based business with him, which pissed off Rossman and Macmillan no end. They kept Europe, expanding into the mid-East, Baltic, and so on. Hammond expanded into South America. The older Hammond died in the seventies, Rossman in the early eighties, leaving their sons, Ben and Alain, heading their respective competing organizations.”

“Macmillan senior?”

“Oh, still kicking. He made a lot of very shrewd business deals, made a lot of money—all three of them did, but I get the feeling Macmillan did the best. Lives in an estate outside Basel with his wife. Not so much involved with the business anymore, comes in as an advisor occasionally.”

“Okay, so I unknowingly brought the sons back together again. How does Barbara fit into this? What role does she play in the organization?”

Janice chuckled a bit. “I’m not sure. She’s quite independent, a bête noire. Educated on the Continent and in the States. Even though she’s nominally based in DC, when she cares to be, she’s an extension the European organization. She doesn’t have a very high opinion of the two men currently running their presence here in the States.”

“Bergman and Kot—they’re both cowboys,” I muttered.

“Oh, you’ve met them?”

“Yeah—they screwed up big-time in Miami, the same day as Hammond’s screwup.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I heard about the first one. I’m sorry. If we’re lucky, that’s almost over with.”

“Why?”

She frowned, still shaking her head. “After you brought them back together—Hammond and Rossman—they went off to Toronto to talk, leaving all their minions—us—behind. The rumor is that they’re going to merge the two groups, with Hammond taking over the States-based operation, showing Kot and Bergman the door. They’re supposedly headed off to Basel to meet with Macmillan.”

I nodded. “Makes sense.”

She looked at me in amazement again. “Sense! My God, you don’t know what this means to us!”

“Nope, I don’t.”

She shook her head again. “Remember your first job—the one here in DC?”

“Yeah, very well.”

“Do you know who was responsible for filching that disc from you?”

“Let me guess—my double from Narita? How are he and Denise doing these days? Poorly, I hope.”

She shook her head. “I’ll tell you about them later. Kot was responsible for D.C.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense. Especially with meeting Barbara later that night.”

She nodded. “From what I heard, she was really pleased you tripped them up. As I said, she’s quite independent—she works quite closely with Rossman—calls him uncle. You’re wearing his coat.”

“I am?”

She nodded. “Those coats are practically a signature for key people in his organization. You might as well be carrying a flag.”

I chuckled. “Gee, it fits well. But the DC thing—why would Rossman’s organization want to get the disk? Were they on the other side? I thought both they and Hammond were good guys, as far as that kind of thing goes. Where did Barbara’s invitation come from?”

She shrugged. “Ask her—my guess is she did it on her own. Generally, the groups are on the same side. But Kot wanted to show up Hammond as a fool. Didn’t work, and pissed off Rossman. Rossman added Bergman to the mix as a result, to try and keep Kot under control. Remember the decoy deal? Right after your trip to France for us? Kot again, but we got wind of it, sort of. We knew someone was trying to screw the deal, and they were focused on you, so we waved you in front of their noses, and did the deed while they were chasing you. We didn’t know it was Kot at the time, or Rossman’s organization. Hammond would have really been ripshit if he’d known that.”

“Weird. That puts a different perspective on Miami, I think. There’s a whole lot of edges that don’t quite fit together in this deal.”

She nodded. “Welcome to the real world.”

I shook my head. “How long have you known about this—the D.C. stuff, Kot’s games?”

She made a face. “The last day or so—I spotted Ken at the museum—he works for Hammond. And we both freaked out when we saw Philip, who works for Rossman. The three of us got together and talked for quite a while after Rossman and Hammond took off suddenly. Philip really hopes that Kot and Bergman are on their way out.”

“What a trip—I was really on stage for these things! I thought it was somewhat clandestine.”

She gave me a half grin. “Oh, it was. Like I said, I didn’t know about the DC connection until last night. I really don’t think Hammond knows. I learned you’d been away with Barbara Macmillan after you reappeared in Miami, but didn’t know about the earlier D.C. connection until last night. I was very surprised.”

I smiled and nodded.

“What’s she like? I heard such wild stories.”

I was torn again, feeling lost, confused, angry. “Dammit Janice, I think I’m in love with her. It’s hard to explain what being with her is like. And I’m still so fucked up—I don’t trust my own feelings, especially after what Christine and I went through. But I love her, and I’m scared to tell her.”

Janice sat back, looking stunned.

I managed a smile. “Alain said I’m full of surprises.”

“No shit,” muttered Janice.

“And I don’t know if I’m still working for Hammond, or will be working for Alain, or what Barbara is going to do. There’s a lot up in the air.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“So how are things at the dojo? Are you still practicing?”

She smiled and nodded. “I’m hooked. Abiko is tremendous. So is Patty. We are all quite concerned about you—Hammond sent people around trying to find you. I deflected them at first, until Hammond called me, and got me concerned. We figured Miami, but lost you after that. Nelia Sanchez called me as soon as you were spotted in Miami—she’s the one you put in the hospital.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I tried to send my apologies, but she hurried me.”

Janice grinned. “She got what she deserved. I couldn’t believe it when I found out what they tried to do. Major screwup.”

“You’ve talked to her? How is she?”

“I talked to her last night. She’s still in pain. I told her you were a kind, considerate teacher, and a person I trusted with my life.”

I felt my ears turning red. “What did she say to that?”

“She said it hurt to laugh. She agreed they screwed up.”

“I need her phone number. I’d like to apologize. I don’t like hurting people.”

She nodded, smiling. “I told her you’d probably give her a call.”

I frowned. “But as I told Barbara, I’m willing to make exceptions—what happened to our three friends from Chicago?”

Her smile dropped away. “Chicago cops caught the pseudo-porter a few days later. He was hired as local muscle. He told his story. He helped move you to a closet, they cleaned you out, taking the disk and your medallion, then left. The other two—they were picked up in Corsica and transferred to the Italian mainland for questioning. He’s still in custody, and will be for a while. He had multiple forged passports, and the Italians didn’t like that. She evidently used her skills on a guard—they found him asleep, with quite a smile on his face. Don’t know where she is. I told Philip some of the story, so now there are more people interested in finding her.”

“And your ex-partner?”

She hung her head for a moment, then looked up to me.

“They worked him over—quite humanely I would imagine—for a few days. That’s where Doctor Richards went after she finished with us. After that, they gave him a plane ticket back home and turned him loose. He hasn’t been seen, and the ticket wasn’t used. He hasn’t shown up in Seattle.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay.” Then she smiled. “We did have something interesting at the dojo, though...”

“Oh?”

She looked around. “They’re going to start boarding—let’s go.”

“Relax—we get to board first,” I told her, but she was already standing up. What the hell.

We got settled in. A stew took our coats, and offered us something to drink. I had water; Janice had champagne.

“What happened at the dojo?” I asked her as we watched the masses shuffle to their seats.

She sniffled a bit, but grinned. “Oh, nothing. We had some other visitors who wanted to talk with you. They quizzed Abiko, Patty, and the other brown belts pretty well. I think they visited the other dojos in town as well.”

“About what?” I asked with firm Sensei tone and expression.

She gave me a cheerful I’m-not-telling look. “Oh, Aikido stuff. They watched us for a while. They’ll be back.”

My mind was rumbling through possibilities... “One of them short and thin, black hair on top, gray on the sides, a silver tooth showing on top when he smiles?”

“Not sure,” she said with an evasive smile.

“Okay. Is Patty still practicing knee work?”

She chuckled. “Oh yeah—she and Abiko put on quite a show for our visitors. One of them almost smiled.”

I laughed. Someone had decided it was time for me to advance in rank was my guess. But that could mean any time in the next year or two. I wasn’t in a hurry.

“And how are you doing?”

She smiled. “I’m falling a whole lot better, thanks to Abiko and Patty. I’m faster than Patty, but not as sneaky. I think Abiko knows what I’m going to do before I do.”

Abiko could use a promotion. Maybe I should send her to Japan during the summer. Have to see if she could take the time off from grad school. I could afford to do that for her.

I shook my head. What happens when Barbara comes out, if she does? I’m at the dojo four to six days a week, until eight or nine at night some days.

I felt Janice’s hand on my arm. “What is it?”

I turned to her and smiled. “You’re getting good. Have you done randori with the brown belts?”

Her eyebrows raised as she nodded. “Yes, twice. I do better if I don’t think.”

I chuckled. “Don’t try harder, try softer.”

She nodded. “Watching Abiko, or Patty is fascinating—I’m looking forward to watching you on the mat. I’m learning a lot, and loving it.”

“Are some of the men avoiding working with you?”

I thought I saw some color rise in her face. “Yeah, one or two of them.”

I nodded. “Then you need to work with them, teaching them technique.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“Abiko is having fun?”

She nodded. “I think so. She was shaky the first two days, but Patty really pulled her through.”

Good. I could have Abiko running things a couple of days a week, freeing up some of my time. Was I married to the dojo? Was it love, or a marriage of convenience? I’d certainly walked away from it for two weeks, three with the injury. How do I set things up so that it succeeds without me being there for two months, six months?

To be fair to Barbara—to make time for her, for us. What would she do? What did she do now? What had she said? Her smile, charm, and wit were still available, but her body wasn’t? Who would be making the more difficult adjustment in lifestyle? Moving from Washington, D.C. courtesan to the companion of a weird college prof? Well, if not weird, at least eccentric...

“What are you going to do now?” she asked once we were airborne.

I shook my head. “Don’t know. I’ve got some calls to make, planning to do.” I smiled at her. “Decide what I want to do when I grow up?”

She laughed; it was a knowing laugh.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m doing okay. Actually, I’ve been busier, without the help. Business is there, and some things might open up with South America. We’ll see. I’m at the dojo most nights, even staying for yoga. I’m busy, and I feel great.”

“We’ll see what happens, the next week or so. I might be taking off January—February, maybe a sabbatical next year.”

“What about the dojo?”

“How has it gone the last few weeks?”

She frowned. “Fine, but that’s not fair to Abiko.”

I nodded. “I know. We’ll have to work things out.”

“How are you feeling now?” she asked, still frowning.

“Much better. I want to go back, with Barbara.”

“Where were you?”

“A small island in the Bahamas, that’s all I know.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Very.”

“Sensei?”

“What?” Her use of that term startled me. “What is it?”

“Can I get personal for a moment?”

“Yes...”

She smiled. “I can see it in you—she’s special to you—I mean Barbara—and different from Christie. There’s a difference in your voice. I’m sorry if I’m prying.”

I shook my head. “No, no—thanks. I appreciate the perspective. The whole thing has been so weird. You’re one of the few people close enough to have some perspective on it. It’s so strange—to know someone has screwed with your mind, to not be able to trust memories, feelings—how do I find a way out of the maze?”

“One step at a time?” she offered.

“Yeah—standing still doesn’t cut it. Gotta move. But I still don’t know...”

“Whatever we can do to help. Everyone at the dojo misses you. We were worried about you—we still are.”

“That helps.”

We talked more as we had breakfast. She’d spent three days at my place while some work had been done at hers. I mentioned I was probably going to get a television, and a computer for home. That surprised her no end. She told me she was going to be missing some classes due to business in Oregon, but she could pick up things for me there and save me the sales tax. I told her one of my colleagues had a grad student who worked part time for a high-end audio/video place. I even had some DVDs to watch. She laughed and told me people wouldn’t believe that.

We had over an hour to change planes in Dallas, and the airline screwed up—we only had to go from one end of the concourse to the other, not going from one side of the airport to another as I usually had to do.

We were walking by one of the fast food places. Janice was towing her carry-on bag. I was towing mine, and had my little notebook case in my right hand. As usual, there was a lot of foot traffic.

Things happened quickly. Janice said, “Oh shit,” from my right side just as a woman to my left side in the fast food place shouted out, “Alex!”

I turned to see what Janice was looking at—and my feet hit something slippery and shot out from under me.

Reflex and training took over—I let go of the carry-on, tucking my chin to protect my head, slapping the floor with my right hand, which was holding my notebook—ukemi, practiced countless times.

Except that when I broke my fall with the right hand, my notebook hit the floor making a very loud sound—crack!

Within moments, we were surrounded by uniformed and non-uniformed security people.

They crowded around us, carefully helping me to my feet. A woman was apologizing profusely—her son had dumped a big cup of water on the floor, and I’d slipped on it. No, I hadn’t hit my head; I was okay. Janice was smiling. A towel appeared and the back and side of my topcoat got cleaned up. A little electric cart appeared, with two more uniformed people. We sat on the back of the cart. One of them gave me a quick check over. No, I hadn’t hit my head, really. They insisted on driving us to our gate.

Some warrior I was—walking along with both hands full, slipping on a puddle! One of the security people sat with us for a while, insuring I was okay, and didn’t need anything. Finally they left.

“You’re a genius,” Janice whispered to me with a sniffle.

“I fell on my ass! What’s so bright about that?”

She looked at me quizzically for a moment, then laughed.

I frowned. She laughed more.

“I’m sorry—I thought you did it on purpose. I spotted two people on one side of the aisle, and thought I saw one on the other side. They were watching us, approaching. You’re still brilliant.”

“Some times it’s better to be lucky than good.”

A few minutes later—“over by the magazine rack, forty-ish guy with bad posture, feet sticking out like a duck, hair parted on the right—that one of them?”

She dropped the paperback she hadn’t been reading and bent over to pick it up. “Yeah, that’s the older one. Recognize him?”

“Yup. Tannenbaum? Tennenbaum? Something like that—worked for Kroll when I met him, oh, year and a half ago. Did some training and review for them.”

“The other two are younger—I don’t see them now,” she said as she wiped her nose with a tissue.

“I’m going to have a chat. Be right back.”

I stood up and doffed my coat. It looked clean—good fabric protection along with the rest, I guess. I stretched, raising my arms overhead, and then bending down, putting the palms of my hands on the floor. I walked out of our little waiting area, as if heading for the men’s room. My target turned his back to me.

I stopped directly behind him. “Mister Tennenbaum, a word with you, please,” I told him.

He turned slowly. He started to say something, but I cut him off. “Did you ever learn wrist locks?”

That deflated him. He glanced to one side. I thought I saw him gesture with his left hand.

“What’s going on?” I asked him.

“We were watching for you, that’s all.”

“Well, you can report back that I’m doing fine. I’ll call David and let him know I’m alive.”

He managed a smile. “Were we that bad?”

“Janice spotted the other two, and didn’t like the looks on their faces. Using this for training?”

He nodded. “Yes. They’ll get it eventually.”

I extended my hand. He shook it.

I walked back and sat down, spotting the two minions and pointing at each on my way.

“Was that nice?” Janice asked with a sly grin when I sat down again.

“Yes, it was,” I said, digging out my phonebook and my phone. I got voicemail. “David, this is Roger Hawthorne. I’m calling from the DFW airport. I met some of your people who were looking for me. I appreciate the concern, and I’ll be back in my office at school Monday. Enjoy your weekend.”

Janice chuckled. “See, you have people who are concerned about you.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

The flight to Seattle was going to be long—the winds were not in our favor. After they fed us, I was looking for my ticket jacket with the boarding pass and luggage tag. I went over to the closet where my coat was stored and started going through pockets.

Before I found the luggage tag, I found a thin plastic disc about an inch and a half in diameter. It was sort of adhered to the inside of the pocket. I pried it out. Attached to it was my museum entrance ticket from yesterday. Did that help date the disc? Assume it happened after that—dinner? I’d left our coats with coat check at the restaurant. Barbara? My fall a little while ago? Janice while I outed Tennenbaum?

Didn’t matter. I glanced around a bit and placed the disc in an inner pocket of another passenger’s coat. Happy hunting, whoever you are.

I found my boarding pass, and headed back to my seat. Janice was blowing her nose.

“Not feeling well?”

She managed a smile. “Too little sleep, too much Tequila.”

I raised the armrest between us. I wrapped a blanket around her. “Lean on me. I’ll protect you—I promise.”

She gave me quite a smile and snuggled up, resting her head on my shoulder.

It was raining when we got to Seattle, but that’s not news. It’s raining most of the time in Seattle.

As we walked down to baggage claim, Janice suggested, “Why don’t you wait by baggage claim? I’m parked in a cheapie lot that’s halfway to Spokane.”

“I could ride with you?” I answered.

She nodded. My bag came off the carousel early, and the parking shuttle was prompt. It was only a ten minute or so ride to her car, during which I found my house keys. We got out in a downpour and managed to get in before we were completely soaked.

The drive to my place was uneventful; the rain even let up a bit.

“Take care of yourself, and thanks so much for everything,” I told her as she pulled up to the front door.

She nodded and wiped her nose again. Her pretty little nose was getting pink at the end. “I will. I’ll see you at the dojo on Monday.”

We hugged and I got out, retrieving my bags from the back seat. She waited until I had the front door open before waving and driving off.

The house was cold and quiet. I turned up the heat again, taking off my coat and tossing it at a chair.

I peeked in the refrigerator—practically empty, more empty than usual.

I hadn’t been alone for the last two weeks. I looked around the kitchen. Memories came back to me—memories of holding on to the towel rack, squeezing my eyes shut, terrified of what I’d do if I let go. Memories of that bastard coming in, and the split-second decision not to kill him. Memories of Christie, the two of us.

“This sucks,” I told the empty room.

Keep moving—I did a quick sort of my laundry and loaded up the washing machine. Eight in the evening—that’s eleven as far as my body was concerned. I didn’t know if I was tired or what.

“Oh shit,” I told the washing machine just after I started it. I wanted to take a shower, and that was something I couldn’t do with the washing machine running. Why was I so scatterbrained all of a sudden? I stopped the washer, stripped down, and added what I was wearing to the load.

The shower was small, but it was home. I remembered the name on the showerheads on the island—Speakman. I’d have to look for one. It was good to be back in familiar surroundings. It wasn’t good to have to wash my own back. As I dried off I went back to the washer and restarted it. I’d have to stay up until it was done and I could load things into the drier. I took care of my hair, getting it dry, combing it out. Having Barbara brush out my hair had been a new experience, and a very pleasant one.

I put on shorts and a t-shirt, then went to the living room. I triaged the mail pile, most of it being crap. With a deep breath I stepped over to the small rug and did some yoga, working on hips and spine. I could feel the tension creeping back into my shoulders, especially on the left side. But the creak of the floor, the feel of the rug were familiar. Standing on that rug, my body knew what to do, and pulled my mind along with it.

I was more relaxed when the washer announced it had completed its cycle. I moved things to the drier and set it going. Stopping by the bathroom, I dug through the drawer and found I still had some muscle relaxants left over from earlier traumas. Left shoulder, right hip—sitting on planes for a day will do that to you. I took one, scowled at the character in the mirror, and went to bed.

It was home, my bed. But it was cold and lonely. I needed to do something about that—in the morning.