Chapter 07 of Lay Me Odds - Book #2 of the Lady from L.U.S.T.

Genre: Vintage Sleaze / Lady Spies / Sexpionage

ASSIGNMENT: LOVE THE ENEMY TO DEATH

LAY ME ODDS — if you have the guts. My name is Eve Drum. I'm THE LADY FROM L.U.S.T. — the wildest, nuttiest secret agent who ever drove the Kremlin out of its vodka-guzzling skull. They aren't kidding when they call me the sexiest spy in the world. As Agent Double Oh Sex I take on the kind of assignments Jimmy Bond can't handle. All hell breaks loose when I go into action against the sinister forces of H.A.T.E. Don't tangle with me because I'll love you to death. I have a license to kill and I don't care whether I use my body — or a bullet. Sex is my deadliest weapon, but I'm just as good with a knife. Don't tell me about Judo or fast cars or brainwashing because I know it all. I'm good and you know it. Watch me use exotic Eastern sex techniques to turn H.A.T.E.'s villainous spy-masters into helpless blobs of desire. Swing along with me as I bump and grind through London strip clubs in pursuit of missing microfilm. Join the fun as I mix business with pleasure, martinis with molotov cocktails. With a Beretta in my bra I'm an updated Fanny Hill, a tastier brand of Candy, a lethal Lolita. My crazy life is just filled with bloodshed, bedrooms and belly laughs.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Helmut was rigid in shock.

“Gott in Himmel,” he breathed. “It cannot be.” I pushed past him, sank to my knees beside this man. There was a full week's growth of beard on his chin, he was unkempt, he was foul with his own excretions. He was not the Wolfgang von Horstmann I had met a couple of hours ago.

Helmut realized it, too. He fell to his knees beside the man, touching him gently, asking, "What happened, Herr von Horstmann? Who did this to you?”

The cracked lips whispered, "H.A.T.E. They caught me by surprise, they brought me here, they—tortured me. Ah, Gott—what I have suffered."

I could see his flesh hanging in bloody strips where they had whipped him. I shivered, thinking of how this must have hurt. But von Horstmann was a Prussian of the old school, he was hard as nails. He had endured.

He cackled laughter. "I told them—nothing! The pigs. could not prove I knew what I know and so—they left me for a little while. But they will be back.” His head lifted suddenly and he looked at us.

"Helmut Good boy, you have found me. Perhaps you can get me out of this place. I think—the rats—are worst. They are very hungry and my legs so weak they cannot move and...."

I played the flashlight beam across what the rats had left of his feet. I began to retch.

“Who is she?" the old man asked. “From L.U.S.T.” Helmut Said. "Ahhh, L.U.S.T., yes. L.U.S.T. is the enemy of H.A.T.E. and I despise H.A.T.E. and what it stands for. Humanitarian Alliance—bah!”

Helmut and I were working on his manacles. They were locked and we did not have the key, but daddy had taught his little girl all there was to know about locks. I reached into my handbag, lifted out a pen, unscrewed the top and then the bottom—and now a glittering length of blue steel projected from it in place of the ink container.

I slid the steel tongue into the lock. I worked it back and forth. The manacle fell apart even as Helmut whispered an awed curse. The other manacle did not take so long. The blonde young man bent, heaving the broken von Horstmann up on a shoulder in a fireman's hitch. I trotted along beside them.

My mind, I must confess, was at sixes and sevens. If this were the real Wolfgang von Horstmann, who in the name of the Nine Unknowns was the man upstairs? H.A.T.E. substitute, yes. But if that was so, why was H.A.T.E. attacking its own man? It made no sense, it was madness.

I asked Helmut to explain but he was as puzzled as I. The broken man lying across his shoulders cackled laughter.

"Do you know?" I asked him. "Ja—I know. Helmut, good boy—put me down. I am dying anyhow, a few more moments of life do not matter that much to me."

Helmut lowered him, with my help, to the tunnel floor a few feet from where it became stone steps mounting upward. We propped him up with his back to a stone wall of the abbey tunnel.

He sighed, closing his eyes. We crouched over him in utter silence while some of his strength came back to him. "There is some sort of revolt going on inside H.A.T.E.," he said softly. "It is led by an East German by the name of Willi Vogel. It is very wide, that rift in their ranks. Vogel is attempting to discredit the present leader of the organization. This—what happened to me—is part of that attempt." H.A.T.E. had a man who was almost the exact double of Herr von Horstmann readied to take his place. This man had studied von Horstmann until he could imitate him to perfection: mannerisms, voice, inflections, the whole bit. This false Pleasure Dome owner was to feed L.U.S.T. and the western world fake information, dummied-up reports and microfilms.

The light dawned in my head. "Then—the microfilm that eventually wound up in England on its way to L.U.S.T. headquarters is false?”

"Ja. It is false. There will be grave consequences for anyone who is guided by whatever is in the microfilm."

"But what's it about—the microfilm, I mean?"

"I do not know. Nein, I can only guess it means death for anyone who seeks to use the information contained in it.”

“What about the real microfilm?" His smile was ghastly as a ripple of agony moved through his body. His head, braced against the stones, rolled back and forth. "Still with—my contact in—Innsbruck.”

"I must get hold of it," I told him. "He is a ski instructor at Innsbruck. His name is Otto Karpf. The password is a limerick. Listen.

"There was a young girl named Marie, Who schussed along on one ski. She sought to slalom. But she fell on her bum. And what a cold heinie has she.” Will you be able to remember it?”

"Yes, I think so.” I answered, repeating the silly doggerel over and over to myself.

The old man growled, "Nobody knows that limerick but my contact and me. Now you two know. Girl, you can trust Helmet, he has been as a son to me. He will get you out of here, he will see you have whatever it is you need. He will inherit my Pleasure Dome.”

Helmut muttered something in gratitude. The old man smiled, waved a hand. “No thanks. You have earned what you are getting. You are as desperate as I am that the culture of our Eastern neighbors shall not overrun the west. Keep that goal always before you, boy."

The tired old eyes closed. The real von Horstmann was far older than the man who had taken his place. I felt pity for him. I wished I could do something to help.

He smiled as if to secret thoughts. "Young lady, you must beware H.A.T.E. in its power struggle. They are ruthless at best, now when there is a schism in their ranks, they will become monsters."

He drew a deep breath. "Be careful of my Helmut. He is a good man. I do not want him to fall into the hands of H.A.T.E."

“He won't," I vowed. Helmut whispered, “She knows how to fight to kill, this one, Herr She saved my life a little while ago.”

“Gut, gut,” He opened his eyes and stared at me. "This false microfilm which my double gave to the baroness?" I told him it was hidden somewhere in the Downes manor house, to the best of my belief. "H.A.T.E. cannot find it. But that is something I don't understand, sir. If H.A.T.E. gave the microfilm to the baroness. . . .”

“Somehow, H.A.T.E. learned when I was to meet my contact, though they do not know his identity. Before I could meet him, I was attacked, brought down here and tortured. Now the true H.A.T.E. group planned this trick, to pawn off on L.U.S.T. the deadly microfilm. Our enemy Willi Vogel, the ringleader of the rebels—who is competing for the leadership in H.A.T.E.—killed Eric Downes in such a manner that it would seem the real H.A.T.E. leader had ordered it."

The plan was simplicity itself. By blaming his real boss, Willi Vogel hoped to discredit him and take his place. If he had the real microfilm, he might even have made sure I got my pretty hands on it. He did not have it, and presumably could not get it.

As a result, he had to make do with what he could. He and his men had searched for the false microfilm, intending to substitute the real one for it when they finally got possession of it, and so bring a charge of incompetence—or worse—against the leader. But I had foiled that attempt. Now Willi and his cronies were hot-foot after me to get the real microfilm into their hands. I wondered if the true leaders of H.A.T.E. would ever appreciate what I was doing for them.

The old man died suddenly, his mouth open on a breath. There was a watery sound deep in his throat, his lips relaxed from their grimace of pain. His head went back into the stones of the tunnel wall.

Helmut stared down at him, shivering. I reached out, touched his arm. "We'd better get cracking. The fight upstairs won't be lasting this long. Somebody may come down here."

He nodded, whispering, “He was like a father to me, practically adopted me when I was a young boy. He hired a tutoress to make sure I did my studies, he sent me to the finest schools."

Helmut got to his feet. “Auf weidersehn," he breathed. Then he caught my hand, drew me toward and up the stairs into a circular chamber. His hand went to a brightly shining bolt, drew it back. A door swung inward on oiled hinges. I could see a thick fall of vines outside. Helmut poked his head through the vines.

"It is night, but I must be sure there is no one around," he told me, gesturing me to follow.

We ran down the slope of a little park. "We may have to walk to my place." Helmut told me. "There will be H.A.T.E. men crawling all around the Pleasure Dome and the parking areas.”

"Look, why don't we go to my place? I'm staying at the Crown Prince. It isn't too far from here, I imagine.”

"No, probably about a mile.” This section of the Sankt Pauli district is inland from the dock area and what once used to be the rope-way from which the Reeperbahn draws its name. The main drag of this renowned sin street is only half a mile long. Its blazing neon lights made the night look like day off to our left as we half-ran, half-trotted along a parallel avenue.

I saw—but paid no attention to—a parked car with two men seated in it. It was just one more car to me. My brain recorded the fact that it was big and black, a Mercedes-Benz. Because I have been trained to do these things, many times I find I have been making observations about which I have no recollection until much later.

Helmut and I ran on. Just as we were about to turn into the main entrance of my hotel, I looked front, back and sideways. Then I saw the big black Mercedes-Benz a second time. Warning bells went off in my head.

"Keep going,” I breathed to Helmut, He was fast on the uptake, that boy. He never slackened speed. We went down two blocks, turned into a somewhat darker side street. I pushed Helmet against a wall, yanked off my gun-bracelet.

The car began its turn into the side street. The window to the suicide seat beside the driver was open. A man was leaning out. I put a bullet smack between his little pig-eyes. The driver swerved, but I was off and running.

The driver was fighting to control his car. It had slowed almost to a crawl so that I was able to keep the H.A.T.E. man in view as I ran closer.

My gun-bracelet made a pleasant weight in my hand. It is a massy thing, very heavy, of steel overlaid with 14-karat gold. It is a masterpiece of the gunsmith's craft. It fires a 25 caliber bullet from the flat head which is roughly 3 inches by 2 inches and raised upward from the circular part of the bracelet so that it makes a very compact gun. The head is ornamented with certain passages from the Egyptian Book of the Dead. I have often wondered who the joker was who selected those hieroglyphics for such a lethal ornament. He had a real ravey sense of humor.

My feet slid to a halt. The car was barely crawling. I lifted the gun-bracelet, aiming at the driver. He was just bringing a Mauser pocket pistol out of his shoulder holster when I got him in the throat. His head went back and—my, God! the blood! His body flopped crazily, up and down and from side to side as if he were a straw man on puppet strings.

The car scraped a brick wall. I was half-ways down the block, running neck and neck with Helmut. His face was flushed, his eyes were glassy, but he ran like an Olympic sprinter. He got a little ahead of me, then slowed.

"Where to now?" he panted. "Around the corner, back onto the street. We'll play it—as if we were—just out for a stroll."

The gun-bracelet is equipped with a tiny silencer, built into the mechanism. When it goes off, there is a loud pop like somebody smashing a paper bag bulging full of air. In the noises of a large city like Hamburg, with luck it might go undetected.

Nobody stopped us. Nobody even looked at us. In ten minutes my hotel room door was closing behind us. Helmut pushed a linen handkerchief back and forth across his forehead. I felt limp as I staggered to the bed and sprawled over it, front up, my legs dangling over the edge.

“Wheee." I breathed. "You are a super-woman." Helmut murmured, coming to stare down on my reclining self. His blue eyes were calf-like as they studied me, the eyes of a man who worships what he sees. They made me feel funny.

"Yeah, me and Diana Prince," I smiled. I was bone-tired. My long days were getting longer, it seemed, and my working hours were crammed full with peril and pleasure. It took something out of a girl, this job of earning a living by being a secret agent. I remembered I was supposed to be on vacation.

Helmut was lighting a cigarette. "What do we do now?"

“We go find that ski instructor at Innsbruck."

“Ah, of course—but when?” I smiled up at him. He was a handsome young thing, all sun-bronzed face and vivid blonde hair, close-cropped to his skull. His neatly pressed suit was scarcely rumpled at all, even after what he'd been through. There was a faint bulge along one trouser-leg which made me wonder a little.

“Soon, but not now," I told him. "I have to rest.”

“Even goddesses are mortal, it seems," he said with something like religious ecstasy in his throat.

He went to a knee, he caught my slippered foot, slid off my shoe and began massaging my stockinged foot. It felt good, I told him so. His handsome head bent. I felt his lips On my toes.

I must admit to a little tingle that ran across my flesh. I had never been with a foot fetishist such as Restif de la Bretonne had written about. His lips were gentle, caressing. I let my eyes glaze over as I stared up at the ceiling.

"You are of the 'new race' which Hitler foresaw, for which he tried to prepare the world," he whispered. Oh, brother! I thought. This is a real sprain-brain. "Let me serve you,” he went on. "Let me be your slave.” I began to see dear Helmut in a new light. He was not the foot worshiper, he was something else. I decided to test my new theory about him.

"Helmut, a slave must obey his mistress," I pointed out, and felt his hands tremble where they held my foot.

"Yes, yes. Just give the orders, mistress.”

“We cannot remain here. Those dead men outside will have the police—and H.A.T.E., too—flocking around the hotel. They have nothing to go on, it might be difficult for me to check out at this time. Yet—we have to go to Innsbruck.”

"Yes, mistress."

"You have an apartment? A house? Somewhere to hide us until we make the arrangements.

"I have a house left me by my parents.” I thought a moment. "Is the address on record in the Pleasure Dome files? Would H.A.T.E. be able to trace you there?"

He gasped, then nodded. "Yes. I did not think of that. You see how much the 'new woman' you are? Your mind is far beyond the merely human brain.”

It was nice to be complimented, but I could spare no time now for such fripperies. I had to be up and out. With Helmut’s help, yet,

"Helmut, tell me all this boy-girl talk later. Right now, we've got to get the hell out of here—to some place safe. So tell me—where can we go?"

His blue eyes stared at me helplessly. I was propped up on my elbows. I smiled down at him. "No can do? Then let me give you a hint. Von Horstmann must have had a house, an apartment. He is dead, there will be no one to interfere with us. Right?”

The absolute adoration in his eyes was embarrassing. I kicked him tenderly. His torso was hard as rock. The boy did exercises, I told myself.

"Do you agree?” I asked. "Yes, I see you do.”

"I should have thought of it myself. Usually, I am most efficient. I do not understand.”

"Prove it. Go pack my tote bag for me. I'll tell you what I want." I began ticking off things on my fingers. My dice earrings. The lace panties with the rosebuds on them. “And be careful how you handle those panties, Helmut. Each rosebud decoration is a bomb. My bikini blow-ups, so to speak. I'll wear my dear little gun-bracelet to make sure it's ready in case we need it.”

Helmut packed my tote bag. I would dearly have loved to take a shower—I was still pretty muddy from that ooze bath I'd had back in the wrestling pit—but I would have to settle for a change of clothing.

I held up my arm. Helmut caught it, lifted me to my stockinged feet. I bent and yanked my cashmere sweater off. Helmut stared, mouth open, at my breasts, where they made soft white bulges in the sheer nylon brassiere that was like a white mist over the dark nipples.

I looked down where my blonde boyfriend was staring and saw that there were flecks of mud on the bra, too. Off came the brassiere. I told Helmut where he could find a fresh one. He selected a Surprise brassiere in black nylon. I took it from him, bent to let my female treasures dangle, then eased the cups up over them and slipped my arms through the straps. Helmut hooked it for me. It was nice having a man about the house.

I pushed down the skirt, stepped out of it. My panties were just as sheer as the bra had been, so Helmut had himself an interesting look at my golden privacy. The panties were spotless, so there was no need to change them. However, since they did not match the bra Helmut had chosen for me, I decided I'd better match them up.

So I slid the panties down. The boyfriend went to his knees. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He reached out to catch my hips and draw me toward him.

I put my hands on his cheeks, holding him back. "Later, honey. Right now duty is calling loud and clear.”

"Even in this you are superior," he muttered. He brought me panties to match the black nylon bratiny, whispy bikinis that struggled to hide my more intimate parts—and watched me as I slid my legs into them and wiggled them up over my 35-inch hips. My garter-belt was clean but the stockings were—yeeeech. So I sat down on the edge of a chair and ungartering the vamp, slid them down and off.

I donned a fresh pair of Cantrece Ivories, smoothing them up my calves and thighs until they made a perfect fit. Helmut was drinking me in, staring pop-eyed. It is very flattering to a woman to be worshiped by a male in this manner. It almost made me forget Uncle Sam wanted me. I eased my bod into a pleated tent dress and a pair of high-heeled shoes. I reached for the tote bag.

"We'll slip out the back way," I told him. It was ridiculously easy. There was a uniformed policeman standing at the rear entrance, but he paid us no attention. Helmut hailed a taxi. We settled back with sighs of relief.

Wolfgang von Horstmann had maintained a private house in the exclusive Othmarschen section just outside Hamburg. Helmut ordered the taxi to pull to the curb a block away, figuring that if anyone were to question the driver, he would not be able to pinpoint the exact house.

As the taxi drew away, we strolled casually down the block. It was dawn. Redness splashed a fan over the eastern sky, and a faint hush lay across the world. It was good to be alive, I thought, drawing the cool morning air deep into my lungs. H.A.T.E. was out there somewhere, hunting for me. It was my job to keep them off my pretty white neck. Danger always adds a touch of spice to my way of life. Helmut squeezed my fingers. "Now!” he breathed. We ran up the drive, the big blonde man fumbling for keys in a pocket. In a moment we were inside a room that was furnished sparsely but with excellent taste. The room was dim, nor did Helmut turn on lights.

"H.A.T.E. will have searched this house already,” he told me. "It will be our safest hideout in all Hamburg. They will never dream you have fled here."

"You think we're really safe, then?”

"Oh, yes. We can be quite at ease.” I tossed the tote bag into a chair. “Then me for a nice hot bath. I feel as if I’d been wallowing in mud—which I have. I want to get it washed off.”

"Let me draw your bath. Come this way.” The upstairs bathroom was an Eljer masterpiece in white and blue. Wooden cabinets encased a sink, enclosed a huge sunken bathtub. I squealed with delight when I saw the bronze fixtures, the thick, fuzzy white rugs on the tiled floor. This place had been made for a girl like me.

I whipped my tent dress over my head. Helmut turned, staring, "Let me,” he pleaded.

He got to his feet, came to stand behind me. "You like waiting on women, don't you?" I asked as he unhooked bra snaps.

"Yes. Years ago my mother and my two older sisters used to let me undress them and help to dress them again. I was eight or nine at the time.”

My bra slipped down. Helmut knelt, unfastening my garter-clasps from the stocking tops. His hands were quivering.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?” He nodded, leaning to kiss my upper thigh. "A long time, Ja! I have never been so happy as I used to be when waiting on my womenfolk.”

I thought a while, then asked, "Was it a form of punishment, Helmut?”

"Ja—at first. I was always a big boy, strong, independent. The strap never bothered me. My mother was a widow, she could not handle me the way a father might have done.”

"You told me you were an orphan.”

“My mother and sisters were killed in an auto accident when I was thirteen. It was then that Von Horstmann found me, took me under his wing. But by then my fetishism, if you can call it that, was firmly fixed.

"At first I hated what I was made to do. I refused. My mother and my sisters would attack me, all three of them. I would put up a good fight but I would get a funny feeling wrestling with them, so that I could not fight as I might have fought against three men.”

He sighed, drawing a stocking off my leg. "I do not know when I first began to enjoy the menial service, perhaps it was that very first night when I was compelled to undress my two sisters, who were sixteen and fifteen at the time. They were both very beautiful. I had never seen an undressed woman before. I—enjoyed the experience very much. Very much.

"I think my mother knew what was happening, but she only smiled her secret little smile. She was a beautiful woman too, even more beautiful than my sisters. She had long blonde hair, she was slim but very developed. She held a switch in her hand, she would slap it across my behind when I hesitated. She did not have to use it often, once I got the girls partially disrobed. I had begun to discover the possibilities.”

His hands drew away my garter-belt. The tub was filled with steaming water. Helmut knelt, catching my hand to support me as I stepped down into that welcome wet warmth. I sank into the water, stretched out in voluptuous enjoyment.

Helmut still knelt, staring at me with shining eyes. "Did you ever bathe them?" I wondered. His smile showed even white teeth. "Later. When they understood how much I enjoyed serving them.”

"Then strip down and come in here. Lord knows the tub's big enough for the two of us. You can begin by soaping my back.”

He left the bathroom to undress, much to my surprise. Then I thought that he might not have been allowed to undress himself before his mother and two sisters. They would have maintained the proprieties, ridiculous as it may seem. He was not long in returning. I eyed his naked body as frankly as he had stared at mine. He was very tanned, and the muscles across his torso bulged as did the ridges of an old-fashioned washboard. His shoulders were wide, his hips lean. Muscles flexed and relaxed beneath his skin at his every stride.

He came down into the tub with a washcloth and a bar of soap. I bent forward, offering him the white arch of my back, gathering my yellow hair in my fingers and holding it to the top of my skull. I felt a hand smoothing soap across my flesh, very gently, while his other hand frothed the lather into suds. It was a pleasant feeling, being waited upon by such a strong young man.

I thought about young Helmut Fleischel undressing his mother and his sisters, and then bathing them. Even at twelve years of age, he must have reacted to this nearness to nudity. I wondered if

“Helmut," I said dreamily as the washcloth went down my sides, "did it give you pleasure to undress and bathe your sisters? I mean, real pleasure?"

"Not at first, but later on when my mother understood me better. She—but I won't tell you that. Not now.”

I sat back in the tub while his hands were soaping my front, stirring my nipples to excitement. He asked me to stand so he might slide the furry cloth up and down my legs and across my groin. I was in a pleasant stupor from the warmth and the sensual delight his touches evoked.

Vaguely I was aware that I would reciprocate his attentions, not by washing him but in another way. I stared down at his nakedness as he knelt before me, moving the washcloth. Then I thought of something.

“Helmut?"

"Ja, my mistress?”

"Have you ever been to Innsbruck?"

“Often, for the skiing.”

"The skiing season is almost at an end."

“Almost. It will last for a few more weeks."

“And Otto Karpf teaches skiing?”

“He does. You will be taking a lesson, eh?”

“Shall you come with me?”

“I do not think so. I will have to take up where von Horstmann left off. I must put the Pleasure Dome back on its feet, keep open a communication line with the MI5. Herr von Horstmann hated—the other side. So also do I." He was finished drying me be this time, so I sat on a little stool and watched as he cleaned himself. It was time now to discover how he had achieved his pleasure with his mother and his sisters. I thought and thought, until I felt positive I knew.

I asked, "Is there a cellar to this house?" His glance touched me, his eyes overly bright, a flush on his cheeks. He nodded, swallowing, "Ja. A cellar.”

“Herr von Horstmann was not a young man," I went on, smiling a little. "He must have needed certain—stimulations?—to ready him for the love act with a woman, Am I getting warm?"

His teeth sank into his lip as he nodded again. "In the cellar?" I whispered. “Ja, my mistress.” I stood up. Slipping my feet into the bedroom slippers Helmut had brought for me, and my nakedness into a robe against the cooler air beyond the bathroom, I opened the door.

"I shall call you, Helmut.” He was still standing in the tub, staring at me. Poor boy! He was hoping that I was about to indulge him in his favorite pastime. It was right there in his eyes and flushed face.

There are many men in the world who seek consciously or unconsciously to be dominated by females. There is a need in them for authority to be exercised over them, for them to be able to function as true men. There are many flaws in our psychic make-ups. A psychiatrist once told me there is no such thing as a completely normal person. Everybody has a monkey on his back, of one sort or another.

Helmut Fleischel may have a guilt complex about his boyhood desire for his mother and sisters. The mind is a complex instrument. It is affected by a million and one memories of pain and pleasure, it comes to dominate the body to which it is the control center as Helmut Fleischel liked to be dominated by a female. His memory of the enjoyment he had taken within the bosom of his own family dictated his later behavior patterns

In the cellar, I found half a dozen bondage machines, to which a man or a woman might be strapped down and held for punishment. I wondered if Herr von Horstmann had ever used these gadgets for questioning a man he suspected of being a H.A.T.E. agent. It was not a pleasant thought, but then I am not engaged in a pleasant business.

The governments of the world are caught up in a global sub-rosa war, a struggle for power one with the other, a war which reaches the ears of their citizens only in dribs and drabs, more especially when the lid blows off the activities of a secret agent, as when a British frogman dove a little too close to a Russian vessel and was never heard of again. Or the Profumo trial in London, a few years back.

It is a grim war, with no holds barred. It is not uncommon for these spies to carry poison capsules in their mouths at all times, in the form of a disguised tooth, to be swallowed against the possibility of torture.

I moved across the cellar, studying its wood paneling, its inlaid linoleum floor. It was like a playroom in any one of millions of pleasant homes, back stateside. Only its fittings were different.

There were closets built into one wall. I slid back a door, found myself staring at black leather garments, high boots, frilly shirts. The female dominatrix often wears leather garments, she is turned into the mother image in the minds of many men in such garb. She become a symbol of their helplessness.

I had no liking for such contraptions. I am a female-female. I get no kicks out of belting a man. I would gladly have abandoned Helmut Fleischel to his memories, without making them come alive for him.

And yet I spoke no German. Helmut did. I could go alone to Innsbruck, as a tourist. I would make better time as a married woman however, traveling with her husband, because Helmut would be there to smooth matters, to arrange faster transpiration He knew the ropes, He could cut red tape. He would take me directly to the prearranged meeting place between Herr von Horstmann and the ski instructor.

I sighed and reached for a shiny black leather corselet, At the end of ten minutes, I stood before a mirror, staring at the reflection of a woman perched upon six-inch high heels fitted to patent leather boots that ended high on soft white thighs, the flesh of which protruded over the tops of the boots and shimmied when she moved. A black corselet cloaked her body from the lower belly to just below her breasts, which jutted out boldly above that contrasting blackness.

Golden hair was perched high on her head in an up-sweep coiffure that added to her height. She looked like a female devil-priestess, especially with the whip that trailed from

the long handle in her gloved hand. For tight leather elbow

gloves were her only other garment.

"Helmut Helmut—comes here at once!" Staring at my reflection, I felt a tide of excitement rising

in me. My blood beat faster, I felt the flush burn in my cheeks.

I was Evil.

I was the female Eros.

I was Eve—Lilith.

I was The Mistress.

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