Soldier of Missfortune 9 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Clare had left me with much to think about, some of it positive and some negative. Stone still seemed to think I’d do his little job for him, though why absolutely baffled me. The problem was I couldn’t prove anything against him. I didn’t know what the job was other than reprogramming a bomb somewhere. I didn’t even know what sort of bomb it was—but nuke seemed most likely, in which case I could be killed doing it. That would resolve all his problems the few cinders left of my body wouldn’t even have any DNA left in them and were I wearing dog tags, they’d likely have melted. It wouldn’t be that I’d cease to exist but that I’d almost never have existed. That shocked me.

We all know we’re going to die but there will be records of our lives somewhere, even if it’s only in the tax records in some dusty archive. Would there be anything of Alexander Montgomery left anywhere beyond my school records? I wondered if there was much on Alexandra Montgomery, corporal technician, REME and lately, the Logistics Corps. How would they describe me if I did disappear—AWOL, missing in action? Or would they all cough politely and shred my file. They wouldn’t even have to write to my parents—what a disappointment they were. I had thought of writing to them and getting Clare to post it but were they watching her as well?

No wonder I’d tried to kill myself, my life looked as if it would be short and anything but sweet. How long does a bladder take to heal? I’d been here nearly two weeks so if I were going to do something, that time would need to be soon. I wondered if my room was bugged—quite possibly. I was growing fond of her so didn’t want to endanger her plus of course, the unthinkable—what if she was one of them as well?

I was almost convinced that I was going to do a runner and perhaps expose the unit which could act with so little respect for the law. The only con to that was they probably had ways of rebutting everything I’d be able to say or slap a D notice on it which would claim it was restricted information under the Official Secrets Act, of which I was a signatory.

Just as they did with the character assassination job for my parents, they’d probably do the same for anyone I tried to contact to expose them, claiming I was a mad trannie who’d agreed to everything to get the operation. If I challenged it records would have been lost or rewritten to show I was mistaken or lying. I was up a gum tree without a paddle or even a bloody canoe.

A physio arrived to help me become mobile, she was military as well, so no point in trying to get a message out via her. I also had the impression they had bugged the room I was in.

I hadn’t walked for weeks and I started with a zimmer frame. It felt good to be on my feet again but the way she was trying to teach me to walk seemed very awkward, placing one foot directly in front of the other, but we did an hour of it each day for a week then two hours in heels. By the end of the second week, I couldn’t remember any other way to walk. I was sure I didn’t used to walk like that when we did square bashing as a recruit. But my feet and legs seemed programmed to do this catwalk type mince, waggling my bum and keeping my elbows in to my body.

By the end of the second week I was walking in four inch heels, strutting my stuff like a model. The physio filmed it on a camcorder and I presume went off to show Stone. The doctors pronounced me healed and I was set to be discharged the next day, except Stone arrived the night before and whisked me away to a hotel where he then raped me to check his investment in the surgery. I was left crying and traumatised. If I’d had a weapon I’d have killed him. Sadly I didn’t, so the next morning I was taken back to my quarters.

The surgery and loss of my male bits meant my body had changed so quite a bit of new clothing was required, some of which I was expected to pay for. My body was even more voluptuous and when out of my room was never short of male attention but after Stone’s violation of me, I felt decidedly lesbian.

When I was chided for not flirting more with the men, I told him that even though I seemed to always be dressed to kill in tight clothing, I didn’t fancy men at all. They sent in a psychologist then to make me heterosexual as they saw it, or just enough to seduce the bloke I was supposed to kill and disarm his bomb.

The psychologist was a man called Dr Damien Green and he did at least listen to my complaints, the way I’d been tricked into doing this and the accident, my parents being lied to and finally the rape by Stone. He seemed nice enough and we’d talk a while, he’d ask me questions and I’d look around and he was gone. I’d obviously fallen asleep, though I didn’t find him tedious or boring.

Clare came to see me and we chatted about clothes and things then she kissed me on the lips and I jumped back a little. She looked surprised. “I thought you liked me, Lexi?”

“I do, but as a friend, Clare. I’m definitely into men rather than girls, sorry if that disappoints you.”

“But a couple of weeks ago you told me you hated men.”

“I think you must have misheard me, Clare.”

“They’ve played with your head, haven’t they?”

“No they sent the most darling chap to sort it out, Dr Damien Green, now him I could really go the whole twelve rounds with.”

“He came to dinner once, funny little guy with glasses.”

“I think he’s delicious.”

“Jeez Lexi, he’s played with your brain, he’s a balding little git with thick glasses and a monobrow. How can you find him attractive, I’d rather be celibate than sleep with him. What have they done to my darling Lexi?”

“Nothing, I feel better and sexier than ever. You’re just jealous.”

“I’m wasting my time, Lexi. I thought we had some thing, they’ve obviously screwed that up and you. Sorry girl, but you’ve been reprogrammed. I hope you survive what they’re doing to you, bye girl.” She pecked me on the cheek and left. In the back of my head something was trying desperately to recall something about her, Clare, but it wouldn’t come. Obviously must have been to avoid her if she was gay. Besides all those men and so little time.

For the next two weeks I was tested with the Domino, and managed to remember how to use it to find the Gemini, Delta and Grapeshot systems, even in the dark, mincing about in four inch heels and a tight skirt. Least that’s what I did in the day time, in the evening, I seduced half the men in the offices and the girls who’d always been so friendly seemed much less so. I decided they were all jealous of me and my sex appeal. Each time I did it I had an orgasm so I didn’t care what they thought and none of the men complained.

I was shown maps as they had them of the target site. It was presumed the weapons systems were in one of three places on the site, but no one could be certain as attempts to gain access had caused the deaths of two agents so far confirmed and another who was missing. I was being sent there as a secretary so I was being coached in my typing and word processor speeds.

Two days later I found myself at the airport being shown to the departure lounge. I had a large suitcase full of tight skirts and dresses, swim suits and high heeled shoes—how did I think I couldn’t walk in them? I never wear anything else. My new boss was a Mr Goldberg and his offices were in New York but that wasn’t the target site. He had an island off the coast of Greece. It made sense as a strategic site, he could hit Europe, Russia, Turkey and if they thought the attack came from the others, Russia thinking it was Nato or Turkey thinking it was Russia, World War 3 could happen, the way tensions have been growing, it looked entirely possible.

The US looked to be safe, but what if he had a bomb planted in his offices or apartment? He’d kill thousands and if it was all linked to each other, almost impossible to prevent some catastrophic loss of life. And the United Kingdom government were expecting me, Jane Bond under the guise of a giggly, nympho, secretary-typist to stop it all. They were having a laugh, they had to be.

I knew lots about Goldberg—that wasn’t his original name—a Russian Jew living in New York. He was a billionaire many times over and he got his money from Russian gas and oil and he played the markets—the money markets, big time. It was suggested he caused the crash in Iceland and Cyprus because loads of his ex-colleagues put money into them and he wanted some revenge. He apparently felt his easy earnings had been taken away from him when he crossed swords with their corrupt president and he was lucky to escape with his life. He since had bodyguards with him at pretty well all times and a female assassin had been caught and executed—she was either a GRU or SVR operative. When I saw that in the file I rushed to the toilet and was sick.

Goldberg was a disaffected nasty piece of work with no loyalties anywhere except to himself. He rarely appeared in public any more to avoid risk of assassination spending time either in New York, London or his Greek island. It was reported he’d had antisubmarine defences implanted all round his island and anyone washing up on the beach was likely to be tortured and killed. An armed speedboat also patrolled keeping out anyone he didn’t wish to see, including refugees from Syria and Libya who it was reported, had been machine-gunned by his patrol boat.

US intelligence had suspected he was planning on detonating bombs in Europe, the US and Russia all at the same time. Quite what that would achieve, I had no idea except possibly World War 3 or a total collapse of the industrialised world. It was also suspected North Korea may be involved, so they’d be clapping their hands with glee at the prospect of a major war involving their perceived enemies.

It wasn’t known if Goldberg planned to involve China in his personal war but simple logic suggested if Europe and America were riven by major conflict, China’s two major customers would cease buying and their economy would also suffer.

It struck me as crazy that screwing up the world would serve any purpose and kill or injure loads of people, but I’m not a megalomaniac just someone who was being sent to screw him to death and then screw with his systems. On my day off, I’d...

It also struck me as an omen that the ticket to New York was a single—like they weren’t counting on me returning. No one knew I was on a mission, not even our closest allies in Nato. As he pecked me on the cheek before I was driven to Heathrow, Stone said, “You’re on your own, Lexi, for your own sake, don’t screw it up and don’t call for the cavalry, they won’t be coming. This isn’t James Bond and real people really get killed. If you make it back, you can have anything you want.”

“Colonel, the last time they were seen it was hanging from a tree. So that can’t happen, but seeing you indicted could. Bye, Sir.” He scowled then laughed at me forgetting I’d also been trained in killing people and he was still number two on my list.

I know, I've kept quiet about being turned into an assassin. It happened once I got back to my quarters, and like my attraction to men, it seemed suddenly that killing wasn't anything I should be too squeamish about, least not people, there were too many already, so popping off one or two would be a good thing in ecological terms.

As I sat on the plane looking down on the ocean beneath me - I had a window seat - I wondered about this, the killing bit. I knew I'd been squeamish before because I had a tiny scar on my wrist where I got it cut wrestling with the armaments instructor during basic. He'd told us to see the targets as the enemy coming to kill us and I freaked out, it took two of them to get the gun out of my hands injuring me in the process. So something in me had changed because that incident was a clear memory. Then I thought back to Clare and my response to her kissing me and it felt wrong. My head was trying to override my feelings and I felt a tear escape and trickle down my face. I reckoned I'd been hypnotised or something like that, programmed at any rate to be a nympho and to kill.

I also wondered how I could escape dying yet complete my mission. If I disarmed the bomb, which may not be nuclear anyway, I might survive especially if it was a powerful detonator, that could do a couple of things at once, two birds with one stone came to mind and I felt a little more hopeful. Except I had to get a message to Clare saying I still liked her - very much.