Monique by Tanya Allan

Seventeen-year old Matthew Thwaites is trapped snooping in his father’s study when his father returns home unexpectedly with two strange men. He hides under the desk, and is horrified to witness his father gunned down just inches away from him. Given an opportunity to flee, he does so, but finds himself framed for his father’s murder by a corrupt policeman.   Alone and powerless, he hides out at a busy airport, but his appearance is such that he is mistaken for a girl. Given an idea, he makes the most of this, and goes whole hog into the deception, becoming Monique, his French ‘cousin’. He manages to find an ally in an officer investigating corruption amongst police officers, and together they try to piece together the puzzle.   Monique is then pitched into an international roller-coaster ride involving terrorists, corrupt police and double agents. No one is what they seem, particularly Monique. She is twice the person that Matthew ever was, and given the chance, she decides to take over, but everything seems against her.

Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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Originally written and posted on Sapphire's Place in 2004, Reworked & Revised in 2009.
 
The Legal Stuff:Monique  ©2004, 2009 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.

Author's Note
I first wrote MONIQUE many years ago, posting it on Sapphire’s Place in 2004. I have had many requests to continue Monique’s adventures, so thought I’d revisit her and see what could be done. Initially, I was appalled at the standard of writing; well it was my first attempt, almost. Then I wondered why it had been so popular, as I personally found it rather rushed and the characters somewhat shallow and two-dimensional.
 
Okay, I thought, perhaps I should continue, but not from what I had written. It needed a revamp and perhaps a tweak here and there before I even could consider any additional material.
 
So, here it is, the revamped version of Monique, with a little extra and the hope that her adventures will continue in the near future. I have started with a completely new chapter at the end, just to whet your appetites.
 
I’m not convinced that there is any mileage in continuing, so perhaps you could let me know what you think?
 
 
Chapter 1
 
 
Someone once told me that when you are terrified, your senses suddenly become heightened. Mine were, but I was shaking so much that I didn’t fully appreciate it. I hid in the knee recess of my father’s antique wooden desk, simply shaking with fear. It took all my concentration to control my bladder and sphincter muscles. Looking back at the scene now, I’m rather pleased that, in that area at any rate, I was reasonably successful.

It all started at about eight in the evening in early August, when I had been left alone in the house during the school holidays. As always when bored, I would enjoy the challenge of breaking into and going through my father’s desk, just to get some idea what he did to keep us in such style. When I was younger, that is when I was about seven or eight, I used to imagine he was a sort of James Bond-like character, as we, as a family, were fortunate enough to go all over the world and lived in such wonderful homes, so it was an easy picture to build. But now I was seventeen, I realised that perhaps he was a little shadier than the clean cut Mr Bond.

I had an elder sister, Carol, whom I hadn’t seen in a few years. She was about twenty-three and had married a rich American attorney just under a year ago. They lived in Los Angeles. Carol was expecting their first child, so as they had a great relationship with her parents-in-law, there was little chance of seeing her on this side of the birth.

Dad was not a great one for his children, as he had always appeared to be more concerned in making money. Mum had died from a brain tumour a few years ago, and I still missed her terribly. When she died, a light in my life was extinguished, so I felt I was perpetually living in a murkier world. She had been everything that Dad wasn’t. For a start she was quite a bit younger than he was, but she was vivacious, gregarious, fun, and very loving. She was prone to great peaks and troughs of moods, but was always so encouraging and loving. She was French, and it often amazed us children that she had ever married Dad. To us children, he seemed always curt, humourless, boring, and very English. Yet, repeatedly, she said only the best things about him. There was a deep mystery there, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.

He was always different with her. He adored her and would have died for her, so in return she worshipped the ground he walked upon. When she died, I suspect a little of Dad died also. So much so that he buried himself deeper into his work and largely ignored his family, what few friends he had, and anyone else. I had been sent to the best schools, so was, at this time, on holiday from school. British public schools are indeed wonderful institutions if you are academically intelligent or sporty, or both. Unfortunately, I was neither.

Don’t misunderstand me, I wasn’t a dunce and I actually enjoyed sports. But I was not desperately interested in at least half the subjects on offer, and neither was I skilled in sports to be good enough to represent the school. I did find that there were an awful lot of boys like me, so I had several quite good friends, but that didn’t stop me from getting screwed up. Like many teenaged boys, I was suffering with growing up, so all I wanted to do was be acceptable by society, i.e., to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger, with the brains of Einstein, and have the sex appeal of Pierce Brosnan. My other problem was un-mentionable, but it was deeply hidden in my subconscious.

I often wished that my mother had not died, if only to share with her my hidden and shameful secret. But she had died, leaving me with no one else with whom I could talk things through. So I buried it, so that even I forgot it was there, almost.

I fell far short of all the teen ideals. I was five foot six and basically a proportionate lad, but I had a big bum, of which I was very conscious. But, they said that I looked younger than my seventeen years. My success with girls was a non-starter, so I was very conscious of my failings. However, it was my slim build and small frame that enabled me to squeeze into this tiny recess in Dad’s study desk, in spite of my bum.

I had been watching TV in my room, and idly playing Grand Theft Auto III on my PC when I got bored. I had ordered a Pizza delivery, as Mrs Rogers, the housekeeper, had the night off. Out of boredom, I had ventured to Dad’s study. I liked the challenge of picking the locks on his desk and going through his papers. I was still none the wiser, as it was all complete gibberish to me. I had heard the front door slam, and the sound of raised voices in the hall.

“Just be quiet will you, my son is upstairs.” Dad said.

The other man replied, but I did not hear what he said. The front door opened and closed again, and I heard another voice, it was quite a deep voice, male, but had a sort of whine to it. It had a London accent.

“All quiet. We won’t be interrupted,” this voice said.

I was already in the recess when Dad opened the study door. I had just managed to lock up the drawers and slide out of sight before they came in. My heart was thumping so hard, I felt sure they could hear it.

“I told you that I no longer have your money. And besides, as I said at the outset, the offer was only tenuous at best,” Dad said.

“No Charles, you misunderstand, the offer was taken in good faith, our money was to secure those contracts, so we either want the cash back, or the contracts, as you promised,” the first man said. Although he spoke English, he had an accent, but I could not identify it.

“I promised nothing. The money was passed on to enable me to make contacts and ease the application. Political decisions have been made out of my area of control, and the contracts have been shelved for the foreseeable future,” Dad said, clearly worried.

“This is not my problem, Charles. I need those contracts, as you assured me they were as good as ours, I am here for those contracts, or full reimbursement of my organisation’s funds. A lot of time, effort and capital have been put into this project, so we will not stand by and see it fail.” The man sounded quite insistent, with an edge to his voice I found very threatening.

My father walked to behind the desk. I saw his familiar brogues a few inches from me. I heard him reply.

“I don’t have the money. I used it to establish the contacts, and, as I said, to ease the application. I can’t get five million pounds just like that.”

“This is most unfortunate. You see, I happen to know you went to Switzerland last week, and that you deposited an undisclosed sum into a certain bank there. It seems that you are playing on both sides of a very dangerous street,” the man said.

Dad sat down. I knew that if he pulled the chair into the desk I was bound to be discovered.

“Look, you have to be reasonable and give me some time. My trip to Switzerland was unconnected, and I assure you that put none of your money in the bank. Perhaps I can get you two million in a couple of days,” Dad was frightened now, as I could hear that his voice was shaking. I had never heard him like this.

“Oh Charles, you have played with grown-ups for long enough to know we don’t play with those silly rules. Are the contracts going to be given to us?”

“I don’t honestly know. It’s out of my hands, but I doubt it.”

“Do you have our money?”

“No.”

Dad then put his hand under the desk, and I saw him press a hidden lever. A small drawer slid out a few inches, so I watched spellbound as he grasped something in his right hand and start to remove it. It was a gun. This was exciting; if I hadn’t been quite so frightened, I would have been enjoying myself.

I will never forget what happened next.

I heard the foreign voice say, “Charles don’t be juvenile, put it down.”

Then there was a shout and two very loud shots. Dad slumped forward, as a dark liquid started to drip down onto the floor in front of me. My ears were ringing but I just managed to hear the next sentence.

“You fool. Why did you shoot him?” said the foreign man.

“I couldn’t let him shoot first, could I?” said the whiney London voice.

“He wouldn’t shoot, you idiot. How the hell are we going to find the money now? We need the vault details and access card. It must be here somewhere, so we will search thoroughly, but check on the boy first, as he may have heard the shots.”

I heard the study door open and close. The foreign man was still here, as I watched his feet as he came round the desk. He pulled my father’s body off the desk, allowing it to slump onto the floor. I stared into my dad’s open, but unseeing eyes and almost lost complete bladder control. I heard the man curse in a foreign language, Arabic, I think it was, and then he forced open some of Dad’s drawers. I was frozen in fear as I watched his feet as he went over to the wall. He pulled back the picture of racehorses to reveal Dad’s safe.

I then heard the door of the room open again.

“He is not anywhere in the house. I can’t find him,” said whiney.

“Damn. This is messy. Right, we’ll go look for him, and then we sort out the safe.”

“Do you know the combination?”

“I have my methods. But the police may make things difficult.”

“Don’t worry about that, leave the police to me. I know my blokes, they’ll believe what I tell them to believe, so they won’t be a problem, trust me,” whiney man said. So, I now knew he was a policeman, and probably high up.

Then both men left the room.

I made myself move, squeezing out of the recess and clambering over the lifeless body that had been my father. I dashed to the wall safe, opened it with practiced ease and emptied the contents into Dad’s soft brown leather briefcase. There was some money and a bag of my late mother’s jewellery. There were also some papers, but I just took the lot and crept past the body to the door. I was shaking with shock, but I don’t know what I felt really, except a sort of numbness. I don’t think I felt any sadness. We had never really liked each other that much, but I was sad about that, as I was not close to him as I had been to my mother.

I put on my leather jacket and slipped out the front door, making my way around the side of the house. My moped was where I left it, by the garage, with the helmet on the back. I shoved the briefcase on the clip rack on the back and just took off.

I didn’t know where I was going, as I only had the clothes I was wearing. I drove out of Ealing, where we lived, and headed west. I found myself heading towards Oxford on the A40. I didn’t want to go to Oxford. I saw the signs for Heathrow, so just followed the signs. Somewhere my brain was telling me to find lots of people, so Heathrow was a good bet. I pulled up outside Terminal One, managing to lose the bike amongst lots of others in the bike park.

I headed to the toilets and locked myself in the gents. I sat there for ages, just shaking. I kept seeing my dad’s dead eyes, so I began to feel sick. I threw up into the bowl, and just sat there my mind like a jelly. Eventually, I recovered enough to open the briefcase.

There were six bundles of new  £50 notes. I counted them. Each bundle contained  £5,000, so I sat there, stunned. The jewellery was lovely and, I suspected, genuine. But it was all that I had left of my mother who died when I was ten.

The papers meant little, but had various dates and amounts on them, similar to bank statements. There were other papers that I had neither the time nor the inclination to look at. There was a small envelope, in which was a plastic card, like a credit card, but with no details on it, except a series of numbers, a black magnetic strip and the small chip. On the envelope were the words Banque Helvetia, Zurich.

I knew enough to know that this was a Swiss private vault card. They told me that Dad had been to Switzerland recently, and so I decided that that is where I must go.

But how?

I had money, but no passport. I didn’t know whom to trust, as the police were involved in my father’s murder, so I had no one to turn to. I decided that not all the police could be corrupt, but I was certain someone would listen to me.

I left the toilets and was walking through the terminal building. I saw an armed police officer at the end of the building, so steeled myself to approach him. I was only a few yards away, when I heard the TV news on at a small boutique.
 
 
     “...Police are searching for a young man wanted in connection with the brutal slaying of his father. Charles Thwaites, a prominent West London businessman was found a short time ago having been shot in his study. Initial police enquiries reveal that his seventeen year old son, Matthew, may have had an argument over drugs, and shot his father, whilst under the influence of cocaine. The officer in charge of the investigation had this to say,"
 
 
The scene changed to outside home, and a man in a suit was facing the camera.
 
 
     “It appears that Mr Thwaites may have disturbed his son, or somehow returned unexpectedly. There appears evidence of an argument and a struggle. The gun is an illegal one, and we suspect that Matthew has been dealing drugs for some time. This is a particular nasty and vicious crime, and we urge people to assist with his current location.”
 
 
It was whiney man. His name was splashed across the screen — Detective Superintendent John Vine.

Then they showed a photograph of me. It was about a year old, so I had short hair then. My hair was down to my shoulders now, as it was my one attempt at declaring independence against my father. But it was still identifiable as me.
 
 
Chapter 2
 
 
I immediately turned about and left the terminal. I had to hide and I had to change my appearance. I was almost crying with frustration. I couldn’t believe they would have framed me with killing my Dad. I didn’t know what to do.

I sat in the bus shelter at the bus station. It was busy and I pulled out a baseball cap out of my pocket and put it on my head. I was just another traveller waiting for a connection. Then I saw two British Transport Police officers patrolling through the bus station, so I moved off, and made for Terminal Three.

I sat in a restaurant and had something to eat, just to appear normal. I watched the TV news again, and they repeated the same footage as before, except now they added my moped number.

Time passed, so the people started thinning out. By midnight the place was almost deserted, and I watched as police officers checked there were no vagrants in the place.

I dozed off across two seats, to be shaken awake by a young female officer.

“Hello. Wake up. Why are you still here?” she asked.

I was very tired and my hair was all over my face, I brushed it away from my face with my hand.

I thought for a moment, but then had a brain wave. My mother had been French, and I spoke fluent French.

“Je suis française. Je ne parle pas l’anglais,” I said. My voice was husky due to being half asleep.

“Shit. Just my luck, some French girl, and no English,” the officer said.

What did she say? She called me a girl. My hair and appearance, bloody hell.

“What is your name?” she said slowly, as if I was deaf and stupid.

“Monique Bonnard,” I said, on the spur of the moment. Bonnard was my mother’s maiden name, “I lose suitcase and passport. I wait here, tomorrow, new passport. Merde. Air France to Paris.” I stammered in broken English, with an outrageous French accent.

“Okay, Monique. You shouldn’t really stay here, but stay near the CCTV camera. You be careful now. You understand?” she said, pointing at the CCTV camera that was staring straight at me.

“Oui, merci. Tank you,” I said.

She moved off, satisfied that I wasn’t a vagrant or an illegal immigrant.

I sat completely dazed by what had happened. She had thought I was female. Then it came to me, I could disguise myself as a girl and somehow get to Switzerland.

But how?

I had played a girl in a stage play at school, so figured that I could do make up with no problem. I smiled a sad little smile, as I was now tapping into things usually kept in my deepest recess of my mind. I always had a desire to live as a girl. But being wanted for murder had never been part of the fantasy. Now I had money to spend on clothes, but I needed some form of documentation. Still, one thing at a time, as I needed to not look like me.

I moved to a more private location, and surprised myself by sleeping for several hours. The seats were no good, so I lay on the carpeted floor, with the briefcase as a pillow. As the army of cleaners moved in, I awoke and went for some breakfast. Then as the shops opened, I made a few purchases in Boots the chemist. I bought a mascara brush and eyeliner, some lipstick, eye shadow and a hair brush. I also bought a tooth brush, tooth paste, shampoo, ladies deodorant, and some other products for hair removal. Fortunately I was not very hairy, as I had not started shaving yet.

I went into the ladies, found a large cubicle and spent ages shaving my legs, arms and armpits, and then in front of the mirror applied just a little make up. I knew enough not to over do it, otherwise I would look silly. I did not want to show out, as I just wanted to give the impression that I was a girl. I didn’t want to make everyone look at me. I brushed out my long blonde hair, and had to admit that I looked pretty convincing. I just hoped others would think the same.

I had on a baggy tee shirt and jeans, with trainers on my feet. My leather jacket successfully masked any figure or lack of it. But with the make up on my face, I looked like any teenage girl.

I left the loo and went to a small boutique, where I browsed amongst the products on sale. I was totally clueless. I didn’t know what size I was, and I was about to chicken out, when I came across a multi-national chart of sizes and measurements.

I spent nearly  £300 on girl’s clothes, including bras and underwear. I ambled along with my purchases, and saw a nice little suitcase on wheels with a little extendable handle. So, I bought that and a ladies shoulder bag and purse too. I disappeared to the loo again, and put on the bra and panties. I pulled on the tights, and then a short black skirt and a black silk blouse. I stuffed extra tights into the bra, and packed away everything into my new suitcase, including the briefcase.

I put some money into my purse and put that and the cosmetics into my bag. I then walked out into the main open area of the ladies, and looked at my reflection. I gasped. I was actually very attractive, so thanked the Lord for my bum. My legs looked good, but my bum was perfect. I then realised I was still wearing trainers, so I remedied that at the shoe shop. I bought several pairs of shoes, all with high heels, and one pair of boots.

I paid cash, and packed everything I wasn’t wearing in my case. I walked slowly along the concourse, feeling like a completely different person. I had to walk slowly, as I was unused to the high heels, so I felt rather precarious. I bought a black mock pearl necklace, some bangles and a pair of clip-on earrings. I knew that if this masquerade was going to be successful, I would have to get my ears pierced.

I bought a newspaper and sat in a coffee shop and had a cup of coffee and a croissant. The whole story was splashed across the front page, and my picture was everywhere. I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the counter and smiled. There was no way I could be discovered looking like this. Two police officers sauntered past, I smiled at them, and they both smiled back. This might work after all.

I was just finishing my coffee, when a middle aged business man offered to share a taxi into London with me. I sensed he was after more, and politely told him I was waiting for my boyfriend. It made me understand that there were more dangers at being a young and attractive female than I had realised.

After the sixth proposition, I got fed up, and tried to figure out what to do. I examined some of the papers I had taken from Dad’s safe, and the cogs started to turn, a little. I had enough money to get to Switzerland, but without a passport I was helpless. I had read the paper from cover to cover, and saw one article about police corruption. I then remembered that the Metropolitan Police had a separate department that investigated corrupt officers.

I dug out my mobile and called the operator, and got put through to New Scotland Yard. I asked for the Criminal Investigation Branch, and eventually a female voice answered.

“CIB Good morning,” a pleasant female voice answered.

“Hello, I want to speak to someone about a police officer who has committed murder, and is trying to frame someone for that murder,” I said.

“That is a serious allegation. Can I have your name please?”

“I’m Matthew Thwaites. My father was shot twice by a man called John Vine, and he is now making up lies about me killing Dad,” I said.

There was a pause on the other end, and I pictured her reaction to my information.

“I will only speak to you, and not on the phone. I will call back, what is your name?” I said.

“I am DC Alison Grover. But…”

I cut her off, and moved swiftly to another location. I rang her back.

“I will meet you. Alone and unrecorded. I don’t trust anyone. I have evidence, as I was hiding in the room when he shot him,” I said.

“When and where?” she said.

“Heathrow Airport. Terminal Three arrivals. One hour, alone,” I said, and cut her off.

I waited on the balcony as men in plain clothes started moving in. They could only be police officers, I thought. I counted six, but knew there would be more. I waited as the minutes clicked by. I was just another female member of the public standing waiting for someone. I watched as a young woman in a grey trouser suit came in and looked around nervously. I smiled, she was so obviously DC Grover. She was about 5’ 7”, about twenty six or seven, and slightly on the heavy side. She had a large bust, but a proportionate bum. Her hair was quite dark, which she had cut short, not that she was mannish, as it was styled nicely. She struck me as being a girl who put her job first and private life second.

I walked straight past her, conscious of my high heels making a clickety-click noise on the hard floor. She glanced briefly at me, and then away. I went to the information desk and handed over a small piece of paper, and then retired to watch the fun.

The tannoy activated.

“Would Alison Grover please attend the Information desk.”

Alison turned and made for the desk. I then rang the information desk, and told the man that I wished to speak to Alison Glover.

“I am sorry there is no one by that name here.”

“She is dressed in grey, you have just tannoyed her,” I said.

He waved Alison forward, so she took the phone.

“Hello?”

“I said alone, I knew I could not trust you,” I said, as I left the building and got onto the bus for Terminal four.

“Where are you?”

“Safe. Leave by the exit to your left and take the bus for Terminal Four, and leave the others behind,” I said and cut her off again.

The bus was almost ready to leave, so she had to run. I was sitting at the back as she stood in the middle, looking at everyone on board. I stared out of the window, acting the bored and weary traveller. I could see her reflection in the window, so felt her eyes pass right over me.

The journey took fifteen minutes and, as soon as we arrived, she was swept off by the tide of passengers. She went with them into the Terminal, and I was at the back, pulling my little case on its wheels. She pulled out her mobile and punched in some numbers. I stood close enough to hear her side of the conversation.

“He was watching. He saw the others and we spooked him. I’m in T4 now. Get a back up car down here at once.”

I smiled, and walked up to her.

“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, est-ce que vous parlez le français?” I asked.

She looked at me and frowned.

“No, that is if you are asking whether I speak French?” she said.

“Quelqu'un m’a demandée de vous donner ceci. Ah, pliz, I haf bin given zees for you.” I said, explaining in broken English that I had been asked to give her the piece of paper I was carrying.

She frowned and took the paper.

It said, FOLLOW THE GIRL.

I turned and walked off, so she had to run to keep up with me. I went straight into the ladies, and she had no choice but to follow. There were a few people about.

“Look. What is this, who are you?” she asked as I repaired some make up in the mirror.

I waited for the place to be empty.

I placed a single piece of paper on the side.

“Matthew gives me zat to give to you. He say he has more, but he eez afraid of ze corrupt policeman. Matthew say he haz more proof in Switzerland, but haz no way to get zere,” I said in broken English, with the same outrageous accent.

The paper had dates of payments made and received. There was one entry with the initials DV clearly marked thereon for the sum of  £20,000. There was another for a month later for  £10,000. There was one for  £1,000,000 paid to CT, my Dad. These accounts had not been my father’s, but some he had obtained from somewhere else.

She looked at me, frowning.

“Just who are you?”

“I am a cousin of Matthew Thwaites. I am returning to France to go back to college. Matthew, call me, and say he eez in trouble, I like heem, so I help. Ze papers lie, he haz never taken ze drugs,” I said.

“Aiding a criminal is an offence,” she said.

“You are helping zat man Vine, duz zat make you guilty?” I asked.

She smiled.

“Okay, where is he?” she asked.

“He eez safe, but he will speak to only you.”

“Okay, so what happens now?”

“I am to take you to heem, no calls.”

I turned and walked out. I went straight through the emergency exit, and a taxi pulled onto the rank as I arrived. I waved and it came up to me. I stuck my head through the window, and said, “Oxford Street.” I got in, so Alison had no choice by to follow me in. As we drove off, I noticed the plain car pull up outside the Terminal building, and four burly men got out and ran into the terminal.

I sat back and smiled. I may be seventeen, but I was growing up fast.
 
 
Chapter 3
 
 
I was conscious that my companion was staring at me, intently.

“Okay, just who the hell are you?” she asked.

I smiled, I had to trust someone.

“I’m Matthew,” I said, and smiled as her mouth opened and no sound came out. Then she nodded, slowly.

“I can see it now. No girl would sit like that with that skirt on. But I have to admit, you had me completely fooled. You’re in deep shit, Matthew,” she said, and I drew my knees together self-consciously.

“Tell me something I don’t know. That bastard has fitted me up completely,” I said, and then told her the whole story, except for the cash I had in my possession.

She nodded, frowning.

“You’ve put me in a very awkward position,” she said.

“And I’m not?”

She smiled again. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere, nowhere, I don’t know, I’m so frustrated, because I need to get to Switzerland to see what’s in the vault. I’m positive that Dad has documented everything. He was always so careful. He was a shrewd bastard, and I’m sure if he dabbled in dodgy deals, he would always cover his back.”

Alison thought for a moment.

“All right, look, if I help you, will you help us?”

“Of course. But I’m not going to get locked up.”

“If it’s any consolation, we’ve had a suspicion about John Vine for a while, but haven’t any evidence, so far. If it helps, I actually believe you,” she said, with a smile.

“You do?”

“I do. For a start, you wouldn’t have called CIB if you were guilty, you’d have just run,”

“Oh.”

“I need to call in, okay?”

I nodded, and she took out her mobile.

“It’s me. I’m fine, but we’ve lost him.”

“No, he got some tourist to lead me a merry chase. He could be anywhere, he saw the team getting into position, and that spooked him. But I have some good evidence that Vine is dirty.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you back at the office later, as I’m going to follow up a lead.”

“No, I don’t need back up, and I’ll call you when I know more.”

She turned off her phone, opened the sliding glass partition and spoke to the driver. Then she closed it again.

“I’m taking you to my flat. You’ll be safe there, and I think we need to do something about your appearance.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, slightly hurt.

“It’s okay, but a bit sluttish. If you want to get picked up, that’s the right way to go about it. If you’re going for this look, then we need to make you just blend in, not stand out like a beacon.”

“Oh.” I said, and smiled, remembering the six men in the airport.

We arrived at a road in Harrow Weald, and I paid the taxi driver. She took me to a ground floor flat in a nice three storey building. She opened the door, soI gratefully took off my shoes.

“How women wear these for any length of time, I will never know,” I said.

She laughed.

“Okay, what do you want me to call you, I can’t call you Matthew looking like that?”

“Monique is fine,” I said, adopting the accent again.

“Right, what other clothes have you got?” she asked, and I opened my case. We went through my complete wardrobe, and she shook her head.

“Monique, you’re a plonker. These are all fine for going out clubbing, or on a date, but for daily wear, they’re just plain silly. We need to go shopping, and we have to do something about your boobs.”

I looked down and saw that they were flat and lopsided.

“Oh.”

She was larger that I, so her clothes were no good, but when I said I had enough cash for some more, she grinned.

“Then we’ll go shopping, but first, I need some more evidence. Do you have anything else for me?”

I shrugged, and gave her some of the papers from the briefcase.

“Go and put the kettle on, and make us a coffee while I look at these,” she said, so I wandered into the kitchen. I felt relaxed for the first time since Dad was killed, and the weird thing was I felt perfectly natural as a girl. I found myself adopting feminine gestures and postures quite subconsciously. I knew that when my mother died, it affected me very profoundly, and I would often wish that I had been a girl, but now, I felt strangely content with what I was.

I put the kettle on and made us both a coffee. I walked back into the sitting room and sat down. She stared at me, with a smile, shaking her head.

“Are you sure you are a boy?” she asked.

“To be honest, not really, as I think I’d like to be a girl really. But beggars can’t be choosers,” I heard myself say.

“I wish I had your figure. It is almost perfect,” she said.

“I’m slightly flat on top.” I said with a grin.

She smiled and shook her head, but looked back at the papers in her hand. After several minutes she looked at me.

“Do you know what these are?”

I shook my head.

“Neither do I, but I know a man who might,” she said.

She stood up and finished her coffee.

“Put your shoes on again, Monique, we’re going shopping, but first, let’s do something about your boobs,” she said. She took out the tights I had put in there. She disappeared for a couple of minutes and returned with a box.

“Okay Monique, strip.”

Once I was down to my bra and panties, she opened the box.

“And the bra.”

I took it off, very aware of my flat chest.

I felt a cold liquid on my chest, and noticed she was smearing some gel across my nipples. Then she placed two very realistic breast forms over my own non-existent breasts.

She made me hold them in place as she nudged them into the correct position. We held them for ages, and I could feel the gel harden.

“Okay, let go,” she said, and I did. The breasts stayed there, looking very realistic. She took out some foundation, and rubbed it around the joins. When she had finished, they looked absolutely real. They even had large nipples.

“Fine, now we are in business,” she said.

“Why have you got these?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you later. It is a long story, let’s say you aren’t the first bloke I’ve come across who wanted to be a girl.”

I looked at her critically, but decided that there was just no way she could ever have been a bloke. She noticed my look and smiled.

“Not me. If that’s what you were thinking?”

“I didn’t think so.”

I put my case and everything in her spare bedroom, and we left the flat. The bus stop was a short walk away, so the next thing I knew we were getting off in a shopping area. I was unfamiliar with the area, so was completely in her hands.

She took me to a tattoo parlour and sent me in to get my ears pierced, while she disappeared, telling me to wait for her outside when done.

I expected excruciating pain, but it hardly hurt at all. The funny popping noise was the worst part, when the skin was actually pierced. The girl gave me some sleepers and a simple set of studs, and told me to keep them in so the holes didn’t heal up.

I left the parlour, feeling very weird with earrings in my ears. I was admiring myself in the window, when Alison came back.

“They look fine. I still can’t believe what you look like,” she said.

She took me into a department store, where we went straight to the ladies clothes section. We selected several dresses and skirts, with some blouses and tops, and I followed her into the changing rooms. She came into the cubicle with me.

I tried on all the clothes, and had to admit they were far more suitable than what I had chosen. Although less overtly sexy, they were elegant and felt lovely. If anything, they made me look more feminine that my original selections. I just adored the breasts, they felt just how I imagined the real things would feel, as they jiggled and moved as I did. I couldn’t stop grinning.

She told me to buy a set of false nails at the nail bar, and I found myself buying what seemed to me to be a huge amount of cosmetics. I was now wearing a very pretty cotton dress, with a pair of shoes that were actually comfortable and still made my legs and feet look sexy. She took me to the hairdressers, and for two hours was tortured by a sadistic female wrestler.

But the finished product literally took my breath away.

My hair was originally blonde and unformed. Now it had a wave to it, and had been styled and cut to accentuate the shape of the head, and with very light natural highlights, it looked wonderful. Alison kept dragging me past every shop window, as I just had to stop and admire myself.

We stopped for lunch at a wine bar, and I found myself telling Alison more about the inner me, than even I knew. I poured out my soul, and began to realise that I was one screwed up kid.

As we walked back to the bus stop, we popped into Woolworths and she made me sit in a photo booth for the passport-style photos.

We took the bus back to her flat and dropped off the packages and bags. I was feeling very tired, but she took me out again, after making a couple of calls, we set off in her car.

I was completely lost when she pulled up in a very seedy area.

“Hang on to your handbag, and don’t stop,” she said, as we walked very fast down the road. We stopped at a small Greek café and went in.

There were three men playing cards at a table, and they looked up as we came in. Two were in their twenties and one in his fifties, balding with a huge moustache.

The older man smiled at Alison.

“Ah, Ladycop, how are you, darling?” he said.

“I’m fine Peter. We need to talk.” she said.

“Okay, come in,” he said, standing up and leading us to a back room. He shut the door and he looked at me questioningly.

“This is a friend, her name is Monique.”

“Hello Monique,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it.

Alison smiled, but I stayed silent.

“So, sit down ladies. What can I do for you?” Peter asked, so we sat down.

“Monique is helping us with a corruption case. But she needs to obtain travel documents without going through usual channels. Now, this is particularly difficult, as the target is highly placed, and we don’t yet know how far his tentacles have spread. I was hoping that with your contacts, you might know some way she could obtain a passport or something like that?”

Peter stared at her, and then looked at me.

“What is in it for me?” he asked Alison.

“The going rate, plus a formal acknowledgement from us on successful completion of the case,” she said, and one of his bushy eyebrows rose sharply.

“Passports are tricky, just now. What nationality?”

“Française,” I said, the first word I had uttered.

“Ah, est-ce que tu es française?” he asked in passable French.

“Certainement. Vous parlez bien le français?” I said.

He smiled, and reverted to English.

“It has been a long time. I think I can get you a French Carte d’ Identité. But I will need a photograph of you, and personal details.”

Alison smiled and handed over the recent photos we had got in Woolworths. I wrote the name Monique Bonnard, a date of birth exactly two years older that mine, making me almost twenty, and an address of some of my cousins near Lille, in France. He nodded and looked at me.

“Five hundred pounds, up front,” he said, with a slightly apologetic smile.

I counted out five hundred pounds onto the table, without changing expression. He stared at my face and smiled.

“Ha, you are a cool one. I pity your husband.”

“I’m not married,” I said, blushing slightly.

“Ha, you will be, as the good ones always are,” he said, as my money disappeared.

“Come back tomorrow. Same time,” he said.

Alison stood up, and I held out my hand.

“Merci, c’est possible que vous m’ayez sauvée la vie,” I said, thanking him for saving my life.

He went bright red and kissed my hand again.

We left, and returned gratefully to find the car still in one piece.

Alison drove back to the flat, with an odd expression on her face.

“What?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“You need no coaching to be a girl,” she said.

I smiled. “I find I like it,” I admitted.

“Then you need real help, girl. I know that with everything else going on, it may not high on the list of agendas, but you need to seriously think about whether you ever want to go back to being Matthew, or whether Monique is here for good. This is a medical problem, so you need to face it.”

“Oh,” I said, having not really thought about it. I was silent, as my brain tried to come to terms with what she said.

We arrived back at the flat, and we went in. I collapsed onto the sofa, and found myself crying. Alison just sat beside me and held me. I sobbed for ages.

I cried for my mother, my father, and for me. I cried that I was hurt, lonely, confused, afraid and angry. I cried because I now realised I wanted to be something that I could never be. I just cried.

Finally, the tears dried up. And I sat there, empty and desolate.

Alison phoned someone, saying she was coming in with some documents and asked for someone from the fraud unit to meet her.

“Monique, I have to go out. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, but you’re safe here. I’m not going to tell anyone you’re here, but I have to get someone to look at these documents. Are you going to be all right?” she asked.

I nodded.

“I’ll bring a friend with me when I come back. She’s a doctor, and so you don’t think I am betraying you. Okay?”

I nodded again, suddenly very tired.

“Good. Don’t answer the door, or the telephone, clear?”

I nodded, I slipped my shoes off, and put my legs up on the sofa, and I was almost asleep by the time she shut the front door.
 
 
Chapter 4
 
 
Someone was shaking me, so I suddenly remembered what had happened, and was instantly awake, and afraid.

It was Alison.

“Hey, sleepy head, you were deeply away,” she said, smiling. I noticed another woman standing by the door.

“Monique, this is Jenny Robbins. She’s a doctor. Jenny, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

“Hello, Monique. You seem to be having a rough time?” Jenny said, sitting down beside me.

“I’ve bought some pizzas, Jenny is staying for supper with us. I’ve some good news about your papers too. But we can talk about that later. I will put the food on.” Alison went off to the kitchen, and closed the door.

Jenny was about forty and had a nice smile. She was wearing trousers and a sweater. I saw she had a wedding ring on. I was a little wary and confused, why had Alison brought a doctor?

“You’re wondering what I’m doing here?” Jenny asked.

I nodded.

“Alison has explained a little of your circumstances, and the difficulties you find yourself in. I understand you’re helping the police with their investigation, so she told me about your confusion, and as I specialise in gender dysphoria and SRS, she immediately thought I might be able to help you, at least in the short term.”

“Gender what?” I asked.

“Monique, I’m a psychiatrist, amongst other things. And I help people who are born as one gender to become the person they feel they should always have been. In other words, I help people change gender.”

“Oh,” I said, reddening.

She smiled and touched my hand.

“I can see that you really do need my help. I’d like to start by asking you some questions, is that all right?”

I nodded, so she started to ask me about my childhood and parents. The questions went on, and I found myself telling her things that I thought I had forgotten, and other things that I swore I would never tell anyone. She made some notes, and nodded and smiled. Somehow, I felt better talking to her, as it was if huge weights were lifted off my shoulders.

In the end she asked me one question.

“If you could push a button and you could stay as Monique, as a real girl, or as Matthew, with no desire to be a girl, which would you choose?”

“Monique,” I said, without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because I feel a complete person as Monique. It’s who I am, and who I should have been,” I said, simply.

She smiled. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen in three days,” I said, with a sad smile. Some birthday.

“Do you live life as a girl, all the time?”

“I have been recently.”

“How would you like to become Monique for real, for the rest of your life?” she asked.

“I’d love it,” I said, regardless of all the complications.

“It’s not an easy road, and the SRS is painful and lengthy.”

“I don’t care. Is it expensive?”

“It can be, but I think we can get some, if not all of it on the national health.”

I shook my head.

“No, I have enough money. It has to be private with no names and no records,” I said.

“Alison told me a little of your circumstances. Because of them, I understand, but once you make the decision, there is no turning back.”

“I understand. I need a new life as my old one was shit.”

“That is not enough. You need to be certain that this is what you really want.”

“I am.” I said, looking at her. “What do I look like to you?”

She smiled. “I believe that you firmly believe you are a girl. You certainly look like one and act like one. That’s what matters. Your answers fit absolutely into the criteria I would expect. So I propose that we start you on a course of different hormones. This will stop you developing any more as a man and start you developing female characteristics. The early bit is reversible, so all you do is stop and things will go back to normal. But once you take these for a few months, then you will never function as a male again. Are you sure you want to do this?”

I just smiled and nodded. Anything would be better than what I had been.

She got her bag, gave me three injections and a bottle of pills, with instructions.

“Hopefully, all this horrid business with be cleared up in a few weeks, and then come and see me. We will go through all the surgical options. All right?”

I nodded.

“Thanks. How much do I owe you?” I said.

“Nothing, we can sort out that later. And it’s Alison who you need to thank. It’s rare for people to be quite so understanding about such things, rarer still to find someone who know about things in such detail. You’re lucky she had a brother who is now her younger sister.”

Alison appeared with the pizzas. I suddenly understood why she had the breast forms.

“I never knew about your sister,” I said.

“Why should you have done? Let’s just say I know one when I see one,” she said with a smile.

She opened a bottle of wine and we sat and chatted. Jenny left, and I collapsed into bed wearing my first nightdress.
 

*          *          *
 
It was almost noon when Alison woke me up. I had a shower, and marvelled at the realism of my breasts. Apart from the fact they had no feeling, they actually felt right and that they belonged. They were not large, as my frame was slender, but I could not help smiling as I felt them and as I saw my reflection.

I was getting dry when Alison came into the bathroom.

“Right, it’s time to be a little drastic,” she said.

“What?”

We need to make you appear as female as we can. So, this little trick I learned when Nicola was going through her transition period.”

She showed me how to tuck my penis back between my legs and slide my testes into the body cavity. Then she pinched the skin of the scrotum together, and used a type of superglue to weld the flaps of skin together.

She held it for about a minute and then let go. I couldn’t believe it, as it looked just like female genitalia.

“You’re very small. But, anyway, it looks the part, but won’t stand up to medical examination, nor will it withstand the probing fingers of a passionate male admirer. So, be warned,” she said.

“I hardly think either will be an issue,” I said.

“You never know. The way you behave, you may have to beat the guys off with a club.”

“I don’t, do I?” I asked.

She just smiled.

“Now, the injections Jenny gave you will mean that you will not get a stiffy again, as long as you keep taking the pills, so don’t worry about that. You can still pee, but you must always sit down and wipe, as the spray will go everywhere. The glue will hold for several days, and is waterproof, so you can have a bath or shower, or even go swimming.”

“That’s amazing. How did you find out about all this?”

“My brother, Nicholas, was a transsexual. When he was about ten or eleven, I caught him dressing up in my clothes, and it became our secret. Dad was an old style copper, and would have never coped with the trauma of having a ‘queer’ son. He died about five years ago, and Nicholas became Nicola soon afterwards. But it was tough and expensive.

“Mum was fine with it, as she had guessed, so helped us keep it from Dad. Nicola lived with me all through the transition and after the operations. She’s now living in Spain, married to a Dutch widower, who already had three young kids, and is a very happy mother and wife. It’s a fairy story ending.”

“That’s wonderful. Does the Dutchman know about her past?”

“Jan? Yes, they started seeing each other before the operation. Nikki was living as a girl, and they met by accident when they were both on a train that broke down. They started chatting, and Jan asked Nikki out for a meal. She was ever so nervous, and almost didn’t go. I persuaded her to accept, so in the end, she went.

“She had a wonderful time and found a very lonely, hurting man. She fell in love on that first date. They met several times over the next few weeks. Jan was working in London, while his children were staying with their grandparents in the Netherlands. He told her that he had a dark secret, and it turned out to be his children. She was so relieved, but knew she would have to tell him her dark secret.

“So, once the date of the SRS was confirmed, she took him out for a meal, and told him. He took it badly at first, and just walked out without saying anything. Nikki was heart-broken and came home in tears. I sat with her for hours, and then the doorbell rang. I answered it and it was Jan. He came in, apologised and then told Nikki that it didn’t matter, as he loved her and would be there for her. I don’t think I ever cried so much as that night,” Alison said, showing me a photo of a very pretty young woman and a tall fair haired man, with two children, a boy and a girl, about seven and five.

“You’d never know she was ever anything different,” I said.

“If you know the signs, then you actually can. You’re even luckier, as you are a lot younger than Nikki, and you already look like a girl.”

“I am a girl; it’s just my body that’s wrong,” I said.

“That’s what Nikki used to say.”

Alison gave me the glue, which I put safely in my bag, then she showed me how to put on my false nails, so I spent some time varnishing them, and my toenails. I dressed in a smart fawn skirt with a white blouse, and wore a suede waistcoat with a floral design on the front. With tights and high heels, I felt on top of the world. I felt sort of excited, as if this was all so right somehow. We made some sandwiches, as she told me about what had happened at work.

“I went to the office, and had to go and see my boss. I explained, briefly, what you had told me, and the fact that I might be able to locate Matthew. I said you had left the papers for me at Heathrow, and I have yet to meet you in person. I told him that you did not trust anyone due to Vine being the killer of your father.

“He is determined to trap Vine, and he indicated that it would be best if you were at large for a while. Apparently, someone in the office is in with Vine, as he has been sniffing around the office, on some pretext or other. The Commander has officially taken me off the case, and put me onto another one. But unofficially, I am to try to get as much from you as I can. To be honest I don’t even trust the Commander,” she said.

“Where does that leave me?”

“As a sacrificial goat, I’m afraid. The Commander sees you as bait to lure Vine into making an error. But I intend that we turn the tables on Vine, and once we get to Switzerland, we can attack.”

“You’re coming to Switzerland with me?” I asked, surprised.

“Of course, how else do you think you’ll cope?”

“I hadn’t thought about it that much. I’m glad, as I’ve been alone for too long.”

“I’ve applied for some annual leave, so it frees me up for a couple of weeks. We need to go to the Greek again to pick up your ID papers.”

We arrived at the café and went in as before. Peter made no sign that he recognised us, so we sat at a table and one of his sons came over and gave us a menu. Inside the menu was the French ID card. I slid it carefully into my bag, as I did so, I noticed the spare photos were with it. This was curious, but Alison ordered two coffees and then whispered to me,

“Trouble, the place is being watched. Drink your coffee and we’ll go.”

I burned my mouth in my haste, so Alison put some coins on the table and we left.

“Look straight forward and walk slowly to the end of the road. Then run to the car,” she said, so we ambled along arm in arm, like two girlfriends out shopping.

Once at the corner, we ran to the car, and took off rapidly.

“What was that about?”

“Peter is one of three men in London who deals in very good quality documents. He is also a known police informant, and MI5 have used him as well. It seems that he has been made aware that someone is watching him so he was being careful.

“Does that mean Vine knows about us?”

“Not necessarily, but one of his minions was looking for someone, probably a boy looking like Matthew Thwaites. The chances are that the other dealers are also being watched.”

“But if they saw you, and you’re recognised, won’t they put two and two together?” I asked.

“Not necessarily. I’ve never been linked with you. Even the Heathrow job, no names were given, I just had local CID back up.”

“Oh.” Something wasn’t quite right about that.

“Best we go to Switzerland as soon as possible, all the same.”

We went back to the flat, and packed. I already had my case, and so I just flung in my new clothes, cosmetics and wash stuff. Every now and again, Alison looked out into the street.

“Right, come on,” she said, and we went out the back into the garden. We went down the end and squeezed through the fence onto a small alleyway. We ran down the alley, which I found hard carrying a shoulder bag and a suitcase wearing high heels.

We came out on a main road, where Alison flagged down a passing black cab, and we piled in.

We caught our breath.

“Why the sneaking about, do you think we were being watched?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but it pays to be careful.”

She kept an eye out for any following vehicle, and once she was happy, she told the driver to make for Heathrow again.

I used the journey to reflect on the past couple of days. I could not quite get my head round the whole affair. It was like a surreal dream, but parts of it I didn’t want to wake up from, yet others I hated. I loved being Monique, and I kept seeing the reflection of a stunning girl who looked at least nineteen. But the fact that people were out to kill me frightened me dreadfully.

I also began to distrust everyone, even Alison, and told myself to stop being paranoid. But I knew that I couldn’t afford to trust anyone, even Alison. But I had allowed a complete stranger to give me injections, what if they weren’t really what they said they were? My heart raced.

“Where does Jenny practice?” I asked.

“In Harrow, why?”

“I was curious. I’m worrying about side affects of the hormones.”

“Well, you’ll get odd mood swings, a little nausea and tiredness for no apparent reason. Nikki would become very emotional, and burst into tears without warning. You’ll find yourself watching a movie and start crying, even though you have seen it before and know it inside out. It’s not that different to getting a period every month.”

“Oh. Does it make you paranoid?”

She laughed.

“No, but going through what you just have, might.” she said.

The cab pulled up at Terminal Two and we got out. I let her pay this time.

“Right, we go in separately, pay separately and get the same flight, but not together. We can meet up once we get through immigration at the other end. I checked, we want the 1500 Swissair flight to Geneva, okay?” she said.

I nodded, so we went in different doors.

I approached the ticket desk.

I was French, I told myself. I knew that I spoke the language without any accent, so I should have been completely confident, but I still worried.

“Bonjour,” I said, and the dark haired girl smiled and replied in French. She was not a native speaker, so I relaxed slightly.

I asked for a first class, open ended return ticket on the 1500 flight to Geneva.

She asked for my ID, and I produced my false French Carte d’ Identité.

“Monique Bonnard?”

“Oui.”

She produced the ticket, and I paid cash. She asked a few questions and then gave me the ticket and the ID card back. I smiled and thanked her.

I walked off to the check-in, passing Alison in the queue for the tickets.

I checked in my case, having all my cash in my bag in envelopes. I produced my ticket and ID papers again, asked the usual questions about packing and dangerous articles, and then I was whisked through the security, where I made the machine bleep, so was searched by one of the female security staff. I’d left a bangle on my wrist, so I went suitably red and was cleared.

My bag passed through the x-ray, so I went to the first class lounge. I was given a free glass of champagne and some nibbles, and sat and read Harpers and Queen. To the world I looked like a sophisticated and well heeled attractive young woman, so I felt a surge of unusual feelings spread from my groin area.

I used my mobile phone and called directory enquiries. I discovered there was indeed a doctor in Harrow called Jenny Robbins. I rang her and she answered. She was surprised to hear from me, so I asked her about the side affects of the hormones, and she confirmed what Alison had said. I felt happier when I rang off.

Being first class, I did not board the plane until just before push-back, and the first class seats were all at the front. I looked back, and saw Alison’s pale and worried face searching the other passengers for any sign of me. She noticed me up the front. Her mouth dropped open, so I smiled and sat down in my huge and comfortable seat.

Seated next to me was an elderly Italian gentleman, who spoke excellent Italian, German and English, but we conversed in English. He was slightly deaf, but he was charming, and was very flattering. We were in the air before long, so I settled down and relaxed.

The cabin crew were very generous with the free drinks, so I was careful to take fruit juice. This was not lost on Ricardo, my new friend.

“You are vera wise girl. Too mucha alcohola, make you tired. I neva drink too mucha vino on the flights.”

I smiled and put on my head set to watch the in-flight entertainment.

The meal was wonderful. I had entrecote steak and some red wine, but not enough to get sozzled.

I still wasn’t sure I trusted Alison, as she was just too helpful, and everything was working just too well. I knew that the bad guys wanted to get to my Dad’s deposit box, and were prepared to kill to get it. I knew that I was only of any use until the box was open, after that I was expendable. I also knew that the bank was in Zurich, and not Geneva.
 
 
Chapter 5
 
 
We landed and I followed the crowd through the terminal to immigration. My card was looked at and I was waved through. I collected my case and walked through Customs, into the arrivals area. I had seen Alison still waiting at the carousel for her case, so I smiled slightly. I went to the bureau du change and changed  £2000 into Swiss Francs.

I had the opportunity to leave her at this point, but I decided not to. I don’t know why, perhaps I actually needed someone to trust. But I was still cautious, if her brother’s transition was expensive, who paid for it, and how?

I went and sat at a coffee shop and waited for her to clear customs. She finally appeared, slightly cross.

“How the hell did you manage to get a first class ticket?” she asked.

“Because we always travel first class,” I said, once again with my French accent.

She shook her head and laughed.

“Do you want a coffee?” I asked.

“Why not?”

I waved at the waiter and he appeared.

“Un café au lait pour mon amie, s’il vous plait,” I said.

“Oui Mam'selle.”

“You never cease to amaze me. How come you speak such good French?”

“My mother was French, so we would spend many weeks every year with her parents, and with our French cousins.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Dreadfully. More than I could ever tell you. When she died, it was the worst day of my life,” I admitted.

“What, worse than seeing your Dad being shot?”

“Much. I never liked my Dad, but I adored Mama. After she died, my father threw out all her clothes. I managed to keep a couple of scarves, and I had them under my pillow, even up to the last night I slept in the house. I never got on with him. My sister, Carol, hated him. She fucked off to America as soon as she could.”

“That’s so sad. You haven’t been very fortunate, have you?”

“Maybe not, but at least it’s made me independent and resilient,” I said.

“I don’t wonder you find it difficult to trust anyone,” she said.

“I don’t. Not even you,” I said, finishing my coffee.

“Why do you stay with me, then? You could have left while I was in the customs hall.”

I looked at her.

“I really don’t know. Part of me wants to trust you, and yet something tells me not to. No doubt, I’ll soon find out which part was right,” I said.

She smiled a sad smile, which told me nothing.

I stood up and I began to realise that here, away from London, I was taking charge. I had been here before, so knew where I was going. I spoke fluent French and reasonable German, plus I was used to high living and international ways. But now I was legally an adult, or illegally an adult, and an attractive female one at that, I felt a curious surge of confidence course through me.

“Come on then.” I said, leaving her finishing her coffee.

I walked out to the bus stop, where we caught the bus that took us straight to the city centre. Overlooking the square was the Hilton Hotel. I had stayed there with my parents on about four occasions. I walked up the steps, and smiled at the doorman as he opened the door for me. Alison was scampering to keep up with me.

I walked straight up to the desk and asked for a twin room for the night.

I completed the registration form for both of us and followed the bellhop up to our room.

I tipped the bellhop and he retired.

Alison stared at me.

“What has happened to you?” she asked.

“I know who I am now,” I answered, and stripped off. I stared at my naked body, and it did look very feminine. Even without the false boobs, it was more female than male. I smiled and went to the luxurious bathroom and had a shower.

I dressed as Alison showered. I noted she wasn’t too keen on me seeing her in the nude, I understood, sort of, as I wasn’t a real girl, even though I wasn’t a real boy either. I put on a pretty black dress with thin shoulder straps, which was very form hugging. I dried my hair, which, if anything, looked even better than when I had just had it done. I repaired one nail that had lost a little chip of varnish, and put on my make up. I smiled and felt 100% woman, okay, 99%.

Alison came out of the bathroom with a huge hotel towel wrapped round her body. I smiled, for she looked like an underdone sausage roll.

She stared at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You look different.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know. For a start you look about twenty, and you have an air of confidence about you.”

I smiled. “That’s because for the first time in my life, I look like I feel, and feel how I look, and I like how I feel and look,” I said. “As a boy I was young for my age and never fitted in, but now that has all changed because I’ve found out who I really am.”

I watched her get dressed. Although her dress was nice, she hadn’t been blessed with the best figure, but I thought she did the best she could with the raw materials provided. She was actually quite attractive when she put some effort into it, and tonight she did just that.

“You look super,” I said to her, making her blush.

“The really annoying thing is that you look absolutely stunning, and you aren’t even a woman,” she said, slightly bitterly. I wondered what resentment was festering away inside her. Perhaps there was something in her past with her brother — now sister Nikki, or maybe it was just me I didn’t like being reminded I wasn’t a real woman. Oh, I knew it, and hadn’t been like this for that long, but I so wanted to be a girl!

“I am, just my body hasn’t caught up with my spirit,” I said, slightly defensively, but pleased she thought me stunning. I grinned.

“No, really, you look absolutely gorgeous. We’re going to have a real problem keeping men away.” she said.

“Who said we wanted to?” I said.

“Don’t be silly, Monique, you can’t.”

“Why not? I’m not going to screw anyone. But we can have a little fun. I don’t see a ring on your finger,” I said.

“That’s not the point, we have to recover the documents, and see what to do next.”

“Is there anyone, Alison?”

She shook her head.

“There was, but he didn’t like me in the job. I had to choose, he lost,” she said, rather wistfully. Ahah, I thought, now we’re getting to it.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it, if you don’t mind. Things are still a bit raw.”

“Well, there’s no reason not to have fun, even if we are in the shit,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Just how are we going to pay for all this?” she asked.

“That isn’t your problem. Just keep your eyes out for the bad guys, and let’s go with the flow,” I picked up my bag. She had to run to catch up with me as we went down to dinner.

The headwaiter smiled as we approached, briefly looking for any male escorts. You have to appreciate that in Switzerland, women only got the vote quite recently. When no men appeared to be with us, he frowned slightly, but showed us to a table. The food was exquisite and the wine wonderful, but the prices were also out of this world.

We ate our hearts out, so even Alison started to relax. I questioned her about Nicola and all her operations. It sounded quite grueling, and I hoped that it wasn’t going to be as bad for me. But I kept seeing that photograph of that smiling face and her children and husband. A small band was playing discreetly on the raised platform, with a few couples dancing.

We were just enjoying a coffee and liqueur when a waiter approached.

“Excuse me, ladies, but the two American Gentlemen at that table are wondering whether you would like to join them?”

We turned and saw two men in dark suits and ties. One was about twenty-five, the other thirty. Both were very clean cut, and obviously not European. Americans wear suits in a completely different way. The Italians look stylish; the British look business-like, while the French look casual, even when in the finest suits. Americans look crisp, as if someone has just taken the cellophane off.

I looked at Alison. She shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, this is your party.”

I smiled at the men and they smiled back.

“Merci,” I said to the waiter, who bowed slightly and withdrew.

“Well?” I said, “Care to live a little?”

“You’re playing with fire, Monique. You’ll get burned.”

“If I get burned, you’ll have to stick me in a bucket of water,” I said, standing up.

I walked over to their table, and hoped that Alison was following. As I approached, the men stood and pulled the other chairs out for us. Alison had followed.

I spoke rapidly in French to them, and then, on seeing their blank expressions, tried again.

“Good evening gentlemen. Zis ees most kind, but please do not mistake us for ladies of, shall we say, easy virtue,” I repeated in English, but with my outrageous accent.

“Hi, oh no. Please accept our apologies if we gave you that impression. We noticed you were without male company, and we were without female company, and hey, I thought, what the heck, why not at least ask.”

“You are kind, monsieur. I am Monique, and zis is my English friend Alison,” I said. The men rose and shook our hands. Alison was looking daggers at me.

“Okay, I’m William Henderson, and this is my colleague Richard Cooper. They call me Bill, and Richard, Rich.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Why are you in Geneva?” I asked.

The men glanced at each other, and I sensed a lie or at least an untruth approaching.

“We work for the US Government, and we are here on a fact finding trip. It all relates to financial matters. Very dull,” Will said.

“What about you?”

“My father died suddenly, so I’m here to sort out my papa’s affairs, and Alison ees my legal advisor,” I said.

“Oh, are you Swiss?” Richard asked.

“Non. I am French. But my papa was a real European.”

“Is this your first time here, Alison?” Will asked.

“Yes, it is. Fortunately, Monique speaks all the languages and knows where we are going,” she said, seeming to relax a little.

“Oh, the languages. Why they all can’t speak English. I’ll never know?” William said.

“I know. I learned French in school, but that was too long ago,” Alison said, and Bill smiled at her.

“Your English is first class. Monique,” Rich said to me.

“Merci. Thank you, but I have lived in England too,” I said.

“When did you get here?”

“Not long, but we go to the banque tomorrow, and then, peut-áªtre , we go back to England.” I said, and Alison stared at me, frowning. I had not told her that.

“I see,” said Will.

The band was playing some relatively modern music now.

“Would you care to dance?” Rich asked me. I smiled.

“I’d love to,” I said, taking his proffered hand, while Alison’s eyes rolled heavenwards.

Needless to say, Will and Alison were seconds behind us, so soon all four of us were on the dance floor.

I enjoyed dancing as a girl. I had never been that coordinated, but somehow it didn’t matter. As a boy, I had been so self-conscious that embarrassment had taken over and I just couldn’t seem to manage it. But now, I was having a ball. I seemed to have boundless energy and just stayed dancing for as long as I could. Will and Alison retired back to the table, but Rich just grinned and lost his jacket.

The music changed to a slower mood and I found myself in Rich’s arms. The next thing I know his hands are fondling my bum, with my arms are around his neck.

He pulled me towards him, and I let him do it. I felt our pelvises rub, but then I felt his erection through his trousers. Alarm bells should have been going off, but for some silly reason I adored having this effect on a man. I smiled and licked my lips.

“You are a very naughty man,” I said.

He grinned. “Oh yeah? Honey, I haven’t even begun.”

I laughed and shook my head.

“Pauvre petit. C’est mon temps du mois,” I said, so he frowned.

“Hey, I speak a little French, does that mean what I think it means?”

“Je suis désolé. I am sorry,” I said, but he smiled.

“Hey, no problem. I’m sorry too, for what it is worth.”

The next moment he was kissing me, and I mean kissing. None of this peck on the lips, his tongue was near my lower intestines, so I had grabbed his head and was giving as good as I got.

I felt feelings that I had never felt before, so I had to break away, before I made a complete fool of myself.

“Merde, I need to go, désolé,” I said, and almost ran to the ladies.

I sat on the loo and shook, but this time with sexual frustration. I wanted him so badly, but couldn’t have him.

Alison was soon knocking on the door. I opened it.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry. I want him, Alison.” I said.

“You can’t have him. Remember who you really are?”

I started to cry, so she hugged me.

“Come on, not here, not now. Get a grip, and repair your make up.”

My mind was in a whirl, as I had difficulty finding reality. She told me to get a grip, but to grip on what? My dad was murdered, I was wanted for the murder, even though I knew the policeman had shot him and framed me. I was now in a fancy Swiss hotel, dressed as a girl and having just snogged a gorgeous bloke. What the hell did I have to grip onto?

The girl I had become stared at me from the mirror. She was almost a stranger, looking nothing like the me I knew. Something in the eyes told me to get up and keep going. Those eyes were so much older than I felt, and she seemed to be laughing at me.

“I’m okay,” I said, standing up. I stood in front of the mirror, faced the girl and replaced the mascara that had run. The girl smiled back at me. I took comfort from her. She was the only person I could trust.

“I told him I was on blob. It was all I could think of,” I told Alison.

“I know, he told Will that.”

I smiled. “What’s happened to me?”

“The hormones, they must be working.”

“I wanted him so badly. Am I gay?”

“God, you ask the daftest questions! If you want my opinion, I’d say no, you’re a girl with a minor problem.”

“Minor?”

“Okay, a significant problem.”

“I’m fine now, let’s go,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. But I’m still buzzing. That kiss. It was wonderful.”

“Come on. You are too much.” she said, laughing.

We returned to the table.

“I am so sorry, girl problems,” I said, remembering the accent just in time.

“Would you like to dance again?” Rich asked.

“I’d love to, but perhaps, gravity is not my friend tonight,” I said with a smile.

He smiled and put his jacket on. His wallet flew out and landed at my feet. I bent down and picked it up, but as I did I got a fleeting glimpse of a badge pinned to the inside of it. He was a cop, or FBI.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Monique by Tanya Allan

Seventeen-year old Matthew Thwaites is trapped snooping in his father’s study when his father returns home unexpectedly with two strange men. He hides under the desk, and is horrified to witness his father gunned down just inches away from him. Given an opportunity to flee, he does so, but finds himself framed for his father’s murder by a corrupt policeman.   Alone and powerless, he hides out at a busy airport, but his appearance is such that he is mistaken for a girl. Given an idea, he makes the most of this, and goes whole hog into the deception, becoming Monique, his French ‘cousin’. He manages to find an ally in an officer investigating corruption amongst police officers, and together they try to piece together the puzzle.   Monique is then pitched into an international roller-coaster ride involving terrorists, corrupt police and double agents. No one is what they seem, particularly Monique. She is twice the person that Matthew ever was, and given the chance, she decides to take over, but everything seems against her.

Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

---

Originally written and posted on Sapphire's Place in 2004, Reworked & Revised in 2009.
 
The Legal Stuff:Monique  ©2004, 2009 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.

Author's Note
I first wrote MONIQUE many years ago, posting it on Sapphire’s Place in 2004. I have had many requests to continue Monique’s adventures, so thought I’d revisit her and see what could be done. Initially, I was appalled at the standard of writing; well it was my first attempt, almost. Then I wondered why it had been so popular, as I personally found it rather rushed and the characters somewhat shallow and two-dimensional.
 
Okay, I thought, perhaps I should continue, but not from what I had written. It needed a revamp and perhaps a tweak here and there before I even could consider any additional material.
 
So, here it is, the revamped version of Monique, with a little extra and the hope that her adventures will continue in the near future. I have started with a completely new chapter at the end, just to whet your appetites.
 
I’m not convinced that there is any mileage in continuing, so perhaps you could let me know what you think?
 
 
Chapter 6
 
 
I handed it to him as if nothing had happened, and took a drink of water. I noticed he looked closely at me and then relaxed. I caught a glance between Will and Alison, it wasn’t much, but enough. I now knew which camp she was in, and it wasn’t necessarily mine. It was a bit of a shock, but nice to know my instincts were on the ball.

We eventually left the men and went to our room. I showered and got ready for bed.

Alison followed suit, so I got into bed as she got ready.

“How long have you been working for the Americans?” I asked.

“What?” she asked, shocked and surprised.

“You heard. How long?”

“You’re daft, I’m a police officer in the Met. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

I sighed. “Look Alison, I’m a rich kid; a rich kid of a father who has been doing shady deals all his life. I may be only seventeen, but I am neither blind nor naíve. Your sister had an expensive operation, your car is almost new, and your flat is in a really nice area, close to the  £200,000 mark. You’re a police officer, yet you can swan off to Switzerland without a bye nor leave from your superiors. You have been exchanging meaningful glances with William all night, so don’t insult my intelligence. I suppose the guys at the airport were Americans too? Level with me. You owe me that at least.”

Alison stared at me for a while, but then looked away, unable to hold my stare. She slumped slightly, sighing.

“Two years. I was approached by the CIA when I was a DC in Special Branch. We had accepted protocols of sharing intelligence with the Americans, but they wanted more. It worked both ways, as MI5 were constantly complaining that the Americans took and never gave in the agreement. There’s little love lost between MI5 and the CIA, as UK interests often conflict with the Americans. By coming to me, they got stuff that was later handed to MI5, so bypassing the protocol. They paid for Nicola’s operations, and my flat. I never had to do much, just a little information now and again, but now it seems that they’re after the man that Vine is working for, the man that was with you that night in the study when you father was killed. As soon as you called in, I alerted them.”

“I knew you were too good to be true. Does Rich know who I am?”

“No, neither of them do. All they know is that you are the key to getting the dirt on Mr X. The only person who knows that you are Matthew Thwaites is me. Even Jenny doesn’t know who you are, or were.”

“I know, I checked,” I said, and smiled as her eyes widened in surprise.

“They all accept the story of you being a cousin of Matthew’s, and he has entrusted you with the papers to sort out his affairs.”

“Whose idea was that?”

“Mine. I’ve been watching your father for a while, on the instructions of the CIA. As soon as you used your mother’s maiden name, I knew that the cousin bit would work. Besides, I really believed you were a cousin to start with,” she said with a smile. “A female one, at that.”

“Do the police know anything about me?”

“No, I have taken leave ever since you contacted me.”

“So, who has the papers I gave you?”

“The Americans. CIA and FBI are working together on this one.”

“Why?”

“Your Dad approached the CIA stating he had a Middle Eastern contact who was trying to get US defence contracts for a firm that was American, but owned and controlled by a consortium headed by some Lebanese businessman. He suspected a terrorist link, so ran some checks. The Lebanese turns out to be an Iranian. He needed some help, so he went to the CIA. They did not expect the Senate Committee to pull the plug with no warning.

“The man who visited your father was the main man. He has several men in the US Congress, Scotland Yard and others in Whitehall on his pay roll. Your father knew this, as he found some documents. The same ones you found, that the CIA now have.”

“So how come the Senate committee fucked up?”

“They didn’t. Not really. They did not want to perpetuate arms contracts when the politics was against it. It was purely a political decision.”

“So, what are tweedle dum and tweedle dee here for?”

“Who? Oh, Will and Rich. They are to take anything you can get from the box.”

“Call them. Get them here, now,” I said.

“What?”

“You heard. Look, I’ve been fucked about by the Police, by the Iranians, the Americans, and now by you. It’s high time that I take a little control back. Call them. NOW!” I could be a bossy cow when I wanted to be.

She went to the phone, so a few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Alison looked at me.

“Answer it,” I said.

She went and opened the door, and I remembered I was in my nightdress. I slipped on one of the hotel’s dressing gowns.

“What’s the problem?” Will asked, looking quizzically at Alison.

“Monique saw the badge and put two and two together. She’s a bright girl,” Alison said.

“Okay, so what happens now?” Will said, looking daggers at Rich for dropping his wallet.

“A change in plans,” I said.

“Go on.”

“Up to now I have been a pawn in zis game of yours. My life was worth nothing - rien. Now I know zat I am of value to you. So, as a valuable person, I have a say in what happens, non?”

Will nodded slowly.

“How much do you know?”

“Mon oncle, my uncle, he deal with all kinds of peoples. Some good, some not so good, and some very bad. Zis time, he deal with very bad men, and he come to you for help. You failed. He ees now dead, so now I can help, so, you keep me alive. You owe my uncle, and my cousin Matthew. Oui?”

They stared at me, and then at each other.

“Look, Monique. We’re in a foreign country, we have no authority here.”

“William, do not give me the shit of the bull. You Americans have power everywhere. I know zat you had all ze men at ze airport in Londres. It must be easy to protect a French girl when she goes to the banque?”

“I guess. But they know which bank, and they will be waiting.”

“Perhaps, but who do zey think comes? Huh? Monique? Non. Zey sink my cousin comes, zey sink Matthew comes. And zey sink he ees in England still.”

“Okay, how do we go about this?”

“We must help them.”

“What?”

“We know zey have a man in ze English police, oui? So, we tell ze English police zat Matthew is seen on ze train in France, heading for zis place.”

“Go on.” said Will.

“We tell zem which train and which station he ees expected at, and we wait and see who zey send to follow him. Once we know ze enemy, we are wiser zan zem,” I was getting into the accent now.

Will smiled. “You ain’t just a pretty face, it just might work. But how do we work this, they might have someone in the bank?”

“Zey know which banque, but not which box. That ees totally, how you say? Anonymous.”

“So, what is your point?”

“Simple. I go in and ask for a deposit box.”

“I hate to be a spoil sport, honey, but you need something to put into it.”

I opened my bag and placed my mother’s jewellery on the table, along with  £20,000 in  £50 notes.

“I sink zat will do, oui?”

“Shit. Oui oui. Where the fuck did you get these?”

“Do not ask, zen I do not tell lies. D’ accord?”

“Are they hot?”

I frowned. “Ah, you mean stolen? Non. They are mine.”

“Okay, so you are in charge, what’s the plan?”

I smiled.

“Tomorrow we all go to Zurich, d’accord?”

“Zurich. Why?”

“Because zat is where ze banque ees.” I said.

“Shit, we thought it was in Geneva.”

“Of course, who told you zat?”

“Your Uncle.”

“So, he was a fox, oui?”

“I guess,” said Will, smiling. “Monique, if is any consolation, I’m sorry you got dragged into this mess. It ain’t your problem.”

“Eet ees now. We get good sleep, we have long way to go a demain, tomorrow,” I said.

Will nodded and left, Rich looked sheepish and embarrassed.

“Rich?” I said.

“Monique, I feel, aw heck, I don’t know how to say this, but I feel awful about getting you mixed up in this.”

I walked over to him. I stroked his face and kissed him. The tingles came back, and I ached inside.

“Pauvre enfant. You did not get me into zis, I did it alone. Bonne nuit.”

“Good night,” he said, and was gone.

I closed the door, and Alison shook her head again.

“Shit. I wasn’t the only one to underestimate you.”

“Next time, Alison, please level with me from the start,” I said, and went to bed.

“I bloody hope there isn’t a next time. Good night.”
 
 
Chapter 7
 
 
We caught the train to Zurich at a little after nine the next morning. We had sat together at breakfast in the hotel, where Rich kept looking at me and smiling. I felt really strange, but put it down to the hormones.

Alison had apologised about not being honest, so in a way I was relieved that things were out in the open. I was mindful that other people’s agendas are always different, and I did not intend to ever be a victim of circumstance again.

As I walked through the hotel in my new dark skirt, dark stockings and black shoes, cream blouse and matching dark jacket, I was conscious that I caused male heads to turn. I caught my reflection in the many mirrors, and smiled at the strange and confident young woman I had become. The weird thing was that I actually felt confident, as it was almost as if I had become a completely different person. Giving orders and suggestions came naturally to me, but the really strange thing was that I was thinking in French. The accent I had started to put on became almost second nature. I had become Monique Bonnard.

Swiss trains run efficiently, as do most things in Switzerland. We pulled into Zurich on time. Alison ‘arranged’ for the incident room in England to get a sighting of Matthew Thwaites on a ferry for Calais at 06:00 in the morning, so he was believed to be heading for Zurich. We booked into a hotel near the station, leaving our luggage in our rooms.

We arrived by taxi at the bank, but I went in alone while the others waited in a small café across the street. I approached the desk and asked for a deposit box. The assistant spoke fluent German, French, Italian and English. We conversed in French.

I paid the fee and was taken to the vault. There was strict security, where the whole area was covered by CCTV. I was given a card, similar to the one I already had from Dad’s safe, and the assistant had possession of another one. The two cards were swiped, and that secured me an empty box, and he took it to a private curtained cubicle for me to put whatever I wanted into it.

I was not bothered about privacy, so openly showed him the jewellery as I placed it into the box.

I smiled at him.

“It was my late mother’s jewellery, it is very valuable, and I feel rather vulnerable with it in my luggage.”

He nodded and helped me place it in the security safe.

“What hours are you open?”

“From 09:00 every morning, until 16:00 during the week.”

“Are you ever open on a Saturday?”

“No.”

“Thank you. As long as I know,” I said, and walked out.

I hovered in the main hall for a while, until that assistant was given a break, then I changed another  £1000 for Swiss Francs, and approached the new assistant.

“I obtained a safe deposit box with you this morning, and I forgot to take out some earrings, is it possible I could just do that?” I said in German.

“Of course, fraulein,” he said, and we went back down.

I gave him Dad’s card, so he opened the safe and carried the box to the cubicle again. I pulled the curtain across and emptied the box onto the table. There were several sheaves of paper, and a computer disk, which I immediately placed into my briefcase. There was a huge wad of Swiss Francs, which I simply placed into my handbag, along with a similar wad of 100 Euro notes. There was a strip of gold Sovereigns, some Kruger Rands, and some diamonds in a small black felt bag. These followed the paper money. There was a small jewellery box, with my mother’s initials on it. I put that in my bag too.

Lastly, a Walther PPK self-loading pistol. That made me smile. My grandfather, the British one, had liberated a similar weapon from a German in the Second World War. I’d played with it often, he’d even shown me how to strip it and load it. I’d never fired it. My father had handed it in to the police when his father had died. I checked it, and found it had a full clip. I replaced the magazine and slid the pistol into in the waist band of my skirt, at the back.

Then I signalled that I had finished, flourishing a pair of diamond earrings.

“Finished, thanks,” I said, and smiled.

He smiled and replaced the box.

I went up and left the bank rapidly.

We met up in the café across the street, where I pulled out the contents of the brief case.

The Americans were most interested in the papers.

“This is more than we could ever have hoped for,” Will said. “Now I understand. Old man Thwaites was a wily old fox all right.”

“What are zey?” I asked.

“These are the accounts of the holding company that has applied for the contracts. But not the legitimate accounts. Here are bank details and payments for all kinds of people, even a US Senator,” Will said, as he examined another sheaf of documents.

“Oh boy. This is a list of persons who have been paid by the holding company, with dates and amounts. We have just hit the mother lode.”

“There is a disc there, as well,” Alison pointed out.

“We have to get these to the CIA case officer, fast,” Rich said.

“Okay, I’ll do that, you guys keep an eye out for our friends,” Will said.

Alarm bells started ringing in my head. He was suddenly very interested in leaving us alone, and I didn’t like it.

“One moment,” I said, and they all looked at me.

“If zeez are as valuable as you say, zen I am not sure one personne should take zem alone. With everysing zat ees at stake, it would be wrong to make a mistake now,” I said staring at Will.

As soon as I caught the look he gave me I knew that he was bought and paid for, and we were in great danger. I glanced at Rich, and I still didn’t know about him. I was about as certain of Alison as I could be, but this was becoming a very dangerous game.

I pretended not to care, and shrugged.

“D’accord. Okay, you take zem.” I said. And he looked relieved, he stood up, and went to leave.

“Right. I’ll go now, and I will come back as soon as I have delivered them to the case officer at the consulate,” he headed out the front door.

I stood up.

“I must visit the ladies,” I said, and went to the back of the café.

I ran straight out of the back door and onto the street. I caught sight of Will just going round the corner, away from the direction of the US consulate.

I followed, on the opposite side of the road. He was walking very fast and talking on a mobile phone at the same time. There was an almighty explosion behind me. Glass and debris flew around me and I was knocked off my feet with the blast. I looked back, and saw the whole of the café was destroyed, so I suddenly realised that our friends had taken out Rich and Alison with a bomb. I should be there too.

I was stunned, and felt almost faint. I had ringing in my ears and felt dizzy, but I couldn’t go back, so I picked myself up and kept after Will.

He had no idea I was following, so intent was he on his call. Finally, he finished speaking and put the phone in his pocket. He crossed the road, making for a side street. I kept about two hundred metres behind him, and followed for nearly a kilometre. At last he stopped in front of an apartment block, looked at the building front and entered the block.

I followed, but watched as the elevator stopped at the sixth floor. I took the stairs and carefully pushed open the door onto the sixth floor landing. I saw Will standing by a half open door. He was talking to someone inside and they were arguing. The door opened wider, but Will seemed reluctant to hand over the briefcase.

I heard him say, “This is bigger than you imagined, so I want another ten grand.”

Then there were two popping noises, and Will seemed to stagger and fall back onto the highly polished floor. He’d been shot. Two men appeared and dragged the body through the doorway. The door shut with a bang.

My heart was racing. I carefully walked along the landing and stopped by the door. I could hear two male voices arguing and then footsteps coming towards the door. I raced back to the stair well and watched as a swarthy man, who could have been North African or an Arab come out of the door. I took the gun from my waist band, and as slowly and as quietly as I could, chambered a round. The man said something in Arabic and pushed the elevator button. The elevator doors opened, he got in, and then the doors closed again.

I went back to the apartment door, which was still open. Will was lying on his back in the hall, while another dark man was going through his pockets. My briefcase was lying on the floor by Will’s head.

“Excuse moi?” I said, and the man looked up in surprise.

I smiled, so he looked dazed for a second. Holding the gun in both hands, arms extended straight out in front, I shot him twice in the head. The shots were incredibly loud. My ears were ringing painfully as I immediately grabbed the briefcase and Will’s wallet, and ran for the stairs. I ran down the many flights and out into the lobby. A car was just pulling up outside, and I saw a glimpse of the first man. I hid behind a door and watched him as he went to the elevator. I walked up behind him as he got in and shot him twice in the back as the doors shut on him. As calmly as I could, I turned and walked out through the deserted lobby. My ears were really hurting now, so I could hear very little. Gun shots never seemed that loud in the movies.

The Mercedes was sitting there, with the keys still in the ignition. I slid behind the wheel and started the engine. It was an automatic, so I placed the gear shift into Drive and drove slowly down the street. I headed towards the café and parked near the police cordon. I searched the car and found another gun, a 9mm Glock 17, in the glove compartment. I placed this in my briefcase. The boot was empty. There was a mobile phone sitting by the handbrake. On impulse I took it.

I wiped everywhere that I could remember touching, and locked the car, throwing the keys into a nearby rubbish bin, then I walked up to a worried young policeman by the cordon.

“Excuse me, I was supposed to meet a girl friend in the café, what has happened?”

“There has been an explosion, several people have been killed. The cause is not known yet, if your friend is alive, she will be at the central hospital.”

“Thanks,” I said, and walked away.

I took a taxi to the hotel and collected my luggage. I paid for the room for the night, saying that I had become separated from my friend, but I hoped that she would be back later. I called the police emergency number and asked about casualties. Eight people were injured, three seriously, and four were dead. No names were available for release, unless I was a relative.

I left the hotel and walked across the road into the railway station. I placed my suitcase and briefcase in a left luggage locker, and turned and walked back out into the street. I waved down another taxi and was dropped off at the hospital. It was chaotic, with paramedics, nurses and doctors rushing everywhere. Police officers were trying to restore calm, but the press were trying to get in on the act and confusing everything.

I walked round the side of the hospital and into an unmarked door, then I took a stair well up, and found myself in the relative calm of a normal corridor with wards leading off each side. I passed the staff canteen and went into the staff restrooms. A white coat was hanging on a hook, so I slipped it on over my clothes. There was an ID card on the coat, of a blonde girl, not too dissimilar to myself. I continued down the corridor, where I picked up a clipboard that was lying on a trolley.

I headed back to the chaos that was the Emergency Room, and was able to get right to the reception desk. A very harassed receptionist was trying to cope, so I slipped in and sat in the chair next to her.

“I need the list of casualties for the press officer,” I said in German.

She passed me a piece of paper.

“Thanks,” I said, and scanned the list. I made the effort to copy the list onto some paper on my clip board, and then gave her the list back.

“Thanks,” I repeated, but she never heard.

Alison and Rich had survived and were in the hospital.

I went back upstairs, replaced the clipboard, and then went back to the restroom and deposited the coat where I had found it. I looked rather unkempt, so I spent some time repairing my makeup, and brushing some of the dust and debris off my clothes. My ears had finally stopped aching, but were ringing still, just slightly. Several women came in and paid me no undue attention at all. So, I went into the canteen and paid for a coffee and a sandwich. I found a vacant table and sat down and tried to relax.

The adrenaline was still coursing through my body, I was eighteen tomorrow. I had killed two men in cold blood and was behaving like James Bond. Or Jane Bond at any rate.

I tried to relax, drank my coffee and munched my sandwich. I couldn’t taste anything, so it could have been sawdust.

“Hello. Is this seat taken?” A male voice brought me back to earth. He was speaking French, but not quite fluently.
 
 
Chapter 8
 
 
I looked up to see a young man, about my age, so nineteen or so, looking down at me. He was tall and broad, with unruly sandy hair. He looked like a rugby player.

I smiled and waved at the vacant chair.

“Help yourself,” I replied, in French.

“Thanks,” he said, and sat down with a vast tray of food. It dawned on me, it was still only lunch time.

“Are you a prospective student too?” he asked, still in French. I tried to guess his nationality, but failed.

“No, I was visiting a friend in one of the wards.”

“Oh. I was supposed to have an interview, but they have got a panic on. Bit of a shame with all the emergency,” he said.

“It must be,” I said, not having a clue what he was talking about.

“Where are you from?”

“Lille, France, and you?”

“Scotland.”

That explained the terrible accent.

I changed to my accented English.

“Why come to Switzerland, zere are medical schools in Britain.”

“Oh, you speak English. Good. I know, but I want to broaden my language skills at the same time, and my father trained here. We have a family apartment in the city, so I don’t have to go into student digs.”

“Digs?” I frowned.

“Sorry, digs means accommodation, like a flat or rooms.”

“Oh,” I said, and lapsed into silence.

“I’m Alex Drummond, what’s your name?”

“Monique. Monique Bonnard.”

“Pleased to meet you Monique. I can’t say I have been falling over friends since I arrived here. How about you?”

I smiled. “I have met a few people, but it is always difficult in a strange place,” I said.

“How long are you in Zurich?”

“I am not sure, a few days, perhaps a week. How about you?”

“I’m here for a couple of weeks. This is my year out. If I pass the interview, I will go home for a few weeks, and then I might go to Africa to help in a hospital in Senegal, for a couple of months, and then maybe on to Australia to do a bit of backpacking.”

“That sounds fun. I have to go back to get a job,” I said.

“Where are you staying?”

I shrugged. “I have to find somewhere, the hotels are very expensive,” I said, conveniently forgetting that I had a small fortune in my bag.

We chatted about the weather and several innocuous subjects, until suddenly he came out with:

“Look, I have a spare room at the flat, and if it’s just for a couple of days, come and stay with me. I could do with the company.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, surprised at the spontaneity of his offer.

“Aye, it would be a pleasure.”

I smiled at him, and he reddened. Oh shit. I thought, another one falls for the charm.

“I will go and see how my friend is. I meet you here in half an hour, oui?”

“Oui,” he said, beaming at me.

I slung my shoulder bag over my shoulder, and left him eating his way through a hundred-weight of consumables.

I went to the enquiries desk and asked after Alison Grover.

“Are you a relative?”

“No, just a friend,” I said.

“I am sorry, for the moment, no information is available. Please come back tomorrow,” she said.

I left before I got angry. Then I went to a pay phone. I dialled directory enquiries, eventually getting through to the US consulate.

“Could I speak to the CIA case officer handling the Thwaites case please?” I asked, again with a slight French accent.

“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken, there is no one from the CIA here.”

“My next sentence will mention, over the open line, the full contents of the bank vault, the names of all persons on the list, and the current location of William Henderson, and Richard Cooper. Now are you going to be sensible, or am I going to start talking?”

“One moment.”

Then another male voice came on the line.

“Hello?”

“Are you a CIA officer?”

“Who is this?”
“Never mind. Richard Cooper is in the hospital, William Henderson was playing for the other team, and stole the papers. But after he delivered the papers they shot him. They blew up the café where Cooper, the British police woman, and the French girl were waiting. Cooper and the police woman are in hospital.”

I then gave him the address of the apartment block

“Who are you?”

“An interested party. I have the papers. I trust no one after Will’s treachery. I will call tomorrow,” I said and hung up.

I went straight up to the canteen, where Alex was finishing his mammoth meal.

“Hello, how is your friend?” he asked, as he placed his tray on the trolley.

“I do not know. She was involved in the explosion, and no one can tell me anything.” I said.

“Oh, that’s too bad. What will you do?”

I shrugged. “Perhaps I come back tomorrow.”

“Are you ready?”

I nodded.

“Have you any stuff?”

“At the station, we go there on the way, yes?”

“Sure, we can get a taxi, okay?”

“Oui.”

We walked out together, and caught a taxi to the station. I liberated my suitcase and briefcase and jumped back into the cab.

His flat was in quite a nice part of the city, but some way from all the excitement. It was a good flat, as befitted his father, an eminent surgeon by all accounts.

He showed me the spare room. It was luxurious, two beds and an en suite bathroom. There was a beautiful view of the city as well.

“Cette chambre est superbe. Merci Alex,” I said, and he blushed again.

“It’s no problem. I’m just pleased I can help you for a while.” he said.

“I must take a shower, okay?” I asked.

“Make yourself at home.” he said.

“Merci.” I said and started to strip off, so he left the room rapidly.

I had a lovely shower, but after I dried myself off, I had to repair the glue in my nether regions. My false breasts were fine, but I thought that my own breasts were rather tender underneath. It could have been my imagination, or wishful thinking. The hormones would not have started working this fast, would they?

I put on a cream dress with short sleeves and a broad brown belt. My dark stockings had a ladder in them, so I put on some flesh coloured tights and some cream shoes. I had really tight panties on, with a panty-pad inside them, to add weight to my excuse of having my period. My hair, once washed, was really bouncy and full of colour. I felt much better.

I put on fresh makeup and took my pills. My nails were fine, so I felt quite relaxed and safe here. I checked the guns. The Walther had only three bullets left, and I knew that the police would be after this gun for the killings of the Arabs. That is if the bodies hadn’t been removed by persons unknown before the police arrived.

The Glock had seventeen rounds in the clip. It was full, and there was a full spare. I knew that I couldn’t go back to the bank for a while, so I looked at the jewellery that I had collected.

The stuff from home had been very fine, but this collection was out of this world. It was a matching set of diamond earrings, bracelet, necklace and tiara. There were four diamond rings, with huge stones; I dared to even guess how much they were all worth.

The cash, once counted came to about  £50,000. I was one rich girl.

I carefully split the money, placing it in different parts of my cases and bags. The Sterling was useless here, so I only kept the Swiss Francs in my shoulder bag. I kept the Walther on me, intending to throw it into the first river I came to. The Glock I put in my case.

I locked my case, with the briefcase inside and left the room, carrying my bag. Alex was watching the TV news.

“They think it was a terrorist bomb, but no one is claiming responsibility,” he said.

I then watched the report of a mystery killing of three unidentified men in an apartment block.

“This is more like Belfast than Switzerland,” Alex said.

“It’s all a bit frightening.”

“So, do you know Zurich?” he asked.

“I have been here a few times, but I do not know it well,” I admitted.

“We lived here for six years when I was about eight to fourteen, so I know it quite well. I’ve never been here since I grew up,” he said with a sheepish smile.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twenty, next month. You?”

“Nineteen, twenty tomorrow,” I said.

He smiled. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not really, zere ees a boy who likes me, but nussing serious,” I said, thinking of Rich.

“I had a girlfriend, but she dumped me a few weeks ago,” he said.

“Oh, why?”

“I think I was a bit of a geek.”

“Geek?”

“Oh, sorry, a geek is a book-worm, or computer nut. I’m not very good with people, and I’m not what many think as being with-it.” he said, getting embarrassed.

I smiled.

“With-it?” I asked.

“Um, trendy, fashionable, in the current way of doing things.”

“Ah, I understand. It’s okay. I like geeks,” I said.

“You’re just saying that. Anyway, I knew you were older than me.”

“Oh, pourquoi, why?”

“Because you look so sophisticated and confident. You look at least twenty-two.”

I just smiled.

“You’re very beautiful, Monique,” he said, blushing again.

“Pah. You are not a geek. You are one zat plays ze roogbee, non?”

He went bright red this time.

“How can you tell?”

I waggled his slightly bruised ears.

“You have ze roogbee players ears,” I said, “and you know ze chat up lines.”

He stood up, but I could tell he was feeling flustered.

“Alex, you show me Zurich, oui?”

“Aye, what do you want to see?”

“Surprise me,” I said.

He nodded. “Okay. Do you like dancing?”

“It depends who is zere wiz me,” I said, with a saucy smile.

“I’m not much good with the dancing, but I have been told of some really good clubs.”

“I am not dressed for ze clubs,” I said.

“Well, we could just go shopping, and then come back and change.”

“D’accord,” I said, and off we went.

We walked to the closest shopping area, but had to cross a wide river. I managed to lose the Walther as we went. I heard a satisfactory ‘plop’ as we passed over.

The shops were wonderful, but poor Alex had obviously never been shopping with a rich girl before. I spent nearly  £1000 on clothes, shoes and cosmetics, and I bought him a really cool jacket and some trousers. I had to get him two really nice collarless shirts. He was actually very good looking, but incredibly shy.

We had coffee at a pavement café, in the August sun, and I felt relaxed behind my new sunglasses. We laughed and told each other terrible jokes, and he began to open up a little. He told me about his father, and his high expectations of his son. He admitted he was terrified of failing, but he actually did not really want to be a doctor at all.

He was fiddling with his cup, so I sensed he was uneasy about something.

“Alex, why are you worried?”

He smiled, awkwardly. “I don’t know how to say this, Monique. But I’ve never met anyone like you before. I’ve said things to you that I’ve never told anyone before.”

“Zat ees sweet,” I said.

He smiled and looked into his empty cup.

“I like being with you. You make me feel good,” he said.

I looked at him and realised that he thought he was falling in love with me. I was flattered and pleased, but also terrified. The real problem was that I felt something for him. He made me laugh, I felt safe with him, and I wanted him to hold me and tell me everything was all right. This was getting tricky.

“I like you, too,” I heard myself say.

He smiled and took my hand across the table. I wanted to snatch it away, but my body made me squeeze it instead.

“Is there any way you could stay longer?”

“I do not know. It is difficult. Perhaps,” I said.

“I’d like you to stay for longer.”

“You are sweet. But zere ees many sings happening to me at ze moment,” I said, regretting the lie I was living.

“I love your accent,” he said grinning inanely.

I just smiled.

We returned to the flat, so I put away my shopping. I changed into a slinky royal blue dress that matched my eyes, and refreshed my makeup. We then walked across the bridge again into the centre, going into a large bar, which had a restaurant up stairs and dancing down stairs. He had taken my hand as soon as we left the flat, and I enjoyed the strange sensation this gave me.

We sat on high bar stools and ordered some beer. I was very conscious that my long legs were showing all my glory, so tried to pull the hem of my dress down as far as it would go, which wasn’t far. Alison would have called me a tart.

I liked being with Alex. Initially, he had been very uncomfortable in my company, but as he relaxed, he began to show his true character.

As I had discovered earlier, he had no real wish to be a doctor, he had actually wanted to join the army since he was about twelve. And all his frustrations just poured out. He had a very dry sense of humour, and we found we had a lot in common. Several times I just wanted to tell him everything, but had to hold back. I almost forgot the dangerous situation I was in.

We had a meal and then progressed down to the dance area. I cannot ever remember enjoying myself more. Alex was super company and completely non-threatening. He was obviously attracted to me, but was not aggressively passionate. He simply held my hand, and even during the slow dances, didn’t try to crush me, or rub himself against me. He simply held me, and I him.

We walked slowly back to the flat, at about midnight, hand in hand. Every time he touched me, my heart skipped a little, and I knew that I was making my life even more difficult. But I didn’t care.

He kissed me goodnight, and I slipped into bed with a silly grin on my face.
 
 
Chapter 9
 
 
I awoke early and had a shower. The dancing had caused my glue to become partially unstuck, so I had some more repair work to undertake. I loathed my male bits with a passion, and earnestly hoped to get rid of them as soon as possible.

The hair on my legs was beginning to return, so I used a foul smelling cream to de-hair my legs and arms again. I shaved my armpits, and noticed that my facial hair was still not coming through. I was so content in my female persona that I never wanted to be Matthew again. He represented my old life and all the horrible things that meant.

Monique was truly the person I was, so wanted to remain her. Her character was as far removed from Matthew’s as was her appearance. I dressed in a smart grey skirt and navy blouse. I so loved the feel of stockings that I wore them again, with the suspender belt. I had a silly thought that I would have to invest in a holster for my Glock. I looked at my reflection, and smiled. I really did look good. I put the Glock in my bag, with the spare clip.

Alex was just appearing as I left my room, and he was surprised at seeing me dressed at seven thirty.

“Shit. You look wonderful, particularly for this time of day,” he said.

“Merci, Alex. I wish I could say ze same for you. But you are, how you say, all sideways?”

He laughed.

“Yeah, I’m not my best in the mornings.”

I made us both a coffee and found the cereal as he watched the TV news. There was a bit more on the bombing and the killings. They were now linked, as someone had seen Will leave the scene just before the blast. I hoped that the same person hadn’t seen me.

“What have you planned today?” Alex asked.

“I will go to the hospital and try to see my friend. What are you doing?”

“I have to be there by nine for my interview. Any chance we can meet up for lunch, or something?”

I smiled.

“Of course, we can go together and meet after your interview,” I said.

“Great,” he said, and his whole face changed as he grinned like a schoolboy.

“Alex, I sink you like me a little, oui?” I asked.

He went very serious.

“Monique, I like you a lot. I don’t think I have ever been in love before, but I think I am now.”

I smiled.

“It ees ze same pour moi,” I said, and kissed him on the cheek. He needed a shave.

He held me and was going to kiss me again.

I held up a hand.

“Non. You will shave before you take all my skin off,” I said. He laughed and literally bounded off to take a shower. My heart was racing, so I kept telling myself that I was being totally stupid. Then I remembered it was my eighteenth birthday today.

“Happy Birthday, Monique,” I said out loud. The date of birth I had given Monique was the same as mine, but two years older. Monique was now twenty.

We were running a little late by the time Alex was ready, so we dashed off to catch the bus. We held hands all the way, and I kept trying to make myself try to be sensible. He didn’t deserve me, or all my troubles. I was dangerous and he deserved better. But I just so wanted to be with him, it was so hard, I almost burst into tears.

We arrived at the hospital to find things calmer today. There was security on the main door, but Alex showed them the letter and said I was his girl friend, so we were let in. We went to the teaching wing, which was right at the rear of the main hospital. I kissed him and wished him good luck.

“I will see you in ze same canteen at noon, okay?” I said, and he nodded.

I went off down the corridor. I found myself totally lost, but found a door that was obviously a storeroom. There were white coats, smocks, and all manner of medical personnel’s clothing. No one was about, so a few minutes later I was attired in a white smock, looking like any other medical auxiliary. I found an unattended trolley, with bandages and other stuff on it. There was a waste bag on one end, and I placed my shoulder bag in this, all the papers were in the bag.

I pushed my trolley along until I found some signs, and eventually managed to locate the general wards. No one paid me the slightest attention, even when I was at an unattended nurse’s station. I managed to get into the computer and entered Alison’s name in a search. I was able to ascertain her current location. Richard was still in intensive care.

Now all I had to do was find her. I located a map and worked out I had to go down to the second floor. I was on the fourth at the moment.

I found the elevator and rode down with my trolley and some other people to the second floor. I let them all out first, and then followed the signs for Alison’s ward. There was a female uniformed police officer sitting on a chair in the corridor. It didn’t take a genius to work out who was in this room.

I smiled at the policewoman, and simply pushed open the door. She didn’t even try to stop me.

Alison was standing, looking out of the window.

“Bonjour mam’selle Grover. How are we today?” I said in my cheerful nurse’s voice.

I turned my back on her, as I checked the door. She turned from the window, muttering something, and sat on the bed. She had extensive bandaging on her legs and arms.

I turned round and her jaw almost fell off.

“Monique. I thought you were dead.”

I put my fingers to my lips.

“Will was one of the bad guys. I followed him to an apartment, where he gave some Arabs the papers. They shot him, so I shot them, and have the papers safe,” I said.

She looked at me, shaking her head.

“Bloody hell. You shot them both?”

“Of course. What else could I do, give them a blow job? I’ve contacted the CIA, and will give them the papers later. I had to see that you were okay.”

“I am so much better to see you. My God. You’re amazing, how did you manage to get in. Shit, it’s you who should be the secret agent, not me.”

I grinned. “Just promise me that you are one of the good guys, I’d hate to have to shoot you too.”

“Oh, Monique, I am a good guy. I just wish I had never started this whole thing.”

There were some voices outside, so I turned and was busy with my trolley when the door opened. I expected real nurses or a doctor; I certainly wasn’t expecting John Vine in person.

He didn’t even see me, as I was just part of the furniture as far as he was concerned.

“Ah, DC Grover. I am Superintendent Vine. I have been asked to come over and make sure you are okay. I understand you’re on holiday, and have got caught up in this unfortunate incident?” he said, his voice would haunt my nightmares for years.

I made a play of checking Alison’s dressings, and stuck a thermometer in her mouth. I then held her wrist and looked at my watch. I kept my back to Vine as much as I could.

“D’accord, normal. You may be discharged soon, mam’selle,” I said.

“Thanks,” Alison said.

“Monsieur,” I said as I negotiated my trolley past Vine.

I left the room and pushed my trolley down the corridor. Then I just stood writing gibberish on the clipboard. Two Arabic looking men positioned themselves at either end of the corridor, but watched the police officer carefully.

Vine came out and walked straight past me to be with the Arabs.

“Right. Stay nearby, if she leaves, I want her taken out. If she gets any visitors follow them, and let me know where they go. Don’t fuck up, all our necks are resting on this. I will be with Mr Aziz at the hotel. Use your mobile if you have anything for me.”

He walked off, so I knew I had two urgent priorities. The first was to get the papers safe, and the second was to get Alison out. I went to the hall payphone and after several minutes the voice on the other end said, “CIA, Langley.”

I explained everything, and eventually was given someone who knew something about the affair. The CIA man said his name was Christopher Walford. He told me that he was the department head, and it was his operation. When I told him some of the names on the list, he was very quiet. I noted that his name was not on the list, but one of the names was the Zurich case officer.

He was aghast that Will had been bought and was now dead. When I asked whether the case officer from Zurich had made contact, I was told he hadn’t. I then said that I thought they ought to look carefully at him. I explained that I had told him I would make contact about the papers, and that if he was bent, any meet would be a trap for me.

“Monique, how would you like a job?” he said, as I explained about the two Arabs whom I had despatched after they had killed Will.

“Certainly, when I give you the papers, you give me a job, and a small fee,” I joked.

When he replied, I realised he was perfectly serious.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I need a birth certificate, and passport in my name, from both France, and England. I would like a social security number or national insurance number from both countries.” I then gave him the other details, like colour of eyes, date and places of birth, parent’s names and addresses.

“No cash?”

“I do not do this for the money.”

“I take it that Monique is not your real name?”

“It is now,” I said, and he laughed.

“Okay. Here’s how we play this. I will fly out with a team I can trust. I want you to contact the case officer and agree to meet him at the Opera house tomorrow evening at ten pm. Have you access to a fax?”

“I can have.”

He gave me three numbers and I wrote them on my clipboard.

“The first is mine, the second is the security advisor at the White House, and the third is the FBI director. They are all in the book, so you can verify that I’m on the level. I will call each of them and tell them what to expect. Now the papers will be less vital.”

“What about the disk?”

“Ah, first I have heard about that. Give it to me when you see me.”

“When will I see you?”

“At the Café Royale at six pm tomorrow.”

“D’accord, au revoir,” I said.

“Monique, you’re a brave girl. Fax me a photograph of yourself, that way I will know you, and I can use it for your various documents. Don’t worry, as we have the technology to make the photos look good. I will have all the documents you want when I see you. They will all be the real thing too, and I will add a US passport and birth certificate too. But, after this is over, you will work for me, comprenez vous?”

“Oui, merci,” I said, and hung up.

I pushed my precious trolley down to the elevator, and went to the next floor up. There was an admin office, so I walked in and simply asked if I could use the fax.

A bored girl hardly looked up from the computer and nodded.

Ten minutes later the US authorities had copies of all the papers.

I returned to my trolley and pushed it out of sight, retrieving my bag. I saw an unattached wheelchair and had an idea. Looping my bag over the back I pushed it to the room next to Alison. The police officer had been relieved by a male colleague, and the two Arabs were not in sight, but I knew they were there - somewhere.

I went onto the next room, which had an elderly person lying in the bed. The name Walter Khun was on his headboard.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, in German.

He nodded, and I looked at the chart as a nurse would. Then I smiled, and tried the adjoining door that I had seen earlier. It was open, so I pushed the chair into Alison’s room.

“What…?”

I put my finger to my lips to indicate silence. Seconds later, she was in the wheelchair, with a blanket over her body, and a bandage over her head.

I pushed her through the adjoining door, and out into the corridor. I went straight past the cop, so I smiled sweetly at him. He grinned and I could sense he was watching my bum. So I gave an extra wiggle as I walked.

At the elevator, I saw the Arab lounging in a chair, reading a paper. He glanced at me and the chair, but watched to see what I did next.

When I pushed to go up, he lost interest, and went back to his paper.

At last, we got to the same storeroom where I had acquired my uniform. In a couple of minutes, Alison was in the pale blue trousers and tunic of a theatre nurse. We even found some slip on shoes for her bare feet. I brushed her hair, while she put on some make up. She looked much better now.

“Are you okay to walk?”

“I’m fine, as long as it isn’t too far.”

“Okay, we are going to the canteen, to grab a bite to eat. If they find you gone, they will expect us to be a long way from here.”

“You’re the boss,” she said with a smile.

We found the canteen and looked just like two nurses on their break. I was actually quite hungry, and even Alison managed a coffee and a sandwich. I went to the corridor and used the payphone. I called Harry Lamb, the case officer on the list, and arranged a meeting at the opera House at ten pm the following day. It was still before noon, but Alex arrived early, and frowned when he saw me.

“Monique, why are you dressed like this?”
 
 
Chapter 10
 
 
“Alex, this is my friend, Alison,” I said, dropping the French accent, with some relief, I might add.

“Hello,” he said, “You haven’t answered my question. Hey, what happened to your voice?”

“Alison was wounded in the bombing. She is a British Police Officer working with me on something. I didn’t want to get you involved, but I find myself having to, as you deserve the truth. Sit down, please.”

He just gaped at me, and sat down, hard.

“Alex, I work with the CIA. We’re trying to crack an international conspiracy of terrorism and corruption. The problem is that some of our own people have been bought, and the bomb in the café was meant for me. I am sorry I wasn’t able to tell you before.”

“But, last night, and this morning?” he stammered.

“That was real, I didn’t lie to you then,” I said, and Alison groaned and rolled her eyes.

“I knew there was something different about you. No way could you be only nineteen. You are far too confident and self-assured to be a simple job seeker.”

“Hey if it is any consolation, it is my twentieth birthday today. But I am so sorry to get you mixed up in all this,” I said.

He just shook his head, and had an odd smile on his face.

“How did the interview go?”

He grinned. “I failed.”

I smiled, knowing that he so wanted to fail.

“What next?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“What you do, and whether I can tag along.”

I looked at him. “Alex, this isn’t some sort of game. Alison was blown up in a bomb explosion, and her arms and legs were severely lacerated by flying glass. An FBI agent is lying critically ill in intensive care, and a CIA double agent was shot. You could be killed. So if you feel anything for me at all, leave us alone.”

“I can’t, I love you,” he said.

I stared at him, while Alison groaned a terrible groan.

“Alex, I’m not what you think.”

“I don’t care. In the short time I’ve known you, I feel alive for the first time. You make life exciting, as you’re so fresh and vibrant. I just want to be part of whatever you are. I want to be with you.”

“Alex, I’m no good for you. I lied to you.”

“You had to, it’s your job.”

“But you know nothing about me.”

“I don’t care, I love what I do know.”

“Oh Alex!” I said, in real frustration.

“Monique, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

I looked at him, and then at Alison.

“Don’t look at me, kid, you got yourself into this mess all by yourself,” she said helpfully.

“Alex, you don’t want me. I can never have children,” I said, pulling out some real truths.

“I don’t care, we could adopt.”

“Oh Alex, you are so obstinate,” I snarled.

“Yup,” he said, grinning like a fool.

I threw my hands up in frustration, but he took hold of them.

“Monique, if that is your name. Just answer me one thing, and honestly. If the answer is no, then I will gladly turn round and walk away.”

“Go on.”

“Do you feel anything towards me?” he asked, and his eyes bored directly into my soul.

I tried to lie, but my voice failed me, and I felt tears come to my eyes, partly in frustration, and partly in genuine hurt. Because if I told him the truth he would certainly remain in danger.

A sob escaped from me, but he stood and drew me into his arms. “You do, don’t you?” he asked, almost triumphantly.

I nodded, as I could not trust my voice. What had happened to me?

“Okay kiddo, now you have screwed up another poor innocent, what do we do next?” Alison asked.

“We get you back to the flat and back to bed. We all have a quiet evening in tonight, as tomorrow I have to go to work,” I said.

We walked slowly from the hospital and down the street, where we waved a taxi. Just as we got into the cab, several police cars turned up at the hospital. They must have found that Alison was missing.

Alison was clearly tired and in pain. We almost had to carry her into the flat. I put her in the other bed in my room, and changed her dressings, as I had thoughtfully brought along several spares.

None of the cuts were dreadful on their own, but together, they were very messy.

“Where were you when it went off?” I asked.

“I was going after you to the loo. Someone stood up to leave, and they took most of the blast. Poor Rich was in the brunt, it was a miracle that he survived.”

“I was very lucky,” I said.

“What made you follow Will?”

“Just a feeling. I was right as it happens.”

“Thanks, you may just have saved my life,” she said, in a very quiet voice.

“Is there anything you haven’t told me?”

She shook her head and lay back on the pillows.

“You must get the papers to Langley.” she said.

“Done, and the White House, and the NSA,” I said. Her eyes opened wide with surprise.

“I’m surprised they haven’t offered you a job.”

“They have, and I accepted it,” I said, with a little smile. She laughed, and then grimaced as the pain hit her.

“Nothing you do surprises me, anymore. Even if you were to become pregnant.”

“Ah, that is even beyond my skills,” I said, and she dozed off with a smile on her face.

Alex was standing looking at my bag.

“I’m sorry, it fell on the floor,” he said.

The papers and gun were lying amongst all the money. My ID papers were in his hand.

“Who are you, really?”

I looked at him.

“Now, I am Monique Bonnard. You don’t need to know who I was. Someone different, and not very nice,” I said.

“Are you French, English or American?”

“Yes, I am French, English and, I suppose in a silly sort of way -American. My father was English, my mother French, and I work for the CIA. Happy now?”

“I thought being a doctor was glamorous.”

I laughed and put everything back in my bag, checking the gun.

“Shit. This is for real, isn’t it?”

“Yes Alex, it is.”

“Why can’t you have children?” he asked, changing the subject rapidly.

“Because of a genetic defect. I don’t have all the necessary equipment.”

“I know some very skilled doctors,” he said.

“Alex, later, okay? Right now I have some more pressing problems.”

He smiled, but shook his head.

“This is all unreal. It’s like a movie.”

“Sorry Alex, this is real, no fake blood or blank firing guns in this plot.”

He stared at the gun, as I slid it into my waistband.

“Have you ever used that?”

“Not this particular one, no,” I said, quite honestly.

“Another one?”

I nodded.

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Do you really want to know?”

He nodded.

“Yes, two men,” I said, “Happy now?”

He stared at me.

“You were right, I don’t know you, really.”

“It’s not too late; we can be out of here if you say the word.”

He looked at me, and I had to fight from crying, as his expression was just so damn tender.

“Could you walk away?” he asked.

“If it meant keeping you safe, yes,” I lied convincingly.

“Would you?”

“Are you asking me to?”

“No, I want to know if you would.”

I stared at him.

“If you wanted me to, I would,” I said.

“I’m not asking. I don’t want to lose you, I only just found you.”

I smiled and turned away.

“Monique.”

I looked back.

“I really do love you, I know it’s completely daft, but I do.”

“I know; that’s what makes it so damn difficult.”

“Why?”

“Too many reasons. You’re going to be hurt in any case, so, let’s just get through this first, and then take each day as it comes.”

He took my hands and drew me close to him. He really was a big bloke. I felt small and weak engulfed by his embrace. He lifted my chin and kissed me properly for the first time.

I had enjoyed Rich’s kisses, but nothing prepared me for this though. I simply melted, as my whole being tingled with pleasure and desire. My response was as a woman, so I clung to him as if this was all that mattered.

When I finally came up for air, I was weak at the knees. Alex started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Me. I always fancied myself as James Bond, and here I am kissing the female equivalent, so I’m just one of Jane Bond’s bits of male crumpet,” he said.

I smiled, more at the word ‘female’ than anything else.

“Oh Alex, this is such a mess.”

“Why?”

“It just is. Look, have we got any food in the house?

“I doubt it, I haven’t bought anything.”

“Then go any get us all something. Anything. Even bread and cheese would do.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Okay,” he said, and kissed me.

I went and sat with Alison for a while.

She was in some pain, so I gave her some painkillers that I had snaffled from the hospital.

“Is it bad?”

“I just can’t get comfortable.”

“How about lying on your tummy?”

“I tried that, it hurts my boobs.”

I started to laugh and she joined in.

“Don’t make me laugh, it hurts too much,” she said, laughing more.

I took her hand.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“What for, I got into this shit all by myself?”

“I guessed about Will, and let him go.”

“Look, you’re ten times more clued up that me, so don’t beat yourself up. Okay?”

I nodded.

“What is more to the point, what the hell are you going to do with bonnie Prince Charlie?”

“Who, Alex?”

“Who else?”

“I don’t know. I have tried to put him off. Honestly, I have,” I said, seeing her expression.

“Yeah, not very hard,” she said.

“It’s very difficult. I kinda like him a lot,” I admitted.

“We don’t half get ourselves in some deep shit, girl,” Alison said, and we both started giggling again.

Alex returned with a superb Chinese take away and a bottle of wine. We had a lovely meal, after which he and I sat and chatted into the small hours. He held my hand, but never even tried anything further. I was relieved, but also a little disappointed, even though I could not have been more irresponsible.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Monique by Tanya Allan

Seventeen-year old Matthew Thwaites is trapped snooping in his father’s study when his father returns home unexpectedly with two strange men. He hides under the desk, and is horrified to witness his father gunned down just inches away from him. Given an opportunity to flee, he does so, but finds himself framed for his father’s murder by a corrupt policeman.   Alone and powerless, he hides out at a busy airport, but his appearance is such that he is mistaken for a girl. Given an idea, he makes the most of this, and goes whole hog into the deception, becoming Monique, his French ‘cousin’. He manages to find an ally in an officer investigating corruption amongst police officers, and together they try to piece together the puzzle.   Monique is then pitched into an international roller-coaster ride involving terrorists, corrupt police and double agents. No one is what they seem, particularly Monique. She is twice the person that Matthew ever was, and given the chance, she decides to take over, but everything seems against her.

Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

---

Originally written and posted on Sapphire's Place in 2004, Reworked & Revised in 2009.
 
The Legal Stuff:Monique  ©2004, 2009 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.

Author's Note
I first wrote MONIQUE many years ago, posting it on Sapphire’s Place in 2004. I have had many requests to continue Monique’s adventures, so thought I’d revisit her and see what could be done. Initially, I was appalled at the standard of writing; well it was my first attempt, almost. Then I wondered why it had been so popular, as I personally found it rather rushed and the characters somewhat shallow and two-dimensional.
 
Okay, I thought, perhaps I should continue, but not from what I had written. It needed a revamp and perhaps a tweak here and there before I even could consider any additional material.
 
So, here it is, the revamped version of Monique, with a little extra and the hope that her adventures will continue in the near future. I have started with a completely new chapter at the end, just to whet your appetites.
 
I’m not convinced that there is any mileage in continuing, so perhaps you could let me know what you think?
 
 
Chapter 11
 
 
I slept well, and woke late. Alison was in some discomfort, so I knew I would have to try to get her to medical care later. She took some painkillers and lapsed into a fitful sleep.

We had a lazy day. Alex popped out to the nearest shops and bought some bread and cheese for lunch, but then we just watched TV and chatted.

At about five o’clock I stood up.

“I have to go out. I must change, so I’ll leave you here looking after Alison. Okay?”

“Can’t I come with you?”

“No sweetie, not this time. I need you here.”

He wasn’t happy, but nodded.

I changed into black slacks and a black sweater. I thought that I looked very secret agentish, so had to grin at my reflection. This was so surreal, I couldn’t really come to terms with the vast distance I seemed to have gone since leaving Matthew behind in that toilet cubicle in Heathrow Airport. Poor Matthew, I wondered how different things would have been had I not been snooping in my dad’s desk, and had been upstairs watching TV or similar when the men came. Would I have heard the shots? If so, would I have been next?

Yet, despite feeling a different person, I knew it was a simple matter of making the outside match what had always been on the inside, even though I hadn’t really dared to think about it too deeply. Although Monique was capable and confident, I knew that if Matthew hadn’t thought fast and done what he had, none of this would have happened.

Why did I think of myself as two separate people?

Was I schizophrenic?

I recalled a silly piece of graffiti I’d seen on a toilet wall. I used to be schizophrenic, but now I’m in two minds about it.

I smiled to myself as I put a gold chain on the outside of my sweater, with the crucifix nestling between my breasts.

My breasts!

Running my hands down the outside of my clothing, feeling the new and very strange contours of my body, it seemed like a very odd dream. Would I wake up and find it was just in my head, and I was asleep on the sofa back home, with my father just about to come home?

I pinched myself, which not only hurt but told me that this was no dream.

This was real and in a very short time I’d done more than grow up and into someone else. I’d killed and seen killing, so what the hell was going to happen next?

Was I in control of my destiny, or just another poor pawn at the mercy of the invisible powers that dominated this world?

I had no answers, just an appointment to keep.

Sighing at the speed at which my life seemed to hurtling along, I pulled a gold cord belt around the outside of my sweater that made me more appear fashionable and less mysterious. I put on some black high heel boots, which came over my ankles. I had the papers, the disk and the Glock.

When I emerged into the living room, Alex was watching TV. He looked at me and whistled.

I blushed.

“Shit, Monique, you have no idea what you do to me?”

“Don’t I?” I asked.

He laughed.

I looked in on Alison and saw she was fast asleep.

It was almost five o’clock.

“I have to go. I don’t know how long I will be. If I don’t come back, ring this number, ask for Christopher Walford. Mention my name, and tell him it is about the Thwaites papers. Okay?”

He nodded.

“Then just tell him everything you know.”

“I don’t know anything,” he moaned.

“You know too much.”

I kissed him and left before I could change my mind.

I arrived at the Café Royale at five to six. I went in, sat at a table and ordered a coffee.

I had been there for a few minutes when a man in a grey suit sat at the seat opposite me. I noticed he had a covert earpiece in his left ear.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked in English with an American accent.

“Pardon, monsieur. Je ne parle pas l'anglais,” I said.

He repeated the question in almost faultless French.

I smiled and shook my head.

He ordered a coffee when the waiter brought me mine.

“I am Christopher. My friends call me Chris,” he said, in English.

“Je m’appelle Monique,” I said, and he shook my hand.

“We owe you quite a lot, Monique.”

“Comment?” I said, and he laughed.

He placed a buff folder on the table. I put down the coffee cup, and opened the folder. All I had asked for was in it. Three passports: - US, UK, and French, together with genuine birth certificates, and other important documents. I was now a real person again.

I opened my bag and placed the papers on the table, together with the disc.

He took the disc, placed a laptop on the table, and immediately accessed the disc.

“Holy shit.”

“What?” I asked, in English.

He smiled.

“All the financial access codes for several companies and other organisations that we are interested in. Old man Thwaites was a wily old fox, all right. Put the original papers back. You need something to give Lamb and his cronies.”

I put the papers in my bag.

“Monique, who the hell are you?”

I smiled.

“Je suis Monique Bonnard,” I said.

“Okay, who the hell were you?”

“That does not matter any more,” I said in English with the accent, and he nodded.

“Will you ever tell me?”

“I may, but not yet.”

He looked me up and down, and smiled.

“You have no idea the theories that have been put forward. At one point we even thought you could be the Thwaites kid, in disguise, But I can see that that was way off base. Then we thought you were a cousin of Matthew. But all the cousins are accounted for. So just who the hell are you?”

I just smiled, enigmatically.

“Never mind, we need to get you to the briefing,” he said, finished his coffee and paid for both.

I followed him to the street where he opened a door to a darkened Ford SUV.

There were four other men in the van, all white, clean cut and all wearing suits.

“Okay, this is Monique, she’s the reason we are still in the game. Monique these guys are the best, and they will be close to you from now on,” Chris said.

We drove for ten minutes, finally pulling into a garage next to a private house.

Once the shutters rolled down, we got out and I followed the men into the house. Electronic equipment was everywhere, and there were about twenty people rushing about. There were several US servicemen in blacked-out covert gear, and lots of guns.

“Take your sweater off, Monique, please,” said a large black man.

“Huh?” I said.

“Body armour,” he said. And I took my sweater off. Luckily, I had a black slip on underneath, but I heard at least two low whistles from the servicemen.

The armour was quite light and reasonably well fitting, and even was shaped for my female body. So when I put my sweater back on, it was hardly noticeable, it just made me look a bit plumper.

They fitted a small transceiver to my bra, and I felt more and more like a secret agent. I watched as they slipped a plain piece of paper into the documents.

“There is a mini transmitter built into the paper. We can track wherever the paper goes,” the man said.

Chris came over with a 9mm Smith and Wesson SLP.

“Okay Monique, do you know how to use one of these?” he asked.

I calmly took out my Glock. “Yes, but I prefer mine,” I answered. Several of the observers laughed, and Chris smiled.

“Okay, here’s how we play this,” he said, and then explained how we would try to trap Lamb.

“What about Aziz and Vine?” I asked, and they all looked at me.

“What about them?”

“They are in Zurich too.” I said.

“How do you know?”

“I saw Vine at the hospital, just before I took Alison Glover out from under everyone’s noses. He mentioned Aziz when briefing one of the Arabs.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this?”

“It happened after I called you.” I said.

“How do you know Vine?”

“He introduced himself to Alison. I was in the room dressed as a nurse at the time.”

Chris laughed and shook his head.

“Shit girl, we don’t deserve you. Are you for real?”

“Aziz and Vine are at a hotel, somewhere in Zurich. Vine is here as a Met Police representative, or at least that is what he told Alison,” I added.

“Got it chief,” said one of the technicians on a computer terminal.

I watched amazed as they hacked into all the hotel databases, and found Vine registered at a small hotel near the hospital. Aziz wasn’t registered anywhere, but that meant nothing, he was here somewhere.

A team immediately left for the hotel, so I was impressed with their efficiency.

Soon it was time. I was driven in the same Ford to a couple of blocks of the Opera House. Before I got out, Chris said, “okay kid. There are plenty of our guys in the building and you’re wired for sound. Take no chances, and simply hand over the documents.”

“They’ll try to kill me, won’t they?” I asked, and he nodded.

“They tried before, so they’ll wait for you hand over the documents and leave, then try something. We’ll ensure that people will be around you at all times.”

I smiled, a little nervously. “Thanks, I think.”

I got out of the car and walked the short distance to the Opera House. I went up the steps and into the huge entrance lobby. A performance was in progress, so an usher came up to me. I explained I was waiting for someone and had no intention of trying to sneak in, so he smiled indulgently, leaving me alone. There were several people, like me, just milling about.

I sat on a chair and waited. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Monique?”

I looked up. He was about forty and balding. He was overweight, and sweating, despite it being a cool evening. I looked round. Two Arabic looking men were reading a notice board outside. I’d seen them before at the hospital. Would they identify me?

“Monsieur Lamb?”

“You have the papers?”

I simply took them out of the bag and handed them over.

“It’s a relief to get rid of them,” I said.

“I’ll bet it is,” he said, with a nervous smile. “By the way, do you happen to know where Matthew is?”

“Non. The last I saw him, he was going to a friend’s house in Wales,” I said.

“How come he sent you to get these?”

“I had a passport, he did not. He trusts me, as I am family.”

At that moment two different men approached. Both were wearing long dark and expensive overcoats, and one was definitely Middle Eastern. The other was Vine. I just pretended to pay them no attention.

Lamb handed over the documents to the Arab, I believed him to be Aziz.

“These are my associates,” Lamb said, still sweating.

The man examined the papers.

“Is this everything?” he asked. It was the same voice that I had heard in dad’s study.

I nodded.

“Zat is all he gave me,” I said.

Aziz nodded to Vine, and turned and walked out. Vine smiled at me.

“Thank you, mam’selle. You have truly helped your cousin. Now, do you happen to know where in Wales he went?” he asked.

“No, he did not tell me.” I said.

“Thank you. You have done your duty. You may go,” he said, and I turned away. I just caught the nod he gave to one of the Arabs outside. I opened the door and started down the steps. I sensed the man approach from behind, as I heard a shout, “Down.”

I rolled to my right, but at that moment the silenced pistol in the man’s hand coughed twice. I felt as if I was kicked in the centre of my back, and then I saw the Arabs chest erupt in crimson as a high velocity round went straight through his heart. I rolled down the steps, and the black Ford pulled up. I was literally dragged into the car, as it sped away.

I heard more shots and watched as Lamb crumbled on the steps as he tried to escape. I found it difficult to breathe and I passed out.
 
 
Chapter 12
 
 
I came round to find I was lying on a camp bed in the house where the briefing took place. My sweater was on the floor beside me, and the body armour was next to that.

Chris came over.

“How do you feel?”

I stretched, and my back ached.

“Like I have been kicked in the back by a horse,” I said.

“You’re a very brave girl. We checked you over, and only one shot hit your armour.”

“How about Aziz and Vine?”

“Aziz got away, but we have Vine.”

“Alive?”

“Oh yes.”

“May I see him?”

“Yes, but you leave the gun behind…Matthew.”

I stared at him, mortified. I felt the blood drain from my face and I felt slightly sick.

“How?” I asked, dropping the accent as my voice cracked up.

“Fingerprints. I was amazed, as I thought there had been a mix up. Don’t worry, only I know. If is any consolation, even looking at you now, I still can’t believe it.”

I started to cry.

“Hey, there is no need for that,” he said, reaching out with his hand and touched my shoulder.

I sat on the bed, as tears streamed down my face.

He sat beside me, putting his arm around my shoulders.

“Hey, come on. It’s okay, really it is. It explains so much. But your secret is safe. Believe me, it is really safe.”

I looked at him as I sobbed.

“Your boyfriend called at midnight, I’ve spoken to him. We are sending a car for Alison, and him too. If that’s what you want?”

I stared at him, and nodded vacantly.

“Hey, Monique, don’t worry. I have a surprise for you.”

I just looked at him.

“I spoke to Alison and as a result of what she told me, I’ve arranged for you to go to a small clinic, just outside Zurich. In twenty four hours, Matthew will be a thing of the past.”

I just looked at him.

“Why?”

“Because, we pay our debts.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and burst into a fresh set of tears, but this time through joy and relief.

“We have to get you ready.”

“Ready?” I repeated.

There was a stretcher on the ground. I was told to lie on it, and a blood soaked bandage was wrapped round my lower abdomen.

“Okay, we need to get this right. You were hit in the centre of the back by a single bullet, which struck the body armour. You are bruised and winded, but you’re fine. As far as everyone else is concerned, you were hit by another bullet in the lower abdomen, so you have to go to hospital urgently. Alex can see you briefly, but then the ambulance will whisk you away. By this time tomorrow, you will be Monique in fact.”

“But, what will everyone think?”

“Don’t worry, only you, me and the doctor knows the truth. Besides, you’re still in shock from the bullet that did hit you, so you look ashen and like shit. By the way, Alison is going with you, as she needs more recuperation for her injuries. You did incredibly well to get her out of the hospital.”

“Thanks,” I said, with a weak smile.

Alex and Alison arrived a short time later. Alex rushed over to me. He was almost in tears, poor man.

“Oh shit, Monique. Shit. Are you hurt bad?”

“Hey Alex, I’m Chris Walford. Monique is not too bad, but she has to go to hospital right now to get the bullet out. So, say goodbye, you’ll be able to see her tomorrow. I promise.”

Alex kissed me, holding my hand as I was put into the ambulance. Even Alison was in tears. I winked at her behind Alex’s back, as she was helped into the ambulance next to me.

I lay in the back of the ambulance, my mind in a whirl.

“Okay, so what the fuck is going on?” Alison asked, as I took the blanket off and sat up.

“You’ll see, now, lie down and rest.”

“I thought you were shot?” she asked, as she lay on the stretcher.

“I was, but I was wearing body armour. This is a ruse, after what you told Christopher, I’m going for SRS,” I said with a huge smile.

“Oh,” she said. “My God, you truly are incredible.”

An hour later we arrived at the clinic. Alison was wheeled away, shouting, “Go for it girl.”

I was left standing in the reception area. A tall man in a suit and wearing a bow tie came out to see me. He was about sixty and had a full head of white hair.

“You must be Monique? I am Doctor Schumman,” he said, smiling.

“Yes.” I said, rather nervously.

“My dear, Mr Walford and I go way back together. He has told me a lot, but I need to know everything. Firstly, when did you last eat or drink?”

I looked at the clock, and I was shocked, as it was two am.

“About eight hours ago,” I replied.

“Good, come with me.”

I followed him up some carpeted stairs. This place was more like a hotel than a clinic. He led me to a room with a huge hospital bed.

“Just get undressed and slip on this robe. Everything off, even the jewellery,” he said.

I started to disrobe.

“While you undress, tell me a little about yourself,” he said.

I talked as I undressed, and everything came out, my past, my fears, my longings and my desire to be Monique for always. I talked about the hormones and the doctor I’d seen in England. He just smiled and nodded, every now and again asking another question. It was quite cathartic telling him everything.

Finally, I was seated on the bed with the robe on.

He opened the robe and looked at the breast forms.

“Tell me, would you like your own to be the same, or a different size?”

I looked down and blushed.

“Is it possible to have them just a little bigger?”

“Of course, you are about a 36B, so shall we go to a 36C? I don’t recommend a D.”

I just smiled.

“Now, stand up.”

I stood.

He looked at my waist and hips, and turned me through 360 degrees. He frowned.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly worried.

“You have a very feminine figure already. How long have you been taking hormones?”

“Not that long, just a few days.”

“Hmm, strange, this is most irregular. Your shape is more female than male. In particular, you have a female pelvis. You see how this part here is higher, so you have almost a perfect female shape.”

He took some liquid from a jar and placed it on a cotton pad. He used it to remove my breast forms.

I looked down and saw two definite breasts growing from my chest. They were similar to an eleven or twelve year old girl.

“Hmm, interesting. Were they there before?”

“I don’t think so. I would have noticed.”

“Are they painful?” he asked, gently probing with his fingers.

“No, very tender and sensitive.”

“A few days, you said?”

“Yes, three days since the injections.”

“Ah. The injections. Do you happen to know what was in them?”

“No, she just told me they would halt my masculine development and help me develop secondary female characteristics.”

“It has certainly done that. Tell me, have you always been as effeminate as you are now?”

“I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

He then examined my genitalia. The same liquid unstuck my bits, and he prodded and pushed away for a few minutes.

“Your testes are very small indeed, so I’m persuaded that perhaps they are simply lumps of fatty tissue. And although the skin of the penis is fine, the actual organ within is about one third I should expect. Have you ever had a discharge?”

“I don’t think so, you mean like a wet dream?”

“Yes. Do you masturbate?”

I went bright red.

“Um, yes, but nothing ever happens.”

“No, it wouldn’t, as I don’t think these ever developed.”

“Oh.” There was not much one can say to that, is there?

“What do you feel about losing these?”

“Good. I can’t wait,” I said, grinning at the prospect.

He poked and prodded me a bit more, sucking air through his teeth.

“Do you get tummy pains?” he asked.

“Not especially,” I answered.

Pushing on my abdomen, he asked if it hurt.

“Not really, perhaps it’s a bit tender.”

“I need to take some blood. You’re not afraid of needles are you?”

“Only blunt ones,” I said.

He smiled and took a syringe from a drawer, removed the plastic wrap and took a needle from a container. After rubbing some alcohol on my arm, he stuck it into me. It hurt a little but I didn’t watch.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“I want to check something out. You see, you have more female secondary characteristics than I’d expect from a normal physiological male. There may be more to you than meets the eye.”

“Like?”

“I can’t say until the blood comes back. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.” He left me for a few moments, and when he returned he opened the door for me.

He smiled. “Right. We will take a short walk,” he said, so I followed him down the corridor. We went into a brightly lit room, where there was a trolley in the centre.

“Hop up on the trolley for me,” he said, so I complied.

“I shall be back in a moment. This is my colleague Doctor Weiss.” He pointed to a doctor who was already gowned and masked.

Doctor Weiss inserted a needle into the back of my left hand.

“This is to allow us to put in the anaesthetic,” he said. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Not that I know of.”

He then went through a list and asked me to sign a form. It was in French, but I signed it anyway.

“That is your consent form,” he explained.

“I gathered that. I do read French.”

At that moment, Doctor Schumman returned, shaking his head.

“I was right, young lady, there is more of you that meets the eye. Your high oestrogen levels are due to the fact that something inside you is creating them. That means that you have at least some female reproductive equipment inside. Just how much remains to be seen.”

I was numb. This explained so much.

“Are you ready to find out?” he asked.

Dumbly I nodded.

The next thing I knew, I had a needle in my hand, and the world went away.
 

*          *          *
 
The first thing that I became aware of was the pain. It was like a dull ache that spread across the whole of my lower part of my body.

I groaned and tried to escape the pain by going back to sleep. I attempted moving my legs, but they were placed in such a way that I couldn’t.

I opened my eyes, and a face swam vaguely into focus.

“Hello, Monique. Welcome back,” said Doctor Schumman.

I frowned.

“Are you in much pain?” he asked.

I nodded.

“It is to be expected. The operation was a great success. I have some good news for you.”

I looked at him. “What?” I croaked.

“I was right. You were partly female. I believe the injections triggered off the development of your own latent female organs. You were producing your own female hormones. You had a partial vagina, but you have a womb, uterus, a cervix, ovaries and two perfectly formed fallopian tubes. I have created a complete vagina, labia, and, of course, the clitoris.

“I was going to give you breast implants, as we discussed, but actually, I believe in a short time you will grow reasonably large breasts of your own. You certainly have the beginnings of a very respectable pair. So, I don’t think we need to give you artificial ones. But enough for now. You will go back to your room, and I will see you at lunch time.”

I was wheeled away, plumbed up to intravenous drips and pain killers. I fell asleep and dreamed of Alex.
 

*          *          *
 
When I awoke, I saw Alex in the chair by the bed, head back, snoring.

I smiled, as the door opened. Alison stood there, looking a bit better.

I waved and placed my finger to my lips, pointing at the sleeping form.

She came over to the bed and gave me a hug. I then felt very tender in the chest department. I opened my gown and saw two budding breasts, each was a good handful and although they were not that big yet, I had hopes.

“How are you?” she whispered.

“A girl,” I said, still staring at my boobs. I looked up and grinned.

“I know, the doctor told me. I couldn’t believe it. He told me you could even become pregnant.”

I stared at her. I had never even hoped that this would have been possible. It would have been enough just being a girl, but to be a mother too. It was too much, so I started to cry, again.

Alex came round and saw me in tears. He immediately looked worried.

“Alex, don’t worry. The doctor says she might be able to have babies after all,” Alison said.

Doctor Schumman chose that moment to come in. “Ah, the patient awakes. How are you Monique?”

“Sore, but very happy.”

“Ah. You have been told?”

I nodded.

“We extracted the bullet, and did a little reconstructive work. You will be tender for a while, but I see no reason that in a few months, you will be perfectly able to conceive a child. Should you so desire, of course.”

I just cried again, while Alex looked lost and held my hand.

“Now, if you two don’t mind, I would like to take a peek at my handiwork,” the doctor said, so Alex and Alison left us alone.

“I don’t have the words,” I said.

“I know, but you are a most unusual case. In the four hundred cases I have seen, yours is the first like this. I have seen complete hermaphrodites, but none like you.”

He pulled back the sheet, so I saw I was covered with a huge bandage. He undid it very gently, taking off the dressing that was between my legs.

“Do you want to see?”

I looked down, and gasped. Although red and sore, it was not the me I had always known. It was different. I was missing those parts that I had come to despise so much recently.”

I had been shaved and there was much swelling. I could see lines of sutures.

“The stitches will dissolve, and there will hardly be any exterior scarring, particularly when the pubic hair grows back. Now tomorrow, I will remove the padding that keeps your channel in place. You will have to use a series of dilators to stretch the channel, otherwise you will have great difficulty with sexual intercourse.”

“Oh.”

“Every day, three times, and progressing up to the largest size.”

I grinned.

“Monique, you smile, but actually it is not that pleasant. The new tissue needs constant stretching, and you must do it as it heals. A full vaginoplasty would be much worse, as the whole structure would have been constructed out of recovered tissue from elsewhere. You had some structure in place, so I simply ensured that you now are fully equipped. You must train it to be flexible, if you do not, you will be sadly disappointed. In a couple of months, even a gynaecologist would not know that you have not always been a woman.”

He replaced the dressing, and told me that the catheter would stay for another twenty four hours.

“Tomorrow, you can have a shower, or a bath, once the catheter is removed. Today, just rest. You may feel sick and very sore, so take it easy.”

He was right, I felt both. But I managed to get through it. By the end of the following day, I had a warm bath and felt 100% better. Alex, the sweetie, was staying in a hotel in the nearby village, and came up every day. He just sat and held my hand as I dozed.
 
 
Chapter 13
 
 
On the third day, I was a little more animated, so Chris visited.

“Where is Vine?” I asked, almost immediately. He laughed.

“Safe.”

“Seriously, where is the bastard?”

“Stateside.”

“And Aziz?”

He shrugged.

“We got all his men, but he slipped the net. Over 100 people have been arrested in the USA, and twelve in the UK. We have seized assets worth nearly a billion dollars and broken his organisation.”

“We still need to catch him,” I said.

He smiled and nodded.

“We were tracking the paper, but last night it stopped transmitting.”

“Oh, does that mean he found it?”

“Not necessarily, he probably burned the lot. But, Monique, I need to ask you a serious question.”

“Go on?”

“You stated you would be willing to work for us. Is that offer still on the table?”

“It was a sort of a joke. Were you serious?” I asked.

“Perfectly.”

“Would I be any use?”

He just looked at me. “Have you any idea what you achieved, virtually alone and without training?”

I shook my head.

“Take it from me, we can use you. You’ll have to get some training, but I’m sure that would be no problem for you.”

“I’m not an American citizen, will that matter?”

“That can be arranged, if you want?”

“That would suit me. I’ve nothing in the UK any more, and as much as I like being French, I think it would take me further away from my past.”

He opened his briefcase and passed over a lengthy document of several sheets of closely typed A4 paper.

“This is an employment contract. Sign at the bottom, and your soul belongs to Uncle Sam.”

I started to read it, but gave up. I was feeling very tired.

“How long for?” I asked.

“Minimum of five years, maximum at age sixty-five. A get out clause with mutual agreement. But you can’t discuss your work with anyone until you die,” he said, with a little smile.

I signed.

“Okay, Monique. You’ll have to go on an induction training course at Langley. I want you on my team, so as from three days ago, you have been on a salary

He passed over a laminated ID card, with one of my Woolworth’s photos. I was now a CIA employee. It was dated four days ago.

“This way we can take all the credit,” he said.

“I don’t care. What will happen to Vine?”

“I guess he’ll be staying at Langley for a while, but I suppose we will have to turn him over to the British authorities. He did murder your father.”

“Has he admitted it?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t give evidence, not now. Can the courts in Britain seize his assets, his house and stuff?”

“Sure, but we have enough to prove the corruption charges,” he said.

“Then give that to the British. They can seize his assets, and then we can pressurise him to confess.”

“You’re a vindictive little girl, aren’t you?”

“He screwed up my life.”

“You could argue that he pushed you to be who you are now?”

I thought about it and smiled.

“Maybe, but I was still scared shitless.”

“When you’re better and come Stateside for training, I’ll take you to Langley, and you can see him, if you want?”

“Yes, I do want.”

“You leave your gun outside.”

“Aw. Spoilsport.”

“I know you.”

He looked at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I’ve just completed a full report on this matter. I have been cooperating with the Swiss Police, so have full access to their files. They’re now more or less aware of the whole story and have detained half a dozen corrupt financiers and bankers.”

“So?”

“They showed me the photographs of the two Arabs in the apartment block.”

“Oh.”

“The police told me that whoever did the kills was a professional, and that the murder weapon would never be found.”

I smiled.

“Well?” he said.

“I dropped it in the river just after I did it.”

He nodded.

“As they said, professional.”

“Your point?” I asked.

“Look in a mirror.” he said, standing up. “You look like butter wouldn’t melt in your delicate and very pretty mouth. All you have to do is smile and flash your eyelashes, and there isn’t anyone alive who could believe you capable of doing some of the things you’ve done.”

I smiled.

“See. I look forward to working with you, Monique.”

“Me too. Thanks Chris, for everything.”

He bent down and kissed my cheek.

“Hell, kid, if I were twenty years younger.”

I laughed and he left me alone.

Two weeks later I was discharged. It was still August, yet it felt like a lifetime. Alex and Alison were waiting for me. Alison had been summoned back to face an enquiry into her conduct, despite a glowing report by the American State department and the Swiss Police. She was resigned to her fate, but was relieved that she was now able to wipe the slate clean and start again.

Alex had told his father that he was giving up any aspirations for the medical profession, and was applying for a regular Commission in the army. He also told them he had met a special girl in Switzerland, and would eventually bring her home for them to meet her.

I decided to return and deal with my father’s funeral. I was still one of his heirs, and my sister Carol was due to fly back from California in a couple of days. Once I’d buried Dad, I would leave my past behind and fly out to meet Chris in Langley in three weeks or so, when the doctor said I was fit enough.

We were taken to the airport by another darkened Ford with diplomatic plates, and Chris handed me my shoulder bag, minus the Glock.

“I took the liberty of placing most your loose cash into two accounts. One in Switzerland, at the Banque Helvetia, where your mother’s jewellery still is. And all the Sterling is with the National Westminster Bank, into a phone account. You have another account with the Columbia Bank, based in DC. All our employees use that bank, so your pay check will be paid into there automatically.

“All the account details are in your bag, with all the passports, etcetera. I’ll arrange for everything else to be sent through to your address in England. Or should I say, the Thwaites’ address,” Chris said with a smile.

“Thanks Chris. I’m not likely to be picked up at Heathrow, am I?”

“No way, that is all squared away, besides, you aren’t Matthew Thwaites any more, are you?”

“No, I don’t suppose I am,” I said, with a grin.

“The British Security Services have co-operated with us, and your name and details have been changed officially. You are now Monique, legally in three countries. So, take care, and I’ll see you at Langley when you are fit again.”

He then surprised me by giving me a kiss.

We all had first class tickets, so we sat in the lounge being pampered prior to the flight. Alex was very attentive, and still treated me like an invalid. I now had three large suitcases of clothes, having undertaken several courses of retail therapy with Alison. Alex, bless him, had found a trolley and pushed them all to the check in.

Alison was well on the way to recovery. She had used the time to lose a little weight, and was looking good. She was more relaxed than I had ever seen her, and smiled a lot more. We had become really good friends, despite the age difference. As she kept remarking, I was at least twenty-six in many ways.

I felt wonderful. I had healed up beautifully, and done all the exercises as required. Dr Schumman had personally discharged me, stating that I was his piece de resistance - his finest work. All I knew was that I couldn’t pass a mirror or shop window, without looking at his work, and grinning like a fool.

If anything, I was now more confident and self assured than ever. I was wearing a charcoal grey dress, with gold piping and matching shoes. I wore stockings, and some of the most wonderful underwear that I could find. I looked and felt fantastic, so wanted everyone to share my joy. And as I sat in the airport lounge, with Alex pacing up and down, I realised that I was finally at one with myself and the world.

Alex was beginning to get on my nerves.

“Alex, what’s your problem?” I asked when I could take no more.

“Huh?”

“You’re behaving like a caged tiger.”

He sat down beside me, but looked perturbed.

“I’m not sure; I just sense that you’ve changed.”

“Me?”

“Yes, it’s silly, but it’s almost as if you have sort of grown up so far ahead of me that I’m being left behind,” he said, frowning.

I looked at him, and suddenly it dawned on me that he had no knowledge of the terrible constraints that I had only been freed from. I was behaving like a complete tart, revelling in my new femininity, so I had forgotten him and his contribution to my life.

I leaned across and kissed him for about three minutes.

“Never, ever, forget that you saved my bacon, and if ever I seem to drift off in my self-made glory, please bring me back to planet earth,” I said, as we surfaced to breathe.

He smiled a little uncertainly, so I kissed him again.

This time, he began to respond with more than a little enthusiasm, but I broke it off purely because in a few seconds, we would have started to undress. And I did not want to be thrown off the flight.

He sat back with a completely different expression on his face.

“Alex?”

He looked at me.

“You do know that I love you, don’t you?”

He smiled and took my hand.

“I had hoped you did. Thanks for telling me.”

“Oh, pl-ease,” said Alison, with a grin.

The flight boarded, so Alex and I sat together. We snuggled up close, and I came very close to wanting to try out my new equipment. But Dr Schumman had been very clear when he said goodbye.

“Remember,” he had said. “You’re not a transsexual; you’re a woman. In a few weeks you will start to ovulate, and you should menstruate. This means that you will become pregnant if you do not take suitable precautions.”

I had never even thought about these aspects of my life, and although it was all wonderful, it was not without responsibility.

I dozed after the meal, so Alex gently shook me awake as we came in to Heathrow. We followed the crowd and I used my new UK Passport to gain entry through immigration control. The bored officer hardly glanced at it.

We collected the baggage and met by the carousel.

“So, what now, people?” I asked.

“I have to be in front of the Assistant Commissioner tomorrow,” Alison said.

“Are you going back home?”

“I suppose so. It’ll seem odd without you hanging about,” she said.

We hugged, both crying a little.

“Ring me and let me know how you get on,” I said.

“I will. Good luck, with whatever you do. Knowing you, as I do, I know you’ll be a wonderful success.”

She kissed Alex and turned and went through the green channel.

Alex and I walked along, side-by-side, pushing our luggage trolleys. We went through the green channel and out into Arrivals.

We stopped and moved to one side.

I flung my arms around his neck and we kissed, with such a depth of passion and love that the outside world ceased to exist.

I suddenly felt him go rigid, and a voice broke through into my consciousness.

“Alexander. My God, boy, it is you!”

We broke off and Alex looked round.

Still holding me tightly, he smiled.

“Dad,” he said.

I partially disengaged myself from around his neck, and looked the same direction. A tall, older version of Alex stood there with a broad smile on his face. He had slightly less hair, but there was no doubt that they were father and son.

“Well, are you not going to introduce me?” he asked his son, he had a similar Scottish accent.

“Dad, this is Monique Bonnard. She’s the girl I told you about. Monique, this is my Dad, Andrew Drummond.”

“Enchantée,” I said, and Alex laughed.

His father frowned and shook my hand.

“Monique, I take it you are French?” he said.

“My mother was French, my father was English. I have dual nationality and am fluent in both languages,” I said. “It’s a pleasure, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Aye, and I bet he told you that I’ve been pushing him to become a doctor?” he said, with a wry smile. I looked at Alex. “Your mother tore me off a strip. I’m sorry Alex, I never considered that you had other plans.”

“It’s all right Dad, I didn’t really know until I actually went for it,” Alex said.

“Anyway, I was down on business, so I thought I would surprise you,” he said.

Alex looked at me and grinned. “You certainly managed that, Dad, thanks.”

“Look, I have to go. Alex, please call me, you have my mobile and home number,” I said.

“I will. When can we get together?”

“I don’t know, I have to sort out my father’s funeral arrangements, so there’s a lot to sort out. Give me a week or so. Are you going straight back to Edinburgh?”

Alex looked at his father.

“I’m here for about ten days, perhaps longer. You can do what you like. I’d like to have some time with you, my boy, as there are things we need to get clear,” Andrew said.

“We have a small flat in Chelsea, so I’m sort of available,” Alex told me.

“Give me a few days and then ring me,” I said.

“Okay. I love you, Monique,” he said.

“I love you too, Alex,” I replied, and we kissed again.

I left him with his father and caught a cab to return to my home.
 
 
Chapter 14
 
 
I sat in my father’s chair, the same one in which he had died. I had been home for just over a week, but I no longer felt that this was my home. Mrs Rogers had answered the door when I arrived from the airport, but I had the devil of a job to persuade her that I had once been Matthew. There was still police incident tape everywhere, and most of the flowerbeds had great big coppers’ footprints all over them.

I explained Mrs Rogers that I had been suffering from a clinical condition, and had always been female. Once she accepted the truth, we got on quite well. But every time she saw me, she would shake her head and mutter. I had impressed upon her the delicate nature of the circumstances, and that it was highly confidential. I hoped she understood, but only time would tell.

I had taken great pleasure throwing out all of my father’s and Matthew’s clothes, I simply packed them all into black bin-liners and Mrs Rogers arranged for a local charity to come and collect them. I did check all the pockets first, so was fifty-seven pence richer!

I moved myself into the main bedroom, and went through the house, checking every cupboard and drawer to see what I’d inherited. I found some of my mother’s clothes in a couple of suitcases in the attic, which meant that Dad had obviously been unable to throw everything away as he had told us. I took great delight in wearing a few of her old clothes. Somehow, I felt closer to her by wearing things I remembered her wearing.

I found some old photographs and, as I glanced into a mirror, I caught my breath, I thought that I looked just like she had done when a similar age. No wonder my Dad had difficulty relating to me. I hadn’t realised I looked so much like her. Poor Dad, it must have been so hard for him. I now felt sorry for him, but he could have opened up to me a little, instead of shutting everyone out.

Carol called me from the States. Because she was due to give birth, imminently, she and her husband decided that there was little point flying all the way over to the UK for the funeral of someone she had little regard for. Despite it being her father. I told her all about my adventures, and she shocked me when I told her that I was now a girl.

“That explains an awful lot. It doesn’t surprise me in the least. I actually thought there was something wrong with you since you were about six,” she had said.

We chatted for ages, and it was almost as if we had grown closer because of my change in circumstances.

“Look, I hated the old bugger. I’m not going to be hypocritical enough to come and blub over his coffin. I actually feel completely numb to him. So I’ll leave it to you. I’m sorry to lumber you, but I have a new life, and he was never part of my life over here,” she told me.

“I have a meeting with the solicitor about the will tomorrow. It’ll be interesting, as he doesn’t know about me yet,” I said.

She laughed, and told me to send her anything that he left to her in his will.

“Was there any jewellery of Mama’s?” she asked.

“Some, it’s in Switzerland,” I had replied, slightly guarded.

“Look, you keep it, you deserve it. I wouldn’t mind a couple of rings, or something to remember her.”

I agreed to send her some, and we parted as sisters and friends. I promised to come and see her after she had had the baby.

Richard Thompson, my father’s solicitor, arrived at two pm, prompt. Mrs Rogers met him and brought him into the study, as I had asked. I was sitting behind Dad’s desk, having spent at least two hours on my appearance. I was wearing the grey and gold dress again, so I believed that I looked sophisticated and about as far removed from Matthew as I could ever get.

I stood up and he entered and walked towards him. I held out my hand, saying, “Mr Thompson. I am so pleased you could come. My father often spoke of you.”

He shook my hand and sat in the chair I showed him to. I returned to behind the desk, and he was frowning dreadfully.

“You’re not Carol, are you?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not.”

“Then I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I’m Monique, I am Charles’ younger daughter, I used to be called Matthew,” I said.

He stared at me and the frown strove to make his eyebrows copulate.

“It’s a little difficult to explain, but it seems that I was wrongly identified as a boy at birth, but as you see, I’m actually a girl. The doctor said that I was intersexed to a degree, so my true gender was masked until I started to develop. I required a little surgery to help the process,” I explained, putting him out of his misery. “I have here a copy of a letter from Dr Schumman from the clinic in Switzerland. It documents my case, so I have used it to have my identity altered accordingly. I adopted my mother’s maiden name by deed poll, for obvious reasons.”

“Oh,” he said, completely lost for words.

“My sister, Carol, is due to give birth any minute. So, she will not be able to get back. I spoke to her yesterday, and she sends her apologies.”

He looked at Dr Schumman’s letter, my new birth certificate and passport and accepted the explanation with no comment. We spent the next two hours going over the will. There was an enormous amount of legalese, but once we cut through the crap, it seems that Carol and I had an equal share of an estate in the region of twenty million pounds sterling. After inheritance tax, of course. Mrs Rogers had been left  £200,000. There were no other beneficiaries.

In real terms, taking the depressed stock market into account, I was worth in the region of six to eight million pounds. The crafty old sod had placed it in trust until we were both twenty-five, so I had eight years to go. Carol had only a few months.

I was quite happy, as I knew I had already squirreled away a small fortune, without the knowledge of HM Inland Revenue Services. And I was due to be paid more than a reasonable salary by my new employers.

By the time he left, I believe the old Monique charm had worked, and we had come to an understanding. He and Carol were the executors, but I was more than content with that arrangement.

I had called Jenny Robbins, and arranged to pay her a visit. She was about as amazed as anyone could be, but was very happy for me. She very kindly wrote off the money I owed for the injections she had given me that started everything off. I offered to send the pills I hadn’t used back to her, and she was happy with that. She then gave me similar advice to Dr Schumman in relation to contraception, so I knew I would have to visit a doctor as soon as I got settled.

Alison called me after she’d appeared before her discipline board. She was not required to resign, but was given a severe reprimand and was taken off CIB, to go back to a CID office in Central London. In actual fact, the letters from the US state department were so complimentary that the Assistant Commissioner would have been hard pushed to take her job away. She promised that we would get together soon, but was busy getting her life sorted out.

The funeral had been a dismal affair. Eight people turned up at the crematorium. I was the only family, and so sat by myself at the front. Mrs Rogers, bless her came and sat with me. It helped, a bit. The vicar was bored, and whizzed through the service. The coffin disappeared, and I turned and walked out. I spoke to no one, except the undertakers, and no one attempted to speak to me. I think the six others were in the wrong funeral. Dad had not been religious, and had plainly stipulated that he wanted no church service. When asked whether I wanted the ashes, I simply told them to spread them over the garden of remembrance at the crematorium.

I returned to the house, so here I was, the next day, sitting over the stained carpet, close to where I had hidden on that fateful night.
 

*          *          *
 
I was contemplating the stain when the phone rang. I always left Mrs Rogers to answer it, as I could evade any awkward enquiries. A few moments later, she knocked on the door and popped her head round.

“It’s a young man called Alexander Drummond, Miss Monique,” she said.

“Thanks, I’ll take it,” I said, picking up the phone. Mrs Rogers disappeared.

“Hi Alex.”

“Monique. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he said, and my heart soared as soon as I heard his voice.

“Me too.”

“Dad went on and on about what a nice girl you were. I didn’t tell him you’re an assassin.”

I laughed.

“I’m not an assassin. I just happened to kill two nasty men.”

“Still, I had to be a bit evasive when he asked me what you did.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him you were hoping to work for a multi-national corporation, as an interpreter/translator, but were also considering going back into education.”

“Good thinking. I don’t really want everyone to know what I do.”

“So, how has your week been?”

“Bloody depressing. It was my father’s funeral yesterday, so I’m glad you phoned. I miss you, Alex.”

“Why don’t you come and stay in the flat? We are here for another week.”

“Is your dad there with you?”

“Yes, but he’s fine. He asked me whether we were sleeping together.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him the truth. I said you weren’t that kind of girl.”

“How do you know?”

“I know you, and I respect you for it.”

I laughed.

“Alex, you don’t know me that well. I haven’t slept with you because I was clinically unable to. Not because I don’t want you. I almost let you screw me in the airport lounge in Zurich.”

“Oh. I thought you were... you know.”

“No, tell me?”

“I thought you wanted to wait.”

“Until when?”

“I don’t know, just until we were sort of, you know.”

“Alex, you are waffling. Until when?”

“Until we were engaged or something.”

“Alex, I’m a normal girl, with normal desires and feelings. I want you, and I intend to have you, and so it’s up to you when ‘something’ happens. Okay?”

There was silence on the other end.

“Alex?”

“Can you come and stay?” he asked. I sensed that he was grinning.

“Would you like me to?”

“You have to ask?”

I looked round the dark study, and thought of the huge empty house. This wasn’t my home; it was somewhere I kept my clothes for the moment.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can get a cab.”

“I can come and pick you up.”

I gave him the address and directions.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I sought out Mrs Rogers. She was in her small flat on the first floor, above the garage.

“I’m going to stay with a friend for a few days. If you need me urgently, then you have my mobile number. Otherwise, you don’t know where I am,” I said.

“Right, Miss Monique. And where will you be?”

“You don’t know, remember?” I said.

“Oh, right.”

“Mrs Rogers, how long have you been my father’s housekeeper?” I asked.

“Since your poor mother died, dear.”

“I think we are going to sell the house, I don’t want it, and neither does Carol. I talked it over with her and we want you to look for a flat or bungalow, wherever you want, and we will buy it for you. The solicitor knows and has agreed to handle such a purchase. Just notify him of the details. That way you don’t need to break into the capital that Dad left you. It’s only right,” I said, leaving her gaping after me.

I went to my room, the room that my parents had shared. I loved the huge bed, but found the atmosphere of the house was generally oppressive.

I packed enough for a month away, and felt as giddy as a schoolgirl on the eve of her first party. My life had turned into something wonderful, and I almost didn’t want to go to bed, in case I missed some.

My body had virtually healed now. The scarring was evident, but only if you knew where to look, and with each day, it became less obvious. I would spend long luxurious moments in the shower or bath, just enjoying my new body. I love it when I was clean and scented. I had spent ages finding a perfume that appealed to me, and adored the feel of fine fabrics next to my skin. I had bought some lovely lacy lingerie, with Alex in mind. My breasts had filled out more, so were almost the same size as my old falsies.

When Alex arrived, driving his father’s Audi, I was sitting on my suitcase on the drive. When we eventually broke off from our kiss, he glanced up at the house and whistled.

“This is a huge home,” he said.

“When you’re the only occupant, it’s a mausoleum,” I said.

He looked at me.

“You look even better than when I last saw you.”

“So I should hope. I was still recovering from a major operation.”

“I love you so much.”

“You’re a soppy sod. Kiss me and put my stuff in the car,” I ordered, and he willingly complied.

He chatted aimlessly all the way, so I knew he was as excited at seeing me as I was at seeing him.

I really had missed him, as here was someone that I could still act my real age with. I didn’t have to prove anything to him, and I just loved being with him. I felt slightly guilty at withholding certain truths about myself, but I knew that if we developed our relationship any further, I would tell him everything, or nearly everything.

I expected a small flat, so was surprised to find a very nice, three-bedroom, spacious apartment in a very chic neighbourhood. His father wasn’t home when we walked in, so Alex showed me to the room I was to have. He carried in my case and plonked it on the bed.

He showed me the rest of the flat, including his parents’ room. There was a photograph of the family all together, his dad and mum, his two sisters and Alex.

“How old are your sisters?” I asked.

“Becky is fifteen and Roz is thirteen.”

“Oh, so you’re the big, grown-up brother. I bet they tease you whenever you bring your girlfriends home,” I said.

He reddened. “Actually, you’re the first proper girlfriend I’ve ever had,” he admitted.

“No, how come? A big handsome lad like you.”

“I’m very shy, as you know, so I always found it difficult to start talking to girls.”

“You didn’t seem to have any problem with me.”

“That’s because I fell in love with you when I first saw you, and knew that if I didn’t talk to you then, I may never have got the chance again.”

“Really?” I said, flattered and rather surprised.

“Aye. There was something about you. You were, and still are, so different to anyone else I had ever seen.”

“You’re right there, boy,” I said, with a grin.

“So, you’re the first girl that I could ever call my girlfriend.”

I stroked his cheek.

“That makes us a perfect pair, then.”

“What? You mean you never had a boyfriend?” he asked, incredulously.

“Never. I’ve had admirers, but never a boyfriend. I was very conscious of my problem, which, thank the Lord, is no longer an issue. But it made me rather a late developer.”

“Problem?”

“Later, Alex, maybe later. Just know I’m fine now!”
 
 
Chapter 15
 
 
We went into the spacious living room and sat together on the sofa.

“In a way, I guess it is a good thing, but we have nothing to compare against,” he said.

“Oh, Alex. You prat. We don’t need to compare anyone or anything. I know what I feel, and I just love being with you. When I heard your voice on the phone, my heart sang. So stop talking bollocks,” I said, and he shut me up by kissing me.

Once again, his father arrived and interrupted us. This was getting to be a habit.

He laughed, and apologised.

“Hello again, Monique, it seems I’m destined to interfere with your love life,” he said.

“Hello Mr Drummond.” I said.

“Andy, please. I only like my staff and patients to call me Mr Drummond. Besides, by the look of it, you’re almost family now.”

I blushed and grinned at him.

“Do you two love-birds fancy a nice meal out? I’m tired, so don’t fancy cooking, Alex’s cooking is dreadful, and I wouldn’t dream of asking our guest to cook, as she has only just arrived.”

“I don’t mind cooking, but I’m not brilliant,” I said.

“We’d love to go out, Dad. Particularly as you’re paying,” Alex said.

“Good, I hear there is a new Thai place just off Sloane Square. I’m told it’s very good.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I said.

“Good, I need a shower and a quick change, and we’ll go. Do you have everything you need, Monique?” Andy asked.

“Oh yes, Alex has provided everything I need.”

He laughed and disappeared to his bedroom.

“How has he taken your failure in Zurich?”

“Very well. We’ve had several long chats, and I have submitted my application for a commission in the army.”

“That didn’t take long. You’d make a good soldier,” I said.

“You think so?”

I nodded. “I wouldn’t like you to go to war. You might get hurt, but I bet you’d look sexy in your uniform.”

He laughed and tickled me. We rolled on the sofa and he kissed me, and then we became more passionate. I felt myself responding to his caresses, my nipples hardened, and I felt myself becoming moist in eager anticipation.

“I want you Alex,” I said.

“Oh, shit, Monique, I want you so much.”

We kissed and fondled each other, I rubbed his crotch, feeling his erection, as his hand slid into my panties, and I almost screamed with pleasure as he touched me.

“Enough!” I said, breathlessly. “I’m not on the pill, and I bet that you haven’t any thingies. I don’t want to get pregnant yet, and your dad is just next door.”

Alex just kept kissing me, but moved his hand between my legs. Wave after wave of pleasure hit me, so I just gasped aloud. I now knew what a real orgasm felt like, but I wanted him inside me so badly.

It took all my will power to stop and push him away.

“Alex, Stop. Please, not now,” I said, so he reluctantly took his hand away.

“Sorry, I just got carried away.”

“You and me both. God. Alex, that was wonderful. But if we carry on like this, we’ll make a serious mistake.”

“I know, but I just wanted to give you pleasure.”

“You did. I want you to screw me so badly. Shit, Alex, what are we going to do?”

“Marry me?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re very sweet, but we neither of us are ready for that kind of commitment. Shit, Alex, think. You’ve just applied for the army, and I’m off to America in a couple of weeks. We’re hardly even twenty,” I said.

“We could have a long engagement?” he suggested, slyly.

I kissed him.

“I tell you what, if, in one year’s time, we still feel the same way about each other, ask me again. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, rather reluctantly.

“Oh, don’t look like that. I do love you, but neither of us really has seen life, so we need to experience life as individuals before we ever tie each other together. It may be that after two months we just can’t live without each other, but we owe it to each other to try. They say that a relationship that survives separation, survives togetherness too,” I said.

“Who says?”

“I says,” I said, with a smile.

He grinned. “I suppose you’re right. But I’m terrified of losing you.”

“You won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” I said.

I straightened my clothing and had to go and change my damp knickers. I had only just returned when Andy came out of his bedroom, having changed.

“Right, are you two ready?” he asked, so we followed him out.
 

*          *          *
 
I liked Alex’s dad, he was actually very nice. I had pictured this tyrant, who had forced Alex to try and become a doctor. But actually he had tried to give his son something to aim for, so it was neither of their faults that it wasn’t for him. We had a lovely meal and I felt more at home with them than I ever had with my own father.

He was interested in me, so I was as honest as I could be. I had eleven good GCSEs, and three A grade AS levels. But I couldn’t tell him I had skipped two years in a few weeks. I sort of indicated that I was considering a degree course, possibly in the States. I told him that I had an opportunity to work for a big US company whilst I was in Switzerland, so they were considering sponsoring me.

The following day Alex and I window shopped up the Kings Road. He bought me a pretty little ring with a weird blue stone in it. I teased him a little by putting it on my left ring finger, and told him it was our unofficial engagement ring. This pleased him, so he gave me an enormous hug. I cooked them a simple supper that night, and when I went to bed, I was a very content girl.

The next week was great fun, Alex and I were able to grow together without any constraints, save those we put in place ourselves. We went to see a couple of movies, and even went clubbing one night. It was so crowded and noisy that neither of us enjoyed it very much, but we could say we tried.

After I had back in Britain for three weeks, I was beginning to feel a little restless. Alex had to go back to Scotland with his father, and they invited me as well.

I declined, as I knew that I would have to leave for the States soon. On our last evening together, we went to the Thai restaurant again. Andy seemed to appreciate that it was a watershed in our relationship, so after dinner, he went to bed, leaving us on the living room sofa.

Alex had his arm around my shoulders and I snuggled in close to him.

“Are you sure you won’t come up north with us? Ma will love to meet you.”

“No, I’m not sure, Alex. I’d actually love to come, but I must follow my destiny.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. I’ll call you as often as I can.”

He lifted my chin and kissed me tenderly.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t, I promised, remember?”

He took my left hand and noticed that the ring was still on my finger.

“I still want to marry you.”

“I know,” I said, and kissed him.

We sat and watched the late movie, neither of us really paying much attention to it. He gently stroked my breast, and I started feeling those lovely warm tingly feelings again. I put my hand on his trousers and stroked him. I immediately felt him rise to the occasion.

I opened his zip with shaking fingers, and his cock almost leapt into my waiting hand. It was so hot. It was so big compared to what had been my personal experience. His knob was so soft and silky, and there was some of his precious liquid leaking from the little hole, so I licked it off, and smiled as he squirmed with pleasure. It was a little salty, but I liked it, I had tasted my first man. His fingers brought me to another orgasm, so I took him into my mouth, and he gently thrust it in further. I tightened my lips around it, holding it with my hand. He was thrusting and withdrawing faster now, while working his hand between my legs. I used my tongue on the knob, and squeezed gently with my hands. I was on a roll of pleasure, but suddenly he thrust into my mouth and I felt the hot spurt of his semen against my throat. I just swallowed and just licked him clean. He had three fingers inside me, so I shuddered as another orgasm hit me.

He withdrew his fingers, so I took my very wet knickers off, and he dried his fingers on them. I kissed him, so he could taste his own discharge that was still lingering in my mouth. I had now developed a taste for him, so I knew I would need him often. The thought of doing it again made me tingle. Before I could do anything, he placed his head in my lap and I felt his tongue on my slit. I had to bite my lip as he licked my clitoris, and I came, gushing all over his tongue.

He came up, smiling, and made me kiss him, the taste of our juices intermingled was amazing.

We sat back, both dazed with the experience we had shared. I wrapped my arm around the man I loved, and felt strange and wonderful feelings.

“It’s after midnight. We had better go to bed.” Alex said.

“Is that an offer?” I said.

“If you want it to be?”

I smiled, so he pulled out a red foil covered object, waving it at me.

My smile broadened.

“I want it to be,” I said, so we went to his room.

We undressed each other, caressing and kissing each part of the other’s body. By the time we were naked, he was aroused, and I was shaking with desire. I had never wanted anything as much as I wanted him at this moment.

He gently laid me on my back and kissed my breasts, I was so wet now, I just wanted him inside me. He opened the packet, so I took the condom from him and rolled it onto his cock. He lay on top of me, ass I guided him inside me, smiling with contentment as I felt him slide all the way home. It felt so good.

I wrapped my legs around him, as he started to thrust into me, kissing me and caressing my breasts at the same time. The pleasure I felt with him inside me was indescribable, so I felt truly complete.

He told me over and over that he loved me, and I echoed his words. I felt the orgasm rise and hit with a crescendo of pleasure, to have it repeat again and again, until I was almost screaming for more.

I was lost in a sea of sensuality and desire, as he finally thrust deep inside me and shot his bolt. I came for a final time in unison with him.

We lay thus entwined and sleep fell upon us. By the time dawn broke, we had used five condoms and I felt weak with pleasure. We slept late, and when we finally rose and appeared for a late brunch, Alex’s father smiled a knowing smile. His son had finally grown up.

I packed and they dropped me home. I waved goodbye as they headed home to Scotland. Alex called my mobile seven times during the journey, and I wept myself to sleep in the big bed in that large and lonely house. He was not the only one to grow up that night, I was now a woman, and it exceeded my wildest dreams.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Monique by Tanya Allan

Seventeen-year old Matthew Thwaites is trapped snooping in his father’s study when his father returns home unexpectedly with two strange men. He hides under the desk, and is horrified to witness his father gunned down just inches away from him. Given an opportunity to flee, he does so, but finds himself framed for his father’s murder by a corrupt policeman.   Alone and powerless, he hides out at a busy airport, but his appearance is such that he is mistaken for a girl. Given an idea, he makes the most of this, and goes whole hog into the deception, becoming Monique, his French ‘cousin’. He manages to find an ally in an officer investigating corruption amongst police officers, and together they try to piece together the puzzle.   Monique is then pitched into an international roller-coaster ride involving terrorists, corrupt police and double agents. No one is what they seem, particularly Monique. She is twice the person that Matthew ever was, and given the chance, she decides to take over, but everything seems against her.

Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

---

Originally written and posted on Sapphire's Place in 2004, Reworked & Revised in 2009.
 
The Legal Stuff:Monique  ©2004, 2009 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.

Author's Note
I first wrote MONIQUE many years ago, posting it on Sapphire’s Place in 2004. I have had many requests to continue Monique’s adventures, so thought I’d revisit her and see what could be done. Initially, I was appalled at the standard of writing; well it was my first attempt, almost. Then I wondered why it had been so popular, as I personally found it rather rushed and the characters somewhat shallow and two-dimensional.
 
Okay, I thought, perhaps I should continue, but not from what I had written. It needed a revamp and perhaps a tweak here and there before I even could consider any additional material.
 
So, here it is, the revamped version of Monique, with a little extra and the hope that her adventures will continue in the near future. I have started with a completely new chapter at the end, just to whet your appetites.
 
I’m not convinced that there is any mileage in continuing, so perhaps you could let me know what you think?
 
 
Chapter 16
 
 
“Again, Miss Bonnard, again, if you please,” the brutal Sergeant goaded.

I was already tired and sore, and now I was angry. So I just went for him, but before I knew it, he was on the mat with my knee at his neck.

“At last. Good, now Monique, please let me up,” he said with a wide grin.

He stood up, all 6’ 7” of him. He was a huge black US Marine self-defence/unarmed combat instructor called Royce. I liked him, but he was a mean sod when he wanted to be.
 

*          *          *
 
I had been at this Virginia training camp for six weeks now, and had never ever been as fit as I now was. The regime was very strict, and kept us busy for at least twelve hours a day, so when I rolled into bed each night, I was totally exhausted, and had never slept so soundly.

I had flown out just a few days after seeing Alex head north. I arranged for the house to be sold and the contents to be placed into storage. I would get together with Carol at some stage and select those items to keep, and sell the rest.

Chris had met me at Dulles airport, and had put me up at his home for the night. I met his wife and children, and found them a charming family. He took me to Langley the next day, where I was formally inducted into the organisation. I had entered the US on my US passport, so to all intents and purposes, I was a US citizen.

Once the paperwork had been completed, and I had formally signed my life away and promised never to tell anyone about what I, or the ‘company’ got up to, I asked about John Vine. I was handed a dossier, which I read, and smiled slightly. Then Chris took me down a special elevator that had locks.

We reached a level with lots of uniformed armed security personnel, so I had to sign in with my thumbprint on a scanner. I went through a metal detector and my bag was searched. Finally, we walked along a corridor, with doors that could only belong to detention cells on both sides.

The security guard with us unlocked a door on the right, and Chris stood back so I could go in.

The cell was about twelve feet by six feet, with a toilet at the far end. There was a mattress on a plain concrete block, and a light set in the high ceiling. A recessed hole in the wall by the toilet, of about ten inches square, provided water and hot air to dry any hands or face.

A man had been sitting on the bed, but as soon as the door opened he was standing to attention staring at the wall. It was John Vine.

He was dressed in bright orange overalls, and had lost many pounds in weight. He looked awful. He needed a shave and he smelled unwashed.

I walked so I was standing in front of him. He stared straight over my head. I knew that I had changed since he had last seen me, but not that much. I didn’t have to pretend any more, so I used my natural accent.

“Mr Vine,” I said. His eyes flickered down to my face and then flicked up again. He frowned slightly.

“You’re the man who shot Charles Thwaites,” I said.

He made no sign he had even heard me.

“You looked all over the house, didn’t you?”

Still nothing.

“You should have looked under the desk. I was there all the time. Still, this is better than going to a prison in England. With the contacts you have, you would have all the comforts of home and be out in eight years.”

He smiled slightly.

“They thought it appropriate that I be the one to tell you the good news. Your three offshore accounts, in Jersey, the Isle of Mann and Dubai have been located, so all assets have been seized. Your house has been seized and sold, your wife and two children have gone to Wales to live with her parents, and she has applied for a divorce. You have been dismissed from the Metropolitan police, so you have lost your pension and a full file has been presented to the CPS. If you ever manage to step foot in Britain, you will be going to Brixton Prison, so you will get first hand experience as to what it is like to be properly fucked.

“So, you mercenary son of a bitch, as you completely fucked my life when you shot my father and then tried to frame me, you bastard, I hope that now you know the meaning of despair.”

He stared at me, frowning hard.

I smiled.

“You still don’t get it, do you? I am, or was, Matthew Thwaites. But not any more. Life is strange, isn’t it?” I said.

His expression changed from confusion to one of hopelessness.

I smiled and walked out.

I rode up with Chris in the elevator in silence. I had imagined this scene many times, and yet it was a huge anti-climax. He was nothing in the end. Just a greedy little worm who was useful to an evil bastard, and served him just for the money.

“What will happen to him?”

“We’re negotiating with the British. They want him, and we have a man in the Isle of Wight prison.”

“If you let him go, I might kill him.”

“We’re aware of that and, to be honest, I think the powers that be would welcome it. But he may cooperate now.”

“Why?”

“Because he was holding out knowing he had funds set aside. Now he knows he has nothing.”

“Is there a chance he will go for a deal?”

“He has nothing to deal with.”

“Oh. What about Aziz?”

“That’s our job now.”

Chris told me he had arranged for me to go on a short training course with some other new ‘employees’, so I was whisked out to the middle of nowhere.

Until quite recently the camp had been a military base, with the usual single storey long huts and lots of forest and open country.

There were forty of us: thirty-two men, and eight women. We eight had a huge hut to ourselves, and as the barrack huts were designed for platoons of thirty, there was loads of room. The men were split into two huts, and the instructors occupied the hut that separated us. Other courses were running, so the camp was about at half capacity. Most of the others were military or ex-military, I just played vague about my background, and had adopted, on advice, a mid-Atlantic accent.

The first day we were issued with army fatigues and PT kit, including trainers. Then we spent the first ten days building up our fitness levels. For three hours a day we trained, long runs, exercises, weights, swimming and more long runs. We were so tired at the end of each day, we never had the time or inclination to socialise.

We were instructed how to defend ourselves, and then how to attack. We had basic pistol training, as well as surveillance theory and practice. By the fourth week, we were into advanced weapon drills, and the use of all types of firearms and other weapons. We were instructed in covert intrusion methods, including camouflage and concealment techniques.

They taught us defensive and offensive driving, which I loved. We spent a week on driving skills, and then they discovered I had no U.S. licence. I was immediately given a test that resulted in me being issued with a full Virginian Driving licence; it even had my photo on it.

We were given input of information systems and computers. And, being a computer freak, the input on computer espionage and retrieving data through security programs was really fun. I actually embarrassed the instructor in this field, by writing an encryption program that even he could not break.

Being the youngest (even with my new date of birth), I was the supplest and became one of the fittest. I was also aware that I was the only non-US born, but my mid-Atlantic accent was successful in hiding my origins. Everyone was naturally wary of each other to begin with, but as we shared the pains of the training, barriers fell.

I was supposed to be twenty, and even so I was still four years younger that the next youngest woman. There were two or three men who were twenty-one, but strangely, I was not really aware of seeming to be as young as I was. I was not treated any differently, either by the instructors, or my contemporaries.

Physically, I was now leaner and as I had lost a lot of extra fat from my bottom and hips, my muscle tone was superb. I had actually grown a little, and I was now nearly 5’ 8”. Dr Schumman had been absolutely right, as my breasts had grown to a very respectable 36C with no added help. My figure had been nice, now it was brilliant. A couple of the guys tried hitting on me in the early days, and I just smiled and waggled my ring in their faces. I was flattered, but quite content with having Alex pining for me.

In my third week, I awoke one morning to find that I was bleeding. Once I discovered I wasn’t dying, and that I was now a fully functioning female, I dealt with the mess and got on with life. Luckily they had all the necessary feminine hygiene products in the barrack room store cupboard. Despite feeling grotty, it was one of the happiest days of my life. Weird or what?

I took to the pistol shooting naturally, but when the instructor, another US Marine NCO, told me it was different for real, I had calmly said, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

He had frowned and obviously gone off and asked someone about me, so later treated me slightly differently.

I did have a problem with the self-defence. I was quite a light person, and knew that my physical strength, although improved, was still limited. Royce spent ages giving me extra tuition, using martial arts techniques to use balance, mass and inertia, rather than strength.
 

*          *          *
 
I helped him up and he grinned at me.

“You’re doing good now, girl. But you still need to practice.”

“Thanks Royce. I just don’t think I’m a natural fighter.”

“You won’t know until you are frightened or desperate, or both. But that is when training just kicks in, and you respond instinctively.”

“I guess so. Thanks. I’d better go for a shower, I smell like an old goat.” I said, and jogged off for a quick shower before supper. I slipped on my usual jeans and a tee shirt for the evening meal, and joined the others.

The food was plain, but very good and plentiful. The atmosphere was less subdued than usual, as it was Friday, so the weekend always came as a welcome relief. Most of the others had family to go to at the weekends, but there were a few of us who either stayed in, or went on a trip to Washington DC or similar.

For the first few weekends I was so knackered that I stayed on camp, and slept. Last weekend I went with one of the other girls to Washington, where we spent some time seeing the sights. She was from Colorado, yet had never been to the capitol before.

I had made no plans for this weekend, as did not feel like being adventurous. We had a lecture on using certain technical equipment, such as radios, scanners, bugs and cameras after supper, but from 21:00 we were free. As we left the lecture hall, those with plans rushed to get away, while I ambled back to my hut.

I was nearly there when one of the Marine orderlies came up to me.

“Miss Bonnard, the director would like to see you,” he said.

“Now?” I asked, surprised, as usually Harry McLean had gone home by this time.

“Yes please, Ma’am.”

I shrugged and made my way to the only two-storey block on camp, the administration block.

His door was open, and he was sitting at his desk talking to someone out of my line of sight. He saw me and waved for me to come in. He was about fifty, with a military look about him. He was an US Air force colonel, but had been seconded to head the CIA training team.

“Come in, Monique,” he said, as I entered I saw his guest, who stood up and smiled at me.

“Chris. Good to see you,” I said. He gave me a friendly kiss on the cheek.

“Heck, Monique, you’re looking good.”

“I feel completely knackered. But I’m a lot fitter than when I last saw you.”

“Harry says you’re doing well,” he said, so I looked at Harry. This was news to me, as no assessments had been fed back to us yet. We didn’t even know how long the course was. The answer was always the same - until you are ready.

“She sure is. Even Royce has passed her,” Harry said.

“He has?” I asked.

“Sure. His last report landed on my desk an hour ago.”

“Oh,” I said, suddenly pleased, as it had been my last remaining weak area.

“Congratulations, you’ve completed the course,” Chris said.

I stared at him and then at Harry.

“We’ve done all we can for the time being, so it’s up to your boss here to authorise further and specialist training,” Harry said.

“So, I can leave now?” I asked.

“Sure, don’t you want to?”

I just grinned.

“Go and get your stuff, you’re coming home with me tonight,” Chris said.

I looked at Harry, who smiled and nodded at me.

“Congratulations, you’ve just graduated. By the way, you now hold the rank of 2nd Lieutenant in the US Air Force, on secondment, of course.”

Half an hour later I was in Chris’s car, heading for his home.

“Now tell me the truth. What is this about being in the Air Force?” I asked.

He laughed.

“Okay, the course has another couple of weeks, but you have completed everything we wanted for you. The US Air Force is a means of getting your nationality squared away. But, it may come in handy later.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Monique, we got you the passport and the rest, on the understanding that you joined the US Military. It’s one way of getting US Citizenship, by the back door. It’s purely a formality, but officially, you are now an Air Force officer. There is another, very good reason. You see, the CIA collates intelligence from both home and abroad, but it only acts on that information on foreign soil. The other Federal Agencies look after domestic problems, rather like MI5 in the UK. So, if we need to operate here, at home, then we work in cooperation with other agencies and the military. We have a task for you, so for the duration for that task, you’ll work with the military.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Really.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, well don’t start getting dreamy about the uniform, as you’ve got work to do.”

“How come?”

“I need you, as you are the only person who can identify Aziz.”

“Where is he?”

“We know he’s in the US, and we suspect somewhere on the East Coast.”

“If no one knows what he looks like, how do you know that?”

“We got lucky. You know the mobile phone you took from the Mercedes in Zurich?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been monitoring all the numbers that were keyed into the memory. Last week, one was activated and is somewhere on the east coast.”

“So, that could have been a wrong number,” I suggested.

“Possibly, but it was keyed in under the simple letter “A”. I’m betting that it’s him.”

“Is there any way of pinning him down to a more exact location?”

“Oh yes, we have already. He’s in a University in Baltimore, Maryland.”

“Doing what?”

“He has got a job lecturing in Middle Eastern Culture at the State University.”

“Oh.”

We were silent for a while.

“Are you sure it’s him?” I asked.

“No, that’s where you come in.”

“Oh.”

“We’ve enrolled you in the University as a foreign exchange student from France. Your name is Monique Vasselles, and you come from Lille. You have your own date of birth, so no need for subterfuge there. You’re expected tomorrow. We’ve managed to insert your name on the flight list on the Air France flight, so all we do is get you to Dulles on time to meet your connection.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Primarily, confirm the ID. Then, if you get an opportunity, without either putting yourself in danger or giving yourself away, see who he meets and what he gets up to.”

“He has seen me and spoken to me, so he knows what I look like,” I reminded him.

“He saw a blonde in poor light, and he was more interested in the papers you gave him, rather than the courier. Besides, he thinks you were shot and killed.”

“So, do I colour my hair, or something?”

“I guess that would be best. Besides, I think you’ll make a stunning redhead,” he said with a smile.

“What course am I on?”

“American studies,” he said with a grin. “That way you can get to know us a little better.”

We arrived at his home, where Nancy, his wife seemed very welcoming again. I didn’t discuss the job with him and went to bed quite early after dinner. I couldn’t sleep, as I was too excited.
 
 
Chapter 17
 
 
The next morning, Saturday, I said goodbye to Nancy, and Chris took me to Langley. There, I was introduced to the back-up team of four, who would be my extra eyes and ears. I was then taken off and returned looking like someone else.

I had grown slightly in the last few months, whether that was due to diet, exercise or hormones, I had no idea, but I was almost two inches taller than when I had last been measured at school. As for my figure, well, I can only describe it as trim, yet at the same time I had to admit to being a little fuller in the bust department. They had restyled my hair and changed it to a deep red, and one of the girls taught me how to use a different style of make up, that made me look very European.

They looked through my clothes and, as some of my dresses cost over $500, they decided that it would not really be appropriate for an exchange student to be seen in top labelled items. So I went shopping, and returned with a distinctly down-market wardrobe. I had to be careful, so bought only items that were available in Europe, for I had to maintain my cover of being French. They did let me keep some of my own nicer clothes, which had been bought in Switzerland or England, but warned me against looking too fashionable.

I was allowed to call Alex. He had passed his board for the Army, so was now waiting a date for Sandhurst. I was very pleased for him. He wanted to spend a long time talking to me, as we hadn’t spoken to each other for ages. I still felt the same about him, and missed him dreadfully. So most of the conversation was 100% mush. Reluctantly, I had to end the call, but I promised to call him again as soon as I could. He understood that my work would prohibit me from calling for a while, even though he had no idea as to what that work was.

I was supplied with a dog-eared French passport and other relevant documents, and taken by car to the airport. I was dressed in black jeans, boots with high heels, a black top, with a black leather jacket over the top. I was wearing about seven rings, bangles and neck chains. I jingled as I walked. I even wore a little gold ankle chain. They allowed me to keep the shoulder bag that I had bought in Heathrow airport. The Glock was back, and was in my shoulder bag.

As the Air France plane taxied to stand, I waited at the gate room. As the other passengers disembarked, I simply joined the throng as we made for the Immigration desk. I queued with the rest of the non-US citizens to receive the US entry Visa stamp in my French passport. I then joined the passengers as they headed to the baggage hall. My case was already on the carousel, so I simply lifted it off and walked through Customs, into the arrivals concourse.

I saw a man holding a sign, M.Vasselles, so I walked over to him.

“Bonjour, Je suis Monique Vasselles,” I said.

“Hey Honey, I don’t speak French, do you speak English?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Good. Is that all you have?”

“Pardon?”

“Just the one case, baggage?” he said, trying to make the word sound French, but failing.

“Oh, baggage, yes, one only,” I said, enjoying the accent once more.

He was a very chatty man and talked all the way to Baltimore. I hardly spoke, as he took great delight in pointing out all the places of interest on the way.

“Is this your first time to the States?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“Do you like it?”

“I do not know, as I have only been here a little while,” I said.

He nodded again.

“I was in France once,” he said.

“Oh, where?”

“Paris. The wife and I did Europe in a week.”

I smiled.

“It would be hard to do even Paris in a week,” I said.

“Heck. We went to the Arc de Triumph, and the Loov, and up the Eyeful Tower. It was a swell day.”

I just smiled.

On arrival at the University, I was taken to meet the head of the department for overseas students, Mrs Halliday. She was a middle-aged lady, who thought she spoke French. There were six others, three German boys, a Spanish girl, and Dutch girl and a young man from Belfast.

We were given a welcome pack, in English, and then taken on a guided tour of the faculty. The three of us girls were taken to the female boarding house, where we were shown our rooms. They were small single rooms, but well appointed and the house was comfortable, in which everyone was welcoming.

We were all here for the rest of the semester, studying a variety of subjects. It was my first experience of American Young Female culture, and I found it quite an experience. It was very handy being ‘French’, as I could remain a little aloof and blame the language barrier. I found the American girls very friendly, but some were over the top.

In Europe, I had gained an impression that Americans were not as worldly as they made out. This was reinforced by the young people I met at University, as I found that many were actually very ignorant of the wider world, and of Europe especially.

A couple of girls actually believed that people in France spoke English all the time, but with a French accent. Some did not even realise that French was a language in its own right. There were a few that thought that Belgium was part of France and that Austria was the same as Germany.

Sunday was spent settling in, and I found myself making friends with Rachel, the Dutch girl. She was a small girl, with very fair short hair, and a pleasant round face. She was a little plump, but was very shy. Her English was quite good, so she and I either spoke in English or German, as I spoke no Dutch.

I was lying on my bed reading my welcome pack, when she came in and sat on my chair. I always left my door open, so I was aware of what was going on. There was an unwritten rule in the house that a closed door meant do not disturb.

“Hi Monique, have you not finished that yet?”

“It’s written for Americans, I find the language strange,” I said.

She laughed. “I find the Americans very strange,” she said.

“Why?”

“They are different, as I never know how to take them.”

“My papa told me they are like children, they like simple things. Simple food, simple entertainment and simple money,” I said, and she found that funny.

“Do you like it here?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Je ne sais pas. I do not know, it is too soon.”

“I find it different to how I thought. They are not really interested in anything outside America. Some do not even know where my country is.”

I smiled, as we were finding the same things about our hosts.

“They are friendly,” I said.

“Oh yes, they are very nice, but I suppose being from a big country they do not feel they need to know about us in Europe.”

“That could be why they are encouraging the exchange programme. There have been many American students going from here to our countries,” I said.

We chatted about life in general and then walked across to the students’ club. It was well into fall now, so the leaves had all turned and were falling. I had still kept to my black leather look, so already had a few male heads turning my way.

The German boys were playing pool against some American boys. One of the Germans asked Rachel if she was okay.

Rachel blushed, replying in German that she was.

“We were on the same flight, and I had an upset stomach,” she explained to me, still in German.

The Germans then realised that I spoke German, so they all introduced themselves to me. The one who had enquired after Rachel was called Werner, then there was Klaus and Herbert.

The American lads thought that Rachel and I were both German too, and one made an unsubtle joke about Krauts.

He was a skinny boy, so with my high heels on, I looked down at him.

“Excuse me, m’sieur. My name ees Monique, and I am French, not a German, and neither ees zis girl, but please do not be insulting to my friends. It ees ignorant and very rude.”

He was very embarrassed, while his friends laughed at him.

“Way to go, Monique,” one of his friends said.

I just looked at him, but he grinned, unrepentant. He was a tall young man, short dark hair, wearing an American Football shirt. It fitted him too.

“I’m Wayne Edwards, the runt is Clive, and that there is Stevie Ross,” he said, so we shook hands in rather a silly formal way. Clive was still embarrassed and could not meet my eyes.

Rachel and I watched the Americans beat the Germans, and we glanced at each other and smiled. There is a common European bond, as everyone likes to see the Germans lose, except the Germans.

“Hey do you guys fancy going out for a pizza or something?” Wayne suggested.

“All of us?” I asked.

“Sure, why not, we got two cars?”

“I don’t mind.” I said, and Rachel stuck with me. The Germans were torn, as they wanted to stay together. One wanted to come, but two were not so keen, as they were expecting phone calls from home.

It ended up with just Rachel and me going in one car with the three American boys.

We went to a nearby mall, to a vast area with about eight different food outlets. There was a Chinese, a Mexican, Pizza, Burgers, Indian, Super Subs, donuts and an ice cream shop. There was a huge arcade where the local kids were playing computer/video games. There was even an indoor crazy golf course.

I had some Tortillas, while Rachel went for a Chinese. The guys chomped their way through three of the largest Pizzas I had ever seen. After eating, Wayne challenged me to a game of golf, so I accepted. The others watched, cheered and jeered as appropriate.

I had played golf since I was about eight, so knew enough to give him a good game.

By the tenth hole he realised this wasn’t going to be the walkover he expected, so he became rather serious. By the sixteenth we were even, and I realised that if he lost, his pride would be hurt. I smiled, as once I would have been like him, now, I just couldn’t care less.

I won the seventeenth and I was about to win the last, but deliberately missed the putt so he could win, so that meant a tie.

He grinned at me.

“You missed that on purpose,” he said.

I just smiled at him.

“Let me buy you a coke,” he said.

“I’d prefer a beer,” I said, and he grinned again.

“Are you old enough?” he asked. “Here you have to be twenty-one to drink.

I simply nodded.

He took us to a bar on the way back to campus, and it was just like the set from Cheers on the TV.

We sat in a booth, where I found Wayne was about as close as he could get to me.

“So, Monique, where are you from?”

“Lille.”

“That’s in France, right?”

“Last time I looked.”

He laughed, as Rachel rolled her eyes.

“Have you a boyfriend waiting for you back in France?”

“No,” I replied, with perfect honesty.

“You do surprise me, a beautiful girl like you,” he said.

“Thank you, but my boyfriend is in Scotland, not France.”

“Oh,” he said, his disappointment was quite apparent.

“His name is Alex and he wants to be a soldier.”

He nodded, looking at my left hand. I still wore his ring with the funny blue stone.

“Serious then?”

I nodded.

“I guess so,” I said.

He grinned. “Pity.”

“C’est la vie.”

“Huh?”

“That’s life.”

“Oh. I guess it is,” he said.

They dropped us off at the house, making a lot of noise as they drove away, just to get noticed. Rachel and I just walked in and went up to our rooms. We got a few curious glances from the other girls, and a pretty blonde girl came to my room.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Stacey.”

“Hello. I am Monique and this is Rachel.” I said, and Rachel just smiled.

“That was pretty quick,” she said with a smile.

“What?” I asked, frowning.

“The guys; who picked up who?”

“We met them at the club and went for a meal and a beer.” I said.

“You have a wonderful accent, where are you guys from?”

“I am from France, and Rachel is from the Netherlands,” I said.

“No shit? I heard you were coming. There’s a Spanish girl here as well, somewhere.”

“Somewhere,” I agreed.

“I love your hair, is that your natural colour?” she asked me.

“No, I change it often,” I admitted.

“Cool.”

“I bet this girl doesn’t know where the Netherlands are,” Rachel said to me in German.

Stacey looked at her and just grinned.

“Don’t bet your ass, sugar. My Daddy was stationed there for five years. I even speak German and a bit of Dutch,” she said, so Rachel blushed.

“I am sorry, but everyone else we have met is very ignorant of Europe,” Rachel said.

Stacey sat next to me on my bed.

“That’s because they’re stupid yokels. They all think the world revolves around the good ol’ US of A,” Stacey said, not in the least bit offended.

She saw all my rings and Alex’s in particular.

“Hey, that is a gorgeous stone. What is it?”

“Je ne sais pas vraiment. I really do not know,” I said.

“I wish I had learned French, it’s far more sexy than German,” she said.

“My boy friend, he gave me the ring.” I said.

“Cool. You know you have it on your wedding finger?”

“I know,” I said, and smiled.

“How did Wayne take it?” she asked.

“Not well,” I admitted, grinning.

“Nah, he can’t bear competition. But you watch, he’ll try anyway. We’re in the same year, and he was a pain in the ass in second year, until I got Brad to come down and just tell him a few facts of life.”

“Brad is your boy?”

“Yeah, he’s cute. He’s in the Air Force.”

“My Alex is hoping to get a commission in the army,” I said.

“Alex, is he French too?”

“No, he is from Scotland.”

“Oh, I went out with a guy from Scotland. He was in the RAF in Germany, he was cute. Daddy didn’t approve, he wasn’t an officer.”

“Ah, your Daddy, he is still in the air force?”

“Yeah, but he’s based in DC now, at the Pentagon. How about your Dad?”

“My Papa is dead,” I said.

“My father is a lawyer,” Rachel said, so I sat back and let her speak for a while. She was quite shy, plus I didn’t want to have to talk about myself too much. But the ice was broken, and the three of us chatted away for ages. Stacey wanted to see our clothes, and then she showed us hers.

“I really love the way you dress in Europe. You can dress down and still look chic. Take you, Monique, jeans and a black top, but an American girl would wear sneakers, not those sexy boots, and the jacket, it is so cool.”

“You look great too,” I said. She had a nice pair of trousers and a baggy sweater.

“Yeah, these I bought in Hamburg. Have you ever noticed that girls here either look like Barbie, or a destitute street child?” she said.

Eventually, we all went to bed, and I knew that my job would start in earnest on the following day.
 
 
Chapter 18
 
 
I had been here for nearly a week, and although I was working hard, I still had yet to clap eyes on the mysterious Khalid Mohammed Iqbal, as the lecturer was allegedly called.

I had wandered vacantly into so many lectures, ‘by accident’, that I was probably gaining a reputation as the most stupid student on the campus.

American Studies was actually very interesting, so I attended all the lectures, which was more than most of my contemporaries did. I also got up at 06:00 and went for a four mile run, a habit acquired from the recent course. I also frequented the campus gym, so pulled and pushed weights for an hour a day.

I was very fit and wanted to stay that way. I was jogging back from the gym one afternoon, when I almost bumped into Aziz.

I was running down a tree lined avenue when he walked across in front of me. He was so intent on the conversation he was having on his cell phone that he was oblivious to everything else.

I stopped, so to avoid colliding with him and ran behind him. He didn’t even glance my way. I just ran on, with my heart thumping.

I ran straight to my room and closed the door. I dug out my cell phone and called the contact number.

“This is Monique. Positive ID. Definitely the same man as in Zurich and London,” I said.

“Noted, good work. Call again when address verified.”

“Noted,” I said and switched off my phone.

I went for my shower and then changed into some clean clothes.

My door was almost shut, but Stacey wandered in while I was in my underwear.

“Hey, I love those. Where did you get them?”

“These? Zurich I think, or perhaps London.”

“Shit, you get about, don’t you?”

“I like travelling,” I said, quite truthfully.

She sat on the bed. “Me too. I hate this country, for it doesn’t matter where you go, as everything is always so similar.”

“I do not know about this country. I have only been here and the airport,” I said.

“Have you anything planned for the weekend?”

“No, I have to do my washing. But nothing else,” I said. I wanted to try and find out where Aziz was living, but I couldn’t tell her that.

“Why don’t you come and stay with me? I always take my washing home. Mom washes it so much better that me,” she said with an impish smile.

“I do not wish to be any trouble.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, my folks will love to have you, and besides, you’ll get a better look at my country.”

“Thanks, I’d love to,” I said.

“Great, I’ll go ring my folks,” she said, and disappeared. I rang Chris, and he told me that Stacey’s father was a high-ranking Air Force officer, whose security clearance was one spot short of the President’s.
 

*          *          *
 
Stacey’s home was in a respectable suburb on the south side of Baltimore, within easy commuting distance of Washington. It took her only an hour to get home, and her little car was packed with all her washing. I had not brought mine, as I would do it one evening next week.

Her father wasn’t home when we arrived, but her mother and younger brother were. Her mother was very nice, and she showed me to the guest room, which had an en suite bathroom. The house was a large one, and I understood it was owned by the government. I guessed that her father was quite high up. I was right, for just before supper, a two star Air Force general walked in and kissed Stacey’s mother.

I assumed, rightly, as it happened, that this was her dad.

“How’s my little girl?” General Howard Munroe asked, as he hugged his daughter.

“I’m fine Daddy. This is my friend from France, Monique Vasselles,” she said.

“Bonjour Monique, je suis heureux tu peux arriver á  rester avec nous.” he said. I smiled at his almost faultless French.

“Bonjour Général. Je suis trá¨s content áªtre ici. Vous áªtes trá¨s genre m'a rester,” I responded.

“You are more than welcome, my dear, and please call me Howard, I get fed up with being called ‘General’ all day.”

“Thank you, Howard,” I said, rather shyly.

“So, Monique, where about in France are you from?” Stacey’s mother, Marianne, asked.

“My family have a house in a small village just outside Lille,” I said, which was true. My mother had been brought up there, and I had spent many summer holidays there.

“I know a lot of Europe, but not France. The French were never in NATO, and so I was always somewhere else. I stayed in Germany, Holland and Italy. But I liked England the best. I think it was the beer,” Howard said, smiling at the memory.

“I like England too,” I said.

“Daddy, her boyfriend is going to Sandhurst,” Stacey said.

“Is that a fact; when?”

“I am not sure, when I left, he was waiting for a date to start.”

“Good for him. I see you have a ring, are you engaged?” Marianne asked.

“Not officially, but sort of,” I said, and she laughed.

We helped Marianne get the meal ready, and laid the table. Stacey’s brother, John, was sixteen, so was at the spotty and annoying stage. To suddenly have an attractive French girl thrust upon the household made him more self-conscious than usual, which, as I recalled from personal experience, was not too difficult.

I made a point of being interested in him, and found that we shared a common interest in computers. Being a girl I had to dumb down a bit, otherwise he would get a complex, but once I expressed an interest, he was off.

After supper he almost physically dragged me to his room to see his computer. He had Grand Theft Auto III, and was at a level I had passed ages ago.

“Hey, would you like a go?”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Be my guest,” he said, and let me sit in his seat. He threw some clothes onto the floor and sat on another chair, which he pulled close.

I started a new game up and set off. I smiled, as it was all so familiar. John sat with an open mouth, as I rattled through the missions, blazing a blood thirsty path everywhere I went, collecting money and weapons as I went. I knew a few cheats, so managed to pass his current level, and kept going. Eventually, I stopped.

“It is quite a good game, yes?” I said.

“Shit. Have you played before?” he asked.

I laughed. “I am sorry, I have, we have computers in Europe too, you know,” I said.

He grinned, “I thought you were too good to be true,” he said.

Stacey came in and frowned at the PC.

“I hate computers, they are so boring,” she said.

“They can be, but they can be fun too,” I said.

“Yeah, like I was looking at your college on the Internet, and I could even get into the accommodation lists. I found out which rooms you guys were in. If they had CCTV in the rooms, I guess I could even watch you undress,” John said.

“You little creep,” Stacey said, but I wasn’t listening. Of course, why had no one else thought of it?

“Show me,” I said to John, and in a few moments I was looking at the University administration network.

I took over and searched for Iqbal. Up came the name and address for him. I then searched for a few other names, at random, committing Aziz’s address to memory.

“This is cool,” I said, aping Stacey’s frequent expression.

John looked at his watch, swore under his breath and rushed down stairs.

“Mom, I’m going over to BJ’s house, we are going to try to work out another program,” he shouted as he went through the front door.

Stacey groaned.

“Little brothers, I sometime wish I had an older brother, who had so many neat friends.”

I smiled.

“I have a sister, she is married, soon she will be having a baby.”

“You are so lucky. That little creep will be over at his equally nerdish friend’s house, where he’ll now be saying how this gorgeous twenty-year old French chick wants to take him to bed. They are all so full of shit!” she said, and I laughed.

“Then I should go there and tell him it is time to make with the fucky fucky, oui?” I suggested, and Stacey almost wet herself laughing.

“That would be wicked,” she said.

We sat in her room for a while, and Marianne shouted up to Stacey.

“Stacey, honey, could you go over to BJ’s and get your brother back? I tried calling, but I reckon they are on the Internet again.”

“Sure Mom.”

“Stacey, wait,” I said, and dashed to my room. I took off my jeans and tee shirt, and slipped on tights, a very short skirt, a tight top with a plunging neckline and my highest heels.

“Okay, now we do it,” I said, and Stacey had to force her fist in her mouth to stop herself screaming with laughter.

BJ’s house was a few blocks south, so fortunately I wasn’t stopped for soliciting on the way.

We rang the bell and a woman answered.

“Hi Stacey, phone engaged again, huh? They are upstairs,” she said, and walked back into the living room.

We went up stairs, stopping outside the door.

I heard John say, “She is really drop dead gorgeous, and she obviously likes me, as she thinks my computer is really cool, and I taught her some special moves in GTA three.”

“Awesome. So what does she look like?” said another voice.

I pushed open the door, and there were four teen-aged boys in the room. All started to dribble as soon as they saw me.

“John cherie, are you coming back to bed? I was getting so lonely,” I said. He went completely crimson, losing the power of speech. He made some gagging sounds, so I put my hand behind his head, and put my silk clad knee against his crotch.

“You are pleased to see me, non?” I said, in the huskiest voice I could manage.

The other three were fighting the lack of motor control over their breathing ability, and the loss of blood to the brain as their erections threatened to pass world records.

I pulled the un-protesting John from the room, where his sister took over, dragging him down stairs. I put my head round the door.

“I will have room for another later, I’ll be back,” I said, closing the door quietly.

I went downstairs and out the front door, to find John and Stacey having a monumental argument.

I stepped in, kissing John on the mouth.

“You said that I must have fancied you,” I said.

He went silent and looked up, as three heads were trying to squeeze out of a tiny window, all at once. I took one arm, Stacey took the other and we marched him home.

Once back home, he went straight to his room and slammed the door. Stacey and I went to my room and laughed heartily for ages. I took the skirt off and got ready for bed.

“You are so cool, Monique,” Stacey said.

“It was fun. Being sixteen is shit. I remember it well,” I said.

“I bet you had fun with the boys at sixteen,” she said.

I looked at her. “No, I was not a pretty sixteen year-old. I blossomed late, as they say.”

“I had fun,” she said, and then told me about some of the things she got up to on the Air Force Base where they were living at the time.

“Now I know why he has taken the desk job in Washington,” I said, and she laughed.

I cleaned my teeth and took out my photo of Alex. I placed it by my bed.

Stacey looked at it.

“He’s really nice looking. He has a sweet smile.”

“I know,” I said, wistfully.

She looked at me.

“Have you two, you know, screwed?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Have you been with many men?”

“Only Alex.”

“Is it as good as they say?”

“How good do they say it is?”

“Pretty good.”

“It’s better, a thousand times better. But, it has to be the right man.” I said. Then it dawned on me, for all her bluster and vivaciousness, she was still a virgin. I could guess why. The soldiers and airmen were fine, until they found out she was a general’s daughter.

“It must be hard for you?” I said.

“It’s okay, but as soon as anyone finds out who he is, they get scared. Even the civilians.”

“You will meet the right boy, and if it is meant to be, he will not care who your father is.”

“Yeah, but I grow old in the meantime,” she said, laughing.

“What about Brad?”

“Brad is sweet, but he is a Lieutenant in the Air Force, so is terrified of Daddy.”

“Oh.”

“Goodnight, Monique, see you in the morning.”

“Bonne nuit.”
 
 
Chapter 19
 
 
The following morning, I was up at 06:00 and going out for my run as usual, when the General came to collect his newspaper from the front step.

“Jeesus. Monique, you’re an early bird,” he said.

“Bonjour Howard, ca va?”

“I’m fine. How far are you going?”

“Four miles, or as near as I can get,” I replied.

“Good for you, do you do this every morning?”

“When ever I can,” I said, and took off.

The American block system was good for me, as I simply ran in a square, with a mile on each side. I returned to the house, to find that still only the general and myself were up. I grabbed a quick shower and came down dressed in a skirt and blouse.

“Coffee?”

“Thank you.”

He poured me a coffee, and told me where all the fruit juice, cereal and bread could be found.

“I watched you do the push-ups outside. Was that a hundred I saw you do?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

“Unusual for a student,” he observed.

“Perhaps, but I like to look after myself,” I said.

He reached over and felt my biceps.

“You are in good shape.”

“Thanks.”

He looked at me for a while, a curious smile played across his lips.

“Who are you, really?” he said, very quietly, as my blood ran cold.

“Your French is perfect, but so is your English. The accent slips every now and again, but not so most people would notice.”

I said nothing, I just looked at him.

“Do you know my security clearance?” he asked.

I nodded.

“What is it?”

I told him.

He nodded again. “Apart from the military, only two organisations know that, the NSA and the CIA.”

I said nothing.

“Look kid, I’m in the business, heck, I probably authorised your vetting procedure,” he said.

“Do you know Colonel Harry McLean?” I asked, with the French accent still.

“Ah,” he said, and smiled. “The milk is in the refrigerator.”

I poured myself some milk on my cereal, while he watched me like a hawk. I was strangely calm and didn’t shake at all. I sat down and started eating, and he laughed.

“Okay, I do not seek to compromise you. All I need to know, is my family in danger?”

“No. Absolutely not. This is purely social, and has no bearing on my task. I’m embarrassed to have given myself away so easily.” I lost the accent now.

“Don’t be. It’s been my job for too many years. You’re just too damn perfect to be a student. You have a level of confidence and self-esteem that I only ever see in specialist service officers. It’s hard to dumb down, even harder to look like a sloppy civilian.”

I smiled.

“Army?”

I shook my head.

“Air Force?”

I sort of nodded.

“Officer?”

I nodded again.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Are you French?”

“Yes, and no.”

He laughed. “Come on, I ain’t a threat.”

“My mother was French, my father English. I am whatever I want to be, or what they want me to be.”

He nodded. “Promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Keep Stacey clear.”

“I will, as there is no reason to involve her. We just live in the same house, and we have become real friends,” I said

“Thanks. It’s funny, you see movies, but you never really believe it can happen in your own back yard.”

I munched in silence.

“How long have you been with the company?”

“A few months. This is my second operation, so I will get busted now for being made.”

“Don’t be silly. You need not fear me. I helped appoint Harry McLean, for Pete’s sake.”

“I have still failed the first rule,” I said, feeling awful, I almost started to cry, and he sensed it.

“Hey, you’re dealing with a pro. I only noticed because your English was too grammatically correct, even for an American. I take it you were educated in England?”

I nodded.

“Your French is perfect, if you stayed with just the French, I’d never have found out.”

“You have no idea how difficult it is to speak your own language with a stupid accent,” I said, with a smile.

“How the hell did we manage to recruit you?”

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s seven am on a Saturday, my family will not get up for about two hours.”

So, I told him an edited version of events, leading to my current situation. I knew I was breaking every rule in the book, but I needed to talk. I neglected to inform him of my gender difficulties, or the identity of my father. But he would be able to check if he wanted to. I was careful not to name names, so hoped that this wasn’t a test.

“I appreciate your honesty and openness. I have no intention to look into anything you have told me. I was aware of the operation, but only because I lost two men from my direct command. As I said, you never really believe it can happen in your back yard.”

Marianne appeared in her dressing gown.

“Hi Monique, you’re another morning person?”

“So it seems,” I said, slipping back to the accent. Howard smiled.

“Monique was just telling me how she came to be here,” he said, teasing me.

Marianne poured herself a coffee and went to get dressed.

“That’s nice dear,” she said, as she went back up the stairs, still half asleep and not listening at all.

“I’m going for a shower. It has been very educational, Monique. Bon chance,” Howard said.

“Merci.” I said, and finished my breakfast.

Some time later, Marianne came back down, looking more awake this time. She and I chatted about all kinds of things, and we got onto the subject of cooking. She wanted to cook something French, just for the novelty, and asked me for a recipe.

I thought about a dish my mother used to make, and remembered her Lamb Cutlets Périnette. So I told Marianne about them.

“Lamb? We don’t get lamb very often in the States,” she said.

I described how the dish was prepared, and she said that it sounded very nice, and quite easy. She asked me to write down the ingredients, and recipe, which I did.

“How about a dessert?”

“Profiteroles au Chocolat?” I suggested.

Before I knew it, she and I were off in the car. The huge store was not far away, and I was amazed at the sheer volume of goods available.

We spent a crazy half hour, trying to find everything for our French meal. She bought cheeses and French bread, and asked me which wines would be best.

We returned to find Stacey up and annoyed at being left behind, and a very moody John. Feeling guilty, I went and apologised for embarrassing him.

He smiled and looked sheepish.

“I only got mad because you almost fulfilled a fantasy, and I knew you were teasing me.”

“I am sorry, but you did ask for it,” I said.

“Yeah, but I enjoyed the kiss,” he said.

“Well remember it, because you’re not going to get another for a while,” I said.

Howard went off to play golf, so after a light lunch, I was detailed to organise the evening’s menu.

I divided the meat into cutlets, trimmed and rolled them in seasoned flour. Then Stacey chopped up the ham with the crumbs, and brushed the cutlets with egg, and rolled them in the crumb/ham mix. Marianne prepared the garnish, of peppers, tomatoes and leeks, and sliced the potatoes to make the sauté potatoes. Then I made the choux pastry and whipped the cream for the filling. I made a chocolate sauce and worked out when everything needed to go on.

The meal was a great success, which was lucky, as I think it was one of the few meals that I could remember my mother preparing.

Nothing was left over, and Howard toasted me with his wine glass.

“To our friend Monique, a truly gifted individual,” he said.
 

*          *          *
 
I was up at 06:00 on the Sunday morning, to find Howard in a tracksuit waiting for me.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, I will be glad of the company,” I said.

I set off at my usual pace, but then slowed slightly for him to keep up.

“Sorry honey, I’m getting old.”

I just smiled.

I expected him to be chatty, but I think he was just having enough to do with the breathing.

We returned and he was breathing quite hard. I was hardly puffing at all. I started on my push-ups on the lawn. He matched me, right up to one hundred, so to spite him I kept going, and he dropped out at one twenty. I stopped at one twenty five.

“Show off,” he said, and I laughed.

“I played golf with a good friend yesterday,” he said, at last.

“Oh yes?”

“Harry sends his regards.”

I just looked at him.

“Don’t worry. I said my daughter had come home with a delightful French girl from University, and told him all about you. He asked me some leading questions, but eventually he told me who you were. So, you do not have to worry about me any more. I’m in the loop.”

“I wasn’t worrying about you,” I said as I stretched. “I was just going to kill you.”

He laughed, but without humour.

“What kind of life is this for a beautiful girl like you?”

“An exciting and interesting life, where I can actually make a difference,” I said.

He nodded again.

“When you get bored by doing what you do, come work for me. I could do with someone like you as my number two.”

“Do I get a sexy uniform?”

“Would you like one?”

“Of course.”

“Then any uniform you like.”

I laughed.

“I will hold you to that,” I said, and went in for a shower, leaving him laughing on the porch.

We went to church that day, the first time I had been to church for a very long time. I found it a curious experience, as I had never really thought about the spiritual side of life.

But I found myself actually praying little prayer of thanks, just in case God did exist, and He had anything to do with my present condition. For I had never been happier in my life.

The rest of the day was spent with a lovely family. I enjoyed watching Stacey wash more clothes than even I owned, as her mother told her to do the washing herself if she wanted clean clothes. When we returned to the university, I felt privileged to have been permitted to share the time with them. Howard kissed me on the cheek as if I were a dear relative, and Marianne gave me a hug, telling me that I was always welcome. I gave John a big kiss, just for the hell of it. I knew I would be back.
 
 
Chapter 20
 
 
I settled back into the University routine. In between lectures and assignments I walked about the huge campus and familiarised myself with where everything was. I found Mr Iqbal’s rooms, but they were empty. Oh they had furniture in them, but I could tell that he was not living there.

I managed to get in, using some of my newly acquired skills, to find that he had not slept here for a while, if at all. There was evidence that he used the living room for tutorials, but not for much else. I searched carefully, but found nothing of any use. There was dust everywhere, so I was particularly careful.

I just kept my eyes open. I checked timetables and worked out when he had lectures. But he was prone to set assignments instead of turning up, so I began to worry that I would never find him.

Wayne had tried hard to get me to go out with him, but found an American girl who was less of a challenge, so I was relieved. But it did not last long.

I was in the gym one afternoon, doing some weight training, when a tall boy approached me. He was obviously a body builder, as he was huge. He watched me for a while, but then spoke.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Your muscle tone is excellent,”

“Thanks. You are looking big,” I said in the French accent, and he laughed.

“You aren’t American?”

“Aren’t I? Oh dear,” I said, and he laughed again.

“I’m Gary, Gary Everslade.”

“Monique Vasselles,” I said, still lifting the weights.

“French, huh?”

“As it happens.”

“You look very fit.”

“It is a good line, I suppose. Not the best, but not bad,” I said, and he grinned.

“You aren’t like the rest of the girls here.”

“Oh no, have one of my breasts fallen off?”

He laughed and sat on the next bench.

“I saw you here last week.”

“That is reassuring, in case I lose my memory.”

“I saw you running this morning at six.”

“You are very observant. Are you stalking me?”

“No. Shit no. I run at that time too.”

I looked at his huge frame.

“How far?” I asked.

“I only do a mile, how about you?”

“Seven kilometres, so four of your miles,” I said, and put the weights down.

“Are you into body building?”

“No. I just like to be fit. I think a woman should look like a woman.”

He smiled. “Yeah, so do I. And you look pretty damn good to me.”

I looked at him.

“So Gary Everslade, what are you doing here?”

“What? Here in the gym, or at college?”

I just stared at him.

“Oh, at college. I’m doing business studies and Middle Eastern Culture. I hope to go into the oil business.”

“Who is your tutor for the culture side?”

“Dr Iqbal. Why?”

“I was curious. One of the girls takes it, and she has not seen him much.”

“Yeah, he isn’t around much, but he gives us good assignments. He holds tutorials sometimes at his house.”

“Oh, does he not live in?”

“He used to, but he has a house on First Avenue.”

I changed the subject, and asked him about his sporting ambitions.

“I play for the football team.”

“Is that the American football, or soccer?”

“Hey, over here football is football, and soccer is what girls play.”

“Oh, in Europe, soccer is football, and American football is played by men who do not have the courage or skill to play rugby,” I said, teasing him.

“Yeah, I’ve played that. Mean game, but too tiring for me.”

“That is because it doesn’t keep stopping for commercial breaks,” I said.

I sat on the bench and started leg presses.

“How come you aren’t like all the other girls?”

“I do not know, how am I different?”

“You care about your body, you care about being fit and you have self discipline.”

“And the others don’t?”

“Not the ones I meet.”

“Then you meet the wrong ones.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“You’re wearing a ring.”

“So?”

“I take it you have someone?”

“Yes.”

“Would he object if I was a friend?”

“I don’t know; what kind of friend?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.”

I stopped my leg presses.

“Gary, I love him, I have no problem with having friends, men or women, as long as you appreciate that I am not in the market for a boyfriend. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, grinning.

I moved to the bench press, altering the weights to some I knew I could manage.

He followed.

“So, your guy. Is he in France?”

“No.”

“In the States?”

“No.”

“Come on, help me out here?”

“He is in the UK.”

“Oh. Is he in college?”

“Of sorts.”

“Monique.”

“You have West Point here, yes?”

“Yes.”

“The British have Sandhurst, it is called the Military Academy.”

“I get it, he’s going to be an army officer?”

“Oui.”

“Will you come out with me?”

“On a date?”

“Why not?”

“Perhaps. To do what?”

“We could go to a football game.”

“Okay.”

“You will?”

“Why not?”

“Great. Have you a cell phone?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll call you, and let you know when and where.”

I gave him my number, and wondered if I was being silly. But at least this way, I may get closer to Aziz. I wondered if he hadn’t been sent to check on me by the man himself, but decided that he was probably genuine.

“Well, I gotta go. It’s been good to meet you, Monique.”

“Au revoir, Gary.”

“Huh?”

“Goodbye.”

“Oh. Yeah, bye then,” he said, and went off to change.

I finished my session and showered. I was walking back to the house when I saw Aziz in the distance. He was talking to another man, someone I did not know. I altered course slightly, just so I could get closer. Suddenly I was aware that someone was running after me. It was Gary.

I stopped and allowed him to catch up.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asked.

I looked around me and realised I was way off course for the house.

“I was just going to the library, on the way to the house,” I said.

“Hey, me too, mind if I walk with you?”

“No,” I said, and we moved off.

Aziz and the other man were talking quite heatedly. As we approached, Aziz walked off, towards the staff parking lot. The other man, looking a bit angry, turned and walked in the same direction we were going. Just before the library, he got into a white Chevrolet and I memorised the licence plate.

We went into the library, where I selected and took out a book on Native Americans. I waved at Gary, left the library and dashed back to the house.

I called in with the car and description of the man, and that Aziz allegedly had a house on First Avenue.
 

*          *          *
 
The week progressed, but I saw no further trace of Aziz or the other man. Gary called on Wednesday, to say he was planning to take me to the game on Saturday. He could get several tickets, and did I know anyone who would like to come.

I asked Stacey and Rachel, and they were all for it. Rachel was getting quite friendly with Klaus, one of the German boys, and Stacey called Brad, who told her that he would try and get down.

On Thursday I saw two of the Agency back-up team. They were in overalls and working as grounds-men, raking up the leaves in the park. I rang in for confirmation as to what I was required to do, but was told to sit tight. The net was closing in.

By Saturday, I was torn. One the one hand I was quite looking forward to the football game, yet on the other, I did not want to miss out on any action with Aziz.

My main brief was to act as a normal student. So I went to the game. There was a wonderful atmosphere at the game, a real family occasion. I had been to several football matches in England, and there was always a sort of heavy atmosphere, where one felt that tension was never far away. Even when there was little violence, one always felt it was just beneath the surface. The police officers were always nervous and constantly looking for potential flash points.

Here, there were few police inside the stadium, but loads of stewards. There was almost a carnival atmosphere and, with the bands and entertainers before the game, it was great fun. Once the game got under way, I tried to understand what was going on, so Gary went to great lengths to explain the offensive side and the defensive aspects. I could not believe the amount of stoppages that occurred, and all the concessions on sale. It is no wonder that the US has an obesity problem.

Still, it was exciting, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, even though I didn’t really understand it. The guys in the blue shirts and white helmets won, and the maroon shirts lost, and I couldn’t really care. But I cheered with everyone else.

We went for a Pizza afterwards, but Brad left us, as he had to get back. Gary dropped us off at the house at about ten o’clock. He walked me to the door, and I could tell he was interested in furthering our relationship.

“Gary. Thanks, it was fun.”

“Hey, no problem. It was great having you along.”

He hovered a moment, so I knew he wanted to kiss me.

I kissed him on the cheek and said goodnight. I saw he was disappointed, but I was already spoken for.

“Goodnight Monique,” he said and I waved.

I went upstairs and into my room, just as I got there Stacey came in.

“Not your type, hey?”

“No. He is a nice boy, but I have Alex,” I said.

“Gary is a hunk,” Stacey said, with a grin.

“Perhaps a little too big. Alex is a real hunk.”

We sat and chatted a while, and my phone went. It was Alex.

“Alex.”

“Hi Monique. How are you?”

“Oh Alex, I miss you so much,” I said. Stacey grabbed the phone from me.

“You must be some guy, she passed up a date with the hunkiest guy because of you,” she said, before I retrieved the phone back and pushed her out the door, closing it firmly.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“My friend Stacey.”

“Where are you?”

“I am at the University, in Baltimore, Remember,” I said.

“Oh, I get it, you are working, right?”

“Right. And my name is still Monique here, okay.”

“Okay. I miss you, babe.”

“I miss you too. I want you to do things to me.”

“Oh, Monique, marry me.”

“Oh Alex.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No, it’s an ‘oh Alex’,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, ‘oh Alex’.”

He just laughed.

“I’m starting at Sandhurst in January. So the passing out parade will be around June or July,” he told me.

“You have to pass yet,” I teased.

“I’ll pass.”

“I know. I love you so much.”

“Marry me.”

“Ask me next time you see me,” I said.

“Only if you will say yes.”

“You won’t know if you don’t ask.”

“You’re a tart.”

“I know, but you still love me.”

“I don’t know why I do.”

“I do, it’s because we make wonderful love to each other,” I said.

“Shit. Guess what I have?”

“I want you, so bad.”

“Marry me.”

I laughed.

“When will you be back in Britain?” he asked on realising I wasn’t giving in.

“I don’t know, I’ll call when I get some time off, so we’ll get together,” I said.

“I’ve been asked to ask you to come and stay for Christmas with the folks,” he said.

“I’d love to. But I don’t know how my work is fixed.”

“Are you really a secret agent?”

“I love you, Alex.”

“Me too. Call me, soon.”

“I will, bye.”

“Bye, oh, and Monique?”

“What?”

“Marry me?”

“Maybe.” I said, and switched the phone off. I smiled. I had so nearly said yes. I knew I would never last the year. But then I didn’t really want to.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Monique by Tanya Allan

Seventeen-year old Matthew Thwaites is trapped snooping in his father’s study when his father returns home unexpectedly with two strange men. He hides under the desk, and is horrified to witness his father gunned down just inches away from him. Given an opportunity to flee, he does so, but finds himself framed for his father’s murder by a corrupt policeman.   Alone and powerless, he hides out at a busy airport, but his appearance is such that he is mistaken for a girl. Given an idea, he makes the most of this, and goes whole hog into the deception, becoming Monique, his French ‘cousin’. He manages to find an ally in an officer investigating corruption amongst police officers, and together they try to piece together the puzzle.   Monique is then pitched into an international roller-coaster ride involving terrorists, corrupt police and double agents. No one is what they seem, particularly Monique. She is twice the person that Matthew ever was, and given the chance, she decides to take over, but everything seems against her.

Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

---

Originally written and posted on Sapphire's Place in 2004, Reworked & Revised in 2009.
 
The Legal Stuff:Monique  ©2004, 2009 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.

Author's Note
I first wrote MONIQUE many years ago, posting it on Sapphire’s Place in 2004. I have had many requests to continue Monique’s adventures, so thought I’d revisit her and see what could be done. Initially, I was appalled at the standard of writing; well it was my first attempt, almost. Then I wondered why it had been so popular, as I personally found it rather rushed and the characters somewhat shallow and two-dimensional.
 
Okay, I thought, perhaps I should continue, but not from what I had written. It needed a revamp and perhaps a tweak here and there before I even could consider any additional material.
 
So, here it is, the revamped version of Monique, with a little extra and the hope that her adventures will continue in the near future. I have started with a completely new chapter at the end, just to whet your appetites.
 
I’m not convinced that there is any mileage in continuing, so perhaps you could let me know what you think?
 
 
Chapter 21
 
 
Sunday was very quiet, so I managed to do my washing. Gary came over to see if I wanted to go to a movie. I declined, as I had a veritable mountain of ironing. So, instead, he stayed and kept me company as I ironed. It was clear he was falling for me, as he sacrificed seeing Men in Black II to watch me iron my underwear. Mind you, I did have some very sexy underwear.

Boys were not allowed upstairs in the house, neither were they allowed between 9pm and 7am. So as he sat on the windowsill in the utility room, his presence was the subject of much speculation and rumour amongst the other girls.

As I was ironing, I took a call from Chris. He told me that they had found Aziz’s house, and had surveillance in place. The man he had met was known to the CIA, the FBI and several police forces for various reasons, mainly relating to firearms and handling stolen goods. A surveillance team was on his tail as well, so my instructions were just to sit tight, and carry on as normal.

“Who was that?” Gary asked.

“Just a friend, wanting to know if I am free next week.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I have to be honest, Monique, I find myself with feelings towards you.”

“I had guessed. I may not be American, but I am pretty sharp,” I said, and he laughed.

“The guy in England, just how serious is it?”

I looked at him, and he was desperately earnest.

“Last night, on the phone, he asked me to marry him again.”

“Oh. And what did you say?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh. Have I got a chance?”

“Gary, don’t get me wrong, I like you, but I am strictly faithful. Alex and I share a lot, so I won’t betray him. Please do not ask me to. I am happy to be a friend, but I will not be anything more. Okay?”

He nodded, clearly disappointed.

“It’s just that in the last three years, you’re the only girl who I have found to have the qualities I value. You’re beautiful, intelligent, funny and responsible about your body,” he said.

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“But, I would be pleased to have you as a friend,” he said, smiling gently.

Once the rather heavy subject was dealt with, we chatted about many things. I felt that he would still try to develop our relationship to something more.

As far as the rest of the girls in the house were concerned, we were an item from that moment. Stacey and Rachel knew the realities of life, but actually, it was quite useful. I was constantly being pestered by young men eager to get to know me better, so as soon as it was generally understood that I was ‘seeing’ the biggest and strongest young man on campus, I was left alone.

Gary would take every opportunity to walk with me across campus, even if it meant going out of his way. I found it quite useful, as one day he stated he was going to a tutorial at Mr Iqbal’s house, and did I want to go to a movie afterwards?

I agreed, saying I would meet him at the house and go on from there.

So, after notifying my control, I collected a small package off one of the ‘ground staff’ and set off for the house on First Avenue. I was dressed in a totally different way to that day in Zurich. Then, I had been in dark slacks and dark top, so this time I was in a short brightly coloured skirt, long boots and a bright woolly sweater. My hair was red, and I wore wraparound sunglasses to keep the autumn sun out of my eyes. I had a long woollen scarf, which had every colour of the rainbow on it.

I found the house and waited outside. I managed to place the magnetic bug under the car parked on the driveway. Then I noticed a telephone company van just a block away, with an engineer up a pole. No prizes for guessing who they were. A few minutes after I arrived, the tutorial finished, so about ten students left the house, Gary was one of the first out. He was eager to be with me, his soppy grin said it all. I allowed him to kiss me, and noticed Aziz’s face peering out the window at us. His glance swept over us, resting on the phone company van down the road.

I took my mobile out and called in. Gary was chatting aimlessly about the plans for the evening.

“Hi. It’s Monique, you are made, he fancies you,” I said.

“He’s made the van?”

“Yes, he really noticed you at lunch. I think he will try something soon,” I said.

“Good work. Did you put the item in place?” the voice said.

“Yes, of course,” I said, and the line went dead.

I waffled on as if I was talking to a girl friend, and then finished.

“Who was that?” Gary asked.

“Stacey. There is a guy hitting on her.”

“Oh,” he said, losing interest. I took his arm and we walked to his car. As we drove out and past the house, I noticed the telephone van leaving. The face was at the window, watching the van as well.

“So, how was your tutorial?” I asked.

“Okay, I guess. I’m not sure that I understand the Arabs.” He pronounced them A-rabs, as many Americans were prone to.

“Is your tutor interesting?”

“Mr Aziz? He’s okay I guess. He seemed distracted today. He’s obviously waiting for someone, but hey, we got off early. So who’s complaining?”

We arrived at the movie theatre, so I went to the ladies and phoned in again.

“Our man is nervous, as it seems he is waiting for someone or something,” I said.

“Got it. Thanks.”

I returned to Gary in the lobby and we went to take our seats. He was quite pleased, as now he got to see MIB II.

His arms appeared across my shoulders just after the titles finished, and stayed there for the duration. Occasionally he tried a little caressing and a fumble, but I was not either in the mood, or willing to get in the mood. But the movie was good, and we went for a meal afterwards at a local House of Pancakes.

As we returned to campus, we drove down First Avenue, and as soon as I saw the flashing emergency lights, I knew something had gone wrong.

We were stopped by a police unit, who had put a cordon across the road.

There were three fire trucks and an ambulance outside Aziz’s house, several police cars and a few plain cars.

“What happened officer?” Gary asked.

“Nothing to worry about, son. Just turn round and find another route,” said the state trooper.

We had no choice, so eventually Gary dropped me at the house. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and he just smiled.

“Thanks for coming out with me. It’s been good,” he said.

“I enjoyed it, but please realise, I really am spoken for,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Monique, I guess I keep hoping that you and I could get it together.”

“Gary, you are sweet, and under different circumstances, I would be flattered. But, right now, I have to say no. Just friends, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, kissing my cheek.

I smiled and went in.

I went to my room, close the door, and called in. Chris answered.

“I’m back. What happened?”

“Our man made a bolt for it, but we managed to get a tail on him. A team was about to go in to his address, when it blew up. A couple of the guys were hurt, but not seriously,” he told me.

“Where has he gone?”

“He got to the airport, but then we lost him.”

“Chris. How stupid was that?”

“I don’t need a lecture from you, girl,” he said.

“Okay, so what do I do now?”

“Stay there for the semester. In case he makes contact with any of his students.”

“Shit, you have no idea how difficult it is to keep this bloody accent up.” I said.

“Then just get better with English, and lose the accent gradually.”

“Thanks chum,” I said, and he laughed.

“We’ll call you if we get a trace.”

“Okay.”

I rang off.

I took off my coat, and was just trying to get my head round what had happened, when there was a knock on my door. I opened it, it was Stacey.

“Hi, Monique, I thought I heard you come in. Have you heard what happened?”

“What about? We saw the fire trucks in First Avenue. It was Mr Iqbal’s house, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, did they tell you what happened?”

“No, a policeman told us to go another way.”

“Oh, damn. Still, how did the date go?”

“Okay, the movie was good and we had a nice meal.”

“Did Gary try anything?”

“A little, but I wasn’t playing.”

“Spoilsport.”

“I know, but that’s the way I am.”

“Alex is a very lucky guy.”

“So he keeps telling me.”

“Hey your English is better. Your accent is less pronounced.”

“They said that would happen. As I speak it all the time, and hear it as it should be, I guess, I just change the way I speak. Already I have learned to think in English, instead of translating everything first.”

“That’s cool. Hey, maybe you could teach me French.”

“Okay, but you will have to come to France to learn properly.”

“That’s a deal.”

The next day, the campus was rife with rumours about what had happened. As September the 11^th was already recent history, speculation about ‘Mr Iqbal’s’ affiliation to various terrorist groups was the main topic of conversation.

I asked Gary for his opinion, but he just shrugged. He didn’t have one, as the guy just set assignments and corrected his papers. He could have been a terrorist, or a Baptist minister for all he knew.

I just got on with being a student, so, almost before I knew it, the Christmas break was upon us.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Stacey asked.

“I’ve been asked to go to Scotland for Christmas,” I said, with a smile.

“Oh. I get it. Alex’s last Christmas before he goes into the Army?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, if it blows out, you can always come and stay with us. I know Mom and Daddy would love to have you.”

“Thanks Stacey, I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Are you coming back in the New Year?”

“I don’t know. It depends on the college board.”

“I’ll miss you if you go back to France,” she admitted.

“Hey, you get your degree this year, so then you do what you want.”

Later, when I was walking back to the house during the chilly afternoon, a blacked out Ford UV pulled up alongside me.

“Jump in then, girl,” said Chris.

I got in the back. There were three others, including Chris, already in the vehicle.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Pretty good. There’s no news about our man, no one knows anything.”

“We’ve traced him to South America. He’s in Columbia.”

“Oh, I can’t help there, my Spanish is bloody awful.”

“We don’t want you to. We want you to stay here.”

“Why?”

“Because your assignments have given the faculty some problems.” Chris said with a smile.

I frowned.

“Oh?”

“You see, your cover is so perfect, they really believe you are French, so they have even contacted your sending college in France, the one we arranged this charade through. They want you to stay on and finish the year.”

“Why?”

“Because your results in the assignments and essays are the best they’ve had in years. If you last until June, then they will give you a diploma.”

I stared at him, completely flabbergasted.

“But I have only done a few months.”

“Don’t knock it kid. They’re going to award you a special diploma, for an overseas student.”

“Shit,” I said.

“That’s a fine example of our fine education we’re paying for,” he said, with a grin.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s all a matter of politics and publicity. The students they get from overseas bring in extra revenue. If they are seen to give out valid qualifications to foreign students, then they may attract more, and more students mean more money, which means…”

“Okay, the capitalist dream, I get it now. So I’m just a pawn?”

“Maybe, but you get to walk away with a diploma in American studies. And for what, eight months work?”

I grinned.

“So am I allowed to?”

“The Director reckons you need to further your education, so he has authorised it. So from now on, you’re just a student.”

“Cool,” I said, and I couldn’t wait to ring Alex.
 
 
Chapter 22
 
 
“And now, a special award for some special students. As you know, the University has had an exchange programme running for a few years now, and this year has seen several young men and women from across the globe join us for part of their education. Well, today we have seen our own young graduate and receive their awards, so to, we pay tribute to six young people who have stayed with us for a year, so have now been awarded special diplomas in their chosen fields. Some will go on to complete their education at home, or even remain in the United States, but to all who have had the additional burden of working in a foreign language, we have been grateful to have had you with us. We are all much richer because of you.”

It was late May, and I was seated with the other foreign students, next to Rachel. The Dean was waffling and I was feeling the heat. We were wearing rented robes and mortar-boards, so I felt a complete fraud.
 

*          *          *
 
I had flown to Scotland on the 21^st December and met Alex’s family. They had all turned up at Edinburgh Airport to meet me, and such was the greeting that I almost burst into tears. Alex’s mother, Eileen, was a lovely lady, and although she looked nothing like Mama, she reminded me of her in so many ways, as she was so warm and loving. My mother had been blonde and quite petite, but Eileen Drummond was a big woman with red hair. She wasn’t fat, but she was what eighteenth century artists would have called voluptuous.

They lived in a large house just outside the city, where Alex’s mother had turned the rather plain garden into a super place. Although now in mid winter, I could see the borders and features and imagined that in summer it was a riot of colour and fun.

Becky and Roz were typical teenagers, so were very curious to see the paragon that their big brother had described to them. I had realised that I would have some way to go to live up to the picture he would have painted of me, so I had dug out some of my best continental clothes and re-coloured my hair back to blonde.

As I had walked, pushing my luggage trolley into the arrivals concourse, dressed in my black angora dress and my mother's diamond earrings. I had got my make up just right and I knew my stocking seams were straight, as I had spent nearly half the flight making sure they were. The businessman sitting next to me on the flight had tried his best to charm his way into my affections, as I had been at my most French. I had teased him unmercifully, only to tell him I was almost engaged to an army officer.

Alex saw me immediately and Andy just after him. Alex just smiled, at which I felt my heart just melt. I knew at that moment that he was the man for me, so resolved to tell him so at the first opportune moment. Andy just watched his son with a curious smile, while his mother was still looking at each person in turn.

One of the girls, Roz I think, glanced at her brother, saw his features change as he recognised me, so followed his line of sight, thereby saw me. Her mouth opened and closed again, but then she nudged her sister and pointed my way. Both smiled and turned to their mother. By this time I was upon them, so Alex just held out his arms and I melted into them.

It was like coming home. We had been apart for nearly four months and he smelled just like I remembered.

“Welcome home,” he whispered to me, as if reading my mind.

I reluctantly broke off our hug, to let him introduce his mother and sisters to me. I was surprised as I got a warm hug from each of them, and then Andy hugged me at the end.

“We’ve heard so much about you, Monique, it’s as if we’ve known you for ages,” Eileen said.

Roz and Becky pushed my trolley, so I put my arm in Alex’s.

We went to the car park, where I discovered that they had a Toyota Land Cruiser. Soon we were well on the way to their home and I was so happy to be next to Alex at last. As we pulled into the drive and I saw the large grey house, it seemed very familiar, yet I had never been here before.

“It’s so funny, I almost feel that I’m coming home. Silly isn’t it?” I said.

“Not at all. Wherever you are. That’s home for me,” Alex said, and I had to work hard not to cry.

They had given me my own room that just happened to be next door to Alex’s room. I unpacked, while he lay on my bed grinning like a fool. The girls helped me unpack and were amazed at the amount of clothes I had brought for only ten days.

“What you have to realise is that Monique has a distressing illness,” Alex said, as the girls looked horrified at me.

“Aye, she can’t pass a ladies’ clothes shop without buying something in it,” he said, so I threw a pair of shoes at him.

“What you guys don’t realise is that I don’t actually have anywhere to live. I have a room at University, but that’s it. My sister and I have sold the family home in London, so I have to take everything with me wherever I go.”

“Are you really French?” Becky asked.

“Yes.”

“But you don’t sound French.”

“Comment environ maintenant? Est-ce que je sonne français maintenant?” I said.

“Oh,” she said.

I smiled.

“My mother was French and my dad was English. So I’m both,” I said.

“Cool.”

“Hey, shall we go Christmas shopping tomorrow?” Alex asked, trying to steer the subject away from my personal life. He was more sensitive about my background than I was. I smiled, as I imagined him introducing me to people: ‘this is my fiancée, Monique, who is pretending to be French, but actually works for the CIA and kills people.’ I thought it was just as well he didn’t know that I was an heiress to millions and used to be a boy. I knew that eventually I would have to tell him.

We went down stairs and Eileen put on the kettle for tea. I found them a warm and happy family, so as I had missed out on such a luxury for many years, I was only too happy to fit in as best as I could. At one point, Alex and the girls were running some errand or other, leaving Eileen and I alone in the kitchen.

“Alex has kept us all amused over the last few weeks,” she said, with a smile.

“Oh?”

“Once you called to say you would be able to come, he became a right royal pain in the arse. It was as if he had two personalities, one gloomy and dull, and suddenly he became this bouncy, chirpy character, who, as your arrival drew near, managed to get up everyone’s nose.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s so nice to meet you at last. I felt really hard done by when the two boys came home and all they both did was sing your praises. I was so pleased, as Alex seems to have come right out of his shell, so I can only put that down to you.”

“Oh, I think he always had it in him.” I said.

“I agree, but it took a special someone to bring it out. He’s a very different boy to six months ago.”

“He’s very special to me,” I said, and she looked closely at me.

“I saw your ring. Does it mean what I think it does?”

I smiled, holding my left hand out. The little blue stone winked at me.

“He has asked me to marry him at least five hundred times. I put this on here just in case I actually say yes. But I thought it best that we both get further along life’s path before committing ourselves to marriage,” I said. “But I have every intention of saying yes after he passes out from Sandhurst, if he still wants me.”

Eileen nodded.

“Very wise, I kept telling him to wait, but he told me that he’s made his mind up, and that’s that. The amount of girls who have almost flung themselves at him recently is remarkable, but he has simply said he is already accounted for, so won’t even look at them.”

I just smiled.

“I know what he feels like. I’ve had a lot of very nice boys trying to persuade me that he’s not worth saving myself for. But, you see, I happen to love your son very much.”

Eileen gave me a hug, and I could see she was close to tears.

“I’m so pleased, for you both. I know when I met Andy, it was the same, we both knew, and the rest of the world no longer mattered.”

Andy chose that moment to enter the kitchen and he laughed.

“Why is it I have this knack of always walking in on a member of my family hugging Monique?” he said, still chuckling.

“I think it likely that Monique will be our daughter-in-law before too long,” Eileen said.

“Oh, I’ve known that since I first met her in London. Alex would be a complete arse to let her get away,” he said.

Christmas was the best I had ever had. I missed Mama dreadfully, but somehow felt she would have approved of my ‘adopted’ family. I gave Alex a stocking full of small gifts that I had put together, but then I told him that I would marry him, on the condition that he attained his commission and still wanted to marry me. He hugged me so hard, I thought my spine would snap. But, I told him that any formal announcement would have to wait until after he passed out of Sandhurst.

It was like a dream, with everything and everyone being so wonderful. I had enough money to buy the family really nice gifts, but I was embarrassed by their generosity to me. Needless to say, I managed to buy some more clothes, which the girls found hilarious.

Alex and I managed to sneak together for some of the nights and made love at every opportunity. I had visited the campus medical centre about a month or so before the Christmas break, so was now taking the pill. Our sex sessions were such a joy, I doubt whether we managed to be quiet enough to remain undiscovered.

At Christmas lunch, the whole extended family was there, sitting eighteen round their huge dining table. Alex announced to the assembled mass that we were now engaged, under certain conditions, and that it was the best Christmas gift I could have given him. The family were so accepting of me, that I burst into tears, only to find that nearly everyone else had as well.

The holiday passed in a flash, so soon it was time for me to leave. Leaving was so hard. In Eileen, I had come to see another mother, and I felt she understood. The girls were fun, having become the sisters I had never had, and in Andy I saw the father that my father had never been.

Alex was flying to Heathrow with me, as he was going to start Sandhurst in a couple of days, so he wanted to see me for as long as possible. We sat together in the Airport until I had to go through and catch my flight back to Washington.

We had grown up and he was now twenty. We were both convinced that marriage was right, but were in no rush to tie the knot. I was content for him to know that I was his and he was mine.

Our goodbye was long and tearful, yet we knew that in a few months we would be able to be together more.

As my plane took off, I looked down on the airport that had been the first place to which I had fled after my father had been murdered. Still, I always seemed to be passing through. I knew I was now a very different person to that frightened and confused soul that night.
 

*          *          *
 
My attention was brought back to the graduation ceremony, as people started to applaud. We were all issued with our scrolls and had our photographs taken. I had one taken with Wayne and Gary, two of the biggest and hunkiest guys in the year, both of whom were now my good friends.

Rachel and the other overseas students grabbed me and we had our picture taken, so then Stacey wanted one taken with her. The General, her dad, winked at me in a conspiratorial manner and thanked me for keeping her safe.

I promised not to lose touch, and we all had a very emotional time saying farewell. Eventually, I was left at the side of the road, with by bags all packed. The ubiquitous Ford pulled up, so soon I was on my way back to Langley.

Chris was waiting for me and smiled as my huge pile of luggage filled his office. I slumped into a chair, exhausted.

“Well done kid. You did brilliantly.”

“Thanks, but he’s still out there.”

“He is, but we have a man on him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He has moved, as he’s in North Africa now.”

“What’s his game?”

“He’s trying to pool his scattered resources. He lost a fortune when the Zurich job went down, so now he is trying to fight his way back up. He has access to funds, but not as easily as before.”

“What was he doing in the University?”

“We don’t really know. The man you saw him with is an arms dealer. So I think he is trying to negotiate a deal. But whether it’s guns or explosives, and why, who knows?”

“So, what do I do now?”

“One of Aziz’s men has been left in post. He is a serving U.S. Air Force Major, and seems above reproach. It was deemed politic to leave him alone and let him believe he was in the clear. We want to let him give us what ever he knows about Aziz’s plans. If we wheeled him in and he gave us nothing, we will have nothing. But, if he was to be allowed to show us what the plans are, then we get both.”

“So?”

“He has been in Military Intelligence for many years, so knows most of the players. He doesn’t know you. And the General has asked for you by name.”

“The General?”

The door opened and Howard Munroe stood there.

“Have you told her yet?” he asked.

“Not yet, General, I was just about to.”

I looked from one to the other. I had seen the General only a couple of hours before, at Stacey’s graduation.

“I have the family in the car, I said I had to check on some things,” he said, grinning.

“Why me? Not that I am objecting, but there must be better people for the job?” I asked.

“You come highly recommended, and besides, you expressed a desire to wear a sexy uniform,” he said.

“As long as I don’t have to keep the French accent going,” I said.

“You may have to adopt more of a home grown one,” Chris said with a grin.

“You’re going to an Air Force Base, to a training wing, just for a couple of weeks. You recall that you have held a commission in the Air force since graduating from the camp in Virginia?”

I nodded, a formality, I had thought.

“Well, we need just to finish off the training. You’re up to speed on the IT systems, but we need to make you a little more military,” Howard said.

“As long as I can get to Sandhurst by the 7^th July,” I said.

Howard nodded. “Your young man?”

“Yes.”

“So that part was true?”

“Very much so.”

He smiled. “I think we can do better than that.”

“How?”

“You’ll find out. But, you need to explain to Stacey who you really are. She’s a friend, so I feel she needs the truth, this way you won’t compromise your position. How you do it is up to you.”

I agreed, but wanted some time to myself first.

“Come by for dinner when you’ve finished your course, okay?” Howard said.

“Yes Sir,” I said, and saluted him.

He laughed and left us.

I spent three days with Chris, so by the time I was taken to the Academy, I was blonde again, and dressed in the uniform of a first lieutenant in the US Air Force. My name was now officially Monique Bonnard, just for a change. Apparently I had been promoted.
 
 
Chapter 23
 
 
I had arrived on the Monday, having been given my uniform at Langley. I was dressed in the blue skirt, white blouse and blue tunic, with stockings and court shoes. My hair I had managed to put up, but the hat I wore felt really odd. I had my Lieutenant’s bars on my shoulders, and a couple of medals above my left breast. Chris had told me that they were for Zurich. One was for the work I had undertaken, while another was for being wounded in the line of duty. I had the Intelligence badge, so felt very cool.

I was given my first car, a Mazda MX-5. Chris said that it was in keeping with my image. All I know is I had a huge grin on my face from the moment I slid behind the wheel. It was even registered in my name. I reported to the main gate, where I was saluted by the USAF SP man on the gate. He checked my ID card, found my name on the list, gave me a car pass and instructed me where to park.

I parked the car and walked to the reception. I had to carry my bag in my left hand, as I repeatedly had to return salutes. I checked in with reception and was shown my room in the Officers Quarters. It was a two-week course, so I was to stay here for the duration.

The course was quite basic and sought to reinforce previous training for those officers who were either reservists going regular, or for those who had been on secondment in special posts for some time, and were out of touch with current policy and procedures. I was an Intelligence Officer, as were a few of the others. I was also one of only three women amongst twenty-five men.

I found that after the previous course, it was very relaxed and lax. I still rose at 06:00 to go for a run, and undertook my training programme in the gym every day. I took a pride in my uniform, but had to admit that I now had the right figure. I learned how to bull my shoes in the cadets at school, so now I ensured that I was as immaculate as I could be.

I was relaxed and able to be myself, almost. I had no difficulty with my accent, as I did not have to try to be anything different. To make it slightly easier, I slipped into a New England accent and no one questioned my roots at all.

I had been a bit worried that I would be exposed as a fraud, in that I had no previous military training and it would show. But I needn’t have worried. I think I was the most military-minded of them all. I know I got some funny looks when I was up so early every morning and running four or five miles before breakfast.

In the IT sessions, I was streets ahead of most of the others, so was even able to help the slower members of the group. I found the input was very valuable and loved every minute of it. I had always been interested in programming and computer languages, but most of my knowledge was about a year out of date. Compared to the majority of the group, I was years ahead.

I enjoyed the course, but kept myself a little distant from the others. This was not hard, as I was nearly ten years younger than the next youngest person, and was one of seven unmarried or unattached officers.

I attracted most attention in the gym, where I was anonymous. I had no rank insignia on my training vest, and I was able to converse with whoever was there without the built-in barrier of rank. There was a group of senior NCOs who were on a heavy weights programme, and I was usually in the gym at the same time. I was, to my knowledge, about the only female who used the gym regularly on a daily basis.

In the middle of one session towards the end of the second week, one of the guys, who had just bench-pressed the weight equivalent of my car, came over and watched me.

“I never knew this was a spectator sport,” I said, between weights.

“Hell honey, the way you do it, it sure should be,” he said with a grin.

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Take it how you see it.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment. Thanks.”

“You sure are welcome. I’m Luke. Luke Gray.”

“I’m Monique.”

“I’ve seen you in here before.”

“Observant as well. Lucky me.”

He laughed. “What course are you on?”

“IT and intel stuff,” I said.

“Oh, I’m on Nav/comms.”

“So, you’re flight crew?”

“Yup, you?”

“Intelligence.”

He frowned, as usually only officers were on the intelligence courses. I laughed.

“So, where are you from?” I asked, changing the topic fast.

“South Carolina, you?”

“All over. But recently, Maryland.”

“You have a New England accent.”

“How strange,” I said, and he laughed.

“You’re an officer, ain’t ya?”

“Does it show?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately. You’ve a precise way of talking. You been to University as well?”

“That shows too, does it?” I said, as I finished the lateral pull-downs.

“You have real good muscle tone.”

“As a chat up line, I’ve heard it. As an observation, thanks,” I said and smiled. He glanced at my left hand.

“It just ain’t my day. The best looking girl in ages, and now I find she’s an officer, and I bet you are engaged to an officer?”

I grinned.

“Army,” I said, and he shook his head.

“Are you too proud to join me for a beer, or will you get into shit for fraternising?” he asked.

“Where and when?”

“Short walk from the main gate. Meet you there at six?”

“Okay, no uniform, no rank.”

“Shit, you will?”

“Why not?”

He grinned. “Okay, I’ll see you at six.”

I smiled as he dashed off. I could do with some social fun. The officers club was so stuffy, and I only had a couple of days to go.
 

*          *          *
 
I dressed down, with a pair of jeans, cowboy boots on the outside and a very tight black tee shirt with ‘Too much sex makes you short sighted.” in fading white lettering. I had my leather jacket, and let my now very long hair down.

I was a couple of minutes late, so found he was already waiting for me.

“Sorry I’m late, I had to find my brain,” I said, and this made him laugh. It was common knowledge that all officers had their brains removed.

“You ain’t that late, and boy, you sure look good,” he said. I blushed.

We walked about three blocks, to where there was a small bar set back from the road.

“This here is the unofficial non-coms club,” he said, as we went in.

It seemed much smaller from the outside, as it stretched back quite a way. There were a couple of pool tables out in the back, with booths all around. There was a long bar down one sidewall, with bar stools. We went and sat on a couple of these.

“Hi Luke. Who’s the lovely lady?” said the barman.

“Hey Wally, how’re doin’? This here is Monique.”

“Hi Monique. What ya doin’ with this guy? He’s no good, ya hear.” Wally said, so I smiled.

“What can I get you folks?”

Luke looked at me.

“Beer is fine, Bud, Miller, or whatever,” I said.

“They do a good draught here.” he said.

“Fine, not a big one though,” I said.

A couple of guys came over, curious to meet Luke’s new friend.

“Hey, Monique, this here is Sam, and Chuck. They’re both top sergeants on the cargo Galaxies. You know the big ones?”

“Hi guys, I know the C-5s well, thanks all the same Luke,” I said. He grinned and shook his head.

“What the hell is a nice girl like you doin’ with this guy?” Sam, the elder one, asked.

“Ah, well you may ask. I don’t know - he promised to take me away from all that, and led me to all this,” I said, taking a long drink of my cold beer.

The guys sat down.

“Are you with the military, Monique?” Chuck asked.

“Might be,” I said, with a grin. “What do you say we forget all that tonight. Who’ll give me a game of pool?”

So we went to the back, where Sam got set to cream me at pool. I had played a lot of snooker in England, plus the occasional game of pool, but I was surprised at the way my new anatomy got in the way. I took it careful the first game and decided to let him win, so I could gauge the table and my opposition.

I gave him a reasonable game, but lost. Only to find myself playing Chuck. I had an advantage this time, as Chuck had already been drinking for some time, so I was able to beat him. Then Luke played me, as I noticed a few more spectators drift over to watch.

Luke was good. But I had one or two tricks up my sleeve, or rather, my tee shirt.

I took my jacket off and bent over carefully lining up each shot. I noticed Luke’s eyes drifted to my breasts, so when he was playing, I always stood just in his line of sight. I was thus able to beat him by outrageous gamesmanship.

A few more girls seemed to be in evidence, and there was music on by a dance area. The guys took it in turns and I danced with them all. I carefully watched my alcohol intake, as I was acutely aware that they were trying to get me drunk. I managed to lose a few glasses of beer, so by the time Luke and three other guys escorted me back to the base, I was the most sober of the lot.

I gave each a friendly kiss on the cheek and went to my room. Tomorrow was my last day.

I decided against my run the next morning, but dressed in uniform as usual. I had breakfast in the officer’s mess and walked past the nav/comms wing on my way to my class. Approaching me were three sergeants, Luke, Chuck and Sam. I smiled.

They were half way up with the automatic salutes when they recognised me.

“Hi boys. Thanks for last night,” I said with a smile, as I returned their salutes. I kept walking, without turning round.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” said Sam, as Luke howled with laughter and slapped his friend on the back.

“You knew. You son of a bitch!”

I stopped and looked back. Luke was being chased down the road by the others.

I completed my course and put my gear back into my car. I drove to the US Air Force base at Dover in Delaware. I reported to the CO, and was then shown my quarters. I was taking up the post as Intelligence officer, with a special responsibility for coordinating with the other services and liaison with the contingency planning officer. After September 11, each base was in a high state of alert, and had an intelligence officer constantly assessing security systems and measures.

As it happened the Major in question was based here, in a different department, but I was due to start my new job after some leave. I had a date to watch a certain someone pass out of Sandhurst.

Before I flew out, I travelled, in uniform, to visit the Munroes. I pulled up outside their home, having rung the General to make sure that I was still welcome.

I walked up the path and rang the bell. I was a very different person to the student of a few weeks ago.

Stacey answered the door, saw the uniform, turned round and yelled, “DAD, it’s for you!”

“Hi Stacey,” I said, so she swung back and stared at me. She frowned, and then shook her head.

“Monique?” she asked, doubtfully.

I smiled, taking my Rayban sunglasses off.

“The very same, or rather the real me,” I said.

She stared at me, looking at my uniform, including my name badge. Lt.M.Bonnard.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Can I come in? I may be able to explain.”

She stepped back and let me enter.

Marianne saw me, with a curious smile on her face. I knew that the General had told her.

“Hello Monique,” she said.

“Hi Marianne. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks dear. It’s nice to see you again.”

“It’s nice to be back.”

“Mom. What the hell is going on?” Stacey asked.

Marianne smiled, but left us alone.

“Monique?”

“Stacey, I’m Monique Bonnard. I’m an officer in the US Air Force and I work for Military Intelligence. I am genuinely half French, and I was employed by the powers that be to investigate a certain lecturer at the University who had suspected terrorist links. Our friendship was genuine, and an accident of circumstances. I now work for your father, and he ordered me to come clean to you. I value our friendship, as I did not want there to be secrets between us.”

“So you’re American all along?”

“Not really,” I said. “I was employed by the government because of my background; and that I was the only person who could identify the suspect.”

“I’m still confused. Just who are you?”

“My father was English, my mother was French. I got unwittingly involved in a case of terrorism and corruption in Europe. I found myself working with the company, and displayed an aptitude for the type of work. As a result of that, I was offered a further contract, so here I am. My real name would mean nothing to anyone, and as far as I am concerned Monique is my real name. Bonnard is my mother’s maiden name. My father was a wealthy speculator and Mr Fixit. I don’t use his name because of various dubious connections.”

“Is that your natural hair colour?”

I laughed, this was the Stacey I knew.

“Yes, it is.”

“It suits you, but the red was cool.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not sure about the uniform, though.”

“That comes off.”

“Is Alex real, or is that another story?”

“Alex is very real.”

“I’d like to meet him.”

“I’d like you to as well.”

Suddenly, the barriers were down, and she hugged me.

“I missed you. I tried to find your address in France, but no records could be found.”

“I wonder why that was?” I said, and she giggled.

We went up to her room and caught up with our news. Brad had proposed to her, and she was still thinking about it. I thought she could do better, so I told her so.

She laughed and agreed, but didn’t know how to let him off without hurting his feelings.

A door slammed, so I guessed John had returned.

We went down stairs and John glanced at me, saw the uniform and then ignored me. But then he had another look. His jaw dropped and his frown was a joy to behold. Stacey got the giggles.

“Hello John. Remember me?” I asked, as Miss America.

“Monique?”

“Mais oui, comment ca va?”

His frown deepened. “Huh?”

“I’m a US Air Force officer, I was working undercover for the government on a top secret investigation, and my cover was as a foreign exchange student,” I explained.

“Do you work for my dad?”

“Sort of,” I said.

“Oh.”

The General chose that moment to break up the party, so he smiled at his son.

“Sorry John boy. But this girl works for me.”

“Aw, Dad.”

“This young man has had the hots for you ever since you stayed with us. I tried telling him you were already spoken for, and so he’s going to have to see it for himself.”

It was my turn to be confused.

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re going to England for a vacation. I just happen to have been invited to attend the Sovereign’s Parade at Sandhurst, you know - the Passing Out Parade, as a guest of honour, so I need a staff officer to come with me.”

I stared at him like the idiot now, and this caused the others to have a laugh at my expense.

“Monique, we’re going to England, and you’re coming too, courtesy of the US Air Force.”

“But?”

“We’re flying out a week before the event, as I understand you may wish to attend the Commissioning Ball, so will need to buy a new gown, as you only own a meagre fifty already. We have been given the use of a house in Surrey, which is the property of the US Government, and you will please stay with us, so you can act as a guide for Stacey and John as they look round your home town.”

I smiled.

“Home town?” asked John.

“London,” I said. “Thank you General. I would be honoured to be your staff officer.”

“You got your sexy uniform, girl,” he said with a twinkle.

“Yes sir, thank you sir,” I said, and saluted him.
 
 
Chapter 24
 
 
The US Air Force Boeing 747-400 landed at RAF Mildenhall. The passengers offloaded onto British soil, but still within US Air Force controlled property. The Customs and Immigration controls were a mere formality, but I was back in England. This time on a US Passport, dressed as an officer in the US Air Force. It was a nice change to be somewhere other than Heathrow.

The General had arranged a house to be made available for his family and staff officer. The house was in Woking in Surrey and was owned by the US Government, but managed by the US Embassy in London. I had not told Alex about my current status, as I planned to surprise him.

Howard had quite a number of meetings to attend, so I earned my pay. He needed a driver and so, for the first time, legally at any rate, I drove the Jaguar with US Military diplomatic plates wherever he wanted to go. I sat either next to him or behind him at all meetings, and at one, where the French were being asked to assist in the current Iraq situation, I was able to translate as we went, even though his French was quite good, he was not able to follow some of the rapid speech.

I had a dress uniform complete with lanyards and other trappings that made me very smart. Howard was quite funny, as he told me that I was able to distract the other members of meetings, by just being there.

In the week before the parade, there was a conference for senior NATO intelligence officers at the Camberley Staff College, within the campus of Sandhurst Royal Military Academy. I found myself, in uniform, in close proximity to where Alex was, and kept an eagle eye out for him.

I called Eileen Drummond and found out that they were all coming to the parade. They had even managed to take the girls out of school for a few days. They were staying at a nearby hotel, so on the General’s insistence, I invited them for dinner on the evening before the parade. I said that I was over with my boss, who wanted to meet them, which they accepted. The Commissioning Ball was held on the evening after the Sovereign’s Parade, and Alex had invited me to that. Eileen was really sweet, as Alex had wanted his whole family to go to the ball, while his mother had suggested that it was far more appropriate that just his fiancée should attend.

I still hadn’t told him about my new job. But as I was following the General up the steps at the Old College, Sandhurst, three officer cadets were coming down and threw up very snappy salutes. The one in the middle was Alex.

As Howard took the salute, I was simply walking slightly behind him as he was in mid conversation with an RAF Air Commodore. Alex stared at me and almost fell over. I showed no reaction, but simply walked on as if I did not recognise him. I glanced back, to see that he was still staring after me, with his two colleagues calling for him to catch up.

I followed the General into the conference room and sat beside him. This particular session was on communications systems, and the importance of protecting the intelligence gatherers from outside hackers. The IT revolution was giving the powers that be enormous concerns, as money and goods could be electronically dispatched with no controls or government knowledge. Weapons and explosives were available and, for a price, could be bought and shipped anywhere in the world.

Having just completed a course on this subject, I had been brought along to give the General technical advice as the discussions progressed. My mobile phone started to vibrate silently, so I smiled, knowing who was trying to call me. It buzzed and buzzed, but eventually stopped. There was a break in proceedings for a few moments, so I rang Alex back.

“Hi Alex, it’s me.”

“Monique. Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to ring you.”

“I know, but I was unable to take the call. What’s the problem?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Washington, why?”

“The weirdest thing has just happened. I have just seen your twin. I passed a US General, and he had a female staff officer, a Lieutenant I think, who looked so like you, I thought it was you for a moment.”

“Did you ask her for a date?”

“Come on. She didn’t even look at me, and that was the strangest thing. If it had been you, you would have at least smiled at me.”

“Oh yeah, I’m really going to be in England dressed as an Air Force Officer.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past you,” he said, and I could tell he still wasn’t convinced. The General waved, we were going back in.

“Hey, I have to go, I have to go and catch my plane, so I’ll see you at the Ball.”

“I miss you so much. What are you wearing?”

“Right now, or at the ball?”

“Either.”

“I have a long white dress, and I wanted to wear your tartan sash. Look, I really have to go. I love you.”

“I love you too. Ring me when you land.”

We rang off and I sat down at the General’s right hand, once more.

The conference finished at six pm. We were to be entertained in the Officers’ Mess, but I was a little early. Howard was having a private drink with the Commandant, so I was left to my own devices. I felt rather out of place, but there was nothing new there. I found the Mess, so had a look round, and noticed that I was one of a few women, the few others were all British army officers in any case. I looked very different in the air force blue. A rather lugubrious Coldstream Guards Captain came over to me and introduced himself.

“Hello, you must be the American General’s Staff Officer. I am Archie Baker-Miller.”

“Monique Bonnard, Lieutenant,” I said.

He shook my hand and pointed to my medals.

“They look very pretty, what were they for?” he asked.

“This one was for a counter terrorist operation I undertook in Europe, and the other one was for being wounded in the line of duty,” I said, putting on a slight New England accent. I smiled, if this job failed, I could always get a job as an actress.

“Really, how jolly interesting. Was that an active service operation or covert?”

“Very covert. I can’t talk about it, I’m afraid,” I said.

“Gosh, I take it you are in intelligence, along with your boss?”

“That’s right.”

“What part of the States are you from?”

“Recently, Maryland,” I said.

“How do you like England?”

“I love it, but then I have spent some time here over the years.”

“Really? What part?”

“London, mainly, but a few other places, Gloucester, Norfolk, Dorset, and some time in Scotland.”

“Have you been to Sandhurst before?”

“No, this is a first.”

“Ah, I shall have to show you round. There’s plenty of time before dinner. If you would like to, of course?”

“Sure, that would be swell, thanks,” I got a real kick out of being Miss America.

He took me out into the early evening sun and showed me Old College and then over to the New College. We went through the Officer Cadets’ area, while Archie explained all about the training programme.

“There is a Passing-out parade every now and again, called the Sovereign’s parade, and we have one next week. I understand that your General is a guest of honour for the parade?”

“That is correct. So I guess I’ll have a ringside seat.”

“Certainly, you’ll be next to the General, as his Staff Officer. I had to supervise the seating plans. I’ve been on the training staff for this lot, so you will be seeing the best of the best passing out,” he said, with a smile.

“I am sure looking forward to it,” I said.

“How long have you been in the service?”

“It’s a little tricky to calculate, as an Air Force Officer I have been seconded to other agencies, so a couple of years.”

“Gosh, it all sounds very interesting. What do you mean by, other agencies?”

“Intelligence agencies.”

“You mean the CIA?”

“Something like that.”

He led me round the campus and showed me all kinds of interesting things, but my favourite was Edward Bear, a fourteen-inch high, brown teddy bear who has served for almost the entire life of the present Academy. I was told he was enlisted as the mascot of the RMAS Parachuting Club in 1950 and proved instantly popular. The club was renamed the Edward Bear Club and it adopted an emblem of a teddy bear suspended from a parachute. Membership of the club was confined to Officer Cadets who completed the course that qualified them as army parachutists, so in order to qualify for membership, Edward Bear was given the honorary title of Officer Cadet (later raised to that of Senior Under Officer) and took part in all courses and airborne exercises in which club members took part.

Archie explained that the bear made his 400th parachute descent on 28th May 1971 using his own small silk parachute supplied by the RAF in 1961. The Camberley branch of Messrs Moss Bros. supplied him with a specially made camouflage pattern smock. Attached to this are the badges of various UK and allied Special Forces with whom he has jumped over the years, including, I noticed, the Americans.

We were standing at the top of the steps that the adjutant would ride up at the end of the parade. We looked across the parade square. Archie had to check on something, so I said I was happy to wait. It was a tranquil setting, so I was enjoying doing nothing for a while. I noticed a group of cadet making their way across the other side of the square, and one was Alex.

I rang his mobile number.

He answered.

“Hi.”

“Monique?”

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t landed already?”

“No. I’ve a confession to make.”

“What?”

“I can see you.”

“What?”

“I can see you,” I repeated.

He stopped dead, while his colleagues walked on. They then realised he was no longer with them, so they stopped and looked back at him. He was about eighty yards away, with his back to me.

One of his friends asked him what the matter was.

“Where the hell are you?” he asked.

“Well, if you turn round, you’ll see that incredibly attractive US Air Force Lieutenant. Well, she has the hots for you.”

He turned very slowly and saw me. I waved.

“Surprise!” I said.

I watched as his hand holding the phone fell away from his ear, his mouth opened and he just stared at me. I switched off my phone, as at that moment, Archie returned.

“Right, sorry to keep you,” he said, and we went down the steps together, towards the incredulous Alex and his friends.

We walked straight past the four immobile cadets, with Alex still holding the dead phone in his hand. They remembered to salute and, being the senior officer, Archie returned it.

“Evening chaps. What are you hanging about here for?” he said to them.

“On our way back for supper, sir,” said one.

Alex was gaping at me, so I blew him a kiss.

“Well, get on with you. Drummond, have you never seen an American officer before?”

“Not one quite like this, sir,” he managed to say.

“I am sorry Lieutenant, these chaps are suppose to be the leaders of tomorrow’s army. Looking at them, you’d hardly think they could lead themselves out of a paper bag.”

“It’s is quite all right, they look fine to me,” I said, accentuating the drawl somewhat.

“Right. Carry on, you chaps. We have to get back for dinner,” Archie said, and led me back to the Mess. It was a pleasant evening, and I found the British officers wonderful hosts, if a little pompous. When the General and I finally left, there were about fifty text messages on my phone from a very confused and impatient Alex.

I called him from the car, when we were on our way to Woking.

“Hi Sweetie.”

“Monique. What the fuck is going on?” he said, and I grinned.

“It’s a long story, and I haven’t got time just now.”

“You drive me nuts. How the hell do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Manage to do the impossible. Last year, you were off to some job in America. Then you were a student. And now you are a US Air Force Officer. What are you really? Some shape changing alien?”

“Close. I went to the States to work for the Company, and this little job is just part of that.”

“So, you aren’t really an officer?”

“I am.”

“I’m confused.”

“Look, I have to go to another meeting tomorrow, and then I’ll be free at the weekend. Will you be able to meet me?”

“I doubt it, but I’ll try.”

“I still love you,” I said.

“I love you too, but why can’t you be like other girls?”

“Because I’m me. And you always said you loved me because I was different.”

“That’s true. But sometimes I wish you were a little more un-different.”

“Sorry lover, you got me, and you have to take every part of me, including the different bit.”

He laughed.

“Ring me tomorrow.” I said, and switched off the phone.
 
 
Chapter 25
 
 
The meeting on the next day was in London, at the Ministry of Defence. The security was tight, as the agenda related to anti-terrorism and the measures that we, the US and British, could take to prevent it. The British had been fighting Irish Terrorism for years, so they were very experienced at seeking the hidden army that lay lurking pretending to be ordinary people.

There was a presentation by a senior SAS officer, and then it was the turn of the Scotland Yard Anti-Terrorist Branch Commander to give some insight of the incredibly difficult task that the authorities now faced. The Americans had little experience but had plenty of ideas, so after lunch, a joint presentation by two intelligence specialists, one American and the other British, into how best to utilise IT solutions in the war against terrorism.

This was my field, so the General made it plain he wanted some intelligent questions and observations from me, to justify his belief that his department was a key player in this area.

Fortunately, the lecturers were not experts in IT, but working from a script which had been prepared for them. The man who prepared some of the technical material was seated at the back, so on my seventh technical question, he was brought forward to answer it.

I displayed a sound level of knowledge, and was able to impress the General that not only that I knew what I was talking about, but also that as his staff officer, his department was up with and, at times, ahead of the game.

Indeed, at the tea at the end of the day, the technical expert sought me out, and we had an in depth discussion on how best to utilise the Internet and various financial program systems to track down terrorist and criminal money transactions, and thereby tracking the terrorists.

I overheard one of the British Security men saying to my General, “Typical of you Americans, you bring along a blonde, who not only displays a greater knowledge than the specialists, but manages to look incredibly sexy while she does it.”

I grinned and drank my tea, feeling I had earned my place on the trip.

As I drove the Jaguar back to Woking, Howard sat up front with me.

“I was very proud of you today, you impressed a lot of important people,” he said.

“You wanted intelligent questions, I tried my best,” I replied.

“You did well. I had the head of the British Secret Service asking about you. I didn’t tell him you should really be working for him,” he said, and chuckled.

“I still feel a fraud. I’m wearing a uniform I don’t feel entitled to, I have a name I wasn’t born with, and my whole life is based on a whim. It’s as if I’m playing a role, which has turned into reality, but I don’t know how to stop,” I said.

Howard looked at me. Before the trip, I had told him everything, so he had signed out the Zurich file to see for himself. He told me never to tell anyone about my past and together we built a new past for me, including family snaps and school reports, with photographs.

“Do you want it to stop?”

I shook my head.

“Not really, but I keep thinking a grown-up will come in and catch me red-handed.”

He laughed.

“No, you’re now one of the grown-ups, and you play the game as well as, if not better than the rest. Monique, you’re a natural. You can take a role and expand it to such a level of reality, that it becomes infinitely believable. I have one reservation.”

“Oh?”

“Your young man. Alex.”

“What about him?”

“Is it wise?”

“Probably not. But then I reserve the right to be an idiot at least once in my life.”

He smiled. “I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

“That’s good, because neither do I.”

“Can I ask you one favour?”

“Of course.”

“I know you love him, and you plan on getting married. But can you both wait a few years.”

“Why?”

“You’re both so young, and if he’s going off to be a soldier, I’d hate for you to become a widow.”

“So would I. But believe it or not I want him and want to be with him.”

“I don’t argue with that, but in reality, you’ll both be apart for the next few years. So, set a date in, say, three years. You’ll both be very young still, and maybe, all being well, your feelings for each other will be even stronger because of the delay.”

I drove in silence for a moment.

“If he agrees, I don’t have a problem with that. I do accept that our different careers will keep us apart,” I said.

“Good girl. I wish all young people would be as sensible as you.”

He changed the subject, and we chatted about a variety of subjects until we arrived at our temporary home.
 

*          *          *
 
The next day was Saturday and Stacey had persuaded me to show her London. Of course John had to come too, so we set off at ten o’clock in the morning, after I had had my run.

We took the train up into town, and we had just arrived at Oxford Circus when my mobile rang.

It was Alex.

“Hi.”

“Monique. Where are you?”

“Oxford Circus. Where are you?”

“I’m just leaving Sandhurst. Can I meet you for lunch somewhere?”

“Sure, why don’t we meet at Hamley’s Toy store in about an hour, and find somewhere to eat after that.”

“I’ll see you there. Why the toy store?”

“Because I have yet to grow up and I love the place,” I said. He laughed and hung up on me.

It was a great day. For a start, the sun was out and it didn’t rain, always a bonus in the UK. Stacey was dying to meet Alex, so when we all met up, she whispered to me, “I can see why you kept faithful, he’s gorgeous.”

I bought some more clothes and so did Stacey, much to John’s disgust.

“Why you need any more clothes, it beats me,” said my beloved. “This girl has more clothes than anyone I know.”

“Stacey has more than me,” I said, and she grinned.

John found some computer games he was after, but thought they were really expensive compared to the States.

“Welcome to Britain, where the government taxes the hell out of everything,” I said.

In the afternoon, I took them to the Tower of London, where they saw the Tower Bridge open for a Russian tall ship as it sailed up the Thames.

Alex was pleasantly surprised to see me in jeans and a tee shirt. I appeared the ordinary girl next-door and clung to him every moment I could. We went to the Dickens Pub on the dockside near the Tower Bridge. It was a really old pub that sold real ale, and even had sawdust on the floor.

I bought John his first pint of real ale, and he actually liked it. I didn’t, but didn’t say so, but he had not really become addicted to Budweiser, fortunately.

We took in a show and rolled in to Woking station at about eleven thirty. I then realised we still had Alex in tow.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m staying with you,” he said.

“Who says?” I asked, aware that as a guest in the Munroe’s home, this was not on.

“I says,” said Stacey.

“Huh?”

“Don’t sound a dumb American Blonde. I told Daddy that Alex was here, so he told me to ask him to stay.”

I stared at her.

“What?”

“Oh come on. Monique, you’ve been pining for him for weeks. I did you a favour, after all you are engaged, aren’t you?”

I smiled.

“I guess.” I said.

“Jeez girl, you are so slow,” she said, and giggled.

We trooped back to the house, where Howard greeted Alex as soon as he walked in the door.

“Ah, you must be Alex. I’m Stacey’s Dad.”

“How do you do, sir,” said Alex, a true product of the British Public School system.

“Glad that you could make it. My staff officer has been virtually useless as her fiancé has been otherwise engaged up until now. See you sort her out, there’s a good chap. Well, I shall bid you all a good night,” Howard went off to bed, so Stacey grinned at us.

Sufficient to say, Alex and I slipped off to bed very soon afterwards, but very little sleeping was done that night.

Stacey woke us at noon, so we appeared at half past, rather sheepish, but very content.
 

*          *          *
 
The weekend passed too quickly, as Alex was back for his final week. Actually, he had another six months as a commissioned officer before joining his regiment. But, this was his last week as an officer cadet.

There were two official meetings for the General, so I drove Howard to both. They were concerned with security and intelligence handling. There were so many agencies dealing with both fields, in that there was a fear that central coordination and control would be poor, and that vital mistakes would be the consequence, with important intelligence lost forever.

The desire was to attempt some form of unification and pooling of resources, so that all the NATO and other Western allies were all in tune. But, as ever, no one was willing to hand over control of national intelligence or security to anyone else, least of all the Americans. So, these meetings were to attempt to build an international coordination group, that would act as a clearing house for policy and intelligence that was deemed appropriate for circulation to all members of the group.

I sat at the back and smiled.

These men waffled, using all kinds of pompous words, yet all were unable to give an inch, their respective governments wanted to keep national interests under their own control, and no one wanted the Americans getting a look-in.

Howard, one of the few non-political appointees to the meeting, was getting more and more irate. I drew him a little cartoon, with all the world leaders at the time of the Second World War, all saying the same things, with the caption…. “They call it progress. What happens when politicians try to do anything important.”

I passed him the piece of paper, just as he was about to lose his temper.

He opened it, looked at it and smiled. He carefully folded it up and put it in his pocket. He relaxed and looked back at me, nodding.

When he spoke, he was calm, and very serious.

“Gentlemen. We can sit here and talk ourselves into the ground. The reality is simple, whilst we are nationalistically selfish, the terrorist will win. He knows no boundaries, he knows no barriers, as he recognises no authority. Our little differences are his strongest weapon against us, and until we learn to be like him, we will lose.

“So, I’m leaving. You represent your respective governments and each has your own agenda. A very wise colleague of mind reminds me that the major nations of this world formed the Treaty of Versailles, which failed to protect the world against Hitler. The same nations formed the UN, and still we fail. The day of the politician is near the end.

“My agenda is to fight and beat the terrorist, and if I can’t do it with your help, then I must do it alone. Good day.”

With that I stood and held his hat and brief case. He turned, took his hat, and I followed him out of the meeting. There were many stunned expressions looking after us.

He was silent as he walked very quickly out of the building, so I struggled to keep up. I unlocked the car and he sat in the front passenger seat.

“Thank you, my dear. I almost lost my temper back there. You’re a very fine artist, if I may say so.”

“Thank you sir,” I said.

“Why, oh why are we so short sighted and petty minded?”

“That’s men for you,” I said, and he chuckled.

“You’re probably right. Give power over to women and they’d sort them all out.”

“Not necessarily, sir, but at least the curtains would match the carpets,” I said, and he burst out laughing.
 
 
Extra - Chapter 26
 
 
The Passing-out parade and Commissioning Ball were two of the most enjoyable events of my life.

The Drummonds and the Munroes got together as planned, and hit it off brilliantly. I felt really weird, as it was almost as if the Drummonds were my parents, for they treated me like a daughter in any case. What was even weirder was that Alex wasn’t able to be there, so I was the only common denominator.

However, initially I had some explaining to do, as the last they heard I was a student. Alex had tried to be as vague as he could, but unfortunately was not sure how much to tell them. Our plan was to take them out to a restaurant, but the General and I were delayed at a meeting, and so the plan changed to meeting for a drink at the Woking address, and then move on to the restaurant.

They had already arrived when we arrived, so I was driving the general and I was still in uniform.

We walked into the house to find Marianne and Stacey entertaining the Drummonds in the drawing room. All I had said was that my boss had been invited to the passing out parade, but I had not thought to mention he was an American Air Force General.

Marianne and Stacey, knowing how terrible I was at telling anyone about what I did had said nothing, except that I worked for Howard, and that we were over for various meetings in relation to defence and security matters.

I had forgotten all about the dinner arrangements, and Howard was still smarting over the stupidity of politicians. We walked in, still in mid discussion, so I was suddenly faced with Andrew and Eileen Drummond looking aghast at me in my uniform.

“Monique?” said Eileen, very surprised.

“Hi, Eileen. Oh shit. I never told you did I?” I said, as it dawned on me by seeing their expressions

“No. You didn’t,” said a smiling Andy. “But then you have this remarkable gift of surprising me every time we meet. Just who are you Monique?”

I introduced him the Howard, and then I tried to explain.

“I suppose I ought to tell you the truth. Or some of it at least,” I said, glancing at Howard.

“I was recruited by an American Intelligence agency whilst involved in a complicated affair in Switzerland. It was there that Alex and I met, where actually, Alex was a great help and does know the truth.

“I came back to the UK, but then was offered a permanent position with the U.S. Government. I really am a Lieutenant and am an Intelligence Officer in the U.S. Air Force. My brief time at University was actually partly work and partly genuine. As it happens I did get my diploma, while at the same time was operating in the field gathering intelligence to combat a potential terrorist threat.

“More than that I can’t really talk about, so you see why I was restricted over what I could tell you,” I said, feeling really bad.

“You look jolly smart. Will you be wearing that to the parade?” asked Eileen.

“Yes, I’m the General’s Staff officer, so I have to be in uniform.”

Andy was grinning, so he walked over and gave me a big kiss.

“You look fabulous. I’m very envious of my son. What are the medals for?” he asked.

I looked at Howard.

“She was shot by a terrorist in Switzerland. She also managed to thwart a terrorist plot to launch a major offensive against our financial institutions. She is a very courageous and bright girl, and unfortunately, she knows it,” said my boss, the bastard.

“Oh my God. You were shot? Was Alex there?” Eileen asked.

“No. He was looking after my colleague who had been blown up by a bomb. He was really brilliant, and I would never have put him in danger,” I said.

“What is said here must never go outside these walls,” said Howard. There followed a general chat, and things became less tense.

I excused myself and went and dressed like a normal human. I had bought a really pretty maroon dress, so it was nice to get out of uniform. I liked the uniform, but I also liked wearing really pretty clothes. When I came down again, Andy and Howard were deep in conversation as were Marianne and Eileen. Stacey came over and sat beside me.

“It’s okay, Mom has been telling her how wonderful you are, and Eileen told Mom how wonderful you are. It’s like the Monique Bonnard appreciation society,” she said with a chuckle.

“I completely forgot I’d not told them what I was doing. It’s so embarrassing,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it. Mind you, if Alex ever dumps you, I reckon his dad fancies you.”

“Stacey! That’s an awful thing to say.”

“Maybe, but true. I think my Dad has the hots for you as well.”

“Stacey!”

She dissolved into giggles, so Howard looked at us.

“Ah, you look stunning as always, Monique. I suppose I should go and change too.”

“Told you,” said Stacey, and was off again.

We eventually went out and had a super meal. I sat between Andy and Howard, and they both flirted with me outrageously. Their wives were watching and kept shaking their heads and laughing at the pair of them. John was very quiet, but Eileen managed to get him to talk about all kinds of things by the end of the evening.

We said goodbyes and Howard remarked that it was always good to meet decent folk.

I was just disappointed that Alex had not been able to be there.

There was a reception for the guests of honour prior to the Sovereign’s Parade. As Staff officer to the General, I was invited, as was Marianne, Stacey, and John, as his family.

I was in my smartest uniform, with included silver cord aiguillettes. I wore medals as opposed to medal ribbons, so was very conscious of wearing the wrong coloured uniform. Everyone else was in army green, or black, red or camouflage. There were hats and tartans, and all sorts of variations, but U.S. Air Force blue was not so common.

However, it did not seem to bother the British officers, who managed to annex me from my General, and attempted to ply me with so many drinks as to render me legless had I not been on the ball.

I was introduced to the Commandant, a Brigadier who had so many medals I lost count. He monopolised me for quite a substantial time, but I could tell by the grins of the other officers that he was not adverse to a pretty face.

We had good seats for the parade and I waved at the Drummonds in the distance. Alex looked very smart and I was very proud of him, as he managed to work for his commission, whereas I just got some help. As they marched past for the final salute he was staring directly at me, so I blew him a kiss.
 

*          *          *
 
We met up afterwards, and he was very pleased that it was all over. I had to face the reality that he was about to start another six months course before he joined his regiment. Also, I was about to go and take up my post in trying to isolate and expose a traitor.

I returned and got ready for the evening ball, and opened a box which Andy Drummond had left for me. It was a sash in Alex’s tartan, and Marianne helped to attach it to my dress. Stacey was really jealous but knew her time would come.

Howard saw me when I came down.

“Lieutenant, now I know why you’re working for me,” he said, with a grin, “You look wonderful. He’s a very lucky guy.”

“He sure is,” said Marianne.

My taxi arrived, and I felt like Cinderella going off to the ball.
 

*          *          *
 
We met as arranged and he looked very smart in his kilt. He was now a Second Lieutenant in the Black Watch, so my sash was in the same tartan. As we entered the huge ballroom, I was amazed at the riot of colour in the clothing. And, for a change, it was mostly the males. The women’s dresses were very elegant and wonderful, but it was the variance of formal mess dress-uniforms the officers wore that stood out most.

I was introduced to most of his colleagues, and a few recognised me as the General’s staff officer. I just adored the Scottish dances and felt as if I had gone back in a time warp. I felt wonderful. The young male officers flirted dreadfully, even though they all had partners, but I just adored it.

I was standing watching a dance, waiting for Alex who had gone to the loo, when the Commandant approached me.

“Good gracious, I almost didn’t recognise you, my dear. May I say you look lovely in uniform, but you look absolutely stunning like this?” he said.

“Why, thank you sir, you are too kind,” I said, laying on the American accent rather thickly.

“I saw you dancing with young Drummond, is he your escort this evening?”

“Yes, Brigadier. We’re engaged.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Goodness, that was quick.”

I smiled.

“We met quite a long time ago, before he joined the army.”

“That’s a relief. Bit of good planning to get over here courtesy of Uncle Sam, what?”

I smiled again. “It sure was. That’s what comes of having a good boss.”

Alex returned and the Commandant shook his hand.

“Congratulations, my boy. Though I can see you two are going to have some difficulties getting time together.”

“That’s true sir, but I’ve found that Lieutenant Bonnard manages to surprise me with what she manages to achieve.”

“Quite so,” said the Commandant, and he gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, I wish you both all the best. By God, you’ll need it,” he said, and wandered off.

The ball ended, as do all good things. Alex and I felt the anti-climax harder than many, I think, because it meant the end of what we had and the start of the unknown. Rightly and properly, Alex was spending his leave with his family in Scotland, while I had a few days left before heading west and to my assignment.

The cool night air chilled us slightly as we stood on the steps overlooking the now deserted parade-ground.

“So, what now?” he asked.

I shrugged, feeling rather small and vulnerable.

“Do you ever want to stop the world and get off?” he asked.

“Often,” I admitted.

“It’s silly, but now I’ve got the damn commission, I’m not sure I want it. I’d rather just follow you and be there for you when you come home in the evening.”

“No you don’t. That would be simply awful, never knowing whether I’m okay, or even if I’m coming home. You’d go spare.”

He chuckled. “Okay, maybe you’re right, but I feel if I let you go, I may never see you again.”

I shared that view, as there were so many different ways he could be killed.

“We could both of us run away and open a coffee shop somewhere. That would be fun,” I suggested.

“No, it wouldn’t,” he said with a smile. “We’d be crap at running a coffee shop. How about a pub?”

“No way, I’d end up slaving in the kitchen and you’d become an alcoholic landlord. Besides, that’s no life for the kids,” I said.

“What kids?”

“At least two. I was as good as an only child, for my sister was always away; so I never want to do that to a child of mine.”

“You’re not trying to tell me something, are you?”

“No, I’m not. Would you mind if I was?”

“No, not really. It’d fuck up our lives for a bit, but we’d manage.”

“Alex, if anything happens to me, will you make sure you find someone else?”

“Likewise, my love. You’re too lovely to go through life on your own.”

We simply hugged, neither wanting to talk much, each suffering the pain of our impending separation.

However, separate we did, promising to keep in touch as often as our respective lives permitted. I was exceptionally melancholy as I returned to the house in Woking in the early hours. The house was almost in complete darkness, so I crept through the hall, making for the stairs.

“Ah, how was it?” asked Howard, from his armchair in the sitting room. A single table lamp was on, and he had a file on his knee.

“Still up, sir?” I asked.

“I couldn’t sleep. I received some news that meant I’ve been in contact with our people back home. There have been some developments.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing you need know about at this hour. You go get some sleep, you’ll need it.”

He must have sensed something from my demeanour, for he rose from his chair and came over to me, resting a friendly hand on my shoulder.

“You see, being in love adds some dreadful complications,” he said.

“I know, but being alone is worse. I spend most of my formative years on my own, and I never want to be alone again. It’s enough knowing he’s there for me, even if I don’t know where there is.”

“Well, far be it for me to tell you how to live your life,” he said.

“I know, having a family must add to your pressures,” I said, making him laugh.

“Okay, point taken, Monique. But I wasn’t in this game when we got married, as I was just a regular Air Force officer to start with.”

“How did you get into this game?” I asked.

“Look, it’s late; don’t you think you should go to bed?”

“I’m still on a high, I won’t sleep for ages. Besides, I’m interested, but if you have to go to bed, I won’t bother you.”

He chuckled.

“I have another call due in a few minutes, so if you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Okay, I got into this game by accident, I guess, being at the right place at the right time. I was on the old 707 AWACs at the height of the cold war. With the advances in satellite intelligence, I found myself one of the few officers able to accurately read the maps and photographs. The intelligence we gained from over enemy territory was crucial for NATO deployments in Europe. It was a short step deeper into intelligence, and so I made a career decision.”

“So, not like James Bond, eh?” I said.

“Nothing so dramatic, I’ve never been a special operative, just one of the back-room boys.”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to be a field agent?”

“Not really, I suppose coming at it from the direction I did made it unrealistic to go into the field, whereas you started in the field, so to speak.”

“Do you miss flying?” I asked, as he had been a pilot at an earlier stage in his career.

“Sometimes, but it’s a young guy’s game.”

“Or a girl’s game,” I said.

“Sure, if they make the grade, why not?”

“What qualities do they look for when recruiting people for different jobs?” I asked.

“Like most occupations, we take qualified graduates or seasoned and experienced service personnel but it depends on the type of job you’re recruiting for. Over the years, I’ve come to realise that it isn’t the degree, the gender, the colour of skin, the age or the strength that determines someone’s value, but their determination to succeed and their natural or trained skills and intelligence. Take you, for example. You were flung into a situation beyond your control and outside your experience. With all the odds against you, you not only managed to evade the bad guys, but you also saw the job through to a satisfactory end, while battling personal problems that would have made any lesser person to give up without a fight. You persuaded those whose job it is to identify and recruit effective personnel that you’ve qualities that we can use.

“The intelligence business got a bad name after Vietnam, and the CIA in particular is often seen as dubious at best and downright corrupt at worst. A few corrupt or overzealous individuals have made it difficult for the rest of us. Likewise, bad political decisions and foolhardy ventures have brought in a series of measures and countermeasures designed to ensure that these mistakes will be less likely in future. The military didn’t escape the bad name, but with the Soviets and Chinese breathing heavy, the importance of obtaining good, accurate and relevant intelligence seemed to rise above the political objections.”

“Can I ask you a more personal question?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“I’ve been wondering about some stuff,” I said, trying to find the words.

“Stuff?”

“Yup, you see, I don’t really fit any of the usual categories, like a graduate or an ex-marine. I’m not even American, so I’ve been wondering, why me?”

“Why you, what?”

“I’m far younger than anyone else I’ve met in the same line of work, so far. Just why was I given a job? I mean, with all the baggage I’ve brought with me, what’s my special thing?”

Howard was sitting on the arm of the sofa while I stood nearby. He nodded towards the chair next to me.

“Sit down, Monique, I was wondering when you’d start asking this type of question.”

I sat; aware I was still wearing my ball gown. I fleetingly thought of Alex, so I experienced some conflicting emotions.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine, I suppose it’s better when I don’t think about stuff too deeply.”

He chuckled.

“Okay, jokes aside, you’ve brought up the subject, so it’s only right I give you why I believe you were taken on. Firstly, you’re absolutely right, as you certainly don’t fit the usual criteria for an agency recruit. But then, you have to look at things from a different perspective. When we recruit graduates or service personnel, we are seeking specialists to undertake specific tasks. Some are analysts, some programmers, some are investigators, others have special interrogating and interviewing skills, or specialist in weapons and tactics. There are a myriad of skills, and many academic and specialist courses in colleges and military training units that prepare people to fit in the holes we need.

“The skills we can’t get from any college, university or even from military theorists are many of those skills you displayed for real in Switzerland. Whilst under severe pressure, you showed us the ability to think rationally and intuitively, and then to act rapidly and decisively. You used lethal force seemingly without hesitation, and certainly without dwelling on the potential emotional aspect of taking a life,” he said.

“I didn’t have much choice,” I said, rather defensively.

“Granted, but think about it for a moment. You witnessed your father murdered by a corrupt senior policeman. You were framed for that murder and still managed to thwart the conspirators who had not insignificant experience in criminal or even terrorist activity. You’ve put up with severe personal issues, and yet never lost sight of your objectives. Now, those qualities are priceless in our business, so Chris was perfectly right to consider you. When you first intimated that you might be willing to work for Uncle Sam, even though it was in partial jest, you were looked at very closely, so when you stated you would be interested, a full background check was undertaken. As I understand it, you were cleared and then the offer was made.

“Believe it or not, you’re a very special girl,” he said.

“I still feel a fraud,” I admitted.

He smiled. “Hell, girl, I wear three stars on each shoulder and I feel a fraud every day. But I accept my responsibility and just get on with what I know I can do. So, I suggest you don’t think too deeply about why you were hired and concentrate on the job in hand.”

He’d given me something to think about, so I smiled and stood up.

“Thanks for that. I think I’ll go to bed now,” I said, kissed his cheek and went up to my room. I was slightly melancholy as I took off my ball gown, because I didn’t know when I’d see Alex again. As I wiped off my make up, staring at my face devoid of camouflage, I tried to see who I really was.

I was a little confused, because the me inside wasn’t the same as the person that Howard described. Did I really want this kind of life?

What alternatives were there?

I’d sort of made my bed, now I had to lie in it. No one knew the future, but in a funny sort of way, I liked that. I also felt a tremor of excitement as I tried to imagine the sort of things I’d be doing.

I’d answered my own question.

I did want this life. I slipped beneath the covers and lay back, smiling at what I’d become. I slept like a log.

---

 
To Be Continued???