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 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...