The Hidden Kingdom

He lied for pleasure. And he was good at it. He was also arrogant about it. He couldn’t help it. He was so much smarter than anyone else. Thing were just easy for him but it was more than a game. It was power he had. Those he was leaving were so stupid he easily manipulate them. He had thought the EU would have given him a challenge but they were a disappointment. He had easily manipulated their political structures just as he had done everywhere else. He had wanted a challenge but they were biting at the bit and eating out of his hands like dogs.

Harris was a leopard mix. He was small for a leopard and most expected upon meeting him to be bigger, but being short in stature-wise he made up in smarts.

He pulled at the necktie and loosened it a bit. The stupid uniform he wore was too tight for his liking but it worked to fool the fools. Yes, he liked to lie and no one was wise to his agenda. It had always been this way too. It was too easy because the world was full of stupid f--- up people. Harris closed his eyes and leaned back into the conformable leather seat of the private C-20 jet as it sped it way east across the darkness below him that was the Mediterranean Sea.

He was the only passenger aboard the posh jet but it wasn’t so comforting at that minute. The ride was rough and bucking so he was tightly strapped in. He had hoped the ride would have been mild, but the weather was beyond his control. What he could control, he did. He padded his right hand on his personal suitcase to make sure it was still tucked safely away at his side.

He was disgusted by the morons around him.

"You know what I HATE!?” He thought to himself as he kept his eyes closed. “STUPID PEOPLE! Why are so many people so stupid!? And do you know what else I hate!? Stupid people who mispronounce words! I should kill them all! Every last F---ing, one of them!”

His annoyance grew as he heard the cabin door open and someone move back in an obvious attempt to converse with him again. He fainted like he was asleep until the last second and then opened his eyes looking up, expecting to see some condescending RAF sergeant hovering over him. To his surprise there was no one there, and then more to his surprise he saw that it was a RAF staff Sergeant, but he was a she.

She had perched herself on the armrest of the seat across from him. She was an attractive redhead partial-looks cat with liquid blue sapphire eyes, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that framed her face and flawless makeup. She had a slender muscular build with long legs and a tiger-striped tail of silky smooth fir. Her tail swung playfully on her seat as if she were stroking a crystal ball. She was barefooted too and had replaced the usual RAF uniform jacket with a small dark blue apron. Her perfect breasts swayed with the motion of the jet aircraft, threatening to break free of the little buttons on her shirt. She obviously had been chosen as a hostess for VIP flights because of the sum total of all her assets. The package was completed with her custom tailored uniform and hair most likely done professionally at a pricy salon, all courtesy of the RAF.

“Hello there. You’re not the officer I was expecting to come and try to bully me. I guess they thought beauty would be a more effective approach then, yes.”

She smiled back with her perfect white teeth. There was no sense of concern on her face that he expected to see. This made him very suspicious. He would teach her!

“How are things back here, Colonel?” she asked. The accent was uniquely regional to South America. It added to the package of charm.

“Rough.”

“Well, we will be in New Babylonia within a few hours. The pilot is going to take us up higher and bend a little to the south to pick our way through this storm.” She waggled her foot up and down with the rhythm of her swaying tail.

“No shoes?”

“I’m from the rice fields, sir. Didn’t even have shoes until I joined the Air Force where the government makes me wear them.” She laughed.

Harris raised an eyebrow of disbelief as the jet shook under a new serious of turbulent blast.

“OK, I am lying, Colonel. I like to kick them off when I’m flying. Easier on the feet and I can walk around better when there is turbulence. Can you imagine trying to walk around in heels during a storm like this?”

“Well then, I guess none of your passengers will complain about seeing you out of uniform tonight.” He smirked flirtatiously back at her. “You know what would be just perfect is if you would mix up a cocktail and put on Brahms ‘German Requiem’ or better yet, Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 in G minor and then remove anything else that you might feel restrictive. That is what I am in the mood for.”

She arose and smiled with her white, white teeth. “I am sure we have Mozart. I will put that on and bring you your drink.” The sound of her soft Hispanic enunciation purred through him. Music that Harris had memorized note for note began to flood through the cabin and he felt himself get excited. The redhead returned and kneeled down low beside him with two cocktails and a button undone on her blouse. “I’ll lock the door and turn down the lights while you drink up.”

With her back turned he deftly switched the glasses and drank from the one that she had placed furthest away from him. He was sure his glass was tainted with something; moreover he couldn’t be too careful. The cocktail tasted good. The redhead beauty, this plane, the music, the bribes, all of it was just the RAF’s last feeble attempt to get him to talk. Their problem was he could care less about their captive general. He was a hostage now and would be beheaded in two weeks. There was nothing they could do about it and Harris wasn’t going to help them one bit. It was all about showing who had power. And he had won it. Those @#%* EU officials didn’t have the balls to move into Asia without more info and beside that, the country was in one hell of a mess right now with the red-shirts, yellow-shirts, and Imperials fighting daily. No, the general was a dead man and there was no way of getting him back without Harris’ help. He smirked to himself. They had done all they could to keep him London, but he was too smart and too important for them to trick or trap. And so the irony now was that those who wanted to have his head were the ones paying for this very expensive first class ride back to his homeland. So they wanted to try one more time by sending in a bombshell. Well, he was going to have his way with this tasty looking cat. That would teach them what it meant to try to screw him. He planned to enjoy himself. And humble her too! The @#*-ing bitch; who did she think she was play with!

He unbuckled his seatbelt, then slipped off his pants and took the belt and rolled it around his fist, leaving the sharp brass buckle dangling free.

The redhead RAF staff Sergeant returned with her blouse now hanging open, her breast dancing behind the white bra. Harris stood to meet her and swung his fist. He was sure he struck like lightening. The buckle flashed by her head. He saw himself make contact and imagined seeing red blood flying from her skull. But strangely, that was the last thing he remembered.

He awoke in his seat with a wicked hangover just as the jet plane landed. He still had his senses about him and he looked to where his briefcase rested. He could see that the internal alarm hadn’t tripped. He stood after the forces of landing subsided and looked around as the jet taxied down the tarmac in the hot Persian sun. He noticed he had an empty bottle of Vodka in his hand. His body had a ting of soreness in all the right places and there were some crazy exotic images still floating around in his head. As he looked around he saw what looked like blood spatters on the walls in the opulent cabin and the once confident redhead was cowering in the back looking rather battered and bruised. He looked at the Vodka bottle in his hands again. He must have drunken himself under after he had finished with her. Sad really, it must have been quiet enjoyable, beating and raping her. But all he could remember was the spray of red.

The C-20 came to a stop and Harris quickly rearranged his uniform, smoothing it into place and grabbed his briefcase and moved to the door of the cabin. It was still locked. Opening it, he moved out into the little vestibule of the jet were there was a little kitchenette and the plane’s exit. The jet was coming to a stop and he heard the engines dying down. Not wanting to wait which may have caused some unneeded questions, he opened the exit. He felt nothing whatsoever for the sergeant he had raped. It was her fault anyway. But he didn’t currently want to deal with the pilot or the co-pilot. He was “scot free” back here in the Salam Parsa Empire and the EU could touch him. The vestibule flashed with light from the bright hot Persian sun. He was temporarily blinded but his eyes adjusted quick enough to see the landing ramp moving up to the plane. It wasn’t totally in place but it was close enough for him so he jumped and scurried down into the new morning, the past forgotten as he began to hum the first movement of Mozart’s Symphony No. 40.

Inside, Utah and Rick watched the Colonel walk swiftly across the cement tarmac from their pilots’ seat until he came to the building and entered into the opulent New Babylonia airport. Maria squeezed in behind wiping off the makeup she had used to look as if she were bruised. She did up her white blouse and sat on Rick’s armrest. What Harris had thought was blood had only been her hair. He had missed her totally and had fallen, pitching face first to the floor of the cabin under the influence of the drugs she had put in both glasses. You couldn’t be too careful.

“You think he fell for it?” Maria asked as she looked out the window.

“It looks like it.” Utah said as he looked back at her. “Remind me Maria to never fall in love with you.”

She smiled back and kicked him softly with her still bare foot. “It is just a part of the job. You guys get the message to Barett and Tsai Lee before we landed?”

“We go it sent, but there is no way to confirm that they got it.” Rick said, “They are on their own now.”

Dave Goes to Europe

I had some loose ideas about what Dave had been doing in England while Barett and Rick were in France and Utah was in some undisclosed location.  Upon Brett's request, I decided to write a serial story of Dave's accounts.  I hope you enjoy and feel free to leave any comments.

CHAPTER ONE: Arrival

From the M1 Dave spotted the expansive city of sheffield.  It was hard to miss.  With a population around 500,000, Sheffield stood among London as not only one of the largest cities in Britain, but of the whole of Europe.  Sheffield spread out around the convergence of five rivers.  Among these were the river Sheaf, from which Sheffield got its name, and the river Loxley, the family name of the legendary Robin Hood.  All this fresh water had a unique affect on the geography.  Despite being regarded as an industrial city, there were many trees.  The setting sun painted the green hills with hints of orange, red, and yellow.  The smoke belching from the center of town caught the rays of the sun as well, coloring them in varying hues of purple and orange.  The inner city sat within a shallow basin.  Upon a ring of hills were a number of homes either facing the city lights or overlooking the vast expanse of trees.

Having been let go from the Royal Army's training program, Dave had free reign to choose someplace to settle as long as it was in England and he could still be contacted.  The Yorkshire area afforded the best access and was an obvious choice.  Dave had considered the city of Leeds, but chose Sheffield instead mostly upon the few things he knew of the place even before coming to the island country of England.  Dave knew it was a steel and mining town, but that was common knowledge.  just recently he discovered that the city's reputation for steel went as far back as the middle ages.  Even back then the locals were known for crafting quality cutlery.  Later on, a method for bonding silver to copper had been developed and had since been regarded as Sheffield plate.  A statue composed of this metal stood within the downtown area.

However, steel was not the reason Dave selected this location.  It was Sheffield's culture that drew him there.  Despite the mines, foundries, factories, and warehouses Sheffield was known for art and music.  Sheffield had twice the artists and musicians per capita than pretty much any other English city.  Among those musicians were some of Dave's favorites.  It was the birthplace of synthpop, and although London was the point of genesis for so-called industrial rock, Sheffield had its own wave of angry, electronic music.  The list included not only the Human League and the Thompson Twins, but Clock DVA, Nitzer Ebb, Cabaret Voltaire, the list went on.  Primarily the local music had an electronic touch, highly danceable.  However, good ol' fashioned garage rock and indie was popular as well.

Dave led his Fiat off the motor way and into the city proper.  He had grown accustomed to driving on the opposite side for the most part.  Left and right turns were still foreign to him.  If it wasn't for the fact e was on the other side of the road he would likely have ran right into someone while taking a right hand turn.  Fortunately there were not many one way streets.  Out of habit or instinct Dave found his way into the shoddier part of town.  It seemed the city was in a state on rejuvenation.  Old structures were either being demolished or renovated.  He drove past the shiny and new buildings, past the buildings under construction, and into the heart of the city, the old factory district.  The amount of traffic had thinned progressively until Dave was alone on the road.  The streets and curb side were littered with trash and abandoned vehicles, many no more than the skeletal remains of their former selves.  The brick buildings were blackened from years of smog.

Just then a figure darted out into the road.  Dave engaged the brake, but still manage to hit the pedestrian.  It was a rat in the attire of the poor.  His street clothes were ragged and dirty.  He looked like someone allergic to water.  The rat braced himself against the hood, or bonnet, of the fiat.  Without looking at Dave for even a moment, he stumbled and limped off in a hurry.  He was soon followed by another figure, a red squirrel from the looks of him.  He crossed the road at a casual jog.  He soon caught up to the rat and commenced beating the poor fellow.  Dave pulled over.  He got out.  He crossed the road in pursuit of the rat and squirrel.