I watched Becky Pitt’s glistening, naked body sashay to the kitchenette of my suite in an upscale Japanese resort. She retrieved a Tupperware bowl of vegetable beef soup and placed it in the microwave. Something that felt so right couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d had affairs with married women before. That wasn’t new. Becky and I just finished having wild, sweaty kinky sex, and now, she was preparing soup for me, my favorite meal. Life couldn’t get any better than this. Considering the twisted circumstances of our affair, I should have expected things to get worse sooner than later.
Becky Pitt was a married woman. I could deal with that, but her husband, Paul Pitt, was my boss. On top of that, Paul and I worked for the CIA for over a decade. Screwing your boss’ wife was one thing, but if your boss was a spy, the idea was almost too idiotic to fathom. We made our living uncovering secrets and highly confidential information. If you install rotating blades on a toilet, though, it’s only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan.
Hooking up with Becky while I was undercover in the field was a bad idea, too. She was a world renowned romance novelist, so she always had an alibi to leave home for long periods of time.
“I’ve got another series of book signings scheduled out of town, honey,” she’d tell her husband.
This was my ninth month on a mission in
Tokyo. I was undercover as Luke Miller, a human
resource manger at Imagine Enterprises.
LME started to receive global attention two years ago when rumors leaked
about a groundbreaking biological cell phone project they were allegedly
working on. The project was so
hush-hush, and I wasn’t deep enough to gain any clout with the company to gain
access to privileged information. I even
considered and suggested a covert intel reconnaissance mission to break into a
couple of restricted areas in the , but Paul would not
authorize that kind of operation. He was
always very conservative-minded. Imagine
“Come to the table and have some soup, Victor,” Beck said.
I was not sure what was weirder, my soup fetish, or Becky’s quirk for eating nude. I did not ponder too long. I joined Becky at the table, so we could dine on soup in our birthday suits.
“How crazy am I?” I asked Becky.
“You’re not crazy. You’re my Vicky Bear.” An enticing grin spread across her face.
“I’ll be a dead Vicky Bear if Paul ever finds out about us.”
“He won’t. Don’t worry.”
In my mind, I cursed my animal magnetism. At the same time, I knew Becky’s luscious, curvy body and irresistibly cute, pouting face was no match for my weak will power. I was instantly aroused by her when we met in 1994 at a company potluck Independence Day barbeque. She came out the pool wearing a scanty two-piece bikini with pinstripes. I didn’t want Paul to catch me starring. The angel on my left should said, “She’s your boss’ wife Victor. She’s off limits.” The devil on my right shoulder said, “Fuck that, Vick. She’s giving you the bedroom eyes.” I was able to resist temptation for seven long, hard years.
That all changed in 2001. Paul was in
Afghanistan on a special mission
after 9/11. I was in the States on desk
duty recovering from a gunshot wound I suffered in Ireland. When Becky and I finally hooked up, it was
like a poorly scripted porno flick. She
called me over to her home in a quaint Virginia
suburb to fix her satellite dish. Let’s
just say she was very, very gracious to have her Sex and the City back. Since
then, we’ve been on a grand and dangerous charade. That made is so much hotter.
“Can you take me to the airport? My flight leaves in a couple hours,” Becky stated.
“Sure,” I said.
We got dressed, and I drove Becky to the airport. The hotel suite was just a place for my trysts with Becky. My official residence in
Tokyo was closer to the .
I drove to my high rise condo.
Something felt out of place when I walked inside. Spies like met get a sixth sense about things
like this. An intruder emerged behind
me. I spun around in one motion and
elbowed him in the Adam’s apple. The
masked man stumbled backwards and got tangled up in his own fiber wire. I pounced atop the masked intruder and jammed
my left forearm into his throat. I
un-holstered a .22 caliber pistol I kept strapped to my ankle under the right
pant leg of my khaki Dockers. I ripped
off his mask. Imagine Tower
I was shocked when I unmasked young Martin Blanks, a rookie in the CIA. I kept my gun pointed at his face, but loosened my strangle hold so he could talk to me.
“Tell me what the hell you’re doing here, Marty!” I demanded.
“Mr. Pitt sent me,” Marty admitted. “He knows about you and his wife. He promised me a promotion if I eliminated you.”
“Son of a bitch. He sent a rook to rub me out? What about my mission here?”
“He no longer thinks it’s a priority. I was supposed to burn this place down and make your death look like an accident. I know Mr. Pitt will be checking the Japanese news wires tomorrow. If he finds out I botched this up, I won’t have a job when I return to
“You are lucky I like ya, Marty. I’m going to help you out.”
“Come on, get up. We’re going for a ride.”
An hour later, Marty and I were in the office of Dr. Ann Ming. She worked in the coroner’s office and handled a lot of cases as one of the most reputable medical examiners in
Tokyo. We met three months ago at a sushi bar and
hit it off immediately. We hooked up
often of casual sex encounters whenever our schedules would allow it. She was really into role play.
“Long time no see, Luke Miller,” Ann said. “What brings you through my neck of the woods?”
“I will cut to the chase. My name is not Luke Miller. I’m Victor Anderson of the CIA,” I said as I flashed my CIA ID credentials. “I need a favor.”
“Wow. That’s quite a bombshell to drop on someone. I don’t know what to think,” Ann said.
“You’re not supposed to compromise your identity while in the field. What are you doing, Mr. Anderson?” Marty asked.
“You’ll learn soon when time is prime to break some of those rules you learned in the academy,” I told Marty. “Let’s not forget that our superior ordered you to kill me. I’m working on a solution.”
“I’m confused. Am I in some sort of trouble, or is this some new role you’re playing. If so, I’m turned on,” Ann commented.
“Kinky sex is not a crime,” I joked, “but I really need you to do me a huge favor.”
“What kind of favor?” Ann asked.
“I need to borrow an unclaimed and unidentified male corpse, on of those you usually ship off to medical schools as experimental cadavers,” I explained.
“Why? I don’t’ understand,” Ann said.
“This is urgent, Ann. I need to disappear. I’m going to torch a corpse. When it comes back across your table tomorrow, I need you to ID it as Luke Miller in your report. Can you handle that?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Ann was reluctant.
“This is a matter of national security,” I fibbed.
“All right, I’ll do it,” she finally agreed.
Marty helped me transport the corpse back to my condo. We snuck it into the building inside a large duffle bag. Marty and I dressed the corpse in one of my spare outfits. Then, I planted a wallet with my forged identification cards bearing the alias Luke Miller. I lit a candle and placed it precariously close to some draping curtains. Forty five minutes later, Marty and I stood outside and watched as the building evacuate when the fire alarm sounded.
“What are you going to do now?” Marty asked me.
“I don’t know, Marty. I’m dead.”