"Kiss it and be mine."
Anwar Anwar-Sadat hesitated. But only for a moment. The stiletto heel returned into his neck vertebrae, and he planted his dry lips to the black vinyl. A peck. He hoped there were no hidden cameras.
The heel came off his neck.
With a tug of her leash, Mistress Kali brought the fisheries minister closer. They faced one another, two dogs at the heel of their mistress.
"This one," she said, giving the leash a headjerking tug, "is ambitious. He seeks to be prime minister. He believes that he can accomplish this by strutting his balls on the global stage and facing down the United States while blaming Quebec for the conflict we engineered."
"Is this true? Is this your plan?" Anwar-Sadat demanded.
"It would have worked, but someone sunk my sub," Gilbert Houghton said dolefully.
"It is a very intriguing plan," Anwar Anwar-Sadat admitted.
"Thank you," said Gilbert Houghton. "But I must kindly ask you to stay away from my mistress."
"She is my mistress."
"You think a slavish peck on her boot will make her yours? I have tasted her lash. I have licked her in places you will never see. Have you?"
"I hope not to," Anwar Anwar-Sadat said truthfully.
And he felt the boot heel press into his neck again.
"Now, this one," Mistress Kali said, "seeks global power." Her voice dripped with scorn and contempt. "He has failed to bring the world into his orbit, so now he seeks control of the seas as a way to control nations."
"It was your idea," Anwar-Sadat reminded. "This control of the sea."
"Interesting concept," said Gilbert Houghton.
"I have not yet begun."
Mistress Kali interrupted. "Both schemes are mine. Now they are one. You have both worked my will in the world. Now you will work together."
"I will consider this," said Anwar Anwar-Sadat. "Now, about our dinner engagement..."
"I will dine upon the hams of your rump if you fail to achieve my goals," Mistress Kali spit.
"What exactly are your goals?" Anwar Anwar-Sadat asked.
"To plunge the world into the Red Abyss."
"I am not familiar with the Red Abyss, is it near the Black Hole of Calcutta?"
The answer never came. There came a sound like shattering glass, followed by the gritty settling of a particles.
It froze time. Anwar Anwar-Sadat started to look up, but his gaze never reached his mistress's masked face. With a savage gesture she kicked Anwar-Sadat and the fisheries minister aside and stepped past them, snarling, "Avert your eyes, supplicants."
Like a black snake uncoiling, her whip slithered to the floor. She snapped it up and demanded in a harsh, shrill voice, "Who is this who invades my domain?"
A squeaky voice returned, "Who is this who demands such answers of us?"
"I am Mistress Kali."
"If you are Mistress Kali," returned the squeaky voice, "then you will recognize my companion, who is sometimes called Shiva the Destroyer."
Hearing that interesting comment, Anwar Anwar-Sadat couldn't help but peek. He turned his head.
Chapter 35
Lieutenant Sandy Heckman had interdiction patrol. They were calling her the heroine of the Battle of Sable Island Banks. There was talk of a promotion.
Now she was in the waters west of the Grand Banks' infamous Nose trying to protect U.S. fishermen as they plundered cod from Canadian waters.
Not that there would be any stopping them.
It would have been simple in the past. Show up in force and seize their vessels. But these fishermen had tasted combat. They had defeated the Canadian Coast Guard. They would not be denied. They wanted to fish, so the orders from Cape Cod were to let them fish. It was, politically speaking, a way to pressure Ottawa into capitulating.
Sandy didn't care about Ottawa. After the skirmish was over, there would be even less fish in the North Atlantic, pushing the stock-rebounding process further into the next century.
The trouble was, the U.S. fishing fleet was firing warning shots at its own Coast Guard.
Keeping a respectful distance, watching the sonar scope because there was nothing more constructive to do, Sandy spotted a familiar metallic underwater contact.
It was chasing a school of flatfish that looked like tilapia, one of the underutilized species that used to be by-catch but was reclassified as edible now.
"Helmsman, stay with this contact."
"Aye, sir."
The Cayuga moved smartly to a southwesterly heading.
Sandy jammed her pugnacious nose to the greenish scope. "It's got to be one of those damn torpedoes again. I want to see what it does and where it goes."
The Cayuga slammed through the heaving swells like a flashing white terrier.
Chapter 36
Remo Williams folded his arms as the Master of Sinanju asked the blond woman in the dominatrix rig if she recognized him.
"I do not," she said, continuing her advance. Snapping her whip back, she let fly.
The whip snaked up and out.
Remo read it coming. To his trained eyes, it wasn't even a blur, just a sluggish, uncoiling serpent of gleaming black leather. It snapped at a lock of his hair. Remo tilted his head. The lock escaped chopping.