Stockholm Syndrome
By Littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
A young man develops a severe case when he's taken hostage by a beautiful woman


It was an hour before dawn, and the sea was still pitch black. The freighter
was moving slowly, about six knots, and its faint glow, along with that from
the stars and the distant skyline of San Diego, provided the only sources of
light on this moonless night.

The small boat, its engines off, went unnoticed by any of the night watch on
the freighter as it pulled slowly and carefully alongside the much bigger
ship. A female figure, dressed in a black leather catsuit, stood up on the
small boat and made a powerful leap, her leather-gloved hands safely gripping
the bottom rung of a ladder that was hanging off the side of the freighter.
Using her upper-body strength, she pulled herself up, then began climbing
silently. At the top, she performed a front walkover to elegantly place her
booted feet on the deck. She immediately drew the crossbow that she had
strapped to her back, swiftly and expertly inserted a steel bolt, and crouched
down in the shadows, scanning the area cautiously. She then began making her
way towards the bridge.

The officer of the watch was the first to die. The woman silently opened the
door to the bridge and snuck up behind him. She executed a high front tuck
somersault, landing right on the unsuspecting male's shoulders. Before he
could even react, she gave a powerful twist with her hips, snapping his neck
between her formidable thighs with a sickening CRACK. She gracefully
backflipped off of him, preparing her crossbow as she flipped.

The harbor pilot, the only other man on the bridge at the time, whirled in
alarm. By the time he saw her, she had already landed neatly on her booted
feet and was pointing her crossbow at his head. His eyes widened both at that
and at how beautiful she was.

She had long silky jet-black hair, large brown eyes, and dark brown skin from
her Latina heritage. The skintight catsuit flattered all parts of her athletic
body - her long shapely legs, round and steel-hard dancer's ass, small wasp
waist, slender but muscular arms, and 34C tits (the front zipper of her
catsuit was partway down, the better to show them off).

"Wh...who are you?" he stammered.

She gave him a dazzling smile. "Now now," she cooed in a slight Spanish
accent. "I'm not here to introduce myself to you. I'm here to introduce you to
your maker."

"Noooo..." he began, but his plea was cut short when she fired, sending the
steel bolt right between his eyes. The devastating impact shattered his skull
with an eruption of blood and brain matter, sending red and brown goo flying
everywhere. She shook her head in slight annoyance at the mess, but at the
same time impressed by the power of her weapon and proud that she had the
physical strength to draw back the heavy bow.

The woman moved over to the security station, looking at the images from the
various shipboard cameras. She counted four more men on the night crew.
Memorizing their general positions, she set out on a quick tour of the ship.
Four more crossbow shots. Four more silent kills. Her markswomanship was
perfect, two more head shots, the other two straight through the heart.

Returning to the bridge, she went to the navigational controls and set the
autopilot to turn the ship around, taking it back out to sea. She then took
out the radio on her belt. "All clear, Mr. Big. Night watch has been
neutralized."

"Excellent work, Miss Velazquez," crackled the responding voice. "We'll be
aboard shortly. Meet us at the ladder. Over and out."

One by one, six more figures, five male and one female, climbed up the ladder
and joined Miss Velazquez on the deck. All were heavily armed with various
assault rifles, submachine guns, or shotguns. Mr. Big glanced around for a
moment, then pointed to one of his men and said, "Come with me to the bridge."
Turning to Miss Velazquez and handing her an AK-47 as he spoke, he continued,
"Take the others and go wake up the crew. It's about time we said good
morning."

* * *

Martin, a young deckhand, rolled over in his top bunk and groaned at the sound
of the heavy pounding on the door. "Time to get up already?" he yawned.

In the bottom bunk, Justin, another deckhand, mumbled sleepily, "Probably that
bastard Erickson again." Erickson was the ship's bosun and Martin and Justin's
boss. A stern taskmaster, Erickson worked his crew hard, and had no qualms
about making them sweat out extra hours.

Suddenly, the door was kicked completely off its hinges by an obviously very
powerful leg. At the sight of the door flying clear across the small cabin,
both Martin and Justin sat up straight in alarm. A beautiful woman was
standing in the doorway. She slowly lowered her leather-clad leg and pointed
the AK-47 she was holding directly at the two deckhands. "Wakey wakey! Rise
and shine!"

"Wh...who are you?" stammered Justin.

"You can call me Miss Velazquez. Now get up and get moving."

The guys hurried to obey. She glanced at Justin briefly before shoving him out
of the room. But as Martin climbed down from the top bunk, she gave him a much
longer look, almost as if she could see inside him. Her gaze made him uneasy,
but stirred other emotions as well.

Martin, being short and not particularly athletic, had always had a fetish for
female domination and female warrior types. Women who could fight, women who
could outperform guys at sports, and women who were skilled and well-trained
with weapons. Now, apparently being taken hostage for God knows what reason by
this hot, clearly very athletic woman with a machine gun - all his fetishes
were being triggered, and despite his very real fear that he might die, the
sheer allure of this woman made his emotions very mixed indeed.

As her dark brown eyes continued to pierce through him, he wondered if she
could tell about his fetishes. No, that was impossible, wasn't it? He had
always been very careful to keep them hidden, especially in a
testosterone-laden, all-male environment like the ship's crew. He knew that
the other guys would never let him hear the end of it if they found out. But
it seemed like this lethal and mysterious woman somehow *knew* something. She
wasn't that tall - 5'6", the same height as him - and she was quite slender,
yet she seemed so naturally dominant.

"All right," she said finally, her voice low but the prodding with her gun
indicating her seriousness. "Let's move."

"Yes, Miss Velazquez." Despite his fear, he found himself liking the feeling
as he said those words, the use of only her last name indicating her position
of superiority and control. What was happening to him? What was going to
happen to them all?

Martin and Justin, along with a few other sleepy and confused crewmen, were
marched by Miss Velazquez to the mess hall. As they entered, they saw other
crewmen and officers already there, seated sullenly on the floor, guarded by
three men with guns.

As they joined the other hostages, there came a commotion from the entrance.
Erickson, the bosun, was shoved into the mess hall. An attractive, muscular
blonde woman, armed with a shotgun, appeared behind him. "What the fuck is
going on, blondie..." began Erickson.

The blonde suddenly rammed the butt of her shotgun into his gut, causing him
to double over. She then kicked him in the face, sending him to land on the
floor in an undignified heap. "We'll be the ones asking the questions around
here, boy," she said coldly. "And my name is Janna, but you can call me MISS
Janna. Now what's my name, BOY?"

The bosun rolled over and glared up at her and her shotgun, wishing he was in
a position to act macho but knowing that he couldn't. "MISS Janna," he
replied, reluctantly and submissively.

"That's better, BOY." She drew her leg back as if to kick him again, but
stopped her booted foot half an inch in front of his face, causing him to
flinch in fear like a coward. Several of the crewmen, including Martin and
Justin, were snickering at the sight, still terrified at being taken hostage
but glad to see the arrogant, cruel Erickson getting a little taste of his own
medicine.

"What's this all about?" asked the ship's captain.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," said Miss Velazquez. "Now keep quiet until
you're spoken to. You've seen what happens to troublemakers." She pointed at
Erickson, still groaning from the impact of Janna's devastating kick, then
reached for her radio. "All clear here, Mr. Big. Seventeen hostages secure in
the mess hall."

"Excellent," crackled the responding voice. "I'll be right there."

* * *

The officers and crewmen, now separated, sat on opposite sides of the floor of
the mess hall. The three male henchmen guarded the crewmen, while Mr. Big,
flanked by Miss Velazquez and Janna, addressed the officers.

"I'll get right to the point. You have something on this ship that we want,
and you know exactly what and where it is. You can make it easy on yourselves
and tell us, or we can do this the hard way. It's up to you."

The officers looked at one another. Finally, the captain said, "I don't know
what you're talking about. There's nothing that valuable on this ship. Most
valuable shipments are made by air. We're just bringing in a load of cheap
toys from Shanghai. You can take them if you want, but I don't know where
you'd have room for them, and you couldn't possibly get enough from selling
them for all this to be worth..."

Miss Velazquez raised a leather-gloved hand. "I'm going to stop you right
there. We all know that's not the answer we're looking for." She glanced
around at the other officers. "Perhaps one of you knows something that your
captain doesn't. If you do, speak now. While it's still easy."

The men looked around at one another again, but still no one spoke up.
Finally, Mr. Big said, "If you want to do it that way, then..."

Suddenly, his radio crackled. The excited voice of the man stationed on the
bridge said, "Sir, a Coast Guard boat is approaching!"

Mr. Big looked at his two female henchwomen. "Contingency Plan F. You ladies
know what to do."

"Yes, sir." Miss Velazquez swiftly walked across the room to the crewmen,
looking them over. Martin found himself unable to meet her piercing gaze.
Finally, she grabbed a thin, middle-aged crewman with a permanent angry look
on his face and jammed her AK into his back. Martin's relief was short-lived,
however, when Janna grabbed HIM, prodding him with her shotgun. "Now march.
Both of you."

His heart pounding, Martin was taken up on deck with Janna's shotgun in his
back. Miss Velazquez marched her hostage right ahead of them.

The Coast Guard patrol boat sat waiting in the water, perhaps a hundred yards
away. A lieutenant shouted through a bullhorn, "What's going on over there?"

Miss Velazquez, hidden behind her hostage, whispered to Janna, "Get them to
back off."

"We've taken control of this ship!" Janna shouted at the Coast Guard boat. "We
have a full load of hostages. Now back off, or they start dying!"

But the patrol boat stayed where it was. Martin began to quiver, silently
pleading for the Coast Guard to turn and go. Janna pumped her shotgun in the
one-handed Linda Hamilton style and pressed the business end against the back
of his skull. He just barely managed to prevent himself from needing new
underwear.

"No, not him. Do him instead," Miss Velazquez said, pointing to the
middle-aged hostage with the permanent sneer.

"All the same to me. Just as long as I get to kill someone." Janna shrugged,
then shifted her aim and fired, the slug from her 12-gauge blowing the thin,
middle- aged man's head completely off. A massive amount of red and brown goo
drenched a terrified Martin.

"You see what your stubbornness just did?" Janna shouted to the Coast Guard
boat. "Now back the fuck off before I pop this one too!" She pumped the
shotgun one-handed again and aimed it right at Martin's head.

The patrol boat turned and left. Thank God, it turned and left. Martin sighed
with relief as he was marched back below deck.

* * *

The task force met in the large conference room overlooking the bay. Although
sheriff's deputies, state police, and the local cops were all present, it was
the FBI that took charge. They were the big dogs; the big, important Feds, as
they constantly liked to remind everyone else.

Special Agent Bradshaw, the senior FBI man on the scene, began to speak.
"Here's what we know so far. A couple of hours ago, a Coast Guard patrol boat
went to make a seemingly routine check on a freighter that had made an
unexpected turnaround short of the harbor. Couple of terrorists appeared on
deck and said they had taken over the ship and had a bunch of hostages. When
the patrol boat didn't back off immediately, they killed one of the hostages.
That's all we've got. We've repeatedly tried to contact them, but they're not
answering."

"Perhaps they want something on the ship," said Lieutenant Celine North, the
senior representative at the meeting from the San Diego police. "Do we have
any idea of what cargo is on board?"

"Mostly a bunch of children's toys," said Agent Barrett, the second-in-command
of the FBI delegation. "Cheap junk from China. Not really worth stealing.
Certainly not worth a fancy terrorist operation."

"We should get a rescue plan ready, and fast," said Celine, running a finger
through her long brown hair. "That ship is moving farther out to sea every
minute."

"Our first priority is to negotiate." Agent Bradshaw stamped his foot
aggressively on the floor.

"They're not responding at all to our calls. They don't seem very interested
in that," Celine pointed out.

Bradshaw scowled. "All right, we'll come up with contingency rescue plans. But
the top priority is still negotiation, and no rescue goes ahead without my
personal authorization. I'm still in charge here. Is that clear? Now, Barrett,
what would you recommend if we did put a plan into action?"

"Well, sir, we wait until dark, then send a small boat filled with
stormtroopers to infiltrate the ship," said Agent Barrett. "They take out the
terrorists and rescue the hostages."

"Even with the cover of darkness, the terrorists might still be able to detect
them," said Celine. "I recommend we send divers on self-propelled
submersibles. If they approach from underwater there'll be no chance of
premature detection."

"And how long will it take to get all that fancy equipment ready?" asked
Bradshaw.

"It'll take some time, since the submersibles have to be taken out of storage
and tested, but I believe we can be fully equipped and ready to go in nine
hours."

Bradshaw looked out the window at the sun, then at his watch. "It'll be
completely dark in seven hours, and we can easily have the boats ready by
then. As you said yourself, the ship is moving farther out to sea every
minute. IF we decide to go ahead with this, and that's a very big IF, we'll do
it our way."

"Yes, sir," Celine sighed.

* * *

Meanwhile, back on the ship, Mr. Big was speaking to the officers again.
"Getting back to where we were before we were so rudely interrupted.
Gentlemen, this is your last chance to get off easy. Tell us where the special
cargo is."

But the officers remained silent. Whether they truly didn't know or were
desperate to keep the secret, Martin had no idea. What he did know was that he
was glad that he wasn't an officer right now.

"All right." Mr. Big threw up his hands. "You've chosen the hard way." He
nodded at the two henchwomen, then pointed at two of his male henchmen. "You
two, start searching the cargo hold while the girls do their interrogations.
We'll do this thing on multiple fronts."

Janna smirked. "Let's go, big boy." She yanked the captain to his feet and
marched him with her shotgun out of the room. As she passed by Erickson, the
bosun, she backhanded him across the face just for fun, a ring she was wearing
leaving a nasty welt across his cheek. Meanwhile, Miss Velazquez pointed her
assault rifle at the first officer. "You're coming with me."

The wait for the remaining hostages was agonizing, as they could hear the
screams in the distance. It was even more agonizing for the officers, as they
knew they would likely be next.

About forty minutes later, the girls returned, each with her weapon slung over
her shoulder and a hostage in her arms, as they were no longer capable of
walking. Both the captain and first officer had multiple obvious broken bones,
and were wailing in agony. All the hostages began quivering at the sight.

"Anything?" asked Mr. Big.

"The captain gave me the combination to the safe," said Janna. "Said there's
about ten grand in there. But that's chump change."

"The first officer told me where his secret stash of booze and weed is," Miss
Velazquez added. "But that's not what we're looking for either. Neither of
them seems to know."

The ship's medical officer swallowed hard and stood up. "These men need urgent
care..."

"I could put them out of their misery," snickered Janna, raising her shotgun.

Mr. Big shook his head. "We may still need them."

"What have you done to them!" the ship's third officer cried. "They can't even
walk anymore..."

"But they can still talk, and that's what matters," said Miss Velazquez.
"Speaking of which, it's your turn. Come with me, please."

"If I can't pop those dudes, I'll take...where's the second officer?" Janna
asked.

"I took him out this morning. He was the officer on night watch," Miss
Velazquez explained helpfully.

"Ah. Then I'll take this guy." Janna pointed to the chief engineer. "Let's go,
big boy."

"Right," said Mr. Big. He turned to the medical officer. "One of my men will
escort you to the infirmary so you can bring some medical supplies. Oh, and
you'd better hope that the cat doesn't have everyone's tongue. As the medical
officer, we'll save you for last, but your number might still come up."

He gulped. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Mr. Big nodded at one of his henchmen,
who prodded the medical officer with his gun out and down the hall.

Martin's mind was a whirlwind of emotions as he sat with the others, watching
the continuing terror unfold. He looked at the two women, both stunningly
beautiful. Janna, wearing a black miniskirt, knee-high black leather boots, a
short-sleeved white top, and black leather bracelets, wasn't that hard to
figure out. She looked young, under thirty, and was likely the hot big-titted
blonde ex-sorority girl who had gotten tired of being hit on and decided to
use her clear athleticism (and clear sadism) to get revenge.

But Miss Velazquez was much more of an enigma. She may have had a similar
story in one respect as Janna - a hot woman tired of being drooled over and
turning to violence as a response - but she also seemed quite different. For
one thing, although she didn't look any older than thirty and probably got
carded every time she bought alcohol, she had a worldly wisdom about her that
indicated she was likely much older, but looked young thanks to the way she
took care of herself. And though she could be ruthless when she needed to be,
she didn't seem like a sadist. She just did what had to be done.

As Martin watched the girls, Janna stopped by Erickson again as she passed him
and again struck him, this time ramming her knee into his face and releasing a
spray of blood. Laughing as he fell with a cry, she shoved the chief engineer
out of the mess hall and out of sight. Miss Velazquez simply marched the third
officer out of the room, her elegant, high-cheekboned face expressionless. She
was like a warrior, not a sadist but never showing weakness, never shying away
from a dirty job that needed to be done. And the way she had looked at him...

"Man, I never thought I'd say this, but those are two hot chicks that I
definitely wouldn't want to spend one-on-one time with," said Justin, snapping
Martin out of his daydream. "Am I right?"

"Uh...yeah. Sure." Martin, although he certainly was telling the truth about
Janna, was probably lying about Miss Velazquez. The look she had given
him...She hadn't looked at any of the other men that way. She might torture
them, but she wouldn't torture HIM...right?

The terrifying circle continued throughout the day. More male screams. More
brutalized male victims, broken bones galore, brought back for the medical
officer to treat as best he could. Poor Erickson, the bosun, had gotten so
used to Janna hitting him every time she passed by that he automatically
flinched whenever she came near. The last time, she had simply laughed as he
flinched, not even bothering to strike him.

After dumping the third engineer, who had a broken kneecap, three broken ribs,
a broken jaw, four missing teeth, and both arms broken (but was still better
off than the guy Janna carried in), next to the medical officer, Miss
Velazquez said, "We've gone through all the officers. None of them knows.
After what we put them through, I believe them. And the guys searching the
hold haven't found a thing."

"There's one left," said Janna, eyeing the medical officer.

"No," said Mr. Big. "Not yet." He looked over at the crewmen. "Maybe we've
been looking at this wrong. It wouldn't necessarily have to be any of the
officers in on the scheme. Maybe it's one of them." Janna's blue eyes lit up
at the thought of a whole new crop of males to torture. Miss Velazquez's face
remained expressionless as usual.

"I know exactly who I'm starting with," Janna smirked, letting the sound of
her heavy bootsteps sink in as she approached the terrified Erickson. "I've
been waiting a long time for this, BOY."

Miss Velazquez looked over the remaining men. Martin, although he was shaking
like a leaf, forced himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes lingered upon him for a
moment, and it almost seemed like she smiled. Then she turned, scanning the
group further, finally settling on the chief steward. "I think you're the most
likely to know something. Let's go, please."

Martin prayed as the men were led away, prayed that whoever knew whatever
these guys wanted to know would be picked before him and sing like a canary.

* * *

Miss Velazquez placed the badly wounded chief steward, with his requisite
broken bones, next to the medical officer. Then the door swung open again and
Janna entered, dragging a heavily mutilated corpse behind her. Erickson's
remnants were barely recognizable.

"Holy shit, Janna," said one of the male henchmen. "You really did a number on
him."

She snickered. "He had an attitude problem, so I solved it. Permanently. And
he also looked like the peeping Tom my friends and I caught outside the
sorority house in college. We had to be satisfied with kicking him in the nuts
a few times because the fucking police wouldn't let us do any more. But now,
I'm fucking unleashed."

"Put that leash back on. Janna, you weren't supposed to kill him," sighed Mr.
Big.

"Oh, I made sure he didn't know anything before I finished him off. Trust me,
I took my time. Anyway, we still have a whole bunch of other hostages. I
promise I won't kill any more...yet. Although they might wish they were dead."
She grabbed another man at random. "Your turn, skinny boy."

Miss Velazquez looked over the group again and motioned for the head chef to
stand up. "Perhaps you're cooking more than just food."

* * *

Night had fallen. In the mess hall, Martin and Justin were both shaking as
they waited, as besides the medical officer they were the only two that hadn't
been interrogated yet.

The familiar footsteps and battered body-dumping repeated themselves. Then
Martin found himself staring straight into Miss Velazquez's dark brown eyes,
while Justin found himself looking into Janna's blue ones. "You know the
drill."

In contrast to his earlier feelings when he had been waiting, Martin
discovered that rather than quivering, he now felt as if this wasn't really
happening, as if this was all a dream. As he watched Janna and Justin
disappear around a corner, he felt almost as if he was watching himself too as
Miss Velazquez motioned for him to go down a different corridor.

Suddenly, her radio squawked. "Small inflatable boat approaching on your side
of the ship. Filled with eight men, look like commandos."

"Right. Thanks. I'll take care of it. Over and out." She motioned for Martin
to turn. "This way. We're going up on deck. Stay low, there might be a gun
battle."

On deck, Miss Velazquez, staying hidden in the shadows, flicked the safety off
her AK, setting it to full auto. Pulling on her night-vision goggles, she
scanned the sea, nodding as she acquired her target.

Then she opened fire, her markswomanship lethally accruate, pumping the eight
helpless, unsuspecting men full of holes, her muscularity and training
allowing her to control the recoil easily. The stormtroopers stood no chance
and all were dead before they had any chance to see what was shooting at them.

She quickly and expertly slapped a fresh magazine into her weapon, scanned her
target again, then lowered her rifle, flicked off her goggles, and reached for
her radio. "All targets neutralized. No gun battle, it was completely
one-sided. Sitting ducks had no cover at all in their open boat. Over and
out." Looking down at Martin, she held out her leather-gloved hand to help him
up, then motioned with her arm. "This way, please."

Martin's heart was pounding wildly. This model-hot babe had just effortlessly
slaughtered eight highly trained commandos with her machine gun. If he had
seen a scene like that in a movie, he probably would have creamed his pants,
thanks to his girls with guns fetish. But this was no movie. This was real,
and after killing those men, this girl was on her way to torture him.

"You have quite the confused expression on your face," Miss Velazquez remarked
as they walked. "Does my politeness seem to conflict with my...lethal
markswomanship?"

"Um...er...yes..."

She laughed. "Did you know that when Winston Churchill declared war on Japan,
he sent them a very polite, formally-worded letter. Some of his countrymen
criticized him for sounding too nice, but he told them, 'When you have to kill
a man, it costs nothing to be polite'. That's part of my philosophy too. I may
be a criminal, a killer, a torturer, even. But that doesn't mean I have to be
a rude bitch. I take pride in being a lady."

"I guess that's not Janna's philosophy," said Martin.

"No. In fact, I don't think she knows what a philosophy is." At that, the two
of them shared a giggle. For that brief moment, they could have been two
friends...lovers, even...sharing a joke. But the moment passed all too
quickly, as Miss Velazquez motioned with her assault rifle where she wanted
him to march.

Still, she was so much more than just a terrorist, he thought. What if those
trigger-happy stormtroopers had shot him by accident? By killing them, she had
removed that possibility and protected him, in a way. And back when they had
confronted the Coast Guard boat, she had protected him from Janna, by
instructing her to execute the other hostage. And she probably was protecting
him right now, by being the one to take him for interrogation instead of
letting Janna do it.

"In here, please." Miss Velazquez led Martin into a small room and closed the
door behind them. Looking around, he saw fresh bloodstains all over the floor
and furniture, and swallowed very hard.

* * *

"WHAT?!" shouted Agent Bradshaw as the report came over the radio into the
conference room. "ALL of them? Slaughtered just like that?"

"That's right, sir. We don't even know who killed them, seeing as how there
was no one left to talk and all. We just found the boat drifting, with all
eight men pumped full of holes. They must have been caught with their pants
completely down. All of their weapons were full. None of them had the chance
to even shoot back."

"God damn it." Bradshaw jumped up.

"Sir, I warned you..." Celine began.

"Are you trying to tell me that a local rube like you knows better than a
federal agent?"

She held back her temper, refraining from using the curse words that she would
have liked to use. "Sir, I don't like saying I told you so, but with all due
respect, you're just begging for it." At that, Bradshaw stormed out of the
room.

"Why don't we all take a ten-minute break to cool down?" suggested Agent
Barrett.

"Yes. I think that's a good idea," said Celine.

As the various law enforcement personnel dispersed, Barrett approached Celine.
"Look," he said in a low voice. "I want to apologize for my boss. He gets a
little too full of himself sometimes. You were right all along. We should have
done it your way."

She nodded. "Thank you for that."

"I'll authorize the rescue operation with the divers and submersibles. I'm
sure I can get Bradshaw to agree once he cools off. The only problem is the
time it'll take now."

She simply smiled.

"You told them to start making the preparations yourself hours ago, during the
first break we took, didn't you," said Barrett as the realization came to him.

"Guilty," she said. She looked at her watch, a man's gold Rolex that hung
slightly loose on her slender wrist. "They should be ready to go in two
hours."

"Excellent." He gave her an impressed look before exiting the meeting room.

Celine headed to the ladies' room to wash her face. As she passed by Agent
Bradshaw in the hall, he still refused to make eye contact with her. She
sighed.

As she splashed cold water on her face and rubbed her eyes, she frowned as a
sudden thought struck her. How had the terrorists been able to strike so hard
and fast and annihilate the men in the boat before any of them could even
shoot back? It had been a risk sending the boat, of course, which was why she
had opposed the plan in the first place, but not a huge one. Either the
terrorists had gotten very lucky...or someone had told them that the boat was
coming.

And why were they targeting this freighter full of low-value Chinese crap
anyway? There must be something else aboard. Some kind of secret, valuable
cargo. There was definitely more to all of this than met the eye.

She thought about Agent Bradshaw. His reluctance to authorize a rescue. His
dramatic outrage when it had been revealed that all the stormtroopers had been
killed. A little *too* dramatic, she thought. And one of the breaks they had
taken had been right before Bradshaw had finally authorized the operation. The
perfect chance to warn the terrorists...She decided to do some investigating.

* * *

Meanwhile, back on the ship, Miss Velazquez stood a few feet in front of
Martin, her AK slung over her back, her eyes looking right into his. He could
smell the scent of her sweet, feminine perfume. "Let's not make this hard,"
she said in a soft voice. "Now, there are ten million dollars worth of cocaine
hidden somewhere on this ship. At least one member of the crew knows where it
is. If it's you, please tell me now."

"I swear, I have no idea. I know nothing about any cocaine. I'm no drug
smuggler, I swear!"

"I want to believe you." She suddenly did a cartwheel. Martin had seen many
girls do cartwheels in his life, but none were as blindingly fast as this one.
Appearing as just a brunette blur, she landed right in front of him, then
headbutted him. He saw nothing but stars for a few moments. When he got his
senses at least partway back, he discovered that his right arm was now trapped
in a painful hold by the Latina beauty. Underneath her catsuit, he could see
her heavily developed forearm muscles rippling as she exerted pressure. Her
wrist looked thicker than his, even though she was certainly far lighter than
him - she couldn't have been carrying more than 120 pounds on her 5'6" frame.

"But you and I both know that I can't just take your word for it," she
continued. "Now, if I apply a few more pounds of pressure, your arm will snap
like a twig. I'm going to give you one last chance to tell me what I want to
hear."

"Please, no, Miss Velazquez! I swear, I'm innocent! Do I look like the kind of
guy who would smuggle drugs! Please, I know nothing! Just don't break my arm,
please, I'm begging you!"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry about this."

The pain in his arm increased in intensity. Just when he knew that one ounce
more would make his arm snap, it was suddenly relieved as her radio crackled.

"Miss Velazquez, you can end your interrogation," came Mr. Big's voice. "Janna
reports that she got Justin to confess."

The wave of relief that washed over Martin was accompanied by a wave of shock.
JUSTIN?! His best buddy on the crew? HE was the drug smuggler?!

"I'm as surprised as you are," said Miss Velazquez, snapping him out of it.
"Well, almost as surprised," she continued, a small smile appearing on her
face at his still-open mouth. "Now come on, let's get back to the others."

Martin rubbed his still-aching arm. "If he hadn't called, would you have..."

"Be glad you didn't have to find out," she said simply. He gulped and nodded.

"Is your head okay?" she asked. "I'm sorry about that. I have a really hard
head."

"I still feel kind of dizzy..."

"You may have a concussion. I'll have the medic check you out."

* * *

"So how exactly did it go, Janna?" asked Miss Velazquez curiously when they
were all back in the mess hall.

The muscular blonde smirked. "Well, that trick you taught me worked like a
charm. I said, where's the ten million in coke, and he said, it's not coke,
it's h...He tried to stop himself, but it was too late. I said, that's right,
it's not cocaine, it's heroin, and it's not ten million worth, it's fifteen
million, right? So after he gave himself away, he sang like a canary."

"And his broken arms, broken leg, and broken jaw?" inquired Miss Velazquez.

"Oh, those were just for fun. Hey, don't look at me like that. After we broke
all those other people's bones, it's fitting that the guy who was the actual
target should get his broken too. Anyway, he got off pretty easy compared to
most of my other victims."

"Justin, why..." asked Martin.

He groaned from his gruesome injuries. "Paycheck too small...deserve more..."

"You deserve nothing but the broken bones you got," snapped the captain from
across the room, still in pain from his own wounds despite the drugs the
medical officer had given him. "Medic, don't let that bastard have any
painkillers. Fucking piece of shit, smuggling heroin on MY ship. And he got us
all into this in the first place. Those terrorists never would have targeted
us otherwise."

"You'll get no argument from me," agreed the medical officer, joining the
captain in glaring at Justin.

"Check Martin's head," said Miss Velazquez. "I headbutted him pretty hard. He
may have a concussion."

The medic examined Martin, then said, "You should be all right in a few hours.
Don't exert yourself too much for a while."

Heavy footsteps approached. Two henchmen appeared, carrying a heavy trunk
between them. "It's all here, boss. 99% pure heroin, 15 million worth."

"Excellent," said Mr. Big. "Now it's time to get going before the authorities
send any more stormtroopers. You two, take that chest up on deck, and you, go
with them and prepare a lifeboat." He then motioned to Martin and the medical
officer. "You guys are the only hostages who can still walk. You'll be our
insurance policy. Ladies, put the rest of them out of their misery."

Janna's blue eyes lit up with sadistic delight. She pumped her shotgun and
snatched up a submachine gun in her other hand. Miss Velazquez simply nodded
as she readied her AK-47.

"No, please!"

"I have a wife and kids..."

"You can have all my money, my wedding ring..."

The pleas of the men were cut short as the two girls opened fire. Miss
Velazquez fired bursts of three or four rounds at a time, taking careful aim
and dispatching her targets one by one. Janna fired more wildly, but her aim
was still lethally accurate. Firing and pumping her shotgun in one hand, she
sprayed fully automatic fire from her submachine gun in her other, her
exceptional wrist strength allowing her to operate the weapons one-handed and
control the heavy recoil. Some of the brutalized men tried to crawl away, but
none made it more than a few feet before hot lead found them. The women pumped
round after round into their helpless male victims, only stopping when they
were out of ammunition. They reloaded their weapons, but by then all of their
targets were long dead.

"That was fun," laughed Janna.

"That was work, Janna," the Latina scolded the blonde.

"Hey, no reason why a girl can't mix business and pleasure."

"All right," Mr. Big spoke up. "Janna, go help the boys with the lifeboat.
Miss Velazquez, take the hostages up on deck. I'll settle things on the
bridge, then meet you at the boat launch."

As the groups went their separate ways, Martin briefly glanced back at Miss
Velazquez as he and the medical officer were prodded by her gun up a narrow
set of stairs. He knew he was "supposed" to hate her for what she had just
done, massacre his crewmates, but somehow he couldn't stop thinking of her as
his protector. After all, he had been spared. And she was still watching over
him...

"Stop," the Latina ordered suddenly as they reached the top of the stairs and
began making their way across the deck.

"What's the matter?" asked the medical officer.

"Something's not right." She tilted her brunette head. "Now both of you get
down behind those crates, but stay where I can see you."

* * *

"The submersibles and divers will be ready to go in twenty minutes," Celine
reported. "They'll launch from a boat we have positioned just out of sight of
the hijacked ship. The journey from the boat to the freighter shouldn't be
more than fifteen minutes."

"Fine," mumbled Agent Bradshaw. He still wasn't looking at her, but at least
he was talking to her. Barely.

"Twenty minutes?" said Agent Barrett, looking up in surprise, then looking at
his watch. "An hour ago, you said it would be two hours."

"Slight change in plans," Celine replied, looking straight at him with her
piercing brown eyes. Although at 5'9" she was a couple of inches shorter than
he was, the high heels she was wearing allowed her to look slightly down on
him. "If the terrorists were warned about this rescue too, I want their timing
to at least be off."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Barrett's tone had become suspicious and
angry.

"I'm talking about the ten million in cocaine that's on that ship. That's the
terrorists' target. A gang that YOU hired."

"What?! You must be crazy. It's not even cocaine, it's her..." He froze as he
realized what he had just said. He also felt something warm run down his leg.
He had pissed himself.

"That's right. It wasn't cocaine, it was heroin. And it wasn't ten million
dollars worth, it was fifteen million."

"Why, you bitch..." Barrett reached inside his jacket to draw his gun. At
that, all the other agents and officers in the room began reaching for their
weapons, but Celine raised her hand. "I've got this."

With that, she kicked the gun out of his hand as he was trying to aim it, then
performed a standing back handspring, her form perfect despite wearing a skirt
and heels, kicking him in the face with both feet as she flipped and stunning
him. Landing gracefully, she punched him in the nose, breaking it and sending
him down. As he fell to the floor, she kicked him right in the crotch. She
then drew her own gun, which she had been wearing in a holster strapped to her
thigh underneath her miniskirt, and pressed the business end right against his
brutalized testicles. At that, Barrett wet his pants again. Celine stepped
back a little in disgust, but kept her pistol aimed at his groin. All the men
and women in the room were laughing at him, even Bradshaw.

"Okay, Pampers," she said when the laughter had finally died down somewhat.
"Since you've been caught red-handed and wet-pantsed, you may as well just
come clean."

Barrett glared up at her. "How did you know?"

"Oh, when those men on the boat got wiped out so easily, it made me suspicious
that we had a traitor among our ranks. At first, I suspected Bradshaw, so I
did some checking on him. But he turned out to be clean, as far as I could
tell. He may be an asshole, but at least he's not a corrupt asshole. Then I
realized that the leak could just as easily be you. So I did some checking on
YOU and discovered that you're the liaison between the FBI and the Drug
Enforcement Administration in San Diego. As such, you have full knowledge of
all the DEA's busts, operations, suspects, etc. Through the DEA, you knew that
a shipment of 15 million worth of heroin was coming into San Diego from China
by freighter. You weren't sure which ship it would be on, but you decided to
take a chance. Fifteen mil was worth it. So you hired that gang to hijack the
ship, grab the stuff, and deliver it to you."

"Why would I do that?" demanded Barrett. "Fifteen mil worth of heroin...how
would I unload all that?"

Celine laughed. "What, trying to back out now after you gave yourself away? I
can't believe you were dumb enough to fall for that heroin-not-cocaine trick.
I had a bunch of other traps lined up, but thanks to your epic stupidity I
didn't even need to use any of them. But anyway, back to the original
question. Thanks to your relationship with the DEA, you must be familiar with
the local drug gangs and their distribution rings. The ones you busted...and
the ones you didn't bust. The ones you cut a deal with, to use their networks
to distribute your drugs."

Celine looked around the room. "So who wants to do the honors?" Her gaze
settled on Agent Bradshaw. As a gesture of reconciliation, she asked, "How
about you, sir?"

"I'd be glad to, ma'am," said Bradshaw. He approached his ex-subordinate with
a pair of handcuffs. "Hands behind your back, please. You have the right to
remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of
law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, the court
will provide one for you. And I think they can provide you with some fresh
underwear too...Pampers."

Barrett's shoulders sagged as the whole room erupted into laughter again. He
had been thoroughly outsmarted, physically beaten, and completely dominated
and humiliated by this slender, attractive, miniskirt-wearing woman in front
of everyone. And to add insult to injury, even his old, uncool, square ex-boss
was now scoring off of him! In total defeat, he waived his Miranda rights,
confessing to knowing about the heroin, planning to steal it, hiring the gang,
and warning them about both rescue attempts.

"Who are the gang members?" Celine demanded.

"I only hired the leader, he hired the rest of them. His real name is Victor
Brown, but everybody calls him Mr. Big. I encouraged that so everyone would
think he's the big boss instead of me," Barrett admitted.

"What kind of weapons do they have?"

"Dunno. Probably just the standard. Assault rifles, submachine guns, shotguns.
No heavy artillery, don't think they can afford it. I didn't pay Victor all
that much in advance."

Celine nodded. "Our divers should be able to handle that. And since the
terrorists think the divers are coming forty minutes later than they really
are, they won't see the attack coming. Well, I think we can get the rest down
at the station." She motioned for two of her subordinates to escort Barrett
out.

As the now former FBI man took his walk of shame, the other cops in the room,
still angry at his treason to the thin blue line, called various things out to
him.

"Don't drop the soap!"

"Make sure to tell them your nickname, Pampers!"

"Say hi to all the people you arrested! I'm sure they'll be real happy to see
you!"

Celine and Bradshaw looked at each other. "Sorry about calling you a rube,"
said the FBI man.

"Sorry about calling you an asshole," she replied. They shook hands.

* * *

Meanwhile, back on the ship, Miss Velazquez advanced cautiously, her assault
rifle at the ready, dividing her attention between her hostages and the target
of her investigation. She reached the lifeboat launching area and her eyes
widened as she saw three male henchmen lying motionless on the deck.
Janna...and the heroin chest...were nowhere to be seen.

She checked the men one by one. The first, dead, his neck snapped with such
force that his head had almost come off. The second, even more clearly dead,
his skull crushed. The third, stabbed in the chest...but still alive. Barely.

She slapped him sharply with her leather-gloved hand to wake him up. "Janna?"
It wasn't much of a question when she already knew the answer.

He opened his eyes with a groan. "Y...yes. She was so fast...We didn't stand a
chance...urghhh..." He grunted as he expired.

"Fuck." She quickly made her way back over to the hostages. "Change of plans.
We're..." A look of alarm suddenly crossed her face. "GET DOWN!" She shoved
Martin and the medical officer down. Martin in time. The medical officer,
however, caught several submachine gun rounds in the center of his chest and
slumped down dead.

Mr. Big and the last henchman suddenly appeared on the scene. "What the fuck
is going on here?" demanded Mr. Big.

"Janna," explained Miss Velazquez simply. "Got greedy and decided she wanted
it all for herself. She already killed the other three guys."

"Janna, you cunt!" cried the last henchman.

The blonde's familiar voice rang out in the darkness. "This cunt will be
laughing all the way to the bank." She fired more rounds as she spoke.
Everyone ducked. Mr. Big, Miss Velazquez, and the henchman fired back with
their guns.

"You're dumb even for a blonde sorority slut!" Miss Velazquez called out as
she fired. "Can you even think two steps ahead?"

"What do you mean, bitch? I would have killed you all silently if you hadn't
gotten lucky!"

"It wasn't luck, it was skill. But that's not what I mean. Fifteen million
bucks worth of heroin. How do you think you're going to sell it all? Open a
stand on the street corner?"

"Well, I..." The blonde suddenly froze as she realized that Miss Velazquez
might actually have a point.

"You need a network of distributors already in place to sell a big load of
drugs!" As she spoke, the Latina signaled to her comrades that she was going
to move to flank her target. "And for fifteen million of heroin, you need a
really big fucking network! A network like our contact actually has! We sell
it to HIM, he gives us our cash, we all get our cuts, and he goes on to make
money from selling the drugs through HIS network! Everybody wins!"

There was only silence from the other side. "What's the matter, cat got your
tongue?" demanded Mr. Big. "What, want to go back to the original deal and
join us again? Well, it's a little fucking late for that now!"

Another hail of submachine gun bullets and two shotgun slugs was the response.
"Motherfuckers! I'll just sell what I can! The important thing is I'll have my
revenge!" The gun battle erupted again. Miss Velazquez moved closer, closer,
almost there...

Suddenly, a bullet caught Mr. Big in the center of his chest. He stood ramrod
straight for a second, then collapsed.

"Shit!" Miss Velazquez, finally in position, fired at Janna, but the blonde,
seeing the danger in time, moved away in a lightning-fast series of aerial
cartwheels and whip-backs. Her tumbling turned her into a blonde blur, so
quick that even the Latina markswoman's bullets couldn't find her. Janna
swiftly disappeared behind a stack of crates.

"Guard the hostage!" Miss Velazquez ordered the henchman. "I'm going after
her!"

Martin crouched down, terrified. Here he was, trapped on a ship with a crazy
woman who was trying to kill everyone, a criminal man who would likely kill
him when his usefulness was over, and a criminal woman who was his only hope.
He found himself silently cheering for her. "Come on, Miss Velazquez, get that
bitch."

There was a soft footfall behind him. Then, suddenly, the henchman's head
exploded in a burst of red and brown goo as Janna's shotgun slug slammed into
it.

Martin, drenched in blood and brain matter yet again, turned around, raising
his hands. "Please don't kill me!"

"Not yet," she grinned. "I still have a use for you." She stood behind him,
using him as a human shield, and called out into the darkness. "Hey, Miss
Velazquez! I have your little boyfriend!"

The Latina woman appeared, her AK in her leather-gloved right hand. "Drop the
gun and kick it away, bitch," growled Janna. "Do it right fucking now, or he
gets it!"

Miss Velazquez sighed and obeyed. "Not so smart after all," smirked the
blonde. "Now you can say goodbye." She aimed the shotgun at her and pulled the
trigger.

Click.

"What the fuck?" She took aim with her submachine gun and pulled the trigger
on that as well. Another click.

"I counted your shots, Janna. I knew you were out. That's the only reason I
dropped my gun."

"I could have reloaded."

"Would have heard you."

Janna's eyes traveled to the spare magazines in her belt. Miss Velazquez
reacted instantly, racing towards her opponent in a blazing fast tumbling
pass, starting with a roundoff and going into a series of back handsprings.
Janna reloaded her submachine gun extremely fast, but the Latina, elegantly
backflipping like a pro-gymnast, was simply a brunette blur that was too
difficult a target to hit. She crashed into the blonde with both of her booted
feet, kicking the gun away and knocking her to the deck.

Janna suddenly swept out with her long muscular leg, tripping her opponent to
the ground. Using a kip-up to get back to her booted feet, the blonde prepared
to stomp on the Latina's face, but Miss Velazquez suddenly kicked her hard in
the stomach, sending her stumbling backwards, and used the opportunity to get
back up herself with an elegant back walkover.

Janna pulled out a knife. "Only losers fight fair." She suddenly flung the
knife at the other woman. Miss Velazquez had extremely fast reflexes, but
Janna was so strong that she could throw harder than 90% of men. The Latina
did manage to catch the knife...by the blade. She winced in pain as it cut
right through the leather of her glove, making her fingers bleed, but she had
the weapon. Transferring it to her good hand, she threw it back before the
blonde had a chance to recover from her shock at seeing the catch. The blade
flew into Janna's stomach. She doubled over, clutching her gut, then
collapsed.

Miss Velazquez made her way over to her with a swift series of cartwheels and
front handsprings. Yanking the knife out, she stabbed the blonde four more
times in the sides.

"I'll let the sharks finish you off." With that, she stood up and delivered a
powerful kick from her booted foot, sending Janna over the edge with a loud
splash. From her screams, the sharks weren't long in coming.

Miss Velazquez looked around and saw Martin still standing there. "Thought
you'd be in a lifeboat and halfway to San Diego by now. Perfect chance to
escape."

"I...I didn't want to escape," he said in a small voice.

She gave him a knowing look.

"You're hurt," he said.

She looked at her bleeding hand. "Oh, it's nothing. I've had worse."

Mr. Big suddenly let out a groan. Miss Velazquez rushed over to him.

"Good...show. Liked...the way...you fed...bitch to sharks," he groaned. "Too
late...for me...I'm...a dead man. Take...reward... you've...earned it.
Listen...carefully...here's contact info." Mr. Big rattled off a date, time,
address, and complex numerical code, then expired.

She looked at him wistfully for a few moments. "He was a good boss."

She then turned back to Martin. "You know this doesn't change who I am."

"I know."

"You may have been better off escaping when you had the chance."

"I know."

"Why did you stay?"

"I don't know. There's just something about you...The way you were always fair
to me. The way you protected me from the stormtroopers, and the other guys,
and especially from Janna. You saved my life when you pushed me down."

She nodded. "Stockholm syndrome. It can be very powerful. Especially between
members of the opposite sex. Although it's usually a male terrorist and a
female hostage. But I like the gender role reversal, and you obviously do too.
You're a natural submissive. I can tell."

"You could tell from the first time you met me, couldn't you. That's why you
looked at me that way. And you liked it because you're a natural domme."

She simply winked at him.

He took a deep breath. "Are you going to kill me?"

She smiled. Not a sassy or teasing smile, but a warm, genuine one. "No. I have
no reason to. You're so infatuated with me that you'd never want me to get
caught. When the authorities interview you, you'll tell them lots of things,
but they won't know a thing about me."

Martin nodded. "And you told Janna to shout to the Coast Guard boat while you
stayed hidden in the shadows."

She simply nodded. "Just another bit of planning ahead that paid off. Anyway,
you want me to be out there. Somewhere. In the hopes that we'll meet again.
And I might have a use for you too someday. And I'm sure you'll gladly help
me."

"Yes, Miss Velazquez..." was all Martin could say.

"Now come on, let's get going. The cops are going to try again, but they'll
just find an empty ship, because we'll be long gone."

She led him to a lifeboat. She showed him how to navigate it, then stepped
back. "I have to go on my own," she said.

"I know."

"Goodbye, Martin."

"Goodbye, Miss...um, could you tell me your first name?"

She smiled. "Maybe the next time we meet."

She suddenly gave him a kiss on the lips. He was so stunned that it wasn't
until she was out of the boat and lowering him into the water that he was able
to say, "Goodbye, Miss Velazquez."

She watched as the lifeboat's motor started up and it began making its way
slowly towards San Diego. Then she dragged the heavy chest of heroin into
another lifeboat and from inside used the controls to lower it into the water
as well. She headed in the opposite direction, out to sea.

* * *

The radio in the conference room suddenly squawked to life. "Finally!" said
Agent Bradshaw. Celine, though wanting to conceal her own impatience, found
herself nodding in agreement.

"The ship is secure," came the voice of the divers' leader. "No one alive was
on board. We found the corpses of a whole bunch of hostages, along with five
dead terrorists, including Victor Brown, AKA Mr. Big. Two lifeboats are
missing. No sign of the heroin either. We're going to bring sniffer dogs to do
a more thorough search. I'll call you if we get anything more. Over and out."

Bradshaw shook his head. "What do you think happened?"

"They must have found the heroin," said Celine. "That was the point where the
hostages outlived their usefulness. Then, the terrorists must have taken to
fighting among themselves. No honor among thieves."

"Well, with all the terrorists dead, and Barrett looking at about 23
consecutive life sentences, looks like rough justice was served. Too bad about
the hostages, though, those poor saps."

"I'm not so sure they're all dead," Celine responded. "All the terrorists or
all the hostages. When we find those lifeboats, we'll know more."

* * *

"Ma'am..."

"Lieutenant..."

"Celine!"

Celine awoke with a start. Sitting straight up, it took her a moment to
realize that she was not in her bedroom, but on the couch in her office at the
station, where she had stayed all night. An empty burger wrapper, an almost
empty carton of French fries, and several empty beer bottles were on the floor
beside her. She looked down at them, then at her wrinkled blouse and miniskirt
and tangled long brown hair. Looking up, she saw a neatly uniformed,
immaculately groomed sergeant and immediately gave him an embarrassed smile.

"It's okay, ma'am. After what you went through, I don't blame you. I'd get rid
of those beer bottles before the captain shows up, though." He held out a cup
of coffee to her.

"Thank you, Sergeant," she said gratefully. "And I've told you before, you can
call me Celine." She took a long sip of coffee and rubbed her eyes. "So what
happened with the whole..."

"They found the lifeboats. One of them was found by a fisherman about six this
morning, drifting about three miles off Dana Point. Empty...but the dogs
detected traces of heroin on the boat."

She perked up, both from that and the coffee. "And the other?"

"Came ashore at Point Loma about two last night, right after you passed
ou...er, fell asleep. One ex-hostage was on board."

She jumped up. "Who...where...how..."

"Kid named Martin, apparently a deckhand on the freighter. They stashed him in
one of the fancy hotels downtown under guard. Think he went straight to bed."

Celine was already brushing her hair in front of the mirror. "I'd like to
arrange an interview with him as soon as possible. Thank you, Sergeant." She
brushed down her clothes as best she could, tossed all the beer bottles into
the trash can, covered them up with the fast-food wrappers, and hurried out of
her office.

"Lieutenant!"

It was the captain. "Yes, sir?"

"I know you've had a rough night, but I'd like a quick report in my office.
Just the basics for now. You can fill in the details later."

"Of course, sir."

After giving her report, she stood up to leave. "Just one more thing," said
the captain.

"Yes?"

"SEVEN beers, Celine?"

She groaned to herself.

"I left about 2:15 last night. Passed by your office. What are you, about 125
pounds? A skinny girl like you..."

"128, actually. But that's not important..."

"You're right, it's not." He looked directly at her. "Considering the
circumstances, I'll let it go this time. But if you ever get THAT drunk in the
office again, I'll take away your couch."

"Yes, Captain."

* * *

"Hello, Martin. I'm Lieutenant Celine North, San Diego PD. I'd do the whole
badge flash thing, but under the circumstances, I don't think it's necessary.
Anyway, how are you doing?"

"Okay, I guess. But they're keeping me cooped up in this hotel room. It's a
nice place and I appreciate the free night's stay, but I'd like to get back to
my apartment. Settle some things, take some time off, then maybe look for a
new ship. All that stuff."

"I understand, Martin. But you're apparently the only witness to a very
serious situation, and we need you. Tell you what. How about I take you out to
lunch? I think we both could use some fresh air. We can have a casual
interview there, then they'll take you down to the station for a more formal
one. But you should be able to sleep in your own bed tonight. You'll have
bodyguards stationed outside, most likely, just to let you know. You're very
valuable."

"Sounds good." He perked up at the thought of going to lunch with a woman this
hot, even though it wouldn't be a real date. Celine was very pretty, and quite
young looking, although Martin knew she had to be older than she looked if she
was a lieutenant.

They went to a seafood restaurant and were seated at a table by the window,
overlooking the bay. Over lunch, Martin filled in the gaps in Celine's
knowledge about what had taken place aboard the freighter.

"So there were six terrorists?"

"Yes. Five men and one woman. After they found the heroin, they killed most of
the hostages. I and one other hostage were spared for insurance purposes. Then
the terrorists got greedy. Everyone wanted all the dough for themselves, I
guess. Turned on one another. In the confusion, I stole a lifeboat and managed
to escape."

Celine placed her hand over his comfortingly. "That must have been a terrible
thing to go through."

Martin sighed. "Yes. But I'm thankful to be alive. And my only close friend on
the ship, Justin, turned out to be the one who smuggled the heroin in the
first place and got us all into that mess, so I guess he wasn't much of a
friend after all."

After gathering as much information she could about Justin so she could
investigate his background, Celine told Martin about what the divers had
discovered. "They found five dead terrorists on the ship, all male."

Martin nodded. "It was the girl terrorist, Janna, who was the most ruthless.
Not surprising that she came out on top."

"The Coast Guardsmen on the first patrol boat to make contact with the ship
reported that she was the one who executed the first hostage," added Celine.
Martin nodded, gulping at the memory. The female detective squeezed his hand
comfortingly.

"A second lifeboat was also missing," she continued. "Janna must have gotten
away on it with the heroin after killing all her comrades. We found it this
morning, drifting off Dana Point. Empty...but there were traces of heroin. Now
tell me everything you know about this Janna character."

Martin gave a truthful and accurate description of Janna, leaving out only the
part about how she was currently residing in the stomachs of several different
sharks.

"Now is there anything more you want to tell me?" Celine asked.

"Wh...what?" Martin sat up straight. Was there some way she suspected the
existence of Miss Velazquez? Celine was clearly a very intelligent woman with
good intuition, but even she would have no way of knowing...

"Martin?"

"Oh. Sorry. Uh, no, I think that's it."

"Well, thank you very much, Martin. You've been extremely helpful. Now let's
get you back to the hotel so you can freshen up before your big interview at
the station."

* * *

Celine sat in the meeting room with several high-ranking officials, including
her captain and FBI Agent Bradshaw, as they shared knowledge on what they had
learned over the past 24 hours. "Ex-Agent Barrett made a full confession,"
Bradshaw reported. "He was to receive the heroin and use the network of
distributors he had made a deal with to sell it, just as you suspected,
Celine. Victor Brown, AKA Mr. Big, was the only one of the terrorists who knew
the arranged meeting time and place with Barrett, and he also had a special
code. An insurance policy in case one of his henchmen decided to get greedy.
Didn't save his life, though."

"Barrett told us the meeting place and we've been keeping it under stakeout,"
Bradshaw continued. "I don't think anyone will show up, though. Mr. Big was
the only one who knew the information, and he's dead."

"What about this Janna chick?" asked the captain. "She's the one who
apparently got away with all the heroin."

"Even if she found out the information, she wouldn't show up because she'd
have to know she'd be walking into a trap," said Bradshaw. "No, she'll have to
sell the heroin on her own. That's going to be a tall order, and it'll also be
our best chance to catch her. Now, Celine, you have more information on this
Janna character?"

She stood up. "Yes. From the description we got from Martin, the only
surviving hostage, Janna is apparently Janna O'Connell, a former USC
cheerleader and sorority girl. Three years ago, she was arrested for
aggravated assault for brutally beating a couple of guys who had whistled at
her. Pleaded down to misdemeanor assault, served six months in jail. After she
got out, she disappeared, although there were unconfirmed reports she was
working as a mercenary. Guess that's where Big recruited her from."

"Well, we have a name, a description, and 15 million dollars worth of heroin
floating around," said Agent Bradshaw. "All we have to do now is get out
there. We'll get Janna and the heroin. It's only a matter of time."

There was a chorus of assent from the other men in the room, but Celine
remained quiet. She had a gut feeling, her intuition, both her detective's
intuition and her feminine intuition, that Janna, for some reason, would never
be found, and that there was still a missing piece in this puzzle.

* * *

TWO WEEKS LATER

"Lieutanant?"

Celine looked up from her desk. "Yes, Captain?"

"I have something that you may want to hear."

She followed him to his office and was surprised to see Agent Bradshaw waiting
there. "Hey. Good to see you again, Celine."

"Likewise. So what's going on?"

"Well, as you know, we're keeping Martin under guard at least until he
testifies against ex-Agent Barrett. Just a precaution. Anyway, we've also
bugged his apartment..." He paused when he saw Celine frowning.

"You know I don't like that," she sighed. "Bugs are meant for criminals. Not
the people we're supposed to be protecting."

"The warrant to place the bug was signed by a judge, Celine," said the
captain. "Anyway, after you hear this..." He pressed a button on the recorder
that was lying on his desk.

A voice was heard, recognizable as Martin's, obviously talking in his sleep.
There were several fearful moans of "Janna," then, after a pause, a less
fearful and more aroused moan of a new name.

"Miss Velazquez."

THE END...for now

Contact me at silverstar222b@yahoo.com if you liked this story!