Agent Yang in... Boobraker - Part 2 by T. Prince, tk_prince@hotmail.se The action-packed adventures of Agent Yang continue. "Agent Yang, we're waiting for you in the interrogation room," a speaker voice blared through the sparsely decorated hallway. Adjusting the collar of her hastily donned jacket, the Ministry of State Security's top agent hurried down the corridor before bursting through a plain-looking grey door. "Ah, there you are," Big Sister's matronly voice greeted her. "As you know, we're quite pressed for time and need to begin right away." In the middle of the room, the villainous henchwoman Ulrika Weiss stood bent over a plastic table, completely naked. Her arms and legs were cuffed, and her shapely rear end carefully arched upwards for maximum accessibility. For some reason, metal clamps connected to a computer had been attached to her erect nipples. "New interrogation technique?" Yang asked her boss, inspecting the clamps with amused curiosity. "I can tell you're not keeping abreast with the new developments in lie detection technology," Big Sister replied, looking stylish as usual in her new jade green skirtsuit. "Research shows that 99.997% of lying results in added tension in the nipple area, so that's what we're trying to measure." "This is outrageous!" the blond captive snapped, squirming against her cuffs. "Sexual punishments for interrogation purposes were outlawed by the UN decades ago! I know my rights!" "Not when the prisoner is a suspected terrorist," Big Sister informed her calmly. "And if I remember correctly, you were responsible for the hijacking of a Malaysian research facility." "An unmistakable act of terror," Agent Yang filled in. "Also, the nipple clamps aren't the punishment, my blue-eyed friend," Big Sister continued as she pressed a button, which caused a door in the floor to open and reveal a mechanical arm clutching a massive, terrifying steel paddle. "This is." On a screen in front of her, Ulrika could see the rigid black paddle practice a few swings only inches away from her vulnerable white buttocks. Instantly, she turned pale as a ghost. "That's right, Snow White," Big Sister said soothingly as she looked into Ulrika's watery blue eyes, "I need you to be on your best behavior today. Be a good little girl and we'll let you off easy. Be a naughty little girl, and we're going to have to treat you like one. Do you understand?" The blonde nodded reluctantly, a faint blush darkening her cheeks. "I'm happy to hear that. Now, let us proceed. What is your name?" "Ulrika Antonia Weiss." An electrical current passed through the wires that connected the prisoner's breasts to the computer, and a moment later, a green light flashed across the screen accompanied by a tinkling bell. "Splendid! Keep this up and we'll be done in no time," Big Sister cooed approvingly. "Now, for my next question: where are the blueprints for Project Eastwind?" The blonde looked up with a defiant grin on her plushy pink lips. "I deposited them in a bank vault in Switzerland. They were probably picked up days ago." Again, a green light and a bell. "By whom?" "I don't know," the blonde replied, looking almost horny with defiance. "A contact who I've never met before. I've done my part, and it's all out of my hands." Once again, the green light confirmed the veracity of her statement. "I see. Let's try something else then. What is the name of the organization you work for?" The blonde opened her mouth, but hesitated for a second or two. Finally she replied, in a slightly wavery tone of voice: "There is no such organization. I work alone." A red light flashed across the monitor, accompanied by a jarring trombone note. Big Sister and agent Yang glanced at each other, shaking their heads in unison. The next moment, the massive black paddle raised itself up in the air and delivered a deafening smack to the blonde's pert derriere, sending the ripe marble buttocks into jiggly spasms. *THWACK!* "AAAOOOOWWWWW!!!" Ulrika cried at the top of her lungs as the paddle raised itself back up, exposing the angry red waffle pattern that had just been branded upon the bad girl's ass. "Tsk tsk tsk," went Big Sister as she circled the whimpering blond captive. "You disappoint me, Snow White. Any more of this naughtiness and I'm going to have to dial up the strength of this thing, which -- I should remind you -- is currently set to a puny 3 out of 10." "OK, OK, I get it!" the white girl snapped, blowing a strand of blond hair out of her face with her little pursed pink mouth. "I do work for a secret organization, but I don't know anything about it. All our communication is conducted through a contact person. I swear that's true!" Once again, a red light and a trombone. Sighing disappointedly, Big Sister fiddled with a dial in her hand. Shortly thereafter, the black paddle raised itself up again and delivered a twice as powerful smack to the white girl's buns, causing them to jiggle like jellies on a speeding cart and deepening the red waffle pattern to a high crimson. *THHWWAAACCCKKK!!!* "EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!" "Don't give me any of that bullshit, Snow White!" Big Sister roared, locking eyes with the squealing blonde. "I have a state-of-the-art lie detector capable of sensing the minutest tic in those cow tits of yours, a paddle strong enough to put your ass on fire for life, and all the time in the world at my disposal. TELL ME THE TRUTH." "OK, I'M SORRY!! I work for... the US government!! Or... to be more precise... the C.I.A.!" Red light. Trombone. A third smack, rattling the white girl's pert buns and leaving them positively glowing this time. *THHHWAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCKKKKKK!!!* "OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, OOWW OOWW OOWWW!!!" "NO. BULLSHIT." "I WORK FOR AN INTERNATIONAL DRUG CARTEL!! I SWEAR, I SWEAR, I SWEAR!!" Red light. This time, Big Sister cranked up the dial to maximum capacity and typed in a number on her keypad. Shortly thereafter, the paddle delivered a series of smacks so ear-splittingly loud that Yang had to cover her ears. One smack, two smacks, three smacks, four smacks... each stroke licking Ulrika's glowing red booty so violently that her ass looked ready to break in two and send each well-rounded cheek spiraling off into opposite directions. "AAAAAAAAAAIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! M-MY AAAASSSSS!!!! OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! I'LL TAAAAAAAAALK, P-P-PLEEEEEEAAASE STOP!!!!!! AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!" When the paddle had dispensed ten ass-destroying strokes in quick succession, Big Sister grabbed the sobbing blonde by her hair and forced their gazes to meet. "LISTEN UP, YOU OBSTINATE, FAT-BREASTED WESTERN BIMBO!!" she roared in her face. "PLAY MORE GAMES WITH ME, AND I'LL ROAST YOUR LILY WHITE ASS TO A CRISP AND CHEW IT UP FOR DINNER!!" "G-H-O-S-T!!! G-H-O-S-T!!!! I SWEAR THAT'S THE NAME, I SWEAR THIS TIME, OH PLEASE DON'T SPANK ME MORE!!" Ulrika wailed in her tormentor's face before breaking down into sobs. Finally -- a green light. Big Sister glanced at agent Yang, who nodded thoughtfully. "G-H-O-S-T, eh?" Big Sister repeated. "And it's true that it's run by a circle of seven, who go by aliases named after planets?" "YES, YES, YES, IT'S TRUE!! *sob* IT'S ALL TRUE!!! OOOOWWWWWWWW, IT HUUUUUUURTS!!" "How many identities of the seven can you name?" "N-n-none!! I didn't-" *THWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAACKKK!!!* "AAIIIIIIIIEEE!! ONE, ONLY ONE!!!!" A green light flickered across the monitor. "Give me a name," Agent Yang continued, bending down over the sobbing, red-faced blonde. "*sob* I d-d-don't-" *THWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCKKK!!* "AAAUUUUUUWWWWWW!!! I'LL TELL YOU, I'LL TELL YOU!!!" "I'll give you one more chance, Snow White, and then I'll make a nice big serving of Booty Barbecue." "I d-d-d-don't kno-" "I SAID: ONE! MORE! CHANCE!" "C-C-Claymore. V-Victoria Claymore." "Alias?" "M-M-Mars..." Big Sister stood pondering this new information for a while, before signaling to Yang to retreat to the adjacent room. "Thank you, Snow White, that'll be all," Big Sister said with a frosty smile, before pressing a button on her desk. A mechanical arm removed the clamps from Ulrika's nipples, and a moment later, a trapdoor sprung open beneath her feet -- sending the shrieking blonde plunging three floors before landing boob-first on a slippery metal surface. She was being carried on a conveyor belt toward a hatch with a sign saying "TO WARD 62: 'DIPLOMATIC' PRISONERS". "Y-y-you can't do this!!" the villainess stuttered, but was promptly silenced when a mechanical arm swooped down on her from above and gagged her, while another arm slapped a sticker onto her scorched red ass reading "MAXIMUM SECURITY". Out of options, the blonde had no choice but to drift on, wiggling her reddened and branded bottom, toward indefinite imprisonment in the subterranean prison. "Victoria Claymore -- I'll be damned," Big Sister muttered as she walked over to a nearby computer and began to type a series of commands. "The number one arms manufacturer in the Western hemisphere -- and one of the most unscrupulous. If the other six are as dangerous as she is, we're at war with the most dangerous criminal organization in modern history." On the monitor, a picture of the woman in question opened up automatically. In the picture, a cool, extremely curvaceous brunette dressed in a half-buttoned white dress shirt and tight costume pants was beaming into the camera, projecting the cocky, masculine posture of a businesswoman accustomed to being in charge. Her plushy, glossy lips were stretched into a boastful grin and her hazel eyes seemed to burn with relentless ambition. Behind her, a field of missile warheads stretched as far as the eye could see. "That's a lot of phallic symbols crammed into one picture," Yang snorted. "Gotta overcompensate for all those round and willowy curves, I'm guessing." "Maybe she's just a slut and all those warheads are just a metaphor for what's on her mind all day," Big Sister replied. "Do you think she keeps a couple of those small ones with the rounded tips in her bedroom, just in case she ever gets horny around bedtime?" "Judging from her smile in that picture, I'm guessing she's got one inside her right now... or two." "She'd better hope they don't self-detonate all of a sudden..." "OK, that's enough frivolous banter, agent Yang," Big Sister suddenly snapped. "Some professionality, please. Seems like Ms Claymore isn't very sociable these days -- apparently she's built herself an armed compound off the coast of the Hebrides and rarely leaves it." "Well, shit," agent Yang interjected. "Yes, shit. But there might be one thing we can do. Although it's a huge gamble -- even for someone with your skill set." "I'm all ears." Big Sister typed a command into her computer and pulled up a picture of a jaw-droppingly gorgeous brunette dressed in a tight-fitting black evening dress. A platinum necklace hung around her neck, with a miniature gem-encrusted cameo of a playing card -- the queen of clubs -- attached to it and hanging so low that it was almost swallowed up by her luscious sun-tanned breasts. The woman was locking her eyes seductively with the cameraman whilst smiling a strangely unreadable smile. "This is Marion Citreaux, also known as "Le dame de tr?fle"... after her signature playing card. She's one of the most talented poker players in the world, and has amassed a fortune of millions by exploiting that talent. In fact, she lives in a five-star hotel -- more precisely, the Aegea Hotel in Monte Carlo -- and spends her entire days, morning through evening, playing the panties off less fortunate players." "Cute broad," Yang snorted. "What's she got to do Tits McAmmo and her fortress?" "I'll tell you what: Victoria Claymore loves nothing more than high-stakes poker. It must arouse the Type A douchebag part of her brain or something. But every month or so, she calls up Miss Citreaux in her hotel and makes her an offer she can't refuse: a million dollars plus earnings if she flies over to her compound for a single night of poker." A light dawned on Yang. "We give her a better offer." "No, agent Yang," Big Sister replied, shaking her head. "Miss Citreaux knows about Claymore's connections, and she won't risk going up against an organization that powerful. In fact, being a master of playing it safe and maximizing her profits, she's more likely to spill our plans to Claymore and blow the whole thing sky high. No, agent Yang -- we make her indebted to us. By beating her at poker." About twenty seconds passed, with agent Yang simply staring at her boss with utter incredulity. "Your plan is for me to beat the world's best poker player at poker." "Why not? Our folder on you mentions that you score exceptionally well at reading people's faces. Who better to enter a game which, after all, is based around that very skill?" "I always thought there was more to poker than that. Of course, I'm not an expert on the subject." She nodded toward the monitor. "She, on the other hand, *is*." "Agent Yang, you're the best person we can think of for this job. I'm not asking you to take it, I'm ordering you." Big Sister gave her a stern look. "In thirty seconds, there will be a first-class ticket to Monte Carlo on your desk. The flight departs at four." Yang looked down at her watch. "Exactly, agent Yang," Big Sister said, already preparing to leave the room. "Snap to it." *** A surprisingly cool Mediterranean wind greeted agent Yang as she stepped out of the taxi and looked up at her destination. The Aegea Hotel was an enormous rococo palace with a sculpture garden leading up to the massive, gilded entrance. That's it, she said to herself as she marched up the marble steps, I'm about to do something so utterly batshit crazy that I'll either leave this building a national hero or the laughing stock of the international spy community for centuries to come. "Welcome to the Aegea Hotel, madame," the door guard said with a courteous nod before opening the doors. The interior of the hotel was hardly any less resplendent than the exterior. Gold, marble, thick velvet draperies and humongous crystal chandeliers as far as the eye could see. It took her almost five minutes to locate the casino, which was bursting with swanky customers. "Madames et monsieurs, fait votre jeux!" a plump croupier barked to a crowd of men and women in impeccable eveningwear. Yang slid over to the bar and attracted the haughty-looking bartender's attention. "Can I have a China Blue, please. Stirred... not shaken," she mumbled, her eyes darting around for possible assassins. Her eyes fell on a lovely, curvy redhead with strikingly cold blue eyes, who were walking past Yang with a seductive, hip-swaying gait. Her knockout hourglass body was dressed in a snug black dress that left a significant portion of her invitingly ample cleavage on display. The redhead locked eyes with her, smiled, and then -- a second after Yang had snapped a photo of her receding form -- disappeared in the crowd. "Big Sister," Yang whispered into her communications device. "I'm sending you a photo right now. Please run an identity scan on it." "Something got you spooked, agent Yang?" Big Sister replied. "No, just one of my gut feelings. Anything come up yet?" "Nothing in the main database. We'll have to check with the other ones, but it might take a while." "Get back to me when you've got something." She clicked off the intercom and was just about to go looking for her main target when a different redhead approached her, this one wearing her a far cooler facial expression. It was none other than agent Jane Bowen, MI-6 -- whom she had treated to a nasty surprise back in Rio less than forty hours ago -- wearing a body-hugging silver dress and an unbelievably passive-aggressive smile. "Miss Bowen," Yang said, raising her drink in salute. "Back on the trail, I see." "Cut the bollocks, Yang, I'm not in the mood for idle chatter," Jane hissed. "Do you have any idea how much my colleagues are laughing at me after they had to pick me out of that sign -- in my bloody *knickers*?" "You have to admit it was funny," Yang replied with a chuckle. "And also, you really should get a tan down there -- I was almost blinded when I looked up at you." "I happen to be very *sensitive* to sunburn. It's no laughing matter." "Poor baby... such a delicate English flower," Yang said teasingly. "How did you find out I was here?" "Oh please... 'Miss Ping'? You're not even trying anymore. The only question I couldn't find the answer to is what you're doing here, but I intend to find that out very soon." "Careful, agent Bowen. This time you might end up losing a lot more than your dress." "No, you be careful, agent Yang," Jane Bowen replied, breaking into a smile. "Mine won't be the only eyes watching you tonight. And some of those eyes might be watching you through rifle-scopes." Agent Yang excused herself and began to navigate her way over to the poker tables. Although she didn't want to admit it, agent Bowen's words had unnerved her a little bit, and she figured that the best way to shake off that fear was to just rush headfirst into her mission without thinking any more about it. Was that a good idea? Probably not. It didn't take long for her to locate Marion Citreaux. In the gilded backroom that she had transformed into her own private den, the glamorous casino empress sat alone at a table behind a veritable fortress of poker chips, celebrating a recent victory with a cigarette -- French style. When agent Yang entered, the losers were just about to exit the room. All three women -- busty Mediterranean beauties -- were completely naked. "Ahh, un nouveau visage," the victorious brunette said, raising her cigarette in salute. "Pay no attention to these unfortunate mademoiselles. It is... how you say... la r?gle du jeu." "And what 'jeu' would that be, miss Citreaux?" agent Yang asked. "The only game for those of us who are tired of just seeing money change hands... Monte Carlo Strip 'Em." "So... strip poker, then?" "Not exactly," Marion sucked sensually on her cigarette whilst burrowing her green gaze into the newcomer's. "When you play Monte Carlo Strip 'Em, you make regular bets -- avec de l'argent -- but each loss is also accompanied by the removal of a clothing article. The clothing -- unlike the money -- can't be won back. Once a player has lost all her clothing, her next loss will be accompanied by a favor of the winner's choosing. After three such favors, she is out of the game." "So if I lose all my clothing and perform three favors, I'm out. Got it." "Exactly. Now, as you can see, these women are incapable of continuing their game," she gestured toward the empty seat at the far end of the table, grinning a secretive smile. "Will you take their place?" "And risk leaving this casino without money, clothes or whatever integrity you want to take away from me in front of the whole hotel?" She sat down in the empty seat. "You bet your sexy French ass I will." "Such confidence!" the Frenchwoman cooed appreciatively as she whistled to the croupier to begin dealing the cards. "C'est amusant." "So will I," a British-accented voice interjected from just behind them. The next moment, Jane Bowen came sauntering into the room and took up a seat between the adversaries, sipping an almost-finished martini. "Of course," Yang grunted, rolling her eyes. "Why are you following me around, you no-life creep? Get your own damn spy mission!" "There's too much at stake for that, miss... Ping," Jane shot back with a spiteful glare. "The MI-6 smells a profit and we want a slice of the cake." "Ladies!" Marion Citreaux said, shaking her head. "The game has begun. Show some manners, s'il vous pla?t!" A tense silence lowered itself over the table as the first cards were dealt. Agent Yang picked up her hand -- two aces. She glanced at her two opponents. Marion was impossible to read with her glassy green eyes and Mona Lisa smirk. Jane was looking confident... a little too much so. Yang traded in her three junk cards and picked up another ace. "Let's start off light. A thousand euros," Marion purred and pushed a couple of pillars of her chip- fortress into the center of the table. "Two thousand," Jane replied, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm calling that," Yang cut in, meeting Jane's bet. Marion did the same. A moment later, the cards were on the table: Marion showing three queens and Jane a measly pair of sevens. "Far be it from me to give you lessons in bluffing, miss Bowen, but there's a reason why players recommend a poker face," Yang chuckled as she collected her earnings. "Well done, miss Ping," Marion said as she detached her necklace and plopped it down on the table. "La chance des d?butants, of course." Fuming with embarassment, Jane took off her high-heeled shoes and kicked them over into the corner of the room. "Feeling really smug, aren't you, Yang?" "Ahem... it's Ping," Yang corrected her with a smirk. "And no, I'm just having a blast." The next cards were dealt, and this time Yang's luck seemed to have vanished completely. Marion Citreaux asserted her dominion over the poker table with a flush of spades, which she presented with the same unreadable smile as always. Not good, Yang thought to herself as she slid off her shoes and glanced at her opponent. There must be a giveaway somewhere in there, behind those cool green eyes. She had to find it, and soon -- or Project Eastwind would be lost to Western hands for good... Grumbling, Jane stood up and pulled off her dress in front of the whole room, leaving her pasty white boobs in a lacy black bra and her nether regions hugged by a pair of matching black panties. When she sat down again, her face had already changed color to a light but discernible red. "Ooh la la," Marion said as she sized up the blushing Brit's sizeable mammaries. "What size are they?" "Mind your own business, Frenchie!" Round three began. Upon finding herself with nothing on her hands, Yang folded immediately, leaving Marion to bulldoze Jane with a full house. "First tits!" the Queen of Clubs cried as Jane was forced to remove her bra, revealing her perky, vanilla boobs and rosy pink nipples in their full glory. Throughout the entire next round, Jane did nothing but stare glumly at her cards, avoiding the gazes of the other players. In round four, Yang made a surprisingly bold bet on her two pairs (jacks and fours), which Jane doubled with a furious snort. The betting went on for quite a while, until Marion brought down the house of cards with another full house. "Big Sister, I just lost two million yuan of the government's money," Yang whispered into her communications device as she pulled off her little black dress, revealing a white cotton bra and matching boyshorts. "Think they'll mind?" "Not with our accountants, they won't," Big Sister barked back in her ear. "Nevertheless, get your act together, agent Yang. There's far more on the line than money!" Jane Bowen was now completely naked, and sat shivering in her seat with one arm covering her tits and the other nestled shyly between her legs. One more loss and she would have to start performing favors... a fact that she was painfully aware of. Round five began. Yang folded right away, once again leaving the empress of poker to demolish poor Jane's pitiful two pairs with a flush of hearts. "Looks like I've got you in my claws, mon amie anglaise..." Marion tittered as she snapped her fingers. A moment later, a hotel servant appeared carrying a large gold-plated paddle brandishing the Clubs symbol in sharp, pointy relief. Fear flashed across Jane's eyes and she swallowed nervously. "Over my knee, young lady," the poker queen commanded with a sadistic grin, and the British agent had no choice but to obey. Her face scarlet with indignation, the disgraced redhead lowered herself onto the Frenchwoman's lap with her curvaceous white rear in the air. "What delicious big fesses!" Marion cooed as she cupped the MI-6 agent's upturned buttocks with her hand and gave them a loving squeeze. "I love a round, sexy butt -- especially on a terrible poker player like you so I get to fondle it." "I'm not... a terrible poker player..." "Yes, you are, jiggle-cheeks, yes you are!" the Frenchwoman chuckled as she gave the Brit's buns a light spank. "You're a loser, and now I'm going to brand your loser's butt with my signature so that EVERYONE can see what happened!" With those words, she brought the paddle down onto Jane's chalk-white rump with a deafening *THWACK!*, sending a tremor of jiggles through the well-shaped glutes and leaving an angry red imprint. Jane squealed like a little girl, but to no avail -- each consecutive spank only deepened the imprint of the Clubs symbol on her defenseless round tush. "There! Now everyone can see who that sexy butt belongs to!" Marion cried after landing the last spank. Released from her torment, Jane tottered back to her seat with a pouty toddler look on her face, wiggling her smarting derriere and giving everyone a good, long glimpse of the red hot Clubs symbol pounded into it. "Don't worry, Janie, that should wear off after a month or so, leaving your butt as pristinely white as it used to be," Yang said with a teasing smile. "One more word out of you and you'll be leaving this casino in stitches," Jane hissed as she looked down at her new cards, frowning. Next, it was Yang's turn to dominate. With four threes on her hand going into the final round, she made an aggressive bet that caused Marion to sense danger and get out of the game. Jane, however, followed her bet chip by chip and ended up massacred when the cards were on the table. "Five... million... euros..." Jane Bowen whimpered, looking ready to faint. "So, Janie, I can't think of any better metaphor for our relationship than what I'm about to ask you to do," Yang said, beaming with satisfaction, "which is to get down on your knees and kiss my ass." "You've got to be kidding me." "La faveur has been named, my English cupcake, now - how you say - chop chop!" Marion said brusquely. Few moments in Yang's spying career were ever to bring her as much pleasure as when she got down on all knees, thrust her panty-clad buttocks up in the air and finally felt agent Jane Bowen's trembling lips pucker up against her sensitive butt-flesh. Just after the kiss, a click and a whirr alerted the MI-6 agent to the presence of a camera, and she looked up to see Yang's outstretched hand and blinking wristwatch looking down at her. "Aaaaand that's going up on the wall for sure," Yang said, immediately bringing up the photo on her tiny screen: Jane's beet-red face staring into a pert little butt, distastefully bracing her puckered lips for impact. "YOU DELETE THAT PICTURE THIS INSTANT!" Jane roared, making an -- unsuccessful -- lunge for the camera. "Ladies, please..." Marion called out. "Le jeu." Huffing with anger and embarassment, Jane plopped back down in her seat while Yang retreated, tittering, to hers. With the next round, the game was back to normal again -- her meager pair of jacks led Yang to fold early on, allowing Marion to deliver the coup-de-grace to poor Jane Bowen, hopelessly overestimating the power of her two pairs. "Looks like you're out of the game, mon amie anglaise," Marion exclaimed triumphantly, rising out of her chair and catching the attention of a hotel servant. "Excuse me, could you open the bay window in the corner for me, s'il vous pla?t?" "Certainly, madame," the well-dressed gentleman replied with a bow. "W-w-why are you opening the window?" Jane stuttered, getting out of her chair and backing toward the door. "It's the final favor, miss Bowen," Marion answered, beckoning her forward. "Please stand over here." The nervous British agent did as she was told, tip-toeing over to the window with quiet, humiliated steps -- her branded white bum jiggling softly with each step. Marion placed a hand on the redhead's back with matronly gentleness, bending her forward until her upper body was sticking out of the window, and her plump, heart-shaped rear end was arched upwards like a rising moon. Jane found herself staring down at the massive hotel pool, shimmering electric blue in the pleasant Mediterranean night -- twenty feet below her. She gulped as she braced herself for what was to come. "Au revoir, miss Bowen -- thanks for playing!" the Frenchwoman cackled, before plunging the tip of her high-heeled shoe straight up into the appetizingly presented derriere -- nudging the Brit's rosy little anus with her big toe -- sending her flying out, ass over tits, into the night with an ear-piercing shriek. A second later, a massive splash as the agent made a belly-flop in the pool below. "I love that girl, but she did have it coming," Yang chuckled as she watched the little curvy silhouette swim to safety. "So then, miss Ping, that leaves just you and me," Marion Citreaux purred as she signaled to the croupier to begin the next game. "Feeling nervous about your prospects?" "Not in the slightest," Yang replied as she stared into the Frenchwoman's mysterious green eyes, trying to determine her secret. She looked down at her cards -- three aces! A fine hand, but given Marion's incredible luck in seemingly every round, probably not good enough. She made a moderately large bet and waited for her opponent's response. "I'll raise that to five million," Marion replied, pushing over a couple of pillars from her chip-fortress with her usual enigmatic smile. Suddenly, there it was: a tiny stiffness in the Frenchwoman's jawline sent off a bluff alarm in Yang's brain so faint that it almost wasn't there. And yet, she had reacted to it, and Yang's policy was to always take her first instinct seriously. "Ten million," she replied coolly, pushing over a significant portion of her remaining chips into the middle of the table. "Twenty million." The stiffness was gone this time, but that didn't matter -- it had been there at a crucial moment, and Yang was taking her chance. "I'll meet that bet," Yang said with an air of finality. "Show me what you've got, Frenchie." Instantly, Yang understood that her instinct had been correct. Marion's disguise crumbled and it was with an extremely displeased look that she revealed her hand: nothing. "You win this time, miss Ping," the brunette muttered as she slid off her black dress to reveal a hot red lacy bra and matching panties. "Don't get cocky." But as fate would have it, Marion's luck was running dry -- and with Yang having spotted the one chink in her carefully assembled armor, she found herself in the same situation in the next round. Harrumphing loudly, the Frenchwoman unbuttoned her bra and threw it onto the floor, exposing a pair of perfectly-shaped Gallic mammaries with pointy pink nipples standing in salute. "Wow, those are some beautiful stand-up tits," Yang whistled. "Congratulations." "That's as much as you'll be seeing of me tonight," Marion grumbled. "Make no mistake about that." And for a while, it seemed like Marion had been right. Yang's instinct failed her when she misread the same stiffness into Marion's face a third time, only to be trampled into the dirt when the brunette unveiled no fewer than four kings. "Status report, please," Big Sister suddenly barked into her ear. "Tell me you've turned that losing streak around, agent Yang!" "Can't talk now, Big Sis," Yang replied as she carefully undid her bra and slid it off, revealing a pair of modest A cup breasts that looked disconcertingly vulnerable next to Marion's ripe, full C's. "It's complicated." In the next round, Yang was crushed again -- it was obvious that Marion was faking the stiffness of her jaw after discovering that her opponent was on to her. The petite Asian agent had to remove her panties and remain completely naked for the duration of the game. And worse yet, she was losing an alarming amount of money. Thinking on her feet, Yang attempted a desperate bluff in the next round, but her brilliant opponent called it right away, demolishing Yang for the third time in a row. "First favor... suck my mamelons," Marion purred, gesturing to her bulging mammaries with a come- hither smile. Yang looked down at the breasts in question, and damn if they didn't seem to be standing up on command! Gritting her teeth, Yang plunged right in, sucking those perky wonders with all the fake-passion she could muster, but all the while she was thinking 'just you wait until I find out your secret, you smug French twat -- I won't be merciful!' In the next round, Yang found herself with three jacks on her hand, and after trading in her other two cards, that hand had grown into a full house. She stared over at the brunette, who maintained the same smug, cryptical smile. "Twenty-five million," Yang grunted and moved all her remaining chips into the center of the table. "Tsk tsk tsk -- you're getting desperate, miss Ping," Marion chuckled and met her bet, taking the bait. "Let's see what you have." "Full house, babe," Yang declared triumphantly. "Now strip." Marion flinched and shot her opponent a contemptuous look before standing up, turning her back to the table and sliding off her panties in a gesture of almost defiant exhibitionism. Of course, the Frenchwoman's heart-shaped tush was as luscious as her breasts, and Yang felt an almost irresistible urge to walk up to it and give it a good slap for putting her through so much trouble. "Consider yourself lucky, miss Ping," Marion said in an icy tone of voice as she gave her bottom a little wiggle. "You're the only person who has ever played well enough to get me to show my butt. How does that make you feel?" "Eager to play well enough to get to *spank* your butt," Yang retorted. "Now let's get on with it." In the next round, however, everything was back to normal. Marion demolished her with a flush, collecting twenty million euros in the process. "For your next favor: lick my chatte," Marion commanded, licking her lips as she spread her legs to reveal a perfectly smooth white snatch. With a heavy heart, Yang kneeled in front of the laughing Frenchwoman and lowered her face into the warm, soft orifice -- here she felt Marion's hand on the back of her head guiding her way -- and began to lick. "Ohhh, yes, very good, ma petite chinoise," the brunette sighed as she threw back her head. "Ohh, yesssss, just like that... YES, PR?CIS?MENT!! OOHHHHHH!!!" "Agent Yang, what in the name of DENG XIAOPING are you doing over there -- did you take the take the wrong turn and end up in a high-class whorehouse!?" Big Sister bellowed in her ear. "This is not acceptable!!" "Mmmhh cmmt msshplwwn, wwttsshh cmplwwcwwtwd!" Yang replied, her mouth full of writhing, wet French pussy. "OUI!! OUI!! CONTINUEEEEEEEEEEER!!" "AGENT YANG, YOU GET THAT FRENCH HOOKER'S CHEESE-SMELLING SNATCH OUT OF YOUR FACE AND TALK TO ME PROPERLY!!" Big Sister's voice was drowned out when Marion Citreaux unleashed her hot, splashy load in Yang's face, just as she gave up a scream of voluptuous Gallic ecstasy. The blast of love-juice knocked agent Yang flat on her ass, and for a while, she felt unable to do anything else than sit on the floor and flutter her eyes in shock and disbelief. "Ohhhhhh, that was... incroyable, miss Ping," Marion sighed, wiping her face with an embroidered hotel napkin. "We must do it again sometime..." Around this point, a casino guest stumbled into the room, gave up a high-pitched shriek and ran back the way she came. "Well, at least Jane wasn't here to see it," Yang grunted as she wiped the cum off her face and walked back to the table on wobbly legs. This was it: her last chance to figure out how to beat her opponent. One more loss and Yang would be out, having lost her native country a fortune and possibly forfeited her one chance of recovering Project Eastwind. In order to win, however, she needed to beat Marion a whopping three times. Now more than ever, Lady Luck must smile kindly on her -- the current world order depended on it. "How about now, miss Ping -- still confident about your prospects?" Marion asked with a devious smile after the first cards had been dealt. Yang tensed up. Something about the question struck her as forced -- since when did Marion begin talking during the game? Normally she was quiet as a mouse. This was it -- the new giveaway. This bitch is bluffing, Yang thought to herself, I'll stake my life on it! "Five million," Yang snapped, locking her eyes with her opponent. "Ten million." "I'll match that bet." The new cards were dealt, and Yang felt a sting of new hope: three kings... and two jacks! That should do the trick. "Ten more," Yang said, cool as a cucumber. Fear flashed briefly across Marion's eyes. "I'll raise you... *thirty* million." "Challenge accepted." Having run out of money, Yang caught the attention of a hotel servant and asked her to exchange thirty million euros into casino chips, all the while keeping her eyes fixed onto Marion's. When she had received her new money, she promptly moved all of it into the center of the table and looked over at her opponent. "Two pairs: eights and tens." "Full house." Yang smiled. "Look at all those royal faces and weep." Marion looked shaken, but that was nothing compared to how she looked after Yang told her to get down on her knees and return the pussy-licking favor. Gingerly, the Frenchwoman lowered her face into the Chinese girl's smooth-shaven crotch and began to lick, while Yang kept her hand on her head, pushing her deeper into her hot, pulsating womanhood. "Ohhhhhh my, you Frenchwomen... oohh!! ssssure know where to put your tongues... aahhhh!!!" she moaned as the brunette caressed her nether regions with her soft, nimble tongue and plushy lips, her pert derriere wiggling in rhythm behind her. For some reason, what was happening made her think of Laura Li, and the unknown deal she had struck with her -- and which she would eventually have to fulfill. This memory merged with the rising surge of sexual energy in her body, and gave birth to a disconcertingly ambivalent orgasm which coated Marion's pretty face in sticky love-juice. "Ughhh," the Frenchwoman groaned as she reached for a napkin to dry off her face. "Don't whine, girl -- we still aren't even!" In the next game, Yang was almost delirious to discover that Lady Luck had dealt her two -- no, three -- no, FOUR aces! Putting on her best fake-confident grin, she strung her opponent along through a chicken race of insane betting that went well past sixty million euros, before laying the smackdown on the disgraced pro. "MERDE! This can't be happening!" Marion Citreaux cried, banging her fists on the table. "But it is, my little French bon-bon," agent Yang purred, beckoning her forward. "Excuse me, monsieur, could you get me that paddle from before? I'd like to wear it out some more." Marion grew pale as a ghost. She began to whimper protests, but Yang was implacable, grabbing her by the wrist and promptly pulling her over her knee, so that the naked brunette formed a 'V' over her lap with her delectable tush pointing upwards like the tip of a sexy pyramid. The servant brought her the paddle. Yang placed the implement gently against the shivering loser's perfect butt and gave it a few warm up pats that caused the ripe white ass flesh to jiggle appetizingly. "Looks like the empress of poker is about to be treated to a taste of her own medicine," Yang chuckled. "Tell me -- how do you think the gambling community is going to react when they get tomorrow's news- paper and see your sweet little ass on the front page, branded with your own insignia? I think there's going to be plenty of schadenfreude going around." "What do you mean on the f-f-front page-" *THWACK!!* "OOOHHHHHHHH!!!" The paddle lashed the curvaceous girl's pearly white buns right in the center, leaving an angry red Clubs symbol across her pampered rear. Each successive spank deepened the imprint, and caused the girl to howl louder with pain and humiliation, while Yang delighted in the hypnotizing movement of the trembling ass cheeks and the feeling of Marion's tits slapping against her thigh after each blow. "AOOOHHH!! Th-this... OOOOUUUWWW!! ...isn't... AAAIIIEEE!! ...f-f-faaaair!! EEEEEKKKKK!!" "Quiet, girl, or I'm gonna have to give ten extra on your tits!" "Mes seins!? AAAIIIEEE!!! P-p-please don't!! OOOHHHHH!!!" "Then shut up and take your spanking like a good girl!" "EEEEEEKKK!!! *sob* I w-w-will, I will!!! AAIIEEEEEEEEEE!!!" After about thirty licks with the paddle, Marion's tush was glowing redder Rudolph's nose, and the Clubs symbol emblazoned across her buttocks was beaming like a neon sign. Yang ran her finger along the curve of the sobbing Frenchwoman's exquisite bottom, admiring her handiwork. "I don't think you'll be able to rub this off," she giggled, giving the pert rump a little slap. Marion slid off her lap with a spoiled-girl pout and walked back to her seat, all the while rubbing her smarting bum. And so it was time for the make-or-break moment: the final round. Whoever lost this game would lose it all. Having won two insanely high-stakes games in a row, Yang now found herself with two hundred million euros on her hand, while Marion's fortress of chips had shrunk to next to nothing. "Looks like you're broke, Marion," agent Yang said, leaning back in her chair. "Must be a novel experience for you." "Oh, but you're wrong, miss Ping. My fortune is -- comment le dis tu -- nebulous?" She picked up her gold- plated cellphone and dialed a number. It didn't take long for someone to pick up on the other end. Agent Yang's ears pricked up with attention. "Oui, it's me," Marion spoke into her phone, turning her back (and glowing butt) toward Yang for the sake of privacy. "I'm in a bind. If I am to make it to our game on Saturday, I'm going to need some help from you... oui, oui... never played her before, she's an unknown... Chinese woman... how much? um... two hundred million should do... are you sure?... Merci beaucoup." She shut her phone and came back to the table, signaling to a hotel servant to exchange her new money for playing chips. "Not many people could spare two hundred million euros just like that," Yang said, burrowing her eyes into Marion's evasive gaze. "I'd say there are about half a dozen on them on the planet." "And I happen to know one of them, miss Ping," the Frenchwoman retorted. "Now, if you would be so kind, let's get this over with." And so the deck was shuffled and the first cards were dealt. A tense silence fell upon the room as the two expressionless faces locked eyes. Marion signaled for one new card. Yang took two. "Miss Ping, you have been a worthy opponent," Marion suddenly said, fanning herself with her cards. "But I'm afraid it ends here." She moved her entire stash of chips into the center of the table. "Two hundred and ten million." "Fine, bitch," Yang replied, moving all of hers into the same pile. "Two hundred million... AND..." she scribbled a deed onto a piece of paper and threw it onto the pile. "Fifty million in gold... from my countr- uh... private gold reserve." "ONE DAMN MINUTE, AGENT YANG," Big Sister suddenly barked in her ear. "And it's NO USE switching off your intercom, because I have ways to get it back on. You've already bet THE ENTIRE BUDGET for our operation and now you're raising the wager with gold from the national reserve!? YOU'VE GOT A LOT OF NERVE, AGEN-" Yang detached her intercom and placed it in her pocket, all the while maintaining her eyes on her opponent. "Impressive, miss Ping, but if you're so eager to self-destruct, there is nothing I can do," Marion replied. "I raise the wager... with my seaside mansion in Sorrento, valued at ten million euro... and my house in Switzerland, valued at six million... in fact, I'm going all in with everything I own. If you win this game, miss Ping, I won't have as much as a g-string left to cover up my modesty." That settled the deal. Yang made the arrangements to follow her until the last penny, and then waited patiently, leaned back in her chair. This was it: the moment of truth -- although, of course, one of the players already knew the outcome. "Six of hearts, seven of hearts, eight of hearts, nine of hearts," Marion counted, revealing each card with relish before triumphantly throwing the last card onto the table, "aaaand the ten of hearts. A straight flush, miss Ping. Lady Luck sure has a liking for the grand finale." "She certainly does, miss Citreaux," Yang replied, staring coolly at her opponent. "And the coda is coming right up: ten of spades, jack of spades, queen of spades, king of spades, aaaaand..." Agent Yang paused. The tension in the room was so thick that the croupier almost looked like she had trouble breathing. There was Marion Citreaux, naked and disgraced in her chair, her green eyes flashing with panic. And here was she, hiding the last and most important card in her clenched fist. "...the ace of spades." She released the card and let it slide across the table until it came to a stop against the obscenely large pile of chips. "I win, miss Citreaux. Thanks for playing." Marion's green eyes glazed over and she fainted. It took several minutes to bring her back to consciousness, during which Yang had time to put on her clothes again and turn on her intercom -- bracing herself for Big Sister's wrath. "Hello, agent Yang?" a voice replied on the other end. "Little Sister? Where's Big Sister?" Yang asked skeptically. "She had to go into the other room to vent her rage -- she HATES it when you hang up on her, agent Yang! In the meantime, I've had time to look at that redhead you spotted in the casino, and I've got a profile match. Ready? Her name is Natasha Lagunova and she's an ex-Russian agent who seems to have gone rogue. I'd say chances are incredibly high that she's working for the Syndicate." "So she's bad news, then?" "Extremely bad news -- apparently she has a reputation for ruthless efficiency... and cruelty. Watch out, agent Yang." "Don't worry, Little Sister, I've dealt with Russians before. Also, by the way -- Mission Jackpot? Accomplished." "A-accomplished? I'll be damned. Hats off, agent Yang, the Chinese nation salutes you... or they *would*, if this mission wasn't top secret." "It's a thankless job, Little Sister, but someone's gotta do it," Yang said, lighting a cigarette. "Hang on, my opponent seems to have regained consciousness... I'll call you right back." "Ohhhhhhh, *sob* this can't... be happening!" Marion Citreaux moaned, rocking back and forth with her head in her hands. "I'm afraid it is happening, miss Citreaux," Yang replied, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air. "And tomorrow, you'll be out on the street, broke, homeless and with your branded ass on the cover of every major newspaper, the laughing stock of the international gambling community... UNLESS..." Marion looked up, wiping a tear from her reddened face. "U-u-unless?" "Unless I agree to cancel out your debt, leaving you with your money, your houses and your dignity, and we pretend this game never happened. No one would ever know, and you could go back to your life as the empress of poker once again. On *one* condition." "Oui, oui, I'll do it!! I'll do it!! Tell me the one condition!!" "This is not the place to talk about it. Meet me in your hotel room in 30 minutes and I'll tell you exactly what to do." Yang placed her hand on Marion's chin, lifting up her face. "Now, I'm cutting you a very generous offer here, but I'd still like my third favor." "O-of course," Marion stammered. "A-anything you want!" Yang took the Frenchwoman by the wrist and led her over to the poker table, where she promptly bent her over by the waist. The agent then pressed a few buttons on her watch before aiming it at the brunette's left ass cheek. A moment later, a thin red ray shot out from the little device, striking the naked buttock squarely in its center and moving around until it had seared a symbol into the luscious flesh: the Chinese character for "OWNERSHIP". "OOOWWWWWWW!!!" Marion whined as the symbol glowed briefly before darkening into a permanent tattoo. "Just to make sure you uphold your end of our little deal," Yang chuckled. "And believe me, this thing will give you HELL if you don't." *** It took a long time and lots of arm-twisting, but finally Marion gave signs of relenting. Pacing back and forth in her room wearing a super-short, ass-exposing gold-embroidered bathrobe, she spent almost an hour ventilating her fears to to agent Yang, who was sitting on the bed. "You don't GET it, mademoiselle Yang, I could -- and probably will -- get KILLED!" she whined, wiping a tear from her puffy cheek. "You don't know Victoria Claymore like I do. You don't know what she can do." "Girl, I'm not asking you to smuggle us into the compound. I'm simply asking you to sneak into Victoria's room, open up her computer and corrupt her hard drive with the virus we've designed." "It can't be done!" "Of course it can. Victoria trusts you, doesn't she? She lets you roam around the building at your leisure. She won't suspect betrayal." "All she needs to do is put two and two together!" "That's why we're going to make our move before she's had time to find out what happened. The virus needs five minutes to break down her defense system -- we'll be inside by fifteen." "Who is *we*?" "Don't you concern yourself with that, miss Citreaux," Yang said, smiling confidently. "The only thing you should be thinking about is the fact that you'll be leaving this building with your money, social status and clothing still intact." Marion looked down into the carpet, mulling over what Yang had just said. Meanwhile, Big Sister's voice came crackling into Yang's ear on a wave of static. "Have you tamed the kitty, agent Yang?" the voice barked, still a bit stung from Yang's disobedience. "Almost," Yang replied, walking over to the window as she talked. "I'll have her twisted around the MSS's little finger in an hour, I promise." "Good, good," Big Sister said, her voice softening. "Look, agent Yang, I know I've been rough on you lately, but it's only because I've entrusted you with such a crucial mission. See, the thing is that blah blah blah priorities blah blah blah Ministry of State Security blah blah love of my country blah blah blah THERE COMES A TIME blah blah blah pillar of the community blah blah the Analects of Confucius blah blah blah can you deny me that, agent Yang? Can you blah blah AND FURTHERMORE-" However, agent Yang wasn't listening anymore. As satisfying as it was to get a long-winded semi-apology from her grumpy boss, her attention was trained on a far more pressing issue. Just opposite her window, in a suite belonging to the neighboring hotel, a tiny flash of light appeared in the darkened, seemingly unoccupied room. Had Yang's sensibilities not been so completely attuned to the precariousness of her current situation, she wouldn't have thought anything by it, and that would have been the end of her. But now her imagination leapt straight to the worst possible scenario, which just happened to be correct: the flash had been a ray of lamplight glinting off the scope of a gun. "Well, shit," she muttered, just before diving headfirst into the carpet, leaving the bullet to burst her window into a million glistening shards and shatter a television set in the other end of the room. Marion screamed and hid behind the bed. Yang looked up, pressed a button on her watch and shone a flashlight into the darkened hotel room. The ray of ghostly white light revealed a familiar sight: the steely blue eyes and high Slavic cheekbones of Natasha Lagunova, peeking up from behind a high-powered Dragunov sniper rifle. "You stay right here, Marion," Yang cried as she aimed her watch at the wall above Natasha's window. "I've got some unpleasant business to attend to." With those words, she fired off a wire that attached itself to the wall of the opposite hotel, ran toward the window and swung herself through the air -- lowering herself out of Natasha's vision just in time to dodge another bullet -- before landing on all fours on the floor in the darkened hotel suite. She looked around. The room was empty, the door open, and hurried steps could be heard from the corridor outside. "You're not getting away that easily," Yang mumbled as she took up the chase, bursting through the doorway only to find the Russian agent standing spread-legged further down the corridor, pointing an SMG at her. "Dobryy vecher, myeess Yang," Natasha said with an ice-cold smile, cocking her gun. She had ditched the eveningwear and was wearing a skintight black vinyl suit that hugged her ample curves most maddeningly, and her fiery red hair gleamed demonically in the diminished light. "I've been warned about you," agent Yang replied, leaning her hand against the doorway. "Rogue agents are always bad news. Always." "I see you've ryead my profiyle," Natasha purred. "I'm flattered." "Don't be. I take it you're working for G-H-O-S-T now, like seemingly everybody else?" "I do not disclyose my allegiances, myeess Yang." "Well, you just disclosed them." "Heh," Natasha threw her head back, letting her crimson locks whip through the air. "No matter. Dead women tyell no tales." The Russian moved to pull the trigger, but not before Yang -- who had subtly moved her hand closer to the light switch all throughout the conversation -- had plunged the corridor into complete darkness. Having lost her target, Natasha fired randomly into the darkness, peppering the walls with semiautomatic fire. Suddenly, the light was switched back on. The entire wall had been riddled with bullet holes, but the corpse of agent Yang was conspicuously missing from the picture. "Perhaps you should have read *my* profile, miss Lagunova," Yang's voice could be heard from behind the surprised redhead. She spun around just in time to block Yang's punch with her forearm, but failed to anticipate Yang's other hand, which promptly struck the SMG out of the Russian agent's grip. "Fiyyne," Natasha snorted. "If this is how you want to do it -- davay zhe!" And so the fistfight was on. Natasha went on the offensive right away, firing off punches left and right, while Yang tried to keep her guard up throughout the whole barrage. Finally, the redhead managed to land a kick that caught Yang squarely in the midsection and sent her sprawling on the floor in pain. "Well, thyat was eazy," Natasha laughed, wiping her fiery fringe out of her eyes as she walked up to her downed foe. "And now, you dyyye." "FREEZE!!" a voice shouted from the other end of the corridor. Natasha spun around. There, amassed near the stairs, stood a squadron of female police officers pointing their guns at her in a way that was universal language for "no funny business". "I'm Ryussian. We can't freeze," the redhead quipped, before promptly cartwheeling to the side, picking up her SMG mid-air and firing off a semi-automatic volley in the direction of the flabbergasted officers. Two of the officers were struck in the shoulder and fell limply to the floor, gasping for help. The other officers retreated down the stairway while one of them provided covering fire. Natasha, noticing that Yang was nowhere within sight, decided to make a run for it. By the time the officers had gathered enough courage to venture out into the corridor again, Natasha had already run the entire length of the hallway, kicked a window to splinters and disappeared into the night. The Russian rogue agent landed gracefully on the roof of the adjacent building and paused for a few seconds to adapt to the new situation. A moment later, the click of a Beretta alerted her to the fact that wasn't alone. "This is the end of the line for you, Miss Scarlet," agent Yang hissed into her ear. "Give up now, and we'll treat you... comparatively gently." "Lick my pizda, you chink!" Natasha cried, just before burying her elbow in Yang's stomach and making a run for it. Doubling over and swearing with pain, Yang fired blindly into the night, to no avail. By the time she had roused herself, the little silhouette she was after was already three roofs away and receding fast. Agent Yang took up the chase. For nearly ten minutes, she chased that red-headed vinyl-wearing tart across the rooftops of Monte Carlo, stopping occasionally to aim a tranquilizer dart at her shiny black rump, but always missing it by less than an inch. Finally, the end seemed to be in sight. They had reached the last building, beyond which there was only piers, yachts and lapping black ocean. Natasha stopped on the edge of the roof, as if waiting for the right moment to jump. Once again, Yang pointed her Beretta at the girl's curvy bottom, gathered all her concentration and pulled the trigger. The tranquilizer dart whistled through the humid night air. Natasha took the jump -- a graceful swandive into the night. The projectile passed straight between the cheeks of her upturned rear end, microscopically grazing the vinyl on both sides before disappearing into the blackness over the marina. Natasha had gotten away. A moment later, a condor-sized drone surged up from below, carrying the Russian agent on its back like a flying horse from some epic poem. "I'll be damned," Yang grunted, as the drone shot off into the night, Natasha's fiery hair flashing briefly in the lamplight before disappearing. "Agent Yang, we saw it all via satellite," Big Sister's voice crackled in her ear. "Good shot. Almost hit a bullseye, if you know what I mean." "She's too fast. But not by much." "You'll get her next time, of course." "She'll get me next time too," Yang replied. "Which means that my only hope is that I can spot her before she spots me." Not far away, traveling at dizzying speeds over the moonlit Mediterranean, Natasha was having a similar conversation with her superior -- and had arrived at the same conclusion. The race was on, and one of the participants was not going to get out of it unscathed. TO BE CONTINUED