Black Ops (Presidential Agent 5)

"Let Sandra get some sleep," Santini said, "so she can deal with the women tomorrow. I'll take her place."

Castillo looked around and saw that the suggestion met everyone's approval.

"Anybody else?" he asked.

There were no takers.

"Okay. That's it. I'm off to bed. Breakfast at half past seven."

[FOUR]

Stripped to his T-shirt and shorts, Castillo walked into the bathroom of the master suite--everything but the doors and ceiling was either marble or mirrors--carrying his toilet kit and a clean set of underwear.

He laid the toilet kit on the marble, twin-basin sink, then pulled his T-shirt off, balled it up, and took a basketball shot at the wicker laundry basket against the wall.

"Three-pointer!" he said, then pulled off his shorts. They dropped to the floor. He put one hand on the sink to steady himself, then kicked the shorts into the air and grabbed them. He balled them up and took another shot at the laundry basket.

"Shit," he said, and walked to the basket to pick them up.

As he dropped the shorts into the laundry basket, he noticed a door. He had seen it before, of course. The architect who had designed the house had taken into consideration the possibility that the occupants of the master suite would reproduce. Thus, the room next door, the smallest of the three on the floor, could serve as the nursery. It certainly wasn't being put to that use now, but the fact remained that there was a door leading to it from the master-suite bathroom so that Momma could rush to soothe a squealing baby.

Without really thinking about it, he tried the handle. The door was locked, and there was no key. But his curiosity having gone this far, he bent over and looked through the keyhole. He could see nothing.

He walked to the glass-walled shower and turned on the water. He sniffed his armpit. It didn't exactly exude the fragrance of a flower shop, but he decided it didn't smell as foul as it could--probably should--have considering that the last shower he'd had was at das Haus im Wald, some twelve thousand kilometers away and God Only Knows how many hours before.

When the water had reached a satisfactory temperature, he stepped under it and just stood there.

A forbidden question crept into his mind: I wonder what Svetlana looks like in the shower starker? I've already been blessed with the sight of those marvelous nipples erect on those marvelous breasts--

He forced the image from his mind and started with the soap.

What the hell is wrong with me? I'm too old to be behaving like a seventeen-year-old suffering from raging hormones.

And I should be smart enough to realize this is one situation where I cannot, absolutely cannot, let a stiff dick take control of the brain.

When he decided his rigorous shower had cleansed him as well as he could be cleansed, he sucked in his breath and turned off just the hot-water faucet.

When he was actually shivering, he turned off the cold water, opened the shower door, and

reached for a towel.

And then he quickly tried to modestly cover his groin with his hand.

Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva was in his bathroom. She was fully covered by a thick white terry-cloth bathrobe, but for all practical purposes it was transparent above the waist--Castillo's memory bank had automatically kicked in and he again was looking at her bare bosom and erect nipples in the pool.

A number of thoughts zipped at a dizzying speed through his brain as he tried to think of something to say, how to say it, and then actually say it.

"I checked that door just now. It was locked." That was what finally came out of his mouth.

She held up something red, about the size of a pencil, and smiled.

What the hell is that?

He looked at the object again.

Oh, shit!

Tradecraft 101: How a Cigarette Lighter Flame Can Turn Ordinary Objects into Other Useful Tools.