Spy Games

Chapter 1: A Riverbank Somewhere in South America It all started with Vincent. Of course, most of their trouble did start with Vincent—or rather, with Vincent’s libido. “A girl in every port” was a restricted diet for the American T.H.R.U.S.T. agent. Not that Nikoloz hadn’t seen this coming. That first T.H.R.U.S.T. mission, when the man had stopped to sweet-talk every woman they’d passed, forcing the two of them to dash across the tarmac to catch their plane—no, it had been obvious then that this would eventually rear its head. And now they’d caught a lucky break on this last mission and ended up at the rendezvous point nearly a full week ahead of schedule. The Jupati River was a Brazilian tributary of the sss, a smallish river that wound through dense, unexplored rainforest. Eventually, Ramos would show up at this little beach with his canoe to transport them back to civilization. With any other partner, a few days’ wait beside a tropical river would be an unexpected vacation. Excluding, of course, the heat, and the daily rains, and the bugs, and the reptiles, and the damned incessant whoops and screeches of the wildlife. Give Nikoloz a London or San Francisco street any day. However, they did have almost a week to relax, a sandy beach and a river for swimming. If you didn’t mind a few crocodiles or piranha. At any rate, they were here, no tasks awaited them, no schedule compelled their attention. They’d retrieved the stolen documents. The F.I.S.T. branch was neutralized. Their native guide wouldn’t be along to pick them up until Tuesday. Any other agent would have welcomed the chance for an break. Not Vincent Lowe. “You don’t suppose there are any friendly villagers along this river, do you, Kolya?” Only his partner was allowed to use the diminutive of his name. Nikoloz pretended disinterest in the topic. “I believe Ramos said that the closest tribe was a two day trip by canoe.” Vincent stretched out on the sand, hands behind his head. His blond hair was tousled, his eyes hooded. He stared at the leafy canopy overhead without speaking for a few minutes. “I wonder how long it takes to make a canoe.” Nikoloz turned the page of the physics journal he’d brought along. “Our kit does contain a machete if you wish to attempt the process.” Vincent heaved a sigh and rolled over onto his stomach. This position lasted barely longer than the previous one. He shifted onto his side, propped his head onto his hand, and stared at his partner. Those big, blue eyes nearly always got the man what he wanted. Or so he’d been led to believe. Nikoloz ignored him for a good two minutes. Vincent heaved another sigh. “I did suggest that you bring along a book,” Nikoloz said, turning another page. “Not all of us are emotionless Russian robots.” “The term is Soviet.” Nikoloz swept his dark bangs from his eyes and returned to his journal. “For crying out loud,” Vincent said, flopping onto his back once more. “What’s a red-blooded American boy supposed to do out here with the nearest women two days away?” “And those probably need to be treated for lice or fleas.” A disgusted expression crossed Vincent’s face, then he scowled at his partner. “Do you have anything other than ice water in your veins?” “I would be much more comfortable if my blood vessels were chilled.” Nikoloz swiped at his face with his handkerchief and frowned at the damp cloth. He slid farther beneath the tarpaulin they’d rigged between two trees. Not that the shade helped—instead of cooling one off, it merely created interesting patterns on one’s sweaty skin. Vincent scowled. “Amazing how you understand the English language perfectly well whenever it’s to your advantage.” Nikoloz hid a smile behind the journal. It was amusing to bait Vikentiy. He studied a diagram in the journal with interest. Though he’d been called a nerd by his new colleagues at T.H.R.U.S.T., he enjoyed learning. It was too bad his partner didn’t share his love of science. Then they could talk about something other than Vincent’s libido. Vincent shoved to his feet. “Well, I suppose I’ll be reduced to Mother Hand and her five daughters. This is all your fault.” “I fail to see how my efficiency has any connection to your s****l perversions.” “If we’d stuck to the schedule, I could have charmed that sweet señorita into my bed, you Russian bastard.” “You do realize that she was a F.I.S.T. agent.” “Of course. But she didn’t know I knew, so it would have been perfect.” “Until she slipped a knife between your ribs, durak.” Vincent put his hands on his hips and glared down at Nikoloz. “Aren’t you just the little ray of sunshine? If you had any blood at all in that computer you call a body, you’d be in the same boat as I am.” “We are on a beach, Vika, not in a boat.” “One of these days, you’re going to get the beating you deserve.” Vincent stalked away, presumably for that appointment with his hand. Nikoloz rolled his eyes and returned to his reading. The man couldn’t even last a full day without a s****l release. It was going to be a very long week. T.H.R.U.S.T.—Tactical Homeland Response Unit and Security Taskforce—had paired him with the American a couple of years ago, after Nikoloz had graduated from their Special Forces training. Section 3 routinely sent the pair on troubleshooting missions around the world, particularly against their rival organization, F.I.S.T. (the acronym was rumored to stand for Federation for the Instigation of Suspicion and Terrorism). Vincent was a seasoned, top-notch agent, but Nikoloz often wondered why he’d been partnered with the man. Vincent was emotional, vain, and headstrong. Nikoloz preferred to analyze a problem from a distance before acting. Vincent liked to rush right in, guns blazing. And of course there was the little issue of the man’s s****l appetite. Nikoloz liked to think he was a normal male—”red-blooded” as Vincent put it. He enjoyed the act and, contrary to gossip at headquarters, had bedded several of his fellow agents. He just didn’t advertise the fact as some of them did. His partner seemed to think the whole thing was some sort of contest, perhaps with a trophy for most bed partners. “You know,” Vincent said that evening as they sat around the campfire, “us being in the same boat and all, we could help each other out.” He gave his partner one of his patented smiles—the one that made every woman in headquarters (and not a few of the men) go weak in the knees. Ah, finally getting to the point Nikoloz had anticipated from Day One. Next would come the “What’s a little blowjob between friends?” speech. Americans. Nikoloz raised an eyebrow, shot one glance at his partner, and pulled out the second journal he’d packed. Vincent snatched it from his hands. “Damn it, you’re not going to sit there and read the entire week while I suffer!” “You are hardly suffering, my friend. After all, there is, how did you so quaintly put it? ‘Mother Hand’?” Vincent rolled up the journal and slapped it against his palm as he spoke. “Entirely unsatisfying and you know it. A man like myself just can’t live on that sort of thing.” Nikoloz forced himself not to reach for the journal. It would only result in a game of “Keep Away,” and that was exactly what Vincent wanted. “You forget: I am also male. Just because you have an erection does not mean you have to have sex.” Vincent’s eyebrows went up. His cheek dimpled. “And waste a perfectly good hard-on? I’m surprised at you, partner.” Nikoloz rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of his own. Vincent was on the verge of broaching the subject now. It was a foregone conclusion, and had been from that first mission. Why fight it? Other than the fact that it was so very amusing to see his partner squirm. It wasn’t as if Vincent would be his first, after all. His KGB training had been thorough. An agent who was captured must be able to resist any sort of discomfort, and most men found that act quite discomforting. Nikoloz had long since lost any aversion he might have once had. It would hardly be an imposition to go along with his partner. And Vincent did have one thing right: it would help relieve the tension between them. Tension that had been evident to Nikoloz from the moment his partner’s eyes had swept over him, sizing up the new recruit. Those eyes had widened just a bit, the pupils had enlarged, his gaze lingered perhaps a moment longer than it should have, before he’d extended a hand and said hello. “Would you like to read that issue?” Nikoloz now asked, widening his own eyes and raising both eyebrows. “I have several more journals in my bag.” He waited until Vincent had shoved to his feet and whirled away in frustration, then he released the smile that had his cheeks aching trying to hold it in. His face was expressionless when Vincent turned back around, both hands clenched around the rolled up journal as though it was a F.I.S.T. agent’s neck—or Nikoloz’s. “For a man as smart as you are supposed to be,” Vincent said through gritted teeth, “you are as dense as a post when it comes to understanding your fellow man.” “I have never found my fellow man worth understanding. Most of them want the same things: money, power, or sex.” Vincent dropped back to a cross-legged seat by the fire. “I ought to burn every one of those damn magazines.” “They are scientific journals, and I hope you do not. I find the wait every bit as boring as you do.” “Just boring?” Vincent raised an eyebrow and shot him another of his grins. Nikoloz raised one of his own eyebrows in reply. “Just because you cannot keep your libido in check does not mean that I have a similar lack of control.” “You really are a walking computer, aren’t you?” “Why, thank you, Vika. I am flattered you would compliment me this way.” Vincent groaned and tossed the journal back. “I give up! I can’t even get a decent rise out of you.” Nikoloz snagged the journal before it hit the sand. “I do not understand why you would want to start an argument, my friend. Can we not just relax and enjoy the time off?” “We could if you weren’t so damn obtuse.” Vincent shoved to his feet and stormed to the lean-to, muttering under his breath. Nikoloz made out the phrases “Russian bastard,” “ice water” and “show him control.” Vincent dropped to a seat on his bedroll and rummaged through his duffel bag. Nikoloz pretended to read, but watched his partner from the corners of his eyes. Vincent pulled out a magazine and stared at it with a rueful expression. Nikoloz knew without checking that it was a local skin magazine his partner had purchased at the last market they’d visited. Well, that might alleviate the man’s boredom—but certainly not his other problem. Vincent tucked the magazine back into his bag and stretched out. He rolled pointedly to face the back wall of the lean-to. Nikoloz made no attempt at conversation. He left the noise to the nightlife of the jungle, screeching and howling and growling from the trees. Truth be told, he was just as happy to be alone with his reading. He ignored the jungle and enjoyed the journal until the campfire began to die down, then retired to the shelter. “Good night,” he said pleasantly. Vincent pretended to be asleep. He’d never quite mastered the right breathing rhythm, however. Nikoloz dozed off with a smile. The next day was not so pleasant. Vincent whined and complained all morning. It was too hot, the beach was too cramped, the lean-to was too small, his bedroll was lumpy. Nikoloz found it difficult to keep his own irritation in check. When the afternoon rain drove them back inside the shelter, he sighed and reached for his journal. “And I’ve had it with you and your damn reading,” Vincent snapped. He raised up on one elbow. “We’re going to hash this out one way or another.” Nikoloz restrained his smile. “I do not care for hash. Disgusting dish.” Vincent’s fist whizzed past his nose. Nikoloz ducked easily enough, but Vincent launched himself after the fist and connected solidly with Nikoloz’s midsection. Nikoloz twisted out of the hold and wrapped his legs around Vincent from the side. He snagged one flailing wrist and pulled it behind Vincent’s back. “Say uncle,” he murmured, making no attempt to hide his laughter. Vincent bucked upwards, sweeping a knee beneath Nikoloz and levering him backwards. He had to know his partner would let go of his wrist before doing him any actual harm. Throwing himself atop Nikoloz, Vincent fought wildly to capture his arms, to pin him beneath his larger torso. But Nikoloz had received the same training as Vincent, and whenever his partner connected, he squirmed free or countered with another hold. In less than five minutes, both men were as wet as if they’d remained outside in the rain. Nikoloz held Vincent still for a moment. “Have you gotten this out of your system, or do you wish to be truly miserable as well as merely frustrated?” Vincent twisted free, then flung up a hand, panting. “Too damn hot for this.” He rolled away and shoved to his feet. “I have to cool off a little.” “Agreed.” They stripped down to their shorts and stepped out into the afternoon downpour. The rain curtain brought clouds of steam from the hot sand. Nikoloz felt Vincent’s eyes on him as he sluiced away the sweat. He pretended not to notice, but made certain that he made no overtly s****l moves as he bathed. “You look like a drowned rat,” Vincent said. “A little brown Russian rat—and a damned stubborn one.” “At least I am not ruled by my khuy.” Vincent scowled. “I have never let my s*x life interfere with a mission.” Nikoloz shrugged acceptance of the fact and Vincent continued. “Just because I actually have a libido…” “I assure you that I have a libido, my friend. I am just not under its control.” Nikoloz completed his makeshift shower and returned to the shelter to dry. Vincent lingered for a few more minutes, then ducked inside. Nikoloz looked up into the blue eyes. “You are dripping on my bedroll.” “And you are stalling, my friend. I made a suggestion quite some time ago, and you are ignoring it.” Nikoloz widened his eyes. “You made a suggestion?” “Don’t make me hit you for real. You know perfectly well I did.” “Will it shut you up?” “Huh?” Nikoloz rose to his feet, staring up at his partner. “If I let you f**k me, will it shut you up? I would like a bit of peace and quiet before Ramos comes to pick us up.”