Edge of Tomorrow

By Wolf Wootan

Hatch Lincoln was a NOC (no official cover) assassin for the CIA. He was the most feared assassin in the world. When he was double crossed by someone in the CIA, he started his own business of providing Intelligence to governments. He hired some exceptionally talented individuals who developed fantastic technology and soon his business began to grow. He kept expanding to other related fields and made even more money. Soon he was the richest man in the world. But he never lost his instincts for detecting trouble and finding ways to defeat his adversaries.

When Hatch went to the aid of a woman being abducted by two Iranian
terrorists, he had no idea how his life would change. Sydney Steppe was a most unusual woman. Her background included college professor of languages, especially Middle Eastern languages. What very few people knew was that she had also been an assassin for the MOSSAD. She and Hatch are drawn to each other from the very first. Hatch’s business has some interesting secrets that could easily cost his life. Since Sydney’s meeting and continued relationship with Hatch they seem to go from one life-threatening ordeal to another. How long can they continue and stay alive?

“Edge of Tomorrow” is an exciting spy novel. It takes Hatch and Syd to many parts of the world where they fight bad guys, help the good guys, make use of fantastic, hi-tech spy tools, eat, drink, love, and try to stay alive another day. It is an exceptional spy adventure and will be enjoyed by anyone who likes heart stopping danger, romance, intrigue and hi-tech gadgets.

Barb Wright
Reviewer, Murder and Mayhem Book Club

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wolf Wootan
• Release date: Jan 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458145147

Wolf Wootan

I am the author of the Sam Crown private-eye mystery/thriller series. In order of writing: Crown's Law (top five finalist in Reader Views literary contest), Crown's Justice, and Crown's Dilemma. Crown's Jewels is due out soon. I am a member of Private Eye Writers of America (PWA). My books are for adult readers. I write character-driven action/thrillers with a dose of romance. I try to appeal to both men and women readers, and so far the critics think that I have succeeded. Try my books and make your own assessment. I am currently writing two series: One follows the Edge of Tomorrow path, a high-tech, international spy/assassin series. The other follows Crown's Law, a hardboiled private eye series. I was lucky enough to get professional reviews for some of my manuscripts. Read them at my website. You might find an interview I did with Reader Views interesting at http://www.readerviews.com/InterviewWootan.html.

Book preview

Chapter 1

East Berlin, Germany

Sunday, August 12, 1984

5:30 P.M.

Bob Hatcher was a big man at six-foot-two and 225 pounds of sinew and muscle. He was deceptively quick for his size, as many an enemy had found out the hard way. In another setting he could be mistaken for a linebacker in the NFL. He was actually one of the most effective field agents the CIA had, and nearly always operated with No Official Cover (NOC). He spoke French, German, and Russian so well that he could pass as a native in those countries, and he was often required to do that. He could understand, and manage to communicate, in several other languages. He considered languages an important survival tool in his trade. He was a product of the cold war, and his beat was the USSR and Europe. His clothes were shabby, all made in Germany, the country he was in at the moment. He was always very careful when taking on a new identity. Small things could give you away. Like wearing underwear made in the USA. His identity papers carried the name Fritz Hürst, factory worker. His face was covered with a scraggly, full beard.

Bob Hatcher, CIA code name Hatchet Man, was settled on the roof of a three-story building in the seedier part of East Berlin. From his perch he had a good view of the run-down square below. He was scanning the area with his binoculars, but could see no one down there. He flipped a switch, activating the infrared option of his binoculars. He now scanned for heat sources, trying to find hidden people. Nothing. It was still thirty minutes until his scheduled arrival time of 6:00 P.M., but he always liked to arrive early to meetings so he could evaluate the dangers involved. He had avoided more than one trap by being overly cautious. A rope dangled over the side of the building so he could not be trapped on the roof if someone managed to surprise him up there. His car was parked two blocks away. The sun had not yet set, but it was low in the west and the shadows of buildings fell upon the square, creating dark areas.

If everything went smoothly, this would be his last mission for the CIA. This operation, code name Blue Moon, was a simple one when compared to most of his missions. He was to pickup a defecting East German intelligence agent and escort her safely to the USA. He wanted this mission to go right more than any in which he had taken part. That is why he had his modified Sig Sauer semiautomatic with attached silencer clipped to the spring holster in the small of his back. He would not let anyone stop him from recovering this agent. From the CIA’s point of view, she was not highly important. She was a low-level agent who carried out various surveillance assignments on the U.S. Embassy in West Berlin, and at other Embassies throughout Europe. She would be debriefed by the CIA and then would be given political asylum. Their largest gain would be the embarrassment of the East German intelligence community by the defection of yet another of their agents.

She was much more important to Bob Hatcher. Her name was Katerina Klaus, and he was in love with her. She was also carrying his child. As soon as he had her safe on American soil, he was going to quit the CIA and marry her. He would settle down—house in the suburbs, white picket fence—and take care of his wife and child and live happily ever after. That was his plan, at least. His boss would not like his best NOC agent quitting, but he would have no choice in the matter. Hatcher was thirty-two years old and had served his country for ten years. It was time to have a life of his own. He remembered the day he met Katerina as if it were yesterday, although it had been months ago.

Chapter 2

West Berlin, Germany

Friday, December 2, 1983

8:30 P.M.

Supposedly, Bob Hatcher had been assigned to West Berlin to give him some R & R after his last rather tense mission. He knew the CIA had other ulterior motives, however. They had a mole deep inside the East German State Secret Service …Staatssicherheitsdienst, known as Stasi—who had indicated that a top assassin was scheduled to enter West Berlin in the near future. His purpose was not known precisely—it was suspected that his mission might be the assassination of the American Ambassador—but as insurance, the Company wanted Hatcher, their top assassin of enemy assassins, in the area. All Hatcher knew was that during his so-called R & R he was to identify and neutralize as many of the foreign agents hanging around the U.S. Embassy as he could. He knew many of the top foreign agents by sight. Lower level agents, those used mostly for routine surveillance, he would have to ferret out. He did not consider this much of a challenge, but it would give him something to do during his forced respite.

At times, Hatcher thought the CIA misused his many talents. He knew he could accomplish a lot more if they would let him: he could infiltrate the Soviet infrastructure and steal secrets, steal a MIG, blowup submarine bases. This would increase his exposure and probability of capture, he knew, and so did his boss. The CIA now used him only in special, critical situations. He had begun thinking of himself as a closer, using the baseball analogy. He came into the game in the ninth inning and saved the game after the starters got in trouble. He was also the top enforcer. If enemy agents veered from the unwritten rules of the game and did something the Reagan administration did not like, orders usually came down from on high directing him to punish the offenders. He eventually accepted his role and found solace in the fact that he was the best there was in his type of work—an assassin’s assassin.

For the assignment in West Berlin, he used the name Robert Kelly, with all the appropriate supporting documentation, and got a job playing the piano and singing at the piano bar in a night club that was a favorite hangout for diplomats and spies from both sides. He was an excellent piano player and had a great voice, so it was a good cover for him, and he really enjoyed it. He was determined to enjoy this assignment and play the piano, sing songs, and get laid by as many fräuleins as possible.

From his vantage point behind the piano, he could watch employees of the U.S. Embassy come and go, watch to whom they talked, who watched them, who followed them, and those who sought their company. Not all of these would be spies, but he would check them out. Hatcher thought that the spy games played by the CIA, MI-6, KGB, Stasi, MOSSAD, and other international intelligence agencies were quite humorous. It seemed as if they had some sort of Marques of Queensberry rules that they all observed. Hatcher participated in this game very rarely, since, at the level where he worked, gentlemanly rules did not exist. His cover was so deep that none of the gentlemen spies knew him, or of him. They all had heard stories about the dangerous phantom Hatchet Man, but no one had ever seen a picture of him, and any enemy who had ever seen him did not live to describe him.

All of the club regulars soon became friendly with Bob Kelly, requesting songs, singing along, or just chatting. None of the CIA agents assigned to the U.S. Embassy knew Bob Hatcher. He did not appear on any CIA payroll records. He did not exist to the run-of-the-mill case officer. So like other patrons, they just enjoyed his music and suspected nothing.

It did not take Hatcher long to determine that none of the top foreign deep-cover agents, people like him, were in the area; at least, not the ones he knew of. There was always the chance there were some he did not know about. It was unlikely that any of them could spot him, since he was a master of disguises and no one, not even the CIA, had a picture of him as he looked today. There was a KGB colonel in town, but the CIA had picked him up some time ago and had him under their eagle eyes, so Hatcher did not waste time on him. He watched the U.S. Embassy during the afternoons, and the bar crowd at night. In the four months he had been at this, he had discovered several of the surveillance agents.

Though he thought this assignment was a waste of his considerable talents, he was enjoying it thoroughly. He had regular hours, got to shower as often as he wanted, wore very good clothes, and enjoyed being able to play and sing again. He was even getting his vocal range back, since he used his voice every night. His high tenor notes had stopped squeaking. He had not sung so well since he was in college where he supplemented his income by playing bars on the weekends, and singing in college musical productions.

As he sang Stardust, he surveyed the crowd, as was his habit. He saw one of the East German surveillance agents, Katerina Klaus, come in with one of the Americans who worked at the embassy. They were a contrast in heights, sort of Mutt and Jeff. He was about six feet two inches; she was five feet five inches. He had on a dark wool suit, white shirt, and power tie. She wore a red, silky-looking cocktail dress with thin straps that clung to her slim body and reached mid-thigh. Her breasts were small, her butt rounded just enough for her stature. She had short blond hair and blue eyes. Her face was oval, and her thin lips sported a red lipstick that matched her dress. If she wore any other makeup, it was very subtle. Hatcher thought she was stunning. So did her escort, who, from his lofty height, was looking down the front of her dress. They sat down at a table not far from Bob’s piano.

Hatcher had identified her as an agent about two months before. She worked for a company housed in a building across the street from the embassy, with windows facing the embassy. Hatcher had decided immediately to check that building and its occupants. The windows were perfect for telephoto cameras to do their thing. He had established, finally, that one company there was a front for the Stasi. Getting everyone’s names was not difficult. Whether they were real names he did not know. At this stage it did not matter. The task was so easily accomplished, he wondered why the CIA had not found them already. Or had they? Were they screwing with him again? Was this just a keep busy job?

Seeing Katerina Klaus with James Connor of the consular staff led Hatcher to believe she was on a fishing expedition. He supposed her bosses recognized, with her looks, that she could pull double duty—take surveillance pictures during the day, get close to embassy employees at night.

Hatcher watched as Colonel Evgeny Grinkonov, the KGB man, came in with a dark-haired beauty, possibly one of the many high-priced hookers available. Two CIA men he recognized were not too far behind. They took up positions at the bar while the couple was seated at a table.

What games they play! Here I am watching spies from both sides of the fence. If I know most of them, they probably know each other. Those CIA agents are too obvious. They are probably just harassing the colonel. They play the game of Cold War as if it were Clue. Who is in the parlor with Colonel Mustard? Don’t they understand how deadly this game really is?

He finished his song and there was a decent amount of applause. The waiter brought him a drink and pointed to a table of four populated by two men and two women. Hatcher raised his glass in salute to the white-haired man with a walrus mustache. The man waved. He was an important West German industrialist who came here often. He liked it when Bob Kelly sang songs in German, which he did occasionally on request. Hatcher was sure the free drink should be considered a request, so he started a lively German song. The white-haired man smiled and began tapping his fingers on his table to the beat. The Germans in the crowd joined him, and then finally most of the other patrons. The song was definitely a hit. As Bob Kelly finished with a flourish, he was rewarded with thunderous applause. He stood and took a bow, to the delight of the crowd.

He sat down and took a sip of his drink, lighting another cigarette to replace the one that had died in his massive ashtray on the piano. The drink was a real bourbon and water, not tea, but with very little bourbon. He paid attention to such details. He did not want to be caught with a fake drink, but the bartender knew to keep them light. He had to keep playing until two o’clock in the morning. He looked at Klaus’s table and saw that they had drinks in front of them and were chatting animatedly. Of course, she would know English. He wondered how well. She was laughing at something James Connor had said. Hatcher thought she was radiant.

He tickled the piano keys and started It Had to Be You, all the time looking at the blond German woman. She glanced at him and caught him looking at her. He immediately averted his gaze and started surveying the crowd again. He felt slightly embarrassed.

Thirty minutes later, Hatcher took his break, went to the Men’s Room, and then to the kitchen where he had a snack of shrimp and pumpernickel bread. It was only nine o’clock. He had five hours to go, but he was feeling good. He thought he might try some songs that would test his tenor range.

When he arrived back at his piano, he found five people sitting on the stools in front of his piano, settling in for some serious drinking and entertainment. This was his favorite part of the evening—when the people got involved. One of them was Katerina Klaus. Her partner was nowhere in sight. She was nursing a glass of white wine and smoking a long, filtered cigarette. Hatcher felt a surge of elation. He sat down on his bench and ran his fingers over the keys.

Hello, folks. My name is Bob Kelly. Your wish is my command. Who do we have here tonight? he asked jovially. He did not ask for names usually, but he wanted Katerina to say her name so he would have a reason for knowing it. The people around the piano gave their names. When it was Katerina Klaus’s turn, she smiled at him, a smile that sent a tingle up his spine.

My name is Katerina. Everyone calls me Kat, she said with a slight German accent. You were very good earlier, when you sang in German. Do you speak German, or just memorize the songs?

"Jawohl, Fräulein," he answered in German, intending to be ambiguous.

Which? she laughed.

A little of each, Kat. Now, does anyone have a request? he replied, dodging the question.

• • •

Two hours later, after much turnover at the piano bar seats, he found himself alone with Kat. He played soft melodies on the piano, without singing. She was getting a little drunk and was talking about herself and her family. He had found out that her escort had been paged and left her alone, after paying for their drinks and dinner. That is how she came to be at his piano bar. She had not wanted to go home yet, and was enjoying the music.

My mother and sister live in East Germany, she was saying. My father is dead, so they are alone and have a very tough time there. I am lucky to be working here, so I send them what money I can. There is such a big difference between the East and West economies.

That could be part of her cover story, but he did not think so. She was supposed to be a West German, so she was saying things she probably was not supposed to say. She was letting her guard down, a dangerous thing to do for a spy. Or was she? After all, she was an agent paid to sleep with the enemy and pick up pillow talk, wasn’t she? Maybe she knew he was an agent and was testing him.

Impossible! he thought. Not even the CIA agents here know who I am. But maybe I can turn this to my advantage. I’ll see if I can get her into my bed! She looks like a great piece of ass! It would be my duty to see if I can get pillow talk out of her, wouldn’t it? She might know a lot of secrets!

Why are you smiling, Bob Kelly? she interrupted his thoughts. I was telling you a sad story!

Why does she always use my entire name? That’s not a normal German thing. More Russian, if anything. Russians like to stick your name into nearly every sentence. Maybe it’s just a personal trait of hers. Or is she really Russian? Hmm.

I’m sorry, Kat. But I just remembered a German song that might cheer you up, he lied, looking at her breasts. She wore no bra beneath the thin cocktail dress and her nipples were clearly in evidence. He started a poignant German love song. Tears came to her eyes as she listened.

This might be easier than I thought. It must be in the rule book that it is fair game to bed a drunken spy.

As the song ended, she found a tissue in her minuscule handbag and wiped her eyes. Then she stood up abruptly.

I must go now. Thank you, Bob Kelly. I will see you again.

She left the bar and disappeared toward the coat room. Hatcher felt dejected.

Now, how did I fuck that up? I was sure I had her. I must be slipping!

• • •

Two nights later she appeared at his piano at 10:00 P.M. She was dressed more casually in a blue blouse and a gray skirt. The blouse was very sheer, but this time she wore a black bra.

Still sexy as hell! he observed to himself.

She sat down with her drink and smiled at him. Her straight, white teeth sparkled when she smiled.

I told you I would see you again. I could not come last night. I was working. Could you give a girl a light? she asked, putting a cigarette to her lips.

She pronounced working like a German, vorking.

Well, I am glad you’re back tonight! What can I play for you? he asked, lighting her cigarette for her.

He felt a pang of unwarranted jealousy. He could see her vorking—some lucky embassy consul looking at her naked body, playing with those pert tits, fucking her, while she hoped for some secret tidbit to be dropped! The consul was probably playing her for a fool, just so he could get laid by such a petite beauty!

She named a German song that, luckily, he knew and he started singing it for her, although his thoughts were elsewhere.

How can I get her into bed? If I were a stupid embassy employee, she would come after me! She has me really turned on now. I have to change plans. Friggin’ James Bond never had this kind of trouble. Maybe for him it was the martinis. Shaken, not stirred. Or was it stirred, not shaken?

When the song was finished, he looked into her blue eyes. She did not avert her gaze. Something seemed to pass between them.

Can I buy you a drink, Kat? Perhaps a martini? he asked her, wondering if this was the right approach.

No! Not a martini! If I start drinking those at this point I may really get too tipsy and do something not ladylike, she giggled.

Exactly!

Then another wine, he compromised, motioning for a waiter.

The corners of his mouth arched up into a small smile as he remembered the Limelighters song Have Some Madeira, My Dear?

He decided to try a different tack.

I get off at two. Would you like me to take you home after I finish here? he asked.

That would be nice, Bob Kelly. I would very much enjoy staying here with you until then. Is it allowed that I sing a song with you? she asked hesitantly.

Of course, Kat. That’s what a piano bar is all about. Everyone chips in. What would you like to sing? he replied.

"Do you know a song called Indian Love Call? It is from an old American movie I saw years ago. It was with Jeannette McDonald, I think. I have never forgotten that song."

He was surprised at her choice. It was not something the average bar singer could handle.

How’s this? he said, running through the melody on the piano. Is that the one you mean?

Yes, that is it! Please play it for me. Key of F, she exclaimed.

She started singing in a bell-like soprano which surprised him. She could have starred with him in one of his college musicals. She was very good! At the appropriate places he came in and harmonized with her. A crowd formed around the piano, some pulling up extra chairs, others standing. When they finished the song, there was enthusiastic clapping and cries for More! from the crowd.

They continued singing various songs, her some, him some, and some together. He could not believe it when 2:00 A.M. arrived. It had been a great deal of fun for both of them. He closed the piano and stood up.

That was great fun, Kat! You have an outstanding voice! And knowledge of American show tunes. I don’t know where the time went, he said enthusiastically. But let’s get our coats and get out of here. He had wicked thoughts on his mind. All in the line of duty, of course.

They retrieved their overcoats and he helped her into hers. He shrugged into his, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and they went out into the weather. It was snowing lightly, and the flakes were large and wet. A few taxis were lined up and they grabbed one. She gave her address to the driver and the taxi sped away. He reached over and took her hand in his. She did not pull it away.

When they arrived at her apartment building, he got out, then helped her out. He told the driver to wait, hoping silently that he would be down in a few minutes to tell him to leave.

I’ll see you to your door, he said gallantly.

Thank you. That would be nice. This is not the best part of town, she apologized, still holding his hand. It seemed to him that she was so small and fragile next to him. They entered her building and took a groaning elevator up to the sixth floor. She used her key and opened her apartment door. She turned and faced him.

Thank you for such a pleasant evening, Bob Kelly. I would kiss you, but I do not kiss on first dates, she said coyly.

But Kat! This wasn’t even a date! he blurted.

You are right! Then lean down here, so I can kiss you! she said, running her tongue over her lips.

She stood on her tiptoes and he leaned down and took her into his arms. She put her soft, damp lips to his. He felt her small, hard breasts against his chest. Then she pulled away.

"Thank you again, Bob Kelly. Maybe we will sing again, nein? Goodnight."

Then she entered her apartment and closed the door. He heard the locks snap into place.

Shit! he muttered to himself in a low voice. So much for James Fucking Bond! It has to be the martinis!

• • •

A few days later on a Sunday, Katerina came to the bar around nine o’clock. This time she wore a black leather miniskirt, black boots, and a tight lime green blouse with a low scoop neck that revealed the tops of her breasts. He inwardly gasped when he saw her walking across the room. She took his breath away. Most eyes in the bar followed her as she approached the piano.

Hello, Bob Kelly, she smiled as she sat on one of the stools and crossed her legs, drawing leers from several men close by.

Hello, Katerina Klaus. Am I allowed to say that I think you look gorgeous? he answered bluntly, still in awe of her appearance.

The pale skin on her cheeks started to turn red with a blush.

Well, thank you. Yes, you may say that. Women like to hear such things, but most men are afraid to say something, she said, a little embarrassed, however.

She continued, May I, too, say that I find you to be a very handsome man? Would that be too forward of me?

Her ws again sounded like vs. For no good reason, he found that to be sexy.

How charming of you to say that, Kat.

He was wearing black shoes and pants, and a gray turtleneck sweater; to most women he had a dashing, sexy look. Handsome would do for now.

For an hour, they did a repeat performance of their previous songfest, although they used different songs. The crowd was delighted again. At ten o’clock, he took his usual break. When he returned from the Men’s Room, without making his usual stop at the kitchen, he took her to a table and they sat next to each other. He had to force himself not to stare at the copious amounts of bare legs and breasts that were available for viewing. They both took out cigarettes, and he lit both of them with his trusty Zippo. She was sipping a white wine and he nursed his usual weak bourbon and water.

They chatted for a few minutes about some of the songs they had sung, the weather, and other meaningless, harmless subjects.

What did you do today, Kat? What do you do on Sundays? he asked, curious as to why she was dressed as she was.

Normally, I clean my apartment, and do some shopping. But today they called me into work. So I get to be off tomorrow instead, she replied.

Ah, what a coincidence! I always have Mondays off. Why don’t we have a real first date tomorrow? We can spend the whole day together—get to know each other better, he asked with excitement in his voice. What kind of food do you prefer? American, German, French, Italian? You can get it all in this city.

You are asking me for a date? she asked shyly, her blue eyes opened wide.

"Of course I am! You’re gorgeous, I’m handsome! We belong together, nein?" he laughed.

She laughed with him.

I guess if you put it that way, we could try a first date. But you remember I do not …

… kiss on a first date, he finished, wagging his finger at her.

And I must still clean my apartment, since I did not do so today, she pouted.

Well, you clean it in the morning, and I will pick you up at noon. I’ll plan a great day for us. Now how about the food you like? he said, referring to his previous question.

Anything except German! That is all I ever eat. I especially like American food, but I cannot afford it, she moaned.

Then, leave everything to me; you’ll have a wonderful day!

Very well, Bob Kelly. I will try and be ready at noon tomorrow. Do you remember how to get to my apartment? she smiled.

Of course I do!

I must leave now. I have much to do before noon tomorrow.

She touched her fingers to her lips, then put her fingers on his lips.

"Auf wiedersehen. Until tomorrow," she said and stood up, smoothing her leather skirt. Then she left, walking with a slight swish of her butt that had the men watching her again. He went back to his piano and sat down.

Cage those eyeballs, assholes! She’s mine! Christ! I’m as excited as a teenager on his first date. I’m only trying to get into the pants of a beautiful enemy spy. Why these feelings?

He played the rest of his set with gusto, but his mind was on tomorrow and what she might look like naked.

Chapter 3

West Berlin, Germany

Monday, December 12, 1983

9:00 A.M.

Hatcher got only six hours sleep that night, and was up at 9:00 A.M. making plans and phone calls. By eleven-thirty he had made lunch and dinner reservations, and had booked a romantic horse-drawn sleigh ride through some picturesque woodlands in the afternoon. He dressed in gray slacks and a Navy blue turtleneck shirt. He pulled a bright, multicolored cable-knit sweater on over the shirt, grabbed his overcoat and scarf, and went out to the taxi he had called. He arrived at her apartment five minutes early, so he had the taxi driver circle the block so he would be exactly on time. As the taxi stopped in front of her apartment, he got out to go get her, but she stepped out the front door. Evidently, she had been waiting for him in the foyer. She wore black boots, a black overcoat, and a red knit cap over her blond curls. Her exquisite body was hidden from his view. She sprinted through the lightly falling snow and he helped her into the taxi. She scooted over so he would not have to go around to the other side. He jumped in beside her and the taxi sped away.

Good morning, Kat. How are you today? he asked cheerfully, filled with anticipation.

Good morning to you, Bob Kelly. I feel wonderful! I hope it is all right for me to wait for you in the foyer. That elevator is so slow, and I did not want you to waste so much time coming up to my apartment, and then down again, she said excitedly, her cheeks red from the cold weather.

Or you didn’t want me in your apartment? Don’t be so cynical, Hatcher. Maybe she really is just excited.

No, that’s fine, Kat. But I really wouldn’t have minded coming to your door to escort you down. Enough of that. We’re going to have fun today! If anything I have planned doesn’t suit you, just speak up and we’ll change things and do exactly what you would like to do. OK?

Oh, I am sure what you have planned will please me greatly! I never do anything or go anywhere. I am already having fun just being with you! she said with fervor.

They chatted amiably for the half-hour it took to get to the restaurant he had chosen for lunch. It was called the Blue Angus and was a steak house that catered to American tastes and eating habits, but the richer Germans came here often to enjoy what they considered real American food. The driver stopped in front and the doorman opened the taxi’s door for them. They jumped out, and as she dashed for the safety of the canopy over the entryway, he paid the driver.

Once they were in the warmth of the foyer of the restaurant, they knocked the loose snow off their boots and shed their overcoats, giving them to the coat room attendant, a buxom blond German girl. He now observed that Katerina wore tight, black pants and a bulky red and black sweater, buttoned to the neck. Delicious!

I hope you do not mind me wearing pants instead of a skirt on our first date. My legs get so cold, and I did not know for sure what you had planned. Am I dressed all right for here? I do not embarrass you? she asked, a frown on her pretty face.

"You are dressed perfectly for anywhere I go! I wouldn’t want your lovely legs to get cold; although, I admit that I love looking at them," he answered, smiling at her. He could not tell whether her cheeks got redder or not.

The maitre d’ took them to the booth he had reserved for them when Bob Kelly had called earlier. They sat side by side, rather than facing each other. She had not objected when he slipped in next to her.

This is such a nice place! she exclaimed. I have never been to a place like this before. I thank you so much for this treat, Bob Kelly!

She seemed so sincere, Hatcher got a twinge of conscience.

What a wicked web I weave! If she keeps on like this, I’ll feel terrible when I finally get her into the sack. She is awfully naive for a Stasi agent. I wonder where those embassy guys take her. Straight to bed?

You can drop the Kelly, Kat. And it’s my pleasure to be able to bring you here. Your wonderful company is my reward, he responded, wondering if he was laying it on too thickly. But she went right on, bubbling about everything. They both ordered steak sandwiches, French fries, and a salad. He ordered a Heineken and she red wine. He did not try the martini thing again—he thought he would save that for dinner.

After lunch it was snowing heavily, so they decided to cancel the sleigh ride. She suggested that they go ice skating instead. At least they would be inside and out of the snow. Hatcher had skated before, but skiing was his best winter sport—as in tracking your prey across a snow-covered mountain. He went around the rink tentatively at first, trying not to fall down and embarrass or hurt himself. Kat was quite accomplished, skating backwards, doing double toe-loop jumps and various spins. He was entranced and amazed.

Too bad she doesn’t have one of those skimpy skating costumes on. I could enjoy her legs better!

They laughed a lot, and generally had a very good time. He even forgot for a while that she was a spy, and he was a spy whose goal was to bed her. After a while, Hatcher sat and had a cigarette while he watched her and the others skate. His ankles could take no more. It was very pleasant sitting there and watching her have so much fun. After she had skated her fill, they ambled over to a cozy tavern across the street to get warmed up. They sat on a couch in front of a large fireplace and drank a hot rum drink suggested by the bartender. She was glowing, and prated on excitedly about how enjoyable a day she was having. Hatcher had to agree with her. As it had turned out, he had really felt very comfortable with her all day, and found her easy to talk to about a variety of subjects.

By the time they were into their second drink, they fell into an easy silence and just sipped their drinks and watched the hypnotizing flames of the fire. She took his left hand in her right and rested their clasped hands on her right knee.

You know, Bob, she said wistfully, dropping the Kelly, you cannot imagine what today has meant to me. For a short time I was able to imagine that I was not a poor, working German girl and you were not an affluent American trying to impress me so I would go to your bed.

Not as naive as I thought! And she speaks her mind!

Now, Kat … he interjected.

Do not interrupt me, please! Let me try and finish. I am not a stupid woman. I know what men want of me. But for today, it was as if we were just a girl and a boy on a date, enjoying each other, and having fun! I was able to forget my problems, the plight of my family. I have never enjoyed the company of a man as much as I have enjoyed yours.

She stopped for a moment and squeezed his hand. She looked at him and he saw that her eyes were moist. He squeezed her hand back, but did not dare say anything yet. He felt like a complete shithead.

Before you say anything, she continued, do not insult me by trying to deny your intentions. All men have such intentions. But if you will have patience, and learn to enjoy my company as I do yours, and do not rush me, I have a feeling that you may get what you want—in time. I feel a strong sexual attraction to you, but I must be more sure of how you think of me before I can act on these feelings. Do you understand me, Bob? she said very softly.

He did not say anything right away. He knew she was right. Most, if not all, men had one goal in mind when they pursued a woman. And he figured most women knew that. He had never heard a woman say it before, however. At least, not in such blunt terms. Why was she choosing this time—before the date was even over—to dump on him? And why him? Or did she lay this load on all the men she went out with? He was baffled. What is her purpose? She could have waited until he bought her dinner before doing this, so he did not understand this at all. His normal reaction would be to get angry, and tell her to stick her feelings where the sun doesn’t shine and storm out. But, first of all, she was right. He felt ashamed, not angry. He had lived his entire adult life as a predator. He had to if he were to survive. Had this predatory instinct taken over his entire being to the point where he could no longer relax and just enjoy someone’s company? Had he allowed himself to be stripped of his basic humanity and decency? Whatever this woman’s job was—and his, for that matter—she was still a human being and he had treated her as prey. And she had called him on it! She took his silence to mean he had not understood what she was trying to say. This was partly true, of course.

Bob, I am so sorry—my English is failing me. I am not saying the things in my heart. I am thinking them in German. If I could tell you in German, perhaps you would understand me better, she said, close to tears.

I understand your English just fine, Kat. You’re saying men—me included—just want you for your body, not for who you are, he replied, more gruffly than he had intended. He had no intention of letting her know how fluent in German he was. She was blasting him well enough in English.

I said something like that, but that was not the point I wanted to make. I was born with this face and this body, and all of my life—first boys, then men—have only been interested in my body parts. I have never been able to have a relationship with a man that transcended that. With you, however, the last few days, and today, I was so comfortable. I began hoping. I had so much fun—singing with you, ice skating with you, just holding your hand …

Her voice trailed off into silence, and she looked back at the fire as a cinder flew when the log popped. He had to admit to himself that he had felt some of the feelings she was talking about. He had enjoyed her company immensely. But he could not lose sight of the fact that she was a spy who slept with the enemy in order to obtain information. He decided to make her get all of her cards on the table, without revealing any of his own. He looked around to make sure they had complete privacy. They still did.

Kat, you have made me feel very ashamed of myself. You are right. I started out with the goal of getting you into bed with me. But since you started this honesty trip, let me finish it. First, let me say that I truly did enjoy your company. You are a fun person to be around. But, also—continuing the honesty thing—I had a few pangs of jealousy watching you parade those embassy guys around. I know what your real job is, Kat. I figured if you were giving them a piece of the action, why not me?

She straightened up and shifted her body to face him. Her face was white and frightened, her eyes red. She let go of his hand, and looked around to see if anyone was listening.

What are you talking about? she gasped.

Kat, you said I should not insult your intelligence. Do not try and insult mine. You are an East German Stasi agent, and one of your jobs is to sleep with the enemy and pick up pillow talk. Right? he stated pointedly, but without anger.

Oh, Bob! You know? I mean about the job? But I did not sleep with those men! Believe me, Bob! she sobbed, less concerned that he knew she was a spy than that he thought she slept with her dates.

He reached out and pulled her to him, and she cried into his chest. He found himself stroking her hair and gently patting her back. He retrieved his handkerchief and gave it to her.

All right, Kat. Tell me about it, then, he said gently.

God, this woman has my emotions spinning! She has touched parts of me I haven’t felt in years! What in hell is wrong with me?

She told him her story. She worked for the Stasi as a surveillance agent. This was not her choice, but she was told if she did not do as they said, she and her mother and sister would be thrown in prison, or worse. They held the welfare of her mother and sister over her head while she was on assignments out of East Germany. Recently, they had added the extra duty of seducing U.S. Embassy employees. They made her dress provocatively and date those that she could. It was true that she was ordered to sleep with them and pump them for information. She could not bring herself to do that, so she lied to her superiors and said that she did. The quality of the information she was supplying was poor, so they were threatening to send her back to East Berlin if she did not do better.

They told me that with my looks I should be able to charm the pants off of the Ambassador himself, she finished up her story. Her eyes were dry now, but were still red. Her makeup was a mess. She leaned back against him and he put his arms around her again.

How did you know I was a spy, Bob? she said in a muffled voice.

Think fast, Hatcher! You can’t afford to blow your own cover!

I know some of the guys you dated. You know, from the piano bar. A couple of them told me they thought you were pumping them. And you came on with the sexiness. I put two and two together, he lied. If I may say so, you’re not a very good spy.

Jeez, that’s weak, Hatcher. She’ll never buy that explanation!

And they said they slept with me? she sniffed, missing the weakness of his statement.

Not in so many words, but you know how guys are. They will never admit that they struck out.

But you assumed I was?

Yes.

Well, then maybe my superiors will think so, too! she said with a sigh. It is important that they do. Otherwise, I am in even bigger trouble. Are you going to turn me in, or have you already?

I haven’t yet, he responded.

And I know why you haven’t. You wanted to take my pants off first, right? she accused.

"You mean get into your pants," he corrected.

She thought for a moment, then said, That does not make much sense. Your American idioms are very strange sometimes. I was trying not to use a more vulgar expression. What I meant to say is that you wanted to screw me. Is that more understandable?

She laughed as she said that, starting to feel better.

Now, Kat, he soothed, stroking her hair.

She moved away from his chest and took his left hand in both of hers and pulled it to her chest, resting it between her breasts.

I have an idea. Let me go wash my face and fix my makeup. Order us another of these rum drinks while I am gone. Then we will start over. No more talk today of what a poor spy I am, or that you are trying to screw me. We will enjoy the rest of the day as we were before I spoiled it!

With that, she grabbed her handbag and headed for the Ladies’ Room.

Hatcher took a quick trip to the Men’s Room and splashed cold water on his face, trying to pull himself together. Her revelations had shaken him deeply. He knew the right thing to do was to take her home, forget her, and move on with his life. Or he could give her name to the appropriate people in the CIA and let her become their problem. Somehow, he could not bring himself to do either. He had to see how this strange scenario would play out. He trudged back to the couch in front of the huge fireplace, ordering more drinks on the way.

When she returned, there was no trace of her previous tears. She had a wide smile and looked radiant again. She had unbuttoned her sweater and he saw she was wearing a white, vee-necked top underneath it. She sat down next to him, picked up her drink, and then faced him.

To better relations between us, she smiled.

He retrieved his glass from the table and clinked it against hers.

To women like you, who put men like me in their places, he smiled back.

Now let us talk of more pleasant things, she continued. May I have a cigarette, please?

• • •

For dinner, he took her to an Italian restaurant. She insisted on spaghetti, over the more exotic dishes available, and he delighted in watching her try to eat it. She managed to get sauce all over her pretty face. They laughed a lot and drank red wine that came from a bottle wrapped in straw. He did not try the martini ploy as he had planned earlier. After dessert and coffee, he hailed the waiter and asked for the bill.

"You know, Bob, I have never had such a nice day. I have comfortable feelings toward you. I am willing to make a deal with you. I will break my rule about no kissing on the first date, if you will promise me you will not pursue your goal tonight. I would very much enjoy snuggling with you and—how do you Americans say—petting?" she said as the waiter left the table with Bob Kelly’s credit card.

He had not heard that term in years. He knew what it meant. A lot of kissing and no screwing! He had not spent a lot of time immersed in that scenario. Not since high school. Could he promise Kat that he would not try to go farther than just kissing? Somehow, he thought he could. Besides, he was dying to kiss this woman! He experienced a warm feeling just thinking about snuggling with her in front of a roaring fire, and kissing those sweet lips. Yes, he thought he would like that.

Petting? he said with an arched eyebrow. That would really be breaking your rules! In America, that’s something teenagers do. Are you a teenager, Kat?

No, I am twenty-eight! But today I feel like a teenager! How do you feel? Do you think you can behave like a teenager, and not a leecher? she teased with a broad smile.

"You mean lecher, I think. And you know, Kat, I think I can. I promise, for tonight at least, that I will not pursue taking your pants off," he said. She giggled at that.

You make fun of my English, she answered coyly, batting her eyelashes in an exaggerated manner.

Does your apartment have a fireplace? Snuggling and petting is best done in front of a roaring fire, I’m told, he stated.

My poor apartment? Heavens no! she exclaimed.

Well, mine does. Will you come to my place? Or would that make you feel too uncomfortable? he asked.

If you have a fireplace that is much better. We will go to your place, she said with conviction.

• • •

When she entered his apartment she was in awe. It was much, much larger than hers. It had a large front room with a fireplace made of stone, was well furnished, and had a comfortable look. It had a separate kitchen, a spacious bedroom, and a bathroom with a shower and a tub. Hatcher, because of the nature of his business, had few personal belongings. He had made this place look as if he did have possessions, however. He had bought books, art for the walls, a television set, a stereo tape player, and so on. It had the look of a comfortable bachelor’s apartment. While she toured the place room by room, he started a fire. Plenty of wood was stacked in a niche beside the fireplace.

How about a drink, Kat? he yelled, not knowing exactly where she had wandered off to.

Yes, that would be nice, she answered from the bathroom, where she was admiring the tub. Her apartment had a shower only, and she was lucky to have that. Some apartments had communal showers. She had not soaked in a tub for a long time, and she wished she could do so right now.

I have some rum. Do you want another hot rum drink, or something else? he yelled again.

Another rum sounds delicious, she said, coming back into the living room. She found him in the kitchen. She put her arms around his neck, pulled him down and kissed him with moist lips.

I just love your apartment! It is so homey! she exclaimed.

He put some water on to heat and gathered some rum and spices from a cabinet. She wandered back into the living room, speaking as she admired the pictures on the walls.

I just love your bathroom, especially the tub. I really miss having one. My mother has one on the farm where she lives. I love to soak in it.

Feel free to use it, Kat. I’ll bring your drink to you and wash your back, he teased, wishing she would actually take him up on the suggestion.

You would use any ploy to get a girl’s pants off, wouldn’t you? she laughed.

OK, Kat! I promised, so I’ll keep my promise. But you are welcome to use the tub anytime you wish, he stated sincerely.

He finished fixing the drinks and brought them into the living room and put them on the table in front of the couch that faced the fireplace. The fire was roaring now, snapping and popping behind the fire screen. She had removed her sweater, because it was now getting warm in the room. He followed her lead and took his off also. He sat on the left end of the couch and she sat next to him, taking off her boots and pulling her legs up on the couch. They sipped their drinks and watched the fire in silence. The tape he had started playing when he lit the fire softly wafted Mozart strains around them. She leaned her head on his right shoulder and hummed softly to the music. He put his arm around her, and she continued to hum and watch the flames do a crazy dance.

"This is such a nice end to the most vonderful day of my life. I hope you had some enjoyment, too," she sighed contentedly.

I have to admit, Kat, that I really had a great time with you today. You seem to bring out some of my basic humanity, and stir feelings I haven’t felt for a long time, he replied wistfully, and honestly.

She put her drink down, then took his and placed it next to hers. Then she stretched out on the couch, her upper body in his lap, her head on his left arm, which rested on the arm of the couch. He pulled her up and put his right arm around her body, kissing her gently. She began tasting his lips with her own and he followed suit. It was the most sensuous kiss he could remember. They continued like that for what seemed like several minutes. Finally, they broke the kiss.

I liked that very much, Bob. Very much! she sighed. I am glad I broke my rule!

So did I, Kat! You are a champion kisser! he replied in a nearly inaudible voice.

They sipped their drinks for a moment in silence.

Then she said, I think I try to do even better.

He pulled her close again and this time her tongue began exploring his mouth. Her small breasts were against his chest as he held her tightly to him. His tongue dueled with hers, frantically. They broke for air and he stroked her hair with his right hand and she leaned back into the cradle of his left arm.

I think petting includes this, she whispered. She took his right hand from her hair and placed it on her left breast. His hand was on fire as he squeezed the firm mound of her breast. He could feel her nipple strain against her bra. He kissed her again, furiously. They broke the kiss again, and he ran his hand over her breasts, first one, then the other. He ran his hand under her shirt, the better to feel them.

Undo my bra, she whispered. It unfastens in the front.

He found the hooks, but had trouble unhooking the bra with one hand. She pulled her shirt up and helped him. Her white bra fell away and he saw her breasts in all their glory, pink erect nipples rising from smooth pink areolas. He ran his hand over them, playing with her nipples. Her breasts were as white as the snow falling outside. She looked like a porcelain doll, or more like a Varga Girl created with an air brush. He could not believe she was allowing him to view this gorgeous sight.

May I kiss your gorgeous breasts, Kat? he said hoarsely.

"I don’t know. Is that part of petting? I know petting allows ‘feeling up,’ as you Americans say, but I do not know if breast kissing is allowed," she taunted him.

Yes, in America, petting definitely includes breast kissing, he said, not knowing if that was true or not.

Well, then I guess I must allow them to be kissed. But be gentle. For some reason, my nipples are very sensitive right now, she giggled.

She rose up so they could shift her position to one that would allow his mouth access to her breasts. She took off her shirt and bra and threw them on the floor. As he bent to suck her nipples, his right hand moved down her body, across her flat stomach, and reached her belly button.

Keep your attention on my breasts, please. Your hand is going in the wrong direction. Remember your promise! she chided.

Christ! That was just a reflex action on my part. I hope I didn’t get her upset! This is way too good to screw up now.

Sorry, Kat! I’ll try to stay more focused, he said, moving his hand back to her left breast, cupping it gently as he sucked its nipple.

Ah, that feels very nice, Bob. Isn’t petting fun, like I said it would be? she said, arching her back so her breast was forced further into his mouth.

I just love petting, he mumbled through his breast-filled mouth.

I want to kiss you again. You may get back to my breasts later. Come up here! she demanded. He obeyed.

• • •

They petted for another half-hour or so, then sat up to sip their drinks. He was still amazed at the sight of her sitting there naked from the waist up. He went to the kitchen and started heating some water for more hot drinks.

This is unbelievable! I am about to explode! She must have felt my erection, but never said a word. How can she have such self-control? By all rights, we should be fucking our brains out by now! She is either trying to torture me, or trying to teach me some kind of lesson about self-control. Either way, I’ll keep my promise. She is too gorgeous and sexy to lose. And I am really having a whale of a time!

He brought the warm drinks back and they drank from those, she sitting there half-naked and showing no embarrassment or uneasiness. She seemed so relaxed and at ease, he finally calmed down and became more comfortable with the situation. They each had a cigarette, and smoked quietly for a while.

I have tomorrow off as well as today, so we do not have to be in a hurry tonight. We can sleep late tomorrow, she informed him.

My God! She’s going to spend the night? And I have to keep my hands north of her belly button? She must also be in charge of the Stasi torture squad!

That’s just great, Kat! You can spend the night here then? he managed to say.

If you will let me. That way, you don’t have to take me home in the middle of the night, she answered.

And you get to soak in my tub in the morning, right?

Of course! I am not stupid about all things! she giggled sheepishly.

They sipped drinks, had long bouts of French kissing, and much more breast kissing for another hour or so. He stoked the fire and added wood twice during that time. They had switched to wine, because heating water for the rum drinks was too time-consuming and distracting. Finally, they were both exhausted from the long day’s activities, and the drinking, so they decided to go to bed. He got her one of his large tee shirts to wear. She stripped off her black pants and he saw that she was wearing black bikini underwear. He nearly melted at the sight of her. She pulled his tee shirt over her head and climbed into his bed. He undressed and climbed in next to her. She kissed him sleepily and rolled onto her left side.

Snuggle me, please, she stated.

He got into a spoon position and put his right arm over her and his hand cupped one of her breasts. He was surprised