She kneed her attacker in the groin as he cupped her floppy breasts and met his gloved hand gripping a dagger with her stylish red-colored nails. “Frank! Frank!” The two combatants struggled as the sharpened edge moved closer to her throat. Where was Frank?
Barb was not strong enough, especially after that passionate moment, but stuck fingers from her left hand into the eye holes of the mask. Her attacker yelled “you bitch!” She felt the blade from the assailant in total black wardrobe finally slide from one side to another of her throat. The attacker’s soft brown eyes grew to the size of saucers as the knife completed its task.
Then, a half-dressed Frank ran and jumped on his back. The attacker, gripping the knife, turned around and impaled him against the sharp edge of the boulder and hurled three punches into his stomach. The killer rushed him with a knife, but Frank kicked him back with his muscled legs and the intruder fell to the ground dropping the knife somewhere on the sloshy mud beneath their feet. Shit! Frank launched himself in the air and the two rolled around the muddy terrain, over tree roots and fallen limbs from the storm, in a vicious contest of strength.
Frank grabbed the ski mask, but the killer kicked him backwards hitting his head on an overgrown tree root. Then the attacker landed a left hook to his chin and delivered a flurry of swift blows to Frank’s stomach leaving him bent over on his side gasping for air.
The masked attacker scampered back to the Jeep, stumbled over a fallen tree branch, losing his balance, and falling down. His wallet spilled onto the wet park ground, but he grabbed it and made his escape. _____
“Comrades, tonight was an important victory for Cuba and total defeat for the American pigs who plotted yet again to destroy our beloved Revolución,” Comandante Arroyo crowed addressing a carefully-selected group of Avispas Negras at a hastily-arranged conference room in his command compound on Live Cuban TV. Arroyo, with his Makarov pistol proudly holstered on his right side, stuck up two fingers in a V-sign.
“Even as I speak, the traitors and their American pig conspirators are being rounded up. Here is my promise to you, comrades. Cuba will repay the American scoundrels. I guarantee these cowardly acts will not go unpunished. Socialismo o muerte! Socialismo o muerte!” The assembled crowd of soldiers and apparatchiks joined and amplified the chant to fill the hall.
Arroyo lingered to bask in the glory with the guests – always the gracious host – while Interior Minister Juanjo Raúl Lazlo paced the floor with hands behind his back as he patiently waited for Arroyo in an adjoining office. Thankfully, he thought, his great comrade Arroyo, a Beijing-educated geologist, made much shorter pronouncements than previous Comandantes.
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When Frank finally arrived, Barbra straddled a large rock and had taken off her blouse and bra running through the park woods. He ran up to her and immediately cupped her breasts and pulled down her pink silk panties.
“Ravage me, Frank,” she called out as his lips focused on her sending pulsating vibrations through her body.
She savored the silky air from the now heavier rain splattering from the tree tops over them, the smell of moistening trees, and the rumble of thunder above. Barbra quickly loosened his workpants and fished for his member, feeling a patch of bush. She kissed her way down his smooth, toned gym abs through his T-shirt and swallowed his stiff member all the first time. Frank had never experienced that since college.
“Get naked, Frank!” she commanded, while moaning and coming up for air. The raven-haired medium-build 6 foot tall former basketball star forward at Maryland slid out of his remaining clothes. After a few minutes of savoring his sausage, the 5 foot 3 inches nymph stood up again and turned her bare backside to him. From behind he caressed and licked her velvet ivory skin and fondled her forbidden zone between her legs. “Oooh, Fraaank.”
Completely hard and desirous of her body, he bent Barbra over the rock and teased her from behind with his medium-sized member. Barbra didn’t care about his size at that point though she preferred larger men. She spread her legs for him and awaited her prize.
As Frank eagerly entered her after applying a condom, the uninvited guest driving the Jeep crept ever closer to the party and watched them intently. The soaked ground muffled any broken limbs that might be trampled on and crack and thus alert the couple dallying in the storm. Frank obviously came quickly and surprisingly soon disappeared leaving Barbra to rest on top the boulder.
The burly figure leaped from the edge of the obscure knot of bushes with an object in hand which appeared pale in the moonless conditions.
“Frank, you want more of me so soon?” Barbra cooed laughing and flipping back her long tail of hair which stopped midway above her buttocks. She tossed her head from side to side in anticipation of another round.
She felt a different touch and turned around. Terror showed in her eyes as the masked marauder gripped her voluptuous body and covered her mouth so she could not scream. A rush of self-preservation and her training kicked in.
Read parts 9 and 10 of our serialization of the first chapter of Havana Dawn, my debut international espionage thriller. Read the next series of two parts right here every two days.
“Vance, we already have numerous defense systems capable of protecting the Homeland. Do your homework! I want to assure every American tonight that their safety is first and foremost in my mind as Commander-in-Chief.”
Belling decided to attack and skip the role of victim using the “damsel in distress” defense when a man questioned her, a favorite tactic when asked an unpleasant (read difficult) question. Belling had been around the block and always gave more than her critics could handle.
“What Vance really is mad about is that his stock in Wetherford Electronics. Wetherford is a key supplier for the Zeptran-A Laser project. He’s just worried he may not get richer than he already is.
"So, Vance, you see, we do need to invest wisely in our people. This is not about making your buddies, fat cat defense contractors, and you rich from sucking on the government teat. I’ll make sure the Zeptran-A Laser project does not get funded beyond this budget year.
“I challenge you, Vance, to sell all of your stock in defense contractors because you have a conflict interest pushing more defense spending which you will profit from!”
Vance Bimbaugh looked down at his dais and shuffled his papers and tried to appear unruffled from Belling’s tongue lashing.
A rising roar of applause broke out in the audience. Candy allowed it for a couple of minutes, but she wanted more camera time, too. “Ok, folks. Please hold your applause until after the debate.
"Mr. Bimbaugh, can we get your promise here tonight to sell your stock in defense contractors?”
“Candy, are you an advocate for the Belling campaign? You allowed clapping which is against debate rules. You keep cutting me off when I’m midway through my vital points. Look at this, my fellow Americans. Official Washington ganging up on an outsider – me - who threatens their power.
"Candy, you should be ashamed.”
“Fiddlesticks, Mr. Bimbaugh," she retorted casting her narrowing steel blue eyes at the popular radio host turned presidential candidate against his old nemesis for years, President Belling. You could almost see steam flowing from her ears. “So for the record, you did not answer the question. Now, let’s turn to…”
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“Whoa there, Mrs. Belling!” Vance Bimbaugh exclaimed refusing to show respect by using her title, after she answered a question about the environment. “Do you know how much your crazy proposal is going to cost average Americans? Where is your compassion? We already have too many unemployed because of your failed economic policies.”
“Gas prices are at a record low because of my leadership,” she began to respond pointing her finger at the dais. “Caring for the environment is not crazy. For cleaner air and water, everyone can pitch in, Vance, including you, to fight climate change. You do believe in climate change, right? Or are you a denier despite all of the scientific data staring you in your fah- uh – face.”
“Climate change is shi-, uh, baloney. This is an example of masked politics dressed up as a scientific issue. Pure partisan politics. What you care about is making the central government more powerful to interfere in the lives of Americans who get up every day and work hard to feed their families. As your next president my fellow Americans, I will work day and night to stop making life so difficult –"
“Mr. Bimbaugh,” interrupted Miss Candy Raddish, the official debate moderator, wearing a fake red wig, yellow triangular earrings, with dark horn-rimmed glasses down her snout for a nose looking up to the overweight opponent of President Belling. Smacking her mauve-colored lips, she said, “Your time has expired.”
“I’m going to finish my thought. This is too important for the American people. You have a political party dedicated to pseudo-science which is aiming to –”
“Mr. Bimbaugh, this is not your radio show. Please follow the rules.” She blinked her small eyes at him in total disgust.
“Candy, I’m paying for this microphone. So, please show respect.”
“Vance, calm down,” Belling butted into the spectacle with a deer-in-headlights look. _____
“Listen to me folks. Look at them trying to shut me up. Climate change is an attack on your freedom. To limit your income, the environmental agenda…” “Ok, Mr. Bimbaugh. We got it,” said the moderator. “Mr. Bimbaugh, we must move on. What is your proposal for free education in America?”
“I’m not your Santa Claus,” he snorted. “Work for your own damn education.”
“Oh really,” Belling sighed raising her left eyebrow. Keep digging a deeper hole for yourself.
“Really. This country faces over a $100 trillion unfunded debt liabilities. Who’s going to pay for it – you, Mrs. Belling? You Miss Raddish? Our economy is only about $17 trillion a year, and barely growing because of Belling’s failures. We need to work harder, stronger, and faster to recover from the complete mismanagement by her economic- illiterate crew. We need more startups, more economic freedom, and less know-it-all micromanagement from Washington!”
“My word, Vance. You’re so neurotic. We sure don’t need a shock jock as president.” That’ll tell’em!
“Mrs. Belling, you have not leveled with the American people about the dire danger our country faces from enemies abroad. You have presided over draconian cuts to the defense budget, while playing nice with Cuba, China, Russia – ”
“Mr. Bimbaugh…our topic tonight is domestic politics,” Candy again disrupted Vance’s tirade.
“Candy, Mrs. Belling...the American people..…the #1 job of president, as stated in Article 1 of the Constitution, is to defend that sacred document and the American people. Not free education. No overregulation by the EPA. Mrs. Belling, why are you killing the Zeptran-A Laser which can protect us from an enemy missile attack?”
“Madame President, you don’t have to answer that,” Candy sniffed looking toward the visibly nervous leader of the free world.
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