Jet Angel:
HERA’S REVENGE
by 'Doc Tangent'
Chapter One
Amanda Shaw picked at her clams casino and nodded pleasantly at her friend’s inane chatter about who was sleeping with whom among the polo club set this week. Although Amanda had grown up in that world, and found it necessary to make the occasional appearance at posh restaurants like Saudelli’s tonight, she had little interest anymore in the doings of the rich and shameless in the rolling suburbs north of New Stanton. Or rather, little interest in their adulteries and tax shelters. When it came to whispers of high crimes and rumors of evildoing among their number, however, Amanda Shaw was most interested indeed. Especially tonight - Elizabeth Baxter had been missing now for three days.
She stopped the blonde’s chatter with an upraised hand, cutting in with her best idle drawl, “That’s all well and good, Tiffany darling, but tell me more about poor Liz Baxter. It sounds perfectly horrible.”
Tiffany shrugged and played with the rings on her fingers, taking her sweet time sipping her vodka tonic before answering. “They say she’s been kidnapped, pulled right out of her car in front of the house. I think it’s all a hoax. Why wasn’t it in the papers?”
Because the police wouldn’t release that information, you dolt. “But Tiff - why would anyone fake Liz’s kidnapping?”
Tiffany shrugged again, a gesture that made the thought of planting a roundhouse kick right across that very expensive nose more attractive to Amanda every time she did it. “Who knows for sure, but I’d be willing to bet that right now Liz is living it up in Lausanne, buying herself three ski instructors at a time and plundering Daddy’s Swiss bank account. Speaking of which, you have got to head up to Stowe with us this weekend…”
Amanda tuned Tiffany out and set her mind to processing this new information. Liz Baxter steal her father’s password and live it up in Switzerland? Hardly her style at all. Liz and Amanda had been friends since childhood, and among their set only Liz had ever come close to the standards of responsibility and level-headedness Amanda herself possessed. Kidnapped then.
Tiffany was oblivious to the transformation that came over Amanda across the small table. Though Amanda Shaw remained her lithe 5’8”, with a patrician yet sensual face framed by dark auburn waves of hair that cascaded to mid-back, there was something in her grey eyes like storm clouds gathering. Beneath her tight, short black dress, gymnast’s muscles flexed and corded. In all but the necessary change of attire Amanda Shaw had become her other self, the nocturnal defender of New Stanton’s innocents against insensate evil - Jet Angel.
Amanda excused herself and made her way through the dim bistro toward the ladies’ room, fully aware of every pair of eyes, male and female, that took in her long, shapely legs and model’s figure as she passed. Liz Baxter kidnapped, but no ransom demand, she mulled. Last check of known perps in the area revealed no professional kidnappers, mob or otherwise, and if it happened right in front of the Baxter house it had to be a pro job. If I didn’t know better I’d say it was a Hera Domitian caper, but she’s never getting out of prison. She’ll die in Russmeyer Penitentiary, thanks to Jet Angel. Once in the restroom she locked the door and set her purse on the counter, pulling from it what appeared to be a standard-model electronic organizer. She tapped a certain password and the tiny screen attained full digital television quality. She plugged a miniature microphone and earphone into the side and murmured, “Ellen? Pick up, please.”
The screen showed the living room of Amanda’s penthouse, but in complete shadow, and there was no answer from Amanda’s girl Friday. Amanda felt a momentary wave of panic but quelled it with Jet Angel’s steely resolve. After a minute, Amanda put her communications gear away and exited the restroom at a fast walk. She paused at her table just long enough to grab her black overcoat and mutter an excuse to the startled Tiffany before heading out of Saudelli’s and out to the curb where her sleek silver Jaguar waited.
* * *
Amanda stopped the elevator two floors below the penthouse and got off the elevator at a brisk trot past the rows of doors to plush luxury apartments. Her four-inch black pumps were in her purse and she made no sound as she ran to the end of the hall, barely breaking stride to hit the secret button in the wainscoting that opened a sliding panel in the far wall. She had foreseen the need long ago to have a secret approach and escape route to her penthouse and had this apparatus installed under the cover of fumigating the building. Her weight on the pressure plate just inside the cubbyhole sent the mini-elevator shooting up the hidden shaft silently.
Two seconds later she emerged warily into her bedroom, every sense alive and scanning the dark, her taut body in a defensive jeet kune do stance as she padded across the carpet on the balls of her feet. Amanda made her way to the bedroom door and down the hall toward the huge living room, her eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness that permeated the house. This was not good. Ellen would never leave the apartment without contacting her, and certainly without leaving a few lights on for her. It could only mean the unthinkable - one of Jet Angel’s many foes had discovered her secret identity and come to call. She fought down another wave of anxiety, not for herself, but for poor Ellen, who had no training or experience in combat whatsoever.
Amanda put her back to the wall and inched toward the entrance to the living room, which was dimly lit by city lights through the great bay windows across the eastern wall. Peeking around, she scanned the semi-darkness until she saw a semi-silhouetted figure squirming in a chair by the window, making tiny noises. Rounding the corner and moving fast but stealthily along the living room wall, Amanda approached close enough to tell that it was Ellen, light brown tresses hanging over panicked eyes, her full lips covered with a wide swatch of white tape, the same kind that bound her arms and legs tightly to the arms and legs of a dining room chair. She was dressed in a sort baby-doll nightie that had been torn in a struggle and left one creamy breast exposed, her bosom rising and falling in terror. Amanda noticed that the nightie had ridden up on her assistant’s thighs, exposing her naked sex - Ellen’s panties were missing.
Looking around quickly and seeing no one else in the living room, Amanda took a deep breath and made her way quickly across the carpet to Ellen. Just as she started to move, however, Ellen’s eyes grew wide and she began to struggle wildly, mewing against the tape-gag, “Mmm MMMPH! Mmm MMMPH!”
Amanda had a split second to translate the sounds as “Look out!” when a flying form hit her right flank hard, driving a savage kick to her ribs and sending her careening toward the massive sofa. Her reflexes took over and turned her carom into a tumble and spring that vaulted her over the sofa and onto the big marble coffee table in the center of the room, where she landed in a fighting stance facing her unknown assailant. Said assailant did not give her a good look but was a dark blur aiming a flying kick at her midsection that failed to connect as Amanda launched herself to the side in a cartwheel over a reading chair. Now she could see the dark form pinwheeling toward her, long dark hair flowing behind the spin. A woman? Amanda puzzled as she threw up a forearm to block her opponent’s spinning backfist and responded with three quick right jabs to her foe’s solar plexus. One connected and she heard a soft “oof!” But now the two combatants were in close quarters trading punches and kicks with blinding speed and equal skill - only one blow in five actually connected as they blocked with forearms and knees. Ellen stopped struggling in her bonds to stare wildly at this battle between cobra and mongoose, like some Hong Kong kung-fu flick in fast-forward mode.
Amanda traded blows with the intruder, sweat pouring down her athletic form, still trying to register her identity, until she threw a punch that her foe sidestepped, trapping Amanda’s arm painfully under hers, drawing the heroine in until their bodies were pressed together like lovers’. The black-haired girl suddenly leaned forward and covered Amanda’s mouth with her own, claiming victory with a deep, savage kiss that Amanda could feel all the way down to her crotch. The crimefighter stopped struggling, her surprised gasp turning into a heartfelt moan that mingled with her assailant’s throaty purr as they melted into each other, groping and clutching each other. Amanda felt her panties become soaked and knew that the other girl was in the same condition. She pulled back slightly and murmured softly against her opponent’s lips, “Val, you cunt.”
As Amanda reached behind her to turn on a reading lamp, the other girl pulled away, panting and chuckling softly, brushing her long, straight black hair away from her sensual Asian features. She was clad in a skintight midnight-blue Lycra catsuit tucked into knee-high black boots, all of which accentuated a trim, limber body that nonetheless had all the right erotic curves. “You need a new security system, Amanda,” she grinned. “I could have done -- some serious living -- on your jewelry alone.”
“Not for long.” Amanda breathed, raising an eyebrow. “I’d know exactly who did it - the most brazen bitch I could think of - and I’d find you wherever you went.”
“Good luck on that, sweetheart. Not even Jet Angel can find me when I don’t want to be found.” The other woman slid into a chair, draping one long leg over the plush arm. “Not that I ever mind being found by her.”
Amanda opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by an emphatic “MMMMPPPH!” Both women turned to Ellen, momentarily forgotten but obviously most eager to be released from her tape-bonds.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Amanda moved to Ellen’s side quickly. “Val, why the hell did you do this?”
The Asian girl shrugged, “I had no idea you had company when I broke in, and she was awfully hot to call the police. It was either tie her up or snap her neck.”
Amanda looked into her assistant’s eyes. “This’ll sting. Ready?” Amanda quickly ripped the tape away from Ellen’s face and the girl gave a high muffled yelp. Amanda then reached in and pulled the missing panties from between Ellen’s teeth in a sodden wad.
Ellen worked her aching jaw and licked her lips, glaring at the intruder. “You bitch!” she croaked. Val just grinned a cat-grin at the fuming girl and blew her a kiss.
Amanda rolled her eyes and held out a hand to Val. “Knife, please.” Val’s hand was a sudden blur and Ellen screamed as a silver shape flew at Amanda’s head. Amanda deftly snatched the throwing blade out of the air and set to work on the tape binding her friend to the chair. “I suppose introductions are in order. Val, this is my assistant, Ellen McKinnon, whom I would like you to treat with respect in the future. Ellen, the rude lady who tied you up is Valerie Sing. Val and I learned combat from the same sensei, and I trust her, as I do you, with my secrets.”
Ellen lifted her freed arms and began rubbing her sore wrists, still glaring at Val desultorily. “How come you never told me about her?
Val waved her hand dismissively. “Little girl, you don’t want to know about me.”
Amanda knelt and began to cut Ellen’s knees and ankles free. “She means it. Val works for a certain agency of the United States government -“
“- which is so classified that if I even mentioned its initials I’d have to kill you,” Val finished with a perfectly serious expression. “Suffice to say that I’m in much the same business as Amanda, only without the nifty outfit.”
“Or the code against taking a life,” Amanda murmured tightly. The final tape-bond cut, she rose and helped Ellen to her feet. “Will you be okay, honey?”
Ellen nodded, casting one last glare at Valerie Sing. “I’m going to wash up and change, then I’ll put on coffee for you and your… guest.”
She padded out of the room, clutching her nightie to cover her exposed breast. Val watched her go, smiling. “She’s very cute, Amanda. If you’d taken much longer to get home…”
* * *
Still blind. Still gagged, only now by a large rubber ball strapped into her mouth. Still bound, only now on tiptoe, arms above her head, wrists cuffed and hooked onto something, legs strapped together at ankles, knees, and thighs. Liz mewed helplessly as the woman - Hera, the monster had called her, like the queen of the Greek gods - ran a gloved hand slowly over her nude body, now caressing the underside of her left breast, now slapping it hard. The terrified girl flinched and trembled every time the hand pulled back.
“Poor Elizabeth,” Hera purred softly, running the hand over Liz’s hip and behind to stroke her bottom. “You’re all we have to play with until Jet Angel gets here. If it’s any consolation, however, any suffering you endure at my hands will seem like a stroll in the summer rain compared to what awaits her.”
Liz shook her head as much as her raised arms would allow. It was no consolation whatsoever. She knew full well that these…people…who had kidnapped her would never simply let her go. Her only hope was Jet Angel, and if this entire thing was a trap for her, then… Liz Baxter began to sob again into her blindfold and gag.
“Oh please,” Hera’s voice became cold, bitter. “Blubbering again? Is this the so-called dignity of the upper class? You rich little bitches are all alike…folding like paper cups at the first sign of adversity. Life, little girl, is about grace under pressure, and if you were never taught that in between cotillions and riding lessons, then it’s high time you learned. Beginning now.”
Liz heard a familiar swishing of air that she could not place momentarily, then her mind identified the sound from a dozen show jumps, and she screamed into the ball-gag just as the riding crop CRACKed across the backs of her thighs, sending fire throughout her entire body.
* * *
“Enough, Val.” Amanda sat in a chair opposite Valerie, crossing her long legs and training her steel-grey eyes on the other woman. “This isn’t a pleasure call, is it? You’re working.”
Valerie sighed. “I’m always working, but you’re right. I’m in New Stanton on official business and while I don’t usually need help, I know better than to go stomping on your turf without letting you know I’m here and hunting.”
“I appreciate that,” Amanda nodded. “So what are you looking for - or can I ask?”
“You can ask, and I can tell you what I know,” Valerie said, swinging the leg draped over the arm of the chair. “Five days ago there was an explosion at a top-secret government research facility not far from here - and no, I can’t tell you where it is. What I can tell you is that this facility was apparently involved in some form of biomedical research with human subjects.”
Amanda bristled at this last piece of information, remembering her ordeal at the hands of Doctor Bizarre…strapped naked and spread-eagled to his vicious Torgasm device… her body straining and bucking as waves of pleasure and agony threatened to rip her apart…
Val noted her friend’s grim expression. “These were voluntary subjects, mostly convicts who signed up for the chance to become lab rats rather than jailbirds. In any case, Defense Department investigators are busy trying to find the cause of the explosion, but it’s pretty clear that it was meant to cover an escape. Three of the lab rats are currently at large and apparently in possession of several disks’ worth of data vital to the project, whatever the project is. I don’t ask, they don’t tell. My job is to find the convicts and reel ‘em in, along with the disks.”
“And the trail led you to New Stanton?” Amanda frowned.
Valerie nodded. “My superiors sent me right here. Of course I never object to a trip to this city, especially with its indigenous erotic superheroine population.” She grinned and licked her full lips, jade-green eyes flashing.
If Amanda noticed she gave no indication, her sharp mind processing this information and not liking the sudden suspicion growing in her gut. She looked at the agent, mouth set. “Do these convicts have names?”
Valerie unfolded herself from the chair and strode to a corner of the room, where a double shoulder holster bearing twin Glock autos lay atop a black leather biker jacket on the floor. She bent over, fished a small black box from an inner pocket of the jacket, and brought it back, sitting down and opening it to reveal an organizer much like Amanda’s. She tapped a password in, then a couple more buttons. “And the winners are… Vera Pozner, two counts of Murder Two - don’t know her - Jane Kozlowski, a.k.a. “Calamity Jane” - her I know, busted her myself during a little cocaine shipping party I attended with the D.E.A. three years ago - crazy bitch thinks she’s a cowgirl -“
“And the third?” Amanda snapped.
Valerie glanced at Amanda for a beat, then read. “Third jailbird’s name is - get this name -- Hera Domitian.”
Amanda’s body felt suddenly cold as her gut feeling was confirmed. Jet Angel’s worst arch-nemesis was on the street again.
“Hey, Amanda? Are you okay?” Valerie stared at her friend.
Amanda blinked, eyes hard. “Yes, your escaped convicts are in New Stanton, and I’ve got a pretty good idea where - and why.”
“Do tell.”
Amanda’s muscles bunched and she resisted the urge to jump up and head straight for her uniform closet, to leap out into the night in search of Hera Domitian to rip her heart out. She spoke evenly, jaw tight. “That third one, Hera, has been the biggest thorn in Jet Angel’s side since I began fighting crime. Think of the most vicious racket you can imagine and you’ll find Hera in it - drugs, gambling, white slavery - anything that preys on human weakness. She’s insanely wealthy, insanely evil - hell, she’s just insane.”
Ellen McKinnon, now in jeans and a tanktop, brought a tray of coffee and accessories and set them down between the two women. She glanced at Amanda and murmured, “Elizabeth Baxter.”
Amanda nodded grimly as Valerie looked at the two of them. “Elizabeth who?”
“Elizabeth Page Baxter,” Amanda replied. “One of my oldest and dearest friends. She was abducted on the street in front of her home three days ago, no ransom demand, no known political motive. I was wondering who might do something like this, and the only person I could think of was safely behind bars - or so I thought.”
“And upon busting out of stir this Domitian woman would hit town and snatch a society girl first thing?” Valerie said skeptically.
Amanda nodded again. “Hera Domitian began her adult life as an exotic dancer in Klawtown, the absolute pits of New Stanton. Along the way she found that her ambition and disposition suited her well as a professional dominatrix in the S & M parlors along Kroll Avenue, which is where she met her first husband, Carl Grazelle, the aircraft manufacturing mogul. She enslaved him, commanded him to sign over his vast fortune to her, then had him killed. She sold all of his assets and amassed an even greater fortune than her husband had.”
Valerie interrupted. “So why have I never heard of her? I’ve heard of Grazelle, but I thought he was never married.”
“Grazelle couldn’t very well reveal to his board of directors that he had married a woman who made him bark like a dog and beg to be whipped.” Amanda sipped her coffee. “It was a secret marriage, a very hushed-up police investigation and disposal of the body, and the sale was reported as simply a division of assets upon his retirement from the company.”
“But you know for a fact that Miss Hurt-me Hurt-me killed him?”
“She bragged about it while she…” Amanda stopped, the memory of her helpless bound body thrashing at the end of a winch line, suspended over a pit of rabid Rottweilers and lowering… She shook it off. “Hera confessed to the murder, yes. And there’s no doubt she kidnapped Liz Baxter to let me know she was in town. No matter how much money Hera acquires, she can never forget her humble beginnings, so her favorite pastime is to snatch the daughters of the upper class and torture them - profoundly. Actually, that’s her second favorite pastime. Her first is me.”
“I see,” Valerie bit into a biscotti thoughtfully. “So you want to find this Baxter girl and I want to find these escaped test subjects, and our paths cross here.” She grinned. “Damn, but I love kismet.”
“I’m afraid I’d rather play with you under happier circumstances, Val,” Amanda said, standing and turning to her assistant. “Ellen, access the Domitian file and all known aliases. Find out if there are any records of a sharp increase in power usage on any of her properties.”
Ellen hopped up obediently and hurried toward the sophisticated computer deck on the mahogany desk in the corner of the living room. Valerie looked at her friend, deep into those iron-grey eyes, and asked, “Jet Angel?”
Amanda nodded. “I’m suiting up.”
“Mmmmm. I can hardly wait.”
To be continued…