JENNY BOND AND THE JADE SPHINX

by

Simnelia

DATELINE 08.08.08: REPORT. CHINESE MILITARY CARGO AIRCRAFT DOWNED OVER BERZERKISTANI STEPPE BY AUTO-NAV MALFUNCTION. INTELLIGENCE SUGGESTS AIRCRAFT WAS CARRYING NUCLEAR TARGETING SYSTEM CODENAME JADE SPHINX. IMPERATIVE, REPEAT IMPERATIVE THAT WE ACQUIRE THE SPHINX FOR TECHNICAL EVALUATION. BE AWARE BERZERKISTANI MILITARY AND FOREIGN AGENTS WILL PURSUE SAME GOAL. EXERCISE ALL CAUTION. GOOD LUCK. MESSAGE ENDS.

* * * * *

Very few people knew where Berzerkistan was. Of those who did, very few cared. Alexander the Great had pretended to lose that bit of the map in the Bosphorus. The hordes of Genghis Khan had swept irresistibly in only to sweep out the other side on their way to more pleasant climes. Stalin had ordered the plantation of a single drab city of grey concrete and forgotten about it the next day. Nobody wanted this windswept expanse of brownish grassland and broken rock. Nobody except the handful of scattered nomads who roamed its wilderness and a petty dictator who might brutalise his people here untroubled by the outside world.

The robed, dark-skinned man who leaned on his rifle by the ruins of the crashed Chinese plane pulled his scarf more tightly over his nose and mouth against the remorseless dust which blew across the plain and sighed with a familiar sense of resigned ennui at being reminded yet again that this, his country, the beloved land of his ancestors, was ultimately a dreary, worthless dump and always would be. He had leisure for his thoughts. Guard duty was not exactly stressful when he could stand here and see for miles across the featureless landscape in every direction. If anyone should approach, they would lack a scrap of cover and he would see them while they were still a dot on the horizon. Should he sight anyone, he would have all the time in the world to...

‘Hello.’

It was a woman’s voice, amiable and bright, and came out of thin air. Wide-eyed, the guard fumbled up his rifle and whirled round in disbelief that someone could be nearby. An instant later a booted foot swept round and struck him with pinpoint accuracy on the chin. He crashed to the dust like a felled tree.

Jenny Bond, Agent W7, pride of MI6, erotic fantasy of a hundred overworked civil servants, slammed down into the ground with both feet and turned to drag down the swirling white mass of her parachute after her. She gave the crumpled man a quick glance as she rolled it up in her arms but she knew he wouldn’t be getting up soon. In seconds she had reduced the parachute to a solid wedge of material at her feet and with the comforting metallic weight of her Walther PPK in hand she turned her attention to the crashed plane and the unoccupied jeep standing beside it.

In camouflage jacket and trousers and heavy military boots, Jenny still possessed a luxurious beauty jarringly out of place in these bleak surroundings. Her sparkling dark eyes, untamable black curls and pouting, generous lips belonged in a classy nightclub, not in this desolate wilderness. The bulky form of her jacket failed utterly to conceal the supple bounty of her firm, thrusting breasts, the smooth curve of her thighs, her body’s mouth-watering blend of athleticism and curvaceousness. She approached the downed plane with the silky grace of a dancer and the deadly stealth of an assassin, gun held poised in both hands.

The side door of the aircraft had burst open on impact and Jenny cautiously pressed her shoulder to its frame, peeking into the interior with one eye. She saw no one but her sharp ears picked up a faint sound. A murmuring voice deep within the plane’s interior. Cautiously, each step a painstaking exercise in silence, she entered the battered hulk and approached. It was coming from the cockpit, cut off from her by a thin steel door hanging on its hinges. She poised herself, levelled her gun, and, with an exultant flash of white teeth at the excitement of it all, crashed the door open with one powerful blow of her booted foot.

‘Hi there! This is your singing telegra... uh oh.’

She found herself staring at three empty seats, vacated well before the crash by the pilots, and a murmuring walkie-talkie lying on the floor.

‘You’re going to want to put your hands up just about as high as you can get them.’

The voice came from behind her and Jenny winced as if she had been struck between the shoulderblades. With the utmost reluctance she stretched her hands up high and turned to face her antagonist.

‘Hi Jenny.’

The grinning man facing her was six feet tall, sandy-haired, all sun-tanned freckles, gleaming white teeth and sinewy muscle. His amiable blue eyes didn’t distract her from the heavy revolver gripped firmly in his fist.

‘You can lose the gun, honey.’

She did as she was told, letting the weapon slip from her fingers to clang to the steel floor at her feet. Hands held high, she watched her antagonist like a hawk, every nerve and muscle poised at the ready.

‘Matt Ryan. Small world.’

‘Surprised to see me, huh?’ grinned the man.

‘Yes, I didn’t realise the CIA ever left the office any more. Don’t you mostly just sit home and watch the satellite pictures on TV?’

His unwavering grin took on a spikier edge.

‘Yeah, well I’m just surprised MI6 sprang for your plane ticket over here. The Queen find some loose change down the back of the couch?’

She narrowed her eyes a fraction but shrugged it off.

‘Ok, well fun as this is, my people picked up transmissions from the Berzerkistani military when I was on my way over. They’ll be here any minute. You have the Sphinx?’

With a flourish he produced from his pocket something that looked at first glance like a silver cigarette case. A compact little slab of circuitry packed between flat metal plates.

‘Kinda disappointing to look at, isn’t it?’

‘Cool. Then we should be on the move.’

Matt chuckled and raised the muzzle of his gun an inch.

‘You know what I love about having people at gunpoint? Suddenly they’re all your best friends. Where did this “we” come from?’

Her hands held high, Jenny widened her eyes to give him her hurt look.

‘We’re supposed to be allies, you know.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe my people will let your people have a look at this little thing after I get it home. But my job is to get the Sphinx back to the States and that’s what I’m going to do. Sorry, Jenny, but that means putting you out of action for a while.’

He eyed her thoughtfully, shifting his grip on the gun.

‘Y’know, if we weren’t allies and you weren’t so cute I’d just pop you in the leg. As it is, I guess I better tie you up.’

Jenny lifted an eyebrow, her mouth curling up at one corner.

‘All those tedious intelligence-sharing conferences at all those swanky hotels and you have to pick a time like this to suggest it?’

Matt shook his head with a grin.

‘You’re something else, you know that? Ok, let’s do this. Get that jacket off.’

‘What?’

Jolted out of her teasing mood, Jenny let the word slip sharply.

‘Come on. Only you and your gynaecologist know how many concealed weapons you’re carrying. I want an hour’s head start on you and that means I want you down to your scanties.’

Jenny grimaced, but the dark hole of the gun’s muzzle was upon her and with poor grace she unzipped her jacket, pulling it down over her shoulders to unveil the simple olive-green vest which was all she wore underneath. Matt’s eyes lingered for a moment on her nipples pressing through the flimsy cotton of the garment before getting back to business.

‘Ok, now the boots. And your socks.’

Sullenly she obeyed, kneeling to unlace her boots and pull them off, conscious all the while of his avid inspection of the creamy curves of her unveiled cleavage when she leaned forward. She stripped off her socks and stood back up to face him barefoot.

‘Happy, you pervert?’

He shook his head, taking a moment to swallow before speaking quickly.

‘Not even close. Pants down, go on.’

She scowled, her fingers running reluctantly over her sturdy canvas belt, but for all his obvious enjoyment Matt wasn’t forgetting his job. The gun never wavered from her and she wasn’t fool enough to think he wouldn’t give her a bullet in the leg if she left him no option. Moving stiffly, she tugged at her belt buckle to loosen it and let the waistband of her pants slip down over the curve of her hips. The toned flesh of her thighs gleamed copper in the half light of the plane as they dropped heavily to her ankles. Jenny held up her hands under the point of the gun and stood there almost nude, but for the skimpy vest which restrained her breasts and her plain olive panties. Matt licked his lips quickly and she found herself lost for a snappy retort.

‘Ok, that’s more like it,’ he said slowly. ‘I feel a lot safer. Now get over here.’

He flung a bundle of rope in her face as she walked past him into the centre of the plane’s cavernous interior.

‘Tie that round your ankles.’

Grimly she obeyed, seating her thinly clad behind on cold metal to knot a loop into the cord and place her feet through it. Without hesitation Matt grabbed the other end, tossed it over a steel ceiling brace and hauled upwards. Helpless to resist, Jenny found her legs pulled up above her head, her bottom displayed temptingly as she was bent double, the material of her panties riding up between her buttocks. With a second powerful heave on the rope he dragged her shoulders along the grimy hull and lifted her clean off the floor, leaving her swaying and spinning by her ankles in mid-air. Matt secured the rope and folded his arms to inspect her dangling form with a smile.

‘Comfy?’

Through tightened lips she mustered a reply.

‘Do I look it?’

He smirked derisively.

‘Aww, don’t tell me your famous sense of humour’s let you down? Well, sorry sweetheart, but I’m not done with you yet.’

He set his gun down on the floor and approached, a thin length of rope snapped tight between his fists. Deftly he knotted one end about her right wrist, then twisted both her arms behind her to bind them together, immobilising her hands and rendering her perfectly helpless. He stepped back to admire his handiwork.

‘Ok. You’re a clever girl but I don’t think you’re going to be getting out of that for a little while. Nice running into you, Jenny. I’d stick around but I have this little Sphinx gizmo to deliver to its new owners. Try and have fun without me.’

Jenny’s suspended body revolved slowly, her vest slipping down over her belly to unveil her tautly muscled midriff, the material of her panties stretched over her squirming hips, her gleaming hair dangling down to brush the dust-covered floor of the wrecked plane.

‘See you real soon, Matt,’ she growled.

He chuckled and patted her mockingly on her barely-clad behind.

‘Now, don’t sulk, honey. I’ll stand you a drink next time you’re in New York. Bye now.’

He was gone, clambering out of the plane to find and revive the local guide Jenny had left sprawled in the stubble. Immediately she was left alone she started to twist and struggle, bending at the waist and knees to try and bring her wrists up to the level of the rope which secured her ankles, forcing her fingernails up to pick at the knot she herself had tied. Pulled tight by her own weight, the knot was a lot sturdier than she’d planned, but millimeter by millimeter, perspiration trickling down her body and dripping to the floor, she started to pull it free. All of a sudden she froze at the sound of a vehicle drawing to a halt a matter of yards away.

How long had she been stuck here? Ten minutes, she guessed. Plenty of time for Matt to get his head start. Plenty of time for someone else to show up looking for the prize which was already gone and to find nothing but her securely trussed, half-naked body as consolation. With gathering desperation she wriggled and grabbed at the knots at her ankles, tugging and tugging with panicking, clumsy fingers. Far too late. With a crash of heavy boots on the metal floor someone was coming tramping towards her. Jenny twisted to get a look and saw four bulky, unshaven, sweating men in military fatigues climbing into the plane with rifles in their hands and sullen scowls on their faces. Their eyes fell on her, their mouths dropped open, and their expressions were transformed in an instant from weary disinterest in their task to salivating lust at the neatly packaged vision dangling like bait before them.

Berzerkistani militia. The scum of the earth. Thugs and bullies gathered by the dictator to enforce his will. For an instant they stared at her in frozen disbelief, but when Jenny made one last frantic attempt to twist free of her bonds the movement jolted them into action. A whoop of lascivious joy went up and they surged forward around her, their grimy hands clapping onto her body, squeezing her thighs, grabbing her breasts, slapping her buttocks, whirling her around and laughing as she span helplessly for their entertainment.

A razor-sharp knife sliced through the rope which held her up and she barely managed to twist and take the impact of her fall on her shoulder. She had no chance to catch her breath before they were all over, hauling her to her feet, dragging her towards the exit and out onto the open plain beyond. A thick-fingered hand caught at the neck of her flimsy top and tugged eagerly, tearing the thin material almost to her navel and leaving her breasts on the verge of spilling free before their greedy eyes.

She was cast onto her knees, hands still bound behind her, and looked quickly from side to side, kicking free the rope which was still tangled about her ankles. The soldiers surrounded her, broad grins on their ugly faces, tugging at their belt buckles, nothing in their minds but using and possessing her. She saw their truck parked by the plane, but no one else. Her mouth tugged up sharply at the corner.

‘Just the four of you, is it? Cool.’

The first of the thugs didn’t even have a chance to stop grinning. Her surging explosion of movement was so fast and unexpected that her heel crunched into his face before he’d registered that she was no longer kneeling at his feet. She didn’t pause for an instant; he’d not yet hit the ground when with catlike speed and an acrobatic flourish she whirled herself up in the air to give a second man the same treatment. The odds had halved before her attackers could move a muscle. The remaining two lunged forward clumsily, hands outstretched for her and eyes wide with shock, and she slipped away like a dancer, letting them blunder into each other and get their limbs tangled together. They were sitting targets as the sole of her right foot crashed into the skull of one and her left swept up under the chin of the other.

Less than five seconds had passed since Jenny had knelt at their feet, a vulnerable captive. She stood over their crumpled, unmoving bodies with an air of huge satisfaction.

‘Well, that was fun. I’d love to stick around and party with you gentlemen but as soon as I get dressed there’s a guy I know whose ass is in serious need of kicking. You don’t mind if I borrow your truck, right?’

* * * * *

The Berzerkistani government didn’t exactly have state-of-the-art military vehicles at its disposal and the aged Russian-built truck crashed and jolted its way across the plain with bone-jarring force, whatever suspension it had once possessed having long since given up the ghost. Jenny drove it hard, her eyes intent on the clearly visible tracks of Matt’s jeep cutting a straight path towards the dagger-like rocky hills up ahead. A gorge through the cliffs had been used by enough travellers over the years that it had been flattened underfoot to something resembling a road and she pressed down on the accelerator. Her first and only clue that something was amiss was the split second flash of sunlight off metal in the rocks ahead.

Long-honed instincts snapping into action, Jenny stamped down on the brake, ducking low behind the wheel as the first bullet smacked into the windscreen, spreading a cobweb of silver cracks over the glass. The truck slewed to a halt in a cloud of dust, tyres squealing, and she kicked open the far door to dive gun in hand for the security of a clutch of boulders. Two more shots cracked out from her attacker’s hiding place, the first punching a hole in the door she had just come through, the second striking the rock inches above her head and spinning away with a whine. Then the firing ended as suddenly as it had begun. Jenny pressed her back to the comforting wedge of stone and listened closely to the silence.

‘Matt?’ she called out after a few seconds. ‘Is that you? What are you playing at, I thought I was too cute to shoot!’

There was a pause, the only sound that of the wind whirling through the confines of the gorge. Then a voice shouted back:

‘Who is that?’

Jenny pursed her lips thoughtfully, because she realised that she knew this voice. The calm note of self-confident authority, the precision with which the words were selected and the strong Russian accent in which they were spoken. She raised her voice.

‘Vitaliev?’

There was only a moment’s hesitation before the voice came back.

‘Bond?’

Cautiously she leaned around the side of her rock, gun held ready but not levelled, and saw him doing exactly the same thing from twenty yards away along the gorge. Moving like mirror images, they both straightened, weapons held up in a gesture of truce. Each of them eyed the other like chess players plotting the next move, until Jenny spoke up.

‘So what’s the KGB doing in this neck of the woods as if I couldn’t guess?’ she called.

‘It’s FSB now,’ the Russian replied with stolid pedantry.

‘I’ve got to tell you, KGB had a much better ring to it. Sounded tough.’

He didn’t riposte. He was a tall, powerfully-built, dark-haired man, his clean-cut features classically handsome but set in a constant mask of humourless concentration. He inspected the woman facing him with an air of scientific appraisal.

‘You have the Sphinx, Bond?’

She shook her head.

‘You’ve been reckoning to wait here and ambush whoever got their hands on it? You’re too late. Matt Ryan has it and he’s been through here already.’

The tightening of Vitaliev’s lips at the news were the first sign of emotion he had displayed.

‘So why tell me? You are allies, are you not?’

‘That’s the rumour. But different people seem to have different ideas about what that means.’

Jenny hesitated, the dangers of what she was about to propose looming over her thinking like a stormcloud, but conscious that every second they delayed Matt was getting further and further away - heading for a cold beer in the CIA bar and a good laugh with the boys about what he’d done to her.

‘Listen,’ she said, taking the plunge before she could think herself out of it, ‘Ryan’s good, and he has a local guide with him. He’d be tough for either one of us to bring down. Besides which, we could die of old age sneaking around these rocks trying to shoot each other in the back. What do you say we track him down together?’

The stony immobility of Vitaliev’s features showed how hard he was thinking.

‘And why would I trust you?’

‘Who said anything about trust? I certainly don’t trust you. But I don’t see why we can’t get after Ryan and keep an eye on each other at the same time. What do you say?’

‘And when we catch him? What happens to the Sphinx?’

‘I don’t know - we’ll fight for it. Or we’ll flip a coin for it, I don’t care. Let’s just get going and we’ll figure it out once we’ve got the damn thing.’

Vitaliev was silent for another long, frustrating second, but inch by inch he lowered his gun and nodded ponderously.

‘Okay, Bond. We will be allies, you and I. For a bit.’

* * * * *

Half an hour later the two agents were crouched side by side on a flat shelf of rock overlooking a sheer precipice, Jenny’s commandeered truck halted out of sight behind them, gazing down on the plain hundreds of feet below. Vitaliev was using a pair of powerful binoculars and Jenny squinted hard to try and make out what was happening down there. She could see a vehicle which could be Matt’s jeep, and swarming around it the black dots of men and animals. Vitaliev lowered the glasses thoughtfully.

‘It’s Ryan. He has been caught by the nomads.’

‘Sounds painful,’ she volunteered brightly, to a blank wall of incomprehension. She shrugged. ‘Please yourself. Here, let me look.’

He let her snatch the binoculars from his hand and she adjusted them till she could make out the distant scene. Twenty of the robed nomadic horsemen who prowled the Berzerkistani wilderness were milling about the trapped shape of Matt’s jeep, their long rifles in hand. Matt himself was visible forced onto his knees, two men gripping his arms and knotting his wrists together with cord even as he talked ceaselessly in a fruitless attempt to bluff his way out of this fix. His guide was there too, but he was exchanging an embrace with a tall, distinguished-looking man in his forties with a pointed beard and lined, weatherbeaten features who looked to be the nomads’ leader. Jenny’s smile was dazzling and she clenched her fist exultantly.

‘Haha! Poor old Matt, hired the wrong guide. Ohhh, this is better than the movies. I could sit here watching them rough him up all afternoon.’

‘This is not good,’ Vitaliev told her solemnly. ‘Now if we want the Sphinx we have twenty men to deal with instead of two.’

‘True,’ she admitted, lowering the binoculars. She pondered for a moment, then brightened. ‘Then again - who says we can’t do this like honest businesspersons? These guys don’t know what the Sphinx is, they just want Matt’s money and his jeep and maybe a ransom for himself. We don’t need to steal it from them or fight them for it, we could walk right down there and buy it.’

‘Buy it?’ Vitaliev’s stoic features registered a flicker of ridicule. ‘They are bandits.’

‘Sure, but they’re also traders. Don’t you do your research before you come on these missions? If we just approach them openly, treat them with respect, they’ll deal with us fairly.’

‘Hm.’ He chewed over the idea. ‘You speak Berzerki?’

‘Oh, someone down there will speak Russian. That way we can deal in a language we both understand. Come on, I’m stoked now, let’s do it.’

Unbelievably, Vitaliev mustered a smile as he shook his head slowly.

‘I see why you’re always getting in trouble, Bond. Okay, you win. We’ll go and say hello to your honest bandits.’

* * * * *

The nomad horsemen surged about them, rifles held aloft, as they walked down out of the hills, truck and weapons left behind, hands held aloft in a gesture of conciliation. Vitaliev raised his voice, whatever nervousness he felt expertly hidden.

‘Greetings, my friends,’ he called out in Russian, his strong baritone carrying across the steppe. ‘We are travellers who seek to trade with your honoured band. We ask to declare a market here so that we may display the treasures we offer you.’

Jenny was forced to admit he had the style just right. The nomads lowered their weapons and slowed their mounts, toothy smiles of welcome breaking out on their faces as those who spoke Russian shared his words with those who did not. Surrounded, they came to a halt not fifty feet from where Matt sat bound by his jeep, guarded by two armed men.

The tall man she had taken for the leader approached with a stately lack of urgency. Vitaliev raised his voice to speak to him, Jenny listened closely ready to jump in with an offer of her own... and with a lurch of her stomach she realised she didn’t understand a word he’d said. She turned to stare at her temporary ally and found a mocking little smile on his face.

‘Oh, did I not tell you I speak Berzerki? My research for the mission was maybe a little better than yours, hey?’

Chills settled in Jenny’s feet as the Russian and the nomad chief exchanged friendly chatter in the same incomprehensible language, gesturing at Matt, at the truck, at the jeep, at... her?

‘I don’t like the looks of this,’ she muttered, and could only stand there and wait, hemmed in by armed men on all sides.

At last Vitaliev turned to her and spoke formally.

‘You were right, Bond, he doesn’t know what the Sphinx is. But I am giving him a very good price for it.’

‘Yes?’ she replied tensely. ‘What’s the deal?’

‘Oh, we have not made the deal yet. He asks to inspect the merchandise first.’

All her worst fears were confirmed by the note of triumphant exultation hidden beneath his bland tone. She was off the mark and bolting for the cover of the rocks like an Olympic sprinter. At the same instant the nomad leader raised his voice and with a commanding thrust of his hand sent his men surging forward. She slipped agilely past one, elbowed a second in the guts, but a strong hand grasped her wrist, an arm wrapped about her throat, and she was crushed to the ground beneath a struggling tangle of bodies.

Kicking and punching savagely for freedom at everything that moved, she struggled more wildly than ever when she felt hands fumbling at her belt, tugging at her boots, tearing at her jacket. Rolling over and over in this deluge of grasping fingers, in mere seconds she was once again stripped down to her plain olive green underwear, squirming like an eel in their grip. For an instant she thought she’d got free, the weight of bodies crushing her partially lifting away, but it was only some of the men standing back to clear room, waving her clothing as trophies. Those that remained gripped her arms, stretching them out to the sides and hauling her up to her knees. Jenny’s throat went dry with apprehension at the sight of another man striding towards her with a sturdy six foot wooden pole, lengths of rope looped through holes drilled in either end.

She continued to fight as the pole was placed across her shoulders, but with two strong men on each of her arms it was hopeless. There was nothing she could do to prevent her wrists being secured with the ropes, leaving her defenceless with her arms spread out and immobilised. Her quickened breathing from exertion and stress drew the eyes of her captors to her heaving bosom, and her vest, already ripped, was torn to shreds by eager hands, her uncovered breasts falling free and swaying for their entertainment with her struggles. Then the biggest and ugliest of them unceremoniously reached down and grabbed the waistband of her panties, her sole remaining garment, and tugged harshly upwards, stretching its material painfully between her buttocks and into the cleft of her pussy. The breath hissed between her teeth in pain as it stretched further and further, the material cutting into her and losing all resemblance to clothing, until it split into ruined, tattered fragments, leaving her kneeling completely naked on the rough, stony ground of the plain.

There was a barked command and the crowding nomads fell away from her, except for the two who held their hands clamped to the pole across her shoulders, keeping her pinned on her knees. Their leader approached majestically, his eyes running over her exposed, helpless body as if he owned it already, a burning smile gathering on his face by the second in approval of what he saw.

Jenny swallowed down her panic and shock and glared up rebelliously at the bearded, fierce-eyed man who stood over her. Unhurriedly he leaned forward and, heedless of her furious attempts to squirm away, placed his warm, calloused hands to her breasts, squeezing the shapely flesh with thick, strong fingers before lifting them on his palms, assessing their weight and softness like fruit at a stall. His hand lifted to her cheek in what seemed almost a caress until his thumb started to pull down her lower lip and she realised he was trying to inspect her teeth. She twisted her head away from him, making him grin sardonically. Then he bent forward and slapped her twice on the behind - not to hurt, she realised, just to test the firmness of her curvaceous buttocks. Satisfied, he stood and gave Vitaliev an unhesitating nod of confirmation, exchanging a few more words in the local language.

In relief that that part, at least, was over, Jenny let her head fall forward till she realised that on her knees with her head down she was in a pose of defeat and smartly lifted her face to find Vitaliev inspecting her with that curving little half smile fixed on his face.

‘You should be proud, he is very pleased with you. He thinks I am mad to sell you for this trinket.’

Gripping it lightly between finger and thumb, he held his prize, the Jade Sphinx, aloft for her to see. Jenny swallowed hard and kept her voice strong and steady.

‘The one thing that really upsets me, Vitaliev, is it won’t be possible for me to kill you more than once.’

He gave a derisive little snort and moved away, exchanging a formal bow and handshake with the nomad leader before turning to march off back up the hillside towards where they had left the truck. Over his shoulder he threw his parting shot:

‘Don’t worry, Bond, I will call our man in Berzerkin City and have him bid for you at market. I know some men in Moscow who want very much to speak with you.’

Before she could try to think of a smart reply Jenny was being hauled to her feet by her new owners, a noose thrown over head and tightened about her throat to give her a rope leash by which they might drag her along. Tugging back stubbornly against their first attempt to get her moving, she gamely tried reasoning with them in Russian.

‘Just listen will you, just wait for a moment. That man is not my husband or my guardian, you understand? He has no right to sell me.’

‘You are single woman, you are by yourself in the plains,’ one of them returned, giving her a disapproving look. ‘You will live a proper life now.’

Jenny’s instinct to give them hell on the subject of sexual equality was cut short when the man holding her leash gave it a cruel jerk to bring her stumbling at his heels. He vaulted onto his horse, knotting the rope securely to the pommel of his saddle and kicking the beast into motion without giving her another glance. The other nomads leapt onto their own mounts, two of them already underway in the jeep with Matt Ryan stowed in the back. Powerless to free herself or contest with the animal’s strength, Jenny had no choice but to start walking obediently at the horse’s tail as the band got under way. Nude, barefoot, and unable even to lower her hands to cover herself, she began her long captive march across the Berzerkistani steppe.

* * * * *

They had been travelling for an hour through the dreary, unchanging landscape, Jenny shivering as the steady dust-filled wind raised goosebumps on her bare skin, constantly aware of the lusty eyes of her nomad captors upon her. With a jingle of bridle and tack, another horseman drew up beside her and, helpless as she was, she turned to face him as if she could defend herself.

It was their leader. She thought he was just coming to take a closer look at his new acquisition, but he gave her a genuinely friendly nod and spoke in heavily accented English:

‘You are English, hey? I speak English.’

‘So what?’ she growled. ‘Where I come from everyone speaks English. Even the little children. You don’t hear us bragging about it.’

He chuckled, dark eyes glittering in his long face.

‘I am Kazil. I am leader of my tribe.’

‘If you’re trying to make friends,’ she returned, well aware this probably wasn’t the smartest line to take, ‘you’ve got a bloody mountain to climb.’

‘You are angry,’ he observed with a nod. ‘It’s okay, lot of girls start out like this. We tame them, no problem. They end up very happy.’

She grimaced, twisting her wrists against the cords which bound them to the pole.

‘Tame me? It’s been tried, you know.’

‘Ah, you are strong western girl, eh? You will not obey?’

‘Untie me and send your goons away, we’ll see who ends up obeying who.’

Kazil shook his head, his smile fading.

‘You are rude girl. But you learn.’

The violence of his movement exploded from nowhere, and Jenny cried out in shock as his riding whip seared a white-hot stripe of pain across her backside. Teeth clenched, she stumbled and hopped from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the sting, and heard him bark a command at the men riding around her. As one, the horses were kicked into a fast canter and she was almost pulled over onto her face by the savage tug on her leash as the one to which she was tied lunged forward. Desperately, just to stay upright, she found herself forced to sprint full tilt in the dust of the horse’s pounding hooves, her bare feet hammering against the hard earth, surrounded by the whoops and cheers of the nomads galloping about her as they enjoyed the spectacle of her labouring thighs and bouncing breasts.

Every instinct raged at her to fight back, to find a way to wipe the jeering smiles off their faces. But she was helpless in a way she’d never experienced before. Not only could she not escape, she couldn’t even struggle; they were forcing her to throw every scrap of her strength and energy into keeping from being pulled over into the dirt and dragged like a sack of meat across the ground. Her superbly conditioned body was pushed to the limit for their amusement, her sleek, well-toned muscles somehow keeping her upright but drawing nothing but jeers. All she could do now was run, arms stretched out awkwardly by the pole, head thrown back, her hair streaming out behind her, her panting breaths coming hard and fast. The perspiration trickled down her flanks and mingled with the grime kicked up by the horse to coat her body in a gleaming brownish gunge.

Kazil’s mocking voice rang in her ears:

‘We have many miles to go, English girl. Maybe you not so tough when we get there, hey?’

* * * * *

The nomads ran Jenny hard across the steppe. Every time she reached the point of total exhaustion and felt consciousness slipping away they would slow down to a walk and let her recover just a little of her strength. Then it would be back to a full canter, their goading shouts whirling around her dazed mind, every stumble of her weary, clumsy, once-proud body a source of cruel hilarity. When at last they reached their encampment she was filthy, footsore, and so drained that when they finally let her stop running she could only collapse face first into the dirt and lie there panting for breath, her arms still bound and outstretched and her legs curled up beneath her. A minute or more had passed before she could even raise the energy to lift her head and take in her new surroundings.

The nomad camp was like a little folding town of thirty or forty black cloth tents, its thin-faced, weatherbeaten citizens going about their daily tasks of drawing water, tending goats, preparing bread and meat with the humdrum concentration of the people of any town anywhere in the world. It took Jenny’s frazzled, half-awake mind a few moments to grasp why one by one they were ceasing their tasks and standing rooted to the spot, staring. It took her that long to realise she was crouching on the ground in the middle of their village with a leash about her neck and her bare bottom lifted up in the air.

Flinty-eyed women perused her with a haughty contempt. Slack-jawed teenage youths stared and drooled. Little children giggled and pointed. Humiliated, Jenny struggled up onto her knees and dumbly attempted to cover herself but was prevented by the pole which still secured her arms. The best she could manage was to sit up with her knees drawn up to her chest, blushing furiously and wishing there was some end in sight to this nightmare.

Kazil’s authoritative bark of command set the frozen scene moving. A group of wizened old women immediately detached themselves from the crowd and clustered about her. With a strength in their leathery hands which belied their aged appearance, they shook the noose from her neck, cut her hands free of the pole, and drew her to her feet, supporting her weak, limp body on their shoulders.

‘These women take good care of you now,’ Kazil shouted after her as she was led away. ‘But I see you again soon and we find if you want to be good girl.’

Jenny didn’t resist the women. It was a relief to be untied, a relief to be partially concealed from lustful eyes by their robed bodies, a relief to be helped along instead of dragged to a run. Not that she could have fought back if she’d wanted to, when her strength seemed to have seeped from every bone and muscle. The old women hustled her along impatiently with slaps and pinches, keeping a tight grip on her wrists, and she stumbled along with them on legs quivering with weakness, all the way across the camp till she found herself staring down at a burbling, splashing, four-foot deep stream.

‘W-wait,’ she mumbled, forgetting to try her Russian on them. They ignored her and with a brisk shove sent her tumbling head first into the stream.

Jenny reared up out of the water with a gasp. It must have been melted ice from the mountain tops, it was the coldest thing she had ever felt. The shock of immersion blasted through her veins and rushed through her clouded mind like a storm wind. Teeth chattering, skin pink, she splashed around frantically in her attempts to flounder back up onto the bank, but the old women weren’t letting her off that easily. Gnarled fingers knotted in her hair and shoved her firmly back under the surface, holding her there while she struggled vainly, her limbs flailing in the ice-cold fast-flowing water. After long seconds they slackened their grip and she exploded back up, shivering uncontrollably, coughing and spluttering. Then they thrust her back under again and each of them produced rough cloths and towels so that her bath could commence.

Jenny was scrubbed thoroughly from head to toe, the old women leaning well forward and plunging their arms beneath the surface to ensure no square inch of her nude, futilely writhing body was missed. Methodically they worked their way up, cleaning the sweat and grime of the plain from her feet, her calves, her thighs, her buttocks, her belly, her back, her breasts, her arms and her face. One of them gave special attention to her crotch, ignoring her frantic wriggling and rubbing her fiercely between her legs with a cloth while two of the others held her by the arms. After a freezing, degrading eternity they were satisfied and she was permitted to scramble out onto the bank to join them, trembling with the cold, her skin gleaming, her sodden hair trailing in black snakes down her back, curled up at their feet in an attempt to warm herself. She was pitifully grateful when they brought out fresh cloths and rubbed her dry.

Her shivers subsiding gradually with a towel wrapped about her shoulders, Jenny moaned faintly in dismay at feeling it pulled away and finding herself naked once more, her wrists being bound behind her back with a strip of soft leather. She was hauled up onto her weak, shaking legs and chivvied back through the camp, shown off once more to the gawping nomads, and brought to the biggest of the dark tents, which occupied the very centre of the village. Pushed inside, she slumped gratefully onto a heap of soft furs between the tent poles, but the old women weren’t done with her yet. Grasping her ankles and flipping her over onto her back, they spread her legs wide and bound her ankles to the poles, pulling the ropes cruelly tight and leaving her helpless as an up-ended beetle, splayed open like an offering to anyone who might wander in.

The women stood, brushing themselves off with the dutiful air of having accomplished an unpleasant but necessary task. They stood clustered around Jenny’s body for a few moments, looking down at her with the kind of derision she might have expected if she’d volunteered to be tied down naked in this tent with her legs spread. ‘Slut,’ their expressions said. ‘How dare you flaunt your body that way? You’ll suffer for it next time we get our hands on you.’

Jenny watched them turn their backs on her and depart with their noses in the air, leaving her lying there alone. Holding her head up with difficulty she could see down the length of her body, the twin mounds of her breasts, the flat plain of her belly and the neatly trimmed curls of soft brown hair between her thighs, and framed between her legs where they were lewdly stretched up and apart there was the tent flap waving flimsily in the breeze. It would be so easy for any man in the camp to brush it aside and find her utterly at her mercy.

But for now, at least, she was alone, and she let her head fall back onto the furs in relief. The icy bath had cleared her mind and she tried to think through her plans for getting out of this mess. But she was so tired, and the rough, greasy furs beneath her back felt like the finest feather bed. Sleep crept up and took her unawares into a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * * * *

She stirred when a fresh breeze wafted in through the tent flap, but it was only the impact of a man’s weight dropping onto the furs between her opened legs that started her awake. For a happy moment forgetting where she was, she peered up dizzily at Kazil’s bearded face and remembered with a cold shudder.

‘You look very pretty, English girl,’ he said with a smile, his glittering eyes roving over the luscious young body presented for his pleasure. ‘Now we have fun.’

Jenny swallowed, and spoke in a faint whisper from a bone-dry mouth.

‘Please may I have a drink first?’

The deep lines in his face smoothed a little in pleasure at her words.

‘You ask politely. You are good girl. Yes, you have drink.’

He produced a stoppered goatskin from a darkened corner of the tent, tugged out the cork, and placed his hand gently behind her head to help her lift her lips to the opening. It was milk. Mare’s milk, she suspected, but still sucked it down greedily, a trickle running down her chin onto her chest until he took it away and lowered her head back to the furs. She coughed a little but felt the revitalising liquid nourishment coursing through her system, taking her a half step towards feeling like her old self.

‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice stronger.

‘Okay,’ said Kazil decisively, stoppering the goatskin and laying it to one side. ‘Now you make me happy. You good, maybe we keep you a while before take you to market.’

He pulled eagerly at the buckle of his heavy belt. Jenny looked up at him, confusion written over her face.

‘Market? You’re going to sell me?’

He chuckled at her question.

‘Pretty body, pretty face like yours. Good money. Not in England now, girl.’

‘I know, I just... I don’t understand why you want to use me yourself first. Won’t that bring down my price?’

Kazil hesitated, his eyes flicking from side to side in puzzlement.

‘What you say?’

‘Virgins bring the best prices don’t they? I’m sure I’ve read that somewhere.’

He stared at her incredulously.

‘You are virgin?’

‘Of course.’ She widened her eyes innocently. ‘I’m unmarried. I thought the man who sold me to you would have told you that.’

He gaped for a moment longer before a huge, sparkling grin split his face.

‘You try trick me! You are no virgin!’

He laughed and laughed, rolling back on his haunches and throwing his head back in merriment until Jenny frowned in genuine annoyance.

‘It’s not that unlikely. I might be.’

He controlled himself a little, still chortling.

‘You think I like some ignorant peasant? You think you make fool of me? I know you no virgin.’

She shrugged as best she could while lying on her back with her hands tied beneath her.

‘Don’t take my word for it.’ She nodded in the direction of her scrubbed, cleaned, splayed and exposed pussy. ‘Check for yourself.’

The man was no fool, she realised, his eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out what she was up to. But unable to see the harm he placed his warm, rough hand on her inner thigh and slid it slowly upwards, his caution evaporating as he took pleasure in this examination. Jenny shifted in her bonds, her breaths hastening at the sight of his first two fingers lifting and parting the fleshy lips of her vagina.

‘You lie to me, you punished,’ he assured her with a smile, and penetrated her with the unhurried ease of one who knew her body belonged to him.

Jenny bit her lip tensely, feeling his fingers slipping ever deeper inside her. She closed her eyes. Now this would either work or it wouldn’t. There was nothing else she could do.

Kazil chuckled triumphantly, his questing fingers meeting no resistance.

‘I knew you no virgin! Now I... yaaaaaaaagghhhhh!!’

His high-pitched scream was of shock more than pain. He whipped his hand free as if bitten and stared aghast at the little clawed steel device which clung to the end of his fingertip like a leech, a needle protruding from a spring and drawing a welling drop of blood from the skin. He turned on Jenny with a murderous snarl of vengeance.

‘Hey, you should be grateful,’ she told him calmly. ‘Might not have been your finger in there. You’re lucky you gave me a drink.’

He lifted a hand to lash out at her but the drugged needle was doing its work. With an uncomprehending, almost reproachful look, his eyes rolled skyward and he slumped forward onto the rug, dead to the world.

Jenny allowed herself a moment to rest back against the furs and enjoy her little victory, a grin curling across her face.

‘Nice one, Q,’ she murmured. ‘But I still say you’re a drunken pervert for inventing it.’

She wasted no more time but struggled upright, sliding her bottom across the rug with her bound hands questing for Kazil’s knife.

* * * * *

Minutes later Jenny was making a stealthy progress through the darkened camp. Wrapped in stolen black robes, her head hooded and a scarf across her face, she could pass for an unusually short nomad as long as no one got too close. Her heart lifted at the sight of Matt’s jeep lying unguarded on the edge of the village with nothing beyond but open desert. She was going to make it, she realised, she really was. Skirting the corner of a tent, her eye was drawn to a blazing campfire flickering in the night.

Two men sat at their ease on a flat slab of rock, rifles over their shoulders, hands outstretched to the warmth of the flame. Beside them a pair of sturdy logs had been driven into the ground four feet apart like crude pillars, and between them was the slumped figure of Matt Ryan.

His wrists bound to nails driven into the pillars, he was visibly conscious but terribly weary, forced to remain standing for who could say how long. His head lifted a fraction of an inch at the approach of another robed figure. Jenny recognised the bearded guide she had knocked out when she made her arrival in this grim little country.

The guide seemed a whole lot more formidable now, facing a bound, sagging captive. He dragged Matt’s head up by his hair and sneered into his face, hissing words which were incomprehensible and yet so clearly understood. Slapped his cheek sharply to make sure he was awake and alert, then released his hold and hooked his fist up into Matt’s stomach, jack-knifing the CIA man’s body with the force of the blow and leaving him coughing and doubled over, supported only by his ropes. The two guards smiled easily and murmured to one another, enjoying the show.

Jenny shrugged and couldn’t help smiling to herself.

‘Looks like someone wasn’t a generous tipper,’ she murmured, and turned to pursue her own escape. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the guide leaning over the fire. She saw him pull a stick from the blaze and blow on the tip to raise its heat to a glowing orange. She saw him turn to face Matt, the two guards watching like spectators at a football game. She saw Matt’s face illuminated by the smouldering flame as it was brought closer and closer to him.

Jenny grimaced.

‘Oh, hell,’ she muttered. ‘What did you have to go and do that for?’

The guide was smirking, one hand holding the red-hot wooden spike and the other gripping Matt’s sandy hair, letting his victim anticipate the agony to come, when he noticed a short, heavily robed nomad striding unhesitatingly towards him. He straightened, imagining he faced nothing more than another addition to his audience, and made himself an easy target.

Jenny’s fist whipped out almost too fast for the eye to see, striking the prospective torturer clean on the chin and sending his limbs jiggling drunkenly with the shock of impact. He collapsed to the dust like a boneless sack of meat. The two guards were still staring in disbelief when she darted past the fire towards them and sent the first flying with a clinical kick to the jaw. The second had got as far as fumbling for his rifle when the bladed edge of her hand chopped down into his throat, stiffening him like a board and sending him rolling sideways into dreamland.

She drew Kazil’s knife from his belt and sliced through Matt’s bonds, shaking her head all the while at her own foolishness.

‘You know my trouble, Matt?’ she whispered to him as he crumpled at her feet. ‘I’m too soft-hearted for this line of work. I could have left you here to get tortured like you deserve. I could have shot Vitaliev in the back first chance I got. I could have let Kazil try and fuck me and given him a needle through his dick, but ohhh, no. I just have to do the decent thing, don’t I? I tell you, if saving you means I end up roped and naked again with some bugger drooling on my tits I’m going to kill you.’

She shook him by the collar of his shirt.

‘Are you listening to me?’

‘Is it morning already?’ he mumbled vaguely. ‘I’d like eggs over easy, bacon, rolls, coffee, and do you have the New York Times?’

He passed out, and she shook her head disapprovingly.

‘Oh, terrific. Now you want me to carry you out, I suppose? Well, forget it.’

She looked down at his crumpled form and sighed in deep exasperation.

‘This is ridiculous. I’m the one who had to run all the way here, you know.’

She crooked his right leg where he lay, grabbed his arm and pulled so that he rolled up onto her shoulder. Tottering under Matt’s weight, she plodded step by laborious step towards the jeep.

* * * * *

The horizon was glimmering with the first purple light of dawn when they drew in sight of the high rocks beneath which they had first met the nomads. Matt was looking revived after his rest and, as the events of the previous day came back to him, slightly guilty.

‘Uh, Jenny, I guess I owe you a thankyou for, y’know...’

‘Saving your sorry ass when you were about to get tortured with hot brands by your own guide?’

‘Yeah. I mean...’

‘Forgiving you for making me strip at gunpoint?’

‘Well, yeah...’

‘Well, I haven’t! So shut up.’

She crunched her foot down on the accelerator and fixed her gaze squarely ahead. Matt was subdued for a few seconds, but then recognised where she had brought them.

‘Hey, what are we doing back here? We should be getting out of the country. Those nomads aren’t quitters, you know.’

‘We’re going after Vitaliev. We’re supposed to be after the Sphinx, remember?’

‘Well, yeah, but that’s all up now isn’t it? He’ll be halfway to Moscow by now.’

Grappling with the steering wheel, she couldn’t help turning to throw him a smile. She always relished the applause.

‘Not really. I waited till his back was turned and took the spark plugs out of our truck before we came down here. He’s going nowhere fast.’

Matt was silent for a moment, gazing raptly across at the woman driving the jeep, her dark curls swirling in the wind, her brown eyes bright with determination.

‘In all the confusion yesterday, did I mention I love you?’

She waved her hand dismissively.

‘It was implicit.’

* * * * *

The two of them walked side by side up the broken path to the raised plateau where Jenny and Vitaliev had left the truck. They held their nomad rifles ready, alert for any sign of movement. There was none. The truck stood exactly where she had seen it last, dark and deserted in the half light of dawn.

‘Search the perimeter,’ Jenny ordered. ‘When he couldn’t start the truck he’ll have headed out on foot. Find his tracks.’

‘Hey! Who decided you were in charge?’

‘Who admitted to loving whom?’

Matt winced.

‘Damn. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?’

‘Not today. Now do as you’re told, loverboy.’

They separated and made a wary circuit of the truck. Jenny listened closely to the stillness of the morning, her eyes flicking sharply from rock to rock. One thing and one thing only was out of place since she had last been here. She focused on a winding length of cord, half-hidden by the grit which had been thrown over it, snaking its way from behind the nearest clump of boulders to the underside of the truck. She gasped in sudden realisation.

‘Matt, look out!’

She was still crouched to dive away to safety when the cord was pulled tight, there was a click, and with a deafening thunderclap of scorching heat the truck blew apart in flames, the shockwave striking her like a physical blow, lifting and hurling her back to crash to the dust. Winded, Jenny struggled to right herself and saw Vitaliev striding purposefully towards her through the smoking, burning ruins.

‘Sabotaging was the truck was smart, Bond,’ came his cold, hard voice. ‘Thinking I would try and walk home was not so smart. I have called for pick up and a helicopter will be here in a few hours. Nothing for me to do but wait, and rig up that grenade under the truck just in case one of you managed to make it back here.’

He drew his pistol from his belt and marched towards Matt’s prone form, lying face down in the dirt. He placed the gun to the back of the CIA man’s head.

‘Goodbye, Ryan. Too bad you won’t be around to see what I’m going to do to your girl.’

His finger whitened on the trigger, but a jagged, fist-sized chunk of stone struck him hard on the knuckles, making him growl in pain and drop the weapon. He rounded with a snarl on Jenny, in time to see her throw a second rock which caught him squarely between the eyes, sending him stumbling back with his hand clapped to his face and blood leaking down his nose. She dragged herself up onto her feet.

‘I... am not... his girl,’ she managed between clenched teeth.

She charged into the attack, pivoting on the ball of her foot, one long leg lashing out from the mass of her robe to strike at the Russian’s jaw. But exhaustion, hunger, and the blast of the explosion had taken their toll. Vitaliev swayed calmly inside her kick and the edge of his hand chopped down at her breastbone like an axe, sending her staggering back towards the precipice.

‘Too bad, Bond,’ he said stiffly, blinking the last drops of blood from his eyes as he bore down upon her. ‘I was going to keep you alive and take you to Moscow with me. But now you’ve really pissed me off.’

Her wild punch bounced harmlessly off his upraised palm and he gripped the collar of her robe, ripping it down to her waist, baring her breasts and trapping her arms. With cold-hearted precision he struck her a back-handed blow across the face, knocking her back again to teeter on the edge of the cliff.

Jenny spat defiance at him even as she struggled to free her arms from the tangle of her clothing.

‘Give me your best shot, Vitaliev. I’ve said I’m going to kill you and I always keep my word.’

He gave her a nod.

‘Then you’ll have to do it from beyond the grave.’

His palm struck her hard in the chest, sending her toppling backwards over the precipice and out of sight. At the same instant he saw the cord he had used to booby-trap the truck hurled past him, looping over the cliff and then being sharply pulled taut. He placed one foot carefully on the edge and peered down into the abyss.

Ten feet below him, Jenny swung on the end of the rope, clinging desperately with both hands, nothing beneath her but empty air and the rocky plain far below. Vitaliev turned unhurriedly and saw Matt Ryan stretched full length on the ground, hanging on to the other end of the rope as if it was his own life that depended on it. He shook his head and laughed derisively.

‘And what do you think you’re going to do now, Ryan? You’re going to hold her up all day? You’re so sweet on her you can’t bear to see her die before you do?’

Ryan gritted his teeth, the slender cord slipping agonisingly inch by inch through his fingers.

‘We have a saying in the States,’ he managed, ‘about people like you.’

‘Oh?’ Vitaliev approached him step by step. ‘And what is that?’

‘It goes, “Go fuck a skunk, you worthless sack of shit.”’

Vitaliev gave him a frosty smile.

‘Ah. It’s catchy, I like it. I’ll use it all the time after I kill you both and get back to my comfortable little dacha. Now then...’

He knelt down beside Ryan’s straining body, reached unhurriedly into the canvas pack slung at his hip and withdrew a hand grenade. He held it up, letting it swing by its pin from one finger.

‘This is good, I still have one left. I used the other on the truck. Now let’s see how badly you want to hang on to that rope.’

He tugged the pin from the grenade and laid it down carefully on the ground inches from Ryan’s perspiring face.

‘It’s a ten second fuse. So... will you drop the woman and run to safety, or will you wait till you get blown up and then drop her anyway? Are you enjoying our game, Ryan?’

Vitaliev stood and backed away out of range of the blast, watching with scientific interest Ryan’s eyes staring at the live grenade, his white, cramped fingers still twisted about the rope. The tableau stood motionless as each precious second ticked heavily by. Vitaliev smiled and shook his head in wonder at the sight of Ryan squeezing his eyes shut, tensing every muscle in anticipation.

‘Crazy Yankee... he’s really going to do it.’

‘Let it go, Matt.’

Vitaliev whirled at the sound of Jenny’s voice - too late to avoid the end of the cord which whipped about his throat and drew tight like a noose. Somehow she had dragged her battered, drained body up the rope and was clinging to the edge of the cliff by her fingertips. One hand wielded the loose end of the rope like a weapon. The other had twisted it around a loose boulder which teetered precariously above the drop he had planned for her.

Jenny mustered a shaky grin.

‘See, Vitaliev? I told you so.’

She shoved the boulder over the cliff and Vitaliev shrieked in panic as the rope wound round his neck was dragged along with it. His thrashing body was hauled over the rocks, his fingers clawing at the dirt, his staring eyes fixed on the oncoming precipice. With a howl he vanished over the edge and plummeted into oblivion.

Matt laughed weakly, giddy with relief, his palms red raw from his struggle with the rope.

‘Nice work, Jenny.’

Her strength ebbing away by the moment, she struggled to keep a grip on her tenuous handholds.

‘Thanks. Now you’re going to want to get rid of that hand grenade and then save me.’

‘Oh, right.’

He seized the grenade and tossed it away down the slope to detonate harmlessly, then somehow dredged up the energy to stumble towards her and offer a hand to help her drag herself up to safety. For long minutes the two of them lay together on the cliff edge, breathing deeply, taking pleasure in the simple joy of being alive, safe, and free.

Jenny pushed herself up onto her knees.

‘Oh. What do you know?’

Lying unregarded a few feet from the cliff was the flat silver wafer of the Jade Sphinx. It had struck a rock when it fell from Vitaliev’s pocket and fell into two pieces when she picked it up. She weighed the two halves between her hands and Matt’s eyes met hers.

‘Share?’

She gave him one half. It was the lighter half, but if he realised it he gave no sign. He nodded agreement.

‘Deal. Now our tech guys will have to work together whether they like it or not.’

Jenny struggled up to her feet.

‘That reminds me... I think I owe you something.’

Matt stood to join her.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yes.’

She moved like a scorpion, the ball of her palm striking him clean on the chin and sending him crashing to the ground, dazed. Jenny stood over him with her fists on her hips.

‘That’s for hanging me upside down in my undies.’

She stepped forward and dropped back down onto her knees, her thighs straddling his waist. She took his face softly between her palms, bent forward and kissed him long and slow on the lips. When she surfaced for air she wore her curling, pouting smile.

‘That’s for a very creditable attempt to be a hero.’

From the top of the cliff, to the lurking vultures and darting lizards, their voices were audible, their movements private and unseen. Jenny’s voice:

‘Ooh, hold on one second.’

There was the click of a small mechanical device being removed and disarmed. Matt’s voice:

‘What was that?’

‘You don’t want to know. Just be grateful I remembered to take it out.’

THE END