Jenny Plague-Bringer

Chapter Thirty



Ward remained seated as Mariella entered his office, but he smiled at her. He nodded at the Hale Security guard who’d escorted her, and the guard closed the door to wait outside.

“Miss Visconti,” Ward said. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Of course, sir. Is this about...” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “...spy work?”

“It is. Have a seat. Coffee?” He reached for the button on his telephone.

“No, thank you.” Mariella kept her posture perfectly straight as she sat. “What can I do for you?”

Ward found Mariella to be a typical rich ditz, underneath her air of education and culture. She’d already ordered thousands of dollars in clothing, since she had almost none with her, as well as furnishings for her dormitory room, but that was a small price to pay keep her happy, considering the hellstorm her politically connected family could raise on her behalf. He was relieved to have her on his side, even enthusiastic to follow orders, but he still needed to test her loyalty and dedication.

“I think you can help us streamline our operation,” Ward told her. “We now have five paranormals at this facility, and three are cooperating with us—you and the boy Tommy most of all. The Mexican girl, the one who can speak to the dead, she does what we say, though she clearly doesn’t share your enthusiasm or your understanding of the importance of our work.”

“But Jenny and Seth are not cooperating, sir?” She looked puzzled, as if this news made no sense to her.

“Exactly.”

“Jenny is pregnant, sir, so she may not be entirely rational.” Mariella gave him a big smile. “You know how we women are—erratic, emotional, impulsive. When a woman’s pregnant, multiply that by a hundred. Let me speak to her, and I’ll help her understand what she needs to do.”

“I want your help with the boy.”

“Seth?”

“He won’t listen to me, but I think he’ll be more willing to listen to a pretty little thing like you,” Ward said. He didn’t see how any red-blooded American male could ignore her, with her high cheekbones, dark red hair, and dancer’s body.

“I could talk with Seth, too, if you like,” she said.

“Don’t just talk to him, convince him. I want you to redirect his affections.”

“I don’t think I understand, General Kilpatrick.”

“You understand. Stroke his ego, stroke his cock if you have to, do whatever it takes to change his mind. Make him switch his allegiance from the plague girl over to you.”

Mariella gasped and even blushed a little. He just watched her coolly.

“Are you serious?” she whispered.

“You said you wanted to be a spy. It’s not the movies, it’s not ninja fights and poison darts hidden in your wristwatch. It’s about gaining people’s trust. And this is the way you’re going to do it. Female spies use every asset they have, including their feminine wiles.”

“My feminine wiles?” Mariella giggled.

“I assume you have some. This is your first assignment. The first test of your ability to act as an intelligence operative.”

“I like the sound of that.” She beamed. “I do know boys, sir, and how to use their feelings.”

“Then you think you can handle that?”

“Please, he’s not a challenge. He’s very immature, even for an American boy.”

“Good. Go to his cell tonight. The guards will let you in.”

“I’m excited!” The girl was practically bouncing in her chair before she recovered herself and tried to look proper. “I mean, I’ll do it, sir! But I could still talk to Jenny for you, too.”

“Not just now,” he said. “I have special plans for Jenny.”

Mariella sat in her chair, smiling at him, her eyes practically glowing—her eyes, the same green hue as his own, as if they were mirrors reflecting his own gaze. She might be useful, but her presence made Ward uncomfortable, stirring up the prickly-flesh feeling that had turned into a strange hallucination last time. He probably needed psych meds, but he wasn’t about to tell anyone that his brain might be slipping. Once something like that got added to a file, Ward’s enemies in the Pentagon could use it against him. As a man who’d primarily gotten ahead in life through blackmail, he knew there were a number of top brass who wouldn’t mind seeing him retired, one way or another.

“You can go now,” Ward told Mariella, and she hopped out of her chair with another “Yes, sir!” and bounced to the door. As she left, he watched her shapely ass, framed in the two-hundred-dollar Armani jeans he’d paid for out of his agency’s budget. He felt a powerful urge to grab the spoiled rich girl, throw her across his desk, and rip off that tight denim...

He didn’t know where the thought had come from. It wasn’t attraction, it was a need to dominate. He wanted to knock her down, put her beneath him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, until it became like a painful throbbing in the right side of his head. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the same scene...but in his imagination, it wasn’t Mariella he was f*cking on his desk, but the gray-eyed blond temptress in the black S.S. uniform, Alise.

He was wearing the same kind of black uniform, though highly decorated with medals. He was taking her in his preferred way, from behind while she leaned across his desk. Sometimes he would slap her until she was sore, or bang her head against his metal desktop, once leaving her with a bloody lip. She kept coming back for more, determined to have a supernormal child for the Reich. Kranzler himself liked the idea, and looked forward to each of their trysts, dazzled by her beauty, her willingness, and her tolerance for pain. He knew it was only because her paranormal touch enhanced the experience for him, but he enjoyed it.

Today, he didn’t have much time to spare, so he was trying to finish fast.

“Dr. Wichtmann wants to breed your cousin with the Italian girl who sees the future,” he was telling her.

“Niklaus?” Alise looked back at him, clearly offended. “You want to breed my cousin with a Sicilian peasant?”

“A supernormal.” He wiped sweat from his face and kept sliding in and out of her.

“It would be a corruption of our noble German blood! He should be crossed with someone...” She gritted her teeth as he mounted her harder and faster. She was just barely tolerating it. “Vilja and Roza are clearly more Aryan. You could cross him with those two.”

“Those two are not showing useful abilities in our tests,” he told her. “Mia has a gift. The Party leaderships wants results, supernormal babies. I agree we should cross Niklaus with her.”

“Save Niklaus for someone worthy of my family,” Alise said. “Breed the American boy with the dirty Sicilian.”

He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back toward him, and she shrieked. “Are you giving me orders?” he asked.

“I’m being insubordinate, sir. I should be punished.”

“You should.” He covered her mouth and nose with one hand, without warning, making her struggle for air while he came inside her. He didn’t release her until he was finished. She lay on his desk, looking up at him.

He loved her, and he hated her for it. He could imagine keeping her prisoner in his own house, making her suffer every kind of pain imaginable. He couldn’t get enough of the sweetly evil girl.

“Sebastian and Mia,” he said. “I can get Dr. Wichtmann to agree to that.”

“Good.” She watched him pull his pants on. She dressed herself, now wearing the drab regulation cotton underwear he’d insisted she wear. She smoothed down her skirt, and they walked out the door to go back to work.