Staying Alive Page 4

  ‘Yes, we could.’

  We climbed the stairs.

  ‘We could have a bath,’ Sam said. She had one of those card keys that she slipped into the lock and gently pushed the door open.

  ‘Um, yes.’

  ‘You could scrub my back.’ She pushed the door closed with her bum.

  ‘Ah, um, yes, I could.’

  It was a nice room. Well, the little I saw was; the curtains were drawn. We kissed as soon as the door was closed. Her lips were cool and wet. The tip of her tongue touched the tip of my tongue and it was electric. I’m sure my hair stood up on end. Well, more than my hair. Her teeth were small. Her tongue was agile. It was a great kiss. I’d one hand in her hair and one on the small of her back. She was jammed hard against me and moving round. More than jammed against me; she moved me back so my back was against the door. Her eyes were open. So were mine. We kept that first kiss going for minutes. Her breasts were firm; as they pressed against me I could feel her nipples. We were both adults, all grown-up. Not teenagers. We didn’t rush. We didn’t fumble. We took our time. We were patient. We took it slowly.

  We came up for air and I placed my left hand on her right breast; it was rock solid. She pulled my shirt out of my trousers, undid the buttons and slipped it backwards over my shoulders. She then ran her hands over my shoulders, feeling the scar from the knife wound in my right shoulder with her fingers. She looked up into my eyes.

  ‘Soldier wounds?’

  ‘Aha.’

  She kissed me again and I started to undo the buttons on her blouse, from the top. She started to do the same starting at the bottom.

  ‘No, let me.’

  ‘I see. A kinky lady stripper.’

  ‘I reckon. I just love undressing women, particularly a kinky lady.’

  ‘I’ve watched you undress me a few times in the office.’ She gave a little giggle. ‘And I admit I’ve undressed you but this is much better.’

  I stepped back, held her hand forward and undid the button on her cuff. She held her other hand forward. She dropped her hands to her sides and the blouse slipped off her shoulders and onto the floor. She put her hands on my chest then slid them up behind my head. We kissed again, for five whole minutes. I was out of breath but I didn’t care. ‘Killed with a kiss,’ it said on his headstone. Another great kiss. Better than the first. I could feel the lacy material of her bra against my chest. I slipped my hands along the back strap to the catch. It was clear of her back in the cleft of her spine and as I unclipped it, it fell forward. She stepped back and it fell to the floor, revealing her magnificent bust. Her breasts were fantastic, round, smooth and firm. The nipples were large brown rings with the protrusions standing proud. I couldn’t resist; I just had to suck them. Her perfume came up at me, a mixture of the real essence of her and the subtle aroma of the perfumer’s art.

  She unclipped her waistband, pulled down the zip at the side and her skirt fell to the floor. Tights are ugly things so I didn’t look, just slipped my hands in the waistband and pushed gently downwards, taking the panties with the tights. They collected in a pile at her ankles. She scuffled backwards, naked apart from the knickers, tights and shoes around her feet. She sat on the bed and raised her legs and I removed her shoes and with them the conglomeration around her feet.

  ‘Now your shoes,’ she said and her throat buzzed against my lips. She turned me around, pushed me backward and sat me down on the edge of the bed. She knelt in front of me, untied my right shoe and then my left. She eased them off then hooked her thumbs in my socks and peeled them down and off. We stood up again and kissed again. By that point in my life I’d kissed a few girls, but I was ready to admit that Sam was the finest of them all. She was spectacular. She moved and quivered and trembled. She was strong, but gentle, passionate, fiery but not aggressive, hungry, but not demanding. All these things merged into the essence of Sam. We had all the time in the world – well, until eight o’clock – and we were going to use every last minute of it.

  She hooked her fingers behind the front of my waistband and tugged on it then undid the clip with a squeeze. We kept on kissing. She found my zipper tab and eased it down, slowly, slowly, small hand, neat thumb, precise finger. As my trousers dropped she held me through my Y-fronts.

  ‘Oh, you’re a big boy,’ she said and then pulled my pants down, unhooking them from my erection that she kissed. I stepped out of my trousers and pants. We were totally naked and she pushed me so that I sat on the bed. She climbed into my lap, her legs on either side of me with her heels against my thighs. I lifted her hair away and kissed her ear, tracing its shape with my tongue. I could feel her cheek against mine. I could feel the smile. I kissed her mouth. She kissed my ear. We spent twenty minutes learning every contour above each other’s necks. Then we moved lower. I ducked my head, holding my hands behind her back. Her head went back, arching her breasts towards me. They were firm and round and smooth. Her nipples were sensitive. She moaned a little. So did I. She moved and I rolled back onto the bed. She kissed my chest. I lifted her off my lap and rolled her on her back on the bed. Twenty fabulous minutes spent getting to know each other above the waist.

  Then we moved lower. She moved lower, her mouth closing around me, sucking and moving. I was dizzy and after some minutes, I rolled her onto her back and she lifted and opened her knees and I buried my face between her thighs, my tongue working her clitoris. She moaned and shuddered then rolled me over so I was on my back with her over me and again she closed her mouth over my penis. It was fabulous and then she moved over me and pushed me inside her.

  We started tenderly. Long and slow, long and slow, deep and easy. She flushed and gasped. So did I.

  Long and slow.

  Then faster and harder. Then we were panting.

  Faster, harder, faster, harder.

  Panting and gasping.

  She was moaning then shouting, ‘Yes! Yes!’

  Then I exploded inside of her, climaxed and spent.

  We lay on the bed, for how long I don’t know. A knobbly elbow stuck in my ribs.

  ‘Hey you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You have to scrub my back.’

  I rolled over and looked at her. She was smiling. A beautiful smile, a contented smile, a possessive smile. ‘Okay, what’s the time?’

  ‘Just gone six thirty.’

  ‘Okay, no rush.’

  ‘I agree, but I want my back scrubbed.’

  ‘Oh alright then, bully,’ I said.

  ‘You can go off people you know.’

  We ran the bath, or rather I ran the bath while Sam sorted out her clothes for the evening. It struck me that I had now probably earned the necessary qualification to call her Sam although no actual sleep was involved. We climbed in and soaked, gently washing each other and finding tickly bits. We dried each other, got dressed, prepared to depart and went to Bel Vedere.

  I’m not sure how it happened but Sam moved in with me about three weeks later. I really can’t remember me asking her to or agreeing that she should. It just sort of happened. The big problem was that soon after she moved in, I received the instruction to go to the States.

  7

  My invitation to visit the psychologist arrived and two days later I arrived at nine fifteen. A receptionist met me in the passageway, took my name, asked somebody on the phone whether they were ready for me and asked me whether I needed the toilet. That may sound strange but it indicated to me that I was going to be psychometrically tested. I was given a whole raft of tests and one of the personality profile tests I hadn’t seen before and there seemed to be one based on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist, which seemed to cover depression and anxiety. These people meant business. On completing the tests I went into a small room with armchairs and coffee. A woman who told me she was a nursing sister asked me a series of questions about illnesses, visits to doctors, hospitals, operations, etc. She told me she had my last medical report that had been done by BUPA about six month before and then asked
me some more medical-type questions based on what I’d told her. She explored the knife wound on my shoulder, the knee wound that had been caused by being hit with a brick, and the scars on my stomach below my ribs. She shuddered when I told her small fragments of shrapnel and bits of brick had caused them. The nursing sister left to be replaced by a psychologist, Doctor Thomas Kuhn. He said he was going to ask me a series of questions and ensure I would be able to operate undercover in a prison. Because of this, I felt reassured. I hadn’t felt concerned but clearly somebody was.

  ‘Tell me about school,’ he started. This surprised me but I just answered.

  ‘I went to a preparatory school when I was seven, as a part boarder staying four nights a week and going home at weekends, and became a full boarder when I was eleven and went to public school when I was thirteen.’

  ‘So you come from a well-off family?’

  ‘I’m not sure what that means.’

  ‘Well, they could afford public school.’

  ‘Not exactly; the Government paid because my father was a diplomat and he and my mother were nearly always abroad.’ He nodded and made a note.

  ‘Did you like school?’

  ‘I loved it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Now that’s quite difficult to answer. I didn’t really know anything else, but I was never unhappy. Some of the boys were. Had lots of fun and challenges, well they were the same thing really.’

  ‘Your school record shows you did well academically and at sport. Did you have any enemies at school?’ This was an unexpected question.

  ‘Enemies? Not until the fifth form.’

  ‘That would be year eleven.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Well, one of the boys in my form didn’t like me for some reason. I don’t know why, but he would sneer and make comments.’

  ‘How did that make you feel?’

  ‘I suppose I was upset – no, confused. Yes, confused. I didn’t know why he didn’t like me.’

  ‘Looking back now, can you think of a reason for his dislike of you?’

  ‘It may have been my sporting success. He was a good middle-distance runner – not something I was good at. He couldn’t swim and in the summer I taught other boys to swim but he didn’t come to that. Perhaps my success at schoolwork? Maybe it was just me?’

  ‘What do you mean by “maybe it was just me”?’

  ‘Well, some people just don’t like other people.’

  ‘What did you think of him?’

  ‘I didn’t think of him.’

  ‘Perhaps he wanted you to.’

  ‘Or perhaps he didn’t.’

  Dr Kuhn smiled. ‘You were expelled in the sixth form: “conduct unbecoming”.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I was caught having sex with a girl under the stage.’

  ‘I thought it was a boys’ school.’

  ‘It was but she worked in the office.’

  ‘I see. What did you think about that?’

  ‘What, being expelled or the sex?’

  He smiled. ‘The being expelled.’

  ‘Bit of a pain. It caused upheaval for me. I had to go to a tech college to get my A-levels.’

  ‘What about the girl?’

  ‘She got the sack but my father found her a job.’

  ‘She wasn’t a student then?’

  ‘No, she just worked in the office.’

  ‘Yes, you said. What did you feel about her?’

  ‘It wasn’t a romance; it was just nookie, like kids do.’

  ‘What did she think about it?’

  ‘I have no idea. I never saw her again.’

  ‘You didn’t write or phone or anything?’

  ‘No, I’d no address or phone number and anyway, I’d been advised by my dad not to.’

  ‘So, you obeyed your father?’

  ‘Not really, I just didn’t try to contact her, like most boys I suppose.’

  ‘Like most boys? Explain.’

  ‘I just think that boys, and perhaps girls, just experiment with sex. It’s not really about anything serious, it’s just sex.’

  ‘Was your later life similar to school in terms of relationships?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was.’

  ‘Describe relationships for you.’

  ‘I’m very close to a very few people and then there’s everybody else that I try to get along with.’

  ‘Are you in a close relationship now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That is Samantha?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What does she think about this undercover job?’

  ‘I don’t really know.’

  ‘Should you know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you don’t?’

  ‘I will explore it.’ Sam knew but had said nothing, we had just sort of accepted it. I was feeling uneasy but I knew Sam understood, I just knew - but did she?

  ‘What about large groups?’

  ‘I don’t mind large groups, but if I’m in a group of people who are in cliques and I’m isolated I don’t like that. No, let’s start again; I don’t like being in a large group of strangers unless I have a role within the group.’

  ‘A role within the group?’

  ‘Well anything really, from serving tea to giving a presentation, just a reason for me to be there.’

  ‘Yes, that ties up with your profile. You tend to be a socially competent introvert, which is ideal for this job. That was the only result that I needed to clarify. You’ve a high level of independence, your history indicates you’re unlikely to be cowed in a dangerous situation, equally you’re not aggressive but you may sometimes take risks. I can see nothing in your history or your profiles that flags a serious warning. However, there is one issue. On your own, in an alien environment, you may become isolated but this would not give you a problem. In groups there are people who try to include others so you are likely to be included if you choose to be. However, if you do become isolated you’ll not be able to complete the task that it seems you’ve been given. This has been foreseen and you’ll have a companion who will create leads for you. Because of your social competence and independence you are likely to end up as a leader. That may be inappropriate in prison but isn’t controllable.’

  ‘Not controllable?’

  ‘No, in general terms leadership is a relationship thing, not about position. Leaders can’t be appointed, they emerge, but it does depend on the social grouping and interactive requirements. Given your personality, education and intelligence, and given the prisoner society, you could end up a leader or an isolate, but you are unlikely to be a follower; you are too independent for that.’

  ‘Either could be dangerous then.’

  ‘Yes, either, that is leader or isolate, could be dangerous; no, either will be dangerous. You are going into a high-risk situation.’ He smiled, stood up and held out his hand. I stood. We shook hands. ‘Thank you, Jake, it’s been a pleasure to meet you.’

  It seemed like all systems go then, but if Sam has a problem? Oh let’s just find out.

  8

  The flight to the States and the train journey to the pokey little town of Gears Flats were uneventful. When I finally arrived, it was clear that the group leaving the train with me were heading in the same direction: to a bus with a man dressed in a blue uniform standing alongside it. Very soon, we were heading off along some desert roads – not the most attractive countryside I’d ever seen: flat, brown and arid with scrub trees and sparse grasses, not one of America’s fertile plains. The few buildings we did see had those windmill water pumps you see in cowboy films, but there were no cows or at least I never saw them.

  An hour and a half later, I took one look at the training centre from the bus and recognised that I was in for a hard time. We were in the middle of a desert in West Texas. The concrete buildings may even have been built as a prison: single-storey buildings of dirty brown crumbling concrete with rust streaks from the reinforcing. It�
�s odd how the concrete here was brown. A double fence of linked razor wire about 15 feet high surrounded the sprawling buildings and between the two fences were coils of loose razor wire.

  We approached the double gate, and the first gate opened and closed behind us as we drove in. Then the inner gate opened and revealed our new temporary home. It was clear from the moment we had boarded the bus that the training had started; we were told where to sit and the three men in uniform didn’t smile. In fact, the silence became oppressive, although nobody had stopped us talking during the drive in the sweltering heat.

  The bus pulled up in front of the first building, but the doors remained closed. Six men in dark, navy-blue uniforms with six-button, single-breasted serge jackets, heavy black shoes and black helmets were in a line. Four of them were armed with 3-foot heavy-duty batons and two had rifles, Smith and Wesson semi-automatics. They were very business-like. The ones with batons swung them slowly by their sides, pointing them at the ground. Menace was the description I would use. If the intention was to make an impression they were highly successful. When the door eventually opened we started to get up, but a voice from the back, the large black man who’d collected us at the station and guided us to the bus, snapped the order, ‘Sit down!’

  We sat. I was feeling concerned. This may have been training but it was far too realistic for me. It was way over the top. It was frightening and I assumed it was meant to be.

  The driver and the other uniformed man got off. One of the guards with a baton then got on the bus. He’d chevrons on his collar.

  ‘Now look here –’ one of the two guys nearest the front said, but he got no further.

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ The voice was flat and emotionless. The baton end was 2 inches from his mouth. ‘One more word and you’ll be collecting teeth from the floor.’

  ‘Wait one –’

  The end of the baton smashed into the man’s mouth like a pool cue hitting a ball, hard. The guard leaned forward, grabbed the man by his collar, dragged him to the front of the bus and threw him down the step and out of the door. He then turned, faced us, the baton pointing at us, and moving to point to each of us randomly.