Previously: Ingrid turned to me, “You lied to me. How do I know that anything you say now is true? How do I know you have the kind of money necessary to pull this off?”

“How about I prove to you that I have the money, and promise to tell you most – not all – of what’s happened to me, and why I had to do things this way. Will you take the job?”

She stared at me, then nodded. “Probably,” was all she said.

I nodded, “Then how about you tell me where you would like to go and I’ll take you there in my corporate jet?”

She thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll call your bluff. Let’s go to London for the weekend.”

I smiled at her, then picked up the phone. “Ilsa? Please have my jet prepped, and tell the pilots to file a flight plan for London City Airport. And please book us a suite for at least Friday and Saturday nights.”

I listened for a few seconds. “Thank you,” and hung up.

I stood up. “Let’s go.”

Ingrid looked confused. “Where?”

I smiled at her. “London, of course.”

Ingrid was still spluttering about this all being a hoax, all the way to the limousine, then on the road to the airport.

But when we pulled into the private terminal and the driver opened the door, revealing the private jet with the Wolf logo on the tail, Ingrid’s complaints died off and she stood up next to the limo, no longer sure of herself.

I took her arm, “Shall we fly? They’re waiting for us,” and urged her forward.

She shook herself, “Wait – I have to go back for my suitcase.”

“No, you don’t. I had it repacked and brought here. It’s already onboard the plane. Besides, we can buy you more stuff in London. Won’t that be fun?”

She leaned back and stared at me, as if I were a woman from Mars, then shrugged, and started walking toward the plane.

“Good morning, Frau Von Wolf, Fraulein Becker. Welcome aboard!” the pilot greeted us. “We’ll be departing immediately.” He pointed to the steps into the luxurious interior of the Gulfstream G100 private jet. I waved Ingrid ahead of me, and watched as she walked tentatively up the steps, ducking at the top of the stairs, as if she would hit her head.

Chuckling, and remembering my first flight – ever – on this very jet, I trotted quickly up behind her. The pilot followed me, then hauled the steps up behind us, secured the hatch, and disappeared into the cockpit, gently closing the door behind him.

A flight attendant in beige uniform appeared, holding a tray with two flutes. “Champagne, mesdames?” she asked, with a slight French accent. I knew that Hans had recruited her from Air France, after encountering her on a transatlantic flight. She spoke almost as many languages as I did – and she was pretty to boot, as well as a former instructor in airplane safety. I wondered if Hans had taken her to bed as well, then decided he probably hadn’t – bad for corporate morale. I wasn’t sure I had his restraint. But then, I had other things on my mind just then.

I turned to Ingrid who was standing in the center of the plane, frankly gawking. “Well, sit down and fasten your seatbelt. We can’t leave until you do!”

She closed her mouth, her face turned grim, and she sat, then buckled her belt and looked out the window.

“I was both scared and excited the first time I flew in this jet. Hans – my brother-in-law – took me to Berlin on business. It was the first time I had ever flown.”

Ingrid’s head swiveled to look at me. “Who are you?” she asked.

I sighed. “That,” I said, “is a long story. Why don’t we start with some Champagne?” I reached up, took both flutes from Manon, then handed one to Ingrid. “A toast,” I offered. “To Valkyrie Corporation – and our success!”

I clinked glasses with Ingrid, who almost reluctantly took a sip.

“I ran away from home at sixteen, and lived on the streets of Rotterdam as a street rat…” I began.

I spent most of the hour and forty minutes of the flight trying to tell Ingrid who I really was. I left out some of the racier bits – such as my training in the dungeon of DeCoven – and glossed over the secret bits, such as what I did to some of those involved in Miriam’s death – but otherwise tried to give her an honest account of my history.

I hurried to finish up as we were landing at London City Airport. Ingrid started as the wheels urked when we touched down before taxiing to the private terminal.

She had been silent throughout my story, but finally said something.

“Bullshit.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Okay, I don’t blame you, but I assure you it’s true. When we’re checked in to the hotel, you can Google Miriam Von Wolf – although she usually dropped the ‘Von’ – and the Wolf family, including me. Now, let’s go, shall we?”

By now the pilot had opened the hatch and lowered the stairs. He stepped down, and offered his hand to us to help us down the steps.

I almost skipped down the steps – private jets were no longer new to me – while Ingrid walked gingerly down them, avoiding the pilot’s hand.

There was a limousine – a Rolls Royce – waiting, with a chauffeur holding the door open. I offered my arm to Ingrid, who just looked at me, then stalked stolidly to the waiting car and climbed in. I jumped in and did up my seatbelt.

“Where are we going?” Ingrid asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t we wait and see? I didn’t have a chance to ask Ilsa which hotel she booked for us. I just told her to make sure it was a good one.”

Ingrid turned to look out the window at the passing scene as we drove through the streets of London, but refused to say a word to me.

We finally pulled up at the hotel and got out. It was Claridge’s in Mayfair. I learned later that it was known in part as a place where many legendary movie stars had stayed, including Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn. I would have loved to meet – and do – either of them. Or both of them, separately or together. Pity.

The chauffeur handed us out while the bell staff retrieved our luggage and whisked it away. The concierge herself greeted us just inside the doors.

“Madam Von Wolf, how lovely that you decided to grace us with your presence!” she said in flawless German. “Madam Becker, welcome to Claridge’s. We have a beautiful suite waiting for you. If you would please follow me?”

She led us through the magnificent lobby, to the lifts, and up to one of the top floors. The bell staff had already delivered our luggage, and the butler was busy unpacking it. The concierge thanked us for choosing Claridge’s, wished us a pleasant stay, and vanished, along with the rest of the staff.

We were alone in a beautiful and tastefully appointed living room.

I looked at Ingrid. “Well?”

Ingrid walked slowly around the living room, looking at all the beautifully appointed furniture and decorations, peeked in the doors to the various other rooms, picked up and glanced at the bottle of Champagne in the bucket of ice along with the flutes beside it, checked the fruit basket, then refocused on me.

She sauntered forward until she was almost on top of me, and said, “I have no idea who you really are, but it’s clear you have money. Now, let’s fuck, shall we?”

I grinned up at her, took her hand and kissed it, and said, “Yes, Vader. Let’s,” kicked off my heels, and pulled her into one of the bedrooms.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t bring our toys,” she commented as she looked around at the high ceilings with the decorated moldings, then the richly appointed bedspread and pillows.

“I did. Now let’s see where the butler put them, shall we?” I reflected that he hadn’t even glanced at me with anything other than perfect courtesy, and suspected he had seen much more, um, interesting things in his time here. Walking over to a chest of drawer on the side of the bedroom, I opened the top drawer and found all of the toys I’d packed, neatly laid out and waiting. They were even sorted by function.

I turned and pointed with the flat of my palm. “Ta da!”

Ingrid walked over, looked nonplused, then snorted. “How very, um, professional.”

She turned to me, pulled off my black business suit jacket, tossed it in the general direction of a brocaded chair, undid my blouse, pushed it off my shoulders, unclipped my bra in front, letting it follow the blouse to the floor, then turned me by the shoulders. She unzipped my black, business skirt in back, let it fall, then slowly pushed her hands down from my waist until my panties fell to my feet.

I stepped out of my clothes, then waited, standing naked with my back to her. Placing her hands on my shoulder blades, she pushed me face first onto the bed, bending me at the waist over the edge, then put her shoe between my feet and slowly knocked them apart, indicating that I was to spread my legs. I did, spreading them wide – and feeling my kitty start to drip.

I heard her moving things around in the drawer, then she took one hand, fastened a padded cuff around my wrist, and clicked it shut, then repeated it with the other wrist. I turned my head to one side and waited, with honey now starting to drip down my left thigh.

I heard clothes rustling for a while, and figured she was stripping, then heard her doing something – not sure what. After a few minutes, she settled her feet just inside mine, preventing me from bringing my legs together even if I had wanted to. Then I felt her hand in the small of my back, and something hard, wet, and cool push its way between my labia, and figured she was about to slowly work a strap-on into my pussy.

Instead, she shoved hard, surprising me with the sudden thrust. Then she grabbed my hair, pulling my head up, leaned forward and whispered into my ear. “Now, Schatzi, suppose we stop all this prancing around, and you tell me who you really are, hein?”

It was difficult to speak clearly in that position, but I tried. “My legal name really is Veronika Von Wolf. I am the widow of Miriam Wolf of Amsterdam, and heir to her fortune and shares in the Wolf Group of Companies of Berlin. Hans Wolf is the CEO, and my brother-in-law. You can check all of that online, including photographs of me. And my passport is in my handbag on the side of the bed.” I attempted to nod in the direction of my handbag.

Then I waited. I couldn’t tell whether she would believe me or not. I could hear her breathing hard, then, after a few minutes, she shoved my head back into the bed, pushed herself up, withdrawing the dildo from my pussy, and walked over towards the bedside table, strap-on wagging like a stiff cock.

I could have taken her, even when she had me in an apparently helpless position, but I wanted to convince her, not conquer her, so I stayed where I was, waiting.

I could see her move to the bed table on my side, open my purse, pull out my E.U. passport and leaf through it. She looked at me, motionless on the bed, obviously compared my (hideous) passport photo with my face, then thought.

Finally she snapped the passport closed, dropped it back in my handbag, then moved back behind me again, resumed her position, kicking my feet even wider apart. “Well, since that’s who you seem to be, it would be a shame not to take advantage of the situation, hein?”

And with that, she slowly moved the dildo between my pussy lips – then shoved hard again.

She always was pretty butch, and it seemed like she wanted to get even for the deceptions I’d practiced on her by fucking me hard, fast, and rough.

I loved it, especially when she lifted herself, pulled my head up, and smacked my ass with her hand, then recommenced fucking me hard. I came hard, and moaned loudly – and shortly after that, she came too, falling forward on top of me, letting her weight crush me.

When she had recovered slightly, she pushed herself up, then rolled me over, with my back on the bed, raised my legs up vertically, put my knees over her shoulders, and took me from the front, with my hands still fastened underneath me. But this time, once she was buried deep inside me, she leaned forward, forcing her cock deep into my cunt, then grabbed my head and kissed me – hard.

Which made me cum again, even in that incredibly awkward and somewhat painful position.

She used me over and over, until I was raw, sensitive, and more than sated. Then she finally released me, unclipped my hand, and we snuggled into bed together. She cradled my head on her shoulder.

It was good.

Later, when we were lying in bed, drifting and chatting idly, Ingrid asked the question I knew would come eventually.

“Why, Schatzi? Why did you lie to me all these months? Why didn’t you tell me what was going on? You could have trusted me.”

I mused for a moment, then looked up, “Could I? Would you have hired Frau Von Wolf for a programmer’s job? You would have checked, and found that I was wealthy – and what would have happened then?”

I shook my head. “You didn’t know me then. How could you have trusted me as Frau Von Wolf, a complete stranger wanting to work far below her income level?

“Besides,” I went on, “at that time I was officially dead – and wanted to stay that way. I didn’t even trust my brother-in-law, Hans, and he was mourning Miriam as much as I was. I needed Frau Von Wolf to be dead so I could continue my hunt without interference.”

I looked up at her again, “Do you understand, Ingrid? I had to do it this way.” I looked away. “But now I’m legally alive again, on the right side of the law, and have a lawful organization working with me to track down Miriam’s killers. Now I can be who I really am.

“Does that make sense?” I asked, looking into her eyes.

She stared at me for some time, then up and out of a window, then back at me, and finally nodded. “Ja, Shatzi. I get it. And you’re right – there is no way I would have hired this woman…” and she squeezed my shoulder, “for a mere programmer’s job. I guess I would probably have done the same thing in your shoes.”

She was quiet for a moment, then leaned down and kissed me. This time it wasn’t a prelude to more sex. It was just a sweet acknowledgement that she had forgiven me.

I sighed in relief.

Later that evening, we were dressed to the nines in clothes I had bought for us in a Bond Street store that the concierge had recommended. We walked, arm in arm, into the beautiful Art Deco Claridge Restaurant. I had spoken to the concierge, so we had a smashing table in a prominent location, where we could see and be seen.

The food was sublime and the service was, if possible, even better. And that set the mood for the rest of the weekend: Fucking, shopping, sightseeing, fucking, dressing, dining, and fucking some more, all in magnificent surroundings, with flawlessly elegant service when we wanted it, and absolute privacy when we didn’t.

Finally, on Sunday night, we were having a nightcap in the gorgeous Fumoir bar, when Ingrid very nonchalantly said, after sipping her cocktail, “Oh, by the way, I gave Jürgen two weeks’ notice by text. He called me immediately and told me not to bother coming back, and called me a fucking traitor, a cocksucking dyke – which really makes no sense – plus some other … well, not very nice names.”

She looked up at me, a half-smile on her face. “So, when do we start?”

I smiled at her, leaned over and kissed her. “Tomorrow morning. Now – did you want to finish that drink, or would you rather have me, wet and willing, upstairs?”

She smiled back at me. “Why not in the ladies' room right here?”

I scribbled my name on l’addition, took her hand and we went to the ladies – even if we weren’t very lady-like once we got there.

Which is how we started Valkyrie Corporation: in bed.

I had multiple objectives in recruiting Ingrid to kickstart my cybersecurity venture. First, it gave me a base and dedicated, supremely competent personnel to do some serious hacking and research to find the heads of the organization that killed my Mistress. What’s more, this was an organization not under Victor’s control, so I could share results with him or not, as I felt appropriate.

It would also make me even more valuable to The Organization. I had originally applied partly because I had the choice of working for them, going to prison – assuming they could catch me – or living forever in the shadows. And I also believed Hans that they had resources I didn’t that could help me track down Miriam’s killers.

But to my surprise, I found that I had grown to appreciate The Organization’s purpose. Simply put, it fought bad guys. Drug cartels. Political corruption. Arms dealers. Illicit gambling. Terrorists and their enablers. Professional theft rings, including a major car theft ring with tentacles all over the world.

But most importantly for me, The Organization fought against human trafficking, especially young people who were recruited from poor parts of the world with promises of good-paying jobs, then brought to Western Europe and enslaved as prostitutes.

That may sound strange, coming from a former sex worker and sex slave. But the things I had done I had chosen to do of my own free will, with my eyes open. These girls – and boys – were forced into the sex trade, usually hooked on drugs, lived sordid and short lives before being discarded and winding up dead. That I hated with a fierce passion, and The Organization worked hard on shutting such operations down.

But beyond using Valkyrie Corp. to find Miriam’s killers, and beyond using it to help The Organization, I also now had to think about what I would do with the rest of my life. I did not want to spend it in Board meetings for the Wolf Corporation, being Hans’ glorified gopher. Nor did I want to clip coupons and live on Mistress’ wealth. Accordingly, I decided that I needed to have businesses and interests of my own. And now that I had Miriam’s money and resources behind me, I had the freedom to choose what I did – and Valkyrie was a big step in that direction.

Besides, I like playing with computers, and we were going to have the fastest, niftiest computers around, and I’d get to play with them whenever I wanted.

Now, with Krystal and Ingrid settled, and my own base of operations established, it was time for me to report back to Victor, and be assigned to a working group in The Organization. Accordingly, I contacted Victor, and he gave me instructions on where and when to meet him.

I walked into the room and saw Victor, sitting and chatting with another guy, who Victor introduced as Dieter Heinz. Then Victor turned to me and said they had traced the two men who were in the car that ran Mistress off the road – and that, surprisingly, they were dead. He stared at me and asked if I had anything to do with it.

I shook my head no. “Oh, absolutely not, Victor! It’s complete news to me. But, you know – sometimes good things happen to bad people. It’s amazing how karma works.” And I smiled at him, the picture of innocence.

He just stared at me, then finally shrugged and said, “Ja, very amazing. And very convenient.”

“But that does raise another question,” I added. “How are we doing on finding out who ordered Miriam Wolf’s death? And when do I get a crack at them?”

Victor’s face clouded and he drew himself up. “In the second place, you are no longer a freelancer nor a vigilante. You are a sworn member of a lawful organization, and you will obey the lawful orders of those above you.” He stared at me until I – reluctantly – nodded.

He exhaled and looked away. “But in the first place, we haven’t yet found out who gave the order, or why. We know Money was aware of the result, and provided the financing for all of it, but he wasn’t involved in the actions.

“We know that Action planned and oversaw the entire operation, but from what we’ve been able to get out of him – and we’ve worked him – he doesn’t know who gave the order, or why.” Victor looked uncomfortable then because that information was one of the main reasons why I had agreed to join The Organization in the first place: to track down the person who gave the order.

It was my turn to stare at him, then I shrugged, “Okay – so I want another crack at Action.” I smiled evilly. “I’m sure I can get him to tell us more. It’s time he became more – intimate – with Charlotte.” Charlotte was the name I had given to my barber’s blade.

For the first time, the other guy spoke, “Who’s Charlotte?”

Victor glanced at me. “Show him,”

I smiled and leaned forward, holding out my left hand in misdirection to engage his attention while sliding Charlotte from my boot and flicking it open with my right. He jerked back, surprised. I smiled, looked at Charlotte, then licked the side of her blade.

“Holy fuck!” Heinz said, drawing further back.

Victor laughed, “That’s what Action said when Nika did that for him, holding the blade against his nose. He figured she was crazy and spilled his guts.”

The other guy glanced at Victor, then at me, “And are you crazy?” he asked.

I shrugged, “I’m told I’m quite stable, but I have my – moments.” And smiled broadly.

The guy turned to stare at Victor as if to repeat his earlier implicit question: What the fuck?

Victor laughed. “She’s also quite accomplished – and do not be deceived by her looks.” The guy looked confused. “Okay, remember how you kept searching for Der Geist, and getting nowhere?”

He nodded.

Victor nodded at me. “She’s Der Geist.”

Now he turned to me, eyebrows reaching his hairline, “You?”

I nodded.

“Nika, Hauptmann Heinz will be your Detachment Leader – your immediate boss from now on. Dieter, this is Nika Von Wolf. At present, she is qualified as a Technical Support Specialist, but we figure her training needs to be upgraded and broadened for field work.”

I started to object, but Victor waved me quiet. He told me that Money and Action had both been turned, and had provided a detailed picture of the crime syndicate they had worked for. He then proceeded to fill me in on what they knew, that this was a part of a transnational syndicate. Duh. 

This syndicate had its tentacles in drug and human trafficking, money laundering, and other ‘business endeavors.’ They had also developed global links and partnerships for the movement of products and the provision of services like protection, banking, and investments with other crime organizations around the world, which I thought obvious. I tried to act interested.

Names had emerged that were the basis for a both a functional and organizational template. The first was a map showing areas where its operations were suspected or confirmed, along with the type of operation.

Additionally, an organizational template was being developed. It showed a possible structure and probable communications paths. At the top of the organization was a shadowy group that had been referred to as the Group of Five – and somewhere in that group was the person or persons who ordered Mistress killed.

When he finished, Victor asked my opinion.

I got up, added a few pieces of information to his diagram, then commented that there were still gaps. What was worse, all of this was old news. To stop them, we needed to play chess, not draughts (checkers) and be three to five moves ahead of them, as Miriam and Gregor had taught me, instead of always chasing after them.

Victor nodded. “You’re right – and we know. But to get the information we need requires people like you – TSS agents – in the field, gathering information and making sense of it. For now, though, we need you to go through advanced TSS training, and get some real-world experience in the field. We will also be giving you additional coursework in technical subjects, practice in advanced marksmanship, and Russian language schooling.”

I objected that I already spoke Russian fluently.

“Yes, you do – but with a Western European accent. You need to be immersed, be able to speak with a native Russian accent from several different parts of Russia. Mmm…and we should add Serbo-Croat language lessons as well. You need to become even more of a chameleon than you already are, able to assume a new persona quickly and convincingly, and pass seamlessly anywhere. You’re good at that – really good – but we can make you even better.”

Without giving me a chance to object further, he continued, “And Hauptmann Heinz will decide when you’re ready for assignment.”

That at least told me why Heinz was there. I turned to him and said, “Okay, well if I’m going to go into the field, may I at least feel out people I know and trust and see if they’ll work with me?”

Victor remained silent, and it was Heinz who looked at me, thought, then nodded, “Approved.” So now I knew that he actually did hold my leash – and I would approach him accordingly.

Victor dismissed us, and Heinz escorted me to the Detachment’s compound, arranged for me to have a locker, into which I stowed what gear I had, then introduced me to his second-in-command.

I had thought I would start work immediately, but instead, I went back into training. I later found out that training was a constant thing, and agents were expected to be able to pick up new skills quickly, and at need.

I did eventually get out into the field as an operative, as well as a TSS. They must have liked the results because I was dispatched for several more operations, sometimes as a TSS to gather information and report back, and sometimes to take direct action, either secretly, or under cover – sometimes literally, as a call girl or sex worker.

I wondered how many of their male operatives were used in that manner, but never asked. Besides, I was still a rarity – there weren’t many women in The Organization beyond secretaries. I was, in fact, the only one in my Detachment, and I could count on one hand the number of female field operatives overall.

Plus ça change…

Once my additional training was completed, I got rid of the name “Squirrel,” which I had hated, and assumed a nom de guerre of “Aloisia,” which translates from the German as “renowned warrior,” and represents a blend of “pretty” and “fierce.”

I took part in intelligence-gathering missions and direct operations in Marseilles, Ireland, Spain, and Dubai, focusing on crime rings. Once I had completed my apprenticeship, I was sent on missions to Prague and Russia with more, um, political purposes in mind.

Yet, maddeningly, it took me two years to finally discover the identity of the individual who ordered the hit on Mistress, then get close enough to do something about it.

But I did.