I lay there gasping, feeling the tiredness in my muscles, thinking to myself I was too old for this shit. Chasing through a hot jungle ten thousand miles from home, after a fugitive about whom I knew nothing except that some deskbound agent had decided she had to be caught, dead or alive he said, but who was only trying to survive, as far as I could tell. I'd been trailing her for ten days now, trying to get a feel for her habits. I was fairly certain she didn't know I was on her tail.

My mind was a jumble. Thank god my skin tanned easily and quickly. I bet I'd smell terrible to someone in civilized society. Who the hell was Anita Sanchez? What kind of name was that anyway? Geez, I stink so bad even the bugs leave me alone. How did I get here, over all these years, toting a sniper rifle, an old antique Bowie knife, and fifty thousand dollars if I completed the mission?

It had seemed romantic and masculine, joining the Seals after college, all the macho bullshit about being the baddest of the Navy. Frogmen. All that manure. What it had been was dreadful punishment for three months, and then training with the nastiest toys the Navy had available for another three months. The seductive thing was, I was good at it. I had been a swimmer in school, used to being in shape, and the habit has lasted to this day. To be an officer in that outfit you had to be very tough, cause the enlisted guys wouldn't listen if you weren't. They didn't stand on ceremony, or military rank. I had to kick a young West Virginia kid's ass on my first posting, but after that, I never had any problems.

I think for a couple of years, I really enjoyed it. Its hard to remember now, but it was a hard, demanding, busy time, and the missions seemed dramatic and exciting. Even the first time I killed someone, a greek guarding a suspected bio-terrorist site, it all seemed reasonable and heroic. When the raid on an African prison to free a CIA agent went bad, and I was held responsible, it was a shock I had trouble with for years, even though I got rich doing "special" jobs for my country, notably the CIA.

And of course I started to learn how things really work. My third job was an assasination of a minor official in Bosnia. I planted a bug in his apartment, and discovered he was already cooperating with the Agency, and that my assignment was part of a power play in the beauracracy. I sat on my hands for two weeks, and finally reported it up the line to someone I thought was above that. I saw the local agent get blown up a day later, by a Seal team. I cornered the officer and found out who ordered it, and reported that too. I didn't work again for three years, but by then I had some private contracts, and managed to get by.

Well, there was a big purge, and I found I had acquired a reputation as a contractor who did the right thing, so I had a lot of jobs after that, and believe me, its very lucrative. I drifted for damn near ten years, always being careful to assure myself that whatever I was asked to do was legitimate. It was mostly getting people out of countries, or executing fugitives who had flown the coop. The job I was on now had involved getting an agent out of an Indonesian prison camp, and when I got back to the sub, they told me to find Anita and bring her in.

I found the agent I freed a very unpleasant fellow. He was treated like a hero when we got aboard the USS Starfish, but turning around to the small island group where she was supposed to be hiding had happened fast. There were several little flaws in the story they gave me.

She was supposed to have turned this guy in. Then why was she hiding? She had been a prostitute in the only western style bordello in Jakarta. Why did they need a pro to chase her down? She was dangerous, and I might have to kill her. A pros?

There was no one to talk to, the one message I got to a guy I thought I could trust was unanswered, and I kept getting nasty looks from the guy I rescued. I pulled the standard inflatable up onto the beach a day later, my old suspicions boiling up. Years later, I found out they had not wanted to use me, since they knew I didn't follow orders without good cause, but they felt they had to move fast. I was the only choice. Decide in haste, repent at leisure. The Godfather had it right. I refuse to be a fool.

It took me a couple of days to pick up her trail, and another day to catch up with her. Once I did, several more issues that caused me to doubt my mission surfaced. In the first place, she was no former prostitute. She moved around the island very cleverly, leaving very little trail. She never started a fire, and ate the fish raw. She was clearly experienced at hiding and surviving, which takes training. Her body was muscled and strong, not the fleshy softness that I had been led to expect. Observing her in camp, she was alert and well prepared, and slept with what looked like an AK 47 at hand.

She had a radio, and listened to it every day at sundown. Clearly she was waiting for instructions from someone, or an all clear. I was careful not to get too close, but what I could see through my Zeiss's was a latin kind of face, thick dark hair she kept up during the day, but let fall at night. There were several ideas I had for how she got on the Agency's bad side, but the only way to know for sure was to talk to her. I knew that was not going to be easy.

The only mistake I could see her making was that she religiously bathed every morning. A real operative would never be either that predictable, or that worried about hygiene. I thought it was possible she was expecting to be there for a long time, which would be a good reason not to let yourself become, well, smelly like me. So as I rested beside a big rock, shaded from the sun and watching her settling down for the night, I decided to take her the next morning.

The wind always blew from the south, so as she waded into the stream I crawled carefully toward her from the north. You learn to do that very silently as a Seal. She was only about ten feet into the stream, and her weapon rested against a tree. I watched her carefully through the underbrush, and realized what a good looking woman she was.

Her skin was a light coffee color, and the nipples of her surprisingly large tits were brown. Latin for sure. Her face had the ruddy, healthy look of a person accustomed to being outdoors, but she had big eyes, and very full lips, that combined with a small nose to make a very pretty, seductive affect. Her body was fit and even more heavily muscled than I had realized watching her through the glasses. I waited until she turned away, admiring the ripple in her shoulders as she ran her fingers through the black hair that wet fell to the middle of her back, then vaulted to my feet and picked up the gun.

Right away she fooled me. Instead of coming at me she dove underwater, out toward the center of the stream which was a good ten feet deep. A good idea I thought, as I stripped off my clothes, walking along downstream, catching occasional glimpses of her gliding powerfully through the water, trying to put distance between us. She might have had a chance at getting away with someone else, but not an old swimmer.

After a couple of minutes I could see her releasing bubbles, a sign she was running out of air, and slid into the water myself. It was nice and cold, and felt wonderful on my dry, scaly skin. I stroked close enough to her underwater to see her give up and surface, then came up below her, and pulled her under while I figured she was gasping for new air. I got her in a hammerlock, and started for the edge. She relaxed, and let me pull her, coughing bubbles but not fighting. As we surfaced in the shallow bank, she gulped a couple of times, spitting out water, and her ankle came up at what I'd have thought was an impossible angle, and caught me in the balls.

It was a good move. I felt her jaws clamp on my forearm, but pulled the arm away as she tried to sink her teeth. We're trained to take a lot of pain, and in spite of the tremors spreading out from my groin, I rolled her onto her stomach, and tried to pin her arms over her head. I got one, but she flailed away with the other. I finally got both of her wrists trapped in one hand, while I felt her trying the kicking thing again, but all she was accomplishing was tapping my thighs. We were both gasping as I held her like that.

She was amazingly strong. And she didn't quit. She kept struggling to free her arms, and bucked her ass up at me, but never said a word. Just fought. I finally got my breath, and yelled into her ear. "Listen. I could have killed you already if I was going to do that. You're very good, but I'm better. And bigger. Calm down and lets talk." She struggled for another minute, then relaxed suddenly. I smiled. What a tough bitch. Now she'll try to con me.

She had a little accent. It sounded maybe mexican, anyway spanish. "Who sent you? CIA? I spit on the fucking CIA. How are your balls?" I grinned. "Sore Baby. Too bad, 'cuz you got a nice butt. Listen, your next move will be to try to get me to relax, and then hit me or whatever you do. Well it won't work. I spit on the CIA too. Why don't you tell me whats going on?"

She twisted her head around to look at me. "You look like shit, you know that? Why should I tell you anything? You're gonna kill me anyway." I chuckled into her ear.

"I've been watching you for a week. I've got a sniper rifle that can put a round through your eye from two thousand yards away. Why did I take all this abuse from you if I was going to turn around and kill you? But I do want to find out why they sent me. Does it have to do with Grimes? I don't like that asshole either."

She turned her head back and rested it in the mud. I saw that her eyes were closed. She had tensed slightly when I mentioned the guy's name, so I figured I was on the right track. We were both breathing better, the adrenelin had faded, and my groin wasn't hurting as much. I suddenly became conscious of my cock nestled between her ass cheeks, and felt it stiffen a bit. I heard her chuckle. "Want a piece of ass, dickhead? Its good, really good." I felt her butt tense, squeezing my hardon.

"Oh I'm gonna get some, Anita. Whether you like it or not. But you aren't gonna take advantage of it. You know all the tricks don't ya? Well so do I." I twisted her right arm up behind her back, admiring the muscle again. Pulling her back into the water, I rubbed the mud off her body, noticing that she had a very small bikini tan and that her pubic hair was mostly very short, except for a thick band just above her pussy lips. I felt her try to twist out of my grip, and cuffed her on the ear with my left hand.

"What the fuck are you doin' dickhead? Like those tits? You don't have to rape me. I don't need that. I'll play ball." Yeah sure. But her tits WERE terrific. I walked her up on the bank and pushed her toward my stash in the woods. "Where the hell are we goin asshole?" A branch snapped at her stomach, and I felt her flinch. But she wasn't really resisting much. I was struck again by her smooth, supple movements, and realized she was taller than I had thought. Five ten I guessed. I had thought smaller than that watching her.

As I grabbed up my gear and pushed her toward the clearing where she had camped, she kept trying to surprise me, relaxing for a couple of minutes and then trying for an escape, but if you keep the wrist tight, there isn't much a person can do out of an armlock. I got her back to the camp, handcuffed her to a tree, and went back for my clothes. The time in the water had washed off a lot of the scum, and I realized how bad my stuff smelled, so I pulled out clean skivies, a tee shirt, and a pair of shorts.

When I got back I paused a moment just out of her line of sight. I could see she had tried to tear her hand through the plastic of the cuffs, and gotten a scraped wrist for her trouble. She was slumped down, and I saw a tear running down her cheek. So she wasn't all that tough.

Without saying a word, I started a fire, pulled out my coffeepot, and started to brew some with good Indo grounds. Once I got it going, I buckled her right wrist to the tree leaving her left arm free, and threw her the clothes she had apparently laid out to wear. While I was doing all this, she just stared at me. She was really pissed, and I couldn't blame her.

She pulled the clothes on with difficulty, no underwear, just shorts and a body shirt, and took the cup from me. I said "No sense in worrying too much about a fire now, Anita. Some cooked meat would sure taste good to me." I sat back, sipping my own cup, letting the caffeine and the warming morning settle over me.

She whispered "Whats your name dickhead?" I told her Greyeagle, which was the handle the agency used. Her eyes widened. "Aren't you the guy who did Cardenas? I saw him right after. Right through the fucking eye. That was you?" I didn't answer.

She stared at me for a moment, then began to sip the coffee. She closed her eyes with pleasure. "This is good" she mumbled. I let her relax, then started to talk. I told her about getting Grimes out of the prison camp, the orders they had given me to get her, and my suspicions about the Agency. Since she apparently knew about Cardenas, I told her about the wire I had run in his car, and the conversations he had had with a Mexican General who was supposed to be the anti drug guy. She started nodding about halfway through the story, seeming to have known a lot about it.

I could almost see her mind work. At first she assumed she was a goner. She must have figured out by now that there was some truth to what I was saying. Greyeagle does have a reputation in the Intelligence community as a unique character, but I had no idea how much she actually knew about me. Slowly, she began to think about what she could tell me that might get her out of the spot she was in.

This kind of interrogation is tricky. She was obviously pretty well trained, and looked to be over thirty, so she had some experience. Chances are she would try to tell me some story that would be close to the truth, play on my prejudices, and put her in the best possible light. I figured my best tactic was hear the story she told, try to see where she was lying, and then catch her up in an unguarded moment. As she started, I also realized I really wanted to fuck her.

She said she worked for Mossad. "They got me when I was a guy named Lopez's mistress, I was only seventeen, and they appealed to my sense of patriotism for Columbia. Also because my mother was Jewish. One of his sidelines was running guns to the Palestinians. When I finally killed the bastard, I stuffed his cock in his mouth. Funny, he was a good lover, a little rough, but okay. But I really enjoyed seeing him die."

They trained her for several years, between sending her out to undercover as a whore in Mexico, still chasing the guys selling to Arafat and his crew. But she had taken to the physical stuff, fighting, tracking, shooting. Then they got her to infiltrate a lesbian sex ring in Brazil, which is where she developed her bodybuilding. "Its a pain in the ass, actually, you have to work hard to keep up the muscle definition and all, plus the drugs you have to take, but once you're in the habit, its hard to break. Right now I feel like I'm letting my body down, not working out every day."

She was interrogating a Panamanian who worked for the Chinese in Jakarta when Grimes came along and stole him away from her. She outed him to the Indonesian Service, but he killed the guy. When I got him out, she was told to come here to hide. Her boss figured Grimes would want revenge.

That rang true to me. The Agency does shit like that. They're all ambitious, trying to climb the ladder, and a Chinese spy would be a good catch. The question, of course, was how Grimes got onto her and the guy, though she tried to gloss over that. I figured that was what she was trying to hide from me, and decided to come back to it later. My hunch was she was worried about her own service. So I thought we were both in the same boat, kind of outcasts, trusting no one. I thought she relaxed after a while, and finally asked me for another cup of coffee. I gave it to her. "Got any sugar, dickhead?"

We shifted camp toward the west, because I felt very uncomfortable with the whole situation. She had gotten in the habit of camping in clearings, and for all I knew a satellite could see us. The infra red ones aren't in the Pacific area, so I figured a fire would be okay. We walked for about five hours, to another stream that was further down the mountain, and followed it along until a spot came up that looked good. A little glade but tree covered. She made her move as I was hunched down pulling out cooking stuff from my pack.

Her boot caught me on the shoulder, cause I sensed it and ducked as she kicked. I grabbed it and twisted her to the ground. She landed on her arms which were cuffed behind her, and groaned. I muttered "Bitch" as I dragged her to a tree and locked her arms to a branch about four feet high. If she stretched her arms, she could barely get her ass on the ground. Breathing hard, I stood staring at her, and she stared defiantly back, still struggling.

The stretched arms raised her tits up so they seemed very puffy, and I noticed the nipples stiff under her shirt. I pulled her boots off, then her shorts, then grabbed the top of the shirt and ripped it off. She bit her lip, but kept glaring at me, crossing her legs. I grabbed her ankles and pulled her hips toward me, kneeling as I spread her legs, revealing her wiry pussy. All I could see was her slit. I held on to the ankles and leaned down to cover her cunt with my mouth. I heard her grunt, then start twisting her hips to avoid the pressure.

It was hit and miss for a few moments. She'd twist away, I'd follow, and suck on her puffy outer lips, wetting them down. I kept feeling around with my tongue, and a couple of times thought I grazed a thick, stiff little stalk. The second time I did that, I heard her squeak, and instead of twisting, she humped up. I heard her mutter "Fuck."

I straightened up and stared at her. Her pretty, full mouth was open slightly, and her face was flushed. She was trying to glare at me, but there was a funny expression on her face, I thought maybe it was excitement. I bent over again, and this time she seemed to relax as my mouth closed over her pussy, and my tongue found wetness, along with a new taste. I heard her groan as she opened up, starting to make little up and down motions that made my tongue pulsate in her hole. She was gurgling "Basta, basta."