A Response

 The wait for my interrogator to return from phoning whoever he had to talk to regarding my demand was interminable, I had to pee and to top it off,  I hadn't been able to change my tampon since this whole drama began.

The door to the outside was locked and even though I knew that there where cameras facing me, watching my every move while the perspiration beaded under each of my breasts, I vowed that I wouldn’t give them  the satisfaction  of knowing they were but a cunt hair away from breaking me.

Hearing an electronic click, the door swung open and my interrogator reentered the room then stood facing me hands on the chair in front of him and looking me squarely in the eyes as I had done to him earlier, said,

"Deborah," 

(I simply DETEST when people use my formal, given first name)

"There's someone here that would like to ask you a few more questions if you don’t

 mind. I think you know him, so it should be a bit easier for you to relate."

Turning to toward the door, he pushed it open a bit and motioned  tosomeone outside and turning back to me said “I’d like to present the current head of NC⁴ISR,  the man we quietly refer to as fingerspitzengefühl Obergruppenführer," he stopped to chuckle believing I didn't understand the words he tossed aside so casually, then continued the introduction as a tall imposing figure entered the room with a flourish, "Colonel Richard P. Stansfield".

The word ‘rugged’ did not adequately describe the massive, craggy, scar covered 6’5” tall man who then swept into the room, but on that face was an easy smile, the kind of smile that you, I don't know, just trusted somehow. 

A gloved hand reached out towards me from a meticulously tailored and kept uniform, a branch which I just couldn't put my finger on ‘though - was a it Air Force? Navy? 

Where had I seen this man and uniform before? I cursed myself for not knowing writing it off to lack of food and the many hours that had passed since I had last slept.

The man was powerful, you could tell by his movements and how everyone seemed to cower when he passed. I regarded the gloved hand for a moment then back at the officer. What WAS it about him that seemed so familiar?

“Come now Debbie!" he said to me, his voice a deep gravel bound rumble. 

"We've met before you know" he chuckled, eyes twinkling as they pierced mine. 

I stammered and stumbled for words but could find none applicable.

Wincing in pain as the slab of meat he called a hand squeezed mine a bit too hard, I then managed to squeak out, "Yes sir, if you say so Colonel Stansfield" 

    

(Stansfield. Where had I heard that name before.)

"No no no, we won't stand on ceremony here Debbie - come now, just call me Paul, won't you?" the colonel replied.

Paul. Why was that familiar My eyebrows squinted together as I regarded the Colonel.

Stansfield. Stansfield. Stansfield.

  wait…. 

   …..what?

Paul. Stansfield.

Colonel.Paul. Stansfield.

FUCK ME! 

It hit like a brick. I don't know how I could have forgotten or been so stupid, and my hand damned near slapped my forehead as it came to me, my mind racing and reeling.

"Of course - Paul Stansfield. How could I forget?" I said with a tone flat voice before slumping down in the chair behind me, half in shock the other half in resignation. 

I was fucked, totally and completely now. 

Paul Stansfield. 

The name was like a red hot knife burning in the center of my brain, or more bluntly, a red hot dagger.

Yes, that's it precisely. 

A dagger.

The imposing figure facing me was someone I had not seen in many years, but one who knew about me, my exploits, and frankly, every cock I'd ever sucked or fucked.

COLONEL Paul Stansfield was the biker I met so many years ago working undercover as "Dagger"

Dagger the biker; now a feared and respected military leader who seemed to know everything and everyone. 

Dagger, the biker was now a man with fingers in many pies, the fingerspitzengefühl Obergruppenführer.

Oh yes, I knew EXACTLY what that phrase meant.

My only thought beyond this was one of duality: I was about to either disappear permanently without a trace or with luck, become one of those rare, perpetual lottery winners that cross the headlines every so often then quietly vanish until they win multiple jackpots again and again.

For my sake, I hoped it was the latter, not the former..

Next: Aces and Eights or the Royal Flush?