Sky Ghost by Mack Maloney Page B

months ago. What had happened since? Hunter didn’t know. He had no access to newspapers, or radio, or TV. If and when the war was really over, he assumed that word eventually would have filtered down to him here in prison.
    Or would it?

Chapter 8
    The Bahamas
    One week later
    T HE OSS AGENT KNOWN AS X pulled his Panama hat further down on his head and let out a yawn.
    The tide was coming in. Already he could feel the warm sea lapping at the legs of his beach chair. He would have to get up and move eventually, he supposed. But then again, the tides moved very slowly down here. He might not have to do anything for another 30 minutes, or maybe even an hour. That was fine with him.
    He felt a soft finger on his lips and opened his mouth as it commanded. A grape of some sort, peeled and deseeded, was put on his tongue, the soft finger retreating very slowly.
    X took a bite. The grape exploded in his mouth.
    “Mmmm, very nice,” he said.
    “It’s from my own special patch,” the gorgeous brunet on his right whispered in his ear. “I grew it myself.”
    Another finger touched his lips, this one from the left. He opened his mouth and felt a straw go in.
    “Suck,” the voice of the gorgeous blond whispered in his left ear.
    He did so, and his mouth was soon filled with the sweetest champagne he’d ever tasted.
    “Excellent vintage,” he said.
    “A case of it will be chilling in our room tonight,” she cooed.
    X pulled his sun hat down a bit further and readjusted himself on the lounge chair.
    The water was lapping his toes now but he didn’t care. He had peeled grapes, he had champagne, he had the sun. He had a prime piece of beachfront property on Exu, the most exotic of the Bahamian Islands. He had two unbelievably sexy females that would do anything he asked waiting at his beck and call.
    This is how he chose to celebrate Armistice Day.
    If it was 10 A.M. here in the Bahamas, then it was 5 P.M. in Paris, and that’s where, in less than 30 minutes, the so-called Fifth Agreement was due to be signed.
    From what X had heard, it was a simple document. Germany agreed to pull back to its pre-1987 borders, release all POWs, pay war reparations in installments lasting 100 years, and reduce its armed forces by two-thirds. It had been six weeks since a cease-fire went into effect; now, finally, the Allied Forces would be getting something in writing.
    A war crimes tribunal would convene in about a year, and while X knew that a secret agreement had been struck in which the very highest-ranking German officers would remain untouched, there were several thousand middle-level officers and many enlisted men who would be tried. He’d already secured a position on its investigation staff. The trials would cost billions; the tab would be paid by the world community. This meant a lot of money would be available for people like him.
    Another grape was placed on his lips, then the champagne straw was inserted again. He chewed and sucked and then heard a giggle and opened his eyes for the first time in two hours to see the two girls leaning over him and gently kissing each other on the lips.
    “Wow,” X thought softly. “What a way to end a war.”
    When he opened his eyes again a few minutes later, the girls were still kissing, still caressing. The blond had removed her top and was now assisting the brunet in removing hers. X laughed a little bit. The girls were fondling each other’s breasts.
    This is almost too good, he thought.
    And no sooner had the notion popped into his mind than he realized it was the worst thing he could have thought.
    For when he opened his eyes again, he saw the jinx had already taken affect.
    Coming down the beach, walking right toward him, dressed in the worst cabana-wear possible, was his colleague, Agent Z.
    He was carrying his briefcase in one hand and a yellow envelope in the other. X knew the yellow envelope contained a CFG—a confidential flash-gram. A kind of top-secret bulletin.
    Shit…
    Z