Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen

Bexley

I take my time to shower, scrubbing dirt and sweat from my skin until I feel it tingling. The soap smells of forest pine and the shampoo leaves my hair feeling as coarse as straw, but there’s nothing I can do about that. The boys didn’t pack a luxury hamper. They packed emergency essentials. It won’t matter if my locks are silky smooth if I’m lying dead in the gutter somewhere. All that matters is we’re safe . . . for now at least. I know we must act soon. We can’t stay hidden in Svalbard forever. Dad would be sailing into in the Maldives by now on the SMS Triumph. I knew in my heart that I would see him again.

The bathroom is freezing, and that prompts me to dress quickly. I don’t leave my hair wet on this occasion. I used a small hairdryer I found in the bathroom. It’s the size of a water pistol and I giggle as I notice it has two settings: cool, and barely warm. I couldn’t dry my pubes with this thing, so I rub the towel through my mane until it's damp to the touch, then finish with the dryer. It's better than nothing.

The boys were waiting for me in the mess hall, gathered around the centre table. They had heated me a ration pack and poured a fresh cup of tea from the kettle. It wasn’t as cold in here than it was in the rest of the bunker. I suppose being so close to the kitchen helped. The hot-water pipes groaned through the walls each time the boiler flared up. I didn’t need to wear my fleece in here, so I took it off and tied the arms around my waist.

“Grub’s up,” Cruz mentioned, tapping his fork against my metal dish. “You better eat it before it gets cold.”

He was right about that. The packet Shepard’s pie tasted inedible as it cooled. I had to dab a sachet of brown sauce over it, so it improved the overall taste.

“Now that Bexley is here, we can discuss our findings,” Dominic expressed, anxiously.

He peeked at Asher to seek his support, then proceeded with his blessing.

“I — uh, we,” he stammered after Asher coughed. “We figured out the positions of the coordinates and charted them on the ordinance survey map. Your mother chose specific locations to plant each clue, and right now, I have no idea why. She must have had her reasons. We’re guessing it's significant to solving the mystery.”

“My mother and your father, we’re more alike than I thought because she taught life-lessons through her actions too,” I replied, paying attention to their discovery.

Cruz was the first to finish his food and set his fork down on his plate. “They’re going to expect us to travel together, you know? I think we ought to split up and cover a broader scale. I know that’s not what we agreed on, but we’re up against the clock here,” he raised his point, one that made more sense than it did before.

Asher was wearing his glasses today; he bunched them up so he could pinch the bridge of his nose and clear his vision. “Ugh,” he groaned. “I don’t like this one bit, but I think you’re right. Maybe not the 'splitting up' part, but about us travelling together.”

“Cruz, Dominic and I will all travel separately. You should go with Bexley, posing as newlyweds or something,” Braxton suggested.

Dominic reached inside his jacket pocket and flung five passports onto the table.

“I already covered that problem. We have money and secret identities,” he notified us, watching us dive for the small burgundy booklets like a game of Snap.

We passed them around as we searched for our own, perusing the images and descriptions on the photo pages.

“Mrs Margaret Stanley?” I scrunched my nose. “I look like a virgin librarian,” I complained, eyeing the digitally altered image with scrutiny.

“Now there’s my ultimate fantasy,” Asher responded with a sinful chuckle. “I love those thick-rimmed glasses, and that ponytail. Those lenses really make your eyes pop.”

“I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours,” I demanded, curling my fingers back and forth.

Asher let me glance at his passport and I roared with laughter. “Look at you, Mr Derrick Stanley. That moustache is just.” I kissed my fingertips like a French chef. “There’s the reason I married you, for that draft excluder above your lip. It stops all the nonsense from gushing through your mouth.”

Asher smirked. His lips curled over his teeth in amusement. He always hated being mocked as a child, but since adulthood he had learned to loosen up.

“I’ll shave off my stubble and keep the moustache." He ran his finger up against the grain. "I will have to add to it, but I can think of a substantial reason to keep it,” he declared, wiggling his eyebrows, suggestively. "Bexley likes a bit of friction downstairs." He bounced his gaze, gesturing towards my pussy.

The photo made him like a Swedish porn star. Braxton looked like an old man of around fifty. In his photo, he was bald, wrinkled with age spots under his eyes. Cruz was the only one of us who looked good as well as different. He had a full head of dark hair, combed back into a sophisticated style. It made him seem like a regular guy who was travelling for business. Dominic disguised himself as a female named Dominique. I could hardly recognize him beneath the blonde wig and makeup. The sound of their rumbustious laughter amidst my brash cackling filled the mess hall with mirth. We soaked up the moment, making the best of our bad situation.

Dominic fanned his hand out in front of him, skimming the surrounding air. “Move over, Chameleon. Asher is the master of disguise around here. He will organize the prosthetics, helping us to blend in. No one will recognize us. Just try not to blow your cover on the first day. I only have three new identities for each of us.”

“What else do you have?” I asked, wondering what other tricks they had up their sleeves.

Dominic jerked his head. “Finish your dinner, and I’ll show you,” he offered, earning a chorus of “Ohh” from his brothers. He cast them a scolding look as if to indicate he was being serious for once. I forced down the tasty meal — cue the sarcasm. It was shit. And then I washed it down with some hot, sweet tea, which was not so shit.

“Are you coming?” I glanced around, noticing that Asher, Cruz, and Braxton showed no sign of moving.

“We’ve seen it,” Braxton answered, then plunged straight back into their conversation, leaving me free to follow Dominic.

He led me below ground to a chamber behind the control room. It reminded me of a superhero’s lair. My eyes drank in all the gadgets, the vehicles, and goodness knows what else that made up the exhibition of spy-wear.

“Whoa! You really are like Q from the Bond films,” I expressed, awed by the advanced technology.

“It took us a while to unpack,” he told me, rocking back and forth on his heels like an excited kid who was revealing a science project to his parents. "We were awake half the night, cataloguing everything."

“Did you design and build all of this yourself?” I was impressed, and it raised a cute blush to his cheeks.

Dominic bunched his shoulders in a shy shrug. “Yeah, but just the gadgets. I can't take credit for the Jeep. I modified it . . . oh, and the snowmobile.”

I picked up a watch that looked a lot like Braxton’s and Dominic acted fast to remove it from my hands. “Steady there . . . that's a bomb,” he warned, making me blanch.

“Show me something else,” I requested, glancing around the room. "Have you got anything that can fit inside my handbag?"

Dominic led me by the hand and took me to another bench that was filled with dressing table items. He held up a pair of jewelled earrings and pressed the central gem. Sharp blades popped out of it, making it look like a deadly Frisbee.

“These are throwing stars. They’re detachable . . . look.” He showed me how to remove them from the hooks and then flung one across the room. It flew through the air and lodged into the opposite wall.

“What does this do?” I asked, picking up a pocket mirror. “It has to serve another purpose if you designed it. It can’t just be to check around corners.”

Dominic opened it to reveal a compact mirror and pressed powder. It looked like an ordinary handbag item, but he urged me not to sniff the product or get it on my skin. “There’s enough powdered chloroform to knock out an elephant. Don’t inhale any of that,” he advised, placing it back down onto the table. "You are to use the puff and blow the powder onto your victim's face."

He held up what I assumed was a lipstick. “This is real lipstick, but don’t put it on and lick your lips. I call it the kiss of death.”

My eyes bulged. “Does it really kill?”

Dominic winced. “Yeah, it works as well as any cyanide capsule, killing you as well as your captor. So, you’re not getting your hands on that one.”

His expression brightened, and he picked up a perfume bottle. “Watch what this one does,” he commented, then sprayed it onto a stool leg. I observed with astonishment as the liquid fizzed as it corroded the metal. Seconds later, the area dissolved and the stool clattered to the floor.

“What do you think?” he muttered, analysing my reaction.

“You made spy gadgets for me.” I was so turned on by all his nerdiness, I was ready to fuck him there and then.

I saw his eyes flare as I pounced, attacking him with kisses.

"I'll make more if it means I get paid in kindness," he quipped, adjusting the front of his combats.

“I want you and your brothers, naked and in bed in precisely five minutes,” I ordered, setting a deadline of my own.