Sonnet 57Chapter 20: The Procyon Conspiracy free porn video

Chapter Introduction

Professor Angela Dawney, the noted academic psychologist and expert in research on the effects of stress, fulfils an invitation to work with some new colleagues, to improve their data collection methods for a new medicine, but is she a queen in the game or merely a pawn?

The Set Up: Weed Eradication Protocol

Catherine Hopwood is at work in her office in the State of Iowa Narcotics Enforcement Bureau when she receives a call from an old friend.

Scott Anderson had been a colleague when she was a CIA staffer but after marriage a more suitable career in regular law enforcement seemed a good idea and the opportunity came when her husband found a position at Drake University in Des Moines. (1)

Catherine’s location in the Midwest might have been subconsciously in Scott’s mind when he chose Ames, Iowa as the location for “Aldebaran Pharmaceuticals” and now, when he feels some extra engineering is needed for the Procyon sting, Catherine might be in the ideal position to help.

That afternoon, out of the blue, Catherine hears from Scott.

“Scott! How have you been, old friend? We don’t hear from you this far north or this far west very often? Still in DC?”

“Yeah, that’s it, Catherine. I can’t see myself outside Virginia nowadays and Joyce and I are pretty well settled with the family down here.”

“So, no more foreign adventures with the Agency? And don’t answer that. You know I am teasing.”

“How about Iowa as a foreign adventure?”

“Business or pleasure?”

“It would be just great to see you and Alex once more so that is the ‘pleasure’ and the ‘business’ is a case I am working on and maybe I could use some help?”

“The Agency needs help from The State of Iowa Narcotics Enforcement? That must be a first.”

“Sure, Cathy, it’s a ‘first’ and here it is. We are getting interested in a Russian entrepreneur who is building his business Stateside. We would just like to know a bit more about his intentions, you know?”

“Sure — do I know him by the way?”

“Maybe from London?”

“Ah ... so more old friendships being renewed?”

“I’d prefer ‘acquaintanceship’ to friendship.”

“Sure you would, Scott. I understand.”

“Well, an old and close friend of my Old Acquaintance — are you still with me?”

“You betcha, keep going...”

“She is going to be in Ames and I was hoping to do some business. I was hoping she might be a pipeline into my old acquaintance’s organization. You know the sort of thing. Some information out, rather more information in.”

“How is the friend of your old acquaintance going to feel about this?”

“Maybe not too positive, at first.”

“So you need a bit of leverage?”

“Extra leverage. I’ve been working on this a while and, I just thought, with matters coming to a head to some extent, that extra leverage might help.”

“OK, so how do I figure in your plans?”

“Well, Cathy, I just wondered if you had some girl or other on your hands who might be amenable to some sort of plea bargain.”

“So what’s she got to do, this girl, if we had one suitable? How much danger is she going to be in?”

“Danger? I’m not sure spending an evening with a reasonably personable British academic is exactly danger.”

“Might depend on how the evening unfolds?”

“She might get a fucking?”

“So, now I can see why you are not trying this stunt in Virginia.

“Yes, Cathy, I have to admit, it’s not cut out for the Old Dominion!”

“Scott, I am sure you know Iowa. Marijuana grows in the Iowa soil. There’s always one or two University students being tripped by the weed and might be the sort of people you need. I could have a word with the Campus Police? But before we get to that, you know the Act. (2) You are going to have to talk to the FBI Field Office and the State Attorney General’s Office. Brainstorm your idea with them before we can set this up.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know — and you know about your local people. It is always nice to have a name to speak to. A bit more personal and friendly?”

“Sure. The FBI Field Office is in Omaha of course but they have a local office in Des Moines, on Westown Parkway. The head honcho is Lester Brown and the rising star in the US Attorney’s office — I’m thinking they will probably involve this guy — is Elmer Petersen although Petersen is a bit like a dog with a bone when he takes an interest in a case so be careful what you give him. When he bites, he does not like to let go.

“Thanks, Catherine, that’s helpful. Sounds as if I should read up the Company Manual about working with dangerous dogs, huh?”

“Scott, I am glad DC has not damaged your sense of humour!”

The Set Up: Oil on the Wheels of Justice?

“May I speak with Lester Brown please?”

“This is Agent Lester Brown speaking...”

“Agent Brown, good morning. My name is Agent Scott Anderson, speaking to you from CIA, Langley.”

“I see,” replies Brown with a slight falling intonation which implies that speaking to the CIA is not his most favorite way to pass the day. “Can I help you in any way?”

“Well, there is an issue I would like to speak with you about, take your advice, perhaps secure your help if you were able to be of assistance. Do you have time now or is there a better time for me to call?”

This is the second time in this conversation for Brown to be caught on the wrong foot. The first was a call from Langley. The second was the polite, almost self-effacing tone Agent Anderson was adopting. In Brown’s experience, the CIA thought everyone in the country had to dance to their tune. He is now feeling just a little more positive towards Agent Anderson and his “issue.”

“This time is good for the next fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your making time for me in your schedule.”

“So, Agent Anderson, (Brown has now had enough of Scott’s studied politeness; his tone of voice has become more business-like and Scott notices at once) you were going to tell me about your issue?”

“There is a Russian entrepreneur building his business in the United States. He works in civil engineering and has taken several contracts to do with the upgrading of rail infrastructure in the pacific North West, Canada and Alaska. Formerly, he was a senior KGB agent in London, particularly active when the Air Force had nuclear-armed Tomahawk missiles stationed in Britain. We would like to know more about the business intentions of AKE North America Incorporated, the company and Mr Kustensky, the man himself.”

“Has any crime been committed or suspected?”

“No; he has no judicial history with the Department of Justice nor with the State Attorneys in the States where he is active and the Federal and State Treasury departments tell us he always pays his taxes.”

“So what are you worrying about, for goodness sakes?”

“If he was making ice cream or in the wine business there would be no issue but he is very tied up with strategic assets.”

“OK, so why should the FBI get involved?”

“We have approached one of his old and (we think) close friends to ask for help in data analysis for a new drug partly funded by the Defense Department and manufactured by Aldebaran Pharmaceuticals in Ames, Iowa. We suspect that she has offered to share the data with Kustensky.”

“That would make it espionage?”

“We think she has ideological reasons but it is still espionage, as you rightly point out.”

“So I am still waiting to know why the FBI Iowa Field Office should be involved?”

“The person concerned is a Professor Angela Dawney, who is a British academic and she has accepted an invitation to visit Ames and meet with Aldebaran. There will be an opportunity for an arrest and if the US Attorney will agree, there will be an opportunity to offer her a plea bargain. Will she cooperate with the Intelligence Authorities of the United States to become an agent in Mr Kustensky’s orbit, or would she prefer to do jail time for espionage instead?”

“So I am understanding that there is no Aldebaran and no Procyon?”

“Exactly. This would be a sting operation.”

“I see. You realize that I shall have to take this to my Superiors?”

“Of course, and my Superior in this matter is Deputy Director Clyde Ritchie.”

“I see. What’s your contact details and we will reach you when we have thought this thing through.”

Scott supplies his mobile number and Agency email address and bids farewell to the straight-laced and peppery Agent Lester Brown.

The Hustle: Jet Lag, Brain Lag.

The day for Angela’s departure for the United States has finally come round. Angela’s unease about getting involved with Aldebaran has not left her. She has plenty to do in her own Institution, so why is she going to Iowa? If she is honest, she is rather flattered by the attention she has received from someone — Dr S David Somerset — who comes from outside her own area of work, and yet she will be glad when the whole episode is over.

Angela looks at the airline tickets she has received from Aldebaran, to check the time of her flight once more: London Heathrow, Terminal Three, departure time 17:15, and she also notes a wearisome advisory: “Please note this flight is subject to enhanced security arrangements before boarding, so please ensure to check in at least two hours before departure time.” (3)

In her mind, Angela runs through her schedule backwards: Departure time, check-in time, journey to Heathrow, journey to London.

She defaults to her routine. She has packed the evening before so she now has time to visit the office, to deal with email and letters before she has to go to the Airport. At least she will not return to an overflowing in-box and her desk piled with papers.

Angela reaches her office at the University by 7:30 am. She works until 10:30 and then takes a taxi to Coventry station to catch the 11.11 train to London Euston. From Euston she takes a taxi to Paddington Station and then the Heathrow Shuttle to London Heathrow Airport Terminal Three. Angela allows plenty of time for each stage of the journey — after all, how embarrassing it would be to miss her flight to the ‘States thanks to a late connection, an unexpected delay or a miscalculation of the connecting journey times. Reputations were not built on that sort of carelessness!

By 14:00, Angela is standing in the check-in queue. The check-in is faster for those with a Business Class ticket but the “enhanced security” brings all passengers back to the same level and so, even for a Business Class passenger, it takes time and patience, one virtue that Angela is not blessed with. Finally, Angela gains the peace and quiet of the American Airlines Admirals Club, their Business Class Lounge, and waits for the boarding call. The Club is an oasis in the melee of the airport, but there is only so much free tea and coffee, orange juice and fruit a passenger can consume and Angela remains emotionally “on-edge” waiting for her flight to be called and the instruction to “Go To Gate.”

On board her aircraft, Angela is lulled by a large comfortable seat and free drinks. The recurring feeling of disquiet that has afflicted her from the moment Dr S David Somerset and Aldebaran Pharmaceuticals entered her life — in fact, every time she thinks of him in particular — ebbs away. The seat next to her is occupied by a serious middle-aged American who is thankfully, not a conversationalist. It allows Angela both physical and social space to get on with her work.

After eight and a quarter hours in the air, Angela’s flight arrives at JFK New York. Jet travel westwards is to some extent time travel. The day is stretched as the aircraft follows the sun, as if the arrow of time flies more slowly and the clocks slow down. The local time is 20:30pm but the biological clock in Angela’s body is still running on UK time, as it will for several days more. The time according to Angela’s body is 01:30am and fatigue is beginning envelope Angela like fog. She has been awake since 06:00am the previous day and she has been active for twenty hours and thirty minutes continuously.

The US Immigration and Customs procedures are formal and searching and the formalities add their own burden — but at least Angela has managed to complete the Immigration Card correctly! Eventually she is admitted to the United States and can embark on the next phase of her journey. The connecting flight to Charlotte Douglas Airport leaves at 08:15 am, eleven hours and forty-five minutes after her arrival from London. Why oh why did she not read the tickets more carefully when she received them from Aldebaran? She should have asked them to arrange accommodation! On the other hand, she is a Business Class passenger and there is the Admiral’s Club. Wearily, Angela searches for the Oasis which, for her, is on Remote Concourse C (Domestic Departures) opposite Gate 42.

Angela begins the journey through a subterranean tunnel and is grateful for the moving walkway to speed her journey. How odd for the body to be so tired after sitting down for so many hours? Presently, she catches up to another woman, a woman who wears an American Airlines uniform. At this point Angela takes a good decision. She says to the woman, “Excuse me, I am flying with American to...” (she checks her ticket to be sure) “to Charlotte Douglas connecting to Des Moines but the flight does not leave until 08:15 tomorrow. Do you happen to know if I will be able to stay in the Admiral’s Club Lounge?”

The woman puts on a pained expression, checks her watch and says, “I am so sorry, Ma’am, but the Admirals Club in Concourse C closes at 21:30 and that was a half-hour ago! It re-opens at 04:30 but it’s Airside of Security so, if you go there now, you are going to have a long wait!”

“Oh ... Oh, I see,” replies Angela weakly, tired from her journey, fatigued because her internal body clock is reminding her just how long she has been awake for, and dismayed by the prospect of having to wait six and a half hours for a Lounge to open, and some three hours after that, to finally board her flight!

“Ma’am, if I were you, I would go right back to Arrivals, take the free shuttle to the Holiday Inn or any other of the airport hotels you fancy and get yourself a room so you can put your head down. Ask the Desk to give you a call at six

thirty and — let me see your ticket again — yep, you’re Business Class, so you have a streamlined Check-In and Security Clearance for the flight.”

It is obviously the right thing to do. The only obstacle is the emotional effort required to change plans and the physical effort needed to get to the Holiday Inn, but it is obviously the right thing to do. Angela thanks the woman and retraces her steps. What a pity, she thinks, what a pity that I am not heading straight back home!

At 12:49 the following day, Angela’s aircraft touches down at Des Moines. The journey from London has taken 25 hours. Angela has been awake for 36 hours minus the six fitful hours she spent in the Holiday Inn at JFK. While the local time is 12:49, North American Central Time, according to her body clock, “Angela Time” is 19:00 on the day after she began her journey and she is finding it hard to think straight. Her body feels like lead and there seems to be grit in her eyes.

Angela retrieves her suitcase. At least it is not large. After all, she is only staying for a few days. She shoulders her back pack and makes her way out of the baggage reclaim towards the front hall, pulling the case behind her by its telescopic handle. The Aldebaran people were supposed to meet her...

“Professor Dawney?”

“What?”

“It’s David Somerset, from Aldebaran!”

Angela sees a tall slim man with short blond hair, Glen Miller spectacles and a wide smile. He is dressed in blue jeans with a tan belt, a white shirt and tan cowboy boots and exudes breezy good nature and he is full of self-confident American bounce. In Angela’s opinion, he is almost the clichéd version of a “clean–cut” young American academic. He is also rather attractive to Angela, which is an achievement in itself: to secure the good opinion of someone who generally prefers girls.

Angela has dressed for cold weather but, in fact, the temperature is in the seventies Fahrenheit and it is not long before the unexpected warmth and sunshine adds to her feelings of enervating fatigue.

“Oh, Dr Somerset. Well, here I am at last...”

“Yes, Ma’am, you sure are. Welcome to Iowa and Corn Country. Did you get to see Iowa as you flew up from Charlotte?”

“Probably, but I am afraid I slept quite a bit on the ‘plane.”

“No problem, Ma’am. Let’s drop your things at the accommodation we have arranged for you in Ames. (4) It’s just close by Iowa State University — oh and there is free high speed internet — and then we can head on to our

meeting with the Aldebaran team. We have borrowed a meetings facility at Iowa State. (5) I hope that’s Okay? We can hand you some of our data and protocols before close of business, and then you’ll be fresh for the morning. We have to get you to sign an up-to-date confidentiality agreement. Are you are all right with that?”

“Yes, of course. This is the same as the last one you sent me?”

“Yes, Ma’am. It’s only the date that’s changed, just to confirm it’s current and then you will be able to browse through what we have.

“Oh — chow. There is breakfast at the Inn but not an evening meal so I was thinking that we can all eat out as a team?”

Angela decides the best way to survive, until she can get to bed and have a proper rest, is to let S David Somerset’s relentless enthusiasm wash over her and to hang on grimly until close of business. She quietly grits her teeth and agrees that Dr Somerset’s arrangements all seem pretty good from her perspective...

When evening finally comes, when the noisy, hot, oppressive atmosphere of the restaurant is left behind, when the noisy conviviality of the Aldebarans has died away and she is at last alone, Angela realizes that she has never looked forward more to climbing into bed just to sleep, perhaps not in the whole of her life. The local time is 20:30. Angela time is 02:30 and 45 hours since she first awoke to begin her journey.

On the table is her laptop and the file of papers from Aldebaran, all about Procyon. If the drug is a stress buster, perhaps she should ask for some, muses Angela?

She opens her laptop, switches on and is glad to see that the local wi-fi network obligingly connects to her machine without her having to do anything.

She tears open the packages, puts them in order, finds a USB stick, peels the stick from its package, plugs it into her laptop, and downloads the contents and that is all she is prepared or able to do.

Angela goes to the bathroom, brushes her teeth, strips off and gratefully slides into bed. In a moment she is deeply asleep, with all thoughts of Iowa, Aldebaran and Procyon dismissed from her mind...

The Hustle: Twilight’s Last Gleaming

Angela is back in her apartment at the end of her day with Aldebaran. It has been a very full day but also a very productive day, and she is feeling pleased with what she has achieved for the Company.

David Somerset called for her at 10am so she was in reasonable shape. They walked over to the University and she was able to admire the Campus and a little of the city. Angela was faintly surprised that they were not meeting at the Aldebaran plant and that the Aldebaran Team was so small: Somerset, herself, a secretary and others who were pharmacy geeks — or maybe nerds. Angela can never get this idiom quite right. There was a presentation on the history of drugs to mitigate the stress response in humans: informative but with more neuro- pharmacology than Angela is used to. They went through Federal Drug Administration protocol for the development, trialing and licensing of new drugs (6) and she learned that Aldebaran was now poised to begin the Stage Three trial on human volunteers. Angela was surprised and disquieted to learn that this would initially be a trial on male prisoners, something regarded as unethical in the UK. (7) However, she can understand the usefulness of measures to reduce stress in a prison environment.

By the close of business, as Somerset liked to say, Angela believes they have made real progress. Some very basic changes have transformed the questionnaire instruments: an attractive font (Angela likes Helvetica), clear paragraphing, de-cluttering the pages, standardizing on visual analogue scales for the subjects to record their responses in preference to hundreds of little boxes to tick, a clear division between questions whose responses would provide discrete variables and those which would yield continuous variables.

Notwithstanding, Angela is still curious to know why Aldebaran thought it was necessary to bring her all the way from England to improve a data collection questionnaire when it could have been done with a Skype conference and a few emails. Still, it was Aldebaran’s money and their decision how to spend it.

Finally, her task complete, she has had another convivial and boisterous meal with the Team at a restaurant downtown — and maybe had a little too much to drink!

There’s a knock at the door. Irritably, Angela turns back to the lobby and goes to answer it. She was hoping for a quiet night to herself. When she opens the door, she sees a slight, boyish, green-eyed girl waiting patiently outside. “Yes,” Angela snaps, for the moment taking little notice of her caller.

“Professor Dawney, I wondered if I could ... Well, I’ve been such a follower of your work and I just wanted to ask...”

For all her annoyance at being disturbed, Angela is always open to flattering admiration, and she is always ready to indulge attentive students, even if that means indulging herself, too. “Yes, of course, come in,” she says.

The two women go through to the lounge, Angela following. She takes in for the first time her caller’s slim build, the way that her short, smock-like dress hangs loosely about her, her bare feet in simple wooden-soled sandals and her short hair pulled into bunches on either side of her head.

“Would you like something to drink?” Angela offers. “Err, sorry what was your name?”

The girl nods. Something about the way that she bows her head gives Angela the impression that her interests are not entirely academic. “Jacqueline,” she says.

“Well, why don’t you fetch us both something. You’ll find glasses in the kitchen. Scotch for me, Coke for you. All right?” Angela, feeling satisfaction at the way the girl nods compliantly and scuttles off at her order, smiles as she contemplates a more entertaining evening than she had expected. You can always tell, Angela says to herself. Always.

The girl reappears with the drinks, passes Angela her scotch, and then sits down on the floor beside her, clutching her Coke close to her chest.

“So what was it you wanted ask, Jacqui?” Angela sits back with her scotch.

Jacqueline takes a pull from her drink. There is a “clack” as her tongue stud flicks against the neck of the bottle. It draws Angela’s attention to the girl’s upward stare. “I am at the University. My tutor said you were in town. He’s a great fan of yours.” One thing Angela is finding really irritating about her caller is the way that every sentence ends on an upward interrogative tone so that everything sounds like a question. Angela is beginning to wish she had brought a ball gag from her toy box with her.

Luckily, Jacqueline moves on to more complex sentences with more than one clause. It limits the irritation factor as far as Angela is concerned. “I was interested in the work you’d been doing on the influence of peer pressure on the learning experience; the ways in which the participants in a learning experience condition the outcomes of the experience by their interaction. I’ve been discussing with my tutor what the next best path for my research might be and he suggested I give you a call. I guess he should have called you?”

That really was a question, Angela realizes. She shrugs.

“What do you think would be the worthwhile research agendas, to follow up on what’s been done so far, Professor?”

Angela is surprised at the way the girl has come out with this while sitting on her carpet looking like some doe-eyed, high school kid. It’s the sort of question that Angela doesn’t need to be asked twice, though. She sets off, describing her thoughts on the matter, pulling together what she knows of current research and pointing towards the gaps that she and her fellows have identified.

Jacqueline sits drinking her Coke and staring up at Angela, apparently listening intently and astonished at the effect that the simple sentence the people at the county jail taught her has had.

There’s a pause. Angela holds out her empty glass. Jacqueline nods and gets up. “Jacqui, why don’t you get a scotch to go with that Coke?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t really,” Jacqueline says. “I mean, liquor and all...”

“I won’t tell. Why should I?” Angela responds. “Surely, you’ll do as your tutor asks?”

Jacqueline gives a giggle and skips off to the kitchen. This time she comes back with the bottle as well as the glasses. She kneels beside the couch to pour the drinks and hands Angela her glass. “Are you always this obedient, Jacqui?” Angela asks.

Jacqueline looks up at Angela, puts the knuckle of her thumb in her mouth and bites it. “I guess,” she says. “I’ve always, well, ... I like it when someone tells me what to do. Is that strange?”

“No. Not at all. The pressures of social conformance are strong. Of course, for some individuals those pressures are amplified by other factors.”

Jacqueline smiles. “Such as sexual orientation? Isn’t that what some of your work indicates, Professor?”

Angela is on her third scotch. They’ve been big ones. Her judgment is still impaired by jet-lag, impaired by the alcohol, and by the rising tide of desire for this girl kneeling at her feet. While she knows that it’s crazy to be indulging herself with a student, the appeal of this assertively submissive woman is overwhelmingly powerful. And it’s not like she is Angela’s student either, is it?

“Of course, it does, girl,” Angela snaps. Jacqueline’s instinctive response is to bow her head. “And I think we know what your sexual orientation is, don’t we?”

“Yes, Professor,” Jacqueline replies quietly. Ms Hopwood was right, it is easy to submit to this woman. “What do you want me to do?”

Angela breathes deeply. Her tongue runs across her lips. “Stand up,” she says. As Jacqueline obeys, Angela continues, “Now, take off your clothes.”

“Of course, Professor,” Jacqueline responds, pulling her dress over her head to show her small naked tits, pale yellow panties beneath, and a small tattoo of a dolphin over one hip.

“Face the wall and wait until I call you.”

Angela leaves Jacqueline standing with her face inches from the wall. Jacqueline listens to the sound of Angela’s shower running, the hum of her hair drier, the creak of her bed, until finally she hears Angela’s voice calling, “Come here, girl. And be quick if you know what is good for you!”

She skips into the bedroom in response to the Professor’s call.

The Hustle: Gate Crashers.

Angela’s evening is in high gear. Jacqui has proven to be insatiable. She — actually her tongue — has brought Angela to several orgasms and pushed Angela’s libido into overdrive. The way she can press Angela’s clit with her tongue stud! After Angela’s last orgasm, Jacqueline gets up and slips the thick leather belt from Angela’s jeans. She hands it to Angela.

“I think I need punishment, Professor. Punishment for making you work so hard and you being so tired after your flight and all? Spank me, Professor. Strap my ass good!” says Jacqueline as she kneels on the edge of the bed and presents her ass so beautifully to Angela’s lustful eye.

Her head is down on the bed. Her arms stretched out on either side. Fingers spread. Back arched. Ass tight and round and smooth. Angela does not need to be asked twice. In a moment, she is on her feet and energetically applying the belt to Jacqueline’s buttocks, exactly as she had asked. Jacqueline mews. Her skin reddens. The sharp edges of the belt begin to leave their imprint. Angela raises her arm once again — when the doorbell chimes!

She stops, looks towards the door. Whoever it is can just wait, she thinks. Angela raises her arm once more. The bell rings and then someone raps loudly on the door. For fuck’s sake, thinks Angela.

She lays down the belt.

To Jacqueline, she says, “Just you wait till I come back. I am not finished with you!”

To the unseen caller beyond the door, she calls, “Just a moment.”

Angela wraps herself in a robe from the bathroom and walks to the suite door to get rid of whichever tiresome person has chosen this moment, of all moments, to cross her path. As she approaches the door, Angela has, just for a moment, an odd premonition that all is not well before her rational mind takes charge and she opens the door.

A tidal wave of people bursts in!