Agent Vixen Collection Read online

  Agent Vixen

  The ARM Files

  Jay Aury

  [email protected]

  This book and its contents are copyright 2019 by Jay Aury and Amanda Clover. All rights are reserved and no portion may be reproduced aside from brief quotations for review purposes. Cover image credit to Cherry-gig at https://twitter.com/Cherrygigart.

  All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental.

  Index

  Introduction

  Mission One: Assignment Alexandria

  Mission Two: Reichstag Rumble

  Mission Three: Undercover Bimbo

  Mission Four: Jungle Heat

  Mission Five: On the Run

  Mission Six: Femdon Climax on the Isle of ARM

  Epilogue:

  Alternate Cover

  Introduction

  The Agent Vixen series was a first for me. Though I’d written a number of works before, in particular the Beyond the Borderlands and SS9 series, Agent Vixen was the first linear adventure following the same protagonists for several books. It was the result of an idea between Amanda Clover and I. I’d collaborated with Amanda before, first with the Island of Eldritch Lust book, and later on with the Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles series, but this was a different for me, since I wrote most of the books solo aside from some of the porn scenes. However, the germ of the idea, and in particular the character of Audra, was Amanda’s, who is owed a lot of the credit for Audra and her quirks. I filled in most of the side characters, such as Raphael, Maxine, and Sylvester Sterling, but Audra is really the glue to it all, and it shows.

  Throughout the series, Audra mainly faces ARM, though not until the end personally. ARM itself and Sylvester Sterling are curious pieces of the work, since both actually developed late in writing the first book, which is part of the fun of being an author. But with their inclusion, the series really took shape, and resulted in the arc and eventual climax at the end of this collection. James Bond was, naturally, a big influence in the series, but it’s more than just a gender flipped look at 007, and I hope you enjoyed what I attempted here.

  There were things I’d have done differently, in retrospect, and things I’m quite proud of, in particular the third book. However, overall, Agent Vixen was a great project, and don’t think Audra and Alistair’s adventure ends with the epilogue. There’s a whole world out there waiting, after all…

  Assignment Alexandria

  Missions

  Audra Antoinette, codenamed Vixen, remembered Paris well.

  She’d come here often with her grandfather, the old man having a particular affection for the city he’d helped liberate during the War. “Lovely place. Pity it’s filled with Frenchmen,” he’d often groused.

  She had many fond memories of him. It was he who had taught her the tricks of her trade. The way to read people and make connections among them. How to shoot and how to talk. How to get a feel for a city within a minute of walking down its streets. Those and a hundred other things that had made her one of the best agents in the world.

  Of course, other skills she had to learn on her own. She smiled a little, her red lips curving and her eyes flashing. She had assets no man had, after all. She wasn’t the greatest spy. She freely admitted that. Her long blonde hair, full figure with pronounced breasts and striking face had never been discrete. She loathed to hide herself. She couldn’t vanish in a crowd or kill a man with a shoe (why bother when a pistol was never far from hand?). But she had contacts. A network of men and women. Lovers and loyalists. Names and numbers and connections across the globe, from low slung smuggling rings and criminal syndicates to warlords and presidents, all gathered across her career and across a hundred countries. Her finger was never far from the pulse of the underworld.

  And it was that which made her the best agent of G7, NATO’s clandestine arm. An organization without official presence, and whose agents didn’t exist.

  Audra snapped open a small mirror and examined herself. Tall, her hair honeyed blonde and bouncy. Her breasts firm and swelling against her sensible grey blouse, which only drew the eye more to her curves. Dark and sensuous, her stride was long as she left the cab behind, showcasing her legs, clad in tight fitting pants. She reached into her purse, groping around her service pistol before finding her phone. She checked the address, smiled, and started off.

  Audra pushed into the Belle Donair, a small café tucked off a tangled side street, nestled under a sprawling gothic apartment block. A glance took in the tight restaurant, her ears listening to the dull hubbub of French voices. When she spotted the older man in a corner booth, she took a seat across from him.

  The Director was a modest man. His eyes were hooded and hands large and heavy. Grey hairs trimmed his sideburns and rolled across his face in a thick mustache. He reminded Audra of her grandfather, which carried some mixed feelings to be sure. But the Director headed G7, and had earned her respect. No one knew his true identity, just as no one knew his real name. He was simply the Director, and that was all anyone needed.

  “Director,” Audra greeted sweetly.

  He nodded once. “Vixen. Coffee?” he said and waved over a waiter.

  “One, please,” she said, smiling at the young man come to serve them, relishing how he blushed at the ravishing blonde’s attention.

  “I’m fine with mine,” the Director said. “Ordered a sandwich earlier. Still waiting for it,” he added with a sharp glance at the waiter. When the young man was gone the Director slid a file across the table. Audra picked it up and opened it to a photo of a man.

  “Richard Mayview,” the Director said grimly.

  “Says he’s a pentagon drone. Looks like it,” she said.

  “Yes. Until two days ago.”

  Audra’s eyes flicked up in surprise. “He quit?”

  “Yes,” the Director said, stirring his coffee. “And took a hard drive loaded with current missions with him. If those get out, dozens of current operations could be compromised.”

  Audra whistled softly. “That’s bad.”

  “It is,” the Director said. “And that’s why you’re going to find him. He was last seen taking a plane to Alexandria. No doubt he’s looking to sell it.”

  Audra nodded. It made sense. And naturally, he would have the only copy. Such files were encrypted against duplication, she recalled her grandfather explaining once. The only place to get them was from a main computer in the Pentagon itself, but reading them on anything else was another thing entirely. She looked again at the photo as her coffee was gently laid before her. Richard Mayview had an angry look. Not ugly, but bitter. Cruel even. The look of a man who resents the world for raising up others and not him. Audra was good at reading people. She prided herself on it almost as much as she did her body, and trusted her instincts.

  The waiter returned with her coffee. Catching the server’s red face, she playfully shimmied in her seat, the top buttons of her blouse open, unveiling the creamy beginnings of her rich, full breasts. “Merci,” she purred.

  The server mumbled something nervously and vanished.

  “Don’t tease the help,” the Director grunted.

  Audra shrugged again, batting her lashes. “My cover?”

  “No time. We’re on a tight deadline here. We need those files dealt with before they go live. It’s why we chose you for this. You have connections, Vixen.” He held up his hand. “I don’t want to know. I don’t need to know. I only need the hard drive found and returned, or destroyed. The Pentagon is making themselves a nuisance about this. No doubt some of their missions are on their allies as well as enemies. And I have trouble enoug
h without all that.”

  Audra sipped her coffee to hide her smile. God but she was glad she didn’t have to deal with interoffice bullshit anymore. “I’ll take care of it,” she said, already sorting through the files in her head for likely aid.

  “Good. But so you know, you won’t be alone.”

  Audra frowned, putting down her cup with a click of china. “I work alone, Director. That was my condition for joining G7. Many of my contacts can’t risk being revealed to someone out of hand. They trust me, not some government suit. And they won’t trust me for long if I have some idiot in tinted glasses shadowing me.”

  Not to mention, she added silently, that a number of her contacts had more… intimate relationships with her than would be proper to admit.

  “Well you’d best get over it,” the Director said. “It won’t be a Pentagon stooge, don’t worry. Canadian. He’s formerly part of the info branch and infiltration. Came over from CSIS a few years back, around when you did.”

  “Who?” she said.

  “Alistair Smith.”

  She turned slowly towards the speaker. The waiter had come up to them unnoticed and smiled brightly, boyishly almost. He gave a small bow and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Audra ignored the hand, swung back towards the Director, but he looked as surprised as she did. He grimaced, mustache bristling with annoyance. “I told you not to do that,” he said.

  “Sorry,” Alistair said. “But I thought it appropriate. I’d hate for Audra to think she was working with anyone unprofessional.”

  Audra flushed a little, recalling her blatant teasing. She raised her head, looking back to the Director. “My work is not up for debate,” she said fiercely. “I work alone, Director. That doesn’t change.”

  “I have no intention of moving in on your work,” Alistair said, hands clasped behind his back, but still that teasing smile. “Think of me as… insurance. Just in case you have some trouble accomplishing your mission.”

  Audra’s face deepened with a scowl. She slapped shut the file. “I have work to do.”

  Alistair watched her go, her rear starkly defined in her pants. The bell over the door jangled as she stomped out, and he turned back to the Director, who scowled at him.

  “I did order a sandwich,” the Director said.

  “Oh. Well, I mean. I’m not an actual waiter…” Alistair saw the Director’s look. “Let me just go check with the cook...”

  The Director watched Alistair vanish into the back. He eased back in his seat with a sigh and massaged his brow.

  Like herding fucking cats.

  The Price of Help

  Days later, the spray of the sea shining in her wake, the small motorboat bucking under her feet, Audra was still seething. The nerve of him she thought, watching as the tagged Alexandrian skyline take shape. She’d been working undercover in more countries than he could probably name. She pursed her lips, resolutely turning her thoughts from the infuriating man to the matter ahead.

  Not a hard task. It had been a long time since she’d been in Alexandria. She’d still been in the CIA, then. A lifetime ago it seemed. Three years in reality, but in this business, it often meant the same thing.

  In some ways, she had missed the city. The smells of spice and dust of the markets. The honks of belligerent drivers and shouts of men. The warbling cry of evening prayer, echoing from towers and across the city roofs.

  In other ways, she had not. Americans had few friends in the Middle East. But she had many. A lovely white woman was always in demand for those who desired the taste of such forbidden fruit. But as many allies as she had made, so had she made enemies. There had been a number of tight moments in her time visiting the region. Times she had risked far more than just her life.

  As the boat knocked against the dock she stepped off and onto the wharf. She took in the city with a glance, memories washing over her.

  And looming large over them all, was Raphael.

  He was the reason she was here. Raphael. She twisted her lips a little. He was a gamble. Always had been, particularly for her. He desired her. Had made no secret of it. It had been all she could do to refuse his offer of marriage whenever they met. So far, she had managed to keep him at arm’s length.

  But that was before. She recalled her last mission in the East. Things had gone wrong. A helicopter was needed, and Raphael had come through. But the indolent Arab hadn’t been paid immediately. Eventually, yes. But she always felt like he had some hold on her. Some string tied to her for saving her life in that desperate moment with bullets flying, the thump of propellers beating through the air, the void of open sky under her feet as they took off from the compound.

  She’d rather not deal with him, but aside from the Devi, Raphael was the one who knew everything that went on the quagmire of the Middle East’s underworld. She checked her watch quickly. Still in time. The pudgy bastard never left the Palm D’Hors before seven. Partly because he said he loved the atmosphere. But she suspected the real reason was because everyone knew to find him there.

  Still, she knew it for what it was. She came here without much of a plan. There hadn’t been time for more. She was flying solo. All tightrope, no net.

  But that was how she worked best. She flashed a grin, the thrill of adventure hot in her blood. It was a short walk to her destination. Situated near the bay, the Palm D’Hors was a heavy sandstone building rising beside the street and near the sea. Two neat rows of palm trees growing before it gave the place its name, the scent of the sea sharp in the air and the Egyptian sun an orange disk burning through the day. She enjoyed it as long as she could. Then she pushed through the doors, and into the hotel’s bar.

  The assault on her senses was as immediate as it was expected. The smoky bar was sparsely populated but the room was still thick with the scent of men and booze. A few tourists, but mostly Egyptians eating, smoking, or wandering about. The bar reminded her starkly of Casablanca, one of her favorite films, with the arching bar loaded with bottles and potted palm trees shadowing the corners. She couldn’t help the little smile playing across her lips.

  It didn’t take long to spot Raphael. It never was. His signature white jacket, pants and brimmed hat stood out in the sandstone and smoke like a beacon in the night. His skin was a mocha hue, and its leathery texture betrayed the long days in the sun when he’d been a more modest gun runner. But time had been good to him. His fortunes have grown, as did his girth, and at the moment the portly smuggler reclined on an open balcony, sipping some sparkling wine with a half-eaten lobster before him.

  But Audra saw more than merely an overweight old man. She saw his thick limbs where strength still lurked, and the quick cleverness masked in his indolent gestures.

  And she saw the guards idling in tables nearby, the bulge of sidearms in jackets and belts.

  She felt them stir as she passed, but ignored them, keeping her eyes on the plump man at the table. “Raphael,” she said, stopping beside him. “I hope I’m not intruding?”

  The old Arab looked up, dark eyes lighting up at the sight of her. “Ah! My lovely desert rose!” he cried, lazily beckoning her nearer. “Come, come. You could never intrude my lovely, for the day could only be made better with your presence. Come, sit with me my sweet. Let me enjoy the sight of your loveliness and let your voice soothe this old man’s woes.”

  Audra tried to supress a smile at the Arab’s voluble praise. His honeyed tongue had that effect on her. Amusing her as much as warming her to the man in white. He claimed to have been the descendent of impoverished French nobility fleeing revolutionary France, and in his broad gestures and sweet words he brought such doubtful parentage full to bear.

  “Eating alone with a lovely Western woman?” Audra said with wry amusement. “What would your wife think?”

  “Ah,” Raphael sighed. “My wife. You wound me, almost as much as my dear wife does with her tongue every day for robbing her of her youth and fair figure with our many children. But is it my faul
t, I ask you, that she proved to be so fertile? Or that my seed should be so strong? Ah my lovely, but though I care for my wife, I cannot deny the attentions of so young and fair a woman, who has crossed the seas from the infidel West to grace my presence. Yes! Even the scorn of my wife I would bear for a moment with you.”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Another time,” Audra said, smiling broadly. “I have things to discuss.”

  “Ah,” Raphael sighed, chair creaking as he reclined. He shook his head, small mustache and bristly unshaved chin bobbing. “Talk. Talk. Such tiresome efforts. So tiresome. But surely we can enjoy ourselves in other ways my dear. For your lovely figure wakes such sinful urges in this old man. Ah! Well, but for the company of such a fair woman, a vision blessed from the heavens, whose soft words can stir even the devoted to thoughts of unfaithfulness, we shall. Let us talk my sweet. We shall talk so I can listen to my songbird, flown in from beyond the seas. But let us make it a greater pleasure. Let us eat,” he said, waving over a waiter.

  “Not now,” she said, giving a hovering waiter a suspicious look. She doubted he was Alistair. But still… The thought made her hot with temper again. Reckless. She leaned forward on the table, just revealing the valley of her creamy breasts, more hinted by the pronounced curves of her blouse. Her voice fell to a low husk. “Do you have somewhere we can talk more… privately?”

  She caught it in his glance. A flash of hungry lust in those dark eyes. Gone as soon as it was there, but the sight sent a sinful thrill racing down her spine.

  “Ah,” Raphael sighed. “And such a crime to waste such a meal. But! There shall be other meals, and a small price to pay for company so lovely it would make a poet weep.” He flapped a napkin like a flag of surrender, letting it flutter over the dish. He pushed free of the chair, levering himself to his feet with some effort, and some alarming creaks from his seat. “Ahhh… Come my sweet. I have a room kept in the back for such things.”