Chapter One

Taylor Alexandria Punga was an enigma. Courtney Hunter had worked for her for almost two years now and she had seen her only twice and knew nothing about her. That is, almost nothing. Courtney's job was to archive the material that flowed in from Punga's busy schedule. In a way, she knew all and understood nothing. And finding out what motivated and financed Punga's life had become an obsession with Courtney Hunter because Punga was an enigma that Courtney Hunter had to understand.

From the moment she had met Punga, she had been fascinated by the tall, striking woman. Courtney had to admit that part of the attraction was the woman's strength. Punga simply radiated confidence and energy. If energy was strength, Taylor Alexandria Punga was very strong.

She was beautiful too, not in a pretty way but with the sort of beauty generated by the danger. Punga was mesmerizing; dark, gracefully, lethal in her movements and very mysterious. That flame of deadly energy attracted Courtney until she fairly buzzed with need.

Who was Taylor Alexandria Punga? She seemed to have incredible power, yet she had no title and no office. She was immensely rich and yet had no visible source of income. She was present at every significant meeting in the world - it seemed - and yet never spoke or presented at them.

Taylor Alexandria Punga had become Courtney Hunter's project. And that was why she was at Punga's residence that day even though it was her day off. It would be a day that would change everything and so it is a good place to start. It was not the beginning of the story, which had been going on for some time and was near to reaching a climax. It was, however, when Courtney Hunter entered the story.
She parked her old car in the parking lot allotted to household staff that was discretely hidden behind a neat box hedge. She parked in the same spot she always did because her car's oil pan had a slow leak and she didn't want to ruin anymore of the parking area than she already had. She headed over to the security gate and punched in her personal code. A small screen glowed green and she stood straight in front of the camera lens and held up her I.D. tag with her picture. She did not feel the picture did her justice and was always mildly annoyed when the security system accepted the photo ID as her.

Electronic squeals and bleeps came softly from the speaker. "Hunter...Courtney...you are scheduled for time off,"came a mechanical voice. "Indicate reason for access."

Courtney tapped in number 24. The code for required overtime. More squeals and bleeps. Then, "Access granted."

Courtney placed her hand over the red hand that now glowed on the screen beside the gate. She heard the power switch trip and the metal cover over the key slot slide back as her hand print was read and accepted by the security system. Courtney inserted her card-key and removed it again when the screen turned green. The security door slipped open and Courtney entered standing in the box formed by white lines painted on the cement until the door had slid closed behind her. The mechanical voice came again. "Access has been granted to ...one...individual...Hunter...Courtney. It is now safe to step forward. Do not step back. Proceed forward." Courtney did so. She knew that she crossed a laser beam when she did. Anyone following would trigger the elaborate security system.

She walked up a fieldstone path that was bordered by a high cedar hedge that hid the security fencing on each side. It was a prison walk disguised in country attire. At the guard house, she once again showed her I..D. card. "Hi Ian,"she said to the serious looking man dressed in the black jump suit.

"Hi Court. The system is showing you as having today off but it has cleared you for entrance anyway," Ian Philips informed her. "I bet you were called in because she is coming," he stated almost managing a smile.

Courtney's heart skipped a beat but outwardly she gave no indication that she was unaware of this information. She took the green security tag from Ian that would allow her to move freely about the green zone sections of the house and estate. "Have a good day,"she smiled, with no further explanation and waited for Ian to punch in the code that would open Taylor Punga's world to her. It was also the moment when everything changed.

Punga was coming to the estate. That might change Courtney's plans but it might also give her the rare opportunity to see her boss. Access to the house was through a maze created by dry-stone walls that edged high beds of flowering trees and plants. Here and there, water danced down garden rocks or gold fish flashed in a still, silent pool. Courtney promised herself every time she walked through this beautiful area that if she ever had a house of her own it would have a mysterious and beautiful entrance like this.
She came on the house suddenly, reaching a stone wall and then having to turn to follow it in a curve to the brass front doors. Once again, she stood on the white box painted on the flagstone. The tag that Ian had given her and that was clipped to her pocket, automatically fed data into the security system and the brass doors clicked open.

Courtney pushed on the one on the right and entered a quiet lobby beautiful in its simplicity. A floor of black tile was divided by a rectangular pool of water. A rough cut slab of granite was the only means across the water. The walls on each side were polished teak and on the other side of the bridge a glass wall allowed a view of an interior courtyard of thick vegetation.

Courtney knew that turning left once she crossed the pool would take her into the green zone of the elaborate house. These were the public areas, the library, banquet hall, kitchen, conference room, and staff rooms. Going right would take her to the red zone areas. The private chambers of Taylor Alexandria Punga.

For a minute, she stood on the bridge steeling her nerve, then she crossed and walked to the right over the black tiled floor. Taylor's quarters were separated from the rest of the house by another set of brass doors. Courtney swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from her hands. She had no idea why she was doing this. If she got caught, she suspected that the consequences would be swift and serious. She had hesitated for over a year, her common sense and need for self-preservation over ruling her compulsive need to know who Taylor Punga really was.

She slipped from her pocket the red tag that she had picked up and kept after it fell from one of Punga's coat pockets last winter. She took off her green tag and clipped on the red. If this didn't work the security system would automatically sound an alarm and pin point her location on monitors. Then security personnel would literally come from everywhere and she would be carted off. She had witnessed practice drills many times. If the red tag didn't work, then the next intruder alarm would be for real and it would be her that was carted off, goodness knows where.

She stepped into the white box, the doors slid open and Courtney stepped into Taylor Alexandria Punga's very private world.

It was disappointing. There was a very conventional lounge area consisting of over-stuffed, distressed-leather chairs and sofa around a fireplace. The fireplace was made of natural stone, the walls silk, in soft, warm tan. The original art on the walls was an eclectic mix of well known twentieth century artists. Over the fireplace was a Jackson Pollack. There were several oils by the Ash Can School and a sketch that Courtney suspected was by Picasso.

Everything was neat and tidy and devoid of any personal items. Nothing was worn or scratched. The room looked as if it had just been set up by an interior designer for show. Everything was perfectly placed, even the stainless steel briefcase with the initials TAP on it was placed with deliberate casualness on the granite block that acted as a coffee table.

TAP! The implications of the briefcase being there exploded on Courtney's mind and left her feeling faint with worry. She turned to beat a hasty retreat and found, to her horror, Punga standing right behind her.
"I can explain,"stammered Courtney, looking up the lean, muscular body dressed totally in black, to the hard, classic features, and the startling, aqua eyes.

"I doubt if you can,"purred the deep, liquid voice.

We warned you.
She is the weak link.
This is a problem.

Courtney looked around startled. Had she heard voices? There was no one in the room only her and the towering Punga who looked down at her with angry, curious eyes. Someone touched her hair and she jumped and turned around. No one was there.

Surprising.
How can this be?
This development is puzzling.

Courtney looked around in annoyance then spun on the tall silent woman behind her. "What the hell is going on?"she demanded.

Punga raised an eyebrow and looked at her condescendingly. "I believe that should be MY question. You will come and sit in the chair over there," she ordered, pointing to one of the leather chairs near the fireplace.

"No I won't. I'm leaving," Courtney responded firmly, trying to brush an invisible hand from around her arm.

"That would be unwise and futile." Punga shrugged. "You really have no choice but to stay."

Courtney felt her hackles going up. "I apologies for being in a restricted area. I shouldn't have been." She took off her red tag and pulled the green one from her pocket. Lifting Punga's hand, she dropped the tags onto Punga's up turned palm. "There are your tags back. I found the red one when it fell out of your coat pocket last winter. I guess I am fired but you certainly don't have any right to hold me here.

What the hell is that?!" she finished in frustration, pulling away from the unseen hand.

She hears.
And she feels.
She can not see.

Taylor nodded. "Yes. This is unexpected and most interesting."

Courtney could feel herself starting to panic. Outwardly, she forced herself to remain calm. This was not the time to show fear. "What's interesting? And would you please let me go!" she demanded, pulling violently away from the invisible arm. Released suddenly and unexpectedly, she stumbled against the tall frame of Taylor Punga. Her body was unnaturally warm. Like touching the hot sides of a tea pot.

"Oh shit," Courtney whispered, as strong hands took her shoulders and strange aqua eyes burned into her own.

"I would prefer for us not to have a scene, Ms. Hunter. I repeat, please sit down."

Courtney nodded, backing away in shock. She swallowed, pulled herself together, and slowly turned to survey the room. No one. She went over and sat down on one of the leather chairs with as much defiance in her walk as she could muster.

      


Chapter Two

Courtney sat still in the chair afraid of what might happen next . Punga had not sat down, her remaining standing was a reflection of her method of control. That is, Punga did not control directly but passively. She stood silently observing Courtney Hunter. At last, she spoke. "Why?" It was a long speech reduced to its bare essence.

Courtney swallowed and squirmed in her seat. She did not wish to tell the truth but was afraid to be caught in a lie. "I don't know." This too was a short speech with a long meaning mostly to do with guilt and avoidance. It was not a very satisfactory answer because it stemmed from a fear of expressing knowledge. And Punga was not satisfied.

Courtney would have liked to have stood up again so as not to remain at a disadvantage but Punga was too close, not so much looming but hovering near. Courtney was trapped in her seat by Punga's position. If she stood it would mean she would be face to face with the annoyed woman. That would be a worse position than the one she was already in for she found in Taylor Alexandria Punga a dangerous fascination.

Taylor Alexandria Punga was not satisfied with Hunter's explanation. She stood close, hovering and waiting and finally, in order not to be observed growing old, Courtney gave a longer speech that was more satisfying but shorter in its meaning.

"I have worked here for two years archiving material that you send me. The range and extent of your research is amazing and yet you don't do anything with it. You live surrounded by security and wealth and yet you have no occupation or income. You know everyone and no one knows you. I wanted to know."

Punga nodded, a smile not quite making it to her lips. "Am I not entitled to my privacy?"

It was a weighted question and it dropped heavily from a great height because Punga had the advantage of standing and Courtney Hunter did not. It was a great disadvantage. Courtney stammered. "Of course you are. I realize I was wrong to come in here..."

"Nonsense," Punga stated, correcting her employee. "You would not have done it if you had not thought it the thing you wanted to do and so your action was right for you. What was wrong for you was getting caught."

Courtney laughed and then jumped up with a gasp as something seemed to touch her mouth. The wall she hit was not a wall but Punga. This caused her, Courtney that is, to stumble and step aside. She acted skittish and went to put her back against the wall. Punga observed this. She also observed that the woman's golden hair was as silky and rich as the wall covering.

"What the hell is that?" Courtney demanded, using the back of her hand to wipe away the touch from her lips.

"What?" asked Punga, which is not a question at all but a type of period that ends any enquiry.

"The thing in the room that keeps touching me?"

This time Taylor Alexandria Punga did smile, but only briefly. It was cut short by a briefer explanation. "It is a type of security system."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Courtney asked in annoyance.

"No. I was meant to be here. You are not. You were about to tell me why you really came in here."

Courtney's deep green eyes lifted and so made contacted with the brilliant aqua ones that observed her. In the silence, Courtney could hear voices.

She is more aware than I would have suspected.
Perhaps we should recheck our findings.
She was Tap's responsibility and so Tap must say.

Courtney drew herself up to her full height, which was not so tall but she wore her body well because her body was fit and so she looked taller and more confident than she was. "I came to learn about you because you fascinate me and now too, I want to know about the voices."

Punga nodded. "Then you will. But it will not be easy and having started, you may not stop."

'And having started you may not stop' was what Taylor Alexandria Punga had said and yet Courtney Hunter had stopped only a short time later. She had been left in a room that Punga had taken her to and she had been there for a good time. The door was locked and there were no windows to frame an escape through.

It was, as conventional rooms go, very unconventional. The walls were rag rolled in a misty swirl of blues, greys and lavender. The floor was grey stone. Along the length of one wall a channel of water ran through, bouncing over smooth grey river stones. There was no furniture but in one corner there was a neat stack of pillows and sheets in grey silk.

There were two alcoves. One was small and had a rod to hold clothes. It was empty. The other was big and held a toilet and a shower but no basin or mirror. The toilet was not a toilet but a stainless steel basin recessed into the floor which one squatted over. It was designed in an eastern style and there was a stainless steel button on the wall to flush the basin clean. The shower too was strange. There was no curtain or door. Just a stainless steel basin to stand in and the water came through holes in a ceiling fixture. It too was stainless steel as were the hot and cold water controls on the wall. In this room, the tiled walls were steel-grey as were the towels that were stacked neatly on a recessed shelf. No doors, except the one that was locked, no windows, no furniture. It was a no room and Courtney felt the no.

For a while, she was grudgingly content with the no. After all, she had trespassed. But after awhile the no became intolerable and then simply rude. Eventually, it became frightful. She was not prepared to be held as a prisoner.

As Courtney Hunter saw it, and she saw the situation very clearly having had considerable time to see it, there were only two ways in and out. The first was the door which was locked and the second was where the water exited. Courtney decided to go with the flow.

The channel was three feet wide and about one foot deep once the layer of stones had been removed. The stones were removed by Courtney Hunter and beyond she could see that the water flowed through a metal screen and then dropped.

Courtney considered. It was unlikely that the house had different water channels. More than likely the one that she crossed in the lobby was the same system. She thought about how this might work while she used the screw driver on her Swiss Army Knife to remove the metal screen. She lay down in the channel and had a look. Dimly, she could make out a large holding tank. On the other side was another rectangle of light framed by green plants where the over flow was escaping. She smiled. Her room must back onto the inner courtyard of the house.

She went feet first, which as her mother would have said was her way, to step where angels feared to tread. It was a squeeze but Courtney Hunter was, as mentioned, both small and fit and so with a push she did fit and splashed into the cold water tank below. The water was icy and dark and smelt of plastic and mold.

Courtney felt that she would have molded too had she remained in the unconventional room a minute longer. So she had left and now found herself in a very cold and not very pleasant place. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, her mother would have said.

She wasted no time in swimming to the other side and grabbing hold of the grate. It was going to be harder this time, and it had not been easy last time, to remove the screws as they were on the outside. She used her knife to bend some of the wire enough that she could wiggle her fingers through. It was a tight fit and only accomplished because she was so cold and wet. Slowly, shaking with cold, she worked the screws loose, bending the grate back as she went.

Almost too cold to move, like a lizard seeking sun, she slid from her prison into the light. For a few minutes, she lay on a rock in the warmth of the rays that beamed thought the glass above into the inner courtyard. Then she slid off her rock and back into the cold water.

She knew her situation was desperate and so threw her sleep and exhaustion back like a blanket. The aluminum grate needed to be replaced so that they would think she had not got this far. She wanted them to be delayed searching the holding tank for her. She knew that she could not continue her escape until the sun had set.

This accomplished, she moved with relief back onto the warm land to rest again.

Taylor Alexandria Punga looked at the rocks that had been removed from the stream of water. She then looked at the grate that had been removed and set aside. Her eyes went back to the rocks. They had been very carefully arranged to spell, FUCK YOU.

She has bested us.
It is amazing.
Very resourceful.

Punga took off her shoes, dropped to her belly and wiggled through the hole. Head first was her way although at this particular moment she was not necessarily using her head. She hit the cold water with a gasp and felt immediately her body heat bleeding, haemorrhaging out. Several strong strokes took her to the over flow gate at the far side. Her fingers, now blue, wrapped around the metal and shook the frame. It was screwed in place. Courtney Hunter had not got through and she had not returned to the room so she must have drowned.

Punga dived, and dived, and dived. Then she once again held onto the gate, her strength and heat completely gone. She wasn't sure she could make it back across the tank and force her body back up and through the water to the room. She shook the grate with all her strength hoping to dislodge the metal.

The rattle woke Courtney Hunter from her exhausted stupor. She looked through the branches and saw Punga's hand wrapped around the bent grill. The hand was an ugly shade of grey blue. A memory stirred in Courtney's mind.

"Are you alright?" Courtney had asked last winter as Taylor Alexandria had staggered into the library.
"Cold," the woman had revealed on this their second meeting. "I got too cold." Courtney had helped her boss to a chair and had brought her a hot cup of tea. Taylor Alexandria Punga had recovered quickly, thanked her and had left. It was then that Courtney had found the red tag that had fallen from Punga's pocket. It was this tag that had planted the seed of an idea that had brought Courtney and now Punga to the water grate. Now once again, Punga was in trouble.

"Hold on," Courtney ordered, as she knelt in the water and started to remove the screen once more. It was easier this time. The screws were not in as tight and she was working from the outside. She could not see Punga from where she worked. She could see only her hand. It was now white and claw-like. The last screw fell into the water, and Courtney reached around the screen to grab Taylor Alexandria Punga's wrist. It was ice cold. Dead weight.

Courtney sat on her bum, placed her feet on either side of the grate and pulled. An arm and shoulder appeared. Gasping with the effort, Courtney let go with one hand and made a grab for Punga's collar. Gradually, inch by inch she pulled the body from the water. It was a body but not a person. It was still and cold and unreactive. The body did not feel like the warm body of Punga but the cold body of death. Struggling, she pulled the long form clear of the tank and up on the warm rock ledge.

She remembered the first time she had met Taylor Alexandria Punga it had been hot. They had met on a terrace, in San Francisco. They'd had coffee, Punga sniffing at hers but drinking very little. They had gone through Courtney Hunter's resume. Her life, reduced to two dimensional symbols on flat white. It was a good resume but a boring life. There was another side to Courtney but it wasn't on her resume, it was in her heart.

Punga was offering a fantastic salary for archival work. A few years in the job and Courtney would be out of debt or at least only in the debt that it is appropriate to be in.

"I do not want you. You are too qualified for the job." It was an arrow through Courtney's dreams. Its point was ludicrous and so she protested.

"But I want the job. I can handle it easily and the money is good." This was true. Looking back, however, after the incident in Geneva, which has not yet come into this story, she wondered if even then the attraction to the enigma that was Punga had not been there.

"You will leave for a better position and I need someone to stay."

"I WILL stay." And so they had come to an arrangement then and there. It was a good arrangement and it had lasted two years, one month and eighteen days. Then it had changed.

Later, Courtney remembered pulling Punga from the holding tank as a scene in sharp contrasts like a Escher drawing in black and white, perspectives distorted. The body was cold, the rock warm, the shadows dark, the sunlight brilliant. Her emotions were fired by worry, and the dread of the guns that were trained on her, and there was an ice ball in her gut. She had been taken away. She had protested, wanting to stay with Punga. Her protests went unheard.

Once again she was returned to the room. The grate and stones had been replaced and the stone floor was dry. Had she escaped? The no of this room was even louder now. This time Punga's annoying security system was on. Like a thousand invisible bodies pushing against her. If she tried to go near the water channel, the force pushed her back. Eventually, she accepted the no grudgingly. She showered and found to her surprise a red jump suit lying on the stack of pillows. She switched from towel to jumpsuit and slept amongst the pillows in the corner, emotionally and physically drained.

When the alarm had sounded after Courtney's escape, security personnel had charged about knowing only that there was a security breach. Then that Punga was somehow trapped in the water recycling system. Lastly, that the intruder had her in the courtyard. They had charged in, assault rifles ready, fanning out across the space like shot. To their surprise, the intruder was Courtney Hunter, whom many of them knew, and she held Punga gently in her arms.

They were separated. The bond between the two still and silent women cut with surgical precision. Punga was carried gently away. Courtney was taken roughly away. One silent and still, one turned loud and fighting her keepers. They were confused. How had this happened? Nothing like this had happened before. Courtney Hunter had out smarted them and this should not have happened. Stranger still, Courtney Hunter had not made good her escape but had pulled Taylor Alexandria Punga from the holding tank. This could not possibly have happened and yet it had.

What are we to do with her?
It seems most regrettable.
Termination is for the best.