OSS: Office of Supernatural Services is now available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited as well as in print. You can order your copy here.
Here is an excerpt from the book.
Cairo, Egypt
17 May 1941
Unease had settled over Cairo following the setback of Operation
BREVITY at the Halfaya Pass, especially amongst the British. So far, it had
manifested itself as an air of concern among high-ranking government officials
and military officers, trepidation among British soldiers that they might soon
be transferred to the front, and an underlying jitteriness among the rest of
the city. At least among those locals who feared a German occupation. Many
Muslims supported the Third Reich and their antisemitic
policies, which generated anxiety among the leadership of a possible
insurrection in support of the advancing Afrika Korps. Why
worry? The fighting took place six hundred and fifty kilometers to the west
along the Egyptian-Libyan border, far enough away not to pose an immediate
threat. Besides, the British Middle East Command had grown accustomed to
glitches in its campaign against the Afrika Korps.
This attitude would soon change. What no one in Cairo
realized was that the setback at Halfaya Pass had been intentionally
orchestrated. When Operation BREVITY collapsed, the situation would devolve
into a full-fledged rout and panic would take over Cairo, a panic that would be
exploited by German spies to bring about the inevitable British defeat in North
Africa.
Agrat was about to initiate that phase of the operation.
Once that occurred, her mission would be complete.
She strolled through the As Sabtiyyah
District, the British government center located along the Nile River between
the rail station and The Citadel. She stood slightly less than six feet in
height, slender, with long, shapely legs. Blonde hair cut into a bob and
emerald-colored eyes accentuated a flawless face. She wore the traditional
olive drab skirt and jacket uniform with a tan dress shirt, although she
forewent the tie to keep the top three buttons open and opted for high heels
over the drab, brown, flat sole lace ups. It was a technique fine-tuned over
centuries. With Agrat’s ability to mask her allure, she could blend into the
background or, if glamouring was necessary, could exploit her sensuality to its
utmost.
Entering the Garden City area, Agrat continued to the block
of modern flats that had been commandeered by the British and converted into
British General Headquarters, then made her way inside. As she approached the
main office, a corporal standing sentry duty placed himself in front of the
door.
“Sorry, miss. The general asked not to be disturbed.”
Agrat stepped to one side to go around him. “He’s expecting
me.”
The corporal blocked her path. “He distinctly said no visitors.”
Agrat suppressed the urge, however satisfying it might be,
to snap this annoyance’s neck. Instead, her emerald eyes sparkled. The
corporal’s demeanor became docile. His gaze focused on the ample cleavage
pushing against her tan dress shirt. She allowed him to gawk for a moment, and
then placed her forefinger under the corporal’s chin and lifted his head so
their eyes met.
“Do you really think the general is referring to me when he
says no visitors?”
“Of course not.” The corporal hurriedly moved aside. “I’m
sorry for the inconvenience.”
“No apologies necessary.” Agrat ran the tips of her fingers
along the corporal’s neck and down the front of his uniform jacket. Stepping
around him, she entered the office.
Agrat closed the door and paused to lean against it, needing
a moment to regain her strength. Glamouring men used up considerable amounts of
energy, especially when the attention is focused on one individual for an
extended period, as she had been doing these past two weeks, so much, in fact,
that even a brief allure like she had given the corporal could be exhausting.
She would need all her energy to pull off the next phase in her plan.
As Agrat recovered, she looked around the office. In the
center of the floor sat a wooden conference table large enough to seat eight
people. Bent over the table stood her primary victim, General Archibald
Percival Wavell, General Officer Commanding-in-Chief of the Middle East
Command.
When Agrat first met him, the general had been a dignified
and attractive man in his late fifties, distinguished and professional, the
epitome of English grooming and military training. Now, after a fortnight of
seduction, he remained a shadow of his former self. His well-groomed greying
hair and mustache had become white and unkempt, and his confidence and bearing
had been stripped away. The general had become physically weak and emotionally
exhausted. Wavell looked and acted more like a strung-out alcoholic than a
commanding officer. He glanced up, his tired eyes taking several seconds to
focus on her. When they did, a glint of recognition lit up his gaunt face.
“Aggie. Thank God you’re here.” Wavell lifted a trembling
hand and motioned for her to join him. “I need your advice.”
“Anything for you,” said Agrat in her most sultry voice. As
she approached the table, she noticed Wavell studying a campaign map of the
BREVITY battlefield. The operation had called for a three-pronged British
attack that was launched two days ago with the goal of capturing the Halfaya
Pass and the German-Italian encampments beyond, securing the area for Operation
BATTLEAXE in June, which would break through into Libya and relieve the British
troops surrounded at Tobruk. The initial thrust had been successful until Agrat
had convinced Wavell to pull his forces back to the pass. Today, she would
ensure total defeat.
Wavell pointed to the map, his index finger tapping the
escarpment that Halfaya Pass cut through. “I did as you suggested. I ordered
General Gott to fall back and set up his defenses here.”
“Very good.” Agrat placed her right hand on Wavell’s left
shoulder and lightly squeezed. The general tilted his head so his cheek rested
on her hand and sighed in erotic contentment.
“We should be able to stop Rommel now,” he said.
“Don’t underestimate him. He can easily outflank us along
the coast or through the desert.”
“Good thinking.” Wavell lifted his head. “He has tricked us
like that before. I’ll have General Gott reinforce the highway east of Sollum
and extend his left flank out into the desert.”
“That won’t be enough. You can’t afford to be surrounded
like at Tobruk.”
“That’s true.” Wavell nodded his head. “What do you
suggest?”
“You need to abandon Halfaya Pass.”
“N-no,” Wavell stammered. He stared at Agrat, his eyes
filled with uncertainty. “It would be foolish to give up the advantage for no
reason.”
“It would be foolish to risk losing your entire force.”
“But… there’s no other defensible position for hundreds of
kilometers.”
Damn it, the military commander in Wavell struggled to
regain control. Agrat turned the general to face her and placed both hands on
his cheeks, forcing him to make eye contact. She adopted a façade of affection
and understanding as she increased her glamouring, though her eyes and voice
took on a firm and commanding quality.
“Listen to me. You cannot attempt to hold Halfaya Pass. It’s
too dangerous. Radio General Gott and order him to withdraw his forces. Have
him fall back to Alexandria and set up a defensive perimeter there.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” said an unknown voice from
behind Agrat.
She spun around to face a British colonel who stood inside
Wavell’s office. He reminded her of Wavell in height, stature, and demeanor,
only this man had close cropped blonde hair and a neatly-trimmed beard, both of
which showed hints of grey. Agrat seethed at the insolence of this mere human
who challenged her. With all her energy focused on Wavell, she could not
attempt to glamour this intruder, but she certainly could intimidate him.
“You can’t allow that?” said Agrat, her tone growing deep
and menacing. “You have no way of stopping me.”
“Actually, I do.” As the intruder spoke, eight soldiers
rushed into the room. Each one pushed a wheeled platform. Whatever was mounted
to the platforms measured the height and width of a man and were covered with
military-issue blankets. The soldiers fanned out around the room and surrounded
the conference table, taking up a position five feet from the pair. The general
glanced between Agrat and the intruder, panicked and confused.
“What is this?” Agrat snarled.
“Hand over the general and give yourself up, and no one will
get hurt.”
Agrat laughed. “You’ll pay for your insolence with your
life.”
“Have it your way.” The barest hint of a smirk pierced the
intruder’s lips as he gave a slight nod. The soldiers pulled the blankets off
their wheeled mounts, revealing eight full-length mirrors encircling Agrat and
pointed directly at her.
“Nooo!!” Agrat shoved Wavell aside. The general hit the
conference table and slid to the floor. Agrat did not notice. She jerked from
side to side, desperate to find a way to escape but, in every direction, she
was greeted by her own reflection. Lowering her head, she stormed the soldier
nearest the exit. As one, the soldiers moved with Agrat, keeping her centered
in the circle of mirrors. When she glanced up to get her bearings, she caught a
glimpse of her reflection in one of them.
Her eyes glazed over, the emerald pupils and white irises
darkening into a deep red that shone like embers in a raging fire. A moment
later, the pain began deep inside her, an intense burning that seared its way
through her body and erupted through her skin. Her body ignited. Agrat
shrieked, emitting a blood-curdling cry that sounded like a wounded animal in
its painful death throes. The disgusting stench of charred flesh filled the
confined space. The flames burned out after a minute and the torment subsided.
Agrat lay on the floor, agony wracking her body, physically and emotionally
exhausted.
* * *
One of the soldiers bent over and
vomited across the surface of the conference table. Three had pissed themselves
and, judging by the odor of shit, at least one had fouled his pants. Not that
Bellingham could blame them. They were all battle-hardened veterans who had
seen more than their fair share of death; however, nothing they had experienced
on the battlefield could have prepared them for what they had witnessed. As the
flames died out, they had expected to see Agrat’s charred corpse. That would
have been preferable to what confronted them.
A hand with elongated fingers and five-inch-long talons
emerged from the dissipating smoke and dug itself into the top of the
conference table. What pulled itself into a sitting position was not the
beautiful woman from a moment ago but a monstrosity. Its legs had mutated into
a snake-like tail that stretched for five feet, the end wrapping itself around
one leg of the table. Scales covered its entire body. Although shaped like a
human skull, its head bore the appearance of a reptile, with holes in place of
ears and a nose and fangs replacing its cuspids. A pair of wings similar to
those of a bat unfolded from its shoulder blades, extending to a width of seven
feet. Even this minimal effort strained the demon, and the wings retracted and
went limp. The demon stared at Bellingham for a few seconds with its coal-black
eyes, trilled once, and collapsed with a meaty thud.
“What the bloody sod is this?” asked one of the soldiers
holding a mirror.
“This is classified,” answered Bellingham, the question
snapping the soldier back into reality. He spoke loudly so the others in the
room could hear. “Is that understood?”
Each soldier responded in the affirmative.
Bellingham motioned toward the door. Eight more soldiers
entered the room, allowing those with the mirrors to leave. As four of the
soldiers applied shackles to the demon, the others stood nearby, their Thompson
submachine guns aimed at Agrat. Bellingham stepped over to Wavell and helped
the general to his feet.
“Wh-where am I?” asked the general.
“You’re in General Headquarters in Cairo,” answered
Bellingham.
Wavell leaned back against the edge of the conference table
to support himself. If he noticed the demon only a few feet away, he did not
show it. The general stared at the floor.
“The last two weeks have been a blur. Have I been ill?”
“Yes, sir. You were under someone else’s control.”
Wavell looked up. “Do you mean I was hypnotized?”
“Something like that, sir. Do you remember anything about
the past two weeks?”
The general shook his head. “Just fuzzy memories, like I was
feverish. Although I do recall something about issuing military orders to
retreat. Did we lose a battle?”
“Everything is now under control.”
“Good.” Wavell lost his footing and almost slid off the
conference table, but Bellingham caught him at the last moment.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“Not really. I’d like to go to the infirmary.”
“Of course, sir.” Bellingham leaned back and called out.
“Captain Taylor.”
An officer with red hair rushed into the office and
presented himself to Bellingham. “Yes, sir?”
“Escort General Wavell to the infirmary and stay with him
until I arrive.”
The captain saluted and took the general by the arm, leading
him around the shackled demon and toward the exit. As he was about to leave,
Bellingham called out, “Captain?”
The officer paused and turned toward Bellingham. “Yes?”
“Contact Lee back in London and tell her it’s time to get
the Yanks involved.”