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.
Chapter One
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.”
