Introduction to ‘Love Provocateur’ by Mist

The icy winds lashed at her bare hands and face imprinting its red wrath upon her. Yet she barely noticed the freezing temperature trained as she had been in the depths of the Brecon mountains, reliant on her own skills for survival for weeks at a time.  She had swam naked through icy waters tormented by invisible frozen daggers spearing her entire being in order to fulfil the gruelling training.  It had been this that had left her oblivious to any future winter chill.  Instead she remembered days and nights spent alone, wondering whether she was going to make it through…not just to the military but indeed if she would even survive? The memory was etched inside her brain, like a scar she would carry forever…
Odd then that she could live with the past, the evil that she’d witnessed and that which she had carried out in the name of protecting her country yet she was finding it increasingly impossible to live with the here and now.  Hence the need to sit atop a mountain clad in over sized sweater, torn jeans and hiking boots, hardly adequate for the time of year but the need to decipher her next move had been overwhelming and hardly preplanned.
Taking aim she had fired her Sig 9mm handgun its final bullet slicing valiantly through the air until it met its intended target, obliterating the cans she had previously set out, a spray from the water that had weighed them down unleashed coating the jagged rock they’d been set upon.  Automatically she went through the motions, pressing the release button allowing the magazine to slide down out of the handle, her fingers pulling back the slider to ensure it was empty and could not be fired again.  Kneeling on the frozen ground she whipped a rag from her backpack placing the gun upon it and set about giving it a thorough clean with the bore brush and solvent.  A smug smile graced her lips, she loved nothing more than firing the tiny weapon.  Its cold hard metal a reminder of its destructive nature, she knew better than to deviate from its care after every use she would meticulously exam and clean it…  Her pleasure was short lived as yet again that niggling depression washed over her with its absolute barren emptiness.  These days she would awake with a sense of dread, laying motionless beside her husband counting the minutes until he left for work. Her job had been her escape but it was no longer enough.  She was dead inside.  She lifted her face to the sky watching the sun raise its glowing form above threatening clouds and wished she could do the same…
That day seemed like a distant memory although it had been barely a few weeks ago.  Missy Rothenstein’s wish had oddly been granted.  She who had never known real love and had strived to avoid it.  It was dangerous…forbidden even. She had to protect her emotions; trivial little things that the weak-minded threw around with such vigour! She would watch her friends lives fall apart one by one but not hers…never hers!
At least not until she’d ventured onto an internet chat room with the sole intention of escapism; speaking to those with lives one only read about in magazine’s or gracing the front pages of the newspapers. Only she’d been disappointed by just how mundane their words were.  Her favourite female author diminished before her eyes like a rose fast decaying . Odd then that she’d been drawn to an Englishman, so absolutely a no-no in her book!  She would as a welsh woman even consider herself a racist, detesting them after having dealt with over-amorous youths as a teenager.  Such a bitter taste had been left in her mouth that her fury would instantly re-surface simply upon hearing their accent. Perhaps then, this was why she had set out ready for attack.
STEALTH WRITER:’Hey Shepherd lady, surely you knew Offa’s dyke was built to keep the English pure and untainted by the welsh.’
LADY ENIGMA:’Quite possibly but did you also know that the welsh allowed him to build it, happy in the knowledge that the englishmen could no longer cross the border whenever they sought a real woman!’
Their anecdotal banter had spurred their relationship on at an alarming rate. It shocked her as she went about her daily duties feeling bewildered by the intensity of his hold over her thoughts and it seemed for the first time…her heart. She found herself desperate for his next message.  A smile had etched its way permanently across her face and she constantly played the seductive songs he’d sent her; at home, in the car and even ‘god forgive and protect her’ at work on her iplayer.  It had not gone unnoticed…her friends questioned her, her husband tried to outwit her computer skills and she’d endured a balling out at work.  Internet relationships were not accepted, in truth you were deemed to be losing control of your faculties if you held any depth of feeling for another.  Which was why, she had initially been the prime candidate for her job.
Missy had been recruited from Swansea’s University, her degree in Criminal Psychology left unfinished. Professor Courtney had been captivated by her when on her first day at Uni she had dismounted her bicycle and come to his aid. The full glare of his Bentley’s headlamps had frozen a hare to the spot, its eyes glazed and incredulous, he had braked a little too sharply yet still careered into the pitiful animal injuring but not killing it. Missy marched into the road, without muttering a word she had bent down placed her hands strategically upon its terrified body and with a deft stretch of its body a resonating pop emanated from its neck bone confirming that the animal was dead. ‘Its kinder.’ she had told him without an ounce of remorse, turning to throw its corpse into the hedgerow before continuing on her journey.  He had been delighted to find her one of his pupils.  Her tiny physique and apparent fragile looks belied her physical and emotional strength. In the gymnasium she both challenged and outlasted the others, male and female and during her studies she had an inane knack of getting inside a criminals head and tearing their structure to pieces.  She was perfect!
10 years on Missy was a crucial part of MI5′s covert investigations.  Together with her guise as a journalist she would use her angelic features; pale blond hair, sapphire eyes and feminine form to entrap suspected terrorists.  Her absolute aura of purity and belief in their cause led them to fall helplessly for her spin-off.  Having gained their attraction she would follow on with a barrage of banter sometimes via the Internet, sometimes in person.  She would rile them, tease them, sexually frustrate them until she had them begging for more.  Then she would strike, some would talk easily, others she would work on.  She was an expert in mind control technology rendering her victims pathetic wrecks.  She had no feelings for them, life had made her that way but she did get a thrill of adrenalin curse through her body each time she broke them and reported her achievements to Headquarters.
She was a woman in a mans world, so energised and exhilarated that she frightened even the men in her field. She had long since gained the nickname, ‘Ice Maiden’.
One glance at her laptop sent Missy’s pulse racing…
STEALTH WRITER HAD SENT HER A MESSAGE: ‘Hi Princess, finished your hoovering yet?’
LADY ENIGMA; ‘Hi back Englishman, was hoping I could rely on your feminine side to give lessons in domesticity, after my mountain run!’ Lol
STEALTH WRITER; ‘How far did you go??? Whereabouts is this mountain of yours, sounds interesting?’
Her stomach churned nervously. Too many questions, it would be so easy to let her location slip, to invite him to join her even. The thought barely voiced itself in her mind before she dismissed it…  LADY ENIGMA: ‘West Wales’(She lied) ‘And it is interesting, you know me if something intrigues me I follow it!’ Lol
STEALTH WRITER: ‘So from that I take it that I intrigue you? You followed me after all…’x
His words fired something deep inside her, who was he?  What was he?  In his Bio he had mentioned that he was ex-special forces.  It had been this that had cultivated her interest in the beginning.  Yet now with him invading her every thought and even her sleep, she began to wonder if he was indeed using her very own mind control skills against her.  It sent a wave of anxiety cursing through her body, yet she dismissed it!  Deftly she stamped on the mocking voice in her mind that fired up ‘Are you sure you’re not letting your heart rule your head?’
Within a couple of weeks she felt like she had known him for years, that he was hers and she his and she hungered for their meeting.  She was playing a dangerous game.  Every aspect of her life was constantly under surveillance.  Part of being a MI5 Agent was being under investigation yourself.  There was no room for mistakes or leaking of information, Agents had disappeared for less. Missy knew she had stoked the fire with her banter to the Englishman, her every word was being analysed yet still she remained hooked; her traitorous body laced with an incredulous desire and the sudden notion that she would rather die now having experienced such an exorbitant range of feelings for one person than to live by the rules of the superiors and retain her frigid mind.
Boyo her beloved black Labrador, raised his head his eyes instantly alert and excitement evident in his sudden stance and wagging of tail.  He ran to the front door, his lack of bark and returned stare indicating there was someone outside.
Missy ripped her gun from its ankle holster and cocked her weapon ready to fire.  She indicated for Boyo to stand down. She glanced through the spy hole…nothing.  Her fingers nervously slid back the latch; adrenalin pumping through her veins.  Slowly she opened the door her gun locked in position in front of her.  Living miles from the nearest neighbour meant a passer-by was out of the question.  Her car alarm pierced the silence and now she was running, nervously glancing about her.  She had no-one to watch her back, so she had to remain vigilant, her eyes still battling to adjust to the darkness of the night.  Thankfully the sky was a mass of brightly shining stars and a welcome full moon cast enough light for her to scan all about her, the downfall being that she too was visible.
The door of her land rover was wide open, with her hands still clasping the rubber grip of her 9mm she thrust forwards scouring its inside for her intended target…
The blast of a motorcycle engine jolted her and she tore around in time to catch its retreating red light. ‘Damn!’ she released the cock and replaced her gun to its strap. Reaching inside the car she found a parcel and reluctantly acknowledged that she’d so nearly killed one of her own…


Jackson Geller marched into the plush white building known as HQ, wondering for the umpteenth time if he was in for an ear-bashing or heading for a new mission. Either way he could barely stifle the nervous anticipation pulsing through his veins.  It was 21 days exactly since he’d arrived back in London from Afghanistan, exhausted and weighing two and a half stone lighter than when he’d left.  He’d been relieved to have been out of that hell hole, yet perhaps not quite as relieved as he’d been to head there in the first place.  Married for 17 years, Hanna had weathered his chameleon like behavior, never quite sure who he’d be when he arrived back home. In hindsight he should have tried harder, his silences had grown longer and his wrath increasingly explosive. Not that he’d harmed her, god forbid but he’d done a fine job of destroying everything and everyone around him. Only this time seemingly she had reached the end of the line with him, “it would be better all round if we called it a day, you’re married to your career and there’s no room for me.” She’d sounded tired and he didn’t try to stop her going.  They both knew she was right after all…
Afghanistan had pushed him to his limits, the extremities of the weather; unmercifully hot in the day and bone chillingly cold at night was something he’d never got used too.  A week spent burrowed precariously away atop a dusty mountain, mouth dry and body aching from his cramped position sandwiched between two rocks had tested his resilience.  During mission’s like this he’d have given anything to be a foot shorter than his 6ft 4 status. His mate,  Taff was several inches shorter and had lain there in apparent comfort, munching on polo mints and regaling him with tales of drunken pub brawl’s.  There had been a few hair-raising moments when the Dickers (Taliban Spies) had stood upon the rock ledge inches from where they lay.  They’d barely drawn breath as the insurgents remained just above their heads, seemingly getting a feeling that their enemy was nearby.  Vastly outnumbered and unable to call in assistance without giving themselves away they’d no choice but to wait.  The binoculars that had almost permanently been fixed in Jackson’s hands were now resting uncomfortably under his face,  no longer able to watch the comings and goings at the palatial property below him where he believed his intended target to be…