TOMB HUNTER The Adventures of Larra Court Episode 2 Larra’s Mayan Adventure By L’Espion [email protected] Chapter 2 An Evening in Berlin Schroeder arrived promptly at seven o’clock. He escorted them to the same large black Mercedes limousine that had picked them up from the train station. “I have a favorite little nightspot of mine that I think you will find enchanting,” said Schroeder once they were in the car. “It is a little Bohemian, but I think you will find it quite delightful.” The ride to the nightclub was uneventful. Larra was surprised to discover that it was called Klub New York. “Not very Bohemian sounding,” Larra thought. The inside of the club was poorly lit and heavy with the stench of tobacco smoke. In the background someone was tinkling rather tunelessly on a piano, while a saxophone wailed accompaniment. “Not exactly my type of place,” Larra mused. Schroeder handed the maitre de, if that is what the ratty individual who sidled up to them could be called, a large bill. The weasely little individual showed them to a table near the stage. The light was better there, but the air was just as stuffy. Schroeder pulled out a chair for Larra. Two other SS officers had accompanied them into the club. One of them did the same for Amy, and then everyone sat down. A rather scruffy waiter appeared and Schroeder ordered Champagne. “Something special for the occasion of your joining the forces of the Reich, Fraeulein Court,” he beamed. Larra smiled. She and Amy had deliberately dressed rather conservatively for the night out. Both women were wearing high cut dresses that left their arms bare. Nonetheless, all of the men present found them unbelievably attractive. The waiter returned with the Champagne and waited for their orders. Schroeder took it upon himself to order for all of them. “You really can’t trust the menu here,” he explained. Eventually the waiter arrived with a cartload of German delicacies, from schnitzel to sauerbraten. It was all good wholesome German fare that seemed to go down well with the Champagne. Larra wondered a little at Schroeder’s choice of beverages, but he soon made it clear. “To France,” he toasted, “soon to be our new province.” Larra drank sparingly. She was not used to alcohol, and wanted to keep her wits about her in any case in order to glean as much information from Schroeder as possible. A few minutes after the Champagne arrived the stage show began. It was a series of burlesque acts, performing a number of amazingly satirical skits. Larra and Amy missed much of the humor as it focused on mocking members of the Nazi hierarchy, but Schroeder and his cohorts found it hilarious. Larra herself laughed at a number of the caricatures displayed, especially those making fun of the Fuhrer himself. Apparently Nazi censorship had not as yet descended on every level of German society. The conversation at the table, such as it was, turned around nothing. Larra found that she was not gleaning even a minute bit of information. Not only that, she found that she was getting rather drowsy. “I better go to the ladies’ room,” she thought, hazily and she tried to get up. “Funny,” she thought, dreamily, “my legs don’t seem to be working.” The room began to swirl about her, and she was dimly aware that Schroeder was helping her from the table. “Come, Larra,” he said, suddenly dropping his formal method of addressing her. Larra stumbled through the club. She had no idea where Schroeder was taking her, but she no longer seemed to care. Vaguely she was aware that she was in a back room in the club. The light in the room was quite dim and with the door closed it was much quieter. Schroeder was half walking, half carrying her over to a bed away from the door. “Lie here my Valkyrie,” Schroeder whispered, his mouth very close to her ear. Larra felt herself being lowered to the bed. She felt completely enervated. She closed her eyes. Maybe a little sleep would help. Slap! Larra felt her head snap to the side. “Oh no, my beauty,” Schroeder commanded, “I want you awake.” Slap! Schroeder’s hand snapped her head back the other way. The two bruising blows snapped Larra back to consciousness, but she still felt no sense of alarm. She was still in a trance-like state. She was awake, but without any feeling of apprehension. What Schroeder was doing seemed perfectly normal and acceptable. Schroeder’s fingers were now at the nape of Larra’s neck. She felt him lift her slightly with his other arm and heard a zipping sound as he slowly pulled the zipper at the back of her dress down to her waist. “Mmmmm,” Larra moaned. Schroeder had pulled the front of her gown down to her hips, exposing the most beautiful torso he had ever seen. “Gott in Himmel!!” exclaimed the heavy-set German. Never before had he set eyes on such perfection. Larra’s beautiful rose-tipped breasts quivered only slightly as he exposed her bosom. Holding his breath, Schroeder reached down and placed his hands on either side of her cantaloupe sized breasts. Gently, he squeezed them together, watching in excited fascination as the nipples began to swell under the pressure. Her breasts were pillow-soft yet as firm as those of a fourteen-year-old. They held their shape, settling only slightly to either side under the pressure of gravity. “Aaahhh!” Larra sighed, as Schroeder began to massage her gorgeous bosom. She arched her back slightly, pushing her pelvis against Schroeder’s leg, which was now between hers, as he straddled her body. “Oh,” exclaimed Schroeder, “this is going to be fantastic.” He leaned forward to take her left nipple between his teeth. Crash!! Schroeder jumped as the door burst open. “What the hell?” he shouted. Suddenly the room was crowded with club personnel. Behind them was Amy Price. She was shouting in English and German: “Quickly, quickly, schnell, schnell! Fraeulein Court is very ill. We need to get her to a hospital as soon as possible.” Schroeder found himself pushed aside as a dozen people crowded around the bed. The men in the crowd halted, momentarily stunned by the semi-nude beauty on the bed, but Amy pulled up Larra’s dress and lifted her under the arms. “Help me!” she commanded. Immediately several willing hands lifted the semi-conscious woman from the bed and carried her out into the club. The infuriated and astounded Schroeder could only look on impotently. Within a minute Larra was carried out into the street and dumped into a taxi. Larra closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Amy slapped her awake. “Not yet Larra. Here drink this.” Amy forced a decanter of coffee to Larra’s lips. “Ah!” The coffee was almost scalding hot. Larra jerked her head back, but Amy was insistent. She continued to pour the hot fluid into the dazed woman, spilling as much down her chest as she got into her mouth. But it seemed to work. Larra snapped out of her dreamlike state. “What happened?’ she moaned. Now that she was waking up her head hurt like hell. “You were drugged,” Amy replied. “Schroeder or one of his friends put something in your Champagne. I got you out just in time. You were about to become Schroeder’s bedmate.” Larra flushed, her skin turning the deepest shade of crimson. “I remember some of that now,” she said. “How were you able to get me out of there?” “I managed to distract Schroeder’s flunkies by pretending to be sick. No man wants to be near a woman who is about to vomit. Then I told the club staff that the world famous archaeologist Larra Court was suffering from food poisoning. They were most anxious to get you out of there. It turns out that some of them had even heard of you." “Thanks,” Larra grimaced, “I deserve that. It was stupid of me to get us into such a dangerous situation. My God, how my head hurts!” “We’ll have to see if we can get you some ice back at the hotel,” replied Amy. “How did you manage to avoid being drugged?” asked Larra, as Amy gently massaged the back of her neck. “I don’t drink. I had a very strict upbringing. Alcohol was the Devil’s work. While our escorts were watching the show I dumped my drink into the potted palm next to the table. I did it because I didn’t want to insult our hosts. Turns out to have been a pretty good move.” Larra smiled at the radiant redhead. “Amy you are a gem,” she said. Amy smiled back. In the company of anyone else but Larra Court, Amy Price would have attracted immediate attention. She was almost as tall as Larra, standing about five feet, nine inches, but was of a more slender build. Whereas Larra weighed in at 135 pounds, Amy was barely 125. Amy’s luxuriant red hair was slightly beyond shoulder length. She usually wore it long, but for the occasion of tonight’s outing had piled it high on her head. In keeping with her fair complexion her skin was sprinkled with freckles, especially on her tanned face and arms as befitted her South African heritage. A pert straight nose and the most intriguing emerald green eyes set off her lovely face. A wide full mouth and a strong chin rounded out a picture that was capable of arousing a powerful sense of desire in any man. The taxi had arrived at the hotel. Amy got out, but Larra stayed in the car. “I don’t think we will stick around any longer than we have to,” she said. “You go upstairs and get Sara and James. Don’t worry about our things; there is nothing there that cannot be replaced. We are leaving Germany tonight.” Amy hurried up the front steps of the hotel. A few minutes later she emerged with Sara, who was carrying the sleeping James. Larra turned to the driver: “How would you like to make a thousand marks tonight?” she asked. A few seconds later the cab sped off, heading for the outskirts of Berlin.