Started this story many years ago and just re-discovered it in an archive.
Asking if you the readers have any idea for Wendy’s perils, either erotic,
exotic or otherwise, that you’d like to see. I’ve used he very delectable
Leslie Parrish as the basis for Wendy. Don’t be afraid to make suggestions.
Thanks, look forward to hearing from you. Cheers, Steve
The hot humid air of Yangon Airport hit her half way down the steps, she smiled, it’s just like home she
told herself.
‘Feels just like Bessemer Alabama,’ Wendy thought as she reached the ground, then started walking
across the tarmac toward the arrivals gate. She elegantly removed her sunglasses upon entering the
building a smiling man only too happy to open the door for her, she gave him a playful smile in
acknowledgement.
She patiently waited in the queue for her turn with customs, most of her fellow passengers already
showing visible signs of the heat, some resorting to fanning themselves with their passports while
shifting impatiently in the line.
‘Welcome to Rangoon,’ a man said while his hand received her passport. ‘Who are you here to see?’
‘I’m working for The Rand Corporation,’ Wendy answered in her soft southern voice which caused the
man to look up and into her deep blue eyes. ‘Here are my additional papers,’ she added with a smile.
‘Of course, all seems to be in order, 'he said, giving her papers only a very cursory look before stamping
them.
‘Thank you so much,’ she added, then turned and walked toward the barrier separating the passengers
from the assembled crowd, a mixture of cabbies hustling and jostling amongst themselves for fares to
people waving to attract the attention of arrivals to those more prepared who held up makeshift signs
with names on them. She spotted her name and moved to it.
‘Welcome to Rangoon Miss Hammond, it isn’t hell, but you can see it from here,’ said a middle aged
man wearing a loose and already perspiration stained white shirt and a pair of baggy brown cotton pants
that looked like they hadn’t seen a laundry in weeks.
‘At least he removed his Yankee’s cap upon greeting me,’ said thought. ‘But I declare a Yankees cap!’
Wendy mused.
‘Your luggage will be this way, hopefully nothing is missing, around this place, if it isn’t nailed down
or locked up your chances of seeing it again are slim.
The welcoming committee had seen better days, clearly the weather and too much food, lack of exercise
had zapped whatever youth had remained right out of him. A rounded mid-section, sagging and in
constant need of mopping up face, did not make the best of impressions. He moved slowly as if the
air itself conspired against his motion.
‘My word you are a ray of sunshine,’ Wendy said as they walked along.
‘It ain’t the sunshine you got to worry about here, it’s the heat and the humidity. Sorry, by the way,
Larry Baldon, Rangoon Divisional Head, Policy Analysis, effectively your boss, but pay no attention to
that, out here things have a looser structure than at home. I’m still trying to figure out who I cheesed
off back in the world to be sent out here. How about you, I heard some ridiculous nonsense that you
actually volunteered for this, I put that down in interference on the phone line when I heard it.’
‘You heard correctly Mr. Baldon, I did indeed volunteer for this assignment,’ Wendy answered.
He gave her a curious look. ‘Well you sound sane enough and you do come highly recommended.
What are you girl, 24?’
‘Just turned 22 sir.’
He looked her up and down and smiled. You’re going to be very popular, not only with ex-colonials,
visiting military and the locals,’ he chuckled and said nothing more, he didn’t need to.
‘Those two bags there are mine Mr. Baldon, if you wouldn’t mind.’ He picked them up, with great effort,
although he tried not to make it look so and then motioned toward the door.
‘This is my favourite part, the car’s air conditioned, he said, swinging a suitcase forward to indicate the
Mercedes. Well that and the office, your place has ceiling fans, for all the good they do,’ he said slamming
the trunk lid down then lumbering around to open the door for her.
‘Thank you sir,’ she said, sliding gracefully into the passenger seat.
‘When you drive here remember, there are no or very few rules, except be aggressive,’ he said as the
car roared away from the curb and dodged across several lanes of traffic.
‘I will keep that in mind sir,’ Wendy said calmly.
‘I thought we’d start at the office, 176 Portman Road, show you around, meet the others and then I can
take you to the hotel we use, it’s just around the corner from the office and right next to the Government
Centre, everything centrally located, at least that’s one blessing,’ Larry Baldon said and he dodged an
Auto Rickshaw, then several scooters, a motorcycle and finally a Cycle Rickshaw all within 5 seconds
of each other. ‘Missed my calling I think, should have been a race car driver,’ he added as the car pulled
into a lane and up to a security gate. Larry flashed his ID badge and the heavy steel gate rolled back and
the car advanced to the back of the building. ‘Reminder of the fact that this is not a welcoming place,’
Larry said, referencing the gate. We’ll fix you up with your pass and all the other necessary paperwork
once introductions are done.’
The building looked like it was an old warehouse, one story, in an English Indian design. The very
few windows she spotted on the front and on the drive to the back were covered in steel close cropped
lattice to keep people and objects out, she assumed by objects, grenades.
There was only one way into the building, a steel door with a 5 digit metal button keypad. Larry shielded
himself from Wendy and entered a code, they stepped out of the sun and into an air conditioned supply
room, Larry spread his arms and took a deep breath. On the opposite wall at the far end to the left was
another door, they moved toward it where Larry repeated the process.
‘Again a reminder of local issues, doors offset from another so an explosion has to travel down to be
effective, by that time it will dissipate. Also doors are made to be blast resistant and the walls are double
thick concrete with a steel plate in the middle, thank you Uncle Sam.’
He repeated the procedure of a passcode to this door and they entered into a long hallway with file boxes
piled outside entrances into cubicles where people sat slumped over work. The whole place was a rather
depressing shade of light gray, walls, carpets, cubicle dividers, even the ceiling was off white, stains marked
in various areas.
‘What we lack in neatness we make up for in answers, watch your step,’ Larry said as he made his way
up the aisle informing everyone in a loud voice to come to the lunchroom for an announcement. About
half way up they stopped and Larry motioned for Wendy to stay while he meandered down several
branched off aisles telling everyone to gather. Wendy watched him punch in a code at a door at the far
end and enter. He exited a few minutes later with several people. He came past her and picked up the
lead again as they went in the opposite direction, through a swinging door and into a room, maybe 15x20
that acted as the cafeteria.
‘One soda machine, a fridge and sink, a garbage can and a hot plate, tables and chairs of various sizes
and colours. Well at least the decor matches the office,’ she thought to herself as Larry escorted her
toward the sink to face the assembled masses.
‘Everyone, our new saviour, Miss Wendy Lawson,’ Larry said in a jovial voice Wendy didn’t think he
had processed. ‘Seriously, she comes highly recommended from DC so give her lots of work,’ he said
and laughed and the others followed suit. ‘Make her feel welcome.’
Everyone came up and introduced themselves, it was a small group, 15 people in all, you didn’t need more
than that if you had the right kind of people and these were that. Wendy had just finished shaking hands
with what she thought was the final member when Larry spoke.
‘This finally is the brains of the entire outfit, our Office Manager and everyone’s right hand, Eunice Gray.
I’ll leave you to her, she’ll get all the paperwork done and show you to your desk and about the place, such
that it is and I’ll have your luggage sent to your hotel room,’ Larry Baldon said and departed.
‘I’m sure you got the welcome to hell greeting like everyone else got, myself included. Don’t take that
seriously, this is an exhilarating place if you know where to look,’ Eunice said as she hooked her arm into
Wendy’s and began the tour.
Wendy got all her employee credentials, her passcode, was shown how to enter using the front door, again
a very heavy and she assumed, blast resistant one, that had the same concept as the back door, an offset
door with a second code entry system. Eunice promised to show her where to shop for everyday things
she would require warning her to be prepared to haggle over price, it was expected. Wendy noticed that
the tour took longer than it should have, Eunice seemingly in no hurry to let her go. Several times during
the tour Eunice had tripped on the corner of file boxes and stumbled into Wendy catching her for support,
always with the same excuse that she thought she had all the locations memorized.
The rest of the morning was spent getting access to the building, paperwork for pay and organising her desk,
Wendy even managed to get work done, a feat that impressed certain people. She left with other staff,
mostly to ensure she could get out of the building and walked back to her hotel, just a block and a half
around the corner.
The hotel, The Presidential, had seen better days and those days were a long time in the past. The influx
of American money, had for certain, brought it up in the world, but that rise had only gone so far. It
reminded Wendy of inner city hotels that time and neighbourhood had passed by, but that was still grimly
hanging on to past glory. The carpet was just a little frayed in places and needed to be cleaned more than
it was currently, ceiling fans whirred and wobbled, dispersing more dust than air. A mixture of civilian and
military types sat around café type chairs and other mismatched chairs they could pull about drinking and
talking. A few stopped talking when they caught sight of her, then a few more and then more was a wave
of silence spread across the lobby floor. It was rare to see a western woman in Rangoon, other than a
nurse and they were always in the same drab green uniform that created a kind of generic sameness for
everyone. Rarely did they see a smartly dressed woman in a skirt and heels. Wendy reflected on the
deafening silence, but let on no acknowledgement of such as she checked in and without looking made her
way to the old iron gated elevator that still required a person to operate. Her room was on the third, she
could just make out the chatter picking up again as the elevator started, she was in no doubt about the topic
of conversation.
Her room was at the end of the corridor, she counted seven other rooms, the carpet even wore more on this
floor than below. She didn’t mind the close humid air it reminded her of home, however she did not find
the cool air that greeted her as she opened the door to her new home. Several ceiling fans, new ones she
could see, worked overhead, silently and efficiently they moved the air about with the help of portable
fans placed about the room. This was her main living space. Wendy was surprised at how generous the
room size, about 20x20, room enough for a formal setting of seating, a desk for work and incidental pieces
of furniture, it looked old but remarkably clean.
To the right at the far end of the room a hallway led to a small galley kitchen, functional enough to eat in
and sit two at a small table, it had a fridge and a gas four burner cooking top. Directly opposite the hall
and across the main room another hall led to the bathroom, classic old English 20’s colonial style, with a
clawfoot tub, rigged with a shower extension to make it more modern and functional. Wendy tried the taps
and supposed she could get wet if she ran around in it, the pressure was not the best, the sink and toilet had
mercifully been cleaned and worked fine. A turn and two steps she found her in the bedroom. A four poster
carved wooden bed with mosquito netting dominated the room, again a left over from colonial times, a
matching twelve drawer dresser at the foot of the bed competed for space. There was a bedside table and a
wardrobe for hanging things up. It all looked clean and tidy, but just to be sure Wendy checked the mattress,
she smiled it was new. Her luggage, as promised, was on the bed waiting to be unpacked.
She unpacked, precisely placing things so that everything was just so, the way she liked it. She slid the
empty suitcases under the bed and stepped over to the wardrobe.
‘Now for the real unpacking,’ she thought as she bent her left leg back, slid back the point of her heel and
removed a key. She fitted it into the wardrobe lock and opened the double doors. Inside were three more
suitcases just as had been arranged.
‘After all expecting a girl to survive on just two suitcases of clothes is not manageable, especially when that
girl is a K.I.S.S. [ (K)ombined (I)nternational (S)ecurity (S)ection ] agent.
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