INCENSE Ribbons of incense filled the young lieutenant's nostrils as he entered the brothel to check for terrorists. A silver stream of water trickled into a stone pool. Far off, he heard the lazy music of chimes catch the evening breeze. How his muscles ached, how much he longed for a rest. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. The enemy was everywhere; this he could not afford to forget. The patter of footsteps along the corridor. His throat tightened and he placed his hand over his holster. Where was his backup? The nightmare reports whipped through his head. The rebels have been out of control — just last week an officer was killed and disemboweled by a Saragossan terrorist disguised as an elderly priest. The entire 5th Cavalry Legion (the Knights of Saragossa) was gripped with paranoia. The enemy was invisible, watching, mocking, lurking in the eyes of the grocer, of the children playing on the street. “Candy Sumi at your service.” The bead curtain swished and parted and an exotic blossom of a creature emerged with a tray in her hands. Her face was as smooth and pale as Eastern silk, her lips as red as crushed roses. Her eyes shone round with surprise when she saw the lieutenant’s gun. “Oh, please, sir. I don’t mean any harm,” she gasped, and shrank against the bamboo wall. The contents of the tray spilled and clattered on the floor. His gaze softened. What a beauty she was, a butterfly, so delicate and fragile. Not like those brawny army girls who always had something to prove. How much he missed the soft touch of a woman not trained to kill. “Sorry, miss. It’s a routine check.” She bent down to clean up the morsels of food and massage oils that lay strewn on the ground. Her hair was disheveled, and she sniffled back tears. “Madam will beat me if she finds out I’ve been so clumsy.” She flayed about like a wounded bird. He looked behind him— still no backup. He put his gun back in its holster and kneeled next to her. He was close enough to smell her perfume, and to hear the thin hollow sweetness of her frightened breathing. The voice of caution faded into an echo. A tear slid down her cheek. Irresistible, he thought. A dumpling, a mouthful. She smiled up at him shyly, and offered him a piece of cake. “Would you like some? It’s Saragossan delight.” He swam in the pools of her sad eyes. The cake was delicious and he licked the powdered sapa sugar from his fingers. She put her hand to her cheek and giggled. “It’s nice to see you smile,” he said, his mouth full. A gust of wind scattered the chimes into a shiver of sound. The ugly world outside the room melted away. The horror of battle, the wailing of orphaned children and the vermin terrorists submerged and disappeared into the innocence of her tender lips. He ran his finger along her collarbone to the edge of her robe. ”Any more of that cake?” Suddenly, a pain shredded through his insides like a thousand knives as his stomach and intestines ruptured. The room and her face swirled away in a whirlpool of agony. Candy wiped the crumbs of poison from her arm. She wrinkled her pert little nose at the body in front of her. ”Republican scum,” she yawned.