Betrayal Protocol
Part 1
Under Cover
Tara Jones was the pride and joy of her seemingly ordinary parents. They lived in a beige house with beige art and had spent their careers as rather beige civil servants.
A string of good public schools had strategically set Tara’s path in life.
She had excelled as a student and attended Cambridge University, rather more to please others than for any personal ambition. But Tara had become a modern woman with an independent and assertive mind determined to set her own path in life. It remained inevitable that she would be head hunted by the secret services due to her pedigree and a tip off from one of her tutors that she could be useful for the security of Great Britain.
(2)
Even as a young teenager Tara had known the ins and outs of MI5 and MI6, whilst never really knowing her parents’ true involvement as spies.
Secrecy had been drummed into her as a toddler. ‘We do not speak of our work roles outside the home,’ father had regularly stipulated.
But Tara had been in her cosy desk job for far too long and was itching to get out into the field.
It was imminent. There had been a nod from her superiors at Scotland Yard that there was something coming up.
Tara woke with a spring in her step. She had been made aware that someone from Thames House was arriving and her interview had been booked in for this morning.
‘Oh Taz, don’t go yet, suck my dick babe!’
James was good looking, that was undeniable. But he worked in the city as a lawyer and did too much coke on Fridays when he and his lawyer mates would pleasure themselves over gin, feasting in self satisfaction and case law.
(3)
Tara’s friends referred to him as TAT, a rather derogatory acronyms for ‘the arrogant twat.’
‘Not today James.’ Tara winked and touched her pussy, meowing with a grin.
Today I have a very important interview with somebody from Thames House as I am about to be elevated to a very important person!’
James considered a wank but thought better of it. He was punching above his weight with Tara and she was, in his mind, ‘the one’. He was already twenty-eight and his mother had started those awful hints that mothers without grandchildren give.
‘I’ll make breakfast,’ he shouted as he watched Tara in the shower trying to get his designer boxers over the biggest member in West London.
Other books by the author Sarnia de la Mare
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