options. Berényi had seen her briefly on the boat but would he place her face on this day of chaos? She made her decision and ducked back out through the crowd towards the busy bar. She adjusted her clothes, pulling down her T-shirt to reveal a little more cleavage. Grabbing two beers, she headed back to the screen control desk, evading the attentions of several inebriated men along the way.
When she returned, Berényi had his back to her and was talking to three other men, their bulk barely covered by the tight-fitting black uniforms. A couple of them glanced at her as she approached and she raised the beers in fake inebriation, giving a cheeky smile before she bent to the man at the desk. After a second, they carried on their conversation, clearly thinking she was a groupie for the band, but Morgan knew that Berényi’s eyes could fall on her any minute. She hoped that Georg was ready to initiate whatever he needed to do if she managed to get the USB key into the computer, because she was on the edge of potential trouble here.
The technician turned at her approach and said something in Hungarian. His tone indicated that she shouldn’t be there, that he was busy, but Morgan saw his eyes take in her curves with barely concealed interest. He was fat and his skin was pockmarked, clearly not the most attractive member of the band’s team. Perhaps he would take any chance of attention. She stepped in close and gave him the beer, smiling and turning with her back to Berényi, shielding the view of the mixing desk and hiding her face.
“I love the music,” she said, mouthing the words, as the band segued into something more thrash metal than folk. “You must be so clever to work with the band.”
“Oh, English,” the man said, smiling in a way that made Morgan suspect that he had enjoyed the attentions of British groupies before. He patted his lap, pulling out the chair to make room for her. She swallowed her disgust and sat on his knee, using the chance to get a look at his setup. She felt a hot hand on her thigh as he indicated the computer system with pride.
“This … most important for band,” he said. She smiled and nodded, seemingly enthusiastic as he explained the setup in Hungarian, pleased to have someone share his passion. Morgan noticed a USB port on the side farthest from her, but she would need to stretch across him to plug it in. She felt his hand move up from her thigh, towards her breast, his breath hot on her neck.
Morgan fought the desire to get up and run, instead pressing forward into his hand. As he took the chance to feel her soft curves, she retrieved the USB key from her pocket. Palming it, she turned towards him, trying to glaze her eyes in a parody of drunken lust. She could hear the band winding up their song, the chorus on its third repetition. She bent her head, her lips meeting his and as he closed his eyes, she felt behind her for the USB port.
The man’s thick tongue plundered Morgan’s mouth, all sense of his job forgotten as he groped her breast with one hand and with the other pulled her firmly onto his stiffening crotch. Just one more second, Morgan thought, her body desperate to pull away as she tried to dock the USB key. She felt the click and she leaned away from the man, smiling coquettishly. He said something in Hungarian, no doubt some version of “let’s go somewhere more private later,” his hand never leaving her breast. Everything in Morgan screamed at her to use her Krav Maga close combat skills and get out of there, but she had to stay and make sure that the video was delivered.
She smiled again, nodding as if in agreement, glancing over his shoulder at the screen. Nothing had changed and the band played on, with the video of militant propaganda still playing in the background. Had something gone wrong?
“What are you doing here?” The voice was rough and heavily accented. Morgan felt a hand on her arm pull her away from the
When she returned, Berényi had his back to her and was talking to three other men, their bulk barely covered by the tight-fitting black uniforms. A couple of them glanced at her as she approached and she raised the beers in fake inebriation, giving a cheeky smile before she bent to the man at the desk. After a second, they carried on their conversation, clearly thinking she was a groupie for the band, but Morgan knew that Berényi’s eyes could fall on her any minute. She hoped that Georg was ready to initiate whatever he needed to do if she managed to get the USB key into the computer, because she was on the edge of potential trouble here.
The technician turned at her approach and said something in Hungarian. His tone indicated that she shouldn’t be there, that he was busy, but Morgan saw his eyes take in her curves with barely concealed interest. He was fat and his skin was pockmarked, clearly not the most attractive member of the band’s team. Perhaps he would take any chance of attention. She stepped in close and gave him the beer, smiling and turning with her back to Berényi, shielding the view of the mixing desk and hiding her face.
“I love the music,” she said, mouthing the words, as the band segued into something more thrash metal than folk. “You must be so clever to work with the band.”
“Oh, English,” the man said, smiling in a way that made Morgan suspect that he had enjoyed the attentions of British groupies before. He patted his lap, pulling out the chair to make room for her. She swallowed her disgust and sat on his knee, using the chance to get a look at his setup. She felt a hot hand on her thigh as he indicated the computer system with pride.
“This … most important for band,” he said. She smiled and nodded, seemingly enthusiastic as he explained the setup in Hungarian, pleased to have someone share his passion. Morgan noticed a USB port on the side farthest from her, but she would need to stretch across him to plug it in. She felt his hand move up from her thigh, towards her breast, his breath hot on her neck.
Morgan fought the desire to get up and run, instead pressing forward into his hand. As he took the chance to feel her soft curves, she retrieved the USB key from her pocket. Palming it, she turned towards him, trying to glaze her eyes in a parody of drunken lust. She could hear the band winding up their song, the chorus on its third repetition. She bent her head, her lips meeting his and as he closed his eyes, she felt behind her for the USB port.
The man’s thick tongue plundered Morgan’s mouth, all sense of his job forgotten as he groped her breast with one hand and with the other pulled her firmly onto his stiffening crotch. Just one more second, Morgan thought, her body desperate to pull away as she tried to dock the USB key. She felt the click and she leaned away from the man, smiling coquettishly. He said something in Hungarian, no doubt some version of “let’s go somewhere more private later,” his hand never leaving her breast. Everything in Morgan screamed at her to use her Krav Maga close combat skills and get out of there, but she had to stay and make sure that the video was delivered.
She smiled again, nodding as if in agreement, glancing over his shoulder at the screen. Nothing had changed and the band played on, with the video of militant propaganda still playing in the background. Had something gone wrong?
“What are you doing here?” The voice was rough and heavily accented. Morgan felt a hand on her arm pull her away from the
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