The Exfiltrator by Garner Simmons (read after txt) 📗

“My guess?  It’s a depiction of two people…” she shrugged.  “I’d say they’re making it.”

“Making it…?” He repeated. “You mean like…?”  He left the thought unfinished.

“Exactly.  Basic procreation.  Survival of the species.”

“Not very good at it, were they?” he said, taking an awkward stab at humor.

“I don’t know,” she smiled, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.  “I’d say they figured things out.”  Turning, her body pressed against him.  Her mouth close to his.  He could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek as his resolve slipped away.  Drawing her to him, he kissed her lips, softly at first, then harder as he felt her body respond.  Lifting her, he carried her to where the protective pads covered the rock-strewn floor of the cave beside the camera.

Still clinging to him, she allowed herself to be lowered onto the nearer of the two pads.  Welcoming his tongue, she felt it slip past her lips, probing the hollow of her mouth.  Then, as if consumed by some primal urgency, they began to struggle, helping each other to shed their clothes.  She felt his hands slip beneath her top, cupping her breasts, worrying her nipples, now firm and erect.  Excited, she raised her arms above her head, helping him to remove her top while doing the same for him.  As she quickly slipped out of her thermal tights, he pulled off his boots and unbuckled his belt, removing his cargo pants.  Then taking her in his arms, he pressed her naked body against his own.  Feeling her respond, he began caressing her breasts.  As her legs fully embraced him, he found her, stifling her cry with a kiss.  Then moving together as one, they became a single being, lost in time and each other’s arms.  Caught up in the rush of emotion and mutual need, like the constant ebb and flow of some primeval ocean, they began their long journey to a distant shore.

*****

Corbett lay there, holding her still naked body in a sleeping embrace, quietly listening to the sound of her breathing as he sorted through the tumult of his own emotions.  Above them, the cave painting with its primitive renderings of life as it had once existed more than 30,000 years ago.  What, he wondered, had changed?  In all the millennia since, what had mankind actually learned?  Had we evolved or were we still doomed, like the Neanderthals before us, to repeat those same violent, murderous impulses throughout eternity?  For all Man’s knowledge and scientific advances, was the terrible truth that we remained at the mercy of our fatally flawed, violent and self-destructive DNA?

He thought of radical Islam and the ISIS sleeper cell intent on killing Tariq, not to mention himself.  He thought of all the Crusaders and Conquistadors who over the centuries had done the same in the name of Christ?  Or of the Jews and Palestinians forever at war over control of the Temple Mount.  All blinded by an obsession to defend the one true religion.

Ella stirred in his arms.  Turning, he found himself staring down at the quiet beauty of her face as he realized the answer was right there before him.  The key difference between the West and radical Islam was Islam’s lack of a cultural Renaissance, a Reformation allowing the idea of equal rights for women to finally take root.  The legacy of mitochondrial DNA.  That extranuclear double-stranded sequence passed down exclusively through the maternal side, had, once given a chance, transformed those barbaric male impulses of primitive man into modern Western civil society.  It hadn’t been perfect and was far from complete.  The insecurities of old men still raged against such progress.  But without the full recognition of women as equal partners, humankind would be condemned to repeat its dark and bloody past throughout eternity to the end of time.

Ella stirred again.  Having drawn the second furniture pad across their naked bodies for warmth, he held her close.  After the intensity of their lovemaking, he could no longer avoid his own feelings.  Undeniably, there was something about her that moved him.  But given all the demands and obligations that remained unfulfilled, there was nothing he could do at least for now.  Leaning in, he softly kissed her lips as she slowly opened her eyes.

“Hi…” she smiled, kissing him back.  “That was…”  She searched for the right word.

“Primitive…?” He offered.  She started to laugh.

“That’s certainly one way of describing it.”

“Listen…” he started but hesitated, unable to finish.

An awkward silence insinuated itself between them. Reaching out, she placed her finger to his lips as if to silence his concerns before he could utter them.  Leaning closer, she kissed him again.

“No, you listen…” she began.  “I’m not – no matter what you may think – an infatuated schoolgirl.  I’m 27.  I’m serious about my career.  And what we just did does not mean I love you… you understand?”

Caught off guard by her candor, Corbett managed an uncertain smile. They started to dress.

“It was just…” she tried again.

“Spontaneous,” he said.

“Exactly,” she agreed, beginning to dress.  He did the same.  “And given all the uncertainties of this world, it might never happen again.”

Corbett said nothing.

“Which is all right,” she added.

“You’re sure…?”

She shrugged as she found her boots and started to pull them on.

“And what if it does?”

“Then what’s meant to be is meant to be.”

Kneeling, she slipped the last of the tapas from the box and held it out to him.  “Want to split it…?”

Corbett shook his head.

Taking a bite, she savored the taste.  Corbett raised the bottle and took a swallow of wine then handed it to her.

“God, these are so good.  I could eat a horse.”

“I’ll be sure to mention it to Gorka,” he grinned.

“Stop,” she smiled, punching his arm.

Catching her by the wrist, he attempted to