"What was the object that this ***** guy found? And what is the 'missing link'?"

"That's the problem, no one knows what the object was. The ... old African guy who actually found it ... was found with his throat cut ... the night ***** disappeared.

... the inscriptions on the artefact tell a story. Part of it is the secret of eternal life. The ancients had discovered how to stop the ageing process altogether."

"So what happened to them, then?" ***** enquired.

***** curled his body up around *****'s and felt his erection stab her buttocks. With one smooth motion he slid his hand over her voluptuous, rounded hip and down toward her crotch which was still slightly damp. Further south he found a very wet, very slippery, brushy landscape. As his fingers parted the shrubs, his leading finger touched his throbbing tanker waiting to dock. He gently guided it into her welcoming harbour and she sighed a deep moan in confirmation of another successful docking.

What fascinated them most was her unblemished black skin, ... In a word ***** was beautiful. She was not just a pretty face or a nice neck or a sweet smile, she emanated beauty. She was more, much more than physical beauty. Her beauty transcended time and cultures. ***** was beauty incarnate...

"This ***** woman you describe so vividly as the 'epitome of the deranged European psyche' can't be a betrayer of her nation, that's why I presumed you would not go there."

***** ***** said her great grandfather, ***** *****, named her. He named her in honour of the great African Ancestors who made Haiti a shining symbol of our struggle for liberation. ...

"She says: 'Treachery cannot survive in Ahumka Krom. Treachery thrives on secrecy, it feeds on lies. Secrecy and lies have no future where openness and truth lives.

The moment ***** released the ***** into her hand, ***** became stiff, frozen. Everything stopped, even her breathing. ...

"I had the consciousness of a tree," ***** answered, "over eight thousand years old, standing more than six hundred meters high."

"There is power in this *****, Brother *****, great power." ***** sat staring at it in the palms of his hands. He closed his eyes. "I don't know what it is. I can feel a condensed, concentrated, powerful intensity. It feels like something really, really heavy and huge, bigger than a whole city block, ... but, at the same time, it's actually just a few ounces and only this size. Your friend thinks its cold, but it feels hot and soothing to you. It feels huge and heavy to me - and sunny - much, much sunshine." ...

"What do you make of it, Brother *****?"

"I don't know, Brother *****. I really don't know."

"Why? Are you against mixed relationships?"

"It depends on the mixture," ***** laughed. "Seriously, no. Not at all. I'm against Africans who betray our nation."

"So you are against mixed relationships, then," ***** surmised.

"No, my Brother. You don't betray the nation just by having a mixed relationship. For me there is no reason why an African person should not be in a relationship with a European person who betrays their own nation - and again, they don't betray their nation just by being with an African."

"But, Brother *****, if we agree that there is a war going on between Africans and Europeans, isn't it a betrayal to be sleeping with the enemy?"

"Yes, it is. Sleeping with the enemy is betrayal. But not every African person who is sleeping with a European is sleeping with the enemy."

"What? I don't get you."

The single kiss refused to end, as they groped at each other urgently, pulling, unzipping, unbuttoning, tugging, tearing, not caring, undressing, reaching for stiffness, squeezing, fingering for furrow, seeking, finding slipperiness, groaning, moaning, sighing, lying on back, getting on track, opening legs, thrusting inside, ...

Everything and everyone around ***** seemed to go into frame by frame slow motion action. ...... ***** heard the thwack of a silenced gunshot, horrendously loud in his head. *****'s reflex pressure had pulled the trigger. ***** bounced to his feet and watched the bullet slowly dive into his carpet. He felt incredibly strong and bouncy.

***** picked up *****'s gun from the floor, removed the bullets, shoved the barrel inside her well trimmed crevice and closed her legs. The left side of her face was beginning to swell but she didn't seem to be otherwise injured.

Suddenly, she stood up with her legs apart, facing him. He put his hand up between her legs and felt a thick, soggy patch of hair and soft, slippery skin - no knickers. He stuck one of his fingers inside and it just floated around in the slush. He tried one more, there was still too much space. With three fingers inside her, he felt more secure and she started to moan and wind.

He thought: 'This ***** smells really fresh, like fresh meat. Not fishy, like the stale sprat *****s I used to have, more like freshly killed pork. Mmnn. And the taste, it's kind of sweetish but almost salty. Mmnn, goodness.' As he sucked the slippery, oozing smoothness, he thought: 'Boy, this pussy juice aint so bad, you know. You never know what you missing until you try it'.

"How you figure that? I belong to you, but you don't belong to me?" He was still smiling, his hands on her waist and her rear cheek.

"I didn't drink your blood, so I can't be addicted to you."

"I didn't drink your blood either."

"Look at your hand, *****."

He looked at his hands. ... He looked at his crotch, the front of his ***** uniform, even in the dim light he could see, there was blood everywhere.

***** told him once: "You are the Mountain, the River and the Ocean. In relationships, you are all three elements, but you can only act as one of them at any given time.

"As the Mountain, you inspire the River, you stand firm, you do not run after the River, nor do you try to prevent it from running away. Rather, you give momentum to it because you recognise that you have your purpose, the River has its purpose and it must go from you in order to fulfil itself.

"As the River you recognise that you cannot stay with the Mountain. If you want to fulfil yourself, as every River must, if you will be true to yourself, you must go to the Ocean.

"As the Ocean, you must accept openly, without prejudice or reservation, every River who comes to you in truth, honestly, openly, with sincerity. That is the only way you can become one with the River, to be there and welcoming when he or she comes."

He wondered how much he really knew about this physically battered, mentally injured, sexually abused and spiritually scarred person with a secret lying next to him. And why he loved her as much as he did.

But seeing ***** in the flesh, actually dislocated his brain and short circuited his equilibrium. He was so happy to see her when he opened the door, even as terribly haggard as she looked, like the fetid remains of a poisoned carcass, that it was a superhuman effort not to grab her and squeeze her body into his.

But, equally, seeing her in the flesh, generated such a powerful surge of anger and frustration, it was again a superhuman effort, not to grab her round the neck and squeeze the life out of her body.