Harlan K. Ullman was tall and vigorously masculine. He stood before Pamela Martin's hottest "Associate," radiating shock and awe. She tried to stand, but her knees went limp.

"Oh, Harlan. You make me horny. You make me so horny I can't even stand it." Raven licked her lips, and ran a hand down her leg.

"Yes, and I have some live smallmouth bass from the Potomac River to excite your appetite. Look... I just caught them," he said, laying them on her nightstand. Raven looked at the nightstand. One of the bass suddenly jumped up and smacked her squarely on the mouth. She screamed and cried out, "Oh, you naughty, naughty fish!" Ullman leapt into action subduing the bass with his big hands. Then the other fish jumped, landing on the bedroom rug. Raven, felt bold enough to grab the second fish, which began to flutter about crazily. Raven struggled to hold onto it until Ullman came to her rescue again.

At that frantic moment, caution was impossible to practice. Ullman harshly covered Raven's hands with his and together they pushed down on the flapping fish. Sweaty skin upon fishy flesh: how it thrilled them, and calmed the struggling bass. The two felt weak. The fish slid from their grasp, slipping back to the floor. Raven looked up into Harlan's eyes and smiled.

"What a naughty, naughty boy you are!" she scolded, laying back on the bed.

That's when he heard the voices and felt the steady pulse of Kiowa Warrior helicopter blades chopping through his head. He laid his face down in the hot desert sand and felt himself go numb. Then soon even the sand was gone.