Scotch by night

Babooshka

It was a perfect operation. The target was a single male in his mid 30-ies working on both civil and military aircraft projects in Brazil. They had been able to monitor his actions on a dating website; for this he used his private iPad rather than the company PC, and hence he was free to do what he liked. At the security debriefs that the company conducted every 3 months he said nothing about his online dating.
She called herself Ana and passed herself off as a Brazilian national with a somewhat opaque past in Mexico where she had been raised bilingual, and now, trilingual. In fact she was quadrilingual, since her mother tongue was Russian. She had recently moved into an apartment in the neighbouring complex from where the target was staying. João. When she said his name a certain Russian hardness in the fricative was detectable. Or maybe it was the Spanish that did it?

Sitting in on his dating sessions, Ana had learnt a lot about him. Being there in the 3rd person was safe, she could learn and observe without risk of compromising herself later. She found she rather liked him. The dating was in English, of which he had a great command, and he would make jokes that were lost on the girl he was “dating”. This girl was also employed by the Firm. They had been chatting for a few weeks. Small talk was interspersed with online masturbation. Ana had seen him orgasm more than once. The camera was on his face – he seemed to realise that to a woman, the excitement is tied to the personal, not the genital. I haven’t seen his dick, she mused to herself.

The dating site decoy was showing her shaved pussy to help João get off – it worked a treat, seemingly. To her surprise and slight annoyance, Ana got a bit excited and even jealous during these stints. Later on she would dial up her husband who was stationed in Norway on the encrypted channel. The time zones were about 5 hours apart, so when she was about to go to bed he had just gotten back from his office. Small talk, sometimes a bit of sex over the internet, mainly for him. It was good to hear his dark, melodious voice. Oleg’s features were strong, slavic. Hers were less pronounced, which made her a candidate for undercover work. His face screamed his ethnic background out loud, so he worked in the open, in the oil industry. He was always being monitored, but these conversations took place on an encrypted line. It was secure.

They had met in training, of course, and in the least romantic way possible. As part of her training she had to have sex with strangers, since this was what she would be doing on her job. To get close to the target she would sleep with him, and it would be no good having to figure out how to behave during the first encounter with the first target.

He was as nervous as she was – and the reason was that he was madly in love with her. They were not total strangers – they had attended the same courses for a few months, and now they were thrust into a room to have sex, and with them were two trainers – a man and a woman. How he wished they had been alone!

They got through it. He came inside her. She pretended to enjoy it. They got a pass mark. He was soaked in sweat and his soul was in turmoil. He felt he had soiled her by coming inside her; at the same time she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen – her slender hips and small firm breasts, dark hair and full mouth, the curve of her nose.

She agreed to marry him. She needed to marry, spies could only marry spies, and he was kind and gentle and adored her.

It was time to make a move. She knew João by now, and she knew he liked slavic women. He would fall for her – something about her would remind him of something, he couldn’t quite pinpoint it… some dark place he could not acknowledge, a place on his iPad, hidden from everyone’s view.

She tried the pool first. The pool was shared between the two condos. He rarely ventured there, but one evening, a quite chilly one with few people outside, he was suddenly there, and her minders sent her a message on the cryptochannel. She sauntered along the poolside and stopped next to him. He was reading a book. Dostojevsky.

Do you mind if I sit down? Of course not.

Sorry to intrude on you, she said in her near-perfect Portuguese-Brazilian. It’s such a chilly evening and … it’s fine, he interrupted. After some small talk about Russian novelists he made off rather abruptly. Failure.

A week later she made her second, successful move. As he returned from work in his car he passed in front of her condo where she had had a sudden flat tyre. Classic damsel in distress; she flagged him down and hoped he could help her? They rummaged in the boot of her convertible Fiat and found a tyre-inflation kit which he clumsily employed. She could have done better herself. At their first meeting she had been tense and they had faced each other all the time – except when he returned to his book. Now he was busy – and sweating – and so she could take a step back and observe, and adjust her behaviour. She liked his short curly hair, she found, and the round Lennon-style glasses, as if he were some kind of intellectual.. Maybe he was – he was certainly no mechanic. His shoulders were slim, as were his hips. Dark socks and smart shoes for work. Quite hairy forearms. Presently he got up.

You can drive now, but you must get the tyre changed. This repair won’t last.

OK – how can I thank you enough! she gushed. It was cheap stuff, but it worked. Come to my place in about an hour and I will get us some light food – OK? Oh, don’t tell me, you’re living with someone, sorry! No no, he muttered. He looked from side to side for a minute. Then he fixed his brown eyes on her, as if he had brushed any iPad-ideas aside. The look was intense and she was startled. I’ll be there. Number?

A217, second floor. He got into his own car and she watched it being swallowed by the gaping mouth of the subterranean car park.

19:01 and her doorbell rang. He had changed into a less formal shirt and pants, docksides, no socks. He kept his shoes on.

Ana had prepared canapées and now she opened a sparkling wine. From his dating she knew his tastes, and made sure she offered something which was similar, but not identical. He complimented her on the choice and ate greedily. Really nice, he mumbled between mouthfuls. I was really hungry, he excused himself. Tired of admiring the view of the sunset he flung himself onto her sofa. Dark leather. Sorry, it’s been a very busy day. Meetings with clients, he flung his arms out.

My day was quite relaxing, she offered, and sat down next to him. The shortness of her skirt became even more apparent. João looked at her thigh, then her flat, muscular (!) belly and her small breasts, her full mouth, her dark hair and the curve of her nose; and her cheekbones. He liked her cheekbones a lot. His head was swimming a bit. This Ana reminded him of something.

Ana told him about her work at an international consultancy. Clerical work requiring language skills, service oriented attitude, organisational skills  – but not too much, not enough to make him feel inferior. João seemed pleased with it all. He was pleased to be sitting with a really quite pretty woman who had appeared out of nowhere, and now.. now she was kissing him!

Ana leaned forward and kissed him, and at that very moment the plot started to unravel. She had never felt a kiss like this. Within a few seconds her body was tingling all over and all inside, too. She did not have to fake pleasure; she had to restrain herself. Ana noted that he seemed to be similarly afflicted. He pulled her on top of him as he fell back on the sofa, and she could feel how slim and taut his body was, and how erect he was. That was quick.

Their first coupling was fast and furious. Ana tried to hold off the act by kissing some more, but neither of them had any patience. His trousers were opened, Ana noted the shape and size of him, OK, and then she was astride him. Her underwear she simply squeezed to one side, and the next second she let herself onto him; she was wet and open enough so he entered her in one movement.. Ana started to ride him; his hands were on her buttocks, the pleasure was immense, and he came with a short grunt and fastened his grip on her: don’t move, sorry, – it hurts!

They moved into her bedroom, they removed all their clothing, they kissed, he entered her again and she climaxed quickly once, twice, thrice, each time egging him on for more. Her sheets were cool and clean and taut, her body firm and hot. He was slowing down now, drawing out the final moments and willing the pleasure to build and last, build and last, until it burst. He was rather sweaty, she noted, and the hairy forearms were only part of it. He had patches of hair on the backs of his thighs, in the small of his back and between his shoulder blades. She didn’t mind, which surprised her. Her body was burning and glowing as if it were filled with embers. There was one more place she could go and she wanted to go there. Ana  placed his right hand between her thighs and made him rub her swollen sex. A bit further up – or down. There. The wave grew rapidly until it was towering over her then it broke and she was washed away. João looked on, and listened to her muffled scream. Her head fell back and she was silent, apparently unconscious, for some seconds. Her breathing was shallow. Then she opened her eyes.

I’m sorry, she said, hope I wasn’t too loud.

The next week passed in a haze. Afterwards there were no firm points, no chronology, just food, waiting, sex, more food, waiting, sex, and awkward messages and video chats with Oleg. He was burning with jealousy. She had told him that she had made contact with the target, and he knew this meant sex. It was not any good, she assured him, I had to fake it. Small dick. He struggled to believe her. For Oleg being apart from Ana was torture by itself. This was torture on top of torture.

João came home from work, they fucked, ate, drank, talked,slept, woke, fucked, worked, waited.

Ana was sore, they tried oral sex. João wanted to look at her face while she did it. He was smiling all the way until he released himself in her mouth. She sensed that was what he wanted, even if she detested it. It brought back the darkest memories from her training. But she loved João, so she had to suppress them. It was not his fault that the FSB colonel raped the girls orally at every opportunity. At least his cum tasted differently. Sweeter. João was sweet. She realised it like a flash. He had none of the hardness she was so accustomed to, the same hardness she had inside her. It was melting.

On the final day he came home earlier than usual.

Amor mio, he said, sit down with me. No, no kissing.

His look gave her a premonition which would shortly be verified.

Babooshka, he said, then switched to Russian: ты русская шпионка

You are a Russian spy.

я говорю по русски

I speak Russian.

She went completely cold inside. Sitting there was like watching a movie, one in which she starred, one in which she was outside her own body.

He went on, reverting to Portuguese: 

I studied Russian literature and language – you noted I was reading Dostojevsky in Portuguese, but I have read him in Russian, too, many years ago. 

Would struggle now, he said mostly to himself.

How did you find out?

You speak Russian in your sleep. He smiled. It was an affectionate smile. Quite loudly, too! She did not feel like smiling, but was touched by his warmth. Clearly he felt tenderness recalling the sight and sound of her at night, even when she was revealing her deceit.

How long have you known, she asked icily.

Since day 2. So yes, we have deceived each other for 5 days. But in a way it was no deceit. I fell for you. You fell for me. So much so that when I started to call you Babooshka you did not protest. I wondered if you knew the song by Kate Bush. It was a hint – a hint that I knew who you were.

Ana felt cold and hot at the same time.

She recalled the conversation about Dostojevsky one night in bed. She had never felt as safe and relaxed. He gave his analysis of War and Peace and she drank it in feeling no fear, relishing the situation, her love for him, his erudition, his teasing sweetness. The snake!

One more thing. Again his eyes were sparkling. You dropped the copula a few times. That’s when I first had a conscious suspicion. Before that, things were just a bit odd. Combined with the copula-drop…

When?

When we had sex.

I let my guard down.

Yes, you let your guard down, And that tells us both something quite profound about you and me.  She looked straight at him.

да, это правда – it’s true she said; she heard her own Russian voice in the room. There were tears in her eyes.

Together they booked the evening plane to Paris in her real name. She packed a suitcase and brought out her Russian passport. He drove her to the airport and dropped her off.

Show me your passport, he said. He had seen her naked. He had seen her name in the plane booking, but this was much more intimate. They were standing next to his car in the warm sunset, cars passing by, the smell of aviation fuel in the air. The passport was in her breast pocket.

She felt as if she gave herself to him as she handed him the little booklet. He leafed through it, memorised a few details. Looked at her photo. Natasha. He preferred Ana.

Ana, he said: Au revoir

до свидания – she turned and walked away