Nadja Vladimirovna Petrova saw her target enter the office and her heart fluttered in her chest. He was handsome, like the photos in his file, but seemed much taller and more muscular than she had imagined. Seeing a man in a photograph is much different than seeing him in real life, no matter how accurate the photo.
She schooled herself and began the mental exercises she had mastered over the years which allowed her to control her physical reactions to what were usually unconscious responses. Before he finished approaching her desk she was in a positive, neutral frame of mind and ready to "meet" him for the first time.
"Good afternoon sir, may I help you?"
"Well I certainly hope so. A lady as lovely as yourself could be most useful." He smiled and his craggy masculine face softened and she allowed herself to feel lust bloom inside. She was very adept at looking flustered and embarrassed. It was one of her specialties.
It seemed to work, because his smile broadened and his pupils dilated.
His eyes scanned her face and body taking in her fine, long blond hair, her green eyes and fined boned symmetrical face. Nadja was beautiful, that was why she had been chosen for this mission. Her face and body were sculpted perfection, her 5'7" frame lithe, nubile and toned, with just enough flesh to keep her from looking too skinny.
"I'm here to see Mr. Blowfield." He winked at her audaciously. She made herself blush and check her hair quickly, autonomic responses for females when aroused. She looked away at her book and then back quickly letting him see her being flustered and pleased with his attention.
"You must be Mr. Fischer." Fiddling with her pen she pretended to be nervous while actually taking photographs of him.
"I must be." He agreed. His suit was impeccable, his hair perfect and his body language utterly casual, no hint that he was a spy here to pry for information from her employer. His file said he was an incorrigible flirt, and he had a history of extracting information from females. Often they had gone out of their way to aid him in escaping death, or supplying him with information. He was cocksure and arrogant, so she was the bait to trap him once and for all.
So far it seemed to be working.
"I'll tell him you are here." She spoke in an excellent French accent, hiding her natural Russian, and as she spoke into the phone telling Mr. Blowfield his appointment was here she glanced up and down at her target flirting with him as subtly as she could.
"He will see you right away, Mr. Fischer. Do you care for any refreshments?"
"Depends on what's on the menu?" He spoke dryly, just the slightest hint of sexual innuendo, and she allowed herself to receive the implication of his offer.
"We can get anything you desire, given some, very few limitations due to time and convenience." She looked him square in the eye as she spoke, then glanced away quickly right at the end. Then back. She was playing the game as best she could and he loved it.
"Martini. Shaken, not stirred." Then she opened the door for him and he brushed against her as he passed. Just the lightest of touches and she shuddered and let him feel her slight tremble.
Then he was inside and she left alone.
While she prepared his drink, as requested, she couldn't hep anticipating the next phase of the plot, which in turn took her mind back to the beginning of this life. The life of espionage.
As a young girl in the Soviet Union, she and all children were screened for aptitudes in various skills that would bring glory to the Republic. Initially she showed promise in dance and so for three years, from five until eight she was sculpted as a ballerina. When she fell behind in those skills it was noticed she had a flare for acting and from nine until sixteen was trained in the dramatic arts.
At some point a member of the KGB saw her perform and pulled her out of her theatrical company and for one month she was assessed rigorously in a series of bewildering tests she had no idea the outcome of.
When she was done, drained and mentally exhausted, she was informed that she was being enrolled in the KGB.
Her life felt torn from her. For eleven years she had imagined a life of public adoration and accomplishment, and now she was informed she would be invisible, unseen and unknown. It broke her heart.
She was taken to a remote training facility in Siberia where she found herself in a dorm with fifty other girls aged sixteen to twenty. The fifteen or so other girls who had just arrived were all tearful and scared, but the older girls made them welcome and within days friendships formed and Nadja, for one, eased into this new life.
Then she had begun her training in weapons, martial arts and controlling her emotions and reactions. Nadja loved this work. The lack of public affirmation was worth the power and confidence these new skills brought out in her.
For two years she was rigorously molded into a perfect weapon. Starting her training with the other girls they had learned how to fight and use weapons. Then they were introduced to the one hundred or so young men in the facility and the training began again with the new differences in weight height and strength.
Then her spy training had taken a turn.
The week after her eighteenth birthday Nadja began her most difficult and specialized training of all.
The art of seduction.
The KGB were well aware of her lack of sexual experience, they had been watching her night and day for years. They had been counting on it.
Now she was initiated into the world of sexual espionage.
