Spy Games

Spy Games

Chapter 9

"Are you absolutely positive you saw classified information in Gunter Feiner's closet?"

The man asking the question was the third Company bureaucrat I had spoken with after I told Mrs. Bancroft about my experience in the Feiner house. The first two interviews took place in Mrs. B's condo. This one was in the basement of the US Embassy.

It was well after 10:00 pm and I was starting to get hangry. I hadn't eaten since lunch and the only person who even pretended to believe my story was Mrs. B. She wasn't present for this discussion which took place in what looked and felt like an interrogation room. Small table, two chairs, no windows. All it needed to meet the movie cliché was a one-way mirror on the wall. I'm fairly sure the not-so-well hidden camera in the corner replaced the mirror.

"Describe to me what you saw."

I did, for the fourth time that day.

"Okay. You found a document hidden in a hole in the closet. What made you think it was classified material."

"The words "TOP SECRET" stenciled in red letters on the cover page were my first clue."

"Don't get smart with me young man. Anybody can buy a stencil set and red marker at the local office supply store."

"And I guess they could also type "STATUS OF NATO FORCES" on top of the next page if they owned a printer," I said.

"Did you read past the cover sheet and first page?" he asked.

"No sir, I didn't have time."

"Did you take a picture of what you found?"

"No sir, my camera was in my pants."

"And where were your pants when you were crawling through Mrs. Feiner's closet?"

"In the kitchen, I think. Maybe the dining room."

If his line of questioning didn't convince me I was in trouble, his look of utter disgust did.

"Young man, the only reason we let you take on this routine cleanup detail is because Mrs. Bancroft said you were ready. Your mission was to remove a few cameras and microphones. If we wanted you to fuck the lady and her daughter, we would have mentioned it. Yes, we know all about your supposed enhanced capabilities with women, but this particular job called for you to be invisible."

"Are you saying it's my fault Mrs. Feiner came home when your agents told me she'd be gone all afternoon? What was I supposed to do, break my cover and run out of the house like a thief?"

"I'm saying you could have maintained your cover and your trousers. You don't need to seduce every woman you meet just because you can."

"If you review the tapes, I think you'll find she seduced me."

"It didn't occur to you that a simple no would have stopped her?"

"If I said no, I wouldn't have found the Top-Secret documents in the closet."

"Great. We're back to accusing Gunter Feiner of being a spy. Some of our best agents have had this man under constant surveillance for over three months and found absolutely no evidence of wrongdoing. Do you really expect me to believe the word of an untrained boy who is more interested in getting his dick wet than protecting the security of his nation?

"Let me explain how this is going to end," he continued. "Your days of playing secret agent are over. Your current mission is cancelled. We will find somebody else to remove the surveillance equipment from Herr Feiner's office... somebody with sufficient common sense to keep his pecker in his pants when on the job. The only reason I'm not going to turn you over to the local authorities for breaking and entering --"

His tirade was interrupted by the ringing of a phone on the wall.

"I'm busy, can't this wait?" he said into the phone.

"Yes, ma'am. I understand your point of view but..."

"No, ma'am. That's not what I was implying. I just believe..."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll make it happen."

He slammed the phone back into its cradle and took a minute to compose himself before returning his attention to me.

"Gunter Feiner's office is on the fifth floor of the Kingsford building. The entire building will lose power at precisely 8:30 this Sunday morning for exactly thirty minutes. Losing power will temporarily disable the security systems. Make sure you are on the fifth floor before 8:30. The stairway doors will automatically lock with the power off and the elevator will be non-functional. There are two microphones and one camera in Feiner's office. You will have thirty minutes to remove them."

"I'm back on the job?" I asked.

"Against my better judgement."

"But why remove the bugs? If we know Feiner has classified information hidden in his house, don't you want to keep monitoring him?"

"We are convinced Feiner is clean. You are the only one who believes otherwise. And, due to your complete lack of stealth when removing the first two sets of bugs, we deem it best to immediately get rid of the last set before the German government discovers we have been spying on one of their own."

***

At 8:17 Sunday morning I used a Company provided electronic pass to get me into the front door of the Kingsford building. I was wearing a Midlands Security shirt and had the proper ID to prove I worked for the contractor that provided security for the building. I pushed the up button on the elevator at 8:19. The cab must have been on the top floor because the door didn't open until 8:20. I stepped inside and pushed the 'five' button. Just as the door began to close, I heard a woman call out...

"Hold the lift please."

Instinctively, I pressed the 'open door' button and let the woman join me.

"Floor?" I asked.

"Four."

I pushed 'four' and then 'five' again. As the door closed, the woman backed up against the side of the elevator and held on to a metal rail as if we were on a ship and expecting rough weather.

"I thought I'd be the only one unlucky enough to have to work on a Sunday," I said in a generic bit of conversation I knew would last for less than a minute.

The lady didn't comment, or even acknowledge I had spoken. Her eyes were focused on the digital display that showed which floor we were passing. Her breathing sounded like she had just run a hundred-yard dash. I figured she was late for a meeting, had run from the parking lot and thought that, by watching the display, the elevator would somehow get to the fourth floor faster.

Out of habit, I took the opportunity to size her up. I guessed her age to be between mid-twenties and very early thirties. Her dishwater blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail with several strands flying loose. With a little bit of makeup and the hint of a smile, I imagined her face would be pretty, but her current unhealthy pallor and frightened scowl almost put her in the zombie category. Her loose-fitting blouse and knee length skirt seemed too informal for a business meeting. Maybe she wasn't in as much of a hurry as I thought. But she sure was breathing hard... and sweating... even though it was fairly cool both outside and in the elevator.

We had just passed the second floor when the elevator came to a sudden stop and the lights went out. I checked my watch. It was 8:24.

Shit. Either my watch is wrong, or they shut the power off six minutes early.

After a few seconds in complete darkness, an extremely dim emergency light came on to reveal a woman in full panic mode. She was mercilessly pounding on the elevator control panel, pushing every key as hard as her trembling hands would allow.

"Work damn it. Please work. You can't quit now."

"You can push those buttons all you want," I said. "But nothing will happen until the power comes back on."

"No. Not now. It has to work. I have to get out."

She went to the doors and tried to pry them open. Discovering she didn't have the required strength, she turned to me.

"Why aren't you helping me?"

"We're stuck between floors. Even if we could open the doors, it wouldn't do us any good. Listen, whoever you're meeting will have to wait until we get power back. I'm sure they'll understand."

"I'm not meeting anybody. I have nowhere to go. I could die in here and nobody would miss me. I just have to get out."

Her pupils shrunk to the size of a pin head. Her breathing accelerated to that of a runaway steam engine. Sweat poured from her brow. I had to do something to stop her from passing out from hyperventilation and I had to do it fast.

She needs less oxygen in her lungs. My first aid classes say to make the patient breath through their nose. How the hell can I do that with a woman suffering a panic attack?

Easy. Hold her mouth closed.

I did. But not with my hand. That would probably freak her out even more. Instead, I put one arm around her back, a hand on her ponytail, and my lips on hers.

Yeah, I kissed her. Hard. My lips locked onto hers. My arm keeping her on her feet. My hand preventing her from turning away.

She fought me at first. She beat on my chest and even tried to knee me in the groin. But I kept on kissing her until, slowly, the crazed look in her eyes turned sane and, after what might have been ten seconds or maybe a full minute, she started to kiss me back.

I let go of her ponytail and relaxed my grip on her back but kept my lips on hers. Her tongue hesitantly probed my mouth. I parried with my own and let the hand that once held her back slip down towards her bum. Her arms reached up to my neck and held on like my shoulders were a life preserver and she was in shark infested water. My second hand joined the first on her ass and, as I lifted her off her feet, her legs encircled my waist and held tight. Our lips still interlocked, our tongues still exploring.

It was a lengthy and unusual kiss. Instead of trying to excite the woman, I was attempting to relax her. It seemed to be working. Her death grip on my shoulders slowly eased. Her legs loosened their hold around my waist and, when her eyes regained focus, she pulled her tongue out of my mouth and gently pushed me away.

"Claustrophobia," she said as I returned her feet to the floor. "I have trouble with small, enclosed spaces."

"Then why are you in an elevator?"

"It's part of my therapy. My shrink says I should ride an elevator every day until I can do it without fear."

"That's why you're here on a Sunday?"

She nodded. "I've been doing it for three weeks. The fear comes back if I miss a day. I only went to the second floor the first few times. Last week I graduated to the third floor. Today was to be my first trip to the fourth floor. I thought I could do it, and I would have, if the power didn't go out.

"Thank you, by the way. Thanks for being here and helping me. You're a life saver."

"Are you okay now?" I asked. "Are you over your fear?"

"Heavens no. Not by a long shot. But if I concentrate, if I focus on my happy place, I can control it. Hopefully the power will be restored shortly, and you won't have to... well let's pray you don't see me go all bat shit crazy again."

We talked for a few minutes. Long enough to learn her name was Evelyn, she worked on the first floor as a secretary and purposely avoided the Baker Street tube station because it reminded her of a WW-II bomb shelter. Trying to keep her mind on things other than small, enclosed places, I asked if she had a boyfriend. When she didn't answer, I turned her towards me and asked again, only to see the look of terror had returned.

"There's something wrong," she said. "I feel like there is a band around my chest and it keeps getting tighter."

Not knowing what else to do, I learned forward to kiss her again. It worked the first time so maybe...

"No," she screamed and pushed me away. "You've got to make it stop."

"Make what stop?"

"The thing around my chest. It's suffocating me. You've got to take it off."

"Evelyn, listen to me. You've got to calm down. There is nothing wrong with your chest. You're having another --"

"TAKE IT OFF." She screamed like a woman possessed.

So, I did. I removed her blouse and then her bra to discover that I was right. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her chest... except that it was heaving up and down at a dangerous rate, forcing what had to be D cup boobs to bounce like water balloons tied to a pogo stick.

Removing her blouse and bra calmed her slightly. Steadying her boobs in my hands added an additional measure of comfort. But, just like the last time, her breathing didn't return to normal until I stuck something in her mouth, forcing her to breathe through her nose.

I didn't force her. It was Evelyn's idea to drop to her knees, unzip my pants and inhale my cock. And I would have been perfectly happy waiting out the rest of the thirty-minute power outage in that position. But Evelyn wanted to see if plugging the other end would have a similar soothing effect.

When the power was finally restored, Evelyn's skirt was gathered around her waist, her panties slid to one side and her pussy filled with my top seven inches. The sudden jolt, when the elevator began to move again, forced the remainder of my erection up against her cervix and she screamed in either relief, fear or pleasure... or maybe a combination of them all.

Regardless, when the elevator door opened on the fourth floor, my cock was back in my pants, and I was well on my way to fastening my belt buckle. Evelyn's blouse was almost completely buttoned, and her dress was pulled low enough to hid most of her ass. Except for the 35D bra laying in the corner, the janitor waiting on the other side of the door had no reason to suspect anything was amiss. Evelyn stepped off the elevator, blew me one last kiss and made a bee line for the stairs.

I continued on to the fifth floor knowing full well that the mission was a bust. The power was back on, the electronic locks would be fully functional, and I didn't know how to defeat them. My counterfeit badge would get me in the front door of the building but not into any of the offices. I debated whether to take the elevator or stairs back to the ground floor and, deciding the exercise would do me good, chose the stairs.

The stairwell was at the end of a hall which led me past Feiner's office. On a lark, I pulled on Feiner's door and nearly fell on my ass when it swung open. Somebody had taped a portion of a credit card over the door latch the last time it was open, rendering the expensive security system useless.

The door led into a small reception area. I quietly closed the door behind me and took stock of the situation. The room held a small desk, coffee bar, three-drawer safe, and copy machine. A name plate on the desk identified its' owner as Lydia Arnold, Feiner's secretary.

Everything seemed completely legit except... the top two drawers of the safe were open... the copy machine had several classified documents in the document feeder... and a short blonde woman was on her hands and knees, spinning in the combination of the third drawer.

On initial inspection, it looked like the blonde had broken into Feiner's office, cracked his safe and was copying NATO secrets. But what if the blonde was Lydia, Feiner's secretary? She would have free access to what was essentially her office and certainly knew the combination to the safe. But that didn't explain the credit card keeping the door unlocked, or why she was there on a Sunday.

"Anything I can do to help?"

My words had the desired effect, and then some. The startled woman raised up at the sound of my voice and banged her head on the open safe drawer above her. The shock and sudden pain knocked her unconscious. I pulled her out from under the drawer, picked her up and carried her through the door which led to Feiner's office.

A large desk with swivel chair dominated the room. The walls were decorated with the usual diplomas and an oil painting of an alpine village. A good-sized window didn't provide a spectacular view -- it looked across the street at an equally tall office building -- but it did let in a good bit of ambient light giving the room a more open feeling. One side wall held a large bookshelf and file cabinet. The opposing wall had more bookshelves and an overstuffed couch.

I laid the still comatose woman on the couch and confirmed she was still breathing before going back to the outer office in search of something wet and cool. I returned with ice cubes wrapped in a towel from the coffee bar which I applied to her injured head.

Stretched out on the couch, with her head resting on my lap, the woman's feet barely reached the end of the couch. Her skirt was bunched up revealing the muscular legs of a gymnast or some other athlete. Her hips, butt and belly were well toned. Her chest large enough to strain a few blouse buttons. I moved a few stray strands of naturally blonde hair away from her pretty face and was stroking her forehead when her pale blue eyes finally flickered opened.

"Lie still," I said when she tried to move. "You took quite a bump to your head."

"Who are you?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"I'm with security," I said, keeping to my cover. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you, but your door was unlocked, and someone had used a credit card to keep it open... which is against the rules. Can you tell me your name please?"

"Lydia. I am Herr Feiner's secretary. This is his office."

"Does he often make you work on a Sunday

"No, but I fell behind in my work. It's not my fault. He gives me more than I can do during a normal work week and if I don't keep up, he'll fire me."

"Does he know you're here now?"

"No. And please don't tell him."

"I won't tell him specifically, but I have to report the unlocked door to my superior... and the open safes... and your presence."

"Do you really? Can't you overlook it just this one time?"

"And risk losing my job. Why would I do that?"

"To help a lady in distress."

To prove her point, she placed my hand on her blouse and bra covered chest... which was exactly where my hand wanted to be. Well not exactly. It actually wanted some skin-to-skin contact. But once my highly trained fingers were placed on the cotton fabric, it was only a matter of seconds before the buttons came undone and the front clasp bra came apart faster than most folks could snap their fingers.

From that point, it was a done deal. Once a woman willingly let me touch one of her nipples, I was guaranteed access to the rest of her body for as long as I wanted and as often as I wanted. I'm not bragging. I couldn't take the credit. Heredity gave me the tools and Mrs. B taught me the skills. Besides, I was just doing a job. Which in this case had changed from removing the bugs in Gunter Feiner's office to figuring out who was sending NATO secrets to Moscow.

Lydia, if that was really her name, was turning into my prime suspect. Partially because I caught her copying classified information. And even though I do have a way with women, Lydia succumbed to my considerable charms way faster than she should have. So, I was already suspicious of the short blonde. When I broke down her defenses by licking, fingering and then fucking her to a third and powerful orgasm, she yelled out "Oh my god I'm coming again" at the top of her lungs... which, in itself, wasn't all that unusual. But I didn't expect her to scream it in Russian.

Finally. I had my proof. The front office was littered with classified documents and the still functional hidden cameras and microphones in Herr Feiner's office recorded her unintentional slip into her native tongue. But what was I to do with the screaming Russian agent who was bent over the couch with my pecker balls deep in her still climaxing cunt? I couldn't arrest her. And, since I was in the building illegally, I couldn't stick around until the cavalry arrived.

Tie her up, call Mrs. B and get the hell out of Dodge.

That seemed to be my best option. I was fairly certain that somebody in the Company was watching me in real time. They'd know who to contact, all I had to do was detain the girl until they got there.