Joanie Goes Undercover

This story makes some references to "Joanie of Zurich," and will make more sense if you can read that story and also "Joanie joins the workforce" before this one. I accidentally misclassified Joanie of Zurich in BDSM, so you could look for it there if you want. I hope you enjoy this one.

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It was day 92 of my boring job. Actually it was not really boring. It was, I'd say, horribly boring. I liked my old job much better, when we stopped an organized hacking attack on the store credit card database. I felt good about that. I had accomplished something.

Now I was on loan to the city government, and I was securing teacher's exams on their computers. I felt my talents were going to waste. So I was ripe for the picking when the two FBI agents entered the building, asking for me.

Of course they were directed right to me. No big deal, the FBI is sent out to interview friends and family when someone requests a security clearance, and if you work in hacking prevention, it happens a lot. The FBI, CIA, and NSA employ a lot of people like myself, and they all need security clearances.

So I felt unthreatened and friendly, and I greeted the two agents with a smile. They identified thenselves as Agent Charles, and Agent Nash. I said "Really? Your name is Nash?" Well, as it turns out, you don't joke with these people. It's a pity, really.

They took me for a coffee, but it's hard to have privacy in a Manhattan coffee shop, so instead we went to a bar where men meet their mistresses. Lots of privacy there. You betcha.

They asked what I wanted. They were paying, so I ordered the house cocktail. I love cocktails. They each had Perrier, with a slice of lime for Charles, and lemon for Nash. Boy, that's precision.

I wanted to say, "Really? Lime doesn't cut it for you, Nash?" but I figured I had already screwed up with his name, so I kept silent and smiled. I figured they would tell me who needed a clearance in their own way, in their own time. Anyway, this was more interesting than my job!

Charles was the alpha agent, and he began the conversation. He said, "Joanie, we know a lot about you." This was unexpected.

"You do?" I said nervously.

"Oh yes. We know everything, including all sorts of details about your love life."

"Really?" I said.

"Oh yes, really," Charles replied. "For example, we know for now you are not dating, after you gangbanged your team at your last job. We also know about Mike and his cousins the twins, that you had incest with your own two cousins, and we know especially about what happened in Paris and Zurich. Philip Wilson is a person of great interest to us."

I was a bit shocked, to put it mildly. To have two government agents know such intimate details about my love life and even what sexual acts I was performing was, there is no other way I can think of to put it, creepy. I was way too surprised to speak.

"You probably have a lot of thoughts roaming around in your mind right now, along the lines of who are these people, what right do we have, and the like. We do not do this sort of thing routinely, and we do not enjoy it. In your case, it is all due to your relationship with Philip Wilson. You might be thinking this is about Philip getting a security clearance," Charles said. There it is, I thought. "Well, it's not. It's about you."

"Me?" I said.

"Yes," Charles replied. We intend to ask you for your help. It's for the good of the country. We know, regardless of your politics, which personally I disagree with, that you are a patriot. We are counting on your patriotism.

"You're serious?"

"Oh yes, quite definitely so," Charles said. "You have a unique combination of skills for the task we have in mind. It is an important task, affecting the security of this great nation of ours."

I wanted to say again, "You're not serious," or "Is this a prank?" or "Can you stop with the clichés about our country?" but they looked so serious, I did not dare. Instead I just said, "Okay, you have my attention. What is this about, exactly?"

"The short of it is, we have reason to believe certain banks are laundering money for criminal organizations, including international terrorists, and rogue states, in violation of a whole battery of laws and statutes. But we need hard evidence," Charles said.

Nash spoke for the first time. "The primary bank suspect is the First National Bank of the Continent. We know that you know about this bank." It is the bank my former lover Philip Wilson works at, so of course I know a lot about it. They knew that, too.

"We also know you were the mistress of Philip Wilson, an executive of that bank, and that you had a one time sexual relation with its CEO, a Mr. Hardigan. Do you deny that?"

"No, sadly, that's true. I truly do not know how, or why, you know about Hardigan. My relationship with Philip Wilson is over. It's dead and buried. It's buried deep, too, at least six feet."

"We know."

I was intrigued. "Okay, I'm impressed, and I confess completely freaked out, with your level of knowledge. Indeed, I'm very impressed. I must say I'm not surprised the bank is dirty; Hardigan is a shady character. But I still don't understand what you want with me. I don't like banks and I positively hate bankers. I do realize it must be something big, since you have gone to a lot of trouble to research me. At least I hope it was a lot of trouble! If it was easy, then I am even more freaked out. I am neither flattered nor grateful for your having done that, by the way."

Charles and Nash caucused, whispering to each other. At the end, Nash said to Charles, "We have to tell her." Charles nodded, but clearly reluctantly.

Nash said, "You have probably wondered what Philip Wilson and his cousin Mark had to gain by blackmailing you into volunteering to be sold into sexual slavery for 24 hours, along with your sister, right?"

I was horrified. "You know about that, too?" I almost screamed. They got nervous when I raised my voice. "Are you perverts, or something?"

"We probably are, but this has nothing to do with our sexual tastes, I assure you,' Nash calmly continued. "You are known in banking circles as "Joanie of Zurich." Pornographic pictures and videos of you from those 24 hours in Zurich are widely circulated among bankers and we are aware you know about that, too. We know that, too. It can work for us."

I sat there humiliated. I am sure they had seen them themselves, and watched me smiling through a gangbang, watched me smile while performing a strip tease, and watch me get fucked in front of an audience, and saw pictures of me posing nude, sometimes with a cock inside one of several holes, so to speak, with all sorts of different Swiss bankers. This was much worse than just having seen me naked, obviously. They were probably undressing me in their minds as we conversed.

"Work for you HOW?" I was losing my patience. "Please start making sense."

"After your spectacular success on that boat on Lake Zurich," Nash continued, "Mr. Wilson, due to his status as your lover, was inducted into the International Swiss Bankers Club. This was earned in part through your performance. This makes him one of the most powerful bankers in the world, and therefore one of the most powerful men in the world. There are no women in The Club, as the cognoscenti know it. It is a worldwide secret network of bankers. It is a heaven sent package for paranoid conspiracy freaks; in this case they are right."

"Nothing happens in international banking circles without The Club knowing about it, and approving it. Every time they are defied, the offender dies, and often his family members die, too.

"They do not die gangster style. It's always subtle. Often it's a heart attack, or undiagnosed diabetes leading to a hypoglycemic death, or sometimes it's a deadly virus. A few times it was a car crash due to drunken driving. But everyone knows it was due to The Club. Consequently, The Club is not defied anymore.

"The club permits money laundering for drugs, bank transfers to terrorists, the avoidance of restrictions on sovereign states that are embargoed, and sabotage of countries or organizations (such as corporations) that do not bend to its will. More banal, it is engaged in massive tax evasion. Your former lover Mr. Wilson has risen rapidly to a position of extraordinary power within The Club. We consider him to be one of the most dangerous men in America right now.

"We want you to spy on him. We want you to get close to him again, and plant software on his computer, similar to what you did to Klaus Schmidt, in Zurich. Nice work, by the way. We admired what you did, from afar of course. In return for taking this job on, we can offer you lots of money and the gratitude of your nation and the free world."

"If you succeed, we expect the President of the US will wish to meet you and to thank you personally. I need to say up front, alas, that this task involves considerable risk. Taking on Philip Wilson involves taking on The Club, and they take revenge. Their tentacles spread far and wide.

Nash had finished his piece, and silence ensued. After quite a while, I said, "You're asking me to have sex again with that piece of shit?" Yes, after all that, that sentence is what I took away from it. I overlooked the part about assuming a mortal risk from a sinister international and powerful organization.

"You did tell your sister, after all, that he is good in bed," Charles said.

"Jesus Christ!" I said. "How in God's name would you know that?"

"Joanie, there is little we don't know," Nash said.

"I believe that! But then why do you need me? You're doing just fine knowing everything as it is! When was the last time I masturbated?"

"Joanie, you are getting carried away," Nash said. "It's not like that."

"When was it?" I was almost whispering now. But I was whispering with complete ferocity in my voice.

"Well, as far as we know, it was at 6:10 this morning, before you got out of bed. You used your fingers and a vibrator. You had two orgasms. Happy?"

"Mortified, I'm mortified. You guys are scary. You will shut down your cameras in my bedroom and my apartment, for that matter. If not, I will find them, wherever they are. I'll not have you watching me like that."

"If you agree to help us, sure, we will."

"How did I look?" I could not help myself from asking. I blushed as I asked.

"You were under the covers, I'm told. But looking at you now, Ms. Hartley, I'd say you looked spectacular. You are a beautiful and sexy woman," Nash remarked.

"Thank you," I said. Then it hit me again. "You've seen the videos from Zurich, haven't you?" It was more of an accusation than a question. Again, the videos include scenes of my getting gangbanged by ten men, doing a strip tease on stage, and fucking a man in front of an audience.

There's more, but those are the highlights. Obviously, they're not my doing, but I don't know how to stop them from circulating among horny, perverted men. Or women, who the f—k knows?

"I've had a crush on you ever since I first saw them. Charles and I have watched them at least 50 times," Nash said. Then he added, a bit too quickly, "looking for clues, of course."

"Of course," I said, with a smirk. "I am so humiliated, and embarrassed. It's not easy speaking with you, knowing you've seen me like that, you know." They nodded. We were silent for a while.

Then I added, I just couldn't resist, "I was hot, wasn't I?"

"Yes indeed. And you still are today, even as we speak with you, I'm pleased to say," Charles added.

"Thank you," I said. "Okay, tell me what you want me to do to help you. Tell me all of it. Now. Then I'll decide."

The two men complied. We were there for an hour. Here is an extremely abridged summary. I was to become once again Philip's mistress. They would place me in his bank, and eventually he would find out I was there, in data security, and look me up. I would pretend to fall for him all over again. They were sure he would fall for me. Apparently he still pined for me. I liked that thought. However I did not pine for him, no way, no how. No sir. But doth the lady protest too much? I thought to myself. God, I hope not.

I was then to plant some special software on his computers, both at his office and especially at his home. I was to do the same for Hardigan, the bank's CEO, if the opportunity presented itself. I asked about his friend (and my friend now, too) Steve, and happily they said he was clean. So far. They knew about our friendship, and what happened at his wedding with my friend Odessa. I wondered if there was anything about my sex life or about me that they did not know?

When they were done I said, "This is not a routine request. I don't think the FBI usually asks women to seduce men for them, does it? And I doubt you make such detailed studies of a woman's sex life. At least I hope you do not, I hope you only did it in my case, and I am by the way, completely outraged by what you have done. You're not FBI. That is, unless you are taking orders directly from the ghost of J. Edgar Hoover himself. "

Charles and Nash pulled out their FBI ID's. They looked authentic, but what do I know? They could be well done fakes. "Thank you. But I still think you're not the FBI."

"What do you think, Joanie? I assure you we are FBI."

"Since you ask, my guess is that you are CIA, NSA, or Treasury, or perhaps some super secret task force," I said. "But you'll probably have to kill me if you tell me, right?"

They both laughed. Nash said, "You're even quicker than we thought. You're right about it all: We're not FBI, it's just our cover. We would never kill you, of course, but we also cannot tell you what we are. The FBI badges are indeed genuine. Our agency gives us good cover. Please behave as though we are indeed FBI however."

I agreed, perhaps too quickly, to do their dirty work. I would get well paid, and I could take some real revenge on Philip if this worked out the way I wanted. I had a lot of latitude, so I could develop my own strategy. The men arranged my leave from my job, and I went home to think things through.

I ignored their warning of mortal risk. That was a stupid thing to ignore, I know.

The first thing I did was to find their bleeping cameras lurking about my apartment. There were three in each room. They had been very cleverly hid. For a while I thought there were only two in the kitchen; after all, it's a small room. But I did not give up and finally found the third, hidden in my coffee thermos! They all use Bluetooth of course, or more generally radio frequency (RF) technology, so there were no wires to give their presence away. Class 1 Bluetooth has a range of 300 feet or so, giving the possibility of the receiver being in a neighbor's apartment.

On a hunch, I checked the toaster. I found a fourth. This wrecked my theory that there were three cameras per room, so I began the search all over again. I stopped when I located the 20th camera. That's 20 cameras for a 3-room apartment plus a bathroom. I had thought I got them all when I found 12. Why did they need such overkill? And did they really need to film me on the toilet, and in the shower? Was I to have no privacy at all?

It's true I am an exhibitionist, and I did get a little aroused when I thought about all the pervs at the FBI or whatever secret government agency they worked for watching me masturbate, or take a shower, or walk around the apartment naked, but it should have been on my terms! It is not open season to spy on me and know every intimate detail of my existence! Correction: Apparently it is open season on me!

I took precautions. Every single time I left my apartment I arranged it so that I would know if someone had entered the apartment in my absence. If it looked like someone had, then I would do another search for cameras. One time after I discovered someone had entered my apartment I did a search and I found 20 new cameras hidden about. The bastards. I bought a blue tooth jammer and installed it.

I first tried the usual tricks, turning the lights out at night and using a flashlight to scan every detail, looking for reflections of light from the tiny spy cameras lens. This worked fairly well, but some still escaped my detection. I always put my cell phone in a closed drawer in case they used the cell phone's camera to spy on me. Long ago I had taped over my laptop's camera.

I bought a high-end professional-quality hidden camera detector, using the latest RF technology. It was not cheap, but I have money. My new detector used lasers. Hey, I worked in security now; I wanted these bastards to know with whom they were dealing.

I'm sure they still had spy cameras I had not found. It's a losing battle when you're fighting the FBI. Since I don't know what they really are, from now on I'm going to refer to them as the FBI, as they themselves suggested I do. Anyway, knowledge is power. Knowing someone was watching, I changed my behavior.

Well, somewhat: I still masturbated, of course. They were not going to deny me that. I just did it in performance mode, and often treated the voyeurs across the street, too. Actually, I found my solo sex was better this way.

I baked some pies and visited my neighbors, introducing myself, hoping they would invite me in so I could see if they had the blue tooth receptive computer. It could be, and probably was the case, that they did not even know they did. All but one set of neighbors invited me in. I found nothing. I learned nothing.

I realized the range of blue tooth is short, assuming that was what they were using. Best case, it was 300 feet. That meant they had to have a computer and relay hidden somewhere close, rebroadcasting the signal. About three months ago I had bought a new window box air conditioner for the kitchen. I asked a gay male friend to come over and help me with it. We had to take it apart and ruin it to find the computer and relay, but there it was, inside the unit. Clever little bastards, these agency men.

I had asked the gay male friend, since if I asked one of my hetero male friends, I might have been pressured into sex. Everyone thinks I am easy to get into bed. But it's not true: it's only when I'm drunk. So there might have been some misunderstandings, and I did not want that. It was too big a cost of asking for help.

My gay male friend I took out for a nice lunch in the West Village. I wore revealing clothes. Gay or not, he was still a man, and he enjoyed my display, I could tell.

I taped over the camera on my computer in case they were using that. I bought infrared binoculars, and that evening I stripped naked and paraded around the apartment windows.

I found one neighbor had a telescope pointed at my window. Two others used their own binoculars. I put down mine, waved and smiled at them, and gave them one final show, using my dildo. Then I closed my blinds on my bedroom window, basically permanently. One or all of them could be colleagues of Charles and Nash, and I had been spied on enough. Most likely, though, they were just harmless peeping Toms.

I thought about the irony. If I had known they were innocent neighbor voyeurs, I would have been titillated and happy. After all, why be an exhibitionist if there are never voyeurs? But now that was ruined, since I could not tell if they were innocent neighbors or creepy government spies. Too bad, but I would survive.

There were other windows, too. I left the blinds up for those windows. I just needed a space where I could be private when I felt the need. And that was my bedroom.

That weekend I went on a shopping spree, at the government's expense. I needed just the right kind of clothes if I were to be working at a bank. It would be quickly learned that "Joanie of Zurich" was working at the bank, and every man working there would want to find an excuse to check me out in the flesh, even the gay ones. That was for certain. And there were around 1,500 men working in that one building in Manhattan!