Double Exposure

Double Exposure - Part 5: Wet work

10 March 1983. 10:17 am. Innsbruck, Austria.

Peter Bauer poured over his written speech, making notes on minor changes and marking inflection points that he wanted to use for emphasis. He was speaking in front of the Austrian Trade Union Federation and wanted to make sure he made an impact.

A waiter came to his table, interrupting his thoughts, to deliver him his breakfast. Rather than be annoyed with the disruption, Peter simply smiled at the waiter. "Danke." he said as the waiter placed his meal in front of him.

Peter was at the Restaurant Seegrube, high in the Austrian Alps. Only about a quarter of the tables were occupied because it was the early Spring. During the winter season, this place would be filled with people, but he liked it this way.

The dining room had grand walls of glass that showcased the beautiful landscape of the Alps. The solace of looking out over the alpine mountains cleared his mind and helped him think. He stabbed one of the sausages on his plate and ate it hungrily.

He looked down at his speech again and scribbled some notes in the margins. This speech tonight was going to be an important one for him.

Peter was born in the town of St. Valentin in Lower Austria and lived there most of his life. Not only had he worked at the Nibelungenwerk factory, assembling tractors for the Steyr company for most of his adult life, but his father worked at the same factory during the war when it was used to assemble Panzer tanks. During his time on the assembly line floor, he saw the need for workers rights. And throughout his time working at the factory, he was consistently attempting to organize the workers with varying degrees of success.

Finally a couple of years ago, the Steyr company got tired of the rabble-rousing that Peter was causing, so they fired him. This caused Peter to double down his efforts in uniting the working man, which brought him to the attention of the Austrian Communist Party.

Austria currently enjoyed the status of being a "Cold War Neutral" country, siding with neither the Soviets or the West. Even though the country maintained diplomatic relations with the West, they frequently traded with Eastern Bloc countries much to the chagrin of NATO countries.

Austria abutted the Iron Curtain, and the Soviets saw it as a prime country to become a satellite state. The Soviets did not want to invade Austria like they did Czechoslovakia in 1968 for fear that it would trigger an all out war with the West.

So as an alternative, the Soviets created a plan to stir civil unrest in Austria in hopes that it would spark a people's revolution, overthrowing the government and converting the country to Communism as a result.

The first step to accomplish that goal was to recruit people like Peter Bauer, disenchanted Austrians with a voice. They provided him with the resources and connections to spread his word amongst the working people of Austria, causing unrest with every speech.

Peter Bauer was the most effective of all of the people they had doing this on their behalf. Because of his background, workers saw him as one of them. They listened, and more importantly, agreed with his message.

Another man approached Peter's table, but unlike the waiter, Peter knew this person. The man was thin and wore a tweed jacket that he had owned for 20 years or bought from a second-hand clothing store. His face was adorned with a thin goatee and wire-rimmed glasses. He held a worn brown leather satchel that he grasped tightly. With just a casual observation, anyone could determine that this man was some sort of intellectual.

"

Hello Peter.

" the man said softly in German as he came to the table. "

I really wish you would have your breakfasts closer to Altstadt. It would be much easier for me.

"

"

Hello Alex. Sorry, but the views here are much better than the city center.

" Peter replied in German.

Like Peter, Alex was also born in Austria, even though he had a Russian last name. His parents emigrated from Leningrad due to Austria hoping it would be a good place to start a family.

As a ranking member of the Austrian Communist Party in Innsbruck, Alex Sokolov was charged with recruiting powerful voices to spread their message to the working people of Austria. When he discovered Peter Bauer, he knew he had found someone special. Never before had he seen someone connect with an audience like Peter did. He consistently related Peter's progress back to Moscow who were quite pleased with the results.

Alex had hoped that his success in Austria would finally allow him to be recruited into the KGB, something that he has been wanting for years. Even though he was a native Austrian, he felt more connected with the Motherland of his parents.

"

How is the speech coming along?

" Alex asked.

Peter looked down at his speech one last time and the additional notes. "

This may be my best one yet.

" he said, looking pleased with himself.

"

Great.

" Alex replied, then handed Peter the satchel.

Peter discreetly opened up the bag, being sure not to expose its contents to any onlookers. He looked in and saw some various papers filled with information on some of the important people attending tonight's meeting, some pamphlets to hand out, and more importantly, a stack of cash, payment for his efforts. He smiled as he closed the bag. "

Join me for some breakfast, Alex.

" he said.

"

I wish I could, but I want to get back to the city.

" Alex said. Then without another word, he made his way out of the restaurant and to his car.

Once Alex was gone, Peter quickly finished his breakfast. He needed to leave as well. His speech was going to be at a beer hall in Vienna, and it was going to be a five hour drive just to get there. Once he paid his bill, he made his way out to his car.

In the parking lot of the restaurant, Peter walked up to his gray BMW M5. Not exactly a "worker's car", but he absolutely loved it. The Austrian Communist Party gave it to him saying it was a gift from Moscow for the fine work he was doing. He unlocked the door and sat in the black buffalo leather driver's seat, shutting the door behind him.

He turned the key and listened to the purr of the 24-valve inline six-cylinder engine, a sound he never tired of. Germans really knew how to build an exquisite automobile. He put the car in [DRIVE] and pulled out of the parking lot, beginning his journey onto the winding mountain road on the way to Vienna.

As he sped off, Peter was blissfully unaware that underneath his car there was a small box attached to the chassis. The device had an unlit red light on it and it was attached to a magnesium ribbon which was currently wrapped around the automobile's brake line.

Peter loved driving his BMW on these winding mountain roads, it made him feel like he was a rally car driver. He punched the accelerator and sped towards the first bend in the road, just past the restaurant's parking lot.

At the moment he increased his speed, the red light became alive on the device underneath his auto. When the light came on, it generated a small spark that instantly ignited the magnesium ribbon. The ribbon quickly flamed to an intense heat, easily burning through the brake line that it was wrapped around before flaming out quickly.

Peter continued driving, unaware of the event that was happening underneath his car. He accelerated a bit more as he got to the turn, enjoying the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his body as he did. He waited to apply the brakes until the last moment before entering the turn.

He suddenly became alarmed when he pressed down on the brake pedal and it gave no resistance. In a panic, he pushed the brake pedal to the floor, but the car demonstrated no signs of slowing down. The mountain road hairpin turn was coming up fast.

Instinctively, he turned his steering wheel to the right to attempt to keep the car on the road, but in his haste, he overcompensated. With a combination of the speed of the car and the exaggerated turning of the tires caused the BMW to violently flip on its side. Its momentum catapulted it, causing it to roll multiple times until it finally careened over the guard rail and down the mountainside. Within moments, the BMW exploded from his brutal journey down the cliff.

Many patrons of the restaurant screamed when they saw the fiery explosion, others stood up and rushed to the windows for a better view, a few even ran out of the restaurant towards the crash in an attempt to help any person that might have survived the crash.

One person did none of that, however. Claire Weber sat at her table and continued to drink her coffee. When everyone else was distracted, she nimbly turned off the transmitter that she held in her hand and slipped it into her purse. She wasn't too concerned about the receiver that she installed on Bauer's BMW, it would be destroyed in the fire.

After she finished her coffee, she put a few schillings on the table to pay for her breakfast of coffee and toast, and exited the restaurant. She needed to leave before emergency services blocked the road to retrieve the wrecked car.

She had a furnace to fix.

—————————————————————————————————————

The following day, Claire enjoyed a fine dinner near the city center. The cafe she was at had a lovely option for outdoor seating, but Claire opted to eat inside even though it was a beautiful evening. She casually looked up at the television mounted on the wall behind the counter as she enjoyed her dinner.

As she leisurely ate, she watched the local news report on a story about a popular local teacher, Alex Sokolov, who was found dead in his flat this morning. According to the report, he suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning that occurred from a faulty furnace as he slept. Claire only took a brief look up at the television as this story was being reported.

The hit on Peter Bauer was meant to stop him from spreading the message of Communism throughout Austria. The hit on Alex Sokolov was meant to send a message to Moscow to stay out of Austria.

Now that her mission was complete, and she reported her results to her handler, she was just waiting on word for her exit plan. This gave her a rare opportunity, a day with nothing to do.

She used her newfound time to spend the afternoon and early evening strolling around Innsbruck. She had been here for almost two months, but she had almost no time to enjoy the city. She had spent most of her time learning the habits and patterns of her assigned targets, Peter Bauer and Alex Sokolov. This mission requirement consisted of simple eliminations, wet work, but with zero contact. So Claire monitored them from afar for the past two months, a style of mission that she wasn't particularly fond of. She found it much more exciting to engage with her targets.

But now the mission was over, and a success, so she took some time to explore the city before she was relocated for her next mission. She ate lunch at a quaint cafe, shopped for books, visited the sites, and now had a good meal.

After a post-dinner cocktail, she headed back to the agency safehouse. The safehouse she was staying at while in Innsbruck was just that, a house. The flat Claire was living in occupied the entire third floor. The first and second floors were flats in their own right, but they were in a constant state of remodeling, so they were always unoccupied, providing an additional layer of security without drawing much attention.

The third floor flat only had a single doorway entrance that was located at the top of the house's interior stairs. The back door was permanently sealed off for security reasons. The windows of the flat were reinforced with bulletproof glass. A state-of-the-art security system developed by Echelon was installed. The place was a literal fortress.

Claire entered the main door of the safehouse and walked up the interior stairs to her flat. The stairs creaked as she put her weight on them, by design. If anyone entered the stairwell, any agent staying in the flat would be able to hear them as they made their way upwards.

Once she got to her door, she was about to punch in her number combination into the keypad when she suddenly hesitated. She looked at the side jamb and saw a small matchstick on the floor where the door met the ground.

For all of its advanced security features, Claire still liked to do some simple old school security steps for added protection. One of those things was to discreetly place a match in the door jamb whenever she left her flat. If that match was out of place when she returned, she knew someone had been in or was currently inside her apartment.

The fact that the match she placed in there earlier today was now on the ground meant that this door had been opened at least once since she left this morning. Her training taught her to prepare for the worst, so she made the assumption that the person was now in her flat waiting for her.

She looked and saw light coming out from under the door, as expected. Her lamps were set on timers by design. She closed her eyes.

Claire waited, standing perfectly still. She began counting silently in her head. She needed 20 minutes before doing anything.

She was waiting for the pupils in her eyes to expand and the cones and rods in her eyes to adapt so she could see better in the dark. During this time, she controlled her breathing and tightened her muscles. She wished she was armed, but her gun was inside her flat, locked away. She could feel her knife in its holster on her ankle. It would have to do. She left it there and would use it when it was necessary.

When the 20 minutes was up, she traced the outline of the keypad. She could determine the exact placement of each number on the panel without looking, so she entered her code, unlocking her door.

With her eyes still shut, she entered her apartment, closing the door quietly behind her. She reached to her right and flipped the switch that turned off all of the lights in the flat. Then she opened her eyes, which were now accustomed to the dark, and prepared herself for a fight.

When Claire was inside her apartment, she felt it. A shift in the air, the kind of subtle change that only someone like her would notice. The space was too still—calculated. She stood there in silence, listening. No movement. No sound. But she knew.

She took a deep breath, and then could smell it. A kind of faint citrus and spicy scent. It was an aroma that was foreign to her flat.

He was here.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

She turned, and the attack came fast. A blur of motion from the shadows—she ducked just as a fist sliced through the air where her face had been. She countered instantly, her elbow driving toward the ribs of her unseen assailant, but he twisted, deflecting the strike with a sharp block.

They exploded into motion.

He went for her throat. She caught his wrist, twisting hard, forcing his body to pivot. He rolled with it, using the momentum to throw a vicious back kick. She barely avoided the impact, the force of it grazing her ribs as she spun away.

They separated for a breath—just long enough to gauge each other.

Then, he lunged again.

Claire sidestepped at the last second, hooking her leg around his ankle and sweeping him off balance. He went down but caught himself mid-fall, rolling over his shoulder and launching back at her. His forearm slammed into her midsection, driving her backward into the wall.

Pain flashed through her spine, but she turned it into fuel.

She hooked her arm around his neck, yanking him forward while driving her knee up toward his stomach. He twisted, barely avoiding the full force, but her follow-up—an open palm strike to his chest—sent him staggering.

She pursued. A feint to the left, drawing his guard up, then a brutal kick to his thigh, making his stance falter. He recovered instantly, grabbing her arm and twisting her into a chokehold. His grip was tight, controlled, but she was faster.

She dropped her weight, slipping out just enough to break the hold, then slammed her heel down onto his foot. His brief grunt of pain was all she needed—she spun, grabbing his wrist, using his own force to flip him over her shoulder.

He hit the ground hard, but before he could roll away, she was on him.

Straddling his waist, she pinned his wrist down with one hand, her other curled into a poised fist.

Then she kissed him—hard, victorious, and unforgiving. Because that was the game they played. And she always played to win.

Damian's dark eyes gleamed with amusement despite the bruise forming along his jaw. A slow grin spread across his lips. "Damn," he breathed. "You really don't hold back."

She let out a short laugh, her breathing still heavy. "You broke in. I could've killed you."

His grin widened. "That would've been an embarrassing way to go."

She let her fist press lightly against his cheek, her lips curving. "You're getting slower."

He lifted a brow. "Or you're just getting better."

"I was surprised the dark didn't throw you." she said.

"You don't think I learned from last time? I've been sitting here for over an hour with my eyes closed so they'd be used to the dark." Damian laughed.

"You're still sloppy," she said to him. "I could smell your cologne from the hallway."

Still pinned underneath her, Damian replied. "Well it was worth it, because I know how much you like Calvin Klein Obsession."

Her eyes gleamed with a mix of adrenaline and desire as she gazed down at him. His eyes locked on hers, seemed frozen in place, his chest heaving with anticipation.

"I do. It turns me on." she purred and then without warning, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his, the kiss fierce and passionate. Damian finally freed his hands and wrapped them around her waist as they deepened their kiss. Claire's hands slid through his hair, pulling him closer as their tongues clashed.

As they broke apart for air, she swiftly unzipped the jumpsuit she was wearing, revealing a lace bra and panties underneath. Damian's eyes widened as she stripped off all of her clothes, her body toned and athletic. He reached up, cupping her breasts as she ground against him.

Their lips met again, this time more urgently. She ripped open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere as she exposed his chest. Her hands roamed over his skin, tracing muscles as they kissed.

With a swift motion, she yanked down his pants and underwear, freeing his erection. He groaned as she took him in hand, stroking him roughly before positioning herself above him.

Then, in the heat of passion, she said something he would always remember. "It may be between your legs, but this cock is mine."

Then, with one swift movement, she sank down onto him, their bodies merging in a frenzy of flesh and sweat. She did not need any foreplay, the sparring was her own form of foreplay.

Claire rode him wildly, her hips bucking back and forth as she bounced down on him. Damian's hands grasped her hips, guiding her movements as they crashed into each other. Their moans filled the room, echoing off the walls as they lost themselves in the intensity of their passion.

Claire slammed her pussy down onto his cock, taking him deep inside her. She started riding him hard, her hips bucking wildly as she fucked him with a fierce intensity. Damian's hands grasped her ass cheeks, pulling her down onto him as he thrust upwards, their bodies crashing together in a frenzied rhythm.

Claire's breasts bounced rhythmically up and down as she rode him, her nipples already hardened into tight buds. Damian reached up, grabbing one of her breasts and squeezed it tightly, pinching her nipple as he did, making her cry out in pleasure.

Claire's pussy was soaked, juices dripping down onto his balls as she ground against him. She started to grind harder, rubbing her clit against his pubic bone. Damian's cock was rock-hard, throbbing inside her as he pumped away, their bodies slapping together in a wet smack of flesh on flesh.