Rebecca squirmed, fighting to keep from screaming. She hoped that it would look like she was merely playing coy, the plastic smile plastered on her face hiding her gritted teeth as the man worked his fingers under the hem of her dress. She sipped her champagne and giggled when he leaned in to try to kiss her, trying to stifle the urge to vomit. It wasn't just that this man was old enough to be her father, or that his breath stunk of cigars and vodka, but that she was already done up to look as young as she could, and he thought she was younger.
"Yes, Boris knows your type, doesn't he Mr. Kaprikov." The man behind her chuckled as he slid his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, his fingers pausing to caress her breast through the tight material of her top. She shuddered and squirmed as she giggled inanely again to disguise it.
"Mr. Kaprikov, Mr. Slavkovsky has told me about you. You are a very important man, on TV and everything." She said in a childlike voice, running her finger along the jowl of his chin and down the open collar of his shirt. The older man ignored her, as if she was little more than a kitten playing on his lap as he looked over the top of her head at Boris.
"Yes, I like this one. Why don't you bring her this weekend where we can enjoy each other in a bit more privacy." Kaprikov said in a heavily accented Russian voice as he slid his hand between her thighs.
"Eeekkkkk!" she squealed and jumped as his thick thumb slid over the lacy material of her underwear. "Mr. Kaprikov!" she exclaimed.
Boris grabbed her by the arm and pulled her roughly up off the lap of the large man who was seated in the night club booth. "Behave yourself girl, Mr. Kaprikov is a very important man. You should be honoured to be in the same room with him." Boris shook her hard and her glass fell from her hand to shatter on the floor. She flinched as he raised his hand, preparing to backhand her across the face but a thick slurred voice stopped him.
"Patience Boris. The girl is just inexperienced that is all. Don't let you anger ruin such an untouched beauty." The big man rumbled as he levered himself up off of the padded bench. "I have to hit the lavatory, then I have business. See you on Saturday and bring her." He moved away, the crowd parting before him like waves before the prow of a ship and soon he was gone.
Boris tugged her and she staggered on her heels as he pulled her toward the door. "Stupid bitch, what were you thinking? You are going to get us both killed." He hissed in her ear as he pushed her before him, out of the nightclub and into the street.
Rebecca stumbled then recovered herself and stood, adjusting the hem and straps of her party dress. "I'm here as bait, that doesn't mean that I am going to let myself be swallowed." She snapped back, then he pushed her again and dragged her down the street.
"Quiet you idiot, you don't think he has people out here?" He hissed in her ear and she stiffened, realizing that she could have blown the entire operation with that comment. "Fucking babies, that is what I have to work with. Fucking babies."
Rebecca Mason was 24 years old, but with the right hairdo and makeup could look years younger. It had been an annoyance, always getting carded at bars and even movie theaters but finally her baby face and elfin physique was starting to pay off. She had been working at the Agency for almost two years and had just been contacted by the head of the Moscow desk for some undercover work that she was perfectly suited for. This could be a career maker, if she could pull it off. Unfortunately, it meant working with street punks like Boris Slavkovsky to make the connections.
Vladimir Kaprikov was one of the biggest mob bosses in Russia. He had police, military and politicians on his payroll and had been a huge target on the Agencies radar for years. Unfortunately, there was no way to get near him until Boris had been approached with the promise of money and a trip to the west. That was when Vladimir's preferences for younger women, girls actually, was confirmed and a call went out. Rebecca fit the bill perfectly, speaking functional Russian from her grandparents, able to pass for 18 with the right preparation, and too new to the Agency to be on anyone's radar. A hasty interview and some remedial training and she was on a plane to Moscow.
Boris shoved her roughly into his car, playing the role of the abusive pimp a bit too well for her liking. She looked out the windshield and saw two men watching them from across the street, shit maybe he was right. He pulled away, squealing the tires of the expensive sportscar like any young punk anywhere in the world.
"This was supposed to be an introduction, I wasn't planning on getting felt up on the first date." Rebecca snapped when they were safely away.
"This is Vladimir Kaprikov!" He snarled back. "If he wanted to fuck you on the table no one would have done a thing. You are just lucky he had other business or he may have decided to sort you out himself."
The car squealed as he swerved around traffic, berating her as he drove. "I am not going to get myself killed because you can't handle yourself. I was told that the Agency was serious about this but here I am working with a fucking virgin!"
Rebecca bit back the obvious retort, she didn't need him speculating on her sex life. In fact, she bit back most of what she was going to say because he was right. She was supposed to be one of his girls who was especially reserved for Kaprikov's specific tastes. She had been briefed on what she might have to do on this mission. While she was only supposed to plant bugs and identify people in his circle, what she would probably have to put up with to achieve that had been made very clear.
"What did he mean by this weekend, what is going on?" She asked, trying to regain some control over the situation.
"He is having a party at his Dacha, and I am providing some of the entertainment." Boris replied proudly. Being the go-to man for Vladimir Kaprikov had its own benefits and he bragged about them every chance he could.
"Shit, you have got to get me into that party!" Rebecca blurted excitedly, turning to face the man driving the car.
Boris was your typical small fish swimming in the big fish pond. His hair was perfect, and his beard was shaved stubble length and groomed. He was dressed in the latest club wear fashion, and she almost felt sorry for his balls due to how tight his pants were. He gripped the steering wheel as he drove recklessly through the Moscow nighttime traffic, secure that no cop would ever pull over a friend of Kaprikov's.
"No way, not after tonight. I am out. If he find's out that I am working with you people all of the money in the world won't be enough to keep me safe." He growled.
Rebecca crossed her arms and glared at him, it is difficult to be intimidating when you are wearing a black sparkly party dress and made up to look like an 18yr old farm girl in the big city for the first time. "If you don't get me into that party, he just might find out anyway." She said firmly. "This entire mission is to achieve that and if you aren't part of the solution, you become part of the problem, understood."
He glanced over at her, his eyes sliding from her face down her body and a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Then I 'm glad that it isn't your call, malyshka." He said with a cocky grin.
Dammit, he was right. It wasn't her call, it was Brian's her handler in the Moscow station, and he was definitely not going to let her take that risk. Shit, he didn't want her in on this mission to begin with but he had been overruled. A few minutes later and she was standing in the lobby of her apartment building watching Boris squeal away. She felt sorry for whichever of his women was going to be the brunt of his attentions tonight.
The next morning she woke early to start drafting her report, a summary of what she had seen and heard followed by hours of scrolling through pictures to try to match names to the faces she had noticed come and go that evening. Early in the evening, she stretched and grabbed her phone to dial her supervisor hoping to catch him before he left for the day.
"Horton." She heard his voice with his customary no nonsense greeting.
"Mr. Horton, it's Rebecca Miller. I have the 48hr report from last night if you want to go over it." She replied, trying to keep the fatigue out of her voice.
"Rebecca, those are called '48 hr reports' for a reason, because they should take 48 hours to compile. Let me guess, you started at 6am and blasted through it which is why you are calling me at 5:30 to say it is done, isn't it."
Rebecca sighed, she was acting like an overeager student nagging her teacher for higher grades. "Yes sir." She replied.
"Then use the rest of the time to make sure it is right. Read over what you wrote, make sure of your information and we can talk about it over lunch tomorrow. The normal meeting site, 11:00 alright?"
"Yes sir." She said, repressing a sigh of disappointment in herself. Get it together Becky. Because she was undercover she couldn't work out of the Agency office so she had been set up with a small apartment in a low rent end of town. The designated meeting site was a restaurant that served passable food but had the privacy and atmosphere needed to maintain her cover. She closed down her laptop and headed for the shower to try to calm herself before bed. She didn't think she could get the feeling of Vladimir Kaprikov's fingers off of her skin but she was going to try.
The next day she sat in a booth, her back to the wall, eating her soup with black bread. It wasn't as good as her nana used to make but the familiar tastes brought back memories of summers at their cottage and stories of what life was like here during the Cold War. She looked up as a shadow filled the door of the restaurant and recognized Brian Horton as he stepped in. She felt her eyes linger over him for a moment, light brown hair matched his soft eyes with care worn wrinkles at the corner. His shoulders were broad, and he had his sleeves rolled up to show off well muscled forearms.
"Stop it." She muttered to herself. "He's your supervisor and you are fucking this up enough without accidentally hitting on him." Still, she straightened her back and lifted her chin, shaking out her long blonde ponytail as he slid into the booth across from her.
"I read over what you submitted, good job. How sure are you of the identity of the people you tagged?" He said, getting right to business.
"I ranked them in order, starting with those he referred to by name then those I recognized and then down to just guesses." She replied somewhat annoyed. She had said as much in her report, did he actually read it?
"I know you did, but you didn't include any brackets to identify who was in what group." He replied patiently.
