SHE WAS AS ONE WITH MOTHER. stories #2

Mother and daughter, stood facing each other. Mother in a black dress and Louboutin pumps; her blonde hair pulled up in a classic French pleat. She took her daughter's hand and there in the palm firmly placed the gold gun.


The daughter, a younger image of her mother: haughty, blonde, blue eyes,  lean and statuesque, slipped the gun down between her breasts, the barrel rubbing tight against the leather as she pulled the zipper up to her neck.  The soft leather catsuit was tight around her torso before flaring out at the leg over her favorite Louboutin biker boots.   She had been waiting for this moment--the opportunity to put all the training to good use.

They hugged, mother giving daughter a light kiss on the lips, before stepping back to watch her daughter take her leave out of the door.  It was time. 

The mother poured herself a drink, Macallan whisky, straight up, and sat down on the chair; two mobile phones were on the desk in front of her; she reached for the cheap throw away phone to make the call.

The man answered on the second ring.  No greeting, just a distinct and familiar voice brusquely  informing him a girl was on her way over. The phone disconnected before he could say one word. The call itself did not surprise him, but what did is that it was she who had made the call. She had always been obvious in her disdain for any contact with him. He grinned in the thought of her actually having to procure a girl for him. The usual arrangement was that some minion would arrange for a whore to come to his hotel. He had made no secret of his proclivity for certain sexual perversions, and one of the provisions when he was first  'turned' was that he would expect certain favours be granted him.  The exchange of documents and cash had taken place earlier that evening. Now he was wanting the whore.

The daughter pulled up her hair and slipped under the Arai full face helmet. Gloves on, she mounted her prized MV Agusta F4 1100 CC 315 km/h. 1.078 cc engine motorbike.  Kicking up the engine, she kept it purring through the back streets, until... out on the state road, she revved up and disappeared into the night...

Her pulse was steady, seeming in sync with the speedometer. She was completely focused as she executed each turn on the dark winding road.  She had always loved bikes, much to her mother's disapproval. It was the one defiant act she allowed herself. The vibrations were now having a distinctly pleasurable effect. She loved grinding hard into the seat, feeling the bike rewarding her effort with little  shock waves moving down her thighs. 

The secluded hotel was in view, the lights of the rooms twinkling through the branches of trees  Slowing the engine, she looked for the opening where she was to leave the bike, 200 yards from the Manor Hotel. There is was, the lights now in full view. She parked and climbed off the bike, removed the helmet, and checked the time on her Girard-Perregaux watch.  Dead... on schedule, she thought.

She quickly stripped out of the leather, smoothing out the long soft flowing red Valentino dress.  From the opened seat of the bike, she removed the black ankle strap stilettos and the small Chanel handbag. Quickly moving, it took all of 3 minutes to go from black to red. Slipping the gun into the Chanel bag, she made her way on to a gravel path. A security person had been persuaded to leave the fire exit door ajar before making himself scarce. She moved quietly around the side of the building, once in the door, she began climbing the stairs.  Tonight was for mother, and she would not let her down.

It had been her and mother since she was two years old.  Her father had accidentally and fatally shot himself while cleaning an antique rifle. Her own memories of him were vague and conversation regarding father had never been encouraged.  Mother had provided for them both a very privileged lifestyle, never wanting for anything.  But, while life was privileged, she had never been indulged or pampered. At the age of eight,  it was mother who taught her how to strip and clean a rifle before teaching her how to fire it.

She moved quickly through the fire exit door and entered the corridor of the 4^th floor. #410. She tapped lightly on the door.

An older portly man, in black satin robe, opened the door and she quickly brushed passed him. 

Once in the room, she took a quick look around. Nothing had changed from her prior surveillance, except the king size bed was now covered with various restraining devices, dildos, a leather mask, several whips, and... a schoolgirl outfit. She sat down on the sofa, eyes on her target.

His first thought was that she looked nothing like a whore.  The second thought was that she was too tall for the outfit he had for her.

She let him have his look before smiling and stating "you've been rather naughty, haven't you."

He was quick to correct her, "Oh, baby, you've been the naughty one, and daddy is gonna have to punish you."   He was breathing heavy with excitement as he moved towards the bed.

She reached in the handbag, still smiling. "Well, I have not been as naughty as I am going to be... "  He eyed up and down hungrily. 

"You see, daddy, you've become a liability; bad for business, and just... plain bad all around, really.”  She brought the gun out and aimed for his forehead. “You have to go. Mummy said so.”

The man froze in the sudden realization that this beautiful girl was not a hooker but the daughter of...

 Thud. The man fell backwards on the floor.
Her mind concentrated. Training took over. 

Slipping on the latex gloves, she rose and checked the pulse to make sure he was dead.  She moved quickly around the room, checking his clothing,  grabbing his phone, laptop, documents and cash from the briefcase. She gathered up what was on the bed and with the gun still warm stuffed everything into a large plastic garbage bag taken from her handbag. One more look around, she checked her watch.  One minute under. She stood, hand on the door handle surprised at just how easy it had been to pull the trigger and watch him fall. She looked back at him with disgust.  She knew his file; no one was going to miss him.

Down the stairs, out the door, she looked around to make sure no witnesses, including the paid security guard, needed to be dealt with. Back at the bike, she put the plastic bag under the seat, and zipped back in to the leather. Helmet on, she climbed on to the seat and gently stroked the engine to life. She turned the bike and headed back down the quiet road before moving into gear on the state road and entering the highway.

 The arranged drop  was a rest area, just a short run from where she entered the highway. She pulled in and saw the black Escalada parked at the far end. A man in a black suit stepped out as she pulled up close to him. Raising herself up and forward, he took the plastic bag, nodded and immediately drove out of the rest area.

The daughter waited until the vehicle was out of sight before removing the helmet and taking out her mobile. She had now completed her assignment, and everything, even the drop off, had been executed exactly as planned.  Mother will be happy.

She reached in the leather jacket and pulled out her mobile. "Mummy... ". She could just pick up a soft sigh of relief on the other end before hearing the dial tone. 

Now, euphoric adrenaline could kick in.  She was as one with the bike and as one with mother. She revved loudly, and spun the bike around and entered the highway. She was already grinding down hard as she roared up the ramp.


copyright Ms. Londoncalling.

Spies, Lies, and Anna Chapman

Sex, lies & female spies

By Gayle Schoales

July 18, 2010

Move over James Bond. It's out with shaken Martinis and in with Cosmos. Like suspected Russian spy Anna Chapman, 28, just under half of the UK's 3,500 'spooks' are women and, according to experts, it's feisty, fearless females who make the best spies. With pistols concealed in their designer handbags and lipsticks doubling as listening devices, women are putting their feminine skills to good use, forging careers in what has traditionally been a man's world.
"Female spies like Anna Chapman use their sexuality to their advantage," says Claire Thomas, co-author of Spooks: The Unofficial History of MI5. "An attractive, intelligent woman can ensnare a man and get him to lower his guard. She'll turn him into putty in her hands and get the information she needs. She doesn't have to use sex - but it's a powerful weapon."
While us girls might lack the physical strength of our male counterparts, in the world of spying, that's not a problem.
"Espionage is more about gathering intelligence than getting into Jason Bourne-style fist fights," explains Claire. "Male agents don't have an advantage. If anything, women are mentally much stronger than men. They can cope with pressure better, and the demands of leading a double life."
One German WW2 spy, code-named 'Mrs Amos', was so deep undercover in London, not even her husband of 20 years knew she was an agent. "Her cover story was that she worked in the War Office," says Claire. "She was an unassuming, middle-aged woman, yet she spied on people and gave information to the Nazis. She even recruited other women to the service. Her husband never suspected a thing."

The sexier the spy, the better

 As for Bond-girl looks, traffic-stopping beauty can actually be a hindrance rather than a help. "Depending on the mission, the agent might want to be unremarkable and fly under the radar," says Claire. "If it's a honey-trap however, the sexier the spy, the better."
When he founded the British Security Service (MI5) in 1909, Sir Vernon Kell stipulated that female agents had to be "well bred and have good legs". And in the '30s and '40s, MI5 spymaster Maxwell Knight recruited sexy women to go on missions to ensnare men with German or Russian links.
One of them was Olga Grey. A blonde bombshell codenamed 'Miss X', she infiltrated a spy ring in the Woolwich Arsenal during WW2. Despite falling in love with her communist target, Olga never abandoned her mission. "She'd sneak into his bathroom late at night and photograph his top-secret plans for weapons. He didn't suspect her and, after his arrest, he was devastated at her betrayal," says Claire.
Like Olga, Joan Miller used her sexuality as a weapon too. Another WW2 agent, glamorous Joan infiltrated a secret anti-Jewish society called the Right Club. Made up of everyone from politicians to the Fifth Duke of Wellington, the group met in the swish Russian Tea Rooms in London, where they drank vodka, ate caviar and discussed how to remove Jews from positions of power in politics and the press. By gaining their trust, Joan busted the ring.
"Once, Joan needed to get her apartment searched for taps," says Claire. "Special Branch officers said they couldn't do it, so she bribed them with a picture of herself in a bikini!"
But how do women get to work in the Secret Services in the first place? Everyone's heard the story about getting a tap on the shoulder, but MI5 started open recruitment 10 years ago. Gone are the days of being covertly approached and invited to apply, like Jennifer Garner's character in US TV series Alias.
The reality is less exciting. After completing a competency test, successful candidates embark on a series of interviews and vetting procedures. Interviewers delve into the backgrounds of family and friends, as well as their sex lives and personal relationships to ensure the credibility of would-be spies.
"Women are more likely to be sent on corporate missions these days, where they can get jobs in offices that allow them access to files, or have drinks with well-connected people," says Claire. "But the essence of their work is still the same.
"They can exploit men's vanity, seducing them into telling them what they want to know. Men don't suspect women asking strange questions in the same way they would a man."

Why women make better spies

"Women are used to taking on many roles - being one person at work, one with friends, and another with our bloke or kids," says psychologist
Dr Funke Baffour. "We manage these seamlessly and almost have 'double lives' already. Women are also better at lying and keeping secrets than men. We think through possible problems and outcomes before speaking, so are less likely to be caught out."

One who did get caught out is ANNA CHAPMAN, Russian Spy 2010

Anna Chapman was kinky and 'great in bed,' says ex husband Alex

BY LUKAS I. ALPERT

DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER

Monday, July 05, 2010

She may have been a true Cold Warrior, but Anna Chapman is red-hot in the sheets.

The flame-haired Russian hottie accused of being a deep-cover mole in the U.S. was a wild woman in the sack, her ex-hubby says.

"Anya was great in bed and she knew exactly what to do," said Alex Chapman, who married the then-Anya Kushchenko in 2002. "The sex was great and she had this incredible body."

Chapman told the British newspaper News of the World that he met the stunning spook at a rave in England in 2001 and immediately fell in love.

"I hadn't met anybody like her before," he said. "I was infatuated with her."

They began a torrid affair, which Alex Chapman says quickly veered into kinky territory.

The randy Russian had a penchant for whips and nipple clamps and once joined him in a mile-high sex romp aboard a Moscow-bound flight, he said.

The poor hubby never thought he was married to a spy -- except for that one time a Persian prince got them into a nightclub, and now that you mention it, she was friends with a wealthy guy called Sergei who had a Green Card for no apparent reason. Other clues: Anna loved watching James Bond movies and Benny Hill. 
Apparently, Anna left Alex on account of her expensive tastes, picking some guy who could buy her a Cartier watch over him -- which perhaps explains the ultimate payback of him selling their sex pics to The News of the World.
How nice of him to release such intimate photos to the media.  Obviously, no ill-feeling on his part, just... GREED.   They had something in common, didn't they?

After the divorce, Anna moved to New York City and there ran a successful real estate company, living the high life and garnering some influential and rich Russian and International clients, as well as lovers.  
All was going well, until an undercover FBI agent attempted to draw her into a trap at a Manhattan Starbucks. The FBI agent offered Chapman a fake passport with the instructions to forward it to another spy. He asked, "are you ready for this step?", to which Chapman replied, "Of course." She accepted the passport. However, after making a series of phone calls to her father, Vasily Kushchenko, in Moscow, Chapman ended up heeding her father's advice and handed the passport in at a local police station, but was arrested shortly after. After her arrest by the FBI for her involvement with the Illegals Program, she was formally charged with nine other detainees and became part of a spy swap deal between the US and Russia.

Back in Russia, she has gained celebrity status and is seen more as  a heroine rather than a femme fatale. In the Russian edition of Maxim magazine in October, she stated: "Seduction, like love and friendship are the same everywhere," when asked which men are easier to seduce, Russians, British or Americans.
"Most men are divided in three categories: primitive, those that only want sex; smarter, those that want to be loved and [the] last group -- those that not only want to be loved, they also need that this love will be the biggest and most amazing feeling in your life," she said.
Chapman, who once claimed to be a wealthy realtor, has since been hired as an adviser to the president of FundServiceBank, an authorized bank of the Russian space agency, and hosts a TV show. 

And these photos might explain US Vice-President Joe Biden, when jokingly asked by Jay Leno on NBC's The Tonight Show with Jay Leno, "Do we have any spies that hot?", replied in a mock serious tone, "Let me be clear. It was not my idea to send her back."

For more in depth reading, just Google Anna Chapman.