I agreed, already resentful at the idea of having to stay late twice a week. Simone detailed how we would focus on getting my French up to speed while also working on my Urdu and breaking me in on the basics of Russian. We would also work on British accents, both a Northern or Manchester accent and a “received pronunciation” accent, which is more of a standard London variant. She insisted that the end results would have to be near-flawless. “We want to limit your risk,” she said. “The harder you work with me, the more you’ll lessen the likelihood that your mouth will get you into trouble.”
* * *
Although I was tired by the end of the day, my ninety minutes with Aaron Deckard flew by. As an Army brat-cum-CIA employee, I’d been around guns all my life, but my legitimate training had been limited to the standard instruction we all got at CIA University upon first joining the Agency. To my surprise, Aaron said I most likely wouldn’t be carrying a firearm of any kind while in the field, and if I were to require one, it would probably be acquired from a local source. That way if it were discovered, I wouldn’t look like an obvious CIA agent. The idea of going into a potentially dangerous situation armed only with my wits was daunting.
Aaron showed me several handguns, including a Beretta 92 and a M9, a Walther PPK and a Glock 7. Then he took me to the shooting range and watched without comment as I shredded a paper target with the Walther. Only when he saw my smartass grin did he pat me on the back and say, “Not bad for your first day.”
Five
Dr. Vargas turned out to be a woman, to my relief. Since I was getting a full physical, I preferred not having a man do the poking and prodding. She was in her forties and very professional, as I expected from a CIA physician. After submitting me to a battery of simple tests and drawing blood samples, she asked, “All right, Agent Mercer, shall we talk about sex?”
“Okay,” I said with trepidation.
She jumped right in. “What do you use for birth control?” she asked.
I hadn’t been on the pill in years because I hadn’t had a steady partner in that long. Instead I just used condoms during my occasional one-night stands. “Condoms,” I told her.
“Let’s get you on birth control pills,” the doctor said, “because you may find your mission-related sexual partners less willing to cooperate when it comes to condoms. It will likely be difficult for you to ascertain someone’s sexual habits until it’s too late. The Agency wants you to be as safe as possible in those circumstances. We want to avoid you contracting anything, so by all means, make every attempt to use condoms. But you need to be on the pill, too, just in case.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I’ll make this very easy for you,” Dr. Vargas said. “Always insist on condoms for vaginal or anal penetration. No exceptions. This day and age, that should be seen as a normal request. The Agency advises you to bring condoms with you in situations where you feel there’s any chance you may need them. Don’t rely on anyone else to have them. And if you ever have no choice but to have sex with a target without a condom, inform me immediately so we can begin post-exposure prophylaxis HIV treatment as soon as possible, which will reduce your chances of infection. But again, the best bet is to insist on condoms if possible.”
I nodded.
“Oral sex is trickier,” she said. “Most men still don’t like to wear condoms while receiving oral sex, and most women don’t like to perform it on a man with a condom. How about you? Are you okay with doing that?”
“Going down on a man wearing a condom?” I asked, making a face. “I’ve never actually tried it.”
“Okay, then let’s concern ourselves primarily with transmission of HIV, which is obviously the most serious STI,” she said. “Here’s what it boils down to: Transmission of HIV is very unlikely via oral sex. If you follow a few simple rules, you can tilt the odds in your favor.”
I waited to hear what she’d say next. Dr. Vargas gave me a brief lesson in how the HIV virus enters the body via the bloodstream and how it was effectively killed by stomach acid. “Infection requires an open wound of some kind, though they can be very small. So don’t perform oral sex within an hour after you’ve brushed your teeth or flossed, or if you have sores of any kind in your mouth.” Dr. Vargas said. “The ideal scenario would be to stop performing oral sex on a target before he reaches orgasm, but if you can’t do that, then quickly swallowing or spitting would be your best options.”
“Got it,” I said, trying to hide my amazement that I had taken a position where fellating a stranger could actually be a job requirement.
Until that point, I hadn’t thought about the fact that I was about to become part of the storied spy game. I would be following in the footsteps of the legendary Mata Hari, the Dutch stripper and escort who spied for the Germans in France during World War I. Hopefully, unlike Mata, I could avoid being executed for my efforts.
* * *
As my training continued, I learned bit-by-bit the nuances of being a covert operative. It occurred to me at some point that there were no sex classes. Nothing at all was said to me about what I might have to do or how to properly do it, with the exception of a few vague mentions from Dr. Morello. For example, I would have expected details on what German men like in bed, or maybe things I should never say to a Russian man.
I found the lack of a sexual component to the training a little odd, seeing as how nobody at the CIA actually knew anything about my skills or habits as a lover. I supposed that an undercover operative would need to be at least competent, and a talented lover would likely be able to earn additional time with a target. But nobody talked to me about any of this and I wondered how the Agency assessed that sort of thing. Maybe my one-night tryst with Dante Gutierrez had proven to them that I was capable of the basics, and that was good enough. I finally decided that it was just too strange a territory for them to venture into. Requiring an agent to have sex with a contact was weird enough, giving her lessons on how to do it better was beyond the pale.
About a month into my training, Dr. Morello asked me point blank, “Anna, are you sexually active?”
“In general, or lately?” I asked, unsure of where she was going.
“Lately,” she replied. “Since you started training.”
“Not really,” I said. “I don’t do long-term relationships, and I’ve been pretty busy with my classes here.”
“Well, you’re going to need to remedy that,” she said matter-of-factly. “The sooner, the better.”
I didn’t get it and asked her why. “I know it seems strange, but it’s actually very important,” Dr. Morello said. “Quite simply, your subconscious needs to understand the difference between sex for pleasure and sex for work, and if you don’t get laid regularly away from work, that will be more difficult. We don’t want you to get the two confused. The last thing we want in the field is for you to get wrapped up in the physical contact and forget your mission.”
“Do you really think I’d do that?” I asked. “Get so into the sex that I’d lose track of where I was or what I was doing?”
The doctor smiled and typed on her keyboard. “Tell me the first thing that pops into your head,” she ordered as she spun her monitor to face me. On the screen was a devastatingly handsome man with big green eyes.
“He’s hot,” I said. Oops. Not very spy-like, but it was my first thought.
“Indeed. He’s also very dangerous,” she said. “This is Alexei Polzin, a top KGB agent. One of our operatives spent four of the best hours of her life naked with Komrade Polzin. Unfortunately, she enjoyed her time with him so much that she neglected to plant a simple bug in his apartment and it cost us two months worth of intel before we were able to find another way to accomplish the task.”
I nodded. It was easy to imagine getting carried away with the man in the picture naked on top of you.
“Have you slept with anyone since you were with Dante Gutierrez?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do so, and soon. You ne
ed to get your sex-for-fun regularly in your private life,” Dr. Morello said. “This is not optional; it’s a requirement.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. I had actually been thinking that it was time I had another one-nighter, but I’d been exhausted by my training.
* * *
By the end of my third month of training, my body was firming up and I was actually told to eat a little more to avoid losing weight, an absolutely mind-blowing request. I noticed the difference in my clothes and while I still saw a pudgy girl in my bathroom mirror, I could see my weight gradually being redistributed on my body. It was a wonderful confidence booster and I soon found myself looking forward to my workouts with Lisa. We’d already advanced to working on combat techniques: punching, kicking, choking and grappling, along with defense and countering against weapons. I’d learned to disarm an attacker with a knife as well as how to fall properly to avoid injury.
My French was coming along, to the point where I could watch movies without the subtitles and not lose track of what was going on. If I’d had a roommate, they would have thought I was nuts as I walked around talking to myself in French at home.
Around that time Dr. Morello again asked me if I’d gotten laid yet. I’d been hoping she wouldn’t bring it up, because I just hadn’t been able to convince myself to head out to a bar and try to hook up with someone.
“Not yet,” I said. “I’m working on it.”
“Have you ever slept with a woman?” she asked.
“No.”
“Ever thought about it?”
“Not really,” I lied. I occasionally wondered what it would be like to have sex with a woman. I wouldn’t want to date one, but I’m all for anything fun in bed and thought it might be interesting to touch a woman’s soft body, if only to know what it feels like for men.
“You’ll need to,” she said. “At least once, even if it doesn’t interest you. It may never come up in the field, but if it does you’ll need to be able to handle yourself convincingly.”
“Um, okay,” I said, unsure how I was going to pull it off.
* * *
It was around that time when Mr. Sills sent word one morning for me to come by his office immediately. We had been having brief weekly meetings all along, so the request didn’t strike me as too strange. As always, he looked me up and down when I entered. I had grown accustomed to these appraisals and had accepted them as part of the job; he was merely continuing to assess the attributes of his agent.
“How is everything, Anna?” Sills said as I took a seat across the desk from him.
“Do you mean my training?” I asked.
He smiled and said, “Well, I meant in general, but let’s talk about your training. Is it going well?”
“I believe so,” I told him. “Each week I feel more prepared than the last.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I’ve met with Dr. Morello and your instructors today and they’ve all assured me that you’re ahead of schedule.” I was surprised to hear that. Leslie, my fitness coach, and Simone, the language instructor, had both ridden my tail and were constantly telling me I needed to work harder.
Sills leaned forward. “Something has come up, Anna,” he said in a somber tone. I feared that maybe the Agency had decided they didn’t need me as a covert operative after all. “Your training was supposed to last six months, an accelerated schedule compared to the full year most core collectors receive. But as I said, a situation has arisen — one for which we need a specific type of agent to carry out an operation.”
Was he saying what I thought he was? “Excuse me, sir?”
He smiled softly. “I’ll stop tap-dancing around the subject. We want to send you out in the field, Agent Mercer. We have an operation that has a specific component to it, and you have been assigned as the field agent who will carry it out.”
I gulped. “How soon, sir?” I asked, unsure whether I was nearly prepared enough to carry out even the simplest of missions. Wouldn’t there be some sort of simulated training first? I supposed not, considering the odd requirements of my job. “And what would my mission entail?” I tried to sound as professional and confident as I could.
“You would leave first thing tomorrow,” Sills said. He picked up a remote control from the desk and pushed a button, dimming the lights. Another button lowered a screen in front of the lone window, further darkening the room. An image from an overhead projector appeared on the screen. I was looking at the face of a ruggedly handsome man. He had close-cropped dark hair and hazel eyes, a strong nose and beautiful full lips. His jaw had just the perfect amount of angle to it. He could have been a Marine with that confident, almost arrogant look.
“This is Sasha Lazarenko,” Sills continued. “A Ukrainian national who deals in plutonium on the black market, specifically weapons-grade plutonium 239. It’s very rare, very expensive, and highly sought-after by certain foreign governments. Our HUMINT tells us that Lazarenko is currently in London to meet with a high-ranking Iranian defense minister. We don’t know where the meeting will take place, but we need to place a listening device in his hotel room just blocks from Buckingham Palace to see what we can learn.”
My stomach felt like it had turned upside down. I was being tasked with meeting this Lazarenko guy and making sure I got back to his hotel room, then planting a bug without him knowing. I stared at the face in front of me, wondering if I could go through with it without being so nervous that I’d give myself away. Would I have to sleep with this dangerous man? Could I actually do this?
“I assume you’re asking me to plant the listening device?” I asked, wanting to be certain I understood.
“The Agency doesn’t ask, Agent Mercer,” Sills said. “You have been assigned to this operation and you will carry it out. We understand that your training is being interrupted halfway, but we feel you’re ready. Lazarenko was educated at Oxford and speaks English quite well, so there’s no language barrier. And since the field of operation is in England, you will be as safe as you’re likely to ever be on such a mission.”
“We have a team already in place in London to assist you,” Sills said. “You will be briefed in-depth by Agent Musgrave tonight, and he will accompany you on your flight to London in the morning. By the time you land, you should be up to speed and know exactly what to do and how to do it. We are in the process of arranging a meeting between you and Lazarenko. You’ll be undercover as a French national. The rest will be up to you.”
The rest of the meeting, I was in a daze. Glen Musgrave arrived to take me to his office and go over the operation in greater detail. Mr. Sills had him wait outside as he shook my hand and said, “Anna, we have the greatest confidence in you. You’ve been trained by the finest instructors the Agency has available. And don’t forget, this isn’t your first mission.”
My face must have shown my confusion, because Sills added, “That Los Alfas cartel lawyer, remember? You’ve done this before — successfully.”
I blushed and nodded. Sills was right; I’d already bedded one bad guy in order to gain valuable intel on him. My little tryst with Dante Gutierrez had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, though, based on my need for excitement and the alcohol in my system at the time. This would be different: This was a planned, high-level CIA operation.
* * *
I accompanied Agent Musgrave to his office. He was a short, stocky man with a slight lisp, but in short order had me convinced that he really knew his stuff.
“So it looks likes we’ll be taking a weekend trip to London,” he said, opening a box on his desk. “Here’s your ID.” He handed me a French passport, which I opened to see the same picture of me as on my CIA badge, but with the name Dominique Marchand and an address in Lyon.
“Who made it?” I asked.
“That was made by someone in OTS,” he said, not understanding my question.
I laughed and said, “I know that. I came to EA from OTS. I was just wondering who did the work, that’s all.”
“Oh. Um, sorry, I have no idea,” he replied. He handed me a tablet computer not much bigger than a smartphone. “This contains your bio. Memorize it. You never know when Customs might ask a question or two. Lazarenko might ask a few, as well.”
“Tell me more about him,” I said. “What should I expect?”
Musgrave pointed at the tablet in my hand. “It’s all in there,” he said. “Because he has no loyalty to any particular government or religion, he can be a little unpredictable. We do know he loves his expensive Scotch and he loves the ladies.”
A feeling of apprehension came over me — a sensation I would become quite familiar with over the next few days. For the first time it occurred to me that Musgrave must have known my situation, and consequently knew that I might well have to sleep with Lazarenko to accomplish my mission.
“The first mission is always strange,” Musgrave said, sensing my trepidation. “You’ve been well-trained, though. You’ll do fine, Agent Mercer.”
“Thanks,” I said. “And please call me Anna.” I liked Musgrave’s easy-going demeanor.
“Okay,” he replied. “And I’m Glen.”
He removed a plastic container from the box and opened it, showing me the contents: a makeup compact. Pulling the mirror forward, he revealed a hidden compartment with two shiny white stickers inside. Musgrave held them for my inspection. Each sticker had “Property of Hotel 41. Do not remove from room” written on it, and behind it was a flat white disc the width of a dime. Leading from the disc and following along the edges of the sticker I could see a very thin wire.
“You’ll affix the stickers to the backs of the televisions in Lazarenko’s suite, the ones in the living area and in the bedroom. Don’t bother with the one in the bathroom.” I smiled, then realized he was serious and there actually was a TV in the bathroom. “Each disc contains both a highly sensitive microphone and a radio transmitter, and the little wire serves as an antenna. Once the sticker is on the TV, those are practically invisible. On the plane tomorrow, I’ll show you a little magician’s trick you can use to palm the sticker and still get it into place even if you don’t get any alone time with the TVs.”
Sleeping With the Enemy Page 4