Focal Point
CHAPTERS 12 & 13
 
By Alyssa Plant
 

Michael Cohen's dream was to protect and serve as a police officer.... That job didn't satisfy him until one day, when people without names came to visit. He wanted to make a difference, but he didn't expect it to make a difference to him, too...

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Chapter 12

I woke early on Sunday morning, the activities of the night before fresh on my mind: We had made love, and I had reached the most important decision in my life so far; although, I suspect I had never really made a decision, only an admission.

After experiencing even such a short time as a woman, I had woken up to who I really wanted to be… no… was. I knew some would say that I could never possibly be so sure after such a short period of time, but how does one know that one is awake? You just do. The barrier between consciousness and unconsciousness is invisible but definate, and I had crossed a very similar divide; Mike was not coming back after this operation.
Wriggling out from under Harriet’s arm, I slipped out of the bed, and quietly made my way towards the door. I was naked, and not in a way that I liked. I quietly grabbed my robe and the box containing my proxy femaleness, and slipped out into the silent hallway and into the bathroom.

I lifted my breasts from the box, and placed them on the counter while I applied a coating of glue to both them, and my chest. I lifted the breasts, one at a time, and carefully lined them up on my chest in the bathroom mirror. The act felt strange, and a sense of fraud clouded my mind for a moment. I ignored it, and finished affixing my bosom. Once I was reasonably sure I was all secure, I sat on the closed toilet seat lid, my hands cupping the breasts to my chest, to ensure the glue held. I giggled at the crazy image I must have presented. The dishevelled yawning girl sat on the toilet groping herself; if someone had told me a month ago that I would find myself in this situation, I would have had them committed.

Happy that my assets were accounted for, I turned on the shower, and allowed the water to caress my body. After I was finished, I dried myself and my hair as best as I could manage without waking Harriet, and slipped on my underwear. As I clasped my bra closed on the second attempt, I looked down at my sleeping lover. She lay in the covers; an angel at rest, her sleeping lips pouting ever so slightly. I sat on the edge of the bed and gently lay down facing her. I could feel her warm breath against my cheek. I wanted so badly to kiss her, to tell her how much I loved her, but I left her to her slumber. It was three hours later when she woke me.

“Hey,” Harriet smiled softly after waking me with a kiss. “Mike’s gone?” she asked quietly.

“Mike’s gone,” I confirmed.

“Thank you for last night.” She whispered. “It was hard for you.” She said knowing the truth. “You tried for me, don’t think I didn’t notice that.”

I frowned, “I just wanted you to be happy, to see if I could be what you wanted.”

“You are what I want, and what I need you silly woman.” She replied lovingly, kissing my forehead.

It was nearing mid morning, so we both dressed, and made our way through to the kitchen and breakfast. I had just finished making our toast and coffee when Pete surfaced.
“Mike-ette,” he muted wandering past me to the kettle rubbing his eyes. He did a double take, catching sight of Harriet at the table.

“Um, hello,” he said with a sheepish grin, brushing his hand through his hair.

“Don’t bother Pete,” I grinned. “She’s mine.”

“I thought you were mine?” Harriet asked coyly.

“Ok fine we share,” I shrugged, enjoying the mix of confusion, lust and that were visibly flying around Pete’s brain creating a wonderful collage of expressions.

Pete broke at that point. “Too early,” he groaned sinking into a kitchen chair. “You two are an item? With him like this?” he asked, looking at me with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. “You never ONCE score a bird in 5 years, yet you grow a pair of tits and suddenly you land a Hottie? That’s fucking unfair mate,” he grinned ruefully, shaking his head.

Harriet stuck out her hand to Pete. “Hottie at your service, but my friends call me Harriet.”

“Pete,” he mumbled shaking the proffered hand.

“Do you have a problem with lesbians?” Harriet asked coyly.

“I ah, god, no!” Pete spat, “Of course not, erm, what?”

“She’s just teasing you Pete,” I smiled glaring sidelong at Harriet, hoping she got the message. It was one thing to come out to myself, but I wasn’t ready for the party.

“Man this keeps getting stranger,” he chuckled, sipping his scalding black coffee.

Becky joined us after a short while, and Harriet visibly began to relax as she became more accepted amongst my friends. I think it meant a great deal to her that she fitted in. We spent the day around the flat, just enjoying one another’s presence. We nuzzled and kissed from time to time, and eventually Pete retreated to his room. My education in the male world told me just why he had vanished, and it caused all of us girls no end of amusement at the poor man’s expense. It seemed awkward to refer my myself outwardly as a girl, but it seemed to come so easily in my mind, far too easily.

Before long, Monday morning rolled around, and it was back into the breech once more. Harriet had left on Sunday evening, and I made my way alone to Vauxhall Cross on the tube. The number of times I had travelled on the underground was uncountable, but today things felt very different. I was comfortable finally. It was as if accepting who I was had removed my fear of being seen as a man in a dress… I was a woman in the grey skirt suit and knee length designer trench coat… just like so many others in this city, and I finally had my slot; although admittedly, on the crowded morning tube, that was more like a slit I was crushed into.
I waited for the obligatory Pod cue to progress and made my way down to the Middle East Controlerate. This week would contain tradecraft classes for me, all the things I needed to know about staying alive, condensed into one week… I was sceptical of the timeframe, but wiling to put in the hours.

I spent the next five days learning operational procedure, running through numerous key faces, profiles and the finer details of my legend. I immersed myself in Anastasia Zanov, and felt that I had almost begun to become that woman with the knowledge I held of her. I spent Wednesday familiarising myself with the equipment and weapons that I had been given to further deepen my cover. It felt reassuring to be in these final stages; Harriet understood that, but a lot of the others did not. I had been involved in minor undercover operations with the Met, and All the planning meant nothing in the lead up to an op, the final stages, feeling prepared and ready to go were when I felt most secure, the most confident. I just hoped that I could pull this off. Friday morning approached too quickly for my liking, and before I knew it, I was swiping into the Middle East Controlerate’s area in the dark recesses of Vauxhall Cross.

I slowly stepped into the controlerate, setting my wheeled suitcase down. I had dressed that morning as per Anastasia… I wore a pair of high heeled ankle boots with a wedge heel that I was reasonably secure in, a pair of tight fitted jeans, a white tee-shirt, and a black leather jacket that I had spotted one night on the way home from work. My blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and my Oakley sunglasses rested casually atop my head. Simple stud earrings, a thin watch and a woven gold bracelet were the only Items of jewellery I wore. Naturally, Jane and Harriet had wanted me to dress differently, but the more I learned about Anastasia, the more I realised their viewpoints fell short. She was a soldier, a gun for hire; she was not the sort to turn up to meet a client in a business suit, or a dress. My outfit was simple, functional, yet stylish; It was also by far the most subtle outfit.

“Hi Sharon.” Jane smiled approaching from one of the side offices. “Ready?”

I grinned nervously “I’m going either way aren’t I? But yeah, I think so… I just want to get it done now.”

Jane nodded. “Yeah, I think we all do. Come on, lets go for the brief.” She offered leading me back to John’s office.

“Welcome… Sharon.” John smiled. The entire team was present; this was the send off after all.

“Jane; is he… is she ready?”

Jane nodded. “Her understanding of procedure is good, she will have a team on her for as much as we can, so yes, I’d say she’s ready, Its not like she’s a raw recruit after all.”

“Quite.” John nodded, turning to me. “Sharon, are you ok with this?

“Yes s, Boss, I just want to do my job.” I nodded curtly, trying to blank out the pre game nerves.

“Daniel?” John prompted, do you have the items?” he asked the wiry haired Tech.

“Yes sir, its all here,” he nodded patting the tray on his lap.

John waited for a second before raising his eyebrows. “Are you going to give them to her?” he asked with a hint of annoyance.

“Oh, yes, sorry sir,” the man gushed, moving over to me with the tray. He proceeded to give me an audio receiver, and tracking device come microphone that doubled as a pendant beset with Anastasia’s birth stone.

“Do I get the laser watch?” I asked coyly as he finished fitting the pendant.

Daniel looked confused for a moment, “I ah, erm,” he began looking over at John, “I wasn’t asked to produce one,” he admitted with surprise.

“This isn’t bloody bond Sharon,” chided Toby. “Daniel, she’s pulling your leg you simpleton.”

“I know.” I admitted with a sheepish grin “I guess I had to get it out of my system.”

“We all did it at some point,” smirked Harriet.

“You more than others,” Toby groaned theatrically. “Regular fucking comedian.”

“You line them up for me Toby dear.” She grinned devilishly.

“Enough.” John said sharply. “This is not the playground, can you act like professionals?”

There were muttered apologies and the focus returned to me again.

“Now I must stress that this is not an intelligence gathering op, or target removal, you are to do exactly as Dujani expects from you till you are in position to take the shot, that is the only time you will deviate from what he expects, we cannot afford him to become suspicious.” He said looking at me with a most serious expression. “It is down to you to make sure this goes our way… we cannot visibly step up security and let him know we suspect something.”

I nodded. “Yes sir.” I replied curtly, we had passed the joking and planning, and it was game time. Everything from this point onwards was serious.

John pointed at the pendant around my neck, “You will be contacted by our Damascus team on arrival, but there will be no transmission after you are picked up by Dujani’s men, We can be sure they will be monitoring communications, so you will arrange an extract word, and the only time you will communicate with Damascus station, is when all hell breaks loose, are we clear?

“Perfectly sir.”

“Then I will see you when you get back Miss Cohen,” he smiled as he stood and offered me his hand. “Good luck.”

I shook the proffered hand and smiled nervously. “I hope it isn’t required sir.”

My flight was scheduled to leave in 5 hours from Heathrow, so I had some time to kill. After the goodbyes with the team, Harriet and I left Vauxhall Cross, The atmosphere was too tense for my liking; it made me nervous. It was near lunch time, so we drove to a small Pub just out of town for a quiet lunch, and a more personal goodbye.

I picked at my lasagne, as we sat quietly in the pub garden. I knew this would be hard for us, but that it had to come eventually. She was a Field Officer, and I suppose I was to… We would part, and return to each other, but this was the first time, and no matter how I rationalised things, It was going to be the hardest. Our romance was still blossoming. We had been an item scarcely two weeks, and I was going out of the country on her majesty’s service, I could die… It was a strange thought to have, sat eating lunch outside a quiet surrey pub with the one I loved, but it was real. I hadn’t thought about it so much in the past. I supposed that the times I had done it with the met were no comparison, I had backup, I was in England, in my turf… This was abroad, in their territory, alone. It sounds so selfish to think that the one thing that worried me the most was that I had something to lose now. I had always expected my parents would be devastated if I died, but this was different, a different love… I didn’t want to hurt Harriet by dying. I was surprised when I realised that this girl business had not factored once in my mental battle, the idea made me giggle aloud.

“What’s so funny?” Harriet asked softly, cocking her head to one side.

“Nothing really,” I shrugged. “I was just running through all the horrid things that could happen, and I realised that I didn’t Include the female part anymore.”

Harriet smiled. “It’s scary I know, I’ve been there,” she said squeezing my hand. “This is the worst bit, believe me, but you will come home, and you will come back to me.”

“I know,” I replied quietly, unable to meet her eyes. “The thought of losing you is…” I began, unable to find the words.

Harriet leant forwards across the table and kissed me gently on the lips. We sat for a moment, just kissing softly, holding hands till she broke the kiss. “You will come home,” she said softly yet firmly. “I wouldn’t let them send you if I didn’t think you were ready you know,” she smiled. “You can do this.”

I bit my lip and nodded. “I will.”

 

Chapter 13

As the airliner soared through the afternoon sky, I watched the clouds float past like leaves on water. I couldn’t help but think about my life up to now. It seemed so narcissistic to be flying along in first class, sipping my wine and wondering about who I really was. My departure from Harriet had been tearful, I’m sure we created quite a scene as we kissed goodbye in the bustling terminal. I didn’t care, and neither did she. I swore I would return to her, I didn’t intend to break that promise.

Who was I? It seemed an innocuous enough question, but I wasn’t sure I knew the answer. I knew right now who I was meant to be, but I was quite unsure who me was exactly.
It wasn’t a question of my gender; that much I had cleared in my head. I was a girl but I couldn’t describe myself as a woman yet, only that I was female. That was a part of me, but not the keystone of my life, a defining feature. I was Sharon Cohen, but who was she?
I had spent my life playing a role, being who I was expected to be; it wasn’t my life.
I knew what music I liked, what foods I loved, but it wasn’t enough. The realisation that I wasn’t as I had thought was akin to a form of amnesia: I had woken up and I didn’t really know who I was beyond the obvious. There was more depth to Anastasia Zanov, an imaginary character than my own personality. I loved Harriet, but I wasn’t sure the label of lesbian fitted me very well; it wasn’t something I held to my breast as a personal identification. There would be time to investigate myself once we returned. Right now, I had a job to do, and my job was to protect the country… That much I was sure of.

After several tense hours of in flight movies, and mediocre food, the plane began its decent into Damascus International Airport, Syria. We landed shortly after 6pm, local time. Once the plane was secured and the rigmarole taxiing about complete, I was allowed to alight with the other first class passengers and joined the International line at immigration. As the line grew shorter and I approached the desk, I felt a surge of adrenaline rush through me and I fingered my Russian passport nervously.
Finally, I reached the window, and handed my passport to the bored looking guard with a weak smile.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” he asked, flipping through my passport.

“Business,” I replied dismissively, turning the corner of my mouth upwards in a half grin.

“You have return ticket?” he asked holding the stamp above my passport.

I lifted the ticket from my bag and showed the guard. He nodded and stamped my passport. “Enjoy your stay in Syria Miss,” he smiled mechanically, waving me through.

I had expected more, but to him, I had just been another passenger on another day; I don’t know how I expected him to see through me, but I knew it wouldn’t be the last feeling like that on this mission.

Collecting my bag from the carousel, I walked slowly through to the arrivals area, and made for the exit to the airport. Our contact had told me that I would be met by one of Dujani’s men and escorted to his residence. I purposefully held back from exiting the airport.

I turned on my transmitter, and bit my lip. “I’ve landed.” I said quietly, to myself, hoping I didn’t appear to be a madwoman, after a moment, I was answered.

“Welcome to Syria Miss Cohen,” announced a voice in my ear. It was unnerving to hear it so loudly, but I maintained my calm. “What is the plan?” I asked the poster I was looking at.

“You leave the airport, and meet your contact,” the voice came, “He’s waiting by the coffee stand in the main terminal building, Our men have him flagged, he’s alone, so we are safe to talk here.”

“We?” I asked with surprise.

“Yes, we.” Came a voice from my opposite ear, I spun to face a businessman in his early 40s, briefcase in hand, grin on his lips. “The boys at home do keep producing more attractive Field Officers don’t they?” he grinned.

I grinned slightly, feeling playful, I looked him up and down obviously, “Pity the Damascus team has not got the update yet.” I replied coyly.

“Ouch,” he chuckled, “Not bad. Look, I’m Terry Anderson, I’m Damascus station chief, I just wanted to meet you before you go under. We have your back, and we can pull you out if the shit hits the proverbial.”

I nodded. “I’m glad, what’s the exit word?”

Terry grinned lecherously. “I think ‘sex kitten’ will do, don’t you?”

I groaned, “You guys don’t get out much do you?” I asked over my shoulder as I walked towards the arrivals door. “I hope I don’t have to use that, goodbye Terry.” I called, as I slipped through the door.
Clearing my mind of the humorous exchange, I fixed a mask of nonchalance on my face, and walked through the door into the bustling terminal.

I had made it past the arrivals area, and was beginning to wonder what I would do if the person was not here, or did not recognise me; I purposefully ignored the Coffee stand.

“Ms Zanov?”

I turned and looked up at an extremely large Syrian man He was around 6’4, and broad; the hired muscle sort.

“Yes,” I replied blankly.

“I am here to take you to meet a mutual friend.”

I nodded, and followed the man as he walked out towards the main exit. I drew level with him as we walked, “You have me at a disadvantage.” I offered innocently. “You know my name…” I added, hoping he took the hint.
“I am Hafiz,” he offered in a demure tone, “Mr Dujani has told me to see to your every need and then bring you to him.”

I glanced across at the man as we stepped out into the scorching sun and lowered my shades. “My every need?” I asked coyly.

“Ah, Ms Zanov, I am not…” he began, confusion evident on his bearded face.

My sly chuckle seemed to put him at ease.

I looked up at Hafiz and smiled. “My needs are to finish this job, shall we go directly?”

“Ms Zanov,” he replied, leading me over to a sleek black Mercedes. He opened the rear door for me and I slipped into the cool air conditioned interior. Hafiz lifted my case into the boot, and took his place behind the wheel. His size was not deceptive, as the car visibly sank as he took his seat.
Hafiz pilled out into the busy traffic and began to head into the city proper. We didn’t talk during the journey. I could see Hafiz occasionally watch me through the mirror as I pretended to ignore him.

“You would tell me if I had something on my face, no?” I asked after he looked for what must have been the hundredth time in the space of 10 minutes.

“No Ms Zanov, I mean of course. Sorry,” he muttered looking away.

“What is it?” I asked, now more curious than ever.

“Are you really the mercenary Mr Dujani has hired?” He asked, looking at me as we crawled through the traffic near the Damascus tower. “It is just… you do not look like a soldier,” he added sheepishly.

I narrowed my eyes, wondering if he was mocking me. “Yes I am,” I replied softly, with no emotion. “He has hired me to do a job, I am a professional, if you cannot accept that, maybe it is a good thing he called me after all.”

Hafiz chuckled. “I mean no disrespect. You just do not look like a soldier; you are a little woman…”

“And just what does that mean?” I asked feeling my anger rise. “I’m not upto the job because I don’t have a cock?” I asked in an accusing tone, immediately aware how ironic that question had been.
Hafiz Laughed openly. “Do not get angry little one. I do not think less of you, It is just… you are far more attractive than most females that I have come across in this line of work.”

“Oh,” I blushed, not really sure how to follow such a statement. “Thanks, I guess.”

“And I do not doubt your skill, I have heard of some of your previous work, you are quite the professional.”

I nodded, looking out the window. A funny thought struck me, why was the gopher sent to collect me privy to my employment history, fake or otherwise? I was positive that things were not as they appeared on the surface; I would need to watch things more closely.

We pulled in to a compound in the old quarter of the city. There was heavy security. The men were quite innocuous to the untrained eye; leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette, or reading in a chair, they appeared casual, but I could see the compound was under tight guard, just what was I walking into?

Hafiz left the car, and made his way around to open my door. As he did so, I felt the oppressive heat slap me in the face; this would be a long trip. I wanted to remove my jacket as the oppressive heat caused me to sweat more profusely, but I was very aware of my bare arms bellow, it was not done…. The thought reminded me of the scarf I had placed in my bag before leaving which I now removed and wrapped about my hair.

Hafiz retrieved my suitcase, and I followed him into the house where I was met by a middle-aged woman that introduced herself as Fatima.

“Mr Dujani is expecting you Ms Zanov, would you like to freshen up before meeting him? You must have had a long journey?”

I nodded and smiled, following Fatima up to a room she informed me, was mine.

“Is there anything you need?” she asked.

“No thank you,” I smiled, “Wait, excuse me?” I called as she turned closing the door.

“Yes child?”

“I ah, I am not sure about the social behaviour expected of me,” I asked, indicating the headscarf. “Is there anything I should know? I have never been to a Muslim country before.”

Fatima chuckled. “You are Mr Dujani’s guest, he would not ask you to do so when In his residence, although you should cover your body and hair when outside,” she smiled. “Please come down to the main hall in half an hour.”

I thanked her, and she left.

I sat down on the large bed in the room and took in my surroundings. The walls were white, and the furniture a soft mahogany. The linen curtains fluttering in the breeze from the open windows that looked out over the city. I pulled the scarf from my hair and let it fall to the bed beside me. I was in deep now; I was in the house of a known terrorist, alone, in a foreign country. I gritted my teeth as I felt myself begin to shake. “Pull yourself together.” I growled to myself out loud. I shook my head, clearing the thoughts that kept creeping in, and stood, pulling the jacket from my body. I began to strip before slipping gratefully under the cool jets of the shower in the ensuite bathroom.

Half an hour later, I descended the stairs of the house feeling refreshed. I wore sandals, beige loose linen trousers, and a simple white blouse. I felt clean and cool for the first time in this country. I had carefully applied just a little makeup to befit my professional image.

Fatima appeared from an archway as I reached the base of the stairs, “Ms Zanov.” She asked submissively. “I trust you are refreshed?”

“Thank you.” I smiled honestly. “I feel human again.”

Fatima’s lips twitched, before she turned, leading me through into a central open courtyard where several men were sat around a table, under the shade of the building.

I recognised Dujani immediately.

The man rose, clasping his hands together. “Miss Zanov, you are well?” he asked dramatically as he approached. I offered him my hand, which he theatrically kissed before turning towards the men at the table. “Gentlemen, this is Miss Anastasia Zanov, She is here to… streamline certain concerns.”

The 5 men stood, offering my various hands to shake before Dujani offered me a seat. “A drink my dear?” He asked politely. His accent was a curious mix; there was a hint of Midwestern US, and European accents coupled with his Syrian accent that I couldn’t understand, his appearance and behaviour was not in keeping with my brief: The rat I smelt earlier obviously had friends over for wine and cheese...

I nodded appreciatively, “Water would be fine.”

“Come now,” he smiled, “a glass of champagne with us?” he offered, indicating the men’s glasses.

“I thought it was not done to drink alcohol?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dujani looked at me curiously. “This may be a Muslim country, but I like to believe this,” he said gesturing at the compound around us, “Is our little enclave of civilisation.”

It clicked… “You are not a Muslim?” I asked, with too much shock to escape suspicion.

“No.” he chuckled. “I am a Syrian Jew.”

I looked at the men around the table, I hadn’t noticed before, but every one of them was drinking alcohol… They were not Muslim… Things began to rattle around in my brain at light speed. “My mistake,” I smiled, accepting the glass that a waiter offered.

I think we should perhaps walk and talk?” Dujani announced, his eyes fixed on mine, in such a way to let me know that it was not an offer, but a command.

“Gentlemen,” he acknowledged, getting up from the table.

I excused myself, and walked over to Dujani, and followed him as we walked out of the courtyard and through an archway into the gardens of the residence.

“I believe we are on different wavelengths,” he announced more fact than question. “I wonder why that is.”

“I presumed incorrectly,” I stated flatly, “My apologies.”

“You got an offer of employment in this part of the world, from someone with my name, it is simple to presume my dear,” he smiled dismissively.

“Of course, you’re employers could have told you this, along with your legend as the mysterious but false Anastasia Zanov,” he added in an offhand manner, with no hint of emotion: My blood ran cold.

“Er, what are you saying? Of course my name is Anastasia Zanov.” I spat with as much indignation as I could muster. “And I work for myself thank you.”

He turned to me and chuckled. “Maintaining your cover is naturally your job. I would expect little else from you, allow me my musings?”

I nodded weakly.

“When you entered the car at the airport, my man Hafiz scanned you, of course, your equipment is state of the art, and does not emit a very visible signature. It is not traceable with commercial or… accessible equipment.” He added, raising his eyebrows.

It clicked; He was with some Intelligence service also, I had been found out by those in my own game.

“Your legend is deep, and comprehensive, but if such a woman existed, believe me, we would have her on our radar.” Dujani smiled conspiratorially. “I have had enough of smoke and mirrors, we expected an agent to attempt to infiltrate this cell, and we allowed it, yes. I do however, require some level of honesty from you my girl. While I abhor the methods of some of my contemporaries, they will help us discover the truth if you choose to remain silent.”

I felt truly sick as I slumped down on the edge of the ornamental fountain we were stood by. I had been discovered, he was toying with me, and I was dead. So much for my super spy career, my new ambition in life was a swift painless death.

“MI6.” I said quietly, looking at the floor. “Get it over with please, give me that much?” I asked, looking up at Dujani with a pleading expression. The fear was gone, I looked back at the ground and waited to die. As numb as I felt, and as scared as I was, the tears rolling down my cheeks were for Harriet, not me. I was going to let her down.

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To Be Continued...