----------=BigCloset Retro Classic!=----------

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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Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf on Sunday 03-29-2009 at 06:51:42 -0400 pm, this retro classic was pulled out of the closet, and re-presented for our newer readers.~Sephrena
 

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Chapter 1

*CRACK* the rifle jumped into my shoulder as my finger caressed the hair trigger. Through the telescopic lens I could see a perfect circle intersecting the two already on the bulls’ eye down range.

“Awesome shooting Mike,” chuckled Sergeant Harry Thompson beside me as he observed the holed target at the 500m line through his binoculars.

“Oh it’s nothing really,” I grinned, rolling onto my side and resting my head on my hand. “Someone’s got to be this good.”

“Sure.” Harry grinned. “They need somewhere to keep that ego.”

Throwing an empty ammunition carton at him, I stood and collected my equipment. It was early evening on the second Monday of the month, and as usual we had spent the day on the ranges outside London training. The door kickers, the men in the unit who’s job it was to enter hostile buildings, were working on room clearance on the other side of the training area, according to the infrequent bursts of popping gunfire, and aside from myself and Harry, 8 other sniper teams had been practicing on the 1000 yard range. Harry and myself had spent an extra hour on the range in the growing twilight, we were perfectionists, and I always tried to practice in as adverse conditions as possible. Nut jobs with guns rarely waited till it was calm and sunny.

Zipping up my rifle bag, I slipped it over my shoulder and followed my spotter out towards the car park.

“You coming out for a beer with the off duty team later?” Harry asked looking over at me.

“Maybe,” I murmured chewing my lip. “I figured I’d just stay in tonight,” I said with a non-committal shrug.

“You never come out mate. You got a bird on the side you ain’t telling us about?” He probed jokingly. “She must be fucking hot to keep you away from us.”

“Yeah, 5’10, Swedish, blonde, great rack,” I laughed. “If only…. maybe some other time Harry.”

Harry leant against the roof of his Car and looked at me or a moment before shaking his head and slipping into the driver’s seat.

“See you tomorrow Mike,” he waved as he drove off.

I stood for a moment in the growing dark, before shaking myself mentally and slipping the gun case into the boot of my unmarked police car and slipping behind the wheel.

I made the drive back into London on autopilot; the roads were quiet after the evening rush to leave the metropolis. I arrived back at New Scotland Yard without much trouble and returned my rifle and ammo to the armoury before changing into my jeans, polo shirt and jacket and slipping out of the station and onto the streets.

I had loved the work at first. It had been a pleasure to make a difference to the community… or so I thought. Policing didn’t really involve much actual crime solving, or helping of the innocent. Looking back, I think I had imagined the force as some sort of institutionalised super hero club; protecting the innocent and hunting down the guilty… Not quite reality.

I had joined the police straight out of 6th form: Fresh faced and eighteen years old, I’d gone into the Met to protect and serve, as the saying goes. After four years on the beat, I applied to the firearms unit and after an inordinate amount of vetting, shrinks and tests, I was accepted. I had shown exceptional promise in my training. Almost immediately I had been trained to become a marksman. I wasn’t some American redneck that grew up with a gun in my cradle, but I had a natural ability: An ironic talent for the son of a green peace activist and her City Stockbroker husband.

I made my way off the dark windy streets into the hot, bright caverns of the London Underground at St James Street and fought my way down into the hive of tunnels. It was after rush hour, so there was less of a crowd in subterranean London, but it was by no means quiet. I silently made my way, ignoring those around me as they followed suit. Two changes later, I was breathing in the moist cold surface air in Battersea Park. The car fumes made a pleasant change to the warm dry air below ground. A brisk walk later, and I was climbing the stairs to my apartment.

I owned the place; my parents had bought it for me when I left school so I could ‘make a go of it’. It had been my first place away from home, and I had felt quite alone… Shortly after moving in, I had advertised for roommates to occupy the two spare bedrooms in the place. I didn’t need help with the rent… there wasn’t any, but the money certainly helped with my pitiful Officer’s salary. My roommates were quite interesting characters. I had met Becky in a bar shortly after moving in. We had got on like a house on fire, but not in the sexual way. We seemed to click as friends, much to my dismay. She had confessed that she was looking for a new place, and my offer had been readily accepted. She was a perky little brunette, the sort of girl that was perpetually on a sugar high. Her enthusiasm was infectious; making her excel in her chosen profession as fitness instructor at a swanky city health club. The depressing thing was she probably made more than me. Pete was a stockbroker like my father, considerably lower on the tree however. He had studied at Oxford and had the air of public school boy about him. He had seen my advert in the paper, and had never looked back. He was the type of City processional that was native to London; perfect suit, receding short cropped hair, late 20s and air of confidence. The three of us got on surprisingly well.

I shoved the door closed behind me with a foot, dumping my keys on the sideboard and throwing my jacket near the coat rack.

“Uh-oh, he’s home.” Becky announced poking her head above the back of the Sofa. “Fun day?”

I shrugged noncomittally as I walked past her into the kitchen to get myself a beer out of the fridge. Walking back, I slumped into one of the chairs and opened my beer, taking a long drink of the cold liquid, flushing the dusty air-conditioning taste of the tube out of my mouth.

“It was range day, of course I had fun,” I replied sarcastically. “You know I like getting paid to shoot stuff.”

Becky chuckled as she flipped the page of her book. She was dressed as usual at home, in her shorts and a vest, cross legged on the sofa. “So you keep telling me Mr Oswald,” she grinned impishly.

“Knock it off you.” I replied shaking my head. “Anything fun in endorphin land?

Becky proceeded to tell me all about the clients she had coached that day, and the different bits of celebrity gossip she had heard. I tuned out slightly, all the while nodding politely and drinking my beer.

Pete got home about an hour later and proceeded to inform me of the vital goings on in the money world. He was a nice guy, but very wrapped up in his job. As he told me about the value of the dollar relative to the euro and what it meant to potatoes, Becky feigned a suicide attempt and it was all my bodily control to not laugh. Pete still noticed, and with the practiced ease of three friends, knew exactly who to aim his cushion at. The indignant squeak that followed the impact proved the last nail in my coffin and I burst out laughing. After a series of repeats and increasingly dull quiz shows I was yawning, so dragging myself off the sofa I bid my roommates goodnight and retired to my room: Sleep was fitful.

I woke the next morning to the radio alarm blaring out some mindless poppy tune by some other clone. Blearily, I dragged my feet from under the covers and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes: I hated mornings. Reaching out, I slapped the alarm and made my way into the bathroom. The sight that greeted me in the mirror dragged me back to the land of the living almost instantly. I looked like I’d gone 20 rounds with an assortment of garden tools and lost, my hair was beginning to make its way past my collar in terms of length; when it was tamed. At the moment however it stuck out in every direction resembling some sort of afro.

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully for a moment, screwing up my face with annoyance when I realised I was rubbing smooth skin for the 4th day in a row…. When was I going to get some damn stubble? I was 24 for god’s sake! I was sick of being considered the baby of the unit, even guys who were younger than me called me the baby!

“Oh well, at least I SHAVE ten minutes off my bathroom time.” I chuckled to myself as I climbed into the shower and turned on the water, wincing as the cold water hit my body.

Shortly after, I felt refreshed and clean, and made my way back into my room to dress. Pulling on yesterday’s jeans and a new tee shirt, I grabbed my jacket and shoved my feet into the same worn trainers before heading out to forage for breakfast.

Becky was in the Kitchen when I surfaced.

“Hey, Morning,” she beamed with incomprehensible perkiness. She was wearing her running gear, the sweat marks suggesting she had just returned.

“When am I going to get you to join me huh?” she mock scolded with a hand on her hip. “You know you could use some bulking up,” she grinned slyly.

“Lay off and pass the coffee,” I growled with as much menace as I could muster..

Chuckling, Becky shoved the coffee pot across the table towards me. “So why are you in a good mood today?”

“I didn’t sleep too well,” I murmured into my coffee.

“It happens,” Becky agreed. “Look, I gotta jet, hon, See you after work?” she called cheerily bouncing out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

“Sure, Becky,” I mumbled to myself as I dumped my now empty mug on the worktop; I’d wash it later. Grabbing my jacket, I collected my keys on the way out the door and jogged down the stairs out onto the street. A tube ride later, I was walking through the main doors of New Scotland Yard, the Home of the Metropolitan Police Force.

The building didn’t feel like a police station in the classical sense… I had moved around several stations in the London area during my time on the beat, but nothing quite compared to the bureaucratic grandeur of New Scotland Yard. It was a tower block by any other name, a great steel clad monstrosity in the centre of London. It didn’t feel like a police station, it didn’t even have cells! I caught the elevator up to the 3rd floor, where the firearms team head offices were. The ready teams usually stayed around the armoury in the basement or out around London in patrol cars, but off rotation officers, and supporting specialties like myself kept ourselves to ourselves in the suite assigned to the Unit.

The elevator was full of white shirted officers, not one stab vests or set of body armour here save the guard on the door … Dress uniforms and pressed shirts filled NSY’s halls. I felt rather under dressed wearing my tee shirt and jeans. We did have standards … somewhere …. But the firearms team was more relaxed in our formalities unless under inspection, or for special occasions. We did our jobs, and we did them well, there was little point in the off teams wearing their jumpsuits or dress uniforms all day.

I walked through the door into the office and after nodding to Janice, the boss’s assistant, slunk away to my desk in the far corner.

I had loved this job, but it wasn’t everything. I hated the down time when I wasn’t on rotation. It wasn’t living…

It was midmorning when Janice knocked on the divider of my cubicle, I had been reviewing a shooting the previous week. I hadn’t known the officer that pulled the trigger, but I knew of his unit.

“Sergeant Cohen, The boss wants to see you… you got your uniform handy? There’s some bloke with him…” She trailed off nodding in the direction of Chief inspector Farvey’s office.

“Sure thing Janice.” I sighed reluctantly. The boss calling you by name wasn’t ever good…. “How long have I got?” I asked hopefully.

“Minus 5 minutes.” She hissed vanishing again.

“Shit.” I swore and began to drop my pants in my cubicle, praying she didn’t come back.

Three minutes later, I was knocking on the Chief Inspector’s door.

“Come in,” came the muffled reply.

I opened the door, straightening my tie with one hand. “You asked to see me sir?”

“Come in Cohen, You aren’t in trouble, don’t look so worried. How was Bisley yesterday?” smiled Chief Inspector Farvey broadly.

He never asked how range time went … he never smiled … who the fuck was the plain looking man sat at his desk who was now regarding me intently …. 3 questions I really did not want to know the answer to.

“Fine sir, but I don’t like the new batch of lapuas, you ought to send them back.”

“Good good, I’ll make a note.” He smiled, clasping his hands in front of himself on the desk top and flexing his crossed fingers.

“This, Sergeant Cohen, is Mr Benton. He works for the foreign office … and was wondering if you could spare him a few hours for some questions?”

This had brain crippling waste of time written all over it…

“Yes sir, not a problem, ah, where?” I asked sheepishly. The man, Benton nodded at the boss and stood, turning to face me. Straightening his suit jacket, he stuck out a hand in greeting.

“Chris Benton.” He smiled politely, grasping my hand firmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you Michael.

“All good I hope.” I smiled politely, hoping this civil servant tosspot would hurry up and get to the point. “What is it you need?”

He looked at the boss, who nodded. “Get your things Sergeant, we are going for a drive.”

I shrugged, and smiled, “I’ll just get my Uniform Jacket, excuse me.” I replied, turning to the boss. “Sir,” I intoned before exiting the office.

Before the door had closed, Harry accosted me from behind.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Some foreign office lackey wants to take up my afternoon.” I grumbled. “Can’t fucking wait … Anyway, how do you know? You probing Janice for information again?”

“Not at this moment.” Harry grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

I just rolled my eyes and collected my jacket and phone before returning to the boss’s office, where Mr Benton was waiting for me.

“Ready?” he smiled.

“Sure, can you tell me what this is about though?” I asked as we left the suite.

He hesitated for a moment. “Yes, but can it wait till we get to the car?”

I shrugged, and we boarded the lift down to the garage level.
 
 

Chapter 2

There was a green Focus parked at the end of the garage, as we existed the lift, the car purred to life and slowly pulled up in front of us.

After waiting for me to get into the car, Mr Benton circled around and took a seat next to me.

“Back to Vauxhall Cross Mr Benton?” asked the driver,

“Yes, Martins, but take a scenic route.”

That name rang a bell… but I wasn’t sure why.

“So, to the point,” announced Mr Benton with a new sternness he had previously masked. “Michael Cohen, Sergeant Met firearms team, 24 years of age, you share an apartment in Battersea with two friends, good grades in school, joined the force in 2003, 4 years rotating around inner London Stations, before finally qualifying for the firearms team in 07 where you graded Advanced marksman … need I go on or do you get the point?”

“You have read my file,” I stated bluntly.

“That I have, but we have done more than that Mr Cohen. “I work for the Secret Intelligence Service, I have been sent here today to ask you for your help, we have a situation, and your … particular skill set would be of value to us.”

The news hit me like a brick to the stomach. I had been selected by Mi6 …. To do something…. I didn’t really care what, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be involved.

“I see,” I replied, my poker face lying horrendously. “What about my skill set?”

A slight smirk crossed Mr Benton’s lips momentarily. “Your experience with long range rifles Sergeant”

I chewed this information over in my mind. What could they want me for? Well no, that seemed painfully obvious, but why seemed more pertinent, to do what? For whom?

“I’m not killing anyone,” I stated firmly. “I don’t care what they did.”

Mr Benton regarded me for a moment, before smiling slightly, “Oh no Mr Cohen, You misunderstand me. We want you to teach one of our agents …. Teach them how to do what you do.”

I sighed inwardly, this wasn’t what I was expecting, and to be honest, the idea almost tempted me.

“What would you need from me? I mean specifically?” I asked slowly, careful not to agree to anything yet.

Benton waved a hand dismissively. "They can shoot, of course, but they require some coaching in the finer aspects …. How you behave, how you would BE a sniper, so that anyone who interacted with them, in that capacity, would basically take them as they appear … Need I remind you that should you turn this down, you will be required to sign the official secrets act regarding this discussion …” he continued raising his eyebrows.

I looked out of the car window for a moment, we had just passed the Tate Modern gallery and the car was heading across Vauxhall Bridge. I turned to Benton, “I don’t get to sleep on this do I?” I asked, knowing the answer before I the question left my lips.

“Regardless, I’m in, but,” I said holding up a finger to emphasise my point, “I reserve the right to tell you if your agent doesn’t make the grade.”

Benton nodded slightly. “Perfectly amicable Mr Cohen.” He smiled. “Need I remind you that your country is proud of your effor ….”

“Don’t bother.” I chuckled. “I don’t want to know what you are doing, but I will help you to satisfy my curiosity.

Benton raised an eyebrow.

“I always wanted to see where James Bond worked.” I chuckled.

He rolled his eyes and grinned with an exasperated sigh, he knew I was yanking his chain.

“Drop us at the embankment, Martins.” Benton ordered the driver.

We were left at the side of the road by the footbridges leading towards the main doors of Vauxhall cross. Benton led me towards the visitor’s entrance and I had my photograph taken, and my face scanned by some camera before a pass was printed off and handed to me. I was given pin instructions and told how to operate the pod things we had passed. It was all going over my head, but being inside this building was almost a letdown. I expected to see super spies, semi naked girls and catsuits everywhere, but everyone looked normal… right down to the bored expression on the security guard that processed my pass…

Benton grinned knowingly at my expression of wide-eyed surprise as he escorted me through the foyer to a bank of lifts. Guiding me into a car, we ascended to the 5th floor where he led me down a corridor to a conference room overlooking the River Themes.

Ashamedly, the first thing that caught my eye on entering the room was the .308 Mini Hecate sniper rifle, perched on its spindly bipod legs in the centre of the mahogany table. Further down the table, a young woman, around my age sat quietly.

I turned to Benton with a questioning expression.

“This Is Ms Carlisle, she is the agent you will be training. Ms Carlisle, this is Sergeant Cohen from the Met,” he said by way of introductions.

The young woman had risen and approached me with her hand outstretched. “Good to meet you Sergeant, I really appreciate the help.”

“Ah, no problem,” I blushed as Ms Carlisle looked me over unashamedly.

We sat at the conference table; my eyes kept drifting to the beautiful rifle on the table.

“Is that what she will be using?” I asked, out of curiosity. “Bit flashy isn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied Benton with a roll of his eyes, “All you need to know, is that it fits with her legend …. Cover,” he added on noticing my confused expression.

“First orders of business,” he announced, reaching into his briefcase, “We require you to read and sign this,” he said, handing me a document and a pen.

I shrugged, and began to read through the document, they could be guaranteed I would read every word till I was happy I wasn’t signing up to vanish or something equally suspicious.

One part of the document made me raise my eyebrows. “I’m being paid to do this?” I asked looking between Mr Benton and the  £10,000 figure on the document.

Benton nodded. “Yes, you didn’t expect us to ask you to do it for queen and country alone? Let us just say, the money is an incentive to not reveal this assistance,” he replied firmly reminding me of the secret nature of the task. I nodded, and signed the document, handing it back to him. Benton rose, slipping the document into his briefcase, and after shaking my hand, left without fanfare.

Turning back to the table, I looked Ms Carlisle over. She was medium height, around 5’6, an inch shorter than my own 5’7. She had sandy blonde hair, tied back in a bun. Her charcoal grey skirt suit fitted her form well; she looked every inch the corporate executive, nothing remotely resembling a spy…

“Ok, shall we start?” she prompted, breaking my stare.

“Sure.” I started, “But you’re going to have to tell me what your cover … legend is.”

“Didn’t Mr Benton say that was not your concern?” she replied with a hint of annoyance.

“He did.” I began, “But if I am to teach you this, I’m going to know at least what you are supposed to know, I don’t need to know everything. But give me the basics … Is your cover ex-military? Ex-law enforcement? What nationality? What country did they serve with? What related details are there? Right or left handed? It all matters.” I replied defensively. “If I don’t know that, I can’t teach you,” I said with a sigh.

Ms Carlisle looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose it won’t matter,” she replied with a shrug.

“Well, She’s meant to be ex-British army. Out about 5 years working freelance for a PMC company, then herself in less than entirely legal circumstances, but that’s about as much as I can tell you,” she said with a hint of an apologetic smile.

I shook my head. “That won’t work. You’re a woman.”

She was about to protest when I held my hand up. “You people don’t research things very well do you? An error like that would blow you instantly.” I snapped feeling a little annoyed at getting dumped with such a task. “The British army do not have female snipers or females in combat roles, so that would stand out. You can either be Israeli, Swedish, or Russian if you insist on being ex-military, and I’ll tell you now, you will pass for maybe one of those three,” I offered. “OR, we can use the ex-law enforcement angle, Make you a retired sharpshooter.”

Ms Carlisle looked like she wanted to argue, but sighed and nodded instead.

We got no real work done that day. Most of the afternoon was spent working on the legend details with Harriet; Ms Carlisle. By about 6pm, we decided to call it a night, and I had my first experience with the pods. She escorted me downstairs to the lobby, where she informed me that she would meet me the next day at 9am. As she returned to the lift, I made my way over to the wall of pods. It all looked awfully complicated.

There was a security guard sat behind a desk off to one side, turning to him, I waved the card and held up my hands in confusion. “I don’t suppose you could show me how to work this please?” I asked tentatively.

The guard nodded and walked over, “You put this in the slot sir, and enter your pin. New sir?”

“Ah, you could say that,” I replied with a shrug. “Good night.”

“Good night sir.” Replied the guard as the pod doors slid shut behind me. After a few seconds, the outer doors slid open and the cool night air washed over me.

After a short tube ride, I was home again, after possibly the longest day I had yet to experience. For some reason, I did not think it would hold that record long.
 
 

Chapter 3

Unlocking the door, I slipped into the apartment; it was quiet. Out of habit, I dumped my keys on the sideboard and wandered into the living room. Becky was on the Sofa reading her book. She looked up for a moment when I walked in and smiled. “You’re back late,” she stated matter of factly without looking up from her book.

“And you ain’t my muvva!” I shot back, in a fairly accurate facsimile of The Classic soap opera line.

Becky looked up and chuckled shaking her head. “You’re too good at that.” She grinned. “What’s her name anyway?” Becky asked with a sly grin.

I coloured slightly but hid it well with a look of theatrical shock. “You’re out late, and you won’t tell me why…. What’s her name?” She persisted.

“I wasn’t out with a girl, okay? I just had to work late. Some report the Boss man made me write,” I shrugged. “What can you do?”

She grinned. "Why did you blush when I asked if it was a girl? Does that embarrass you?” she asked quietly as I sat down in one of the empty chairs.

“Not really,” I mumbled, “I don’t like you taking the piss though, I don’t get a lot of dates.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, biting her lip, “You know I’d never do it to upset you, I … I just joke with people ….” She trailed off.

“No it’s fine, it’s just me,” I shrugged. Oh well, here goes. “I guess the subject just gets to me … I never really had a girlfriend,” I shrugged, feeling myself turning red.

Becky looked at me for a moment, wondering if I was serious. “How come?” she asked curiously.

I shrugged sheepishly. “I guess in school I never really got a chance; It was a boys’ schoo.” I grinned embarrassedly. “Not many girls around. I guess when I got to the police I was too focused on getting ahead and making something of myself. I never really had chance …" I tailed off.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her, I knew she would laugh, I felt so stupid admitting these things. Poor Mike: The baby faced virgin! The next thing I know, I felt a hand on my arm. Becky slipped onto the arm of the chair and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry Mike,” she whispered as she held me. “I didn’t know, and believe me, there are loads of girls who will fancy you.”

“I feel pitiful, Bex.” I muttered. “I’m a shit guy, I avoid going out with the guys at work, I don’t socialise, I look like a fucking kid, and I’ve never even really wanted a girlfriend.”

“Now you stop that, mister …” Becky scolded playfully tapping me on the back of the head. “I’ll have none of that negativity from you …

“You need some feel good time,” she announced. “You work too hard, and you don’t play. Look, if you don’t want to go out, we can do it here!

I looked at her curiously for a moment before realising what she meant. “Oh, okay, sure.” I shrugged. “I guess it can’t hurt.”

“You stay here.” She grinned, wagging a finger, “You’re Doctor Becky’s patient tonight!” She chuckled as she walked out of the room.

I was running scenarios through my mind as Becky returned. “Right you.” She announced, "Get into your room, and get back here in Pjs … that’s an order.

Shaking my head, I walked off to follow her orders. It could be fun I guess. I duck into my room and pull off my uniform. I place it carefully over the chair, I’ll need it tomorrow …

I pull on my jog bottoms and a tank and head back into the living room. Becky has her duvet over the sofa, and is doing god knows what in the kitchen.

“Right, I’m here,” I announced.

“Good.” She grins, returning from the kitchen, a bottle of white wine in one hand, two glasses in the other. Now I realised what she was up to….

“You’re going to subject me to a girls night?” I ask incredulously. “Have you forgotten one big part?”

“A, yes I am, and B, they aren’t just for girls! Nobody ever said only girls can drink wine, or watch romantic comedies…. Anyway, when I’m down, it makes me feel better, so I'm sure it will work for you, too …. And if you’re so bothered by my pink duvet, you can go get yours … or ask Pete for his.” she replied with a grin.

“Fine, but I draw the line at painting my nails and fucking with my hair,” I laughed.

I decided to play along, It really couldn’t hurt. We jumped on the sofa, popped a movie in, and had a relaxing drink under the blankets and just relaxed. I have to admit it was actually fun. Somewhere in the time the movie was playing, I ended up lying against Becky’s shoulder … That was when Pete came home.

First thing I heard was the door close, and for some reason, I just sat there, under that pink blanket, sipping my wine and chatting to Becky.

“Hey Becky.” Pete called as he walked through to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Who’s your lady friend?”

I turned around at that moment and fixed Pete with a shocked expression. The look on his face was priceless.

“Woah, Mike. Sorry dude.” He stammered. “I swear you looked like a bird from behind mate.”

“Oh come on.” I snapped exasperatedly. “I don’t look anything like a girl!”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “Mate, you’re watching a chick flick, drinking wine and sat gabbing away with Becky under her GIRLY duvet, what do you expect?” he chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. “Sorry mate. I didn’t mean anything.” He shrugged apologetically before making himself scarce.

“Whatever,” I muttered, sinking down into the duvet and returning my attention to the Tv.

I didn’t look like a girl. How blind is Pete? It was just the situation … I’d get my hair cut at the weekend. That was probably it.

We watched another movie, and I had to admit, she was right. It did make me feel better. The wine relaxed me nicely, and I was able to unwind for the first time in a while. We would have to do that again I mused as we sleepily headed to our respective bedrooms and bid each other goodnight.

I slept a lot better that night. And when I woke in the morning, my alarm had not yet gone off. Seizing the initiative for a good day, I hit the off button to pre-empt the damned device, and headed for the shower.

Clean and refreshed I returned to my room. I was about to reach for my uniform shirt when a though struck me. Should I wear my uniform? I was not there on any official capacity, and they had repeatedly stressed how secretive this was … In the entire time I was there the previous day, the only person I saw in uniform was the door guard … I’d stand out a little if I returned in uniform for a second day ….

I chuckled to myself as I realised how I was thinking. One day in that place and I start thinking spy!

Dumping my uniform, I reached into my wardrobe and extracted my rarely worn suit. It was the sort of thing you bought for formal events that didn’t require a tux …

A few moments later, the suit had been combined with a shirt, tie, and my body, and I was leaving the house to make my way to Vauxhall Cross. One morning commute that I had never envisaged taking …

As I approached the footbridges that led to the banks of pods on the front of the building I was shocked by the queues leading up to those unconventional doors. I wasn’t sure if this was normal or not, but I took a place in line and waited.

There were conversations going on around me, and I felt like an intruder. I didn’t hear anything I supposed was confidential or secret; it was almost like being new again.

“I hate these bloody waits,” said a voice beside me. I turned and saw a guy in his mid 30s taking a sip from his takeaway coffee cup.

“Ah yeah,” I agreed noncomittally. “It’s a good job it isn’t raining,” I replied.

“Sure.” The guy grinned. “I’m Martin Hammersmith,” he said, offering his hand. “You new here? I’ve not seen you around.”

“I guess so.” I replied sheepishly. “Sort of my second day,” I admitted.

“Ah ok.” He smiled. “Its overwhelming isn’t it?” he chuckled. “I remember when I started I felt like I didn’t belong.”

“That about sums it up.” I admitted.

“So which department are you with?” he asked conversationally, as the lines slowly progressed.

“Ah, I’m working up on the 5th floor, I’m not sure if I can say much,” I shrugged apologetically.

He nodded knowingly. “Probably not, though that’s not unusual for here. Nobody can talk to each other about work,” he chuckled.

We chatted for a few moments till we reached the pods and swiping myself in, I entered my pin and stepped into the clear pod and onwards into the lobby.

“See you around,” Martin said with a wave as he headed off in another direction.

I met Ms Carlisle by the lifts as we had agreed, and instead of making our way back to the conference suite on the 5th floor, she told me we would be spending the day at a range outside of London for the beginning of the practical instruction. We left Vauxhall Cross in a ‘6’ car and drove out of London towards Salisbury.

We spent the day out at an MOD range, where I observed her technique and attempted to offer suggestions to improve her overall impression. I was quite disappointed to say the least.

Ms Carlisle was familiar with firearms; that much was clear, but she was no marksman. It was almost like being back at training again, watching the ham-fisted early attempts of some of our less accomplished shooters.

When we returned to MI6, or Legoland as she referred to it, I requested to speak to the agent in charge of this operation, and was escorted down to the lower 5th floor in the basement where the Controlerate leading this operation was located. From what I gathered, this was the Middle East and Far East controlerate. I was shown into an office where Ms Carlisle introduced her boss; a Mr Tornworth.

Mr Tornworth was a tall man in his late 50s, still in reasonable shape beneath his expensive Italian suit, but the grey hair and weathered skin of his face betrayed his age. Mr Tornworth seemed annoyed by my presence, an outsider.

“What is it you want?” he asked, going straight for the point with predatory haste.

“I need to know how long I have for this training assignment.” I said with as much resolve as I could muster. “I may not be ‘read in’ or whatever you call it, and I already know I’m told as little as possible: I’m an outsider, A civilian, but you need my help, and I’m a professional, I would like to be treated as such, not like a child,” I replied getting slightly angry.

Tornworth regarded me for a moment. “You have 3 weeks to teach Ms Carlisle,” he replied with little feeling.

“I’m sorry Sir; I don’t think I can do that.”

Mr Tornworth sat up in his chair and looked. “Why not?” He asked knitting his brow.

“Well you want her to be believable or you wouldn’t have recruited me for this job. Yes? You want her to be able to shoot, I’ll wager. And while I was told she can shoot, and I am very confident she is proficient with other firearms, she is not Marksman material.”

He was about to say something but I held my hand up. “Look, the British army sniper school is 10 weeks. I was sent on that with a group of other Police firearms marksmen, as advanced training.” I said, letting my ability sink in. “But I’m sure you know that. My point is, you have to be a reasonable shot to attend that school, and it still takes 10 weeks to get them from a good shot to Snipers … Even then a shooter is not as experienced as her legend dictates till they see action. There is a lot that can be faked, a lot that can be told, taught and acted, but with respect, and I’m sorry.” I said, turning to Ms Carlisle, who was sat by my side. “She can’t do it in three weeks.”

Mr Tornworth looked mildly annoyed. “What do you suggest?” he replied tersely.

I thought for a moment, I hadn’t really expected to be required to offer other solutions other than the one they had. “Find a female who is already an experienced sniper and send them on your mission. I don’t think you will find anyone able to teach any novice how to do this in that time.” I replied confidently.

Mr Tornworth nodded slightly. “I think you are right,” he said with resignation. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said smiling weakly. Hitting the button on his desk, he called his secretary and asked her to invite his deputy and a few other names I didn’t recognise into the room. Turning to Ms Carlisle, he asked her to take me up to the canteen and get me a coffee.

He stood and offered me a hand. “Thanks again Mr Cohen.” He said, and with that, we left.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that the Mi6 building had a canteen, like any other work place, but I still was. The image I had held of the Secret Intelligence Service really didn’t fit ‘work’. We sat at a table overlooking the Thames and sat in awkward silence.

“Look I’m sorry.” I said. “I didn’t mean to put you down. I had to be honest, it was purely professional.”

Harriet looked out the window for a moment and didn’t respond. “I know,” she said without looking at me.

“Look, I know I’ve been a bit short with you, and treated you like an outsider,” she admitted looking at me. “It’s just how this is,” she shrugged. “I know I’m not up to the job. And that’s what it is, just a job, so I’m not going to cry because I don’t have a specific skill. For what its worth, you were a good teacher, but you are right, I can’t shoot that well, and we didn’t have the time I guess.”

“I take it the mission parameters required a female sniper, not 6 picking it as some part of a legend for you?” I asked, realising she didn’t want to talk about her failings anymore.

Harriet shook her head. “You’ve been here two days and you sound like you belong.” She chuckled.

“Hey I’ve watched my share of spy thrillers,” I replied smiling. “The reality seems depressingly mundane though.”

She nodded taking a sip of her coffee. “Sure. At the end of the day, this is just a job like yours, only our sphere of influence is larger.”

She was right of course. It was really just police work really … Only you would work in someone else’s patch without telling them and you didn’t always have to follow the law to enforce it.

“So what happens from here?” I asked, noting the early evening tinge begin to creep across the city. “I go home and never hear from you lot again?”

Harriet shrugged. “They haven’t said. But it’s possible.”

We drank another round of coffee as the sky outside grew dark before Harriet’s phone rang. After a short conversation, we were on our way down towards the lower floors of the building once more. We arrived at the MEFE entrance, and I copied Harriet as she swiped her card and allowed her face to be scanned by what I was told, was a facial topography recognition package. I was added to the controlerate’s access list apparently … that should have bothered me.

We made our way into the now empty controlerate’s main operations area and Harriet led me straight back to Mr Tornworth’s office.

There were three men and a woman in the room with Mr Tornworth who all turned towards us as we entered; I felt all their eyes boring into me.

“Harriet, Mr Cohen, please take a seat,” he smiled more broadly, waving at two empty chairs. “Mr Cohen, May I call you Michael?” he asked without waiting for me to reply. “This is Tobias Goodwin; my deputy head here at Middle East and Far East Controlerate, This is Daniel Green, our head of systems, Mark Sanford, our chief analyst, and this,” he said gesturing at the woman. “Is Jane North, our agent handler.”

I smiled weakly at the group, all of whom were still looking at me curiously.

“We have been discussing the situation at length, this is an awkward situation for us, and it is highly unusual, but before we discuss this, we want to read you in to the operation.”

“Ok,” I said feeling as if I was missing something. “Why am I being read in? I thought my work was over?” I asked cautiously.

Mr Tornworth looked at his college Tobias Goodwin and raised his eyebrows.

“Thing is,” Mr Goodwin said with a broad Scots accent. “We aren’t exactly overflowing with qualified candidates, and to be honest, you are probably the closest we have to the required skills, and it would be much easier to give you the required field craft skills than vice versa …” he said with a lopsided grin. Of course, we will would have to modify the mission parameters to take into account other factors … he said trailing off.

My bad-feeling-o-meter was now off the charts.

The younger man, Sanford stood and walked over to a laptop on Mr Tornworth’s desk and pressed a button, projecting an image onto a screen behind the desk.

“This,” he said, “Is Omid Dujani, a radical Muslim cleric with political aspirations. He’s a Syrian national, with connections throughout the Middle East. He’s quite high on our most wanted lists, and a bit of a naughty bloke,” he said with a straight face.

I heard a few chuckles around the room, but didn’t take my eyes off the screen and Mr Sanford.

“His group has been operating out of Syria, Lebanon and the West bank for some time; they have been involved in several major incidents in Israel, and we have intelligence that something is planned soon … What. we don’t know, and that scares us most. Usually, there is a lot more chatter, but there is nothing coming out other than the usual. With his track record, it will be significant, and within the intelligence time frame, there is only one possible target, The Beirut Treaty … Our PM is going to be one of the many in attendance …. That makes it our ball game too … Security is tight, but there are always holes in that area, and they are unfortunately viable to a focused group … Thing is, Dujani isn’t stupid, and he is also quite the feminist …” He said raising his eyebrows. “He has as thing for empowering women, usually with C4 strapped to them. He has said that some tasks are not fit for males, and thus his MO of using females to do his dirty work, usually where there is little hope of coming back. The news on the wire is he is looking for female assassins on the market at the moment. Clearly the market doesn’t know his track record.” Sanford smirked. “Women are not viewed as equals around that area, and its much easier to slip a female killer into a security net than a male, and we think this is where he is going with whatever it is …” he finished flipping off the projector and taking his seat again.

“How do I fit into this?” I asked unsure weather I wanted to hear the answer. “He’s looking for a woman, no?”

“Thank you, Mark,” Mr Tornworth said clasping his hands together, “I’ll be straight with you Michael, “We received an email to the account of one of our Legends. Her name has been put around by a few of our puppets, and her name came to Dujani’s attentions. We have had a request for her to meet him.”

“So how do I fit in?” I asked again. “You have another agent with more experience that you need me to work with?”

“The thing is.” said Mr Goodwin, rubbing his chin. “You are the only person qualified enough to fit the Legend.

“But he’s a man! said Harriet incredulously. “Have you not noticed that tiny fact?”

She said what I had wanted to. At the moment, I was too rigid with shock to know what to do. So I sat there, hoping I was imagining this.

“We appreciate that Harriet,” said Mr Goodwin staring daggers at the Field Officer beside me. “But as I said, we have nobody else, and we believe it may be possible to send Mr Cohen in as Anastasia. It’s not like he’s some 14 stone rugby player ….” He snorted letting the comment hang.

That was the last straw. “HE, Is here.” I yelled standing up. “He can hear every fucking word you say. Does HE not get a say in this?” I seethed clenching my teeth.

Harriet tugged at my suit sleeve pulling me back into my seat, “Look, calm down Mike. This is as unorthodox as it sounds, and from what we just heard, it doesn’t seem personal. Those two have a shit way of putting things,” she said, glaring at The Head and deputy behind me. “I think we need to go for a walk.” She said without any hint that it was a suggestion. “John, Toby, we will talk about this in the morning,” she said giving the two men a withering look. “You realise that this man is not used to this building, never mind the work we do, Dumping all that on him then this …. Woman business…. That’s just cruel.”

“That’s enough, Harriet!” growled Mr Tornworth standing. He was about to speak again when she cut him off.

“No, that’s enough from you,” she snapped, slamming the door as she dragged me out of the office, still half numb.

The pinging of the elevator doors closing finally broke me out of the shock that I had been wallowing in.

“I don’t believe this is happening,” I murmured quietly.

Harriet squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, we can sort this out, there has to be another way. Come on, we need some fresh air and some coffee that doesn’t taste like hot water with gravel mixed in,” she grinned weakly.

I attempted a smile at her joke, despite the feeling of dread knotting my stomach.

We made our way out of the building and across the foot bridges and onto the Albert Embankment before walking south along the river’s edge. I didn’t know what time it was, I didn’t really care. There was the occasional person travelling the opposite way, but other than that we were alone.

Harriet stopped and turned towards me as she leant against the river wall. “Tell me what you’re thinking?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” I sighed looking out over the Thames and the lights on the far bank. “I guess I’m wondering if this is my fault…”

Harriet scrunched up her face, “How?” she asked indignantly. “You didn’t suggest that idiocy.”

“Would they have suggested it if I was, what was it? A 14 stone rugby player?” I replied sarcastically.

“That’s not the point and you know it,” Harriet said flatly. “You have image problems don’t you?” she asked quietly, knowing the answer.

“How did you guess?” I chuckled melancholically.

“It’s my job to read people, remember?” she replied. “This is hurting you more because you think you aren’t a real man,” she stated plainly.

“I guess so,” I admitted with a sigh. I watched a boat passing along the river while I formed my thoughts; “I never felt macho, or manly. I guess I never thought of myself as a man, just a boy that grew up. I feel constantly inadequate, I work in a hyper macho environment, in a hyper macho role, and I always feel like a letdown …”

“Maybe they are right.” I laughed turning away from the river and walking on. Harriet caught up with me and stopped me, putting her hand on my arm.

“Maybe then, you need to do this,” she replied with a sly grin.

“What?” I asked. “How do you figure that?”

“Think of it as excising the fear.” She shrugged, “You do this, and what’s the worst that happens? You realise you don’t look like a girl, they are wrong and you go back to your job and feel better about yourself … its free therapy.” She chuckled.

“I don’t know.” I frowned. “What if I do? I’ll probably kill myself out of shame.” I grimaced.

“No. If you do, you get to do something not many men can claim to have done …” she said seriously.

“What? Wear high heels?” I scoffed.

“No, saved the world in the name of HMG …” she grinned.

I stuck my hands I my pockets and walked on. The scary thing was, she was sounding more and more right, and admitting that took away some of the gripping fear I felt.

“Fine.” I shrugged.

“Pardon?” she asked curiously.

“I’ll do it.” I said, before I could back out mentally. “Let’s do it. I know I don’t look like a girl and it will seal that forever.” I said resolutely. “And it’s not like I'm doing this for free.” I shrugged. I still had a  £10,000 deposit from some ‘firm’ that probably didn’t exist in my bank account.

“That’s the spirit.” chuckled Harriet. “Look, are you going to be okay tonight?” she asked.

“Sure, I guess.”

Harriet hugged me, it was nice actually… there was no sexual tension, not a quick greeting hug, but a warm, comforting embrace.

“I’ve got to head back to the office and grab some things. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning OK? Come down to MEFE, and I’ll be around,” she said with a smile before turning and walking away.

I watched her go for a moment before making my way to the nearest tube station and beginning my commute home. It was gone 10pm, and I didn’t even feel hungry. Slipping into the flat, I quietly made my way to my room and to bed. Why was I going to regret this?

---

 
To Be Continued...

2009-03-29 18:51:42 -0400

Focal Point
CHAPTERS 4 - 6
 
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...

---

 
Chapter 4

I rose early again; I hadn’t slept well. I managed to dress and quieten my growling stomach before I set out towards Vauxhall Cross once more. Before long, I was stood in the morning pod queue again, I didn’t feel as awkward as the previous day, but that was party due to the fact I wasn’t really paying attention to anything in particular. It felt almost robotic as I reached the pod and slipped into the stale air-conditioned building. Nobody seemed to notice me as I made my way towards the MEFE area; the whole place seemed to have lost its charm to me.

The computer scanned my face and a green light flashed. The doors slid open and I walked into the controlerate, not really knowing what to expect.

Several heads looked up from the desks towards the centre of the area. I stood there, not really knowing where to go.

“Hi,” Harriet said with an apprehensive smile, appearing from one of the side offices “You’re early,” she said giving me a quick friendly hug. “Come on; let’s get this over with, huh?” she said with an optimistic smile that I did not share. Gesturing me to follow her, we made our way back towards Mr Tornworth’s office and as we entered, I saw the same four people present that had been the night before. As she closed the door behind us, I stood fidgeting sheepishly; not sure what to say.

“Mr Cohen,” said Mr Tornworth getting my attention. “We wanted to apologise for last night … Ah, we realise this is so very new to you, and this isn’t something personal … It’s just the only thing we can think of to be honest,” he said with an apologetic shrug.

“It’s okay,” I said screwing up my face, “I guess it was just a shock. Look, I’ll go along with this, but if it gets stupid, or she …” I said. gesturing Harriet, “thinks its not going to work, we pull the plug ok? I don’t want to look stupid, and those types wouldn’t laugh at me, they would kill me,” I said raising my eyebrows.

“Quite so,” said Goodwin, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Look, we have three weeks, and that’s cutting it fine, but we want to try something…. I really respect you for going for this,” he said looking awkward. “And I’m sorry about what I said, I just meant that you at least had a chance of this working, not that you weren’t a proper bloke,” he said with a shrug, offering me his hand in some act of manly reconciliation.

Grudgingly, I took it and offered a weak handshake, mumbling something noncommittal and took a seat in the room. Mr Tornworth went straight ahead in the briefing. As Goodwin had said, we had a total of 3 weeks till the meeting. That was short notice for even an experienced Field Officer but as a raw recruit, as I suppose I was, it was all very overwhelming.

I was to leave Vauxhall Cross just before lunch, and with Miss North, and Harriet’s assistance, along with a vetted salon that the service used occasionally to change the appearance of agents, we would set about seeing if it was possible, or in my mind, impossible to fit me into the life of Anastasia Zanov, the Ex-Russian army sniper turned mercenary, and my one mental sticking point … a woman.

We left Vauxhall Cross just before noon and caught a cab from the embankment. Miss North gave the driver directions before sitting back and regarding me thoughtfully.

“You know, with all the staring that’s gone on today, I think I must have sprouted another ear …” I smirked sarcastically. Miss North looked embarrassed

“I’m sorry Michael,” she said “This is most definitely a first for me, and believe me; I’ve handled a lot of weird situations with Field officers. I think you’re the first to do this,” she admitted with a shrug.

“It’s not like he chose this is it?” interjected Harriet with an air of the haughty attitude I’d started to see more of since getting to know her better. “We practically pull him off the street and thrust him into this world … Granted he’s not a civilian in the strictest sense … but still, this would be crazy to even one of my bunch, I can’t begin to imagine how this feels to Mike,” she said, biting her lip.

“Well thanks for the touching Eulogy, but I didn’t realise I’d died,” I said sarcastically. “Come on, I’m terrified about this, but it’s not going to be the end of the world.” Both the women looked a little sheepish, but thankfully they backed off with the sympathy and the rest of the journey was spent in relative quiet.

About 20 minutes later, we pulled in outside a row of rather posh looking boutiques and salons in one of those namelessly fancy parts of the city that I rarely ventured into. Getting out of the cab took the last of my reserves, and I felt utterly drained as I stood on the pavement with the two women. We entered the salon and Miss North spoke to the receptionist, I was really glad I didn’t have to try and communicate; I was sure I would scream if I opened my mouth.

We were escorted to a private waiting area. It appeared the salon had been closed for the day specially, as the receptionist collected her things and left as soon as we were seated.

We were not seated long when a slim middle aged redhead came in and introduced herself to us. Her name was Sally, and she apparently knew Miss North quite well.

“I see you have a project for me Jane. Care to tell me a little about it?” she beamed rubbing her hands together eagerly.

“Well, Sally.” Jane North began, pointing at me. “We need to see if it’s possible for you to make our colleague here pass for a woman …”

Sally looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Quite possibly the weirdest request I’ve had from you ghosts yet.” She grinned, “Wait no … what is it?”

“Spooks, dear,” Jane North said rolling her eyes.

“That’s the one; whatever! Who are you dear?” she asked smiling at me.

“Um, My na. I’m Mike.” I said awkwardly.

“Don’t be embarrassed dear; you won’t be my first man,” she chuckled. “What’s this in aid of, Jane?” she asked, rearranging some flowers in a vase beside her absent mindedly.

“He’s taking the place of one of our agents on a mission … The mission is … requires a woman.” She said with a shrug.

“Oh, right.” Sally said slowly with a frown, “Well let's see what I can do then, If you two would like to get comfortable, Jane? I think you know where I keep the kitchen in this place.” Sally led me out of the waiting area and into one of the treatment rooms at the rear of the salon.

“Ok dear,” she smiled, “Don’t be so nervous, okay? I can see you’re all jittery…” she chuckled warmly. “There’s really nothing to be afraid about here, I’m not going to do anything permanent to you yet, so relax and you might enjoy it a little. I know I enjoy being pampered,” she smiled.

“Sorry,” I shrugged. “This is really new to me, and to be honest, it makes me feel sort of uncomfortable.”

Sally smiled sympathetically and patted me on the arm.” Look, I won’t do anything to embarrass you, and I certainly won’t laugh. If this doesn’t work, we can at least say we tried. And if it does, I guarantee you there will be nothing to be embarrassed about. Believe me dear, being a woman is no different to being a man, it's no worse, certainly not embarrassing; I know your fragile male ego can’t rationalise that yet though.” She chuckled. “Now get in there and put on the robe,” she said pointing at a changing room in a tone that suggested I had little choice.

I pulled the curtain closed behind me and tried to breathe for a moment, she was right in a strange way … this wouldn’t kill me. At worst I’d have a wasted day and a few bad memories … I decided to go for it. It couldn’t hurt, right?

Stripping off my suit, I put it on the hanger and began to slip out of my underwear and quickly grabbed the maroon silk robe hung on the wall.

The robe was cool against my skin, and extremely soft to the touch, I could see why people liked the material … I stopped admiring myself and steeling my nerve, stepped out of the changing room.

“Ah good, you’re ready,” smiled Sally. “Let's get you sat here and I’ll begin,” she said, indicating a salon chair she had positioned facing out into the room away from the mirrored wall that it obviously normally faced.

“Don’t want me to see the horror till it’s completed huh?” I joked nodding at the mirrored wall.

“No dear, I just think it will be better to see the end first, it’s easier to see the difference.” She replied sorting through various items on a shelf. “Let’s get to work shall we?” she announced with far too much enthusiasm for my liking.

Sally stood looking at me intently for a moment after she got me into the chair with her chin in her hand. “Hmmm.” She murmured aloud. “Does it matter who you look like? Or will anyone do?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think it matters, but maybe a little Russian, if there’s such thing,” I suggested.

“Okay then, “she smiled reaching for a pair of tweezers. “Now don’t worry, I’m only tidying things up, they won't look girly,” she soothed before beginning to rip my eyebrow hairs out one by excruciating one.

Thankfully, she finished quickly, and began to play around with my longish hair. “I’m not sure if we want to go for long or otherwise, but your hair is workable as it is. What do you think?” she asked.

I wasn’t sure I had an opinion. “Um, Longer I guess? But I think a wig would be hot where I’m going,” I said trying not to reveal too much.

“Well let’s try one for now, and if this goes ahead, I’ll give you extensions ok? You have enough hair to weave them in.” I nodded, and she smiled before vanishing off into some other part of the salon before returning promptly carrying a slightly wavy brunette wig with a short bouncy fringe. She combed my hair back, and covered it with a plain white skull cap and slipped the wig over my head and stood back to adjust it.

She looked at me for a moment before shaking her head and chuckling to herself. “That suits you dear.” Now let’s get some makeup on you, and then we can deal with below the neck.”

She proceeded to apply makeup to my face, telling me what each item was and how it was used, I tried to pay attention, but felt quite awkward as she moved the brushes over my face. It really made me want to scratch.

I wrinkled my nose as she applied a powder to my cheeks.

“Now stop that, you!” she scolded, “I’ll be done soon. This is turning out great,” she enthused.

“I’m not sure I share your sentiment,” I muttered under my breath. “Do I have to remind you that I didn’t sign up for this?”

“Sign up to protect your country, or to wear your first bra?” she chuckled as she painted my lips with a clear gloss. “I think we are nearly done.” She smiled. “Let’s get you dressed, shall we?

I rose out of the chair slowly, feeling the strange sensation of hair brushing against my shoulders; It felt very alien indeed.

Sally led me over to a closet in the far corner of the room and began rummaging through drawers and shelves looking for things that she threw out into my arms as she found them. I just stood stock still holding what was thrust at me without any real idea of what I was meant to do.

“Why do you have all these clothes and things?” I asked somewhat curiously. I didn’t really suppose that a swanky London salon had many of this sort of job, not enough to stock up specially.

“I often get contracts to do modelling shoots, and bits now and then,” she called as she dug through another box. “I get lots of free stuff, and I hate to throw out basically unused things … plus it comes in useful for makeovers or special jobs like yours,” she laughed playfully. “

“Annnnnddd,” she continued reaching into the depth of the cupboard. “I have these.” She grinned holding up a plain black box.

“What’s in there?” I asked curiosity peaked dangerously.

“Your two new best friends dear,” she smirked, placing the box on the side and collected the pile of clothes from my still frozen arms. “Right dear, take these and go and get them on … be back out here sharpish, too … Go on, shoo,” she chided directing me towards the changing room again.

Once I was safely behind the flimsy curtain, I opened my hand and stared at the silky white knickers in my hand with something approaching mystification. For some reason, the hair on my head, and the makeup hadn’t really been crossing that line, it was still me … it was only bits of chemicals and minerals and hair, but the knickers in my hand were a line that I could not uncross once I took that last step. There was no way back; I would have cross-dressed. I didn’t care if it was something only I would know, but 3 women? Could I? Would it really be that big a deal? Another part of my brain reasoned… 'It’s only clothing…'

“For queen and country,” I muttered to myself as I slipped the silky garment up my legs and seated it securely around my private parts. There, I had done it … It felt weird, but not in the way I imagined. I had a stupid notion that Noel Edmunds would pop out with a camera any moment, but it didn’t happen.

I slipped the robe on again and stepped out of the changing room.

“Good, I thought I was going to have to send mountain rescue in there for you,” chuckled Sally as she stopped sifting through the clothing she had extracted.

Picking up a bra and a corset from the clothing, she approached me and ordered the robe off. Reluctantly, I complied and slipped the garment from my shoulders.

“Hm, not bad,” Sally muttered to herself as she looked me up and down. “There is plenty for me to work with.”

With some struggling, she helped me into the corset which stopped below my chest, and began to lace me into the restrictive garment.

“Now breathe out and I'll fasten it okay?” she said reassuringly as I was squeezed more and more. Following her instructions, thinking it would ease the constriction; she placed her knee in my back and pulled extremely hard on the laces. I was almost snapped in two as she fastened the laces behind me.

“Oh God,” I moaned. “Is my liver meant to be trying to force itself out of my ear?”

“Stop playing silly buggers, young lady,” she scolded. “You’ll get used to it,” she chuckled playfully.

“I may, but my intestines disagree.” I moaned sarcastically.

Sally fastened the bra around my chest, and approached me ceremoniously with the black box. As she took the lid off, I got the surprise of my life.
“What are those!?” I exclaimed with shock and curiosity.

“Why, these are your breasts, dear,” Sally said with an amused grin. “Did you think I would use socks?” she smiled sweetly.

Sally hefted two large fleshy objects from the box; they were large breast forms, extremely realistic, but a shade or two lighter than my slightly tanned complexion. Even the nipples looked scarily real.

Sally slipped the two breasts into the bra cups, and I immediately felt the tug against the shoulder straps.

“You get used to this?” I asked hopefully.

Sally smiled sweetly. “Some dear, but the weight is never ignorable, you may want to be careful, your centre of balance will be different now, so no gymnastics till you’re used to them okay?” she giggled. Sally proceeded to help me into a pair of tan tights, and a silky white blouse and charcoal knee length skirt that fastened high at my new waist.

“Here’s a pair of nice safe flats for now, you can deal with heels once you are more practiced,” she said, offering me a pair of simple court shoes.

“You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion that this will work…” I stated dryly.

Sally shook her head. “Come here, hon,” she said softly taking my hand and walking me towards the mirror wall in the other half of the room. I followed, grudgingly, not sure I wanted to see the monster drag queen she had created. As I looked into the glass however, I spun around self consciously to see where the heck the pretty brunette had come from; Sally saw my reaction and chuckled.

“She’s you, hon,” she said with a hint of amusement.

I stepped back in front of the mirror and stared at the reflection in front of me. It was hard for me to look at the shocked, bemused looking girl in the glass and relate her with myself.

“I’m … I look … I look like a girl.” I stammered ignorant of the fact I was stating the bloody obvious. “How?” I asked rhetorically, reaching out a hand towards the glass and watching the attractive young woman copy my movement. “This is impossible,” I whispered.

“No hon,” Sally said softly, placing her hand on my shoulder and appearing behind me. “No its not. I didn’t want to say anything before, as I was working on you, because I didn’t want you to back out, but you looked almost perfect as soon as I put the wig on you… You’re very lucky, and this isn’t anything to be ashamed about,” She said giving my shoulder a squeeze. “How do you feel about showing your friends?”

“They aren’t really my friends,” I sniffed. “I met them both a few days ago, I’ve been dumped into this world and I’m flying by the seat of my pants,” I replied stifling a sob.

Sally turned me around and hugged me tightly. “Don’t you cry little one, this is a lot, and you are very brave, and believe me, if I know Jane, and unfortunately I do, she will look after you. Miss Carlisle seems to care for you too, so don’t worry so much okay? And damn it girl! You stop crying!” she laughed. “You’re going to ruin my makeup job!” She chuckled playfully slapping me on the shoulder. “Get on out there and show them how you look.”

I made a face, “I’m not sure I can, I mean, I know how I look. I can’t deny that, but part of me wants to run and hide and never see this again.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about. Go out there and take every moment as it comes,” Sally said with a sly grin.

I rolled my eyes, “Here goes nothing,” I shrugged and opened the door.

Harriet and Jane were sat in the waiting room chatting when they turned at the sound of the door. Jane started to turn back to her magazine not recognising me, but Harriet sat transfixed.

“Good God, Mike, is that you?” she said in a surprised whisper. Jane did a double take and just sat gawping.

“Erm, I guess this answer’s my question,” I shrugged, blushing.

Jane and Harriet just sat motionless; Harriet had a silly goofy grin on her face. “This is totally so much more awesome than I thought it could be,” she said shaking her head.

“Oh what are you? 12?” I laughed. “I guess this really decides things for us. God save the queen, etcetera?”

“This is quite amazing.” Jane said quietly, finally speaking. “I suspected that it would work, but I didn’t think he … she, would look so natural; so pretty…”

I scowled. “Did everyone see this but me? Did anyone see me as a man?”

“You know that’s rubbish Mike,” scolded Harriet. “Damn, it’s weird to call you that like you are…” Harriet shrugged apologetically getting up and walking over to me. “What do you think? Do you want to go for this?

“I don’t think I have a choice,” I said shrugging “I told myself I’d do it if I looked like a girl, I guess I called my own bluff,” I said rolling my eyes. “No, in all seriousness, I don’t know… the scary thing is, this doesn’t feel so bad now… I expected it to be so alien that I couldn’t cope, but… I don’t know, I could do it, I know that, and I have never backed down from the Job. I haven’t quit to date. There are a lot of things that are a great deal more important than me riding on this and if I can do something to change that, it will be worth it. I can take each day as it comes,”

Harriet bit her lip and looked at me intently for a moment before pulling me into a hug. I just hugged her back and we stood there for a moment. “You’re an amazing person,” she said quietly.

“Now I want to tell you that you can back out of this at any time.” Jane said slowly, as she crossed the room. “But, I spoke to John before we left,” she said. Noting my confused expression she added that this was Mr Tornworth. “Basically, he told me that if I decided that this would fly, that he thought it prudent to offer you a transfer more permanently to 6 … From an official standpoint, you’re already vetted, and read in, and it would cover us in a legal aspect. We can draw up the transfer papers when we get back to the office,” she said raising her eyebrows. “Would you be okay with that?” she asked cautiously, watching my reaction like a hawk.

“So I’d not go back to the Met?” I asked, letting the idea swim around my head. “Work with 6 permanently?” I asked curiously.

“Sure,” Jane nodded, “John has taken a liking to you. You stood up to him, and that’s a rare occurrence, normally …” she said tossing a sly grin at Harriet. “He thinks you have potential, your record certainly qualifies you, and pending completion of the Field officers Qualification Course, you would be a permanent MI6 Field Officer. Obviously that would come after this mission however…“ She said with a strange look on her face.

“Today seems to be a day of going with my instinct,” I said quietly, biting my lip thoughtfully. “Sign away my life,” I sighed reluctantly.

Harriet grinned and hugged me again. Turning to Jane, I asked. “Has she lost 10 years today? Or does she always act like a 14 year old?”

Jane smirked, “Partly,” she smiled, “but the prospect of what is soon to come is also a key motive. She knows we will have to go shopping.” She laughed as she watched the colour drain out of my cheeks.

 
 

Chapter 5

Sally had stripped me of my feminine garbs and I had returned to being a subdued and apprehensive Michael Cohen. We had gone our separate ways on leaving North Bank, Sally’s Salon. I slowly made my way home in the growing dusk, finally getting home around 6pm.

The flat was dark when I let myself in. It seemed that I was alone; something I honestly relished after so long in the company of others. I had a lot of thinking to do, and they were not sociable thoughts. I stripped off my clothing in my bedroom, and padded through to the bathroom and turned on the shower. After allowing the water to warm, I slipped under the relaxing pulsing jets, allowing the water to force the tension from my tired body.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. On impulse, I wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror, and looked at my reflection. I didn’t see anything particularly girlish looking back at me, certainly not the woman that I had seen this afternoon. I messed around with my wet hair, trying to make it appear more feminine but was unsatisfied. I realised my chest was bare and I lifted the towel around my chest, tying it above where I would have breasts and closed my eyes. As I opened them, I tried to see the girl in my reflection, and I thought I caught a glimpse but it was gone as the mirror lost the battle against the steam. Why was I doing this? I didn’t want to look like a girl I rationalised. Just thinking about it made my stomach feel weird. I stepped out of the bathroom trying to shake the thoughts running through my brain and ran straight into Pete.

“Shit, Pete, sorry! I didn’t see you.” I gushed as I bounced off his chest and landed on the floor. Pete gave me a strange look and offered me his hand to help me up.

“Sorry, do I know you?” he said slowly, furrowing his brow.

“Pete, it’s me? Mike?” I said blushing. “your flatmate?” I added wondering if he was joking. Pete’s eyes widened.

“Woah, shit. Mike! God man I didn’t recognise you, what’s with the…?” he tailed off gesturing at me in general, not quite able to put a finger on what he saw. “You going gay on me mate?” he said with a hint of an amused grin. I was at a loss for words for a moment before I remembered the towel I had tied around my chest. Blushing deeply, I untied it and slipped it down to my waist.

“Heh, I don’t know how that got there.” I laughed nervously. “And I don’t look any different. Pete. Get your god damn eyes tested.” I laughed punching him on the arm and dashing off to my room before he could say anything else. Slamming the door closed I slipped down the door and sat on my bedroom floor breathing deeply. What the hell was happening? Why did I do that? Why didn’t he recognise me? I wasn’t wearing makeup, or women’s’ clothes. It wasn’t the first time… This was getting weird…

After enough time had passed I dried myself off and slipped into a pair of sweats and a tee shirt before venturing out into the kitchen to find something to eat. With all the excitement this afternoon, we had missed lunch, and I really wasn’t a one meal a day sort of guy.

Pete was sat at the counter as I walked into the kitchen.

“Alright,” He said looking up from his paper. “Why were you acting weird before Mike?” he asked, going straight for the kill. I looked around for a moment.

“It's stress I guess.” I shrugged. “Lots going on at work at the moment, in fact I’m transferring out of the Met at the moment.” I said, trying to distract him. Thankfully, he bought it.

“Oh? You moving somewhere else?” He said looking a little crestfallen. “How come you didn’t tell us?”

“No, I’m staying in London,” I said quickly. “I’m staying within the government, but changing Department, as it were.” I said cryptically. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go around telling people I was joining MI6, regardless of whether I was actually allowed to:

Unfortunately, Pete wasn’t that easy to satisfy.“Where are you going? Surely you’d have known you were going to transfer out? They aren’t giving you a desk are they?” he asked curiously between vicious oral assaults on the food before him that passed for eating.

I shook my head. “No, It's very spur of the moment, I… I was recruited, lets say,” I said raising my eyebrows.

“Who by?” Pete asked innocently. Why did he have to be so curious? I tried to pause as I reached into the fridge for a beer and spent an inordinate amount of time opening the thing. It was as he was turning to see why I had gone quiet, I remembered the 6 man Benton’s cover… “Foreign and Commonwealth office,” I said nonchalantly. “Paper pushing, nothing fancy, I look forward to the change of pace to be honest,” I shrugged.

Pete looked at me for a moment then went back to his food. “Sure sounds boring,” he mumbled. Becky chose that moment to return home. She pushed her way into the flat with as much physical drama as such a small person could create, dumping bags in the hall and slamming the door. “Blasted tube was out on our line,” she growled. “I had to walk from bloody Victoria. And these bags aren’t light!” she scowled.

“Don’t buy so much you dozy cow,” Pete said grinning. “It would be easier on you in more ways than one,” he lectured with a chuckle.

“Oh piss off.” She laughed. “You know that will never work. How was your day?” she asked regaining some of her trademark bounce now the long fight home was over.

“Fine,” he shrugged. “It’s been much more interesting since I got home though.”

Why can’t the world swallow you up when you want it to?

“Why’s that? Becky called from the living room, groaning loudly as she pulled off her knee high stiletto boots. “AAAHHHHHH circulation!” she moaned happily.

“Mike was running around in a towel looking like a girl, and now he’s announced that he’s left the police,” he announced triumphantly, trying to make me look as bad as possible. “I think he wants to be called Michaela now!” he laughed not quite managing to dodge the well aimed spatula I launched at the back of his head.

Becky appeared at the door to the kitchen seconds later. “Really?” she asked, her head cocked to one side. “I’d confirm it.” He winced, rubbing the back of his head. “But I’m afraid SHE will try to hurt me again.” He laughed. I was just stood there with my head in my hands hoping the world would end.

I felt Becky’s hand on my arm and dropped my hands to look at her. “He’s pulling your leg about most of that,” I said weakly. She nodded knowingly.
“Oh I didn’t believe a word of his usual bullshit, especially his kinky fantasies that he inflicts on us all,” she laughed pretending to vomit. “But is he right about you quitting the Met? I thought you loved that job?” She asked with concern.

I sighed. I was going to have to be honest; it was the safest way out that I could think of. They would be fine if my housemates knew? Right?

“Look, both of you listen up; I’m going to say zis once, and only once.” I said, imitating a famous quote from an old TV show. “I have been recruited by the Secret Intelligence Service, MI6 to you lackeys. Please don’t tell anyone this, as it is quite secret,” I said seriously, glaring at the pair. “If I ever say I can’t talk about something, please respect the fact that I can’t. The same goes for any extended unannounced trips.” I finished, watching the two closely for their reactions.

Becky and Pete looked at each other for a moment; Pete started to laugh, but caught the serious expression on my face. “You’re serious aren’t you Mike?” he asked furrowing his brow. “Straight up? Mi6?”

“Yes,” I sighed, “and this is the last time we talk about it, ok? So get your curiosity out of the way now before I lose my patience.” I grimaced.

The three of us talked for nearly an hour, they were both extremely curious. I think Pete didn’t believe me till I showed him the security pass in my suit pocket. I was deliberately vague; I didn’t know how much I was allowed to say, or not as the case may be. I just hoped men in black suits wouldn’t turn up in the night and spirit me away to some dark cell for all eternity. Thankfully, in the aftermath of my honesty, Pete had forgotten about the bathroom incident. The evening wound on slowly as we returned to our usual evening routines. Before long, I was welcoming the warm embrace of sleep once more.

I woke the next morning to the annoying voice of the radio DJ; it was possibly the last voice I ever wanted to hear first thing in the morning, second to perhaps Cherie Blair. As usual it succeeded in dragging me from the warm confines of my bed. I showered quickly, and got out of the flat before my housemates woke: I wasn’t in the mood to talk to them this morning; I needed a break in the interrogation after last night.

I missed the normal morning rush at the pods, arriving slightly earlier, and entered the Vauxhall Cross for my 4th day working with MI6, although I supposed that today would become my official first day. Catching one of the lifts, I descended to the sublevels of the building, and arrived at the Middle East controlerate.

The door unlocked with a beep, and I slipped into the offices. I headed towards Mr Tornworth’s office, hoping that he would be in early, I was in luck. As I knocked, he looked up from his desk and gestured for me to enter.

“You’re in very early Michael.” He smiled. “Though I suspect you didn’t come in for an idle chat.” He said raising his eyebrows in question.
“Yes Mr Tornworth, I mean Sir. Sorry.” I stuttered not quite sure of the appropriate title.

“Ah stuff the formality down here Michael, Call me John.” He said. “What’s on your mind? How were things yesterday?”

Taking a seat in front of his desk, I pursed my lips, wondering how to phrase yesterday’s happenings. “Well, I guess it went okay, if we are talking about mission success.” I began. “But I came to speak to you about something Miss North told me afterwards; when we knew things could progress…” I said trailing off, hoping that he got the hint.

John nodded. “Yes, I asked her to offer you a more permanent position with us pending on the success of yesterday’s erm… test,” he said with an embarrassed grin.

“Look, I’ll be honest with you,” he said shrugging. “This is unorthodox, and I think this avenue honestly holds the most chance for us to field an agent successfully. It’s hard to find reasonable Field Officer candidates at the best of times and your skill-set and background offers us a unique opportunity to diversify…” he smiled conspiratorially.

“You impressed me when you told me that our initial plan would not work, even against my insistence that you try. To be honest, I suspected as much, but at the time we were short of ideas. “You’re a professional, as you said, and you aren’t willing to compromise your beliefs and work for the unrealistic or impossible: That makes you an asset as a field Officer,” he said leaning back in his chair and looking at me. “What do you say to working for us?” he asked.

“Okay,” I replied simply. “I had plenty of time to think this over last night after Miss North… Jane told me, so don’t think this is spur of the moment; but yes, I’ll do it.” I said with more confidence than I felt.

John leant forwards and offered me his hand across the desk. “Welcome to the Team, Mike,” he said with a broad smile. I took the offered hand, once again losing mine in his massive paw and vicelike grip. I felt like I had just signed a business deal …

“How do we progress from here?” I asked, cutting to the point of my coming in early. “This assignment, this mission … I don’t want to be left out of the loop on this,” I insisted.

“Well, When Jane and Harriet get in; we meet with Toby, my deputy. You met him yesterday, blunt Scottish chap,” he said reminding me with a grin. “And we will form an action plan for the next two weeks that remain before the mission begins. Of course, there will be some job training that will have to be conducted …” he said with an apologetic smile. “I can’t quite let you go into the field untrained… All Field Officers attend the Field Officer Entry Course before assignment to a controlerate, but we will have to compress the actual important parts into this period for you, the fluff can come afterwards when you get back.”

“You mean IF?” I replied grimly, saying what I really thought, and what I was sure he meant.

“No, I mean when,” John said, his face taking on a serious expression. “I never expect to lose an Officer in the field, and this mission is no different, you have the particulars for this job that no amount of legend specific training or prep could teach. If anyone would complete this successfully, it’s you.” He shrugged, “Now if you do get killed and prove me wrong. I will dig your damn body up, and kill you myself. Clear Cohen?” he said with mock sincerity.

I couldn’t help but smile. There was a different side of this man I was seeing now I had crossed the invisible divide between working with, and for.

Over the next half hour, the department began to fill up: Soon, those pertinent to the operation arrived, and were subsequently called into John’s office. There were congratulations given and knowing smiles when it was announced I was becoming a permanent member of the Controlerate. Jane gave her report on the previous day, and much to my embarrassment, she could find no reason for the operation to not go ahead. We discussed the next two weeks, and what would have to be incorporated.

Jane kept looking at me as if she was about to say something, but changing her mind at the last moment. Eventually, it got too annoying to ignore.
“What is it?” I asked turning to her.

“Well,” she said slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. “There isn’t much time to fit all that Mike has to learn in… I would like to put it past everyone that we kill two birds with one stone,” she said, glancing around the room nervously.

“What is it, woman?” Toby Goodwin asked impatiently in his broad Glaswegian accent. “You want us to come back later or are you going to tell us now?” he asked sarcastically, earning him a scowl.

“Look, I just think it would work better if we spend a few days with Mike… dealing with the more… erm, Vital aspects of the… Disguise…” she said looking at me with a worried look. “Then Mike lives as Anastasia 24/7 till the Mission… so he can get used to it, allowing him more time to focus on the other aspects...?” she offered tentatively, with an expression that suggested she expected me to explode any second with rage.

It didn’t seem as shocking or disgusting as I wanted it to in my mind. The idea, while scary, was annoyingly sensible… I didn’t want to make some major goof when it mattered and it could kill me … did I?

“I guess,” I shrugged. “I mean, I’ll have to do it at the end of these two weeks anyway. Starting a few days earlier won’t exactly change anything.”

“Sorry Mike,” Jane said softly. “I just didn’t want to seem like I was throwing more of this at you, I realise how hard yesterday was…” she said with an apologetic smile.

“I’ll just be happy when it’s all over,” I shrugged.

“This is above and beyond, lad,” said Toby seriously. “We’ll look after ye’,.” He said patting me on the back roughly. This stays within the controlerate, nobody else in Six needs to find out, okay?” he smiled reassuringly. “I Know I wouldn’t want anyone to find out,” he chuckled. I just looked at my feet and blushed.

“That’s not what we all think, you know,” Harriet said as we walked across the footbridges away from the Mi6 building.

“I know, but he, and God knows how many others are or will be in the next few days,” I said to the floor as we walked. “Facing that lot when I do this is going to be so embarrassing,” I sighed.

“There is another way,” Jane shrugged as we hailed a cab.

“I dread to find out, but go on …” I urged as we climbed aboard. “New Scotland Yard Please,” I told the cabbie, before returning my gaze to Jane. “What?” I asked.

“You start living as the legend 24/7 now …” She grinned. “Nobody gets to know you before, and when the mission is over, she goes away, and Mike goes on the Field Officer’s Entry Course before being assigned to MEFE…” She concluded looking pleased with herself.

“Would John and Toby go for that?” asked Harriet sceptically beside me. “It seems a bit deceptive. I don’t think people are that immature here…” she said making a face.

“I’d rather not be known as ‘that agent that dressed up as a girl …” I said, hoping the cabbie had his mike off. “From what Mr Goodwin said before; I can be pretty sure there would be a lot of attitudes that aren’t vocalised, and as much as I don’t want to run around in skirts, it offers me a way out with my manhood intact. It’s not quite the best way for me to start at a new job.” I grimaced.

“Keeping your manhood intact by wearing a skirt?” Harriet asked coyly, cocking an eyebrow. “That’s certainly the most roundabout way I can imagine,” she chuckled.

After paying the driver, we left the taxi and made our way into the Lobby of New Scotland Yard. The two girls decided not to come up; Jane said something cryptic about phone calls. Shrugging, I called the lift, and was soon on my way up to the 3rd floor, and my old place of work.

“Where’ve you been mate?” boomed Harry from across the room as I entered the office.

“I’ll tell you in a bit, Harry,” I replied, trying to throw him off long enough to ask Janice if the boss was around. Well, my old boss.

Knocking on Chief Inspector Farvey’s door, I entered.

“Welcome back Cohen.” He smiled as he looked up from the papers on his desk. “Have fun playing with the spooks, lad?” he chuckled.

“How did you?” I began to ask furrowing my brow, when he held up a hand and laughed deeply. “You don’t think that’s the first time some busybody from the ‘Foreign and Commonwealth’ has been around these parts? It’s one of the corniest covers in the book, but we’re British, so we keep using them because they make us feel better,” He chuckled.

It struck me as true when I thought back. Why would some Foreign office lackey come here to talk to me?

I cut to the chase; “Sir, I’m here to tender my resignation, unfortunately, it has to be effective immediately,” I shrugged apologetically.

“Stole you have they? Bastards,” he said with a wry grin, offering his hand. “Good luck in future pastures, Michael,” he said ruefully giving my hand a good squeeze. “May our loss be their gain.”

We chatted for a few more moments before I said my goodbyes and left his office for the last time. Harry was still loitering when I closed the door.

“What’s all this cloak and dagger stuff mate?” he said in his usual tactless manner.

“I’m being transferred,” I shrugged. “Position with the foreign office, diplomatic protection detail,” I shrugged. Somehow, I knew that line would work on Harry.

“Sounds boring,” he said making a face. “When you go?” he asked as I cleared the few personal items I owned from my desk and hit a few keys on my keyboard before my machine began to format its drive.

“Now, Harry,” It’s a short notice placement. Overseas, you know …” I shrugged with fake remorse. “Boring, but they pay great,” I grinned, hoping he was satisfied.

“Fair enough,” He grinned. “Been cool working with you mate,” he called as I walked out the door.

“I don’t share the sentiment,” I muttered as I walked down the corridor.

It was strange. At the time, I had thought that I enjoyed the job, or at least had been happy, but the more I thought back, the more I realised that it had been just that; a job.

Exiting the lift on the ground floor, I headed over to the seating area where the two women were waiting for me. I gave the building a last look over as we hailed a cab, and left New Scotland Yard for the last time.

 
 

Chapter 6

The cab dropped us off outside North Bank, and we made our way inside where we were greeted warmly by Sally.

“I ordered those things you requested Jane, the courier dropped them off a few moments ago,” She said grinning devilishly, “It’s funny how fast your lot’s money moves things…” she chuckled.

“What have you done?” I asked with a growing feeling of dread.

“You’ll see,” replied Jane with a coy smile.

“I really don’t trust you with surprises,” I said shaking my head. “Fine, let’s destroy my life as I know it for the next few weeks,” I sighed reluctantly. “Shall we?” I asked turning to Sally, “I don’t want to delay everyone’s plans.”

Sally led me through into the room we had used the day before and I mindlessly walked straight into the changing room and stripped. There was another pair of knickers on the side, and the same silk robe. I slipped both items on without really thinking about it. I was too far beyond being able to complain or worry.

When I returned to the main room, Sally led me to a long table and ordered me to lie face down on the padded top. I gave her a funny look, but complied.

“Now this might sting a little dear…” she said as she began to spread warm liquid wax on the backs of my legs. I wasn’t stupid; I knew what was coming from many other sources, but nothing quite prepared me for the utter agony when she ripped the first of the cloth strips from my skin.

YOOOWWCH.” I screamed in a most unmanly fashion. “Can’t you do that any less violently?” I begged squeezing my eyes shut to block out the pain as she removed more of my flesh.

“Of course not, dear,” she said in a bored tone. “Now be a good girl and grin and bear it; beauty hurts,” she giggled. I could almost swear she was enjoying this.

Before long, the backs of my legs were clear of hair, and having rolled me onto my front, she repeated the process. Thankfully the rest of my body was relatively hair free, apart from my armpits and pubic region which received similar vicious treatment.

“Do MI6 employ you to torture suspects too?” I groaned rubbing my sore body parts. “Is it always that bad?”

“No, you get used to it,” she said as she cleared some items away. “And yes, once or twice they brought in a particularly hairy terrorist for me to play with,” she grinned, before bursting into giggles when she saw the look on my face.

I was allowed the modesty of the robe once more and Sally had me sit in the salon chair again.

“Ok hon, we’re going to give you hair extensions,” she said as she played with my existing locks. “How long do you want it?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, you decide.” I replied dismissively, not really wanting to be voluntarily involved in my emasculation.

Sally smiled and rubbed my shoulder. “It’s not so bad dear,” she soothed. “I know this isn’t easy, but you need to relax a little and go with the flow ok?”

“The flow terrifies me,” I admitted. “This whole thing is alien and strange, I came into this hoping that I’d prove them wrong and look silly, then I found myself feeling glad I didn’t look stupid … that … I don’t know; if I have to be a girl, at least I don’t look stupid… does that make sense?” I asked locking eyes with her through the mirror.

“Sure it does dear,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Nobody wants to look stupid. Look, why don’t you try to put Michael away for now, and pretend you’re someone else? You might find it easier if you stop thinking of yourself as a man dressed as a woman …” She shrugged,

“But I am,” I said, “Or I will be.” I shuddered.

Sally shook her head. “No you won’t.” she said firmly. “For your mission you will be a woman, so you’d better get into character, huh?

“I don’t see how,” I shrugged, beginning to feel stupid. “I’ll be a guy pretending to be a woman on the mission, nothing changes that.”

Sally knelt down by my side and turned to face me. “Look dear, I’m not one of your spy types, but I do know that if you go with that attitude, you will fail, and it will most probably cost you your life,” she said seriously. “My advice, is to let go of Michael for a while, let's pick you a name to use, It will make this easier for you than seeing yourself as ‘Michael in girls clothes’,” she smiled. “any ideas?” Sally prompted.

“I really never thought about it.” I shrugged screwing up my face. “I’d like something Hebrew though.” I admitted. “I won’t change everything about me.”

Sally nodded. “How about Sarah?” she offered, “That’s a Hebrew name isn’t it?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s too… girly... I really don’t quite see myself as the princess sort yet either,” I chuckled darkly.

Sally smiled ruefully and shook her head. “You really are a hard one to please aren’t you?” she said shaking her head. “Well you have a think while I do your hair okay? I will be expecting a name when I’m through.” She smiled and rubbed my arm before she got to her feet and began to work on my hair.

As she worked, I lost myself in thought. I had to admit she was right; my entire problem with this was that I saw myself as Mike cross-dressing. For Mike, being treated like this, wearing clothes like this would be wrong, or strange…. But If I thought of myself as a girl, it wouldn’t be… it would be normal. I tried to think of girl's names, but each one that popped into my head was someone I knew… I really didn’t want to be reminded of them each time someone called my name for the next few weeks. As I tried to think of names that didn’t belong to anyone I knew, I remembered something my Father had mentioned once; he had described how my Mother had vetoed my sister’s name… I had gotten a Jewish name, and my sister ought to have a Christian one… to reflect the two faiths my parents belonged to… Of course, it hadn’t mattered that Veronica had not been a Christian name either… but the name had stuck with her to this day as names tend to… I thought about the name my Father had wanted…. Sharon…. I played with it in my mind for a moment and something seemed to click. It was as if it was a name waiting for me… It was part of my family, but awaiting an owner… Sharon Cohen, Miss Sharon Cohen. ‘I am Sharon…’ I thought to myself. I smiled inwardly at the irony of the name… Plain, flat, new… a clean slate in my mind…. Yes, Sharon was perfect.

When I came round from my daydream like state I realised that Sally was practically finished. I looked at the person in the mirror… I saw no trace of Mike and the only difference I could see was that my hair was longer and a different colour… She had finished the extensions, and dyed my hair a very natural shade of blonde, almost honey coloured. It was currently cascading around my shoulders with a slight hint of waviness. I could see the girl again … she was more plain looking at the moment, but none the less still pretty, and still a girl. It was scary to see myself look like that…

“Wow,” I breathed quietly.

“See what I meant yesterday?” Sally said nodding at my reflection. “You suit this,” she smiled.

“Even flat-chested and without any makeup I look like a girl,” I said slowly. “How?” I asked dumbly, feeling increasing confusion begin to creep through my brain.

Sally finished trimming a section of hair and fluffed it lightly. “Good genes dear,” She said with a shrug. Holding a mirror behind my head, she moved it around to let me see the whole effect. “What do you think?” she asked with a proud smile on her lips.

“I … I like it,” I said without really thinking. I looked so different that it felt easier to think of myself as Sharon… as a girl. As the hypothetical Sharon, I think it suited me, or her, I wasn’t quite sure yet.

“Did you decide on a name?” she asked leaning on the back of the chair and looking over my shoulder. “If you haven’t, I’m going to name you Betty-Sue,.” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows.

I chuckled at the thought and looked at myself in the mirror again… Nope, no Mike…
“Sharon, I think,” I said slowly “I guess looking like this it makes it easier to call myself that,” I murmured quietly.

“The name suits you,” she smiled. “It’s feisty without being sluttish, but feminine at the same time… and yes, you do look more like a Sharon at the moment.” She said with a smile.

“I’m not so sure feisty is anything I want to be,” I frowned, running my fingers through my blond locks. “This feels so real,” I said furrowing my brow. “I can’t even tell.”

Sally beamed. “That, my darling, is because I’m a pro,” she said winking and laughing before explaining what she had done… I didn’t understand most of it, but I was glad she did.

Sally spun my chair around again and proceeded to attack my eyebrows with a pair of tweezers before she set about applying cosmetics to my face. To her credit, she tried to explain what each thing was, and what they did, but I was lost.

Sally dove into the wardrobe cum cupboard again, and produced another small mountain of clothing on the floor by my feet. Once she was satisfied, she didn’t go for the corset as before, but reached onto the shelf behind me and removed a package. Ripping the paper, she extracted another box similar to the previous day.

“Jane had me order these from a supplier in the city and got them couriered over,” she said with a sly smile. “MI6 spares no expense…”

Opening the box, she lifted out one of the fleshy objects. They were more realistic than the previous pair, and the tone matched my skin much more closely. Sally placed the breast forms on the tabletop next to her, and extracted a tube from the box and began to read the label.

“What’s that?” I asked puzzled.

“It’s a skin glue.” She said, “It will adhere the forms to your chest for about two weeks, we will need to take them off and clean the underlying skin before you go away, so the timing is quite good.” She said. “This will make it much more realistic, and help you get into character.” She said it as if she was trying to convince me it was a good idea.

In all honesty, I’d given up much hope of escaping with some modicum of masculinity, so I lay back on the waxing table once more as Sally applied the glue to both my skin and the breast forms before individually positioning each one. Once they were on my skin, she added more glue around the edges, and applied a semi permanent makeup to blend them to my own skin. The effect was shocking; I sat up and immediately felt the tug of my breasts on my chest.

“This is weird,” I muttered. “too damn weird.”

Sally laughed. “You’ll get used to that,” she said with a knowing grin. “Most of us grow ours over a few years, so we don’t notice a difference,” she said with a note of amusement.

Sally retrieved the bra and the corset from the pile of clothes and ordered me to stand before imprisoning me in the blasted thing again. I was NOT pleased with the way it pushed my breasts up… I could swear they looked larger. Fastening the bra, Sally showed me how to position my breasts in the cups. I did feel more comfortable now the weight was supported more evenly, strange, but more comfortable.

Sally selected a knee length grey skirt and a pale blue blouse that exposed just the hint of cleavage without actually revealing the false breasts. While I wrestled with a pair of nude tights, she rummaged in her venerable Aladdin’s cave and returned with a pair of low black strappy heels.

“I don’t think I’m ready for those,” I said with a grimace. “What happened to walking before I run?” I asked hoping she would reconsider.

“Nonsense.” She smiled. "Consider them training. Plus, these are barely two inches,” She chided. “Grow up, girl,” she winked.

Straightening my clothes , she gathered my hair behind my head and fiddled with something before pronouncing me done; I could feel my hair tugging lightly at whatever she had pinned it with.

Leading me over to the mirror, she showed me the results of her hard work.

I was speechless. There was no doubt I appeared female now… My blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun high on the back of my head, with a few wispy strands framing my expertly made up face. My figure was undeniably female, and the young woman that looked back at me was slim and attractive. She looked ready for a business meeting and most definitely was not a Mike …

While I had been admiring myself, Sally had invited Jane and Harriet in. The two of them were as shocked as I was. “Mike, I can’t believe that’s you,” Harriet whispered, with a look closely approaching awe.

“Girls,” Sally announced, getting their attention. “We decided, for the good of her role, that she needs to be referred to in the feminine from now on … And she’s called Sharon,” she said with a broad grin.

“Whose idea was that?” Jane asked curiously, fixing Sally with an accusatory stare.

“Hey it was my idea for a name, but she picked it!” Sally giggled holding her hands up in surrender.

“How do you feel Mi … Sharon? Jane asked raising her eyebrows. “I must say you look great…

“The jury is still out,” I shrugged. “I know I look good, and I’m happy that I don’t look silly, but this still feels uncomfortable,” I shrugged. “So what’s the plan now?” I asked with trepidation.

“Well, I thought we could get a spot of lunch, and then do some shopping for you,” Jane suggested. “John authorised us to use a 6 credit card, so there’s no worry about money.”

Sally rolled her eyes, “I should have become a super spy like my sister.”

I wheeled around. “You two are sisters?” I half asked, half stated as I looked back and forth between the two. “I should have guessed,” I sighed. “Why would 6 go round vetting salons?”

Sally grinned. “I just wish you were in as safe hands this afternoon with the other North sister.” She chuckled, dodging a playful swipe from Jane.

Sally found me a handbag and a jacket to go with my outfit, and placed one of each of the cosmetics she had used in the bag. I gave her a hug as we left.

“Thank you, you made this as painless as I expect it could have been,” I said genuinely. “Apart from the waxing, of course.” I said laughing.

“My pleasure,” she smiled warmly. “I just wish I could come with you guys now, but I have to open the shop and tend to the boring normal customers,” she replied ruefully.

After a final round of goodbyes, we stepped out onto the street and waited for a cab to pass.

It was about then I realised I was standing on a London street wearing women’s clothes, makeup, and with big fake breasts glued to my chest.
 

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To Be Continued...

Focal Point
CHAPTERS 7 & 8
 
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 7

Some part of my brain told me that I ought to be scared of what I was doing, but was overridden by an overwhelming sense of self preservation. If I broke down now, I would draw attention to myself, but if I kept going, nobody would be the wiser.

So I did just that … I followed Jane and Harriet along the street, occasionally agreeing with something, or making non committal sounds. Before long, a taxi appeared, and we flagged it down and boarded. Jane gave the driver an address , and I sank down into my seat with relief. I had never before been more self conscious of walking 50 meters in my life.

“You okay?” Harriet asked, watching my expression carefully. “It’s okay to be nervous,” she said with a friendly smile, giving my hand a light squeeze. “I know what you’re thinking … Seriously though, nobody will work it out unless you telling them; you look amazing,” she grinned.

“She’s right,” added Jane from the other side of Harriet. “Sally did a right number on you, it suits you down to the ground …”

“So everyone keeps saying,” I sighed. “I’d like to get to grips with pretending to be this first though if you don’t mind,” I muttered darkly.

“Just treat this as what it is …” Harriet said with a shrug. “An operation … you’re an undercover Intelligence agent, so act the part and earn your paycheque,” she added, making it sound like this was the simplest thing in the world.

“It may have escaped your notice,” I said darkly. “But I don’t know this role very well.”

“Coulda fooled me,” snickered Harriet. “That’s the easy part though. You look like you belong, that gives you a little leeway … We won’t have to concentrate on getting your mannerisms and behaviour to be as feminine as possible to remove suspicion … you look so …. female,” she said gesturing at me, “that nobody would begin to suspect you were undercover. So relax okay?”

“Easier said than done,” I muttered to myself.

We arrived at a small Italian Bistro in Knightsbridge and made our way inside. I tried to take what the girls had said to heart, but it was easier to understand what they meant, than it was to truly believe. It sounds silly, but I swear that I expected everyone that cast their eyes in my direction would see through my deception. It was irrational I knew; I had seen myself in the mirror at Sally’s, and I knew there was no way anyone could tell, but subconsciously, it was a hard feeling to shake.

We were seated quickly, and shared a quick light lunch. We relaxed, and I began to get to know the two girls a little better. If anything, they seemed to open up to me more as Sharon than they had as Mike. Harriet kept looking at me strangely when she thought my head was turned: My unnaturally broad field of vision was clearly not on 6’s file ….

“So what is Mr Tornworth like to work for?” I asked between bites of my salad. I had been scolded several times for how I ate, and was beginning to feel like I was 5 again.

“He’s not bad. He can get stroppy at times when the Deputy Chief rides him and the other heads of departments, but that’s normal; the guy’s an ass,” Harriet shrugged.

“Er, ’not bad’?” Jane scoffed. “He’s only not bad to you because you’re one of his precious field Officers … You don’t have to spend as much time with him as I do. He rides us pretty hard when you go off gallivanting around foreign countries,” she snickered. “All in all, he’s not TOO bad. I suppose, we could have done so much worse,” she shrugged. “Safe to say you won’t find him too bad.” Jane said to me. “You’re a man, after all.”

“Yeah, he can be a bit old school,” Harriet added screwing up her face, “But he’s not as bad as Toby can be.”

“What have I walked into?” I moaned. “Although I’ll probably get to see a different side thanks to this mission,” I said, sipping my wine, “I may not see the full brunt of his misogyny, but doubtless, my membership card for the old boys club will get lost in the post.”

“I guess that makes you an honorary girl for the duration,” Jane chuckled. “You’re going to have to learn to fend off Daniel Many Hands, so if anything, that qualifies you,” she said with something approaching glee.

“I think I get the idea,” I sighed. Men were another facet of this mission that I was as yet unwilling to even consider. Though that might be easier said than done like so many other things I was dealing with for the first time.

We chatted idly for another half an hour or so before leaving to get a cab into central London to begin the second part of my torture and education: Shopping.

The taxi dropped us off at the end of Oxford Street, and Harriet, like a true general led the attack from the front. She was clearly an experienced London shopper, possessing just the right amount of haughty confidence to keep the vulture-like sales assistants at bay. Between themselves, the girls began to compile a small mountain of clothing they thought suitable for me. Thankfully, I wasn’t exactly sure what was suitable for a female me, so I largely kept out of the discussions, occasionally vetoing a disgusting colour or style that I would have found repulsive on any woman, let alone myself.

Eventually, the mountain of clothing became too large for them to support, and I was dragged towards the changing room to begin trying on the third of the shop we had acquired. To my credit, I only balked slightly when I was guided forcefully into the women’s changing room and installed in a cubicle. I had often wondered why women took so long when shopping, and after seeing the lengthy process that took place in each shop, I had a new understanding for the process. I started to think about how much I would benefit from the experience when I got a girlfriend, but something felt extremely wrong about ‘girlfriend’ when I was stood there, a perfect representation of the sort of girl I would have fancied. The world was a weird place…
“Where next?” I asked with trepidation as we left Harvey Nicks.

“It’s a surprise.” Jane replied ominously.

I groaned; “I’m about done with your surprises.”

“There is one thing my dear sister cannot do,” Jane said as we made our way along the busy streets. “She cannot pierce.”

I swallowed heavily. “Pierce what?”

“Your ears silly … It’s going to look very funny if a 24 year old woman doesn’t have pierced ears.”

“I thought we weren’t doing anything permanent?” I asked nervously, trying desperately to find some way out of having metal shoved through my body.

“They heal if you take them out within a few weeks.” Harriet said, attempting to reassure me. “And if it doesn’t, lots of guys have them pierced…”

I sighed, “It just seems a very permanent step to take. This is moving so fast.”

Harriet was quiet for a moment before she spoke, “Think about it this way: The more we do sooner, the more dramatic the difference, and thus, easier for you to separate yourself from this … If anything, getting your ears pierced for a few weeks is going to help …” she offered. “Plus you’re such a big baby. It doesn’t hurt.” She grinned, spotting one of my reasons for hesitation.

“I’m not scared.” I said puffing out my chest, only to breathe out rapidly when I saw my breasts push forwards in a way I did NOT want to see on me. Harriet was watching the entire inner conflict with amusement, and found it hard to stifle a giggle.

“You’ll get used to those,” she whispered conspiratorially in my ear as we walked. “And for future references, you can’t pull off macho at the moment, honey.”

I scowled, but said nothing. She was right.

Jane took me to an upmarket piercing parlour where she paid for me to be impaled by a disturbingly large needle; twice. It hadn’t hurt as much as I expected, but I was still not pleased by such a permanently feminine step, whether I needed it or not. The silver studs were plain and unfeminine, but represented a strange new line I had crossed unwillingly.

Afterwards, we returned to the shopping assault with renewed vigour. I should have been pleased by the respite. Much to my embarrassment, I was subjected to Lingerie and shoe shopping before my two captors were finally satisfied. By this time, it was almost five, so they grudgingly decided to call it a day. We took a taxi back to my flat in Battersea, not wanting to chance the tube with such a mass of bags and packages. The girls offered to come up with me, but I declined, there were some things I needed to face alone.

Before I knew it, I was alone outside my flat. Hefting my packages, I climbed the stairs slowly towards the second floor. As I climbed, the stairs seemed to extend further and further. I didn’t know if it was the thought of what lay at the top, or the weight of my bags, but my feet felt like lead. How had things happened so quickly? It was only Wednesday that I had agreed to do this, and now here I was … stuck as a girl for the next few weeks. It was almost enough for me to want to be back at the Met again.

I reached my flat, and let myself in. I carried my bags through to my room and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor. I couldn’t meet my housemates looking like this….

I stripped off my skirt and blouse and pulled the pins from my hair before slipping out of my room and down the corridor to the bathroom where I cleaned off the makeup; that girl was still there …. I looked at my face from every angle, but no matter what I did, I still saw Sharon looking back at me. I cursed to myself under my breath and returned to my bedroom to find something simple and unfeminine to wear. I wasn’t quite ready to reintroduce myself to my housemates in a skirt.

I sorted through the bags, hanging the different garments in my wardrobe before I finally found what I had been looking for. We had gone to several High Street chain shops to find me some less dressy clothes for when I was around the house. I carefully slipped off the tights, and pulled on the loose jog bottoms and tee shirt. I felt much more comfortable after the restrictive garments I had spent the day in. Needless to say I still wore the damned corset, but I had grown used to it to a certain extent. I padded through into the kitchen, and got myself a beer from the fridge; I needed something to take the edge off my anxiety. Opening the bottle, I slipped onto the sofa and rubbed my aching feet. I certainly understood what girls meant about the pain of beauty now.

I sipped the beer and began to think of ways that I could phrase my predicament. I didn’t think the truth, no matter how appropriate, was possible; the nature of the Mission denied me that option. I toyed with several other ideas to little success, I opted in the end to go with a very vague version of the truth, and play the national secret trump card.

The sound of the door opening and shutting in the hallway snapped me from my reverie.

It was all the strength that I possessed to not run for my bedroom as each footfall reverberated on the polished wooden floor of the hall. I clenched my fists and waited for the inevitable.

Becky came into the room and dumped her bag on the sideboard with a sigh before turning to head towards the kitchen. As she did so, her eyes fell on me as I sat rooted to the spot on the sofa.

“Hi,” she said, a little startled. “You scared me … I’m Becky, I live here,” she said smiling warmly.

“I know Becky.” I said quietly. “Me too …”

Becky looked at me for a moment and I saw recognition flicker across her eyes.

“Mike?” she asked slowly furrowing her brow. “Is that you? What is this?”

“Ah, it’s a long story,” I sighed, trying to find the words. “This isn’t some lifestyle thing,” I hurriedly added. “It’s for work ….”

Becky looked sceptical but sat down to listen while I told her the edited version of the truth.

When I finished, Becky sat looking at me for a moment, as if wondering whether I was being honest or this was some massive fabrication to cover my queerness.

“How can they ask that of you?” she said with a frown. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

“I don’t honestly know. I originally decided to do it because I knew it wouldn’t work.” I grimaced. “But then it did … and I’m sort of flying by the seat of my pants here … well, my knickers…” I said dryly.

Stifling a laugh, she smiled warmly and moved over to sit next to me on the sofa and wrapped her arms around me.

“I don’t care what you look like, Mike,” she murmured softly as she hugged me. “You’re one of the few people in this city that actually gives a damn about me, and you deserve the same in return,” she said looking up at me with a deep far away look in her eyes. “You are very brave,” she said quietly. “Not many men would do this.”

“I’m still wondering if any have,” I snorted. “Anyway, I worked out today this is easier If I don’t see myself as a man.” I mumbled quietly. “I guess that makes me more embarrassed by this, and no amount of ‘brave’ will fix that.”

Becky looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “So you think of yourself as a girl like this?”

“I guess so.” I shrugged. “Sally thought … she … helped with this,” I said gesturing at myself. “She thought it would be a good idea to think of myself as a whole different person during this thing. I think I agree … It made shopping easier this afternoon … thought I was still scared.”

“You went out like this … in town?” Becky asked with surprise. “What was it like?”

“Well nobody pointed and laughed or shouted freak at me … so I guess okay,” I shrugged.

Becky giggled. “Well I can see that,” she said slyly raising her eyebrows. “I didn’t recognise you till you said you lived here … I noticed the similarities, I thought you might be a relative till you said,” she trailed off. “You look like your own sister,” she added flatly.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t have one,” I shrugged.

“You know what I mean,” she sighed. “You just look like … I guess what you would have looked like if you were born like this.”

“This feels really weird Becky.” I admitted biting my lip. “Since this started, I’ve started feeling so strange, things just keep getting weirder.”

Giving me a reassuring squeeze, she said nothing for a moment. “Take your friend's advice,” she said quietly. “There is nothing weird about being a girl; I’ll vouch for that … So stop being Mike, and become Mike the girl … at least for a little while.” She shrugged.

She was right of course, so was Sally, they all were. The more I thought of myself as ‘Sharon’ the easier I found it to just exist, but the disturbing fact was, the more I did so, the more I forgot Mike. It hadn’t been a day, and I felt him slip just a little as I thought this way … This was wrong ….

“So ….” Becky pressed, forcing me from my reverie. “Do you have a name you use? For this I mean …” she added.

“Sharon,” I muttered.

“Oh, very cultural,” Becky giggled. “Sharon Cohen … Yes, I like it. It suits you.” She smiled.

“So Sharon,” she giggled playfully. “How are we going to tell that nasty man we live with that you came to your senses and joined the winning side?” she smirked devilishly.

She was taunting me, I knew her game, but I wasn’t going to rise to it as much as I wanted to. For the most part, it was because I knew she was only joking to make me feel better, not to upset me, and I guess that made a difference. The subject of Pete still cast a very large, very black shadow over my mood.

“I guess I can tell him when he gets home.” I frowned. “I guess it’s easier to get this out … I just know he won’t begin to understand this like you have.” I sighed ruefully.

“He’s going to be difficult.”

To my surprise, Pete was rather well behaved about the whole subject. Naturally, he had been utterly surprised by my appearance. He fielded many of the questions I expected. He wasn’t as convinced by my story, but gave me the benefit of the doubt. I think something in his eyes told me that he expected something like this … but I didn’t want to think about that. In his favour, he didn’t give me any hassle; that much I was glad of.

The night wound on, and we found an uneasy coexistence. I caught Pete looking at me curiously on several occasions. I think despite his own ideas, I did not meet them in a way he had envisaged. Tired from the day’s activity, I made my excuses, and retired to bed. It was almost surreal as I changed into the nightgown we had bought, and slipped beneath my familiar covers: one of the last things that remained constant. As I lay there, fear, uncertainty and confusion wracked my mind; sleep provided welcome respite.

I woke late on Saturday morning. It was unusually sunny for this time of year, but still brisk and windy. I lay in bed watching the tree outside my window blow back and forth in the spring breeze. I had woken slowly; that lazy, gentle awakening that leaves one refreshed and awake. I slipped out of my covers, and felt the weight of my breasts as I sat up, no, that wasn’t right … the false breasts; I didn’t think I’d ever get used to that feeling. I slipped out of my room, and made for the shower without looking at the mirror. I stripped off the nightdress, and stepped under the cool jets of water and tried to ease the night’s tension from my body. I reached for my body wash, but something about the men’s shower gel seemed a little weird this morning. Shaking my head to myself, I reached over and grabbed one of Becky’s many bottles and began to soap my wet hair. The whole process took much longer than normal, how did girls not find this annoying?

Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself; it took a moment for the sway of my free breasts to remind me to tie it higher. Steeling myself, I peered into the steamy mirror. That girl was still there…. She just looked a lot soggier. Even with my sodden hair plastered against my skull, I looked like a female. It was quite disconcerting to be honest. I rubbed my chin in the vain hope that I would have magically turned into a man over night but there was to be no miracle. Resigning myself to this new me, I brushed my teeth, and returned to my room.

I spent the day around the flat, doing very little; watching television, reading, and ignoring life. It felt reassuring to be doing something normal that didn’t remind me of my appearance. Becky and Pete surfaced around lunch time; Pete looked surprised that I was still dressed as a girl.

“Why don’t you take that stuff off at home, mate? Isn’t this a bit much?” he asked leaning on the kitchen counter, watching me carefully.

“I can’t really,” I said honestly. “Most of my guy clothes won’t really look right with these, will they?” I asked hefting my false breasts. “And unless I’m totally deluded, I’d look really strange, what with the hair … and stuff,” I trailed off running out of ideas.

“That’s what has me boggled, mate,” Pete said screwing up his face. "I expected that to be a wig and some water balloons, but it's you isn’t it? What did they do to you?” he asked with a faint look of unease.

I turned towards him properly and looked at him. “You think I’m having a sex change don’t you?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. “You think this is all some big story to cover up the fact I’ve turned gay and decided I want a vagina … That’s what you think isn’t it?” I asked standing up and approaching him with what I hoped was menace.

Pete recoiled as I did and held his hands up in surrender. “Wow, no, mate, seriously, I don’t think you’re gay,” he said, “I mean, even if you wanted to be a woman, that doesn’t make you gay I don’t think…” he said looking a bit taken aback by my burst of anger. “Look Mike … God, it,s weird calling you that … Look … It’s just sudden... is all.. Like the spy business … Something keeps telling me it’s a bit convenient I guess. You just look … so….” He trailed off gesturing at me.

“What?” I snapped angrily.

“Well look at yourself,” he said, sighing. “You look just like my ex when she was angry …. The huffy angry routine … the hands on the hips … You … You just … This doesn’t seem so out of place for you I guess.” He admitted. “I look at you, and I don’t see a guy. Sorry, mate, but you just come across as a girl in pretty much every way, and it’s a bit disconcerting,” he said frankly.

Automatically, my hands shot down to my sides. “I … No I don’t,” I said not even believing myself.

Pete raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

With a sigh, I slipped onto one of the breakfast bar stools and put my head in my hands. “This is weird, Pete,” I admitted. “This isn’t some sex change, I don’t think I’m a girl, I don’t want to be a girl … This is fucking me up in the head, but I just don’t think I have a choice … I can’t say what … but too much is riding on this.”

Pete reached out and took my hand and gave it a squeeze in that manly reassuring way he did …”It’s alright, mate, you said what you need to. I guess I was just being a tool as usual … you’ve got more balls than me to do this,” he admitted honestly with a lopsided grin.”

I snickered. “It takes balls to be a woman.”

After my heart to heart with Pete, I felt slightly better knowing that I had both of my housemates onside to a reasonable extent. I felt somewhat shocked that he had thought I wanted to become a woman … that I would lie to him like this … As for my behaviour, I wasn’t going to think about that. As far as I was concerned, it was appropriate, and probably a product of yesterday’s launch in at the deep end. I spent the rest of the day in my room reading, only venturing out to order takeout and retrieve it. I resolved to spend the weekend in the flat. Becky had other ideas…

On Sunday morning, I was dragged from my slumber by a persistent knocking at my door. Rolling over in bed, I rubbed my eyes and listened to see if the knock came again. As it was repeated, I swung my legs out of bed and made my way towards the door. Opening it a crack, I saw Becky looking up at me. “Come on you, we’re going out,” she grinned mischievously.

“Becky, I was asleep,” I moaned stifling a yawn.

“I know,” she said with a sly grin, “and you really should wear a dressing gown when you answer the door, what if I’d been Pete?” she asked with a leer.

Looking down, I realised just how exposed I was. The nightdress was brief, and a lot of leg and breast were on display. Blushing, I grabbed my dressing gown off the back of the door and wrapped it around myself. “Whatever,” I muttered sleepily. “Fine, I’ll get up … in about 3 hours,” I muttered closing the door and retreating to my bed. No sooner had I slipped beneath the covers again, Becky had entered my room and pulled the covers from my bed.

“No you don’t,” she laughed. “Come on girl, Up!”

“There is no girl here,” I mumbled, shoving my head under my pillow. “Go away.”

“Come on now,” she soothed, removing the pillow and sitting down on the bed beside me. “You hid all day yesterday, now I won’t let you spend the rest of the weekend in the house,” she said sternly.

I shook my head. “It scares me,” I muttered quietly into the pillow. “I’m a guy in a skirt, and it freaks me out. I’m not leaving this place in drag unless I have to,” I said resolutely.

“Now stop it,” Becky admonished. “We are going out for a walk to relax and unwind. You need to get over this freak business. You aren’t in drag if you start thinking of yourself as a girl,” she said prodding me in the back.

“So everyone says, but I’m not,” I insisted flatly.

Becky didn’t say anything for a moment. So I rolled over and looked up at her. “What?” I asked quietly, trying to read her blank expression.

“I just want to help you,” Becky said sadly. “You need some time to get used to things … I … Never mind,” she said shaking her head as she got up and left the room with a choked sob.

I sat up in the bed and felt truly awful; I took out my own idiotic anger against my friend, and I’d hurt her feelings. At that time, going out didn’t sound so bad if it would help settle the mood. Showering, with effort to keep my hair dry, I dressed simply in the plainest underwear I could find, the corset, and a pair of jeans and a cowl neck sweater before venturing out of my room and knocking on Becky’s door softly.

“Go away,” she called quietly. Ignoring her, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Becky was lying on her bed curled into a ball; she didn’t even look up when I entered.

“Becky,” I said awkwardly. “Look, I’m sorry. This is very sudden for me. I realise you wanted to help, and I will come if you still want to,” I said quietly.

Becky looked up at me with red eyes; she had been crying. It made me feel even worse. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled sadly. “This is my fault.”

“No it’s not Becky,” I sighed. “This is me. I got into this, you only wanted to help,” I said softly.

“No,” she said flatly, sitting up. “This was my fault,” she said looking away. “The other night, when we had that night in … It was … lovely, but when you came home like this…” she said gesturing at me. “I sort of hoped that I could be a part of this for you, because I saw you like a little sister, sort of…,” she said quietly. “Growing up, I had two older brothers, and more than anything in the world, I wanted a little sister,” she said with a tear rolling down her cheek. “I took advantage of you like this,” she sniffed.

I walked over and sat down by her side and put my arms around her. We had known each other for nearly 5 years, and I almost did see her as the sister I never had. Growing up an only child, one makes attachments with close friends. You find substitute siblings, and being the two people I had known longest in my life beside my parents, Becky and Pete were almost a second family to me. At that moment, this ceased to matter to me. The fear of these feelings, the fear of being discovered and the fear of being a man in a dress evaporated. If Becky needed a sister, maybe I could help her? What if I made this one person happy for a while? I could do that…

“I guess I could be her for a while,” I said softly.

Becky furrowed her brow and looked at me, trying to work out what I was saying.

“Well you are older.” I said with a shrug. “And we have known each other so long, you do feel like a sister…. and as I am at the moment … well, I guess while I’m like this, I could do with a big sister around to talk to,” I said, meaning every word.

Becky looked at me with wide eyes and a silly grin on her lips. “Do you mean that?” she asked hopefully.

“I guess so,” I said, “I suppose I could use the help and experience.” Becky hugged me tightly, squeezing the air from my lungs more effectively than the corset. “Oh thank you Mike,” she said wistfully. “I really, really wanted a sister for so long,” she grinned. “Are you sure you’re okay with coming out? I didn’t mean to press…” she asked cautiously.

“Sure,” I shrugged. “And I think we should both get used to referring to me as Sharon, don’t you think? I do need to get in character …”

Becky grinned, and ran out of the room to shower and get ready before I could change my mind.

While she was busy, I slipped back into my room and searched amongst the new footwear I had acquired. There was a pair of flat, fur boots in a light tan that caught my eye, both for comfort, and for some reason, I liked the way they looked when women wore them with jeans. So slipping them on, I found a large shoulder bag, and transferred the contents of my suit pockets into it, along with the contents of the bag from Friday’s adventures. I managed to apply a little makeup in the mirror on my wall. Nothing extravagant, just a little mascara and a clear lip gloss. I wasn’t meant to be parading around like some supermodel; my girl was down to earth. Somehow I managed to look more feminine wearing less cosmetics; that was slightly disturbing.

Feeling ready as I could possibly be, I sat on my bed and brushed my hair for a moment while I waited for Becky to finish. How had I gotten into this? I was sat in my room, having just applied cosmetics and chosen what women’s footwear went with my women’s jeans and women’s top … The more I thought about it, the weirder it felt. What if I was Sharon? As Sharon, this was getting dressed … this was making herself presentable to go for a walk and a coffee with her flatmate on a lazy Sunday. When I thought of it that way, it really wasn’t anything to even write home about; a non issue. But I wasn’t Sharon … was I? I was Mike … masquerading as a woman he invented called Sharon … I finished brushing my hair and walked over to the mirror by my door.

I didn’t look like a Mike … the harder I looked; the harder it was to see that the girl in the glass was a masquerade. I looked like a young, casually dressed girl … Right now I felt like one too … I was Sharon?

At that moment, something clicked inside my brain and I felt my identity shift, or split; I wasn’t sure which, but from that moment however, I felt different. A part of me was Mike. He wasn’t going anywhere. But for now, I was a 24 year old woman called Sharon Cohen, I worked for MI6 and I had so very much to learn … For the first time, this didn’t feel like a charade. I knew deep down, this was a job, but I felt like I could manage…. There was no way anyone could see Mike unless they investigated the contents of my knickers … and short of Angelina Jolie turning lesbian; that was never going to happen.

“Just a job,” I shrugged, as I slipped out into the hallway.

Becky and I left the flat and walked down towards the river. It was an unusually warm Sunday morning, and there were people going to and fro as we walked; I felt extremely self-conscious for the first few hundred meters, though that began to wear off as it slipped through my confused brain that nobody was seeing anything out of the ordinary.

We found a small café by the Thames that wasn’t as overflowing with tourists as the others and we ordered coffees and a pastry before finding a table outside in the weak spring sunshine.

“You alright?” Becky asked, sipping her cappuccino. “You were really quiet on the way down here.”

“I guess,” I mumbled looking out over the river. “It’s not so bad, but a little bit at the back of my mind keeps telling me that someone’s going to twig.”

Becky snickered. “You looked at yourself recently?” she asked with a sly grin. “I don’t know how, but you sound, move and act so real it’s scary … I can hardly believe that there’s Mike in there…” she said quietly.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said quietly. “I don’t really feel like him at the moment either.”

“How do you mean?” Becky asked, setting her coffee down and giving me her undivided attention when I wanted it least.

“I guess … well I’m not wearing anything too feminine,” I said plucking at the jumper I was wearing, “and I really haven’t got much if any makeup on, but I still feel very much like girl I guess,” I shrugged. “It sounds weird I know, but I sort of started to think of this me as a different me …” I trailed off, not knowing how to go on.

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” Becky began, raising her eyebrows. “But even in a guy’s clothes, I think you would still appear female at the moment. It’s not just the hair, or the boobs,” she chuckled, “You carry yourself differently; I don’t know how much coaching you had, but its great!” She enthused. “There’s nothing macho or masculine about you like this …” she said smiling reassuringly.

“Yeah, lots,” I said quietly taking a sip. “Lots of coaching,” I said hating the truth she had inadvertently stumbled on. I know she had intended to be supportive, but I couldn’t help but feel the rug begin to come out from beneath my feet. Things were beginning to move faster in strange directions and I had no map and the brakes were shot. It hadn’t escaped my mind that I was faring much more easily at this than I should, but perhaps it was because I was an extremely observant person. I watched people, I analysed, I studied … It was my job to watch. As a sniper with the Met, 90% of my job at an incident was to watch, interpret and relay information. I decided that this was what I was doing now … I was using what I had subconsciously collected over the years … Just a job ….

After we were finished at the little café, Becky and I walked along the Thames and into the city proper. We looked around a few shops, not really intending to buy anything. Becky asked my opinion on feminine things, clothes, shoes, etcetera, trying to gauge how I thought now. It was mildly irritating, but I humoured her. After eating lunch in a deli near Victoria, we made our way home on the tube, having had our fill of Sunday exercise. I was glad to get back to the flat. There had been a lot brought up during the day that I needed time to think over. Things were changing. I found it hard to say whether that was good or bad, but I knew that was still to come.

I had truly enjoyed our day together, and before heading to bed that evening, I made sure I told Becky so. The smile of genuine pleasure I had received was worth the worry.
 
 

Chapter 8

Monday morning arrived too quickly for my liking. I was being picked up by car at 8, so there was no rush to get out the door and on the tube this morning. Showering, I realised that I would soon have to buy my own bathroom products instead of using Becky’s; I was quite surprised by how much shampoo and conditioner my longer hair needed … Drying myself, I returned to my room, and slipped into my underwear. It was too weird now to even think of it as women’s underwear now, plus no woman had ever worn it, they were new clothes, I guess it made it easier to think of it as just a different style. I dried my hair, and brushed it out before looking through my wardrobe for something to wear. This was ten times harder than it used to be; now every day was pretty much ‘smart casual’ from my old life. There was no slumming in a tee-shirt and jeans in the office anymore…

Today was pencilled in as training … girl training … I had been told to wear a skirt by Harriet, so I began to look through what was available, finally settling on a dark grey skirt that came to my knees. Adding dark tights, and a black blouse, something dragged me to the mirror in my room to appraise my appearance. The reflection that greeted me was somewhat daunting. A slim, pretty blonde woman looked back at me. It made me feel numb, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and she was stood in her stocking feet, but she looked every inch a woman. I closed my eyes and shook my head; I didn’t need this. After spending an age attempting to apply makeup, I gave up in favour of a little lip balm and mascara, like the day before; the less was more approach seemed much less clown like in my opinion. Collecting the bag from Friday, and a pair of low heeled black shoes, I pulled on a long knee length trench coat that Jane had simply insisted that I needed, I left my bedroom to make breakfast.

Pete and Becky were sat at the breakfast table when I entered, and both looked up. Pete gave me a curious look, and Becky smiled broadly, it was nice to have some constants in this world of upheaval. I muttered a good morning, and went straight for the coffee pot and toaster. Sitting down with my prizes in hand, I caught sight of Pete shaking his head, a silly grin on his face.

“What?” I asked between bites of my toast. “Did I do something?” I asked self-consciously.

“Nah,” he shrugged. “I’m still so thrown at how good you are at this, mate.” He chuckled, folding his paper. “It’s like living with another bird now.”

I rolled my eyes, “Whatever, Pete,” I muttered.

“It’s his training.” Becky added, “I mean her training …”SHE has had the best teachers, so you would expect a little authenticity,” she said gesturing with her spoon. “Plus I think you could do with more female influence Pete,” she chuckled. “Maybe you’ll stop that disgusting scratching you have a habit of doing around the place … and the mess … Maybe another female will drag you in line,” she said with a sly smile.

“Not likely, “And he’s not a female, so I’m safe.”

“Can breakfast discussions not revolve around me?” I asked sheepishly. “Its bad enough, without being flavour of the month,” I said feeling very much on show.

“Sorry,” They mumbled in unison, before awkwardly shifting the conversation in other directions.

I was the last in the flat as Pete and Becky left to make their ways to work. I felt nervous waiting, but almost on the strike of 8, my phone rang. Collecting my bag, I let myself out of the flat, flipping my phone open.

“Hello?” I said into the handset, as I locked the door.

“I’m outside,” Harriet said, “You can’t miss me,” she added closing the connection. I looked at the handset for a moment, before shaking my head and making my way downstairs and out onto the street. Between the hatchbacks and estates that were part of my road, a pristine black range rover was parked, with a sole female occupant behind the wheel. I grinned and walked around to the passenger side before climbing in.

“How subtle.” I said by way of greeting.

“Well I like to make an impression,” smiled Harriet. “Good weekend?”

“Fine I guess, I went out and picked up a few guys, nothing exciting, though I’m still walking funny, I think,” I said as she pulled out into the street. Harriet turned to look at me with a shocked expression on her face as she drove, not quite sure if I was telling the truth or not.

“At least you’re looking on the funny side of things,” she said shaking her head as we turned onto the main road. “You had me going for a minute.”

“Well don’t worry, I’m not going after men, nor do I intend to,” I said firmly. “Although I did go into town with my flatmate on Sunday, we had a good time.”

“Dressed as you are?” Harriet asked curiously, although I didn’t miss the conversational air she used to set me at ease with the question.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “We thought it would be helpful to get me used to it more, it was nothing intensive, just a walk, and a few shops.”

“I’m surprised by you,” Harriet said quietly. “On Friday, you were awkward, but your appearance made up for that, but now, you seem to be more relaxed and comfortable, even more natural I’d hazard to guess…” she added glancing my way. “Did you practice with your housemate?” she asked.

“No,” I sighed. “She noticed it too. I guess it’s like I told her … I’m an observant person, I guess I’m subconsciously copying things other women do … I mean women do…” I corrected quickly. The slight twitch in the corner of her mouth told me she had not missed it.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Harriet said as she navigated the streets of London in the 4x4. “It makes our job easier, gives us more time to focus on the agent side of things.”

“How much of this do I need to know?” I asked plucking at the blouse I was wearing. “I’m not supposed to be mincing around in high heels and stockings; I’m supposed to be a freelance killer...”

“Truth be told,” Harriet said looking over at me. “Not that much. We will do some coaching and test work today, and see how you fare, run some scenarios, practice mannerisms and behaviours, but as you say, the refinement is less important for the tomboyish character you’re portraying, Jane thinks it best if we give it a week at least.”

“And the rest of the time?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.

“We will spend some time on the ranges, you may need time to get used to shooting with…. New developments,” she said giving me a wink. “Later in the week, the formalities of working in the field, and protocol, we hope to have next week free for more mission specific work.”

I nodded, I was excited, but I didn’t want to reveal that just now. The prospect of a week’s worth of prancing around in high heels and mini skirts all week, and learning to flirt and act like a lady was not that appetising.

We arrived at Vauxhall Cross about 20 minutes later, and Harriet pulled into a bus stop just down from the Albert Embankment. I was about to ask her why we were waiting, when I caught sight of Jane North making her way across the foot bridges and towards us. We exchanged greetings as she slipped into the back seat of the Range Rover, before Harriet slipped us out into the traffic flow once more.

“Where are we going?” I asked nervously, the details of the day were conspicuous in their absence.

“We’re going to spend the next few days at my place, and work on your presentation, Miss Cohen,” said Harriet taking on a tutorial tone. “You have a few days to learn what we did in many years, so you had best be studious.

“But I thought I had enough to cope?” I asked, feeling my hope of avoiding finishing school disappearing fast.

“I must admit you do look fantastic this morning,” said Jane from the backseat. “Did you help her?” she asked, looking at Harriet.

“Not me,” Harriet replied holding up her hands, which made me wince, despite the Range Rover never changing course. “She came out this morning like that when I arrived to collect her.”

“Housemate?” prompted Jane, looking over at me.

“No, I just wore a skirt because you said so…” I shrugged. “The rest seemed to go with it, so I just did….”

“Impressive, perhaps you’ve been hiding yourself all these years?” she said with a sly chuckle.

“NO,” I said emphatically. “I’m not some transsexual, or confused, or anything, I’m just observant, and happen to look at women a lot,” I said, attempting to recapture some ounce of masculinity; difficult as that was as I straightened the hem of my skirt with my manicured nails.

We pulled up outside a house in Hampstead and Harriet let us in. The place was expensive, just like most of this part of the city.

“It was my parent's London town house,” Harriet offered by way of introduction as we hung up our coats. “After Daddy decided to move the business to the States, they let me have it; it sort of makes sense for work.” She shrugged.

“It’s nice.” I said honestly, feeling somewhat overawed, despite having been similarly given a property by my parents. This was much nicer … Harriet took us through to the living room, which like the rest of the house, was stylishly furnished, and spotlessly clean. As she left to put the kettle on, Jane wasted no time in admonishing me for how I sat. By the time Harriet returned with our drinks, I had taken a seat nearly a dozen times.

I spent the day with the two girls learning how to walk, sit, and behave in a manner befitting a young woman … I tried to remind them that I wasn’t meant to be on a catwalk, just a simple arms deal, but Jane showed annoying persistence that appeared to be a family trait, and I was cut little slack.

“Can I sit down now?” I begged after what felt like the hundredth time around the living room. “My feet are going to drop off and I’ll be no use to you,” I whined.

“You might start to appreciate how hard it is for us now,” snickered Harriet as she watched my progress from her position on the plush, comfy couch.

“Believe me,” I said, planting my hands on my hips and striking what I hoped was a superior air, “I shared that pain after Friday’s torture session.”

“You’ll grow to love shopping, dear,” Jane smiled sweetly.

“I bloody hope not,” I muttered sourly. “Look, I can mince around in high heels, and wiggle my arse with the best of them now, can I stop?” I begged with a sigh, “isn’t this a bit much?”

Apparently it wasn’t … By Thursday afternoon, I had been taught to walk, sit, move, gesture, and properly apply makeup with the natural ability of the fairer sex; although maybe that was the un-fairer sex? I had seen little of my flatmates thanks to my punishing schedule, something of which I was extremely glad. Once satisfied, Jane North released me from her clutches, pronouncing me ready or the world at large.

Dropping Jane North at Vauxhall Cross for the last time, Harriet pulled out into the traffic flow once more and aimed for my humble abode.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, more factually than a question.

“I’m tired, mentally and physically,” I sighed giving her a weak smile. “She was very exacting.”

Harriet nodded. “The benefit of it wasn’t direct you know,” she said looking over at me as we crawled through the city.

“I know,” I said quietly. “Teach me the lot, so even if I tone it down, the undercurrents are still visible, that even relaxed and not acting the catwalk princess you two created, I will be ‘feminine’.” I said gesturing quotation marks.

“Not as dumb as you look, Blondie,” Harriet chuckled swinging the Range Rover down a side street. “We’re back at the office tomorrow okay? But bring some casual stuff for on the ranges in the afternoon.”

“Finally, something I know,” I groaned. “And Just because I’m blond doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” I insisted, with an over the top pout that made Harriet burst out laughing. “Tomorrow, this girl gets to have some fun.”

Harriet shot me a sideways glance. “Do you mean that?” she asked, suddenly quite serious. “I mean … the girl bit?”

“Well it beats referring to myself as a boy at the moment,” I shrugged non comittally. “I don’t FEEL like a girl, or want to be one, but for the purpose of this whole thing, when I am …. And after the last few days of eating, sleeping and breathing girl … I do sort of think I might feel like one, if I knew what that was like,” I shrugged. “Does that make sense?

Harriet nodded sagely. “How do you think girls … women think?” she asked softly.

“Different to guys?” I said not really knowing where to begin. “I guess more sensitive, emotionally lead, more passive and submissive…” I listed off every stereotype I could think of. “I mean, guys are meant to be the dominant violent ones, right? We think with our heads, you think with your hearts.”

“Not always the head on your shoulders,” Harriet said coyly. “So what does that make me?” she asked. “I’ve killed for my country, I’m dominant, a ‘go getter’, I’m violent, and submissive, and emotional, and decisive … what am I?” she prompted, looking for my reaction.

I shrugged. “I know it sounds clichéd but I really don’t think these things make a difference. How do women think? Just like men I guess, but we have different goals and ideals that are social things we acquire over the years. What are you? What am I?

“God knows, because right now, I think I’m starting to lose grip myself. Does what we do define our sex? No, that’s like trying to suggest women are better nurses, and men are better soldiers. I guess I failed that test right?”

“Mmm, No,” she mused quietly.

“What?” I asked, almost afraid of the punch line I was inviting. “What did I Just say wrong?”

“It’s not that, Mike,” she said quietly, “Hang on,” she added, pulling the Range over to the kerb and turning the engine off before turning to face me.

“Look, this is going to sound so out of the blue, but I’m going to burst If I don’t say this … I was attracted to you when you started to work with us,” she said blushing, “I was a snotty cow at first because I didn’t want you to see … then you were just so damn nice…,” she sniffed. “The way you took to this whole charade…. It made me respect and … care for you more,” she said quietly. “Now, the way you are … You aren’t a man pretending to be a woman, you’re not undercover. The way you think, and look, all say woman to me … and the weirdest part is; I’m not put off…. What you just said … and how things have been … I think I love you … I guess that makes me a lesbian … ” she said in a tiny voice, looking down at her hands as they gripped the steering wheel. “Please say something,” she said quietly, after an awkward silence.

“I … I don’t know what to say.” I said, stunned. It was by far and wide the last thing I expected. “You love me?” I asked dumbly.

“Sorry,” Harriet mumbled quietly. “I thought I could put my feelings aside, but this…. It’s really got me thrown.” She shrugged, turning towards me. “I don’t know how to feel about this, Mike.”

“I’m not sure either,” I said quietly, feeling my heart in my mouth. “Can we go somewhere? It doesn’t feel right discussing this in the car … and who knows what your people have in this…” I said gesturing at the vehicle around us. Harriet nodded quickly, before starting the ignition again and pulling out into the street.

“Please just tell me how you feel,” Harriet asked looking across at me as she drove. “Please tell me that I’ve not lost it.”

I swallowed and looked out of the window before I answered. “I guess.” I mumbled.

What could I tell her? Yeah, I fancied the pants off her, and I thought she was an amazing person that I’d love to get to know better? Why now? Why not a few years ago? Why does the first opportunity for a relationship come when I’m dolled up like a transvestite on Her Majesty’s Secret Service? Irony is a bitch.

Harriet drove us to a small pub just south of the river near Putney Bridge. We left the Range Rover and walked into the pub in silence. I had completely forgotten how I was dressed; it didn’t seem to matter now and I hardly even saw the other patrons as we ordered drinks and walked out onto the terrace to find a quiet spot to talk privately.

We sat at a small table overlooking the river and sat in silence, neither of us sure where to begin. The entire time, my heart was thumping in my throat and I didn’t know if I could say what I want to: This was the first time I had felt anything for someone, and the kicker was that she felt the same, but we were both stuck. I shook my head and took a gulp of the wine in my hand. I chuckled to myself and looked at the large white wine I had ordered. What happened to a pint? My manicured, painted nails gripping the glass delicately reminded me why this could not work. It didn’t make the choice any easier.

“Please tell me what you’re thinking,” Harriet asked quietly. “This silence is so bloody awkward,” she said with exasperation, the corner of her mouth twitching into an embarrassed grin. “Where do we stand?”

“Honestly?” I asked, setting the glass down on the table. “I really like you. You’re pretty, friendly, and over the last week, I’ve sort of felt I want to know you more … but I don’t see it happening realistically … do you?”

Harriet looked at me and bit her lower lip. “I … Why does it matter?” she asked with a hint of disappointment.

“It matters because we are working to a tight deadline here, then I get to go save the damn world in a frock,” I said quietly. “And didn’t this … appearance put you off?” I asked furrowing my brow.

Harriet shook her head and reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Look, Mike … Shit, I can’t call you that … I’m trying to convince myself it’s you under there, but try as I might … I only see Sharon …” she whispered softly.

Harriet sighed, and looked out over the river as dusk began to settle over London. Her hair rustled lightly in the breeze, and she looked more beautiful than ever.

I lifted my wine glass and took another sip, I didn’t want to get into this; all sense told me to wait till after the operation, but it couldn’t work, and it wouldn’t …”Harriet talk to me,” I prompted gently, breaking her daze.

“I don’t know Mi … Sharon, this is all so weird, but I do really think we have something … I don’t want to risk it by waiting, and I realised on the drive over here that I don’t really care about your outside. You are you, and the rest doesn’t matter…. I feel for the person, not the clothes, whoever that is; you said it yourself … What does gender matter? All these things are smoke and mirrors, and I want to try,” she said softly.

I raised my hand and stroked her cheek gently. Her skin was warm to the touch, and I looked into her eyes. That moment, I realised I wanted to kiss this woman, and I wasn’t going to worry about the consequences. Taking each day as it comes became my motto at the beginning of this spy rubbish, and it wasn’t about to change. Cautiously, I leant forwards not taking my eyes off Harriet’s beautiful hazel pair. She sensed what I was doing, and lent forwards till our lips met gently. The sensation was electric, I could feel a tingle spread down my body, and I heard my heart thumping in my ears. The kiss seemed to last forever. I didn’t know how long we had kissed, but when we eventually separated, she had a goofy grin on her lips.

“That was magical,” she whispered softly, squeezing my hand. “Are you sure about this?” she asked.

“I’m sure,” I replied with ragged breath. “I need you.”

“Where do we go from here?” she asked, still looking at me. “What do we do?”

“What we are supposed to do,” I shrugged. “We can’t let this interfere with work.”

Harriet nodded. “Of course … Sharon,” she said slowly. “I guess I need to get used to the fact my lover is a woman.”

“I … she is for the next month.”

“I’m going to take this as it comes,” Harriet said with a weak grin. “This is too complicated otherwise.”

“I guess,” I replied, not sure if I ought to protest. I lifted my wine glass and took a sip, feeling the sweet, cold liquid flow down my throat. “So where do we go from here?” I asked dumbly. “I’ve really never done the girlfriend thing before.”

“Me neither,” Harriet chuckled dryly. “Come back to mine? We can talk more, and it’s less … public.”

I looked at my watch, it was only 7; so I nodded, drinking the last of my wine and we left the pub. The drive back was quiet, we chatted lightly, about little things, our lives; who we were. I think we wanted to avoid the main topic till we were more settled. We pulled up outside Harriet’s house a short while later, the main rush hour traffic having died down within the city. Slipping out of the large 4x4, I followed her up the steps to the house, feeling very nervous. Following her inside, I removed my coat and placed it on the stand in the hallway before following her into the living room. Harriet turned towards me as we stood there, both feeling awkward. We stood for a moment before she moved over to the sofa and sat, patting the seat beside her. Nervously, I sat opposite her, my hands clasped in my lap, feeling extremely tongue tied.

“I don’t know how this goes.” I said stiffly. “Sorry I’m so useless.” I muttered quietly.

“Sssh,” she prompted, putting a finger to my lips. “May I kiss you again?” she asked softly. I nodded, and closed my eyes as she gently pressed her lips to mine. That electric feeling returned, and I felt a tightening in my stomach that I had never felt before. I felt her hands clasp my own as we sat kissing for what felt like an eternity.

Eventually, she broke the kiss and I forced myself to open my eyes. Her smile made my heart flip again. “That was lovely,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke a loose strand of hair from my face. “This feels so right,” she said with more feeling. “You’re so pretty,” she sighed, looking at me intently.

“Thank you,” I replied breathlessly, at this moment, not caring how she saw me, as long as that made her happy. Harriet leant in again, wrapping her arms around me and kissed me again, this time with more passion. The flipping sensation in my stomach tripled, and I caught my breath as the charge between us left me feeling weak. I reached out gently, placing my hands on her waist and pulled her to me. The passion increased, and I found her tongue pressing at my lips. Some reaction made me open them slightly in surprise and I felt her tongue slip into my mouth and dance with my own, the sensation was intoxicating. Harriet pushed me back slightly, so that I was reclining against the side of the sofa, her body pressed against mine. I felt her hands moving softly over my torso, tracing the lines of my body and gently began to caress her too. Her smell was overpowering as my fingers traced the bare skin between her blouse and trousers. It was so soft and warm that just caressing it felt wonderful. Harriet broke off for air and looked down at me. Somehow, I was now lying on the sofa, with her above me; it was perfectly ironic that I was taking the female role in things.

“That was amazing,” she purred. “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you.”

“Me too,” I smiled happily. “It’s a little traditional, no?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“How do you?” she asked looking confused, then realised how we were positioned before sitting up and offering me her hand in a mock gentlemanly fashion. “I guess I’m a bit keen,” she shrugged. “And It’s not my fault you’re Little Miss Submissive Stereotype.”

I shrugged. “You’re the first person I ever kissed,” I admitted shyly.

“Really?” she asked softly, stroking my cheek. “I want to find that hard to believe; looking at you … But my mind plays tricks … it’s so difficult to picture you as the man I first met last week.”

“Right now, I don’t think he’s here,” I said quietly.

Harriet reached out and stroked my cheek, running her hand down the curve of my neck and coming to rest on my shoulder. “Let’s not think about that, let’s just enjoy being together.”

Nodding, I leant forwards and kissed her with passion, trying to take the lead as I felt I was meant to. Cupping her head in my hands, I felt her melt in my arms, our tongues dancing. Harriet slipped her hands down my front, and began unbuttoning the blouse I was wearing. Gingerly, I began to repeat the process on her blouse, and soon, we were lying back on the sofa, warm skin against warm skin, in our bras and knickers, running our hands over one another’s bodies, gender forgotten, and eyes only for each other.

Harriet rolled off me and lay beside me on the sofa, propped up on one elbow.

“You know, I think I really do love you,” she said quietly, stroking my belly button.

I bit my lip and looked up at her as we lay there. I felt a glow that I had never experienced before. “Me too,” I sighed.

“I think I really am a lesbian.” Harriet said with a rueful grin.

I sighed and realised she was right. Not once had I been the predatory male that so many of the guys at work seemed to be, we had made out, sure, but it had been more of a equal experience, shared passion with no rush for gratification … On top of that, I had felt strangely at home in a role that I should have found alien, and it did not limit to this encounter. The past few days, the weekend, ever sine this project had begun, I had not felt as outraged or bad about things as I expected I should. If anything, I felt more at ease for the first time in my life. “Yeah.” I said simply. “I think you are.”

Harriet reached out and slipped the bra strap from my shoulder, gently caressing my skin. Her eyes asked a question, that my lips answered. Cautiously, she unclasped my bra and slipped it from my body, till my breasts were free to her touch. She gently lowered her head till her lips covered my nipple, and I felt her tongue gently caress the hardened flesh.

I awoke with a shudder.

I was lying in my bed at home, the covers half off me, one of the straps on my nightgown had slipped down, and my fingers were cupping the silicone of my breast form. The strangest part was, I felt a surge of disappointment as I remembered not only our parting the night before, but the fact that I now had questions to ask of myself, and I had a good idea of the answer.

Note to my readers:
I'm posting this in chunks of around 10,000 words, Its my new novel I’m writing, and while I have written more, I’m trying to write more than I post by several chapters, so I can keep things flowing and make sure the plot functions without the pressure of fans begging for the next installment. As some of you have guessed, Haifa has taken a short break, I'll resume Sarah's adventures after I finish Focal Point, which at this rate... won't be long! So read, enjoy, and Don't stop commenting, I really appreciate all the suggestions and discussion. With regards to my grammar: Thanks for letting me know guys, I know I’m not perfect, but I’m a writer, not the editor type, I intend to send it via an editor before it visits the publisher, but that is a way off yet. So for now, Believe me, I know I have the grammatical ability of a dead badger.
Alyssa :) xx
 

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To Be Continued...

Focal Point
CHAPTERS 9 - 11
 
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 9

I arrived at Vauxhall Cross at a quarter to nine and the pod party was in full swing.
It was the first day back since this aweful business had begun; I was somewhat nervous, although that was most likely an understatement; I was terrified, but this morning was clouded by the strange feelings that I had awoken to, my mind was elsewhere.

“Hello again,” said a cheery male voice.

I turned to my left, and was greeted by a tall man that had something vaguely familiar about him.

“Mmm, hello,” I smiled weakly. “Do I know you?”

“Sure, my name is Martin, I met you last week? Your first day remember?” He prompted, swigging his coffee. “Seems we are to be pod partners again.”

I felt a lead weight drop in my stomach; he recognised me!

“I ah, I can explain this….” I stammered flicking my fingers through the blonde hair that hung loose around my shoulders.

“Don’t feel you have to on my account,” smiled Martin, “you look stunning, it’s quite a change. Though I expect you’d have to kill me if you told me,”

“Ah… I don’t…” I began but was cut off by his laughter.

“Still so fresh and innocent.” He grinned. “Its 6 humour, bad as it may be. So what happened to the nervous little tomboy that started here last week? The place seems to have done you some good… quite the reverse to normal,” he said still grinning.

He thought I had been a woman then…. As glad as I was that I wasn’t having to explain cross dressing on the steps of the Secret Intelligence Service, I was baffled by his mistake.

“I guess it’s something in the water,” I smiled.

“Keep drinking it,” he said giving me a funny look.

I slipped my card into the reader, and entered my pin before stepping into the pod and entering the building.

“Hey, are you doing anything for lunch?” he asked as we made our way towards the lifts.

“She’s not going to be around Martin,” purred Harriet appearing from nowhere. “You’re not getting your grubby claws into this one.” She grinned.

“Hey can’t blame a guy for trying eh? See you around…..” He said furrowing his brow, “Sorry, I never caught your name.”

“Sharon.” I said with a flicker of a smile. “See you around.” I called as Harriet led me away towards a lift that was going down.

“What was that about?” she asked giving me a friendly hug as the door closed. “How do you know Martin Hammersmith?”

“I met him on my first day… the pod cue.” I said softly, drinking in her scent.

“Didn’t you… the first day…” she said with a frown.

“I thought so too,” I said raising my eyebrows. “Does he wear glasses?”

Harriet shook her head and chuckled to herself.

We arrived at the controlerate, and Harriet swiped herself in, and entered, waiting for me to follow. I slipped my card into the slot, and waited, but a red light flashed and denied me entry. I tried again, but received the same signal. I looked at Harriet through the Perspex door, and shrugged. Frowning, she swiped out and came back through the door. “It’s the facial topography,” she sighed. “You need a new card, your hair is so different it doesn’t read you as the same,” she explained. Turning to the machine, she entered a code, apparently a command override, and let us in to the controlerate.

“I’ll get John to sign off on another pass for you, now you’re official… It will make this less of an ear ache,” she grinned. “Come on, let’s get the briefing done and get out of here huh?”

I followed Harriet through to John Tornworth’s office, where the rest of the team were waiting.

“She had a card issue John,” Harriet said briskly, collecting two cups of coffee from a pot at the rear of the office. “She gets an official one now she’s with us yes?” she asked, turning towards her boss when he didn’t respond. He was looking at me…. They were all looking at me.

“Fucking hell,” Toby muttered.

“My word,” Mark said quietly.

Jane had a satisfied grin on her lips, and John was speechless.

“I take it from your goldfish impressions the budget expenses were justifiable?” Harriet added, poking fun at her superior over what I was sure was the amount of money we had spent. “What do you think?”

“I think the mission is a go, pending further work on field aspects.” He muttered shaking his head, his eyes fixed on me.

I stood stock still by the door, feeling extremely warm.

“Sit down Michael,” he said, realising I was immobile. “I must say I’m impressed, there’s …. Nothing permanent is there?”

“I, ah, no sir.” I mumbled.

“God he even sounds like a woman, I’m impressed Jane,” he said looking at Miss North.

“I think you should call her Sharon,” Harriet said taking a seat next to me and handing me one of the cups of coffee. “And use female pronouns,” she added. “We agreed that this would stay in this room, and I don’t think the other members of the controlerate need to know, referring to an obvious female, with a male name and pronouns is going to raise questions you don’t want to answer,” she said, letting the comment hang.

“Rightly so,” John said with a cough. “I’m still quite surprised that it’s been so… effective…” he said with reluctance.

“Did you expect Dame Edna?” Jane chuckled. “My sister is a miracle worker, and I’m not bad myself,” she said with a self satisfied grin.

“Nice to see you justify that salary for once,” interjected Toby with a hint of amusement. “I agree with Miss Carlisle. If we let this operation out below us, it’s bound to make it above us before much long… you know this place is like a sieve John.

“Of course.” He nodded. “Mark, let’s brief, erm, her shall we?” he said, handing off to the Head Analyst.

Mark stood and flipped on the projector.

“Ok, we have an agreed date for a meet in just under two weeks; the 29th at Mr Dujani’s Damascus residence. It’s not the job; it’s a consultation, if you will.” He said waving a hand. “You will meet Dujani, and discuss terms with him, Intel suggests this will be a formality, but it’s vital we get this right with you, we have an unprecedented advantage.”

“How does she fit with the Zanov legend?” Toby asked, chewing on a pen.

“Hi…sorry, her, background gives us a little leeway…” John said thoughtfully. “You spent a few years in Georgia in your teens yes?” he asked me, knowing damn well that I had.

“Yes, I speak a little Russian, but I’m not fluent, though you knew that didn’t you?”

John nodded. “Yes, but I’ll wager your accent is Georgian, that gives you a little room for manoeuvre if your language isn’t perfect for a native.

“Why Georgia?” Toby asked curiously.

“My mother,” I replied. “She worked for an NGO that was working with the schools system over there, we spent some time in the area.”

“Aren’t you the mysterious one,” he grinned.

“Well I suspect that’s why you are employing me.” I chuckled dryly.

“Aye, true enough.”

“How current is your Russian?” Mark asked as he fidgeted with some papers.

“Not very I’m afraid; I’ve not used it since we left Georgia.”

“Get her one of those language packages to brush up,” John said pointing his pen at Jane North, who nodded and made a note on her pad.

“Here is your legend brief.” Jane said, handing me a manila folder. “You need that memorised by the time you head out.”

I flipped open the folder and scanned the document. “There’s a lot.” I grimaced. “I need to know it all don’t I?”

“Yes, it’s your cover, and vital to the operation, you can’t well go forgetting your own past… That’s a fast track to winding up dead,” Toby said. “They’re going to know most of what’s on there, so you can’t be caught out.”

I nodded and flicked my eyes over the paper. “Can you get me anything I need?”

John nodded, “within reason.”

“I need a broad selection of soviet and current Russian combat gear and firearms, pistols, assault rifles, smgs, rpgs, and explosives. If I’m meant to be ex MVD, I’ll need to be familiar with the lot, If nothing else, I must be familiar with the SVD, VSS and VSSK… they are common enough in that part of the world, and I’d be expected to be familiar with them.”

“Can we?” John asked, looking at Toby.

“Aye, I’ll wander down to the rednecks in the basement and rustle it all up.”
“Splendid…” John said clasping his hands together. “Now, operational details….”

The brief continued for another hour, as minor details were ironed out, and plans made. I tried to pay attention to as much of it as possible, but a lot seemed beyond me. I hoped that the training in this side of things would come soon, I still felt very much the outsider in their world.

At 11am, Harriet and I left Vauxhall Cross and began the slow drive out of inner London.

“What did he mean about an advantage?” I asked curiously, “They never explicitly said why it’s a good think that I’m doing this…”

“It’s… partly that you’re the only one we have for the timeframe.” She said, concentrating on the unpredictable London traffic. “And you’re a cleanskin… It’s rare and useful in an agent.”

“Cleanskin?” I asked, furrowing my brow “What does that mean?”

Harriet chuckled. “Yes, sorry, It means an agent that has no official ties to the agency… generally new agents, or… recruited operatives.” She said waving her hand. “Generally disposable and deniable, but in this case, it means that there is less chance of you being flagged as 6 by Dujani… he can dig as hard as he likes, but he wont find any intelligence service links for you. It adds credibility.”

“Oh,” I said, not really sure what I had expected her to say. “I’m expendable?” I asked feeling slightly hollow.

“No sweetie,” she said reaching across to take my hand. “Look, for outside operatives, it means that, but with inside people… it rarely arises as a situation, most agents go through basic, are on official payrolls, you aren’t…. yet… So it makes you a rare situation. You’re a cleanskin, that protects you, but you ARE one of us now, and we don’t leave people behind.” She said giving my hand a squeeze.

“Look, Lets stop off at mine and get you something to wear out at the ranges, you can’t shoot in that suit.” She said smiling.

“Shit,” I swore, “I completely forgot… I was a bit distracted this morning I guess.”

“How come?”

“Didn’t sleep too well,” I mumbled vaguely. “A lot on my mind I guess.”

Harriet looked across at me and frowned. “About last night?” she asked in a small voice. “You’re having second thoughts aren’t you?” she asked nervously, her fingers tightening on the wheel.

“No.” I said softly, shaking my head. “It’s not that at all…”

I ran my fingers through my hair while I thought of the words to describe how I had felt when I woke up… what I had dreamt.

“I dreamt…. about us.” I said slowly, trying to not sound as weird as it did in my head. “I.. I was with you, and I…” I mumbled as I clamed up, unable to talk properly.

“What sweetie?” Harriet probed softly. “I love you, you can tell me anything, nothing will change that.” She said resolutely, rubbing my leg reassuringly.

“You took my bra off…” I said taking a breath, “And I had breasts… real breasts…”

I looked over at Harriet cautiously. “And when I woke up, and I didn’t have any, I was disappointed,” I said quickly, before my nerve went. “That’s why I feel weird.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. “I’m weird aren’t I?” I said quietly.

“Not weird,” Harriet mused quietly. “Unexpected, yes, but not weird. I guess you’ve been learning to be a girl so much that you’re mind is being tricked into thinking it’s meant to have things…” she offered with a shrug.

“No,” I said shaking my head. “I think it’s worse than that… Ugh,” I groaned in frustration. “This is so god damn weird.”

“Look,” Harriet suggested, “Put the weird away, Put Mike away, just complete the mission, and deal with all this after its over, ok? Just be Sharon for now, it’s going to be easier on you, and I think you want that too…” she added, looking over at me with a lopsided smile. “I’m here for you, don’t forget that.” She said softly.

Her words were a life raft of rationality. I had an escape, a get out clause… I realised that I could let go for now, but a niggling worry at the back of my mind, asked if I could go back to my life afterwards.

Harriet pulled up outside her house and let us in. I followed her upstairs and through to her bedroom. The room was modern, yet tasteful, floorlength cream linen curtains hung from the large bay window, and the dark mahogany bed was covered in a thick white and cream duvet. I didn’t know what I had expected of her room, but it was surprisingly feminine and soft for an international spy. I suppose my preconceptions for the job still showed through.

Harriet crossed to her wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of worn jeans, a white vest, and a grey check shirt which she handed to me. “Here, these ought to fit you. Get changed, and we can get off.” She said with a grin, beginning to unbutton her own blouse.

It took all the concentration I possessed to remove my clothes and change. I had seen her in her underwear the night before, but something about the way the sun light reflected off her bare midriff was intoxicating.

“Are you going to stand there ogling me all day?” Harriet asked coyly, making me blush when I realised I had been staring.

“I ah, Sorry.” I grinned sheepishly. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you…” she whispered. “Especially when you blush like that; its so cute,” she giggled.

I stepped forwards and wrapped my arms around her waist, drawing her too me before gently bringing our lips together. I ran my hands down her back till they rested on her buttocks, cupping the warm flesh in my hands as we kissed for an eternity. It was ironic that when the kiss broke, I felt her hands in the same place.

Harriet looked at me with the same silly grin she had worn the night before. “We should stop before we waste the whole afternoon,” she said softly, nibbling my lower lip.

“Waste?” I asked, feigning shock.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she scowled, playfully slapping my bottom. “But John and Toby would wonder why we didn’t show at the ranges…”

Unfortunately, she had a point, so I reluctantly released her from my embrace to dress herself in another pair of jeans and a pullover.

“Feels great to be out of those things.” She said with a grin. “I might be a glamour puss at work, but this is the girl you get out of it.”

“I think I prefer you out of it.” I grinned.

“Later.” She grinned grabbing a more casual bag and her keys. “You coming?” she asked, nodding towards the door.

I nodded and followed Harriet out to the Range Rover.

“Where’s the rifle?” I asked, the thought having just struck me.

“Open the boot.” She said, locking the door and following me down to the boot of the 4x4. Opening the rear of the vehicle, I was confronted by a large black metal box, bolted to the floor beneath the parcel shelf. Harriet grinned, and fished for a key in her bag, and proceeded to unlock the gun safe. Lifting the lid enough for me to see the rifle tucked away, before closing it again. “I don’t really want to have my neighbours asking questions.” She said, locking things up again. “We have these in the back of company cars.” She said, leaving the comment ominous in its ambiguity.

We arrived at the MOD facility about an hour and a half later, having stopped for lunch at a small pub just outside the main gate of the base. Harriet flashed her ID, which opened doors unquestioningly; we were expected. The gate guards were quite taken aback by the two female ‘secret agents’ they logged in.

We drove through the base, and out to the ranges, a mile into the training area. Parking the Range Rover, We got out and unlocked the rifle case. I was lifting the rifle from case, and slipping it into the drag bag when a soldier in a high visibility vest walked over and introduced himself as Sergeant Major Owens; the rangemaster.

“I got the call from the gate to expect you two.” He said in a gruff manner. “I wasn’t told it was two women.”

“Does it matter?” Harriet asked, pulling herself up to her full 5’6.

“No Ma’am,” he grinned. “It’s just I have 2 Para’s sniper platoon on the 1000yarder who wont pay a blind bit of fucking notice to their work.”

Harriet looked at me and grinned. “More training.”

The Sergeant Major gave us a funny look, before gesturing for us to follow him as we walked past several squads of young soldiers shooting on the rifle range, who all paid me more notice than I wanted.

We arrived at the 1000 yard sniper range, set off to one side from the main ranges and I could see several teams of men firing, with a few other groups waiting around and working on weapons. It all reminded me of my time at the British Army’s Sniper School: How different things were now…

“I have to get back to those muppets,” Sergeant Major Owens said, gesturing over his shoulder at the soldiers on the main ranges. “You two going to be ok?”

“Yes thanks,” I replied confidently, finally happy to be back on familiar ground. “How long we booked in?”

“Three hours Ma’am.” Owens said consulting a spiral notepad he kept in his trouser pocket. “Good shooting,” he said, turning and heading off.

The 500 yard line was occupied currently, and as I planned to shoot from further away, we had a wait till the men on the range were complete, and a lane opened up.

I sat down on the ground cross-legged, and unzipped the rifle bag. I lifted the Pgm Hecate .308 from the case, and flipped its bipod legs down, setting it on the ground.
The rifle was beautifully crafted, and I took a moment to release the bolt and apply a layer of oil around the working parts from the small bottle in the bag. I was too engrossed in my work to notice the attention myself and Harriet were attracting.

“Hey there,” said a voice. I looked up from my work to see 3 soldiers sat near us looking over.

“Hi,” I replied brightly.

“You girls civvies?” a tall ginger man asked, as he finished reassembling his own rifle.

I looked at Harriet, as I wondered how to respond, but she was talking to a man over by a Landrover.

“Um, Intelligence Services,” I said, knowing the men were all fully up to date on the official secrets act.

It was difficult to suppress a giggle as 6 eyebrows shot up in unison.

“Um, Wow,” the guy said grinning sheepishly. “What you doing out with a long then? Don’t you spies like pistols and stuff?” he asked curiously.

“Practice,” I offered vaguely, “I’m just brushing up.”

“That’s a damn nice weapon,” the shorter blonde sniper offered. “PGM right?”

I nodded and lifted the rifle to show the 3 men. “PGM Mini Hecate .308, made in France.”

“That belongs on a Paris catwalk, hell you both do,” grinned the ginger man. “Makes our old things look like peashooters.” He chuckled.

“I wouldn’t go hitting on her Dan,” laughed the 3rd man, who was of Asian origin.
“She’s a spook, she don’t have time for scum like you.”

“Hey come on, I’m not all Ice queen,” I heard myself say, cringing inwardly. “Anyway, I got my licence to kill revoked for one too many ex boyfriends.”

The guys grinned and exchanged knowing looks. The same macho bullshit that I had found so idiotic from within now seemed almost laughable. They were like school children all banding together because they felt intimidated… by me… part of me wanted to roll my eyes at the situation, another sort of liked it.

“You probably can’t tell me,” The blonde guy said as he cleaned his bolt. “You done much shooting? I mean with longs…”

I nodded. “Met firearms team for a few years, and did your sniper school too a while back. First time with this thing though,” I said gesturing at the PGM I was now loading the magazines for. “New toy.”

“You had a few firearms plod in your run didn’t you Alan?” said the ginger man, looking at the Asian.

“Yeah, no fit birds like her though,” He said with a grin. “Probably why I passed.”

“What’s your name anyway?” asked the ginger sniper. “I’m Dan, this is Chris, and our chinky friend is Alan.”

“Piss off ginge.” grinned Alan. “Ah sorry love.”

I laughed, “Its fine, I’m used to it. My name is Sharon.” I said without hesitation.

The team on the firing line rotated off, and we made our way down to the 800m line.
Harriet finished her conversation and jogged over to me with a pair of binoculars.

“Having fun?” she asked with a smile.

“Yeah, they seem nice,” I offered. “You too by the looks of things,” I grinned slyly.

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Not like that, He was and old friend from when I did my escape and evasion training on Brecon. Was just catching up.”

“Sure,” I said not paying attention. “I’m starting to feel slightly jealous.”

“You want me to kiss you in front of all these hunky soldiers?” she asked raising an eyebrow. “That’s more likely to get them to jump you than not.”

I tried to look thoughtful for a moment, but burst out in giggles when she poked me in the ribs and stuck her tongue out.

We spent the next few hours with me shooting, and her observing. It was awkward at first for me to get used to spotting for myself than working in a two man team, but I got used to it, and by the end of our time at the ranges, I was feeling quite confident that with a few more practice sessions, I would be up to speed. The sensation of lying prone on my breasts was alien at first, but I grew used to it, although the squashed sensation, regardless of the false nature of my bust, was awkward. Now I knew why this was more important. It wasn’t about shooting, it was about my feminine role; a female in that position would be used to her breasts getting in the way: I had a lot to learn.

We packed up the gear, and began the long drive back to Inner London. I dozed lightly on the drive back, and awoke to find us parked outside Harriet’s house; she was just sitting behind the wheel, with the engine off, watching me as I slept. “You looked so calm,” she smiled.” I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Mmm, it’s fine,” I said sleepily. “Why are we back here?” I asked.

“Well I live here,” she said sarcastically. “And I thought you would like to come in for dinner?” she asked hopefully.

“I’d like that,” I agreed honestly, feeling my stomach rumble. Leaving the vehicle, Harriet led me into the house, and proceeded to whip up a divine Risotto and a delicious bottle of white wine. As we sat eating at her dining table. It was hard not to reflect on the events to date as I sat here, with my girlfriend… as her girlfriend, quietly just enjoying being in each other’s presence. For once feeling truly satisfied with life. That however, was a problem.

After dinner, we moved through to the living room, and spent the evening watching television together. It wasn’t especially romantic, but I enjoyed just spending time with her out of the pressure of work. I lay back, with my head against Harriet’s shoulder, and couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so relaxed in someone else’s presence.

“How do you feel about all of this now?” she asked quietly, turning off the TV and wrapping her arm around me more snugly.

“Better,” I admitted, “although this is starting to fuck with my head.”

“Are you worrying about afterwards?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“No matter what, I love you,” Harriet whispered, kissing me on the top of my head.

“Even if I stayed a girl?” I asked, feeling the return of my mental turmoil.

Harriet was quiet for a moment. “Yes, even if you were still a girl… Is that what you want?”

“To be honest; I don’t know.” I admitted truthfully. “This has thrown me for six… I don’t know how I feel, But I do sort of like it.”

“I know.”

I bit my lip. She knew, I knew… but no matter what, I still found it difficult to talk about.

“Before all of this, I didn’t feel like I wanted to dress up, or even feel like a girl. Since this has begun, I’ve started to feel really strange, in a good way…

“How do you mean?” she prompted softly, stroking my hair gently in a loving way.

“I guess, I’ve realised that something was missing in me… Being Sharon has made me see things differently. Feel differently, reacting and thinking differently… Something about it seems right, and no matter what I do or think, I can’t get rid of the feeling.” I said, looking away.

“When we were together the other night… There was no pressure on me to be macho, no urge to satisfy myself; I just loved being with you, and making you happy made me happy.” I said frankly. “It was what happened when I went home that made it so much clearer. The dream I had… I had… real breasts. But it wasn’t that. I wasn’t disappointed when I woke up because I didn’t have breasts; it was because I wasn’t real… I wasn’t a girl.”

I looked at Harriet and tried to read her expression, but I failed. She looked at me closely for a moment before smiling slightly.

“Sharon, something in me was attracted to you that first time I saw you, this you…” she said running her finger down my cheek. “I fell in love with you, not you’re body, and there was something different about you before. But since this…. I don’t know, you just seemed more real; more whole as a person… You were more expressive, more talkative, more interesting… On top of that, I realised that I was attracted to you… like this… Its not that I wasn’t attracted to Mike, but Sharon caught my heart, and if you have to be Sharon forever, I’ll be happy either way. I love you.”

I felt tears begin to run down my cheeks as I looked into her eyes. “Really?” I half choked.

“Yes.” She whispered, kissing me lightly on my lips. “I love you, Sharon.”

 

Chapter 10

“Are you listening Sharon?”

“Sorry,” I replied quickly, shaking my head. “Yes, I am.”

Jane gave me a disapproving look. “You really do need to concentrate on this you know… It’s vital to your survival.”

“I know,” I sighed. “My mind just doesn’t work well at this time on a Saturday morning… and I had a long day yesterday,” I admitted. “The whole time since I joined you guys has been one long day.”

“I know,” she replied more softly. “This is a lot to expect from a beginner.”

“It’s not that that bothers me,” I said, sipping the long cold coffee on the desk in front of me. “I have always been able to lose myself in work and get the job done. This isn’t any different to going undercover with the met, I did that once or twice in lesser capacities… it’s just… so much bigger.” I shrugged. “It’s not the why, more the how.”

Jane cocked an eyebrow at me, “How do you mean?”

“The girl thing is causing some issues.” I said, in what I hoped was an offhand manner. “I won’t be too upset when it’s resolved.”

“So not when it’s over?” Jane asked.

“No, I think it might take a little longer, this is… affecting me.” I admitted. “Sorry, you were saying about radio procedure?” Hoping she took my hint to get off the subject.

We worked on, whiling away my Saturday morning with endless operational procedure. The 6 building had been quiet, but not deserted, and when I logged myself out of the pod and into the bright spring afternoon, I felt almost glad to be back amongst the world of the living, and out of the techno tomb.

I walked down the riverside path towards the Embankment tube entrance. There was a light breeze blowing off the river that ruffled my hair. As I reached up and ran my fingers through it to calm the wind’s effect, I caught myself; it was such a feminine thing to do… And the little things like it that I kept catching myself doing were strange. I lent against the balustrade and looked out over the river. I felt so very at home as Sharon that I was doing things Jane or Harriet hadn’t taught me. The self conscious way I messed with my hair, how I looked at my nails more often, even the way I curled up on the sofa was extremely feminine. On top of that, the most overbearing part was my budding romance. While it was true that we shared a far more equal relationship to present, I found myself increasingly submissive in my relation to her. We had grown together as teacher and student I told myself. She was the experienced one, I was the beginner and that rubbed off into our private life, but it was more than that. I even tried to blame my sexual inexperience but it wasn’t that. It was most likely the same reason I had never had a girlfriend, or a desire to go and find one all my life. I chuckled to myself as I realised how stereotypical it was that I was the submissive little girl. I just didn’t want to chase, or control, or win, I wanted to be won… wooed, chased. The very thought made me quite uneasy: It wasn’t how a man was meant to think. The more I tried to put the subject off, the more I realised that that too was a problem. I hadn’t cross dressed before, or felt that I might have been a girl ‘in my head’, but since this had begun, it was as if a pair of curtains had been drawn. I felt alive… human, and not just existing. As much as I tried to loathe admitting to it; I enjoyed being a girl.

Shaking my head, I left the river behind and made my way down the steps into subterranean London. Being a commuter station, Embankment was relatively quiet and free of tourist hoards as I descended to the platform levels. After a short wait, I boarded a train with very little trouble and settled into the nearly empty coach. Reaching into my handbag, I pulled out my Ipod and slipped the buds into my ears: It was always a habit of mine on tube rides or whenever I was alone and didn’t want to think. We pulled into Pimlico station and the 3 passengers in my carriage got off, leaving me alone.

As the train rattled along, I heard the carriage door open and close, but no footsteps. Ignoring the noise, I returned to the dance song I was listening to and watched the flickering tunnel lights speed past the dark window.

“Give us the Ipod and your bag love,” growled a voice in a Croydon accent. “Don’t want me cuttin’ that pretty face now do we?” he hissed pressing his face closer to mine from the seat behind.

My heart rate jumped at the unexpected sound, and I pulled the buds out of my ears, turning to face my assailant. “What?” I asked, pretending to have not heard the man.

The mugger thrust a penknife towards me over the top of the seat and leered. “Give us your Ipod and bag darlin’, or I cut yer face up,” He hissed, frustrated at having to repeat himself.

I had never been mugged as a man, and I didn’t intend to start now. As I made to slip the bag from my shoulder, I brought my other hand down against the man’s hand that held the knife, forcing his wrist against the top bar of the seat at a painful angle that made him yelp and drop the knife. Wasting no time, I slammed my other palm into the man’s nose and jumped free of the seat into the isle while he was stunned. Regaining his senses, the man spat blood and glared at me. “Fucking cunt, I’m goin’ to rip your fuckin’ head off.”

“You really mugged the wrong woman asshole.” I growled through a sly grin.

The man came at me in a totally uneducated manner, allowing me to use his momentum to slam his head into one of the vertical poles that ran from the carriage floor to the roof. As he bounced off, I swept my leg around bringing his legs out from under him and dropping him to the carriage floor. I rolled the man onto his front, and forced his hands up his back, slipping the pair of cuffs I kept in my bag around his wrists.

“You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent and anything you do say will be given in evidence.” I hissed, standing up and brushing off my charcoal pantsuit and slipping my bag on my shoulder. I pulled the man to his feet, who was now swearing and cursing me with a great deal of colourful language.

“Hey are you ok? I heard the commotion,” the driver called, sticking his head through the cab door.

I gave the man a wry grin, “Yes, Attempted mugging.” I shrugged. “Could you call for the transport plod to meet the train at the next station?”

“Um, wow, sure,” he said scratching his head. “Looks like he picked the wrong bird to rob,” he chuckled shaking his head as he retreated to his cab.

“Oh yeah.” I replied quietly to myself.

“I’ll find you and fucking knife you slag,” growled the mugger.

“Ok,” I replied, without really listening to the man, One acquired aural filters after time on the beat driving goby suspects around in the back of a panda car.

The train pulled into the next station, the one before my own, and I alighted, pushing my prisoner before me. There was a reassuring group of florescent jackets on the platform; the British Transport Police.

“We got a call about a disturbance on the train?” one of the officers, a Sergeant in his mid 50s said to me, “Who are you?”

“Sergeant Co…” I began out of habit. “Sorry, Sharon Cohen; Intelligence service.” I said, showing the man my badge. “Sorry, I already read this scrote his rights out of habit.” I smiled sheepishly, “Just transferred out of the met.”

“Oh.” He said, a little taken aback. What happened?” he said, handing the cuffed man over to one of his colleagues.

“He tried to mug me from behind with a penknife; it’s still on the floor at the rear of the carriage. Sorry, I had my hands full,” I said with an apologetic grin. “I subdued him, and asked the driver to call you in.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed. “Met are getting more efficient. I’m not sure if your arrest can stand; you don’t have domestic Jurisdiction if I recall rightly.”

“I know,” I admitted. “As I said; force of habit. Get one of your men to formally arrest him, consider that a citizens arrest.” I replied, placing my Mi6 ID back into my bag.

The sergeant laughed. “You’re a plucky little one aren’t you? Nice to see one of these arseholes get some back for once.”

“I was just reacting,” I admitted. “When I had him down, It was almost automatic to cuff him and hand him over.”

“Good job you did,” He said as we walked towards the Transport Police office. “I swear those guys are getting more brash now… they don’t even care about the CCTV… we should have officers on the trains.”

“Maybe,” I mused. “You want a statement don’t you?” I asked as he escorted me into the office.

“Yeah, for records,” He replied looking for a pen.

“I can’t,” I replied ominously. “At least I’d appreciate it if we forgot I was even here.”

“I’d ask why, but I suspect you’d have to kill me once you told me,” he smiled setting the pen down on the desk once more.

I grinned, remembering the corniness it now held to me. “Something like that.”

“Look, I’ll run you home, is it?” he said, “You missed your stop, and you did us a favour, plus gets me out of the paperwork,” he chuckled.

I felt like protesting, but smiled instead. “Thank you.”

Sergeant Brice, as I discovered, led me up through the station to his Transport Police car on the surface. I slipped into the passenger side, and Sergeant Brice pulled out into the traffic.

“You’re so like my youngest,” he said as we drove through the streets of south London. “She just graduated onto the Thames Valley force.”

“Oh?” I replied. “And how do I remind you of her?”

“She has that same strong sense of justice I can see in you. I don’t think you decided to put that bloke down and arrest him; you just did because it was right. Doesn’t hurt that you’re small and blonde like she is,” he grinned.

“I guess,” I admitted, ignoring the last comment. “It was why I joined the force.”

“Why did you leave?” he asked curiously. “You seem like the career type to me.”

I paused for a moment to think about why I had left. “I’m not sure, I suppose I was offered a chance to protect more people, and enforce the law more effectively.” I shrugged. “It sounds cheesy, but I see myself being able to help more people.”

“Its not,” he admitted. “Was how I felt till I did me leg in chasing a car thief. Transferred to a quiet job chasing fare dodgers to see out my days.”

“I hope I see enough of my days,” I grinned darkly.

Sergeant Brice dropped me off outside my flat, and I gave him a grateful wave as he drove off until I realised it was a feminine little finger waggle, so I immediately stopped.

What I would give for a quiet weekend.

I let myself into the flat, dumping my coat on the rack and removing my suit jacket as I padded through to the living room.

“Hey Becky,” I called as I walked past my housemate’s vegetating form on the sofa, “Busy morning I see?”

“Mmmmm, horrific,” Becky smiled happily as she stretched out on the sofa with catlike grace.

I grabbed a coke from the fridge, and wandered back through to sit on the sofa opposite Becky.

“I wish I didn’t have to work Saturdays,” I complained, slipping off my shoes and kicking them unfemininely under the coffee table.

“Anything interesting in the world of spies?” she joked, marking her page and placing her book on the floor.

“Nothing much,” I shrugged, “boring lessons mostly. I had more fun on the tube ride home.”

“What like?” Becky asked, raising her eyebrows.

“I got mugged, well, he tried, I smirked It’s generally not a good idea to mug an ex police officer that was recruited by mi6.” I chuckled, “I got a ride home from a nice policeman though,” I admitted. “So it was worth it.”

“Was he cute?” Becky asked, grinning devilishly. I could swear I saw her ears visibly prick up.

“He was old enough to be my father,” I replied trying to look appalled. “What do you take me for?” I felt a sickening feeling hit my stomach. “Oh god!” I gasped. My Dad said he was going to visit this afternoon!”

“And you only remembered this now?” Becky asked incredulously.” How the hell are you going to explain that he has a daughter?” I looked at my watch. It was 2pm; my father was coming by at 4 o’clock to see how I, his son, was doing. I felt a surge of panic spread through me as I imagined scenarios that may come.

“I’m fucked,” I moaned, burying my head under a cushion.

 

Chapter 11

What are we going to do?” Becky asked.

“I’m going to get out of all this,” I replied uncertainly. “Try and make myself less girly.”

Becky snorted, “That’s going to be hard.”

“Oh you’re a great help,” I glared, standing up. “I’m going for a shower and to get these things off,” I announced, hefting my bosom and turning to walk out of the room.
Becky’s sniggers didn’t help matters.

Stripped off my clothes in my bedroom and managed to remove corset and my underwear. Standing naked in my room, I felt extremely strange. I lifted my hands to the two lumps on my chest and cupped them in my hands. They were warm from contact with my body, the strange thing was, I was reluctant to remove them; they felt like part of me now. Wrapping a towel around my body, I stepped out of my room and made for the bathroom.

I locked the door, and slid the towel to the floor before turning towards the mirror and appraising my appearance. The corset had left an impression on my body, and my waist dipped in more acutely than before, emphasised by the two firm mounds atop my torso. As a man, I ought to be disgusted by this, but yet I wasn’t. The last chip fell in place at that moment, as I stood looking at what I had become. I wanted this now; I liked this. For the first time in my short life I truly felt happy with how I looked. The hints I had dropped to Harriet, the comments and offhand suggestions that this was something more than a job… I had never gone out and said how I felt. Right now, I felt that I wanted to be Sharon for ever; I am Sharon.

With genuine regret, I reached for the bottle of solvent in the bathroom cupboard, and began to spread the liquid along the edges of my surrogate breasts. As the silicone began to peal away, I felt a pang of sadness spread through me. It was as if I had been reminded of the truth beneath my exterior. It seemed so sudden to admit my feelings to myself, but in truth, I had felt them for a long time. I had never liked myself growing up. I had just accepted my body as fact, and ignored things. I had never wanted to socialise with ‘the guys’; in fact I had gone out of my way to avoid it, men intimidated me…

I felt a pronounced shift in my weight as I removed my left breast, followed shortly by the right. I ran my fingers over my tender, red chest, feeling a definite sense of loss. Pushing it aside, I turned on the shower, and slipped under the jets of water.
I soaped my now unfamiliar body with some of my old shower gel, taking care to rub the residue from my chest. After rinsing my hair out, and shampooing it to remove any of the hairspray, I gently washed my face to remove the last feminine signs from my body.

Shutting off the water, I stepped out of the shower and began to wrap the towel around my chest, pausing, I tied it about my waist and slipped back to my room, cradling my now detached breasts. I returned my breasts to their box, and dried myself off. I had an hour and a half left before my father arrived; there was no time to relax. I found my mobile, and dialled Harriet’s home number. After a pause, she answered.

“Hello.”

“Hey Harriet, it’s me.”

“Hey baby,” she cooed, recognising my voice. “How are you?”

“Not good right now. Look, are you busy this afternoon?”

I proceeded to fill her in on the visit that I had somehow managed to forget up till now.

“Look, can you come over and play my doting heterosexual girlfriend for a while? I need smoke and mirrors to throw the old man off the scent,” I begged.

“Lots of skin, but not sluttish right?” she asked slyly. “I’ll be over in an hour. I love you,” she said softly, hanging up the phone.

I grabbed the bottle of nail polish remover I had bought during the week, along with my own feminine shampoos and potions in an expensive trip to Boots. Dabbing some onto a cotton pad, I began to clean the pale blue polish from my fingernails. Satisfied that I had removed the last possible trace of femininity, I grabbed a pair of knickers and slipped them on. I realised what I was doing as I settled the pale pink silk around my bottom, but felt no compulsion to change them; my father wasn’t likely to perform a strip search.

I pulled on a pair of faded jeans from my male wardrobe, and a plain white tee-shirt. Adding a pair of socks and my trainers, I felt hopeful that I could face my father after all. After drying my hair and locating my old Casio wrist watch, I returned to the bathroom to check my appearance in the larger mirror: The overall Image wasn’t so bad. I looked gawky, and had to correct how I stood, but I didn’t look especially feminine. I had tied my hair back into a low ponytail, the best I could do without incurring the wrath of Sally.

I shrugged. All I could do now was wait… So returning to my room, I moved a few things around, hoping to return some semblance of masculinity to my feminised bedroom. I couldn’t remove all trances of femininity, the makeup, the clothes, the hair dryer and shoes were as much a part of that room now as any, and I hadn’t the time to remove them all. Perhaps he would believe Harriet was living with me if asked?

At half past three, I heard the door buzzer ring, so wandered through to the living room and picked up the handset. “Hello?”

“Hey it’s me. Let me in.” Harriet replied cheerily. I returned the handset to the hook without replying and hit the entry buzzer. A few moments later, she knocked at my door.

I opened the door and let her in. Harriet looked amazing; she was wearing a short denim skirt, and a beautiful white knit jumper, her blonde hair flowed in silky waves around her face, she looked incredible.

“Will this satisfy your father?” she grinned, posing slightly.

“Him and me both.” I grinned, giving her a gentle kiss on the lips. “Thank you,” I added, giving her hand a squeeze.

“You look different.” She replied, raising her eyebrows. “Its hard to remember Mike now, even after such a short time, but I guess you could be a Mike if you squint a bit,” she giggled.

“Thanks, way to boost my confidence.” I growled. “Just hang off my arm a lot and he might be convinced I’m not gay.”

“But you are dear.” She replied coyly. “Just not the way he may think.”

I let Harriet through to the living room, and introduced her to Becky. My flatmate was surprised when I introduced my girlfriend, doubly so when I admitted we worked together.

“You look close enough for him.” Becky said cocking her head. “The boobs make a difference, but the hair he will notice…”

“I can’t really do anything about that unless I want to get skinned alive,” I grimaced. “I’ll pass it off as fashion.”

Subconsciously I raised my hand to my flat chest, Harriet noticed, and gave my knee a gentle squeeze.

Just before 4, my father rang.

“Hello my boy, I’ll be outside in a few, Pop down and wait for me, we’re going for a pint.” He fired off in his usual upbeat manner.

“Ah, Sure dad, I’m bringing my girlfriend, is that ok?”

“Wait, is this my son? A woman? Sure lad, bring her along.” He chuckled heartily.

“See you in a few Dad.” I replied apprehensively, putting the phone down.

I grabbed my neglected Jacket, and tried to fit the contents of my handbag into my pockets… It didn’t quite work. I was quite surprised by how many things I had come to need.

Five minutes after we stepped out onto the pavement, my father pulled up in his Jaguar. I don’t know why he wanted to own such a large car, never mind drive it through central London, but I supposed it bolstered his fragile male ego. I snickered to myself as I realised that I had begun to think of men as the opposite sex.

I was about to open my door and slip in when I realised that I was meant to be playing the gentleman son, so turned and opened Harriet’s door, allowing her to seat herself before closing it, and slipping into the car myself.

“Hi dad,” I smiled weakly. “This is Harriet.”

“Hello dear girl,” he smiled, turning to extend his hand to Harriet in the back seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Michael, It’s been too long, but you have changed boy,” he said with a frown as he pulled out into the street. “You don’t eat well on a Policeman’s salary?”

“I’m doing fine,” I countered, “Just busy at the moment, lots of work on, you know how it is.”

“Your hair is a bit flouncy,” He noted with distain. “You should get that cut.”

“Can’t dad, it’s for work, I’m undercover,” I shrugged, displaying my lack of control with the situation.

“As what? Some Nancy boy metrosexual?” he replied with a hint of scorn.

“Hey fuck off dad,” I growled, Its just long hair, I’m meant to be fitting in with a rock group doing some drug trafficking using their tours as cover… so it fits ok? Leave it out.”

He gave me a long look, questioning my story, but shrugged and accepted it. “As long as you cut that when you’re done, I can’t have your mother see you looking like that, she will think you’ve become one of her hippies.”

Harriet giggled. “Your mum is a Hippie?”

“No,” I replied grinning. “She’s a NGO worker, charities and such, Dad is just stuck in the 60s.”

“I am not.” He cut in, trying to sound offended. “I merely hold a different view to my darling wife.”

“He thinks she’s mad.” I stage whispered to Harriet behind my hand.

We pulled into the car park of one of the last remaining quiet pubs in the area that had not been overrun by Pete’s sort, although its days were numbered, one could tell by the number of expensive cars next to ours.

I offered Harriet my arm as we walked into the pub and she took it with a sly grin; I think she loved the role-play, although reality would most likely have placed me on her arm.

Dad led us to the bar and we ordered our drinks before he made his excuses and departed to the men’s room.

“Here you go ladies,” grinned the barman, placing the two pints and a glass of wine before us.

I blushed, but ignored him as I handed over the  £10 note and beat a hasty retreat to a quiet booth.

“Did you hear that guy? Dad is gonna smell a rat soon,” I moaned with resignation. “I should have pretended to be sick.”

“He wasn’t looking closely; it’s just your height and the hair,” she offered, trying to make me feel better.

“I doubt it, and ordinarily, I wouldn’t care.” I shrugged. “But I don’t want dad asking questions,” I hissed.

“Ordinarily?” she asked curiously.

I swallowed, “I’ve decided I’m not going back. I want to stay as Sharon.” I said quietly, looking into her eyes for a sign of reaction.

Harriet smiled and ran her fingers down my cheek. “I know,” she said simply, before kissing me softly on the lips. I wrapped my arms around her, and drew her body closer to mine as we kissed, our drinks ignored. I felt stars leaping around my heart as our tongues danced.

“I was going to suggest we order a late lunch,” my father announced with raised eyebrows, returning quietly. “But it seems like you two are already on desert.”

Detangling myself from Harriet I grinned, whipping the lipstick from my mouth. “Didn’t hear you come back Dad.”

“Ah it’s fine, you’re not a child any longer Michael, I’m glad you two get on so well. Tell me about you my dear.” He said jovially, turning to Harriet, “What do you do?”

“I’m a civil servant.” She replied demurely. “Foreign Office paper pusher, I’m afraid, nothing exciting.”

“Ah, the circles of power eh?” Dad chuckled, sipping his bitter. “How did you two meet?”

Harriet looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “How would you say it was?” she asked conversationally.

“Ah, we had a… bit of a problem, and her bosses wanted some Met assistance to… Focus, on the issues at hand.” I replied cryptically, grinning broadly. Harriet barely contained a giggle at the corniness of my line.

“Sounds interesting,” my father replied, paying little attention. We were soon called for our table, and Harriet made her excuses before heading for the toilets. My father and I were seated, and he took no time in giving me a talking to now Harriet was out of the way.

“I hope all this appearance crap is for your undercover thing.” He said with distain. “I must say you don’t look like the same man that came home for Christmas.”

“It is dad,” I sighed, “Do you think I want to do this?” I asked, avoiding the question. “Look, I have a lot on at work that I can’t talk about, and I need you to just drop it. Okay?” I replied a little too tersely.

My Father sat back in his chair and looked at me for a moment before shaking his head. “You know, as much as I don’t want to say it; you do look an aweful lot like your mother when she was your age. Of course you’re not a woman,” he laughed. “But that hair, and your face are very similar to hers. Pity you didn’t get more of me eh?” he grinned.

“I suppose.” I replied blandly.

“I’m glad you finally found yourself a woman,” he said taking a sip of his pint. “Your mother and I were beginning to wonder.”

“What?” I asked defensively. “That I was gay?” I grinned inwardly.

He shrugged. “Well you should bring her over to dinner after this is all over,” he said, gesturing at my unmanliness. “She’s a nice girl, keep hold of her.”

“Oh I intend to,” I smiled.

Harriet returned, I think she had taken her time to allow the two of us to talk. I stood and pulled out her chair for her, in the gentlemanly fashion and was rewarded with another gorgeous smile. A waiter approached and we ordered; the meal went without incident, and we talked about nothing in particular, just polite conversation. I suspected that Harriet wasn’t too comfortable around my old-fashioned father. Eventually things wound up, and my father dropped us off at my flat. I promised to phone my parents soon, and he drove off.

“That was stressful,” I admitted as we climbed the stairs back up to the flat. “Thank you for being there.”

“It was nice,” Harriet smiled. He’s a bit out of date, but his sort always are. It was nice to meet my girlfriend’s daddy,” she giggled.

“You want to come in?” I asked, as we reached my door. “Maybe stay the night?”

Harriet smiled and squeezed my hand. “Sure,” she replied softly, kissing my cheek.

I let us in, and the flat was quiet. “Do you think he twigged?” I asked, as we moved through to the living room, and I fetched a bottle of wine from the kitchen.

Harriet shook her head. “Others may have seen differently, but I suspect he sees you with rose tinted glasses, I doubt he ever would guess unless you slapped him in the face with your boobs.”

I reached up to my chest subconsciously. I was beginning to feel really messed up.

We drank the wine as we chatted quietly, and the night wound on. I had purposefully remained ‘male’ to test myself. I hoped that experiencing things differently might change my mind, or give me some food for thought. I found myself longing to be Sharon again; however I forced the thought to the back of my mind and leant over and kissed Harriet softly on the lips. She responded hungrily and we embraced tightly as we kissed. I stood quietly, and took her hand, leading her to my bedroom.

We sat at the foot of the bed and resumed our embrace. I slowly reached down, and began to remove her jumper to no resistance; before long, we sat in our underwear.

“You’re wearing knickers.” She giggled softly.

I blushed slightly. “Closest thing at hand,” I shrugged.

Harriet ran her hand over my chest sensuously. “You want to do it like this?” she asked.

“I want to try,” I replied in a small voice. “I want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”

Harriet nodded, and reached around to remove her bra. As she did so, I found my eyes fixed on her beautiful breasts; they were not overly large, but not small by any means. They were round and full, and very beautiful. I reached out one hand and gently cupped her right breast, my eyes locked on hers. She smiled as she felt my touch, and a small moan escaped her mouth as my fingers found her nipple.

“I love you.” I said softly, kissing her gently. We lay back on the bed, kissing and fondling each other with increasing passion. Removing the last of our clothing, we lay side by side, kissing softly, “I’ll get a condom.” I said, beginning to sit up.

“Don’t bother, she replied huskily. “I was on the pill before I met you, I figured I’d stay on it as this girlfriend can still get me pregnant.” I grinned and rolled over on top of her, and we melted into a joint passion.

Several hours later, we lay side by side on the bed, glowing in the aftermath of our love.

“That was amazing,” Harriet whispered softly, stroking my face. “I love you so much.”

I smiled, “I’m glad you enjoyed it, but I think I know what I have to do now.”

“That was awkward for you, I’m sorry.” She said, biting her lip.

“Don’t be,” I replied. “It wasn’t you. I just know that I’m not meant to be Mike. I guess that was the final nail in his coffin, the one part of being a man that I can’t deal with.”

“Ok,” Harriet replied simply. “I guess I won’t need the pill anymore.” She giggled.

“No.” I whispered, resting my head against her breast. “I’m afraid you’re stuck a lesbian.”

“I guess I am,” she giggled.

As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered just what I was letting myself in for, and just what the future would hold.

 

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To Be Continued...

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.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Focal Point

CHAPTERS 14 - 16
 
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...

---

 
Chapter 14

Dujani chuckled. “Why would I wish to kill you child? I suspect my superiors would have a diplomatic crisis if we killed an agent of a friendly Intelligence Service; especially one as pretty as yourself.”

I looked up and tried to focus on Omid Dujani, the man had a look of mild amusement on his face. “You’re not going to kill me?” I croaked; partly in disbelief, part relief.

Dujani frowned, and crouched down on his haunches so he was looking into my eyes as I sat on the edge of the fountain. The man cocked his head to one side and looked at me intently. “This is your first assignment, isn’t it?” he asked softly. “You are lucky we are on your side, or you would be dead now.”

“Who are you? CIA?” I asked. “No,” I narrowed my eyes, “You’re a Jew… You’re Mossad.”

Omi Dujani laughed. “Yes, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even If I do not know your name.”

I smirked and stuck out my hand. “Sharon Cohen, Mi6.”

Dujani raised his eyebrows. “You are a Jew also?”

I shrugged. “On my father’s side, I… I was never very religious.”

Dujani looked at me again, “Why are you here?”

I frowned, “I don’t really know.” I admitted. “Everything in my brief is wrong… I was sent here to stop you…” I nodded at Dujani, “A radical Muslim you… from assassinating the British Primeminister at the Beirut treaty… Nothing has fitted…”

Dujani looked puzzled. “Intelligence can get crossed, but I doubt that is the case here.”

“I don’t know what to think.” I shrugged. “I’m very new to this.”

“I can tell.” Dujani smiled, sitting down beside me at the fountain. “That also bothers me, why did they send one so unprepared into a perceived hornets nest?”

“That is a long story.” I half chuckled.

Naturally, the long story that I told Omid Dujani, was not the full honest truth. I carefully omitted certain facts pertaining to my gender, while presenting him with the honest facts. Needless to say, he was more than unimpressed with my employers.

Dujani stood and walked towards the archway we had come from before turning to me, “Come with me child, I think we may be able to make use of you yet.”

Grudgingly, I followed the man back into the central courtyard where the other men were still waiting; the conversation stopped as they noticed his return.

I hovered by the edge of the lit area as Dujani approached and called for the attention of the men.

“Gentlemen, Sorry for the delay, but I believe our little problem has been solved.”

“She is dead?” One man asked, “Did you find out who she was working for?”

“Dead? What? No,” Dujani chuckled looking over at me and beckoning for me to come closer. “I think our friend here would like to reintroduce herself.”

I blushed as the attention of the men seated turned towards me. “Sharon Cohen, Mi6,” I smiled apologetically. “As Mister Dujani says, there seems to be a little confusion from our end.”

There were exchanged looks at the table. One man leant back in his chair and let out a quick laugh. “The British do it again.”

“I’m afraid we had bad Intelligence.” I offered, trying to believe that myself. I turned to Dujani, “You said my services would still be useful? Want to tell me why that’s a good idea?”

“You really are an assassin for Mi6?” One of the men asked.

“British Army trained sniper actually, I was recruited for this.”

Dujani looked thoughtful. “I put it to you,” He started slowly, addressing the men around the table, “That we use Miss Cohen’s services for the operation as planned, and give her the choice to assist us or not.”

There were a smattering of agreements and non committal replies from around the table and Dujani looked across at me. “Let us offer you the full facts Miss Cohen?”

“Why should we read a foreign operative in?” An older greying man asked. “It is clear that she was sent to interrupt this operation, further involvement could not guarantee its security.”

“Because,” I offered turning to the man, “The reason you hired out in the first place still stands, I’m all you have, and I’m an ally, we made a mistake, we didn’t even know you were Mossad.”

The man muttered something in Hebrew before turning to Dujani, “I’m not happy about this Peter, but do it.”

The man I knew as Omid Dujani nodded curtly before pulling a folder from a pile on the table and sliding it across to me. I flipped the folder open and leafed through the documents and photographs, trying to absorb what I could. “This is a narcotics op.” I mumbled. “Afghanistan? What does this have to do with the treaty?”

Dujani nodded again. “An international ring has been running Heroin from factories within Taliban controlled areas of the Afghani Mountains; pockets that the Americans have yet to uncover.” Dujani pointed at one of the photographs, “This man, is Mohamed Hasizi, he is the Syrian Oil minister, and only part of the organisation. This group,” he indicated the document, “Are using the oil networks of the Middle East to traffic Heroin around the world, It is a new network of unprecedented size, Forget the Columbians and their unmanned submarines… this is practically a postal service…”

I sat, taking in the information for a moment, and flipped through the documents in the brief, “I’m going to take it, by your colleague’s reaction; you have not deemed this worthy of Mi6’s ears?”

The lack of reaction told me all I needed to hear. “You try to blame me, when you run a covert operation to assassinate a politician at a summit, and accuse us of not doing our job when we send someone to investigate?”

Dujani looked, to his credit, somewhat embarrassed. “The problem is, we do not know how far this extends… The corruption is deep. We hoped to maintain this… In house… till a greater picture was found.”

I looked at my forgotten glass of champagne on the table, and frowned. Dujani’s words had terrifying meaning to me. The misdirection could point at a corrupt influence operating within mi6… but who? And where? I kept my mouth shut about my concerns, but began to realise that if it was true that I was sent to disrupt Mossad, the enemy already knew that we knew… If I officially reported back to 6… It would tie the traitor’s hands. “You do realise, that beyond my decision to assist you, I am required to inform my superiors of the change in threat…” I replied dryly looking at Peter Dujani

“I do not think that…” the grey man began indignantly, only to be waved to silence by Dujani. “That is a good idea.” He said, glaring at the grey man. “It is about time we share this information with a sister agency, and we cannot afford any further confusion as to our purpose…

“Why kill him though?” I added, “He is not more use to you as a prisoner?”

Dujani shook his head. “We take him down at a political event, and the reason for the assassination is unclear, we spread misdirection, one or two shadow organisations claim responsibility for political reasons, there is a significant loss to the drugs ring, yet no direct proof that anyone is on to the operation.”

As dubious of the Israeli’s methods as I was, I couldn’t help but see logic in their blunt force approach. Several unfortunate accidents, political deaths, etcetera, of key members of the ring would expose others through increased security and rash acts. I’m sure Dujani and his colleagues were followers of the ‘Remove the head, and the body will wither’ philosophy too.

We had agreed that I would contact Mi6 in the morning, and Dujani insisted that I remain in the residence for our mutual convenience: As nice as he was, I suspected the Mossad Officers wished to keep close tabs on me. I bade the men goodnight, as loath as I was to leave, but it had been a long day. Quietly, I left the courtyard and made my way back inside the house to return to my room.

Hafiz, the muscle that had retrieved me from the airport was loitering in the Foyer when I entered.

“Ms Zanov.” He smiled, looking up. “You are going to bed?”

I nodded, my hand on banister of the wide stairway, “Yes, It has been a… revealing evening.” I replied with a half grin. “I had an enlightening discussion with your superiors.”

Hafiz looked sheepish. “Look, I was waiting for you I guess.” He admitted sheepishly, his heavy Syrian accented English dropping seamlessly into that of his native Israel. “I wanted to talk to you.”

I smiled, “I’m flattered,” I smiled coyly. “Do you make a point of waiting for every foreign intelligence agent, or just the female ones?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Hafiz blushed, “No, its not that… Sorry for what I said in the car.” He offered. “I’m really not such a misogynistic pig, you know?”

“We were both playing roles, I did bait you though.” I shrugged. “And I made you by the way.” I chuckled, watching the confusion spread across his face.
“How?” he asked.

“You knew too much about my background, you were hired muscle, they do not get told the time of day.”

Hafiz grinned embarrassedly and shook his head. “Amateur of me, but you are somewhat distracting,” he smiled. “According to some of the guys, you are Mi6, so I guess I should count myself lucky.”

I nodded. “Yes, Mi-6,” I agreed, “Sharon Cohen.” I said, offering my hand.

Hafiz lent forwards and took my hand in his paw. “Daniel Gefen, Mossad.”

I smiled, noticing he had not let go of my hand. “Pleased to meet you Daniel.”

He eventually let go of my hand, and we stood in awkward silence for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked, beginning to climb the stairs, “Good night.” I offered.

“Night.” He called, as he stood unmoving at the foot of the stairs. Knowing what he was waiting for, and how stupid walking upstairs backwards would be, I turned and departed. I had never felt a pair of eyes on me so definitely. I shook my head and smiled to myself. Men….

Securely inside my rooms, I stopped and ran my fingers through my hair and looked at my right palm. That man had the serious hots for me… Yuck! I could still feel his huge bloody paw on my hand… In his favour, the man apologised, but I wasn’t about to jump into his bed… not now or ever. I wasn’t interested in men, and I had Harriet…. I was faithful to my love. However, as hard as I tried to ignore it, a worm of doubt burrowed into my head on the subject of men.

I undressed slowly and changed into my nightie before slipping a carbon polymer divers knife I had secreted amongst my luggage beneath the pillow; It never hurt to be cautious. Drifting to sleep on my first night in Syria, I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself wrapped up in. The following days would prove most interesting….

 

Chapter 15

The sound of the morning prayer horns ringing out over the city roused me from my slumber. It took a moment before I remembered where I was, why I was here, and occurrences of the night before. My first mission was an utter failure…. It had, however, raised questions that I found hard to ignore… How had we so badly interpreted the Intelligence? It seemed the sort of tabloid wet dream of a mix-up… I rubbed my eyes sleepily and yawned. I shouldn’t think so deeply at this time of the morning.

Slipping from the bed, I wrapped my dressing gown about me; to my delight, I had found the guest room equipped in similar fashion to a hotel room; the coffee pot and kettle in the corner was my first port of call before retreating into the bathroom and doing my business. Collecting my sweet caffeine, I walked across to the window overlooking the city and gazed out as I sipped. Feeling human enough for light conversation, I activated my microphone and contacted the Damascus station.

“Miss Cohen, is something wrong?” asked a male voice that I didn’t recognise.

I shook my head before realising that the owner of the voice wasn’t in the same room. “No. But my cover is blown, and we fucked up in a fairly spectacular manner.”

“Ah, let me get the Chief.” The man replied nervously before the earpiece went quiet.

I sipped my coffee while I waited. I wasn’t sure this was the best idea, but I had nobody else to turn to… I didn’t want to start thinking conspiracy, but the options were few and far between, besides, it could be a simple mistake…
“Sharon, talk, do you need an out?” came the breathless rapid-fire reply of our man in Damascus, Terry Anderson.

“Calm down Terry.” I replied sipping my coffee, “Look, we messed up here… the players aren’t players after all… they’re Israeli Mossad.”

“What?” he spat. I was glad he sounded shocked; my paranoia lobe was going 10 to the dozen and his response at least confirmed that this might be an innocent mistake.

“Mossad?” he continued, sounding more subdued. “The Head shed’s Intel was very specific… we got the wrong guys?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I mused. “I think we screwed up…. OR….” I emphasised with a pause. “Or someone planted that very specific Intel.”

“Hang on.” Terry muttered, “Right, I’m alone. Explain,” he said quite gruffly.

The confusing thoughts that had filtered through my waking mind returned with the awkward clarity of morning. “Look, there’s too much wrong here … I know im only a new field officer… but … I’m not stupid or blind.” I admitted defensively. “It just seems far too convenient and obvious a mistake. I mean… Even Dujani isn’t who he apparently is, he’s not even Muslim.”

“I’m not going to tell you you’re stupid Sharon.” Terry said in a reassuring tone, “Look, I know this is hard on you, tell me everything…”
Over the next half hour, I explained everything from the night before in minute detail. He wasn’t pleased, but he came to the same conclusion as me. We were being played by someone at home. And it seemed someone high up...

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, wondering just how far I was getting into something beyond my experience.

“Nothing,” Terry responded after a pause. “Do nothing, I’ll call a mate back home who I know is squeaky and check on the Intel, I want you to report in as normal to six.”

“Are you sure?” I asked cautiously.

There was an awkward silence for a moment before he responded. “You’re a newbie Sharon, no offence, but they will expect this to come back from you. You’re not allowed to be a paranoid old cynic yet.”

I chuckled dryly setting my coffee mug down on the window sill. “I can play the innocent little girl for a while, but keep me in the loop.”

“I will, Bye.”

I turned off my mike and set about getting ready to face my new friends.

I showered and dressed in a knee length linen skirt and a sleeveless vest now my worries of offending delicate cultural sensibilities were lost, and set to brushing my hair out before clipping it back into a ponytail. Feeling ready to face the Israeli’s, I left the room and made my way downstairs.

Fatima was hovering at the bottom of the stairs when I descended.

“Miss Cohen,” she smiled with hostly warmth. Not the housekeeper either…. “You slept well?”

I smiled and nodded before following Fatima through to the same courtyard as the day before where the men were eating breakfast.

“Miss Cohen,” smiled Dujani when he noticed me approaching. “Good morning my dear, join us please,” he offered waving at an empty chair.

I sat, and to poured myself a cup of steaming coffee. I was of the belief that one is never enough to start the day.

I took a moment as I sipped the boiling liquid to look at the men around the table; it seemed the activity was mutual. “As you can see we are still here, I’ve not called in a cruise missile on the compound.” I grinned weakly.

The man that challenged me the previous night frowned, but the others seemed to smile at the joke. The conversation began to circulate once more, and I allowed myself a backseat role to observe the dynamics of the group.

Dujani… Peter, seemed to be the man in charge on the ground from the way the men interacted with him, the man from Jerusalem was clearly the only one not local to the operation and quite dry in his approach. I got the impression that most of the men interacted with him if they had to. He reminded me of the spook that first recruited me.

“So you have considered my offer?” Dujani asked after taking a sip of his own coffee. “I suspect you will wish to contact your employers?”

“You haven’t made me an offer yet.” I replied dryly. “As it stands, I’ve been read in, but nothing formal put on the table.”

Dujani smiled. “I see you are as mercenary as your legend. I think we chose well... Of course, Jerusalem will… compensate you off the books regardless of your official or unofficial involvement.” He gestured raising his eyebrows conspiratorially. The unspoken offer was plain.

I nodded. “I’m willing to be involved if six give me the go-ahead; I can’t go behind their back on this. The beurocrat looked as if he wanted to speak, but remained silent. I could only imagine the conversation between him and Dujani after I had left.

“I understand.” Dujani replied nodding.

After finishing breakfast, the group split up to attend to various tasks, and Peter led me to a communications room in the house.

Dujani handed me a satellite phone, “You may use this, it is encrypted, and we will not listen in. I believe we must have some trust,” he smiled.

I nodded and smiled back, things felt less awkward now. He made a point to leave, closing the door behind me… I lifted the satellite phone and entered the number for the Operations desk at Vauxhall Cross.

The Phone connected, and there were several bleeps before it began to ring.

“West Thames Fish and Chips.”

It took me a second to remember this was a code….

“Hi, do you deliver to Aberdeen?”

“Certainly, let me connect you.”

There was a flat waiting tone before someone finally picked up…

“Operations.”

“Sharon Cohen, Middle East Controlerate, I’m reporting in.”

“One moment Miss Cohen.”

I was beginning to wonder if Mi6 took its telephone protocol lessons from British Gas when I finally heard a voice I recognised…

“Sharon? Why are you reporting in so soon? Is something wrong?” asked the worried sounding voice of Jane North, my handler back home.

“Jane, I’m fine, there’s been a problem…..”

As I explained the situation to Jane, I became more satisfied that she too was on my side. She didn’t know protocol for this situation, and told me to remain in position till I could be given new orders… It sounded like a bust to me, being fobbed off for now, but it gave me time to think over the shadowy offer I had on the table.

Jane seemed distracted for a moment. “Sharon, hang on one moment, Harriet wants to speak to you.”

I felt my heart jump at the mention of Harriet’s name. After my experiences , I really needed to hear her voice.

“Sharon?” came the quiet voice from the ear piece.

“Hey,” I replied dumbly, lost for any other intelligent greeting.

“I listened in baby, are you ok?”

“Yes, I suppose. They are good men here, I’ll be ok.”

“I’m flying over.” Harriet added with deliberate slowness

“No don’t,” I blurted. “I mean, no, I want to see you, but don’t come, this is something I need to do.”

“Baby, you’re out of your depth now,” Harriet replied soothingly. “I’m going to fly out later… They will want someone else on the ground now.”

I sighed to myself, realising she was right. “Fine. It would be good to see you.”

“You too baby,” she cooed, “Look, I’ll be over as soon as I can get away… I love you.”

“I love you too.” I replied feeling my eyes moisten and hit the call end button on the Phone.
I slumped down into one of the chairs in the room to compose myself. I didn’t need Dujani seeing me crying. On one hand, I was annoyed with her for wanting to fly in…. This was my first mission… I wanted to complete it myself… to prove myself… But on the other hand, I knew I’d need her to help me… I was so very out of my depth, convincing myself I could cope. Realising just how very alone and isolated I really was brought another tear to my eye. I was not alone…
Hugging myself tightly, I wept quietly with frustration and fear. I was a part of something beyond my control… and the lack of control terrified me. I was so used to being the one in the position to control a situation, a place…. Even being Michael had afforded me the shadow of an act… the protection of his masculinity… He wasn’t really me… so damage to his self esteem, his self worth, his fears didn’t really matter… I could add more layers to hide them, and they were gone now…

Sharon was me, she was all I had, and if she was hurt.. it was permanent, and it was painful. As much as my idiot pride wanted to do this myself… I couldn’t wait to see Harriet again. To hold, to be held…. Her image in my mind’s eye silenced my tears as if she was here holding me.

Drying my eyes, I got to my feet and attempted to sort out my messy hair. I must look a sight, but there was no avoiding that. Composing myself as best I could, I left the communications room.

Omid Dujani or Peter… I had a hard time deciding, was waiting for me when I returned to the courtyard. He was sat alone at the table as I approached.

“What have you decided?” he asked, without looking up from the document he was reading.

I pulled out a chair and sat before answering.

“They cannot give me an answer yet. Can I see further Intel on this guy… the target? Even if Six make their minds up… I still have to?” I asked tentatively, gauging him for a reaction. “I want to be sure this is for a greater good… I can’t just kill people.”

Peter Dujani looked up from his papers. “I would not ask you to do this blindly, and certainly not expect you to kill without a need. Do not think I am ignorant of the art you practice… In war… orders are orders, but in something like this…” he shrugged leaving the comment open. I smiled appreciatively.

“Look, I’d like to go out into the city today? If that’s ok? I have some thinking to do… and I need to speak to my local Station Chief about some things at home…”

Peter Dujani nodded. “Reasonable enough… I will collect a dossier on the target for your eyes,” He muttered, looking up from his paper at me. He studied me for a moment. “Why don’t you wash up and go for a walk to clear your head child?” he offered with a slight curve of his mouth. He had noticed….

 

Chapter 16

Leaving the compound, I wandered around the city playing the role of the western tourist, loosing myself in the crowd. It felt good to be anonymous after the last 24 hours. After several hours walking, I decided to find a quiet place to sit and think. I wasn’t ready to return to the compound yet and it was near impossible to concentrate in the oppressive heat and noise of downtown Damascus. Three blocks over, a small park provided the harbour I sought. Walking through the gate, I left the sandy metallic city and entered a desert oasis. The park was well tended; green and full of life. As I stood in the gateway to the park, my eyes fell upon a bench amongst a grove of palm trees; it looked perfect. I sat down on the bench and wrapped my legs under me. The palms swayed lazily in the light breeze. The tranquillity was complete; the bustle of the city felt a million miles away.

Instead of reflecting on how I had reached this point in my life, something I had done little else but consider over the last few days it seemed, I pondered where I would go from here. What would become of my life? Could I live through this? As much as I knew it was reality, it felt like a surreal twisted thriller with the moments of solitude occupied by deep philosophical thought. As hard as I tried, I really couldn’t see much beyond the job at hand. Could I kill a man in cold blood? Well the answer was yes. I had trained to do it for years, I had done it. Could I kill someone in a time of peace? A politician? Murder someone? Mr Dujani had been open with me, the man was corrupt.. evil… a sponsor of death and violence... But did someone’s life choices mean it was ok to kill them? Would his death solve anything? Or would the unstoppable tide of corruption in the world fill the gap before we could do anything with that victory? That wasn’t my choice to make. This was a call from higher up, and I was to answer it. Indirectly he was murdering thousands a year with the product he helped to move, that made him the equal of any enemy combatant. There was no smoking gun, but no firearm has killed without the person pulling the trigger. Humans kill, this man killed, method was irrelevant.

Part of me wanted to run and hide from this choice, but the logical part of me told me that it was necessary. I was trained for this. I had taken lives, when faced with the target in my crosshairs I would not hesitate at the moment. Choosing to progress as far as that moment was my present crisis.

The ringing of my mobile phone dragged me from my thoughts. Harriet’s number on the screen made my heart jump.

“Hello.” I said unable to stop myself smiling despite the dark mood. “You landed?”

“Yes, I just got off the plane, where can I meet you?”

“I think its best if you don’t come to the compound… Check into one of the city centre hotels, and give me your room number, I’ll find you.”

Harriet chuckled. “My little girl is all grown up,” she cooed. “Wise choice. I’ll be at the Damascus Hilton, I’ve used it before when I’ve been working.”

“I’ll head there now, text me your room number once you check in. I love you.” I added.

“I love you too baby, see you soon.”

I ended the call and slipped the mobile back into my bag. Knowing she was near felt good, but I also wondered how I could trust myself should things go bad, knowing she was in harms way. It was out of my hands now; we were both professionals, and we had told ourselves we wouldn’t let our relationship get in the way of the mission… one day at a time, I told myself… just one day at a time…
I walked out of the park and back to the busy street. I hailed a cab, and told the driver where to take me.

On the ride over, I found it hard to think about the situation we were in now. I just wanted to see my Harriet. That seeing her… That being in her presence would make this nightmare go away.

I earned a quizzical look from the cab driver when I laughed out loud at myself. Could I have predicted a month ago that I’d be in this situation? That I would know these things, feel this way? It was easier in some respects, I was starting from scratch in all things, I wasn’t adjusting. My whole being was up in the air. Collecting the pieces once this was over would be the true test. As thing stood, I could get by as I was required… The soul searching agony could wait.

My phone bleeped as the cab arrived in front of the Hilton hotel. ‘Room 2331, 28th floor.’

I flipped the phone closed and paid the driver before leaving the cab and walking up the steps to the front door of the Hotel.

A doorman opened the ornate door for me as I approached and I entered the cool air conditioned lobby. The marble and mahogany furnishings seemed more suited to Wall Street than Syria, but It was clearly what the residents paid for; a little slice of home… Why bother visiting at all?

I hit the lift call button and waited. A glance in the mirrored wall next to the lift satisfied me that I wasn’t being watched. Since the previous evening, my paranoia level had tripled. The mission had been dangerous, but it was contained. I was to be known to my enemy, and allied with them. Now… god knows what lurked around each corner.

The car’s doors slid open at the 28th floor. The hallway was deserted. I knocked on the door to room 2331, and waited. There was no sound from within. I reached to knock again but as I did, the door opened and I found myself face to face with Harriet, silly lopsided grin on her lips, her right hand planted on her hip.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey,” I offered in return. I couldn’t think of anything better to say, or anything that needed saying. I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. As I turned to find Harriet I felt her arms encircle me from behind.

“I can’t begin to describe how much I missed you,” she cooed softly into my ear. “I’m so glad I got here in time.”

“In time? I asked turning in her arms till we were facing one another. “This has become time critical?”

Harriet frowned. “There are definitely elements back at six that are being less than forthright about the details behind this. It doesn’t seem to have left the controlerate level yet, which is strange. I have a bad feeling about this…” she replied biting her lower lip. “It’s the first time in all my years with six that I feel out of the loop, and that scares me.”

“Did anyone follow you here?” I asked feeling suddenly concerned. “Do you think anyone might?”

Harriet shook her head. “I left too quickly I think, If anyone intended to, I do not believe they have our location… We are safe for now… we need to work out what our next play is…”

With a sigh, I slumped down on the bed. “What the hell have we stumbled into?”

Harriet paced in front of me with her arms crossed and an expression of deep thought. “I don’t know, but we need insurance, and we need a way out that isn’t on six’s books… we may have to go dark for our safety, the op seems a write off.”

I reached out and took her hand as she passed. “I agree, but let’s just take a moment out… clear our heads.”

Harriet smiled and stopped pacing. She pulled my hand till I was standing in front of her. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she lent forwards and kissed me softly on the lips. Fireworks exploded in my mind as we melted into each others arms. “I love you,” I whispered breathlessly.

About an hour later, we were lying entwined in bed, our passion sated, Harriet gently stroking my hair as we held one another.
“It was much better that time,” she whispered softly. “I was with you, not a façade.”

“To be honest, I haven’t given it much thought since we spoke about it before I left,” I replied honestly. “It’s sort of a mute point now.”

“I know,” she answered softly. “I love you Sharon.”
I rolled over till we were facing one another and placed a kiss on her forehead. Before lifting her chin with a finger and letting our lips touch.

After a moment, Harriet placed her hand against my chest and pushed me back. “Stop,” she grinned. “Or I won’t be able to.”

“Hey, I thought I was meant to be the sex junkie half of this relationship?” I asked innocently pushing myself up on my elbows. “Well I guess I was supposed to be.”

Harriet sat up and lifted herself off the bed before crossing nude over to the window. “You know that’s never been your style kitten,” she smirked slyly, looking back over her shoulder. “You’re mine.”

I smiled; I felt truly confident in our ability to handle whatever was thrown at us now. The reminder of our love reinforced my heart and my mind; we were together in this, we had each other and we would be ok no matter what.

“What’s the plan from here?” I asked bringing things back to the job at hand.

“You go back to the compound and wait for things to play out… Whoever is involved in the conspiracy will know things have been rumbled… they will make a move. Here,” she offered reaching into her handbag and retrieving a new mobile phone in its packaging. “I got this at the airport for you, one for each of us, clean.”

I accepted the mobile and opened the box, retrieving the phone inside. “You think they will have monitored our communications so far?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Harriet shook her head. “It’s impossible to know… If they are high enough up in six… they can do that. This room is safe; I contacted you with the new phone… Its not on any records for me… they wont think to look for it.”

“For your sake I hope not.” I sighed. “Damn this is heavy Harri.”

Harriet shrugged and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah, it is… But we know about it now, that’s half the battle.”

I nodded, she was right. Our awareness would prove our most potent protection. I dressed quietly, and collected my bag. “I’m going to head back to the compound now… I need to talk to the Israelis.”

Harriet nodded. “I’m coming with you. I want to talk to this Dujani for myself.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Not yet. I’m the one dealing with them, and they trusted me to talk to 6, not to bring others into this… Let me talk to him before I bring you in ok?”

Harriet looked like she wanted to protest, but nodded her agreement.

I walked over to Harriet and hugged her tightly. “I’ll keep you in the loop, I love you.” I whispered softly, planting a gentle kiss on her lips. I left her smiling stupidly after me.

On my journey back to the compound, I regretted my decision to not bring Harriet. She was so much more experienced in this game than I… the world of espionage was hers, and I was barely an amateur. As she had known, I knew I couldn’t bring her in as much as either of us wanted. Her presence was a more significant asset if she remained unannounced, her support unseen. When it was hard to determine whom your enemy was, one often had to resort to hiding ones plans from ones friends.

I arrived back at the compound to find everything as I had left it. The usual men guarded the exterior with practiced nonchalance.

I walked straight through to the main courtyard to find peter working through several schematics with some of his men.

I approached the group but stopped short, waiting for him to catch my eye.

After a moment, he looked up, and his eyes fell on me as I loitered by the edge of the courtyard.

“My dear, you are feeling better now I trust?” he asked warmly walking across to me. “I trust you are still onboard with things?”

“For the time being Peter,” I nodded. “However, I have a favour to ask of you, and some information for your ears only.”

Peter nodded curtly, and led me to an office room by the courtyard.

“What is the problem?” he asked locking the door.

“I think the operation may be in danger.” I sighed. “Mi6 is corrupted at an unknown level… There is someone working against the operation from the start, and my partner and the local section chief also don’t feel good about things… I wanted to warn you privately.” I offered tentatively, hoping his reaction would be less than volcanic.

Peter looked at me for a moment before turning to look out of the window. “It was a matter of time I suppose. I have already begun plans to accelerate the operation. I will be leaving my keeper from Jerusalem in the dark of these changes, I suggest you do the same. We simply cannot know who is a part of this.”

“I think now would be a good time to show your trust in me by giving me a weapon.” I prompted gently, raising my eyebrows. “This is not a game.”

Peter looked at me for a long moment. “Are you sure you want to be involved despite these concerns?”

I nodded. “I don’t really have a choice. “I was brought in as a puppet by some involved party. How they intend to pull the strings during this operation will come clear with time, but for now, I have no choice but to presume that I am not on their Christmas card list…

Dujani chuckled. “I suppose not. The things we do for our countries eh?”

Peter walked across to a desk by the window and inserted a key into the top drawer.
He rummaged under some papers for a moment before withdrawing a Walther PPK pistol and a spare magazine. Turning, he handed the two Items to me.
“For you.” He offered. “It was my throw away for near a decade. It got me out of several difficult moments, Lets hope it is redundant for you child.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “But I am not a child.” I growled racking the slide of the pistol and checking the chamber was full. “I may be new to the world of espionage, but believe me when I say that a visible enemy scares me a damn sight less than the invisible one at present.”

Peter looked at me with a hint of curiosity, as If he wanted to ask me something.

“You are full of surprises little one. Come,” he offered gesturing at the door. “let me show you our revised plans.”

As we left the office, I was interrupted by my phone ringing. I flipped the mobile open and lifted the handset to my ear. “Hello.”

“Sharon, you have to come quickly, they found me, I need you’re Israeli friends about now.”

 
Note from author:

Hello Folks, sorry for the EPIC delay... (like Bejing can deliver takeout to france faster) I've been delayed by exams, then coursework, then moving house... now im settled and my muse deemed me worthy to return... so Focal Point is back... give me a few days for Haifa too... :)
Shalom
Alyssa

---

 
To Be Continued...

Focal Point
CHAPTER 17
 
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 17

Equally concerned by the turn of events Dujani had sent me with Officer Geffen to retrieve Harriet from her hotel. To say Daniel Geffen’s driving style was original was an understatement, but my only concern at the time was that we may not be fast enough.

With a screech of tyres, we slid into the service car park at the rear of the hotel. Daniel and I left the vehicle where it had come to rest and made our way to the rear service doors of the hotel building. If she was indeed as compromised as she had thought, the front door would be far too obvious.

Approaching the door, Daniel drew his sidearm, I hung back momentarily thinking he was going to shoot the lock off, but was relieved when he used the butt of the weapon to smash the security keypad off before short circuiting two wires and allowing us access to the service corridors of the hotel basement. It wasn’t pretty, or subtle, but that was our last concern at present.

As we rode the service lift to the 28th floor, I drew the PPK from my handbag and removed the safety.

“Where did you get that?” Daniel asked looking over with a vague hint of surprise. “I can take care of anything.”

“Peter gave it me,” I replied tersely. “And I don’t need your help thank you.”

“Whatever.” He muttered.

As the doors began to slide open I raised the pistol, and elbowed Daniel. “Take right.”

He nodded, and moved forwards into the corridor. Leaving the car, I turned the left hand corner quickly and scanned the empty corridor. “Clear.” I whispered, “I’ve got the lead.” I added beginning to move down the corridor with my weapon raised.

I reached the end of the corridor, and flattened myself against the wall. Harriet’s room was another 20 meters down the corridor to the left. Crouching down low, I popped my head around the corner before snapping it back again. The corridor was clear, but Harriet’s door was ajar. Feeling my heart thump, I pressed on silently towards my target. I could sense Daniel’s presence behind me.

Reaching the door, I stopped to listen; Inside I could hear a male voice with an Arabic accent…

“Yes sir, I got here and killed them, but it was not the one you said…. The pretend woman was not here. Yes, yes, I know, I will make it right, have the others reached their target yet? Ok, I will call.”

Feeling the anger surge inside me, I swept around the doorframe and entered the room, weapon raised. “DROP THE WEAPON.” I shouted reflexively, more from force of training than intent. The man turned on hearing my voice, and raised the silenced pistol in his right hand as the scenario invariably plays out. I loosed off the first round from my own, shooting the weapon from his hand. The man yelped angrily and came at me. Without time to scrap, or the body mass to take on the large man, I dropped my aim and put a bullet in his kneecap. Howling in agony, the man fell to the floor. “Fucking cover him.” I yelled at Officer Geffen. As I swept forward clearing the room. “Clear.” I gulped as I moved to the far side of the bed and found the room’s only other occupant.

Harriet was lying face down in a pool of blood. I rolled her over, and checked for a pulse. There was none… Two bullet holes in her chest, and a small red circle on her forehead were the only marks that told me my darling was not sleeping… Choking back a sob, I cradled her broken form in my arms. We had been together just under a hour previously… She had been so very much herself despite the danger. We had been together such a short time, but I had truly felt that I loved her… She had been my closest friend, my confidante, my teacher in more ways than one.
Unable to stop myself, I felt red hot tears roll down my cheeks and drop onto Harriet’s still warm skin. I bit my lip and sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes before I could regain control of myself. Laying her head back against the blood-soaked carpet slowly, I rose, looking down at her still form. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth before turning back towards the others. Daniel was kneeling on the assassin’s back, and looking on with concern.

“Are you ok?” he asked dumbly. I don’t know why people ask that question when they know the answer, but I’m sure it’s the only thing they can think of at the time.

I sniffed and nodded. “Get him up.” I whispered quietly. “Put him on the bed then lock the door.”

Daniel nodded and lifted the injured man onto the bed that I had previously shared with Harriet. I walked across to the bed and stood over him, watching his expression for a moment. “Who sent you?” I asked quietly and calmly with a sniff trying to look like I hadn’t been weeping.

The man grimaced before shaking his head. “I will not talk,” he hissed.

I shrugged and lifted his silenced HK pistol from the floor. I looked the weapon over for a moment. I would use this weapon to destroy those that had ordered Harriet’s death, but first, it would get me their names. Calmly, I placed the silencer against the side of the man’s remaining kneecap and fired.

The man screamed out as the bullet destroyed his remaining knee, and sank back to the bed panting heavily.

Grabbing his hair, I yanked his head upright, and put my face in his own. “Tell me who sent you or I’ll destroy every one of your joints and you’ll never move again.” I hissed quietly. The look in his eyes told me that he knew I would keep my promise, but that he would still resist.

I placed the barrel of the pistol against his elbow, and paused for a moment, locking eyes with the man. His eyes widened in terror and his lips quivered. “Tell me.” I offered.

“I can’t they will kill me,” he begged. “Please.”

I shrugged and pulled the trigger.

As I felt the humanity leave me for what I was doing, the man’s screams of agony began to sate my lust for revenge.

“Life as a paraplegic can’t be too fun can it Officer Geffen?” I asked conversationally turning to the Israeli. Daniel’s expression was a mixture of shock and understanding.

“No, I here it’s worse than death.” He replied with a straight face. “I’ve never spoken to one though, I’d like a first hand account before I make and firm judgements.”

“Give me a moment and you can ask one.” I replied turning back to the pitiful excuse for a man on the bloodstained bed and placing the pistol against his remaining limb.

“Ok ok! I’ll talk!” the man half screamed. “Please don’t!”

I decocked the pistol and pressed the barrel against his kneecap, causing him to whimper. “I’m all ears.”

“I was ordered to come here and silence someone who got too close.” “A man pretending to be a woman, undercover… I got the wrong person… too late,” he pleaded. “I was ordered by an English man that I work for…I did not know his name.”

The man’s eyes locked with mine, and his eyes widened in recognition… I lifted the pistol and put a bullet between his eyes. I knew his next words…

I dropped the pistol on the bed between the man’s legs and turned to Officer Geffen. “I guess that proves it. Mi6 is significantly involved in the ring.”

Daniel nodded. “That was a little forceful maybe?” he asked cautiously, his eyes flicking between mine and the still body on the bed.

“He forced my hand. We have neither the time nor resources to interrogate him properly.” I shrugged.

“No, I am just surprised… I thought Mi6 officers were more… by the book than that…”

“There’s a book?” I asked raising my eyebrows. “Either way, it was personal, he deserved to suffer.”

Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. “You and the dead woman?”

I nodded, wincing at the word dead.. “Officer Harriet Carlisle of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service.” I replied fighting tears. “I love… loved her.”

Daniel walked over to me and opened his arms. I accepted his embrace and sobbed into his chest. Eventually we separated, and there was an awkward silence for a moment. “What do we do next?” I asked softly.

“We need to get back to the compound… If they have struck here, it can only be a matter of time…”

“What about Harriet?” I asked looking between my lover’s body and the Israeli. “We can’t leave her here?”

“We have to.” Daniel replied softly. “Contact your people or your embassy and tell them you have an agent down, they will recover her body and fly her home. But we must go,” he insisted.

I nodded weakly, and walked back to Harriet’s side. “I love you. Forever and always.” I whispered bending down to kiss my love’s lips.

Standing, I composed myself, and followed Daniel from the hotel room with a last look at the bloody scene behind me.

I stood outside the door for a moment before turning on my transmitter and contacting Damascus Station.

“This is Sharon Cohen, We have an Officer down at the Damascus Hilton, room 2331, Harriet Carlisle.” I stated without emotion.

“Sharon this is Terry Anderson, What happened?”

“Someone was sent for me.” I replied quietly out of Daniel’s earshot. “An assassin sent by a ‘British man’, she was murdered before I could get to her.”

“Sharon, I believe you, but we have just received a copy of an arrest warrant sent to the Syrian Police… For you and an Israeli named Daniel Geffen, for the murder of Harriet and the bombing of the compound you were staying at…. “

I felt a lead weight hit me; “The compound was hit? When? It can’t be Daniel; I’ve been with him since we left the compound… He can’t have done it.” I replied with insistence.

“We don’t know…” Terry began cautiously, “However, this man Geffen may be playing both sides, be careful… You need to go dark Sharon, This is way above everything… They have your Anastasia Zanov Alias too… you will both need new papers… “

“I’m a newbie remember Terry?” I replied with a mixture of resignation and exasperation. “What the hell contacts do I have? I couldn’t find fake papers if they sold them in Marks and Spencer’s…”

Terry sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, but With six watching me, it could be hard… I have orders to bring you in and have you sent back to the head shed.”

“Thank you Terry, I don’t know what I’d do without you…I had Harriet… but now…” I trailed off. “We will be ok, and I’ll watch my back… Don’t worry.”

“Look, after this conversation, bin the transmitter and mike, they have a gps locator in… do you have clean coms?” he asked almost as an afterthought.

“I have a new mobile, 07844 337228, It’s untraceable.”

“Good, goodbye for now Sharon, and good luck.”

“Thanks Terry, Goodbye.” I offered wondering If I’d ever speak to him again and turned the transmitter off, dropping both items into a waste bin as we left the service entrance of the Hotel.

I wasn’t sure if I could trust Daniel Geffen; His behaviour had seemed genuine, but we were in a high profile game, with very high stakes. I decided that I would keep the news of the attack on the compound to myself for the time being. We would return, and I could judge his reaction to what awaited us. It would be harder to fake shock than it would be to cover it.

Slipping back into the car we had arrived in, we vanished into the city once more.

As we drove, I looked over at Officer Geffen beside me: He seemed concerned at the hotel… and showed no sign of acknowledgement when I’d suggested we return to the compound. In anticipation of our inevitable discussion when we arrived, I carefully slipped the PPK out of my handbag and held it out of sight on my lap. I may have been out of my depth, but I was fully prepared to drain the pool should it come to that.

The roads became more congested as we approached the compound, and as we turned into the street, we were confronted by a sea of flashing lights… Syrian Authorities were all over the remains of the compound. The place looked like it had been on the receiving end of a cruise missile or laser guided bomb.

Daniel looked on with surprise… genuine surprise, but eventually he allowed his training to kick in, taking our car past the scene without raising suspicion, before pulling up about a block away.

“They…. It’s gone….?” he asked apparently rhetorically. “Shit they found us.”

“Keep both hands on the wheel.” I hissed quietly slipping the handbag off my lap and raising the pistol. “Talk to me.”

Daniel froze. “You’re working for them…” he frowned looking over at me with a mixture of disappointment and surprise. “But the hotel….?”

“What did you know about this… the attack?” I repeated. “You saw what I did to that bastard in the hotel… Don’t believe I won’t treat you the same.”

“I swear… I found out the same time you did.” He stammered in surprise. “Why the fuck would I want to murder my friends?” he asked incredulously.

I shook my head and lowered the pistol. “Sorry.” I offered with a sigh and an embarrassed half smile, “I needed to be sure you were not working against me. Things have gotten bad quickly… I’m scared” I admitted.

Daniel looked across at me. “You thought I was working with whoever did that?” he asked, jerking his head back towards the burning rubble of the compound. “You English are paranoid…”

“Paranoia keeps me alive.” I offered by way of excuse. “I’m sorry I had to do that… I was told earlier when we were leaving the hotel… The Syrian authorities have an arrest warrant out for both of us. Me, for murdering… for the murder of Harriet, and you, for the bombing… Our respective agencies have orders to pull us in too… Some very influential people are pulling the strings behind this.”

Daniel shook his head. “You don’t say.” he sighed. “I understand by the way.” he offered looking over at me as he lent forwards resting his elbows on the wheel. “If I had been in your shoes, I’d have treated you the same.”

“I’m so new at this.” I admitted. “My first mission has gone so wrong… now we are fugitives even from our own people… How did things get so twisted?”

“The players in the ring are tidying up loose ends… we posed a threat to them, and any further work on our part would compromise them, or spark investigations within our parent agencies.” He shrugged. “They couldn’t have that; setting us up to take the fall conveniently removes any blame from others. We went rogue, we are the perfect scapegoats.” He concluded with a sigh.

There was an awkward silence for a moment. “We need to go dark.” Daniel added firmly. “We need to get a new car, new ID papers, and new clothing… Change how we look… If we have any hope of surviving this, we need to find the traitors within our organisations: Exposing this is the only way we get out.”

I nodded solemnly. “I can help on part of that,” I offered tentatively. “Our station chief in Damascus is on side; he’s looking into acquiring papers for us.”

“How do you know he’s clean?” Daniel asked sceptically. “It is clear Mi6 is rotten.”

“No,” I stated firmly. “I trust him, I took this to him first, and he was surprised and supportive to say the least… This is someone back home judging by the train of events. He is a good man.”

“If he gets us papers he is.” agreed Daniel. “Look, we need to find somewhere to stay… I know a nice quiet hotel out near the airport. It will do for now I think.”

Pulling away from the curb, we headed into uncharted waters. Apprehensive as I was, I wasn’t about to concede yet.

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To be continued....

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Note from the Authoress in chief:
Hello lovelies, Sorry this is taking its time, the house move and other crap is taking its tole, now im down with swine flu and between putting oinkment on the horrid rashers and fighting the urge to roll in mud (Seriously, just regular flu), I'm trying to work on this now... So hers 17, 18 is hot in the works. I hope this isnt a tad bruital for some weaker constitutions, but oh well :) you dont read my work for peticoats and princesses...
Happy reading,
Alyssa

Focal Point
CHAPTER 18
 
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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I sat on the bed in our hotel room and tried to take my mind off what had happened earlier that day in a room so globally identical. Officer Geffen had driven us to a small hotel near the airport. He had signed us in as a married couple; Mr and Mrs Reese; American tourists. I learned that more often than not, an American couple abroad would blend in the easiest anywhere in the world; everyone overlooked them.

I was alone for the first time in days, and I really didn’t want to be; after we checked in, Daniel had taken the car and driven away into the city to dump the vehicle before it could betray our location.

Sitting alone in the soulless hotel room brought things back to me. Harriet was dead… I was wanted for her murder. I was sat in a Syrian Hotel room as a woman… minor technical detail. The most unsettling part however, was the latter didn’t seem to bother me anymore. I was in turmoil about that issue: As much as I loved how I was now, some part of me still wanted me to stop and get back to familiar ground. Now however, wasn’t the time; all I could think about was what had gone wrong… How the woman I loved had ended up being shot when she came to help me out of my mess… Indirectly, I had killed her.

I closed my eyes and lent back against the headboard. I could feel the hot tears begin to well in my eyes, and the slow trickle before the dam broke. I wasn’t sure how long I cried, but the last thing I remembered was feeling truly sorry that I had ever accepted that ridiculous offer.

When I opened my eyes again it was dark. The room was quiet, and the sounds of traffic on the road outside were the only sounds.

As I slowly woke, I became aware of a large shape in the chair on the far side of the room.

“Daniel?” I asked sleepily rubbing my eyes.

The shape stirred. “Are you ok?” he asked softly. “When I got back, you were asleep, I thought it best to leave you…”

I shrugged noncommittally. “Thanks I guess.”

As Officer Geffen hit the light switch next to him, I blinked reflexively as the room suddenly appeared all around me in a blinding flash.

“Are you ok?” he asked with a hint of compassion. “You were crying….?”

“I wasn’t., just tired.” I insisted groggily.

“Your makeup tells me otherwise, was it the hotel?” he pressed gently.

Reflexively I reached up towards my eyes; blasted mascara. “It was the cap on a lot of things.” I shrugged pulling myself upright on the bed. “I still don’t quite believe she’s gone.”

“You were in love… I have experienced that loss. Believe me.” He stated matter of factly with a sardonic half grin. “We blame ourselves… We tell ourselves that this job caused it, that we are to blame for bringing them into it. The truth? It is out of our hands…”

“This happened to you?” I asked cautiously.

“My wife and daughter were killed by a Hamas car bomb 5 years ago… Daniel offered without emotion. “When I was still with the Israeli Defence Force, they were killed by a revenge cell targeting the families of serving personnel…” he said solemnly with a shrug. “At first, I told myself that my joining up had brought this… that marrying her had caused it all… anything to blame myself,” he continued.

“It took me years to accept that I had no hand in it. Those bastards chose to take their lives at random. Your… partner?... She was an Intelligence officer also. She knew the risks, she was doing what she thought to be right. She died in the line of duty at the hands of those we fight to stop. There is no blame; there is only our duty to bring them to account for their evil acts.”

I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I listened to him talk. The strange part was, I understood what he meant. His words soothed the burning fire of guilt in my heart, but the flames would never go out.

“Thank you.” I whispered.

“For what?” he asked quietly. “All I did was tell you the truth.”

“For letting me in… for telling me about your family.” I replied in a small voice. “It helped.”

Daniel smiled; “You will heal… It just takes time.”

“Did you manage to dump the car?” I asked, trying to banish the awkward silence that followed our heart to heart. It had reassured me, but felt entirely too personal a topic to have with a man I hardly knew. The fact that I no longer viewed him as my peer was strikingly obvious to me.

Daniel nodded. “I left it in a multi storey car park, and got a cab back here.” He confirmed. “I did stop at some shops… I got us some new clothes. Sorry.” He grinned weakly. “I wasn’t entirely sure of your sizes…” he shrugged apologetically holding out a bag.

I took the bag he offered and retreated into the bathroom with a murmur of thanks. The bag contained underwear, a pair of blue jeans and a white blouse. The knickers fitted, but the bra was a total loss… men and their overestimation… The idea made me chuckle to myself. To his credit, he had a fair eye for the size of the rest of me and the jeans and blouse fitted well enough. Opting to keep my current bra and sandals, I set about removing the horror mask that my makeup had become.
As I stood before the mirror with clean skin and stared at my reflection. I fluffed my hair absent mindedly and rubbed my eyes: I looked tired, and my eyes were somewhat puffy, but it had been a very long day. I shrugged and applied light makeup before brushing my hair with my fingers and hooking an errant lock behind my ear. With a shrug, I tore myself away from the mirror and returned to the bedroom where I found Daniel stood by the window. He had changed out of his plain native dress, and was wearing a pair of cream chinos and a navy blue shirt with the top few buttons undone. It was only in the new light that I realised his beard was gone.

“You look different.” I offered, catching his attention. Daniel turned around and grinned. “I was tired of the beard…. Made me feel dirty. It fits I see..?” he added giving me a slow once over much to my embarrassment..

“Ok I guess.” I mumbled looking at my feet. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” He dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You hungry?”

Almost in response, my stomach rumbled in protest. “I think that’s a yes.” I smirked. “Wouldn’t room service be more subtle?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, But Mr and Mrs Reese have no reason to hide… And we will be able to see a threat coming far easier in a restaurant than this room.” He offered with a smile.

As awkward as it felt, I took Officer Geffen’s hand as we left the room and made our way downstairs to the restaurant. It was part of our pretence, but it made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t know if it was my role, or his.
There was no hint of Syrian police as we dined, and I began to relax as the evening wore on. We were still in danger, Harriet was still dead, but we could cope… We had to cope. More and more I thanked god that I was not alone… That at least I had one ally in the world. I felt very alone…

I woke the next morning as rays of sunlight began to slice through the curtains in our room. The sound of rhythmic breathing next to me reminded me that the bed had a second occupant. We had agreed to share the bed the previous evening. As much as my brain protested, it had made sense. We posed each other no threat, and the more comfortable we got around each other, the easier it would be to pose as a couple. I still didn’t like the fact that I had slept in the same bed as a man.

Sitting up, I slipped my feet out from beneath the sheet and stretched. Officer Geffen lay sleeping peacefully on his side facing away from me, the sheet had slipped down to his waist. I shook my head at the image in my mind and collected my clothes from the chair and padded quietly through to the bathroom.

Slumping down on the toilet, I rubbed my tired eyes. A day passed, and I still expected Harriet to be on the end of a phone, the whole thing had gone from sickening reality to numb dream. I couldn’t quite believe she was gone. This whole event felt crafted and false, as if the players would walk off the stage at the end before taking a bow. I doubted the blood on my hands would wash off however.

Showering and dressing, I returned to the bedroom quietly. Officer Geffen was still sleeping and I was unsure as to what I should do. Eventually, I walked over softly, and gently shook his shoulder before stepping back and waiting for a response. Geffen stirred, and rolled back onto his face. I rolled my eyes and shook his shoulder harder. With a moan, Geffen rolled onto his back and opened his eyes sleepily.

He frowned momentarily before smiling. “Morning.”

“Morning.” I offered, “We need to go.”

Daniel nodded lethargically and sat up in the bed. “You feeling any better this morning?” he asked tentatively as he stretched.

I shrugged. “I can’t answer that, not till I go home.”

Daniel nodded, “Ok, well you know you can talk to me if you wish…” he offered trailing off. “I’m going to head for the bathroom now, you might not want to watch.” He smirked slyly, laughing as the look of horror and understanding crossed my face.

“Ugh you were naked?” I asked screwing up my face. “Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?”

Daniel shrugged flipping the covers off himself before I banished myself to the view from the hotel window. “Well its not like I packed sleep wear yes?” he chuckled closing the door behind him.

How had I gotten so prudish? I knew exactly why he was embarrassed to get up in front of me, and I knew…. I mean, there wasn’t any tension between us… he was just like me… well… just like I was…

Just before lunchtime, we pulled up outside a small shop on a backstreet. I had spoken to Terry Anderson, he had secured documents and ID for the pair of us, but was being watched closely by six. As apprehensive as the neighbourhood made me feel, the fact we were meeting covertly made me all the more nervous. We were beginning to stray into field craft techniques that I had not covered yet… The game was changing, and I lacked the skills to play.

“Where did he say the drop was?” Daniel asked casually smiling as he did so. The man was a picture of calm as we drove. His quiet confidence the result of years experience. This was his element, and he loved it.

“The corner of the next street,” I offered. “Under the post box.”

“We’re clean, you go get the items when I pull over.” He nodded.

As the car cruised over to the side of the kerb, I felt my heart begin to flutter. Quashing the feeling, I opened the door and stepped out calmly and began what felt a one mile walk nude.

I reached the post box and made to read the times listed in Arabic before casually slipping my hand underneath and feeling for the attached envelope. My heart rate tripled as my fingers closed on the manila envelope, Pulling it out as subtly as I could, I turned and walked back to the car.
Slipping into the seat, Officer Geffen pulled us sedately away from the kerb and into the street. “You got it, you did good.” He smiled at me.

“Sorry.” I frowned. “I don’t know why that scared me.” I opened the envelope and tipped out the contents. Two aged and backdated US passports, and a Virginia Drivers licence in the name of Sally Westmore, and one from California for a Mr Mark Goldstein.

All the Identity documents looked as if we had possessed them for an extended period of time, the workmanship was supreme. Looking over the markings and seals, I wondered exactly how genuine they might be.

“Who am I then?” prompted Officer Geffen turning the car onto a main street.

“Mark Goldstein, Santa Barbra, California, born 1979…” I repeated aloud without looking up from the documents I was examining.

“Daniel chuckled. “Your man has a sense of humour; Goldstein indeed…”

“Well you don’t quite look like a Smith.” I quipped flashing him a smile. “I’m Sally Westmore, from… Norfolk Virginia, born 1981. Oh I’m older.”

Daniel looked over quizzically, “How old are you?”

“I’m 24.” I offered defensively. “Why?”

“I had you pegged as around 28 like me,” he replied shaking his head with a frown, “Not that you look 28, I mean you act older..” he added backtracking.

“I’ll forget that.” I grinned, “But I know what you mean… I’ve had a lot to deal with I guess. It’s probably to blame.”

“Probably.” Daniel nodded, letting the subject drop.

We had been driving in an irregular pattern for the last 20 minutes, mostly to talk, but partly to ensure that we were clean after the collection. As it turned out, it was a good thing.

“I think… we are not alone.” Daniel muttered his eyes flickering to the rear view. “Three cars back, the blue ford. It has been with us for the last four turns.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, regretting the words as soon as they had left my mouth. Not something a professional field officer would say at all.

“Give me a minute,” Daniel replied quietly, watching his mirror. “And don’t turn around, or they will know we are onto them. We need to test if this is a tail or not.”

After the next set of lights, Daniel made a late turn onto a side street and watched his mirror with what I could only describe as a smile. “Yes, They are following us.” He stated matter of factly. “Not nice guys.” He muttered to himself before following the road round back to the main street. In the vanity mirror, I watched our tail follow at a discrete distance. As we reached the lights, Daniel Jumped a red and make a quick right turn into the stream of traffic. Quickly turning around in my seat, I could see our pursuers make the turn and give chase.

“When the fuck did they pick us up?” I asked reaching into my handbag for the pistol to reassure me. “Was it the drop?”

“Probably someone followed your friend because he reached the same conclusions about him we did.”

Daniel’s speed began to edge up and our pursuer became more obvious as they wove through the traffic in pursuit

“Are you sure this is safe?” I yelped as we took the wing mirror off a car as we passed.

“Hey I’m Mossad trained in pursuit and evasion driving.” Daniel grinned looking over. “We are best drivers in the world.”

“That is a matter of opinion.” I grimaced.

My own fears aside, Daniel wove the car expertly between the traffic as we sped through downtown Damascus. The tail car was unable to close on us, and after 3 more sets of lights, Daniel had managed to shake the tail and pulled the car off into a side street that allowed him good views of approach in either direction. I was impressed by his cool. I was qualified to drive pursuit as a police officer, but blue flashing lights tended to clear the road ahead. Being chased however was a different matter entirely; and one I was entirely unfamiliar with. I wasn’t sure if I could have kept my cool the way he had.

“Are you ok?” Daniel asked quietly as he checked the chamber of his pistol before slipping it into his trousers. “You’re quiet.”

I nodded. “Just a new experience for me.” I shrugged dismissively trying to act nonchalant. “We’re leaving the car?”

“It would be best.” He nodded. “They know it now, and I put good money on the Syrian police having our licence plate by lunchtime.”

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To Be Continued...

Focal Point
CHAPTER 19
 
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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“The first thing we need to do,” Daniel announced placing his fork down as punctuation and leaning back in his seat as we ate a quiet lunch at a small café in the heart Damascus’s busy tourist district. “Is we need to turn this around.”

I looked over at Daniel across the table and gazed at him for a moment trying to unravel the direction his mind was taking. “We are outlaws until this organisation is exposed...” I agreed slowly, “our only option is to take the fight to them,” I added realising the direction his mind was headed.

“Big words,” Daniel said slowly raising his eyebrows. “Where do you plan to start this little war?”

I thought for a moment, mentally reviewing the documents and discussions I had in memory from my short time with the Israelis. “We start with the Oil Minister… Mohamed Hasizi” I said quietly as a plan began to form in my brain. “If we grab him and make him talk… we can find out who else is part of this ‘inner circle’? I offered. “It’s our only lead, and the subtle approach is somewhat pointless now.”

Peter nodded. “It sounds risky, but you’re right, it’s all we have. How will we get close to him?”

“This isn’t the United States of Paranoia,” I smiled, “and he’s only the oil minister, at most he will perhaps have a guard and a driver with him, if we catch him in transit, we can make him disappear before they can realise he’s gone…”

Daniel gave me a strange look, “You were telling me the truth when you said this was your first mission?”

I grinned and blushed. “It is, I’m just not new to the world of catching people.”

“You were a police officer,” Daniel replied sipping his coffee with no hint that it had been a question. “However, if it is all the same, I will interrogate him this time,” he added quietly, “We do need him to live long enough to talk,” Daniel smiled sardonically.

“It almost sounds like you don’t trust me,” I smiled sweetly. “I can be good.”

Daniel chuckled, “Well I don’t know about that,” he grinned. “I first met you undercover as a Russian mercenary… you turned out to be an international spy, and you’ve tortured and killed a man before my own eyes… Do I even need to mention that you began to plot the kidnap of a foreign politician… You seem like my sort of girl, and they aren’t the good sort,” he smirked

His words and the look in his eyes made me feel strange and somewhat unclean. I didn’t want to be his sort of girl, at the moment or anyone’s… The girl part even bothered me a little when he so pointedly brought it to attention.

“Well you can do it, we just need the names,” I added quickly, wanting to end the awkward silence. “But we have to move before the others can realise we are alive and kicking, whoever followed us was working for someone, we can’t be seen to be taking these steps.”

“You’re treating this like a police job are you not?” Daniel asked flipping through his wallet for the bill.

“Why not?” I shrugged. “It’s the best way to deal with what we have; we’re undercover. We know who the bad guys are and we need evidence to bring them down…”

Daniel looked at me for a moment before raising his eyebrows, “You’re quite correct,” he sighed. “I had been thinking about this from a Mossad point of view… how we do things… Perhaps… yes,” he mused quietly for a moment tapping his hand against the table as he thought. “If we were to treat this as one of your police operations… it would throw them off our scent… It is not standard operating procedure for either of our agencies… they would not expect it.”

Looking over at Daniel, I saw an admiration in his eyes, thinking his words over, the more the realisation he had met struck me also. The only way we would survive this trial by fire, and have any hope of catching the men responsible for our betrayal, would be to become unpredictable, to do anything and everything they didn’t expect to buy us time. To them, we were Field Intelligence Officers… and there was a relatively fixed modus operandi from what I had seen during my short stint in the business… If we broke the mould, we broke their ability to predict our moves, and that gave us the upper hand.

We left the café, and made our way into the sea of human traffic outside: It was still the height of the tourist season and the streets were packed. Before long, we hailed a cab, and made our way back to the hotel and the relative privacy of the room.

I sat on the bed back in our room with my back against the headboard and my knees tucked into my chest. I was thinking, and it wasn’t pleasant. The tourists… the breaking of the proverbial mould: Becoming what they least expected had been niggling away at my brain since the thought had first entered. There was one answer that was repeatedly surfacing as I searched for the right one, and it would not allow itself to be submerged. It told me that I should go back to being mike, and as logical as it sounded, a strange regret held me back. They would not expect me to be male…. No record listed me as such, yet how would I explain this to Daniel? I had lied to him all this time? That I was not the girl he knew? I didn’t know what to say. I looked over at him by the window, quietly watching. It was something I had to confront.

“Daniel… About our disappearing?” I asked tentatively. “I had an Idea.” I offered quietly.

Daniel turned and lent back against the window sill. “Shoot.” He offered plainly.

I squeezed my knees harder. “We should change our appearance… They know what we look like… perhaps we should… I don’t know…” I trailed off uselessly allowing my hands to flop to the bed.

Daniel smiled. “No, you’re right, we should… but I had a beard, that’s one change… not much more I can do without plastic surgery really… what about you? Change your hair style? Colour? Stuff your bra?” he offered with a grin.

I shook my head as I felt colour rise. “Well…” I began slowly. “They’re looking for a man and a w-woman; right? So… mm, what If I dressed as a man?” I blurted without looking at him. “I could cut my hair and….” I said weakly looking up at him to judge his reaction.

Daniel shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t work,” he shook his head emphatically. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good idea… Excellent Idea… But I think you’d draw more attention pretending to be a man. Not that you don’t now… he added sheepishly. “I just don’t think it would work really, you’re too pretty.” He grinned blushing himself.

I looked down at the bed sheet. Some idea that had been… “What should I do then?” I asked quietly.

“We can go into town later and pick up the things we need. but I suspect we just need to look different enough to remove suspicion.”

Later that afternoon, we returned to the hotel with a plethora of bags and boxes. Having found an excuse to not return to being Mike, I had followed Daniel’s initial advice and chosen to change my appearance in more subtle ways. Sifting through the bounty, I collected an armful of items and retreated to the bathroom to begin my transformation of sorts.

Dumping the items and bottles into the sink, I looked at myself for a moment. I had almost begun to think of this me… As the real me. Would I go back to being blonde once more when this was all over? Hell, would I keep the hair? Was I mad? delusional? Lost inside some role? I didn’t think so. To me, this felt so real, so finite, and so important. I decided that when I got back to England, I’d resurrect my blonde locks, and the Sharon I had grown familiar with would return, if only to stop Sally from killing me for what I was about to do. For now however… Change was on the cards.. I raised the scissors and began my work.

Half an hour later, I looked at my reflection. I was no hair stylist, but I was pleased with the job I had done… My hair fell to my shoulders, and was jagged and rough… it took years off me… the deep brunette shade I had dyed it made the look even more striking… I looked NOTHING like Sharon Cohen anymore… not the Sharon Cohen born in a London Salon... I couldn’t tell if it was the experience of the past week, or just the new style that made me see myself so differently. Almost Like I had begun to earn my right to have this body. I felt a strange flopping sensation in my stomach; a strange mixture of panic and pride. I was finally looking at someone else in the mirror… seeing myself how others saw me, and it was striking…. As hard as I had tried, I had always seen some of Mike in Sharon, but now… now he was gone. I couldn’t see a trace: Daniel’s words made sense now. There was no way I’d be able to pretend to be a man successfully: The idea pleased me, and I did not feel guilt.

Fluffing my hair with my hands, I made faces at the mirror before smiling, and leaving the bathroom. Daniel was stood in his spot by the window, watching the traffic on the street bellow. “I’m done.” I announced quietly to get his attention.

Turning, I could see he had taken gel or something to his shaggy hair, creating a more youthful style… he certainly didn’t look 29… he looked almost handsome.

“Wow, different,” he grinned. “It suits you.” He smiled. “It always amazes me how you women can change your appearance so easily,” he chuckled.

I grinned and struck a silly pose. “Oh we get taught it in spy school.” I retorted playfully. “Or was that high school?” I asked myself putting a finger to my lip and looking thoughtful. “I guess I don’t have the blonde excuse anymore huh?”

“Whatever.” He chuckled. “I think the idea was a good one… we look different enough to pass cursory inspection I think. And you don’t even look old enough to be a Intelligence Officer anymore.” He grinned shaking his head.

“A girl always likes to hear that.” I chuckled. “Why don’t you use the bathroom, and I’ll change, and we can head out?” I offered nodding towards the now vacated scene of my experimentation. Grabbing a pile of clothes, Daniel vanished into the bathroom, closing the door, leaving me to change.

I slipped out of my jeans and blouse and stood in my underwear before the bed. I looked younger… I should dress younger too I mused. Searching through the clothing we’d bought, I pulled on a shortish denim skirt, and a tee-shirt. If we kept to the tourist areas, and broke some social rules, I suspected we would be overlooked by our pursuers.

Slipping my sandals on my feet, I sat on the bed and looked down at myself. I was surprised how much I had changed since this had all begun. What started as a challenge, had become disturbing, and was now almost second nature to me. I wondered if I was truly mad, or if I should even question myself. I felt happy with my appearance, Truth be told, the only negative thought I could come up with at the time, was that my enhancements were not permanent…

---

 
To Be Continued...

Focal Point
CHAPTER 20
 
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...

---

 
Chapter 20

We spent three days observing Mr Hasizi and his movements. Three days of watching, and waiting, and planning, but in the end it paid dividends. We discovered that Hasizi was picked up and returned home in a limousine with only his driver and one bodyguard that remained in the car. While the man may be a big player, he managed to hide things well within the means of an Oil Minister. It was the avenue we would strike at: When he was returning home from the ministry on the coming Friday, we would strike. It gave us the most scope for success, and the longest time before he was discovered missing. It would be our only chance.

I looked out of the car window for what must have been the five hundredth time that hour. We were parked down the street from Hasizi’s office, waiting for him to leave the building on his journey home. We had taken his wife and two sons that afternoon: We had no desire to harm them, but they would act as leverage against a dedicated man. Daniel had been surprised by my cynical reasoning… A man with no fear of death, was immune to interrogation, but his family were a weakness that he had no control over. I felt bad undertaking such actions, but realised with resignation that they were necessary. We had no time, no resources, and no allies… We had to resort to methods and acts that normally would be considered excessive. I hoped we could gain the information we sought without harming an innocent, my sense of right and wrong was still as strong as the day I had joined the police force…. It was my job to protect the law abiding, not harm them; that day seemed so long ago…

I glanced across at Daniel, sitting calmly in the passenger seat, reading a novel; he looked extremely relaxed considering what we were undertaking.

“When is he due?” I asked to break the uneasy silence.

Daniel twisted the book in his hands to look at the watch on his wrist. “Any minute now.” He offered casually. “We wait till he has left the ministry, and move.”

I nodded more to myself than Daniel and sat quietly, unable to fully relax in the seat. I was always on edge before a job.

“It is now.” Daniel murmured as he reached down and began threading a silencer onto his pistol, his eyes flicked between the ministry door and the limousine approaching in the rear view mirror.

My heart thumped loudly as the vehicle approached. Daniel opened his door and slipped onto the pavement and slowly made his way forwards to an unobtrusive spot near the entrance to the ministry. There was precious little information on the security detail, but every precaution had to be taken with the presumption that they were good. A visible threat would result in a no show. We couldn’t risk that. I slowly slipped the car into gear as Hasizi left the building flanked by his security man. Hasizi was nothing like the photographs I’d seen of him, he looked older, fatter, but the eyes were the same. His security man was intimidating, but sloppy, hired muscle, not a true bodyguard. He walked with the Minister, not before, and one man was not enough for a personal protection detail; it made it too easy. After closing his principal’s door, the man let his guard down as he turned to get into the vehicle himself; he never saw the bullet coming.

Daniel fired the silenced pistol into the back of the man’s head as he was opening the front passenger door. Stooping, he lent into the vehicle and fired twice into the driver before the man could react. The limousine remained immobile.

I pulled the car alongside as Daniel manhandled a limp Hasizi out of the limousine and into the backseat of our car. A second security guard ran from the door of the ministry as Daniel was opening his door. With practiced ease, he turned and fired twice dropping the man as he fumbled with his holster. Daniel slipped into the car and I was pulling away before the door was even closed.

“That went smoothly.” I murmured turning onto a larger road. “What did you do to him?” I asked looking at the limp form in my mirror.

“He will wake in fifteen minutes or so,” Daniel shrugged. “I trapped a nerve cluster that knocked him out.

“Ah, the fabled Mossad voodoo.” I chuckled darkly, “We’re clean.” I added checking my mirror a second time.

Daniel grunted noncommittally his eyes not leaving our precious cargo in the rear seat.

After several miles we had left the city proper, and were driving through the industrial outlands of Damascus. I pulled the car off the road, and into the cluster of industrial buildings we had scouted out the day before. The old factory complex was deserted save the wild dogs and occasional vagrant. It was away from prying eyes and attentive ears.

I got out of the car, closing the door behind me and circled around to Daniel’s side and helped him to drag the unconscious minister from the back seat.

Propping him up against a support pillar in the deserted warehouse floor, we cuffed his hands behind his back and left him to wake; we didn’t have to wait long.

Hasizi groaned , his head lifting slightly before lolling back to his chest. His hands moved and his head snapped up with the realisation that he was restrained. He looked around the room for a moment before focusing on myself and Daniel standing against the far wall. “Who are you?” he asked nervously, his hands testing the bonds once more. “I will pay what you ask, please free me.”

Daniel walked forwards till he was about ten feet from Hasizi and squatted down till his eyes were level with our seated prisoner.

“What makes you think we want your money?” he asked with amusement ringing in his calm voice. “You believe your life so valuable that someone would kidnap you for money?”

“I… Ah, who are you?” He asked, caught off guard by our disinterest in his money.

“Who we are is not important.” Daniel said dismissively with a wave of his hand, “We are very interested in you however, Mohamed.”

Hasizi’s expression changed from fear to cold awareness in a heartbeat. “Why would you be interested in me?” He asked feigning ignorance. “I am but a lowly minister of the Syrian government, I cannot influence policy.”

“This is no time for games Mister Hasizi.” I added nonchalantly stepping forwards to stand at Daniel’s side. “We are running a tight schedule, and we will use necessary means to gain the answers we seek, cooperation is in your best interest, and that of your family.” I sneered.
Hasizi looked at us for a moment, gauging our expressions. “You do not have them.” He said firmly, looking me in the eye.

I took a step forwards and looked down at Hasizi, forcing him to crane his neck further. “That is a significant gamble to take Mohamed.” I said with an amused smirk. “Resistance is noble,” I sighed, crouching in front of him. “Noble, but foolish. I can see you are a dedicated man, a professional… There is no point threatening you with pain, or death, it will not motivate you to give us the information we require.” I said frankly, looking over at Daniel, hoping he had the same train of thought I was working with.

“Sharon, go and bring his son through.” Daniel said with resignation, looking over at me. I smiled inwardly; he had picked up what I had been planning.

“You do not have them,” stated Hasizi firmly. “You bluff.”

I turned around as I was walking out of the room. “NO!” I shouted, my voice echoing around the empty warehouse, “You are calling my bluff…. A gamble you are about to pay for. Perhaps it will take your son’s life to make that clear.” I snapped turning on my heels and walking out of the room. I drew my pistol and racked the slide before pulling his son to his feet, I dragged him to the doorway; from twenty feet away, I could see Hasizi’s eyes bulge. I shoved his son back behind the door and pushed him to the floor before covering his mouth with my hand; I fired a shot into a pile of sacking across the room and waited a moment, checking the gag in his mouth. I waited a moment before pulling the door open and returning to the main hall of the warehouse. Walking back to where Hasizi was bound, I said nothing till I was within several feet of him. The expression on Daniel’s face was exactly what I had hoped for… total surprise.

“You killed my son.” Hasizi muttered quietly. “You had them, you killed him…” he trailed off.

“I told you we were serious Mohamed,” I said raising my eyebrows as if to say ‘I told you so.’ “Are you going to talk, or do we have to kill Amira and Kalid?”

“Please do not harm them!” He blurted. “I will tell you what you need to know.”

Daniel lent forwards and gripped Hasizi’s jaw turning his head forcibly to look at him. “Who is your contact in mi6.” He asked, betraying no emotions for or against my apparent action.
“Mi6?” Hasizi asked slowly, realisation flickering across his eyes. “You want to know who sent the freak to stop the Mossad cell in Damascus?”

“You seem to be on the right track.” Daniel said refusing to rise to Hasizi’s barb; I however barely concealed the lurch I felt in my stomach.

Hasizi looked around for a moment, his eyes flickering to the door where he thought his son had been executed. “Harriet Carlisle was my point of contact with the head of our operation.” He said visibly sagging against his restraints. “Please don’t harm my family.” He pleaded.

I looked at Daniel with shock; his brow was furrowed. “How many times did you meet with Harriet Carlisle?” he asked Hasizi not showing any sign of surprise at the reply. “Where did you meet?”

Hasizi shook his head. “I never met Carlisle,” he shrugged, “I spoke to them via secure satellite phone as a conduit to the head of our group. We would speak monthly to discuss updates and receive orders.” He said flatly, a broken man. “I did not know the head’s name, he kept it anonymous He was referred to as Oxford.”

“”What are the names of the others in your group?” Daniel pressed on,

“I do not know.” Hasizi said shrugging against his chains, “We operated individually completing our tasks and were coordinated through Carlisle.”

Daniel stood up and walked to the door of the warehouse and made his way outsides. Unsure of what to do, I followed. He was leaning back against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette when I found him.

“Do you think he was telling the truth?” I asked tentatively.

Daniel nodded and sighed, “Yes, he was telling the truth about everything he was told. That man is broken.”

“But Harriet would never…” I began, leaping to her defence.

Daniel held out his hand, “I said he was telling the truth, not that he was right.” He said looking across at me. “It’s pretty obvious the group are using Mi6 Secure satellites to communicate off the radar… What intelligence service looks for chatter on its own birds?”

I nodded. “It makes sense, but why pass them self off as Harriet?”

“Smoke and mirrors, and fall guys.” Daniel shrugged. “All we know is that two people at Mi6, and at least one of them a woman, are the very top of this organisation… We may still complete the mission.”

“And clear our names,” I added. “And Harriet’s.”

“That was decisive of you in there.” Daniel said after a moment of silence. “Brutal, but functional. We achieved the desired result with minimal bloodshed.”

“He’s not dead.” I said looking over at Daniel to watch his expression.

Daniel chuckled. “That is so you.” He said grinning. “That is not one of your police tricks I think. Where did that come from?”

I smiled, “Some TV show I watched used the same trick.”

Daniel shook his head, “I will never understand you, but I love the way you think… It’s so… off the cuff… decisive… brilliant.” He added looking me in the eyes. I felt immediately warmer, which was quite a challenge in the Syrian climate. I wondered if I might feel things for Daniel I told myself that I wouldn’t… couldn’t... It was just the situation; we were thrust together by circumstance and fate, it was the tension; nothing more.

“We should go back and deal with him.” I said, breaking the awkward silence. “What’s the plan?”

“I make an anonymous phone call to the Syrian secret police and point them at the man coordinating their drug problem. They will be picked up and dealt with.” Daniel replied stubbing out his cigarette.

“Is that wise?” I asked, dubious of the Syrian system and its loose ties to justice.

“Of course not,” Daniel shrugged, “But it gets him into a jail cell rather than a shallow grave, if he cooperates: Which he will. They can tie up this end and save national face.”

“What about his son?”

“Bring him and the others in, we will leave them here for the Syrians.”

I nodded and walked through to the anteroom of the warehouse to unchain Hasizi’s family. I led them back through unharmed, before looping the chain through their plasti-cuffs around another pillar and fastening the padlock.

Hasizi realised immediately that he had been tricked. “You pig bitch, you lied to me.” He bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“No, I just have some humanity,” I growled, “unlike you organising the death of an innocent woman in Damascus.” I spat in return, feeling the pain I felt at the loss of Harriet resurfacing. “You’re the criminal; you’re going to pay.”

Hasizi looked as if he was going to speak, but closed his mouth. He looked between myself and Daniel and his eyebrows rose. “You’re the shemale pawn sent by mi6!” He laughed. “And you have the audacity to say I have no humanity. You are less than human.”

I stood, my mouth flapping uselessly, I looked over at Daniel, trying to gauge his reaction, He looked… shocked…. His professional mask slipped. Before I could feel anymore shame, I turned and fled, leaving the warehouse door swinging.

I ran for about a hundred meters before I slumped against a wall, choking back sobs. I slid to the ground and fingering the hammer on my pistol. I had lost the only other person I had in the world at that moment, and there was the very real chance that he would turn on me too. I dropped the gun to the ground in resignation and gave myself over to the wave of tears.

From the Author:
Sorry this has taken so long folks, but I'm back writing it now, and expect more of this and some others soon. Hope you like it! Please comment :)

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...

---

 
 
Chapter 20.5
 
 
“Are you alright?” Daniel’s calm voice asked as it came smashing through my distraught mind. I looked up at him, standing above me, by reflex, my fingers gripped the pistol by my side.

“I’m sorry.” I muttered weakly. “I should have told you, I’m so sorry. Please….” I pleaded looking up at Daniel.

Daniel crouched down by my side, and took the pistol from my hand, “You will not need that.” He said realising what I was feeling. “I will not harm you.”

I swallowed the rising fear, “You realise what he said in there?” I asked tentatively, trying to establish what page we were on.

Daniel nodded slowly, “That you are… not a woman.” he said slowly, shifting uncomfortably.

“He’s right, or was.” I sighed closing my eyes to compose my thoughts. “Before this mission, I was… male.” I couldn’t bring myself to say man, because in all honestly, it had never been a title that I had identified with. “This mission required a female agent, for the legend, and I had to replace someone…. I was the only one with the required… skills.” I shrugged weakly. “Before I went on the mission, I began to feel more at home like this. I began to realise that it had been something I was missing my entire life.” I added sincerely, “This is the real me… even if I didn’t begin this way… I know how weird this must sound, but please… I have not deceived you… you are the only friend I have left.”

Daniel was quiet for a moment. “I cannot begin to understand this… but I cannot see a male in you.” He said softly. “Surprised? Yes: You are so… feminine,” he shrugged, I believe I expected someone like you to be more… masculine or awkward….” he trailed off.

“Daniel…” I sighed, “I can’t explain this very well… I don’t really understand this to begin with, but I can tell you with certainty that the girl, no, woman you see before you is a real person, I’m not a fake, or a pretender, or some in-between, I am Sharon Cohen.” I said with a determination that I didn’t know I felt.

Daniel took my hand and pulled me too my feet. We stood looking at one another for a long moment before he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. I hardened at first, but finally relaxed into the embrace that allowed me to cry out the pain and confusion that had been building up in me for the last few weeks. He stood holding me till I had stopped crying, and pulled back to look into my eyes. “In a world of lies and deceit Sharon, you are one of the very few honest people that I know. This does not change that,” he admitted with a lopsided grin. “It is not hard to see you as a woman, you must have made a very bad man.” He chuckled softly.

“I guess you’re right.” I admitted softly. “I’m a more complete person now.”

Daniel smiled and nodded his head in the direction of the car. “Come, let us leave this place, our work is done.” He said softly. “We have much to do now.”

I nodded absentmindedly as we walked back to the car and drove away from the warehouse. I will never know what happened to Hasizi and his family, but I expect he is still holed up in a Syrian Prison cell, awaiting a trial that will never come.

Our journey back into the city, and our hotel room was dominated by an awkward silence. I really didn’t know what to say to Daniel; I felt like a burden, and a bad fake, regardless of his well meant words of acceptance.

He had tried to talk several times, but I could only utter one word responses, and conversation quickly died. I so wanted to talk to him, to make things normal again… We had reached a significant breakthrough in narrowing down the search for the ones that had framed us, and our eventual freedom, but it felt like a minor victory compared to the turmoil that Hasizi’s words had created. It was a strange feeling. This felt right; I was happy with how things were… but was I simply fooling myself? Had this job changed me so much? Had I simply bent with the pressure? I didn’t think so, but it was a constant weight on my mind. The authenticity of my feelings was confusing. Hasizi’s words had been the truth, I reminded myself.

I wasn’t sure why I felt so bad that the truth was exposed. It was of course, simple fact, but there was something about how I had been treated by the Israelis, and Daniel; it made me feel normal. I sighed deeply as I stared out of the window. Why was life so complicated?

“Talk to me.” Daniel said softly, turning towards me as he drove. “You’re still upset by what Hasizi said, are you not?”

I nodded weakly and refused to meet his gaze.

Daniel sighed. “Sharon, look,” he said imploringly. “I’m ok with this… really; I am a tolerant man. Do not treat me as though you expect me to scream and shout about betrayal, I can understand your reluctance to reveal something so personal. We really haven’t known each other that long…. Things have been complicated, I bear no grudge.” He said looking at me imploringly.

“I’m sorry.” I murmured softly, “I still feel guilty.”

Daniel shook his head. “Do not feel guilty for being who god made you.”

I turned to face him, for the first time seeing the softness in his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

He nodded, “I am a religious man, although I do not take the words as literally as some of my kinsmen. I was taught to see the meanings… not the laws. God has a plan for all things, and he would not allow something to happen that he considered a sin, or abhorrent, that someone was unable to help.”

I looked out of the window for a long moment while I thought of my answer. “Thank you.” I said quietly.

“For what?”

“Everything and nothing.” I said without looking at him. “Everything and nothing.”
 
 

Chapter 21
 
 
It felt good to finally have my feet back on English soil. Our flight out of Damascus had been completely uneventful; the documents Anderson had secured were not questioned as we cleared customs and boarded the aircraft. Even the flight itself had been quiet, although I had mixed feelings. One part of me felt relieved with every mile that was placed between myself and that country, but another knew It would always be where so much had changed…. Where I’d lost so much… I’d spent the rest of the flight attempting to engage Daniel in conversation to distract my weary mind.

As the plane bean its decent into Heathrow however, the tension I had been enjoying a welcome break from returned with a small army of followers. I walked quietly next to Daniel as we left the aircraft and made our way along the gantry and into the brightly lit main terminal building: Customs, the first hurdle in what I hoped would prove the final leg of this mission lay ahead of us.

“Do you think it will be ok?” I asked trying to break the nervous silence that had occupied us since we had first landed.

Daniel shook his head, “Of course,” he shrugged casually. “They do not know we have left Syria, and these documents are clean, if we were going to get picked up, it would have been leaving Syria, we have slipped the net.”

I nodded to myself, trying to believe his words. I still felt like a lost little girl next to his years of experience at this game. I knew that I was miles beyond the meagre training I had received, but I was still miles away from safety too, nerves were only human I rationalised.

As we approached the customs lines I had to check myself as I began to walk towards the domestic line, thankfully, I didn’t think it was noticed.

The cue progressed and I found myself for the second time in front of the customs booth with my heart in my mouth.

“Welcome to the United Kingdom, what’s the purpose of your visit?” the bored officer asked barely looking up.

“Visiting friends.” I said casually, flashing a quick friendly smile at the man.

“Enjoy your stay.” He smiled back stamping my passport. It was amazing what a smile and a short skirt did to a man I thought rolling my eyes: He didn’t even ask for my return ticket.
 

*          *          *
 
“It feels good being home does it not?” Daniel observed with a smile as we walked out of the terminal building and hailed a cab. “That expression on your face is one I know well.”

I sighed as I looked around the taxi bay at Heathrow Airport. It wasn’t anything spectacular… It was a concrete overpass, four lanes of tarmac and a small copse of trees climbing the embankment on the far side… But it was England.

“It does.” I agreed without really looking back at him. “Miserable, but home.”

The weather was typically British as we drove out of Heathrow and towards central London. The sky was grey and overcast, with the occasional hint of drizzle; I found it difficult to believe it was actually July.

Our plan was not as complicated as I’d believed it would be… I was going to turn myself in; or at least that was how it would appear to the outside observer. Just a naive young agent believing that her coming back in would clear her name.
We were going to take the head off this organisation or die trying, but first, there was groundwork to be laid.

I surveyed the small hotel room before me, a double this time thankfully, but still relatively lacking in privacy. It was mildly annoying that I wasn’t able to return to my own flat, a mere handful of miles from the hotel we were staying in, but I wasn’t naive enough to believe they wouldn’t be watching my place. Eventually they would clock on to the fact that we were no longer in Syria, and it wouldn’t make the search a hard one if I was in the first place they would look.

I’d changed clothes on arrival, and felt more comfortable in the jeans, vest top and hooded sweatshirt I’d bought on the drive over; they were considerably warmer than the clothes I’d brought back with me from Syria.

I picked up the mobile phone I’d bought in the airport and dialled the one phone number I knew I could trust. As much as I had disliked some of our previous interactions, we had been partners… and we had worked well together, and it was time for one last job.

“Sergeant Thompson.” Harry answered when he picked up the phone.

“Harry,” I said neutrally, aiming for more of Mike’s voice than Sharon’s. “It’s Mike, how are things?”

“Mike?” He asked curiously. “This line sounds a bit odd… How are you mate?”

“I guess I’m ok.” I said biting my lip nervously before continuing “Look Harry, I’m back in England for a bit, could I meet up with you for a drink?” I asked, hoping he bought it.

“Yeah no problems mate, would be good to catch up… Though it’s not like you to want to go out for a pint is it?” he chuckled. “Foreign air must be doing you some good man.”

“Yeah, so uh, when’s good for you?” I pressed, hoping to actually get a time and place out of him. I was aware of Harry’s legendary reputation for never getting to the point and an extended conversation wasn’t really possible without getting drawn into detail I couldn’t reveal over the phone.

Harry sighed as though he was stretching. He was probably still at that same desk in the ops room. “I get out at six mate. ‘Bout seven in the Mare?”

“That works, I’ll see you then. Bye.” I offered closing the connection. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do or how I’d even do it… But I needed Harry on side for what I had planned, although his reaction to me would be unpredictable. I was sure I could spin some tale about it being a role… like it had been, but any thought of going back to being mike was out of the question now. I mentally shrugged. It was out of my hands.
 

*          *          *
 
It was quarter to seven, and I stood outside the Mare’s head, a quiet pub that was frequented by off duty officers. It was the favoured haunt of the firearms teams.

I’d wanted to dress down for the meeting; I had wanted to present as neutral an image as I could while reminding Harry that this was a role, in the end I realised that I had to go all out to achieve that… The brown boots and short skirt would probably draw more attention than I wanted, and the tight long sleeve white tee-shirt was left little to the imagination but it would also most likely stop Harry exploding and outing me to the whole pub if he thought people were paying attention… Small mercies I suppose.

I pushed the door open and entered the warm interior. I was right. It might only have been seven pm, but the place was busy, white shirts and open collars of the recently off duty mingled with other patrons that were quite obviously on the force too.

I couldn’t see Harry at first, but the place was crowded; it wasn’t that unusual. I approached the bar and ordered a bottled beer.

“There you are love.” The bar tender said cheerily as he handed over my drink. I nodded my thanks without really paying attention; my mind was elsewhere, currently watching the room around me. I wasn’t sure if it was my recent experiences, but the less than subtle glances I was receiving were pinging my radar. I wasn’t naive enough to believe they were sent to grab me, but after what I’d gone through, the attention was unsettling.

Harry walked into the pub shortly after seven and walked straight up to the bar after a quick look around; for me I presumed. He chatted aimlessly with the Landlord for a moment before taking his pint over to the darts board in the corner of the room, and began to pass the time throwing darts while he waited for my arrival.

I slipped off the stool I was on and walked over to him. He hadn’t changed much, still the same short receding hair, the same mix of Jeans and gym tee-shirt he always wore when off duty. I realised that while I hadn’t got on with him, it had been something wrong with me, not him.

“You’re still an aweful shot.” I purred softly causing his final dart to plough unceremoniously into the wall next to the board.

“Huh, oh hello.” He said turning around to face me. “Sorry, thought you were someone else for a moment darling.” He smiled. “Do I know you?” He asked furrowing his brow.

I swallowed and smiled. “It’s me Harry… Mike.”

Harry’s eyes widened for a moment. “Erm, what?” He asked slowly, confusion registering on his face. “Mike?”

“Um, yeah.” I offered looking down at my feet. I raised my eyes to meet his. “Look Harry, I can explain… can we go somewhere quiet to talk? It’s sort of important.”

Harry stood staring at me for a moment. He reached over and picked up his pint glass and took a long gulp before blinking and muttering “Uh, sure.”

We walked over to a quiet corner of the pub and took a seat in the booth.

“So this is what you’ve been doing since you left…” Harry said bluntly looking me over. “Not the diplomatic service huh?”

I couldn’t look him in the eye for a moment, he looked almost hurt… deceived. “It’s not like that Harry.” I offered trying to meet his gaze. “I can explain.” I offered weakly.

Harry’s expression willed me to continue, and over the next half an hour, I proceeded to give him the slightly edited version of the truth. I told him about the mission, Syria, Harriet, the Traitors… nearly everything. I left out my feelings about the whole subject, and thankfully he bought the duty line: Though not without a little ribbing.

“I still can’t believe how you look man.” He said shaking his head with disbelief. “I mean, you really do look like a bird.”

“That was sort of the point.” I offered rolling my eyes and sipping my beer. “It wouldn’t have worked very well if I didn’t.”

His expression turned serious for a moment. “You’re serious about these bent guys in Mi6? Jesus…” he breathed running his hands through his short hair. “I can’t believe you’re working for them.” He said incredulously. “This is dangerous Mike… uh, that feels weird.” He said shaking his head.

“Probably best if you call me Sharon.” I said blushing. “I guess it fits better for now.”

“Are you alright in there?” He asked softly after a moment. “I mean, this is pretty deep right? I’m not sure if I’d be in one piece up top if I was in your shoes… though I doubt they’d suit me.” He laughed attempting to cover his concern with humour.

“I… Yeah, I’ll just be glad when this is all over.” I said dismissively avoiding his question: It was true though.

“So what are you planning to do? I mean, can’t you take this higher up? To your bosses?”

I shook my head. “No, that won’t work, As far as they know… I don’t exist… well, sure I’m on some records, I have a pass… but I can be painted in as a traitor myself… I have been.” I offered with a sigh. “Only way we can really solve this is by drawing them out… by getting evidence… boots on the beat.” I smiled remembering the old phrase from when I’d been in uniform.

Harry finished off the remainder of his beer and placed the glass down on the table decisively. “Fuck it, I’m in.” He said with determination. “Beats going on shouts to some kid with a water pistol at Tescos.”

I smiled. It almost felt like the old days again.
 
 
From the Author:
Hey folks, Again, one thousand appologies for the length of time this took, but I've been doing that 'get an education' thing, and the bastards keep trying to get a girl down with all the work.. *sigh* Still. I'm back for now, and expect more Focal point and a Christmas NCIS special for your pressie :)
Thanks for reading, and please comment,

Alyssa
 

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...

---

 
 
Chapter 22
 
 
“West Thames Fish and chips?”

“Hi, do you deliver to Aberdeen?” I asked inserting a little nervousness into my voice.

“Certainly, Let me connect you.” The indefinable voice on the other end of the phone replied. I waited for a moment before the familiar clicking sound on the line let me know I was going through to operations.

“Operations.”

“I ah, I’m Sharon, uh, Sharon Cohen, With the Middle East and Far East controlerate.” I added trying to sound flustered. It certainly sounded like an Oscar worthy performance on my end. “I want to… I need to report.”

“One moment Miss Cohen.” The Operations Officer replied without a hint of emotion or sign that they knew who I was. I knew that the moment I came on the line and mentioned my name, that they had been made aware of my status. It was a surprisingly short wait when I was put through to Jane North, my handler.

“Sharon? My god, where have you been… we’re worried sick… Syria… what happened? Where are you?” she asked in quick fire. “We need you to come in, please…”

I don’t know Jane; I’m terrified.” I added nervously. “I need help, I.. Everyone’s dead, I got back to England, but I don’t know what to do… The police wanted me in Syria… they said I killed Harriet…. The Israelis… I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s ok honey,” Jane soothed. “It’s ok, just tell us where you are and we can come and pick you up.”

“Is it safe? I mean, I heard they… is it really ok?”

“Sure sweetie.” Jane soothed. “We’ll send a car for you… where are you?”

“I ah… god, I think someone’s following me.” I hissed urgently. “I’m sorry… I’ll call in again, I have to go.” I blurted dropping the handset back onto the cradle of the pay phone I’d been using and slipped out of the booth and back into the bustle of the London pavement. Within minutes, I was nowhere near the faceless street that they would inevitably track my phone call to.

My plan was quite simple really: I played into their expectations of me. If you live upto what someone thinks of you, or someone, they will never question it: A core doctrine of undercover work that I had learned while on the force. I was building up to a point where those working against us would feel that I was on the ropes and pliable: That they could control me. That point was right when I was at my strongest.
As much as I hated to believe that Jane North could be involved in the treachery. It was hard to deny given the evidence we had retrieved. I knew she and the rest of the people back at Mi6 that were involved in my operation had access to my background, but I was placing a lot of money on the fact that they would presume.
I was new to the world of intelligence: Just a police officer that could shoot well. Their kid gloves approach had been telltale of that fact. I was a newbie; rattled and unstable… sent in because I would mess up, and I wouldn’t be capable of thinking clearly or rationally. Playing up to the stereotype of the lost lamb was risky, but it could give me the upper hand. They would underestimate me simply because they wanted to. They had no reason to suspect that I knew anything at all about the group, or who was involved. By proxy, they would also never suspect I was planning to fight back. It was the perfect armour in our fight; the element of surprise.

Harry’s unmarked saloon pulled over to the side of the street where I was waiting. Slipping into the passenger seat I flashed him a quick grin.

“Went ok then?” he asked pulling out into the traffic.

I nodded slowly, running things over in my mind. “Yeah, it’s just like the old days really… just bigger stakes.”

“You think they’ll buy this plan of yours?” he asked trying to read my expression.

“Well for the good of my neck I bloody well hope so,” I sighed looking out of the window. “I’m pretty nervous… well no, scared I guess. But facing my fear is the only way to end this… the only way to make it out of this alive is to bring them down.”

Harry nodded sagely. “Still can’t believe you convinced me to get involved in this mess,” he chuckled softly. “I mean, going against the Secret Intelligence Service… aiding and abetting a wanted criminal… my former partner that’s currently running around the world in drag.”

“It’s just the same as any undercover Harry.” I said softly, my eyes fixed on the dashboard in front of me. “This isn’t easy for me.”

Harry muttered something incoherent. “That’s just it.” He said hesitantly. “You make it look easy mate… I’m not saying anything… I’m really not; but you somehow manage to pull this off without breaking a sweat… Hell mate, I can’t see the real you in there and believe me, I’m trying pretty hard.”

Part of me understood what he was saying… It must have been an utter mind fuck to see a former friend changed so drastically, but another part of me was a little hurt. I wanted my friend to understand how I felt… That I had to lie was tearing me up inside, but I wasn’t sure he could handle the truth… I had been barely able to...

“This is hard Harry,” I pleaded softly looking across at my former partner. “I’ve felt so… strange since this began; my life’s been completely turned upside down.”

“I can understand that.” Harry said quietly as he drove. “It’s the whole undercover thing… you get into it a bit much, and you begin to forget who you are; what you’re there to do. It’s a real mind fuck mate.”

I sat for a moment taking in what he had said; Harry’s words were not those of the man I had known… that I had worked with. He spoke instead with a wisdom and insight that exposed the true character under the bravado and bullshit. Looking over at him I smiled weakly. “Thank you for being here Harry… It means a lot that I’m not alone in this.”

We arrived back at the hotel where Daniel and I were staying. I had invited Harry came up to the room with me to discuss our next moves.

Entering the room, Harry nodded at Daniel before slumping down in one of the chairs by the desk. “Fine mess this is huh?” He chuckled. You and… Sharon here pissing on some nasty people’s toes, and running around the world causing mayhem…”

“You make this sound like a joke.” Daniel replied darkly. “Why again did you involve this man?” He asked turning to me.

I held up my hands in surrender. “Whoa, guys… less of the claws ok?” I smiled embarrassedly. “Look Daniel… Harry, for all his personality flaws is the sort of friend we need in this… He’s from my old unit, we can trust him, and he’s not bent. We have few enough allies as it is.” I pointed out.

“So what are you planning?” Daniel asked cocking his head to one side. “Some sort of …. Direct action?”

I nodded slowly. “In a way,” I murmured. “We’re going to sting them.”

“How?” Daniel asked curiously, his interest piqued.

“I called in this morning.” I admitted. “I called in, and told them that I wanted to come in, and debrief, and was scared… I simply filled their expectations. I’m going to arrange a meet in a few days and well… That’s sort of all I can think of at the moment.”

“Well planned as usual Cohen,” Harry chuckled. “So this meet is going to be a trap of some sort? Ah…” He sighed. “This is where I come in isn’t it?”

Smiling as sweetly as possible. I shrugged. “Well if you happened to liberate a few bits and bobs from work I wouldn’t be too upset.”

“Hah.” Harry laughed. “Typical… sh…you want me for my power… they all do.” He grinned.

“Not your power Harry, Just your access,” I grinned. “Some wires, listening gear and a few weapons wouldn’t go a miss for a day now would they?”

“So what am I meant to say? That I need to borrow kit that needs to be logged out?”

I pursed my lips for a moment and thought. Harry was right… The equipment I had hoped to secure from the Metropolitan Police through his help were all items that were securely watched and looked after. Getting at them would require permission… forms… “Harry.” I asked cautiously. “If I was to give you my sizes, could you get me a female PC’s uniform from stores? That is less secure after all…”

“What are you planning now?” he asked with a hint of dread. “Yeah, I probably can… though they will think I’m a proper perv if they catch me.”

“Then don’t get caught.” I grinned, patting him on the shoulder.

What I was planning was still somewhat hazy in my mind, but a definite idea was forming… I would have to be on my best misbehaviour to pull this off. I thought.

To be continued...

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...

---

 
 
Chapter 23
 
 

It was a strange sensation I felt as I began to dress in a police uniform for the first time since my erstwhile involvement with Mi6 had begun. Of course, it had barely been more than a month in all reality, but to me, it felt symbolic: It represented the completion of a circle in a way: I had changed so much, in the short time that had passed, but at the core of me I knew my beliefs and morals held fast. I was still the same person that had joined the police force six years before, and as I looked down at my tights covered legs and adjusted the skirt for the fourth time, my head was clear; I still felt like a police officer.

I had to admit that the image starting back at me in the mirror was pleasing. I felt an overpowering sense of calm as I looked upon my reflection. The female constable’s uniform that Harry had stolen without embarrassment from the stores fitted me like a glove. The young woman that wore it had changed so much since her sudden and violent birth. I had grown familiar with my shape, my contours, and my hair… the young woman was me, and I was finally proud of what I saw. No more than at that moment wearing the uniform of the Metropolitan Police Force. The white blouse and cravat, with fitted black skirt and low chunky heels were certainly very different to my old uniform, but they were also the same in a manner: It was still the uniform people put on to protect and serve, and in a roundabout manner, I was doing just that.

With a sigh of acceptance for what was to come, I picked up the rucksack I had left on the bed, and slipped on a short grey jacket: for all intents and purposes, I was just another officer going to work.

Our operation’s main objectives were simple, and the plan was to be kept as basic as possible. I would meet Harry once I had successfully entered New Scotland Yard, and we would make our way to the basement where the Specialist Stores and firearms teams were located to acquire what we needed.

Daniel felt bad being left out of the game, but it was nothing he could involve himself in. The job required people familiar with the corridors of the building and practices of the Metropolitan police force. To his chagrin, Daniel was to be waiting to extract us afterwards.

The walk from the hotel to the tube was a short one. And before long, I found myself once more amongst the thousands of commuters that packed London’s underground during the morning rush to work. As we travelled meter by meter closer to New Scotland Yard’s St James street stop, I felt my nerves slowly building. It was such an excellently simple plan, but despite my confidence, stage fright was beginning to grasp me in its twisted claws; they way it always had before the first steps undercover on the job. By habit, I retrieved my trusty Ipod from its still somewhat strange location in my handbag, to distract myself from the unwanted thoughts and allowed my mind to drift into the beat.

The arrival of the train at St James Street station signalled my departure from the coach. Climbing the escalator, I ascended to street level. By now, I was one of a handful of officers I could identify around myself making our way towards the building: We had timed our incursion for the morning shift changeover at 8am. The increased number of personnel would mask the presence of an unknown, and increase the chances of success. Walking the familiar steps, I walked the short distance from the steps of St James Street, to the front entrance of New Scotland Yard.

Entering the foyer of the building was as familiar as it had been for the previous years. Nothing had changed in the weeks I had been absent; I even recognised a few faces. My uniform under the jacket and the manner with which I entered the building, born of long repeated shifts and familiarity proved successful, and I swept past the front security desk without even showing my non existent warrant card. I turned off the music in my ears, but left the earplugs in place: People were less likely to make conversation with someone who presumably would not hear them.

Breaking away from the masses heading for the lifts, I made my way to the entrance to the ground floor offices and the service facilities beyond. Nonchalantly, I walked over to the door, and proceeded to enter the pass code into the lock. My first attempt failing, I re-entered the code, presuming that my nerves had made me hit a wrong key. The second red light however, started my heart hammering; surely Harry would have known if the codes had changed? Wiping my damp palm on my skirt, I once again tried to enter the code as I remembered it. A third red light flashed brightly, blinking angrily at me. A Mixture of dread and acceptance flooded me as I turned to walk away from the mission and perhaps attempt it again after securing another access route when I bumped into a young male officer that had been waiting behind me.

“Trouble love?” he grinned warmly, reaching past my startled body and entering the code. “They changed it yesterday apparently; it’s been stopping people all night,” he added conversationally with a shrug. Before opening the door and biding me enter. As we walked through, he gave me a quizzical looking over, “Don’t mean to sound cheesy or anything, but where abouts do you work? I’ve not seen you around before.” He asked in a feigned casual tone. “Sorry, you must get that a lot.” he chuckled sheepishly.

“Actually no.” I smiled back sweetly as I slipped the headphones out of my ears to appear more attentive, realising that this man may well be my ticket through any further barriers or Identification checks. “Yes, I am new, I’m working out of the firearms office,” I added, knowing for certain this man was not on the staff. “I’m just a secretary really.”

“Cool.” My companion said relaxing. “My name’s James… James Mayweather, I’m working with traffic.”

“Jenny Sheldon.” I replied offering my hand. “Thanks for talking to me.” I grinned nervously, “It’s rather scary to be honest; my old station was much smaller and I know nobody.” I admitted sheepishly with a gentle shrug of my shoulders. I was playing with this young officer, I knew it, but it was building a closer rapport, and decreasing the chances of suspicion. It was strange to consider how my application of undercover behaviour had changed... Gone was the by the book but somewhat mediocre Officer, and into his place had stepped a very cold, calculating and decisive woman: I was going to succeed, that much I knew. The stage fright was gone now… I was in mid performance.

“Thank you again James.” I smiled sweetly, “This is where I have to go I think.” I added nodding towards the basement staircase. “I guess I’ll see you around?” I offered tentatively with a smile, waiting for the inevitable response.

“Ok cool,” James said quickly, his smile fading slightly as he dug his hands into his uniform pockets. “Bye then I guess… Unless you fancy meeting up for a coffee later perhaps?” he asked cautiously, seeming almost like a young boy. “I mean, I could give you the low down on the place.” He grinned quickly with more self assurance.

Smiling inwardly, I gave him my number and told him to text me before leaving rapidly to make contact with Harry. This officer could prove his usefulness once more by offering me a safe way to exit the building if I needed to break and run… I could suffer coffee for that.

Slipping down the empty stairwell, I removed my jacket and stowed it in the bag I had over my shoulder. Checking my appearance in a darkened window, I pushed open the doorway to the basement level of the building.

More open plan than the other floors, the basement level of New Scotland Yard housed the equipment and departments that used more sensitive material in their policework. The different departments and stores were rooms built off a large open plan main floor and garage area. Slipping behind one of the unmarked surveillance vans, I waited by the fire point that Harry and I had agreed on as a meeting point.

“You took your sweet time.” Harry muttered from a shadowed corner to my left. I let my breath out quickly. “You scared the hell out of me Harry!” I scolded. “Ready?”

Harry nodded grimly. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but we need to be careful… My ass is on the line here…” he hissed frowning. “And you… Jesus, the guys in Belmarsh would love you mate.” He added with a dirty grin.

I elbowed Harry sharply in the ribs as I walked past him and made my way out from behind the surveillance van and strode purposefully towards the Special Equipment Stores room.

The room itself wasn’t quite as unassuming as the name suggested. Special Stores was more of a small warehouse. Several lines of steel shelving and lockers filled the majority of the space, with a long flat countertop just inside the door separating the rest of us mortals from the special breed of Met employee known as the store-man. Typically a reclusive and socially dysfunctional individual, they lived a mole-like existence in the bowels of Police headquarters the country over.

“What’s your plan here, uh, Sharon?” Harry hissed from beside me. “You can’t just walk in and take them.”

I shook my head as I reached out for the door handle and turned to look at Harry. “Of course not,” I said slowly rolling my eyes. “I’m going to ask them first.”

I opened the door and walked coolly into the Stores unit, cutting off any response from Harry and walked across to the desk where an aging sergeant was seated, occasionally typing slowly on a computer keyboard as he peered into the screen.

“Morning.” I smiled cheerfully. “Need to get some things for the Specialist Firearms Command.”

“Certainly, Constable.” The man replied dryly looking up. “Do you have the forms?”

I shook my head a few times and pursed my lips. “You know what that lot are like, “Go get this, go do that, go…. Anywhere… They said I can fill in a claim form to the department down here and get it authenticated afterwards? It’s just we need it pretty sharpish… it’s a short notice operation.”

The man frowned, “You’re with CO-19 upstairs?” He asked raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t know they had many women on the teams.”

I plucked my uniform blouse and smiled weakly. “Im not, I’m admin staff, sort of new.” I admitted sheepishly, looking down at my shoes. “I’ve fucked up haven’t I?” I added with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry to waste your time.” I added, before turning and walking towards the door.

“Oh it’s alright love, look, what’s your name?” the older man smiled leaning forward on the counter top. “Jenny I mumbled, sniffing and averting my eyes, “Sorry!” I blurted wide eyed, “sorry, I mean WPC Sheldon sir.”

The older Sergeant smiled warmly and chuckled. “No need to stand on ceremony down here girl; nobody but the relics down here.”

I slumped against the wall and dabbed the underside of my eye as if by reflex to protect my makeup from tears, “I’m sorry sir, I just wanted to make a good impression on my first day.”

The old sergeant smiled sadly. “I didn’t mean to upset you dear,” he replied soothingly. “I’m an old Officer in a new world, things change, so they put me where I don’t have to deal with it,” he shrugged. “I do however, remember my first day, so come here and tell me what you need, and I wont get you in trouble.” The man smiled. With a smile and relieved thank you, I left the Special Equipment stores carrying two small flight cases containing all the surveillance material on my list: The expression on Harry’s face was priceless.

Folding my uniform neatly, I slid the items of clothing inside the backpack I had brought with me and lifted the handheld mirror out of the front pocket before beginning to apply makeup. Harry had disappeared to stash the two cases of surveillance equipment in his patrol car, and I was currently standing in just my underwear in a small cold toilet stall in the basement of New Scotland Yard.

The second stage of my plan was the more risky element. It would require us to bluff our way past the armourers in the secure Central Operations Armoury and take the weaponry we required; not a mean feat by any standard.

Packing away my makeup materials, I slid the pair of loose but fitted jeans up my legs and rolled a tight white tee shirt over my head. Running my hands through my relatively short hair, I slipped my jacket on again, and slid a highly edited Warrant card onto my belt. A whole different woman looked back at me in the toilet mirror: Attractive, yet casual and relaxed. Just the image I needed to portray during the next phase of the plan; the most important stage.

Slipping out of the toilet, I smiled plaintively at Harry, who by this point had changed into his own version of ‘on duty’ civilian clothing, and was leaning against the far wall of the corridor, his leg propped up behind him.

“You ready?” he asked flashing me an equally nervous glance.

I nodded, “Let’s go.”