He has done it again. This three brain cell moronic moron of a premier league footballer sitting next to me who earns more in a week than I do in three years of hard work. HAS DONE IT AGAIN!

Part One.

He has done it again. This three brain cell moronic moron of a premier league footballer sitting next to me who earns more in a week than I do in three years of hard work. HAS DONE IT AGAIN!

Tight lipped I resist the urge to send my lightly tanned smooth and soft elbow at speed into the side of his face knocking him and a few of his teeth out at the same time. I need him to get me into the party at Her Müllers Spanish castle. Instead, I carefully lift his hand from my stockinged thigh for the third time this evening in the limo and place it on his leg.

He turns to me grinning. As if I, had just put my hand on his, leg. “Later, ay Pet!”

I force a smile, take my hand away and look down at my knees. Shimmering glamorous old fashioned creamy nylon stockings covers them. Moving the morons hand from my leg has let the sneaky sod curl his fingers under my sparkling gold dress and move the hem further up my legs showing an inch of the band of my stocking tops. So that was what the shit was up to. I pull my dress back down my legs and do a quick sideways glance at his face to see a satisfied grin there as he keeps his head up facing forward while his eyes are glued down and across at my knees and thighs. I can feel my face burning. I look up and see the driver is grinning to himself and realise the mirror is angled down so he can look at my legs as well and not to see out the rear window. Jeezeus! Men!

Crap. What am I thinking? I am a guy! Though dressed like this you would not think so. It’s only because I am lent back in the limo’s soft leather seat that I can even see down there anyway. If I was sitting up-right a pair of C-cup boobs would be in the way. Especially given the top of this dress with its wide Vee cut goes way down past my boobs. A little gold chain holds the two sides together to protect my modesty. Another thing was that they promised me drugs would stop any sexual response from my body. So why did I have two very sensitive rock hard very female fat stubby nipples clearly pressed against my dress for everyone to see. And How In Hell, after eight years of hard graft in MI6, did it come to this, being groped by a Neanderthal over paid footballer. And why when I was so clearly pissed off as hell about it was my body responding to his touch!

Six weeks ago I had been on an undercover operation about to have a full English breakfast in the North London café I had been getting myself know in, when half a dozen cops burst through the door, tazered me, and, and YES, the fuckers tazered ME, and bundled me handcuffed out of the café into the back of a police van, and drove off before I had time to recover.

About an hour and a half later the van stopped and the doors opened. A bright and cheery plod grinned at me as he unlocked the cage door and helped me out.

“Sorry bout the hard take down, but your boss told us to make it look, Very. Realistic.”

I nodded. “It was.” I could feel the bruises. As I stretched, I thought maybe one day I could return the compliment, and it would be an absolute pleasure. At least they took the handcuffs off once they had bundled me into the van out of sight.

He grinned at me and got back in and drove off leaving me standing there. Looking around I knew where I was. An old mansion in Surry that was now a very expensive private clinic MI6 used when it needed to put someone back together again after an operation gone wrong. It promised exclusivity, and above all, privacy and silence from its employees. I had been here before. A couple of years ago Russian gangsters on the French Riviera decide very kindly not to kill me, but send me home to give my bosses a Don’t mess with us message. I was here for almost five months, then spent six months in the office on light duties going crazy while mind and body healed. I very nearly jacked it all in then.

I wondered who the poor sod was I was coming to visit. I would know them, whoever they were. We were a small bunch of reprobates who wondered around the world doing Her Majesty’s dirty work. I guess we were the real life double ‘O’s of the Bond films. Only we were less champagne and caviar in fine restaurants and more like larger with scampi and chips in the local pub. Most of us were ex-SAS one way or another. Best not dwell on what had happened to the poor sod then. They had to have been on something really important to pull me out of the joint undercover operation with M.I.5. I was on.

“Hello, would you come with me please.”

You could have cut glass with her voice. Bet daddy was something in the foreign office.

I had not opened my mouth yet. She had been waiting for me in the entrance hall. This pretty young woman with perfect body and hair, presented a nicely shaped arse for me to follow and think about as she tap, tapped her way along on stupendous high heels, long legs and such a short dress to one of the consulting rooms. She knocked and entered, me following to find my boss Ms Casandra Belmont and presumably the Director of the place waiting with her. The boss lady does not deal with underlings.

“Arr, Max. Sorry you missed your breakfast. Have you eaten anything yet this morning?”

I gently shook my head, no. she smiled that smile of hers that meant I know something you don’t. Somehow I did not think she was about to offer me my missing nosh.

“Sit down Max.” she paused while I did. The Director just kept watching me. The boss looked across at him, he nodded, and she smiled and continued. “Max, we have been keeping tabs on one Herr Müller from Germany. He is based in France, but has a castle in Spain. In three months’ time he is holding a party there for the usual vapid beautiful people. Models, Footballers, Movie Stars and the alike. As well as throwing in a few easily impressed politicos from around Europe he wants to influence.”

She stops to stare at me.

“The thing is. We, along with our friends in America, and not to mention the French, the Germans, and most certainly the Spanish. Want to know just what is he up too, how is he making all the money we know he is spending. And, what the hell is he spending it on?”

She stops, sighing. “We know the money’s not from the Russians or the Chinese. We don’t think it’s the North Koreans. We did have someone on the inside for all the good it did us, but they got themselves killed before they could find anything out.”

She shook her head when she saw my face. “Oh, No. No. It was just extreme bad luck on our part. An accident. Some ninety year old fool who shouldn’t have been anywhere near the steering wheel of a car, was trying to get a music cassette out of the cassette player and didn’t see he was driving over a pedestrian crossing full of people at the time. He killed four people, our man included.”

My stomach rumbled. I still could not see how any of this affected me. You cannot just walk into undercover jobs like that. You can bet the man you’re after only employs people he has known for a long time and knows they can be trusted. You do not just pop up and say ‘Hi, I’m the replacement’. Well, not if you want to be still alive five minutes later, you don’t.

I realised the boss was still talking. My mind had wondered. I was hungry and thirsty. This room was hot.

“…we used the Ident Program to find someone, anyone, who would meet our requirements from first the UK, or America, and then from any of the other agencies we are good friends with to find someone who would fit in with the kind of models he prefers.” She grinned at me amused. “It was harder than we thought. There was one, but she was seven months pregnant. And then… it said the closest match after that in all of the agencies of all the girls we could do cosmetic surgery on to come up with the kind of girl he likes… was, you.”

“What! That’s stupid. I’m the wrong sex to start with.” I said. “Anyway I’m not gay,” I quickly added. Just in case she had some weird idea in that twisted warped little mind of hers. She smiled at that, “Nor is he.”

Thank God for that. That gets me off the hook. That’s what you get with modern technology. A stupidly wrong answer that the computer comes up with for what it thinks are all the right reasons.

“Ok. Good to know. So how on earth does it come up with me, then?”

“Remember Emma.”

I had to think for a moment. Then shock my head. “No way, boss.”

“We had to get that tall Russian girl out of Paris a couple of years ago, remember. You pulled that off dressing up as one of her girlfriends. Well, Emma is still on computer. And the computer said Emma was the girl he’d wet his pants to get in his bed.” She stopped and just smiled at me.

Shit. I was in trouble. She was really serious about this. “That was different.” I could hear the near panic in my voice.

“Look, we just went around some Paris department stores looking at dresses, till the watchers got enough bored with us and took their eye off the ball for a moment. And that gave us enough time to give them the slip long enough to sell them the dummy in the carpark to get away. That,” I pointed out, “wasn’t letting a man who wants to get into your panties, chat you up and take you into his inner sanctum to have his wicked way with you.”

She smiled at me. “Well. You’ll have three months to learn how to be an ex-model who thinks the world revolves around her pretty little arse. Oh, and you’ll need some corrective surgery, first, obviously. But Sir Jeromy here gave me the nod you were suitable when you came in. He tells me it is all quite reversible.”

Really, I thought. There was not a chance in hell of me signing up for this one. We are allowed to refuse a job with no come back if we want too. It was in the contract given the stuff we get asked to do, given the associate risk half the time of not getting back home and the getting seriously dead factor of our work. Soon as I was out of here I was heading for the pub in the village and a strong drink. Several I think, along with an order of scampi and chips before I made my way home, I was starving.

She smiled again. If she thought she was going to persuade me to agree to this one, she was mad if she thought that.

“You look like you could do with a drink.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Here let me.” She got up and went and poured a glass of orange from a jug on a tray near the window, dropping some ice cubes in. Out of habit I watched her doing it. I was going to say I was thinking more along the lines of an enormous gin and tonic, but kept my mouth shut. After all she was my boss and you can only push things so far. Instead I took the drink. Thanked her and took a long draft to quench my thirst in this hot room.

Big mistake! BIG big mistake. The glass slipped from my hand. I just about heard Sir Jeromy say “Damn, we’ll have to get the carpet cleaned now.”

‘Sod You,’ I though as I crumpled to the floor and passed out...

To be continued…

The truth was I was high on medication still when she first came in. So when the boss, Ms Casandra Belmont appeared. I was a bit happy with the world.
“I got boobies!” I told her with a silly grin on my face.

Part Two.

For a while, the world seemed to consist of dull white, bright white, fuzzy white, dark white, fluffy pale white, fluffy bright white, blurry faces in white, fussy women in white, men in white with torches with little lights on them. Until…

The truth was I was high on medication still when she first came in. So when the boss, Ms Casandra Belmont appeared. I was a bit happy with the world.

“I got boobies!” I told her with a silly grin on my face.

“Yes dear, you have.” Casandra Belmont lent in and inspected my face, glancing down at the girls and smiled. “Quite nice ones, too. Any girl would be proud to have them. Sir Jeromy said it could be done and they would look natural once the swelling had gone down. I wasn’t so sure.”

She stepped back from the bed to view me from further away.

“You really are, a skinny thing, aren’t you.” Her eyes flicked up and down me in the bed.

“And Sir Jeromy was quite right. Now the swelling has gone down. You more than pass. You are a stunner if there ever was, and you don’t even have any make-up on yet. Oh yes, Max. You’ll do. Although you are, Emma, now. Remember that.”

To be honest, all of that went over the top of my head. More important, there was something I needed to tell her. I whispered, “Boss, my thingies missing. An, I gotta sit on the loo to pee.”

Amused, she smiled and lent in and said conspiratorial. “It’s just hidden, sweetie. It’s still there. And after the job is done you can go back to being flat chested and you can say hello Henry again down there.” Then she added as an afterthought with a salacious grin. “That is if you still want to of course. You may get to like being on the dark side.”

I smiled relieved, if not quite sure what she was going on about.

A couple of days later when she came back. I was no longer on the happy pills and not a happy bunny. I was a FUCKING ANGRY bunny. I opened my mouth to give her a stream of abuse as she came in. Standing in the doorway she put a finger to her lips for silence before I could get a word out and I just about held my tongue, fuming, waiting to let rip.

“Now darling, before you say anything. All of this is most important, or I would not have ordered it done. So no hissy fit. You signed up for Queen and Country in whatever capacity it required of you. At the moment it requires you to be a tall, blonde, ex-model. So now let the experts I’ve arranged do their thing with you and turn you into a self-centred airhead who thinks the world revolves around her cute little tush. It really is that Important to the service.”

So here I am. Sitting in the back seat of a limo with a sex pest. Problem was every time he put his damn hand on my thigh, I could feel the heat burning into my skin and something was happening in the pit of my tummy and a bit lower down that I really did not want to know about and my nipples felt as if they were about to explode. They had said there could be side effects from the hormones used to soften my body up, to make it more feminine, but they had never said anything about this happening.

It was worrying. What else had they not told me about. I had had far too many hypnosis sessions with the tame mind benders since I was in Sir Jeromy’s office than I care to remember about, and what was more worrying was that I cannot remembered a damn thing about them. At the time it had not seemed to bother me. But now I was worried. Just how much had they messed around with my sexual orientation. I knew they had too a bit. So I could flirt with Herr Müller when I met him and not clock him one if he came on to me.

Had they lied to me, had they gone and done a real genuine sex change on me and then hidden it using the hypnosis sessions.

I shook my head aware of the noise my long gold earrings make. Stupid I know, but the sound has a calming effect on me when I hear them tinkling away. I have become very fond of those linked little round gold discs hanging down from my earlobes.

Anyway, don’t be silly Emma. A couple of days is not enough for anyone to get over a sex change op. Reynolds in accounts had one last year and she was off for months before she came back to work. You were in bed for only a day or two after having the boob job was done. The rest of the time was taken up with the experts turning you into a vapid ex-model. I have to admit I am not quite sure who I am now, Max of M.I.6 on a job, or Emma DeVoe, ex-model more concerned with bagging a lift in someone’s private jet tomorrow so I do not miss any of the good party’s at Monaco’s F1 race this week-end. It gives me a headache when I try to sort it all out in my head.

DAMN, he has put his bloody hand back on my thigh again.

I sigh and give in and let him keep it there. I am kind of getting to like the feel of it there, anyway. My revenge will be him not getting his leg over tonight as he so clearly thinks he is going to do with me. I would already be back in London when he is trying to find me in the Spanish pile of rocks we were heading to at the moment.

There is a Spanish two seat Harrier Jump Jet waiting to speed me back home to Blighty tonight the second I got to the disused cattle shed it is presently hiding in. Soon as it is dark it will be rolled out and sitting waiting for its rubber band to be wound up the second they get word I am making the ten minute dash from Herr Müller’s castle to their location.

It also let the Spanish be involved. Since we do not have any Harriers anymore, given that that toff Camron has sold all our Harriers off at a cut price to the Americans leaving the two new aircraft carriers we are building with sod all to stick on them, except for whirly birds. That’s what you get when you leave two Hooray Henry’s in charge of the country. Bloody politicians. Always interfering.

Right, then. Best not get caught. I did not want to end up like that poor sod from the CIA last year. Got caught by the Russians and turned up six months later totally convinced he was Napoleon Solo from The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Was forever pulling his pen top off and asking it to ‘Open channel D.’ Word was he was in a Secret Funny Farm Stateside screwing the nurses like crazy and getting pissed-off that no one was answering him on channel D and that the chewing gum he kept sticking in the gate locks would not blow them to pieces when he lit the match he stuck in it.

You have to give it to the Russians, they have a weird sense of humour at times.

The limo slowed, the indicator noise gently Tick-Tacking away as we waited in a bunch of other limos to turn across the traffic onto the mile long private road down to the Castle to join the other limos stuck in their own private traffic jam waiting to off load the rich and useless at the castle.

A motorcycle cop stops the traffic and waves the limos across.

As the limo pulls across the traffic the Neanderthal tighten his grip on my thigh sending a shiver through my body and I felt a warm glow in my chest.

And then there was those two painful injections in my bum I vaguely remembered having. They were supposed to stop any sexual reaction from Henry happening when a pretty girl walked past me. I’m not gay. I like girls despite whatever the tame shrinks have done in my head. I have very much enjoyed the company of the female sex, if you know what I mean, and have a number of very satisfied customers, too. Damn you Casandra Belmont, I have the feeling I am going to be seeing the tame shrinks long after this operation is over.

Before we know it we are going along the side of the castle. The limos are stop starting now, as the ones in front of us drop off their human cargo one by one. We are getting close to a turn off that drops down into a deep grass moat with a lower vehicle entrance in the castle’s outer wall. Wooden gates open outwards and a delivery van pops out. I watch it zoom up toward us where the driver just pushes through in front of one of the limos on the premise of let me through you or I’m going to put a dent in your nice shiny limo if you don’t. Once on the other side, he shoots off at speed down the driveway back to the main road and civilisation.

I switch back to watching the gates closing down below us. I know from surveillance photographs of previous events, they park some of the limos down there. That is the way I’ll make my exit. Through the kitchens to the parked limos. Grab one and politely leave, or smash the gate down at ramming speed if I have too. Whichever works best at getting me out of there.

You have to admire Herr Müller’s castle. It is solid, massively built from big blocks of stone. It looks like something Charlton Heston would have rode out of in the movie El Cid. Except five years ago this was just unwanted wasteland until Herr Müller bought it and built a castle on it.

Finally we turn along the front and stop at the totally useless drawbridge where a flunkies dressed as Spanish soldiers opens the doors for us. Mine while staring at my tits. I get out ignoring him and wait for the Neanderthal to come round from his side of the car so I can hang onto his arm as we walk across the wooden drawbridge crossing the curving narrow chasm below us with already parked limos and delivery vehicles.

Inside, the castle is like an old Hollywood film set. I half expect to see Errol Flynn sword fighting his way down the curving stone staircase with Basil Rathbone as the evil sheriff of Nottingham, or to come swinging across the room hanging from a chandelier. Although with my luck it would be the weedy Charles Hawtrey from the Carry On films.

I could see Herr Müller across the room as soon as we stood at the top of a wide shallow staircase on entering the big hall. No, make that, vast hall. He had a cute little Korean girl trailing behind him in a sparkling blue halter-top mini-dress. I briefly wondered how it would look on me.

Come on Emma, keep your mind on job. Now. Little miss Korea. Not his girlfriend as she had a small tablet pc in her hands that she kept looking and telling him something as well as tapping away at it as he talks with people. He moves easily from little group to little group chatting to them, the jovial host.

A flunky takes the Neanderthals card and announces our presence to the room.

“Mr Gary Langsbottom, and Miss Emma DeVoe.”

That gets Müller’s attention. His head snaps up to look at us standing in the big twenty foot high arched entrance way with its wide steps down into the hall. He looks shocked as if he cannot believe it.

Oh fuck, shit and fuck again. He is just staring at me like it means something. Well that is not possible. We made Emma DeVoe up, she does not exist. Well the op’s planners made her up. And they are clever enough not to make a name close to one he knows. No one would be that stupid.

What am I thinking? He is probably a football nut, all Germans males are, and he is probably the Moronic Neanderthal’s world’s biggest fan. That will be my ticket to get close to him. Living as the vapid Miss Emma DeVoe this past month has had me thinking the world revolves around me. Oh well, we will soon find out how well the tame shrinks did their job. But…

He really is looking straight at me as he moves at warp factor nine across the Hall to us with little Miss Korea following in his wake as fast as her tight mini-dress and matching sky high heels will let her.

“Em-ma!” he booms, delight all over his face as he bounds up the stairs to us and wraps me in a big bear hug pointedly ignoring the Neanderthal. “I never thought you would come back!”

Oh Crap…

To be continued…

The plan was simple +++ kiss him +++ wipe off lipstick +++ before +++ knock myself out as well!

Ok, I know it was originally in three snippets, but part three worked out too long and I think the split is in a good place.
Part Three.

It took me a while to realise I was awake, and that I was laying their feeling very, very, smug with myself.
I stretched out twisting and curling my toes with that glorious feeling of a cat that has not only just had the cream, but had the peaches and strawberries to go with it and very much enjoyed it. And in my case it was the ever so glorious feeling of having been well and truly fantastically fucked out of my tiny mind.

Hang on there, I can't be feeling that. It’s not possible. I’m a boy not a girl.

So why do I feel like I want to run through meadows full of flowers with the sun shining on me in a summer dress with a silly grin on my face and kissing someone stupid. And most positively, absolutely, gloriously, wickedly sexy.

Oh.

And there is this little thought lurking at the back of my mind, too, saying. You’re in love, stupid. And you have just been made love too as well. Isn’t life wonderful. I smile to myself, confused. Part of me thinking. Isn’t this fantastic, isn’t this great! And another part of me is thinking, No? That's not right… are you crazy! Anyway, you have a job to do. Remember. A computer to break into.

What?

I open my eyes and see a ceiling high above me. This has to be one hell of a super luxury modern hotel room.
Someone stirs beside me. For a brief moment I think of a cute Korea girl in a sparkling blue halter-top mini-dress. Then I remember. Wolfgang. And no, this is not a hotel room. This is Wolfgang’s castle. His bedroom.

Oh, shit, do I remember.

The plan was simple, I would get Herr Müller alone in his office, make an excuse to powered my nose or something. Put on the lipstick. Go back and kiss him. Catch him and lower him to the floor or chair, or whatever was close ten seconds after the kiss. And then quickly wipe off the knock-out lipstick before it worked its way through the lipstick I already had on underneath and I knock myself out as well!

Only that is not what happened. He kissed me straight after he stopped hugging me and lead me holding my hand to his office while I giggled, and then we quickly got passionate and lost our clothes and ended up naked in the bedroom that just happened to be next to his office. Well I kept my stockings on as men go nuts making love to a naked woman wearing stockings. Well, it is kinda sexy, isn’t it?

Wait a minute. I am supposed to be… Emma, or is it Max. I am sure I am Emma.

And then I realise I’ve been bloody screwed over by my own side, the bastards. I was Max, or I had been as they had turned me into Emma. They screwed with my head and body to do it. I was now Emma and there was no way going back given how far they had gone. It had to be a one way street to make it work and they knew it. The Boss lied to me. She has never lied to me. Well, about an op, anyway.

I listened to Wolfgang Müller’s breathing. Slow and even. He was asleep. Time to escape and get the hell out of here before he finds out it has all been a trick. No! Damn it. Time to break into his computer and then get the hell out of here. After all you have a Harrier Jump Jet waiting with your name on it.

I slip naked from the bed and catch a look at myself in the big mirror as I trip across the bedroom showing my naked quim and boobs and stockinged legs as I bend to grab my slinky little dress and spike heel sandals. And yes, I do look super sexy.

I am so going to kill the tame shrinks when I get back to the office. Because I am going to spend months and months in therapy after all this is over.

I bend and pick-up my tiny clutch purse I left discarded on the floor. Not going to tell the tec guys that. They went on forever about taking care of it. It does not look big enough to hold anything but a couple of lipsticks and the few other bits of make-up I have in it. But it is however a self-powered four terabyte blue tooth solid hard drive.

In his office I switch on the computer and hope the passwords I was given still work. I get the tiny dedicated blue-tooth USB from its concealed pocket in the hem of my dress and get to work on his pc. Then while it is down loading I pull my dress on and look around trying to see where my knickers are. Well I’m not going back in the bedroom if they are in there, so will just have to go commando and make sure I do not flash anyone. I check how the high speed download is going while doing up the fiddly slim ankle strap buckles of my heels. A pain to do, but they look great.

As I make my way down the corridors and stairs I am kind of surprised how easy it has all gone. There is a lift, but lifts can be switched off leaving you trapped inside them. So stairs are safer even when going down them in six inch heels.

Something has changed within me. I mean more than that I now have a real and not man made fake vigina between my legs and I guess that means I have the rest of the kit and caboodle up inside me as well. I know it is possible to do that sort of thing now. No I mean in my head. It is female in there now, and I like it. I know they had to do something so I would have sex with Wolfgang.

I can hear awful medieval music coming from somewhere. It must be from Errol Flynn’s hall. I pass waiters taking food out of a series dumb-waiters, I smile at them as they try to work out who I am and what am I doing in their clearly non-guest hallway, and if I am important and they have to be nice to me, or I am just an annoying guest getting in their way. Usefully a little further on a sign points down a steep staircase saying ‘Kitchen’.

I carefully make my way down them holding onto the rail. Super high heels and steep staircases do not go together. I know it is silly, but I really am not sure if I am Max plus Emma, or Emma plus Max. And it is bugging me. At the bottom a door with a round window leads straight into the kitchen.

Soon as I enter everything stops dead as about twenty men turn and stare at me. I guess down here they do not often see females. Especially ones who are Herr Müller’s guests. A radio is blaring out pop music. I spy the kitchen door into the courtyard on the far side of the room. The quickest and easiest way there is past the office. Except the head chef is standing in the doorway of his office staring like his staff. The Four Tops start to blast out of the radio.

OOooh, Sugar pie honey bunch
You know that I love you
I can't help myself…

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I start dancing, jigging around. My version of sixties girl dancing. The stares turn to smiles and grins, following every move I make. I remember embarrassingly just how much of me is on view in this tiny, clingy little dress. I mean I am bra-less and they can see that.

You come and you go
Leaving just your picture behind
And I kissed it a thousand times
When you snap your fingers

I am by the chef now, I dive in and wrap my arms seductively around his neck and hang on him and kiss him full on the lips and it is nice. That surprises me. I like it.

Then I pinch a cigarette from the open pack in his hand as I move away smiling at him, he grins. I let the cigarette hang down un-lit from my pink lipstick lips like I am doing a Humphrey Bogart impersonation as I dance away from him thinking all I need now is a hat to get it right while trying to channel Sandi Shaw and Dusty Springfield.

And there's nothing I can do
Ooh, cant' help myself, no I can't help myself,
Sugar pie honey bunch

I twirl around and am closer to the outside door. Lost in my own world of music for the moment. Flashes of Wolfgang Müller making love to me bring me to a halt by the back door where confused I reach for the door handle and give them all a little shy wave and slip out into the courtyard.

…can't help myself
I love you and nobody else
Sugar pie honey bunch……

The door closes behind me cutting off the music. I survey the curved courtyard.

There is a delivery van conveniently waiting a couple of hundred feet away from me at the big wooden gates in the archway ready to leave. They are just starting to open. I have to be quick now if I want out of here, but I keep thinking of Wolfgang Müller kissing me.

A quick glance shows the nearest limo driver is leaning on the bonnet of his S class Mercedes. Good. They are nice and heavy and built like tanks. I fix a smile on my face and move as seductively and slinky as I can over to him. And Boy! Can I do that I think rather pleased with myself.

“Hi there, got a light for a girl? Can you believe they won’t let me smoke inside.” I pout, tipping the un-lit cigarette up with my lips as if to make my point.

He follows me as I moved out of sight of the other drivers going further back into the archway of the garage entrance and leaning back against wooden garage doors. He grins looking at my tits as he reaches for his lighter. And I think Sorry, and grab his jacket while bring my knee up hard between his legs and twisting him round as he drops to fall lent against the garage doors.

“Sorry, but needs must.” I say to him and pull the driver’s door open.

I slip into the seat. I would kick off the heels if I could, but the ankle strap buckles are tiny and it would take forever.

The keys are in the Ignition, so one quick turn has big petrol lump powering into life. I look up to see the delivery van is already through the gates. Shit. I must move fast, now.

I select drive quick as I can, not as fast as when you could just yank the selector lever back, but that’s progress for you, you have to use the stupid mouse thing nowadays.

Yank the handbrake off and floor the throttle. We surge forward gaining speed. Engine roaring. I see people turning to look at us. We are two hundred feet from the gate. At least there is no little old lady coming out of the guard room with a machine-gun to fire at us.

In the seconds between this and the gates. I decided that this is my last job. I am not stupid. I know I am a completely different person to who I was. But this is who I am now and I like me. A twist of the steering wheel lines us up and the big lump of metal powers us to ramming speed and we charge towards the narrowing gap in the closing gates.
Get the Harrier spooled up, boys. Emma’s on her way!

BANG! POOF!

The Mercedes’s rear end jumps six feet off the ground as the nose comes to an abrupt, sudden halt.
The airbags smacks me in the face and side and I groan as the S-class comes crashing back down to earth, bouncing up and down. The nose mangled in the gate

“Bastards”, I think as I see the gate are not wooden after all, but metal cover with wood to make them look old. “Bastards.” I think again.

I am vaguely aware, even though stunned, my ears singing. That Miss Korea has appeared by my window and is pointing a thingy at me, and while I am wondering what the ‘thingy’ was. I hear a soft putt and an “Ow!” comes from my lips as my arm stings and I think, I hope Müller doesn’t have a laser beam down in the basement, then blissfully, darkness descends…

To be continued…

There are times in an operation when you think, I may not get out of this one alive. The thought is fleeting and then you fight like bugger to make sure you do get out alive.
Only this time, I know this is IT. This is the end. No tomorrow.

Part Four.

I would have to say I am not comfortable. Well you cannot be when you are lying spread eagle in shallow water minus your knickers and secured to a cold half inch thick sheet of steel. Oh, and someone is gently rubbing the bud I should not have to stop me pretending to be asleep.

I groan. Or is that moan. But I can’t pretend anymore. And, Ooh God! Breath shudders from me in relief when she stops doing it. I know it is Herr Müller’s little Miss Korea as I can smell her perfume and she has this tinkling light laughter.

Then she rakes her fingernail along my bud and my brain and lower bits explode into that full technicolour fireworks thing writers always go on about and I make nonsensical little bird noises for a while. Oh GOD! This is not supposed to happening! But Oh WOW! Am I in sexual heaven and it is all too late. Because soon I will be dead.

But that girl is perverted and I am positively bi-sexual now and anytime she wants to go to bed with me is ok by me...

Except I know that is not really going to happen. But anything that keeps my mind occupied and not thinking about what is about to happen to me is fine and ok as far as my brain is concerned, given it has worked out where we are now and what is happening.

“Good. You awake now. Herr Müller, he like say, good-bye to you.”

I open my eyes slowly. For some reason Little Miss Korea seems to be floating above and moving away from me. There is the faint hum of electricity. She is laying on her side raised up on one elbow watching me. She smiles when I look at her and gives me a little wave with her fingers.

As she does I cannot ignore the hissing crackling sound on my left anymore and look, seeing another sheet of metal which, I guess is like mine. Except that this one has a plasma cutter doing serious Grievous Bodily Harm to it. The plasma cutter is on a central arm letting it swing around to work on four sheets of steel in turn in the water pool. If it is going in a clockwise direction, and the sheet getting GBH done to it is number one, then I am on number four. Great. I get to watch it cut three up before I get to die screaming in agony as the plasma cutter cuts me in two. If it is going the other way. Not my day.

There are times in an operation when you think, I may not get out of this one alive. The thought is fleeting and then you fight like bugger to make sure you do get out alive.

Only this time, I know this is IT. This is the end. No tomorrow.

On the face of it, I would rather have not known how I was going to die screaming my head off until shock or my lungs buy it. And I think I would have preferred the laser beam as well.

At some point in the future Casandra Belmont will take a last look at my file and then drop it into the shredder at the end of her desk, and Max Johnson will no longer have ever existed. What the hell. It was not my real name, anyway.

“Hello Em-ma, or is it rather, secret agent Max of M.I.6?”

Herr Müller has appeared on my right looming above me. Only this time I can see why, he is standing on some kind of platform over the pool water.

He is grinning down at me.

“That is one hell of a disguise you have their. Turning yourself into a real woman complete with a full set of genuine sexual organs. I give you full marks for dedication. It is just a pity you did not do your research correctly. Trying to sneak in as an old girlfriend. Did you not know?
Emma died in a car crash in Brazil four years ago?”

Fuck. What could I say. I knew my side had screwed me. They do not makes mistakes like that. The offices were full of Oxbridge graduates. They might be useless at anything practical, like parking in our underground garage without hitting something, but they could research the arse off you.

The plasma cutter moves over to the second sheet and starts hissing crackling as it cuts into it. Müller paused, we both watched it for a moment.

“All that effort for nothing. It is a pity I have to return you in two parts. But, after that is done with you.”

He nods to the plasma cutter and shrugs his shoulders as if to say, ‘Sorry about that’. He looks back down at me.

“I was thinking of mounting you in two tanks of formaldehyde. Like the Damien Hirst thing. You know, his cow cut in two. What do you think about becoming two pieces of artwork?”

Should have used the old laser then, me old mate. I think. Less messy. Cleaner cut. But I say nothing. Chin-up, and We about to die, all that rot.

He turns away from me. Says something to someone.

“You think I’ll talk.”

I know JB said that in the movie, but what else is there to say. ‘Sorry old boy. About spying on you and all that. But do you think you could untie me and let me go home now, please’.

He turns back to look at me for a moment.

“Oh, no Max.” He say chuckling. “Or is it, Em-ma. No. I expect you to Die.”

And turns away laughing shaking his head as the platform starts to move away from me. Then stops, and looks back at me still shaking his head laughing. He calls back to me. “I almost said, Mr Bond, then.”
And turns away laughing to himself.

The plasma cutter turns to the third sheet and crackles back into life dead in line with me now, and starts cutting. I watch as it cuts through the steel sheet from end to end knowing I have only a minute or two at the most left to live.

“Of course.” He says. He is back looming above me with Little Miss Korea beside him toting a whacking great big hand gun in her small hands.

My eyes are fixed on the plasma cutter. Watching it leave the sheet of steel cut in two. Watching it start towards my sheet. I shut my eyes shut tight and wait to scream in pain as it cuts through me till I am dead and hope the shock kills me quickly, knowing it will not. It is amazing how much destruction the body can stand if you do not take out anything vital before it gives up the ghost.

“If you like.” My eyes flick back to his as he watches my face. “Suki could put a bullet in your brain.”

He makes a motion with his hands to say ‘if you want her too?

It is almost to my sheet.

Then there is a hard crack like the sound of lighting striking as six feet from my spread ankles the plasma cutter starts up again and begins to cut into the sheet I am laying on.

I turn my head away and say nothing. But I think, you are a bloody fool. He is offering you a painless way out and you turn your head away. I close my eyes tight and wait.

There is a soft putt…

Ms Casandra Belmont looked at the Max Johnson/Emma DeVoe’s file on her desk. And at the hand written note from the head of MI6 beside it. Telling her to put the file down the Slot. She had refused to do so, so far. Despite many requests from up above. Even if the consensus was he, or rather she, had died on the day or soon after at Müller’s hands.

She held the file lightly in her fingers. She knew this time with a hand written note she could not disobey him. If she did, she would get a text informing her of her instant retirement as she travelled home tonight, and her replacement would make putting the file down the slot the first thing he or she did in the morning.

They had been more than pleased with the results of operation Müller three years ago. Delighted at how well and to plan it had all gone, and of course the information gained had been invaluable.

When Operation Müller first arrived in her office it had already been running for six months and they came knowing who they wanted from her. The woman Emma, from the Paris operation. They said she was perfect double of a woman Müller had known. They were shocked when she told them Emma had been a man in disguise, but then to her surprise were for some reason delighted by it.

She had objected to the Head of MI6 when she found her man was being thrown away as a decoy who would be blown the moment he/she met Herr Müller and said that name with little or no chance of escape.

She had still set up a quick escape route with the Spanish and had waited all night in the hope of getting the signal telling her that her girl was on the way home mad as hell on finding just how real she had become. But the call never came. And that seemed to please the people behind the operation even more.

The sole purpose of Operation Müller had been to protect their real source of information inside Herr Müller’s organisation. And they were prepared to sacrifice one of her people to do it. They had known the real Emma DeVoe had died during an attempted kidnap attempt at Herr Müller’s estate in Brazil and that the knowledge had been a closely guarded secret known only to a very few.

She dropped the file down the slot to the shredder, and picked up an internal phone. Pressed a button and waited, then said with a sad voice. “Tell him, it has been done.”

And wished the person on the other end a good week-end, and put the phone down.

With a small smile she went into the secure email program on the laptop she used. She clicked on a photo and sent it to her office printer, which she placed in her purse. Then she deleted the email and a small worm program worked its way back through the internet destroying any scrap of evidence it had ever existed.

On the way home in the car that evening she leant back in the rear seat watching London’s night lift pass her by outside. She was nearly forty-three and had been in charge of the dirty tricks department for twelve years now. Maybe it was time to retire. She would see how she felt in the morning.

Then, she thought of the photograph in her purse, and took it out. Gently smiling at it. Remembering the words on the email it came in.

HMG of course was Her Majesty’s Government. And EDV, well. The photograph showed a smiling Wolfgang Müller with his arm around a smiling very proud Emma DeVoe in a bikini on a super yacht. In front of them a happy pretty little blonde haired girl of about two years of age played in a child’s plastic sand pit.

The End

A point of consideration – I haven’t a clue what a plasma cutter sounds like. So you will have to forgive writers license to how I describe it.
Be Seeing You.