Twenty-Eight Days in Athens (greybishop & Trish the Nugg Queen)

[greybishop]

C-28: Twenty-eight days before the peace conference. Friday afternoon.

David Ingram sat in the lobby of the King George hotel sipping a cappuccino; their suite was still being cleaned and the hotel staff had been tremendously apologetic about it. David had heard that Athenians could be just as rude as Parisians, but so far that hadn’t seemed to be the case; maybe it was that whatever Langley was paying for the suite also bought a little courtesy. Just then one of the concierges, a guy also named George (“If that is your real name” David said to himself) came bustling up to apologize yet again.

“I am so sorry Mister Ivers. There was some sort of mistake and the Executive Suite you booked will be ready shortly. Is there anything I can get you while you wait?”

David smiled easily at the concierge. “It’s not a big deal George. These things happen. But another cappuccino while I wait would be fabulous.” David had been up since way before dawn, flying out of Baghdad and then catching connecting flights to Greece, and he could use the caffeine.

“Of course Mister Ivers. Thank you so much.”

As George scuttled away David rearranged himself a bit on the opulent chair he was sitting in and tugged at his navy blue sport coat; it was by no means shabby but it still paled in comparison to the genuine antique he was sitting on. The entire lobby looked like a museum and David was glad he’d decided to fly dressed up a little bit, in order to fit his cover for this operation; besides the sport coat, David was wearing a white shirt that had started the day crisply pressed, khaki slacks and a comfortable pair of brown loafers. All a far cry from what he usually wore to work in Iraq. “But that’s what this mission’s going to be like, isn’t it?” he thought.

A waiter bought David a fresh cappuccino and as he sipped on it and ate the little cookie, he reflected on why Langley had sent him to Athens on what might be a fool’s errand; to somehow find a shadowy terrorist known as Le Playboy (“How fucking trite” thought David) before he disrupted a peace conference between Assad and the opposition that Washington and Moscow had been working on for ages. According to some French source this guy was in Athens now, casing his target and living it up at the same time; all anyone knew about Le Playboy was that he was Lebanese, maybe had been trained by Hezbollah and despite being Muslim, also liked whiskey and western women – hence his astoundingly old school nom de guerre. Oh, and also that he maybe was a little taller than normal and maybe had a scar somewhere on his body.

On top of having next to nothing to work with (“C’mon French source” David thought,) he was also being teamed up with some Russian GRU chick to go beat the bushes, posing as some sort of “working couple” in a desperate attempt to find Le Playboy before he … did whatever he was supposedly gonna do. “Jesus Christ” thought David, “no wonder we totally missed 9/11 until it was way too late.”

As David sipped his drink he reflected on the gal who would be his partner for the next four weeks or so. She supposedly was the best the GRU had to offer, and the images they’d sent along to Langley at least made it look like she’d suit the part she was supposed to play. But could an officer as junior as her actually do the work? “Well” David thought, “even if this whole thing turns out to be a complete bust, at least it’ll be a nice vacation from the sandbox.”

---Photos---

Exterior of the King George (on the left.)

The hotel lobby.

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

"I don't understand why the Americans needed to be involved, Strelkov."

Milena could hear her superior's exasperated sigh on the other side of the phone line. "Look, if it were up to me, I'd get those NATO fucks to keep their noses out of our shit too. But they have a stake in this too, so we can't stop them getting involved, and the higher-ups want us co-operating 'in the spirit of the peace talks'." That was the thing about bureaucracy, Milena thought. It was always the fault of someone on a higher pay grade.

"Whatever. As long as he doesn't get in my way, it should be fine, but I'm not putting up with any Yankee bullshit from him, and I'm not happy about this sexist guise we're going under. I fought in Crimea, for Christ's sake, I'm not some fucking housewife. Anyway, look, we're coming up on the hotel now. I'll call you back once I'm in the hotel."

"You're sure your driver doesn't speak Russian?"

"As sure as you are that the American doesn't." She hung up, sighing and resting her head on the door window, watching the twinkling of Athens' lights through the streaky raindrops against glass.

"Trouble?" the taxi driver asked in heavily-accented English. Of course he doesn't speak Russian. Milena's English was at least passable, even if she was a little rusty with it - It had been a long, long time since she'd studied at that private high school in England.

"Yes, just work trouble," she responded, and the driver nodded in a way that suggested he didn't understand much more English than Russian.

Finally, they pulled up at the front of the King George, Milena handed the driver whatever he asked for (she couldn't be bothered haggling with these sweaty Balkanites), and stepped out into the rain. Stepping carefully in heels up the rain-soaked steps, she ducked under cover as quickly as she could, irritably brushing off all attempts by the hotel staff to coo and fuss over her. They only cared because they were being paid to do so, and she didn't want such pretend attention from anyone.

All she had to go off regarding her 'husband's appearance was a brief description - presumably because the Americans didn't want to co-operate so much as to send a picture of one of their agents - but it still wasn't too hard to track Ingram down. She put on the best fake smile she could manage and approached him, surprising herself with how steady she managed to be in heels instead of combat boots. "Hello, honey!" She sat down next to him, smoothing her dress over her pale thighs. To keep up appearances, she leaned towards him, bracing a hand on his chest and giving him a quick, affectionate peck on the lips. She had to remain professional about this, as much as she hated it. "How was your flight? Is our room ready yet? I'm so very tired..."

 

[greybishop]

David’s gloomy mood improved somewhat when the Russian woman walked into the lobby and greeted him; besides being as cute as her pictures, she was acting like a complete pro right from the get-go. David returned her greeting by giving Milena’s upper arm and one of her hands a quick, friendly little squeeze; nothing out of line and just enough to also get started on building their cover.

“Hey hon, you made it! You look great, as always.” David sat back, grinned and then took another sip of his cappuccino. “My flight was okay, how about yours? And no, the suite isn’t …” Just then George came bustling up. “Mr. Ivers I’m delighted to … Oh, good afternoon Madam, welcome to Athens … As I was saying Mr. Ivers your suite is ready now. If you’ll follow me? The porters will bring your luggage, and Madam’s as well.” As the concierge hurried off David grinned as he stood, then offered Milena his arm. “Shall we, dear?”

---

George took forever showing them around the suite. The door opened onto a very nice living room, which was big enough to hold two sofas and a couple of wing chairs that looked as antique as the furniture in the lobby. Off to the right, behind double doors, was the bedroom and bath, which featured a king sized bed and a full bathtub. To the left was a small workspace with a writing desk, the minibar and a second half bath, as well as a little door that led out to a private balcony with an Acropolis view. “Christ” David thought. “I wonder how much this place is setting back Langley? They must really be desperate.”

After David pressed some euros into George’s palm and ushered him out of the room he pulled off his sport coat, got himself a Johnnie Walker Black from the minibar and plopped down on one of the sofas. “Jeez” he said to Milena with a grin, “I thought that guy would never shut up.” After a sip of his whiskey David went on in an easy tone. “They told me we could talk in the room. You’re Milena right? I’m David.” The American raised his glass towards the Russian in a little toast. “Cheers. Nice job down in the lobby by the way.”

After another sip of whisky David went on. “So I suppose we should talk about how we’re going to handle this shit show. But if you want to clean up first or get something to eat …” David left his question hanging as he glanced into the bedroom. David was no “white knight” wannabe and normally, if he’d been working with an American officer, he might have told her “Rank has its privileges, but I’m sure you’ll be comfortable on the sofa” or maybe “Which side of the bed do you prefer?” But for some reason, maybe in the interest of doing a little team building, he said “You can have the bed if you want.” He patted the sofa next to where he was sitting. “The sofa seems comfy enough. Though we’ll have to remember to mess up both sides of the bed, for housekeeping’s benefit.”

Before Milena could respond the porters showed up with their bags and David tipped them as well. Then, once they had the room to themselves again, he looked at Milena, tilted his head and raised an eyebrow …

---Photos---

The suite's living room.

The bedroom.

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

Milena tried as hard as she could to not roll her eyes at the concierge's toadying, just putting on a soft, fake smile. She’d let Ingram do the talking, she decided, and just play the doting, foreign trophy wife. The room, she was disappointed to find, was every bit as extravagantly materialistic as the lobby had been. A little part of her found it somewhat exciting to be living in such luxury, even for less than a month, but her training chided this part of her. They were there for work, not pleasure, and they’d be spending more time sifting through the scum of the city than cooped up in here.

Ingram tipped the concierge, because of course he did – It was the American way to leave a living wage as the responsibility of the customers and not the employer. Milena left him to it, doing a quick search in the room for bugs just in case, and frowning at the king-bed they’d been given. Of course they needed it, it’d be suspicious if a happily married couple were sleeping in separate beds/ But then why couldn’t they have posed as a couple on the brink of divorce, only kept together by their work professionalism? Whatever dickweed had pulled the strings on that one was having a good chuckle to themselves, she figured.

Luckily, she didn’t need to bring up the bed situation – Ingram did it for her. What’s more, he’d suggested exactly what she was going to. “Yes, I am Milena Reznikova. Ivers when we are in public, I suppose. I am glad you were here before me, to deal with that podkhalim. I might have shot him or myself if I had been left with him any longer. But no, no eating. Plane food makes me... blocked. What I need now is alcohol, not more food.” She went for the minibar, mixing herself a Jim Beam & Pepsi, slipping out of her heels before taking a sip. Her feet ached like hell, but she supposed she’d get used to wearing them eventually. She’d already surprised herself with how well she could walk in them. “Yes, you will have sofa, and I will have bed.”

Once the porters were gone, she sat down next to him, keeping a professional distance between them, and pulled her laptop out of her bag. “Now, to business. I do not know how much you have been told, but we having very little. What little we do know gives good starting lead, however. ‘Le Playboy’…” She tried not to groan at that. “He is… not very devout Muslim, on debaucherous matters. That often is how these fanatics are – One rule for them, and another for everyone else.” She took another sip of her drink, typing away at her laptop on the coffee table. “Athens is moderate-sized city, and prostitution is legal here, but should be best place to start. Ask around about Lebanese man with taste for white women – How many can really there be?” She sat back, rubbing her sore feet together and taking deeper sips of her drink.

 

[greybishop]

David scratched his cheek and then sipped his drink as he tried to make sense of what the young Russian woman had just said; plane food makes her … blocked? There was really only one way to interpret that; didn’t the Russian’s have the concept of ‘too much information?’ “Well, at least she’s opening up a little” David thought. “Or, well … not I guess.” He really had to suppress a laugh as that notion popped into his head; given the Russian’s attitude so far, he didn’t think she’d appreciate it. His mind kept wandering though. “And at least there’s that separate half bath I can use, in case her blockage …” David was just able to stand and look away out the window as the laugh finally forced its way out; he bit down on his lip and kind of coughed a little, as he tried to turn the sound into something different. “Sorry” he said out loud, still looking out the window. “Swallowed the wrong way.” As David composed himself he also chided himself mentally. “She’s being very serious about all this, just like you’d want one of our new officers to be. So don’t be a dick.” That settled the American down enough to sit back on the sofa and smile at Milena.

“That’s a good idea.” David thought for a moment before he went on. “We have as much as you do I think, and it’s not a lot. Hopefully the original source, or some source, will provide something a little more actionable to go on. The name of a club, or a part of town, whatever …” David had a little more whiskey before he continued. “But until then … our analysts reached out to the Bureau’s profilers, and they suggested upscale clubs and whisky bars. Especially around the city center here in Syntagma, and in Glyfada down by the beaches.” David finished his drink and then went to the minibar to get a bottle of water. “But that could also be combined with your idea. I’m sure there’ll be high priced escort types in some of those places.” David sat back down on the sofa. “They think this guy is super confident and wants to be seen as a player. If that’s true, I doubt he’s gonna be chasing after streetwalkers.”

David had a little water and thought some more. “Tell you what. The Station is supposed to be sending me a list of clubs and whatnot we might want to start getting familiar with. I’ll get in touch with them tonight …” David gestured at his own laptop bag before he went on “… and ask them about the prostitution angle too. See which clubs might combine the two, or if they know about any escort services that high rollers use when they come to town. Unless you guys have already done that, that is?” David raised his eyebrow as he asked the question. “Sound like a plan?”

“Speaking of the Station, they tell me the deal is that we’ll be providing for your logistical needs on this op; easier and more secure to have just one point of contact for that, and ours is … a little bigger than yours. So that nice bed you’ll be sleeping in is courtesy of America’s taxpayers.” Jack grinned at Milena then, to let her know he was just messing with her a little. “Anyway I’ll be getting our guns tomorrow. Not that I think we’ll need them right away, or ever probably, but … well just in case and so you know. If there’s anything else you think we really need, let me know and I can ask. But besides that, I don’t think anyone expects us to go to work tonight, so after we’re done here I’m gonna go check out the restaurant.” David sipped a little more water as he waited to see what his new partner wanted to do …

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

She'd expected the American to be very 'my way or the highway', wanting to take the lead and the glory for himself. She certainly hadn't expected him to be so... agreeable. But he'd given her the bed, built on her strategy... It was a little off-putting, if she was being honest. Perhaps they really did have a chance in all this, despite the obvious setbacks in their lack of information. She ignored his choking sounds behind her, thinking to herself that he needed to slow down on his alcohol if he was that inept at drinking it.

"Da, sounds like a plan. Too late and wet now to go looking in person, but you should make those calls tonight. I have already some tabs open on Islamic State's history and influence in Syria and Lebanon, I can continue research tonight, see if I can vyvedite - 'figure out' - something more about this Playboy than we have been given already." Taking her now-empty glass to the sink, she began washing up. She didn't really mind that Ingram could see her padding around barefoot - They were in the relative privacy of their hotel room, and her feet hurt, so why shouldn't she be barefoot? Besides, it was a rare moment that she felt quite pretty, getting the opportunity to wear nail polish that matched the blue of her dress. Not that she cared that much about being pretty, but the colour contrasted nicely with her pale, creamy skin.

She shrugged off his comments about logistics being run by the Americans. It meant administrative stress taken off the GRU, and it made more sense anyway - Greece was a NATO ally, and hardly got along all that well with Russia. It was far easier to let the Americans handle all that, no matter which way you spun it. She raised an eyebrow at the taxpayers comment, however. "Ah. So we have your retail workers to thank for this room, and not Amazon or Tesla." Shut up, she chastised herself. You'll hardly be getting along with talk like that. She wasn't so keen on having US-made guns, either, but they all worked the same way at least, even if she didn't trust their craftsmanship. Guns were a business in America, a huge business, so they couldn't be as well-made as Russian guns. There was a reason the AK was the most used firearm on Earth.

She stacked the glass away to dry, looking out the window at the surprisingly peaceful urban stretch of Athens at night. Four million people with no clue of the terrorist amongst them, nor the ramifications if he were to succeed at... something. What even was he planning? He was an assassin, so perhaps Assad was his target - Being so far from home, he was at his most vulnerable in a long time, and his death would destabilise Syria enough that perhaps IS could make a comeback. She was knocked out of her thoughts by Ingram mentioning he was going to head out to dinner. She didn't particularly want to go - What she wanted was to take a nice, long soak in the bath while he was gone - but it would hardly be seemly for Mr Ivers to be seen without his loving wife. "What sort of restaurant? I don't want anything too fancy. And if you're fucking vegan you can go by yourself."

 

[greybishop]

David relaxed a little when Milena didn’t balk at blending their ideas; at least they wouldn’t be working against each other, even if they didn’t have all that much to actually work with at the moment. That let him enjoy the sight of the young Russian woman padding over to the sink in her bare feet, though he was careful to keep his glance from turning into a stare. Besides acting like a pro and having a nice figure, she seemed very … comfortable in her own skin and confident too, though not over confident like some inexperienced newbie fresh out of training. And her painted toenails were a nice touch; they might have just been a mark of her professionalism, but he somehow doubted it.

David laughed a little when Milena mentioned the whole tax thing. “Well, we definitely don’t have Amazon to thank, since I don’t think they pay any taxes. Not sure how they do that but I definitely wish I had their accountant, since it’s not just retail workers, but poor underpaid government workers like me who’re paying for this room.” David set his empty whisky glass down next to the little sink before he went on. “So I think the least you can do dear, is wash this up for me too.” Jack grinned a little to let Milena know it was a joke, but still wondered if she’d wash the glass, let it sit there or throw it at his head.

While he waited to take the glass between the eyes David laughed again at the Russian’s little outburst about him being a vegan. “No, I’m not a vegan. And I think the restaurant here mainly does Greek cuisine, so there should be plenty of meat and fish on the menu along with feta cheese and olives.” David’s voice got a little more serious as he went on. “But look, if your … stomach isn’t feeling that great, you don’t have to come. If anyone asks, and they won’t, I’ll just say you didn’t feel like eating after your trip. It’s not the 1950s anymore, so we don’t have to be joined at the hip whenever we’re not working.” David tossed his empty water bottle into a wastebasket and put his sport coat back on, while he waited to see if his new partner really did want to go to the restaurant after all …

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

A wry smirk played across Milena's lips, and she bowed melodramatically as she picked up his glass to wash it. "Of course, love. What else are wives for?" It wasn't too much hassle, and he didn't seem to really mean anything by it - Besides, he'd likely had a more stressful flight here, coming in over active warzones. She could wash one glass, as long as this really was just a joke and wasn't going to become a frequent thing he expected of her. "And the answer you're looking for is 'being a corporation'. That is ticket to not paying your taxes."

With both glasses clean and drying, she sighed softly, heading back to the couch to slip her heels back on. "Alright, I am in mood for fish actually. Anything that does not come in little plastic and alfoil container. Ugh. Besides, gives us more time for talking, yes? We have plenty of time for talking of job." She smiled mischeviously, adjusting her shoes and getting up. "I am curious what you think of working with Russians. What you think of me. Is hardly... normal, yes? For our interests to align. Cold War never really ended, we are just capitalist now."

After taking a spare moment to freshen up her hair, she joined her 'husband' back down the elevator to the restaurant. Just like everything else in this hotel, it was gaudy in its antique extravagance. She kept close to him, hooking an arm in his like they had before, while being led to a little candlelit table for two. She practically pushed the waiter away as he tried to lay her napkin in her lap, insisting on doing it herself, though she noticed the waiter's look of frustration at how messily she'd laid it out. Taking a sip of water, she frowned at the stain her lipstick left on the glass. Had she put too much on? She hadn't even noticed it on the glass back in their room. What was she supposed to do now, sip from the same spot and touch the stain? Or sip from somewhere new each time she wants water, and end up leaving a ring of red around the rim? After realising that she'd been staring at the glass, she set it down, clearing her throat and blushing softly as she buried her attention in the menu.

 

[greybishop]

David was pleased when Milena changed her mind about dinner; eating alone was never fun. And it was nice the way she easily took his arm as they walked from the elevator to the restaurant, though he knew that was probably because she seemed a little uncomfortable in her heels; “Maybe they’re new, something she got for this op” he mused.

The hotel’s Tudor Hall restaurant was as lavish as the rest of the King George and since it was on the seventh floor, had a stunning view of the Acropolis now that the rain had stopped and the air was clear. The little, out of the way table for two they were shown to was quite cozy and David had to smile as Milena practically throttled the waiter for trying to help her with her napkin; it suddenly struck him how she could go from being comfortable and confident about big things to not-so-comfortable about little things. As he glanced at the menu David was happy to see that it did indeed feature nouveau Greek cuisine, with plenty of meat and seafood and nary a gyro in sight; the fresh fish in particular caught his eye, not just because Milena had mentioned it but also because you just couldn’t get anything like that at the Embassy dining facility in Baghdad. When the waiter asked about drinks David told him they’d be having wine with dinner, but were going to hold off and let the sommelier pick something that paired well with their choices; since he suspected they were both going to have fish he went on to say that he was interested in trying a Greek dry white.

Once the waiter had cleared off for a bit David looked at Milena and caught her staring at a lipstick stain on her water glass; there was no way it’d been there before they sat down in a place like this, so he wondered what was up with that. Then she blushed for some reason before she started looking at her menu, and he wondered what was up with that as well, though he did rather like the color it brought to the pale skin of her cheeks and neck. As David had a little water he thought a little supportive mentoring might be in order at this point so in a low, friendly voice he started talking. “I know you can take care of yourself; they wouldn’t have picked you for this if you couldn’t. And you’re doing great so far. But just let them fuss over you a little. It’s what they expect, and it’ll make them happy so they go away quicker and forget about you sooner.”

David considered the woman sitting across from him. While she certainly was a pro and looked about as far from a stereotypical Russian babushka as a woman could get, there was still something about Milena that, while delightful in its way, didn’t quite mesh with the role she was playing for this mission. So instead of talking about how he felt, David thought he'd find out a little about how she felt. “Hope you don’t mind about the wine thing; they were expecting that and I really do want to try some Greek white. But if you want another cocktail, I can signal a waiter over right now; there’s one hovering. And I think I’m going to have their scallops appetizer if you want to split it, along with trying their scorpion fish specialty, it sounds interesting.” David had a little more water before he casually went on. “So where in Russia are you from?”

---Photo---

The Acropolis as seen from the restaurant.

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

Keeping her face buried behind the menu, she nodded, cursing herself for blushing like a schoolgirl. Ingram was clearly starting to trust her as capable already, what would he make of her being confused at wearing lipstick for the first time? You hardly know how to be a woman, she thought to herself. "I suppose so. I just don't like being fussed over. It's not that I can do it myself - I can of course, but it is... pritvoryat'sya. They do not really mean it. People should do and say what they mean, not pretend." She cleared her throat, putting the menu away and biting gently on her lip. "Anyway, white wine is fine. I prefer red, but of course white goes better with seafood. The scallops appetiser sounds good, I am thinking maybe of steamed lemongrass cod for main... I have found appetite once more." Her stomach gurgled to emphasise the point.

She couldn't meet David's gaze still, looking down at the silver fork before her, fidgeting with it to reflect the moonlight's glare up onto the ceiling. "From Volgograd, used to be Stalingrad. My great-grandfather fought the Nazis there. He survived, but cut his wrists open in the bathtub in 1972. Dedushka always said he was very troubled man, after the war. My family were always strong supporters of CCCP, all the way to great-great-great-grandfather. He was leek farmer, labour organiser, and Menshevik - until 1917." She sat back, folding her arms against her chest and finally looking him in the eyes again. "Anyway, you did not answer my question. You think I would forget? I have new one now, to add to it. Where are you from? I do not know much about America, though. Only a few places. California, New York, Florida..."

 

[greybishop]

David considered Milena’s answer to his question. Volgograd was certainly a major city, but in the grand scheme of things he recalled it was also kind of an out of the way, blue collar town, especially when compared to Moscow or Saint Petersburg. So Milena wasn’t from the sticks exactly, but more Russia’s equivalent of say Detroit; maybe that’s why she seemed a little uncomfortable with being plopped down in a five star hotel in Athens. The waiter came back and David gave him their order, which allowed him a bit more time to think.

“Well, maybe some of them do mean it. Do want you to feel like a special, pampered guest here in your home away from home, so to speak. Something to think about maybe.” David sipped a little water. “But anyway, it’s our job to pretend right?” That gave him an idea, but David decided to save bringing it up for later and instead addressed Milena’s questions.

“Me? I grew up in a suburb of Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love.” David laughed a little as he said that. “It’s between New York and Florida. I had a very middle class, capitalist family; my Dad works for an insurance company, my Mom sells houses part time and my sister married a car dealer. All very cozy and pretty boring. My family were always strong supporters of the Philadelphia Phillies.” David laughed again as he explained that the Phillies were a baseball team, then paused as the wine and appetizer arrived.

After he offered a little toast (“To the success of our mission,”) David turned his attention to Milena’s original questions, the ones she’d posed back up in the room. “I don’t think it’s so weird for us to be working together. Sure the U.S. and Russia are still rivals in many ways, but it’s also possible for our interests to align from time to time. You have your problems with terrorism and so do we; it comes with being a world power. And I don’t think we’re looking for excuses to nuke each other anymore either; that’s bad for business and like you said, you guys are filthy capitalists now too;” David said the last with a grin, in the hope that Milena would take it as the joke it was intended to be.

“And I think most Russians are a lot like Americans in some ways; proud, stubborn, tough when they have to be. But I guess there are differences too. You guys always seem to know your history, like you talking about your Great Granddad fighting the Nazis in World War 2 as if it was yesterday; I really don’t know much about my grandparents, much less my great grandparents.” David had a little more of the wine, which he thought was quite good. “And I remember someone telling me to keep in mind that Russia is as much an Asian country as it is a European one; that’s kind of obvious when you look at a map, but easy to forget if you don’t know your history.” David grinned a little. “So have I answered your questions ma’am, or do you have some more? And how about you, what do you think of being teamed up with an American? Did you volunteer for this mission, or were you volun-told you’d be doing it?” David tried the scallop appetizer then, and thought it was amazing.

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

Milena's eyes lit up with excited recognition, proud of herself for knowing what he was talking about. "Oh, Philadelphia! Yes, I know that one. The one with the... bell. I think." She giggled, brushing her hair away from her face, not really thinking about how this was the first time in many years that she'd giggled about anything. "You Americans and your baseball. I know this is almost heretical to say, but I don't really see the appeal. Hitting a ball with a stick, chasing it around, eating that processed foam you call 'hot dog'... And it's all so strictly organised and clean. Of course, I'm not a very sporty person. Tennis and hockey are more popular back home, but I don't really follow those either. And believe it or not, I was rather, um... large as a teenager. I lost a lot of weight in the army, but I still don't like sports much."

She raised her (generous) glass of white wine with him, smiling softly as they clinked glasses. "Look into my eyes. You have to make eye contact when making toasts, or you get seven years of shitty sex." She laughed. "Old tradition in central and eastern Europe. Anyway..." Looking into his eyes, she clinked her glass gently with his. "K uspekhu nashey missii."

She leaned back in her chair, sipping the wine. Mostly, she thought the whole 'culture' behind wine tasting was complete bullshit, but she still appreciated the subtle taste of it. While she preferred red wine, the dryness of the white they'd picked out was better than most she'd had in the past. She'd never had scallops before either, but she liked the taste of them; as she half-listened to David talk, she eyed the platter, wondering how many she could get away with taking without raising suspicion about her unruly digestive tract. "Mm. It's easy to forget in Russia, too. Volgograd is a little more ethnic than, say, Moscow - but there's still a strong sense of Slavic nationalism. And I suppose our history is so tied up in our lives because we've changed so much in the last hundred or so years. Perhaps only Germany has gone through more changes in such a short time. Well... short by European standards. Everything since the First World War is almost half of American history."

She sighed as he directed the question back at her, snatching up another scallop as he tried them. "Well, mostly volun-told. But I work with the Fourth Directorate, which specialises in working in the Middle East and Africa, and I'd already shown an interest in the Syria situation, which is likely a big part of why I was chosen. It's a little strange to have the Americans involved though, if I'm being honest. As I said before, the Cold War never really ended, and Syria is just as much a proxy war as any other between us. It's hardly much of a secret where all your Saudi arms deals are being funnelled. I hate Assad, and Putin, and all the rest of them. But I still think America should butt out of the Middle East as well." She crossed her arms, sighing again. She'd never really apologised before, but she felt a little bad about where their conversation had gone. She was starting to like David, at least a little.

 

[greybishop]

David smiled when Milena … giggled? It struck him as a rather, well … girlish thing for her to do, but he was starting to enjoy the dichotomy of the Russian woman being an intelligence professional on one hand, and apparently ‘just a girl from Volgogrod’ on the other. David was also more than happy to look into Milena’s eyes when they toasted, not just to avoid the curse (“God yes, who would want that?” he replied with a laugh,) but also because he thought they were quite pretty.

David also rolled with Milena knocking baseball, even though he’d played it all through high school and college, and really was a Phillies fan, simply replying “Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Hitting that ball with ‘a stick’ isn’t that easy when it’s traveling ninety miles an hour.” But he couldn’t help zinging her back a little when she mentioned her lack of interest in sports. “So you were a … big, beautiful girl before you joined the army huh? Hard to believe.” David took that as an opportunity to let his eyes roam over Milena’s body for just a moment; he liked the muscle tone he saw in the Russian’s long, slender arms and her dress did certainly flatter her nice, pert bosom. Then Jack’s eyes flicked down to the rapidly emptying appetizer plate, which he hadn’t touched yet. “Or maybe not.” Then he laughed again. “It’s alright, go ahead. I’m glad you like them and I’m saving room for my dinner. Speaking of which …”

After the waiters had served the entrees and topped off their glasses, David raised his glass and offered a “Bon appétit” before he went on; he made sure to look Milena in the eyes as he offered the second toast. “So I agree with you about some things, but disagree with you about others. For instance invading Iraq sure has turned out great for us, right? And in the long run we’re not doing much better in Afghanistan than you guys did too. But bin Laden had to go, ISIS are just as bad as he was, and above all else the Middle East is where the oil is. So saying we should ‘butt out” of there completely is a little … unrealistic in my opinion.” David tried some of his scorpion fish and rather enjoyed it; the texture was pleasantly midway between flaky and chewy, and he really liked the fennel marmalade that came with it.

“So why don’t we … call a truce in the cold war for awhile, okay? Focus on the job we have to do together.” David thought that had come out harsher than he’d intended, so he went on. “But we can focus on all that tomorrow. In the morning we can take a look at what my colleagues send us and decide how to proceed from there.” David had actually been processing Milena’s suggestion in the back of his head as they chatted and realized it had some … interesting implications. “Oh, and I also think we’re going to do a little … training exercise tomorrow too, some team building, that’ll also be good for … appearances sake before we really go to work tomorrow night.” David grinned as he intentionally got all mysterious with Milena, wondering what she might be thinking about it either as an intel pro or a young woman from Stalingrad. “But no more talk of work tonight, it’s bad for the digestion. How’s your fish by the way? And how’s your stomach feeling?” David had a little more wine. “And, let’s see … so we’ve established you’re not a very sporty person. So what do folks from Volgograd do for fun when they’re not working? Especially folks named Milena …”

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

She shrugged, a little blush returning to her cheeks as she popped another scallop into her mouth. "Mmf. No, I... *Glmph* Moi izvineniya... I never said it was easy to play. I couldn't do it, I think. In fact, I know I couldn't do it - I was on the school softball team when I was seven, and I was terrible." She giggled again, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as she chewed. It was then that she noticed his eyes on her body, then down at the empty plate. Shit, she thought, there were definitely more left, right?

She cleared her throat, looking away as her blush deepened again. "I, um... Sorry. I eat when I am stressed. Maybe it is why I got so fat. But... did you call me beautiful? You think I am..." A piece of ass to conquer? The exotic foreign girl who talks funny? The lanky giraffe who's more insecure than she lets on, and thus easy? "...beautiful?"

She reached out a hand, gently brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand, before suddenly pulling it back close to her chest. "Blyat tupoy... Ne ustraivay stsenu..." she muttered under her breath, before forcing a smile onto her face and looking back up at him. "Ahh, sorry again... I've been weird all night, haha. I don't deal the best with flying." She brushed her hair back out of her face, slowing her breath to reduce the blushing. "Well, what do I like... I did gymnastics when I was twelve, but I wasn't good at that either. It was before I got chubby, but I was very clumsy. Mostly in my time off I like to read, play videogames... I enjoy learning about history, as you've probably already guessed. And I am moderately good cook."

She took another sip of her wine, before cutting off a piece of fish. The perfectly-cooked flesh flaked apart easily, and tasted divine in her mouth. "Mmm. The fish is excellent. So, now you answer questions. What do you like, other than baseball? And what sort of... training exercise are we doing tomorrow?"

 

[greybishop]

David grinned a little when Milena covered her mouth and blushed. “What, they don’t have mirrors in Russia all of a sudden? Of course you’re beautiful.” Then he felt a delightful little tingle as her fingertips brushed the back of his hand; it definitely didn’t feel like something she’d done as part of a cover story.

When Milena mentioned that she’d tried gymnastics, David used that as another excuse to let his eyes roam over what he could see of her body, lingering just a little longer than last time; then he looked the Russian woman in the eyes again and smiled. “Hmm … Yeah, you look like you have more of a swimmer’s body. Nice and lean, but a little too long-limbed to be a gymnast.” David suddenly wondered what kind of swimsuits Milena favored; barring any firmer leads, he imagined they’d be trying their luck at the beaches down in Glyfada at some point during this op. That made him smile.

“Reading, history and videogames huh?” David put his knife and fork on his plate, finished with dinner. “I would never have guessed that a beautiful woman like you was really a geeky nerd. Or is it a nerdy geek?” David grinned at Milena to show her he was just kidding, but then decided to push his luck. “Well, at least you know how to cook too; that’s something else wives’ are for, besides washing dishes, right?” David very quickly followed that one up by saying “Just kidding” out loud. Twice. And also holding up his hands as if to signal “Please don’t throw a knife at me, okay?”

“So me? Well, I still play softball and have also been trying to learn how to golf. But I’m pretty bad at it, even though it’s just another ‘hit a ball with a stick’ game; I guess I’m used to a bigger ball and a different kind of stick.” David topped off his glass and then held up the bottle to see if Milena needed a refill. “Reading too and movies as well; there’s a ton of time for both in Baghdad. And I still also like to make model planes believe it or not, which makes me a geeky nerd too I guess. Been doing that since I was a kid, and it’s probably why I ended up in the Air Force for awhile.”

“So about tomorrow’s training exercise ...” David considered for a moment. He was tempted to keep his idea a surprise until tomorrow morning, but he somehow suspected that Milena wouldn’t get any sleep if he did. So he decided to just lay it out for her then and there, starting in a slightly lower voice than he’d been using all along. “In order to build our cover, and recuperate from our flights a little so we’re ready to work tomorrow night, and teach you how to let yourself be pampered a little, we … are going to the hotel spa tomorrow morning, after breakfast and my trip to the gym, so we … can get a couple’s massage together.” David sat back with a little grin on his face as he went on in a more normal tone. “Care for any dessert tonight dear? Or are you full?”

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

Milena grinned behind pursed lips, and thought for a moment about pretending to throw her drink at him, but quickly decided against it. A sophisticated restaurant like this would hardly take kindly to her even just pretending to do that. She did accept the top-up to her wine though, against her subconscious' better judgement. Don't get too drunk! It'll only make you more of a giggly mess...

"Model planes, huh? That's cool. You will have to show me one sometime." She rested her cheek on one hand, lazily running the fingertip of her other hand around the rim of her wineglass. "Did you ever make any Soviet planes? My grandfather always liked them. He couldn't join the air force because of his colour-blindness, but he liked them, always said they were built better than American or German planes." She giggled again, sipping up the last of her wine while looking back into his eyes.

She turned over the idea of going to the spa in her head, weighing up all the possibilities and options. What exactly did people do in spas? What was a 'couple's massage', in particular? Why did he keep stressing 'we'? Could she get out of it? Maybe she could pretend her stomach troubles had flared up again after breakfast... Wait, he'd mentioned dessert? "I, uh... I really shouldn't. Maybe another night." Even though I really, really want to...

She stood up before she could change her mind, stumbling a little. Her head was all floaty from the wine, and she was unsteady in these heels at the best of times. Giggling and reddening, she held herself up against the table, slowly making her way around and making grabby-hands at David. “Golubchik, could you help me walk please? I’m not very good at it right now.” Taking his arm, she leant up against his shoulder, nuzzling sleepily at it. “Ty milyy chelovek, i ty by stal khoroshim muzhem. Are you married? Maybe I should have asked before marrying you…” She chuckled, before noticing the waiter and glaring at him.

 

[greybishop]

David laughed a little at the mention of how superior Soviet planes were, at least in the estimation of Milena’s Granddad; David hadn’t flown for the U.S. Air Force, but he’d worn their uniform and still liked to think of them as being the best. “Yeah, actually I did do a Soviet plane once. A Shtumovik prop job from World War 2. Your guy’s original ‘Flying Tank.’ Since you know your history, you know it’s one of the reasons why you’re not speaking German today. Might’ve also helped your Granddad survive the war too.”

David immediately noticed how wobbly Milena was as she came around the table. “She’s gotten herself a little drunk” he thought. Then Milena asked him if he was married. “Or maybe more than a little …” he considered. “Okay, no dessert tonight” he quickly said out loud, before signaling the waiter for the check.

---

As they walked back to their suite David slipped an arm behind Milena and let his hand settle on her opposite hip. In part that was truly just to help the unsteady Russian woman keep walking, but David also had to admit to himself he rather liked how it felt to hold Milena that way. She’d been utterly charming so far; smart, opinionated, professional, but also wonderfully innocent in many ways too. And she really was beautiful, and sexy as hell on top of all that. David knew that thoughts like these about his partner, and a Russian partner to boot, were as unprofessional as hell. But this was a weird frigging mission they’d been teamed up for, and he imagined a lot of the next few weeks were going to be … out of the ordinary.

---

Back in the suite David saw the sheets had already been turned down. He guided Milena into the bedroom and then helped her plop down onto the bed. He knelt, and one of his hands took the back of one of her curvy calves as he slipped a heel off her; he thought her leg felt wonderfully soft and smooth and toned, and seeing her cute painted toenails again was a nice little treat as well. David’s hand lingered on Milena’s calf for a moment, then he repeated the process on her other leg. Then he stood.

“Alright ma’am, you’re going to have to do the rest yourself. Have some water before you go to sleep.” David gestured at one of the water bottles that had been set out on a nightstand. “Let me just grab a pillow and a spare sheet and blanket, and I’ll give you some privacy; I’ll take my shower in the morning.” After he’d gathered what he needed to sleep on one of the couches, David said goodnight and pulled the double doors into the suite’s bedroom closed. He used the half bath to brush his teeth and take care of nature’s call, then drank some water himself before he made up his “bed” and turned out the lights; tomorrow was going to be a busy day. Like everything else in the King George, the couch was very comfortable and he conked out in a matter of minutes …

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

Milena couldn't stop giggling the whole way out of the restaurant, up the elevator, and through the halls back to their room. If there really was a stereotype of Russians being able to drink anyone else under the table, she was the biggest exception - It didn't take much for the booze to hit, and it hit hard. She just couldn't help finding everything around her hilarious, and David's flustered attempts to keep her quiet and walking steadily only made her even more giggly. Her head was too swimmy for her to really care all that much that his hand was on her hip, in a positive or negative way - By now, she'd skipped over the 'flirty' phase into the 'goofy' phase of her drunkenness, and any thoughts on the possibility of hooking up with David were pushed right away.

Once they had returned to their room, she collapsed onto the bed, wriggling playfully while David diligently tried to remove her shoes. She'd been mumbling in Russian the whole way down the halls, and only now had realised he didn't have any clue what she'd said, which only prompted more giggles. She'd forgotten all that she'd said by now, anyway. "You are very sweet man, Mr David. Better than I expected from American. Always so loud, and selfish, and... nevospitannyy…" She clicked her fingers, trying to think of the word in English. "Boorish. You are not like that. You are not like Russian man, either. I like that..." She liked the touch of his hands on her leg, too. Getting a moment to think and clear her head, and now with just the two of them alone, she was starting to calm down from being a giggly mess, and she couldn't help noticing his gaze trailing down her long legs to her pale little painted toes.

She looked up at him, smiling softly as he spoke, but it quickly turned into a pout when he suggested drinking water. "Nooooo, then I will be sober..." But she did as he'd suggested, managing to get most of the water in her mouth. She enjoyed the feeling of the rich, fluffy carpet between her toes, but by the time she realised she'd been distracted by it David was already fast asleep. "Wait, but you've forgotten to... Der'mo…" She struggled for a bit to reach behind her to pull the zipper at the back of her dress, before eventually resorting to bear-scratching against the corner of the dressing table until she could get the zipper pulled down. She stripped down to her underwear, slipped under the covers, and was asleep before her head had touched the pillow.



Songs of mine that I've yet to write. How many?
Tell me cuckoo, sing it for me.
To live in the city or the hamlets?
Lie as a stone or burn like a star?
A star.

Sunlight of mine, glance now at me.
My palm has turned to a fist.
And if there's gun powder - give me the fire.
That's how.

- Viktor Tsoi, Kukushka (Cuckoo)

See more

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXgWvFd16iI

 

[greybishop]

C-27: Twenty-seven days before the peace conference. Saturday morning.

David was up early the next morning and after he got some coffee going, he padded into the bedroom in his boxers to get his gym clothes. As he entered the darkened room he saw Milena still out like a light and one of her long, lean legs sticking out from under the sheets; he admired the sight for a second or two, then pulled the cover back over the Russian woman before he got his stuff as quietly as possible. After changing out in the living room and a quick cup of coffee, David headed down to the gym for a workout …

---

When he got back to the suite over an hour later it was still quiet, so David held off on his shower and instead dialed up room service to order two “Traditional English Breakfasts;” he figured Milena would want something solid to eat when she got up, after having too much to drink the night before. Then he sipped a little more coffee and fired up his laptop to see what the Station and Langley might have come up with overnight in the way of possible leads.

There were a couple of messages that suggested over a dozen high end clubs and whiskey bars scattered throughout Athens. Along with that the Station had flagged a few of them as being the sort of place where you might find high class working girls, and also sent along a couple of local phone numbers for upscale escort services that catered to “discerning gentlemen” and whatnot – meaning any guy with the euros to afford the kind of girls they offered. It all looked reasonable enough as places to start. A third message confirmed that David would be picking up their initial equipment delivery at a nearby hotel after three today, and that he’d be receiving the specific room number via text later on; all pretty standard.

After that David called down to the spa and booked a couples massage for 11; he figured that’d give Milena plenty of time to eat breakfast and also let them talk a bit about the coming day before heading down for their “training exercise.” Then David got some more coffee and started researching their club options online while he waited for breakfast to arrive and his partner to awaken; maybe one of the suggested clubs would seem a little more interesting to their target than all the rest …

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

Having forgotten to set herself an alarm, Milena was likely to sleep through the whole day until the smell of their breakfast reached her. She sniffed a little, groaning as she tossed the covers aside and forced herself to get up and out of bed. Padding barefoot across the carpet, she peeked out from behind the wall to check if David was in, quickly ducking back away when she saw that he was. How was she going to explain last night? It was hardly professional of her to have gotten drunk on the very first night they were working together. And she didn't even remember all that much of what had happened... At least she wasn't hung over, though. That was always one upside to her weird metabolism.

She stepped out, sneaking over to the plate of delicious, hearty-looking breakfast, while trying to look as casual as possible in case he looked over to her. Picking up a plate, she cleared her throat softly, sitting down to eat. "Good morning, David. Sorry about last night... especially if I did or said anything that I don't remember. It was good of you to help me. If I were in your shoes, I would have just left me behind in the restaurant." She smiled sheepishly, looking down at her food and picking through it, hungry as all hell but not wanting to seem piggish.

"Anyway. All that aside, what is on agenda for today? Has your crowd brought in any good leads? Or did you want to spend more time conducting our own research before hitting the streets?"

 

[greybishop]

David was a little surprised to see Milena come out of the bedroom wearing just her underwear, especially since she didn’t seem drunk anymore. Not that he was complaining of course; last night he’d wondered what she might look like in a bathing suit and now he had a pretty good idea. Though no matter how skimpy a woman’s swimwear got, it never seemed quite as intimate as her lingerie. Since Milena didn’t seem shy about it David took a moment to admire her trim, curvy figure once again, as she somehow tried to sneak over to the breakfast table he was sitting at.

“Good morning Milena” he replied cheerily. “I hope you got some rest.” David had some more coffee and then put his napkin in his lap. “I thought you might want to try their Traditional English Breakfast.” He grinned as he saw her picking at her plate and remembered how she’d plowed into the scallops the night before. “So go ahead and dig in before it gets cold.” As David started in on his breakfast he couldn’t resist playing with the younger Russian woman a little. “Oh and don’t worry about last night, it was our first evening here and doesn’t really count. Plus …” he finished chewing before he went on “… some of the things you said were really quite interesting. And also very sweet. But …” he sipped some coffee “…we are supposed to be married after all.”

David let Milena stew on that for a bit as he ate and then turned to her last question. “Well, as far as today goes, we’re booked for our couples massage at 11 down in the spa. So plenty of time for us to eat, get cleaned up and talk for a bit. Then I go pick up our equipment after 3, but I’ll need to leave earlier than that, to make sure no one is … keeping an eye on me. While I do that, you can look over the leads my colleagues sent me, maybe check them out on the Internet.” Jack showed Milena a handwritten list of clubs and whiskey bars he’d prepared based on the messages he’d read earlier. “The ones with the stars next to them are supposedly where the high class working girls like to hang out, and the two phone numbers are for upscale escort services here in town. Maybe one of these is a more likely a place to start; kind of a crap shoot, but the profilers did say they thought our guy was super confident and wants to be seen, or I guess it was ‘see himself’ as a real ‘player.’” David shrugged a little; he realized it was all a long shot at this point, but trying to nudge the odds in their favor couldn’t hurt. “And speaking of players …”

David had a little more of his breakfast then launched into a related topic he figured they should cover now; he couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that Milena was wearing nothing but her bra and panties as they discussed it. “If we pursue the prostitution angle, which seems like a good idea to me, we’re gonna have to have some reason for that, at least initially. I mean, we’re not going to be able to start off by just telling some escort or service ‘Hey, we’re looking for a tall Lebanese guy with a scar who likes whiskey,’ right? So why are we supposedly approaching them in the first place?” David had a little more of his breakfast before he went on. “So as far as I can see it, we have three options. One: I’m fooling around behind your back. Which is kind of a classic, but doesn’t leave much room for you to help develop any potential sources. Two: I’m fooling around in front of your face and rubbing your nose in it. Which’d be kind of weird, but maybe believable as some kind of fetish that’d get you involved somehow.” David had a little more coffee before he laid out the final possibility. “Or three: we’re swingers. Looking for a high class girl for a threesome.” David put down his cup and looked at Milena quite seriously. “Which one makes the most sense to you?”

As he waited for the Russian woman’s answer David reflected on the fact that intel work could get very strange sometimes. And he’d already figured out that this mission was going to be a particularly weird one. But discussing threesomes with an almost naked Russian intel officer over breakfast? For the life of him, he couldn’t recall that one being covered in training …

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

She crossed her legs and began eating, though still being careful not to eat too quickly. This is exactly why you got fat last time, she scolded herself. Back home, breakfasts mostly consisted of breads, cheeses, deli meats, pancakes, porridge, etc. and though she wasn't usually a big breakfast person, the previous night's drinking had left her hungry. When he mentioned some of the things she'd said last night being 'interesting' and 'sweet', she blushed softly, looking down at the plate in front of her. "Umm... What sort of things did I say, out of curiosity? I should be... kept informed, of course. For professional reasons."

As curious (and more than a little fearful) as she was about what she might have said to him, the mission came above all else. She listened carefully as he spoke, cutting into her fried egg and watching the gooey golden yolk flowing out. At his mention of the massage, she frowned, having forgotten all about that. Sure, maybe hanging out in her underwear in the privacy of their suite was a little much for his puritan western sensibilities, but the massage would be different, it actually made her uncomfortable. She still hadn't gotten used to acting like his wife, even if she was probably doing an alright job of it outwardly. And there was his mention last night of how she'd need to learn to 'relax' and let herself be pampered. It was all just such unfamiliar territory to her, so completely at odds with what she was used to. But keeping up the act was just as much a part of the mission as finding this Playboy. "Alright, that sounds like good plan. Massage at eleven, then you will pick up equipment at three. We can look through leads together, I can make phone calls while you are out."

She had to think for a moment about the options regarding their cover with the 'services'. "Hmm. First option is difficult, it removes me from investigation, and besides why would you bring your wife along for business trip while cheating on her? Better to leave wife at home while cheating. Second option is... ehh. Third option works best, I think. But it will need lots more... overt acting to keep the cover than what we have been doing here at the hotel." She let that comment hang in the air, leaving it open to David's personal interpretation.

 

[greybishop]

David suppressed a grin as Milena tried to “casually” find out what she’d said the night before; the Russian woman had seemed pretty toasted by the end of the evening and it occurred to him that she quite possibly didn’t recall all of it. So he decided to test that theory. “Oh, nothing to worry about, just idle chit chat. Like … well, you asked me if I was into studious, sort of geeky women. You know, the kind who like to read, play video games, that kind of thing.” David sipped some more coffee. “But now that I think of it, you never told me what kind of stuff you like to do. Do you enjoy sports?” David paused. “Oh, and you asked me if I was married …” As he had a little more coffee David recalled that it had been one of his instructors who’d taught him that the best lies had a little truth mixed into them.

Once they’d turned to discussing work David considered Milena’s response to the three options he’d laid out; he definitely agreed the third one made the most sense, though he didn’t know what to make of her whole “more overt acting” caveat. Option one didn’t work at all and option two really was just too weird, even for him, though he knew some folks were into that kind of thing and that it even had a name. “Life is just too strange sometimes” he thought.

“Okay, option three it is” he agreed with little fanfare. “That should let us get a conversation started, and give us a little time to assess potential sources before we decide to pitch them on working for us. Though they’re all really going to be cold pitches given how little time we have, so we probably should also think about where we’re going to make them. I actually like the club angle better than the escort services, since it’ll let us talk to folks like bartenders too, but when the time comes someplace more private is better, in case they say ‘no’ and make a scene.” David looked around the suite then back at Milena. “I guess this place’ll work as good as any for that.”

David finished up his breakfast then continued on. “So to help us get to a ‘yes’ I’ve been thinking. Even when we offer them money, and that’s not going to be an issue, some of the girls are still gonna want to know why we want to find our Lebanese friend. Telling them we’re spooks is obviously right out, and saying we’re cops would be even worse. So what do you think about the insurance investigator angle, or maybe saying we’re working for a big law firm? That we want to find this guy as part of some big fraud investigation, or settling an inheritance where a lot of money is involved?” David finished his coffee as he finished up his thoughts. “It’s still just a fig leaf, but better than nothing.” As he set his cup onto his saucer, David’s eyes couldn’t help but slide over Milena’s pert breasts, which were now only covered by her skimpy bra; “She really does have a nice body” he thought to himself. “Maybe a little more ‘overt acting’ wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But we’ll see how she does with that down at the massage …”

David stood and pushed away from the table. “Alright ma’am, there’s lots of food left so you go ahead and finish eating while I take my shower. I don’t want to be all sweaty for our massage.” Then he grabbed a clean pair of boxers and a hotel robe, and headed into the bedroom’s full bath to get himself cleaned up …

 

[Trish the Nugg Queen]

She scowled at him, wiping some baked bean sauce off her lips with a napkin. "Of course I remember that. There's no need to tease me about it. I'll be sure to take it easy on the alcohol around you in future, if you're to be like that..." She hadn't worded it quite that way, though. Making it about whether he was 'into' her type. Was that just part of the teasing? He was trying to make her flustered and embarrassed? Or...

This whole situation was just too uncomfortable, and it was starting to get to her a little. Sleeping in different beds - or a bed and the couch, more accurately - had shielded her a little from the reality of the fact that they'd have to spend the next month living together, pretending to be a couple when out in public. It was going to take its toll on her eventually. And here she was, displaying herself in a lacey little getup like some brothel harlot. Clearly, she'd gotten too comfortable around a man she didn't know, just because they were put on assignment together. With her breakfast done and David back from his shower, she placed her knife and fork on the empty plate and went into the bathroom to get a warm, fluffy bathrobe to wrap around herself.

"Anyway, you never answered my question," she said softly as she came back to sit on the couch. "Is there someone back home in Philadelphia who you aren't pretending with?" If anything, it'd just make her feel even more awkward if there was, but she suspected he didn't. She knew first-hand how hard it was to date in the military, even though she'd never held dating in particularly high esteem. Her job was far more important than finding some loser to sleep with other women behind her back. "Anyway. How should I dress for the spa? I have no idea of these things."

 

[greybishop]

David brushed his teeth and took a nice hot shower, then put on his boxers and the hotel robe; he’d seen some complimentary sandal slippers to go with the robe in the closet and he grabbed a pair of those before he rejoined Milena in the living area. He definitely took note of the way she bustled off in her underwear, only to return a moment later wearing a robe herself; he was pretty sure he’d rattled her a little, but wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or not just yet.

After the Russian woman had joined him on the couch David glanced at his phone and saw they still had some time before they had to head down for their massage. So he decided to answer her questions in the order she’d asked them while he sipped a little more coffee. “Me? No, there isn’t someone back in Philadelphia I’m ‘not pretending with.’ Or anywhere else for that matter.” David paused and then he grinned. “Of course I tell lies for a living, so how can you trust me when I say that?” He had a little more coffee before he went on. “So how about you? Do you have a husband or a wife waiting for you somewhere? Or a boyfriend or a girlfriend?”

After he’d let Milena digest his question and respond, he addressed her second one. “How should you dress for the massage? Well, it’s probably the same here as the rest of Europe; whichever way you’re comfortable with. You can be completely nude if you like, or wear a towel instead. Or even keep your underwear on, though you’re probably going to get some oil on them if you do. So I don’t know if that lacy little set you were wearing at breakfast would be a good idea.” He paused before he added “It was quite flattering though, front and back. Anyway, it’s really up to you and what you’re comfortable with; the therapists doing the massages have seen it all, and really won’t care either way.” David put down his cup and then looked at his phone. “So any more questions? Are you wearing whatever you want to wear under your robe, or do you want to change? We still have a few minutes, but then should really head on down.”