The Spy (A Lance Drecker Story)

A crafty professional spy in the service of her homeland, must choose between death and joining up with some grizzled strangers. Tough choice.

“Where to, jefe?”, the Captain asked indicating the map on the Senora’s bridge.

Drecker sighed, his tell-tale puff of cigar smoke curling up and disappearing in the ocean breeze. He reached into the inside pocket of his duster and retrieved an envelope.

“That’s a mighty fine question. Where ARE we goin next?”

The Captain had seen him reference a new letter before every job and still didn’t know who was sending them. He didn’t mind. People were allowed their secrets on his ship. When you’re at sea for long periods of time, stuck in a tin can, and bunked with a bunch of salty guys who spend way too much time thinking and talking about women, secrets can be a precious retreat. Secrets are what held his crew together.

He had also come to trust Drecker during all their misadventures, so if he wasn’t ready to share what was on his letter, the Captain could care less.

“Bruges”, said Drecker with a tone of irritation. “Belgium is where we’re goin. Better get another room ready.”

“Eh?”

Drecker took a drag of his cigar, “And this one could get interesting.”

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Plaster dust sprinkled from the ceiling as the bed repeatedly hit the wall. Anna Benen roared loudly in pleasure as she ground herself into her partner, her arm bracing her against the headboard. This was the third time in the last two hours her and Hans had made love, each time just as loud and intense as this. After all, these soldier types liked to screw like there was no tomorrow, which in their case was entirely possible.

He grabbed her a*s and pushed up, flipping her onto her back and into the missionary position.

This was all part of the job for Anna, everything perfectly planned. The loud wall banging, the fantasy fulfillment, even the prayerful screaming was designed to boost his ego and make him want more. Hell, as a practice, Anna would damage the bed in the rooms she rented if she expected love-making so that it would break when things got intense. Between the breaking bed, the multiple orgasms, and the noise designed to impress the officer’s men quartered in the same building, every minute of this orgy was meticulously orchestrated.

He finished for his third time. They both collapsed, Hans sweating and panting and laughing at the glory of the broken bed and the damaged plaster. Looking at the clock he jumped up onto wobbly legs and showered. Anna quickly hopped up to search through the pieces of uniform still strewn about the room for his information, almost falling against a small table forgetting her legs were tired too.

She quickly threw his clothes onto the bed, first laying out his pants and searching the pockets. Nothing but a wad of cash, some change, and an empty shell casing. She then laid out his jacket and diligently, and in practiced discipline, searched the many pockets here. Finally, in his right breast pocket she found his orders and quickly memorized the details, taking special note of the number of troops being moved across the border.

“Can I help you find something, Fraulein?”, Hans said from the washroom door.

Anna tensed, her naked back to the washroom, and neatly tucked the orders back into the pocket before smoothing the jacket.

“I was laying your handsome uniform out for you,” She said, donning his helmet, a honey-sweet voice, and nothing else, “but then I thought I’d hide them so you had to stay with me forever.” The look on his face said he bought it, plus seeing her with his pickelhaube on her head clearly was a new turn-on for him.

He eyed her up and down. “I could marry you.”

“I already told you, you silly man, I’ll be waiting when your done with this stupid war. Speaking of which, don’t you have to be somewhere to be soon?”

“Yes,” he said looking at the clock, “but I have just enough time!”

He tackled her to the already fractured bed, and round four began.

 

About an hour later Anna Benen stepped out onto the busy Bruges streets. She had regained enough of her composure to be able to walk straight again, but boy was she wiped. She started down the sidewalk in the direction of a nearby café to refuel.

After the impromptu final session, Hans proclaimed his love for her yet again before begging her to follow him to France. This allowed her to get specific details of where they were going, but she felt he had given up all he was worth. After breakfast she would head to her rendezvous point to set up a meeting with her handler, Marcus.

She ordered herself a bagel and coffee, sitting down at a table outside the café to recuperate and people-watch. Anna loved figuring out secrets. So much so that she would play a little game with herself when watching strangers to notice every little detail and guess at what they did and where they were going. The street was bustling today, mostly from the German soldiers moving out for the front lines, so there was ample opportunity to play her game.

A boy carrying a bag full of groceries from the market, probably rushing home to his parents because he took too long swiping the bar of chocolate that was half hidden in his pocket. A horse-cart carrying freight from one of the ships in port nearly hitting an older woman who was too busy waving at the soldiers to pay attention crossing the street. Two men sitting outside the café caught her eye. One with a white cap on his head, like a sea captains hat, and wearing a well-worn cardigan, had tanned skin and a corncob pipe in his mouth. The other wore a slouch hat, a blue shirt, and old military pants that had clearly been resurrected several times with newer stitches.

What really drew her attention to them wasn’t their dress (this was a port after all), but the fact that both were watching her and making a bad effort of hiding it. The grizzled man in the blue shirt stood, seeing that they were blown and approached. Anna slowly prepared to grab the gun strapped to her thigh, hidden under her white dress.

“Ma’am,” he said, keeping his voice low,” my companion and I have need of your, ahem, skills, and would like t-“

Anna gasped and stood up mortified, picking her coffee up and splashing it in the man’s face.

“Pig!”

Now everyone at the café was looking at them. This was more attention than Anna wanted, and she was still horrified that someone would publicly approach her like this, treating her like some Amsterdam w***e. She almost wished they had been German agents. She may have done some dirty things in the name of independence, but she was still a lady.

She stormed off and disappeared into the crowded street, leaving the man embarrassed and burned, his companion completely obscured by the newspaper he now held comically close to his face.

She made her way across town to a bench near an old unused wooden pier. It sat on a thin road running along the sea-wall, the road lined on one side by older, mostly abandoned buildings. She pretended to throw rocks into the water before placing a rock next to each of the legs of the bench. This was her message to her handler that she had something to deliver. Unless she received a phone call, they would meet at midnight tonight.

Well now, thought Anna, time for a nap.

 

The full moon was the only source of light on the midnight pier, save for the lights from the ships in harbor. Anna sat on the bench, a coat shielding her from the winds coming off the waves, her dress tucked under her legs so as not to billow. Footsteps on the cobblestone behind her alerted her to her handler’s approach. Standing up she turned to find the barrel of a gun pointed at her. Anna looked to run, but in either direction there were soldiers.

“You weren’t meeting anyone important, were you fraulein?”

Stepping out of the shadows, Hans’ smile reflected the pale moonlight.

“S**t”. The realization that ‘this was it’ washed over her. This is the end all spies could expect, she just didn’t expect it to come now.

“Your friend won’t be joining us. He took an unfortunate spill”, said Hans nodding towards the railing behind Anna. With her hands up she glanced over the railing, spying the body of her handler, Marcus, bloodied on the rocks below.

“What now, Hans?” Anna asked defiantly, stalling for time while she looked for options of escape. She could jump the railing, but she’d likely break her legs on the rocks below, and even if she didn’t Hans and his goons would just shoot her from above. She couldn’t call for help. This part of town was close to deserted, and the few that did live nearby would be dead asleep. Only one option left, to go out with a bang.

“Well, I think it’s rather obvious, fraulein. Did you have something else in mind?”

“Well, I figured if I’m going to die anyways, you could maybe give it to me one more time? Like last night?” She lifted one leg onto the bench and slid back her dress revealing herself to him, and also giving herself better access to her pistol. His attention drawn, she rapidly pulled her pistol out and shot him in the chest. He fell back but not before shooting back, but the bullet aimed low going underneath her raised leg, grazing her butt and thigh and leaving a hole in the back of her dress.

She stumbled back against the rail, the area where the bullet grazed stung and burned. Hans grasped his chest wound and aimed at her again from the ground, before his brains exited the back of his head at Anna’s urgent request. Seeing the other two soldiers closing in she fired three of her four last shots at them, praying they’d hit. They didn’t.

This was it. At least she went down swinging, she thought. She straightened her dress and stood proud, the ocean breeze blowing her short brown hair about her face.

She lifted the gun to her own head as the soldiers closed to twenty paces from her, one running for Hans who was lying still in the street.

“FOR MY HOMELAND!”, she screamed as she began to pull the trigger.

BANG! Everything went white, as the automobile that had as yet not been seen down the street backfired and turned on it’s headlights, barreling down the street. The soldiers stopped, which was the worst thing they could do, as is blasted into them, their bodies being tossed like rag dolls and landing limply. The vehicle stopped on top of Hans. The back door swung open with a burst of what smelled like tobacco smoke, and the grizzled man from the café leaned out.

“Get in!” said the man.  Anna didn’t argue.

The sea captain was driving the vehicle, and accelerated so sharply that crunching noises were heard from beneath the tire that stopped on Hans.

“You creeps?!” Anna yelled in disbelief.

“Well, if you’d have listened to us earlier, we wouldn’t be here now.” The grizzled man handed her a sealed box from the front passenger seat, before leaning his head out the window to check their tail.

Anna looked at the box curiously before noticing her control numbers written on the side of the box. There was no way this man could know who she was. She used her thumb nail to cut through the tape if the weighty box and lifted the lid.

Inside was a pistol, painted white, with a suppressed barrel on it. It sat on top of a brand new white dress, shoes and gloves. Tucked in the edge of the box was a letter. She opened it. It was written like a love letter from an old flame, but she recognized the code hidden within. It read:

DAME BLANCHE.

COVER BLOWN. ABORT MISSION.

 HANDLER MARCUS DISCOVERED.

REPORT TO S.S. SENORA EN SU ESPALDA AT PORT

NEW HANDLER. DRECKER.

She looked over to the man next to her. He grinned, a large glowing cigar in his mouth. He held his hand out to her.

“Name’s Drecker.”

“Call me Dame Blanche.”

 

 

Back on the Senora, Anna was taken below to her cabin and to see about bandaging her bullet-grazed thigh. Drecker settled into a bench on the main deck and kicked his feet out, still smoking his cigar. The Captain ordered his men to set sail.

He would be lying if he told Drecker he was fine with the new addition to their team. He wasn’t concerned with the fact the she was a beautiful lady. His crewmen were rough and sex starved, but mostly gentlemen, and the look in her eyes told him she was more than capable of taking care of herself. No, he was concerned that she was a spy.

The Captain sat next to Drecker and lit his pipe.

“You doin’ alright, compadre?” Asked senor Drecker.

The problem with spies, he thought, is that they deal in other people’s secrets, and share none of their own. The crew of the Senora would have to hold their secrets closer to their chests from this point on.

“Si.” He replied around his pipe.