The Babylon Affair

Tuesday, 3^rd of February, 2015

Berlin, Bundesrepublik Deutschland

         

As he surveyed the view from the control tower, Wesley Vaughan was in awe of the stillness surrounding him. The gargantuan edifice of the abandoned Flughafen Berlin-Tempelhof (Berlin Tempelhof Airport) stood out over the old airfield and surrounding area like the hulk of Goliath lay slain in the Valley of Elah after his battle with David. It was a quarter before two in the morning, and a light snow was dusting the airfield like confectioner's sugar. Vaughan was somewhat shocked to see such a vast area seemingly devoid of any signs of life in a city which, like most other major metropolises, ran around the clock.

He had been waiting here for close to ten minutes, at which point he was already over thirty minutes late, as was his contact. According to normal protocol, he would have abandoned the meet and either: a) proceed to a secondary location, or b) canceled the meet altogether, re-established contact, and set up a new meeting at a different time and location. Of course, following proper protocol, one would never select a meeting site like this to begin with. General precedent was to set up a meet in a public place where the operative and contact could blend in with the surrounding crowd, not an abandoned airport where two people meeting would raise suspicions if anyone were to see them.

The reasons for this departure from established tradecraft were manifest. The most glaring being, that his contact was not a spy. His contact was a professional assassin, a contract killer, a hitman. His paranoia and elusive nature were traits that served him well in a job environment filled with powerful and deceitful people, people that were not always willing to hold up their end of a contract, people that were always looking to tie up loose ends. And so, despite Vaughan's objections, his contact set the terms of the meet, and Vaughan knew that any efforts to sway his opinion would be futile.

This location, a deathtrap to a spy, was Manna made from Heaven for a sniper. There was no contingency plan. Re-establishing contact would prove difficult and time consuming, and time was something he did not have a lot of, and his assignment was far too important. So, even though every professional instinct Vaughan had told him to flee, he had to wait here, even if that took all night, for his contact to arrive.

Fortunately for Vaughan, his contact appeared soon enough, and all his fears were in vain. This sniper was an imposing figure. Remaining in the shadows, the reflection of the faint ambient light of this overcast night made it seem like his ice blue eyes glowed in the dark. Skulking from the stairwell, he was the physical manifestation of the monsters and nefarious creatures that plagued the nightmares of many around the world. Vaughan imagined that more than one of his contact's victims must have thought the same thing when they came to realize that he was the last face they would ever see. As this train of thought ran through Vaughan's mind, this assassin did something completely outside of the character he was imagining; he smiled.

"John Wesley! Come let me give you a cwtch!" the man proclaimed, in a warm Welsh accent that he sometimes could not contain when he was filled with elation. He ran across the room and embraced him in hug that Vaughan was sure would make any grappler proud. "It's been too long Boyo! How have you been? How is the family?"

The emotional breech in his old friend's stark countenance was enough to make Vaughan a bit emotional himself. "I'm well, Sarah is doing well. We've added three more to the Vaughan clan since the last time I saw you. John Jr. is already in school, and the rest are quite a handful," he beemed in a strong southern drawl, smooth and sweet as molasses. "How about your family, how are they getting along?"

The man's radiant smile faded somewhat. "The last I heard, they were quite well, thank you for asking.  I ran into mum and dad down in Timor-Leste a while back. Turns out dad was put in charge of BP's new drilling operations down there. He and mum are doing some missionary work there and mum has also become a volunteer teacher. Stephen struck gold and got signed to Tottenham's academy; dad tells me he is doing quite well. And Esther is in school and becoming quite proficient at piano."

Vaughan noticed he had switched over to a more standard British accent. Though he wished his friend felt open enough with him to speak freely, he knew it was just another defense mechanism the assassin had assumed to protect his identity and that of his family. Vaughan was sure it had become natural to the man, and decided to let it go. He would love nothing more than to spend all night catching up with his old friend, but that was not the purpose of this visit. Important business needed to be conducted and it was time to turn the conversation in that direction.

"You're late," Vaughan said, still a bit flustered by his lack of control over the current situation.

"Aye, but so were you," his contact replied.

"I about got lost trying to get in here," Vaughan said in his defense. "This is why I wanted to set the meeting. How did you know I hadn't been compromised?"

"I knew there was a chance of you getting lost when I chose this location. I almost drew you a map, but decided against it. I know the tunnel system is a might tricky, but I knew that once you made it inside, you were smart enough to figure out how to get up here. I planned for all of that, so I set the meeting at a time that would allow for you to figure out your way in, conduct our business, and be clear of the premises after the area was clear and before the locals returned to the park in the morning. I was watching you on the cameras to make sure that no one followed you in from the security room downstairs; I shut the system off, and made my way up here. I do know of a Geisterbahnh/I>fe that is still closed, despite the local government's claims, but I prefer this location." He was referring to a station on the metro line. During the Cold War, three separate metro lines from West Berlin crossed into East Berlin territory for a short distance. Service was never stopped on these lines, but most of the stations were closed and guarded by East German border guards. Trains would slowly pass through these "ghost stations" without stopping.

"Fair enough," Vaughan conceded. He realized it was pointless to continue this argument.

"Would you care to take a tour?" his contact asked.

"Sure," Vaughan replied. He did not particularly care for that idea either, but he trusted his friend. He had come this far, he figured he might as well continue to indulge him.

They proceeded down the stairs and out of the control tower and former administrative building and into the grand terminal itself. Vaughan was instantly taken aback by the expanse of the terminal. As though the shell limestone faFONT FACE="Georgia, serif">ade was not massive enough, inside, he felt sufficiently dwarfed. Nearly a mile long, the terminal seemed to stretch on to eternity. Though it had been mostly abandoned for seven years--and sparsely populated in the years leading up to that--the facility itself was still in relatively marvelous shape. If not for the absence of stocked kiosks, lined trashcans, and other signs of human life, one would almost assume it had been used just the day before.

"Breath taking is it not?" his friend asked.

Vaughan slowly nodded in agreement.

"What's the job?"

"It's a girl, in the US. She's in the State Department." He noticed his contact's eyebrow shoot up. "We believe she is disseminating classified information to foreigners. Specifically, we believe she is giving information to an Islamic terrorist group."

His friend had a deeply rooted hatred for the true adherents of Islam, and he knew it. He hoped that that, as well as their friendship would be just enough for his friend to take the assignment. If he was honest with himself, he was counting on it.

"If she works for the State Department, I am going to assume that the job is in Washington." Vaughan nodded, indicating that it was. "That is more than a little risky. Why did this come to you? I was under the impression that the FBI was supposed to handle counterintelligence within the States. In fact, I am quite sure that the CIA is not supposed to be operating within your own borders," he said, even though he was also quite aware that it happened anyway.

"We at Langley believe that due to several recent actions, the current administration, as well as the Justice Department, would be unwilling to pursue this case. Even if they did, the level of bureaucracy would prevent this matter being closed before more irreparable damage has been done. To make matters worse, we believe the suspect in question has ties to the current administration, which the administration would more than likely seek to keep in the dark. In short, we are in a compromised position. We need to make moves in the Middle East to gain a better foothold in the region, but we need a damage report and we need get control of this situation before we can move forward. We need to liquidate this problem, quickly, but due to the legal constraints you mentioned, as well as the relatively high profile of the target, we can't have any direct ties to the operation."

"Ah, so that is where I come in," his contact replied as he began to wrap his mind around the delicacy of the situation.

"Precisely. Everything we have is in this file," he said as he handed the file over.

His contact opened the file and briefly scanned through its contents. He looked at the photos within the file, studying one in particular, before responding, "You said you needed a damage report, how so?"

"We need you to find out how compromised we are."

"I am not a spy Wesley, you know that. That is not within the realm of my expertise, nor is it something I am completely comfortable with."

"I realize that, but you used to be special operations, and I'm sure you have conducted an interrogation before. And I am sure that you have been trained how to resist interrogation. You are a smart guy, and I know that you are capable of completing this assignment. When it came up, you were the first person on my list, and the only one I truly trust with this assignment."

His contact remained silent as they made their way to one of the massive hangars that was unique to Tempelhof. As they stood there on the mezzanine, his cold eyes gazed over the vast space. After a minute or so, a flicker returned to his eyes and a smile returned to his face. Vaughan could tell he was reliving some pleasant memory from a life filled with darkness.

"It's funny; the first time I ever set foot on foreign soil was right here in this very hangar. I came here with my family as a young boy."

Vaughan realized that his friend was not talking about his adopted family that he had mentioned earlier, but his biological family. He also realized that his contact's nostalgia must have been another reason for selecting this location. He knew that his friend had a story to tell, and would not resume their business until he told it.

"It was back in the winter of 1991, before Azerbaijan declared independence, but after Gorbachev had already reduced travel restrictions. My father had an East German friend and colleague from his days at Chernobyl, before I was born. He and his family were Jewish, not unlike mine own, and thus they had grown close during their time in Pripyat. Both of our families had left before the disaster, and they had not seen each other since. I remember we were all so excited, my family for being able to see their long, lost friends again, and I was excited to go on a trip to a place I had only read about.

"It was not my first time out of Azerbaijan, as we had been to Moscow with my father on business before, but it was my first time leaving the Soviet Union. The flight was on an old Aeroflot Ilyushin Il-86. I was amazed by how huge it was. Naturally, we were supposed to land at SchFONT FACE="Georgia, serif">nefeld Airport, but a bad snow storm had hit Berlin while we were in mid-flight. SchFONT FACE="Georgia, serif">nefeld, for whatever reason, had the most trouble clearing their runways, and we were forced to land here at Tempelhof.

"Obviously, a plane that large could not fit under these hangars, so they set up a ramp out on the apron. The Il-86 had a rather odd design, so that every passenger had access to their baggage right there in the cabin. Then it seemed like a blessing from Providence, as every passenger was able to remove their heavy coats and other cold weather attire from their baggage before disembarking the aircraft. My father called his friend and informed him of our current situation; we all climbed into a cab and made our way to their house.

"I am just as much in awe of how enormous and how splendid this place is now, as I was all those years ago. I was saddened when I learned that they were to close it down, so much history, personal and historically important, all to be forgotten. I was lucky enough to have been able to take a few flights between here and Frankfurt before it closed," his voice trailed off as he put a lid on those memories and returned to the matter at hand. "What's my level of exposure?"

"Specifically?" Vaughan asked, needing clarification. Friends, though they might be, the CIA still operated on a need to know basis, and there were certain parts of this operation that his friend did not to know.

"It is twofold, really. From one side of the equation, who all knows of my involvement and what are my assurances that your Agency will not seek to eliminate me to tie up loose ends? To counter that, I need to know what kind of support I will be receiving. I am not certain of any contacts that I might have in the US at the moment, and establishing reliable contacts takes time, as you very well know. From what I make of the situation, time is something you do not have a lot of. As such, I will need either a source of weapons once I get there, or a way to move what I need into the country. Considering that an interrogation will need to be done, a list of vacant, secluded buildings suited to that purpose might be nice. I am assuming that you will be my point of contact, and I would prefer that."

"As far as transportation is concerned, I can probably arrange for a diplomatic courier to transport what you need. The list is something I can also provide. I will be in town for the next couple of days, so that I am available to coordinate with you. Get me a description of the package you need transported, so I can take care of that. As far as operational exposure is concerned, only the group working this assignment knows that we are bringing in outside help. Besides me, only my supervisor and one of my direct colleagues will know of your involvement. I have not and will not give them your name, they only know of your reputation. I will be your only point of contact." He wished he could avoid answering the other question, but he knew that his friend deserved the truth.

"I cannot promise you that the agency will not seek to come after you. However, I will personally assure them of your trustworthiness, and will damn well do my best to convince them that you might be of future use to us, and that it would not serve our best interests to liquidate an asset of your caliber. Should you provide us with the information we need, and complete the assignment, that should be enough to convince them. Obviously I can make no guarantees, but feel I have to be honest with you. I know that I am still in your debt, and I am asking for another favor. I have not disclosed how compromised I am in regards to you, in hopes that if they should land on the negative, I will be kept in the loop and able to warn you. As you already know, should you be captured, the CIA will deny any knowledge of you, and the United States government will seek to prosecute you at the fullest extent of the law."

His contact had expected this. This business was a high risk / high reward game. There were no guarantees, just like there were no guarantees in life. He knew his friend needed his help, and though it might cost him dearly, a trustworthy friend in this dangerous game was worth risking it all for. "What is my deadline?"

"Two weeks."

That was quick work for an operation of this scale. This would prove to be his most delicate operation yet, and the thought of the challenge of eliminating one of Washington's chosen daughters right under the nose of the American government appealed to his Soviet heritage and the very small amount of nostalgia he had for the regime he was born into and his biological father had been a loyal servant of for most of his adult life.

"8.3 million transferred to an account of my choosing. I want 3.83 million transferred, non-refundable after I give you the details tomorrow morning, with the balance transferred upon completion of the assignment. I will hold onto the file for now, but I will return it with the rest of what I need shipped with the courier. Meet me at the south end of the Brandenburg Gate tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock sharp. I am assuming you would like me to leave tomorrow, and that should give us the time necessary to transfer this operation Across the Pond."

Vaughan wanted to smile, but he refrained. He had a trustworthy and lethal asset. He knew that there was no one better for the job, and he knew that his country may very well depend upon how successful his contact was. But he also knew that he might have just signed his friend's death warrant. He extended his hand; his friend took it and drew Vaughan in for another embrace.

"I pray that one of these days we might meet under different circumstances, when no one needs to be killed and we can just enjoy each other's company," his friend lamented, knowing it would likely never be the case.

Vaughan made his way back out of this dormant titan that was Tempelhof, leaving his friend alone to reflect some more. The assassin stood there on the mezzanine overlooking the hangar. As the apparition of all of those people scurrying about the airport on that cold, winter day twenty-four years ago swarmed around him, he studied that one picture in the file, which looked like it had been taken at some sort of office party, probably the New Year's Eve party, judging from her attire. She was absolutely gorgeous. But that was not what captured his attention. He saw something in her face that he knew all too well; this stunning young woman was hiding something. Not her supposed traitorous current activities, but something in her past that she wanted to keep hidden for the rest of her life.

As he made his way out of the terminal, and the apparition began to fade around him, he was curious as to what that secret might be.

Monday, February 2^nd, 2015

Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America

4183 miles away, in the office of the Advisor for Palestinian Affairs, within the Harry S. Truman Building, Susan Moretti was pinned to her boss's desk. Her bare breasts rubbed against the files scattered across the top of his desk with every thrust that he took inside of her. With her skirt hiked up, the light glistened in the chrystal beads of sweat on her perfectly curved butt. She gave a fiendish smile to the picture of his middle-aged wife and adolescent kids prominently displayed on his desk. Susan thought, 'If only she knew how often some variation of this particular, extra-curricular activity occurred, it would wipe that smile right off of Holly-Homemaker's face.'

         With his right hand guiding her hips, and his left hand pressing down against her shoulder, she knew that it made him feel more powerful, more masculine. She knew this fool thought that he was in control. What he did not, and could not know, was that her wet, tight lips around his hard shaft were the noose around his neck.

         The desk of her boss was not the only one she had "christened" since she had come to work for the State Department two and a half years ago. There had been several men, and even a few women, that had been trapped in her beguiling web. All of whom were either married or in committed relationships, and whose personal lives would be destroyed should they mention their time with this harlot.

         No one could say that she was only sleeping her way to the top. She worked just as hard, or harder, as the rest of her colleagues. But she had ambitions. She was going to make it to the upper echelons of the United States government, and she was willing to go the extra mile to get there.  The fact that it benefitted her out-of-office activities was merely a perk. If anyone walked into their office and saw her sitting on their desk with a couple of buttons on her blouse undone and one of her thongs hanging on their coat rack, they would never suspect that she was gleaning classified data for some of her foreign acquaintances.

         As the Advisor reached his climax inside of her, the thrill of the dangerous game she was playing lead her to a climax of her own. As he pulled out, she sucked the cum off of his rod and swallowed it. They didn't want to leave any evidence for the Mrs. after all.

         "Oh my God! That was fucking incredible!" He exclaimed, as she tucked her perky breasts back into her bra and buttoned up her blouse.

         "Thanks sweetie!" she replied, as she gave him a peck on the cheek. She pulled her skirt back down over her buttocks and below the tops of her stockings. "See you in the morning," she said as she grabbed her purse and left his office, leaving her black lace thong on his coat rack. If she hurried, she might still be able to have a few drinks with the girls before she turned in for the night.

         She grabbed her coat and gloves from her desk before she headed to the elevator. As she climbed into her Yas Marina Blue BMW M4 Coupe, drove out of the parking garage and into the lightly falling snow, her thoughts were not on her latest romp, nor the girl talk that awaited her at the pub, but what information she was able to pull from her boss's desk and the meeting with one of her contacts the next morning.

         Yes, this was a dangerous game that she was playing, one with all of the thrill and excitement a girl could want. If only she knew that the fatal result of her dangerous game had just been decided in an abandoned airport in a foreign capital, she probably would not have been smiling.