Closed for wideeyedone
I shrugged my shoulders. The temperature hovered near freezing in Washington DC, but I hardly minded it. I'd grown up on the shores of Lake Ladoga. Compared to the frigid winds that blew in northern Russia, tonight's chill breeze barely registered.
While I waited, I idly twisted the gold ring on my left hand while I waited. The metal band still felt unfamiliar despite having worn it nearly a month. I was married now, too.
I'd been introduced to her just shortly before the wedding. The Service had actually performed one, albeit a mostly perfunctory affair more to create the photos for the wedding album on their coffee table. The Service liked to include a veneer of truth in its operatives' backstory; easier to pretend to be married if I'd actually had a wedding.
I stared across the street at my wife. Tonight she was Margaret O'Shea, redheaded girlfriend to Tom Lewis, junior senator from Ohio. The hair was a wig and the identity forged, but you'd have to be a mind reader to know it. She was a natural at this.
This was her third date with the Senator. The Service had tasked us with acquiring his government credentials, so she had used the guise of potential love interest to determine how best to acquire them. Lewis frequently carried them in the inner breast pocket of his suit, so we decided to steal them. Of course, suspicion might fall on her if she lifted them herself. Not wanting to blow her cover, a fabricated encounter with me seemed the best approach.
By day I was Maxwell Anderson. (I judged it a poor substitute for Maxim Vasily Andropov, but at least it was not hard to answer to "Max".) Tonight, however, I was merely a random stranger dressed in an ostentatious cap and jacket proclaiming my fondness for an American football team called the Giants. (Why a game played with an oblong object carried in their hands was called "foot ball" escaped understanding.) A dark wig of brown hair covered my natural blond. A fake mustache and glasses further broke up my features. Lewis would recall only details that I could readily discard.
Their seat at the window made it easy to see when they left the restaurant. It was easy to see why the Service had chosen her for a deep cover assignment. She moved with a sinuous grace that no man could ignore. The Senator's attention rarely left her cleavage as he escorted her towards the curb.
I approached from the opposite direction, my gaze seemingly fixed on my smartphone. The Senator had a few inches on me, but my shoulder might have been a brick wall given how he bounced off it.
I could smell the wine on his breath as he snarled, "Hey, watch where you're fucking walking!"
I stepped closer to him and gave him a shove. "You got a problem, asshole?" I barked in a practiced New York accent. My shoulders hunched aggressively.
Fuelled by alcohol and no doubt averse to backing down from a fight while his girlfriend watched, the Senator shoved back even harder. "Who you calling asshole, motherfucker?!" Though I could have broken him in half like a twig, I stumbled back a couple steps. For a moment we glared at each other like angry dogs before a fight.
"Tom, don't!" she whispered, her hand about his chest to pull him back. "He's not worth it!" Her pickpocketing of his credentials was so smooth even I barely registered it. His attention focused on me, the Senator never had a clue.
I dropped my gaze first, letting him think he'd won. "Aw, fuck you," I snapped as I continued on my way. I didn't look back as Lewis tossed further profanity at me, confidently assuming he'd intimidated me into leaving.
I smiled. I'd ditch my disguise a few blocks from here and return back to the house. "Margaret" would conclude her date with the Senator and bringing home the credentials she'd stolen just now. If he ever questioned what happened to them, he'd likely blame the random stranger in the Giants jacket, never suspecting his purported girlfriend. Another successful operation completed.
I shrugged my shoulders. The temperature hovered near freezing in Washington DC, but I hardly minded it. I'd grown up on the shores of Lake Ladoga. Compared to the frigid winds that blew in northern Russia, tonight's chill breeze barely registered.
While I waited, I idly twisted the gold ring on my left hand while I waited. The metal band still felt unfamiliar despite having worn it nearly a month. I was married now, too.
I'd been introduced to her just shortly before the wedding. The Service had actually performed one, albeit a mostly perfunctory affair more to create the photos for the wedding album on their coffee table. The Service liked to include a veneer of truth in its operatives' backstory; easier to pretend to be married if I'd actually had a wedding.
I stared across the street at my wife. Tonight she was Margaret O'Shea, redheaded girlfriend to Tom Lewis, junior senator from Ohio. The hair was a wig and the identity forged, but you'd have to be a mind reader to know it. She was a natural at this.
This was her third date with the Senator. The Service had tasked us with acquiring his government credentials, so she had used the guise of potential love interest to determine how best to acquire them. Lewis frequently carried them in the inner breast pocket of his suit, so we decided to steal them. Of course, suspicion might fall on her if she lifted them herself. Not wanting to blow her cover, a fabricated encounter with me seemed the best approach.
By day I was Maxwell Anderson. (I judged it a poor substitute for Maxim Vasily Andropov, but at least it was not hard to answer to "Max".) Tonight, however, I was merely a random stranger dressed in an ostentatious cap and jacket proclaiming my fondness for an American football team called the Giants. (Why a game played with an oblong object carried in their hands was called "foot ball" escaped understanding.) A dark wig of brown hair covered my natural blond. A fake mustache and glasses further broke up my features. Lewis would recall only details that I could readily discard.
Their seat at the window made it easy to see when they left the restaurant. It was easy to see why the Service had chosen her for a deep cover assignment. She moved with a sinuous grace that no man could ignore. The Senator's attention rarely left her cleavage as he escorted her towards the curb.
I approached from the opposite direction, my gaze seemingly fixed on my smartphone. The Senator had a few inches on me, but my shoulder might have been a brick wall given how he bounced off it.
I could smell the wine on his breath as he snarled, "Hey, watch where you're fucking walking!"
I stepped closer to him and gave him a shove. "You got a problem, asshole?" I barked in a practiced New York accent. My shoulders hunched aggressively.
Fuelled by alcohol and no doubt averse to backing down from a fight while his girlfriend watched, the Senator shoved back even harder. "Who you calling asshole, motherfucker?!" Though I could have broken him in half like a twig, I stumbled back a couple steps. For a moment we glared at each other like angry dogs before a fight.
"Tom, don't!" she whispered, her hand about his chest to pull him back. "He's not worth it!" Her pickpocketing of his credentials was so smooth even I barely registered it. His attention focused on me, the Senator never had a clue.
I dropped my gaze first, letting him think he'd won. "Aw, fuck you," I snapped as I continued on my way. I didn't look back as Lewis tossed further profanity at me, confidently assuming he'd intimidated me into leaving.
I smiled. I'd ditch my disguise a few blocks from here and return back to the house. "Margaret" would conclude her date with the Senator and bringing home the credentials she'd stolen just now. If he ever questioned what happened to them, he'd likely blame the random stranger in the Giants jacket, never suspecting his purported girlfriend. Another successful operation completed.