Covert Operative D I A
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Covert Operative Part II free porn video
Atlantica Airlines flight number 1345 landed from Belize to Washington D.C.’s Reagan National Airport. Kelvin Watson and his parents exited the business class section of the flight and went through customs. Once they cleared the security area, the five-foot-six-inch, one-hundred-thirty-five pound, man pulled out his iPhone 6 and requested an Uber.
The three of them hefted their carry-on bags to waiting area. The kind, tall Pakistani driver placed each of their suitcases into the dark blue 2014 Chrysler 300. Kelvin’s father got into the front while he and his mom sat in the back. They headed off to his apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. After arriving, they all went inside. Kelvin had turned on the heat through an app on his phone when they first landed so it was nice and toasty. His parents were planning to stay one night with him before heading back to St. Louis. The three of them had enjoyed the wondrous sights of Belize during their four-day weekend.
Kelvin made sure his parents were settled – and they were. His dad had flipped on ESPN. His mom was chatting away with one of his younger sister. Kelvin asked for their attention. They gave it to him briefly enough for him to pick a restaurant and place an online order for delivery. The lucky place was an Asian-fusion locale. His mother wanted the southwest eggrolls. His father decided on a pepper steak with onions and egg drop soup. For himself, he chose the pork dumplings and some edamame. He clicked to complete the order. The estimated delivery time was just over an hour. Kelvin explained to his parents that he needed to run out for a moment and to just open the door and accept the food as it was already paid for. They acknowledged.
Kelvin ran out of his home and got into his black 2013 Toyota Corolla. He headed northwest a bit to Arlington. He pulled into another apartment complex. He entered the unit that was his personal safe house. He finally closed the door behind him and went straight for his safe. He unlocked it and extracted a laptop. He booted it up and then used his work phone to make a call. The operator asked for a code which he provided. The next voice he heard was that of Rita, the director of the elite Dorado team of the C.I.A. and his personal handler.
“Hello, Hampton,” the woman referred to him by his code name.
“Hi, Rita,” the effeminate spy replied.
“We’ve missed you.”
“I missed you guys too.”
“I hope you’re well rested. Because we need you to head out tonight.”
“But my parents aren’t leaving till tomorrow,” he protested only slightly.
“I’m sure you can handle that.”
“We have a situation in the Congo. We have intelligence that the Russians are getting their cobalt mining rights through the warlord, Augustin Boshab,” Rita continued. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that he participates in extortion, selling c***d soldiers, and interrupts American interests in the region. Not to mention, his people killed two Green Berets last year.”
“I remember,” Hampton sighed. “When do you need me to go?”
“Be at our hangar at Dulles Airport in two hours. You’ll be briefed on the way.”
“Okay, Rita. Let me get my folks situated and I’ll be there.”
“Thanks!”
They hung up the phone. Kelvin threw his six fake passports in his messenger bag along with around ten thousand cash in U.S. dollars. He added his Taurus .357 revolver and his Kel-Tec P-32 semi-automatic pistol to the contents. He headed back to see his parents.
They had looks of confusion on their faces as he explained he had to take an emergency work trip to Myanmar. He left them a hundred dollar bill after calling a taxi company to pick them up four hours prior to their flight back home. He hugged them both, grabbed a pre-pack suitcase out of the closet, and headed outside. The luggage was just for show. He started up his car and sped to the airport.
Hampton flashed his I.D. at the entrance to the general aviation terminal. He drove through to the C.I.A.’s hangar and parked outside. He was greeted by four tall, ungodly muscular men in all black carrying large rifles. His booty twitched. He flashed showed his I.D. again and said a code word. He was allowed inside. He climbed into the Gulfstream G650ERR business jet. In the cabin, he was met by a young brunette woman wearing rimless glasses and a handsome Black man with a shaved head in the standard company-allowed black suit. Neither of them said a word as he took a seat.
Once Hampton was situated, the lady handed him a dossier and said matter-of-factly, “Hi, Hampton. I’m Candace and this Asher.”
“Hello, Candace and Asher,” the seasoned spy returned.
Asher nodded.
Candace went on, “As you’ll see in the file, we’ve given you a new identity as a graduate student in the field of history at the University of Lubumbashi. Your alias is from the Ivory Coast and is also working as a bartender at Hotel Excelsior. Over the next twelve hours, it is imperative that you learn every detail of your cover and how to make all of these drink recipes. This is yet another deep cover operation. We will deny you if you’re caught, but we know you always come through. The Russians will be your key to helping us exterminate Augustin Boshab. Once you’ve gotten the Russian trust to meet him, you will signal us. It’s all in there. Memorize it now. We’ll leave you to it.”
Hampton read through the file. He used his memorization techniques to absorb all of the information. His new name was Denis Okou. His mission was to infiltrate the Russian company called Yedinyy Mining. There were profiles on several of the mid and high level executives that were back and forth from St. Petersburg to Hotel Excelsior. He was by no means to speak any other of his languages that French or English.
It had been a year since Hampton had been in deep cover. He so missed it. But, he had used the hiatus to assist on a couple of unsanctioned operations which had netted him close to a four hundred grand in his anonymous Swiss bank account.
Finally, they landed on the outskirts of Lubumbashi. His coworkers wished him luck. He took the four-point-seven-million Congolese Francs which equated to just over $5,000 and jumped into the jeep that was waiting.
The vehicles hurried him to a small hut where he changed clothes and was grilled relentlessly. He was finally allowed to sleep for six hours. They woke him up and took him into the city where.
Denis, as Hampton was now known, walked inside Hotel Excelsior and reported to the front desk. He asked for the general manager. The tall, lanky dark-skinned man appeared and showed Denis to his office. He tried his best not to shake. He explained the job to Denis and told him where to pick up the uniform for work. The GM said nothing, but Denis knew from the file that his employer had the man’s wife and c***dren under surveillance to ensure his cooperation. Any slip on his part would cause all of them to be come up dead ‘accidentally’.
Denis thanked the manager and headed off to meet his direct boss and collect his uniform. Afterwards, he hailed a taxi to the high-rise where he was looking to rent a tiny studio apartment. It took some convincing, but the woman finally let him sign a lease after he parted with about a fifth of his cash. He promised repeatedly that he would make all of his payments on time.
Denis planned looked at his schedule and saw it was time for him to get to class. He caught a bus to the university. He loathed sitting though classes. The only good thing was that he could have someone back at the agency complete his homework assignments for him.
During the day, a moving company had arrived at Denis’ apartment to set up his furniture. The group of men was really a group of undercover operatives as well. They also installed a state-of-the-art monitoring system and a safe.
After class, he chatted with a few of his classmates and then excused himself to get to work. Denis made it in the nick of time. His new boss looked at his watch and frowned at him. He said he was sorry in French and rushed off to get changed. He made a mental note to be a few minutes earlier going forward. He could not afford to lose out on this gig. He emerged from the basement in the beautifully decorated Crystal Bar. Being in the establishment was almost like being inside an actual chandelier. The gay spook loved it. He was being shown the ropes by one of the more tenured employees when a group of laughing Russians approached.
His trainer said, “Let’s get their drinks poured. Just get room numbers and drinks on this notepad. I’ll help you enter them in the system later.”
“Okay,” replied Denis.
They filled shot glass after shot glass with Stolichnaya vodka. The Russian men were taking it to the head while conversing and laughing and slapping one another on their backs. Seven of the nine guys were on one side, but another two were sitting at the other end of the bar. That pair was talking more quietly. Denis marched over and asked, “How’s it going, gentlemen?”
The one with dark hair and dark eyes grinned then replied, “My friend here is missing is baby daughter.”
“Awwww. That’s so sweet,” the bartender shared.
“Yes. It is his first time away from here.”
“I’m sorry, sir! Do you have a picture of her?”
“Here,” the other man offered his phone.
“She’s a cutie pie. How old is she?”
“Six months.”
“She so pretty, I’m giving you two the next shot on the house.”
Denis disappeared and returned with more vodka. The two turned it up. “What are you guys doing here,” he asked.
“We work for a mining company,” the first one answered.
“Where are you from,” Denis quizzed.
“St. Petersburg. Russia.”
“Nice,” he smiled. “Big weather change.”
“Yes,” chuckled the more talkative one. “Much, much warmer.”
“I’m Denis by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Denis. I am Maxim and this is my colleague, Vlad.”
“Good to meet you, both.”
Denis excused himself to serve other customers. When he came back, he asked if they wanted another drink. Vlad said no and decided to head to his room. Maxim felt like one more. Denis served him.
Maxim inquired, “Are you from here?”
“No. I’m from the Ivory Coast,” Denis admitted.
“What brings you here?”
“I’m a grad student at UNILU.”
“Nice. What do you study?”
“History.”
“Okay,” Maxim smiled. “I think I am going to my room now. Good night.”
Once the crowd had cleared for the evening, Denis followed the instructions of his shift leader to complete entering in the bar charges to the guests’ rooms. He grabbed his satchel and hailed a taxi to his apartment. He curled up on the twin bed and decided the next day he would figure out where to buy a moped and a futon. He logged into his laptop and signed into a secure connection. He made notes on his interactions for the day. Then, he fell asleep.
The next morning, he got dressed and headed off to class. It was an interesting day as he took note of his classmates and professors. He was done with school by mid-afternoon and made his way to a motorcycle dealership. He decided on a motorized bicycle. He paid cash and hopped on his new set of wheels with his messenger bag on his back. He pedaled through the city mostly only every now and then engaging the engine. He thought of how cool the two-wheeler was and how convenient it would be.
Denis arrived at work. He changed into his uniform and went up to the bar. His shift leader was very surprised to see how quickly he had caught on to the routine. When happy hour came around, guests began to arrive. Around thirty minutes later, the Russians appeared. Denis focused and inhaled deeply without anyone noticing. He began chatting them up and taking their orders. Of course they all wanted vodka. He spotted Maxim inside the rest of the group. Based on body language and conversation from the night prior, Maxim was the one Denis had decided to work.
“Can someone teach me how to say ‘beer’ in Russian,” Denis cried out.
One of the group yelled, “Pivo.”
“Come again,” Denis said pouring out shots.
“Pivo,” Maxim emerged pronouncing it slowly.
“Pivo,” repeated Denis. “And how do I say ‘thank you’ in Russian?”
“Spasibo.”
“Spasibo,” Denis smiled broadly.
“You are very good at speaking Russki I see,” Maxim commented.
“Spasibo,” Denis winked.
The tall, athletic, unusually olive-skinned man replied, “Say ‘zaebis’.”
“Wait,” Denis stalled. “What does that mean?”
“Awesome,” answered Maxim.
“Zaebis,” yelled Denis as he held the bottle of Stolichnaya up.
All of the Russians cheered.
Maxim made a fist and hit his chest. In Russian culture, it symbolized vouching for another person’s accuracy or expressing loyalty. All of this Denis knew because of the file he’d read on the flight. But, Maxim had no idea, so Denis asked, “What does that mean?”
“It means I am saying you are right and we are friends now,” Maxim shared.
“Ah. Nice,” Denis delighted.
The evening ended and all customers stumbled back to their rooms.
After three nights of seeing Maxim and conversing, Denis had finally gotten the invite he was looking for. When his shift had finished, he slipped into the service elevator and headed to the f******nth floor. He knocked on the door. Maxim let him in.
“I have never done this before,” the drunken Russian confessed.
“It’s cool. I won’t tell anyone,” promised Denis.
They sat on the bed. Maxim turned the television volume up very loud so his coworkers on either side would not hear.
“You act like a girl,” Maxim blurted.
“I’m sorry,” Denis apologized.
“Oh no! It turns me on.”
“Can I get a little more comfortable?”
“Sure!”
Denis went into the bathroom. He washed up briefly, rubbed some baby oil over his body, and walked out wearing only a yellow lace thong.
“Wow,” Maxim exclaimed.
“You like,” Denis checked.
“Oh yes, baby,” the Russian remarked pulling him close.
They hugged then sat on the bed.
“Do you want a drink,” Maxim asked grabbing his personal bottle of vodka from the fridge?
“I can’t drink it straight,” Denis shared.
“No problem. I can get a juice from the mini bar.”
“That’d be great! What did you say you were doing in D.C.R. again?”
“I work for a mining company. We mine cobalt.”
“Oh cool! Are you a miner?”
“No sexy. I’m an engineer manager.”
“I have no idea what that is,” Denis laughed.
Denis accepted his drink. They toasted.
Maxim was so inebriated. In short order, he had pulled out his lovely eight-inch cock. Denis sucked it with loving care. Then, the sissy spy hopped on top of it.
Maxim groaned. He had never felt anything so tight. “Oh yes!”
“You like that African boipussy on your Russian dick, daddy,” cooed Denis.
“Yes, baby!”
“Oh, daddy! It feels so good.”
They fucked for twenty minutes as Denis’ hole got wetter and wetter.
Denis jumped off. He advised Maxim that he wanted another drink. The Russian stumbled to pour more.
Denis was happy. Maxim made it back to the bed. Denis sipped lightly as Maxim downed his quickly. They had sex for six more minutes before the engineer passed out.
Denis made some noise and shook his lover. There was no response. He began rummaging through Maxim’s bags and drawers. He found a laptop. He took out a device that was deigned to copy everything on a computer hard drive. While that was downloading, he placed another item on top of Maxim’s cell phone. It downloaded all of the contents. When all of the Intel gathering was complete, Denis got dressed and left in a hurry.
The analysts back at Langley found out many things from the emails that were on Maxim’s phone and computer. They decided that it was good to set a date for an attack a month from now.
Over the next few weeks, Denis kept up his routine. He went to school, then moto-biked his way to the hotel to serve drinks. Most nights, he ended up in Maxim’s room having wild sex until the man went to sleep.
The plans were finally ready to come together. It was Denis’ night off from the hotel.
The battalion stormed the warlord’s campground. The gunfire from both sides was brutal. Denis was upset that he had not been the one to kill Boshab. He was able to add another three notches to his belt because he made fatal shots on three of the other combatants.
The Congolese men were scrambling. None of the Americans were lost in this altercation.
Three Chinook helicopters flew in to extract the black ops participants. Upon debriefing, the C.I.A. was satisfied with what Hampton was able to provide. He was all set to fly to Berlin which he did on another Gulfstream jet. Again, he was with Candace. This time she had a white corn-fed boy from Nebraska with her. Hampton slept most of the time.
Hampton was awakened.
Candace said, “We have word that Boshab’s right hand man, Gustave Molisho Amuri, got away. We need to finish the job.”
The plane diverted to Tel Aviv. The group waited there for the next two months as they tracked Amuri hopping across the Caribbean from island to island. He had taken a bag with close to a million USD with him and was now in Jamaica checking into a resort for nine days.
The plan was set. Hampton would become Wesley Fitzgerald. He would be sent into Jamaica and put up at the same resort. His mission was to kill Amuri and then be pulled out. He knew he could do it.
Hampton was booked on a commercial flight. He checked bag so his disassembled handgun would not be detected as each of its parts were in different hidden compartments of normal-looking everyday items. When he landed and finally got through Customs with his fake U.K. passport, he found a taxi and was taken to the Whispers Beach Resort.
When Wesley got out of the cab, he was greeted by a handsome bellman named Gordon.
Gordon offered to take his bags. Wesley declined the total offer, but let him pull along the big one. Gordon was going to let the big suitcase sit outside while he checked in. Wesley did not like the idea and asked that all of his bags stay with him. Gordon was eager to please and hauled the large piece of luggage inside. The five-foot-ten, stocky, dark-skinned, hospitality employee asked Wesley if he wanted something to drink. The parched spy requested rum punch. Gordon returned post-haste with a glass of the beverage.
Wesley completed the check-in process.
Gordon helped him to his room. Wesley thanked him and closed the door. Wesley realized he had forgotten to tip. He opened the door, but could not find Gordon. He called the front desk and asked if they could send him back up. The operator said she would have Gordon call back when he was free.
The phone rang nineteen minutes later.
“Hello,” mused Wesley.
“Hi. This is Gordon. I got a message to call.”
“Hey there,” beamed Wesley. “I forgot to give you your tip. Can you come get it?”
“I have a break in an hour. I can be there then. Is that okay, sir?”
“Yes, it’s fine! And please don’t call me sir.”
“Alright. One hour.”
Wesley took a steamy hot shower and rubbed himself with lotion. He flipped through the channels and found CNN. He wrapped up in one of the plush robes and waited. His room phone rang.
“Hey, it’s Gordon,” announced the voice.
“Hi,” Wesley replied.
“I can come up now.”
“Okay. I’m ready.”
Gordon arrived. Wesley invited him inside the room while he found a ten-dollar bill.
“Thank you,” the hotel employee said upon receiving the American money.
“Do you have to leave now,” Wesley inquired.
“Not right now.”
“Have a beer with me then.”
Wesley took two Red Stripes from the fridge. He opened each with the bottle opener on the wall and handed on to his bellman. They both took a swig. As they continued drinking Wesley asked, “Would you be mad if I said you were hot?”
Gordon laughed, “No.”
“Why are you laughing,” Wesley checked.
“Because I’m not into men. But it’s flattering none the less.”
“My bad,” the short one pouted. “I didn’t mean to offend. I just always try to hit on the wrong…”
“Wait. What’s the matter?”
“I always say the wrong things to the wrong guys.”
“No. Stop that!”
“Why,” sobbed Wesley.
“Cause. All of us were looking at your booty when you came in. I told the others I was taking care of you.”
“For real?”
“Yes! You have an ass like a girl.”
“Thank you!”
Gordon and Wesley drank their beers and then another for each.
“Can I just touch it,” Wesley checked.
“Go for it,” Gordon said.
Gordon grew to nine rock hard inches. Wesley sucked it with no remorse.
It wasn’t long until Wesley was on his back and Gordon was pounding away.
“Give me that pussy,” Gordon demanded.
“Take that bitch ass faggot boipussy,” Wesley whined.
“Hell yes, sissy!”
“Fuck me, you Jamaican big dick nigga!”
Gordon went hard. He nutted in Wesley’s supple asshole.
That was the first day.
On the second, Wesley had spotted his target. He followed Amuri nonchalantly without ever being detected. The great thing about this resort was that it was all-inclusive – all drinks and food were at no extra charge. Amuri was living it up. The under-warlord was drunk by afternoon. He stumbled back to his room with his beauty queen wife. Wesley waited until the elevator revealed the third floor and rushed up the stairs. He ran to find them. He saw them enter Room 3302.
Wesley knew Amuri was out for the count. He hustled back to his room, He phoned in to Langley. He gave his code and explained he could take out Amuri ASAP but needed extraction. Everyone decided he should kill Amuri. Then he would be picked up outside the resort in a helicopter. There was a chopper waiting. It could be there in three hours to extract Wesley. It was too long to risk, but the team wanted him to go ahead and then seek a cab out towards the pier. Wesley complied.
Wesley assembled his handgun and attached the silencer. He placed it in the back of his pants beneath his shirt. He walked down the open-air corridor. He knocked on the door and said, “Maintenance!”
The less-than-smart, woman opened up.
Wesley put a bullet through her forehead with his silenced handgun. He moved her body all the way inside and went into the room. He gave the warlord’s assistant a double tap in the brain.
Wesley walked coolly out of the room and down the stairs. He asked for a taxi to take him to Glouchester Avenue to get some souvenirs.
The cab arrived after twenty minutes. When they arrived near the club Margaritaville, Wesley asked the driver to stop. He paid the driver nicely and began going in and out of shops. He purchased many trinkets. Finally, he heard the Chinook humming. His phone rang. He answered. He followed the orders and went outside for his extraction.
The mission had taken longer than expected, but as always it was complete.
The three of them hefted their carry-on bags to waiting area. The kind, tall Pakistani driver placed each of their suitcases into the dark blue 2014 Chrysler 300. Kelvin’s father got into the front while he and his mom sat in the back. They headed off to his apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. After arriving, they all went inside. Kelvin had turned on the heat through an app on his phone when they first landed so it was nice and toasty. His parents were planning to stay one night with him before heading back to St. Louis. The three of them had enjoyed the wondrous sights of Belize during their four-day weekend.
Kelvin made sure his parents were settled – and they were. His dad had flipped on ESPN. His mom was chatting away with one of his younger sister. Kelvin asked for their attention. They gave it to him briefly enough for him to pick a restaurant and place an online order for delivery. The lucky place was an Asian-fusion locale. His mother wanted the southwest eggrolls. His father decided on a pepper steak with onions and egg drop soup. For himself, he chose the pork dumplings and some edamame. He clicked to complete the order. The estimated delivery time was just over an hour. Kelvin explained to his parents that he needed to run out for a moment and to just open the door and accept the food as it was already paid for. They acknowledged.
Kelvin ran out of his home and got into his black 2013 Toyota Corolla. He headed northwest a bit to Arlington. He pulled into another apartment complex. He entered the unit that was his personal safe house. He finally closed the door behind him and went straight for his safe. He unlocked it and extracted a laptop. He booted it up and then used his work phone to make a call. The operator asked for a code which he provided. The next voice he heard was that of Rita, the director of the elite Dorado team of the C.I.A. and his personal handler.
“Hello, Hampton,” the woman referred to him by his code name.
“Hi, Rita,” the effeminate spy replied.
“We’ve missed you.”
“I missed you guys too.”
“I hope you’re well rested. Because we need you to head out tonight.”
“But my parents aren’t leaving till tomorrow,” he protested only slightly.
“I’m sure you can handle that.”
“We have a situation in the Congo. We have intelligence that the Russians are getting their cobalt mining rights through the warlord, Augustin Boshab,” Rita continued. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that he participates in extortion, selling c***d soldiers, and interrupts American interests in the region. Not to mention, his people killed two Green Berets last year.”
“I remember,” Hampton sighed. “When do you need me to go?”
“Be at our hangar at Dulles Airport in two hours. You’ll be briefed on the way.”
“Okay, Rita. Let me get my folks situated and I’ll be there.”
“Thanks!”
They hung up the phone. Kelvin threw his six fake passports in his messenger bag along with around ten thousand cash in U.S. dollars. He added his Taurus .357 revolver and his Kel-Tec P-32 semi-automatic pistol to the contents. He headed back to see his parents.
They had looks of confusion on their faces as he explained he had to take an emergency work trip to Myanmar. He left them a hundred dollar bill after calling a taxi company to pick them up four hours prior to their flight back home. He hugged them both, grabbed a pre-pack suitcase out of the closet, and headed outside. The luggage was just for show. He started up his car and sped to the airport.
Hampton flashed his I.D. at the entrance to the general aviation terminal. He drove through to the C.I.A.’s hangar and parked outside. He was greeted by four tall, ungodly muscular men in all black carrying large rifles. His booty twitched. He flashed showed his I.D. again and said a code word. He was allowed inside. He climbed into the Gulfstream G650ERR business jet. In the cabin, he was met by a young brunette woman wearing rimless glasses and a handsome Black man with a shaved head in the standard company-allowed black suit. Neither of them said a word as he took a seat.
Once Hampton was situated, the lady handed him a dossier and said matter-of-factly, “Hi, Hampton. I’m Candace and this Asher.”
“Hello, Candace and Asher,” the seasoned spy returned.
Asher nodded.
Candace went on, “As you’ll see in the file, we’ve given you a new identity as a graduate student in the field of history at the University of Lubumbashi. Your alias is from the Ivory Coast and is also working as a bartender at Hotel Excelsior. Over the next twelve hours, it is imperative that you learn every detail of your cover and how to make all of these drink recipes. This is yet another deep cover operation. We will deny you if you’re caught, but we know you always come through. The Russians will be your key to helping us exterminate Augustin Boshab. Once you’ve gotten the Russian trust to meet him, you will signal us. It’s all in there. Memorize it now. We’ll leave you to it.”
Hampton read through the file. He used his memorization techniques to absorb all of the information. His new name was Denis Okou. His mission was to infiltrate the Russian company called Yedinyy Mining. There were profiles on several of the mid and high level executives that were back and forth from St. Petersburg to Hotel Excelsior. He was by no means to speak any other of his languages that French or English.
It had been a year since Hampton had been in deep cover. He so missed it. But, he had used the hiatus to assist on a couple of unsanctioned operations which had netted him close to a four hundred grand in his anonymous Swiss bank account.
Finally, they landed on the outskirts of Lubumbashi. His coworkers wished him luck. He took the four-point-seven-million Congolese Francs which equated to just over $5,000 and jumped into the jeep that was waiting.
The vehicles hurried him to a small hut where he changed clothes and was grilled relentlessly. He was finally allowed to sleep for six hours. They woke him up and took him into the city where.
Denis, as Hampton was now known, walked inside Hotel Excelsior and reported to the front desk. He asked for the general manager. The tall, lanky dark-skinned man appeared and showed Denis to his office. He tried his best not to shake. He explained the job to Denis and told him where to pick up the uniform for work. The GM said nothing, but Denis knew from the file that his employer had the man’s wife and c***dren under surveillance to ensure his cooperation. Any slip on his part would cause all of them to be come up dead ‘accidentally’.
Denis thanked the manager and headed off to meet his direct boss and collect his uniform. Afterwards, he hailed a taxi to the high-rise where he was looking to rent a tiny studio apartment. It took some convincing, but the woman finally let him sign a lease after he parted with about a fifth of his cash. He promised repeatedly that he would make all of his payments on time.
Denis planned looked at his schedule and saw it was time for him to get to class. He caught a bus to the university. He loathed sitting though classes. The only good thing was that he could have someone back at the agency complete his homework assignments for him.
During the day, a moving company had arrived at Denis’ apartment to set up his furniture. The group of men was really a group of undercover operatives as well. They also installed a state-of-the-art monitoring system and a safe.
After class, he chatted with a few of his classmates and then excused himself to get to work. Denis made it in the nick of time. His new boss looked at his watch and frowned at him. He said he was sorry in French and rushed off to get changed. He made a mental note to be a few minutes earlier going forward. He could not afford to lose out on this gig. He emerged from the basement in the beautifully decorated Crystal Bar. Being in the establishment was almost like being inside an actual chandelier. The gay spook loved it. He was being shown the ropes by one of the more tenured employees when a group of laughing Russians approached.
His trainer said, “Let’s get their drinks poured. Just get room numbers and drinks on this notepad. I’ll help you enter them in the system later.”
“Okay,” replied Denis.
They filled shot glass after shot glass with Stolichnaya vodka. The Russian men were taking it to the head while conversing and laughing and slapping one another on their backs. Seven of the nine guys were on one side, but another two were sitting at the other end of the bar. That pair was talking more quietly. Denis marched over and asked, “How’s it going, gentlemen?”
The one with dark hair and dark eyes grinned then replied, “My friend here is missing is baby daughter.”
“Awwww. That’s so sweet,” the bartender shared.
“Yes. It is his first time away from here.”
“I’m sorry, sir! Do you have a picture of her?”
“Here,” the other man offered his phone.
“She’s a cutie pie. How old is she?”
“Six months.”
“She so pretty, I’m giving you two the next shot on the house.”
Denis disappeared and returned with more vodka. The two turned it up. “What are you guys doing here,” he asked.
“We work for a mining company,” the first one answered.
“Where are you from,” Denis quizzed.
“St. Petersburg. Russia.”
“Nice,” he smiled. “Big weather change.”
“Yes,” chuckled the more talkative one. “Much, much warmer.”
“I’m Denis by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Denis. I am Maxim and this is my colleague, Vlad.”
“Good to meet you, both.”
Denis excused himself to serve other customers. When he came back, he asked if they wanted another drink. Vlad said no and decided to head to his room. Maxim felt like one more. Denis served him.
Maxim inquired, “Are you from here?”
“No. I’m from the Ivory Coast,” Denis admitted.
“What brings you here?”
“I’m a grad student at UNILU.”
“Nice. What do you study?”
“History.”
“Okay,” Maxim smiled. “I think I am going to my room now. Good night.”
Once the crowd had cleared for the evening, Denis followed the instructions of his shift leader to complete entering in the bar charges to the guests’ rooms. He grabbed his satchel and hailed a taxi to his apartment. He curled up on the twin bed and decided the next day he would figure out where to buy a moped and a futon. He logged into his laptop and signed into a secure connection. He made notes on his interactions for the day. Then, he fell asleep.
The next morning, he got dressed and headed off to class. It was an interesting day as he took note of his classmates and professors. He was done with school by mid-afternoon and made his way to a motorcycle dealership. He decided on a motorized bicycle. He paid cash and hopped on his new set of wheels with his messenger bag on his back. He pedaled through the city mostly only every now and then engaging the engine. He thought of how cool the two-wheeler was and how convenient it would be.
Denis arrived at work. He changed into his uniform and went up to the bar. His shift leader was very surprised to see how quickly he had caught on to the routine. When happy hour came around, guests began to arrive. Around thirty minutes later, the Russians appeared. Denis focused and inhaled deeply without anyone noticing. He began chatting them up and taking their orders. Of course they all wanted vodka. He spotted Maxim inside the rest of the group. Based on body language and conversation from the night prior, Maxim was the one Denis had decided to work.
“Can someone teach me how to say ‘beer’ in Russian,” Denis cried out.
One of the group yelled, “Pivo.”
“Come again,” Denis said pouring out shots.
“Pivo,” Maxim emerged pronouncing it slowly.
“Pivo,” repeated Denis. “And how do I say ‘thank you’ in Russian?”
“Spasibo.”
“Spasibo,” Denis smiled broadly.
“You are very good at speaking Russki I see,” Maxim commented.
“Spasibo,” Denis winked.
The tall, athletic, unusually olive-skinned man replied, “Say ‘zaebis’.”
“Wait,” Denis stalled. “What does that mean?”
“Awesome,” answered Maxim.
“Zaebis,” yelled Denis as he held the bottle of Stolichnaya up.
All of the Russians cheered.
Maxim made a fist and hit his chest. In Russian culture, it symbolized vouching for another person’s accuracy or expressing loyalty. All of this Denis knew because of the file he’d read on the flight. But, Maxim had no idea, so Denis asked, “What does that mean?”
“It means I am saying you are right and we are friends now,” Maxim shared.
“Ah. Nice,” Denis delighted.
The evening ended and all customers stumbled back to their rooms.
After three nights of seeing Maxim and conversing, Denis had finally gotten the invite he was looking for. When his shift had finished, he slipped into the service elevator and headed to the f******nth floor. He knocked on the door. Maxim let him in.
“I have never done this before,” the drunken Russian confessed.
“It’s cool. I won’t tell anyone,” promised Denis.
They sat on the bed. Maxim turned the television volume up very loud so his coworkers on either side would not hear.
“You act like a girl,” Maxim blurted.
“I’m sorry,” Denis apologized.
“Oh no! It turns me on.”
“Can I get a little more comfortable?”
“Sure!”
Denis went into the bathroom. He washed up briefly, rubbed some baby oil over his body, and walked out wearing only a yellow lace thong.
“Wow,” Maxim exclaimed.
“You like,” Denis checked.
“Oh yes, baby,” the Russian remarked pulling him close.
They hugged then sat on the bed.
“Do you want a drink,” Maxim asked grabbing his personal bottle of vodka from the fridge?
“I can’t drink it straight,” Denis shared.
“No problem. I can get a juice from the mini bar.”
“That’d be great! What did you say you were doing in D.C.R. again?”
“I work for a mining company. We mine cobalt.”
“Oh cool! Are you a miner?”
“No sexy. I’m an engineer manager.”
“I have no idea what that is,” Denis laughed.
Denis accepted his drink. They toasted.
Maxim was so inebriated. In short order, he had pulled out his lovely eight-inch cock. Denis sucked it with loving care. Then, the sissy spy hopped on top of it.
Maxim groaned. He had never felt anything so tight. “Oh yes!”
“You like that African boipussy on your Russian dick, daddy,” cooed Denis.
“Yes, baby!”
“Oh, daddy! It feels so good.”
They fucked for twenty minutes as Denis’ hole got wetter and wetter.
Denis jumped off. He advised Maxim that he wanted another drink. The Russian stumbled to pour more.
Denis was happy. Maxim made it back to the bed. Denis sipped lightly as Maxim downed his quickly. They had sex for six more minutes before the engineer passed out.
Denis made some noise and shook his lover. There was no response. He began rummaging through Maxim’s bags and drawers. He found a laptop. He took out a device that was deigned to copy everything on a computer hard drive. While that was downloading, he placed another item on top of Maxim’s cell phone. It downloaded all of the contents. When all of the Intel gathering was complete, Denis got dressed and left in a hurry.
The analysts back at Langley found out many things from the emails that were on Maxim’s phone and computer. They decided that it was good to set a date for an attack a month from now.
Over the next few weeks, Denis kept up his routine. He went to school, then moto-biked his way to the hotel to serve drinks. Most nights, he ended up in Maxim’s room having wild sex until the man went to sleep.
The plans were finally ready to come together. It was Denis’ night off from the hotel.
The battalion stormed the warlord’s campground. The gunfire from both sides was brutal. Denis was upset that he had not been the one to kill Boshab. He was able to add another three notches to his belt because he made fatal shots on three of the other combatants.
The Congolese men were scrambling. None of the Americans were lost in this altercation.
Three Chinook helicopters flew in to extract the black ops participants. Upon debriefing, the C.I.A. was satisfied with what Hampton was able to provide. He was all set to fly to Berlin which he did on another Gulfstream jet. Again, he was with Candace. This time she had a white corn-fed boy from Nebraska with her. Hampton slept most of the time.
Hampton was awakened.
Candace said, “We have word that Boshab’s right hand man, Gustave Molisho Amuri, got away. We need to finish the job.”
The plane diverted to Tel Aviv. The group waited there for the next two months as they tracked Amuri hopping across the Caribbean from island to island. He had taken a bag with close to a million USD with him and was now in Jamaica checking into a resort for nine days.
The plan was set. Hampton would become Wesley Fitzgerald. He would be sent into Jamaica and put up at the same resort. His mission was to kill Amuri and then be pulled out. He knew he could do it.
Hampton was booked on a commercial flight. He checked bag so his disassembled handgun would not be detected as each of its parts were in different hidden compartments of normal-looking everyday items. When he landed and finally got through Customs with his fake U.K. passport, he found a taxi and was taken to the Whispers Beach Resort.
When Wesley got out of the cab, he was greeted by a handsome bellman named Gordon.
Gordon offered to take his bags. Wesley declined the total offer, but let him pull along the big one. Gordon was going to let the big suitcase sit outside while he checked in. Wesley did not like the idea and asked that all of his bags stay with him. Gordon was eager to please and hauled the large piece of luggage inside. The five-foot-ten, stocky, dark-skinned, hospitality employee asked Wesley if he wanted something to drink. The parched spy requested rum punch. Gordon returned post-haste with a glass of the beverage.
Wesley completed the check-in process.
Gordon helped him to his room. Wesley thanked him and closed the door. Wesley realized he had forgotten to tip. He opened the door, but could not find Gordon. He called the front desk and asked if they could send him back up. The operator said she would have Gordon call back when he was free.
The phone rang nineteen minutes later.
“Hello,” mused Wesley.
“Hi. This is Gordon. I got a message to call.”
“Hey there,” beamed Wesley. “I forgot to give you your tip. Can you come get it?”
“I have a break in an hour. I can be there then. Is that okay, sir?”
“Yes, it’s fine! And please don’t call me sir.”
“Alright. One hour.”
Wesley took a steamy hot shower and rubbed himself with lotion. He flipped through the channels and found CNN. He wrapped up in one of the plush robes and waited. His room phone rang.
“Hey, it’s Gordon,” announced the voice.
“Hi,” Wesley replied.
“I can come up now.”
“Okay. I’m ready.”
Gordon arrived. Wesley invited him inside the room while he found a ten-dollar bill.
“Thank you,” the hotel employee said upon receiving the American money.
“Do you have to leave now,” Wesley inquired.
“Not right now.”
“Have a beer with me then.”
Wesley took two Red Stripes from the fridge. He opened each with the bottle opener on the wall and handed on to his bellman. They both took a swig. As they continued drinking Wesley asked, “Would you be mad if I said you were hot?”
Gordon laughed, “No.”
“Why are you laughing,” Wesley checked.
“Because I’m not into men. But it’s flattering none the less.”
“My bad,” the short one pouted. “I didn’t mean to offend. I just always try to hit on the wrong…”
“Wait. What’s the matter?”
“I always say the wrong things to the wrong guys.”
“No. Stop that!”
“Why,” sobbed Wesley.
“Cause. All of us were looking at your booty when you came in. I told the others I was taking care of you.”
“For real?”
“Yes! You have an ass like a girl.”
“Thank you!”
Gordon and Wesley drank their beers and then another for each.
“Can I just touch it,” Wesley checked.
“Go for it,” Gordon said.
Gordon grew to nine rock hard inches. Wesley sucked it with no remorse.
It wasn’t long until Wesley was on his back and Gordon was pounding away.
“Give me that pussy,” Gordon demanded.
“Take that bitch ass faggot boipussy,” Wesley whined.
“Hell yes, sissy!”
“Fuck me, you Jamaican big dick nigga!”
Gordon went hard. He nutted in Wesley’s supple asshole.
That was the first day.
On the second, Wesley had spotted his target. He followed Amuri nonchalantly without ever being detected. The great thing about this resort was that it was all-inclusive – all drinks and food were at no extra charge. Amuri was living it up. The under-warlord was drunk by afternoon. He stumbled back to his room with his beauty queen wife. Wesley waited until the elevator revealed the third floor and rushed up the stairs. He ran to find them. He saw them enter Room 3302.
Wesley knew Amuri was out for the count. He hustled back to his room, He phoned in to Langley. He gave his code and explained he could take out Amuri ASAP but needed extraction. Everyone decided he should kill Amuri. Then he would be picked up outside the resort in a helicopter. There was a chopper waiting. It could be there in three hours to extract Wesley. It was too long to risk, but the team wanted him to go ahead and then seek a cab out towards the pier. Wesley complied.
Wesley assembled his handgun and attached the silencer. He placed it in the back of his pants beneath his shirt. He walked down the open-air corridor. He knocked on the door and said, “Maintenance!”
The less-than-smart, woman opened up.
Wesley put a bullet through her forehead with his silenced handgun. He moved her body all the way inside and went into the room. He gave the warlord’s assistant a double tap in the brain.
Wesley walked coolly out of the room and down the stairs. He asked for a taxi to take him to Glouchester Avenue to get some souvenirs.
The cab arrived after twenty minutes. When they arrived near the club Margaritaville, Wesley asked the driver to stop. He paid the driver nicely and began going in and out of shops. He purchased many trinkets. Finally, he heard the Chinook humming. His phone rang. He answered. He followed the orders and went outside for his extraction.
The mission had taken longer than expected, but as always it was complete.
Bess
- 24.08.2020
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