“You’ve been inside the prison. Remember what we do to people who merely annoy us, like you. Then think hard about what we do to people like her.”
Lena smiled even harder as genuine fear crawled up her spine.
“Once tonight is over, I might stop by there myself and see if I can get some practice in.” the woman said, with a maniacal and sadistic grin, “They have these little electrical things now that don’t stop your heart like the last ones did. And they can attach anywhere. They have these little needles with the hooks on the end that…”
Lena continued to hold the smile, yet she thought her face would explode. God, how she already loathed this woman.
“…eventually, we’ll send her back to wherever she came from. Dead, of course. But it will take years before I’m done playing with that one. She’s pretty! Personally, I like to keep souvenirs. Maybe I’ll take one tonight.” She said this with a giggle, and Lena’s stomach roiled. “In any case,” she continued, “you’re here to learn. So, here is how this is going to go. I’m going to explain the operation quickly, and then you are going to do all of the work with me watching. Just remember: you aren’t the only one working tonight. We believe in redundancy. A professional agent is going to be doing exactly what you are doing in the important steps just in case you didn’t do it correctly.
“Your actions are going to seem unnecessary at times and I will tell you right now that they are. But you have to walk through these steps, or you don’t get a pass. On the side of things, you will be taking these unnecessary actions during an actual operation—an actual operation that you can’t interfere with. So really, you only have two goals for tonight. First, do not expose the operation. As long as you do that one thing, we can still work everything else out. If you feel like you can’t do something, make a judgment call and we’ll move on. Second, complete each one of the steps issued to you. I don’t care how pretty your pictures are. All I care about is that you took them, and that they are of the correct things. Understood?”
“I do. I mean, I understand,” Lena said, hoping her nervous swallowing wasn’t too obvious.
“You may have noticed Lord Shit-for-brains standing over there?” Makeup-lady motioned back towards the crowd, “Go ahead, look… the fat one.”
She looked back at the crowd of howling French-people. They were all quite drunk and not the least bit upset about that fact. In the middle of them sat the one that Makeup-lady was referring to—a massive man, but in all the wrong ways, looking to be in his high-fifties or low-sixties, and balding. He was dressed in a flagrantly expensive suit which was layered in expensive cocktails and spittle that showed just how much more drunk than the others he was.
“Yes.” Makeup-lady nodded, “That’s him. The fat, worthless sack of pig shit, Lord Piggy. And tonight, you are going to help us make him squeal like one.”
Das Mission
Lena hoped to god that she didn’t look as terrified as she now felt. She tried harder to look natural than she had tried at anything she could remember. She knew that Makeup-lady was watching her like a hawk, and she didn’t want to think of what would happen if she got anything wrong. She truly believed the woman capable of everything she said she was, and the next hour or so might land her in the same predicament as that poor bartender.
Lena shuddered at the thought of it. She knew that the bartender was the enemy, as far as the Stasi was concerned. She also knew that the bartender had been trying to use Lena, which might very well have gotten her in the same trouble. But to earn that?! She hated Red-hat and Wart-face now. They were pure evil as far as Lena was concerned. As for Makeup-lady… well, Lena was just too scared of her to hate her. Somehow, she would find out that Lena hated her, and then…
The mission wasn’t going to be easy. Over the past few months, Lena had learned several new skills to varying levels of expertise (most of them not very expert at all, admittedly), but this was something else entirely. She had been assured that what she was provided worked with a minimum of explanation and that she had received training sufficient for her role tonight. Still, she had done nothing remotely like this.
She looked over at Lord Piggy and she honestly wanted to feel somewhat sorry for him—she knew what was coming his way, and while he probably deserved it, well, she still felt bad. Especially knowing that she was going to be a part of his downfall. Yet her feelings on his behalf began to wane as she watched him drunkenly opening and shutting his fine leather briefcase in front of the hotel staff, loudly slurring, “Oh, I bet you would love to see what I have in here, wouldn’t you, you Stasi pricks! Go ahead… look!” followed by him slamming the briefcase closed and saying, “Oh, too slow! Stupid Stasi pricks!”
This was followed by the ever-polite Interhostel staff trying to reassure him that, “the hotel staff are not Stasi, and any Stasi that might be present are only here for routine national security. The Metropol is hoping to build a fine relationship with the people of France,” and that he, “really should keep his voice controlled, so as not to upset the other esteemed guests of the Hotel.” To this, he simply responded by quickly opening and shutting the briefcase, and shouting,“Stasi pricks!”
It appeared that Lord Piggy’s cohorts were beginning to tire of him as well. Many had skittered off to their rooms, moved on to a separate table, or taken to the Hotel’s various male and female companions for some more stimulating conversation. Lena had her duties, of course, but she did manage to overhear some of the various conversations. Most deviated between apologizing for their boss, commenting on how pleasantly strong the drinks were, or trying to impress the companions with how important they were.
Within a few short minutes, her first task was complete: make a mental note of the combination locks on the briefcase and their respective codes. Since the drunken bastard was too hard off to scramble them every time he closed the case, the numbers ‘0505’ and ‘2001’ were practically visible for all to see. Hell, he practically gave the combos away themselves, “How in the world is a man like this trusted with anything?!” Lena boggled.
Her first mission complete, she needed only wait for her second tasking. While awaiting, she leaned over to spy on a new couple. This couple was comprised of a member of the dignitary’s entourage and a companion who were having a decidedly important conversation.
“…wish to just sail the world.” he gestured, hands flailing in the air.
“Oh, that sounds marvelous!” she gushed.
“Just imagine; the wind in your hair, the spray hitting you in the face, nothing but ocean to explore for days around you!”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful!”
It was as sad a sight as could be seen. The man talked and talked and talked, oblivious to the woman’s put-on body language. One of Lena’s first items of instruction when she got out of prison was to learn how to read body language—something her young Stasi officer had trained her well in.
“You can’t always trust the face.” Patrick had told her during one meeting, “People—especially professional liars, like spies, politicians, salesmen and otherwise—have all memorized and practiced their faces. They know when to look you in the eyes or when to smile. As a matter of fact, the better the smile, and the more comfortable or intense the eye contact, the more likely it is that you have a professional liar on your hands.