Black And White Ops

Rick drove the car to the airport and waited. While he sat in the car he used his smart phone to check on the flight schedules of all planes flying direct to America. This would be the method the station director would use to get them out. Thank God he’d brought the super drive along as a bargaining chip. It was the only thing they had on them which made the agency risk taking them out as diplomatic employees. Right now the SVR would be checking traffic cameras and eye-witnesses for a car and passengers matching their descriptions. Ordinarily this would have been a herculean task, but Monique’s prescience made it a lot easier for them. At least it wasn’t as bad as the time he had to get out of Northern China in a town where the sighting of a foreigner could stop traffic.

Rick watched the other cars in the lot carefully. He didn’t know what the SVR tended to use, but he was betting something plain that would not draw too much attention. He parked his car in the end of a long row of vehicles for travelers who were headed overseas. The international section of the lot was huge and took up most of the available parking spaces. He looked at the clock on the dashboard again. They had another half hour.

Monique was scared, but relieved they were almost to the end of their ordeal. All she wanted to do was get out of the city and be home safe. The people who employed Rick would want to talk to them. She expected to be debriefed to some extent, but prayed they would get it over and done with. What could she tell them? It all started with walking into a bomb explosion and got steadily worse.

Pulkovo International Airport had seen many years. It was originally built in 1932 but had taken a constant barrage from German artillery during the Second World War when the Nazi guns had pounded it from the near-by hills. Rebuilt many times over it resembled a modern European airport with shuttle service and long-term parking. They were sitting in the long-term lot waiting for the moment to go into the airport and meet the station manager.

“You really mean to buy me a big diamond engagement ring?” Monique told Rick as she put her head on his chest. It was getting very cold in the car and her jacket wasn’t doing a lot to keep her warm.

“I meant what I said,” he told her. “We just have to get through this mess.”

When he noticed the time was right, Rick opened the car door and looked around. No suspicious looking men in the lot. Perhaps the old license plate switch had worked after all. He helped Monique out and they made their way to the nearest shuttle station. The shuttle bus arrived early and the sullen driver yawned as he opened the door and called out the destinations in several different languages. “Just got two of them,” Monique heard him radio to the terminal as he closed the door and moved on toward their destination. The shuttle made a few more stops, but only picked up a single man this early in the morning. It rumbled up to the terminal a half hour after picking them up. Monique and Rick stepped out to the clean sidewalk in front of the doors with the other passenger as the shuttle rolled off for its next round.

They walked inside the vast terminal hall and pretended to look at the departure and arrival schedules reflected on the wall above them. The place was vast, like so many construction projects built during the Soviet era. But now all kinds of western companies had little stakes all over the terminal and a bored traveler could find something familiar anywhere inside the terminal to remind him or her of home.

“I see you received the message,” the station manager said to Rick. She had appeared out of nowhere and was dressed to resemble a school student from one of the local colleges. She was even carrying a stack of books.

“Nice outfit,” Rick said to her. “Does the agency provide you with the patent leather shoes or do you buy your own.”

“I’ve got a whole closet full of these outfits,” she confirmed. “But they’re back at the embassy compound.”

“I’ll bet you keep them right next to your rack and spanking bench,” Rick jabbed.

“No,” she contradicted. “I keep those in the basement back in Washington. But enough of the cuteness, do you have the super drive? I’ve got tickets for you booked back to Dulles Airport under the names Bill Smith and Maggie Jones as embassy employees.”

“You’ll see it when we get back,” he told her. “Let’s see the identities first.”

The station manager handed him two envelopes. Inside were documents and ID’s in the names she had given him with air tickets. Rick handed Monique her packet and she looked through it. They had even place current photographs on the passports.

“So how do I know you have the drive?” she asked.

“You don’t,” he told her. “I’m keeping its location safe until we get off the plane at Dulles. I’m not taking any chances.”

The station manager grumbled and walked off. Rick watched as she ditched the school books into the nearest trash can.

They were safely on a plane two hours later. Monique was breathing much easier, but wouldn’t feel truly safe until they landed. It was a long flight with connections at Heathrow until they arrived home nearly a day later.

The flight back to America was uneventful. After what they had endured in less than forty-eight hours, both of them needed a break. Monique slept a lot and held onto Rick’s hand. She became excited when they saw the coast of America looming through the windows. Monique was finally at ease.

As they walked through customs two men in business suits walked up to them and flashed badges. Rick had expected it to happen and gave them their folders with the fake ID’s in them. They took them, flipped through the materials inside it and looked up.

“We already spoke to her,” the first man said. “Where’s the drive?”

Rick reached in his pocket and handed it to the man. “Here it is. You tell her the next time she tries to hand me over to her buddies in Moscow I’m not going to be so forgiving.” Dumbfounded they took it and let them walk away.

It was later that evening when they were in bed in Rick’s house that Monique finally asked him how he knew it was the station manager, not Yuri, who had tipped off the SVR men who came after them.

“They were working together,” he told her. “Yuri was contacted by her to get it back and hand us over to the SVR. He knew I’d hide it in the warehouse if we were captured. All he had to do was find it. Then she’d pay to get it back. And we would vanish into the Russian penal system. No honor among thieves.”

Monique fell asleep looking at the huge diamond ring he’d bought her earlier that day.

The end.