(Watching Fox Crime too much led to this story. Different from what I've written till now.)
For one thing, Nikolai Vasyenkov couldn't believe that this pot-bellied Sheikh sitting opposite to him was one of the world's most powerful men. He was on a business deal with the Sheikh and they were both seated at the lobby of Nikolai's private plane hangar in an uncharted part of Russia.
Nikolai had been leading the law's long arms on an unending chase for the past 10 years. Rich, swimming in fortunes made from drug trafficking and selling sex slaves to wealthy Arabians, Nikolai was one of the most wanted, powerful criminals on the Interpol hitlist.
"So?" the Sheikh asked, sipping his goblet of champagne.
"I don't know Sheikh. You make such a good bargain. You know what? There is a reason why a certain few girls can't win an international pageant. "
"Why not?"
"Because I own them."
"Ohh."
"I will sell you 10 of them. For 100 million dollars. Here are the photos."
The Sheikh took the photos from Nikolai and scrutinized them. His brows raised as he saw through photos of really sexy Russian girls wearing latex bunny suits and maid uniforms.
"There is a reason why these girls don't win international pageants Mr.Vasyenkov." the Sheikh said.
"Of course. It is because I own them."
"No."
"No?"
"They don't win pageants because they are not sexy at all."
"What? Those are the best girls I have."
"I was just joking Mr.Vasyenkov. They are perfectly alright."
Nikolai noticed that the Sheikh spoke brilliant English, even though there was a light Arabic accent underneath it.
"So, do we have a deal?"
"Certainly. 100 million dollars it is."
"Then shall I ask my men to bring the girls to you?"
"Yes. And you'll have your money."
Nikolai motioned to his bodyguard to bring the slaves to the Sheikh.
Five minutes later, ten sexy girls, with the most perfect figures, were brought in bound and gagged.
The Sheikh stood up and went to the blonde girl at front. He could see his bearded face reflected in her stubborn tears. He drew his fingers over her hips ,tickled and pinched her slim waist. She could easily be the Marilyn Monroe of the 21st Century.
Nikolai took a puff out of his cigar. "You can enjoy after you have paid, my dear Sheikh. They are all yours."
The Sheikh spoke to his bodyguard in quickfire Arabic, who gave an understanding nod and left the room.
Two women wearing abayas entered with a big steel suitcase. Nikolai's bodyguard at the entrance stopped and checked them for concealed weaponry but found none.
The women placed the suitcase on the table and opened it. Nikolai, rich he was, but still the greedy pig he used to be and his eyes glowed when he saw the money.
"Great god. Mmm, the smell of fresh notes. Not counterfeited?" asked Nikolai.
"I honor my word when it comes to money Mr. Vasyenkov. I don't deal in counterfeited money." said the Sheikh in a stern tone.
"Ah. I'm sorry."
Nikolai's bodyguard put a suitcase on the table.
"Excuse me if you will my dear Sheikh. I would like to take my money in my own suitcase. Wouldn't want those GPS trackers on our money box would we?"
"Your detail to safety measures is appreciated my friend. I shall do your beckoning."
The Sheikh spoke to the women in Arabic and they began to take out the money and place it in Nikolai's suitcase.
When Nikolai's suitcase was two layers full, something happened.
And the next thing he knew, he was on his knees, facing a Desert Eagle pistol that the Sheikh had positioned on his forehead. His bodyguards had been tranquilized and were on the floor. And the abaya clad women were pointing tranquilizer guns at him.
"Wha-what the? What the hell are you doing Sheikh?"
"No Nikolai. I'm not a Sheikh. Just a cop doing his job. I am Agent Fischer, Ghost Ops, CIA. Have a good sleep. And when you wake up, you'll be at the Pentagon."
And the last thing Nikolai felt was a needle shoot through his neck.
.
.
.
.
Agent Martin Fischer, 27, was a member of the secret Ghost Ops division of the CIA. Ghost Ops was a small team of elite CIA operatives, who were pros in their respective fields of expertise and were answerable only to the President of the United States. Martin was a disguise artist and an actor. He uses his acting skills to fish out wanted criminals. Nikolai had been giving trouble to police forces all over the world. Fischer had been assigned to capture Nikolai alive. Thus, Fischer had donned the role of an Arab Sheikh and pretended to make a business deal with him.
Fischer was now on a private plane back to the CIA HQ in New York. As he looked outside the window at the brilliantly shining full moon, he couldn't believe the luck he had while facing Nikolai. His target had clearly fallen for the bait: the prospect of getting a customer always excited Nikolai. It was his plan to contact Nikolai under the false pretence of a Sheikh to do business with him, which had ultimately led him to his target. Even Fischer couldn't properly remember how he had managed to pull it off. But then, his mission was a success. His performance had given the rest of the team take out Nikolai's security at the plane hangar. They tracked Nikolai's hidden residence deep in the heart of Russia using his own private plane. His mansion was raided, and the SWAT had taken care of Nikolai's henchmen. All the girls that Nikolai had kidnapped and slaved were taken into custody to testify against Nikolai. Things had ended well.
Suddenly, he felt someone tap his head.
"What are you dreaming about, Fish?"
It was his elder sister, Brenda Fischer. Both brother and sister were members of the Ghost Ops. Brenda was 3 years elder to Martin and was a MAC certified makeup artist. She was the one who did Martin's makeup right from his school days when he used to act in plays and now, for his various missions. She was feeling good that the Sheikh look that she had done on Martin earlier was successful. She was also one of the women wearing the abaya that had brought in the suitcase of money to Nikolai and later tranquilized him and his bodyguards. Brother and sister shared perfect synchronization, a trait that most people were jealous of, but also admired.
"Nothing. Just thinking how we were successful in getting Nikolai." Martin replied.
Brenda sat opposite to him. "You are just a natural at acting, Fish. I mean, that performance was perfection to the core. He didn't get a single hint as to who you were, which gave us enough time to take out his security systems. You performed perfectly like a Sheikh. The part where you went up to that blonde... that was simply amazing. Damn. I wish I had videotaped it."
"Idiot." said Martin, leaning on his hand. "You know that's not possible."
"Hmm. You are so cute when you get pissed off."
"Shut up..." Martin yawned.
"All right little guy. Get some sleep.". And she kissed him on the cheek. Brenda always treated Martin as a baby, even though there was a difference of only 3 years between them.
.
.
.
Five hours later, Martin and his team were going up the elevator of the CIA HQ to the thirteenth floor, the Ghost Ops control center. As the door opened, the entire Ghost Ops division was standing in front of the elevator door.
And it was just applause.
Martin and Brenda were thoroughly surprised, as were the rest of the team.
The Director himself stepped forward. "Congratulations, Agent Fischer. That was one of the most brilliant undertakings ever. Nikolai had given enough trouble to police forces all over the world. And you got him before he could even get a hint."
Martin was thoroughly flustered.
"No Sir. It was a team job. Without Brenda or the others I wouldn't have been able to get Nikolai. You should thank them too."
"Congrats guys. I wish you all the best for more successful recons in the future."
Brenda patted Martin on the back.
They all went back into the office. That's when Martin spotted Tracy at the corner.
Tracy Pullman, 27, was also a Ghost Ops agent. But she and Martin shared a history that went back up till kindergarten. Tracy had been Martin's crush for nearly 25 years. They had studied in the same school and both had become CIA agents. It was almost as if their fates were intertwined, but Martin never had the balls to go and propose to Tracy. Brenda was often irritated by the fact that her brother could bag international criminals but couldn't propose to a girl whom he had known for the past 25 years. Most love stories say how a guy's heart does a tap dance when he sees the girl of his dreams. But Martin's heart actually does a little break dance when he sees Tracy.
For as long as he could remember, Tracy used to have flashy red hair, the reason why some of her friends and co-workers called her "Weasley", a reference to the Weasley family in the Harry Potter series, who had flaming red hair. Martin had always thought that Tracy's red hair would give Natasha Romanoff from the Avengers an inferiority complex. But two months ago, she cut her hair to neck length and dyed it brown because the Director thought her hair was too "flashy" and was often distracting. So Tracy had no choice but to do so.
And today, there she was, stony faced as ever. Martin had rarely seen her show an emotion. She almost never smiled.
"Hey Tracy." said Martin.
"Good job, Martin."
"Thanks."
"You know what? You should go to Hollywood rather than be here."
"Of course I can't. I want to be with you all the time."
"What did you just say?"
Martin paled. "Eh. No no. I can't be without you guys. That's what I meant."
"I see. Well. See you later."
And away she went to her room. Martin always thought that Tracy showed more of her back to him than her front. He always saw her walk away from him. Never towards him. Not that he complained, but...
.
.
.
.
It was five days after his return from Russia. Martin was reading a few case files from missions that were never completed. Suddenly, Trevor Sanchez, the computer genius of the Ghost Ops division burst into his room.
"Martin, the Director's called a meeting. You, me and Brenda. Now."
Martin hurried to the briefing room behind Trevor. He was surprised to see that Tracy was already inside.
"Hello agents." began the Director. "Good to see that you all have arrived. I believe your next operation is about to begin."
The Director paused for a moment. He drew up the dossier of the target on the v-screen.
"Ramon Reyes. A businessman who is based in Detroit. But the businessman role is just a cover. Intel reports that he is involved in a conspiracy with Russia and holds the key code for a nuclear warhead in Russia, which when activated, would head straight for Washington D.C. An event worthy of starting World War 3. Sadly, the agent who discovered this was killed in a mysterious way, which we believe is Ramon's doing. The location of this key code is unknown to us but we believe that it is hidden somewhere in Ramon's residence on the outskirts of Detroit. But there is a problem. Tracy will continue."
Tracy went up to the v-screen."Yessir. Now, Ramon's mansion is highly secure, with cutting-edge security systems. So if one has to infiltrate the place, it can be done only if one is close to Ramon. Recently, Ramon's company had posted a job vacancy for a female secretary-cum-personal assistant position on job websites. So we are going to send in one of our operatives as a secretary, and somehow manage to get that key."
Tracy paused and looked at Martin.
"I already have the Director's approval for this plan."
"So, who are you going to send as the secretary? Me? Or are you going yourself, Tracy?" asked Brenda.
"Neither."
That's when all four heads turned towards Martin. He realized what was going to happen.
"Uh-oh."
[Coming soon. Next Chapter: The Transformation.]
For one thing, Nikolai Vasyenkov couldn't believe that this pot-bellied Sheikh sitting opposite to him was one of the world's most powerful men. He was on a business deal with the Sheikh and they were both seated at the lobby of Nikolai's private plane hangar in an uncharted part of Russia.
Nikolai had been leading the law's long arms on an unending chase for the past 10 years. Rich, swimming in fortunes made from drug trafficking and selling sex slaves to wealthy Arabians, Nikolai was one of the most wanted, powerful criminals on the Interpol hitlist.
"So?" the Sheikh asked, sipping his goblet of champagne.
"I don't know Sheikh. You make such a good bargain. You know what? There is a reason why a certain few girls can't win an international pageant. "
"Why not?"
"Because I own them."
"Ohh."
"I will sell you 10 of them. For 100 million dollars. Here are the photos."
The Sheikh took the photos from Nikolai and scrutinized them. His brows raised as he saw through photos of really sexy Russian girls wearing latex bunny suits and maid uniforms.
"There is a reason why these girls don't win international pageants Mr.Vasyenkov." the Sheikh said.
"Of course. It is because I own them."
"No."
"No?"
"They don't win pageants because they are not sexy at all."
"What? Those are the best girls I have."
"I was just joking Mr.Vasyenkov. They are perfectly alright."
Nikolai noticed that the Sheikh spoke brilliant English, even though there was a light Arabic accent underneath it.
"So, do we have a deal?"
"Certainly. 100 million dollars it is."
"Then shall I ask my men to bring the girls to you?"
"Yes. And you'll have your money."
Nikolai motioned to his bodyguard to bring the slaves to the Sheikh.
Five minutes later, ten sexy girls, with the most perfect figures, were brought in bound and gagged.
The Sheikh stood up and went to the blonde girl at front. He could see his bearded face reflected in her stubborn tears. He drew his fingers over her hips ,tickled and pinched her slim waist. She could easily be the Marilyn Monroe of the 21st Century.
Nikolai took a puff out of his cigar. "You can enjoy after you have paid, my dear Sheikh. They are all yours."
The Sheikh spoke to his bodyguard in quickfire Arabic, who gave an understanding nod and left the room.
Two women wearing abayas entered with a big steel suitcase. Nikolai's bodyguard at the entrance stopped and checked them for concealed weaponry but found none.
The women placed the suitcase on the table and opened it. Nikolai, rich he was, but still the greedy pig he used to be and his eyes glowed when he saw the money.
"Great god. Mmm, the smell of fresh notes. Not counterfeited?" asked Nikolai.
"I honor my word when it comes to money Mr. Vasyenkov. I don't deal in counterfeited money." said the Sheikh in a stern tone.
"Ah. I'm sorry."
Nikolai's bodyguard put a suitcase on the table.
"Excuse me if you will my dear Sheikh. I would like to take my money in my own suitcase. Wouldn't want those GPS trackers on our money box would we?"
"Your detail to safety measures is appreciated my friend. I shall do your beckoning."
The Sheikh spoke to the women in Arabic and they began to take out the money and place it in Nikolai's suitcase.
When Nikolai's suitcase was two layers full, something happened.
And the next thing he knew, he was on his knees, facing a Desert Eagle pistol that the Sheikh had positioned on his forehead. His bodyguards had been tranquilized and were on the floor. And the abaya clad women were pointing tranquilizer guns at him.
"Wha-what the? What the hell are you doing Sheikh?"
"No Nikolai. I'm not a Sheikh. Just a cop doing his job. I am Agent Fischer, Ghost Ops, CIA. Have a good sleep. And when you wake up, you'll be at the Pentagon."
And the last thing Nikolai felt was a needle shoot through his neck.
.
.
.
.
Agent Martin Fischer, 27, was a member of the secret Ghost Ops division of the CIA. Ghost Ops was a small team of elite CIA operatives, who were pros in their respective fields of expertise and were answerable only to the President of the United States. Martin was a disguise artist and an actor. He uses his acting skills to fish out wanted criminals. Nikolai had been giving trouble to police forces all over the world. Fischer had been assigned to capture Nikolai alive. Thus, Fischer had donned the role of an Arab Sheikh and pretended to make a business deal with him.
Fischer was now on a private plane back to the CIA HQ in New York. As he looked outside the window at the brilliantly shining full moon, he couldn't believe the luck he had while facing Nikolai. His target had clearly fallen for the bait: the prospect of getting a customer always excited Nikolai. It was his plan to contact Nikolai under the false pretence of a Sheikh to do business with him, which had ultimately led him to his target. Even Fischer couldn't properly remember how he had managed to pull it off. But then, his mission was a success. His performance had given the rest of the team take out Nikolai's security at the plane hangar. They tracked Nikolai's hidden residence deep in the heart of Russia using his own private plane. His mansion was raided, and the SWAT had taken care of Nikolai's henchmen. All the girls that Nikolai had kidnapped and slaved were taken into custody to testify against Nikolai. Things had ended well.
Suddenly, he felt someone tap his head.
"What are you dreaming about, Fish?"
It was his elder sister, Brenda Fischer. Both brother and sister were members of the Ghost Ops. Brenda was 3 years elder to Martin and was a MAC certified makeup artist. She was the one who did Martin's makeup right from his school days when he used to act in plays and now, for his various missions. She was feeling good that the Sheikh look that she had done on Martin earlier was successful. She was also one of the women wearing the abaya that had brought in the suitcase of money to Nikolai and later tranquilized him and his bodyguards. Brother and sister shared perfect synchronization, a trait that most people were jealous of, but also admired.
"Nothing. Just thinking how we were successful in getting Nikolai." Martin replied.
Brenda sat opposite to him. "You are just a natural at acting, Fish. I mean, that performance was perfection to the core. He didn't get a single hint as to who you were, which gave us enough time to take out his security systems. You performed perfectly like a Sheikh. The part where you went up to that blonde... that was simply amazing. Damn. I wish I had videotaped it."
"Idiot." said Martin, leaning on his hand. "You know that's not possible."
"Hmm. You are so cute when you get pissed off."
"Shut up..." Martin yawned.
"All right little guy. Get some sleep.". And she kissed him on the cheek. Brenda always treated Martin as a baby, even though there was a difference of only 3 years between them.
.
.
.
Five hours later, Martin and his team were going up the elevator of the CIA HQ to the thirteenth floor, the Ghost Ops control center. As the door opened, the entire Ghost Ops division was standing in front of the elevator door.
And it was just applause.
Martin and Brenda were thoroughly surprised, as were the rest of the team.
The Director himself stepped forward. "Congratulations, Agent Fischer. That was one of the most brilliant undertakings ever. Nikolai had given enough trouble to police forces all over the world. And you got him before he could even get a hint."
Martin was thoroughly flustered.
"No Sir. It was a team job. Without Brenda or the others I wouldn't have been able to get Nikolai. You should thank them too."
"Congrats guys. I wish you all the best for more successful recons in the future."
Brenda patted Martin on the back.
They all went back into the office. That's when Martin spotted Tracy at the corner.
Tracy Pullman, 27, was also a Ghost Ops agent. But she and Martin shared a history that went back up till kindergarten. Tracy had been Martin's crush for nearly 25 years. They had studied in the same school and both had become CIA agents. It was almost as if their fates were intertwined, but Martin never had the balls to go and propose to Tracy. Brenda was often irritated by the fact that her brother could bag international criminals but couldn't propose to a girl whom he had known for the past 25 years. Most love stories say how a guy's heart does a tap dance when he sees the girl of his dreams. But Martin's heart actually does a little break dance when he sees Tracy.
For as long as he could remember, Tracy used to have flashy red hair, the reason why some of her friends and co-workers called her "Weasley", a reference to the Weasley family in the Harry Potter series, who had flaming red hair. Martin had always thought that Tracy's red hair would give Natasha Romanoff from the Avengers an inferiority complex. But two months ago, she cut her hair to neck length and dyed it brown because the Director thought her hair was too "flashy" and was often distracting. So Tracy had no choice but to do so.
And today, there she was, stony faced as ever. Martin had rarely seen her show an emotion. She almost never smiled.
"Hey Tracy." said Martin.
"Good job, Martin."
"Thanks."
"You know what? You should go to Hollywood rather than be here."
"Of course I can't. I want to be with you all the time."
"What did you just say?"
Martin paled. "Eh. No no. I can't be without you guys. That's what I meant."
"I see. Well. See you later."
And away she went to her room. Martin always thought that Tracy showed more of her back to him than her front. He always saw her walk away from him. Never towards him. Not that he complained, but...
.
.
.
.
It was five days after his return from Russia. Martin was reading a few case files from missions that were never completed. Suddenly, Trevor Sanchez, the computer genius of the Ghost Ops division burst into his room.
"Martin, the Director's called a meeting. You, me and Brenda. Now."
Martin hurried to the briefing room behind Trevor. He was surprised to see that Tracy was already inside.
"Hello agents." began the Director. "Good to see that you all have arrived. I believe your next operation is about to begin."
The Director paused for a moment. He drew up the dossier of the target on the v-screen.
"Ramon Reyes. A businessman who is based in Detroit. But the businessman role is just a cover. Intel reports that he is involved in a conspiracy with Russia and holds the key code for a nuclear warhead in Russia, which when activated, would head straight for Washington D.C. An event worthy of starting World War 3. Sadly, the agent who discovered this was killed in a mysterious way, which we believe is Ramon's doing. The location of this key code is unknown to us but we believe that it is hidden somewhere in Ramon's residence on the outskirts of Detroit. But there is a problem. Tracy will continue."
Tracy went up to the v-screen."Yessir. Now, Ramon's mansion is highly secure, with cutting-edge security systems. So if one has to infiltrate the place, it can be done only if one is close to Ramon. Recently, Ramon's company had posted a job vacancy for a female secretary-cum-personal assistant position on job websites. So we are going to send in one of our operatives as a secretary, and somehow manage to get that key."
Tracy paused and looked at Martin.
"I already have the Director's approval for this plan."
"So, who are you going to send as the secretary? Me? Or are you going yourself, Tracy?" asked Brenda.
"Neither."
That's when all four heads turned towards Martin. He realized what was going to happen.
"Uh-oh."
[Coming soon. Next Chapter: The Transformation.]
I love it, please continue!
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