Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
This version of Russian roulette I did not know!
Hmm! Yet another British agent passing information to 'another country'? Burgess, Mclean, Philby and now Underwood?
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It continued in London
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 24/epilogue
A Tupolev ANT-9 on approach to Moscow, 5:54 pm, Sunday, 6th October. 1939.
The flight attendant tapped Barbara on the shoulder to alert her to the fact that the plane was descending for landing in Moscow.
Barbara nodded her thanks and leaned across a slumbering Henry to peer out of the glass portal … just in time to catch the onion domes and towers of the Kremlin bathed in and reflecting to the west, the setting rays of the sun.
“Wake up,” she breathed into his ear. “We’re about to land.”
It had been quite an eventful day Barbara reflected as she gently removed Henry’s warm hand from where it rested, thrust inside her shirt and under her bra to cup her right breast.
The day’s extraordinary events had begun just after midnight, when back in Berlin she’d been hauled bound, hooded and naked from Emma’s tenement flat in Wedding, thrown into the back of a Blitz and driven to a remote forest clearing outside the city. There she’d been introduced to Commissar Sergei Mikhaylovich Popov, a Russian NKVD officer, who interrogated her with a revolver pressed Russian Roulette-style to her head. She’d thought she was about to die when her ordeal was suddenly interrupted by Henry appearing, seemingly out of nowhere, with hands raised in surrender.
Coming to the conclusion that the two of them were more valuable to the NKVD alive than dead, Popov had bundled them into his car and driven to the Russian Embassy in Berlin. But not before forcing them, for his personal amusement, into performing acts of sexual degradation.
On arrival at the Embassy, they’d been hustled to the basement, strung up arms over head and left facing one another while Popov went off to consult with his superiors.
Under guard, and unable to converse, Barbara had at least been able to feel the comforting warmth of the man she’d come to love as their straining naked bodies came into fleeting contact. They’d hung there, awkwardly close but short of true embrace proximity, for many hours.
Popov had finally returned sometime around midday, and ordered them released. As they’d stood before him, rubbing their wrists and flexing their aching legs and arms, wondering what was coming next, he summoned two young embassy staff members … a man and a woman … to the basement and ordered them to strip and hand over their clothing to Barbara and Henry.
The two staff members looked at Popov in confused surprise, but wisely did exactly as instructed.
And shortly thereafter Henry and Barb, dressed in the embassy staff members clothing, were driven to Templehof field in Popov’s Zil, where they were placed on the regularly scheduled Russian-operated evening flight to Moscow … now commandeered by the embassy … the disgruntled ticketed passengers already onboard the 9-seat Tupolev ANT-9, casting hostile glances at them as they were forced to deplane.
“Are we ready for this?” grinned Henry, now fully awakened and gesturing through the portal towards Moscow.
“Together, we are,” she purred, laying her head on his shoulder and squeezing his hand.
“We have an ace in the hole,” he breathed into her ear. “As long as they want the film of your father’s papers and only I know where it’s hidden, we’ll be alright.”
Popov, seated on the other side of the otherwise empty cabin, looked on with a grim but satisfied smile, thinking to himself, ‘they’re going to love their reception at the Lubyanka ….’
SIS Headquarters. Section D, Century House, 54 Broadway, Westminster, London, Monday morning, 7th October, 1939
“Major Grand? Please hold for, Viscount Halifax, please,” intoned the nasal female voice on the line.
Laurence Grand said nothing. A direct call from the Foreign Secretary was something he did not relish on this or on any day.
“Good morning, Grand,” said Halifax simply, carefully affecting his customary tone of aristocratic reserve.
“Good morning, Sir. To what do I owe this call?”
“I wish an update on your section’s undercover work with respect to the industrialist, Joachim Mohr, and Nazi Germany’s advanced armaments program.”
“I’m afraid I’ve nothing of value to report. In fact, quite the opposite,” Grand admitted boldly.
“Tell me more,” came the curt reply.
“Well, as you undoubtedly are aware, we’ve sent two agents into Germany: one of our top operatives, Henry Underwood, along with Mohr’s own daughter, now working with us. We heard from Underwood recently. He’d surfaced in Copenhagen and indicated that he had photographed Joachim Mohr’s papers, but had to report that the mission was compromised and Mohr’s daughter ended up in the hands of the Gestapo. Underwood with the discreet help of her father, apparently managed to rescue her with a typical bit of derring do. But, in the end, he was forced to leave her behind due to her weakened physical condition following several very intense and tortuous Gestapo interrogations.”
“But he turned up alright in Copenhagen with the intelligence in hand?”
“Yes, he did, but …”
“But what?”
“But, he opted … against my orders … to go back into Germany to get her out. Seems he left her in the hands of the Red Resistance, and … well … as you know, sir … the Reds are fully controlled by Moscow now, and well … I think you can imagine the potential difficulties this presents.”
“Meaning Moscow may now or will soon be in possession of the intelligence we sent Underwood and Mohr’s daughter into Germany to obtain?”
“Possibly. Underwood has a cool head and is known for his professionalism and may well find a way to ….”
“To what, Grand? He’s already proven himself defiant to your orders, what? How do we know he hasn’t saved the girl by turning her father’s secrets over to the Kremlin? How do we know that he and Fräulein Mohr haven’t sold us out? How much do they know about the inner workings of our own organization that the Russians would love to possess!”
“Underwood is a good officer …”
“Not good enough, apparently! You are aware, I presume, that my office is deeply committed to a Soviet policy that serves our national interests … and now this!”
“I’m deeply sorry, sir.”
“Don’t apologize, Grand. It’s time to cut your losses and write Underwood and Fräulein Mohr off. Indeed, if possible, see that they are promptly liquidated!”
With that the phone went abruptly dead.
Office of Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler, Hotel Prinz Albrecht, Prinz-Albrecht-Straße 9, Berlin, Monday morning, 7th October, 1939.
“Phone call for you, Herr Reichsführer-SS,” announced the pretty blonde SS-Helferin from the anteroom door.
“Who is it?”
“Herr Joachim Moore, calling from Hamburg.”
“Tell him to call back tomorrow.”
“That’s what you had me tell him yesterday, Herr Reichsführer-SS.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll take the call.”
******
“Good morning, Herr Reichsführer-SS. Thank you for taking my call.”
“For you I always find time, Joachim.”
“I suspect you know why I’m calling, Heinrich. I’ve heard nothing of what has happened to Barbara. Your people must surely by now, have been able to establish that she’s still working for the Reich as a double agent, and that what happened in my home here in Hamburg will eventually work out to Germany’s advantage.”
“It pains me, Joachim, to inform you that she has, in fact, told us nothing. Moreover, she has escaped! And we’ve yet to find where she’s disappeared to.”
“Really? How is it possible for anyone, even my Barbara, to escape from Prinz-Albrecht-Straße?”
“Seems she had outside help from someone impersonating an SS officer. We suspect the Red Resistance was behind it. But in order to pull such a thing off, they must have had outside assistance and information about your daughter’s presence here.”
“I can assure you, Heinrich, that I’m as surprised by what has happened here, as you appear to be. I just hope she’s alright wherever she may be, and unharmed. Am I correct in thinking that your people refrained from using their usual brutal methods when questioning her?”
“Absolutely, Joachim, my people conducted your daughter’s interviews under my express orders to exercise restraint.”
Herr Mohr nodded, then said. “Okay, good. Do let me know if you find her, Heinrich.”
“Of course. You’ll be the first to know, Joachim. I must attend to the Reich’s affairs now. Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!”
And so, leaving the uncertain fate of Barb and Henry in the hands of the Muscovites (and possibly the Londoners), we bring to a conclusion the second part of the Chronicles of Fräulein Barbara Mohr, It Continued in London. Barb and I hope that it has been as fun to read as it was to write, and now your co-authors will take a break over the Festive Season. Then in the New Year we will begin work to continue the trilogy that began with It Happened in Hamburg, by writing the third and final part, It Ended in Moscow. So, watch this space!
Merry Christmas one and all …
A Tupolev ANT-9 on approach to Moscow, 5:54 pm, Sunday, 6th October. 1939.
The flight attendant tapped Barbara on the shoulder to alert her to the fact that the plane was descending for landing in Moscow.
Barbara nodded her thanks and leaned across a slumbering Henry to peer out of the glass portal … just in time to catch the onion domes and towers of the Kremlin bathed in and reflecting to the west, the setting rays of the sun.
“Wake up,” she breathed into his ear. “We’re about to land.”
It had been quite an eventful day Barbara reflected as she gently removed Henry’s warm hand from where it rested, thrust inside her shirt and under her bra to cup her right breast.
The day’s extraordinary events had begun just after midnight, when back in Berlin she’d been hauled bound, hooded and naked from Emma’s tenement flat in Wedding, thrown into the back of a Blitz and driven to a remote forest clearing outside the city. There she’d been introduced to Commissar Sergei Mikhaylovich Popov, a Russian NKVD officer, who interrogated her with a revolver pressed Russian Roulette-style to her head. She’d thought she was about to die when her ordeal was suddenly interrupted by Henry appearing, seemingly out of nowhere, with hands raised in surrender.
Coming to the conclusion that the two of them were more valuable to the NKVD alive than dead, Popov had bundled them into his car and driven to the Russian Embassy in Berlin. But not before forcing them, for his personal amusement, into performing acts of sexual degradation.
On arrival at the Embassy, they’d been hustled to the basement, strung up arms over head and left facing one another while Popov went off to consult with his superiors.
Under guard, and unable to converse, Barbara had at least been able to feel the comforting warmth of the man she’d come to love as their straining naked bodies came into fleeting contact. They’d hung there, awkwardly close but short of true embrace proximity, for many hours.
Popov had finally returned sometime around midday, and ordered them released. As they’d stood before him, rubbing their wrists and flexing their aching legs and arms, wondering what was coming next, he summoned two young embassy staff members … a man and a woman … to the basement and ordered them to strip and hand over their clothing to Barbara and Henry.
The two staff members looked at Popov in confused surprise, but wisely did exactly as instructed.
And shortly thereafter Henry and Barb, dressed in the embassy staff members clothing, were driven to Templehof field in Popov’s Zil, where they were placed on the regularly scheduled Russian-operated evening flight to Moscow … now commandeered by the embassy … the disgruntled ticketed passengers already onboard the 9-seat Tupolev ANT-9, casting hostile glances at them as they were forced to deplane.
“Are we ready for this?” grinned Henry, now fully awakened and gesturing through the portal towards Moscow.
“Together, we are,” she purred, laying her head on his shoulder and squeezing his hand.
“We have an ace in the hole,” he breathed into her ear. “As long as they want the film of your father’s papers and only I know where it’s hidden, we’ll be alright.”
Popov, seated on the other side of the otherwise empty cabin, looked on with a grim but satisfied smile, thinking to himself, ‘they’re going to love their reception at the Lubyanka ….’
SIS Headquarters. Section D, Century House, 54 Broadway, Westminster, London, Monday morning, 7th October, 1939
“Major Grand? Please hold for, Viscount Halifax, please,” intoned the nasal female voice on the line.
Laurence Grand said nothing. A direct call from the Foreign Secretary was something he did not relish on this or on any day.
“Good morning, Grand,” said Halifax simply, carefully affecting his customary tone of aristocratic reserve.
“Good morning, Sir. To what do I owe this call?”
“I wish an update on your section’s undercover work with respect to the industrialist, Joachim Mohr, and Nazi Germany’s advanced armaments program.”
“I’m afraid I’ve nothing of value to report. In fact, quite the opposite,” Grand admitted boldly.
“Tell me more,” came the curt reply.
“Well, as you undoubtedly are aware, we’ve sent two agents into Germany: one of our top operatives, Henry Underwood, along with Mohr’s own daughter, now working with us. We heard from Underwood recently. He’d surfaced in Copenhagen and indicated that he had photographed Joachim Mohr’s papers, but had to report that the mission was compromised and Mohr’s daughter ended up in the hands of the Gestapo. Underwood with the discreet help of her father, apparently managed to rescue her with a typical bit of derring do. But, in the end, he was forced to leave her behind due to her weakened physical condition following several very intense and tortuous Gestapo interrogations.”
“But he turned up alright in Copenhagen with the intelligence in hand?”
“Yes, he did, but …”
“But what?”
“But, he opted … against my orders … to go back into Germany to get her out. Seems he left her in the hands of the Red Resistance, and … well … as you know, sir … the Reds are fully controlled by Moscow now, and well … I think you can imagine the potential difficulties this presents.”
“Meaning Moscow may now or will soon be in possession of the intelligence we sent Underwood and Mohr’s daughter into Germany to obtain?”
“Possibly. Underwood has a cool head and is known for his professionalism and may well find a way to ….”
“To what, Grand? He’s already proven himself defiant to your orders, what? How do we know he hasn’t saved the girl by turning her father’s secrets over to the Kremlin? How do we know that he and Fräulein Mohr haven’t sold us out? How much do they know about the inner workings of our own organization that the Russians would love to possess!”
“Underwood is a good officer …”
“Not good enough, apparently! You are aware, I presume, that my office is deeply committed to a Soviet policy that serves our national interests … and now this!”
“I’m deeply sorry, sir.”
“Don’t apologize, Grand. It’s time to cut your losses and write Underwood and Fräulein Mohr off. Indeed, if possible, see that they are promptly liquidated!”
With that the phone went abruptly dead.
Office of Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler, Hotel Prinz Albrecht, Prinz-Albrecht-Straße 9, Berlin, Monday morning, 7th October, 1939.
“Phone call for you, Herr Reichsführer-SS,” announced the pretty blonde SS-Helferin from the anteroom door.
“Who is it?”
“Herr Joachim Moore, calling from Hamburg.”
“Tell him to call back tomorrow.”
“That’s what you had me tell him yesterday, Herr Reichsführer-SS.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll take the call.”
******
“Good morning, Herr Reichsführer-SS. Thank you for taking my call.”
“For you I always find time, Joachim.”
“I suspect you know why I’m calling, Heinrich. I’ve heard nothing of what has happened to Barbara. Your people must surely by now, have been able to establish that she’s still working for the Reich as a double agent, and that what happened in my home here in Hamburg will eventually work out to Germany’s advantage.”
“It pains me, Joachim, to inform you that she has, in fact, told us nothing. Moreover, she has escaped! And we’ve yet to find where she’s disappeared to.”
“Really? How is it possible for anyone, even my Barbara, to escape from Prinz-Albrecht-Straße?”
“Seems she had outside help from someone impersonating an SS officer. We suspect the Red Resistance was behind it. But in order to pull such a thing off, they must have had outside assistance and information about your daughter’s presence here.”
“I can assure you, Heinrich, that I’m as surprised by what has happened here, as you appear to be. I just hope she’s alright wherever she may be, and unharmed. Am I correct in thinking that your people refrained from using their usual brutal methods when questioning her?”
“Absolutely, Joachim, my people conducted your daughter’s interviews under my express orders to exercise restraint.”
Herr Mohr nodded, then said. “Okay, good. Do let me know if you find her, Heinrich.”
“Of course. You’ll be the first to know, Joachim. I must attend to the Reich’s affairs now. Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!”
And so, leaving the uncertain fate of Barb and Henry in the hands of the Muscovites (and possibly the Londoners), we bring to a conclusion the second part of the Chronicles of Fräulein Barbara Mohr, It Continued in London. Barb and I hope that it has been as fun to read as it was to write, and now your co-authors will take a break over the Festive Season. Then in the New Year we will begin work to continue the trilogy that began with It Happened in Hamburg, by writing the third and final part, It Ended in Moscow. So, watch this space!
Merry Christmas one and all …
twonines
LIMERICUS
This was a saga exciting and graphic
With Barb again running into traffic.
Frequently stripped,
Tortured and whipped,
She enjoyed sex both hetero and Sapphic.
Brilliant work. Thanks must go to Barb and Fossy for keeping us entertained with this tour de force of erotic sadism. Can`t wait for the next section to start.
With Barb again running into traffic.
Frequently stripped,
Tortured and whipped,
She enjoyed sex both hetero and Sapphic.
Brilliant work. Thanks must go to Barb and Fossy for keeping us entertained with this tour de force of erotic sadism. Can`t wait for the next section to start.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
And to you '99 for your constant stream of execellent ditty's. Thank you ...
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Merry Christmas to you both and I am looking forward to reading the next section
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Mohr and Underwood are 'burned' now for all parties.
Maybe the Italian or Japanese intelligence has vacancies for wayward double agents!?
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Happy Holidays! And thanks to @Barbaria1 , @Fossy and @settantuno for this entertaining story and drawings.!Already brainstorming and starting to write
HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The perks of writing and brainstorming with Barb are top notchView attachment 1406559 Already brainstorming and starting to write
HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I had started to think, this was the prequel to this years old (unfinished) story, started by @bobinder ?
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/barbarossanova.6616/
yes, you have a really good memory Lox!I had started to think, this was the prequel to this years old (unfinished) story, started by @bobinder ?
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/barbarossanova.6616/
There likely will be an element drawn from that “unfinished epic”, but otherwise not the same. Different storyline, circumstances, and characters.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Still recalling how the 'release' was announced.yes, you have a really good memory Lox!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
TBC : Teach Barb Communism!
And if things go like in other spy stories, he'll pause long enough to tell us exactly what the whole evil plan is and give Barb a chance to escape and blow up the Reichskanzlei as she goes.
But with Barb's infallible sense of direction, she inadvertently blows up the Brandenburg Gate instead!And if things go like in other spy stories, he'll pause long enough to tell us exactly what the whole evil plan is and give Barb a chance to escape and blow up the Reichskanzlei as she goes.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I am sure, Barb will not miss!But with Barb's infallible sense of direction, she inadvertently blows up the Brandenburg Gate instead!
Perhaps, there is still time for an encounter with history! On november 8th, Adolf has his yearly appointment at this place in Munich! Barb should only watch out for a guy named Georg Elser! He has a bomb!
You know me too wellBut with Barb's infallible sense of direction, she inadvertently blows up the Brandenburg Gate instead!