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It Ended in Moscow
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Chapter 20
Onboard the Swedish trade boat “Kalmar”, emerging from the Gulf of Riga, 10:45 am, Tuesday, 16th January 1940.
“Here, drink this. It will warm your insides,” proffered Stig Hallgren, the Master of the Swedish-flagged trade boat ‘Kalmar’.
Barbara gratefully accepted the steaming mug. She was seated in the steering house alongside the Kalmar’s master, who a few hours earlier had rescued her from certain arrest … and an uncertain but probably deadly fate … at the harbor docks of Riga. She was wrapped at his insistence in a heavy woolen blanket, her feet in a pair of fleece-lined boots.
“You were damn lucky I spotted you when I did back at the docks,” he observed while waving a forefinger at her.
“Yes, I know. I’m ever so grateful.”
They were speaking to one another in German.
“Will they be coming after us now?” She asked anxiously.
“Probably not. Look over yonder off to starboard. See that grayish-white mass out on the water. That’s sea ice. The Baltic is fast freezing over with the onset of the current January cold snap. We’re just ahead of the converging mass sweeping down from the north and out of the Finnish gulf. I reckon within the next hour or so the Gulf of Riga, with its low salt content, will be frozen completely over and impassable. We’re likely the last boat out, which pretty much closes off the possibility of any seaborne pursuit. I think you can breathe easier. You’re out of danger now.”
“And where exactly are we headed?”
“To Karlskrona, our home port in the south of Sweden. We’ll need to get there as fast as possible, given the icing over of the sea, and with luck should be docking sometime early tomorrow. You’re welcome, in the meantime, to stay here with me in the relative warmth of the wheelhouse, and you’ll want to stay off the decks which will soon be icy and slick. But, if you grow weary later in the day, just say so and I’ll have someone find you a berth down below.”
“I simply don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me, young lady. You appear to have friends in high places who sent me over to Riga to pick you up. Be sure to thank Anders Hallgren in Stockholm when you get there. And say “hej” for me. He’s my brother.”
Latvian Political Service Department Headquarters, Office of Jānis Frīdrihs Valentīns Fridrihsons, Department Head, 13 Alberta St, Riga, 10:55 am, Tuesday, 16th January 1940.
Angry and crimson-faced NKVD Commissar Sergei Mikhaylovich Popov paced rapidly back and forth before the desk of the clearly frightened Head of the Latvian Political Police.
“Such unbelievable incompetence!” Popov stormed. “Your bunglers let her go? How the fuck did that happen?”
Fridrihsons was silent.
“Once the NKVD assumes complete control here, which mark my words we will, you and all your incompetent, traitorous officials will likely be shot! And that’s no idle threat!”
Fridrihsons bowed his head.
“Who was the Border Police idiot who allowed Mohr … no … helped Mohr … reach Riga?”
“That was Seržants Aleksejs Jansons,” replied Fridrihsons softly.
“And where is he now?”
“Occupying a cell in the basement of this building.”
“And where is the incompetent officer who allowed her to board that Swedish boat?”
“Also occupying a cell.”
“Have them both shot before the day is out! Now have you established a direct line to NKVD headquarters in Moscow?”
“Yes, I believe we have.”
“Good, hand me the phone. Thanks. To whom am I speaking. … Igor? … Ah, good … do you know what this call is about? … you do … good. Listen closely. Here is what I want you to do. Contact our embassy in Stockholm and have them direct all NKVD assets there to interdicting the arrival of a Fräulein Barbara Mohr, presently en route to Karlskrona onboard the Swedish trade boat “Kalmar” … what? … why not? … because the Swedish government is busy at the present moment expelling all but the core essential people at the Embassy? Damn! Unacceptable! Find a way, Igor … or else!”
SIS Headquarters. Section D, Century House, 54 Broadway, Westminster, London, 4:29 pm, Tuesday, 16th January, 1940.
“There’s a call for you, Major Grand. It’s Anders Hansson, calling from Stockholm.”
“Thank you Marjorie. I’ll take it at my desk.
“Yessir,” she replied cheerily, turning on her heel.
Grand watched, somewhat wistfully as he always did, at the sway of her hips and the manner in which her tight uniform skirt accentuated the sensual undulations of the aide’s tight little ass.
“Hello, Anders. I expect you’re calling with some news, hopefully good news.”
“Ja, it is so, Laurence. I’m pleased to report that your Fräulein Mohr is now safely in Swedish hands.”
“That is very good news, indeed! Where is she now?”
“On a boat in the Baltic. And it must be said that we owe a lot to Krūmiņš, the owner of that hotel in Riga, for risking his neck to make contact with Churchill and giving we Swedes the opportunity to make good her escape.”
“Yes, agreed. Now tell me … when and where will the trade boat put in? Stockholm, I presume?
“No, not here. Too much ice. It’ll put in much further south, at its home port of Karlskrona.”
“I trust, Anders, that you’ll have your own people there in Karlskrona to take Fräulein Mohr into immediate protective custody?”
“Yes, Laurence, I can assure you that every precaution is being taken.”
“Excellent! Then I shall sit back and await further developments.”
Onboard a Swedish ‘Statens Järnvägar’ night train, Stockholm to Alvesta, with connection to Karlskrona, 9:19 pm, Tuesday 16th January, 1940.
Soviet embassy employee and low-level, first year NKVD agent, Elena Aleksandrovna Anosova, stared blankly into the winter darkness beyond the coach window as the train sped through the night. For the umpteenth time she patted the loaded Tokarev TT-30 concealed within an inner pocket of her heavy winter coat.
She’d been surprised hours earlier when amidst the hubbub of the forced exodus of most of the Stockholm Russian Embassy staff, including all of her NKVD comrades, she was handed her assignment by her superiors and swiftly spirited out onto the streets of Stockholm via a rear Embassy entrance the Swedes had inadvertently left unguarded.
How could this have happened? She’d only been in country for a few days, on this her first assignment as a trainee. And now, she’d been ordered not only to travel half way across Sweden on a cold winter night, but to kill in broad daylight a young woman, much like herself, in cold blood.
There’d be no escape. Her mission was intentionally suicidal. She was to walk right up to her victim at the earliest opportunity and shoot her. She knew, without a doubt, she’d be immediately caught, subdued and arrested, quite possibly shot dead on the spot.
For the third time since boarding the train she got out the envelope within which was her assignment and the identity of her victim: a certain Fräulein Barbara Mohr, expected to be arriving Karlskrona the next day aboard the Swedish trade boat ‘Kalmar’.
A somewhat grainy photo of Fräulein Mohr was included, obviously taken of Elena’s intended victim while a prisoner in a Russian prison, presumably the Lubyanka. The poor girl had been photographed totally nude, standing with her back to a wall and holding a placard bearing her name and prison ID number. Some visible bruising on face and body testified to the fact that she’d likely been beaten prior to being photographed.
Not far away. Indeed, literally across the aisle from Elena, sat tall and sandy-haired Swedish General Security Service agent, Sune Ivarsson.
He too was en route to Karlskrona. His assignment: to take the same Fräulein Barbara Mohr into protective custody and spirit her off to Stockholm before anything untoward might happen to her.
Ironically neither Sune nor Elena were at all aware of the fact that the person across the aisle was a potential antagonist in the drama destined to be played out on the docks of Karlskrona.
It wasn’t that Sune hadn’t noticed her. Every bit the lady’s man, he had a keen eye for the attractions of the opposite sex, and had already mentally classified her as a looker. Indeed, her youthful beauty made quite an impression on him as he studied her profile as she was engrossed in studying the contents of the envelope he’d seen her withdraw from her bag.
He admired the slight upturn of her nose, the long eye lashes, the rather jaunty manner in which she wore her little cloche hat, the way in which by crossing her legs she unconsciously exposed quite a generous bit of shapely calf and ankle.
She must have sensed him looking at her, though, as she turned briefly towards him and flashed him a shy little smile before returning her attention to the contents of that envelope.
It’s going to be a long overnight on this train, he thought to himself. Why not try his luck with her? They were, after all, alone on that coach and the conductor had gone and locked himself for the night in his little cabin down at the far end. There was no one to disturb them, should they choose to …..
Yes, why not? He assured himself. A little sweet talking, and perhaps a sharing of of the alcoholic contents of his pocket flask, and he imagined himself well on his way to adding a new conquest to an already long and glorious trophy list … yes, another notch on the belt, as they say.
Again … why not?
Rising from his seat he crossed over the aisle to introduce himself.
TBC
Onboard the Swedish trade boat “Kalmar”, emerging from the Gulf of Riga, 10:45 am, Tuesday, 16th January 1940.
“Here, drink this. It will warm your insides,” proffered Stig Hallgren, the Master of the Swedish-flagged trade boat ‘Kalmar’.
Barbara gratefully accepted the steaming mug. She was seated in the steering house alongside the Kalmar’s master, who a few hours earlier had rescued her from certain arrest … and an uncertain but probably deadly fate … at the harbor docks of Riga. She was wrapped at his insistence in a heavy woolen blanket, her feet in a pair of fleece-lined boots.
“You were damn lucky I spotted you when I did back at the docks,” he observed while waving a forefinger at her.
“Yes, I know. I’m ever so grateful.”
They were speaking to one another in German.
“Will they be coming after us now?” She asked anxiously.
“Probably not. Look over yonder off to starboard. See that grayish-white mass out on the water. That’s sea ice. The Baltic is fast freezing over with the onset of the current January cold snap. We’re just ahead of the converging mass sweeping down from the north and out of the Finnish gulf. I reckon within the next hour or so the Gulf of Riga, with its low salt content, will be frozen completely over and impassable. We’re likely the last boat out, which pretty much closes off the possibility of any seaborne pursuit. I think you can breathe easier. You’re out of danger now.”
“And where exactly are we headed?”
“To Karlskrona, our home port in the south of Sweden. We’ll need to get there as fast as possible, given the icing over of the sea, and with luck should be docking sometime early tomorrow. You’re welcome, in the meantime, to stay here with me in the relative warmth of the wheelhouse, and you’ll want to stay off the decks which will soon be icy and slick. But, if you grow weary later in the day, just say so and I’ll have someone find you a berth down below.”
“I simply don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me, young lady. You appear to have friends in high places who sent me over to Riga to pick you up. Be sure to thank Anders Hallgren in Stockholm when you get there. And say “hej” for me. He’s my brother.”
Latvian Political Service Department Headquarters, Office of Jānis Frīdrihs Valentīns Fridrihsons, Department Head, 13 Alberta St, Riga, 10:55 am, Tuesday, 16th January 1940.
Angry and crimson-faced NKVD Commissar Sergei Mikhaylovich Popov paced rapidly back and forth before the desk of the clearly frightened Head of the Latvian Political Police.
“Such unbelievable incompetence!” Popov stormed. “Your bunglers let her go? How the fuck did that happen?”
Fridrihsons was silent.
“Once the NKVD assumes complete control here, which mark my words we will, you and all your incompetent, traitorous officials will likely be shot! And that’s no idle threat!”
Fridrihsons bowed his head.
“Who was the Border Police idiot who allowed Mohr … no … helped Mohr … reach Riga?”
“That was Seržants Aleksejs Jansons,” replied Fridrihsons softly.
“And where is he now?”
“Occupying a cell in the basement of this building.”
“And where is the incompetent officer who allowed her to board that Swedish boat?”
“Also occupying a cell.”
“Have them both shot before the day is out! Now have you established a direct line to NKVD headquarters in Moscow?”
“Yes, I believe we have.”
“Good, hand me the phone. Thanks. To whom am I speaking. … Igor? … Ah, good … do you know what this call is about? … you do … good. Listen closely. Here is what I want you to do. Contact our embassy in Stockholm and have them direct all NKVD assets there to interdicting the arrival of a Fräulein Barbara Mohr, presently en route to Karlskrona onboard the Swedish trade boat “Kalmar” … what? … why not? … because the Swedish government is busy at the present moment expelling all but the core essential people at the Embassy? Damn! Unacceptable! Find a way, Igor … or else!”
SIS Headquarters. Section D, Century House, 54 Broadway, Westminster, London, 4:29 pm, Tuesday, 16th January, 1940.
“There’s a call for you, Major Grand. It’s Anders Hansson, calling from Stockholm.”
“Thank you Marjorie. I’ll take it at my desk.
“Yessir,” she replied cheerily, turning on her heel.
Grand watched, somewhat wistfully as he always did, at the sway of her hips and the manner in which her tight uniform skirt accentuated the sensual undulations of the aide’s tight little ass.
“Hello, Anders. I expect you’re calling with some news, hopefully good news.”
“Ja, it is so, Laurence. I’m pleased to report that your Fräulein Mohr is now safely in Swedish hands.”
“That is very good news, indeed! Where is she now?”
“On a boat in the Baltic. And it must be said that we owe a lot to Krūmiņš, the owner of that hotel in Riga, for risking his neck to make contact with Churchill and giving we Swedes the opportunity to make good her escape.”
“Yes, agreed. Now tell me … when and where will the trade boat put in? Stockholm, I presume?
“No, not here. Too much ice. It’ll put in much further south, at its home port of Karlskrona.”
“I trust, Anders, that you’ll have your own people there in Karlskrona to take Fräulein Mohr into immediate protective custody?”
“Yes, Laurence, I can assure you that every precaution is being taken.”
“Excellent! Then I shall sit back and await further developments.”
Onboard a Swedish ‘Statens Järnvägar’ night train, Stockholm to Alvesta, with connection to Karlskrona, 9:19 pm, Tuesday 16th January, 1940.
Soviet embassy employee and low-level, first year NKVD agent, Elena Aleksandrovna Anosova, stared blankly into the winter darkness beyond the coach window as the train sped through the night. For the umpteenth time she patted the loaded Tokarev TT-30 concealed within an inner pocket of her heavy winter coat.
She’d been surprised hours earlier when amidst the hubbub of the forced exodus of most of the Stockholm Russian Embassy staff, including all of her NKVD comrades, she was handed her assignment by her superiors and swiftly spirited out onto the streets of Stockholm via a rear Embassy entrance the Swedes had inadvertently left unguarded.
How could this have happened? She’d only been in country for a few days, on this her first assignment as a trainee. And now, she’d been ordered not only to travel half way across Sweden on a cold winter night, but to kill in broad daylight a young woman, much like herself, in cold blood.
There’d be no escape. Her mission was intentionally suicidal. She was to walk right up to her victim at the earliest opportunity and shoot her. She knew, without a doubt, she’d be immediately caught, subdued and arrested, quite possibly shot dead on the spot.
For the third time since boarding the train she got out the envelope within which was her assignment and the identity of her victim: a certain Fräulein Barbara Mohr, expected to be arriving Karlskrona the next day aboard the Swedish trade boat ‘Kalmar’.
A somewhat grainy photo of Fräulein Mohr was included, obviously taken of Elena’s intended victim while a prisoner in a Russian prison, presumably the Lubyanka. The poor girl had been photographed totally nude, standing with her back to a wall and holding a placard bearing her name and prison ID number. Some visible bruising on face and body testified to the fact that she’d likely been beaten prior to being photographed.
Not far away. Indeed, literally across the aisle from Elena, sat tall and sandy-haired Swedish General Security Service agent, Sune Ivarsson.
He too was en route to Karlskrona. His assignment: to take the same Fräulein Barbara Mohr into protective custody and spirit her off to Stockholm before anything untoward might happen to her.
Ironically neither Sune nor Elena were at all aware of the fact that the person across the aisle was a potential antagonist in the drama destined to be played out on the docks of Karlskrona.
It wasn’t that Sune hadn’t noticed her. Every bit the lady’s man, he had a keen eye for the attractions of the opposite sex, and had already mentally classified her as a looker. Indeed, her youthful beauty made quite an impression on him as he studied her profile as she was engrossed in studying the contents of the envelope he’d seen her withdraw from her bag.
He admired the slight upturn of her nose, the long eye lashes, the rather jaunty manner in which she wore her little cloche hat, the way in which by crossing her legs she unconsciously exposed quite a generous bit of shapely calf and ankle.
She must have sensed him looking at her, though, as she turned briefly towards him and flashed him a shy little smile before returning her attention to the contents of that envelope.
It’s going to be a long overnight on this train, he thought to himself. Why not try his luck with her? They were, after all, alone on that coach and the conductor had gone and locked himself for the night in his little cabin down at the far end. There was no one to disturb them, should they choose to …..
Yes, why not? He assured himself. A little sweet talking, and perhaps a sharing of of the alcoholic contents of his pocket flask, and he imagined himself well on his way to adding a new conquest to an already long and glorious trophy list … yes, another notch on the belt, as they say.
Again … why not?
Rising from his seat he crossed over the aisle to introduce himself.
TBC
Last edited:
Davec5299
Magistrate
Barb is safe, for now, on the ship.
With no loony spies on this trip.
On the train through the night,
Two rival spooks might,
Couple up for a while, hip to hip.
P.S. Maybe the plot of the next story is currently being written!
https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/976/cpsprodpb/D401/production/_133137245_i-nc.png.webp
With no loony spies on this trip.
On the train through the night,
Two rival spooks might,
Couple up for a while, hip to hip.
P.S. Maybe the plot of the next story is currently being written!
https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/976/cpsprodpb/D401/production/_133137245_i-nc.png.webp
I was expecting the NKVD agent to seduce Barb, but the Swedish agent has eyes for her now! Talk about deep undercovers!
Potential threesome ahead!
Potential threesome ahead!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I hope so! After Popov spoiled a possible Barb-Underwood-Maja threesome!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 21
Onboard a Swedish ‘Statens Järnvägar’ night train, Stockholm to Alvesta, with connection to Karlskrona, 10:05 pm, Tuesday, 16th January, 1940.
" Kan jag hjälpa dig?" Ivarsson smiled as the pretty girl addressed him in his native tongue. These days, with people moving all over Europe in whatever manner they could manage, one never knew what language you would hear next!
He continued in Swedish, nodding as he took a seat next to her acknowledging her question asking whether she could help him, watching as she carefully put away the envelope that had seemed to be taking her attention.
As Sune Ivarsson turned towards Elena Aleksandrovna Anosova, smiling at the enquiring look on her face, he noticed that her hat was removed, and placed neatly beside her, a savage looking pin to hand should she need it.
Clever girl, he thought. A pretty young thing travelling on her own was always best prepared with something to hand to detract would-be admirers. He would need to be careful if she was to become another notch on his metaphorical bedpost.
Her pristine white gloves were with the hat and since replacing the envelope in her purse, her coat was now also folded neatly to the side, revealing a smart navy suit, the skirt hugging her thighs to the knee with a four-inch slit at the right side. The jacket was fitted, with a high collar, covering everything that she might be wearing underneath. Then finally, as his gaze moved up her body, Ivarsson saw her beautiful eyes. Jade-like in a colour that stood out from her paler complexion. This girl, travelling on her own, was a stunning beauty, whoever she was. That fact alone should maybe have risen a red flag to an experienced Agent like Sune Ivarsson, but it did not. Her beauty was his weakness, his Achilles heel, and in his head, nothing mattered more than having her.
"This train is heading to Alvesta and then onto Karlskrona isn’t it?” He replied, feeling his throat go a little dry, and his pulse begin to quicken.
Elena laughed at the weak reason for his interruption to her journey. But he had a more than pleasant face. Handsome in fact, and so she humoured him.
“Yes, it is, but if I might say so, this is a little late to be asking that question.” Her statement was accompanied by a beautiful smile that sent a small shiver of desire through Ivarsson’s body.
Elena reached for her purse, navy like her suit, the brass clasp clicking smartly as she opened it. Delicately manicured hands and painted nails held the ticket out and she read out the destination.
“Stockholm to Alvesta, with connection to Karlskrona.”
“That is a relief, I would have hated to have to get off the train at Alvesta and leave behind a beauty such as yourself, Madam.”
Elena laughed at his audacity, but truth be known, having company like this settled her nerves for the upcoming task ahead when she reached Karlskrona. She needed a distraction and the handsome man was it.
“Sune Ivarsson,” he held out his hand.
“Elena Aleksandrovna Anosova,” she replied offering her full name. Neither of them said anything more, another potential red flag to any straight thinking Agent.
"Nice to make your acquaintance Fröken Anasova.” Ivarsson said making no comment about her soviet sounding name, so spellbound by her beauty, was he.
She wore no ring and he called her Miss, and she did nothing to correct him.
Elena was sitting back on the bench, arms to either side but slightly behind her, and stretched out such that her chest was pushed forward, her back slightly arched. Her legs crossed at the knee left over right. "Might as well get comfortable. It is a long trip." She smiled at him. It was another three hours to Alvesta and the same again then onto Karlskrona.
Ivarsson draped his coat onto a spare seat and perched his own hat on top. When he then unfastened the button on his dark suit jacket, he revealed a beige coloured waistcoat, the pressed white shirt, and a black tie.
Business, strictly business – she thought.
They made light conversation for the next hour or two. Both avoiding too much talk about themselves, concentrating instead of the issues facing the world at this time, of which, of course, there were many.
"Would you like a little tipple,” Ivarsson asked cordially, when he believed they had reached a level of suitable familiarity.
Elena smiled and widened her eyes. “Well, it’s now after eleven o’clock in the evening and so yes please, that would be very nice.
Where each of these strangers were heading to alone on such a late train, neither one asked the other. He was handsome and she was pretty, very pretty. For a few hours the war could be put on pause, and that was the only thing on their minds right now.
Onboard the Swedish trade boat “Kalmar”, on the Baltic Sea, 11:15 pm, Tuesday, 16th January 1940.
As the day gave way to night, even with countless cups of hot tea and a thick blanket around her woollen overcoat, Barbara began to feel the cold.
“You should go below deck now Fräulein, we already have a small berth prepared for you. there are still several long hours of sailing to go before we reach Karlskrona and so maybe you should get some sleep.” Stig Hallgren was genuine in his concern for this girl, who despite her obvious connections, had so very clearly suffered way more than enough in the recent past.
Smiling up at ‘Kalmar’s’ Master, she nodded, put down her cup and stood, pulling the thick blanket more tightly around her body.
Hallgren accompanied her the short way to the stairs where she passed several other men, members of the ship’s crew, all of whom nodded deferentially, and for the first time in a very long while, Barbara didn’t feel threatened or afraid.
The small cabin was cosy and warm, a small heater in one corner and a flickering candle in the opposite one gave off heat and light, as Barbara stood and turned to face the small porthole that looked out into the dark, foreboding ocean.
She gasped and staggered backwards when a wall of waves rose high to smash against the boat, as the monsoon-like rainfall tumbled heavily down from the menacing sky.
The waves were high and mighty, and the swaying of the boat became more and more intense. Barbara fell with a thump onto the small meagre cot, and lay there until, eventually, the boat seemed to still a little as the noise from outside calmed … and unexpectedly she was being gently rocked to sleep.
As she began to drift, she thought of Henry. Where was he? Was he safe? Was he alive? Were they still lovers?
Then suddenly the door burst open and the winds howled into the cabin, causing the lit candle to flicker in its fight to stay alive.
Master Hallgren stepped through the doorway bringing a deluge of water inside with him, and as he did, he shouted "Crew switch, men! Get some rest and let the others take over for remainder of the night. You've done well!" he shouted after them as he pushed the cabin door closed.
He was soaking wet and crossed quickly to the small heater where he stood to warm his hands. Barbara watched him as he pulled off his leather jerkin and sweater to face her wearing only his vest on the top of his body. He was not standing on ceremony and his brazenness took the girl by surprise.
Then he turned to face her, water dripping from his hair, and Barbara could see that his skin was tanned and leathery, his muscles flexing with every movement, the body of someone who has worked an arduous life.
“How are you Fräulein?”
“Cold and tired, and just a little hungry,” Barbara replied sounding more pitiful than she had intended.
Hallgren nodded. “I will fetch dry clothing for myself and bring you food and drink …”
Barbara looked at him, smiled and said, “Thank you Master Hallgren, I am very grateful.”
Onboard a Swedish ‘Statens Järnvägar’ night train, Alvesta to Karlskrona, 01:15 am, Wednesday, 17th January, 1940.
The chill of the night inside the draughty carriage was being kept at bay by virtue of the empty hip flask that lay on the bench seat.
They stood, looking out of the window, edging ever closer together as the train steamed on into the night.
Elena had an almost sad look upon her face and brought her hands to her arms cradling them from the cold. Ivarsson pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders while placing his arms around her waist from behind. "Warmer now?" His lips close to her ear, his breath whispering across her skin.
"Mmmm, a little." She moved her hands to cover his and raised them to her fabric covered breasts. "Now that is better!" Elena grinned her cheeky smile as she turned her head to let him see, before leaning her head back and placing light kisses along his hard jawline.
Sune’s hands responded, cupping her breasts, and he could clearly feel the stirring as his cock acquired the blood which was rushing through his body.
Then he moved in, his lips seeking hers. "Elena," he whispered as he claimed her mouth.
A, bitter-sweet taste of whisky lingering on her warm breath, as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip asking for entrance. Her mouth eagerly opened and their tongues battled for dominance. Elena reached a hand around between them, seeking and finding his now fully erect cock, gripping and massaging through the material of his suit.
“Does … the … door … lock … Sune?” She gasped.
“No, but now we have pulled out of Alvesta the guard shouldn’t bother us anymore until we reach Karlskrona.
“Good,” she moaned pushing her peachy rear into his groin. In response Ivarsson slid his right hand around her body and under the hem of her jacket, to dip into the waistband of her skirt. Her whimper masked the sound of a zipper being lowered and his sigh when he felt her hand reach inside.
“Fuck me Sune,” Elena purred as she twisted into him, his free hand moving to cup her bottom, squeezing her cheeks as his touch pushed against the unforgiving tightness of her skirt.
“Let me,” she whispered as moving her arm Elena dextrously unzipped the garment in question, and, as seeking fingers immediately took advantage of the now freely available access, their tongues continued to battle for supremacy.
“You’re … so … big …” Elena groaned as she stroked his full length through the bulge at the front of his suit pants.
******
Shaking her head at her lover, a smile playing softly upon her plump, swollen lips, Elena Aleksandrovna Anosova stood and tucked her blouse back into her skirt, before pulling the zipper back up.
“Excuse me a moment or two please, I need to visit the ladies’ room to … clean up.” Her smile became coy.
“Of course, Elena.” Ivarsson had already straightened himself and his clothing and now sat upright in his seat. He watched Elena leave, offering her one last smile before his mouth twisted into a more menacing shape. Chuckling to himself that whoever this girl really was, apart from being a wonderful fuck that is, she had made the rookie error of leaving her purse on the seat while she was away from the carriage.
With a glance at the entrance to their compartment, he moved stealthily to where the small bag sat and looked inside.
The envelope was what he sought.
As he took the folded white wrapper in his hands, and took out the picture of Barbara Mohr, he heard the click and felt the barrel of a Tokarev TT-33 pressing into his skull.
“Now mister, you can tell me who you really are,” Elena said, her voice a low growl.
TBC
Onboard a Swedish ‘Statens Järnvägar’ night train, Stockholm to Alvesta, with connection to Karlskrona, 10:05 pm, Tuesday, 16th January, 1940.
" Kan jag hjälpa dig?" Ivarsson smiled as the pretty girl addressed him in his native tongue. These days, with people moving all over Europe in whatever manner they could manage, one never knew what language you would hear next!
He continued in Swedish, nodding as he took a seat next to her acknowledging her question asking whether she could help him, watching as she carefully put away the envelope that had seemed to be taking her attention.
As Sune Ivarsson turned towards Elena Aleksandrovna Anosova, smiling at the enquiring look on her face, he noticed that her hat was removed, and placed neatly beside her, a savage looking pin to hand should she need it.
Clever girl, he thought. A pretty young thing travelling on her own was always best prepared with something to hand to detract would-be admirers. He would need to be careful if she was to become another notch on his metaphorical bedpost.
Her pristine white gloves were with the hat and since replacing the envelope in her purse, her coat was now also folded neatly to the side, revealing a smart navy suit, the skirt hugging her thighs to the knee with a four-inch slit at the right side. The jacket was fitted, with a high collar, covering everything that she might be wearing underneath. Then finally, as his gaze moved up her body, Ivarsson saw her beautiful eyes. Jade-like in a colour that stood out from her paler complexion. This girl, travelling on her own, was a stunning beauty, whoever she was. That fact alone should maybe have risen a red flag to an experienced Agent like Sune Ivarsson, but it did not. Her beauty was his weakness, his Achilles heel, and in his head, nothing mattered more than having her.
"This train is heading to Alvesta and then onto Karlskrona isn’t it?” He replied, feeling his throat go a little dry, and his pulse begin to quicken.
Elena laughed at the weak reason for his interruption to her journey. But he had a more than pleasant face. Handsome in fact, and so she humoured him.
“Yes, it is, but if I might say so, this is a little late to be asking that question.” Her statement was accompanied by a beautiful smile that sent a small shiver of desire through Ivarsson’s body.
Elena reached for her purse, navy like her suit, the brass clasp clicking smartly as she opened it. Delicately manicured hands and painted nails held the ticket out and she read out the destination.
“Stockholm to Alvesta, with connection to Karlskrona.”
“That is a relief, I would have hated to have to get off the train at Alvesta and leave behind a beauty such as yourself, Madam.”
Elena laughed at his audacity, but truth be known, having company like this settled her nerves for the upcoming task ahead when she reached Karlskrona. She needed a distraction and the handsome man was it.
“Sune Ivarsson,” he held out his hand.
“Elena Aleksandrovna Anosova,” she replied offering her full name. Neither of them said anything more, another potential red flag to any straight thinking Agent.
"Nice to make your acquaintance Fröken Anasova.” Ivarsson said making no comment about her soviet sounding name, so spellbound by her beauty, was he.
She wore no ring and he called her Miss, and she did nothing to correct him.
Elena was sitting back on the bench, arms to either side but slightly behind her, and stretched out such that her chest was pushed forward, her back slightly arched. Her legs crossed at the knee left over right. "Might as well get comfortable. It is a long trip." She smiled at him. It was another three hours to Alvesta and the same again then onto Karlskrona.
Ivarsson draped his coat onto a spare seat and perched his own hat on top. When he then unfastened the button on his dark suit jacket, he revealed a beige coloured waistcoat, the pressed white shirt, and a black tie.
Business, strictly business – she thought.
They made light conversation for the next hour or two. Both avoiding too much talk about themselves, concentrating instead of the issues facing the world at this time, of which, of course, there were many.
"Would you like a little tipple,” Ivarsson asked cordially, when he believed they had reached a level of suitable familiarity.
Elena smiled and widened her eyes. “Well, it’s now after eleven o’clock in the evening and so yes please, that would be very nice.
Where each of these strangers were heading to alone on such a late train, neither one asked the other. He was handsome and she was pretty, very pretty. For a few hours the war could be put on pause, and that was the only thing on their minds right now.
Onboard the Swedish trade boat “Kalmar”, on the Baltic Sea, 11:15 pm, Tuesday, 16th January 1940.
As the day gave way to night, even with countless cups of hot tea and a thick blanket around her woollen overcoat, Barbara began to feel the cold.
“You should go below deck now Fräulein, we already have a small berth prepared for you. there are still several long hours of sailing to go before we reach Karlskrona and so maybe you should get some sleep.” Stig Hallgren was genuine in his concern for this girl, who despite her obvious connections, had so very clearly suffered way more than enough in the recent past.
Smiling up at ‘Kalmar’s’ Master, she nodded, put down her cup and stood, pulling the thick blanket more tightly around her body.
Hallgren accompanied her the short way to the stairs where she passed several other men, members of the ship’s crew, all of whom nodded deferentially, and for the first time in a very long while, Barbara didn’t feel threatened or afraid.
The small cabin was cosy and warm, a small heater in one corner and a flickering candle in the opposite one gave off heat and light, as Barbara stood and turned to face the small porthole that looked out into the dark, foreboding ocean.
She gasped and staggered backwards when a wall of waves rose high to smash against the boat, as the monsoon-like rainfall tumbled heavily down from the menacing sky.
The waves were high and mighty, and the swaying of the boat became more and more intense. Barbara fell with a thump onto the small meagre cot, and lay there until, eventually, the boat seemed to still a little as the noise from outside calmed … and unexpectedly she was being gently rocked to sleep.
As she began to drift, she thought of Henry. Where was he? Was he safe? Was he alive? Were they still lovers?
Then suddenly the door burst open and the winds howled into the cabin, causing the lit candle to flicker in its fight to stay alive.
Master Hallgren stepped through the doorway bringing a deluge of water inside with him, and as he did, he shouted "Crew switch, men! Get some rest and let the others take over for remainder of the night. You've done well!" he shouted after them as he pushed the cabin door closed.
He was soaking wet and crossed quickly to the small heater where he stood to warm his hands. Barbara watched him as he pulled off his leather jerkin and sweater to face her wearing only his vest on the top of his body. He was not standing on ceremony and his brazenness took the girl by surprise.
Then he turned to face her, water dripping from his hair, and Barbara could see that his skin was tanned and leathery, his muscles flexing with every movement, the body of someone who has worked an arduous life.
“How are you Fräulein?”
“Cold and tired, and just a little hungry,” Barbara replied sounding more pitiful than she had intended.
Hallgren nodded. “I will fetch dry clothing for myself and bring you food and drink …”
Barbara looked at him, smiled and said, “Thank you Master Hallgren, I am very grateful.”
Onboard a Swedish ‘Statens Järnvägar’ night train, Alvesta to Karlskrona, 01:15 am, Wednesday, 17th January, 1940.
The chill of the night inside the draughty carriage was being kept at bay by virtue of the empty hip flask that lay on the bench seat.
They stood, looking out of the window, edging ever closer together as the train steamed on into the night.
Elena had an almost sad look upon her face and brought her hands to her arms cradling them from the cold. Ivarsson pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders while placing his arms around her waist from behind. "Warmer now?" His lips close to her ear, his breath whispering across her skin.
"Mmmm, a little." She moved her hands to cover his and raised them to her fabric covered breasts. "Now that is better!" Elena grinned her cheeky smile as she turned her head to let him see, before leaning her head back and placing light kisses along his hard jawline.
Sune’s hands responded, cupping her breasts, and he could clearly feel the stirring as his cock acquired the blood which was rushing through his body.
Then he moved in, his lips seeking hers. "Elena," he whispered as he claimed her mouth.
A, bitter-sweet taste of whisky lingering on her warm breath, as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip asking for entrance. Her mouth eagerly opened and their tongues battled for dominance. Elena reached a hand around between them, seeking and finding his now fully erect cock, gripping and massaging through the material of his suit.
“Does … the … door … lock … Sune?” She gasped.
“No, but now we have pulled out of Alvesta the guard shouldn’t bother us anymore until we reach Karlskrona.
“Good,” she moaned pushing her peachy rear into his groin. In response Ivarsson slid his right hand around her body and under the hem of her jacket, to dip into the waistband of her skirt. Her whimper masked the sound of a zipper being lowered and his sigh when he felt her hand reach inside.
“Fuck me Sune,” Elena purred as she twisted into him, his free hand moving to cup her bottom, squeezing her cheeks as his touch pushed against the unforgiving tightness of her skirt.
“Let me,” she whispered as moving her arm Elena dextrously unzipped the garment in question, and, as seeking fingers immediately took advantage of the now freely available access, their tongues continued to battle for supremacy.
“You’re … so … big …” Elena groaned as she stroked his full length through the bulge at the front of his suit pants.
******
Shaking her head at her lover, a smile playing softly upon her plump, swollen lips, Elena Aleksandrovna Anosova stood and tucked her blouse back into her skirt, before pulling the zipper back up.
“Excuse me a moment or two please, I need to visit the ladies’ room to … clean up.” Her smile became coy.
“Of course, Elena.” Ivarsson had already straightened himself and his clothing and now sat upright in his seat. He watched Elena leave, offering her one last smile before his mouth twisted into a more menacing shape. Chuckling to himself that whoever this girl really was, apart from being a wonderful fuck that is, she had made the rookie error of leaving her purse on the seat while she was away from the carriage.
With a glance at the entrance to their compartment, he moved stealthily to where the small bag sat and looked inside.
The envelope was what he sought.
As he took the folded white wrapper in his hands, and took out the picture of Barbara Mohr, he heard the click and felt the barrel of a Tokarev TT-33 pressing into his skull.
“Now mister, you can tell me who you really are,” Elena said, her voice a low growl.
TBC
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Not seasick? Good!
"Secret agents messing up" would have been an appropriate title for this story!
Hey! Is that a full chapter where Barb kept her clothes on and wasn’t fucking someone? Is that even allowed! I refer to Rule 113, sub-clause 22
“In any story written on cruxforums regarding one @Barbaria1 there is to be no chapter without one of : a) lurid references to tight littles or tumescent tittles; b) lascivious references to her nudity; or c) outright references or descriptions of salacious copulation…”
We need a Moderator in here, pronto! Perhaps Justice from the mighty judge @Wragg with Barb well represented by attorney at large, @thehangingtree might bring their attention to this travesty brought on by the Wiley scribe known as @Fossy who seems desperate to turn the story towards concluding consistently with it’s title?
“In any story written on cruxforums regarding one @Barbaria1 there is to be no chapter without one of : a) lurid references to tight littles or tumescent tittles; b) lascivious references to her nudity; or c) outright references or descriptions of salacious copulation…”
We need a Moderator in here, pronto! Perhaps Justice from the mighty judge @Wragg with Barb well represented by attorney at large, @thehangingtree might bring their attention to this travesty brought on by the Wiley scribe known as @Fossy who seems desperate to turn the story towards concluding consistently with it’s title?
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
The episode complies to condition c), since the rules do not specify that Barb should be involved!
I rest my case!
Elena wasn’t naked so you can’t weasel out. There’s no proof of copulation either, just a subtle hint (by @Fossy ‘s standards that was subtle, trust me, or read chapter 18 again?)The episode complies to condition c), since the rules do not specify that Barb should be involved!
I rest my case!
Migoz2
Senator
All the time I have been reading of Elena and Sune, I have been unable to stop thinking of this
Davec5299
Magistrate
So Barb had an episode off!
No nudity, no nookie (cough)!
Is that allowed?
She's usually proud,
To let men get their nose in her trough!