Oleg Kalashin, operations officer of the Russian Federal Security Bureau, faced his
bedroom's mirror and put on his tie,  and looked over his reflection's shoulder at his
wife come out of the bedroom's attached bathroom's shower.  Nadya dried her hair and he
admired her body, and couldn't help but get slightly hard thinking of their lovemaking the
previous night -- her taking him in her mouth, then thrusting against him... He put on his
suitjacket with its small FSB lapel pin.  She came up behind him, still naked, and put her
hands on his waist, looking over his shoulder into the mirror.  

"My handsome husband.  They should give you a raise at work for being so handsome." Nadja
knew that her love was an FSB man, a defender of Russia, but of course, knew nothing of
the details of his work.  But someone with Oleg's intelligence would probably not be doing
something boring at the high-security building in the center of Moscow.  And wouldn't have
his own driver.

"I'll tell my boss you recommend it." He smiled, and she kissed his neck, unwrapped her
arms and continued to dress.

Oleg made a cup of coffee in the kitchen and checked headlines on his phone, sipping from
the mug.  Nadya came in, a navy blue dress fitting snugly to her body, blonde hair and
blued-eyed -- she finished putting on her earrings and smiled at him.  "Whatever your day
brings, I hope it goes well."  

"Thanks, love."  

Nadya worked at the Moscow Orchestra, and left each morning a few minutes before her
husband.  His FSB salary afforded them an apartment close to a Metro station.  She put on
her heels, her hat and her coat with the foxfur fringe and kissed him once on her way out.

Moments later Oleg's phone buzzed with a message from the driver, saying he was outside.
Oleg poured out the rest of his coffee, slipped on his overcoat and went out.

The drive to FSB headquarters took twenty minutes through dense Moscow traffic.  Oleg's
office was not on the top-floor, but in the basement.   The directorate of operations --
covert military actions, assassinations, sabotage, clandestine operatives.  The dirty work
of maintaining state security.  A basement afforded better secrecy than a floor with
windows.  Paintings and photographs of Russia hung on the walls of offices, and the
hallways were long and quiet.  White-noise machines added to the soft sounds the
ventilation system, to stop any conversations being overheard. Men in sober suits and
women in skirts walked the halls, each with identification badges clearly visible.

There was a knock at the door as Oleg sat down.  It opened, and Anna, the department
secretary, poked her head in.  She was barely out of university, with sharp pretty
features, brunette hair, and the body of a ballerina. Her shirt showed off her figure.
"You have a meeting at 10."

"With Boroyev?"

Anna nodded but said nothing.  She closed the door, and Oleg swore softly to himself.

Oleg recruited Russian agents for specific operations overseas.  The right man for the
right task.  Or the right woman.  It required him to be an excellent judge of character
and ability, and he had become very good at it.  But Aleksandra Boroyev, his
bureaucratically-required counterpart, an obstinate but experienced woman operative in her
early fifties, was intent on undermining  Oleg's recommendation for an upcoming mission of
infiltration in the most absurd way.  Her approval was required for the mission to
proceed.

At 10 AM, Oleg went to the secure conference room, windowless and brightly lit.
Aleksandra Boroyev was already there, sitting comfortably.  Next to her was a man Oleg
didn't recognize, broad-chested, balding and moustachioed.  An instinctive glance at the
identification tag gave nothing away, not even a name -- just a photograph, a rank, and a
number that somewhere corresponded to his identity.  His rank was above theirs, so
whatever they discussed, he was clear to know.

"Shut the door, Oleg." Aleksandra motioned with her hand.  "Have a seat."

It was not the usual way she addressed him. They were equals, but she seemed comfortable
giving him instructions.  To be spoken to this way in front of a superior was infuriating.

He put his hands on the table. "This is about Kulski. Right?"

She nodded, "yes, in a manner of speaking."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that while I respect your opinion, I have more to show you about Agent Kulski's
abilities that you might find interesting."

"Interesting?" He gave a laugh. "The mission requires a woman. It requires a woman to
impersonate the German Ambassador's wife for a full thirty-six hours, interact with a
dozen people, and probably sleep with the Ambassador himself. Agent Kulski may be talented
at disguise, but he's can't become a woman. It's madness, and I can't believe we are still
arguing about this. A decision must be made. The official visit is starting next week.  I
have three women in mind who can assume the identity, *fully*."  He looked over at the man
beside Aleksandra as if for support in his position, but all he got was a sigh and a
frown.

Aleksandra nodded.  "Your sentiment is noted. May I show you the new information I have
acquired?"

"I don't see that I have a choice."

To his surprise, Aleksandra actually smirked.  It was a strange thing to see on her
always-serious face. "No, you don't."

He didn't quite know what that meant. The mustachioed man shifted slightly in his seat,
and crossed his arms.  Oleg thought he may have detected a slight grin forming under the
mustache.

"Oleg, you understand that complete fidelity to Russia is a  requirement of employment?"

He clenched his jaw.  "Are you questioning my loyalty?"

"No, no. Just to explain why sometimes, surveillance of even the most trusted operatives
needs to be conducted for loyalty to be confirmed."

She picked up a small remote from the desk, and aimed it at a television screen bolted to
the wall.  A recording began to play. The video was black and white and shot from a high
angle.  Probably a pinhole camera near the ceiling.  It would have been nearly impossible
to spot if you weren't looking for it.  Oleg knew, he had installed many himself.

On the screen was a bedroom, nicely appointed, possibly a high-class hotel, Oleg thought.
Then his eyes squinted, and he leaned forward slightly.  It was not just any high-class
hotel.

"That's the Saratov."

Watching him watch the screen, she nodded. "Yes."

The Saratov was a secure facility three hours' drive north of Moscow.  It was a
safe-house, a place to put people out of touch from the world, temporarily, but still
treat them well.  Sometimes American or European defectors were brought there for
debriefings.  If there was a question about an FSB member being a spy, they might stay at
the Saratov until the investigation was complete.

Aleksandra said, "There's no audio, unfortunately, but the agents guarding her say she has
a lovely singing voice."

Oleg glanced over. "Her? Who?"

With the remote in her hand, Aleksandra motioned at the screen.  A naked woman came into
view, walking out of what must be a bathroom, drying herself off.  The first thought Oleg
had as he watched the surveillance video was that the woman looked a lot like his wife.

Then the woman turned, unwittingly facing the camera directly, and Oleg let out an audible
sound, air sucked into his chest, and he involuntarily curled his lips and bared his
teeth.

It *was* his wife.

He snapped at Aleksandra,  "What the hell is this?"

Aleksandra turned off the screen, laid the remote down, and gestured at the man beside
her.  He uncrossed his arms and put his big hands flat on the table, and spoke at Oleg in
a low growl.

"Mr. Kalashin, your wife is safe.  She is a loyal officer's wife, and when she was told
she had to immediately go the Saratov, for your safety, she did so, no questions asked."

"My wife was in my apartment this morning. That was --" Oleg looked at the clock on the
wall -- "two hours ago. There is no way she could have been taken there this morning."

"No, not this morning. That video was from four days ago."

Oleg's eyes went wide. He looked from the big man's face to Aleksandra's, and back again.

"That's not possible. My wife has been in Moscow."

There was a pause, and then Aleksandra, to Oleg's utter confusion, began to laugh.  The
big man turned to her with a neutral expression.  "Oh, go on. Show him."

The man raised his eyebrows and smiled. Then reached up and undid his tie, and
began to unbutton his shirt. By the third button down, it was clear that the man's face
was a mask. The edge was visible, and below that the skin was lighter, more feminine.
With a smile, the man grabbed the edge of the mask and pulled up.

With a bit of struggle, the mask came off -- blonde trusses fell down around a woman's
face.  One of the still-masculine hands reached up to brush the hair away from her face,
and it was Nadya's.  Oleg's wife.  She looked no different than that morning.

"Honey??"

"Hello, dear." It was his wife, and yet it wasn't.  She peeled one big latex hand off her
real hand, then the other, then shed the suit and shirt onto the chair behind her.  Her
breasts were covered by a bra but bound by a bandage, she undid that and laid it on the
table.  

"Meet Agent Kulksi, Oleg."

The copy of Nadya reached up with both her hands, gave her breasts a little playful
squeeze.  "In the flesh," She said, in a perfect copy Oleg's wife's voice.  The disguise
was perfect, every detail of Nadya's appearance perfectly re-created with what Oleg
assumed was latex, but who knew what techniques the FSB has invented.

"Agent Kulski has taken the place of your wife since Friday, while she's been in the
north" Aleksandra said, "and from your reaction, I can tell that Agent Kulski has been
successful in deceiving you."

"In all sorts of *naughty* ways, too." The fake Nadya winked at Oleg, his mouth going dry.
He couldn't believe the copy of his wife in front of him was really a man, an experienced
FSB agent, trained in seduction and disguise.

"Ha, well, I don't need to know about that." Aleksandra said, standing up. "Agent Kulksi,"
I think your demonstration has been sufficient.

"Alright." With practiced movements, the fake Nadya re-bound her breasts, pulled back on
the shirt and jacket, put back on the male glove-hands, and pulled the mask back on,
tucking the edge under the collar of the shirt.  The person stood, and surveyed his
reflection in the turned-off TV screen, straightening his tie.  He walked to the door and
turned to face Oleg and Aleksandra.  "See you later," the man said, in his deep growl. He
blew a kiss to Oleg, smirked, and walked out.

Aleksandra and Oleg were alone.  She went to the door, but before opening it to go out
herself, turned to him and said "your wife's reservation at the Saratov is actually for a
full week, and Kulksi doesn't need to start his preparation for the mission for a few more
days.  I thought you may appreciate having a bit more time to... *train* Agent Kulksi.
Get a better 'feel' for what he's capable of.  Aleksandra raised her eyebrows
suggestively.  


"I... yes. Sure."

Satisfied, Aleksandra nodded and walked out.

When Oleg returned home that night, he walked into a darkened apartment.  He turned on the
light in the kitchen, then heard a voice from the bedroom.  The low growl of the big mustachioed man.  "In here,
Oleg."

He had no idea what to expect. He went to the darkened bedroom and switched on the light.  On the bed was his wife,
wearing a black teddy, stocking, and high heels. She got up off the bed, and took a black
leather whip off the table. "On your knees," she said, in 'her' own, soft voice.  Then, she smacked the handle of the whip in her other hand and said,
harsher, "Now."

Oleg did as he was told.