Chapter 1 – The Papist Plot

December 2^nd, 1998 – The Merchant Republic of Poland, 112.65 KM Southwest of Kaliningrad.

Sofiya modulated her breathing. The last thing she needed was one of the spotlights catching a glimpse of her warm breath in the winter air. In the distance, she could faintly hear soldiers laughing and rabble-rousing inside. She was counting numbers silently. Nine. Ten. Eleven. The lights swept past again, and with that she was confident they were running on automatic. She waited for the next cycle and dashed down the snow covered hill and through the small gap in the barbed wire.

The fence had been cut. It was almost certainly where Anna had entered. The military installation was built for the Red Army units that were stationed here until very recently, and as such the layout was immediately familiar to Sofiya. She knew exactly where the commanding officer would be sleeping, and exactly where their records would be kept. But she wasn’t here for that, she was here for a person – a friend.

When Anna had failed to report in on time, it was immediately flagged by Moscow as an extreme priority. Sofiya would have volunteered for the mission, but didn’t need to. They shared an apartment and an operational area, so she was the nearest asset available. The coded orders came through the fax machine at the same time as the news.

“Did you hear that?” said a voice a few paces away. It was a rural Polish accent, harsh on the ears. A fellow worker. Sofiya hoped she wouldn’t have to kill him.

“It’s just a rabbit again, Pawel. Hurry up,” said another.

The first man looked around for a few moments, then sighed. He turned and started walking back to the barracks. Sofiya wasted no time – moving in the opposite direction to the voices, she shuffled past the base of a guard tower and located the detention area.

Reaching into her bag, she extracted a small device. She set the timer for ten seconds, lobbed it a few meters away, then took her place just around the corner from the door.

The noisemaker did it’s work. A drunken man with three cigarettes in his mouth wandered out the door in search of it. When Sofiya was confident he was the only one coming, she leapt around the corner and delivered a single well aimed judo chop to his neck. He collapsed into the bush where he’d been sniffing around.

Inside the building it was warmer, and the laughter and merrymaking was drawing closer. She mouthed a silent, irreligious prayer of thanks to her KGB quartermasters for the standard issue fleece lined catsuit that was keeping her warm, but her boots were going to be a liability in here on the concrete floors if she didn’t want to interrupt the poker match. She slipped them off her feet and pulled away her socks as delicately as she could, placing them close to the front entrance. Her feet were almost numb by the time she reached the staircase at the end of the hall, but she had successfully evaded detection.

The bottom level of the detention area was wrong. It was supposed to be a dozen cells, capable of holding around fifty to eighty people if you crowded them in tight. Instead, when the automatic lights turned on, what she found was far more than a mere prison.

The walls were extremely decadent – an elaborate and gaudy style designed to evoke the image of ancient Greece. There was a reception desk, thankfully unmanned, above which a plaque was inscribed in ornate Polish lettering. It translated to something like “The Prometheus Research Organisation”. On second read, she determined that “Promethean” was closer.

A single extra-wide elevator seemed to control access to lower levels. There was no button, just a key-card proximity sensor.

“Blyat”, she muttered to herself.

Just as she spoke, a siren sounded. She corrected herself – it was an alarm.

“Blyat!”

The guard shoved Sofiya through the door into a cell, smiling broadly. He tried to speak Russian, but his command of the language was so poor she couldn’t understand what he was saying. She would have understood him clearly if only he would stick to Polish. It was something about friends, or lovers. He shut the door and bolted it, then gave them a little wave.

“Sofiya!” said Anna. “So they sent you to get me out.”

“Da,” she replied.

She embraced her tovarish warmly, leaving the customary kiss on each side of her face, lingering for perhaps a fraction of a second too long. She took a step back and scanned her body up and down to see if she was hurt. The tall, slender blonde spy had mixed emotions on her face. Sofiya could relate, but just seeing Anna elevated her spirits. She was doubly relieved that there was no sign of physical harm on her.

“Something out front of the detention area… it caught on fire somehow. The alarm went off, everybody woke up and started looking around. I’m sorry, Anna. I’ve failed you.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “We have to focus on getting out of here – but not before we figure out what’s going on first. Were you briefed on my mission here?”

“Nyet. There was no time. They told me only that it was a mission of utmost urgency and secrecy.”

“I’m afraid so. Over the last few months, a series of high profile defections and three cases of direct sabotage were uncovered, all perpetrated by people that were considered politically reliable. Several members of the diplomatic corps, one spy, a military liaison officer and a half dozen members of the Red Army were involved. The MVD investigated the matter, and the one factor all the traitors had in common was that they had all spent some time here on this base within the last year, before or during the withdrawal.”

“So, we think they’ve been recruiting and training traitors here? Offering them a new life in the West, or paying them to perform seditious acts?” said Sofiya.

“Something like that,” said Anna. “But I’m worried there might be something even darker going on here than just bribery.”

“I wish they’d bribe me with some food,” said Sofiya. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“You may prefer hunger. It’s disgraceful what they’re feeding prisoners here. Gruel or stale bread.”

Sofiya was disappointed, but not entirely surprised. There wasn’t a respect for the rights of prisoners here, not like there was back home.

“I could kill for some borscht,” she said, mouth watering slightly as she spoke the words.

“I spent an hour daydreaming about the fresh bread back home yesterday,” Anna replied, sighing deeply.

Sofiya spent the hour quizzing Anna on how she’d been caught, guard routines, and possible weaknesses they could exploit. She’d only been here two and a half days, but she was already on top of things. She’d always been sharp – not to mention persuasive.

“One of the guards, Szymon, he’s sympathetic. He was in the People’s Army before the coup. He’s said that he’s willing to help me escape, but the window of opportunity won’t be open for another couple of days. That’s when he gets the late shift again.”

“Hmm. I wonder if he’s willing to expand that offer. I take it you’ve promised him more than just your thanks,” said Sofyia.

“Men are the same in every country,” said Anna.

A scenario flashed through Sofiya’s mind. The two of them seducing the man together. Stripping off their clothes in perfect synchronisation. Anna was thin and striking, like a model, while Sofiya had a more generous proportions that drew the male eye. They could put on a show for the man, overloading his mind, him weak and willing to do anything for them. They would kiss each other, running her hands across Anna’s beautiful face and… She squashed the thoughts, and turned slightly red. Such behaviour was the purview of degenerate western nightclubs, unbefitting of Soviet citizens.

“What does he look like?” Sofiya said, breaking the momentary silence.

“You’ll smell him first. He’s always smoking cigarettes. Sometimes two, three at a time. His friends have convinced him this is a sign of masculinity.”

Sofiya opened her mouth to speak, then stopped.

“What?” said Anna.

“Nothing,” said Sofiya. “Don’t worry about it. But we should probably keep our eyes peeled for any other opportunities, just in case that falls through.”

Anna nodded, and Sofiya smiled nervously. It was good to be working together on a mission again – even if nothing ever went according to plan.

With a Kalashnikov sticking into her back, the guards “led” Sofiya to the elevator. The chances that they were taking her out of the facility weren’t high, and arguably if they were that boded poorly for her survival. The other possibility was no less frightening, but it was tantalising. She could hear Anna following not far behind with her own little entourage.

Sure enough, they were sent down one level deeper into the facility. When the elevator doors opened, she scanned her surroundings for any clues. It raised more questions than it answered.

It was like she’d walked into a church. Not just any church – a Catholic church. There were Central European stylings all around, the stations of the cross hung on the walls, there were stained-glass windows that led to nowhere, and ceremonial candles leading to a tabernacle at the end of the room.

There were people all around – and they were obviously captive, too. From the few voices that dared speak, she determined that they were mostly Polish. They didn’t look like hardened criminals. Political prisoners, she thought. Enemies of the new regime. It sickened her to see. What kind of country would imprison people on such a scale, just because they disagreed with their government?

The guards laid hands on her one final time, just to assert dominance, then pushed her into the next unoccupied pew before heading back to the elevator. She was sandwiched between a young man of perhaps twenty years and a middle aged woman. Anna took her space in the row behind.

“You didn’t mention church services,” Sofiya whispered.

“This is the first time I’ve seen this place,” Anna replied. “What kind of research facility needs a church?”

“I don’t know, but let’s play along for now,” said Sofiya.

They were shushed by one of the altar boys.

The Priest was unmistakable – tall, dressed in black with a purple sash of some kind.

“In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti.”

“Amen,” came the universal reply. The Poles were obviously familiar with this kind of ceremony.

He began the service, his deep voice enunciating the Latin flawlessly and confidently. She didn’t understand what it was about, but the novelty of the thing kept her awake.

Things changed rapidly after communion. She took the bread and wine without complaint, but began feeling strange shortly after returning to her spot. The Latin portion of the mass ended, and the sermon began.

“My wayward children, I am so pleased to welcome you here today in this new house of God. The first of it’s kind,” the Priest said.His accent was European – probably Italian, but very subtle. His command of vernacular Polish was very good.

Sofiya’s vision was starting to blur at the edges, but the focus in the centre was sharp. Extremely sharp. She hadn’t felt so focused in years.

“The generations raised in the shadow of communist atheism must now assume a new responsibility in a world warmed by the light of God. You were taught to feel solidarity for the workers of the world.”

Sofiya was in awe of the man. The way he spoke was mesmerising. It was so easy to listen to what he had to say. For the first time in her life, she thought that perhaps she understood some of the appeal of religion.

His sermon continued.

“Now, you will get to experience true solidarity. For the first time, you have been given a new freedom – the freedom to worship. And you will use this freedom. You will worship.”

The only problem, of course, was that she knew there was no god. Religion was simply a tool used to comfort and control the masses. Marx and the Soviet theorists were all clear on the issue.

“Get down on your knees,” the man said – nay, demanded. Most of the room, accustomed to prayer, knelt without any hesitation. Should she kneel, too? Shefelt an urge tugging at her,but she drew the line here. She was not going to give in to such an indignity without a fight.

The Priest repeated the instruction, his voice booming even louder. The holdouts fell to their knees one by one around her. The temptation gnawed at her. Her legs flexed, and finally she sank to the ground. With the struggle over, her attention latched onto the Priest in full.

“None of you here are strangers to sin. Dissidents, communists, and criminals stand before me here. But forgiveness is the cornerstone of our faith. All of you will be given a chance to repent. And if you do not, you will be given the chance again – over and over, until such a time as you are ready to give yourself over to God almighty.”

Sofiya stared, jaw slightly agape. She felt a little bit of drool falling out of her mouth.

“To begin, I want you all to reflect on the sins that sent you here, to me.”

“And what if we don’t want to?” said an angry voice behind her. It was Anna.

Sofiya shook herself and remembered that she was here for a reason. They were here to gather information.

“You will do as you are told, child,” said the Priest. “Or you will quickly come to regret it.”

Sofiya turned.

“What are you doing?” Sofiya said in a hushed voice.

The Priest gestured towards his assistants, who hurried over to Anna and escorted her out of the Pew and into a small corner separated out with curtains. To her surprise, Sofiya herself was soon to follow. The two were tied to a chair and given a menacing shushing gesture by the robed men.

Satisfied that she wasn’t going to be able to leave and that their outburst had ended, the men returned to the service. Anna let the sounds begin again before she spoke.

“I had to get us out of there,” she said.

“But we still don’t know what’s going on here,” Sofiya replied.

“I think I do. It’s a Latin Mass-Hypnosis,” said Anna. “It’s the oldest and most traditional form of Catholic worship. The Hypnotis Antiquior. It can’t be administered by a normal priest.”

Sofiya gasped.

“You mean…”

“I do mean,” Anna continued. “That man was a Bishop of Rome. My babusya used to tell me about them, but I’ve never seen one in person before.”

“We have to get back. We have to tell Moscow about this! If Roman Catholicism is allowed to reclaim it’s primacy in Poland, then…”

“They could come for us next. Not even the Orthodox Church may be safe.”

The thought was absolutely terrifying. Religion of any form was discouraged in the USSR, but Orthodoxy was tolerated for it’s special cultural significance to the Russian people. Whatever drug they’d put in the communion wine was only amplifying her fear. She tried to slow her breathing. She managed to slightly calm herself, and began looking around the room for anything that might aide in their escape. It was starting to look like they might have to just wait it out.

The sounds of the Priest’s lengthy vernacular sermon were actually quite soothing. It was something she could very easily fall asleep to. She wanted to fall asleep and listen. She had to stay awake. Suddenly, she noticed that Anna was speaking very quietly.

“A woman’s place… is in the home… contraceptives are a tool of the devil… Vatican 2 was a mistake…”

“Anna, snap out of it!” Sofiya said. “You have to block out the sermon!”

Anna jerked awake again.

“Oh my Stalin, thank you!”

They kept each other from slipping under the influence of the sermon until he was finished and they could hear people shuffling back to their prison cells.

“Now what have the guards brought me here today,” said the Bishop, entering through the curtains.”Russians, I hear.”

“We are citizens of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics,” said Sofiya defiantly. “And we are not subject to the authority of Rome.”

He smiled.

“We’ll see about that. But my, I must say, what lovely spies the Muscovites send us these days. A blonde and a brunette, bellissima. And I can see this one is already barefoot. How delightful.”

He snapped his fingers, and two of his attendants scurried away to retrieve something.

“Tell me,” he continued, “have you ever observed the rite of Maundy before?”

Sofiya shook her head. Anna simply didn’t respond.

“I find it is very helpful in achieving spiritual breakthroughs with the unenlightened.”

The attendants returned, one carrying a bucket of water, the other a tape recorder and a bottle of communion wine. They placed the bucket below Sofiya, then forced the two women to drink more wine. They coughed and sputtered, but couldn’t avoid swallowing more.

“Leave us alone, you freaks” said Anna, voice struggling to find energy.

“Silence,” the Bishop snapped back at her.

Anna’s protests died in her throat. For good measure, one of the attendants taped her mouth shut. The Bishop turned back to Sofiya, and his expression softened as he looked over her body and licked his lips. Sofiya was proud of her body. All KGB agents kept themselves in peak physical condition, of course, but Sofiya had always been able to turn heads. She wasn’t sure why she felt pride at this strange and frightening man lusting after her, but she was feeling many strange emotions and sensations as the wine coursed through her system.

“The washing of feet is symbolic, of course,” he said, as he knelt down and grasped her delicate feet in his strong hands. “A reversal of position. The Son of God washes the feet of his disciples.” He pulled them further down into the bucket, submerging them in warm water.

“Stop that – don’t…”

“Shhh,” he said, and she found her body obeying. He began massaging them firmly. “Doesn’t it feel incredible to have an instrument of God touching you in this way?”

“Da…” said Sofiya’s voice. It did feel good. She found her muscles unclenching, and her body stopped retreating from his touch.

“Such beauty,” the Bishop said. “What a sinful body you’ve been granted by the Lord. These majestic breasts, the symmetry of your face, even the scent of you drips with lust. And now it’s all mine.” He kissed the foot he held in his hand, then gestured to his men. “It’s a shame we’re short on time. But my orders are clear, and they come all the way from the top. It’s catch and release. But first, we need to break you and program you. Doesn’t that sound just delightful?”

“Delightful…” her voice repeated.

“You’ll become a Crypto-Catholic. A perfect double agent for us. Not even aware of your own faith.”

“Perfect… Agent…”

“Ready to sabotage, seduce, and kill for us.”

“Kill…”

“I intend to take full advantage of the day we have together. Oh, it will be such a beautiful future we’re working towards.”

“Beautiful…”

“Imagine it – mending the schism. Erasing the heresy of Saint Cyril for good. One religion. One script. One world.”

She hadn’t noticed when the attendants had put the headphones on her head, but somebody had pressed play, and the voices started.

They were so loud – not in terms of volume, but as a force. They were inescapable. The voice belonged to the Bishop, and they were telling her things, too quickly for her to understand what they were.

The pressure in her ears, the voices in her head, the hands on her feet and now the rest of her body. It was overwhelming. The sensations carried her into the future. Thousands of years later, the voices began to slow down to just a single focal point.

“Are you prepared to receive the Holy Spirit into your body, my child?”

Her eyes opened, and before her stood an incarnation of God. God was tall. God was ripped. God was from Southern Italy. God had a fully erect20.32 centimetre cock. She herself had become naked somehow.

“… I … Yes,” she said, finding it difficult to process. “I think I’m ready now.”

She basked in the warmth of God, smiling down upon her.

“And what is it you desire, most of all?”

She was wetter than the ocean. She felt hotter than hell.

“Please… I need sex!” she said.

“Sex for what purpose, my child?”

“Sex for the sole purpose of procreation!”

The response came from inside her, but it it didn’t seem quite right. She was unbelievably horny, but was she ready to be a mother?

The issue was decided for her. The extremely shredded deity lifted her up into the air and entered her in a display of substantial physical dexterity. Her legs wrapped around his body, and he pumped into her over and over again. She tried to kiss him, but he wasn’t receptive.

“My child, this is an act… of divine creation... You cannot allow your sinful thoughts... to take control of you,” he said between energetic thrusts into her tight pussy.

“Forgive me, Lord…”

“Keep gripping me like that… and all will be forgiven…”

Like all Soviet spies, Sofiya had been trained in the tantric arts, and she’d learned to control her pelvic muscles to great effect. But she was trained to control men through sex – not Gods.

Anna, looking on in horror, started making sounds.

Her divine partner pivoted a hundred and eighty degrees without missing a stroke.

“Jan, let her compatriot speak,” he said. “I… I want to know if she’s enjoying the conversion process… as much as I am.”

The attendant stepped forward and ripped the tape off her lips. Anna let out a pained yelp.

“We’re going to stop you,” she said. “We’re going to get out of here.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“It is. Because we have something that you don’t, you papo-capitalist dogs,” she spat.

He laughed, then started to lose his composure.

“You’re… the spirit… the spirit fills you…”

And it did. Sofiya could feel it inside her, filling her up. There was so much spirit that she quickly reached her spiritual capacity and it started leaking out onto the ground below her.

“We have symbols of true faith!” Anna shouted.

At that moment, she revealed that her hands were not, in fact, still bound. She stuck one of them down inside her catsuit and pulled out a locket. An attendant tried to seize her, but she opened it and held it up to his face. He fell to the ground, screaming in pain. The others, seeing the display,simply fled.

Sofiya started coming to her senses. Although disappointed that she never climaxed, she relaxed her legs and dropped to the ground in front of the man she now realised wasn’t a divine being at all – it was the Bishop! Her assessment of his body had not been a delusion, however – he was perhaps the most impressive physical specimen she’d seen since she adjudicated for the 1996 Leningrad Strongman Contest.

She swept his feet off balance and tried to strike a blow against his head. He dodged to the side and somehow ended up on top of her. Her body felt a pang of disappointment that he wasn’t reentering her.

“It seems we have an apostate on our hands,” he hissed. “A shame there won’t be any time for you to recant on your deathbed.”

He pulled out a knife, but Anna stepped in from the side and kicked it to the ground.

“You witch!” he said.

Then, she held out the locket in front of him, and Sofiya could finally see what it was – an Orthodox Icon. Sofiya recognised it immediately – Saint Vladimir.

In spite of it’s smalls size, the Bishop recoiled in terror as he witnessed it’s true and unmistakable beauty.

“That’s… that’s impossible… You… you are both atheists!”

“It was given to me by my babusya. She insisted I take it, as a good luck charm. Superstitious nonsense, but harmless. To us, at least.”

As the icon drew closer to him, his pain intensified.

“No, please, make it stop!”

“It’s true that I believe there is no god, you Roman cryptro-iconoclast scum,” Anna continued as she slowly stepped forward. “But even a school child could tell you that if God was real, he would be Russian Orthodox, based in Moscow, the Third Rome, the rightful heir to the Empire and the throne of Saint Piter.”

The Bishop could take it no longer and passed out from the pain. Anna helped Sofiya to her feet, carefully avoiding the little puddle they’d made on the floor.

“I can’t believe it,” Sofiya said. “I can’t believe that I could fall for such obvious lies, even if only for a little while.”

“Such deception and brainwashing is their stock and trade. They’ve had thousands of years to master it.”

They found a keycard for the elevators on the priest. Sofiya took great pleasure in taking care of the next order of business – smashing the bottles of communion wine and using one of the candles to set fire to the wafer box. She wasn’t sure if there were any psychoactive drugs in the wafers, but she didn’t do things in half measures.

They ran back to the elevator and were about to punch in the top floor when Sofiya noticed there were three more floors below them. How big is this place?, she wondered. Perhaps there were worse things than Roman Catholics hiding in the depths below.

“Blyat,” said Sofiya. “We don’t have enough time to investigate the rest of the facility. We’re going to have to find out way home and –” the elevator dinged, cutting her off.

The elevator opened, to reveal a dozen armed guards pointing their rifles at the spies.

“Perhaps we will have time after all,” said Anna.

They raised their hands and sighed.