Spy Swap, Part 8 (Special Agent to Hot Spy Girl TG) (Patreon)

A Commission for Al

Finn Langston is the best of the best, a dashingly handsome secret agent who always saves the world and always gets the girl. But when he is called upon by The Agency to infiltrate the private island of Sebastian Whitlock, a devious playboy industrialist who may be angling for world domination, Finn meets his greatest challenge yet: being turned into a raven-haired spy beauty to seduce Whitlock, and find out what he is planning. But the new and beautiful Fiona may find her cover going far, far deeper than she could have imagined . . .

First Part

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Part 8: Pants Are Forever

Anyone else would have been caught, but Fiona Langston was an expert infiltrator and was trained for this. In fact, she found that her female body actually made it easier for her to hide and duck security cameras and sweepy. She was smaller, more able to squeeze herself into hiding spaces, and her dark hair obscured the light skin of her neck. Her footsteps were also less thudding, and her movements more naturally graceful. 

Almost makes me thankful for the mental changes. Almost, Wrench.

She flitted from one nook of the exterior island walkways to the next. She’d spent several days studying the security of the place, and had done her best to shed anything that could have had a tracking beacon on it. She had made up her room so that it appeared that she was sleeping in her bed, mindful of the camera equipment and listening devices there as well: Adrian had supplied her with a sleeping track modulated from her own voice, and mixed it with the light rustling of bedsheets to simulate an ordinary sleeping pattern. 

Still, there were some guards whose movements could be unpredictable. As she began climbing her way down a cliff face towards a remote beach area she was forced to cling to the wall as a torchlight swept near her. Thinking quickly, she used her stylish wrist brace to fire a metal barb onto the rock face furthest away from her. The slight pwit of the metal embedding was enough to distract the guard, and by latching the end of her grapple to a hanging piece of rock she quickly descended by spooling out the line.

Talk about a cliffhanger, she jested to herself, wishing someone else was present to hear that particular one-liner. 

She reached the beach. It would still have cameras on it, but from what she could detect there would be a brief window where she could dive beneath the waters and make it far enough out that she would be undetectable. There was a reason she had some of her more hidden luggage cinched around her waist. Fiona took one last glance around, took her heels off and placed them in the plastic bag clipped to her belt, and checked the time.

It was 1:30am. The meeting time. There was no light on the distant water, but perhaps Adrian had deemed it a risk. Beyond the island was nothing but blackness.

“I always did like a night swim,” she said to herself.

She ran for the ocean.

The sea may have been Mediterranean, but this was the dead of night, and so the water was frigid.

And now my nipples are hard. Wonderful little thermometers, aren’t they? Well, not exactly little . . .

She moved as delicately and quickly as she could, getting low enough that she was beneath the waterline, which thankfully became easier once she hit the drop off and the true sea began. Her lungs burned, her form far less muscular than it had been.

These ballast tanks on my chest aren’t exactly helping either.

Indeed, while she was dressed more practically, it was still not exactly the best swimwear. Simply a dark bikini. The risk of bringing a professional scuba suit or even something padded was deemed too great a risk despite their plan. She would simply have to tough it out until she reached Adrian, provided his boat was present.

Unfortunately, the seabed had other plans. The island had a lovely reef of red coral around parts of it, as Sebastian had pointed out to her previously, and now she became thoroughly more acquainted with it as a jagged edge sliced part of her leg.

Damn!

She continued on, hoping she wasn’t leaking too much blood. Her lungs continued to burn, but she held on as well as she could for as long as she could even when the pain threatened to burst them open. Only when her vision finally began to blur did she finally raise her head. Her leg was pained, but the island’s shore was further away than expected; the waves now batted at her, as if threatening to send her back.

No thanks, I’m not becoming one of his prized girls. I’m finding where he has this Damocles weapon.

She looked around, trying to find evidence of Adrian. She cursed her lack of strength again as she struggled a little to stay afloat, gasping in the water like a new swimmer. But then she saw him: a small black dinghy with a little light that was turning on only occasionally. She swam right to it.

“Fiona!” came his hushed but concerned voice as she got closer. “Swim faster! There’s sharks in the water!”

Shit!

She used the last of her energy to reach him, and he gripped her with a surprisingly masculine hand, pulling her up with such speed that she immediately knew that one was right behind her. She looked back just in time to see a rising snap of a great hungry maw. It frightened even the normally unflappable agent enough to send her sprawling forwards, collapsing on top of Adrian Spiros so that he was on his back on the bed of the boat, and she positioned over him.

With two rather large, rather rounded parts of her hanging right over his face. Her hair framed his face, and she took a while to get her breathing back under control.

“Th-thanks,” she gasped. “Saved my rather impressive rear back there.”

“Well, I’m looking at some other rather impressive parts of you now, Agent Langston,” he said, grinning sheepishly. 

Fiona looked down and realised just how much she was showing off. She pulled herself up quickly, no longer straddling him. 

“Well, think of it as the best - and only - thanks of its type you’ll ever get.”

“It’s a good thanks.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. The flirtiness of the relationship could actually be quite fun. Certainly it echoed her own experiences from the male end whenever she had an attractive female agent to work with, which was fairly often. It didn’t hurt that with her mental agents, the former ladykiller of an agent was now finding Spiros quite attractive indeed. His lithe but muscular form, his somewhat nerdy appeal, his Greek olive skin. He was rather pulling off the tactical turtleneck with a dark beanie look as well.

Try to avoid ending up how your girls end up, Agent One. Usually with a lot less clothing, for instance.

Of course, she wasn’t wearing a great deal, really. She was looking forward to slipping out of her bikini and into something more comfortable.

For the mission of course. Not in that other sense.

“You’re bleeding!” Adrian suddenly said. “Shit, did the shark?”

“Just some coral,” she said, looking down at her left calf. Sure enough, it did have a rather nasty gash on it. 

“I’ll bandage it for you.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Please, I insist. You may not be a woman originally, but I am simply too Greek not to offer my services for a lady.”

She smirked, then extended her leg with perhaps a bit more demure femininity than she really had to. For his part, Adrian took her leg gently and, getting his first aid kit out, patched her up. His hands were surprisingly gentle, and she found it oddly comforting. Occasionally he looked up, and he even did rather a good job of pretending not to admire her gorgeous body. Certainly, she was still recovering from the swim, which only meant that her heavy breaths emphasised her magnificent bust. She soldiered on, trying not to bask in the attention too much.

“Did you bring everything?” she asked as he attended to her wound.

“Of course,” he replied. “I may not be the most highly proficient field agent, but I’m a damn good analyst and a frankly thoroughly organised individual.”

She chuckled. “I can do with organised at the moment. Do we know anything about the smaller island’s defence?”

“Just that apparently some of shipments heading to the main Arcadian island go here first, and that it apparently has its own personal guard. And thick walls.”
 She played with the pearls that were still on her neck.

“That won’t be a problem, if the worst comes to worst.”

“Good to know. There, wound’s all better. Nice and dressed.”

Fiona stood and placed her hands on her broad hips. “Then time for me to get nice and dressed. Turn around.”

“Hmm?”

Cute, but a little slow when it comes to women. I’ll have to teach him when I change back . . . or before. 

She gestured at her body, and his eyebrows raised comedically high. “Oh. Oh! Of course, sorry! Here’s your change! I’ll, um, get the engine running.”

“And no peaking.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She slipped out of her bikini, towelled her overdeveloped body parts dry, and quickly set to work putting on her new costume. She was surprised at how well it fit, though it was a little . . . too comfortable for her tastes. She zipped it up, finding it to be something like a spy catsuit. Not exactly that ridiculous, but it didn’t exactly hide her figure, and it was just one front zipper away from becoming the outfit of more than a few seductress villainesses she’d tangled with before.

“Okay, you can pretend to stop peeking now,” she said.

“I’ll have you know I was simply admiring the ocean of my homeland. Let’s hope it doesn’t become Whitlockia or something any time soon.”

“Well, I now know that whatever he’s doing, it’s happening tomorrow.”

Agent Spiros nodded. “That accounts for why so many VIPs are flying and boating in. I managed to perform some light hacks and get in touch with some people I trust, and it seems our Mr Whitlock will have a veritable gallery of ministers, arms dealers, business leaders, and psychopaths tomorrow.”

“Let’s give them the sendoff they deserve,” Fiona said.

“Let’s. You look spectacular by the way.”

“Always do. Now get the motor going. Let’s hit this island.”

***

Damn thing’s a fortress. No proper way in.

They had circled it from a far distance, using their night vision binoculars to see any weakness. It was quite a small island, and clearly had artificial reinforcement to make the bunker on it possible. But just as Adrian had indicated, there was little way in. The number 55 was printed in stencil on the large concrete square and several other adjacent squares that made up the facilities here, but the place appeared largely unguarded, at least. Why have it guarded much at all, when this place looked like it could survive a nuclear bomb?

“The walls are thick,” she said. “And the entrance is shut. Those are reinforced blast doors. This place must have been some kind of Cold War bunker, if it isn’t actually dating back to World War II.”

“I’d say the latter, judging from how it’s been refurbished. Possibly Nazis made this place. But it’s obviously got more tech since then; the doors are pretty modern vault stuff.”

“Nice to know the kind of historical company Whitlock keeps, the creep.”

“The front door isn’t an option, then. No quiet infiltration.”

Her mind raced quickly. She fingered the pearls around her neck. “Maybe not, but we need to get in regardless. In and quick. We can’t know what’s inside, so perhaps shock and awe is simply the way to go.”

Adrian frowned. “That doesn’t seem advisable. I don’t have much in the way of explosives.”

“I do. Find me a weak point then.”

“We can only hope there’s no one home. Or at least not many. I don’t see any lights, but who knows?”

Too many damn variables. Just need to get in there. Whatever he’s doing, the truth is in there. Damocles. The women. The mind control or brainwashing. It all comes together, somehow.

“Wait, I’ve got it,” she said suddenly. “Get me my heels.”

“Going for a night walk?”

“You wish. There’s an EMP inside.”

***

It only had a range of thirty metres, but thirty metres was apparently enough. With the compartment box thrown against the bunker wall and them hiding out of view of the cameras outside the EMP radius, she only had to remotely activate them.

Ironic, really. If they’d just left the original bunker entrance in place this might not work.

She clicked the button. There was a low hum, and the cameras by the front dropped. The bunker doors seemed to almost sag slightly, shifting just a little open. That was okay. She didn’t expect to actually get in. She just wanted someone to investigate. Sure enough, less than five minutes later, the doors opened to allow two guards out.

Agent One and Agent Spiros were quick. He strangled one guard unconscious silently, and she leapt from above to do the same with her more powerful thighs. Unfortunately, she no longer possessed the height or upper strength to do it traditionally, so this guard got to be knocked unconscious in the happiest way possible: his face right near her lap as she cut off his oxygen supply. He went down like a particularly thankfully sack of potatoes.

“That was . . . remarkably attractive,” Adrian noted.

“Just something I picked up from a rather terrifying Russian assassin,” she replied. She got out her Beretta. “Now come on, we need to work quickly and silently.”

“After you,” he said, gesturing in a gentleman-like manner.

“No, you first,” Fiona replied, well aware of the view he’d get. “I’ll cover your ass this time.

To Be Continued . . .