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A former army soldier and current CIA agent, Jones lives a life of adventure, something any boy would dream of. He also has Death breathing down his neck every corner he turns, every plane he leaves, a bullet could be put through his head, or god forbid he be captured.
Luckily, Jones did not get captured.
An American James Bond, he fights and flirts and believes wholeheartedly that he is fighting for the good of the American people and of the world. Muscular and handsome, his specialties included seduction and brute force. Not the best of a spy, but his charm has gotten out of one sticky situation into another, much more sensual, one. Such as the nice one he was in right now.
His hands ran under her blazer—His blazer—to her bra, kissing her neck as he did so. “Recruit Mexican spies” he was told, well, they never said how, or how many times he should try and “recruit”. He and his girl, Julia Villanueva, had been in cahoots for months. She was a mysterious and confident woman, traits Alfred had been told to avoid, but he loved her. Especially when she was sitting just above his c-
Click.
The barrel of a pistol felt cold against his head. Her eyes were cold and by God, if he was simply watching this unfold, instead of experiencing it, he would’ve thought her the sexiest woman on Earth. A femme fatale.
“Fucking Commie,” He spat. Julia laughed.
“No Commie, just a friend,” She nudged him onto the bed and Alfred complied, “Kennedy wants to invade Cuba,” she pressed the gun deeper into his skin, enough to leave a faint imprint, “You’re going to tell me when and where.” Alfred stared at her, nothing on but her underwear and a blazer, if only she would’ve waited until after he pounded her till the sun rises.
“You won’t shoot, you love me,” He jested, “You would miss me.” He blew her a kiss, feeling ever so confident in their relationship. Instead, however, she cocked the gun.
“Cuba, Kennedy, now ,” at this point Alfred was done playing games. He kicked up, throwing her back, but she was trained as well and landed like a cat; On her feet. The pistol still clear in her hand, Alfred made an aim towards that, sweeping a kick and hitting her easily. The gun flew, but she lunged towards him, tackling him and managed to get him against a wall. The pair stared for what seemed like ages before Alfred broke and caressed her cheek.
“I love you, but not that much,” he said, before kneeing her in the gut and grabbing the gun himself.
“And that’s how I lost my girlfriend,” Alfred said, he and a coworker — Sadik Adnan, a Turkish agent stationed on U.S soil — were sitting in a bar, though Alfred was the only one of the two with alcohol.
“And the ring?” Sadik asked, gesturing to a small catalog Alfred had been flipping through.
“To win her over, diamonds are a girl’s best friend right?”
“That saying doesn’t mean what you think it does,” Alfred scoffed.
“Whatever, I mean, marriage shows I’m committed,” he took a big swig of his beer before speaking again, “I’d even be willing to resign, settling down with her… It would be Heaven.” Sadik rolled his eyes.
“Marriage is a commitment, but she held a gun to your head, I don’t think she wants that commitment.” He saw the younger man’s demeanor change, “Trust me, I’m married, two beautiful boys, but that girl does NOT want to be tied down.” The pair ate and drank, Alfred beer and various wines, Sadik different colas until Alfred threw up and was dragged into a cab to Sadik’s housing.
Alfred woke up on a soft couch, in front of him were two boys. Staring. The smell of coffee filled his noise and roused him up, which scared the boys. He sat up, stretched, and realized he probably reeked of alcohol, not a good smell, and especially not a good smell in a Muslim household, he assumed. He didn’t actually know, but he assumed, by the way, the older man in the room stared at him it was a bad thing.
“Good morning, sir,” Alfred yawned out. The older man simply huffed and turned away.
“Dhun, be nice to the boy Sadik dragged in,” a voice teased from inside the kitchen. Alfred walked towards the voice and saw another man standing there, coffee cup in hand, “Morning,” the man said, “My name’s Constantin, I’m Sadik’s husband.” That was shocking to Alfred, homosexuality wasn’t legal yet and homosexual marriage especially. He simply nodded and stood, a bit uncomfortable. Constantin saw this and spoke, “So, you work with Sadik? I wonder how that is,” Constantin leaned against the kitchen counter and Alfred mimicked.
“Can’t really share the details of our work, but your husband is a good man,” Alfred replied, “Handful of times he’s patched my wounds,” the pair sat in a comfortable silence as the radio played quietly, some ballroom jazz. The two boys from earlier walked into the kitchen and began tugging on Constantin, “Aren’t these two in school?” Dhun, the older man in the living room piped up.
“They’re homeschooled, I’m their teacher,” Constantin laughed.
“If anything you’re the janitor ,” and the pair went back and forth, as Constantin served the boys breakfast. Alfred was uncomfortable, he felt like he didn’t belong, this was a domestic scene he shouldn’t see. Luckily he was saved by Sadik finally entering the room.
Sadik made his way around the area, kissing Dhun’s head, “Good morning, Baba,” He said, he quickly made his way towards the kitchen and kissed Constantin’s mouth and then the two boy’s cheeks. “Alfred, these are my sons; Nikolai,” a boy with black hair and green eyes peeked out, “And Alexios,” a boy with brown hair and hazel eyes peeked out. “They’re eight, twins,” the boys clung to their father, still scared of Alfred it seems.
“Your family seems lovely, Sadik,” He crouched down to the boys, “Do you two want to be spies like your daddy?” He asked, the boys giggled, “I’ll take that as a yes,” Alfred flashed a smile before standing up again.
Alfred held the receiver to his ear and listened in on Julia, he’d tapped her phone ages ago, but only now does he actually use it. She was now on the CIA’s watchlist after Alfred’s meeting, so he listened. None of her calls were suspicious, mostly calls to family about mundane things, but he still documented it all, to see if there was a code or anything but so far he was running blank.
Until she called him .
He in question was a Cuban man, one Alfred knew of before. His name was Ivan and he was a very good friend of Julia’s, that’s what Alfred had been told but hearing the pair speak sweet nothings made his stomach churn. Nicknames he thought were only for him, confessions of love he had begged to hear come out of her mouth, all those things said to some Communist joke.
“You’re not staying with him, are you?”
“Not when I have you, dear”
“I can’t thank you enough, I love you”
“More than the moon”
Alfred slammed the receiver down and bit his lip, hard, trying his best to not cry. He took a deep breath, stood up, and grabbed his coat.
“I’m going to take a smoke,” he announced, though there were few people around who even cared where he went. While walking into the hall, he dug his fingernails into his palm before leaning against the wall and pulling out his pack of cigarettes. It was mostly full since he hardly smoked, but now he needed one. He lit the cigarette with a match and took a long drag, blowing out a puff of smoke. He stayed smoking until the cigarette burned halfway down, by then he had been gone for near an hour and was called back to work. Walking back to his desk he saw his superior, Yao, and another man who he didn’t recognize.
“Sit Jones,” Yao instructed, Alfred obeyed, “You’re being sent to Moscow, Kennedy wants to know of any and all Soviet nuclear sites,” Yao turned to the other man, “This here is your partner.” To that Alfred protested.
“I work alone, it’s always been like that,” He said, “Why do I need a partner now?”
“Because you will be posing as father and son,” Yao handed Alfred a file, “This has everything you need, you know the drill.” He nodded to the men and left quickly, leaving Alfred with his new partner.
“Well… This is going to be interesting,” The man said, with a rather thick accent, “My name is Aldrich Beilschmidt, and you are…?” Alfred looked Aldrich up and down.
“Alfred, Alfred Jones, you seem rather old for a field agent,” He said bluntly, “And you’re not American, Dutch?”
“German, came to America before the war,” Aldrich explained, “And my age hasn’t rusted my skill,” he sat himself down on Alfred’s desk, “Check the file,” he instructed. Alfred begrudgingly obeyed.
“So, we’re father and son, there’s a gala and you’ll be a Soviet commander,” Alfred looked up at Aldrich, “A German, Soviet commander. They made a good pick,” Aldrich smiled, “Now I am your dashingly handsome son, and also the muscle.” He shoved the file towards Aldrich, “Most of this only relevant for you, go over it and I’ll see you on the plane.” With that, Alfred stood up once more and left, leaving Aldrich alone with the files.