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## Operations Report: Berlin Main ##
AGENT: SMYTHE, Gilda DOB: 07/11/1925
STATUS: ACTIVE - Agent LOCATION: West Berlin
HANDLER: Arnalds STATUS: Active
CLASS: Top Secret ACCESS: Level 7
-- DO NOT DUPLICATE --— OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR -—-
OPERATIONS REPORT
BERLIN II: OPID 11.84.269-33ORFG00
Agent Smythe confirmed LEO made official request for extradition from GDR via dead drop C01 on Leninplatz. Agent Mercer authorized Smythe to approach and make verbal contact on 11.03.1964.
LEO has requested secure transfer for himself and two civilians (ZOSMA and DENEBOLA). LEO's credentials are impeccable as a veteran member of the Committee for State Security (KGB). Veteran of SMERSH. Long tenure (1946-1957) in Vienna established no traceable activities. CIA cross-reference produced no records. Handler is believed to be GOLEN.
GOLEN known to be in favour with Marshal Rodion MALINOVSKY. [—Arnalds]
Established in East Berlin (1960-1964) as senior operative. Asset has ties to political establishment and current naval high establishment. Assumed he has significant inroads.
LEO promises a full accounting of active personnel and secure programs under Chairman of Committee for State Security.
To date no stable resource has extracted information about BLACK OPS from Sovet Ministrov CCCP (Council of Ministers). [—Arnalds]
Over October, LEO transferred request documents via courier to the Deutsche Bundesbank. Technicians confirmed the supplied records for movements and transfer of materiel through Istanbul in September 1964 are accurate. Personnel notes correspond to known Soviet assets operating in Turkey and Greece.
XREF report OPID 11.03.582-14GRDL51 - risk assessment amassed by C Division, enclosed
Peggy doesn't leave the continental U.S. much these days. She's busy. But the last few days have her a little testy. And so she's done what she doesn't anymore…caught a classified flight to Europe, and is now boots (or rather, heels) down on the ground in Germany.
It's been a while.
She speaks German like a native, of course, and this is bringing back memories to her. She's arranged a meeting with Smythe; always best to touch in before you start an op.
Fourteen Hours Ago:
"A trap? Come on, Peg. Of course I've considered that." Coulson peered over his mug of coffee, fixing Peggy Carter with a rueful grin. "Don't tell me. Alien took over your body again?" He took another sip before lowering the mug. "Hopefully it isn't, but, don't worry. I'll have eyes on you the entire time; you won't know I'm there unless I need to be there."
Now:
Coulson blends in particularly well here. Granted, during the War he was posted in the Pacific, but it didn't take him long to take up German, considering how many long-term operations he conducted there in service to both the SSR and SHIELD. Of course, he's donned a wig for this particular occasion, and went so far as to dye his eyebrows a lighter shade so that they more properly match the slicked back, blond hair upon his head. It's the best part about deep cover ops, he had told Peggy while they were still stateside. Sometimes, I get to have a full head of hair.
Currently he's walking down a busy avenue close to where the meeting is supposed to take place, and he's deep in conversation with a German businessman who happens to be in the film industry. The two are discussing the merits and detriments of Gobbel's career under the Third Reich; the latter of which is smoking a hand-rolled cigarette while Coulson carries a cup of coffee in his left hand.
Welcome to West Berlin. SHIELD's headquarters at Berlin II sit right in the middle of tony Charlottenburg, home to affluent manors and the largest royal palace remaining in Berlin. Green spaces abound, which makes the elegant four-storey building immediately adjacent the famous Schwarzes Cafe and famous rebuilt Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church positively hideous. No one in West Berlin wants to live right on the U-Bahn line and within spitting distance of the Berlin Zoo.
Everything is German punctuality here, right down to the American agents invested right behind Vienna Bar, and above a row of perfectly productive businesses that give SHIELD agents the most plausible cover. Besides, when you need to send flowers for your enemy's memorial, Kant Florist is ready to provide. The scent of those lilies floats on the air in an office where Director Carter and Agent Coulson are directed to.
It's a fair sight prettier than anything in New York digs, thanks to a number of elegant maps put up on the wall. Agent Smythe is looking not the least put out. She resembles a German in every sense of the word, put together, about 40, with unmemorable blonde features that attest to why she blends so well into a city full of blondes. Her grey suit is impeccable. Coffee she has someone else deliver is equally outstanding, if lacking a bit in personality. "Director." She gestures to a large oval table. There are few filing cabinets here, no windows, two guards in neat grey and black suits. "Thank you for coming on such notice and in person." She sounds like a Berliner. Total lie; she was raised in King of Prussia, though the irony is not lost on anyone. "Given this one, we felt senior staff needed to be notified. Our agents in Kaliningrad are working double time with the CIA to obtain any extra material. He's legit. Not so senior as to warrant parking a sub off Norway, but getting there."
"Quite all right." Peggy says in answer to Smythe. "This seems important enough to warrant some personal attention." And despite the fact that she would never admit it, she needs the time away from New York, and away from the multitude of problems she's been dealing with. "Have you been able to explore options for insertion to East Berlin for us?" She looks over to Coulson, and his wig. "After all, I'd hate to miss the opportunity."
"Ein Bier?" Coulson comes up short momentarily, studying his partner with a dubious expression. Then, with a sigh, he gestures in a dismissive manner. "Nein, nein, fuerchte Ich kann nicht. Es gibt eine verderbliche junge Dame, die Ich angepisst habe, und Ich muss alles richtig machen." He nods his head toward Kant Florist, smirking. "Jawohl?"
"Jawohl," answers the man, nodding his head toward Coulson. Ein anderes Mal, Freund?"
Coulson nods vigorously. "Anderes Mal, jawohl."
"Tschuss!"
"Tschuss."
Not much later, Coulson is entering the office building with a bundle of flowers in hand. He looks toward those gathered with a disarming smile, and reaches forward to settle the flowers down before Smythe. "I'm afraid there's a young German filmmaker to whom I referred to you as, 'pernicious'. Trust me; I didn't mean a word of it." He then settles down into an empty seat, sharing a look with Peggy before adopting the role of casual observer, should anyone be fooled by that play.
Agent Smythe does not sit until her superiors are. Not the operations lead here, she holds herself upright at near parade rest. The projector waits for her to start feeding it transparencies to shoot from the overhead, and a projector reel waits dutifully beside the table. The beam trains on a pulled down projector sheet, glowing a dull white. Arnalds is somewhere stalking through the building, tying his tie into a respectable knot, while his secretary makes panicked sounds about jam donuts. The restaurant on the corner, perhaps.
"The checkpoints are out," says the woman. "Too heavily manned nowadays. For officially legging it over the border, legal advisors or humanitarian mission visas remain an option. They operate on day passes." She takes a transparency from her folio and lays it down, revealing a table. "Advisors give assistance in West German law for companies and individuals, prisoners, and immigration. Humanitarian missions provide social assistance. We've monitored a number of them, including those delivering medicines and goodwill visits. They include artists. Journalists are subject to heavy scrutiny. Delivery drivers are too likely to snarl you up. Academics might be possible, but with all respect, Herr Fury and you, Director, are likely to attract attention that way. Leo is flexible to us, with the advantage of having his papers intact."
"I 'am' practiced in disguise and undercover operations, Agent Smythe." Peggy notes, almost sounding offended that she has to bring it up. She was doing spy work when most of these agents were still in primary school. "I don't think any "official" means would be wise. However, if there aren't several unofficial channels, then someone here is overdue for some reprimands." She'll look over to Coulson and Fury. "Opinions, gentlemen?"
All business and assumedley there the whole time is Nick. He's dressed rather casually but in all black. A sweater in the local style and his boots covered by his pant legs. With sunglasses to finish the costume the only thing besides the the silver streaks to give him away would be the obnoxious smoke pouring from his cigar. He grunts at the sound of hearing the borders are out and turns to Peggy and Coulson. Nothing said just a scowl..Perhaps, who knows with him.
When she mentions him andthe director he only snarls his agreeance. Spouting off as is his way he says, "Hymm, none of it sounds great. But I'd suggest some interference…Say some unfortunate incident nearby. They love rushin' folks threw gates when sh** is burnin'. Weather he is grinning or chomping on that smoke is hard to tell but he does ash on the carpet.
Coulson remains quiet, apparently taking no offense to his offering of flowers being blatantly ignored. Most of those in SHIELD know of his penchant for props and lightly colored characters, but they also know the reason to which he goes to such depths. It tends to pay off in a pinch. It's all a charade, one he hopes not to fuel reliance upon.
He waits for Fury to make that suggestion, before grimacing a bit. He's not about to count that idea out just yet, but before commenting on it, he turns his attention back to Smythe. "What do the Germans in the East know about our wayward Leo?" he asks. "It would be pretty stupid of us to make a decision without understanding what kind of interference East German authorities might be willing to make."
Smythe gives a pained look at the door. Any time her handler wants to show up… Arnalds takes the stairs two at a time and halts long enough on the landing to allow himself to lose the flush to his cheeks. "Understood, ma'am, but their detection rates shot up in the last six months and we are still trying to understand how. Isolating the possibilities, our working guess is someone with mental abilities." The very idea is distasteful. A psychic East German? Her expression hardens down to a mask.
Arnalds lets himself in right about that moment, nodding to the guards. "Good day, madame. Sirs." He rather defers to the woman already speaking. He pushes aside the flowers and looks at them, then Smythe. Nope, she isn't distracted.
"They have not determined Leo's intention to defect," says Smythe. "His reports and activities continue without no anomalies. With his rank, he answers directly to someone in East Berlin through normal KGB channels. We haven't heard any chatter surrounding him. Man's a professional. His wife is ignorant. She thinks he is a pharmaceutical developer."
"Lovely." Peggy's tone is dry enough it should be found in a desert. "Lacking superior options, the Friedrichstrasse rail station should suffice. Forged paperwork, a distraction, and we should be able to slip across." She says, looking at the others. "Again, unless there is a better idea?"
Fury, *grrrsss*Wait a minute. Wife?" Shaking his head he says, "We gotta get his ole' lady out too?" He removes the cigar and takes a deep breath. "Either way. I think it's all we got to go on right now. He doesn't sound to enthusiastic though he never does.
Coulson diverts his attention momentarily toward Fury. "Don't assume it isn't part of some ruse. He's high ranking KGB. Might be a play to try and get us snagged." He draws a deep breath, then settles back into his seat and firmly into a comfortable, unnerving silence. "I'd be more comfortable having Hankers and Dansen do the paperwork, but we probably don't have the time to fly them over." He taps his chin for a moment, mentally going over the list of operatives they have in the West. "Stiglitz and Hoffner ought to be able to rustle up papers that'll pass, unless we get some Normand the Nose sniffing around." He finally leans forward, gesturing his concession. "Sounds like a plan." Then he glances between Fury and Carter. "Extraction option? Been a long time since I've sucked on a cyanide pill."
Smythe nods. "Leo requested the extraction of his wife, asset Zosma, and his eleven-year-old daughter, asset Denebola. Attempting to pull him without those two invariably will not earn his cooperation." She leaves the alternate on the table without saying it. Arnalds gives her a nod. "The intelligence he brings is worth the risk, as far as the office is concern. The numbers and count verified in Turkey establishes that. Yes, it may be a ruse. And we'll have his only child in our sights. The man dodged around purges and the fall of his predecessor's party that wiped out half his office."
Her breath is hitched. "Stiglitz can make the papers, I'm sure. Getting everything together should only take half an hour at most once we get the photographs. What sort of distraction are you aiming for?"
Fury nods to Phil. "Always a possibility. Damn near likelihood." He stands. His posture firm and upright as he crosses the room to look out a window. *Puff puff puff* Smoke billows behind him. "Damn Jerries. And here I am again. Tryin' to nab a commie."
At the mention of the extracton he turns. "Agent Dugan is on hand with a few others. He'll be close. We'll station a few on the train for support and a few more outside in case things get nasty." Listening now to Smythe she seems to have all his attention while that cigar keeps on burning. "Great, a girl too. We better make sure them documents are good. " *Inhale, Exhale* "Somethin' 'loud' though." He says with a dry taste in his mouth after a moment in regards to the distraction.
Coulson points toward Fury. "That's his speciality," he confirms for Smythe, before scooting his chair back and standing. "I'll send for Stiglitz. Lord knows we don't want a guy like him getting bored."
"Let's get started on the documents. If you'll kindly head down to the third door on the left," says the handler Arnalds in a crisp tone, "we can get started. Stiglitz will have everything set up and we have a fine Leica." Man knows his cameras. Smythe gives a faint sigh and thanks whatever gods she doesn't believe in.