Isabella Garcia lies in the warm evening sand by the edge of the Mediterranean sea, coyly hiding her little red bikini bottoms with her hands. Occasionally a cold wave breaks the shoreline and washes over her, making her body tense up. But secretly she’s enjoying it.
Isabella is a 27 year old Spanish informant for British Secret Services. She’s a quiet girl from an upstanding family, smart and sophisticated. She wants to help protect western Europe, and has been passing on valuable information to the Spanish and British authorities for a couple of years. She’s still new to the game, but losing her innocence.
We met secretly in my hotel bar last night, where she handed over a dossier on Russian spies in London, particularly those out to kill me. I was very grateful and returned the favour in cocktails. We stayed up into the early hours chatting, tipsy. Then I ordered her a taxi, like a true gent, and stumbled up to my hotel room.
Before we said goodbye though she kissed me, smiled, then got into her taxi. Now I was meeting her the next day on the beach. But I still had time to work out in the hotel gym before I came. I was looking pretty ripped.