[ EU ] Not every 00-agent gets to lead a life of beautiful cars and fast women . Tell the story of an agent assigned one of the unglamorous 00 numbers .

Let me tell you something, kid - James Bond is *way* overrated. Oh, I was n't supposed to say his real name? Carry on then. 
 
 I was here, in MI6, before anyone had ever heard of the man. I even got one of the first code numbers, 002 - but who knows that? All the public ever wants to see is the glamourous lifestyle. Their heroes can not be sullied. But that's simply not the nature of intelligence work. For example, I've just come back from West Berlin, a five-day extended mission of nothing - and I'll bet the work would n't even register with M or any of the higher-ups. It was a good story, though. And she was a good agent. But there was no glamour in merely being good. 
 
 It was just a bit after midnight when I got the phone call that sent me on my way. Nothing major, at the time, but one of our spies had just crossed the German border to see her relatives in West Berlin. Of course she had no relatives - but I suppose I did that job just as well. In reality she was delivering some secret papers of some sort. We thought at the time that the Russians were building a new biological facility, at Sverdlovsk. ( I later realised that the Americans were on to this as well, but it was n't clear back then. ) Anyway, it was important stuff, and so I thought about her all the way through the flight and after touchdown at Tempelhof. 
 
 When British agents go on oversea missions, they normally had complete control over the situation, but since this was just after Philby and Burgess had defected to the Soviets M16 were on high alert. No cool gadgets, no fast cars, nothing heavy for me, while ol' 007 is probably getting all three in some mission in Cuba or something. Anyway, they said I'd see her at the airport bookstore, but even I did n't expect the way she looked. 
 
 I knew it was the right woman because she looked like a cafe waitress gone bad. She was reading a book in German by Spengler, *The Decline of the West* or something like that. Anyway I sidle up to her and say, offhandedly and in perfect German, `` Do you know how to get to Potsdamer Platz from here?'' 
 
 `` The S-Bahn is best, but if you wanted you could rent a car,'' she replied. 
 
 I smirked. So this was it alright. `` I think I will take the train,'' I said. She left and followed me out of the bookstore, a small shopping bag by her side. All around us the West Germans did not give a hoot. 
 
 -- - 
 
 We walked out of the airport, past the waiting taxis, before we got to my second-floor room in a budget hotel overlooking the city. When I had locked the door and drawn the blinds, she proceeded to plump herself on my bed, slowly removing the packet of papers. 
 
 `` These are the reports from Sverdlovsk,'' she said quietly. MI6 had chosen this room in advance, so nobody else would be listening, but it was still good practise to be quiet. `` They came from the science department in charge. It's mostly memos, but there are one or two orders in there that've probably come from much higher up than that.'' 
 
 I turned the papers over. They were covered in Cyrillic, but that was no problem - I understood it as well as I did English. The science reports, as far as I could comprehend them, seemed to check out. `` Is there anything else you have?'' 
 
 `` Oh, there is,'' she said, in the same way a kid does when he's got a stack of sweets to open. `` I did some extra snooping around, and the Politburo happened to be in session.'' She pulled out a thin stack from the lining of the bag. I looked at the title, which told its own story - *Minutes of the Politburo session on January 6th, etc. * 
 
 `` This is terrific,'' I said, but I was trying to hide my excitement. 
 
 `` Your country has a favour to return to me,'' she said flatly. 
 
 `` Indeed.'' When I left, MI6 informed me that the UK had promised to grant her everything: asylum from the Soviet Union, a new name in the UK, a county house in Surrey... It was very near the top of the list of what people requested. From the perspective of the Soviet Union, the UK looked like a golden land of opportunity. `` I can not give this to you myself-'' 
 
 `` I want to leave on the next flight out,'' she said. `` You are going back tomorrow - not on Lufthansa, but on a Pan Am jet through to New York, is that correct?'' 
 
 I froze. `` No,'' I said. But her face scowled at me in derision. 
 
 `` Come now, Robert. We both know each other too well for there to be any secrets.'' 
 
 I was fuming inside. Who the hell had blown my cover? And what was I supposed to do now with a rogue informant that wanted to leave at all costs? `` All right,'' I said at last. `` I suppose I could arrange something.'' 
 
 When she had gone to bed later that night, the first thing I did was inform MI6, who left me in no doubt as to what I needed to do to her. 
 
 -- - 
 
 I looked in my bag. Amongst the various fake passports was a British one, freshly printed with a picture of her on the inside. MI6 had asked me to give her that specific one. While I was looking through the fakes, a sheet of the Politburo minutes fell out of my stack. The Politburo were the thirteen men who ran the Soviet Union as a collective. No wonder, then, that MI6 had deemed the mission important enough to give to the 00 field agents. They must have known that our agent would somehow come up with something *this* important. A scowl came across my face - if they did n't bother to tell their 00 agents this, what else were they hiding from me? 
 
 Briefly, I looked at the sheet, but then something struck me. I looked at the sheet again, before replacing it in my stack. It would have to wait for later. Quietly, I put all the fake passports but one back into my bag, zipping up the side compartment as I did so. I also withdrew mine, slipping a small piece of paper in the cover page. Was there any way to be sure? Could people tell which was real and which was fake? 
 
 When she woke up I waved her British passport in her face. `` Here you go,'' I said. `` Let's go to London.'' 
 
 Bleary-eyed, she managed a weak smile. `` Airport first, no?'' 
 
 `` Of course,'' I said. 
 
 It took us a while, but eventually we got through the morning Berlin traffic and got to Tempelhof. By this time, the two of us were awake, and as we walked through the airport she started to open up a little more. 
 
 `` What do you think of the West?'' she said. 
 
 I sighed. There was no genuine way to answer this question. Contrary to popular belief, ours was n't a nation of heroes, or somehow more righteous in its cause. MI6 had been every bit as brutal as the KGB were to those that crossed them. `` You'll find a surprise,'' I finally said, which was the only true thing left. 
 
 We cleared customs, before we got to Immigrations. I went first, and gave the German my passport. He looked at the paper, and his eyes bulged. 
 
 It read: *Get your superior. The woman behind me is a KGB spy. * 
 
 The German stared for a few more seconds, before nodding and waving me through. From behind the line I saw the drama unfold - but really there was nothing funny or glamourous about unmasking a double agent. As she put her passport through the officer whispered to her in German. 
 
 `` Nein,'' she said. `` Nein!'' 
 
 Two security agents came up to her, taking her out of the line. She looked at me. Well, I had warned her, after all, that there would be a surprise, and so I simply shrugged and walked away. James Bond would've been proud, but in the end it was simply our job. The documents had all been fakes, after all, and I needed to tell MI6 all about it when we got back to London, over a nice hot cup of tea. 
 
 edit: a letter
