The door opened without knocking and a tall, blond woman in a low-cut Versace dress entered the room. Martin stood up.
'Mr. Newman,’ said the Deputy D-G. ‘I would like to introduce one of our best spy-catchers, Kristen Seeberg, the Assistant-Director of the 11th Directorate, the “non-existent” Special Operations.’
He pointed to the empty chesterfield. 'Please take a seat, dear.' The smoky green eyes examined him carefully while she walked to the chair.
Her shoulder-length blond hair swayed like silk in the wind as she walked with a little wiggle. It was even richer than Van Gogh’s Sunflowers. He felt, first time in his life, a sudden, breathtaking pain in his heart, as if she had reached from there and grasped his heart with her iron fingers. With those green eyes, full lips, pillar-like legs and generous curves, she looked like a movie star.
‘Please don’t stand up, Mr. Newman,’ she said with a kind of invisible smile that those unobtainable women carried on their lips, and sat in the empty chesterfield with the air of those who knew that they had conquered the room.
‘We were having some cognac, why don’t you join us.’ Brenner filled another round-bellied glass for Kristen. She swirled the drink in her hand a few times with slow motion, watching the little waves in the glass, then took an unhurried sip.
‘It seems Mr. Newman needs a closer view of the situation to help him realize the gravity of it,’ said Brenner to Kristen; then, he turned to Martin. ‘I forgot to mention. She is in charge of the Operation Grey Wolf that you have, somewhat inadvertently, stepped in.’