Cold War Coffee Caper

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OK! A bit risky (or should that be risque?) this one. Could easily get pulled (as the female thespian said to the senior religious cleric) but what's life about if you don't take the odd risk? In a book I've recently finished reading, one of the main characters fell for a honey trap. It reminded me of the one and only time the same thing happened to me. It was during the Cold War and we had got wind of a Russian plot to introduce de-caffeinated coffee beans, in place of proper coffee beans, into the European supply chain through Parisian cafes. Obviously the impact of this, if successful, would be catastrophic for decadent Western productivity so we had to do everything in our power to stop it. I donned black polo-neck and beret and waited for a goatee beard to grow. Six months later I was ready to go undercover as a free-form jazz poet working the cafes and bars of the Left Bank. It was in one such café I met her. She was all woman! She had everything a man could want. Own hair, own teeth! Full complement of limbs! Sky Sports subscription! Father with his own pub! Everything! One thing led to another and before I knew it I'd passed out in an alcoholic haze and woke up chained to a bed, naked, in some seedy hotel room. She was standing at the foot of the bed wearing expensive underwear and a smile. As she slowly moved towards me I noticed, with horror, the large, hard bulge in her panties. Was this how my distinguished career was going to end? Suckered (calm down, I said suckered!!!) by a transvestite!! Imagine my relief as she placed her hand inside her underwear and pulled out a standard issue Russian Army service revolver. The taste of cold steel, as she placed the barrel in my mouth, was certainly preferable to the alternative, I can tell you! I closed my eyes, waiting for the end, wondering how the world would remember me. And then it hit me. My way out!! And if I tell you how I escaped to tell the tale I'm afraid I'll have to kill you!!