She smiled at my awkwardness. "It still hasn't sunk in, has it?"
"Not really. Just the fact that I'm standing here talking to you seems a little... surreal."
Wendell said to me, "I told you she wanted to meet you." Then to Scarlet, "He didn't believe me. Hey, can we take a selfie together?"
Ignoring Wendell, Scarlet said to me, "I'm about to make it even more surreal for you. Can I tell you a little secret, Mr. Zillion."
"Um, sure." I had no idea what sort of secret Scarlet Jolie would want to share with me, but the mystery made my knees a little weak.
She beckoned me over with a ruby ringed finger, then leaned closer to whisper in my ear. Her words were accompanied by a whiff of musky perfume. "I really would like to see your bedroom."
I stared at her, certain I'd see some sign she was just having a little fun with me.
She returned my stare, unwavering... except for the slightest naughty smile.
"Aww, come on," Wendell groaned. "You can't do this. One of you has to tell me what's going on."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ditching Wendell was as simple as telling him to get lost. Ditching my bodyguards was a bit tougher. They had strict instructions from Digby not to let me out of their sight, and they took those instructions seriously. Only after conducting a thorough search of my bedroom and patting down Scarlet, did they agree to wait outside my door.
As music from downstairs thumped through the walls, Scarlet pirouetted slowly in the center of the bedroom, taking it all in. "Wow," she said. "It's exactly like I remembered."
For an instant, I wondered if I'd heard correctly. Scarlet Jolie was close to my age, far too young to have visited the mansion when my father was alive. It was possible the property had been rented out for a movie shoot or some similar event, but I doubted Digby would've allowed it.
Spotting the bafflement on my face, Scarlet laughed. "No, silly, I've never been here before. I saw it on one of those rich lifestyle shows when I was a kid. I remember that big round bed, and the black marble floor, and the amazing view." She moved to the picture window and gazed out at the moonlit sea. "I've always wanted to see this room in person. It's so beautiful."
I slumped physically as the excitement I felt when I first lead Scarlet into my bedroom, fizzled away. Scarlet Jolie didn't want me to smash her, as Wendell put it. She wanted to fulfill a childhood fantasy. To make things worse, I felt kind of stupid for allowing myself to believe Wendell's madness.
I plopped down onto the edge of my bed and watched one of the hottest women in the world roam my bedroom taking Goddamned selfies.
Finally, Scarlet plopped down beside me and said, "Let's take one together." She wrapped an arm around me, raised her phone, and snapped a few pictures.
"Careful where you post those," I told her. "We're in my bedroom. People might think we-- you know."
Her brow wrinkled. "No. Tell me."
"They might get the wrong idea."
She cocked her head innocently. "What wrong idea?"
"You know... they might think you and I did something."
She pouted playfully and gazed longingly at me. "You mean, we're not going to do... something? Because I really, really want to lick you."
My heart began to pound. My excitement returned in the form of a warm tingling rush. Before I could utter a word, Scarlet slid a hand up my thigh and found my cock. It immediately responded to her touch. As she stroked me to full erection, I leaned in and kissed her. She moaned as my tongue probed her mouth. I reached up and squeezed both breasts. I scooped them free of the dress and sucked her stiff nipples. She moaned again and squeezed my now rock hard cock through my pants. "Gimme," she whispered. "Take it out."
A moment later she was on her knees taking me deep into her pouty mouth. I sat there watching my stiffness slide in and out of her famous face in utter disbelief.
Scarlet Jolie was sucking my dick. HOLY SHIT!
She used her tongue on my balls for a few minutes, then returned her attention to my throbbing shaft. She hungrily throated me over and over, drooling and gagging, until I clawed the bed and exploded in her mouth.
At that very moment, someone knocked on my bedroom door.
"Not now," I called out.
"Matt, it's me." It was Reba's voice. She was the last person I wanted to see at that moment. "I need to speak to you right now."
"Hold on."
I frowned apologetically at Scarlet who was already stuffing herself back into her dress. "To be continued," she said with a naughty smile.
"Oh, absolutely."
Once we were both presentable, I unlocked the door, and my bodyguards allowed Reba to enter. She did a double take when she saw the famous movie star kiss me on the cheek and exit the room.
Pointing, Reba said, "Was that who I think it was?"
"It was."
"Wow!" She frowned tragically at me. "Matt, I'm really sorry to interrupt, but this really couldn't wait."
"What happened? Someone get hurt at the party?"
"No. A federal agent is waiting in Digby's office who wants to speak to you."
I felt a flash of dread. Why would a federal agent want to speak to me? Could it be an IRS agent? Was my recent good fortune about to take a dark turn? I said to Reba, "Do you know what it's about?"
She shook her head. "No. My father wouldn't tell me, which I thought was really strange. All he said was, 'find Mathew now.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Warren Farris was more than a mere federal agent, and he wasn't affiliated with the IRS. As we shook hands, he introduced himself as a CIA division head.
He was African American, average height and build, and looked to be in his mid-fifties. Black horned-rimmed glasses framed his hard but intelligent eyes.
We were all in Digby's office. After the introductions, we were about to sit down when Agent Farris turned to Reba and asked her to leave the room. He was polite but firm, and without a hint of an expression on his face. He struck me as the type of person who never smiled.
Surprised, Reba turned puzzled to her father and received a regretful shrug. "It's best you get back to the party anyway," Digby said. "We shouldn't be too long."
Reba nodded obediently, but before she reached the door, I said to Agent Farris, "Wait. Whatever it is you have to tell me, Reba can stay. I don't mind."
"That would be impossible," Mr. Zillion. "She doesn't have the clearance."
"Clearance?"
"Correct. Top secret clearance to be more specific."
"And Digby and I do?"
"Mr. Digby's been cleared for decades, and you have been granted temporary clearance for the purposes of this meeting. That said, I'm not at liberty to say more until Ms. Hart exits the room." He turned to Reba. "Please leave now, Ms. Hart."
The back of my neck went hot. "Hey! We get it. You're some government big shot. But you don't have to be rude."
Agent Farris sighed. "I apologize for my curtness, but I'm here regarding a critical matter and time is of the essence."
Reba said to me, "It's okay. And my father's right. I should get back downstairs." Then she exited the room.
A moment later the men were all seated, and Agent Farris preceded to reveal facts to me about my birth father that blew my mind.
"So you're saying Max Zillion was a spy?"
"We prefer the term asset," Agent Farris said. "The CIA division I run is called Extension 9, or X9 for short. We recruit, train, and deploy unsanctioned civilian assets. Like all our assets, Max was a total free agent. He could come and go as he pleased. But your father never turned down an assignment. He loved the work. And he was damn good at it. I'd even say my top asset. His death was a great loss, not just to the country, but to the entire world."
I turned to Digby. "And you knew about this?"
Digby laughed. "Of course. Sometimes I even accompanied Max on the less dangerous missions."
"Less dangerous? I thought we were talking about secretly transporting docum
ents, things like that. How dangerous did these missions get?"
"Most were life and death," Agent Farris said. "Like I said Max was a key asset. He took on some the deadliest operatives in the world, straight up killers, and he preferred it that way."
"It's true," Digby said. "Max lived for the thrill. He'd rather be pinned down in a gunfight than attend a board meeting."
I shook my head in disbelief, then suddenly remembering I said to Agent Farris, "This is a great story, but you said this meeting was about something critical."
The G-man's features turned grim. "Yes. We should get to that. Something has come to the agency's attention that threatens millions of innocent lives."
"What?"
He frowned. "I'm not authorized to share details until you agree to accept the assignment."
I blinked. "Accept the assignment? What do you mean? You need me to donate money?"
Agent Farris pinned me with earnest eyes. "Actually I was hoping to convince you to step into your father's shoes."
I stared at the CIA agent like his head had just spun around three hundred and sixty degrees. "What are you talking about? Are you seriously asking me to become a spy?"
"An asset. Yes. Your country and the world needs your help, Mr. Zillion."
My mind did backflips. Two weeks ago I inherited a fortune, twenty minutes ago I received a blow job from the hottest woman on the planet, and now I was being recruited to be an international super spy. If I couldn't still smell Scarlet's perfume on my hand I'd think I was dreaming.
Agent Farris continued, "If you agree you'd need to be in Zurich in twelve hours to--"
"Wait, wait, wait," I said. "This is insane. I'm just a kid from Ohio. I'm just a doorman. I don't know how to do... spy stuff."
Agent Farris's brow wrinkled. "Spy stuff?"
"Yeah, fighting, and shooting, and driving fast cars, and picking locks. You know, spy stuff."
Agent Farris and Digby shared a laugh.
"I know," I said. "You're going to tell me that stuff only happens in the movies, right?"
Surprisingly Agent Farris shook his head. "No. Actually, assignments often do involve all of that... and so much more."
"Then why'd you laugh?"
"You don't think I'd send you into the field raw, do you? You'd be trained, of course."
"Trained? But you said the mission started in twelve hours. I can't learn to do all that stuff that fast. Nobody can."
Agent Farris turned to Digby. "I guess you haven't shown him yet, huh?"
Digby shook his head. "There was no need... not until now."
I was about to ask what the hell they were talking about when it struck me. I said to Digby, "This is about that metal door in the collections room, isn't it?"
"It is," Digby said with a nod. "I believe it's time you found out exactly what's inside."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I flipped back the spring-hinged top to reveal a large gold signet ring nestled upon black velvet. It was bulky like a super bowl ring, and its square face was emblazoned with a bold letter Z. It struck me that I'd seen the ring before, in some photographs and videos of my birth father. Apparently, it wasn't a piece he wore every day, but when he did it definitely stuck out.
"I haven't seen that ring in a long time," Agent Farris said.
I said to Digby, "Does this ring have something to do with the door?"
Digby nodded. "It's the key. Put it on. I had it resized to fit you."
I removed the ring from the case and slipped it onto my right ring finger. I'm not sure if it was made of solid gold, but it sure felt heavy enough.
"How's the fit?" Digby asked.
I wiggled my finger. The ring wasn't too loose or too tight. "Perfect," I said. "How does it open the door?"
"Just hold the Z against the scanner."
I stepped between the flanking cabinets, squeezed my hand into a fist, and pressed the face of the ring against the glass panel. A chime sounded, the panel illuminated traffic-light green, and the metal door slid open with barely a sound.
I was buffeted by a gust of chilled, odorless air. Beyond the doorway lay a large room, but it was too dark to make out any detail.
"Cool," I said. "You only see stuff like this in the movies."
Agent Farris and Digby exchanged a knowing glance.
"What?" I said.
"At the risk of sounding corny," Digby replied, "You ain't seen nothing yet." He gestured to the doorway. "After you."
We crossed the threshold, into the dark space. Digby actually had to duck slightly to get through the doorway. Once inside the lawyer clapped his hands twice and overhead lights began to flicker on.
"The clapper?" I said to Digby. "You gotta be kidding me."
"I suspect it was your father's intention to add levity to a decidedly serious part of the house. In fact, he called this space, the action room."
Now that the lights were on I saw what Digby meant. Like the collection room, there were illuminated cabinets in here as well, but these weren't filled with vintage toys and knick-knacks. Several contained lethal weapons. Rifles, handguns, knives, grenades, even brass-knuckles. Other cabinets held accessories like expensive watches, rings, cufflinks, sunglasses, cell phones, cameras, and more. All of which I assumed were clever spy gadgets. There were also a few cabinets displaying items I didn't recognize at all. Ultra high-tech electronic devices of all shapes and sizes. Many, so sleek and minimal in design they looked like props from a Star Trek movie.
The far end of the room was dominated by a formidable looking computer work station, equipped with multiple monitors of various sizes. Three tall racks of blinking computer servers lined the wall. That explained why the space was kept so frigid.
After a few quiet minutes of taking in all the spy-tech wonders the room had to offer, I turned to Digby and Agent Farris and said, "So what you're really telling me is that my father was Batman."
Both men laughed. It turns out Agent Farris was human after all.
"Max didn't wear a costume," the Federal agent said, "But some of his deeds could truly be described as superheroic. And as you can see, he was well equipped for the job."
But as I continued to scan the room, something that had been nagging my subconscious suddenly rose to the surface. I asked Digby, "If my father's been dead for over ten years, why does everything look so... modern." I pointed to the computer station. "That set up looks more sophisticated than systems operating today."
"Because it is," Digby said.
"But how? Do you constantly update equipment?"
Digby chuckled. "Hardly. I've stepped in here maybe twice since your father's passing."
"That's impossible." I moved to a cabinet and pointed to a device that looked like an iPhone or Samsung Galaxy. "That's a smartphone, right?"
"Yes, it is."
"Okay. Smartphones like that didn't exist ten years ago."
"Actually that phone is about fifteen years old."
I opened my mouth to tell Digby he was nuts, then remembered that two weeks ago I received a happy ending from a robot I thought was a living human being. From that point on, anything was possible.
I said to Digby, "This has something to do with that secret technology you mentioned, doesn't it?"
"Correct."
Agent Farris looked at Digby. "You were supposed to check with me before briefing him on proto-tech."
"Actually," Digby said, "You just revealed to him far more than I did."
"Proto-tech?" I repeated. "That's what it's called?"
"The official terminology is proto-technology," Agent Farris said. "Proto is short for prototype."
My brow wrinkled. "I don't get it. Everyone knows companies build prototypes to test future products. What's so secret about that?"
"I'm sure you've noticed how fast technology is advancing," Agent Farris said.
"Of course. I have to upgrade my phone every other year just to keep up with the new features."
"Have you ever
thought about how far technology will advance in say, twenty years?"
"Sure. I'm guessing flying cars. Laser guns. Cell phones in our brains. Stuff like that."
"What if I told you everything you just mentioned already exists?"
I chuckled. "I might believe flying cars, but brain phones? Nah. No way."
Agent Farris paused to add weight to his next words. "Mathew, many fields of technology have advanced far further than the populace is allowed to know. Measured in time, we're about a hundred years ahead of publicly known science."
I gasped. "A hundred years? Really?"
"Approximately. And the amazing devices and machines derived from these secret advances are what we call proto-tech. Your company, Z-Tech, and a few of the biggest technology firms are allowed to develop proto-tech under stringent regulations. That's how your father could be in possession of a smartphone a decade before the first one reached the market. Or how he can own a computer system far more advanced than anything found today in even the best-funded computer research centers."
"Why is it kept secret," I asked. "Sounds like some of these proto-tech advances could really help people."
"You're right. And many helpful items, mostly in the medical field, are given top priority in regards to when they can go public. But some advances are so revolutionary or so dangerous they could destabilize the world economy and perhaps even lead to another world war. That said, proto-tech deemed too hazardous or simply too ahead of its time, can still be utilized by sanctioned and licensed agents. Your father was one of those agents, and now you have the opportunity to be one too. And that brings us back to why I've interrupted your festivities tonight. As I mentioned earlier, there's currently a situation that the agency could use your immediate help with."
"Not my help," I said. "You mean the agency could use Max Zillion's help." I gestured to the cabinets. "All of this stuff is amazing, but I still don't know how to use any of it. And I know you said you can train me, but let's be real. That's going to take way more than a few hours."
Agent Farris nodded. "Typically it would, but this isn't a typical situation. There's actually a piece of proto-technology that can speed up your training significantly."
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