by Jesse Jordan
“No Master, I love the suspension rig. Uh... but we might need to not use it for a while. The doctor said that might not be good for the next few months,” I say. Master gives me a worried look, and I decide to let the cat out of the bag. “At least until after I have our baby.”
Master's hand falters, and he sets down his glass of water. “Wait, did I just hear you right?”
“You did. We're in...,” I say, then laugh at my own wit. “We're in the family way.”
Master chuckles at my phrasing, taking my hand. “My love.”
There's only one word that I need to respond, the one word that means everything to me. “Master.”
Keep reading for the 2nd part of this story, Larissa’s book.
Part II
Stephen
There’s nothing worse than being stuck on desk duty, in my opinion. The funny thing is, this time it isn’t even my fault, I’m just trying to keep myself out of trouble as I wait for the paperwork to clear the Office of Professional Responsibility.
In the meantime, I get stuck on desk duty until the bureaucrats finish up what they need to do. It’s not that I fault them for their jobs, they’re doing what needs to be done to keep the CIA working. At the same time though, when I’m the one getting punished with desk duty while Keith Young, my former partner who I reported to OPR, is getting a two month and running paid vacation at home... I wonder who was thinking what when the rule book was written.
I complete the form that I’m supposed to be checking, a terminal leave request for a guy who’s done his twenty five years and is ready to move on to something with better pay, better hours and less danger. Pussy. We do what we do because we’re not supposed to be here for the money. We join the CIA because we want to make the country a better place, we want to take down the bad guys. We don’t go into it in order to get a good retirement packages, weekends coaching Little League and a nice three bedroom place on the lake.
Whatever, he’s put in his time, and checking the computers, he’s got the right number of days built up in the system. So, Peter Van Dam of the Buenos Aries field office, the Central Intelligence Agency wishes you a happy retirement and all the best in your future endeavors.
I punch in the proper codes to authorize leave when I get a beep on my phone. It’s my boss. “What do you need, Penny?”
Penny Wallaby, my direct boss and supervising senior agent, has earned my respect. Fifty four, twice divorced with one kid in Annapolis, she came into the CIA back in the time when it was still a boy’s club for the most part, and she’s still kicking ass twenty nine years later. “Need you to come by my office. You busy?”
“I’ll be there in three minutes.”
Penny’s office is upstairs, the rest of her group’s got an op going and she can’t have me around when I’m pulling desk duty in the bullpen. Ah well, at least the air conditioning is better down here anyway. I run up the stairs to save the time, getting to Penny’s office with a minute to spare when I knock. “Reporting as ordered.”
Penny points to the chair in front of her desk and I take a seat, making sure to unbutton my suit coat as I do. “How’s the form processing coming?”
I shrug, trying to not tell the truth that I’m bored out of my fucking mind. It doesn’t matter, I knew when I signed up for the Agency that it wouldn’t all be fun and games. “There’s plenty more to do. There always is. Is this about the OPR?”
“Yes and no,” Penny says, tapping a file on her desk. “The OPR did come back, Keith’s been reprimanded and reassigned.”
“Good. He screwed up, but he didn’t need to be fired for it,” I reply, and Penny purses her lips. “What? He broke the rules.”
“A rule that a lot of people break, Stephen. But that’s not the point. How long have you been with the CIA?” Penny asks, as if she doesn’t know exactly how long I’ve been with them. “Nine years?”
“Just a shade over,” I answer, sighing. “What are you getting at?”
“I went through your own OPR file and HR file as part of your complaint against Keith. You know what I see over and over?” Penny asks, and I nod. “What?”
“Lots and lots of the phrases unlimited potential along with doesn’t play well with others,” I reply. “Or at least synonyms of it. At least until the past two years.”
“That’s because after that long, the idea of potential sort of changes into the idea of wasted talent,” Penny says, sighing. “Dammit Stephen, one of those reports had my signature, and you know my policy, I don’t read your old annual reviews before I fill out my own comments. You’re top marks across the board on technical skills, and damn near scraping the bottom of the pile in terms of teamwork. When OPR came back to me, part of me hoped that they’d hammered Keith harder than they did, because then maybe someone might be willing to give you another chance to partner up, figuring you’d hit Keith on something serious. Instead, I’ve got a crew of eight people, and only six effectives. Keith’s left a fucking hole, and you’re a pariah among the rest of the team!”
I shift around a little, trying not to be frustrated, but I can’t help it. “Dammit Penny, I did the right thing! The goddamn rule book says we have to report every financial benefit that comes our way on an op, and Keith didn’t!”
“He failed to report a twenty five dollar gift card that he won at a raffle on the way back from the main op!” Penny yells. “Twenty five fucking dollars, Stephen! Christ, you can barely buy dinner for twenty five bucks in Tokyo! For that you nearly cost a good man his career!”
“So are you reassigning me?” I ask, not wanting to argue this again. I know I rub people the wrong way. But dammit, there’s right and wrong, and Keith did the wrong thing. “I’d understand if you did, to help your team.”
“No, I’m not reassigning you… but you’re not going back to the team,” Penny says, confusing me for a moment. She lets me squirm, then shakes her head, she’s obviously got something on her mind. “While I enjoy that look on your face for once, I don’t have time to play any more games with you, Stephen. You know about the Chastity Hendricks situation?”
“Who doesn’t?” I shoot back, losing my patience. It’s only been front page news for the past two weeks, ever since the girl disappeared from her hotel room in Baden-Baden while on a family vacation. There’s been plenty of rumors swirling, but after there was no ransom demand or terrorist group claiming responsibility, the main story’s been that she might have run away, or was off on a lark with some European boy toy. She’s a little young for it but not too much so. “What’s that got to do with me? Kidnapping is an FBI game, or maybe Secret Service since she’s the Sec Def’s daughter and she disappeared overseas. What’s your point?”
“She was found ten hours ago,” Penny says, her voice catching, and I immediately feel like shit. Penny has one child, a son who’s a second year midshipman at Annapolis… but she’s also got a sister with a daughter just about Chastity’s age. From what I understand, they’re close.
“Where?” I ask.
“Washed up on a beach in Athens, Greece. Preliminary reports are that she was raped and drugged. Toxicology is still waiting on the exact nature of it, but it was some type of opioid, probably heroin,” Penny says, blanching a little. “So this isn’t a missing minor or a kidnapping case any more. It’s a manhunt.”
“Which is where we come in,” I note, and Penny nods. “What’s the play?”
There’s a lot of words used in the CIA like ‘play.’ They’re put there for a reason. It’s a lot easier to deal with taking lives when you don’t have to constantly talk about the effects of your actions. Penny falls into this sort of shop talk quickly, finding some refuge from her inner turmoil in it. “So far, the US has been lucky. The Greek authorities were quick to call us in, they’re still wanting to get some concessions on the bailouts for their banks from the EU, and the EU wants the administration to play nice with all Brexit headaches. So Chastity was never examined until NCIS got a team on site from a nearby
carrier group. The White House and the Pentagon obviously want this handled with discretion. There’s been enough of an outcry over the girl being kidnapped. For her to die the way she did… the administration isn’t happy. So we’re playing this quiet and deep.”
“Oh no,” I groan, realizing what Penny’s saying. “Deep Cover?”
Penny nods. “You’re good at the wet work, Stephen. In fact, you’re too good at it, freaks some people out. But you don’t know the area. On the other hand, MI6 has a Deep Cover agent in the area. She’s part of a criminal network that is familiar with the region where Chastity was found.”
“Yeah but-” I start before shaking my head. “Penny, Deep Cover operatives are like the exact opposite of me.”
“No shit,” Penny replies. “Let’s lay it out. You’re efficient, you’re professional, and you’ve got the rule book practically memorized. Meanwhile, Deep Cover operators….”
“Deep Cover agents barely have a passing acquaintance with the rules,” I finish for her. “If you think I have a problem playing well with others on a regular team, how do you expect me to work well with a Deep Cover agent? And a British one at that? Christ, MI6 and CIA totally do things differently.”
“So you drink your coffee, and let her drink the Earl Grey at tea time,” Penny finishes. “The fact is Stephen, this isn’t a choice. You’ve pissed off enough people that you’ve started to overshadow your abilities. So this is the deal. I actually like you, you remind me a little of myself when I got started in the Agency, plenty of skills but with my head up my ass. So I’m giving you one more chance. You’re going to team with this MI6 Deep Cover agent, and you’re going to find out who is responsible for Chastity Hendrick’s death. You’re going to neutralize them with extreme prejudice.”
“A constant green light?” I ask, and Penny nods, making me whistle. “That doesn’t happen often.”
“When you see the pictures of Chastity Hendrick’s body, you’ll understand why. You fly out in two days.”
“What’s bothering you, little brother?” my sister Victoria asks as we eat dinner together. Maybe some people would find it weird for me to be having dinner with my big sister when we’re both single and over thirty, but Victoria and I have always been close. “Don’t tell me it’s more of your cloak and dagger stuff. I thought you said that you were on desk duty for the past month.”
“Two months actually Vic,” I reply, sighing in frustration as I try to get the images from the briefing file out of my head. Penny was right, I can understand why the White House wants a message sent. The things done to that girl… it doesn’t matter, I’ll find whoever did this and take care of business. “But yeah, I’ve got a new assignment.”
“That’s good then!” Victoria asks. Victoria’s dressed like she normally does when we’re just hanging out at her place, tight shorts that show a lot of the long legs that let her be a fashion model for almost twenty years and a tank top to let her feel more comfortable in the summer humidity. I’ve changed as well, out of my suit and into a more comfortable pair of jeans along with a t-shirt.
“I mean, I know it’s been tough on you with me in Europe for the past month, but Milan is Milan, and they won’t come over here, so I have to go to them,” she says, sipping at her red wine. “I’m glad to be home though. I missed my cute little brother.”
“Yeah well, I might be heading out for a while,” I tell her, sipping at the gin and tonic that Victoria made for me. Nobody makes drinks like my big sister. “Not that it matters.”
“What do you mean, Stephen? You’re off of desk duty, isn’t that the thing you wanted?” Victoria asks, coming behind me and rubbing my shoulders. For someone so tall and lean, she’s got a lot of strength in her fingers, and even though there are times her touchy-feely nature with me feels a bit weird, when I’m tense there’s nothing like a good Victoria Knightsbridge backrub. “What else does my brother want?”
“I’d like to… I don’t know,” I reply honestly. The fact is, it’s all hard to really put into words. “I guess… if I had to pick words, I’m bored and frustrated.”
“Considering the women you date, I can see why you’re bored there,” Victoria says, digging in with her thumbs in just that way that makes me moan as the stress seems to melt away. “Then again, when you’ve got me to compare them to, I can see why you’d get bored.”
I chuckle, leaning back to look up at Victoria’s face, or at least the upper half of it as the rest is sort of obscured by her chest. “Yeah well, since Mom and Dad died, you’ve done a great job of taking care of me, Vic. Maybe that’s it, I’m frustrated that just as my best girl gets back into town, I’m taking off for a while.”
Victoria chuckles, and gives me a peck on the tip of my nose, just like we did when we were kids. “Don’t you ever forget I’m the best girl in the world for you. Hell, the only girl really.”
It’s a running joke between us, but still it helps me feel better. Maybe it’s all the time she spent in Europe as a teenager, but she’s always been more affectionate than most big sisters are I think. Yeah, she likes to push the line on what brothers and sisters should do, but it’s all in good fun with her. Victoria finishes her shoulder rub, coming back around to sit down on the sofa next to me. “So, frustrated I can understand, but bored? What’s got you bored by the CIA? I thought that was your dream job.”
“It is, but a lot of it is that I feel like I’m running uphill. Everyone’s more worried about making friends and keeping their buddy’s ass covered than doing the right thing. I guess… well, you saw the news tonight, right?” I ask, knowing that the cover story’s broken. Already the young girl’s face have been plastered all over the television, and the Department of Defense handed out a press release. “Well, that’s my assignment.”
“What do you mean?” Victoria asks. “The news said she drowned. I figured she got bored out of her mind in Baden-Baden, decided to try out some of the places that you see on the Travel Channel ”
“She came out of the ocean, that’s for sure,” I admit. “But… let’s just say someone put her there.”
“So you get to do the right thing then for once,” Victoria says supportively. “No more trying to chase down terrorists from e-mails, no more dealing with eavesdropping on people you can’t touch. You get to chase down bad guys, right?”
I think about it, then nod. “I guess you’re right.”
Victoria takes another sip of her wine, chuckling as she tucks her long legs underneath her. “I always am, little brother. Haven’t you figured that out yet? The sooner you let me run your life, the happier you’re going to be.”
I laugh, but even as I laugh, I can’t get the images of Chastity Hendricks out of my head. What they did to her…
“Hey, Stephen?” Victoria asks, and I glance over, realizing I’ve been ignoring what she’s been saying. When I raise an eyebrow, she chuckles. “I said the timer’s going off, dessert’s ready.”
I nod, not hungry at all. “Okay. Uh, we might need some Tupperware, but let’s see.”
Victoria gets off the couch, taking my hand as she helps me up. “I understand, little brother. It’s okay.”
If it only would be.
Larissa
The moving lorries trundle off, ready to distribute their cargo throughout most of England and Wales, and I make a mental note to send Scoglitti my regards, his men were not only quick this time, but also extremely professional. The fact is, a lot of the gangs in London still treat things like it’s some sort of casual game when it’s deadly serious. Ah well, at least they tend to follow the gun control laws. You might get stabbed or beaten by a member of the organized crime syndicates in London, but you won’t get shot.
I turn the collar up on my light jacket and shake my head, glancing up at the cloudy, overcast night sky, you can’t see a single star and the moon is just a slightly light colored blob in the clouds. There’s an old joke in the UK: ‘Ah yes, I remember summer, it was a lovely Tuesday.’ While it’s an
exaggeration, compared to my home in Greece, I am chilled to the bone.
Then again, I think as I get into my Bentley and drive off, there’s good things to being in my ‘second home’ as well. Like the Bentley. Maybe I’m Greek by birth, and I still have my Greek citizenship, but I’ve spent just as much time living in the UK as I have Greece, so whenever I come back, I also make sure to visit at least one decent pub for a pint and some good fish and chips.
Tonight, the pub is a little further into London proper than where I normally go, but there’s a good sense of irony to going to Whitechapel for a meeting, especially as I can see the Tower and Tower Bridge as I approach. Inside the pub, which is in proper London style, I find my contact, who doesn't look at all like an MI6 agent, but then again he’s not supposed to.
“I see you already put in an order for me,” I note as I take in the two pints of Guinness on the table. “Or are you just trying to get a head start on the weekend?”
“You know you’re in a safe place, you can drop that bloody Yank accent,” my contact says. Ian and I have been contacts ever since I went into the Deep Cover program, and he never fails to complain about my accent. Honestly, while I do enjoy speaking in ‘proper English,’ I spend so much of my time speaking in the Greek accented American style English that I use in Cover that I sometimes forget.
“You know you love the way I butcher my vowels and make my th’s too strong,” I tease, sitting down. “Just be glad I didn’t have to try and be Australian Greek. They’re bloody atrocious,” I remark, sitting down and picking up a pint. “To your health.”
“Viva Britannia,” Ian replies quietly as he toasts me. We clink glasses, and I holler an order to the bar for two baskets of fish and chips. Ian buys the drinks, I buy the food. That’s been our deal for eight years now. “So how was your delivery at the docks?”
“Just like I’d planned,” I say softly. We could possibly be picked up by someone using a directional microphone, but over the general background noise in the pub, it’d be hard to pick out. “You have the tag codes?”
