Chapter 9
A Girl's Best Friend
Camilla Cross knew his type. He sat with his back against the window, watching the other passengers with curiosity. He was coolly confident, eyes like a hunter, built like an athlete, with an aggressive intelligence and an inflated sense of self. She liked to take men like him down a peg.
It was a bonus when her assignment was to humiliate someone who deserved it, who could possibly build a little character from it.
From her briefing, this was a very delicate assignment. The Farm knew that international terrorist organizations were employing counter measures for what they had once coined “CHATTER.” A combination of drugs and other mind bending techniques were employed to create loyalty, suppress memory, and to heighten aggression, mental and physical acuity. Instead of uncovering truth by breaking down barriers, terrorists sought to create a new truth, to build up walls, and bend individual’s talents to their own agenda.
She was looking at a puppet. The only question was, who was pulling the strings? The marionette in this case had to have deep pockets and a very secretive agenda.
Her target had been designated VMUNIT. As usual, the cryptonym meant nothing to her. It was probably generated by a computer, anyway. As a rookie, she had expected more creativity from The Company in regards to naming conventions for mission designations. She had soon been disabused of that notion.
Her task was to plant seeds that would counter this puppet’s programming. A team of psychiatrists and doctors specializing in these procedures had developed two techniques that they were confident would act as a Trojan worm for his programming. One was tactile. One was focused on a previous program plant and was auditory.
She held the locket in her hand. She glanced at it, turning it over. It had no inscriptions. It was a simple silver locket with a thin silver chain. Camilla shrugged. The idea was to hand VMUNIT the locket and then repeat the key word three times.
Although this seemed simple enough, she understood the danger she faced. She also knew the stakes.
The plane had reached altitude and she swallowed hard to pop her ears. She hated flying. This was the most controlled environment for this particular encounter, so the journey was necessary.
Agent Cross got up from her seat, glancing ahead to the air marshal she had identified earlier. He saw her and nodded. He got up and went to first class. Camilla put on her best smile and smoothed her business suit. She was off wire, no cameras. She was taking a big risk, but VMUNIT would be able to smell her coming a mile away if she were hooked up like an agent.
She made her way back, avoiding the feet in the aisle until she reached the big guy in 12b. She tripped headlong, giving up her body for the fall. As she fell, she could see her target already reacting. With the quickness of predator, he saved her. He had her by the shoulders, his hands strong but gentle. His eyes were a deep blue. An ocean to bask in if she were tempted.
“Whoa there, lady. You alright?” He seemed genuinely concerned.
Camilla was breathless. The ploy was working. It was so simple she had hardly believed it would succeed.
She gathered herself, shaking her head.
“I mean, yes. Yes. I am fine. Thank you.” She tried to stand, and found that she had truly wrenched an ankle. “Ow.” She did not have to act. The pain was immediate and bright.
“Let me take a look at that.”
He lowered her into the empty seat opposite of him. She fought embarrassment. She almost forgot her mission as she bit her lip from the pain and from the sensation of her target’s gentle hands carefully grasping her lower leg.
“Looks like you sprained it. It is gonna swell.” He stared at her a second. Camilla’s leg was extended into the aisle, her target crouching there with his back to the seat behind him. His eyes were so focused, so deep, yet revealed nothing.
“Can I help?” The stewardess interrupted.
“Yes. Ice please. In a plastic bag if you have it.”
“We have ice wraps.”
“Excellent. I will need some pillows, too. I need to prop her leg and her head.”
Wordlessly, she turned and walked carefully back toward the forward bulkhead.
“Are you a doctor?” asked a small boy in the seat in front of them. His round face was smudged with jelly and he had a Star Wars action toy.
VMUNIT smiled at him.
“You can say that. I know my way around the human body, certainly.”
“You don’t look like a doctor.” He commented.
VMUNIT nodded and then shared a smile with her.
“You’re in good hands, Miss. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you for your kindness.”
“Call me Jake. What’s your name?”
Camilla swallowed. She did not expect him to engage her this much. It was totally against mission protocols. But she was here now. There was no room for retreat. She was vulnerable. She hated that feeling, but suddenly it felt right to her. She gave into the sensation and then made yet another mistake. She told the truth.
“My name is Camilla.”
“That is a beautiful name. What do you do, Camilla?”
“I work for an international agency.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Me too. Well, we will get you walking straight before we hit the ground. You based out of Los Angeles usually?”
“Uh. No. I hate white Christmas. I would rather be at a beach.”
“The Pacific is pretty cold in the winter. Hawaii would be nicer.”
“I agree.” An awkward silence prevailed until the stewardess returned.
She handed Camilla some pillows, a knowing look in her eye. Camilla returned her smug attitude with a disarming smile.
“Thank you, Mary. You’re a big help,” Jake told the stewardess as he pressed the cold compress on her ankle and lower leg.
He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.
“That cold?”
“Not as cold as the Pacific in winter.”
He chuckled softly.
“You have nice feet, Camilla.”
She was embarrassed again. She had not blushed since high school.
Gathering her nerve, she scooted back so her back was against the outside wall of the plane and her foot was no longer in the aisle.
Their little friend was still watching, sucking his thumb, his eyes bright.
She was aware that several people were watching them.
“It was so nice of you to provide some in-flight entertainment, Camilla.” Jake quipped.
She wished that he would quit using her name. She had been foolish to make that slip. Had she said her last name, too? She tried to smile through the panic.
“I was going to do some karaoke, but the pilot said he would need the speakers for announcements.”
Jake finished wrapping her ankle and put some pillows under the heel of her foot. The pain subsided some but the embarrassment and sense of failure remained.
She was running out of time and here she was getting emotionally wrapped up with her target. Wasn’t he the one that was supposed to get humiliated?
She leaned forward and took his hand, her eyes searching his.
“Thank you again. You didn’t need to do all this. You are so kind.”
He shrugged.
“I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”
She smiled and grabbed his wrist. He looked at her, puzzled.
Camilla turned his palm over and placed the chain in his hand, folding his fingers over the locket.
“Vanity. Vanity. Vanity,” she breathed. She said the word with force, their eyes connected. His look of confusion turned to concern. She watched for a reaction. His eyes remained flat, but his brow scrunched.
“Are you alright, Camilla?”
She nodded.
“Yes. Please take this as a gift for your kindness.”
He smirked. He let the locket fall out of the palm of his hand and caught the silver chain. The locke
t spun in the air.
“Pretty. Thank you. But, this looks like an heirloom. I cannot take this, I was just playing doctor with a pretty girl. That is a reward of itself.”
She fought the urge to blush again.
“It is yours. Please take it,” she said firmly.
He nodded.
“I will remember you by it, then, Camilla.” He patted her knee and rose to return to his seat.
Camilla bit her lip. She was not sure what she had expected. She had almost failed her assignment. Now she was unsure she had accomplished anything at all. She watched him gather into his seat, the locket spinning from his hand as he put the magazine back in the pouch in front of him.
“Your ankle looks like a balloon,” her young friend noted. He had given up sucking on his thumb.
Camilla looked down. He was right. She could see a blue tint beginning to show near her arch. She knew she would not be wearing a shoe when she exited the plane.
She glanced back at VMUNIT—it was difficult to continue to think of him as a target anymore, but she tried. He was holding the locket up to the light from the plane’s window, the sun glinting off of the silver as it spun. His eyes seemed distant and his face serious. Camilla hoped it worked. It made her sad to realize that she may never know.
Manic Monday (The Jake Monday Chronicles #1) Page 10
