Covert Assignment

by Missy Marciassa

  Elle struggled to catch her breath. She could feel her cheeks blushing and couldn’t stop her grin. “I look forward to the journey.”

  Chapter 19

  The interview process began quickly. The CIA had an interviewer who introduced himself to Elle as “Mr. West” come out to campus, where they met in a room he reserved in the university’s Career Center. Like Jack and Henry, he was about as non-descript as they came with short dark hair, although his was graying. He typically wore either a black or navy blue suit. All he was missing were the heavy dark-rimmed glasses and hat to look like an agent right out of the ‘50s. What struck Elle the most about him, however, was how completely… flat he was. His face never flickered with any sort of emotion, or response, to what she was saying.

  “It’s like being interviewed by a robot with some extraordinary artificial intelligence program,” Elle told Preston.

  “The lack of reaction prevents his response from influencing you in any way,” he explained.

  “The lack of reaction creates a response,” she said. “It unnerves the hell out of me.”

  He laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”

  The first series of tests were about Elle’s analytical skills for the job.

  “I’m told you’ll pass this with flying colors,” Mr. West told Elle as he handed her a tablet.

  Elle smiled. “I hope so.”

  He didn’t even blink in response, just nodded at her. “You may begin.”

  All righty, then. She focused on the tablet and got to work. The tasks were indeed straightforward, with just a couple of tricky ones at the end. After she was done, she handed the tablet back to him.

  Mr. West nodded again. “Excellent.” Elle smiled and again got a blank look in response. “When we next meet, we’ll begin the psychological testing.”

  She blinked. “Psychological testing?”

  He didn’t even bat an eyelash. “To evaluate your mental stability and fitness for intelligence work.” He handed her a questionnaire. “Please complete this questionnaire before our next meeting. If you need information from a health care provider, please obtain it before then.”

  The questionnaire asked about her mental health history, if she had ever been on medication, hospitalized, etc. Elle was going to tell him she didn’t have a mental health history but remembered seeing a therapist when she was in eighth grade. Her school counselor had recommended it to her parents, saying she seemed “sad.” The therapist seemed to think her parents needed to do more to include her in their families. After a session that included both of her parents and their spouses, her parents found a school with a boarding program so she could stay there during the week and only spend the weekends at one of their houses.

  Elle remembered telling the therapist, “And that’s why I don’t call them ‘stepparents.’” She could still clearly see the sadness in her therapist’s eyes when she said that, but the therapist hadn’t disagreed or chastised her or anything.

  “I’ve never been on medication or hospitalized or anything,” Elle told Mr. West. “But I did see a therapist for a few months in eighth grade-”

  “Report your entire mental health history,” Mr. West intoned.

  When Elle asked Preston about it, he was more reassuring. “That’s not a significant variable. Just contact your old therapist, have the therapist confirm you were seeing her for family issues, and that’ll be the end of it.”

  Luckily, Elle’s old therapist was indeed accommodating and even supportive, glad to hear Elle was doing so well, and quickly returned the paperwork.

  The psychological testing was both intense and baffling. It was a mixture of questionnaires and open-ended essays. Elle had to describe inkblots and tell stories about pictures she was shown. Mr. West asked a series of questions and gave her a variety of scenarios where she had to explain what she would do. There was no way to know what the right or wrong answers were, so Elle followed Preston’s advice to just be honest. The testing lasted for several sessions.

  “For one questions, he asked me what I would do if I was trapped in a room filling up with toxic gases. I have a laptop with valuable data, an American flag, and another colleague who has already fallen unconscious. Would I: a) flee, b) flee with the laptop, c) flee with the laptop and flag, or d) wrap the colleague up in the flag and push his unconscious body out with the laptop case around his shoulder. What kind of choices are those?” Elle asked Preston.

  Preston nodded as he chewed and swallowed. “Option D shows your willingness for self-sacrifice.”

  “Are you serious?” Elle demanded. She thought about it. “I didn’t even realize option D meant sacrificing myself. I missed that question.”

  “I guess it would be easier if you had some training in dealing with toxic gases,” Preston said with a laugh.

  She scowled. “I’m applying to be an analyst, not an operative.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he reassured her. “No one question carries that much significance in the hiring model.”

  The application process was intriguing, and Elle was grateful to have Preston to talk to about it. The worst thing about it was that she couldn’t confide in Marni and Tina. She was used to telling them everything, just like they told her everything, and now she had this potentially life-changing thing going on that she couldn’t tell them about. It sucked. They were more than happy to dish about Preston, however.

  And there was plenty to talk about where Preston was concerned. He brought a present in for her one day, his air casual as he handed it to her with the explanation, “In the spirit of broadening your horizons…”

  Elle felt the thrill of getting an unexpected present. She opened it up to find a lacy pink thong which made her blush.

  “I- this will broaden my horizons.” She was strictly a bikini and boy shorts girl.

  Preston grinned at her. “It’s important to sample widely.”

  This, of course, just made Elle blush even more. Well, he had already seen her naked. What did she have to be embarrassed about? She grinned back at him, standing up. “Then I guess I need to try it on.” She felt a little thrill seeing his eyes start to smolder as she put the thong back in the box and headed for the bathroom. “Hopefully,” she told him just before stepping out of the room, “you’ll like the view.”

  She didn’t know how they got any work completed that afternoon, but as soon as they were done, Preston was locking the lab room door.

  “He bent you over the table!” Marni squealed later that night.

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to meet in there with Clark again,” Elle admitted, both groaning and laughing. It all felt surreal. If anyone had told her this would be happening last semester, she would have wondered what they were smoking.

  “We need to do some shopping,” Tina said. She and Marni exchanged grins. “Finally.”

  “Finally, what?” Elle wondered where this was coming from.

  “You’ll have to surprise him next time,” Tina explained. This had all three giggling.

  “We’ve been waiting to take you on this shopping trip since sophomore year,” Marni added, which increased the giggling to howling among all three.

  One night, Elle and Preston did something she had fantasized about but, when the time came, both she and Adam had been a little too nervous about being caught to actually go through with it. She and Preston were cutting through the buildings when he grabbed her wrist and led her on a detour through the library stacks into a back corner.

  “This is what I always thought college was about,” Preston told her, pulling her into a corner and sliding his hands up the skirt he had persuaded her to wear before Elle could even speak. His kiss smothered her giggles. He soon had her breathless as he lifted her up, squeezing her bottom with both hands, and lowered her onto him. She could feel the books poking into her back as her legs circled his waist, squeezing tight. If someone walked around the corner, there would have been no hiding what they were doing, but Elle found s
he didn’t care. The slightly musty scent of the old books filled her nostrils as she breathed deep; she stifled her moans by biting into the bulk of his shoulder.

  She had never realized just how quiet the stacks really were. The sound of their breathing seemed to fill the cramped space. She could hear footsteps. Shit, someone was coming. Preston stopped moving, but he held her in place, impaled on him, as his fingers pressed in on the vertical side of the book case. She gasped as she felt the stack of books move back, but he kept a tight hold on her, not letting her fall, as he smothered any other noise she was about to make with a kiss.

  Next thing Elle knew he was turning her around and pressing her back on the wall as it slid back. She could see it was a small, windowless room.

  “Where-” she started to ask as he pulled her shirt up and then her bra before he focused his attention on her breasts. His lips always left her breathless.

  After a few moments, he told her, “It’s soundproof. Make all the noise you want.” And then he really went to work. She obliged.

  When Preston set her back on her feet, she felt a little lightheaded, but he held onto her as he kissed her. Elle blinked as she opened her eyes, trying to focus.

  “What the hell…?” Elle had spent countless hours in the stacks, including in the little nook right on the other side of the wall she was leaning against, during her four years as an Information Science student. She had no clue anything like this room was on the other side of the bookshelves. She took a step away from the wall. Her legs felt rubbery, but they held firm. The room wasn’t big; there was maybe room for eight to ten people to stand inside, but they would be squeezed in, standing skin to skin if they were there.

  “This is a CIA safe room,” Preston told her. He pressed on the back wall and it opened, revealing a panel of buttons. He pushed one button against the wall and it was like part of the wall slid away to reveal tv screens. The screens were images throughout the library and outside. “You can do surveillance in here if you need,” he said. As Elle watched people walking around, she realized they were real-time images.

  Elle stared at the screens. This was starting to feel like a movie. “Are you serious? There are CIA safe rooms on campus?”

  Preston laughed. “There are CIA safe rooms everywhere.” He pressed another panel, and another part of the wall slid up to reveal a compartment with a metal box. He opened it for her to see.

  “This envelope contains cash: five thousand, and a couple of credit cards. This envelope contains alternate identifications.”

  Elle opened one and saw her driver’s license picture on a New York driver’s license with the name “Rachel Simmons.” Another was a passport with her picture and the name “Mary Lynn Watkins.”

  “What in the world is this?” she asked Preston, who was watching her intently.

  “A new variable has come up,” he said. “I think it’s possible that some members of the terrorist cell we’re trying to take down are local.”

  “Terrorists? Here at the university?” The idea was ludicrous. Terrorists were in other parts of the world, abroad: not here, in the United States, in the Midwest.

  “One of the reasons I came here, rather than you coming to Langley, is because university computer systems are virtually impossible to track,” Preston explained.

  Elle knew that was true. An IP address from within the university simply registered as being from the university. Tracking down the actual computer, or even user, out of the thousands of computers and users within the university would be a challenge even for the university’s IT department. For an outsider? Next to impossible.

  “Now I don’t think you’re in any danger,” he continued. “If I did, I’d pull you in a heartbeat. But I wanted you to know about this room, just in case. Worst case scenario.”

  Elle stared at him. He gave her a reassuring smile. “This variable is not likely to become significant, but it’s important to be prepared for all possible outcomes.”

  Elle picked up the passport. “What would I do with this?”

  “If the worst case scenario occurred,” he said, “you would take the IDs and the money and get to Langley. Make sure the credit cards and ID you use match. There’s enough money here for you to buy an airplane ticket at the counter and take a car to the Agency. Or you could rent a car and drive there. With the IDs, your movements couldn’t be tracked by… hostile observers.”

  “This is a hell of a variable, even if it is an… anomaly,” she said.

  Preston opened up another compartment of the box. It held a gun. “Do you know anything about firearms?” he asked.

  Elle shook her head.

  He picked it up. “Only use this if you have no other choice,” he said, “like if someone is in direct pursuit.” He pointed her to the safety on the gun and had her hold it. It was surprisingly heavy and a little big. It was a stretch for her index finger to fit comfortably around the trigger.

  “Someone could be in direct pursuit of me?” she asked him.

  “Highly unlikely. An anomaly,” he assured her.

  “What’s made this anomaly seem like less of an anomaly?” she asked.

  Preston sighed. “Some of the chatter indicates some suspicion about what’s going on here. We don’t have any more intel than that. It could be they’re actually talking about real Sub Rosa players.” That was a possibility: there were students at the university who played Sub Rosa.

  “But you’re showing me your secret room and money and fake IDs and a gun,” Elle said. She hadn’t ever had a fake ID, not even when she was underage. And now the government had made some for her.

  Preston put the box down and squeezed her shoulders. “If I had a predictive model that told me the likelihood you would need to come here, I’d say the probability of that outcome is pretty damn close to zero.”

  She was forced to look up at him when his hands slid up the sides of her neck to cup her jaw and tilt her head up. “But the probably isn’t zero,” she said.

  He kissed her. “No,” he admitted, “it’s not, but if it were much higher than zero, we’d pull you out. You’re too promising an associate to lose.”

  She guessed that was comforting. Somewhat.

  Chapter 20

  “The sun is getting ready to return,” Elle told Marni the next morning.

  “Just think: this time next year we’ll be in Virginia, where the sun comes out regularly all year. We’ll probably be in short sleeves by this time,” Marni replied.

  Elle was already feeling jittery, even without her coffee, but Marni’s words just put a damper on her mood. The worst thing about the idea of working for the CIA was the idea that she and Marni wouldn’t be roommates in Virginia and go to grad school together. DC wasn’t too far from Charlottesville, so they could certainly see each other on a regular basis. Tina was likely going to be in New York City studying interior design, so Elle would be the midway point. It wouldn’t be the same, though. They would be a couple of hours apart by car, at least.

  “You’re not looking forward to Virginia’s mild weather?” Marni asked, pulling Elle out of her thoughts.

  “Of course I am,” she said just as a figure ahead caught her eye.

  Adam.

  Marni followed her gaze. “Oh. Hell. No.”

  Elle sighed. She had to admit she missed Adam. She was doing some interesting things with algorithms and models, and he had always been her greatest sounding board because he understood those things. They hadn’t had any contact since the night she broke up with him. Really, he was the one who broke them up with his choices.

  Adam walked up to them, since neither Marni nor Elle was walking forward anymore. “Elle, can I talk to you?”

  “What’s the point?” Elle asked. She didn’t want to have another argument with him.

  “Please.” Adam’s imploring look made her feel guilty which made her pissed. It was his cheating that brought them to this point, not that she necessarily minded being with Preston. But clearly Adam wasn�
�t going anywhere. She nodded to Marni. “Go on. I’ll catch up.”

  After giving Adam the evil eye, Marni headed inside. Adam and Elle simply stood there staring at each other for a few minutes. Normally a shared history brought two people closer together. In this case, it was the barrier keeping them apart. It was so weird. And too bad.

  “So I take it you’re still seeing… him,” Adam finally said.

  Elle met his gaze. “I take it you’re still seeing Bella,” she replied.

  He sighed. “You know, that guy- he’s just using you,” he said.

  She blinked in surprised. Where the hell did that come from?

  “I can tell from looking at him,” Adam went on. “He’s a player.”

  “And how, exactly, have you developed this hypothesis?” she asked. She wondered if she even wanted to know where he was going. Her head was saying “no” but her damn feet weren’t moving.

  “I can tell what kind of guy he is,” Adam insisted. “He hits it and quits it-”

  “Hits it and quits it,” she repeated. “Do people still say that?”

  Adam rolled his eyes. “Come on, Elle, you’re not the type-” he stopped himself.

  Elle could practically feel her ears perk up. “Not what type, Adam?”

  He just stood there, shifting from foot to foot.

  “You mean I’m not a whore, like your Bella?”

  That got a reaction. “Bella’s not my who- she’s not mine!”

  Elle snorted. “She’s getting you off-”

  “I know what Bella is,” Adam said, stepping closer, “and what she’s not. Guys can do that. We don’t confuse sex and feelings.”

  “Forgive me for being the ticked off little female over your cheating, then,” she sneered. “I just don’t-”

  Adam was holding his hands up as if he wanted to grasp her arms and give her a good shake, but he didn’t touch her. “Elle, you’re smarter than this, worth more than this. Don’t be that guy’s Bella!”