by Debra Webb
Tires squealing she rocketed out of her designated parking slot and zoomed toward the exit of the mammoth parking garage. At the security checkpoint she slowed for the guard to ID her, gave him a big, friendly smile, which he returned sheepishly, and then proceeded forward.
Once off Langley property she floored the accelerator and headed home.
Frustration pounded in her brain. She hadn’t joined the elite CIA to sit behind a desk. All day long she did the same thing: reviewed intelligence reports, looking for tidbits others had missed. Oh, she’d found an item here and there, especially the past couple of days. But that wasn’t how she’d seen herself fitting into the agency she’d been in awe of all these years. At any rate, when she’d graduated from training, her superiors had insisted that her battery of assessment tests had determined that this was the best assignment for optimum use of her skills.
In her opinion that was a load of crap.
So what if she had a near-photographic memory and felt like cyberspace was her second home or that she could hack into the Pentagon’s computer system as easily as checking her e-mail? Would they never forget that little incident?
She rolled her eyes as she merged onto the expressway. She’d only done it once. Good grief, she’d been seventeen. Kids did stupid stuff like that. She was more sensible now, played by the rules, thought before she acted… Well, most of the time, anyway.
But at seventeen she’d been impetuous. Still, once the hoopla had settled down, especially the part about no charges being filed, and her parents had stopped having cardiac episodes, she’d actually gotten a little excited about having stepped knee-deep in national security shit. A CIA recruiter had come to see her at high school. It had all been very secretive. Her first covert briefing. He’d told her how impressed he was with her skill and how he’d personally kept her out of trouble. Had said that he’d be watching as she moved through her college career. Then, with a mysterious “I’ll be in touch,” he’d disappeared just like the spy she dreamed of being. And just as he’d promised, on graduation day he’d shown up at the university to recruit her.
And what had they done?
They’d stuck her behind a metal desk reading boring reports all day every day.
Oh, the training program had been great. She’d loved it, kicked ass and taken names, coming out top in her class.
Those intensive weeks had been exhilarating…had felt like the CIA she’d dreamed of joining.
This—she glared at the skirt and low-heeled pumps she wore—was not. She looked just like her mother for heaven’s sake.
Tasha took a breath. Okay, okay. She knew the deal. Paying her dues wasn’t the end of the world. Impatience had always been her most glaring flaw. She was almost twenty-three. It was past time she’d learned how to take the waiting in stride.
“Grow up, Tasha,” she grumbled. “You have to earn your way in the real world.” How many times had her father told her that theatrics didn’t pay off? “Patience is a virtue,” he’d say at least once a day while she was growing up. Be that as it may, in high school she’d gotten noticed by proving she could do what no one else could—like cracking the Pentagon’s cyber security.
Another sigh heaved from her chest. This wasn’t high school. Being slick and cagey and, as bad as she hated to admit it, irreverently arrogant wasn’t going to put her at the top of the food chain when her superiors, those rating her ability, were all replicas of her dear old dad. She had to be patient. Had to prove her worth behind a desk before she graduated to field operations. Hadn’t she learned a good deal about the human psyche in college? A degree in psychology taught her one thing if nothing else—meet the expectations of the humans in charge and life was much easier.
She could do it. Five days a week, eight hours a day, for a while longer. Her time would come…eventually. All she had to do was play it cool and bide her time. She reached to turn up the volume on the CD player just as the sound of her cell phone ringing drew her hand in another direction. Groping around in her bag she fished out the phone and flipped it open.
“North.”
“Tasha, this is Martin.”
Her respiration came to a screeching halt before accelerating into double duty. Her recruiter. A major player amid the powers-that-be at the Agency. Could this be the call she’d hoped for? “Martin, how’s it going?” she asked when she had reclaimed her voice, then moistened her lips in nervous anticipation. Why would he be calling now? She hadn’t heard from him for nearly three months…not since surviving training…and being shackled to that damned desk. She’d all but given up.
“We have to talk. Can you meet me right now?”
A frown worried her brow as she considered the urgency in his tone. What was up with that? “Sure. Where?”
“Take the next exit. There’s a gas station on the right once you’ve cleared the overpass. I’ll be waiting.”
Her frown deepening, she closed her phone and tossed it in the general vicinity of her bag.
What the hell was going on?
She slowed for the upcoming exit ramp and took it as instructed.
But…she glanced at the discarded phone, then back at the expressway she’d veered from…how did he know where she was?
Tracking device. She’d heard rumors that all new agents were injected with the latest technology. A device so small that it could be installed with nothing more than a subcutaneous pin prick. With all the immunizations required in training, she could have been injected with anything and not known the difference.
She shrugged it off. Just part of the business. If they wanted to keep tabs on her comings and goings she didn’t mind. Anything for the job.
She stopped at the end of the exit ramp, then made a sharp left.
The highway that cut beneath the overpass was one of those takes-you-nowhere kind that sprawled off into the woods in either direction. To her surprise there was a gas station up ahead. It looked deserted. As she eased into the parking lot her assumption was confirmed. Not simply closed but out of business.
On the far side of the lot Martin waited, leaning against his shiny black Jaguar. Smiling in spite of the buzz of warning going off in her head, Tasha pulled up next to him and climbed out. This was Martin. The man who’d held the door to the CIA open for her. He’d assured her that he had his eye on her and would see that her future turned out the right way.
Maybe he had news along those lines for her now. A jolt of irritation shot through her. He’d better have good news. She was sick of all talk and no action.
“I’m glad you came,” he said as he removed his dark glasses. “We need to talk.”
She nodded, slipped off her eyewear and tossed the designer sunglasses onto the dash of her car. He was right. They did need to talk. If he didn’t have an offer for her now, he’d better get things in motion. She’d had about all the nine-to-five grind she could tolerate. Moving closer, she propped a hip on the rear quarter panel of his sleek automobile. “I hope you’ve got good news for me.”
He studied her for a moment, then asked the last question she’d expected to hear, “You have the codes, don’t you?”
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. “Codes?” Her posture stiffened before she could stop it. He noticed. Dammit. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“They’re watching you.” He surveyed the wooded area around them. “They know.”
“Who knows?” She straightened, adopted a fight-or-flight stance and did a little surveying of her own.
He reached into an interior pocket of his high-priced suit jacket and pulled out a 9 mm handgun. “Take this. You may need it.”
She stared at the nickel-plated weapon before accepting it. “How do you know?” She’d reported the breach the moment she stumbled upon it while reviewing endless boring text. Someone, inside the agency, had hidden th
e codes in the documents. She had no idea how or why, she’d simply done her job. But, as Martin said, she had, in fact, uncovered some sort of code. Her supervisor had appeared agitated that she’d made such a discovery. And it wasn’t like she could forget what she’d seen. Once she viewed data—any data, written, visual, whatever—it was in her brain for all time.
“I always know what’s going on with my special students.”
He’d been an excellent mentor. She’d counted on him. Trusted him…but somehow this felt off. The psych evaluators who’d assessed her prior to advancing into the CIA’s training program had called the little sixth sense she possessed elevated precognitive reception. Well, whatever the hell it was, her little precog receptors were humming like mad.
“Is there something else I should know?” Was he only here to warn her to be careful? She resisted the urge to shake her head. It just didn’t make sense.
“You’ll need—” The rest of his words were cut off by screaming tires and a roaring engine.
Tasha dove for the ground, hitting the asphalt hard and rolling behind his car just as a hail of gunfire erupted.
Martin followed suit, their movements like a well-choreographed dance.
She shifted into a crouch and prepared to return fire when the world suddenly went dark.
* * *
Her head ached.
Tasha slowly opened her eyes and surveyed the room around her. Plain white walls. No furniture other than the chair in which she sat.
Where the hell was she? She blinked and even that small movement cost her. The ache in her head sliced through her skull like a machete.
Her hands were secured behind her back. She twisted her wrists, the flesh there burning from the tightness of the ropes.
Martin.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Had he been shot?
The code.
Surely this wasn’t about that code…she didn’t even know what it related to.
The door across the ten-by-ten room suddenly opened, and a man dressed in black combat gear walked in. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
“Hello, Agent North.”
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes and told him her position in no uncertain terms. “I don’t know what you want. You’re wasting your time.”
He tugged at first one leather glove and then the other, pulling them firmly into place. “You think so?”
She laughed softly, anticipation already rushing to steady her spinning head. Let him take his best shot. “I know so.”
“We’ll just see about that.”
He started toward her, and Tasha did as she had been trained.
She shut down all nonessential functions.
Closed him out.
Closed everything out.
CHAPTER 6
They’d covered her head and tied her hands behind her back again. Tasha stayed very still, absorbing the details around her as best she could in her current state of near numbness. The vehicle—a cargo van maybe—she’d been shoved into glided smoothly toward its destination. City streets, well maintained. No back road. Not yet. Wherever they were taking her she had a pretty good idea they planned to execute her and dump the body.
She hadn’t given either of the men who’d interrogated her what they wanted. She was of no further use to them. Those words echoed through her throbbing skull as she allowed her senses to awaken more fully, inch by slow inch. The bruised ribs and split lip were the least of her worries. Unless she finagled an escape she was dead.
Just in case she managed a getaway, she had studied each face she’d encountered very carefully. Had even gotten a DNA sample under her nails when she scratched one of them. She almost smiled when she thought of the head butt she’d pulled off, taking one guy down. She hoped his nose was broken.
Well, at least she’d put up a good fight and she hadn’t given them the code.
That was something.
Though an alien emotion, what felt like fear, moved through her. She had to admit that the thought of dying so young lacked any appeal whatsoever.
The vehicle rocked slightly as it slowed, then stopped briefly. She listened intently. No traffic sounds. A left turn. Then a right. They were likely nearing their final destination now. Her heart rate quickened.
The vehicle bumped over a rise and then stopped. Parking lot, she surmised. The sound of metal sliding over metal and a rush of cool air told her the cargo door had been opened.
It was now or never. She had to make a move.
When she would have pushed herself up, brutal hands shoved her forcefully from behind, sending her hurtling out of the vehicle.
She landed hard. Her skin, wherever exposed, identified asphalt beneath her. Struggling frantically, she maneuvered into an upright position, her legs folded painfully under her. If she could only get up…
Those hands pushed her back down.
She braced for the impact of a bullet.
Silence.
Footsteps retreating.
Tires squealed as the vehicle spun away.
Stunned as much by the shock of being left alive as by the pain now making itself known in a big way, for one long moment Tasha could only sit there, bewildered.
The sound of clapping jerked her out of her state of dazed confusion.
She stumbled to her feet, battling with the bindings on her wrists. Within seconds she was free, the knots oddly easy to escape. Not like before.
“Bravo, Agent North.”
She jerked the cloth sack from her head and glared in the direction of the voice. Martin. Her mentor. Her recruiter. The man she trusted above all others.
“What the…”
Her words drifted off as realization seeped into her muddled gray matter. She’d been set up. He hadn’t needed a tracking device…he’d planned this.
“You son of a bitch,” she snarled as she charged toward him.
He held up both hands to halt her attack. The streetlamp on the outer perimeter of the abandoned parking lot provided sufficient light for her to see his features. “Now, don’t go taking it out on the messenger.”
“What the hell was this?” She swiped at the blood leaking from her split lip, wincing at the burn.
“Just a small—” he held his forefinger and thumb close together “—final test,” he assured her with a knowing nod.
“Test?” she roared. “You people played enough mind games on us during training. I’ve been out of training for three months! What else do I have to do to prove my loyalty?”
He sighed and braced one elbow on the other arm so that he could rest his chin in his hand as he’d often done when pacing before the class. “You see, Tasha,” he offered quietly, his easygoing tone making her want to slug him, “there are a chosen few who get special notice. For those, like you, we have exclusive plans. But, there’s always one final test. And that test can only be administered after you have access to negotiable information, otherwise it’s pointless. You, of course, passed with flying colors.”
Some of the fire went out of her fury. But she was still as mad as hell. “What does this mean?”
He smiled. “It means, my dear Tasha, that you are on your way. Very soon you’ll be brought into that exclusive club.”
She narrowed her gaze, her suspicion mounting. “How soon?” She wanted more than an empty promise. She’d had that.
“Soon.” He surveyed her haggard appearance. “Now go home, take a long hot bath and enjoy your weekend.”
Before she could demand any other information, he got into his Jag and drove away.
“Bastard,” she muttered as she staggered to her own waiting, considerably more modest, vehicle.
She’d lost one of her shoes, so she kicke
d the other one away before climbing behind the wheel of her Bug. Her panty hose were shredded, and one knee was skinned. She dragged off the ragged nylon and tossed it out the window. Only one button held her blouse together. But at least she still had all her teeth, she mused, sliding her tongue over her undamaged pearly whites.
A quick glance in the mirror and she grimaced. She looked like hell. Well, as long as it got her where she wanted to be. No pain, no gain, right?
She started the engine and pointed the car toward home. Damn she was beat.
Literally.
Half an hour later she braked to a stop at the curb outside her small Crystal City duplex. Swearing profusely she eased out of the car. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest of each move. Fat lot of good three nights per week of martial arts had done her. With her hands tied behind her back she’d scarcely landed a single blow.
Appeasing herself with the memory that Martin had said soon, she padded barefoot up the steps and to the front door. Soon she would join an exclusive club. She knew what that meant—field operations. Smiling, she reached to insert the key into the lock. She stilled. A chill raced over her skin. Her pulse tripped into the rush zone.
Something wasn’t right.
It was past midnight and damned dark. Most of her yuppy neighbors were in bed already. Like her they all worked too many hours to bother with pets, so the whole neighborhood was dead silent. They were all good little robots, spinning their wheels in their white-collar world by day and playing nice, tidy little home owners by night.
Boring…boring. Not the life she’d planned for herself.
Hopefully that was almost over for her.
At the moment over might very well have an altogether different meaning.
Cautiously, not making a sound, she moved around the side of her house. Her unit was the last one on the block, which gave her quick access to the rear of the property without passing a neighbor’s window. Keeping close to the brick wall, she edged around to the back.
