The Agency, Volume I

by Sylvan, Dianne

  Frog shrugged. "Never heard of it. Cool name, though."

  "Thanks."

  "So, what did they recruit you for? I heard there was an opening in Admin."

  "Yeah, something about filing and dispatch?"

  Frog nodded. "Awesome. I've been here for five years--I started there too. They always throw people into Admin and then move them wherever."

  That was interesting. It hadn't occurred to her that this might be an entry-level position. "Like where?"

  "Well there's R&D, where I'm at--we take the weird weapons and stuff that we confiscate and figure out what they do and if they’re useful, or we send them to the Vaults to be permanently stored. We research the history of a lot of organizations and suspects, too. There's also the Floor, where you run logistics for the field Agents."

  "Logistics, as in..."

  "Maps, satellite recon, computer stuff, dispatching Agents to emergency situations. Sometimes the FBI or another agency calls for our help when they find something they can't handle. Then there's the field itself, but unless you're psychic they won't even train you for that."

  "Wait, so all of the Agents are psychic?"

  "Yep. Have to be. The communication system is part tech, part telepathy. Wait till you see the system, it's amazing--a regular human can work the Floor end, but you have to be at least level 3 telepathic to use the Ears."

  Sara sat down on the couch, inviting Frog to follow suit, her mind awhirl with questions. "So anybody they hire that's psychic, they've probably got a plan for, right? I mean, you wouldn't need a telepath to file and type."

  "Right, right. I'm a total dud, thank God, just a computer geek." He chuckled affably, and she decided she liked him. "Otherwise I might have to do something dangerous."

  "So what do you do, exactly? Or can I ask that yet?"

  "Technically no, I guess you shouldn't until you have your clearance, but...” He shrugged. "I don't think anybody will care, I mean, SA-5 vouched for you and that's all the clearance I think you need."

  "Do you know him? The Elf guy?"

  Another grin, and a nod. "Yep. We work together a lot--that's my current project. We're developing a prototype for a psychic inhibitor. Agent 5 is the most powerful psychic in the Texas branch, but he can't shield very well, so he has to stay here on base. Big crowds of unshielded people screw him up pretty badly. The inhibitor would stabilize his shielding, and amplify it, so he could go into the field to crime scenes and on-site investigation."

  "I don't get it," Sara said. "If he's so powerful, why can't he shield?" She hadn't noticed it last night, but then, she had her own psychic barriers; it was part of the fundamental training for Witches to learn how to keep their own emotions and thoughts separate from other people's, so that they could better take responsibility for their own actions. Mucking about with magic made you sensitive to other people's energy, so it was essential to have good boundaries.

  Frog's smile faded, and he shook his head. "I don't really know. It has something to do with what happened to him before he came here. All I know is he was in the infirmary in isolation for a month before he could even carry on a conversation. He doesn't interact a lot with the staff except the SAs and a few of the techs, like me." His cheer returned as he added, "Probably in another month we'll be ready to run initial testing on the inhibitor, though. Totally unprecedented technology, a hybrid of human and Elven."

  "You must be pretty damn smart if they gave you a job like that."

  "Genius level," Frog said proudly. "I built my first computer when I was six. I used to code for Apple before the Agency recruited me. What about you?"

  "Oh, um...well, I went to Rice for about a semester, but it didn't take. Mostly I've done admin type stuff."

  "Oh." Frog looked like he was confused but trying not to be rude, and she could see the question on his face--why had the Agency hired her if she really was just a secretary?

  She was rather interested in the answer to that, herself. Obviously it had to do with her gifts, and possibly with her religion, but she highly doubted it had to do with her ability to alphabetize and type 85 words per minute.

  Instead of asking about her obvious deficiencies, however, Frog went with, "So...is it true that you got interrogated by SA-7?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  He gave her a conspiratorial smile. "Did he scare the piss out of you like he does me?"

  "Oh, hell yes. Even before I figured out he wasn't human. The guns alone would have done it. Have you ever met him?"

  "Kind of. He doesn't really speak to those of us on the lower end of the ladder--actually he doesn't really speak to anybody except his sister, and SA-5, and Ness."

  "Who--he's got a sister? A real sister?"

  "Her name's Beck, she's SA-8. They're twins."

  "Twin vampires."

  "She's way cooler, but still pretty scary. She plays bass in a vampire band called Fang Porn. You'll know her when you see her. They look a lot alike except she smiles and he doesn't. But they're the toughest Agents in the place. Ness is the Agency Director, Vanessa MacMillan. She's a human--I think you'll probably meet her on Monday at your orientation."

  Frog glanced at his watch, and then yelped. "Damn, I've gotta go--I have to run down to the lab and check on some calculations I had going that are due to finish up any minute." He stood and headed for the door, adding, "But if you need anything, I'm the door on your left, #138. And don't worry--you'll do great."

  She shut the door behind him, trying to organize all the information he'd just dumped on her, and went back to her boxes with a sigh. Every new thing she learned about this place made it that much weirder.

  She had a feeling it was only going to get worse from here.

  *****

  “Right this way,” Steve said, not bothering to look back and see if she was keeping up. Sara had fairly long legs, but she had to practically run behind the lanky Executive Administrative Assistant, otherwise she’d end up lost in the maze of subsurface corridors for the third time that morning.

  After two hours of paperwork, left mostly to herself in a room that bore no small resemblance to the room she’d been interrogated in, Steve had come to fetch her for her pro forma interview with Vanessa MacMillan, the Big Boss of Everything. MacMillan, whom everyone but Steve called Ness, had an underground office adjacent to the Floor.

  Sara figured that Steve would point out at least a few of the important details of the subsurface layout, but he didn’t seem all that inclined to speak to her; he was obviously much too important to bother with an entry-level Admin.

  She pursed her lips in irritation as she followed him. He was a regular old human, and she could tell he was no more psychic than Frog was, so it wasn’t like he was out risking his life for truth and justice or anything like that. He was a secretary, probably with the same level of education as Sara. She hoped the boss wasn’t as stuck up; she hoped double that her voice wasn’t as nasal as Steve’s. The boy sounded like he had chronic sinus congestion and someone clamping his balls.

  Finally, the long hallway from the elevators opened out into a huge expanse of open space, and Sara nearly froze stock-still to take it all in.

  The Floor was half the size of a football field, easily, and though there were no windows there was a whole wall of digital displays: a huge map of Texas with all sorts of colored lights indicating…well, she had no idea; a screen that looked like an arrivals board at the airport, which she assumed kept track of the Agents; and several other things she had no idea how to interpret.

  There were two rows of cubicles, each with a very strange-looking computer system; about half of the seats were filled with people wearing headsets that were lit up the same blue as the communication devices she’d seen on SA-7. She couldn’t even describe what was weird about the computers—the way they were constructed looked…almost organic. She saw that the people in the seats were clicking and touching away at various screens of data—maps, lists, even websites—and speaking in low voices, presumab
ly to whatever Agent was on the other end of the line.

  Other people bustled to and fro, delivering files and seeing to the needs of the dispatchers. The back half of the room was taken up by office equipment and a sitting area that looked like it had been well loved. The Floor was mostly round, except for the flat front wall, and all around Sara doors led away from it. A few were open, revealing conference rooms, offices, and more hallways than she could even count. She thanked the Goddess silently when she saw that all the doors were clearly labeled.

  She followed Steve across the floor and to the left. No one else seemed to take any notice of her, perhaps because now she looked pretty much like they did. There wasn’t exactly a uniform for the Admins, but they all wore basic black, blue, or grey, along with the standard ID badge. She was glad she’d picked a simple black suit with a white dress shirt for her first day—a bit less casual than most everyone she’d seen on the Floor, more casual than Steve’s rather pretentious suit and tie, and perfectly average. From what she’d seen the R&D guys had lab coats and the Agents wore black fatigues into the field.

  She had also noticed that the Agents didn’t have badges, at least not that they wore; they probably had those pocket folding ones like the FBI. She’d have to ask Frog about that later—they were supposed to meet for dinner in the cafeteria after he got done with whatever it was he was doing with neural-response encoding and other impenetrable technobabble like that.

  “In here, please, Ms. Larson,” she heard Steve say ahead of her, and walked through the door he’d indicated, into the office suite of the Director. The first room was probably Steve’s office. There was an obsessively neat desk and the usual files and shelves an Executive Assistant would have.

  He stopped at the desk and hit a button on the phone. “Director MacMillan, Sara Larson is here.”

  A smooth voice, deep for a woman’s, replied, “Send her in, Steve.”

  Vanessa MacMillan wasn’t a vampire, but Sara wouldn’t have wanted to meet her in a dark alley. She was tall, muscular, and had a calm authoritative air that would be the envy of any politician. She had absolutely gorgeous chocolate brown skin, wore a pinstriped black dress that had to have been custom-fit, and wore her hair short and sophisticated. Her wide, generous mouth looked accustomed to hearty laughter, yet she surveyed Sara gravely, her hands folded, perfectly manicured nails in a shade of deep plum tapping lightly together.

  “Have a seat, please, Sara,” she said. She looked and sounded an awful lot like Angela Bassett crossbred with the Terminator.

  “I’m Vanessa MacMillan, Director of Operations here at the Texas branch. SA-5 has told me a lot about you.”

  Sara shook her hand and saw that her file was lying on the Director’s desk. “All good, I hope.”

  “Aside from your…unsavory prior associations, yes, it was all good.”

  Sara felt herself flushing. “Yes, about that. If I’m some sort of suspect…”

  “Then we wouldn’t have hired you,” MacMillan said firmly. “As it is, I expect your full cooperation in the ongoing investigation into your former covenmates.”

  “Absolutely,” Sara said, trying to put all the force of her conviction into that one word. “They murdered people, and they betrayed me. Anything you need me for, I’m there.”

  The Director looked her over again, as if considering what all Sara might be needed for, and then asked, “Have you been briefed on the details of your position?”

  “No. To be honest nobody’s really answered my questions except the guy living next door to me.”

  “Ah, yes. Frog.” A hint of a smile touched her lips, making her seem far more human. “Well, what we need you for right off the bat is general administrative work, but once you’ve passed your probationary period we’ll have a lot more for you to do. You’ll start out under the office manager’s training and supervision. Her name is Dru Carter.” She paged through Sara’s file, then added, “We also want to get you into specialized training with SA-5, to hone your psychic abilities.”

  “Can I ask a question?”

  “Yes?”

  “Frog mentioned that Admins don’t need psychic talent, so you guys must have something else in mind for me here. Was he right?”

  MacMillan gave her another long look, and simply said, “Yes, he was. At the moment the position we have in mind for you is above your security clearance, so I’m afraid I can’t discuss it with you until after your probationary period. Of course, you’ll have full disclosure and time to consider your options when you’re ready, and if you choose not to accept it you can remain part of the Administrative staff.” She smiled, and Sara felt a heady sense of approval and relief—she got the feeling that those smiles were rare. “I think, however, that you’ll find the opportunity irresistible.”

  The tall woman stood and offered her hand again; Sara, surprised that the interview was apparently done with, followed suit.

  “Welcome to the Shadow Agency,” MacMillan said, and there was actual warmth in her voice. She hit the intercom button and summoned Steve. “Steve will take you to the file room where you’ll start work, and then Dru will show you around and answer any further questions you might have.”

  Questions? Good…that should only take the next seven years or so. Sara shook her head as she fell into step behind Steve’s impressive gait.

  *****

  "Dru will be along in about fifteen minutes," Steve informed her as he dropped her off, sounding relieved not to have to baby-sit her. "While you're waiting, how about you take these--” he pointed toward a foot-high stack of black file folders on the table-- "and put them in case number order, then put them in the To Be Filed drawer. That way you'll get a little taste of the filing system."

  "Okay," she said, but he was already out the door before she even finished the second syllable.

  She looked around the Current Case File room, and was disappointed to note that it was exactly the same as every other file room she'd ever worked in, especially at a government office. Rows of metal file cabinets, all locked, all labeled in sequential order; a long table with bins for sorting; a computer whose screen saver was the SA seal bobbing around on a black background. There was a separate cabinet labeled "Personnel" that she tried to open, but of course it was locked, as were all the cabinets except for "To Be Filed."

  Everything here was black, blue, and silver, she'd noticed. The techs wore blue lab coats, the office supplies were all black, signage was black with silver lettering. Even her badge, complete with an awful picture of her taken before she'd had her first cup of coffee, was done in those colors. She was listed as an “Admin Tech I,” with security clearance A. If the clearance levels covered the whole alphabet, she had her work cut out for her.

  She picked up the first folder in the stack and opened it, partly to get a sense of how things were organized and partly to see more of what she was getting into, here. Easy enough on the first: each case file had a unique identification number that incorporated the date it was opened, so they would all be stored chronologically. The cabinet drawers started with the current month and went back six months; everything earlier must have its own archive.

  The file was very similar to the one she'd seen for herself and the other for her ex-coven. There were printouts of reports from the Agents who'd worked on the case and official case disposition forms stamped CLOSED; in the back of the folder was a slot holding a small strip of metal with a USB connector on it. A flash drive, she realized. All the folders had them.

  Curious, she stuck the first one into the port on the computer and jiggled the mouse; it prompted her for her ID. She saw that the monitor had a scanner-looking thing attached to it, and held her badge up to it, barcode first.

  The computer beeped and the screen changed, flashing a warning; she didn't have sufficient security privileges to access those files. Damn. Not very trusting, these secret agents.

  Behind the warning window, though, she saw what was on the drive that she couldn't get to
: photographs, video, and other media pertaining to the case. She'd bet that if anyone had been interrogated for the case, a video of it was on that drive, which would mean there was a video of her own interrogation in her file. She pulled the drive out of the port and slid it back into its place in the folder, then turned her attention to the paper copies.

  The case she was looking at was a simple one, looked like, involving the sale of something called Ravloch's Shewstone to a minor in Round Rock. Apparently there were statutes governing what sort of magical objects could be sold to whom.

  Where exactly were all these laws written, anyway?

  She wondered if her former high priest, who ran an occult store in Houston, had been familiar with the laws governing his market. She would bet her first week's pay that he had been aware, but hadn't expected anyone to try and enforce it. How had he gotten his hands on that Reaping Sphere? Surely there was a law about not selling magic murder rocks?