Agent M: Testament (The Agent M Series Book 2)

by L. M. Vila

  By

  L. M. Vila

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  Agent M: Testament

  Copyright © 2016 by L. M. Vila

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover image by David Sondered, http://studiocolrouphobia.net/

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  For Lisha, my love, inspiration, and best friend.

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  ALL THINGS COME ALIKE TO ALL: THERE IS ONE EVENT TO THE RIGHTEOUS, AND TO THE WICKED; TO THE GOOD AND TO THE CLEAN, AND TO THE UNCLEAN; TO HIM THAT SACRIFICETH, AND TO HIM THAT SACRIFICETH NOT: AS IS THE GOOD, SO IS THE SINNER; AND HE THAT SWEARETH, AS HE THAT FEARETH AN OATH.

  THIS IS AN EVIL AMONG ALL THINGS THAT ARE DONE UNDER THE SUN, THAT THERE IS ONE EVENT UNTO ALL: YEA, ALSO THE HEART OF THE SONS OF MEN IS FULL OF EVIL, AND MADNESS IS IN THEIR HEART WHILE THEY LIVE, AND AFTER THAT THEY GO TO THE DEAD.

  FOR TO HIM THAT IS JOINED TO ALL THE LIVING THERE IS HOPE: FOR A LIVING DOG IS BETTER THAN A DEAD LION.

  FOR THE LIVING KNOW THAT THEY SHALL DIE: BUT THE DEAD KNOW NOT ANYTHING, NEITHER HAVE THEY ANY MORE A REWARD; FOR THE MEMORY OF THEM IS FORGOTTEN.

  ECCLESIASTES 9:2

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  Epilogue

  About The Author

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  Agent M: Testament

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  September 25th, 2012 9:39PM

  Seoul, South Korea

  Ubiquitous roars ripped into the night’s sky throughout the luminescent street. The extremely dense mass of uproarious citizens crowded the Gangnam district up and down every visible block. Their boisterous cheers were filled with heartfelt joy and pride. Dozens of gigantic LCD screens flashed against the endless lot of skyscrapers constantly informing the local residents of the end of an era.

  A news camera sweeps across the blissful mob. Countless news stations from all across the globe have gathered here to bear witness to this extraordinary and once in a lifetime event. As the panning comes to a slow halt, a young man wearing a pressed and tight blue suit fills the majority of the screen. Though his appearance and demeanor was completely professional, the sheer content of his speech could hardly be masked. Empathy has been spread far and wide. Words try to force their way through but seem to fail against the sheer audacity and volume of this spirited population.

  “It is sheer pandemonium here! Crowds of people have gathered and filled Teherrano Street from edge to edge with hardly enough room to breathe.”

  Pulling back from the reporter, the camera bears witness to a seemingly inaudible chant bubbling along the masses. He tries his best to decipher the meaning but can only come up with a faint educated guess.

  “I can hear something starting amongst the crowd. These people are absolutely ecstatic over the news.”

  Their voices easily overcome the reporter's. The young man falls to one knee, trying desperately to stay below the rising noise level and presses against the earpiece as new information and instructions are being transmitted. Apparently the producers wanted to remind new viewers about the spectacle taking place on televisions all over the world.

  “If you're just joining us now you are privileged to view history in the making. After a nearly seven decades of fighting, the totalitarian regime of North Korea has finally come to an end. Thanks to a fierce blockade set up by U.S. and Japanese forces, individual combat squads were able to infiltrate into the heart of North Korea and execute precision attacks against key military and government compounds. In fact, the swiftness and effectiveness of this campaign was deemed 'almost too easy' by some.”

  The reporter quickly paused as the crowd shouts in unison. Images of the former North Korean Supreme Leader in a massacred shamble of his former self pass through the screen. Blood coated nearly every inch of his visible skin. Gaping holes protruded throughout his body. His throat nearly ripped out entirely, as if every lie he has uttered had exploded their furious vengeance through his neck. As he tried to regain his composure against the backdrop of that delightfully sickening sight, the reporter continued relaying the information.

  “Nothing has been confirmed but it appears many rebellious individuals of the Workers' Party of Korea aided foreign troops in the eventual overtaking of the North Korean government and elimination of Kim Jong-un, Kim Yong-nam, and Choe Yong-rim. After the Supreme Leader's death was reported mere hours ago, many Korean forces and military leaders have surprisingly issued a complete surrender. U.S. troops are continuing to round up any and all signs of resistance but it appears that the last major battle is finally over.”

  Movement continues to shuffle through the crowd. South Korean citizens blissfully shouted their hopes and prayers into the night's air. The thoughts of finally unifying with their Northern brothers and sisters were once thought to be a dream. Now people of this former divided nation can speak proudly that dreams do come true.

  More information from the producers funnels into the reporter's earpiece. As much as he'd like to join in the celebration, his duty as a public informant and media icon demands his complete and devoted attention.

  “This month-long campaign came under high criticism amongst some of the United Nations' delegates. Many of them have already applauded South Korea's non-violent resistance as a model to begin peaceful negotiations. Others thought that is intrusion into Korean territory would only escalate the antagonism between these two nations. Some called it invasion while others referred to it as liberation and unification. Although there were many differing opinions regarding the decision to enter North Korea, in the end, everyone's goal remained the same.”

  New instructions fed into his earpiece. Although this reporter may not agree with it, his job description did not include opinioned analysis. He must do exactly what he's told.

  “With Kim Jong-un's regime toppled, it may take months or even years for the dust to settle. Citizens of North Korea have been fed constant and continuous propaganda by their leaders for over sixty five years. Supplies and natural resources have dwindled since this northern nation annexed itself from the rest of the world. A near decade long famine killed over three million of North Korea's population and even that wasn't enough to dissuade them from keeping faith in Kim Jong-il's and later his son, Kim Jong-un’s leadership abilities.”

  The sheer delightfulness sweeping through the crowd cuts into the reporter's speech and silences him from continuing on. Not a moment too soon as far as he was concerned. Even though he may not agree with his employer's methods, he couldn't argue with the results. News brings viewers; controversy brings ratings.

  A new message from his superiors warned the reporter to end his segment. Apparently they are going to cut back to the studio for a political discussion with a known North Korean sympathizer in Taiwan. It was time to finish this live broadcast. This reporter had been practicing his final line for nearly an hour before he went on the air. Everything had to be perfect in order to do this moment justice.

  “We're going to go back live to the studio in just a moment but still, I urge everyone to take one last look at this crowd. These united citizens have been clamoring for peace longer than most of us have been alive. Many have not lived to see t
his day and those that have are moved beyond tears. We can only hope that this event will be the end Korea's civil conflict and begin negotiations towards everlasting peace in our world and not the catalyst to ultimate disaster.”

  March 23rd, 2013 10:03PM

  Las Vegas, NV

  Exuberant chants of men and women screaming for mayhem permeated throughout the coliseum. The horrid stench of copper mixed with sweat filled the walls of the back room. Not even the constant chatter of medical staff or even the blood curdling roars of their latest patient could pull Meryl Lewis away from the scene before her. Stage freight is not uncommon for most people in her current condition. However, even the tiniest little slip out of character could cost them their lives.

  Meryl ran her finger tips through the long, purple strands of her wig. This was supposed to remind her to stay focused. If the quarter inch layer of makeup and mascara didn’t do the trick, surely an ambiguous trip through a hair style riddled with prepubescent creativity would seal the deal.

  A sea of black leather and metal covered nearly every inch of skin leaving little to no room for the imagination to conjure up any other fashionable ideas. Rings and chains hung from nose to toes, particularly too close to the nose part. The identity she had assumed had a terribly uncomfortable style to say the least. The low cut top and high rise shorts complimented Meryl’s athletic figure but certainly not her modesty. These tights would be fitting for a lady of the night to put it discreetly, not a Special Agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  Pulling herself away from the sounds of the crowd, Meryl turned her gaze towards her seemingly more comfortable partner. Even though his attire was no worse for wear, it didn’t appear to bother him. Actually, it complimented him in all of the right areas. The black leather pants and vest adorned with flames had been seemingly pulled straight out of the 80’s but his muscular figure and cool demeanor took most of the focus away from that horrible costume. All in all, Michael Madison looked very intimidating. The only exception to that statement was the frosted blonde tips shining out of his raven black hair. That adjustment was still taking time getting used to.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Onyx?” One of the representatives called.

  That name slapped Meryl back into focus. She turned towards the young man and snarled.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  Those words cut the wind right out from under that poor bastard’s sails. His head sunk in an abyss of embarrassment and tried his damnedest to relay some important information without stuttering.

  “Mr. Rage’s fight is starting in five minutes. Is he ready to go?”

  Normally, Meryl would answer sharply and confidently. Unfortunately, man wasn’t talking to Meryl Lewis, Special Agent of the FBI. He was talking to Ms. Onyx, fashion victim of the decade and proud owner of the hottest temper this side of the border. Her livid outbursts were well documented by the crew. Rumors quickly circulated that the very mist of her breath could turn sand into glass.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? Look at him! This beast could eat bricks and shit a house. Get your ass back into the dressing room and stop asking ridiculous fucking questions.”

  The poor bastard scurried off with his tail between his legs. Meryl offered a silent apology but it was fleeting at best. This character started to become a little too enjoyable. If she wasn’t careful, Meryl may end up keeping a few of the less refined traits.

  Returning her gaze to Michael painted a familiar picture. As always, or at least what she had gotten used to over the last year. He remained calm and emotionless, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Michael gave his flame adorned gloves a quick tug, ensuring their tightness before the fight was about to commence. A sense of worry dipped into Meryl’s heart. She was assured by both Michael and Commander Wells that everything would go according to plan. Meryl took one last look at the monitors. The ravenous crowd had once again grown impatient and was hungry for blood. She tried not to show it, but Meryl faintly started to regret her impulses. After all, there’s a first time for everything.

  Thoughts drifted away from the arena and back into the safe confines of the FBI headquarters. One of her memories had an explanation that would calm her down. The first question on Meryl’s mind was the most obvious.

  How the hell did we wind up in this mess?

  March 22nd, 2013 7:57AM

  Los Angeles, California

  “You’re making a big fucking mistake you pig-headed pricks!”

  The sun had risen just a few moments ago and Meryl was immediately assaulted by the charming words of a delightful young purple-haired girl covered in chains, spikes, tattoos and an outfit that redefined today’s sense of decency. Her tight black top encased small, but still noticeable breasts and complimented the low cut black shorts that seem more suited for a 3rd grader than this petite specimen. Knee high boots adorned with chrome colored laces and hooks were dragged painful through the usually quiet interior of the Los Angeles FBI office. The handcuffs gripping her wrists only seemed to add a cherry atop this sundae of fashionably criminal attire. She barely broke five and a half feet in height and less than triple digits in weight and it still took the strength of three sheriffs just to contain her ferocity.

  A small waft of hot steam begged at Meryl’s attention. The vulgarity of that girl nearly tainted the freshly brewed cups of tea she carried in both hands. Black for her since the added caffeine boost was helping relieve her coffee addiction and, of course, green for her astute and health conscious partner. Giving up coffee wasn’t something Meryl ever planned on but once she remembered Michael’s vehement detest for the stuff, making the switch became an easy decision. At least in his presence anyways.

  Masked behind the crudeness of that woman, which has now evolved from swearing and morphed into snorting like a pig, walked a well kempt but dispirited young man. His deep black hair was illuminated by radiant blonde spikes of color shooting from the tips and dissipating into the abyss near the scalp. The tight confines of a white dress shirt could barely contain his ruggedly muscular frame. Only a single sheriff guided this man across the facility. Apparently his defeated and otherwise sorrow-filled demeanor proved to bring a damper to his resistance even though he looked physically imposing enough to easily wipe the floor with half of the people in this building.

  Through the crowd of onlookers and gawkers, Meryl spotted the familiar face of Commander Nicole Wells as she stepped in and guided the sheriffs along their journey. The bright red locks of hair bounced with every movement, as if they were dancing with each step taken. Her stoic frame was easily complimented in the confines of a black power suit and emphasized a commanding presence.

  “Thanks for bringing them in here so quickly. Take them to interrogation. It’s just along this path towards the back.”

  The sheriffs obliged and continued to push the begrudgingly defiant woman and her more sullen accomplice deeper into the building. Continuous and unnerving amounts of violently descriptive language echoed along the way. Meryl could hear the comparisons between her superior and a female dog emanate from that woman’s lips. It may have stung, but watching the girl walk away in cuffs without the power to resist her captors probably mended that wound fairly quickly.

  Meryl thought to pry more details from the Commander but out of the corner of her eyes she caught a glimpse of tall, dark, and impassive. The raven black hair of the notorious Michael Madison shined brightly against the fluorescent glow of the office interior as he took slow, calculating steps through the office. He made his way towards the dissipating swearing bonanza and Meryl moved quickly to meet up with him and discuss this circus show that has livened up their otherwise quiet building in only a few short minutes.

  Despite his consistent brooding demeanor, Meryl always looked forward to the brief few moments she got to share with Michael before diving into their duties. It was hard to believe a year had already passed since they were reunited. There constant barrage of assignments made sure time p
assed quickly. Finding a moment to breathe easy sometimes proved to be more difficult than dodging a bullet. Unfortunately for them, it was something they both got accustomed to over the last twelve months. After everything they’ve been through, Meryl knew seeing her energetic presence each and every morning chipped away at her partner’s guarded exterior and convinced him their efforts were not in vain.

  “Morning Michael.”

  A gentle waft of bitter steam crossed Michael’s path. As he took the beverage from Meryl’s hands, his eyes couldn’t help but focus on those gentle yet refreshingly charming features of her youthful expression. Glowing auburn hair that hung just below the shoulders coupled with a smile that easily melted iron and soft brown eyes that could pierce a man’s heart with a single glance. For those on her good side, it was a welcomed treat. However, anyone who’s dared to stir her ire have conflicting, and otherwise painful, memories of the department’s most decorated agent, second to Michael that is.

  “Thank you.”

  Michael took the cup and allowed the familiar aroma to tickle his nostrils before diving right in. Meryl knew just how he liked it; piping hot and without any added sweeteners. Every cup she brought was perfect. Michael always appreciated her attention to detail.

  Their eyes turned from one another and stared down the pathway of rebelliousness. It almost seemed like that girl finally shut up but further insight proved she was just moved into the sound-proof confines of the interrogation room.

  “Quite a little mouth on that one.”

  Michael nodded and tipped another sip of tea against his waiting lips. He hadn’t experience such vulgarity since taking down one of the fugitives on the Most Wanted List. That was almost three years ago, yet Michael could still hear his disgustingly pathetic pleas. Memories of that time almost swept him away. He almost missed Meryl asking the obvious question.