by L. M. Vila
Now there’s something Meryl had a little insight on.
“Apparently he wanted to admit everything just so he wouldn’t incur the wrath from his brothers. He started shouting ‘I confess’ over and over again while listing off some pretty heinous crimes.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Nicole wondered how two completely uncivilized and barbaric people ended up in her building on such a beautiful day.
“Are we ready to go?” Michael asked, breaking the silence.
She tried her best to contain the grin but Meryl just couldn’t say “Uh huh,” without hiding her smile. Michael’s brow tightened as it always did when he was curious about something but didn’t know exactly what to ask.
“The makeup team just got here but first,” began Meryl as she casually forced her hand into the duffel bag.
From with the depths, out came a shining black leather outfit adorned with bright red and orange flames protruding from every angle.
“You’re going to have to try this on.”
It all made sense now. Nicole’s previous estimation of Meryl’s attitude was perhaps a bit misguided but nonetheless, she definitely had a reason to snicker. Even Nicole couldn’t keep a professional composure. Holding back her laughter almost choked the air out of her throat.
Michael’s expression sunk away from inquisition into a modified form of disgust and anger. Cringing only seemed to make matters worse. Either that vulgar woman had a sense of fashion three decades old or her pussy-whipped companion didn’t care enough to resist.
The opportunities to tease Michael were few and far between but Meryl couldn’t help but pounce on this one. Even though she knew a similar fate awaited her, somehow seeing Michael in such a ridiculous outfit made her feel better about it. Plus the addition of frosted blonde spikes would be so out of character it would easily allow Meryl to slip into the role of an obscene manager.
“Commander Wells,” another voice called entering through the open office door.
He was just a rung below six-feet tall with short slick brown hair that looked meticulously combed coupled with a cleanly shaved face that shined in the florescent lighting. The only thing finer than his attention to grooming details was his jet black suit that appeared to be cleaned and ironed while he stood in it. Nicole’s second in command had no qualms about entering her office, with or without invitation. Despite Michael’s personal opinion about this man, his presence was welcomed. Anything to drive the attention further away from that outrageous costume.
“Yes Mr. Fischer?” She replied.
Adrian Fischer lived only to serve one thing and one thing only, the rules. He was appointed into this position by the main office in Washington. From Nicole’s estimation, they believed things in the Los Angeles branch had gotten a bit out of hand over the last couple of years and Fischer was just the kind of guy to tighten the cages. Logic, reasoning, and coercion were his favored weapons of choice but Fischer is no stranger to field duty. Guerilla warfare and sniping were amongst his most notable skills. Staying in prime physical condition helped support them. Fischer had no issues getting his hands dirty if and only if the situation absolutely called for it.
“I overheard you’re about to execute a mission in Las Vegas. What is this regarding?”
Snooping would be a much better definition. Fischer always had to put his hand in every pot. Nicole tried to placate his questions without giving too many details away.
“Our guys in Vegas asked for assistance in apprehending two fugitives involved in an illegal gambling ring tomorrow night. We only have a small window of opportunity to capitalize on it so we’re moving out within the hour.”
“I see,” he pondered for a moment, then asked, “If this is an issue in Las Vegas, then why are we involved?”
Thankfully, an answer had already been prepared credited to Meryl.
“Because the target they’re after are waiting for those two fugitives to perform in an illegal street fighting competition. It just so happens that our own Agent Lewis and Agent Madison closely match their description.”
“I don’t believe this is a logical course of action Commander.”
Every time the Assistant Special Agent in Charge took a dig at Nicole he always ended it formally, like a true bastard.
“Regardless of the timing, the Director requested our full attention to the Washington D.C. assignment.” Fischer briefly pointed at Michael and Meryl, “These two are scheduled to begin on Sunday morning with their flights leaving tomorrow evening. I don’t believe it will be possible.”
“Washington, D.C.?” Poised Meryl, “What’s going on over there?”
The inquiring look on Michael’s face mimicked his partner’s sentiments. Fischer did not seem surprised that they had not been informed but he gave Nicole the benefit of the doubt. The request just came in this morning to which Adrian spent the better part of making the necessary arrangements.
Nicole compiled all of the information she received this morning from the F.B.I. Director himself. Rumor has it that this assignment came straight from the President of the United States. It was an honor to be handed such a significant responsibility but unfortunately, Nicole had a duty to uphold. Something so significant that meant pushing back a request from the Commander in Chief.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now but the initial peace negotiations between North and South Korea are taking place next week in our nation’s capital.”
Of course Meryl and Michael knew. Everyone within the sound of television and the Internet’s voice knew. That’s all the news has been talking about over the last few months. The media has done a brilliant job getting people to forget the last few military fiascos in recent memory and focusing all attention on this once in a lifetime event. As important and significant as it sounds, Meryl wondered just what role they were going to play. Nicole was already prepared with her answer.
“While the threat of violence should be low to non-existence, certain paranoid officials would feel safer knowing they have some insurance to fall back on. Both parties have requested that the entire event take place behind closed doors next Saturday and without weapons of any kind to enter the premises. The President has generously offered use of the White House for both comfort and security. That’s where you two come in,” said Nicole pointing at Michael and Meryl.
“You have each been assigned a special task. Michael, you’ll be working with the Secret Service, ensuring the safety of the participants as well as our own officials. And Meryl, you’ll be seated inside the meeting itself as an aid to the President. Through your coordinated efforts, if the situation becomes heated, we should be able to calm things down without appearing overbearing. That’s the plan anyways.”
“Why us?” Michael countered.
This plan seemed so simple that it wouldn’t require his talents. Especially since his attention was needed elsewhere.
“The Director was asked to appoint two agents to this task. Given your recent series of successful assignments, I’m sure the he couldn’t find a better pair to represent the FBI.” Nicole proudly responded.
Her department had been receiving an extraordinary amount of praise as of late. Michael and Meryl have been on quite the roll since they started working together, beginning with dissolving a billion-dollar pharmaceutical company and ending with their latest bust of a domestic defense group that would have completely embarrassed this nation had their so-called ‘super-missile’ gone into production.
The overwhelming amount of delight that fell on Meryl’s lap could hardly be contained. In just one year as an FBI agent she had accomplished so much more that she could have imagined working the beat with the L.A.P.D. Not that it needed any more justification but the decision to follow Michael here pays for itself with every passing day.
Michael still withheld reservations but agreed nonetheless. The way Nicole laid out the plan had the makings of a Good Plan on Paper or GPOP as Meryl calls it. Every detail had been accounted whic
h forced Michael to think outside the box. Even with North Korea’s dictatorship in shambles, it doesn’t mean all of their citizens are in agreement. There are still many bitter military officers and soldiers that would love nothing more than to take back their country in the name of their Eternal Leader Kim Il-sung. Unfortunately, the universal term peace translates differently to individual nations.
“So are we going to ditch this assignment?” Meryl asked tapping the duffel bag containing Michael’s flamboyant outfit.
Nicole wrapped her mind around it, trying to come up with a quick solution that will work for everyone.
“No, we can still pull it off. Adrian,” she said turning her attention, “Put Michael and Meryl on a red eye out of Las Vegas tomorrow night. The event is scheduled to start at ten o’clock. We should have the whole thing wrapped up by midnight. We’ll leave boys in Vegas to clean it up. Losing a few hours isn’t worth crying over.”
Once again, Nicole dices her way through another hurdle. Fischer didn’t want to admit it, but that was one of her more admirable traits.
The only thing he could say in response was, “Okay. That will work.”
“Perfect.” She looked towards the two agents and gave a satisfying smile. “That seals it. Suit up and move out. The plane’s waiting for you.”
Meryl and Michael acknowledged the request and promptly left the office leaving the two senior staff members behind. Now with a new set of tasks at hand, Fischer at least had something non-confrontational to work on for the next few days. Questioning his superior’s orders was just one of the underlying tasks the Chief of Staff in Washington assigned to him. However, it became increasingly difficult to scrutinize her methods with every successful mission stacked under her belt. With that in mind, he still felt the urge to voice his opinion.
“Are you sure this is a wise use of resources Commander?” He questioned while coming up with the most politically correct way of pushing forward the worst case scenarios. “I’m sure it would dishearten the Director if something tragic were to happen before they made it to the White House.”
Fischer had really turned into a snide little prick during his tenure in this division. Although his concerns were warranted, it didn’t sound as sincere as it should have. Nicole decided to respond with equal cynicism.
“Accidents happen Agent Fischer. They could have been killed in a collision on the way to the office today. Or even on their way home. Maybe the flight you booked for them is destined crash somewhere in Middle America, killing everyone on board.”
His resentment for her tone was a trait they both shared with one another. Nicole continued.
“The point being that the future is unwritten. Anything can happen at any time. The way we prepare for those events –”
Nicole was immediately cut off by a rumbling in her chest, followed by lightning bolts of pain slicing through her heart. Teeth slammed shut, almost cracking the enamel in a futile attempt to stop the painful grunts from exiting her throat. Fingers quickly dug into her left breast trying to quell the newly formed siege of agony from ripping through her chest.
“Commander Wells,” a surprisingly concerned Fischer asked. “Are you alright?”
Thankfully, the pain had momentarily subsided allowing Nicole to shrug off the lingering effects. Although brief, an attack like that could not go unattended.
“I’ll be fine.” She had to throw him off base before he probed any further. “Breakfast is not agreeing with me this morning.”
Adrian nodded but didn’t appear entirely convinced.
“Is this something I should be concerned about?”
Nicole took a small breath and regained her seemingly unwavering composure. The last thing she wanted to do was let anyone in on her deteriorating condition, least of all her nosy subordinate. This was something she had to suffer all on her one. It was her final atonement.
“No. It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”
Michael and Meryl traversed through the office with Nicole's words weighing heavily on their thoughts. Few people receive the honor of being personally requested by the President of the United States. The assignment may have few risks but still carried a lot of merit and prestige. Before they were lost in the magnitude of it all, their movement became impaired by the portly frame of Mark Wilson, the new lead analyst. His promotion was not without tearful bloodshed. His processor Steve Wilkins had summarily resigned after the embarrassing fiasco that cost him his reputation, marriage, and sugar momma.
“Agent Madison,” he said with a grin, hoping that outward professionalism would help soothe the intimidation. It didn't. However, his tone swiftly changed once he looked over to the cuter of the pair.
“Hi Meryl.”
“Good morning Mark,” she responded with a familiar morning greeting. “How are you?”
“Just call me a parking ticket. I've got fine written all over me.”
That sounded much better in his head than in delivery. His subsequent cringe could crush bricks. With pleasantries out of the way, Mark had specific business to address with this plucky pair.
“I've got updated information on your trip. T.S.A. is holding your flight until you arrive. You'll be escorted by L.A. County Sheriff's all the way through, to suppress any suspicion. As long as you stay in character, I'm sure no one will give you a second glance.”
Taking time to ponder the recent events, Mark had to back track those words a few steps.
“Well, all things considering.”
“Considering what?” Chimed Meryl.
“Get your hands off me you fucking perverts!”
And the tranquil office environment had once again been broken. Meryl's attention was immediately grasped by the extensive vocabulary of their detainee.
“Someone's up again.”
Although the language grew increasingly colorful with every passing step, watching Cassandra being carted off in her underwear made the altercation a bit more tolerable. Which brought Meryl to pose a simple question.
“Why are the sheriffs dragging her out of here practically naked?”
“That’s easy,” Mark retorted.
He picked up a small vinyl bag stamped with an FBI logo on the front and then out came a small handful of clothing. Too small it would seem. Meryl sense what was coming and begged anyone listening for it not to be true.
“Unfortunately, that woman wasn't carrying an extra outfit so we had to take the only one available. The fact that she was unconscious during the process helped a little. Don't worry; we'll get these washed up real quick while the folks at makeup work their magic.”
Meryl cursed violently in her mind, mimicking a few of the choice phrases of the departed fugitive. Somehow, she knew teasing Michael early would come back to bite her in the ass.
“Nice shorts.” Michael stated, as if they could be called that.
They looked like an enlarged black rubber band no longer than the width of Michael's bicep. He didn't understand why she was looked so annoyed. The added freedom should give Meryl a sense of happiness. After all, she wasn't about to fight a life or death battle in tight leather pants.
If Meryl could cringe any harder, every blood vessel in her body would have exploded.
“God I hate her so much.”
Not only would she have to act like a bitch for the next two days but now she'd have to dress like one. A new sense of horror filled her chest. One that dwarfed any mockery dished out by her colleagues.
“If you so much as breathe a word of this to my father let alone take any pictures, I'll fucking kill you.”
Meryl couldn't even look Michael in the eyes. She had already slipped into the role of Onyx without even realizing it. Her partner took one last sip of his tea while nodding in approval with Meryl’s undercover acting prowess.
“That's the spirit.”
March 23rd, 2013 10:05PM
Las Vegas, NV
Shouts of anticipation snapped Meryl back into reality. The crowd was beyond restl
ess. It seems ten minutes between each bout was more than anyone was willing to wait. Meryl was surprised to see such dignitary and wealthy representatives of classy American society acting like savages and barbarians. Man always found a way to revert to their primal instinct, whether it’s in front of or behind closed doors. There was no need or reason to hide it here. These people were hungry for blood and Michael was the final course on their menu.
More stooges seemed to flood the backstage area. They patted and prodded Michael at angles that would take three mirrors to see; mostly checking for weapons or any other hidden items though he would be hard pressed to hide anything in that get up. The pants fit snugly around the thighs but hung loose from the knees down. This Rage character must have relied more on his punches because throwing effective kicks would be limited at best. Luckily, the boots were both sturdy and comfortable. The composite vinyl material felt natural along the surface of his foot, just like his trustworthy combat boots.
“Excuse Mr. Rage,” a calm, more refined voice called.
Michael examined him from head to toe. This one was different from the others. He was formally dressed and had an aura of humility to him unlike the other goons poking and prodding without warning. The added maturity of this man was natural give his age but welcomed nevertheless.
“What is it?”
Michael growled, hoping his natural intimidation coupled with the added sneer shined through. The man didn’t seem affected by it in the slightest but Michael could have sworn he saw chills run up a few stagehands backs.
“Lord Charles has requested that you speak with the priest at this time.”
“Priest?”
The very idea of it startled him. Not that Michael was religious or anti-religious in any sense. He was more surprised at the irony of it all. The last thing a priest should have his hand in is sinful and blasphemous acts.
“Yes sir. Lord Charles asks that all of his combatants speak with one before they enter battle. This will give you a chance to atone for any sins and make peace with God if you wish.”
The old man paused for a brief second.
