He got the gun out of the man's hand before the guy could regain his senses and turned it on him, checking to make sure the other chambers had rounds in them. "Okay, now then. Where were we?" Phillip asked. "Oh, that's right. I was leaving. Thank you for a wonderful reception to your beautiful country, but I think I've seen enough."
Phillip left the hotel as fast as he could and got back in his car. He headed it back toward the road and kept driving through the night.
Chapter 2
THE NEXT TOWN WAS far more civilized than where he had just been. And in Los Montanas, that meant the houses were less run down and there were sidewalks. And, a tiny bistro that was set up to cater to tourists. When there were any.
The bistro was the place he was supposed to meet his contact. He'd been a month or so getting this set up through various double blinds in Mexico and Guyana and Suriname and other places most people don't ever get to hear about.
In other words, he had put a lot of time into this, a lot of effort, and a lot of resources. And now on top of that, he'd been shot at by a money-grubbing border guard.
This really wasn't the work he was used to. He was used to breaking into places, getting in and getting out unseen to retrieve material that was of a sensitive nature. But he wasn't unskilled in doing this either, and the company trusted him to set it up.
So, he found lodging at a local hostel where they asked few questions and provided breakfast in the mornings of eggs and toast and juice, and during the day, he settled in at the Bistro and read books and drank coffee. The coffee was like the rest of the country. Dry and bitter.
The day appointed for the meeting came and went. It was very disappointing, but Phillip knew that sometimes these meetings didn't happen on schedule. Sometimes, the contact waited you out for a day, maybe two, making sure you were genuine. Sometimes, the person you were waiting for couldn't make the meeting safely until the day after.
So Phillip settled in at the bistro the next day too, and drank coffee, and read books. And waited. Waited for the contact that never came.
Chapter 3
GETTING OUT OF THE country was a lot easier than getting in had been.
He'd been stuck in South America for almost two months, chasing his tail and waiting for a contact to come through that never had. He'd been hot, miserable, and worse, bored almost the entire time. He was only just now getting back, flying on one of the company's private jets, done with the whole failed affair.
He'd been looking forward to spending a few days at home with his wife in the air-conditioned townhouse before getting back to work. Thoughts of Christine were the main reason why he'd been more than a little irritated when the incoming alert tone sounded on his encrypted phone. He thumped his head back against the headrest and muttered a few newly acquired Spanish curses before pulling out the phone and looking at the message.
Sure enough, he'd been issued a summons by his employers, one of the many three-lettered government agencies that the United States loved to create. It was the sort of summons that would require him to take a shower in the rather Spartan facilities of the company jet he was flying on and change from his slacks and polo into a suit. He stood up and headed for the back. He stopped at the well-appointed bar on the way for a couple of fingers of Scotch. It went down smoothly but couldn't wash away the bad taste the messaged summons had left him. Then he disappeared into the tiny bathroom to don his armor.
The business down in South America played through his mind as he washed himself. The contact not meeting him at the predetermined place bothered him, of course, but then first contacts often went south, for a variety of reasons. Phillip had to wonder, though, if the guy had been caught, and if so, had he been made to talk?
It bothered him. Missions that didn't go right always did. It was something his wife always teased him about. She often told him that he was too into his job, that there wasn't enough distance between himself and the work. And then she'd usually try to make him relax by putting her feminine guiles to good use.
Thinking about it was enough to make his cock swell. No time for that now. And, thanks to the company, no time for it when he landed either. He'd have to call Christine at some point or get a message to her at least. They'd had dinner plans for when he got back into the country.
The life of a secret agent. Christine understood. He'd managed to marry a woman who was one herself. Although, he hadn't known it when they'd married. He smiled at the memory.
A car was waiting for him as soon as he landed. A plain, black sedan with a driver that might have been a deaf-mute for all the conversation they had. He was escorted to a large, nondescript office building situated somewhere in the rolling hills of Virginia. He'd expected something a little closer into the city, but wasn't exactly surprised by the tinted windows and distinct lack of identification anywhere on or around the building. The building was obvious for what it was exactly because it was trying so hard to look like it wasn't. Spooks were getting decidedly less creative as the years passed.
The inside of the building was just as non-descript as the outside. As soon as he entered into the plain lobby, he was greeted by a terribly efficient, terribly young blond in a pair of glasses that she probably didn't need but that she probably thought made her look older. She was in the wrong business to think she could get away with such silliness, but he supposed it was harmless enough. He imagined if she ever advanced to the point of any sort of fieldwork, she'd get schooled rather quickly.
It was interesting how much he thought of himself as a veteran of the company now. Once upon a time, years and years ago, he had been just the sort of person that the company was tasked with tracking down and stopping. A cat burglar of some note, he had avoided being captured for a long, long time. Until the day that he had been caught in a trap he couldn't get out of.
The young blonde functionary led him toward a bank of elevators and swiped her security clearance card to get the doors to open. She gestured for him to step in first, so he did. She quickly followed and pushed the button to take them to the fifth floor after waving her security pass in front of yet another scanner. It seemed a bit like overkill to him. Then again, he still wasn't sure who'd beckoned him here. He'd reserve judgment on their security details until he had more information.
The short ride was smooth and as utterly silent as the car ride here had been. He was beginning to feel like a leper. Inter-relationship skills had never been high on the company's training list. When the doors to the elevator slid open, the young lady stepped out briskly and motioned him to follow. He did, intentionally walking at a much more leisurely pace, his eyes taking in every detail of the corridor. Not that there was much to see, but he was a creature of habit. The walls were paneled in a dark brown, and every few feet there was a framed painting of a different person. Phillip recognized the faces of a few deceased senators, and one of J. Edgar Hoover. The others were complete strangers to him.
At last, they turned a corner and he saw a set of heavy mahogany doors at the end of the carpeted hallway. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. All this fancy security available, and all the trouble to make the building as plain looking as possible, and they couldn't resist announcing "something important happens in here" with the distinctly out-of-place doors.
His guide stopped in front of the doors and knocked twice. A young man with shaved hair and a scar over his left ear, wearing a gray security uniform, opened the door a crack, looked at them both, then stepped back to let them in. The room was filled with one rather large conference table with ten people sitting around it, and there were a dozen more chairs lining the walls where assistants and various other lackeys were seated. He was led to the only remaining empty chair on the left side of the table, and he took his seat, noting the neat little folder in front of him embossed with Confidential—Eyes Only.
He had, of course, noted something far more important across and at the opposite end of the table, but he took care not to let the observation show. Instead, he opened
the file and began reading as the man at the head of the table finished up a phone call. The language had been Slovakian, which Phillip only knew conversationally, but he caught a few interesting phrases none the less. When the call ended the man handed the phone off to an assistant and looked around at the people gathered around the table.
"I'm sure you're all wondering why you've been called here..."
* * *
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Acknowledgements
One name appears on the cover of this book, but without the dedication and hard work of a talented team of proof readers, writers, editors, designers, friends and family members, this book never would have made it into your hands. Not only did I have the privilege of working with these individuals, but I also get the honor of thanking them here.
To my mom, dad, sister, family and friends; thank you for your love, support, and words of encouragement.
To Dina, Meeghn, Naomi, Sue, Samara, Allan, David, Galen, and Ziad; your friendship helped me through some tough times and I am thankful to be able to call you friends.
To the early readers of the Spyder and the Spy series, thank you for your priceless feedback and suggestions; and to Tink for pointing me in the right direction.
To Crystal, editor and writer extraordinaire for bringing it all together; to my Mom for doing a word by word review; and to Meeghn for catching the grammar mistakes that snuck by us all.
Finally to all my wonderful readers, thank you for all your support, I am truly blessed to have you.
About the Author
Kameron Scott is the author of the international bestselling short story, Undercover: A Spyder and the Spy Erotic Thriller. A San Francisco native, Kameron currently lives in Santa Barbara, California, where he is busy working on the second book in the Spyder and the Spy series.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Undercover: A Spyder and the Spy Erotic Thriller
Copyright © 2013 Kameron Scott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of a brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without the written permission of the author.
Model photo © Artem Furman
eBook second edition published—December 2013
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Main Menu
The Spyder and the Spy
Additional Stories
Bonus Excerpt: Deep Cover
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright Information
Under Cover: A Spyder and the Spy Erotic Short Story Page 3
