Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Kissing Kalliope (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Amy Briggs

  “Make yourself comfortable. I want to chat.” He smiled.

  "Ok, sir. What would you like to chat about?" This was unusual, and in no way would I be able to get comfortable. We got along well but in a professional way. We didn't chitchat, ever, other than when there was an odd day with a drastic weather change. That was about it for the small talk.

  “You’ve been working with Delta Force for a while now.”

  "Yes, sir."

  “How do you like it? Are you happy?”

  Am I happy? What planet am I on right now? “Excuse me, sir?” I wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Do you like the work that you do?”

  “Yes sir, I do. Very much, in fact.”

  "Well, that is good to hear." He paused. "You're the best Intelligence officer I've had the pleasure of working with, and I have a special assignment for you if you're interested."

  “Thank you, sir. That sounds intriguing.” It felt good to be called the best. People in my position didn’t typically get assignments, though, so the apprehension I had developed sat firmly in the pit in my stomach as I waited for him to continue.

  “I’m glad you think so, Tyson. I’ve been asked to send one of my best Intelligence officers to Langley for a little operational procedure sharing kind of thing, and I’d like you to go.”

  “Langley? The CIA?” I asked, in a hushed tone.

  “You don't have to whisper CIA; everyone knows they exist.” He teased me. “Here's the long and short of it, Tyson. It's not really optional. The powers that be, well above my pay grade, would like for us to spend some time with the CIA, exchanging our intelligence-gathering processes, to see how we can learn from each other. I don't know how productive that will be since we run a far tighter ship being left alone over here without all the red tape, but that's what the assignment is.”

  “Well sir, I’ll do whatever you’d like me to do. I’m happy to help.”

  “I knew you would be. I can’t promise that the great Commonwealth of Virginia is going to be a vacation of any kind, but you do excellent work, and the guys are taking a few days’ leave, so the timing is good for you to get out of the confines of this office too.”

  “That sounds great, sir.” It did sound nice to get away for a week, even if it was to Virginia. How bad could it be?

  He set his cup down and rested both hands on the desk as he leaned forward. “I need to be honest with you, Tyson. I don't necessarily think it'll be great. I suspect that this is a bureaucratic puppet show for the higher-ups to prove that agencies can get along. That being said, as far as I'm concerned, when you're not with whatever pencil-pushing snooze they make you meet with, you're on vacation. Have nice dinners. Explore historic… Virginia.” He chuckled.

  I had to let out a little laugh myself. Langley, Virginia wasn't known for being a playground of any kind; it was known as CIA Headquarters. That being said, I'd become a homebody the last couple of years. I rarely went out, I either cooked for myself or ordered in, and in the evenings, I was researching for work or reading. My life had become rather routine and monotonous. A little trip might be fun.

  “I can make the most of it, sir. It would be my pleasure to represent our team.” The more I thought about it, the better it sounded.

  “Fantastic. I’ll let them know you’re coming. It’s Thursday; you’ll be expected to report there on Monday. If I were you, I’d pack a bag and get yourself there over the weekend. Do a little exploring or shopping or whatever you like to do,” he said. As he shifted in his seat, I could see that he’d just realized we knew nothing about each other personally. Which was fine; it was just kind of amusing to see him notice it.

  “I like going out to eat, sir. So, this is the perfect trip for that. Is there anything else that I need to know?” We hadn’t really discussed anything about what I was supposed to do with the agent.

  “I'm going to leave it to your discretion. Frankly, I don't think they'll share anything worth sharing with you. But if they do, that's great; put it in your report when you get back. If not, then I wish you the best staying awake with those suits. In the beginning, they wanted me to come, but I think my salty attitude was a turnoff. You're far more respectful and diplomatic than I am, Tyson. I'm too old for that shit, and I honestly don't give a fuck.” He shrugged his shoulders as if confirming his statement.

  “You got it, sir. Be nice, share if it’s appropriate, listen, and take notes.”

  “And go out to eat. On our dime. Or their dime. I should find out who’s paying for this.” He rubbed his chin.

  I laughed again, and said, “Yes sir. I’ll make arrangements right now.”

  “I’ll let them know to expect you Monday. Thank you, Kallie. You really are our best, and I do appreciate all that you do for the guys. And for me, of course. This could be a fun experience for you. Make them give you a tour,” he added, as I got up to leave.

  "You got it, sir." I excused myself and went back to my desk, where there was already an email waiting for me, with instructions on the assignment and where to go Monday. It didn't say who I would be meeting with, though. Perhaps it was more than one person, or they hadn't decided who got the short straw on their end yet. I suspected that the CIA didn't want to have an information sharing session either, but we were all going to make the most of it. I certainly was, and I immediately started looking online for restaurants better than what you'd find in central Texas.

  Once my reservations had been made through our travel office, I headed out for the day. Along with the email that contained my instructions, was another email from the Commander, telling me to take Friday off as well, to do whatever I needed to, in order to prepare for an unplanned trip. Since I’d already been at work for a full shift, and then some, when the Commander called me in to talk, I took advantage of the time.

  I needed to review my wardrobe. My fear of navy-blue suits might be something I'd have to get over since I was going to have dress differently than I did for my current position. I'd grown accustomed to my favorite jeans and t-shirts, or whatever I was in the mood for since I was generally cooped up at my computer. My job with Delta Force was top secret, so I didn’t socialize much with anyone at work, and since I wasn’t military, I didn’t have any specific dress code. Which meant, I didn’t own many professional clothes, other than the two suits I’d interviewed in two years prior. I decided to hit the mall on my way home to find a few suitable outfits for the trip.

  The mall wasn’t crowded at all, which was great since I didn’t have a ton of time to fool around. I hit up one of the higher-end stores that carried women’s suits and more professional casual attire. It seemed kind of stuffy at first, but I managed to find a few things that didn’t break the bank, and were also likely appropriate for other occasions, should I leave the house to do anything.

  As I was heading to the register, I walked by the formal wear. Beautiful glittering gowns, the perfect little black dress, in a variety of styles. All dresses I’d never have cause to wear, but I couldn't take my eyes off them. I checked the time and seeing that I had a bit of time to play, I decided to try one on.

  I chose a floor-length, black, spaghetti-strapped dress. It was stunning, even though it was so simple. Looking at myself in the mirror, I ran my hands down the front of the silky fabric, enjoying the way it felt on my skin. The dress fit perfectly, and while I kept turning around to look at myself in it, I was simultaneously reminding myself I had no place to wear it.

  Or did I? The Commander did say I should take myself out in Virginia. While it’s not the fanciest of towns, there were a few places I could at least wear it out for a drink, if I really wanted to. I’d never had an occasion to wear something so fancy, and while it was plain, it was definitely elegant.

  Fuck it.

  I bought it. I had the money, that was never the issue. I lived simply and was paid well for my job. Calling it a treat to myself, I took the dress home and carefully packed it in my suitcase, along with a pair of high heels I wor
e one time to an event my parents made me attend with them over a year ago.

  I knew it seemed a little bit silly to pack a formal dress for what was a business trip to a government agency, but I did have some time to myself, so why not go ahead and dress up one night? Have a glass of wine at a fancy hotel bar or something. I deserved to live a little, and I could feel the grin forming as I convinced myself to take at least one night for me.

  Ethan

  By Friday, I couldn’t wait to get home. I had beer in the fridge, a cigar I planned to smoke on my terrace, and I was sure there would be something good on television. I was also exhausted. I’d been briefing all day about the impending Delta Force Intelligence officer’s arrival.

  As it turned out, it was a female named Kalliope Tyson. An unusual name, and I’d been thinking about it all afternoon. I had no idea what she looked like, but with a name like that, I’d expect her to be beautiful. However, with a job like Intelligence officer for Delta Force, she was probably a bookish nerd, with little to no personality, who wouldn’t find me remotely amusing, or charming. She’d be wrong, of course, because I’m most certainly both of those things. Not to mention, devilishly handsome, but that was neither here nor there. Kalliope was just another meeting to attend, really, and at least I had the weekend to myself before having to spend an entire week with her.

  A feeling of discontent had been looming for weeks, and I suspected it had to do with being back in the United States being a desk jockey for so long. The days of sneaking through dark alleys for meetups, exchanging information for payment in the bodegas of Madrid or the Doha in Qatar, seemed like a hundred years ago. The realist in me was well aware of how dangerous, filthy, and sometimes nefarious, the job could be, but the adventurer the dreamer in me—that guy missed the excitement. Nothing interesting happens in Virginia, and in some ways, I suppose that was the point.

  I poured myself a tumbler of scotch and went out to my terrace with my Cuban. Feet up on the chair across from mine, I lit her up, puffing a large plume of smoke into the night. Cubans aren’t quite as hard to come by these days, particularly if they were acquired from another agent while on a mission that he could neither confirm nor deny even happened. It was an ongoing joke in the office, and with other spooks, that we could neither confirm nor deny just about anything.

  I chuckled quietly to myself as I thought back over my short career in the clandestine services. Making friends wasn’t easy when you couldn't tell them what you do for a living because half of what you say is a bold-faced lie. You become extremely good at lying, and I suppose that's one reason why the divorce rate is so high for our profession.

  As far as dating goes, well, I wasn’t. I didn’t really know how to pick up girls. I like to crack jokes, to my brother especially, about exotic women in exotic locations, but it was mostly bullshit. Women generally came up to me. I’m a confident and good looking guy, with the nice guy haircut, and clean-shaven, I have a good job, so in the rare circumstance in which I found myself out and about at a bar or some other such place, I didn’t really have to try. No relationships ever formed from these shenanigans, mostly because I was always lying about what I did, and who I was, to an extent. It was almost like practicing my craft, keeping my super secret spy skills up by pretending. Was it a fair practice? Probably not, but I’d never promised anything I could not deliver, whether it be an amazing evening in the sack or nothing at all.

  I could always tell by a woman’s body language if she was going to try to turn a one-night stand into something it wasn’t. Or, if she was looking for more than an evening together. In those situations, I don’t even go home with them, because it’s nothing but trouble. I’ve got no desire to hurt anyone’s feelings, I was in it for the “right now,” and I’d always been honest about it. There’s never been anyone in my life I was serious about; likely because I refused to let anyone get close. I’d had one foot out the door my whole life, which was why clandestine life was so appealing to me. I could change anything about myself to achieve my mission, whether it be what my role with the U.S. government was, what my name was, anything really.

  Having that covert attitude about life all day doesn’t lend itself to building the foundation of a loving relationship. Part of me would like to have what my parents have. They’ve been married for a hundred years, they’re all over each other, even in retirement. It’s actually kind of weird to watch my dad chase my mom around the house, trying to grab her ass at Christmas. I’d love to blame the alcohol, but the mimosas and screwdrivers don’t start flowing until at least ten a.m. and he’s at it with a cup of coffee in hand. They’re fun though. They genuinely enjoy each other’s company. You’d think living in the town where the CIA was, there would be a lot of smart chicks, professionals with a good head on their shoulders, working on their D.C. careers, that kind of thing. But not really.

  I stopped even attempting to meet people romantically, well over a year ago, and it probably wasn’t too long after I took the job here that I gave up completely. Nothing but a couple of good times for today, but nobody I’d care to chase around the house on Christmas, trying to grab their ass, that’s for sure. Thinking about my parents made me happy. I puffed my cigar and sipped my scotch, also a high-end gift from an unnamed source. The warm liquid burned slightly as it made its way down to my gut, where it warmed me all over, relaxing me.

  A friend of mine had invited me out for drinks at the fancy hotel downtown, but after the week I’d had, I declined, choosing to stay in. My restlessness waned on the weekends, and I wondered if maybe I just wasn’t cut out for a desk job. I was still plenty young enough to travel, even to do my old job, which was bringing back more and more good memories, and tucking the bad ones away where I couldn’t find them.

  That evening, I just enjoyed the quiet.

  The next morning, I got up and went for a run before heading to the gym inside my building. I lived in a gated complex, with pretty tight security, that had everything you could need. The gym downstairs was as nice as any club you could join on your own and was included in your lease, so I took advantage of it almost daily. The building was mostly full of government workers, and there was a handful of people I recognized from the office from time to time. But the nature of our employment trained us not to socialize in certain settings with colleagues, as we didn’t know who did what, and if we did, it wasn’t the business of any bystander who could be haphazardly, or even intentionally, listening. My life was strange.

  After I ran some bullshit errands, for food and other crap I needed at home to survive as an adult, I read up on some international hostility I'd heard about and did my usual weekend chores. Once I'd finished everything I wanted to do to keep my house in order, I decided that a couple drinks out of the house would be nice. I called my friend Mike, who I'd declined an invitation from the night before, but he had plans with his girlfriend. The last time we'd gone out, he told me that he was planning to propose, and I did everything I could to talk him out of it. I have zero skin in that game—it didn’t matter to me if he was married or not—so why I spent the better part of an evening trying to convince him that love wasn’t real, and even if it was, why did you have to legally bind yourself to someone. Obviously, I was drunk, and most definitely projecting my fear of commitment on him. But luckily for me, Mike didn’t give a shit what I thought about marriage, and he was happily planning a secret vacation where he could propose.

  I decided I was going to go out by myself. Being cooped up all week, I didn’t want to regret not going out, and after my cigar and scotch on the terrace the night before, I’d stayed in and chilled out enough. It wouldn’t hurt to go out for a little bit. Since I’d not been to the new bar at the hotel, I decided to go there, and practice my spy routines on some helpless maidens in town for a bit. I hadn’t had the company of a beautiful woman from out of town in some time, and it was high time I enjoyed myself. Lord knows the next week was going to be pure hell.

  Kallie

  Whoe
ver was paying for my trip spared no expense. I was put up in what I’m pretty sure is the nicest hotel in town. When I checked in, wearing my chucks, ripped jeans, and a dark green hoodie, I noticed the front desk clerk do a double take. Yeah, whatever, screw you, buddy. I flew all day and like to be comfortable.

  For whatever reason—I think it was the amount of time I had to fly to my destination or something like that—I was permitted to fly first class, which I’d never done before. I highly recommend it. I ended up falling asleep for a good portion of the trip, which was good, because the older gentleman next to me kept trying to talk to me, wanting to know what I was doing and where I was going. It was way too nosy; so much so, it felt like he’d been planted by the CIA to see what kind of information he could get from me.

  Even though it was Saturday, and I wasn’t driving anywhere, I didn’t accept the free morning cocktails offered on my flight. Instead, I opted to enjoy the largest seat I’ve ever seen on an airplane, along with an untoasted toaster pastry I had in my bag, and the free water I did accept.

  It seems childish, but in my opinion, sometimes all the meal prepping, planning and dishes are just a total pain in the ass. I never enjoyed doing it and didn’t gain an appreciation for those things as I got older. I tried not to eat garbage all the time, but who doesn’t love a S’mores flavored toaster pastry. If you haven’t had it before, throw one in your purse when you’re on the road. You’ll thank me.

  Once I got settled into my ridiculously large suite, I sprawled out on the king-sized bed like a starfish. It didn't last long because I needed to unpack my suitcase quickly, so my beautiful dress wouldn’t stay wrinkled, and my drab suits could breathe as well. I left Texas as early as I could, and while there was only an hour time difference between here and there, I was exhausted. I decided, for the first time in as long as I can recall, that I’d take a nap.