Stories by Kiera Dellacroix

by Dellacroix, Kiera

  He sucked in a frustrated breath. He had been practicing his gloating in the mirror for the last two weeks. It wasn't going to happen.

  "Fuck!" he roared, throwing his coffee mug against the wall to shatter into pieces.

  Having made Clinton the victim was supposed to be his personal little bonus. It didn't matter to him that the man was an innocent, it only mattered that she liked him. With that reflection, a sinister wave of foreboding encompassed him, a possible consequence that he hadn't previously considered if his plan failed. He had forced her to kill an innocent; something she would never had done if she had only herself to think about. Now, instead of bringing her back, he may have made an enemy. Had he gone too far?

  He shivered at the thought.

  He reached into his jacket, withdrawing his wallet and removing the photograph he had forced himself not to look at for the last three years. A picture taken without her knowledge and yellowing with age. She had been so young then, still in her teens and only a year fresh out of prison.

  He shook his head with a mixture of frustration and amusement. Even today she wore her hair the exact same way and her expression of cold indifference projected the same aloof and untouchable aura now that it had in the past. With a sigh, he dropped the photo to the surface of his desk. Three years ago she had walked out, walked out on him and her employer of more than a decade, succeeding where so many others had failed. Not only had she gotten out, which was until then deemed impossible, but in the process she had become very wealthy and much to his chagrin, seemingly content with her new life.

  When he had stumbled upon his most prized asset, she was living on borrowed time. Although her mind would never surrender, her body could only take so much. He remembered the first time he saw her, even under the bruises her beauty was apparent. He had viewed postmortem pictures of the guard who had attempted to rape her. The man had been killed with a savagery one would find hard to believe a 16-year old girl capable of. She had the gift; she would only quit when her body stopped functioning. He gave her a choice, remain in prison or lead a new life with the United States government. She chose the latter and in the years to come she exceeded all expectations. Eventually, as the right people began to appreciate her success, they also began to take notice of the one who had recruited her. If she was grateful, she certainly didn't show it. As she grew older, she only became more beautiful and he often found himself thinking of her. He tried desperately to get her attention a number of different ways but was always shunned. After a time, he became increasingly agitated with her lack of appreciation for all that he had done for her. She owed him. She was alive today because he had pulled the strings and put his own fledgling career on the line. Everything she had accomplished and all she ever would was due directly to his involvement. He was her savior and should be treated as such. But it never happened. No matter what he did, she remained detached and uninterested in him or anyone else.

  As he sat there reliving the distant past, he began to sweat and a steel fist closed around his guts. He thought about all she had gained since she had left and all that he had lost. With her as his meal ticket, he was almost guaranteed to be the top man in a very short time. He was regarded by most as the obvious choice once the current Director stepped down and he had spent many days planning for the day when he would be announced as successor. Now, as he sat at the same desk, in the same office as he had on the day she had left, he realized for the millionth time that she had done much better without him than he had without her. His pulse pounded in his temples as he thought about the day she had walked into this very room, standing in the exact spot that Martin had occupied only hours ago, and simply stated that she was leaving. Of course, he had tried to talk some sort of sense to her. He gave her a solid thirty minutes of reasons to reconsider her decision and was rewarded with a solid thirty minutes of silence. As a last resort, he stated that no matter what he decided or said, she would be eliminated if she insisted on leaving. A statement that resulted in nothing but a dangerous narrowing of those fucking scary black eyes as she turned to leave. He recalled the last words they had spoken to each other.

  "Bailey, please, I'm begging you, don't do this. I don't want to see anything happen to you."

  She turned her back on him and began walking toward the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. "You fix it Terry; make it so they leave me alone. I don't want to kill you."

  When she spoke those last six words, her voice seemed almost gentle. It was the only time he could ever remember her showing any emotion other than anger. He relived that singular memory constantly. It was the only time in all the years that they had know each other that she ever showed any concern for him or any indication that maybe she had feelings for him. It was those six words that had kept her from being a target for the past three years. That and the fact that in the beginning, the team dispatched to persuade her to return was sent back alive, but damn near useless.

  He could never understand just why she left and was always searching for something that he might have done better or differently. Because of her he was where he was today and because of her he would go no further. He had put the brakes on career advancement when he convinced the Director to place her on an inactive list. A sell that had not been easy and had turned out to be career suicide. If he could do it differently today he would.

  "Sir, are you still there?"

  He started at the sound of the voice and realized that he was still holding the phone in his hands. He quickly dropped it into the cradle, rising from his chair and gazing through the window at the winter scenery. The situation was now complicated beyond measure, she was without doubt one the top five people in the field, perhaps the best. What really scared him, although he was reluctant to admit it, was that perhaps he had crossed the line, and that maybe, just maybe, she might come after him.

  He sat back down and reached out to hit the intercom.

  "Yes, sir."

  "I want you to contact all department heads. I want a meeting in the conference room tomorrow morning at 8:00. No one, and make sure you stress this point, no one is excused for any reason."

  "Yes sir, but..."

  "No buts! I don't care where they are. You let them know that if they are not sitting bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in my meeting tomorrow, they can look for different jobs," He glared at the phone sitting on his desk. "Do you have any more questions, Miss Marshall?"

  He punched the button to disconnect before she could reply.

  --------

  Bailey checked her reflection in the mirror, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, felt it might be possible to like what she saw. Today was the first day of the rest of her life. She had gone over everything in her mind at least a dozen times. Her plan was risky but would succeed; of this she was sure. It was going to take time but she was patient, the rewards were far too promising to pass up.

  She ran the brush through her hair one more time and headed to the elevator with the hope of catching Tom at the Security desk. Yesterday, she had called Clinton's assistant Piper, whom she had never met, and asked her if she would be interested in taking the position as her assistant. Clinton had bragged about her often and since he obviously wasn't going to need her any longer, there was no reason to let her go. It had been a short and surprisingly pleasant conversation. The woman had instantly agreed and had proceeded to chatter away in a slight Cajun accent as if talking to an old friend. She had been startled to find herself smiling as she listened to the woman prattle on and confused at that discovery, she had interrupted and asked her to inform the Board to be present in the conference room this morning. She assumed they were in there now awaiting her presence. She had suspected for quite some time that the Organization had people planted in her company. However, she felt that as long as they did their jobs for the company, she could care less what they reported. Today she cared, and she was going to make sure the right people got something to think about.

  The elevator
doors opened and as expected she found Tom at the security desk.

  "Hi, Tom."

  She caught him totally by surprise. He had heard that there was a meeting she was presiding over today and was not expecting to see her. He stood from his chair so fast he made himself dizzy.

  "Uh… Hello, Miss Cameron."

  She handed him an envelope. "Would you make sure that this gets out in today's mail?"

  "Of course."

  "Also, I'm expecting a package sometime tomorrow. Would you call me when it gets here? I'd like to speak to the man bringing it in."

  "Will do."

  "Thanks, Tom."

  He watched her walk away and sat down quickly, it was hard to hide an erection while standing.

  --------

  In the conference room you could cut the tension with a knife, it was rare that Cameron herself attended meetings. Most of the Board assumed that a new Director of Operations would be announced now that Clinton was gone and there were plenty of people in the room who believed they would be the perfect choice to fill the current vacancy. More than one was privately rehearsing their acceptance.

  There were those however, who had no idea what to think. Cameron was their benefactor and their employer but she was also a ghost. The occasional sighting or the once in a blue moon telephone call was all they ever heard or saw from her. In fact, a few were convinced that it was definitely going to be a bad mojo day.

  Bailey paused outside the conference room door and listened, she could hear them talking amongst themselves. She squared her shoulders and rolled her head around until she heard the satisfying crack of vertebrae in her neck. Taking a long deep breath, she tried to shake the awkwardness she always felt when dealing with people.

  The second the door opened all noise immediately ceased and every eye in the room tracked to her. She nodded slightly to everyone as she made her way to the head of the table and took her seat, letting them all get a good look before she started.

  "Good morning," she said. "I want to thank everyone for coming, I know it was short notice."

  There was a rumble of responses to her greeting before it quieted and everyone looked at her expectantly.

  "First off. I would like to thank everyone who attended John's funeral and sent flowers and gifts to his wife Susan. I know she appreciated it, as I do as well," she said, trying not to feel like a complete hypocrite.

  "Secondly, I wish to inform you that with John's departure, I'm going to take over the day to day operation of the company, at least temporarily."

  At this there was a barely undetectable groan from those who thought they had the job wrapped up.

  "And lastly, I say temporarily because I am currently in negotiations to sell C-Corp to an interested party."

  The room went so quiet she swore she could have heard a pin drop.

  "I can imagine that a lot of you have questions. If we can go about it in an orderly manner, I'll do my best to answer them."

  She waited almost a full minute before a voice finally broke the silence.

  "What sort of time frame are we looking at here?"

  "Okay, let me make two points that might put everybody at ease. First, I would only entertain negotiations if, and only if, the interested party would keep the current personnel structure intact for at least one year after date of takeover. This has to be agreed upon in writing and would be an included part of the deal if closed. So, none of you have to worry about looking for jobs. No one's salary will be cut and there will be nobody let go without compensation, for at least a year after sale." She paused and looked around the room. "Secondly, I said I was in negotiations, there is no guarantee that a sale will be finalized. At this time I am only entertaining the possibility of a buyout."

  "Miss Cameron, I believe this should have been an issue put to the Board before deciding to entertain a buyout," one braved and several nods of agreement from the others accompanied this statement.

  "Obviously, I've practiced the hands off approach too long," Bailey said. "This is not a publicly traded company. It is a privately owned company. I own eighty percent of the stock and the remaining twenty percent is divided amongst yourselves. I don't have to consult with anyone to make decisions here. From the day of conception I've made sure that with every acquisition all existing personnel has been kept as intact as possible. I'll do no less for everyone if I decide to sell. But make no mistake. It is my decision. Now are there any other questions?"

  By the end of her speech it had escaped no one's attention that her eyes had begun to flash. There were no more questions.

  "Alright then," Bailey said after a moment. "I'm going to have John's assistant, Piper Tate, move into my office where she will assume her duties under me. Give me a couple of days to sort things out before you start hitting me with all the stuff I know John handled. Furthermore, I've agreed to let a private consultant come in and evaluate C-Corp at the request of the interested parties. I'm sure that he'll want to see a number of things, so everyone is to cooperate with him completely. You'll want to inform your staff, he should arrive at the beginning of next week and will probably hang around for a month, maybe more. Also, if any of you have concerns or worries that you would like to discuss with me, my door will be open in a few days, feel free. I assure all of you that if I decide to sell I'll make sure that every employee in the building is compensated fairly. Of course, the Board will be compensated for the amount of stock they have vested. So, if no one has any last minute questions, let's break this up because I've a lot to get started on."

  Looking around expectantly, she saw that there were none, so she got up and made her way out of the room, stopping to listen after the door closed behind her. As expected, the sound of raised voices filled the room the second the door had closed. Smiling, she headed for the elevator and upstairs for a quick breakfast, deciding she would spend the rest of the day with a good book.

  IV

  Pleased to meet you hope you guess my name, But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game

  - M. Jagger, K. Richards

  "Working late, Mr. Satterfield?" the Marine at the security gate said as Martin passed through the metal detector in the building's lobby.

  "Yep, it'll probably be a long one."

  "Very well, Mr. Satterfield. Sign in please."

  He bent to sign in his information.

  "Have a good evening, Mr. Satterfield."

  "Thank you, Corporal, you too." Martin smiled at the man as he reached for the keycard that allowed him access through the security door. He emerged on the other side and punched the button for the elevator, which immediately opened. He rode to the top floor and upon exit he was faced with another door which again required the use of his keycard. He took his time getting to his desk, making sure that he was alone on the floor.

  Once certain, he made directly for Terry's door and produced the stolen keycard, placing it over the sensor. The door opened immediately and he wasted no time in going for the keys to the desk. A few seconds later, he had it open and found the file exactly where he expected it to be. He put it in his briefcase and left the office, closing the door behind him. Feeling quite stealthy, he walked the short distance to his own desk and sat down. Situating himself, he opened his briefcase and removed the several inches of file that documented the life and times of The Wraith. He was kind of excited; it was kind of a thrill looking at something you weren't supposed to see. He applied himself to the material at hand.

  "Jesus Christ," he murmured several hours later. If he didn't know any better he would have sworn that what he just read was fiction. It was a lot of information to absorb. The file was quite thorough; there were notes from instructors, peers, and analysts. There were test results, psych profiles, medical records, and page after page of detailed mission reports, every one of which made for interesting reading.

  He sat back in his chair and reviewed the voluminous amount of information he had sorted through. Unfortunately, the question he wanted answered still
eluded him. What did Terry hold over her head? It must be something important, for as far as he could tell there was no way Terry could have forced her to participate if she didn't want to. She had left The Secondary quite wealthy and had purchased a business that enjoyed moderate success as an IT consulting firm. She was far from stupid, and through an astonishingly intelligent series of buyouts and takeovers, she had turned a moderate success into a spectacularly successful one. She had gambled a fortune on her savvy and won.

  The majority of people inducted into The Secondary knew it was a lifetime commitment. There was no walking away, but she had. He was sure that this fact burned Terry's ass to no end. There was no doubt that whatever Terry had against her had become personal. She had left for reasons not stated in her file and she had done it successfully. Everything indicated that she was not one to be trifled with. In one of the psych reports he recalled a doctor's statement. "You can tame her only to an extent. There are lines you do not cross."

  Martin believed that Terry had crossed one of these lines. Did he fully realize what he was dealing with?

  Terry viewed her as a means to an end, the perfect solution when the game plan needed a ringer, the ultimate weapon. Like any football coach he was sure that Terry could care less that his quarterback had a Doctorate in rocket science, he was only interested in the fact that he could make the big play. Bailey Cameron was a master of the big play. He was willing to bet that Terry had overlooked the fact that she had an IQ of 148.

  The answer seemed to float in front of him, mocking him as it swerved just within his reach. He was missing something; he went back over what he had learned.

  Bailey Ann Cameron, officially declared dead by the British government in 1985. Recruited that same year by The Secondary. Operative Identifier: Wraith. Born October 30th, 1970 in Belfast, Ireland. Her father James and her brother Michael were deceased. Location of her mother Doreen and her younger brother Ryan were unknown.