Covert Cover Cracked
By
Missy Marciassa
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Cover Art by Cormar Covers
Copyright © 2014 T. Washington & Associates, LLC
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Other Works
About The Author
Chapter 1
The cell phone vibrated in Elle’s pocket. Dammit, she’d forgotten to turn it off. Elle checked the text.
Whatever’s in the stacks 2nite will still b there 2morrow. Come play with me.
Lyle. There was no way that was gonna happen. Elle was a little over six hundred miles away from Norfolk in Bermuda. She didn’t have time to send any kind of reply, so she just powered off her phone. She’d have to tell him she hadn’t gotten his message: no reception in the stacks or something like that. For a fleeting moment she felt badly about the lie but didn’t have time to dwell on it. It was part of the job. Right now, she had to focus.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Elle leaned into the heavy cleaning cart and pushed it out. The waiting hotel guests were forced to step back to accommodate the cart, but not one of them looked at her. She was careful not to look them in the eye, either, instead focusing straight ahead. As Mason had told her, “The help doesn’t look guests in the eye.”
Elle tried not to twitch. The starched uniform was itchy. Surely this resort could afford fabric softener? Not for the staff, apparently. She tightened her grip on the cart, determined not to scratch. Being a housekeeper truly was the ideal cover, even if it didn’t fit in with her fantasies of herself in a sleek black leather outfit, sprinting through hallways.
Fourteen-oh-one on the right.
Fourteen-oh-two on the left.
“Suite fourteen-fourteen will be on your left, Bookworm. Stay focused.”
The blast of Mason’s voice in her ear caused Elle to jump, despite her training, as she gritted her teeth. Like he needed to rupture her eardrum with that intel. She should’ve checked the volume on her earpiece while assembling her gear. It was one more thing she’d have to remember for the next op.
It was the codename “Bookworm” that had her gritting her teeth, however. Mason was still pissed about her becoming field rated. He’d spent her entire year of field training predicting her imminent failure.
Elle stopped at fourteen-fourteen. She took out her programmed key card and slid it into the lock, pushing the handle down when the light flashed green and the lock clicked. The door was unlocked. She remembered to push down with her wrist, rather than her hand, to avoid leaving fingerprints before pushing the door open.
“Housekeeping,” she murmured as she pushed the door open wider and pulled the cart in behind her. Like anyone was going to hear her soft voice.
“Housekeeping!” Her voice was louder this time. Even someone in the bedroom would hear that.
“Target is still having drinks in the first floor lounge,” Mason said, “as noted thirteen minutes ago.”
Elle rolled her eyes. Yeah, he was pissed. She couldn’t come back with a retort because she had to stay in the habit of not responding verbally unless absolutely necessary. There was always a possibility someone was still in the hotel suite. The lights were on, but the TV wasn’t. The sound of the door shutting seemed unnaturally loud. She walked through the sitting room; the plush carpet swallowed her footsteps.
The door to the bedroom was partway open. Elle reached to open it further, again being careful not to touch anything, only to find a messy- but empty- bed and an open suitcase.
Noiseless steps through the bedroom to check out the bathroom.
Empty.
Time to get to work. Elle got out her latex gloves and pulled them on, snapping the latex against her skin to make sure the fit was snug.
“Remember your gloves, Bookworm. No prints.”
Elle again jumped at the unexpected directive but bit back a response. She couldn’t resist holding up her gloved hands, however, waving her fingers, making sure the tiny cameras in her stud earrings could pick them up for him to see.
“Keep moving, Bookworm. Get to the suitcase.”
Like she was just going to stand there wiggling her fingers. Elle slid open the door to the closet and moved the suitcase on the floor. Below that suitcase was another one. She crouched down, unzipped it and lifted the top, revealing neatly folded clothes. She lifted the clothes out, taking care to keep them folded, and set them down on the floor. Underneath the clothes were two stacks of folders. She lifted those out, making sure to keep them in their stacks, and set those down on the floor besides the clothes.
“There’s the false bottom,” Mason said.
Geez, really? Elle gripped the sides of the suitcase and lifted, revealing a hidden compartment. She felt around the back side of the suitcase until her fingers pressed on something that clicked. She pushed what looked like a button, and it came out with a dime-sized disc attached. She held it up to ensure the cameras caught it.
“Bookworm has acquired the disc.”
Elle reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a palm-sized disc scanner. She fit the disc into the circular indented space: perfect fit. The tech guys at Langley were good. A tiny green dot lit up, indicating the scanning had started.
“Data transmitting,” Mason said.
Despite its size, this disc contained a lot of information. Elle knew she would be there for a few minutes.
“Target has wrapped up his drinks and is leaving the lounge. Stay in position, Bookworm.”
What? He had only just gone down there. Elle forced herself to inhale and then exhale, forcing her shoulders down. No panicking with Mason listening in. She would be damned if she gave him any justification to pull her out of the field now.
“Target is at the elevators. Forty percent of the data has transmitted.” He was in a truck across the street and had “eyes” (which meant cameras) set up throughout the hotel, so he could watch their target pretty much anywhere in the building. He didn’t have eyes in the suite due to a last-minute room switch.
Forty percent. He was right downstairs, and they didn’t have half of what they needed yet. Shit, shit, shit. Elle resisted the urge to stand up and pace. She realized she had left her cleaning cart in the living room of the suite. If they got in here, how would she explain being in here with her cart in the other room? She should’ve brought the cart back into the bedroom with her. Quadruple shit.
“Targ
et is getting into the elevator. He’s going to floor fourteen.”
Elle could feel a trickle of sweat drip down her lower back.
“Sixty-five percent of the data is transmitted.”
This disc scanner needed to start scanning faster than the blink of an eye, dammit. Elle glanced around. Should she go get the cart? She’d lose precious time trying to move the unwieldy thing back here. Should she put everything back in the suitcase? If she did that, she wouldn’t be able to put the disc back, and the whole point was to leave no hint that it had ever been disturbed.
It was an odd feeling, being in the field. While part of her wanted to take off and run from the suite as fast as she could, another part of her was hyper-focused, weighing the alternatives, and staying in enough control to keep her from acting impulsively. Hopefully the microphone in her nametag wasn’t sensitive enough to pick up the panicky staccato beat of her heart.
“Hold your position, Bookworm. We’re at seventy-five percent.”
At least this was a busy time in the hotel, since a convention was being held here. Hopefully the elevator would take a while to make it up the fourteen floors. Elle focused on her breathing, something she learned in college when one of her best friends, Tina, used to drag her to yoga twice a week. She needed to get back into yoga. After all the physical training she had endured while getting field rated, Elle was in the best shape of her life. Adding in flexibility and even more mental control techniques would only be a bonus.
And Lyle probably wouldn’t mind more flexibility for when they played, either. Elle couldn’t hold back a grin at that thought.
“Eighty-eight percent transmitted.”
Mason’s voice interrupted her short-lived distraction. She needed to stay focused. Breathe.
“Where is he?” She couldn’t help herself from asking and wanted to bite out her tongue as soon as she spoke. That was not necessary communication, and Mason would enjoy reminding her of such during the debrief.
After a moment he said, “The elevator just stopped on the eleventh floor. Radio silence requested.”
Eleventh floor? Only three floors away, dammit. Couldn’t Mason do something, like stop the elevator? What the hell kind of handler was he, anyway? He was just waiting to blame all this on her if the op failed-
“Ninety-six percent transmitted. Expected time to completion: twenty-three seconds.”
Breathe in. Breathe out. Elle’s thighs were burning from holding her crouched position. This was almost as bad as the torture training. Well, maybe that was over-stating things a bit.
“Transmission complete. Get the hell out of there, Bookworm.” For once, it wonderful to hear his voice and easy to follow his direction.
Elle wasted no time sticking the disc back in place in the suitcase and then fitting in the suitcase bottom, pressing until it fit securely. The files went in next, arranged in the same order as before.
“Target and acquaintances exiting on the fourteenth floor.”
Elle put the clothes on top of the files, making sure they were just as neat as she found them. She zipped up the suitcase and pushed it back into the closet. Put the other suitcase on top. Kept her breathing steady.
“Five doors away from the suite.”
She sprang up, sprinting through the bedroom to the cart. She was about to start pushing the cart toward the door when she noticed her gloves. She was still wearing the latex gloves. What housekeeper wore latex gloves while pushing the cleaning cart?
“Target’s at the door of the suite.”
Elle ripped them off and dropped them into her apron pocket as she heard the click of the lock. She started pushing the cart toward the door as it opened.
The target and his guests paused for a moment as they took in the cart and her in uniform. She gave them a polite smile and kept moving, careful not to make direct eye contact. They filed into the suite, forcing her to keep the door open with her cart. At least she didn’t have to touch the door with her bare hands to hold it open.
Elle kept moving, pushing the cart into the hallway. The elevator at the end of the hall was like the light at the end of a tunnel. She let out a breath as she heard the click of the door shut behind her. Home stretch.
“Extract yourself, Bookworm.”
Like she needed to be told that even once.
Elle leaned into the cart, pushing it down the hallway as fast as she could without looking weird. Once she reached the elevator she hit the button. Unfortunately, it had already moved on.
“Hey- hey, housekeeper!”
Elle really didn’t want to acknowledge the call- maybe she could pretend to be deaf? No, that would likely cause more problems. She turned to see the target standing at the door to his suite.
“My suite isn’t cleaned!”
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. How could she explain that? There was nowhere to run: the elevator doors remained shut. Leaving the cart and fleeing down the stairs would definitely blow her cover.
“I- I ran out of towels.” The lie popped into her head and out of her mouth. “I’m going to get more and will be right back, sir.”
The elevator dinged. Talk about being saved by the bell.
He glared at her for a long moment as if assessing her story. “Make sure you do come right back,” he finally said and disappeared into his suite, shutting his door. Terrorist and an asshole. Fitting.
As soon as Elle got to the basement, she left the cart in a long line of carts, went to the employee lockers, unlocked the one where she left her backpack, and stepped into the restroom to pull off the housekeeping uniform and pull on her beige jumpsuit. She stuffed the uniform into the backpack, making sure the latex gloves didn’t fall out of the apron and onto the floor, and slipped out of the restroom. Elle was careful not to walk too fast or too slow as she exited the employee area, still avoiding eye contact as she made her way through the hall to the exit.
Elle stepped outside to see the navy blue van pull up right outside. Muggy heat enveloped her in the few steps she took between the building and the van. The door slid open, revealing Mason. She hopped inside, and he shut the door as the driver pulled away.
Elle settled into a seat as Mason turned back to the computers. She watched him type.
“Did we get everything?” she finally asked.
He didn’t even pause or glance in her direction, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “Transmission complete means we got everything.”
She stifled a sigh. He was going to have to get over this. She had spent a year training to become field rated over his objections and passed all of the tests, both physical and mental. Why he became her handler, considering his vocal doubts about her abilities, was beyond her.
“So we did it.” She wasn’t giving up. This was her first field op.
Mason’s fingers continued flying over the keyboard for a few more moments. Then a drive popped open, revealing another tiny disc that looked like the one she had copied in the hotel. They weren’t available on the commercial market but were prized in espionage because they carried a lot of data, couldn’t be compromised via wireless transmission, and required specially-designed readers. He held it out to Elle, balancing it on his fingertip.
“Upload this to your machine,” he said.
Elle got out her own laptop before taking the disc. The big downside was that their size made them easy to lose. Even if the average person didn’t have the proper scanner available to read them (since the scanners also weren’t available on the commercial market), the agency still didn’t want intel lying around. She slid it into the port right next to a USB port on her laptop.
“Is the data uploading?” he asked as she watched the data begin transmitting.
She nodded.
“I need verbal confirmation.”
She looked at him without even raising her head. Sometimes he could be such a prick. It wasn’t like they were on coms. “Transmitting.”
As usual, if Mason noticed her irritation, he didn’t indicat
e it. “Please confirm completed transmission.”
The message flashed on her screen: One hundred percent of the data was transmitted. “Data transmission complete.”
“One hundred percent?”
Now she did raise her head to glare at him openly. “No, only ninety-five percent.”
“Please confirm when one hundred percent of the data is transmitted.” Mason remained deadpan.
Elle fixed him with the death stare, something she had perfected in interrogation training. “One hundred percent complete.”
Mason nodded and turned back to his computer. She was tempted to tell him she needed verbal confirmation of his receipt for her report but thought better of it. It was probably better to focus on the positive.
“Successful completion of our first field op.” They were a team, after all, destined to work together for who knew how long
“Your first.” He gave her the quickest of glances. “It was close. And there was an unauthorized transmission going to your cell?”
There was no use denying it. “I received a text before I turned it off.”
Mason was still typing as he spoke. “The transmission was sent when you were in the elevator, in the middle of your op. It should’ve been off by then.”
She hated having to admit she’d made a mistake, but she had. So she wasn’t perfect. It hadn’t interfered with the op. “It won’t happen again.”
He spared her another glance. “See that it doesn’t.”
She was surprised when he didn’t say anything else, just focused on his typing. Even he knew it wasn’t that big of a deal. Time to return to emphasizing the positive.
“The op was completed. Successfully.” She would be damned if he ruined her first field op. “Nothing else is relevant.”
Mason didn’t miss a beat with his typing as he spared her another glance. “The only way you earn a gold star from us is if you get killed.”
Elle rolled her eyes. She wasn’t looking for a spot on the CIA’s Memorial Wall or even a medal, but she’d successfully completed her first field op. “Aren’t you glad about that?” She grinned at the back of his head. “It would kill you if Bookworm earned a gold star on her first mission.”
Covert Cover Cracked Page 1
