Rogue Agent

by Kellie Wallace

  From her seat, she could tell Jack was high already. His cheeks were blushing pink, his stride uneven, and his pupils were the size of dinner plates. He perched a butt cheek on a barstool two people down and ordered a drink.

  Terra opened her purse and inspected the contents. Nestled between her wallet and cell phone was a vial of crushed Rohypnol tablets. Though she wasn’t proud of her intentions, and despite her troubled relationship with her father, she wanted revenge.

  As she studied Jack’s profile, she rolled the vial between her thumb and forefinger, deep in thought. Her dealer friend warned it was dangerous to mix Rohypnol with alcohol. She didn’t want to kill Jack, only scare him.

  The man that stood between them left the bar, giving Terra a full glimpse of Jack. He wore denim jeans, a leather jacket, and a dark blue business shirt. He was thinner than she imagined, with long legs and hunched shoulders.

  His gaze drifted to her position and she swallowed the lump in her throat. It was time to get to work. She pulled down her shirt until her cleavage was in view and pouted her lips. The art of seduction wasn’t in her repertoire so she must have looked ridiculous, though Jack didn’t seem to mind, taking the bait immediately.

  “Hey, how are you doing tonight?” he asked.

  “Not bad. Enjoying it more now.” Her forced Lauren Bacall drawl almost made her wince.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Terra nodded and pointed to her empty shot glass. “I’ll go with vodka this time.”

  Jack relayed their orders to the bartender and turned to her while he waited. “What’s a hot chick like you doing in here? Were you dumped tonight?”

  “No, I’m just visiting New York for a few days.”

  “Are you here for work?”

  “Yeah, arrived today,” Terra said. “I have a few loose ends to tie up.”

  Their drinks arrived and Terra reached for her vodka too enthusiastically. As she poured the alcohol down her throat, she caught Jack staring at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Hey, are you that chick who rallies for dead broads and caged chickens?”

  Oh, shit. “Who may that be?”

  “Terra…Bloom I think. You look just like her!”

  She squeezed his arm a little too hard, making him wince, aiming only to divert his attention. “No, I’m not,” she said. “My name’s Casey Dutch.”

  “I’m Jack Winchester.”

  “You’re not the first person to assume I’m that crazy bitch. People stop me on the street all the time.”

  “Oh, well, you must be her twin, same hair and everything.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to someone butcher a song on karaoke. Jack tore a napkin into little pieces. “Look, Casey, I’m not used to speaking to women and I don’t know if what I’m going to say next will make you think less of me.”

  “Spit it out, Jack.”

  “Would you…umm…be interested in hanging out somewhere else?”

  Terra held back a laugh. Her plan was working out better than she ever expected. Drugging Jack would be a lot easier if there weren’t twenty other witnesses around.

  “You mean a hotel room? You wanna share a roll in the hay?”

  “I-I guess so.”

  She climbed off the stool and reached for her purse, purposely pressing her breasts into his arm. The color drained from his face and she imagined where the blood was rushing to. “Why don’t we have a drink instead? My hotel room isn’t far. You wanna share a taxi?”

  He smiled, seemingly proud for scoring a date so easily. “Okay, sounds good. You’re not like other women I’ve met.”

  “I’m an enigma, Jack Winchester.”

  They left the bar and hailed a taxi outside. Sky trams travelled above their heads on iridium tracks. Digital billboards advertised the latest Broadway shows, casting beams of light onto the pavement below.

  Across the road, Terra caught sight of holographic police officers patrolling the streets. They were top of the range technology, designed to tackle the booming crime population. They weren’t programmed to attack, only notify headquarters of a possible crime in progress.

  She bit her lip as one of the holograms stopped, turned, and stared at her, unmoving. She diverted her gaze to the ground and hoped she didn’t look too culpable. Could he sense her intentions for Jack? She ignored the lump in her chest and climbed into a taxi as it pulled up.

  “Elder Towers, please,” she instructed the driver.

  After spending some minutes in silence, Jack spoke. “What do you do for work?”

  “Huh?” Terra dragged her eyes from the fleeting street lights and looked at Jack. For a moment, she’d forgotten he was there.

  “What’s your job?” he repeated. “You said you’re in New York for work.”

  “I’m an accountant,” she replied. “I’m working on an IRS case for my city based client. I’m flying out on Wednesday.”

  “Where are your offices?”

  Terra glanced at Jack suspiciously. “Why are you asking so many questions? Are you a cop or something?”

  He raised his hands defensively. “Don’t worry, I’m just curious. We don’t get a lot women like you in Crest Bar.”

  “Sounds like you go there enough to make an assumption. How often do you drink?”

  Jack’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Too often. A good friend of mine begs me to give it up but I can’t seem to pull away.”

  Terra reached over and squeezed his thigh. “Tonight will be your last chance to splurge, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The taxi pulled up at the hotel, though Terra didn’t move to pay the driver. She glanced at Jack studying the chandelier dangling in the hotel foyer with an awed expression. Guilt or fear, she wasn’t sure what, made her hands tremble. What she intended to do went against everything she stood for, and as far as she knew, Jack killed her father. His presence at the warehouse proved it, his fingerprints on the windowsill proved it. She needed answers.

  She paid the driver and exited the taxi. Jack followed her into the hotel, walking a few feet behind. She wondered as they approached the lift if he was embarrassed coming to the hotel for a hook up with a strange woman. He clearly stood out among the designer dressed men and women, in his crushed leather jacket, stained boots, and slicked back hair. Elder Towers normally didn’t cater to his type of people.

  She could feel the heat of eyes on her as the lift doors closed. It probably wasn’t the best idea to bring Jack here in case something went wrong. There were too many witnesses.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, digging out her door pass from her handbag.

  “Yeah, I’ve never been here,” Jack admitted. “It’s a little too classy for my taste.”

  Terra placed a tentative kiss on his cheek. “You won’t be seeing a lot of the hotel tonight—just my bedroom.”

  Her words appeared to appease him because he squeezed her ass as the lift doors opened. Terra opened her mouth to oppose, and quickly shut it. She was playing Terra the slut tonight so she had to keep her morals at the door. They walked down the hall toward her room.

  “Lights.”

  The living room came to life, bathed in the soft, golden glow of lamplight. Terra peeled off her jacket and entered the kitchen, taking out two wine glasses from the cabinet. She noticed Jack still standing at the door. “What are you doing there? Come in and sit down. I’ll join you in a second.”

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Slept with a woman?”

  Jack smirked at her. “No, hook up. Never done it.”

  “Really? I don’t believe you.”

  While Jack explained his reasoning behind his lack of one night stands, Terra extracted the Rohypnol vial from her pocket, sprinkling its contents into his glass. She opened a bottle of red wine, filled both glasses, and joined him on the couch.

  “I hope you like Shiraz,” she said.

  “Now I really know I’m not
in Kansas. It’s usually beer or vodka for me.”

  To Terra’s surprise, Jack downed the wine in two seconds and offered his glass for another. She poured, excitement and trepidation building inside her. This was going to be so much easier than she thought. Within fifteen minutes, Jack was extremely drunk.

  Through narrowed eyes, he threw his arm over Terra and pulled her close. “You’re very pretty. Do you know that? I saw you sitting at the bar as soon as I walked in. The first thing I thought was: I would tap that.”

  Terra hid a grimace behind a fake smile and poured him another drink. “You don’t say.” She glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. When would the Rohypnol take effect? She needed answers soon or she would have to sleep with Jack to make him leave.

  “You look so much like that Terra Bloom chick, Casey. It’s uncanny. You sure you’re not related?”

  “No, we’re not related. Please finish your wine.”

  By the time Jack was slumped on the couch, half comatose, Terra knew it was time to strike. She withdrew a photograph from underneath a book and shoved it in his face. “Do you know this man?”

  He squinted at the image of David Bloom. “Nah. When can we screw?”

  “Look harder, Jack.”

  He rolled his eyes and snatched the photo from her fingers, squinting at it. “Yeah, I know him.”

  “Where from?”

  “The dude’s name is David Bloom. He was an arms dealer and suspect in the theft of five hundred AK47s from a London port three years ago.”

  Terra grabbed the photo and blinked back the sudden onslaught of tears. “You’re lying. My father was an accountant. He wasn’t a criminal.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, pretty lady. Didn’t you read the papers? David was murdered because he was a criminal. Some men gotta die.”

  Something inside Terra broke, her resolve snapping like a taut wire. Jack was lying. There had been no mention of her father’s death anywhere, on the news or in the papers. It was kept hidden, protected, from the public. Her father wasn’t a criminal, only a victim of opportunity. Jack’s comment only solidified her theory.

  “You’re wrong!” Terra climbed onto his lap and slapped her fists against his chest, screaming into his face. “You’re wrong, you’re wrong! Did you kill him, Jack? Tell me.”

  Jack was so drowsy and drunk the beatings had no effect on him. “What did you say? Who did I kill?”

  She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shook him as hard as she could. “Did you kill my father?”

  Jack’s eyelids lowered. “Huh? Look, I’m really tired. Do you mind if I crash here for the night?”

  Wiping away tears with her sleeve, Terra slipped off him and stood, her body trembling with rage. “No, it’s time to go. Now.”

  With all her strength, she heaved Jack to his feet and kept him stable while she pulled his jacket off the couch.

  “Where are we going? Are you taking me to bed?” Jack drawled.

  “Nope, you’re going home.”

  She dragged him to a digital intercom on the wall and keyed in a number.

  “Did you get what you want?” Peter South answered.

  “As much as I can for tonight. We’re waiting by the front door. Are you nearby?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there in five minutes,” Peter said. “Where do you want me to take him?”

  “Take him home and make sure he makes it upstairs. He’s going to have a headache tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Do you need help cleaning up?”

  Terra shook her head. “No, I can clean up on my own so there’s no need to—”

  As if on cue, Jack leaned forward and vomited onto the carpet by their feet. Terra blew out a frustrated breath and pinched her nose with her free hand.

  “Fuck! Yeah, you know what? I need your help after all.”

  ***

  Spencer arrived in Fes, Morocco as the sun crested the ancient city. The stench of spices, donkey feces, and wood smoke smacked him in the face, making the roof of his mouth moisten.

  The city stirred and deserted alleys awoke with a sea of people, spilling out of doorways and carts like water. He started moving quickly before swallowed by the crowd.

  Striding by a shop window, Spencer glanced at his reflection, noticing he still wore his designer suit. If he intended to fit in unnoticed, he needed proper attire.

  A man hauling dust covered donkeys passed him by, laden with loads of fresh produce. A rolled piece of fabric bounced on the rump of a mule. Spencer slipped it from the animal’s back and wrapped himself in the foul-smelling rug, disappearing into the crowd.

  He walked among the stalls, avoiding the hundreds of feral white and brown chickens that roamed the streets. To his right, five stray cats hovered around a fishmonger’s stall as he set up. The man shouted a stream of colorful curses and the cats slunk away with empty bellies.

  Spencer did not go five feet without being pushed by carts, groped by eager shoppers, or approached by smiling children looking for money. It was nothing like New York. This was a primitive part of the world. He repressed the urge to gag at the sight of unruly fried spleens, cow heads, and hooves on display. Locals walked around in djellabas, cradling animal skins and fried chicken heads in their baskets. He vowed to find Joca quickly before he absorbed too much culture. He approached a stall selling medicines and spices, wondering if anyone around here spoke English. The owner eyed him wearily as he approached.

  “Salam,” Spencer greeted.

  “Salam.”

  “I’m looking for a man named Ryan. Joca Ryan. Do you know where I can find him?”

  When the stall keeper just stared at him, unblinking, Spencer cursed under his breath, remembering the fully loaded Desert Eagle in his pocket. He wouldn’t hesitate in using it to get what he wanted. “Do you speak English?”

  “Yes, I know where you can find Ryan,” the man finally said in a heavily accented voice.

  “Great, where?”

  He pointed toward the mountain ranges, poking above the city skyline. “He’s hunting by the olive trees. If you watch carefully, you can see his unblinking eye catch the sun.”

  Spencer assumed the man meant Joca’s sniper scope. He must be watching a target down in the marketplace. He peeled off his Cartier watch and handed it over. “If you take me to Ryan’s location, you get to keep that.”

  The stall owner’s face lit up and he threw an old blanket over his multicolored spices with renewed vigor. “Yes, yes, okay, follow me.”

  He motioned for Spencer to follow him through the crowd. They crisscrossed the ancient city, bypassing busy areas by slipping into open doorways and brightly tiled courtyards masked from the sun.

  They walked up toward the mountain that protected Fes from the hot winds coming from the north. There was sand everywhere, consuming every inch of Spencer’s face and clothes. By the time they reached the olive trees growing along the perimeter of an abandoned home, he was covered in sand and sweat.

  He glanced around the area, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun. All he saw was sand, sand, and more fucking sand. “Where’s Joca?”

  The stall owner pointed to the hill above the house. “There, can you see him?”

  Spencer squinted at the spot infuriatingly and was about to give up when he saw a scope flare. A smile uncurled across his face. “I see him.” He turned to the local man. “Thank you for your help. You can go back to your stall.”

  The man dipped his head in appreciation and ran off, disappearing between the olive trees.

  Spencer trekked up the hill to where Joca lay in the dirt. He took a moment to observe the agent in his natural habitat. He was virtually undetectable, dressed in a pale jacket and trousers, belly deep in the straw-colored earth. His Stealth Recon Scout sniper overlooked the city, most likely pointed at his target. Joca was one of the best hunters he’d ever known, spending hours or days on end waiting until the opportune moment. His patience was legendary. He was the perfect man for the job. />
  “The heat doesn’t agree with you,” Joca said when Spencer reached him out of breath. “I could smell your stink all the way up the hill.”

  “Have you been getting my calls? I specifically asked to meet in a cooler climate. This heat is killing me.”

  Joca rose from his position, peeled the baseball cap off his head, and brushed the sand from his clothes, creating a small dust cloud. “Yeah, I’ve been getting your calls and I’ve been ignoring them. I’m not interested in what you’re selling.”

  “Really? I didn’t travel to this version of Hell to go home empty handed.” He passed Joca a file full of intel on Terra Bloom from his inner jacket pocket. “Read this and tell me otherwise. I think I have the perfect target for you. Her name is Terra Bloom, female, American, aged twenty-seven. She’s active in animal and human rights movements. She’s become a thorn in the side of many fashion designers who use fur.”

  “Is that the reason why you want her killed? That’s a bit petty, don’t you think?”

  “Keep reading,” Spencer instructed. “There’s more. We recently eliminated her father, David Bloom, aged forty-seven, an acquitted arms dealer. You may have heard of him. Terra is a public figure who has many allies at her disposal. She’ll become a liability and I cannot risk that. She needs to be eliminated, just like her daddy.”

  Joca read the article in silence. After a few moments, he glanced up and returned the clipping to Spencer. “You know I’m currently contracted with the Black Ops. This Bloom chick will be an easy kill. Why not get your amateurs to do it?”

  “She’s tougher than she looks. Whatever the Ops are paying you, I’ll triple it. I want this girl dead.”

  A ghostlike smile appeared on Joca’s cracked lips. “Are you sure it’s more of a want than a need?”

  “I know what I’m sure of,” Spencer said. “Have you heard of my Expult division? These boys are in an exclusive club, given the freedom to kill whoever they want, as long as the targets fall into the criteria. These targets are what I like to call troublemakers. They may be wives of fallen senators or the mothers of kiddy rapists. They cause too much hassle and the authorities want them brushed under the rug. I know you can do that for me effortlessly. You’re the best of the best. I want you to train my best.”