Expelled (Interplanetary Spy for Hire Book 1)

by Ell Leigh Clarke

  He held his phone over the pad. The app scanned the lock’s inner-hardware, and quickly ran through several million 12-digit number combinations. Even with basic lock pads, this process could take several minutes. Alfonso checked up and down the hallway and carefully listened for footsteps. Being suspected for sleeping with a professor was one thing. Getting caught breaking in was and entirely different ball game. The randomizing series of numbers slowed down and finally stopped on the numerical signal. The lock beeped and turned green.

  The door opened, and Alfonso disappeared into the private quarters of the Sapphire Heart Eater.

  +++

  Armaros, Theron Techcropolis, Downtown Surface Level

  Jayne, Merry, and Fred sat in the back of an air-cab that smelled of spoiled milk, while their driver snoozed up front. The thick brown smog on the surface of the city cut visibility down to mere feet, and the taxi driver opted to use the auto-driver instead of white-knuckling it.

  Merry had her tablet open on her lap. Jayne could see that the red dots hadn’t moved. After a few minutes, the cab pulled to a stop. Visually, it was impossible to tell where they were thanks to the smog. According to the tablet, though, they were outside the bombers’ current location.

  Jayne opened the cab door and stepped out into the cloud, followed by Merry and Fred.

  “Keep the meter running.” And Jayne shut the door, leaving the cabbie to take a lucrative nap.

  “I hate this shit,” the goth grumbled. She put her black sleeve over her mouth and nose in an attempt to filter out the pollution.

  “We won’t be here long,” Jayne whispered as she walked slowly toward the building indicated by the red dot on the map. The outline of a skyscraper emerged through the noxious haze. “Stay here and keep it down. I’ll call for you when the coast is clear.”

  Merry nodded. And Fred…well, she couldn’t see Fred, but she assumed he heard her.

  Jayne drew her gun and crept forward. She edged along the perimeter until she reached a metal door with a window. The glass pane was caked with dirt and grime from years of unfiltered pollution.. Jayne wiped it with her forearm to create a small blurry circle to see through.

  Inside, she saw the muscle-man Terrance moving a box across the cluttered floor to a van parked in what looked to be some sort of warehouse. She could see the back of a tall, thin guy, you must be Jonah. The limited view gave her no line of sight on Brandon.

  So, two hostiles identified. Jayne tested the door. Locked. She slid two small rods out of a thin pocket hidden in her sleeves. She unfolded the rods into a pick and a tension wrench and quickly got to work. The aging mechanism gave in a matter of seconds. She eased the door open and crept in. Unfortunately, the old hinges hadn’t been to spy school like her and squeaked loudly. Fuck it, Jayne thought. You were never the quiet type, anyway.

  Jayne raised the gun in front of her and strode inside.

  “Hey, piss for blood!”

  “What the fuck?” Terrance shouted from the middle of the warehouse. A snarl replaced the affable goofy expression he’d worn when she’d flummoxed him back in the school’s hall barely days before.

  “On the ground—now!” Jayne ordered.

  Terrance spit in her direction. “Fuck you, cunt. You think because you got a gun I’m gonna—”

  She didn’t give him time to finish and instead, fired a round at his foot. The box dropped with a crash and the thug howled in pain as he curled on the floor beside it. He clung to his ankle with both hands as blood seeped from the wound.

  “You bitch. You fucking bitch!”

  Jayne ignored the brute and put Jonah in her sights. His eyes grew wide in fear and he raised his hands and dropped slowly to his knees.

  “I’m cool. You don’t need to shoot me. I’m getting down.”

  Jayne saw a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye and stepped aside. A lead pipe swung through the air where she had stood moments before. Brandon stumbled as the laws of momentum caught up with him. Jayne gave him no chance to recover. She lunged and punched the leader in the throat, then struck him calmly on the back of the head with the butt of her gun. Brandon’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

  “You fucking killed Brandon!” Terrance screamed.

  Jayne aimed her gun at him. Even if this meathead is wounded, he might still try something. I know I would.

  “I didn’t kill him.” Jayne halted. It was definitely possible she had killed Brandon. She cocked her head to the side and used her peripheral vision to confirm the steady rise and fall of the small-time gang leader’s chest. “Okay, yeah. I didn’t kill him. He’s still breathing. Now, if you want to keep breathing, you’d better keep still and do what I say. Both of you.”

  Jayne heard footsteps race at her from behind.

  She swiveled, her finger on the trigger.

  Merry and Fred both came to a sudden halt and their hands raised instinctively.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Fred cried.

  Jayne scowled and immediately turned back to her hostages. Jonah still lay splayed on the ground, and Terrance clutched his bleeding foot.

  “Damn, Jayne. That didn’t take you long at all,” Merry declared, almost impressed.

  “It never does,” Jayne confided. The thrill of the encounter left her on a natural high. She hadn’t felt this good since the academy. She turned to Fred. “You sell these,” she said, nodding at her weapon. “You know how to use them too?”

  He hurried forward. “Of course. What arms dealer doesn’t know how to shoot his own stock?”

  “Great. Keep it trained on them. If they so much as move, shoot.” Jayne tossed him the gun. Fred was still pretty stoned. He swiped both his hands in the air and missed the toss by a mile.

  He ran over to the gun and picked it up, smiling. “Got it.”

  Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought. Jayne crossed the room to retrieve a convenient bundle of strong twine the thugs had evidently used to secure various bundles.

  Two minutes later, all three bombers were tied up safely. Brandon was still unconscious.

  Good. Cut off the head and the body stays docile. Time for some good old-fashioned interrogation.

  She knelt beside the other two. “Now, I have some questions. And if you don’t answer or if you lie, I’ll cut your dicks off. It’s only fair to warn you that I have an implant, so I’ll know. There will be no more warnings and no second chances. One lie, one refusal, and your dicks are gone. Got it?”

  Terrance scowled, but Jonah bobbed his head up and down. “Yes, of course. I’m glad you’re here. I tried to stop him. I really did. Terrance, tell her.”

  Terrance merely glared at them.

  “Okay, first question. How many bombs?”

  “Four,” Jonah replied promptly.

  Jayne looked at Fred. He nodded. “There’s no way they could have made any others without another selvanium charge. Although they could have made a more traditional one.”

  “Only the four.” Jonah said, looking Jayne square in the eyes. His relief was calming him down, but that didn’t stop the sweat dripping liberally from his brow. “I promise.”

  Jayne nodded. Fear always was a good motivator. “Good. Next question. Are you working with anyone else?”

  Jonah shook his head. “No, it’s the three of us, but Brandon had support from someone in power. I don’t know who. He didn’t share the info with us. We did what he told us to do.” He sobbed with fear and what might be frustration. “That idiot already sent the signal. The detonation timer’s started.”

  Jayne’s body tensed. “Last question,” she growled. “And this is the most important one. How do we disarm the bombs?”

  Terrance shouted before Jonah could answer. “Don’t fucking say nothing, you shit heel!”

  Jayne leapt to her feet and drew a knife sheathed at her waist. She cut Terrance’s belt off with cold precision and yanked his pants down. Then, she yanked out his dick.

  His face paled. He wiggled
futilely and screamed.

  It was Jonah who interceded. “You can’t disarm the bombs! You can’t disarm them. Oh, God, don’t cut his dick off!” he shouted frantically.

  Jayne held the flesh taut with the edge of her knife against the base. The sight and feeling of blood dripping from the spot left Terrance frozen in place. One false move and he could say goodbye to his manhood.

  She gritted her teeth and stared deep into his eyes with a look of intense hatred. “Is that true?” she asked.

  His head bobbed frantically. “Y-yeah,” he finally panted. “It’s true. Please, don’t cut my dick off.”

  She held his gaze a moment longer and watched as the tears welled up in his eyes. She released him and Terrance sobbed with relief.

  Merry pouted at the sight. Her phone was recording the whole thing. “Aw, I wanted to see you cut it off,” she complained.

  Jayne shrugged. “Stick with me and I’m sure you’ll see it happen eventually. I don’t fuck around with my interrogations.” She turned from the bombers and pulled her phone out, then handed Merry the knife. “You two keep an eye on them. I’ve got to get to the bomb site. Punish them if they try anything but leave their dicks alone.”

  She glanced at Terrance. “He’s actually got a pretty nice one.”

  Jayne left the warehouse and typed rapidly on her phone.

  “Now we’ll have a little fun. Fred, hold my phone and record this.”

  “Burning stars, both of you girls are seriously scary. Remind me not to get on your bad sides.”

  Jayne reached the main entrance and pushed it open. As she stepped out into the smog, she sent her message.

  Alfy, need that bomb disarming intel.

  OMW to the site now.

  Don’t want to go boom.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Armaros, Theron Techcropolis, Theron 6th Sector Precinct

  The media buzz still hadn’t died down. In fact, more journalists and drone operators had flocked to the scene and the officers at the cordon were hard-pressed to hold them all at bay. Word traveled fast between newshounds. Something had happened inside the cordon that sent the police into a frenzy and the reporters were desperate to find out what.

  Jayne stepped out of her air cab and braced herself, taking on an air of command. She wove deftly through the mob of reporters until she reached the green tape, pulled out her ID badge at the same time she ducked under it, and flashed it at the officers.

  “Nissa Caldwell, Federation Emergency Response. Where’s the bomb?”

  The guards scrutinized her badge, then her face. She seemed a little young to be a fed agent. Then again, they recruited young these days. One more expert on the field wouldn’t be unwelcome given how tense the rest of the bomb squad were.

  “This way.” The officer left his companion to hold the line and led her past the gathered cops toward the building. “They sent you to disarm it?”

  “That’s right,” she confirmed casually. “Just got in from Yonitrue. The flight took damn near a full day at maximum speed. Honestly, I figured this thing would have worked itself out one way or another before I even arrived. Fortunately I was able to sleep on the flight.” Jayne had always been proud of her bullshitting skills.

  The officer grunted as they stepped onto the stairs at the entrance. “We all thought the same. But shit’s going down now. The countdown’s already started. You got here just in time.”

  Jayne felt her stomach churn though she was well aware of that.

  They reached the door to the precinct. A man in a camel trench coat held up a hand. “Get this rookie out of here. No unauthorized personnel.”

  Jayne batted her eyelids and gave the man her most condescending smile. Then she pulled out her fake ID and held it in front of him. “Agent Caldwell, Federal Emergency Response. Who’s in charge here?”

  One look at her ID and the man’s demeanor shifted. “Right. My apologies, Agent Caldwell. It’s a bit of a clusterfuck in there. I’d say the head of the bomb squad is the one in charge at the moment. You’d best report to him.”

  She brushed past the man and stepped into the building. “Great. Bring me to him.”

  “Watch the door,” Trench Coat said to her earlier escort. Then he turned and led her back the way she’d come.

  They strode down the oversized stone stairs and past a fountain toward a large tent on the grass. He briefed her as they walked. “The bomb is on the third floor. The building is empty except for one member of the bomb squad. The rest of them are in here.” Trench Coat ducked inside the flaps and Jayne followed. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Agent Caldwell with the Federal Emergency Response,” he introduced her.

  The whole squad perked up and a man sitting in a chair in front of a deck of monitors swiveled to face her. “Tell me they sent you to disarm the bombs.”

  Jayne smiled icily. “Show me the way.”

  “Blue Eyes, get that agent up there immediately.”

  A tall, handsome man with bright blue eyes and in a police uniform stood and smiled at her. Jayne knew that smile. She’d practiced it for hours on end at the academy. One had to be charming to disarm one’s target at times. This meant one of two things. Either he came by this skill naturally or he was deliberately testing her.

  She didn’t drop her guard.

  “Follow me.” Blue Eyes brushed lightly against her as he stepped outside.

  Jayne forced herself to suppress the giddy rush that coursed through her and barely managed to keep a smile from spreading across her face. Now was not the time to think about scoring men, no matter how attractive. Maybe he can be the reward I give myself for disarming the bomb.

  That is, if Alfonso would ever get back to her with the intel. Things were coming to a head one way or the other. Ideally, she’d like to know what the fuck she was doing.

  +++

  Avalon Space Station, Espionage Academy, Levitsky’s Quarters

  A quick glance around Professor Levitsky’s living room revealed little about her personality.

  A black leather couch stood in the middle of the rectangular room with a round glass coffee table in front of it. Some unused tissues and a television sat atop its surface. The floor was the same gray metal from the hallway with not a rug in sight.

  At the back of the room, a large window overlooked the academy grounds. In front of this, an optic rested on a metal desk with no drawers. The whole thing looked rather bland for such a famous agent.

  But Alfonso didn’t have time to waste wondering about the plainness of it all. He quickly got to work. The first place he looked was the most obvious. The optic board on the desk woke easily from its energy-saving slumber, but a password screen greeted him.

  He withdrew a cracker stick from one of the pockets in his navy jumpsuit. The device was small, thin as a sheet of paper, shorter than his thumb, and was the lexiconical equivalent to his lock-picking app. All he had to do was place it beside the optic and let it do its work. He prayed it would be an easy one. A strong password could take hours to crack, and he didn’t have that kind of time.

  He’d acquired the little device the previous year on a training assignment in the Torsa system. His cover had been a bank heist specialist with a crew planning to rob one of the Federal Bank’s outlying hubs. The mastermind of the plan, an old Torsa grafter with a snaggletooth who went by the name of Narthan, had given it to him to use on the bank’s main computer. Of course, things never got to that stage since Alfonso’s handler had them all arrested the night before the heist. Knowing he was in possession of a valuable commodity, the agent kept the cracker stick a secret and said nothing during his debriefing.

  While the device cycled through possible passwords, Alfonso investigated the other rooms in the professor’s quarters. Her kitchen cupboards contained four full sets of brown plates, bowls, and glasses, but no food. Her fridge only held a couple of bottles of white wine. One look at her stove was all he needed to know that she never used it. Levitsky either ate every meal ou
t or ordered in. She certainly never prepared her own food.

  He ventured into the bathroom next.

  It looked normal for the most part. Mirror above the sink. Toothbrush, floss, toothpaste, and comb next to the hand soap. Medicine in the cabinet—a bottle of pain relievers three years old and one of sleeping pills three weeks old. The toilet was clean, as was the shower with a loofah hanging from the nozzle. Bottles of pink shampoo and conditioner rested in a built-in slot. What he hadn’t expected was the two dildos suction cupped to the shower wall, one right above the other.

  While these and their DP implications came as a surprise, finding sex toys was nothing new to Alfonso or any spy, really. He made a mental note of it and left the bathroom to check on the cracker. It was still cycling through.

  He was ninety percent sure that any intel on disarming a dirty selvanium bomb would be on her optic monitor. The rest of what he was doing would likely prove pointless. However, no good spy didn’t exercise proper thoroughness in an investigation. Vital intelligence was often hidden in the most unlikely of places. She might have a phone, an optic drive, or another monitor somewhere in her quarters, and that didn’t even begin to cover the possibilities of hidden compartments and other potential hiding places.

  If the initial sweep failed, he’d need to do a deep search.

  Levitsky’s bathroom was a warm-up for what he found in her bedroom.

  Handcuffs dangled from the headboard and a strap-on hung from the knob of the footboard. Her dresser was lined with dildos and vibrators, small and large. A full-length mirror mounted to the wall above the dresser reflected the bed. A ball gag and bottle of lube rested atop a taller, thinner dresser, along with other items whose purpose Alfonso really didn’t want to know.

  In the far corner, a camera on a tripod was aimed at the bed. He turned it on quickly, cued the last recorded clip, and hit play.

  Levitsky and a person wearing a fur cat costume visually demonstrated the collection’s usefulness with obvious enthusiasm. Alfonso hit stop and closed his eyes in an attempt to erase the images from his mind.