Agent G: Saboteur

by Phipps, C. T.

  Marissa reached over to touch my arm. “It’s okay, G, she didn’t hurt you. That’s a good sign, right?”

  “Assuming she didn’t have orders not to kill me,” James suggested.

  “There’s a lot of shit they need from me to keep functioning.”

  Marissa gave James a withering glare.

  James was immune, though. “To be honest, I’m really surprised she’s a Loyalist. Of all the Letters, I would have thought she would have been the first to jump ship, and G would be the guy fighting for the Society to the very end.”

  “You don’t think very much of me, do you?” I asked.

  “Aren’t you the guy who persuaded me to defect by convincing me to be a selfish bastard?” James asked.

  “Point taken.”

  Taking a moment to survey the damage, I took a deep breath. “It looks like ten individuals are killed, possibly twelve if the makeshift prison cell we erected in the shed was hit. That’s half of this cell and a good chunk of our strategic reserve. We need to get these people on the jet, set charges on the Black Technology we’re leaving behind, and get the hell out of here. After that, Marissa and I will continue with our mission to eliminate or suborn Persephone.”

  “Wait, what? After this?” Marissa asked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I doubt the President is going to be any less interested in taking down the Society after this,” I said. “If she does, we’re probably screwed, since that means we’re likely to be wrapped up as loose ends.”

  “The government does not function that way, G!” Marissa said, an appalled look on her face.

  I looked down at her. “Right.”

  James closed his eyes. “Great job bringing me into this.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

  James did, surprisingly.

  I continued. “Get to work on writing down every single piece of information you have about the Society as well as what you can do for us. I promised you that you’d live well if you cooperated, and I mean to honor that. You’ll get money, hookers, blow, and a limited amount of freedom provided it’s worthwhile.”

  “I just want to visit my family again.”

  “Then do it,” I snapped. “Because right now, you’re starting to look more like a liability than an advantage.”

  James looked down.

  I turned to Marissa. “I saw the body of the jet’s pilot over in the pile of corpses by it. Can you fly it?”

  Marissa nodded. “My training with the NSA included time with the Air Force.”

  “Good. Tell the surviving soldiers to also load up the bodies on the charges. The explosion needs to be hot enough to burn away all actionable evidence of our presence. That includes bodies that can be identified.”

  Marissa closed her eyes. “You know, I’m technically in charge here.

  Colonel Rogers is one of the dead.”

  “Do you disagree with my suggestions?”

  “No,” Marissa said. “No, G, I don’t. I also think you’re right. We need to take Persephone down if we’re going to keep Strike Force-22 in operation.”

  “Is that a good thing?” James asked.

  Marissa looked back at James. “Everything we do is justified.”

  When Marissa was impersonating a member of the International Refugee Society, she’d done so with the cover of having been brainwashed into believing they were the greatest thing since sliced bread. All of that had proven to be a lie, and she considered it to be a despicable organization of hired killers, which was a fair cop. However, now that I’d gotten to know her, it turned out that same fanaticism and zeal was very much a part of her personality. It just served the President.

  “If you say so,” James said, perhaps realizing nothing he said could persuade Marissa otherwise.

  I turned around and took a moment to walk around the airfield while Marissa got up to coordinate the care of the wounded. She would do my plan, but first, she would look after those who could be saved. I could have helped her with that, but I was more focused on the revelation I hadn’t had time to fully process.

  S.

  Dammit.

  Chapter Ten

  I recalled sitting in front of Persephone’s desk in the basement of the International Refugee Society. It was still early in my career as a Letter, and I’d only committed a few murders on their behalf. I wasn’t yet comfortable with getting paid for assassination, and only the fact that they sent me against the worst of humanity kept me going. It was their way of reeling me in like a fish.

  I was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt that day, having just come from training in the Society’s gym with S. Both of us were staring at Persephone, a pair of engagement rings on the desk before us. We had been called in here for special instructions and what we’d been told didn’t make any sense.

  “You want us to get married,” I said, shaking my head. “Why?”

  “As cover for your activities,” Persephone explained, looking between us. “Both of you are new additions to the International Refugee Society, so you look suspicious to outsiders. A married couple draws less attention.”

  “So, it’ll be a fake marriage?” S asked.

  “Somewhat,” Persephone said. “We’re not forcing you into this but suggest you keep as functional a relationship as possible.”

  “You mean sleep together,” I said.

  “Among other things,” Persephone said. “Both of you show great potential and could soon find yourself at the top of our leaderboards. A has already agreed to marry a civilian contractor and adopt children.”

  “I don’t want kids,” S said, quickly.

  “Neither do I,” I said, lying.

  “Letters are all sterilized as part of their initiation process,”

  Persephone said, causally informing us of a fact she’d neglected to mention in our two years of servitude. “Either way, this marriage is only meant to last for as long as your cover does. It could be months, it could be for the duration of your time here. Whatever the case, it will also allow you a greater amount of freedom as well as free time from the base. We don’t have to watch you so much if you’re dwelling in a pre-established home.”

  Persephone pulled out a picture of a McMansion which I’d only later find out was riddled with bugs and surveillance devices. I thought about the fake memories I had of a wife and child they’d put in my head.

  Fragments designed to make me think I was a real person whose memories had been erased as an extra layer of control. I also thought about how I was attracted to S and valued her friendship. She was one of the few Letters I could turn to in a crisis, and we shared a lot of opinions on subjects ranging from morality to assassination techniques.

  I looked to S. “What do you think?”

  S stared at the mansion. “Anything to get me out of this basement.”

  I laughed, then nodded. I thought I could make her happy.

  I’d been wrong.

  Chapter Eleven

  What happened next was a blur, and I couldn’t honestly tell you much about events other than we successfully covered up the attack and escaped. The Peruvian government would undoubtedly investigate, but I doubted they’d be able to make much sense of the wreckage left behind.

  In the end, Marissa and I ended up on the Blackfire-7 private jet toward Japan somewhere around three a.m. California time. The interior of the plane was quite nice with beige carpet, black marble tables, and a kitchen stuffed with food. It had been stuffed with people from an evacuation, and there was blood as well as grime on said carpet—a sure sign it had been confiscated from the Society and not built by the government—but that didn’t change my opinion. The interior was still nice.

  Marissa was furiously typing away at her computer and had a headset on. She’d been talking for three hours with her sister, Gina, as an effort to remain part of her life. Three months ago, Marissa’s other sister, Mary, had run out on her family and left her kids behind. Marissa’s behavior had changed and she’d t
ried to reconnect with her remaining sibling. It had also been the start of a change in her personality. She’d become a lot more aggressive and confrontational. Marissa practically bit my head off when I’d suggested using Strike Force-22 resources to find Mary.

  “In any case, give the girls a kiss for me,” Marissa said, before turning off the laptop.

  I leaned back in my chair, now dressed in a black business suit with a red tie. “How’s the family?”

  “Good,” Marissa said. “Well, they’re constantly complaining about money and how I’m not there to help them even though they live rent-free as well as have free access to my bank account.”

  “Any of that left?” I asked.

  “Not much,” Marissa said, grumbling. “It’s one of the unfairnesses in life that you were allowed you to keep your fortune from killing all those people from the Society.”

  “If you need money, I’m happy to give it to you. Set your family up for life.”

  “I don’t want your blood money,” Marissa snapped, surprising me.

  Her words stung like a slap and I looked away. “Fair enough.”

  Marissa grimaced. “Sorry, that was unnecessarily harsh.”

  “Was it?”

  Marissa looked down. “I mentioned I wanted to speak to you earlier, in private.”

  “You sure you don’t want to sleep before we have any big, life-altering conversations?” I asked, fully expecting her to break up with me after that line.

  “No,” Marissa said, taking a deep breath. “I’m like on my fiftieth cup of coffee.”

  “So, your daily diet.”

  Marissa laughed. “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?” I asked, smiling.

  “Being charming,” Marissa said, frowning. “This is hard enough as it is.”

  The smile ran away from my face. “I see. You want to end what we have.”

  “G, I don’t know what we have.”

  “Because this was an assignment?” I asked, leaning forward.

  “Because it was an assignment,” Marissa said, looking like she was reconsidering what she was saying. “Because it’s still an assignment.”

  I closed my eyes. I’d always suspected—hell, I knew—but it was still awful to hear it confirmed. “I see.”

  “I was supposed to get into the Society, get close to a Letter using whatever means I could, and then get all the information I could. Subverting any members I could in the process.”

  “And it worked,” I said, giving her the golf clap. “Congratulations.”

  “You made it complicated,” Marissa said, sighing. “Very complicated.”

  “You fell in love with your mark?” I asked. “It happens. Lie to yourself enough and you start to believe your own press.”

  “I don’t know what I feel,” Marissa said, hardening her expression and straightening her back. Whatever she was going to tell me was gone now. I was sure of it. “I had this big confession to tell you and a bunch of secrets, things that terrify me, but it occurs to me I don’t know if I can trust you with them. You’re as secretive in your own way.”

  “I see,” I said, wondering what it was. Did she have any boyfriend?

  Girlfriend? Secret loyalty to another intelligence agency? Did she want to move in together? It annoyed me I wasn’t going to find out.

  Marissa narrowed her eyes. “What do you feel for me?”

  “We all seek out connections,” I said, taking a deep breath. “God, family, friends, coworkers, and lovers. I was born as a replacement goldfish for Doctor Rebecca Gordon, that woman trying to recreate her dead son in the Letter Project. I want all of what comes from a normal human life, but I’m in a world where lies and betrayal are the breast milk of my infancy.”

  Marissa scrunched up her noise. “Okay, that’s a squicky metaphor.”

  “Just go with it,” I said, sighing. “I have very few friends in the world, Marissa. You’re one of them. I can’t judge what a healthy relationship looks like since I’ve never had one. I’ve betrayed and tried to kill just about everyone else I’ve cared about since they’ve done the same. It doesn’t change what I feel, though, which is seriously fucked up.”

  “No shit,” Marissa said. “Is that why you spared Lucita?”

  Lucita was a name that hadn’t popped up in recent months. The daughter of the now-defunct Carnevale cartel’s leader, she was an accomplished assassin and Shell. Lucita had been a ruthless killer—how could she not be with her upbringing? —but I’d developed an affection for her while undercover. In the end, I’d chosen to let her go even as the Italian authorities had descended upon her. This despite her wanting to kill me for betraying her and her father. Despite her having tried to kill Marissa.

  I leaned back. “Yes, yes it was.”

  “She tried to kill us.”

  “A lot of people have tried to kill us. S just tried to kill us and Persephone is probably holding her leash.”

  “And you want to just let that go then?” Marissa asked, sounding more confused than offended. Perhaps even hopeful?

  “I don’t see much point in revenge.”

  “It’s not revenge to want to avoid people who have tried to kill you or see them taken down.”

  “If you say so.”

  Marissa blinked. “That’s what I’m talking about, G. I don’t get you.”

  “What don’t you get?”

  “You’re one of the nicest people I know. You never raise your voice, love cats, and listen to me drone on for hours. The worst thing I can say about you is you spend too much time playing video games and overspend on suits. Then you can shut it off like a light switch and kill anyone you’re pointed at… It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  I hesitated to say “It’s the way I was made.” I suspected that wouldn’t take this conversation anywhere good. I knew if I was honest, then this would be the end of everything, when what I really wanted was her to stay with me. So, I decided to be manipulative and let her believe what she wanted to believe about me.

  “I’m haunted by the deaths of the people I’ve killed,” I said, lying. I had guilt over a couple of people I’d killed, but not so much that it was crippling. “Without the drugs the Society has given me, I can’t cope with it the way I used to. I want to fight for something good and pure in my life, which is part of the reason I joined with you.”

  In truth, I didn’t believe Sarah Douglas was worth fighting for. She was a corporatist technocrat who had a cult of personality as well as an utter unwillingness to compromise with her enemies. She was, in a very real way, an American fascist, and the fact that she was good at her job was the only thing separating her from a half-dozen other tin pot dictators spread across the globe.

  “What was the rest of the reason?” Marissa asked, looking like she was about to say more before stopping.

  “You,” I said, telling the truth. “I can compartmentalize better than just about anyone else on the planet. That’s not the reason I’m doing any of this, though. I’m doing it because of the people I care about, same as anyone else.”

  “Can you care about me? Do you even know what that means?”

  “Caring about you is karaoke night at your apartment where you sung the entirety of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in Spanish. It’s knowing I don’t trust President Douglas but I trust your judgment.” That was a mixture of truth and lies. “The fact is I don’t know who is the right guy or who is the wrong half the time, but I do know working for Strike Force-22, I’m being pointed at some serious bad guys, so removing them makes the world an objectively better place. That’s as close as I can manage to doing the right thing.”

  I wanted to find something worth fighting for. I really did. It just wasn’t Sarah Douglas or the International Refugee Society. Everywhere I turned, it seemed those people who hid behind the flag or the greater good tended to be worse than those who made no illusions about being scumbags. Some days, I wished I could look up Daniel Gordon’s former associates and find out how the man I
’d been based on justified this job. That had been part of the reason I’d killed Parker, to silence the connections to a man I could never be more than a pale imitation of.

  I knew Daniel Gordon only as the man who’d killed hundreds of people in the service to his country and won many medals. Strike Force-22 had been his baby until he’d gone missing during a routine mission in Russia. They’d eventually found his body, burnt beyond all recognition, and it made me wonder if that was a worse fate than slow death by cyber-necrosis.

  Marissa was silent for a long time. “Do you ever think about what you would do if you weren’t a killer?”

  “Yes.”

  Marissa waited for elaboration.

  “I have the typical tropical island dream of you and me. I also think about simply being. My dreams used to be living Daniel Gordon’s memories, back when I thought they were mine. I thought I’d have a family and life to fall back on.”

  “You could still look up Daniel Gordon’s wife and child. They’d believe you to be him, probably, however improbable that is.”

  It was a monstrous suggestion and surprised me. It made me wonder if Marissa was trying to get me out of the way of something. “I think that’d be a terrible thing to do. I’m not a dead man and I’m not going to steal his family.”

  “Good,” Marissa said, half-heartedly. “That’s the answer I wanted to hear.”

  I glared at her, annoyed. “Were you testing me?”

  “Weren’t you me?” Marissa raised an eyebrow. “I can never tell when you’re lying to me or not. You’re too good at it.”

  Marissa had me there. On the other hand, when people were obsessive about the truth, I often suspected it was because they had something to hide. “There’s something more you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

  “I was ordered by the President to keep our relationship going,”

  Marissa said, looking to one side. “She said to keep you happy for as long as you worked for her.”

  I could tell it wasn’t what she’d really wanted to tell me, but it was a big revelation nonetheless. “Yeah, I suspected she was doing that. You don’t—”