Agent G: Infiltrator

by Phipps, C. T.

  “That’s a big favor to ask right now given your connection to Marissa.”

  I sucked in my breath. “For me, please.”

  S was silent for a moment. “All right. Stall for a minute.”

  I fumbled over my words. “Well…”

  “Now I know something is wrong,” Lucita said, shaking her head. “Does the presence of my brother frighten you? I thought Letters were made of sterner stuff.”

  I bit down on my tongue before I gave her a verbal lashing, which would have ruined everything. Instead, I said, “No. I’m playing it safe. Knowing each of your brother’s weaknesses as well as the people he’s travelling with will be necessary to coordinating Mondo’s people.”

  “He’s probably going into a panic room now, calling down his guards on us. They’ll proceed to take us outside and put bullets in the backs of our heads. I might survive, but I doubt you would.”

  “I think he’ll listen to our offer.”

  “Because he thinks you’re part of the Society? He’s a politician; they’re naturally cowards. Eager to send men and women into battle but very rarely risking themselves or the lives of their offspring. The Society is the same. Weak.”

  I disagreed. “They’re good at controlling people, Lucita. Believe me.”

  Lucita stared at me. “Then why did you leave it?”

  I stared back at her. “I wanted to be more than a machine. How about you?”

  “I wanted to be me, no matter the cost to my father’s pride.”

  That opened a lot of questions. Because of Marissa’s betrayal, which I hadn’t even confirmed but trusted coming from S more than anyone else, I asked, “Why do you even want the Carnevale, anyway?”

  Lucita did a double take at that statement, looking every bit as flustered as me. “You wouldn’t understand, Letter. It is my inheritance. It is a connection to my family. It will be my legacy. I may have nothing good to say about my family, but the Carnevale is my past… and my future.”

  “You’d be surprised by what I understand.”

  “As for my brother and company’s weakness, shoot them a lot. Show them no mercy, for you shall be shown none in return. They are not subtle men and when they strike, they do so with maximum force and total ruthlessness. You can expect them to have unlimited resources as well. Another of my father’s indulgences is he has the local military base outfit his men with NATO equipment.”

  I nodded.

  It’s done, S said, contacting me. He’ll do what you say.

  I nodded, looking over my shoulder. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

  “Do you have someplace else to be?” Lucita joked, following me into Mondo’s office.

  “No, no I don’t.”

  The office was, in my humble opinion, a preparation for Luigi taking his position as future leader of Italy. The place was lavishly decorated, but not in the style of a man who was intending to actually work there—more in the manner of someone who thought they were going to be president of a country. There was a single hardwood desk in the center of the room covered in papers, an old-fashioned telephone, and a chair designed to loom over the two smaller ones in front of it.

  The flags of Italy and the European Union were in the back of the room, sitting on opposite sides of a bulletproof reinforced glass window overlooking the courtyard below. A fireplace was off to one side, my guess hiding the aforementioned panic room beyond, with a picture of the current president of Italy hanging over it.

  Mondo was standing behind his desk, staring down at the phone as if he’d just talked with Satan—which was close to being true. I could imagine he’d planned something very similar to what Lucita had just said, only to be interrupted by S’s phone call.

  Now we had him.

  I just hoped it was enough.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In a way, I pitied Luigi Mondo. Not for his immense wealth, trophy wife, beautiful daughter, or great power. No, I pitied him because none of those privileges would do him a damn bit of good in his present situation. Death was the great equalizer, and Luigi was face to face with two of its prime agents in this world.

  Of course, it was possible Luigi would make it through this situation alive. Unlikely, yes, but possible. Indeed, the International Refugee Society would be extremely cross if I let him die. That didn’t mean he would survive the resulting fallout, though. The Carnevale would have to be destroyed so thoroughly it wouldn’t be able to seek retaliation. They would have to judge him valuable enough to keep alive after they found out about the business I’d led him into. Then there was the current administration, who would be less than pleased that he’d misused Italian Armed Forces personnel to help a notorious assassin get revenge on her father. They’d been known to contract a Letter or Carnevale agent for much less.

  Luigi Mondo’s expression as he stared down at the phone on his desk was bleak. I suspected he was having similar thoughts to my assessment of his survival chances. Even so, a man like him didn’t get to his position without being able to hide his emotions well. Politicians and assassins were two sides of the same coin in that respect. The look of worry fled his face and a broad smile replaced it. Leaning forward, he said, “Lucita Biondi and a Letter. What an august pair to come visit my palazzo. How can I be of service?”

  Lucita adopted a playful, cheerful demeanor as she sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Oh, Uncle Luigi, you never write. You never call. What happened to the close friend who was nothing more than a country bank president who wanted to be king?”

  I shot her a look, not happy about this song and dance.

  Lucita gave me a dismissive wave.

  Luigi cupped his hands together in a faux pleading gesture. “I’ve always been a close and personal friend to your father. Have I ever turned down a favor from you in the past? Have I ever hesitated to give you what you ask for?”

  “Quite frequently,” Lucita cut in. “At least, until you are reminded of the consequences of defiance. Yet, it is in my father’s name I come.”

  “Oh?” Luigi asked. “How is your father, anyway?”

  “My father is dead.”

  It took every bit of my training to keep the shock from my face. I was still raw from the news about Marissa and nervous about the presence of the Smiling Killer. The fact that Lucita hadn’t seen fit to inform me about her plan, despite this being my gambit to begin with, meant I was flying blind here.

  Luigi stumbled, confused. He had been expecting a great number of things, but clearly not that. “I—I had not heard.”

  “You would not have because he has been replaced by a doppelganger in a Shell.”

  I almost snorted but instead just smiled. “Shocking.”

  Lucita shot me a glare before continuing. “This bit of audacity comes from a set of nobodies with access to too much technology and too little sense. It is time for you to repay all of the favors we have done for you over the years.”

  A sour expression passed across Luigi’s face. “And how, exactly, do you expect me to do that?”

  “I want you to do what you always intended to do—turn against the Caesar, or the man currently using that title, and send the military to secure the Palace of Miracles. Once that is done, you will be considered in the clear.”

  Luigi dropped his mask of joviality. “I am not the president yet. I cannot order the military to attack Italian citizens on Italian soil.”

  “You have powerful backers now.” Lucita reached over and gave my arm a squeeze. “People who will protect you if you choose to do so. They will also keep this event out of the papers.”

  Luigi’s eyes glanced at the phone, then up at me. It was clear he didn’t entirely believe us, which showed he was smarter than he appeared. Occam’s Razor would work in our favor, though, as he would assume that this was the Society making a move against her father with her approval. Which, when you thought about it, was exactly what was going to happen.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lu
igi asked, staring at Lucita.

  Lucita narrowed her eyes. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  Luigi sighed and picked up his phone before he started making a number of calls. Lucita, meanwhile, pulled out her purse and began rummaging through it. I couldn’t help but wonder if the Smiling Killer and his men were setting up outside, whether they’d take hostages, if they were simply waiting to see if we killed the man in front of us. After all, as far as the Caesar was concerned, I was still on his side.

  Unless Marissa had told him I was a traitor.

  Then I was dead.

  Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I tried not to think about the gothic punk hacker who I would likely never see again. Even if I survived this mission and the subsequent fallout, there was a very real chance I would be sent to eliminate her. I wasn’t sure I could, and if I did, whether that would eliminate the last vestiges of humanity within me.

  Assuming, really, I’d ever had any to begin with.

  I found myself thinking back to the day I’d met her, a memory that occurred to me in vivid striking detail. I was returning from a mission in the Russian Federation, my only failure to date, when I was summoned to the door of the Metal Room. Gerard was standing outside of it, wearing a Harvard sweatshirt and pants, holding a clipboard. He wasn’t the person I’d been expecting to see here—that was Josephine, my previous Assistant.

  “How did the mission to take down Dmitri go?”

  “Not well,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “The Red Scorpion continues to sting.”

  Gerard looked up from his clipboard. “Why do people keep giving terrorists these stupid nicknames?”

  I shrugged. “It makes them feel important. If the people you hunt are larger-than-life monsters, then you’re a hero for hunting them down.”

  “And what about people who give themselves scary names?” Gerard asked, smirking.

  “They’re just childish.”

  Gerard nodded. “Josephine isn’t your Assistant anymore.”

  I felt nothing regarding that. “What happened?”

  “Her performance has been consistently subpar,” Gerard said, looking me over. “She was also registering numerous complaints.”

  “Complaints?”

  “Josephine said you were overly emotional and your conditioning wasn’t nearly as effective as with other Letters.”

  “It doesn’t impact my work.” I had a higher-than-average success rate for a Letter, ranking about third after A and S. My failure with Dmitri Barecov was a matter of simply being unable to get close enough to him to complete my contract. Even so, I didn’t feel any particular defensiveness; it was simply a statement of fact that I was better than the vast majority of my kind. That I was prone to more irreverence and curiosity than most simply came with my skill set.

  “No, it doesn’t. Not negatively at least,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “Josephine was trying get ahead at your expense. Unfortunately, she forgot that of the two of you, she was the replaceable one.”

  “She’s dead, then?” I searched for an emotional reaction to the death of a coworker of three years.

  None.

  Gerard turned to the door, not answering my question. “Your new Assistant is inside. We suspect she’ll be a better fit for you than your previous one.”

  “As the Society wishes.”

  “As Persephone wishes,” Gerard said. “The two aren’t always the same.”

  I didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Gerard said. “Before you go meet her, you should know she was able to hack into Delphi.”

  I blinked, surprised for the first time during this conversation. “Is that even possible?”

  “It shouldn’t have been,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “We’d love to make use of her skills, but no one is stupid enough to let her anywhere near the systems given what she achieved with her old equipment. We’re going to watch her conditioning with you and gradually test to see if she’s worth transferring to Delphi’s section.”

  “So this is supposed to be a temporary arrangement?”

  “That depends on you.” Gerard paused. “Were you sexually involved with Josephine?”

  “No.”

  “Strange.”

  “Not really. I sensed she was uninterested and turned down the overtures. Were they ones she was ordered to make?”

  “No,” Gerard said, a little too hastily. “In any case, I take it you have no objections to your Assistant being switched.”

  “Why would I?”

  “Most get attached.”

  “I’m not one of them.”

  Gerard made a note on his clipboard. “In any case, you shouldn’t run into any problems with Marissa. I handled her conditioning personally.” He handed me the clipboard and I did a double check over it, the document giving some basic facts about the woman and his belief she’d get along best with me. It said, “G has shown ability to form strong emotional connections to his fellow employees. The exception is his Assistant.” The latter part had just been scribbled in.

  That was unusual. “She’ll either conform or die.”

  Gerard frowned. “Take note she’s still a little groggy, so if she says anything to you, then you should probably ignore it.”

  “I ignore nothing.”

  Gerard gave a mirthless chuckle and opened the door for me. I stepped on in, finding a woman in an orange jumpsuit sitting in the same chair I’d occupied five years ago. She was pretty, olive-skinned, and had raven-black hair. Marissa was pretty rather than beautiful and wasn’t looking her best right now. The conditioning process was nightmarish at the best of times and a subject was lucky if they didn’t come out of half-starved and with broken bones.

  “Daniel Gordon?” Marissa said. I could tell by her body posture she was faking grogginess.

  “Pardon?” I asked.

  “Task Force-22. Universiti. General Sheridan. Ekisha and Abhaya Gordon?” Marissa mumbled the names.

  “Are those names supposed to mean something to me?” I asked.

  Marissa looked up. “I’m testing you to see if you’re part of the Men in Black. Those are the information keys I’ve been able to find.”

  It came a little too quickly and I would later wonder if those were related to my past. Perhaps something she’d managed to find in Delphi’s hard drives. I subtly pumped her for information about that but eventually deduced she hadn’t been hiding anything from me. Knowing now she’d been a spy all along, I wondered if I should revisit those names. Of course, given Gerard had vouched for Marissa, I had to wonder if she’d gotten to him, too. That was something the International Refugee Society was undoubtedly investigating. I doubted he’d make it out of this alive.

  Taking a seat in front of her, I thought about the oddity of being on the other side of the chair. “Welcome to the Society, Ms. Sanchez.”

  “Strange way to welcome someone,” Marissa said, rubbing her right temple with her free hand. “Can I get something to drink?”

  “I’ll see about getting you some water.”

  “I’d like something stronger if you don’t mind.”

  I shook my head. “I’d recommend waiting until all the drugs have left your system.”

  “What am I here for, anyway?” Marissa made a joke.

  “Life, probably.”

  Marissa blinked. “This isn’t a prison.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s a vocation. You’ve been given the opportunity to start a new life for yourself in the service of a greater cause.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Making people disappear for money.” I smirked.

  Marissa snorted, though her expression was terrified. “Great sales pitch.”

  “I’ve been told it works more often than it should.”

  “You don’t have any moral problems with that?”

  I surprised myself by answering seriously. “Sometimes, sometimes not. In the end, I find we’re
all willing to compromise our moralities in the service of a greater cause. When I say money, that’s the Society’s motivation, and it’s their rules you’re going to have to learn to live by.”

  “Sounds like a shitty situation.”

  “We’re all born into circumstances we can’t control. We just try and live with them.”

  “And that’s enough for you?”

  I looked down at the clipboard. “I have a dream of eventually leaving this place, Ms. Sanchez. It’s not likely. Most Letters are killed before their ten-year term is up, but Reassignment is a promise to me. It is a chance to live a quote-unquote normal life. To experience things as regular people do. I would do almost anything to have that.”

  “Almost anything?”

  I looked over my shoulder to the entrance. “We never know our limits until we reach them.”

  Marissa gave me an enigmatic smile. “Then I suppose we’ll get along just fine. How can I assist you in your job?”

  The memory wasn’t perfect; Marissa had asked me a lot more questions, and I added a lot more details to make her words suspicious as well as portent-filled to her future treason, but it was roughly how I recalled our first meeting. I wondered how many other memories of ours would be poisoned by the revelation that she’d been spying on us the whole time. Would I be able to look at any of our time together and still have the happy memories, or would I only be able to see a woman playing me for a fool?

  I couldn’t say.

  Luigi finished up his phone calls and turned to us. “Very well, I’ve made arrangements with the military and intelligence services to turn a blind eye. I don’t have the influence to organize a direct attack, though. We’ll have to arrange for mercenaries or some of your criminal friends to do the actual dirty deeds.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Lucita proceeded to rise, reach over the desk, grab him by the tie, pull him forward, and then snap his neck.

  Luigi’s body went limp and fell onto the desk.

  I choked down a cough and stared at her. “May I ask what the hell that was all about?”