Laced Impulse

by Combs, Sasha

  ***************

  Chapter 2

  More than six weeks had passed, and today, Director Vance was on a war path. He was chewing out everyone within a five foot radius. She wasn't sure if her amateur sleuthing was to be blamed or not; but at the time the temptation had been too great to pass up.

  Three weeks ago, Vance had asked if she wouldn't mind staying late, and logging a little overtime. Bianca didn't need the money, because for the first time in her life, she was in the six figure earning bracket. So, money had not been her incentive. She'd noticed her boss fidgeting the few times he'd left his office. She'd also noticed that his calls were going straight to him, instead of being prescreened first by here. She'd been at The Agency for several months with Vance as her mentor and this was the first she'd seen him behaving this way.

  When everyone had left the office for that day, Bianca sat at her desk reading through coded documents. This had always been her least favorite thing to do, and for that reason she put forth her greatest effort. Agents had to be able to communicate during their missions but when messages were sent, the context was scrabbled, hiding the true meaning. She'd been working on one particular coded message for an hour. Her eyes were going cross and her back was as stiff as a board. She'd stood for a moment to stretch, and it was then that she noticed, Vance had cracked his door and she hadn't noticed him when he did this. She'd walked over, listening for his usual sounds. She wasn't trying to spy on him, Bianca just wanted to offer him a cup of coffee. She was tired and she couldn't begin to imagine his degree of exhaustion. When she walked into his office, she'd expected to find him hard at work but instead, she found him fast asleep on his sofa. When she arrived early that morning, finding his door closed, then learning he'd not gone home from the previous day. It was then that she realized, he'd been working all day on meager fumes. She'd had every intention of retracing her steps, leaving him too his privacy. But she didn't, and now she regretted her actions. From where she stood, Bianca heard chiming noises coming from his computer, indicating that a message had just been received. The noise had been loud enough and it should have stirred him awake but when it didn't, Bianca thought it best to see who the sender was. The communiques she'd been tasked to decipher; she'd rightly deduced that the sender was in Europe. She also knew that Vance was looking to receive something highly classified and specific; this explained their all night searching for a needle in the haystack mission. Whatever this was that he needed; Bianca sensed its importance. This is also how she'd later explain what she'd done in his office.

  Skirting around his desk, she opened his mailbox. The senders name was a series of letters and numbers. She didn't take time to remember the sequence that was linked unimpressively together. Her interest was the message and what it entailed. The three lines lit up the screen with its hidden meaning. "At the sea. Sand is extremely hot. May remain longer than planned."

  After reading coded messages for the past four hours, this was easy to decode. The agent was somewhere near a large body of water. The situation was dangerous, which might require him staying longer than anticipated. The sign off wasn't a name. Instead there was a picture of a scruffy cat.

  Bianca had stood at the desk for only a second longer. When she lifted her head, her eyes were stunned to see Vance seated and staring directly at her.

  Since then, she'd been walking on eggshells; trying to avoid the man whose job it was to train her. Avoiding him was impossible and her further snooping only made things worse. During the next few weeks, Vance continued tasking her with the job of decoding his messages. Each note or letter pricked her attention; demanding that she know more. She tried to suppress her curious nature, and on some days she questioned if perhaps Vance was purposely setting her up. Like a dog sniffing after a bone; and she would take the bate. Then this morning, he'd been in a meeting in the conference room. He phoned her at her desk, instructing her to bring his pad that he'd left on his desk. A simple request and easy enough to accomplish. But when she walked into his office, right next to his pad, she saw it. Right out in the open. He'd scribbled out the name, Mot. She'd been so preoccupied with her snooping and diligently attempting to cover it up. Somehow, time had slipped away from her and things had gone unnoticed. Unless she'd been away from her desk, thereby missing him altogether; Mot was overdo and his absence coincided with Vance's soured mood. She tried not to place meaning on this because in this arena, any number of explanations could shed light down a hollow hole.

  His voice bellowed through the phone. His directive clear, leaving no room for interpretation.

  “Bianca. I need case file 9-AQV-17. Send it to me right away.”

  “Yes Director Vance. I’ll take care of that sir.”

  She lay her phone down, placing it back on its receiver. The agencies filing system was part archaic and part brilliance. The central computer housed all the communiques, dossiers, reports, and every document filed by every agent. For all of that streamlining; the system had one flaw that The Agency defined as its safeguard.

  Not all files could be accessed from the personal computers assigned at each workstation. Sensitive files had to be accessed from computers housed in the archives department, in the bowels of the building. Bianca hated this section. Whenever her responsibilities took her there; she always felt like she was visiting an inmate in prison. Short of the cavity search; the screening was as tight as maximum security pat downs. After enduring a series of questions; the archives department assuaged the personnel by calling them visitors and handing out passes. The idiocy of the charade always left Bianca feeling like a participant, playing a game of Clue. She was a Yale graduate, for goodness sake. She’d earned degrees in criminal justice, abnormal behavioral psychology and world politics. Accomplishments she was rightly proud of. But to these people, whose rooms were devoid of windows and large landscape pictures covered their walls in place of city views. Too them, Bianca’s degrees meant nothing. There were policies to uphold. Practices that couldn’t be ignored. This was the way they got things done. In the bowels of the building; overinflated egos were not tolerated.

  Bianca’s fingers flew across the keys; pulling up a sign on screen, that would ultimately unlock the secured file. She entered her password, then a unique key code; lastly, a temporary access code, provided to her by the archives attendant. She carefully typed in the series of numbers and letters recited to her by Vance; not wanting to make a mistake. The screen lit green; indicating acceptance. After that, the computers firewall fell, creating a link to one of its central computers. The person stationed at this desk created an encrypted version; then the information was transferred to a portable storage device. Each file that left the archives department, was purposely infected with a timed virus. The reader had a set number of minutes to comprehend the files meaning, before the virus corrupted the data. Most people avoided the ticking time-bomb by opting to remain in the archives department, reading the files directly from the computer. She supposed, whatever lie in these documents, Vance was prepared to hurriedly glean what he needed to know.

  She palmed the file in her hand, glad to be free of the place. It wasn’t that the rooms were dank or moldy. Bianca just preferred windows, and lots of natural sunlight. In the basement, florescent tubes radiated its phosphorous luminance. She stepped inside, then felt the climb of the elevator. The lift stopped twice, taking on new passengers. When the doors finally reached the uppermost floor of the building; she released a sigh because this floor was the hub of The Agency.

  Later that evening, Bianca stuffed her purse; filling it with her personal belongings. She was nearly done when the Director strolled out of his office. Vance rarely showed much in the way of emotions. Most times, he looked like he was playing a hand in a high stakes poker game. However, this evening he wore his emotions on the surface. Vance stare blankly down the hall. Most of the support staff had gone home hours ago. The only few lingering souls were analyst, a few linguist and code breakers. Bianca cleared her voice b
efore saying...

  “Is there anything I can do for you before I go home Director Vance?”

  Nothing in particular held Vance’s gaze but his eyes lay latched on to whatever he’d been staring at for the last few seconds. Bianca stood, gathering her purse. She skirted around her desk, trying her best not to disturb him. Whatever burdened him, she didn’t want to be blamed for interfering in his thought process.

  Edging her way around him, when she walked across his field of vision, Vance said...

  “Bianca... There is something you can do for me.”

  She stopped, then turned to face him.

  “Yes sir...?” Her voice rose in question.

  “Be in my office tomorrow morning.... 0500.”

  Vance met her eyes, then he turned, heading to his office without a break in his stride. Bianca stared at his back, perplexed, confused; feeling like Dorothy when she woke, finding herself in Oz. She couldn’t begin to imagine why her boss would make such a strange request. Then she toyed with the idea that maybe he was finally ready to test her skills in a field exercise. She’d trained and with him as her mentor; she was more than ready. Or at least, that's what she'd persuaded herself to believe. In cases like this, one never knows. The testing provided the only true answer. One of her instructors had put it best. Field work is the place to show off your talents. Being seen, yet not seen. Unearthing that thing that eludes others. Overtaking your prey, without firing a single shot. These were the traits of an agent. Characteristics that defined a ghost. It would have been foolish of her to walk away, believing that she harbored these attributes because the only way too truly know, was if she’d proven herself. Vance knew this. She supposed he was finally ready to see what she was made of.

  ***************

  Chapter 3

  The plane landed, skidding to a stop, then pointing its nose where the ground crew directed it. Two days ago, after meeting Director Vance as requested; Bianca was sent to a handler, to prepare for her first field mission. Mission Director, Tate Cunningham; better known by most as TC. A quiet man with steely eyes capable of persuading Buckingham Palace guards to unhinge their jaws and talk. During a grueling one day session, TC prepared her to travel outside of the country. His role was pretty straightforward, but in the end, Bianca knew less than she’d known when she first met the man on the top floor of the building that morning.

  After doling out fake documents, a quick rundown, telling her about the person she would pretend to be. Bianca fell face first in her bed that evening. Only to wake three and a half hours later by her alarm clock. She was spirited away from her building by a man dressed in a turtleneck sweater, denim jacket and a pair of loosely fitted jeans. He didn’t have to introduce himself because she was certain that he was an agent, pretending to be a cabby. After taking her to the airport, the rest of the trip was nothing more than a blurry fuzz of this and that.

  Bianca replayed Director Vance’s words in her head countless times.

  “First, I feel I must apologize for the way I’ve chosen to best utilize your talents. I understand that you’re fluent in three languages, and one of those languages is French.” He paused for a beat then he added. “Is that correct?”

  He stared at her expectedly, even though he knew the answer.

  “Yes sir... That’s correct. I am fluent in French.”

  “Good. Good.” He said, while tapping out a message on his computer.

  “I also understand that you have a series of contacts in Canada and France. Is that correct as well?”

  She’d sat forward in her seat when she answered him.

  "Yes sir. My first cousin lives in Windsor. Her husband. Jean Marc; his family lives in Caen but presently he’s a Canadian citizen. He's a barrister." She added the point; thinking this was important to share. But Vance.... Well, the man sat quiet, contemplating if he was committing a horrendous mistake. After listening to her telling him about Canada and France... The question had been a rouse. He’d only wanted to put her at ease. Make her think that her multilingual skills would be needed, when in fact it wasn’t. But having confidence was important. In his business you rarely got more than one chance, and in this case he was placing every hope on Bianca. His neophyte agent. A woman he’d taken a personal interest in. It had been several years since he’d mentored an agent. The odds were solidly stacked against her but there was little time to waste. He knew this and even if she never learned why he'd thought to choose her for this mission; he wouldn't regret it. Because the truth was simple. Week after week, she'd trained, then returned to her desk; doing whatever he asked of her. It didn’t pass his notice that she quietly envied the other agents. It wasn't until she crossed his field of vision. Seeing her in that instant; Vance realized that she could be a secret weapon, and the field agent had been right to suggest her. Bianca Milton was a woman too fresh to know that she should be afraid and not knowing the full extent of this danger. Ignorance would be her valor. A cloak-and-dagger that would shield and safeguard her return home.

  The ivory colored tower lit brightly in the evening sun; surrounded by hedges trimmed to perfection and circular flower beds. Bianca sighed.

  "Ah, Paris." This was her first real trip outside of the country. On more than one occasion she'd told whomever asked the question about world travels.

  Bianca would summarily say...

  "Canada is attached...so technically it doesn't count as out of the country travels. The same can be said about the countries south of the border."

  She'd visited her cousin Candice countless times; driving over the Ambassador Bridge or taking their chances, using the tunnel. But until today, her passport hadn't received a lick of ink.

  She stepped back from her window view. After checking into her hotel room, she unpacked a few dresses to avoid further wrinkling. With that chore done, Bianca perched herself in the window seat, watching the garden and church below. There were small children accompanied by their parents. Laughing, running, picnics and all manner of enjoyment. How could anything possibly be wrong, she'd thought? These people were the personification of familial compassion. She had to tear her eyes away from the view. Nothing in life is perfect. Everything is flawed, requiring minor or major adjustments. She told herself this. The mental exercise had been meant to corral her thoughts. She told herself; she'd been sent here, across the Atlantic to perform just that thing. There was something out of whack. A situation was no longer in sync and she'd come to perform an adjustment. It was her job to restore the imperfection.

  ***************

  Chapter 4

  Three days later

  That evening, at 2045, Bianca's gold plated watch sounded. She'd set the alarm as a precaution. She didn't dare be late. Her body was coiled like a spring. It would take little to send her spinning out of control. Truth be told. There had been no need for setting alarms. After she showered, primped, got dressed, then did up her hair. Bianca had been ready to leave hours ago.

  Lifting from the cushioned seat, she crossed the room. She took one final look in the mirror beside the door. Perfection. The word paraded across her brain, then the words...

  "Don't get cocky." Danced off her tongue.

  "Steady..." she said, reminding herself to breathe and not to panic.

  Bianca opened the door, then stepped out into the hallway. There was no turning back now. For all her reading and preparation; inside and out, her nerves were unleashed, firing at will. Walking down the long hallway, she stopped short of the lift. On the wall above a half moon sofa table, Bianca caught her reflection in an oval mirror. She turned to assess her makeup, then her hair. Her eyes lowered to the outfit she'd been instructed to wear. The woman staring back at her was a mystery. A person so unlike her true self. But she reminded herself; while being here, she wasn't supposed to be herself.

  She stepped back, turning her head, deciding that she'd seen enough. When she stood near the elevator, her ears recognized the ding. In the next second, the doors opened, spilling
out its riders. Three men, smelling of wine and liquor passed her while speaking Portuguese. She stepped on board, only to be stopped by one of the men. He spoke to her using his native language, then he corrected himself, by addressing her, speaking French instead.

  "My friends and I are celebrating. We are in high spirits. Won't you join us?"

  In field work, improvisation is a necessity. She recalled her characters description, then like magnets pulling themselves together. Bianca did the same. She embraced the idea of the spy games.

  In French, she supplied her answer.

  "I'm happy for your good fortune but I already have plans for the night."

  Further down the hall she could hear boisterous voices. His comrades calling him in between their drunken laughter.

  "Pity." He said with a frown, then he smiled, stepping away from the elevator sensors. As the doors closed, he said...

  "If you change your mind...” His hopeful expression implied his meaning. But she couldn’t join him. She had more important things to do.

  Bianca had studied the hotels floor plans after she’d arrived. There were three lounges. One on the top floor, with a roof balcony and table seatings. Then there were the two lounges on the main floor. She headed for the lounge where she'd been told to meet her contact. Bianca walked in, purposely avoiding faces. She pretended to absorb the rooms ambiance and doing this came easy. The room was done up in rich leather furnishings, some black and others a deep shade of burgundy. The woods were dark shades of brown and the mingled smells complimented the other. There were tables with high back chairs; perfect for groups or quaint romantic rendezvous. Along the walls were booths with lush love seats and large comfortable sofas. Bianca didn't choose any of these places to sit. She skirted around the tables then headed for the bar. Heads turned, just like her handler had said they would. Men gawked while women whispered, obviously jealous of the attention she’d gained. The length of her dress hugged her luscious toned thighs and the height of her heels did wonders for her calves.