Murder Times Two

by Diana X Dunn

  Murder Times Two

  An F6 Novel

  Diana X. Dunn

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Also by Diana X. Dunn

  Books written as Diana Xarissa

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2013, 2018 Diana X. Dunn

  Cover Copyright © 2019 Linda Boulanger – Tell Tale Book Covers

  All Rights Reserved

  Created with Vellum

  One

  May 2120

  A stood up from her cramped position in the corner of the doorway and stretched, working out some of the adrenaline that was coursing through her body. She blinked, still pleasantly surprised at just how effective her night vision contact lenses were. Her sleek black bodysuit clung to every curve and contour of her athletic body. Short black hair was tucked neatly under a hood at the top of the bodysuit. The lenses made her eyes glow a slightly eerie green in the dark corner of the building’s entrance.

  Pressing a button on her wrist-con let her check the time. In ten minutes, B should have the alarm systems and door locks along the route she needed to take completely disabled. Assuming everything was going to plan, C should have the cameras turned off as well. She stretched again. There was no need to check the time again. In exactly ten minutes she would go.

  Timing the last ten minutes in her head was probably the easiest part of this mission. Many hours during her years of her training had been devoted to learning to track time subconsciously.

  With seven minutes to go, she picked up the small bag that was next to her in the doorway, reaching in to recheck its contents. She shouldn't need the screening cloth that clipped on to her hood. Its job was to scramble her features on the security cameras and C and his team were supposed to make sure that the cameras were off before she got anywhere near them. The cloth was completely transparent from the inside, but it was just enough of a distraction that it could, potentially, slow her down by a second or two. She wouldn’t have a second or two to spare on this job.

  As she had unlimited access to every imaginable cosmetic procedure and could easily change her appearance, she didn’t have to worry personally about being photographed. If she were, though, it could be very embarrassing for her employers. Within the fairly tight-knit international community of spying and intelligence gathering, there were a few key people who might recognize her and know for whom she was working. On this particular mission, that would be regrettable. The agency had its reasons for sending her and the team on this mission, but there were other agencies and governments who might not see things the same way.

  She frowned as she fingered the cloth again. She couldn't take the risk of using it and slowing herself down. The problem was, she didn't trust C. A week ago, in her boss’s office, she had argued against using him. Ultimately, however, Michael, as her supervisor and the head of the mission team, was the one to make the final decision.

  "He's one of our best agents," Michael had argued.

  "I don't trust him," she had reminded him.

  "He was cleared of all wrongdoing in F7's death and you know it," Michael jumped straight to the main reason for her objection.

  "I still think he was responsible," she had replied impatiently. This was an argument that they had already had many time previously, one that she knew she could not win. Michael would never convince her to change her opinion of the man, and she couldn't change his mind either.

  A few days later, both she and the man she hated were seated with the rest of the assembled team, getting their orders. Michael had stood in the front of the small conference room, talking to the elite team he had handpicked for this assignment.

  Michael looked younger than his fifty-plus years, but then he had had his face designed and redesigned over at least thirty of those years. The decades of work had left him looking youthful, even though he hadn’t had anything done since he’d moved out of the field to be based in the agency’s offices. His body was in excellent shape, kept that way by hours of hard work at the gym, rather than with artificial means. She had known him her entire life, and she trusted him completely.

  “This is a fairly easy mission,” he explained to the team, “but a very classified one. You’ll be split into three teams. No one will have an official identity on this job. You’ll be identified by letters only.”

  The significance of that was lost on no one. If they had no formal identities, they were completely on their own. If anything went wrong, there was nothing to officially trace them back to their agency. Some people might suspect or even recognize some of the agents, but without even a made-up identity to trace backwards, nothing could ever be proven.

  Michael had continued. “Let me start by introducing everyone by the identity they are currently using in their particular locality.”

  He started at one end of the rectangular table, gesturing for each person to stand in turn.

  "This is Diana Jackson," he told the team. “For this mission she will be known as A.” Diana had nodded briefly at the others.

  B was one of Diana’s oldest and most trusted colleagues, currently being called Marcus Adams. He was an ordinary-looking, middle-aged man, and from appearances most people would probably assume that he worked in a bank or in some office building somewhere, doing something that no one actually realized was a real job. He had no distinguishing features, spoke softly and articulately and had a wicked sense of humor once you got to know him.

  He was currently working mostly in Florida and the rest of the southern United States, but had made the trip to New York at Michael’s request. There were two other members on his team and Diana knew both of them from previous assignments. While they were only acquaintances, she had complete confidence in their abilities.

  C was a different story. He was currently working under the identity George Jones. He and Diana had grown up together. He had been known simply as M10 in their childhood, in the days when she had been called F6. They had never been friends, and never would be, now that Diana was convinced that he was responsible for her best friend’s death.

  George was still tall, dark, and handsome and Diana frowned as she noted that he must have had more work done since she’d last seen him. He had a new dimple, and his eyes looked different as well. Since he was still using the same identity, it was likely vanity had driven the change, rather than a real need to be modified.

  George had one member on his team, Mike Moore, who was a newer recruit to the agency. Diana had met him only once, but she’d checked him out thoroughly and he seemed okay. He was blonde and not bad looking, but next to George’s movie star good looks he seemed to fade into the background.

  Diana had had to force herself to ignore her feelings in order to focus on Michael’s instructions.

  “We’ll be flying you all to Paris, to a small private landing strip. Once there, you’ll travel into the city and make your way here,” Michael indicated a small and fairly nondescript building on a three-dimensional map that was being projected on the table in front of them.

  “This is a small museum that opened about a year ago,” he told them. “They have an object that we would like to have in our collection.”

  The rest of the briefing had been short and to the point. Each team was given the necessary instructions for their part in the mission and then dismissed, until on
ly Diana remained. She was the only member of the group who was told exactly what they were seeking, and exactly how to remove it from its current location.

  “In a small case, in an insignificant room at the back of the museum, is a tiny piece of Biblical era parchment that has a few words written on it. We need you to get it and bring it to us.”

  Diana had simply nodded. It was not her place to ask questions, even though half a dozen had sprung into her head. Two days later she had boarded the plane to Paris with the rest of the team.

  Now, in place just outside the museum, she wondered again what the agency wanted with the tiny piece of old paper. She would probably never know.

  She used the last three seconds to make the final adjustments to her outfit and her bag. Then she moved, pulling open the now unlocked front door of the building and then moving slowly and steadily, through the pitch-black museum lobby.

  As she approached the first internal door and it slid open easily, she mentally thanked B and his team for their successful work. She had no more than two minutes before the security breaches would be noticed. The doors had to open for her quickly. Flattening herself against the wall, she stayed away from the pressurized alarmed pads that were installed in the floor in the center of the hall. B hadn’t bothered to deactivate those. They were simple enough to avoid. Conscious that time was ticking, she made her way slowly to the end of the corridor..

  At the end of the hall she entered the exhibit room that held her target. A few steps took her to the small glass cabinet that was exactly what she had been told to expect. She studied the tiny fragment for a fraction of a second before she slid a glasscutter from her bag and cut open the display case. This particular object was deemed too insignificant to the museum to have an individually alarmed case. She quickly lifted the parchment off of its black velvet display board and slipped it into the plastic storage container she had ready.

  After she dropped the storage case into her bag, she spun around and headed back toward the door. The security camera directly above her momentarily caught her attention. As she watched, the camera swung around, seemingly following her progress. A red light glowed steadily against its black case in the dark room.

  “Damn,” she swore silently. The camera was live. Cursing George Jones and Mike Moore, who were supposedly responsible for disabling that camera, she raced out if the room, almost forgetting to avoid the pressure pads as she sped down the hall and through the series of doors. Luckily, B had done a better job than C, and the doors all opened for her as she headed for the street.

  Outside the museum, she was in the team’s private transport in seconds. She and the rest of the team were halfway across the city before the museum staff discovered the security breach. The agency’s small plane was in the air before the actual theft was spotted and they were all safely back in New York with the item before the French police had done more than officially begin their investigation.

  On board the long flight back, Diana popped an energy tablet to keep herself awake. While the rest of the group napped quietly, she spent the journey home writing up a full report on her multi-purpose electronic device (M-ped), detailing everything that had happened since they left New York. As lead agent on the case, the primary report was her responsibility anyway, but she also wanted to make sure that her report was the first one filed, before anyone could start making excuses about the mistakes that had been made.

  She was grateful for the software that automatically filled in much of the document for her, and the sophisticated programming that let the device figure out what word she wanted next with only a letter or two tapped. She usually used the system’s very clever voice recognition software, but she wasn’t about to dictate this report, not when it was going to be highly critical of the man sitting only two seats away from her.

  Diana and the rest of the team reported directly from the agency’s landing strip to its downtown headquarters building. When she handed the container with the treasure to her boss, Michael didn’t even open it. Instead, he gave it to their collections expert who checked that it was exactly what they had been expecting and then disappeared with it. An hour later the whole team was assembled in Michael’s office for a debriefing.

  “The object that you obtained is now on its way to the Warehouse,” Michael informed them all.

  Everyone was silent for a moment as they considered that piece of information. The Warehouse was legendary within their organization. It was known to contain everything from historical artifacts to the complete database of one of the twentieth century’s most popular social networking sites. It was rumored to also house a wide range of items like the remains of numerous aliens, several missing pieces of the Dead Sea Scrolls and samples of Adolf Hitler’s DNA. The location of the Warehouse was a very closely guarded secret. Supposedly, even Michael’s level of security clearance was insufficient for that piece of knowledge.

  “I appreciate everything that was done out there,” Michael continued. “It was a great team effort and I trust there were no glitches?”

  Diana held her tongue. Michael already had her report. There was no point in criticizing George in front of the rest of the team. Michael looked from one team member to the other, searching each face, waiting for comments.

  “I thought it all went really well,” Marcus finally answered. “Diana did a wonderful job. She was in and out much faster than I’d expected.”

  “I could only get through so quickly because all the doors were unlocked and opened easily,” Diana replied.

  Michael nodded slowly. “It appears that A and B did their jobs in an exemplary fashion,” he told them.

  “Hey, what about C?” George questioned, grinning as if he expected his own pat on the back.

  “How did your job go, then?” Michael questioned.

  “It was a piece of cake,” George replied. “We got in after B opened the doors, shut down the security cameras and recording devices, timed everything according to the plan and then turned it all back on and got out of there.”

  Michael nodded again, then reached into a folder on his desk. “Can you explain this, then?” he asked George, his voice dangerously soft.

  “This” was a photograph of A taken as she had turned away from the display case and headed toward the door. She was still looking toward the case and the camera only captured her in profile.

  George looked shocked and then angry. “I can’t explain it,” he stuttered. “We shut down all of the cameras from the foyer, down the hall and into that room as well as every camera in that room. I know we did.”

  Michael frowned at him. “What about you, Mike, can you explain it?” he asked George’s partner.

  Mike shook his head. “Sorry boss, but I can’t,” he said apologetically. “I just did what George told me to do. Mostly I stood guard at the door.”

  George sputtered and protested. “You were responsible for flipping the switches for the cameras,” he reminded Mike. “You must have missed that one.”

  “No way,” Mike shot back. “I flipped every switch that you told me to flip. If I missed it, it wasn’t on your list.”

  Michael sat back and watched the argument. Clearly neither man was going to take responsibility for the error. After a few minutes he interrupted their continuing debate.

  “Enough,” he said tiredly. “I want a full written report from each of you as to exactly what happened in that control room. You will go and do that now in separate rooms on the third floor. After that, I will be assigning you both new identities. Mike has had enough training time in this particular partnership. For now you will both be reassigned individually. We’re lucky that the camera only got Diana’s profile, rather than a full picture of her. Regardless of whoever made the mistake, it has potentially put the agency and Diana in a very awkward position and I will get to the bottom of it.”

  With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the team, pointing to indicate that Diana should remain behind.

  “I’ve read your
report,” he told her as she sat back down after the others had left. “You noticed that the camera was on?”

  “Yes,” Diana replied, “but there wasn’t much I could do about it at that point.”

  Michael nodded his agreement and then reached into the same folder again. He spread a series of photos out on his desk. Clearly the camera had been recording images continually. Diana frowned as she saw herself walk into the room, steal the parchment, then turn toward the door, and leave the room. In the middle of the pack was a photo of her, head on, looking straight at the camera.

  “We’ve been officially asked by the French police to help them in their efforts to identify this woman.” Michael told her, holding up the photo of her looking at the camera. “Any thoughts?”

  Diana shuddered as she looked at herself. “None,” she told her boss.

  Michael grinned at her. “I’m just glad you had the good sense to wear the screening cloth, in spite of my instructions not to do so.”

  Diana shuddered again when she thought about how closely she’d come to leaving it off. It was a good thing she nearly always relied on her instincts rather than her orders.

  Two

  When she opened her apartment door that evening, Diana smiled. For the first time since she’d moved in recently, this apartment actually felt like home. She’d only had to fly three thousand or so miles away and back in order to feel that way.

  After dropping her suitcase in her bedroom, she returned to the large living room with the gorgeous views from the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. Flopping down on a sofa, she looked out at the city that bustled and buzzed so many stories below her. The adrenaline rush that had kept her going in Paris had transformed into massive anger about the camera. That had driven her to push herself on the journey back. Now she was feeling the effects of so many hours without sleep.