by Pema Donyo
Right as I passed the fifteenth floor, the edge of my shirt sleeve caught on the last button. I tried pulling at it, switching my gaze between the number ticking on the elevator and the button. Finally! My arm tugged free as I reached the eighteenth floor. I flung off my shirt and flipped it right-side out. Nineteenth floor. I could make it.
Ding!
The elevator doors parted in the middle right as I held my shirt in my hand, dressed only in my strapless bra from the waist up, face flushed bright red as I locked eye contact with none other than my ex-boyfriend.
Or, rather, Adrian King and several other Covert Operatives associates who had been waiting in the lobby of the twentieth floor and who had also spun around right as the elevator doors opened to a shirtless me.
I wrapped the cloth back around me and started to button it back up. To my horror, the elevator doors began to close. I thrust my body forward to jam the elevator doors open again. The doors pushed back and I stumbled through. With a haphazard attempt to button my shirt back up as quickly as I could, I stammered out a few apologies.
As soon as the shirt was buttoned back up, I heard the distinct cough of one of the men standing in business suits with Adrian. The warmth of a blush spread across my cheeks and down my neck.
The corner of Adrian’s mouth twitched before he spoke, the only hint of emotion he betrayed on his impassive face. “If you are now fully dressed, our meeting with Croyden was scheduled to begin five minutes ago.”
I nodded. In the entire year we’d been together, this was the first time he’d ever seen me with my top off. Certainly not the way I’d wanted his first glimpse to be. Especially with all the other men in business suits around him, refusing to make eye contact with me and somehow blushing even more than I was.
Adrian motioned toward the small row of Covert Operatives employees. “This is Gu Shinwoo, chief supplier of explosives and artillery. Laurence DeMine, chief of tracking operations. Michael Case, a member of the board of directors of transportation. Gentlemen, this is Miss Lu, the student executive Croyden chose to settle this contract.”
I shook hands with each of the men, stopping right before Adrian. His hand wasn’t outstretched toward me. Instead he stared back at me with eyes as cold as ice.
Adrian finally glanced away and walked past the receptionist. The men behind him followed their leader, though they all looked old enough to be his father.
Something ached within me. The old Adrian would have laughed, called me “Janey,” and embraced me. The new Adrian couldn’t be bothered with a clumsy executive who wore her shirt backward.
I noticed the perfect straightness of Adrian’s posture, his back ramrod rigid like an automaton. His steps were measured and controlled. The philosophical, playful Adrian had died and some cold, power-hungry robot had taken his place. And yet my heart still fluttered every time my eyes got a hold of him.
Darn fluttering.
We walked through glass doors and into a long room with an oval boardroom desk in the middle. Leather swivel chairs lined the table. After standard contract procedure was briefed, Adrian introduced his associates and explained how he was overseeing the contract process.
At the end of the table, opposite the door, sat a fat and tanned man covered in bedazzled white sunglasses and a neon white suit. Even his voice spoke of excess, with his Italian-accented English drawled over each English word like the correct pronunciation was a matter of life and death. “Velcome—no, no, welcome—to my, how you say, office? Boring place to sitted. No, no, sit, am right? But business first. Ah!” His head inclined toward me and he took off his sunglasses. Bulging green eyes greeted me. “This must be the executive. No one told me she would be so petty—no, no, pretty! My name is ‘Arry. ‘Arry Croyden. You is, no, are?”
“My name is Jane Lu,” I answered in Italian. “I promise I will ensure you get the best contract possible.”
Harry Croyden’s face lit up. “Ah! She speaks our language. Impressive, isn’t it, Javier?” He nudged the man in the blue suit next to him.
Tristan sat on the right side of Harry. He wore a thin blue suit, his blazer and pants the same perfect shade of sapphire blue. But unlike Adrian’s, Tristan’s face seemed warm and inviting. He bared the perfect whites of his teeth for a smile. “It is most impressive, Miss Lu.”
I laid down my briefcase on the table and clicked it open. Papers were discussed between Croyden and I, and all parties signed preliminary negotiations. The first part was routine, a matter of pointing at dotted lines and gaining the first signatures needed to proceed with the contract. Promises the client would never sue Covert Operatives, promises the client would never reveal Covert Operatives to government authorities, promises to recommend Covert Operatives to other clients. Then came the dirty business.
“We need particulars.” I pulled out my laptop and pressed the screen to whir it to life. A combination of a touchpad and a keyboard, the laptop had been Professor George’s present to me on earning myself a mission. I suspected it had more to do with a personal recommendation from a so-called “Mr. Medici” than anything else, but George didn’t seem any wiser. “Who exactly, and please include the middle name, do you seek to target with this contract?”
“Giuseppe Gandolfo Croyden.” Harry beamed as he instructed me to kill his younger brother. “Boy’s been accusing me of murdering our parents to gain the family business.”
“Current permanent residence?”
“London. Runs a bakery business.” Harry shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard to kill.”
I gritted my teeth. Once, talking about murder in such an impersonal way came easy to me. But since defecting to the CIA I could barely restrain myself from interrogating the man and demanding why he wanted to kill his last remaining family member. Didn’t he understand how important family was? Not everyone has a family, I mused.
Adrian interrupted the momentary silence for me, saving me without even knowing it. “Since this is a special contract with a student—a venture CO has not yet tried—we will price this case individually instead of through our normal packaging rates. When would you like this contract to be closed?”
He grinned while he placed his hands on his rather large belly. “Within two months is fine with me. Early January should do it?”
Adrian nodded. He jotted something down on his notepad and then peered up at me. The coldness in his eyes chilled my heart. “Miss Lu, will you have the preliminary paperwork and calculations ready by next week?”
“If you wish.” I tore my gaze away from his and focused my attention instead to Harry Croyden. “Do you have a preferred method of closing the contract?”
“I want to be creative. Poison, perhaps?”
Gu Shinwoo leaned forward, interlacing his fingers together and setting his clasped hands on the clear glass table. “Covert Operatives exclusively uses explosive and artillery fire. There are too many possible errors with poison. The wrong person takes the poison and the contract isn’t closed; the target may decide to not use or consume the substance containing the poison.”
“Ah, ah!” Harry Croyden pointed a finger at Tristan. “I thought you said they were professionals.”
“Professionals, but not fortune tellers. Poison has too many unanticipated results. I assure you there is no better organization to execute your ordered murder.” Adrian shed a cool, composed politician’s smile. He possessed all the knowledge of a businessman and the charm of a politician. “You must remember how we offer what other organizations do not—assassins under the age of eighteen. As a result, our assassins are never suspected during crime scene investigations. Using a system of training from a young age, our operatives are skilled and physically fit for the job.”
Harry Croyden’s upper lip curled. “Yes, I was not so convinced about that part.”
I pulled a flyer from my briefcase and smoothed the paper in front of my client. “Covert Operatives has a 99.9% success rate as of last March. No money is given to Covert Operatives unt
il the contract has been closed. Remember, we are only paid if you are satisfied with our services.” The lines I’d been taught in executive classes back at the CO headquarters spilled from my mouth as easy as anything.
Croyden stroked his beard. His other hand rested on a golden cane which looked like a scepter, complete with painted gold along the cane and a golden top at the end. “I want to be convinced.”
I blinked. Normally clients agreed to our terms and conditions and moved on. Goodness gracious, textbooks only prepared you for so much.
“How can we convince you?”
“I want to accompany a mission.”
“No!”
“No!”
Adrian and I both locked eyes. We’d spoken in unison.
I bit my lip and averted my gaze. “The implications of what you are asking for would be too severe and pose a risk to the safety of our agents.” I swallowed my panic. Risking the safety of operatives because of someone most definitely not trained as an assassin would help no one.
“I want a demonstration of what CO can do, nothing more.” Harry Croyden shrugged. “If I like what I see, I will agree to a full contract even with a student executive, no questions asked. No need for me to half pay if I know what I’m getting into.”
I watched the eyes of the associates light up like the lights within the Eiffel Tower at ten o’clock at night. Cash registers cha-chinged in their minds.
Adrian wasted no time. “Done. My team will plan a demonstration for you to witness what Covert Operatives assassins can accomplish, even as minors.”
Croyden pointed at Adrian first, then at me. “You two were agents not too long ago, I am correct?” I nodded, and Croyden clapped his hands. “Wonderful! I want this to be all organized between you two. I want to see whether or not minors can accomplish such a task.”
I opened my mouth to protest we weren’t minors anymore, but then I closed it. If he needed proof teenagers could accomplish what he believed was a job for adults, I would do my job.
“When would be the best time for the demonstration to take place, Mr. Croyden?” I poised my fingers above the keyboard to write down the detail.
“Before our scheduled appointment to sort out the contract details.” He leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied look on his face. “If I like what I see, I will even pay then and there.”
I heard the cash registers cha-chinging once again. Dollar bill signs flashed in the pupils of the associates.
“Done.”
“Wonderful!” Croyden stood up and supported himself with the scepter. “I am so sorry to say I must leave for a party in Paris tonight, but I promise we will discuss the details as soon as I return. And of course, I cannot wait for my demonstration.”
A bodyguard I’d barely noticed in the room suddenly opened the door for Croyden to leave. The only people left in the room were the associates, Adrian, Tristan, and I. Well, this is awkward.
The associates all turned to each other and began discussing their own details to sort out with each department they represented. I didn’t know what Adrian was doing, because I was determined to make as little eye contact with him as possible during the next two months. Tristan stood up from his seat, clapped his hands, and walked over to me.
To my surprise, he pulled out my seat and outstretched his hand. “May I talk to you outside?”
I knew Adrian and his associates saw me leave, but none of them said a word. I followed Tristan outside the room. My body protested, wanting to turn around and talk to Adrian. Don’t do it! I scolded myself. Better to ignore Adrian if he was ignoring me. We were business partners now, nothing more. He was probably with Emma now, for goodness sake. I couldn’t look desperate and make the first move.
Tristan whisked me into the elevator. I peeked up at the screen as we moved lower and lower, the numbers of the floor continuing downward. Five, four, three, two…
I expected the elevator to stop at one, but somehow it kept going down until we reached the parking lot. Tristan got out first, his hand still holding mine.
I wrenched it away as soon as the elevator doors closed behind us. “Why did you take me here?” The empty parking lot echoed my words back to me.
A clipping of heels answered.
Marge walked toward us, dressed again in the dowdy suit she wore during my first confrontation with the CIA. She was no longer dressed to the nines with heels to kill. Her look was business professional once again, and so was the expression on her face.
“Thank you, Morelli.” She gave a curt nod to Tristan, but her eyes remained fixed on mine. “I do believe there may be something you two wish to tell me.”
My eyes scanned the parking lot surrounding us. The usual parking markers and white painted lines graced the floor, but not a single car parked inside. “Why is no one here?”
“Sealed off for private renovation, rented by the US government.” Marge waved her hand, dismissing the irrelevant question. “What do I need to know?”
“There’s going to be a demonstration.” Tristan spoke first. He nodded to me, encouraging me to continue.
“Yes, Adrian and I are in charge of proving to Croyden that minors are capable of murder.” The bluntness of my phrase felt so refreshing after sugar-coating my words moments ago with the cool language of a business transaction. “It’s such a contrast. All of the agents are taught we’re capable of anything we set our mind to, and we all believe we can murder with perfection. And we do, and we succeed because others believe in us. I didn’t realize people outside of CO distrust kids. The only reason a kid can’t do something is because nobody believes he can do it.”
Marge nodded. “A valuable insight to the CO agent mentality. You are working with Adrian?”
Unfortunately.
“You need to be on good terms with him once again.” Marge inclined her head toward Tristan. “Morelli told me you two had a falling out.”
“Oh, Tristan and I can still work together, I don’t have a problem with…”
“I was talking about you and Adrian.” Marge arched a penciled-in brow, her eyes darting back and forth between Tristan and me. “Is there something else I need to be concerned about?”
“Not at all.” Tristan answered, lightning quick.
Speak for yourself, I thought. But there was no use in worrying Marge any further or drawing any other suspicion from the CIA. The last thing I needed was the CIA thinking I was flirting with my former informant.
“There’s something else you need to know as well.” Marge’s lips pressed tight and tiny wrinkles developed along the line of her mouth. “We believe executives in CO suspect leaked information was to blame for your failed mission.”
“What?”
“There has been recent activity surrounding the family we helped place into the witness protection program.”
My eyes widened. “They haven’t been…”
“No, they are perfectly all right.”
I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It was the craziest feeling—responsibility and joy over the safety of people I’d never met.
“Their relatives, however, have reported hackings into their e-mail accounts and searches through their mail. Covert Operatives is searching for more information, even a month later. Someone suspects foul play.”
“But there’s nothing abnormal.” I leaned back against the wall next to the elevator and crossed my arms. “There was a government agent there. The family could have received word from someone close to the client who breached the privacy of the contract. If the family received word, of course they’d leave and call the police. Executives can make mistakes too.”
“Exactly. Which is why their continued investigation shows they remain suspicious.” Marge slowed her words. Her usual clipped tone slowed into an important warning. “I want you to be on high alert. If you are to be caught… Well, I am sure you are well aware of what CO would do with you.” Marge cut a sharp look at Tristan. “Your mission will be over as well,
Morelli.”
Tristan’s expression was one of understanding, as he contemplated Marge’s words with all the grave seriousness of when an agent hears his career may be over. We both have one chance. A chance neither of us could afford to lose.
“I understand.”
“Good.” Marge began to walk away. Her heels clicked away somewhere into the darkness, into a dark unknown which would whisk her back to her world of Central Intelligence safety. I was shadowed in the insecurity of deep cover.
Tristan started toward me as soon as the sound of Marge’s heels faded away. One of my feet pressed against the grey concrete as I leaned back against the wall.
There was a laziness to his step, the kind of slow and confident gait of a man sure to get what he wants. “It’s not too late, you know.”
I stared back at him with defiance. There was no way he could tell me what I decided to feel. “Too late for what?”
“Too late for us.”
“What about us?”
“For us to be together.”
I unfolded my arms. “Tristan, it’s not because I don’t like being around you. I do. I think you’re funny, and you’re handsome.”
Tristan’s jaw set into a hard line, and the usual look of playfulness wiped itself from his features. “Then?”
Rat tat tat tat tat!
I grabbed Tristan and ducked to crouch closer to the ground. The all-too-familiar sound volleyed through the once empty parking lot. My heartbeat drummed in my ears as my fingers clenched around Tristan’s sleeve. “Get down! Get down!”
Rat tat tat tat!
The sound of the artillery launching from the machine gun shot closer to where Tristan and I crouched. I reached for the gun strapped to the inside of my thigh beneath the skirt. After pulling it out, I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Now run!”