Covert Affairs: Partnership : A Covert Affairs Romance (Book One)

by Valerie Vaughn

  “And the rest?” Another shrug. “No, absolutely not. Explain yourself.”

  “Bit above the security clearance of an intern, I’m afraid,” he replied, “though I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know the Ambassador and his wife are well.”

  The gall of this man, honestly. To hell with holding Maria’s coat; he was going to help her. “I am the Deputy Director of the Operations branch—”

  “Ah, so Thompson finally got around to that paperwork, then.” Indeed, Arthur noted, a shiny new name placard was half concealed under a mountain of files, proclaiming this the desk of one Syler Perrin, Deputy Director of Operations. Arthur wondered if the Colonel had put a bow on it before bestowing it to its ruffled new owner. The man was about as intimidating as a wet kitten and hissed in approximately the same decibel range.

  “Yes, apparently for the sole purpose of dumping you in my lap and washing his hands of a lost cause!”

  The agent in question cocked his head, considering. “Well, it isn’t a bad lap.”

  ‘Oh, you can get in line, Maria.’ Syler took a fortifying breath, stopping when the twinkle in Dufault’s eyes gave the game away. He was enjoying this, the absolute bastard. New tactic then. Syler turned to his desk, selecting the appropriate return form as well as a lost equipment expenses sheet, neatly filling them out.

  “Sign,” he ordered, thrusting the paperwork towards his wayward agent.

  Arthur’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Pardon me?”

  “Your bill, as promised. I’ve kindly left off the gun, as it appears salvageable, though the knife may yet be a lost cause. Shall I forward them directly to accounting or would you like to pay by check?”

  “They were utilized in the line of duty!”

  “Were they? You should have just said,” Syler feigned innocence, collecting a number of expense loss justifications forms from another folder and passing them over. That particular folder was dusty and rarely used what with equipment loss in the field being par for the course. Syler suspected they may exist solely to make this particular sort of point. “Kindly fill those out, one per lost item, and I’ll have the transactions removed before the next round of reports are finalized. I’d accept your oral report, but I’m afraid I have a pressing meeting elsewhere.”

  Arthur schooled his expression, settling back into parade rest, begrudgingly amused. ‘He bites,’ Thompson had warned after all. “Of course, Deputy Director, and congratulations on your promotion. I won’t keep you any longer.” He tucked the small bundle of papers into his jacket and turned to leave.

  “Oh, and Agent Dufault?” Syler called. Arthur half-turned back. “Expense reports are due to accounting by close of business tomorrow. They’re loath to grant extensions, so do have them on my desk before lunch.”

  The agent grinned, the promise of retaliation ahead, and nodded before heading out.

  ---

  Syler received pristinely written justification forms—entirely in Arabic.

  “It seemed pertinent to capture the events as authentically as possible and I was in Dubai.”

  ---

  A week later, Agent Dufault was headed on deployment to Beijing. Syler outfitted him with a Glock 19, six magazines, an ear piece, and a localized EMP device disguised in a key fob to help disable and pass through his target’s security system undetected. When he attempted to wheedle his way into a new toy, he was presented with a green paperclip. Arthur held it up to the light, squinting.

  “Bring it back and I might just assign you one of your precious Sigs next time.”

  ---

  He returned eight days later with a singed key fob and a pristine Glock, though the waterlogged remnants of the ear piece left Syler massaging his temples to ward off a headache. Arthur gave his report on the five missing magazines and empty sixth, still locked into the Glock, in fluent Mandarin, before presenting the paperclip with a flourish.

  “Out.”

  Six

  The first time Syler ran comms for Agent Dufault, he corrected himself—menace was not a strong enough word. In fact, there may well not have existed a strong enough word in the English language, perhaps any language in existence, living or dead.

  Agent Garcia’s work in Bolivia six weeks prior had led them to a higher up in the Brazilian banking industry by the name of Enrique Oliveria. The man was otherwise unremarkable beyond financing a corrupt Bolivian politician, but closer inspection revealed incoming transfers of stolen funds that matched recent hacks of US financial institutions. The hacks wouldn’t have warranted CIA attention were it not for their discreet methodology and remotely impenetrable cyber security. As it was, Dufault was sent in to make contact with Oliveria in hopes of discreetly retrieving enough information on their dealings to determine the key players and shut them down before they could cause more trouble.

  “What in the actual hell do you think you’re doing, Agent Dufault?” Syler barked into his headset, the distant throb of a headache forming at the center-front of his forehead echoing dully.

  “Intel was off. Oliveria left for a private meeting with other conference members before I could make contact.” The security cameras at the gala’s event center showed the agent at the coat-check, leaned against the wall a short distance away from where a striking brunette in a figure-hugging backless evening gown was retrieving her jacket.

  “So you’re turning this into a nice little vacation hook up now?” Syler shot back in disbelief. “Return to the rendezvous point and we’ll determine another way in. His cyber security system may be good, but you’re on the ground now. I can guide you the rest of the way.”

  On camera, Syler watched the agent’s mouth stretch into a disarming grin just this side of leering as the woman shot him a look filled with promise over her shoulder before returning her attention to the coat clerk. “Mm, way ahead of you. That’ll be Oliveria's wife.”

  “No. There are more discreet ways in than—” The agent subtly tapped his ear piece off, stepping up to the woman to help her into her coat. “—sleeping with the man’s wife. Oh, why do I bother with you?” Pulling up what he could on the woman in question, Syler watched Agent Dufault stretch out a hand invitingly to Adriana Oliveria, resigned, and began working on a back door into the security system of the Oliveria estate. Blessedly, and a bit alarmingly, the man had put far more effort into securing his computer network than his home.

  Several hours later, Agent Dufault slipped out of the bedroom where Oliveria's wife slept and tapped his comm back on.

  “Oh, look, you do know how it works. Color me—”

  “I need directions to Oliveria's office,” Arthur cut in, tone all business.

  Syler blinked, taken aback for a fraction of a second, before settling into professionalism. “Door at the west end of the hall on the third floor. Take the main staircase up. Security lock has been disarmed and cameras are temporarily looping for the top floors, but I still have eyes on you.” The agent made his way to the room briskly, shutting the door soundlessly behind himself. “Insert the root flash drive before powering his computer on. It’s programmed to bypass the login screen.” Dufault complied, computer booting to life.

  “How long will it take?” he asked. The login screen flashed and vanished as quickly as it appeared, desktop loading a mere second later.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” Syler said, watching as his drive transmitted a mirror image of the target’s desktop to a screen at the command desk for his perusal. “Open a command prompt from the start menu. Enter the following precisely,” Syler rattled off the code to begin copying the hard drive. “ETA on transfer completion is seven minutes. Open a second window.”

  Arthur completed the second string of commands, watching the progress bar on both. “And what’s this one?”

  “I want a backdoor into the system for later use. If you’d be so kind as to leave discreetly, Oliveria and his associates will be none the wiser.”

  Arthur hummed, turning to the desk’s drawers, searching until h
e came to a faux back panel, locked. “Now what do you suppose is back here?” he asked rhetorically, setting about picking the lock. “Shame you can’t manage to unlock this drawer remotely as well.”

  “I’ll make you an automatic lock pick if you get out of there without explosions,” Syler promised, offhand.

  “Now who’s the one of little faith?” He popped open the lock, retrieving the contents for examination. “So, why does a Brazilian banker dabbling in minor funds theft need a hidden drawer for documents detailing a Bulgarian exports company? And a Germany automaker? Oh, these just go on and on.”

  “Agent Dufault.” Arthur glanced up, alert, the sharp tone of his handler punctuated by his rapid staccato typing. “Oliveria’s vehicle just pulled up the driveway.” Arthur swore, checking the transfer. Two minutes left.

  “So much for getting out of here undetected.” He began replacing the files, meticulously erasing evidence of his presence. “I suppose you’re going to see why it always ends in explosions.”

  “I’ve disabled the power to the garage doors. Should buy you some time.” The clicking of keys continued, heartbeat quick. Arthur shut up the hidden panel, reengaged the lock, and closed the drawer. He glanced up. Just under a minute to go.

  “Exit plan?”

  “Oliveria is heading for the front door and he’s got company. I don’t suppose the windows unlock?” Arthur glanced over towards them, grimacing at the fixed panes.

  “Of course not.” The flash drive went dark, transfer complete. He shut down the computer, double checked that everything was undisturbed, and pocketed the drive.

  “Back exit then. Head to the east end staircase.” Arthur slipped out of the office, shutting the door softly, and moved quickly. He heard the front door unlock and open as he cleared the main staircase, heading towards the service stairs. Voices rose from the first floor landing. “Two men with him, both armed.”

  “Have I mentioned,” he muttered, unholstering his gun and stepping onto the side staircase, “how much I hate corrupt bankers?” He made his way rapidly down to the ground floor, stopping just before he’d come into view of the first floor hall.

  “Hold.” Arthur breathed softly, listening to the sounds of the men drifting closer as Syler paused his brisk typing. “They’re coming towards you. Time for a distraction.”

  Arthur tensed, internally scrapping hopes for a clean exit even as the sound of keys filed his ear again. “Quickly please.”

  “Hold.” The agent breathed low and even, mentally mapping out the cleanest firing path based on the probable position of the approaching voices. He shifted his weight forward. The group of men weren’t twenty feet away…

  “Hold,” his handler repeated, just as the lights flickered, once, before the house plunged into darkness, startling Arthur slightly from his ready position. One of Oliveria’s companions swore. “I’ve cut the power.” Another man, presumably Oliveria, guided the other two men out of the hallway and into a front room, announcing that he was going to check the electrical box. “Circuit breaker’s on the far end of the house. The hall is now clear. Proceed forward fifty feet and turn left into the kitchen. There’s a side door into the back lawn.”

  Arthur made his way quietly out of the estate, undetected, and emerged on the sidewalk a few minutes later. As he headed towards the rendezvous point, he huffed a laugh and commented, “I think you owe me a lock pick, boy wonder.”

  Syler just sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled dark curls. Menace.

  Seven

  “So,” Maria began, startling Syler from his place at the command desk. “He behaves for you.” Her tone was considering.

  Syler glanced up at the clock over the main monitor bank. 10:34 p.m. Christ, he’d been at work long enough for night shift to clock on. “Behave is a strong word.”

  Maria quirked a brow, chestnut curls bouncing as she shook her head. “S, last time I had him, he burned down part of a hotel after an assassination attempt on the Ambassador. Even mentioning Dubai around the Director is grounds for dismemberment.”

  Privately, Syler wondered how the Director had lasted this long without killing the man. The mortality rate for field agents was high enough as it was. What was one more, honestly? “I really shouldn’t have given him those knives,” he muttered.

  “My point,” she continued, “is that this actually went completely according to plan despite going halfway to hell twice along the way. That’s almost unheard of with Dufault.”

  “Genuine question—why do we keep him then?”

  “Same reason we keep any of the field agents. He’s very, very good at what he does.”

  “Blowing things up and taking our equipment budget with him?” Syler queried, sarcastically.

  “Boss, he’s a former Delta operator.” His brows furrowed, not following her logic. Maria sighed. “It’s just, well, it’s just how they’re trained to do things.”

  “Maria, dear friend, I’m sensing that you’re attempting to enlighten me on something important, but I’ve been here for almost fourteen hours.” He sat down heavily in his desk chair, which creaked in protest. “Can you please try to explain it like I’m five?” He reached for his coffee mug as one would a lifeline, underscoring his point. It was nearly empty and long gone cold.

  Maria passed him a new mug, because she was an actual mind reading goddess who took pity on his miserable self. “My brother is Delta. To hear him tell it, he spends most of his days running solo ops with absolutely no support for weeks on end. He’s given an assignment, a tool kit, and a rendezvous point. Everything else is on him.” She paused to take a sip. “Dufault isn’t different. Having an active handler is practically anathema to his training. He’s used to having to work it out for himself, because waiting might get him killed.” She gestured a hand expansively. “You can take the man out of the special forces, but…”

  “So,” Syler blinked, turning that little nugget of information over, “what you’re saying is that it’s strange that he, what, listens to me? Because he definitely went black out on comms for a few hours there. I’m not sure that actually counts as listening.”

  Maria hummed and nodded. “Yes, but he came back online for the retrieval and trusted you enough to not go rogue when the target coming home early risked his cover being blown. The rest of us would’ve just been along for the ride.”

  “Only because I gave him a viable alternative before he could resort to gunfire,” Syler countered.

  “Precisely, you’re an asset. Ergo, he behaves for you.”

  “Maria, the way you say that makes it sound like a threat.”

  The petite woman laughed, brown eyes mirthful. “Oh, yeah, it’s an entirely uncharted territory of headache.” She snatched his mug away and passed him his coat. “Try not to let it keep you up at night. You need the sleep.”

  As she bundled him into his jacket and sent him on his way, he had the distinct impression of being doomed.

  Eight

  Syler returned to the operations division the following afternoon with a new found appreciation for the bureaucratic machine and all its glorious inefficiencies, weighed down by a truly draconian quantity of paperwork. He once again promised himself that someday, in the very near future, he would force the entire agency to move non-essential documentation to an internal cloud network, compelled by liberal application of file ransomware and password changes if need be.

  He was torn from his internal musings by the small crowd gathered around his desk. At the center, lounging in his chair like a king holding court, was one Special Agent Dufault, entirely at ease in a three-piece suit with his operations staff flocked around him like adoring fans. One of the newer techs was actually blushing, god help him. Dufault caught his eye as he made his way across the room, grin spreading into full effect.

  “Move,” Syler ordered, fixing the man with a stern glare. He heard a soft laugh from one of the junior technicians. “And stop flirting with my staff. Unlike you, they have a
ctual jobs to do.” He turned his attention to the half dozen techs around the command post, then to their empty stations, emphasizing his point.

  “He was debriefing us on the Brazil op, boss,” the youngest tech informed him brightly. “Agent Dufault said you saved his ass from a firefight when the target came back early!”

  “Did he now?” Syler replied, dropping his paperwork in the agent’s lap when it became clear the other man had no intention of getting up. Dufault sputtered a bit.

  “Yeah, can we please cover that in the next training session? As a case study? Sounds insanely handy.” All attention was now on him. Syler decided to indulge them in hopes of moving things along.

  “I’ll consider it, but first we’ve got to get through the boring business,” he gestured at the papers, or possibly Dufault himself. “Case in point. Back to work now, everyone.”

  Miranda, his day staff manager and possibly the only other adult in the room, chose that moment to cut in from her position at the only presently manned station. “You heard the boss. Break’s over.” The crowd dispersed obediently, leaving Syler to deal with his final headache.

  “Now,” Syler turned to the menace of the hour. “What do you need?”

  Arthur put on a hurt expression. “I take all that time to talk you up, and this is how you thank me? Accusations of flirtation and being boring? See if you get your presents now.” He gathered up the files and tucked them neatly onto a corner of Syler’s desk, a tiny spot of order amid the otherwise chaotic table top, vacating Syler’s chair in the process.

  “You do realize that bringing your assigned equipment back doesn’t actually constitute a present,” Syler pointed out, settling into his desk and retrieving the return tray.

  “Not with that attitude, it doesn’t,” Arthur countered, unholstering his gun and clearing the chamber before depositing it into the waiting tray. He followed that with his spare magazines and earpiece, dropping his false passport on top with a flourish. A nearly perfect equipment return—nearly.