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BEGINNINGS |
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When you are a self employed contract espionage specialist (we don't call ourselves spies; that's for TV and B movies), you take what jobs come your way. In today's post 9/11 world there is plenty of need for The INDUSTRY, but our job is much more difficult as security has esculated and our movements are restricted by now vigilant rent-a-cops and citizens who occasionally look up from there Blackberrys. I had just finished an assignment infiltrating The Church, a religious organization suspected of fronting illegal operations throughout the US and overseas. After two years deep cover and rising to the ranks of "Apostalite", I had yet to discover evidence against them and concluded that the organization really was legit and their main goal was actually education in the pastoral arts... I still got paid. My next assignment was funded by a group known to me only as La Mesa, a title they apparently acquired due to their location in the American southwest. Aside from their general location, and a few unconfirmed rumors about this high powered group of "do gooders", I could find no specific information on their organization. They contacted me through the usual online connections, anonymously of course, and gave me the details on the job. No interview, no pleasantries, no questions. They had apparently been watching me for some time and knew I would take the contract without qualms. They were right, for I have an affinity for the little guy, this was a case of the little guy getting even smaller. They wanted me to investigate one John O, highly suspect in conducting business practices unbecoming and utilizing illegal substances to fund his enterprise; all while he gained the trust and admiration of the common worker trying to pay a mortgage and send the grandkids to college. John O birthed a start-up airline company that flew several small routes for larger affiliates. The company was successful and growing; much faster than could be explained by the occasionally full 50 seaters hopping state lines. While most of the front-line employees; pilots, aircrews, gate personnel, and ramp attendants; worked hard and honestly, it was apparent that John O. and his lieutenants were coloring outside the lines. It was suspected that, with a few carefully placed key personnel, the cargo holds were flying more than luggage stuffed with vacation souvenirs and business trip attire. My job was simply to observe and report my findings to La Mesa. This type of job does not pay as well as other, more invasive, assignments... but it was safer. When infiltrating a large company, you want to have the authorization to sensitive information and secure areas, yet be anonymous enough to roam with little outside notice of your movements. Although I had many solo flight hours, I did not want to gain employment with AMWE, John O's airline, as a pilot. I would be sequestered behind the cockpit door and have too many responsibilities to freely execute my primary initiative. As a gate agent or baggage handler, I would have access to the cargo hold, but I would be limited to behind the scenes areas and be tied to one specific airport. The flight attendant is the most versatile member of the airline crew. She has an employee badge that gains access to many areas of the airport and a legitimate reason to mingle with practically every station of the airline industry. So, it seemed I was off to flight attendant ground school. It wasn't difficult getting hired at AMWE. A quick phone call, swipe of the keyboard, and a few clicks of the mouse, and I was a college dropout looking for an excellent career with exciting travel benefits. Add in a sprinkle of customer service and I was in before I got the interview. I went straight to ground school to put in my 6 weeks of leg-work before I would have free reign of the airport. Upon arriving at "Del Barrio" I met several young people who were excited about the prospects of this new endeavor. Many were college dropouts, like "myself", and some were laid-off works from various industries. It would be difficult to go from a career that paid, well, much of anything to a flight attendant at AMWE. The pay scale was an early indication of John O's attitude toward his employees. I quickly adapted their excited enthusiastic persona to blend in with the other trainees. None of the other trainees were exceptional. Dave was obviously excited about the job and looking forward to starting his line as a flight attendant; not someone John O. would look to recruit. Tina was an immature teen obsessed with talking about sex so guys would like her. Todd was an outwardly arrogant stiff who cried himself to sleep. It seemed no one in the training circle was being added to support John O's extracurricular activities... And then she arrived. One thing initially made me curious: she arrived 2 days late. When I received my instructions they were very specific about showing up on time and that if I was late for any reason, I would have to wait until the next training class. So why was she allowed to come two days after training had already started? Was she placed by John O himself? I would have to watch her closely. And that part of the job was quite enjoyable. As I watched her exit the van from my second floor window, I noted something about her, a quality I could not exactly define. She moved deliberately, and she was aware of her surroundings. She was not the college dropout or the displaced worker. She did not seem to belong here. The driver lifted her bag from the back with some effort, yet she totted it as though it weighed 10 pounds. After handing the "cabby" his tip, she scanned the area, turning 180 degrees, and her gaze settled on my second floor window. It was light outside and dark in my room, she could not see me, but she knew I was watching. Then she changed. Her posture lightened, her face softened, and a wide smile curled the corners of her lips as Dave walked over to her in all of his adolescent charm. They talked for a few seconds and then he helped her with her bag, with a little strain, and showed her where her room was located. It was on the second floor, two doors down from mine. I had a feeling that was not an accident. 'Keep your enemies closer,' I guess. That night several of the trainees decided to go out for a small night cap. Across from "El Barrio" was a local pub called "The Pool Que." I went with them in order to further assess my classmates. Apparently she had the same idea. As I walked into the bar with Dave and Tina, she was already sitting at a table with Sara and Todd. They looked up from their conversation as we walked in and my eyes met her's. At that moment I knew she saw Me. Her eyes were trained and experienced at observing. With our eyes locked she recognized what I was and knew that I recognized what she was. If John O sent her, this was going to be an interesting ground school indeed. The three of us walked over to their table, slid up another table and moved some chairs over to sit down. Tina and I had not officially met her and so introductions were in order. I did not go first. She knew too much about me just from looking at me, as far as I was concerned. "My name's Tina," Tina offered her as she extended her hand. She took Tina's hand with a polite smile. "I'm Becka. Nice to meet you." Then her eyes moved to me and I was up. "I'm Jay. What's up?" I said perfectly nonchalantly. She locked eye's on me and shook my hand for just a little too long. From the corner of my eye I could see that Dave noticed as well. I saw him raise his eyebrows and smirk. Apparently he thought she was sweet on me. I knew she was interested for entirely different reasons. Apparently she was in the middle of "explaining" why she was two days late for training. She claimed that she had tried to make it on time but her truck had broken down about 100 miles from her home in California, where she was from. She had to spend the night to wait for a friend to come pick her up. She finally arranged a bus ticket to take her to Phoenix, and Charles, the handyman/driver for "El Barrio", picked her up at the bus station and brought her the rest of the way. I relayed my surprise in the fact that AMWE allowed her to show up late and still attend class, seeing as they had explicitly explained to me that if I were late, I would have to wait for the next training class. She eyed me knowingly and, without a hint of hesitation, came out with a ready made explanation. She explained that she notified the training office as soon as her truck broke down, explained her plans, and asked if they could fax her the training materials for the next few days. They reluctantly agreed, as long as Francine, our instructor, could ask her questions over that material to insure she had learned it. "She's kind of a hard ass, huh?" Becka asked. We all chuckled as we had come to the same conclusion during the first 10 minutes of class that first day. "She came up to my room before I got my suitcase unpacked and she had a full blown exam written out for me! There were about 30 questions on it just over the first couple of days of class. Luckily it was a long bus ride and I had looked over it pretty good. I missed one question and I practically had to convince her to let me stay. I don't think she was too happy about the training office telling her to let me stay even though I was late. And she actually referred to herself as the "princess." What a bitch." It was a good explanation and it certainly satisfied our fellow trainees. Of course, they had no reason to suspect she was anything other than what she said she was. In fact, her story made perfect sense. It was the way she told it that I focused on. Her attention was divided. She constantly tract the movement around her. I could tell she noted, as I did, that there were 7 people at the bar 2 at the table behind me, 5 in the corner, 2 playing darts and 4 playing pool. She knew that the tall guy playing pool weighed 265 pounds but could not handle himself, that the man sitting with the lady wearing the short shorts at the table behind me was not her husband, that there was a shotgun behind the bar next to the beer tap but the bartender was right hand dominant but left eye dominant which would make it hard to hit a target that was moving to his right, that the brown Chevy Caprice was probably the fastest car in the parking lot even though it looked like shit, it's plates read NLP 348 and were attached with hex screws which would make for easy removal, and that the younger guy playing darts was hustling the dark haired guy. If she was sent to training by John O, she was not being hired as a front-end employee to help run his alternate cargo. She possessed training that was more useful in "behind the scenes" activity. I could only assume they had learned of an investigation and she was sent to learn my identity. Well, she had found me quick enough, now she would watch me and wait to catch me in the act of relaying information. If they did not know that La Mesa had hired me, they would try to use me to lead them to my employer. The rest of the night was filled with casual conversation and some considerable drinking. Becka kept getting refills on her beer, but I never saw her actually take a drink. No one seemed to notice. As we were leaving the bar for the night, the Caprice was still parked outside. "That's a nice car," Becka commented as we walked past it. The others laughed, assuming she was joking. I laughed as well, but I knew she was serious. She looked at me and recognized my knowing smile. We were playing a dangerous game, pretending not to recognize the other. A dangerous game. We all walked the .1 mile back to our rooms at El Barrio, said our good nights, and headed to bed. When you are a Specialist, the most dangerous part of the day is when you are asleep. That is why I devised my nightly ritual. I place empty cans, holding jingle bells, in front of the door, use the easy to install window alarms, and tuck "Phillipe" into bed. He is my life-sized blow-up doll that I take with me everywhere; no, not for that reason. I put him in bed, snugly under the covers and I sleep next to the bed on the floor. It has gained me the advantage of surprise over a couple of would-be sleeping-spy assassins. As I was putting Phillipe to bed, I heard one of the other bedroom doors close. I quickly pressed myself against the wall between the door and the window and a shadow appeared on the blinds. I could see from the magnificent form that it was Becka. She leaned forward to try to see through a slit in the blinds, and must have seen "me" sleeping in bed because she seemed satisfied and left, quietly descending the stairs. I grabbed my small bag of essentials and squeezed through the door. Where was she headed? To meet with John O already? I got downstairs and crouched behind a bush to watch her scale the side wall in one smooth motion. Spy 101: if someone goes over a wall instead of leaving through the main courtyard entrance, they need to be followed. So, over the wall I went, waiting long enough to put some distance between us. As I went over the wall, she was pulling away in a cab a block away. Luckily cabs weren't too difficult to locate at 3am in this part of town. I hailed another, jumped in and yelled the proverbial, "Follow that cab." The driver rolled his eyes but did as I asked. We followed her down Grant Ave and onto the 101 North. They merged onto the 202 and exited at Van Buren Ave. As we merged lanes to get off, a semi cut us off and we missed the exit. It was OK though. It was obvious where she was headed. AMWE headquarters was located on Van Buren. After our short detour, we arrived at AMWE headquarters, I got out of the cab, without leaving a tip, and scanned the building. Her cab was already gone and she was no where in sight. I watched for at least five minutes before I moved closer to the building, giving wide berth to the empty lighted parking lot. As I was crossing the shrubs to the side of the building a flicker caught my eye. She had either taken a picture and failed to properly cover the flash, or had temporarily broken flashlight discipline, but she was clearly snooping in the second floor office 3 doors down from the East corner. Blue prints flashed in my head with that office checked off and a dashed line leading me to it. I knew this building better than the architect, even though I had never been inside. Getting into the building and past the guard to the second floor was easy enough. I won't bore you with the details. I silently walked to the office I knew she was in, and paused outside the door; it was cracked a couple of inches. I peeked in and saw her hovering over a file with her back to the door. I eased open the door, leveled my nine on her, and released the safety with a click. She instantly knew the sound and recognized the situation. Without turning around, she froze and slowly raised her gloved hands. She did have a small digital camera in her left hand. She turned her head slightly and seemed to relax a little when she recognized me. "I'm sorry to intimidate you so much," she said with a little smirk. I glanced at my gun. "Um, I'm not intimidated." She slowly turned all the way around to face me and started to lower her hands. I cleared my throat and her hands went back up. "That's a pretty big gun you have, for not being intimidated," she goaded. "Wouldn't be making up for something, would you." She glanced downward almost imperceptibly and inched toward me playfully. Damn it, I hate female spies! Always throwing around their sexual powers! Of course my small chink in attention was all it took. Suddenly the camera in her hand flashed and I was blinded. Before I knew it the gun was being pulled from my hand. Luckily, I hit the magazine release and the clip stayed in my hand. Now she was pointing the gun at my chest, standing strong with hard nipples threatening the integrity of her blouse with every excited breath she took. "Now the question is," she said, tilting the gun slightly, "do you keep a round in the chamber?" "Now who's intimidated," I asked, flashing her my own charming smile and avoiding the question. Just as the corner of her lip turned up slightly, we heard the guard's keys rattle in the hallway and I turned to see the light from his flashlight on the cracked door. He had noticed the open door and was on his way to investigate. I turned back just in time to catch the view of her from behind, an amazing view by the way, flying head long through the open window. As I ran to the window I noticed she had tied off a belay and I went out the window without breaking stride. Of course, its much more difficult, and painful, without the right equipment. By the time I got both feet on the ground, she was rounding the neighboring building, and the night guard was on his way to the window. I took off into the shadows as well. I made my way down two blocks and got another cab back to El Barrio. I walked through the gate working out a cover story in case anyone was still up and saw me come back in the middle of the night. Of course everyone else was passed out and in a coma. I did not see any sign of her either. Her light was off and I saw no movement. I went to my room, slowly opened the door and paused, listening for movement or breathing. I peered around the door; clear, under the bed; clear, closet; clear, bathroom; clear. I decided she wasn't in my room... and I was curiously disappointed. I decided to try to salvage some sleep from the night, and I started putting Philipe to bed. I had my back to the door, only momentarily, and I heard it click closed. I had locked it, obviously, and I had not heard her tumble the locks. She was good. I froze and thought, 'this seems familiar, only opposite.' She placed a gun under my chin, turned me to face her, and slammed me against the wall. I could see the gun now; it was mine. "Who do you work for," she asked, not really expecting an answer. "Someone with similar interests as your employer, it seems." She obviously wasn't hired by John O, as she broke into headquarters to find information as well. It was apparent that she was in The INDUSTRY as well. "And what are YOUR interests," she asked as she pushed herself closer to me. I glanced down and had a nice aerial view of her ample cleavage. I could feel her nipples through her shirt. "Probing YOU for information," I countered. She slapped me, a little too hard, but of course I didn't let it show. She smirked at me and slowly touched her lips to mine. Not really a kiss, a sort of tease. I tried to push against her lips and she pulled back. Then came in again with a light touch. This time she let me kiss her back and she opened her passion to me, wrestling my tongue with her's. I reached up and removed the slide from my Glock with one swift motion, like poetry, and the gun fell to the floor in pieces. Our clothes quickly joined the pieces on the floor and we joined Philipe in bed. The rest is pretty much history. I'll just say I don't work alone anymore. We completed that job together and went on to many more challenges. As for John O. and AMWE, I can't divulge too much. Let's just say the company is now filing bankruptcy. |
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