Shelby clearly remembered the day she had sent her resume to a post office box address in response to an advertisement in a local paper. Her Master's degree in Psychology had qualified her for the job and she was excited about an opportunity to put it to use. Inwardly smiling, Shelby reflected that had she known it was a CIA ad, she might not have answered it. She had no regrets, however. Her new job was interesting and challenging, a distinct improvement over the previous one.
She knew the Company often had a poor image because of past scandals and a common misconception was that many CIA operatives were government-sanctioned killers. Shelby had never believed that, and accepted the job, although she was not naïve enough to doubt that the Company would do whatever was necessary to protect the interests of the country.
After her promotion, Shelby began working on highly classified cases and came across the term wet operative in a few cases that had very deadly outcomes. She intuitively made the connection and felt the title was gruesomely appropriate.
For her, the biggest downside of the job was the loneliness of the work. There was very little opportunity to interact with other employees and being gregarious by nature, Shelby missed that.
Forcing work from her mind, she decided to call her best friend, Kim. Most of her friends were married or had ongoing relationships, but Kim was single like she was and usually available for a night out.
She punched in the number, and waited for Kim to answer.
"Hello."
"Hiya."
"Hey Shelby. Whazup?"
"Not too much. Wanna see Charlie's Angels tomorrow? The write up's pretty good."
"Sure. What time?"
"Well, we could get something to eat and catch the 9:30. Want me to pick you up?"
"Yeah. That'd be good. It's your turn to drive."
Shelby laughed. "What're you doing, keeping track?"
"No. I just hate to drive in this city. Maybe someday I'll get used to it."
"I hear you. Doesn't bother me that much, though."
Kim loved to eat out and asked, "So where are we going to eat?"
"You pick. I picked the movie."
"Umm...how 'bout Chesapeake Bay Seafood House?"
"Sounds good. See you tomorrow."
Shelby hung up the phone and relaxed. Their outing would be a nice diversion from the worrisome events of the day.
CIA Headquarters
Jeb almost sighed with relief as he left the office of the head honcho of covert ops, Earl Mason. He had met with Dennis the evening before and didn't have authority to pull an operative from the field without going up the ladder. And quite frankly, Earl Mason was one scary guy.
He was strictly a REMF (Rear Echelon MFer) and Jeb accepted the title proudly. He commanded from a desk, and that was the way he liked it. Lots of power, but nice and safe. He had no intentions of getting his ass shot off or being tortured in some foreign country while the government disavowed any knowledge of him.
Walking into his office, he called Dennis. "It's a go. Earl is pulling Blue." He paused as he heard the sharp intake of breath through the phone. That had been his reaction, too.
"Why Blue?" Dennis had heard rumors of just how ruthless Blue was and the operative had a reputation for never failing, regardless of how long the mission took. It was the "ruthless" part that bothered him if there were any truth to the tales he had heard, and experience had taught him that there was always some truth in the rumor mill.
"You'll have to ask Earl that."
Dennis snorted. "Yeah right. He's real amenable to having his decisions questioned."
"My point exactly. Blue's already in place and will be meeting with Earl at ten. He told me to tell you to be standing by from eleven on."
"Thanks for going to bat for me, Jim."
"Let's just hope we solve this case real fast."
Dennis hung up the phone and issued an apology that would never be spoken aloud. I'm sorry, Shelby. This guy is probably some cold fish with dead eyes and you're stuck with him.
Kris ignored the admiring looks cast her way as she walked down the main corridor of CIA headquarters en route to a Sunday meeting with her boss. She was used to the attention - it had served her, and her employer, exceptionally well.
Kris was tall, lithe and strikingly attractive. Her black hair flowed over her shoulders and onto her back. Longish bangs in need of a trim were brushed aside, contrasting nicely with an olive complexion. High cheekbones and a full mouth gave her an almost exotic appearance, but it was her sapphire blue eyes that were her most memorable feature.
Over the years, on the few occasions that the operative had been spotted, the witness would cite mesmerizing blue eyes, but beyond that, their memory seemed to fail. Her code name was, appropriately, Blue. And it was for just that very reason that dark sunglasses usually hid her eyes from casual onlookers.
Matter of fact, the operative looked every bit the part of an executive within the agency. She wore a fashionable gray, moderately cut suit with a crisp white blouse. Tasteful gold earrings, a matching brooch and a light smattering of make up, tastefully applied, accented her attire. The handle of a black purse was slung over her right shoulder and the handle of a black leather briefcase was secured in her left hand. Kris excelled at role-playing. She had been doing it for years.
She had arrived in Washington the previous evening and had wanted to be well rested for her meeting today, but troubling thoughts had thwarted those plans and she was operating on sheer adrenaline, worry vying with curiosity.
Arriving at her destination, Kris knocked once and walked into the outer office of the Director of Strategic Planning, commonly referred to as Covert Ops. She passed the empty secretary's desk on the way to the inner office door, knowing she'd been told to report on Sunday so there would be a limited number of people around. She knocked once and the door immediately opened.
Earl backed away from the door enough to allow Kris entry, and then closed it. "Long time no see."
"I would say charmed, except that I'm not."
"That's not very friendly of you."
"What's going on, Earl? You trash an ongoing operation and call me back here at the risk of blowing my cover. What is so damned important it couldn't have waited a few more weeks?"
Earl studied the woman silently, hoping to gain the upper hand in this meeting, but the tactic had no effect on her demeanor. "We have a potential security breach and you're being reassigned here to work with one of our top analysts to get to the bottom of it."
Kris fought against reacting to the news. In her mind, there was only one worse thing that could have happened. She was a field agent, not a desk jockey.
"Potential security breach?" She raised an eyebrow to indicate her disdain for the deliberately vague language. "Do we, or don't we?"
"That's your job. You tell me." Earl handed Kris a copy of the typed report he'd gotten from Jeb and sat back in his chair while she read it.
Kris quickly read the report. The evidence was solid, but there was no proof of any wrong doing by any operative listed. "Strictly circumstantial. Could be coincidence." She wasn't the least bit pleased that her name had been included in the list of "suspects."
"Right. That's where you come in. I need you to work with the analyst and narrow that list down. I figure it should take you a couple of weeks to accurately account for each operative's location. You will have full access to copies of the satellite transmissions, where they were sent to and received from, for each person on that list. Use every other means at your disposal to verify where each one was when the assassinations went down. Best case scenario--all the names are eliminated."