Covert Assignment Page 2

  When Elle stumbled into her bedroom later that night, she took a moment to stand at the window before crawling into her empty bed. Shouldn’t Adam be here, pleading his case? Or standing outside her window with a boom box? So what if no one used boom boxes anymore: he could damn well find one. She walked over to the window. No sign of Adam- not even any footprints in the snow. It sparkled under the street lights. Was he riding Bella right now?

  Elle turned away from the window and switched on her phone, refusing to follow that train of thought. It was surprising the phone didn’t explode with all the notifications sounding off. Texts, voicemails, messages from her internet accounts- Adam had tried to reach her in all ways possible. Scrolling through her visual voicemail, Elle started playing back the messages from Adam as she crawled into bed.

  “Hey, Elle, listen, give me a call as soon as you get this.” Beep.

  “Elle, I know you’re probably stuck in airport hell, but give me a call. Call me from baggage claim. I need to talk to you ASAP.” Beep.

  So he was attempting damage control.

  “Please call me.” Beep.

  “I guess by now you know about everything: I’m sure you’ve talked to Marni.” Long pause.

  Bet your ass, buddy, Elle thought.

  “At least let me explain.” Beep.

  She snorted out loud. Adam may be smart, but even he wasn’t smart enough to come up with anything plausible for those damn pictures.

  “Are you ignoring me on purpose? Please let me explain. I had a lot to drink and things got a little out of hand and… please, let’s just talk.” Beep.

  A little out of hand? He damn well better come up with something better than that.

  “Okay, I’m going to let you cool off tonight. But tomorrow we need to talk. Alone.” Beep.

  So that was why he hadn’t come over tonight. He knew Marni would take a flamethrower to his ass. A coward and a cheat: what a winning combination. Elle noticed she had one more unexpected message: it was from Clark Mitchell, her mentor. She played his message.

  “Hi Elle, I hope you had a good break. I wanted to make sure we were having our regular weekly meeting tomorrow after class, since it’s the first day of the semester. If you can’t meet then for some reason, then we need to find another time tomorrow. Let me know if you need to schedule for another time. See you in class.” Beep

  That was odd. They did, indeed, always meet on Monday mornings after the Careers class, which he taught. There was no change, so Elle was ready, but normally he’d just check with her in class. She debated throwing her phone at the wall but realized it would only give her one more thing to do tomorrow, and the first day of the semester was always a little hectic without even taking cheating boyfriends into account. For the first time since starting college, she wasn’t looking forward to the start of a new semester. Elle burrowed down under her sheets and comforter. She would have to emerge tomorrow, but she was glad she could snuggle under the covers for the next few hours, at least, even if she was snuggling solo.

  Chapter 2

  Elle and Marni headed out of their apartment together to get coffee and bagels before going to class. It was part of their morning routine. Elle realized this was the first day of the last semester of their four year routine. She pushed the thought out of her head. They had four more months and could end up going to the same law school, so this could be their morning routine somewhere else anyway. There were enough issues for her to focus on right now.

  It was a typical Midwestern January morning: cold and gray. The bare trees stood at attention in the snow; their branches created a stark patchwork against the gray sky. Elle and Marni skirted the patches of ice on the concrete without breaking their strides.

  “So are you going to talk to the dirty rat bastard today?” Marni asked.

  Elle sighed. “I guess. Tina’s right. We need to at least talk. He left me enough messages yesterday.” Not one of which, she realized, mentioned her sext. Was it worse to be laughed at or ignored with something like that, regardless of the reason? Tough call.

  Marni snorted. “What did he have to say?”

  Elle rolled her eyes. “Nothing worth hearing.” They walked along in silence. The winter chill got them moving despite the early hour. “Honestly, I’m not sure I want to hear whatever bullshit he has to say.”

  As Marni nodded sympathetically, Elle came to a halt.

  Adam was standing outside of the coffee shop. Dammit.

  Marni gave her a quizzical look before following her gaze. Her glare could have melted the snow and ice in their path. “Oh, the dirty rat bastard’s really hitting low: ambush before coffee.” She began stalking forward. “He must want a blood bath.”

  Elle wanted to call Marni back, tell her they could skip their coffee that morning, but the words stuck in her throat. Her feet felt as if they had frozen to the ground, keeping her stuck right there. It took seeing the puffs of smoke rising in front of her eyes for Elle to realize she was actually breathing harder. She looked past the smoke puffs to Adam, who was staring right at her.

  Dammit, she would not skitter off like a scared little bitch. She had no reason to skitter. He was the one who should be slithering away as fast as he could. Elle let the cold seep into her, inhaling so deeply her nose stung but grateful for the slowdown in her heart rate. She resumed walking. She wouldn’t be scared off from her coffee shop. Marni would be happy to kick ass and take names, but she couldn’t let her fight her battles.

  Adam squared his shoulders as if bracing for impact. Marni snapped, “You have some balls, showing your face.”

  Adam looked past Marni to Elle. “We need to talk.”

  Elle glared. “Your pictures did all the talking about your midnight ride.” She didn’t even slow down as she strode past him. Marni gave her an approving look and fell in behind her, blocking Adam’s attempt to grab her arm. They both entered the coffee shop.

  Adam followed. “Please let me explain.”

  “Those pictures explain everything,” Elle replied as she stepped up to the counter. She ordered her usual: a grande caramel cappuccino. She even added in an asiago bagel with cream cheese. Normally that was a Friday treat, but she needed it today. She didn’t know what she wanted to happen between her and Adam, but she wasn’t ready for whatever it would be. Marni placed her order as well.

  Adam persisted. “Elle, I know they looked bad. Horrible.”

  Elle hoped her responding glare said it all: Damn skippy. His shoulders drooped. Message received. She focused on the barista making her coffee, glad for the small miracle of stopping in when the line wasn’t nearly out the door of the shop.

  “I fucked up,” Adam said.

  Elle maintained a dignified silence. No need to reward the obvious with a response. “That probably qualifies as the most comical understatement of the year so far,” Marni retorted.

  The barista raised an eyebrow as she rang Elle up. Elle paid her and went over to the counter to stir the foam and caramel drizzled on top into the coffee, using it as a sweetener. Adam stayed right behind her. “Let me make it up to you.”

  At least it sounded like he didn’t plan to dump her for that whore. Elle felt the heat of the coffee through the cup. She was relieved her hands were holding steady as she stirred. Was there enough groveling in the world to make up for this? She didn’t know, but she took a smidgen of satisfaction in his squirming while she tried to decide. Elle fit a plastic top on the cup, satisfied the foam and caramel were well on their way to dissolving in the coffee.

  Adam put a hand on her shoulder. She yanked away from him before she could even think about it. He was touching her? Adam paused, looking a little surprised at her response. “Let’s talk.”

  “Talk about what?” Elle demanded. “Is this when you ask me who do I believe, you or my lying eyes?” She’d heard some comedian say the line during a standup routine. Why it popped into her head at that moment, she didn’t know, but she was pleased to deliver it. Marni snorted, bu
t Elle kept her eyes on Adam, looking for a telltale sign of… anything.

  Adam flushed and opened his mouth but nothing came out. Somehow that was even more infuriating. He couldn’t think of anything to say to her?

  “Were they real?” Elle asked. She didn’t even know why she asked that: she knew damn well they were. He wouldn’t be floundering like a fish if they weren’t, but she wanted to hear it from him.

  Adam swallowed hard, his eyes now glued to the floor. Elle was surprised when she found it hard to swallow herself. The damn coward didn’t even have the balls to openly admit it or even look her in the eye anymore.

  “I have class.” She sipped a little bit of the steaming coffee to wet her throat a little. She would not let her voice crack, not now. She stalked past him, hoping he wouldn’t follow her.

  Adam called after her, “How about lunch?” He started to follow, but Marni blocked his way and froze him with a fierce glare.

  Elle rolled her eyes and shook her head for his benefit as she pushed open the coffee shop door. The cold air that slapped her face was a relief. Cold wind made everyone’s eyes water, right?

  “You were great,” Marni told her. “Calm, cool, collected: he was the one who looked like the jackass that he is.” Elle knew Marni could see her watery eyes but was glad she didn’t say anything about it.

  Elle nodded, sipping more coffee. “I know we need to talk but not today.” She fought the urge to crush the cup in her hands. He wasn’t worth even the price of a second cup of coffee.

  “All he’ll have to say is bullshit,” Marni said. “He couldn’t come up with anything.”

  Elle forced a smile and nodded again. “I’ve gotta get to Careers. Enjoy Legal Philosophy.”

  Marni grinned. “You know I will. Anderson’s hotness is the only reason I got out of bed this morning.” Then she got somber. “Lunch at The Purple Pig?”

  The Purple Pig was one of Elle’s favorite lunch spots, which Marni knew full well. She nodded since her throat got all blocked up again and headed off with a wave.

  Chapter 3

  Careers was a required year-long course that all Informatics master’s degree students took in their final year. Each week a different organization came and discussed the job openings they had for Informatics graduates. It was a fluff class in terms of work: they got credit simply for attending. Yet employment opportunities weren’t exactly a “fluff” matter in the current economic climate, so it was a class everyone took seriously. Although Elle planned to be in a joint law and business program somewhere (hopefully at her father’s alma mater in Virginia) next year, she still found it interesting to learn about the different job opportunities for them. It gave her ideas about how she might use her degree once she had her JD/MBA.

  The professor and Elle’s mentor, Clark Mitchell, stood at the front of the class with two men in suits. Clark was in his regular professorial uniform of khakis and plaid shirt. Looking at all three, what struck Elle was that there was nothing striking. All three men were almost remarkable in just how unremarkable they were. Information Science was fascinating, but it wasn’t glamorous, she had to admit. She nearly kicked herself. This was real life, not a movie. That was the type of shallow observation Bella would make. She and Adam would’ve snorted together about it just last month. Elle took a deep swallow of her coffee. She would not think about him or his skank right now.

  Clark cleared his throat. “Welcome back, everyone,” he started. “I hope you all enjoyed the winter break.” There were plenty of nods throughout the room. “Today we’re going to hear a presentation from, um- “ he looked at the two men standing beside him- “Mr- or is it Agent-”

  “I’m Jack Williamson,” suit #1 said, “and this is Henry Smith. We’re with the Central Intelligence Agency.”

  That stilled everyone in the room. The CIA? Elle’s ears perked up just like everyone else’s. Both men’s faces remained impassive. They probably were used to double-takes once they identified themselves.

  “As I’m sure you know, the goal of the Central Intelligence Agency is to gather information from around the world to inform the President and policymakers of the United States,” Jack continued. “That means we deal with a lot of data. And as all of you also know, data has to be organized and interpreted in order to be understood. The training you receive here, as Information Scientists, provides you with a valuable set of skills that are essential to the Agency’s mission.”

  Although Elle had never considered it, it made complete sense. Informatics, which included Information Science, was about organizing and understanding the data generated by the internet and technology as well as how people used technology to collect, organize, and store data. The CIA surely collected massive amounts of data.

  Jack said, “We have an informational video to provide you with more information.” With that, the lights dimmed and a video began playing on the screen at the front of the classroom.

  “Working for the Central Intelligence Agency,” the voiceover began, “is more than just a job, and the Agency is more than just a workplace. We are a community of individuals dedicated to serving the United States of America. The work we do is diverse and multifaceted: no other organization in the world can provide the opportunities or training that we can. Intelligence is a close-knit community that will push you to do the best you can do and satisfy any professional interests you may have or develop…”

  The video reviewed the various types of positions available at the Agency. It also addressed a number of myths.

  “Some people think you can’t be active on the internet,” the narrator intoned. “Plenty of agency employees have active online lives, just not at work, like many other workplaces. We’ll also give you some tips to help you avoid discussing sensitive topics online.” Didn’t sound so bad to Elle. She was amazed at the stupid things people put online, like pictures of themselves having sex. What they didn’t realize was that those pictures never went away, as Marni’s screen captures proved.

  “It’s also not true that you can’t talk to your family once you join the Agency,” the narrator continued. “You have to exercise discretion about the details of your work, but you can talk to them as often- or as rarely- as you like.” Several students, including Elle, laughed at that. Not an issue for her. She talked to her parents maybe once or twice a semester as it was. Neither of her parents even knew she was getting a master’s degree that spring: they thought she was getting a bachelor’s degree. Elle had taken classes during the summer to avoid returning to her mother’s house. Between those classes and her AP credits from high school, she had earned her bachelor’s degree over a year ago.

  “Some people think working for the CIA means they can’t have a personal life,” the narrator said, “but many people who work at the agency have families.” Elle thought that also may not be an issue for her after Adam’s betrayal.

  “We can assure you you’ll never be asked to spy on your family or friends,” the narrator went on. “The CIA’s operations all occur outside of the United States, so you would never be asked to spy on domestic soil.” Regardless, Elle wondered if she would spy on her family if her job required it. Spying on her parents’ spouses wouldn’t be a problem. She smothered a chuckle by taking another bite of her bagel.

  “Some people think joining the Agency means they’ll work with a lot of special gadgets,” the narrator said. “Unfortunately, employees don’t walk around with microphones in their shoes.” Damn. Elle thought it would be kind of cool to get microphones or cameras installed in her buttons or shoes. Implanting that type of stuff in a spouse’s clothes would be a great way to find out about cheating. Maybe you could do that if your spouse took trips abroad.

  When the video ended, the CIA presenters had everyone’s full attention. The guys were so non-descript, Elle couldn’t remember who was Jack and who was Henry when one started talking. “With your training, any of you would likely qualify to work in Information Management, as Information Analysts or Data
Scientists.”

  “Would we have to learn how to shoot a gun?” one student asked.

  The other guy shook his head. “Firearms training is limited to staff in security and the clandestine service.” Clandestine service. They must be the spies. Elle noted he didn’t say it wasn’t a possibility. She had no intention of deviating from her plan to go to a joint program in law and business, but it was fun to imagine herself dressed in leather leggings, a matching leather jacket, and stilettos, running through dark hallways as she escaped with stolen intel. Elle had never been much of an athlete, but the agency could probably train even her to kick ass. No one would ever suspect she was a spy. The thought of her as an ass-kicking spy was one of the most entertaining thoughts she’d had since returning to campus.

  At the end of the class, one of the presenters said: “We’ll leave our cards. If you’re interested, contact us by email or phone. It’s best not to let many- or any- people know you’re applying to work for the agency. You can’t control who they tell and not everyone’s interest may be, well, casual curiosity.” Talk about memorable parting words.

  No one said much of anything as their business cards were passed around. Everyone took one each, Elle noticed. Who would be interested in working for the CIA? Informatics students were typically considered the 21st century librarian geeks, the information nerds, not badass CIA agents. Or analysts. Or whatever. Clark thanked the presenters for coming. She slipped the cards into her wallet before standing.

  Clark called out to her, “Elle, we’re meeting, right?”

  Elle nodded. It wasn’t like him to be so urgent. “Yeah- in your office?” The School of Information Science faculty’s offices were located in another building, so it was a bit of a trek. Besides, Clark had to finish whatever hosting duties he had to do with the presenters, so they usually met half an hour after class.