The fidelity world infil.., p.1
The Fidelity World_Infiltration, page 1
Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Romig Works, LLC. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Fidelity World remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Romig Works, LLC, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Infiltration
Bestselling Author
Jillian Anselmi
Table of Contents
INFILTRATION
Works by JILLIAN ANSELMI
Dedication
Infiltration
September 15, 1998
September 16, 1998
September 17, 1998
September 18, 1998
September 19, 1988
September 21, 1998
September 22, 1998
September 24, 1998
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Works by JILLIAN ANSELMI
THE CHASING OLIVIA SERIES
Drawn to You
Lost Without You
THE TEMPEST SERIES
When the Storm Ends
Surviving the Storm
Surpassing the Storm (coming Summer 2018)
Dedication
I would like to thank Aleatha Romig for writing such amazing stories—stories she’s let me become a part of. Your words inspire mine, and I can’t wait to write my next Fidelity story.
Infiltration
The secret movement of an operative into a target area with the intent that his or her presence will go undetected.
September 15, 1998
FOOTSTEPS ECHO ACROSS THE GRAY and white marble floor, the clicking of heels growing increasingly louder. If sitting and waiting in the massive entryway to the Central Intelligence Agency isn’t bad enough, the clack-clack of impending panic is worse. I haven’t been here since I graduated from the Farm and received my credentials almost two years ago.
Fidgeting with my fingers, all I can do is sit and wait. I just don’t know what I’m waiting for.
I work hard.
Really hard.
When you’re a woman in my position, you need to work ten times harder than everyone else. I come in early, and I’m always the last to leave. I’ve been flying under the radar and keeping my nose clean. Why would they summon me here?
This isn’t normal.
“Agent Witt?” a voice from above asks. Looking up, I meet a pair of curious green eyes. A gentleman no older than forty looms over me. He’s dressed the part: plain dark suit with a mundane tie.
“Yes, that’s me,” I answer. He knows who I am; I’m just playing along.
“Please come with me,” he orders, his face impassive.
Deciding he’s not the one to ask, I stand and follow him through the corridor, stepping over the CIA crest. He leads me to a bank of elevators and pushes the up arrow. With a ding, the doors open and we enter. Dark Suit places his security badge in a slot and presses the button for the twelfth floor—a floor normal agents don’t have access to. As the elevator whisks us up, a shiver creeps up my spine. I can’t stand not knowing why I’m here, and it’s eating away at me.
Another ding, and the doors open. Again, I follow him down the dark hall to a door on the end. I’ve never been on this floor, and I’m certain not too many other people have either. Being asked here can only mean two things: you’re either being promoted or fired. I haven’t done anything to warrant being fired, but I’m too new to be promoted. “After you,” he says as he opens the door. Standing taller, I nod and walk through.
Sitting on the other side is my boss, Daniel Frost, and the deputy director, James Hayden.
What the hell? My anxiety level has risen from DEFCON four, a state of relaxed readiness, to DEFCON three, impeding panic. “Take a seat, Deloris,” my boss, Daniel advises, his voice soft and soothing.
“Yes, sir,” I answer, sitting directly across from them.
“Do you know why you’re here?” director Hayden asks, his voice just as calm.
“No, sir.”
Director Hayden looks toward Daniel and nods. “Deloris, don’t think I haven’t noticed your work ethic,” Daniel begins. “You stand out among your peers.”
Not knowing what to say, I blurt out, “Thank you, sir.” My nervousness ticks down a notch, but I don’t think I’m out of the woods yet.
“That being said, we have a job for you.” Daniel glances back toward director Hayden, and says, “A job that requires a certain amount of—”
“What he’s trying to say,” director Hayden says, smiling, “is we’ve hand-picked you for an assignment. We needed someone with your particular set of skills.”
“Skills, sir?” My brow furrows as my head tilts a bit to the right.
“Let me explain the assignment, and I’ll let you ascertain what skills I might be referring to,” the director states, scratching his chin. “Last week, a prominent businessman, one who does a tremendous amount of business with the United States government, was found to be selling arms to Al-Qaeda. Arms that should be going to our troops. We know this from phone taps. Problem is, we don’t have any hard evidence.”
“That’s where you come in,” Daniel continues. “You’re going to infiltrate Black Mountain Ammunition and bring us proof.”
“Black Mountain, sir?” I gasp, my eyes going wide. They’re the leading manufacturer of most of our military weapons. Their main offices are in the central United States, surrounded by nothing—the textbook definition of the middle of nowhere.
“You see why this needs to be dealt with carefully,” the director advises. “They’re sending over empty boxes and claiming they’ve been hijacked. If the press gets wind of this . . . hell, it’ll be a problem.” Running his fingers through his short, gray hair, a line appears between his thick brows. “I know CEO Greystone is profiting off sending arms to Afghanistan, and I want that son of a bitch cuffed and dragged off to Guantanamo.”
“I still don’t understand why you chose me. I’m just as knowledgeable of the Black Mountain as any other agent.”
“Yes,” Daniel jumps in, his eyes boring into mine, “but all those other agents have dicks. We need an agent—a qualified agent—without one.” Biting my lip, I stifle the giggle that threatens to spill from my lungs. Daniel always had a flair for the dramatic. He could have just said he doesn’t just want me to infiltrate the company, but someone’s life.
“Who’s the target, sir?” I ask, knowing the implications. It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. I mean, I joined the CIA and specifically requested to be placed in their clandestine division. I’m what they call a swallow: a female agent employed to seduce people for intelligence purposes.
It’s what they do.
What I do.
I just didn’t think I’d get an assignment this big after only two years of service.
“His name is Ethan Sawyer. He’s an accountant, and we believe he’s hiding the sales under the direction of the company’s CEO, Michael Greystone. You’ll need to hack into his laptop and download the bank information.” The director stands, placing his palms flat on the mahogany table. “Those bank records and routing numbers are our proof, and you need to get them by any means necessary. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I nod. They’ve made it perfectly clear.
“Here’s your cover story, new identity, and information on Ethan,” Daniel says, passing me a black satchel. Inside is a folder and a manila envelope. “You have until tomorrow afternoon to memorize your background information as well as your target’s. There’s also a plane ticket that’ll take you to Black Mountain’s headquarters in South Dakota.”
Removing the folder, I flip through my new legend. Deloris Clark. Age twenty-five. My skills include secretarial work, and it seems Ethan’s secretary has taken a sudden leave of absence. Daniel has added my credentials to the temp agency Black Mountain works with, and I’ve been hired to take her place until her return. Doesn’t seem too far-fetched. That’s a good sign.
I open the envelope with Ethan’s dossier inside. He was born in Oklahoma in 1966. He’s taller than me, with dark hair and light blue eyes. With another quick peek at his credentials, I shove the papers back in the folder. Placing everything back in the satchel, I glance up to Director Hayden’s scrutinizing gaze. His eyes soften as he asks, “Do you have any questions?”
“No, sir,” I assure him.
I know what I need to do.
“Excellent,” he declares with a grin.
“I’ll walk you out,” Daniel says as he rises.
Picking up the bag, I stand and stride toward the door. “The next time we meet, it’ll be under better circumstances,” the director assures me as I reach for the door knob. I glance back and nod, then continue out the door.
The second the door closes, Daniel places his hand on my shoulder like a big brother would. Firm, yet gentle. “Deloris,” he starts to say, but thinks for a second, “I hand-picked you. You are the most qualified person for this assignment, and someone I completely trust.” He trusts me, but I feel like he doesn’t even know me. We’ve only spoken a handful of times, and it was always curt conversations. He studies me as I think about the implications. I’m disposable, just like every other agent, and I knew this could happen when I joined the unit.
His gray eyes soften as he forces a smile. “This should be a piece of cake. In and out in a matter of days. All you need are the passwords.” I’m hopeful he’s right, but I’m reticent. Nothing in my life ever goes smoothly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Go home and pack. A car will come by and pick you up an hour before your flight tomorrow.” The time stamped on my tickets is two-thirty, which gives me plenty of time to study my cover story.
“Thank you, sir.
September 16, 1998
AT PRECISELY ONE-THIRTY, A BLACK sedan pulls up in front of my apartment on the outskirts of DC. Close enough for the commute to Virginia, but far enough to enjoy the sights and sounds of the District of Columbia. Picking up my go bag, I lock my door and stride toward my ride. The driver opens the trunk and I toss the bag in. Opening the door, I slide across the leather seat and jump when I realize I’m not alone. Daniel sits beside me, his mouth curving into a sly smile. Reaching into his briefcase, he pulls out a Colt pocket hammerless .25 caliber ACP pistol and places it in my lap, along with a small black bag. “Didn’t think I was gonna let you leave without this, did you? I’m hoping you don’t need it, but I didn’t want you leaving without some reassurance.”
As the driver pulls away from the curb, I pick up the gun, noticing it’s much lighter than the ones I use at the range. Even though I’m in a special unit, we rarely have the need to carry a gun, but every six months, we’re recertified, just in case. “Anticipating a problem, are we?” I quip as I place the pistol in my purse.
“No, but you never know,” he admits, gazing out the window as we merge onto the freeway.
“I appreciate the concern.”
Shifting, he turns his entire body so he’s facing me. Distress swims in his eyes, but his face stays stoic. “Even though this should be a standard op, I want you to be careful. I don’t know if the building is bugged by other agencies, and I don’t know how deep this goes into Black Mountain.” There’s urgency in his voice. He’s worried, and I’m not sure why. I hope there isn’t something he’s not telling me, but it’s not like it would be the first time an agent gets sent on assignment without all the facts.
“I understand, sir,” I assure him.
“No, you don’t.” Running his hand through his short, military-cropped grey hair, he murmurs, “I’ve already lost one operative on a mundane assignment. It was years ago, but I’ll never forget it. One stupid mistake.” He sighs, then says, “I need you to stay focused.”
“Absolutely, sir. I have no intention of getting myself killed on my first big assignment.”
Chuckling, he nods. “That’s why I knew you’d be the right agent for the job.”
We ride in silence for the next ten minutes, the driver maneuvering around the busy streets until we arrive in front of Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. I exit the car and Daniel scoots over to my seat. Opening the window, he reminds me, “Make sure you show TSA your credentials. Otherwise, they won’t let you carry your gun on the plane.”
“I know,” I mutter under my breath as I get my bag from the trunk. “Yes, sir,” I reply, making sure he can hear me.
“I put a burner phone in the black bag, along with some cash. Don’t try to contact me. I’ll contact you.” With that, the car pulls away into airport traffic.
I know the drill, and the last thing I want to do is blow my cover. The easiest way to do that is by making unsolicited contact with your handler. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I approach the early check-in desk. Once I’ve gotten my ticket, I weave my way through the impatient passengers staring at the large scrolling board trying to find their flights, and proceed to my gate.
My flight arrived in Rapid City without any issues. Shuffling down the ramp, I find the exit and flag down a taxi. According to my cover, I have an apartment fifteen minutes from Black Mountain, which is only a few minutes from the airport. I give the driver my address, and we pull away from the curb.
Locating the complex with ease, he pulls up in front of my temporary residence. I hand him a twenty, which is twelve dollars too much, and exit the cab. Finding the elevator, I slip into the closing doors and press my floor. As it whisks me up, I contemplate my next move. I have to be at Black Mountain tomorrow morning for orientation, and I need to figure out how to get Ethan Sawyer alone if I can’t get the information I need on his work computer. As the doors open, I decide I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Throwing my bag on the dining room table, I cross to the living room window, peek through the blinds, and assess my view. Black Mountain is perched on top of a large hill, and can be seen from any part of this area. I make a mental note to survey the area surrounding the building in case I need a quick exit.
I’ve already studied the dossier on Ethan, so I do a little research on Black Mountain. The Company set me up with a computer and a secure line for sharing information with my boss. Pressing the power button, the beast comes to life. I type in the encrypted password, and get to work.
Entering Black Mountain into the search engine, I find their website in seconds. I click on the “about me” page. They supply guns and ammunition to the military, the police, and numerous other major organizations. I find the staff link and hit enter. The higher-ranking employees pop up first, with the staff pictured below. Recognizing Ethan’s photo before reading his name, I select his link. It doesn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. My boss is nothing if not thorough.
Gathering all the information I can from the computer, I shut down the desktop and pull out Ethan’s profile. Besides age, height, weight, and other quirks, it lists his habits.
He goes for a run at the same time every morning.
He orders Chinese food for dinner every Wednesday.
Friday afternoon after work, he frequents a bar in Deadwood called Paddy O’Neill’s Irish Pub and does a little gambling.
It even lists his favorite numbers to play roulette.
There’s my soft spot if I need it. He’s heavily in debt due to his obsessive gambling.
He’s not married, and isn’t dating as far as the Company knows. Shouldn’t take much to seduce him, if need be, but I’m hoping to have this wrapped up within a few days. If this leaks to the press, they’ll start looking at everyone involved, and this would be an embarrassment for the United States.
Rolling my neck, I realize I haven’t done my daily run today. It’s the perfect opportunity to check out the surrounding area of Black Mountain. I quickly change into something more appropriate for a jog.
Exiting my building, I turn right and head toward Black Mountain. As I run, I’m watching everyone, making sure I’m able to observe anyone who might be watching me. Call me paranoid, but I’d rather be too cautions than dead. The streets are busy, but nothing like DC, making it easy to people watch. It reminds me of Georgetown, with less people. The center of town has a square, with jumping water fountains and numerous benches—the perfect place for a dead drop.
Running through the center of the square, I turn down a side street, looking for places someone can hide—or be hidden. There aren’t too many alleys, which is a good thing. You never know who’s lurking at the back of a dark alley. There is, however, a parking garage. I’ll keep that in mind as a possible meeting place.
A few miles later, I find myself in front of Black Mountain. Leaning down to touch my toes and loosen my tightening limbs, I survey my surroundings. The large building is bordered by a twelve-foot iron fence with barbed wire across the top. Guards stand on either side of the entrance, with foot patrols roaming around the massive building. Farther down is a guard shack with an electronic gate. Breaching their security would be difficult, but not impossible. I start up at a jog again, not wanting to raise any suspicion. When it’s dark, I’ll take this same route to check out the night watch. Continuing my jog, I run completely around the compound. No other entrances exist along the fence, and more guards are walking the perimeter. A few minutes later, I find myself back in the square in the center of town a few blocks from my apartment. I sit on the bench, resting from my sprint, and survey my surroundings. So far, nothing seems suspicious, and my gut instinct agrees. I watch the children jumping to avoid the water fountains spurting from the cement to my right, and workers putting together tents to my left for the Great Downtown Pumpkin Festival taking place this weekend.
