Deep Cover Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  DEEP COVER

  BY

  C PARADEE

  Ebook by

  PDAFiction.com

  Disclaimers:

  General: This story is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this work are a figment of my imagination. Some of the places in this story are real, as is the CIA, but the resemblance is the name only because I made everything else up.

  Subtext: This story depicts sexual relations between two women who are in love. If that offends you there are plenty of other stories you might want to read. If you are under 18 or it is illegal where you live, please stop and read no further.

  Domestic Abuse/Child Abuse: Chapter 18 has a graphic scene of domestic/child abuse.

  Violence: This story is darker than my other stories and does have some scenes that depict violence.

  Thanks: A special thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Day, Inga, Lois, Lunacy, and Pam for helping me to make this a better story with their great feedback and editing.

  To the Reader: Comments and questions are always welcome and feedback is encouraged!

  [email protected]

  © January 10, 2001

  DEEP COVER

  PROLOGUE

  Downtown Baghdad

  A VIVID BLUE EYE calmly gazed through the high-powered scope, its crosshairs centered on the forehead of a dark-haired man. Surrounded by bodyguards, he was walking from a building at the end of the block to a waiting black Mercedes Benz. The sniper unhurriedly squeezed the trigger of the fifty-caliber rifle before dropping beneath the window and departing the barren room, purposely abandoning the instrument of death. Disguised to blend in with the local populace, the tall figure was on the streets within minutes, mingling with a large gathering of people that had begun to surround a prone body on the sidewalk. Verifying the kill, the sniper then disappeared among the growing crowd.

  CHAPTER 1

  CIA Headquarters

  SHELBY CARSON WALKED down the sterile halls of CIA headquarters to the bank of elevators on the north side of the building. She smiled and spoke to each person she passed along the way, but was seldom greeted in return. Shelby had worked here for almost six months, and often passed the same people in the hall daily; yet they remained strangers. Ruefully, she decided that perhaps paranoia was the rule of the day, because friendliness certainly wasn't. Well, at least a few of the people she worked with directly seemed friendly enough.

  She got off on the third floor and saw a woman that worked in the office next door to hers. "Hey Maggie. How's it going?"

  Maggie grinned at Shelby. "Good. You?"

  "Okay. Glad it's Friday, though. I hate feeling so closed in. Wouldn't be so bad if we had windows."

  "I hear you! See ya later."

  Shelby grinned, knowing that was unlikely. "Yeah, right."

  Over ten hours later, Shelby brushed a lock of blond hair from her brow as tired green eyes studied the computer printouts spread across her desk and the list of names she had jotted onto a tablet. She had uncovered a very disturbing pattern in a worldwide rash of assassinations of high government officials. Her normal optimism faded at the implications of the tentative connection between the killings.

  It was the third time she had come up with exactly the same results. None of the names could be ruled out. Every operative on the list could have traveled the distance required to have been on location at the time of each assassination. Atlas, Astera, Blue, Celt, Dragon...she looked at the twenty-seven names until the print became blurred and the code names were burned into her memory.

  Shaking her head to clear it, the young woman stood up, and stretched to work the kinks out of her body. She picked up some change lying on the desk and walked through the doorway, smiling up at a Marine guard posted in the hall just outside of her office. His mouth turned up in a fleeting response before his official military face fell back into place. He had never been able to ignore her warm smile.

  Shelby felt sorry for the tall man who towered over her own 5'5" by a good six inches. How boring to be required to stand outside a doorway for hours on end. She understood the necessity of the guard, but couldn't imagine ever being still or quiet for hour after hour. She walked to the vending machine, inserted eighty cents and plucked a can of cranberry juice from the tray before slowly meandering back to her desk.

  Six months previously, Shelby had accepted a job as a psychological analyst for the Company. Her responsibility was to analyze information, look for patterns, and then render a psychological profile to be disseminated once an archetype was identified. In some ways her job was similar to that of FBI profilers, but Shelby's duties were wider ranging in scope. Her superiors quickly discovered she had an uncanny knack for spotting tiny clues frequently overlooked by her peers. Subsequently, she was assigned more divergent challenges and now worked on the Company's most sensitive cases.

  Her thoughts turned back to the profile she had been developing. This was one time she sincerely wanted to be wrong. Shelby knew the only reason she'd found the pattern was because she'd been granted unlimited access to all of the Company's computers.

  She hoped it was just a coincidence, but still wasn't looking forward to telling her boss what she'd uncovered. If the proximity of any of the field operatives was not happenstance, it meant one of three things, and Shelby was loath to speak any of them aloud.

  Dennis McNabb watched one of his rising new stars walk into his office. He considered himself an expert on reading people, but she had surprised him the day he met her and continued to do so. She possessed maturity beyond her years, and he had been concerned when she uncharacteristically requested an urgent meeting. Despite the nature of her work, the normally laid back young woman had maintained a sunny demeanor and optimistic attitude since she had been assigned to his group of analysts. It puzzled him how she could remain so positive in this line of work and it was always a pleasure to meet with her.

  His stomach sank as he saw the lines of worry etched across her face and the usual bounce missing from her step.

  Keeping his expression neutral, he nodded. "Shelby." His concern did not preclude him from noticing, as he did every time he met with her, how refreshingly attractive she was. Her blond hair was cut in a very attractive shaggy style that accentuated the curves of her face and lent age to an otherwise youthful appearance. Bangs ended just above well-shaped eyebrows, and intelligent green eyes gazed out at the world.

  Smiling, Shelby said, "Hi Dennis. Sorry to bother you on such short notice, but I think I found a pattern in those assassinations."

  Dennis' thoughts were yanked back to the meeting at hand, and he riveted his eyes on the analyst. "And that would be?"

  An hour later, after painstakingly reviewing her findings and being unable to fault her reasoning, he sat back in his chair and gazed at her. "What are your conclusions?"

  Shelby met the brown eyes gazing at her and answered confidently. "If it's not just a bizarre coincidence, I'd say rogue, mole or double."

  Dennis nodded. "I agree." He suddenly stood up and began pacing across the room. "Just what we need. Another scandal."

  Tentatively, Shelby said, "Maybe not. If the investigation is small enough, word might not get out."

  "There is alwa
ys some disgruntled employee just waiting for something to run to the papers with. Each time you request information from someone, there will be that risk. And I need to assign an operative to work this case with you."

  Dennis sat back down and sighed. "Field operatives hate this kind of work. They're used to working on their own and assigning them a desk job always causes a lot of friction. More than one of them has dropped a dime on us to the media to get out of an assignment like this. It could get ugly real fast."

  "Why do I have to work with a field operative? Because I'm new?"

  "That's only part of it. I'd probably assign one regardless. We've got to eliminate some of the names on your list. No one better than one of our own to determine what is and isn't possible in the field. What's feasible on paper isn't always, in reality."

  At least he wasn't pulling her from the case. Shelby had been worried about that, and her mind worked quickly trying to come up with a solution that would prevent a public debacle. "Why not chose one of the operatives on that list? Can't very well run to the papers if they're under suspicion."

  Dennis' eyes drilled into his subordinate's. "And what if they are guilty?"

  "It's possible, but come on, Dennis. There are twenty-seven operatives that were within traveling distance of those assassinations. Twenty-seven to one are pretty good odds."

  Leaning back in his chair, Dennis thought over his very limited options before nodding. "It would be a long shot."

  "I'm willing to take the chance. We don't know for sure it's anyone on that list anyway."

  Dennis was warming to the idea. If it were one of the Company's own, it would probably prevent a scandal and the likelihood of Shelby being paired with the killer was statistically small. "I'll talk to Jeb and get back to you. Now go on home. You've already been here twelve hours."

  Shelby smiled, pleased. Jeb was short for James Evan Benton, the Director of Coordinated Operations. "Thanks, Dennis."

  "You might not be thanking me later if he approves this. Not all of our field operatives have well developed social skills."

  Shelby shoved his warning to the back of her mind. She had weighed the risks before making the suggestion and had offered it only because Dennis seemed almost willing to ignore the threat rather than risk a scandal. She did have some private concerns about working with a field agent who could be an unsanctioned killer and hoped they would both be on the same side.

  A Desert Camp in Saudi Arabia

  Kristina Bartley raised the antenna on the portable receiver and directed it toward a satellite south of her position. Within five minutes, the encrypted message she had intercepted began downloading into her self-modified hand held receiver without leaving any trace of having done so. The message was automatically decoded and displayed across the three-inch screen in timed bursts. As the words registered, her eyes narrowed speculatively. She quickly returned to her quarters and waited for her Saudi liaison.

  Ahmed had just received new instructions and slowly made his way to the American woman's location. He didn't like her and was relieved this would be the last message he would have to deliver to her. He would miss her skill, but she didn't know her place and when he had challenged her, he had barely escaped with his life. He would never forget the emotionless, ice blue eyes as she moved in to strike the winning blow. If Henri's arrival hadn't been so timely, he was sure she would've killed him. No, skilled or not, he would be glad to see her go.

  Kris sat on the bedroll against the canvas wall, seemingly relaxed and unconcerned as she called out in Arabic, "Come in," the foreign language rolling smoothly off her tongue.

  Actually, every muscle in her tall body was prepared to move at the slightest threat or provocation. She didn't trust her Saudi counterpart, but then she didn't trust anyone, so it wasn't an alien feeling. In this business, trust could mean death, and Kris had no intentions of becoming worm food anytime soon.

  When Ahmed entered Kris grinned sardonically, fully aware of how intimidated he was and how much he despised her for that very reason. She snorted to herself. He had determined their working relationship by strutting up to her shortly after her arrival and informing her that as long as she was in his country, she would be subordinate to him. Most men, and women, too, usually succumbed to her natural charisma when she chose to use it, but he had been totally oblivious to it and so she had been forced to physically correct his misperception of their working relationship.

  "Hawk just called a code yellow." Ahmed looked closely at the beautiful woman for any reaction to his words. He knew code yellow meant that the mission was aborted and operatives were to return to headquarters. The Saudi also knew it was highly unusual, yet the American's face remained totally impassive. He knew it was impossible, but it seemed as if she already knew.

  Angry at the lack of reaction, he ordered, "You will depart now!"

  Ahmed felt his air cut off and fleetingly wondered how she could move so quickly. He heard a quiet chuckle and his blood ran cold. She had to be crazy. She whispered in his ear, "I'll leave when I'm ready. Understand?" Then, as if talking to a child, she repeated the words in Arabic. Ahmed nodded his head, unable to speak through the vise gripping his throat.

  "Good. I'm glad we understand each other. So you want to tell me what that was all about? We both know there are no flights to the States until morning." Kris loosened her hold on his neck so that he could answer.

  "I thought you might want to wait at the airport."

  Her voice steely, Kris growled, "You are a poor liar, Ahmed. Get out of here while you still can."

  Ahmed strode out of her quarters in what he hoped was a dignified manner, consoling himself with the fact that she was most assuredly in trouble with her superiors.

  Kris remained awake until she departed for the airport the following morning. She could sleep on the plane. Contrary to what Ahmed thought, the operative was actually very concerned about being recalled. It was a first in her career, and she doubted it boded well for her. Her mind processed a multitude of possible reasons, none of which were reassuring and one was downright terrifying.

  Fairfax, Virginia

  Shelby walked into her second floor garden apartment, tossed her purse on the floor by the couch, and kicked off her shoes before sinking into a large, mauve, overstuffed chair. She glanced over and checked the answering machine, but the light wasn't blinking. Surprised that her mother hadn't called, she got up and began shedding her clothing a piece at a time. Her blouse ended up on the bathroom doorknob, the skirt on the bed, and her underwear in the hamper. All she could think of was a warm shower to wash the stress from her tense muscles.

  A short time later, Shelby sat curled up on the couch in a long, red sleeping T-shirt with a picture of kittens playing on the front. Tonight all she wanted to do was relax. Maybe I'll watch The Fugitive. Kim seems to think it's good. Shelby didn't want to think about what Monday would bring. If Jeb approved her suggestion, she was going to be working with a field operative that could just possibly be an assassin, and that made Shelby decidedly uneasy.

  She still couldn't believe she was working for the CIA. After graduating from college with a dual degree in Computer Science and Psychology, Shelby accepted a job as a computer programmer in a local company. She quickly mastered the job, but found the work tedious and boring. Increasingly dissatisfied, she enrolled in graduate school part time, and had just finished her last course when Shawn Burgess became her supervisor. His interest in her had extended beyond the job and things had quickly deteriorated when she had rebuffed his advances. Going up the supervisory chain had only made matters worse, so, unwilling to put up with the constant harassment, she had started looking for another job while she waited for her degree to be conferred.

  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 smi
ling, 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?"