"A ponytail tie, a pack of gum, one leather wallet and ten dollars, and a watch. You're free to go, Ms. Greene." The woman (manliest woman I've ever seen, and I spent a year in Russia) hands me my belongings. I step into the bright sunlight in my dark jeans and leather jacket, my brown hair tied in a messy braid slung lazily over my shoulder. I look back at the small county jail. That's right... I was arrested.
I barely make it two blocks before I'm approached by a mugger. He tries to grab for my butt to steal my phone or wallet, but before he can "steal" my stuff, I chop him in the throat with my clenched fist. "I don't have any money, you Dirtbag. Now scram before I give you some more." He's too busy writhing on the floor to run or mug me some more, so I step over him in my stiletto-heeled boots, just missing his hand.
Finally, I come across a payphone. I dial the phone number that I was given for when I got out of jail. The monotonous beeps signal the call beginning to ring. "Hey, it's Becca. I'm on the corner of Greenview and Burke." The voice of my coworker Dennis tells me that an SUV will pick me up in a few minutes. I click the "end call" button and wait for my ride.
"Greetings, agent Greene. To HeadQuarters, then?" Says the driver, our office chauffer named Kevin. "You know it, Kev."
That's right. My name is Becca Greene, and I'm a 23 year old government spy.
CHAPTER 1
"Becca! Wow, it's been a while. How are you? You were in the SP, weren't you?" Asks Kuana, one of my friendlier coworkers. She's from Hawaii, and her honey colored skin and her deep brown hair with ombre highlights make her super-model worthy. 'SP' stands for Spy Protection. Thats why I had to go to jail; it was the only place I could be safe, totally safe from the ARX (a gang who is adamantly against spies) hunting me. I stole a 20 dollar bracelet from a SuperCenter to get arrested. Correction; I stole 3 bracelets before I even got caught. I slipped them into an envelope and mailed them back anonymously before I went to jail, so all is good.
"Kuana! Wow, is that a new hairstyle? No more long locks for you." Kuana's hair was past her waist when I was put in SP, and is now about even with her shoulders, framing her face in a sophisticated, sexy bob. My hair is longer than hers now, my thick brown hair reaching almost to my waist. It's never down; always braided in some way. I know loads of braid styles, so I can mix it up sometimes. "Kuana, I have to go see Director King and tell her that I'm ready for my next assignment." I say, as Kuana sits back at her desk. She's an analyst, and she basically briefs us on everything we need to know about our target; from background to location to miscellanaeous info. "Ok, but I already have the new assignment for you. Anyway, you'd better tell her you're here." Kuana hands me my assignment folder, a manilla folder with "CONFIDENTIAL" stamped across the front and pictures paperclipped to the inside. "Director King?" I say, knocking on the doorframe of the already open door marked "Director of Espionage". "Come in." Comes the reply. I walk in to see Jaquelyn King, a tall and sturdy woman with dark chocolate skin and short, brown hair that curls thickly about her face. She's beautiful in a plump way; not to be rude. "Agent Greene! Yes; I'm glad to hear that the intel about the gang's... dissapearence reached you. Did Kuana give you your new assignment?" I flash Director King my manilla folder in lieu of a response. She presses her finger to ear, says "Now? Will Kelan do? Ok; he'll be right out." and drops her finger. She curses gently and yells "Kelan!"
Agent Parker Kelan, a tall and fair-haired man (my boyfriend) rushes in and says "Yes, Director King?" then notices me and says "Becca! Hi Babe, how are you?" He rushes over, lifts me a few inches off the ground and swings around, then kisses my cheek. "Agent Kelan, Captain Doyle needs to see you at the precinct immediately. He said a fugititve has left the L.A. juresdiction and he needs to have him brought in by the LAPD. Some thing about the evidence he has to bring the guy in. Take number 6." Director King says, tossing Kelan the keys to the black SUV. "Alright, then. See you later then, Babe." Parker hugs me and slips something into my pocket.
"Okay, Director K, I'm gonna head back to my office and review this material." Director King looks like she forgot to tell me something. "Oh. Rebecca, you've been moved to a cubicle. We got a new agent, and... I had to improvise. It wasn't clear when you'd return, so I gave her your office. The cubicle is only temporary. The next office to open up has your name on it." Oh. Well, that's disappointing. "What cube?" I ask. "17. At least it's a window cube, right? I'm so sorry. You can ask the newbie if they'd consider giving you back your office. Your things are in the 3rd floor corridor closet." Replies Director King. "Okay. Well, can I get started on this case now?" I ask. She nods.
I make my way to my office; or rather, my former office. A nameplate that reads "Moran" sits where my name used to, and I feel a pang of sadness. I knock on the doorframe of the open door, where a young blonde-haired woman sits typing away on a laptop computer. "Come in," replies a snappy voice. I enter to see that the woman is younger than I thought-maybe younger than me. "Agent Moran?" I ask, verifying that I have her name right. "What? Can't you see I'm working?" She says. "I can see that your'e texting someone from your personal phone, if that's what you mean." She gapes at me. "How could you tell?" "I'm a spy. I've been in this room for, say, a minute. And here's what I know about you already.
"Your name is Ava Moran. You had a husband, but he just broke it off. Either another woman, or he just left. You have no kids, but three cats and a dog. Your favorite NFL team is the Chicago Bears. You go to the gym or exercise right after work." Ava sits at me, gawking. "How did you- what?" "I'm a spy, Ms. Moran. And now, you're surrounded by them. Anything you don't want open to the world, you'd better hide and hide it well. So you'd better learn quick, or get the boot. Capeesh?" I finish off my splurge with my hand on her desk, leaning towards her.
Ava shakes out of her daze. "Listen here. I am just the same as any other spy here, and I deserve the same respect. So if this ever happens again, I'm gonna go straight to Director Queen and complain." I almost laugh out loud. "Director King. Not Queen. And anyway, I came here to say one thing. I want my office back. I was in Protection and now I'm back. " Moran looks at me. "Fine. I don't want this piece of crap room anyway. Pfft. No windows. There's a window cube with my name on it anyway." She grabs her laptop and walks away. I walk into my office and start placing the remains of her stuff in a cardboard box labeled "Moran". I know I may have gone overboard with the whole "demonstration", but she was too entitled for my liking.
By the way, there is a window in my office. It's key coded behind the painting on the wall. I remove the painting, which portrays our organization's founder (Marietta Gershwin) and her faithful work dog Ira. Ira was a beautiful German Shepard who was fully trained in combat and defense. Behind the painting is a black box, and I reach my hand in and flip open the lid. I enter 1864, the year the organization (called "SPIA", which stands for Society for the Protection of International Affairs) was created. The walls of the room melt away to reveal floor-to-ceiling windows on the two walls facing the outside, which overlooks a huge, crystalline lake. I can't tell you the exact location for protection reasons, but the climate is mild and the area has a midsize population. We have spies from all over the world working here, and only 18 countries in the word are without at least one representing member working for SPIA.
