Agent Shield and Spaceman

It was immediately apparent they were traveling downwards, not up. Marcus wondered aloud what sort of transportation they were going to find at the bottom of the station. “A submarine,” Simplex answered matter-of-factually. “A submarine encased in ice?” “No,” Hugo said. “Open water.” “This whole station floats?” “Of course! That is what it is designed to do. No section of ice, however deep, could be guaranteed to support a structure this massive. What would happen if a freak warming spell intruded into the deep Antarctic? The builders of this place designed it to melt a hole through the ice into the cavern and float there like a rubber duck in a bathtub. This underside is a convenient place to store submarines, no?” “Very convenient,” D said sunnily. “Ah, we are coming to the first challenge of our escape from the Delta Omega.” Ahead of them, the corridor was blocked off by a set of heavy steel doors. Each door had a small round window mounted about eye level. Steam and condensation bl...

The way Frankie figured, he could have either joined the CIA or gone to prison. His background didn’t provide many other options. He kept his nose clean and while his family was not particularly wealthy, his Uncle certainly was. In high school he became fascinated with driving fast cars and getting what other people already had. College showed him the skills to do both of those things to perfection. But his life could have still gone in a very different direction. He was not what his father would have called “book smart,” nor was he especially good at covering his disdain for dull fraternity letter types. Left to his own devices, he would have dug up some kind of trouble even his uncle couldn’t have saved him from. The CIA had many ways of unearthing the talent it needed, countless favors it could call in. Maybe his uncle even reached out. They identified his potential and gently, firmly turned him to espionage. A born field operative, the Central Intelligence Agency found sm...

Spaceman followed as Necropolis stalked over to Simplex. “What is the meaning of bringing that women here?” he asked. Simplex followed Necropolis’ gesture and shrugged. “She was a part of the plan. It seemed reasonable to have her on hand as we approach its fruition.” “And you were aware of her involvement in the American Intelligence service?” “Of course,” Simplex seemed genuinely baffled by Necropolis’ questions. “That’s the point of a double-agent, don’t you think?” “Exactly,” Necropolis said, turning to Suliman. His eyes had taken on a different, more appraising cast. “Now that we have that obvious point established, let’s revisit your own identity.” “Rasheed Suliman,” Spaceman said. “Importer/exporter of-“ “That’s not who you are,” Necropolis shook his head as though embarrassed for Spaceman. “If you were, in fact, Rasheed Suliman, you would currently be lying in a shallow grave outside of Waco, Texas.” “Ah,” Spaceman said, suddenly feeling ...

In this part of Texas, mornings wake up befuddled and lost, as if unsure about what sort of day they will become. Even in the fieriest depths of the summer, one might wake up with a chill, seeing dew on the ground. This hesitation only disappears in the mid morning, when the sun resumes its jurisdiction in the high, open sky and sears the land into submissiveness. Frankie Two-Eyes woke up at 10:30 am and slowly unraveled himself from the sheets. Sweat coated him like a slime trail; he wanted nothing more than to just flop off of the bed and lay on the cool floor like a beached fish. The humidity was palpable, a miserable wet thing pressing down on his face and lungs. His head felt like a dropped egg, wrapped back together with masking tape, his every motion inviting dire nausea. Carefully peeling off his night shirt, he staggered around until he found some water to splash on his face. He wrestled with the room’s window, looking to open it to a breeze, gave up wh...

“You did what?” Shield nearly dropped his gin and tonic. Leaning over the railing on Zanzibar’s patio, Frankie spoke low to hide the sounds of their conversation. “You wanted to find the serpents, I found them.” “Alright, great and now they’re going to kill you.” Frankie sniffed, wounded. “Hardly,” he set aside his Riesling. “I hate to sound cocky, but I’ve handled more dangerous creatures then a couple of snakes.” “And the concept of a set up didn’t dawn on you?” “What set up?” laughed Frankie. “It’s a pit match. Me in a hole with a bunch of snakes. That’s good clean fun. If we were in trouble, they’d just line us up behind a barn and be done with us. They’re going to bring out some real, live Bhutan Tiger Snakes, and then you’ll have the proof you need.” “Burmese,” Shield rolled his eyes. “And we already have the proof. I spoke to Suliman, they have a small colony of the animals in the exhibit hall. We know they’re here; it’s time to move to the operatio...

By the time ‘Mr. and Mrs. Duncan’ arrived at the party, the cars were parked several deep in the nearby lawn. Beside them was D, in the guise of Carol Feathers, an old friend of Mrs. Duncan. She adjusted and expanded upon this story as the night wore on, each party guest receiving a slightly tailored version of her story. Witnessing one of these conversations, listening to how D artfully fused truth and subterfuge to form a wedge into the politicking around her, he found himself impressed. It was impossible to know how much of this was her unusual talent and how much just social intelligence, but it didn’t seem to matter. He realized D was the kind of agent the SSF had always tried to cultivate but never fielded. As for Shield, he was ensnared in conversation within a minutes of his arrival. Apparently the knowledge Mr. Duncan was a pharmaceutical baron made the rounds quickly. A Luther Von Krossen approached him and asked what sorts of medicine his company produced. Luther was a lan...

D listened intently as Marcus and Agent LeHaze filled her in on the mission. “And these tiger snakes, they are the source of the toxin?” “That’s what the evidence points to, yes,” Marcus said. “Your role will be mission support,” LeHaze added, handing over a cover identity dossier. “Spaceman is responsible for finding the snakes, Agent Two-eyes and Shield will secure them.” Agent D flipped through the folder before handing it back. “Unneeded.” LeHaze's jaw tightened. “You will need a cover.” “Agreed,” Agent D said. “And I’ve brought my own.” She handed over a driver’s license with her photograph but the name Caroline Humphreys. He was about to point out that a cover identity was not the same thing as a fake ID when he realized he knew Caroline Humphreys. They had gone to the same high school and their mothers were in the same book club. He knew her favorite drink was cognac and that she had once been a recognized dressage rider which is where...

Spaceman liked riding in cars. Not driving them, that required concentration. But to be able to sit back in the decadent embrace of soft leather, the pulse of acceleration launching him from one place to another, automobiles offered a sensation second only to junk. Speaking of which… He snuck a hand into the left breast pocket of his seersucker jacket to withdraw a blue lacquer snuff box. Once applied to each nostril, the china brown flattened his thoughts into a weightless, trembling membrane, and he spared no more consideration of the armed goons hunched to either side of him in the back of the Rolls Royce. He sat serene in the palm of God, sweet darkness lapping against his skin. From a certain perspective, Thulewaite’s decision to send armed escorts was a good sign. Gunther was more of a royalist than the typical Texan plutocrat; things that fell into his domain belonged to him and elicited his responsibility to guard his possessions. Spaceman fe...