And for the record, being a full time C.I.A. agent while also maintaining the presence of being a full time graduate student to literally everyone you know - including your family - isn’t exactly a walk in the park.
The Director clears his throat, and the small chatter around the room instantly goes quiet as every eye in the room turns to him.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ve got a runner. Four days ago, a man of importance to our interests managed to break out of a remote prison named El Meurto Viviente on the coast of Venezuela. He managed to commandeer a boat, killing two guards in the process.” People around the room begin taking notes and nodding at the Director’s words; “We’ve tracked his movements, and though he hasn’t gotten far, he has managed to gain entry into Aruba.”
There’s a snort from the other side of the room, as one of the senior analysts shakes his head; “Well, he sure knows how to escape in style I suppose.”
The tittering laughter around the room is cut short by a curt nod from the Director. He leans down over the head of the table, glowering at everyone else in the low light of the room; “People, this man holds certain information pertaining to national security, including information on ongoing domestic intelligence assets. That he was ever allowed to leave U.S. soil is a Goddamn bewilderment to me, but that he got to where he is now is an embarrassment.”
The room is pin-drop silent as the Director stands and clears his throat; “Recovery operations need to be covert, as well as seamless. This administration is a bit more sensitive to holding an active operation on sovereign soil, and so we’re going to keep this quiet.” His eyes scan the room; “No teams, no heavy back-up. The plan is to send in a single asset who will intercept, apprehend, and signal for extraction.”
I wonder who they found crazy enough to want to pull a stunt like tha-
“Agent Archer.” The Director’s voice cuts through the silence of the room like a knife, and I feel my face go flush as every eye in The Vault turns to me.
Um, what?
I drop the pen in my hand and look up sharply; “Sir?”
“Agent Koufax has assured me that you’re field ready, and he’s given me his full confidence in your ability to execute this mission.”
My eyes fly to my smarmy supervisor, who’s turned and smirking at me like he’s daring me to say something.
Field ready? I’ve barely graduated from training, I’ve never been on an actual operation, and I’m by far and away the greenest person in the room. Me?
I shoot Koufax a questioning glance, wondering why on Earth he’d give me such a glowing recommendation for something like this considering he clearly hates me. But he only shrugs and gives me that same smirking look before I clear my throat and look up at the director; “Sir, I’m-”
“I’m giving you a crack at the big leagues here, Agent.” He crosses his arms over his chest; “That is, if you can handle it.”
My jaw tightens at his words; I don’t back down from challenges. And even if I’ve got half an idea that this was some elaborate scheme of Koufax’s to make me look like an idiot during a Vault meeting, I’m certainly not going to back down from this one; “Absolutely, sir,” I say without another moment of hesitation.
Koufax’s smirk instantly drops from his face as he frowns at me; Checkmate, asshole.
“Excellent. You’ll be leaving tomorrow, and asset intel will help you with your cover story. Let’s go over your target.”
It’s my turn to smirk at my superior now as I hear the Director click to the next project screen. I’m still grinning and reveling in the moment when I look up, and it’s almost as if in slow motion as my eyes drag back to the main screen.
Every single cell in my body freezes.
It’s like a horrible dream as I focus on the dark, smokey eyes, the black hair, and the lips pulled back in a cocky grin at the camera.
Holy shit.
The man is staggeringly handsome, in that dark, brooding, almost scary way. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes that just screams a disdain for authority; clearly evident in the way he’s even smirking in his damn mug shot. Honestly, in any other circumstances, every woman and probably some of the men in this room would be fanning themselves at the Spaniard on screen oozing pure sex and the promise of mistakes you’d love to regret later.
But these are not other circumstances, and the arrogant grin on the screen belongs to the Devil himself.
A lump forms in my throat that I try to swallow, only to have it immediately replaced as I stare into the face of the last man on Earth I ever thought I’d see again. The face of the man who almost destroyed my family; who terrorized Logan, and the man who kidnapped him and my sister Quinn.