Part I - The New Assignment
According to the Government of the United States, the two men standing in front of the high-security elevator didn't exist. The same thing could be said about the organization for which they worked, and whose main facilities they were about to enter. Its name and purpose were one of the White House's most guarded secrets, in spite of some stray rumors that sometimes made the headlines of the country's most famous tabloids.
The two non-existing men knew each other for quite some time. Their friendly relationship dated back from the days when Kennedy was still America's number one and the Army was their home.
The man on the left, with gray hair, piercing black eyes and an aquiline nose was General Rupert Hayes. He was a stern and upright character, perhaps a bit square on his shoulders and legs, who had lived through many wars before giving up his name and life to serve a higher cause half a mile below Washington's belligerent streets.
Next to him, stood nicotine-addict Colonel Eric Gibbons who was said to consume five packs of cigarettes a day on a normal day and seven or eight when his emotional balance was disrupted. Unlike his superior officer and friend, he had a quizzical, oval face and no hair of his own ever since his fiftieth anniversary. His eyes had been green but they were getting more and more yellow due to his uncontrollable vice.
Before the doors opened, a third man joined them from behind. His name was Henry Simms and there was nothing military about him. The mid-thirties giant wore the black suit of a civilian bureaucrat and was the only one of his kind with a direct line to the President, a line he used quite often when times were bleak and the whole world was on the verge of collapse.
The two military looked rather disdainfully at the newcomer but were courteous enough to let him enter the elevator first. Henry Simms nodded in appreciation and repaid the gesture by setting the destination as soon as they got in.
The elevator started moving swiftly, going deeper and deeper underground. The silence inside lasted for about ten seconds and was suddenly broken by a question coming from the nervous lips of the Colonel:
"Simms, is it true?"
"You'll find out soon enough, Colonel Gibbons," the younger man replied.
"It's true, alright!" intervened the General. "Can't you see by the look of triumph in his eyes?"
"I had forgotten about your sharpness, General..." Simms replied. His voice was cold. He didn't like him one bit and knew the feeling was mutual.
Before the conversation could continue, the elevator reached its destination and the doors opened to let them out. Underground Level 15 was very similar to the other fourteen of the complex: a labyrinth of gray-walled corridors, strategically placed infra-red cameras, and large, indestructible black doors. The two main differences between this particular floor and the rest of the base could be seen in the exaggerated number of armed guards one could find in the most eastern section and on the fact that all of the doors led to inevitable prison cells.
The trio stepped out of the elevator and proceeded along the right corridor where they were saluted by a heavily armed group of muscle-men in Army uniforms.
"Who captured him?" insisted the General after they passed the guards. "And why weren't we informed of the operation earlier?"
"Gamma Unit did the job. You weren't informed because the President himself chose not to do so. The operation was classified as top secret and the best way to control the flow of the information is to limit the number of people with access to it. I'm sure you can understand that."
"Of course, but Colonel Gibbons and I have been working on this Division for the last six years. You, on the other hand, only found out about its existence three months ago and military secrets should not pass through your hands at all."
"Like I said, it was the President who gave the orders. Talk to him yourself if you want more details."
"I will, but let us return to our... guest. He was detained in Pakistan, right?"
"That's right, but at least he had the decency to stay away from tiny rat-holes like the one where we found you know who sleeping. He put up quite a fight before being captured."
They reached another corridor, this one with twelve bulked doors, six on each side. Beyond it was a small pathway that led to the Surveillance Room, where they could see the images transmitted by the electronic cameras inside each cell. Number 12 was the one that mattered, as it gave them a fairly good view of the prisoner's face with his long beard and challenging eyes. Though trapped and with no chance to escape, he still looked dangerous.
"I can't believe that's really him!" Colonel Gibbons said. "He managed to escape us so many times..."
Simms took the lead to answer back.
"Those are past days, Colonel! Think of the present. He's here and now he has to be dealt with."
"When's the President planning to reveal his capture to the American people and the rest of the world?" asked Hayes.
"Right around Election Day, obviously."
"That will boost his campaign for sure!"
"That's the plan, but first he wants to get as much as information from him as possible, without mistreating him in any way. We've had enough cases of torture in Iraqi territory and things don't look too good for us in the Human Rights agenda at the moment... The Chief of Staff needs a full-proof solution to guarantee his position as a strong and reliable leader, a leader that keeps his promises and deserves a re-election."
"I don't think that's possible... The only thing we know for sure he's good at is lying," said Hayes and laughed afterward, probably a bit louder than he should.
Simms resented that and gave him a cold face.
"Spare me your criticism. I understand you have an Agent working under your direct supervision that's specialized in the ways of obtaining information without the use of physical torture."
"That's right -- Agent 47-D, one of the finest I've ever met."
"The President wants him on the job, pronto! Where is he right now?"
"He?! I really haven't got a clue..." answered the older man. Now it was his time to laugh at his expense.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
The General raised both his eyebrows at the same time and spoke like an angry teacher to an unworthy pupil:
"That you forgot to do your homework. You see, Agent 47-D is a woman..."
* * *
Twenty-six-year-old Alexandra Ryder was coming home from an exhausting aerobics session, when her cell phone rang without warning, making her heart race. For a moment, the world around her became hazy, as she let go of the steering wheel, causing the vehicle to turn abruptly, its wheels jumping over the nearest sidewalk. Immediately, she hit the brakes and was lucky enough to stop before killing anyone. While some people gathered around the car to see if she was hurt or something, she looked at the special number flashing on the cell screen and opened the lid to take the call.
There was no talking on the other side of the line: only a series of mechanical sounds combined in a rhythmic sequence that only high-security level field agents knew how to interpret. The coded message was simple and written in conventional English would go as follows: "Your presence is required at Headquarters a.s.a.p. We have a very special prisoner waiting for your delicate treatment..."
The code played only once, but she understood it perfectly and didn't bother thinking who the prisoner was. She would surely be briefed when she reached the facilities: the only thing that seemed to upset her was the fact that she had to go home and change in a hurry so that she would look as presentable as possible for the work she was required to do.
Already feeling altogether, she took the liberty of throwing the cell phone into the back seat, and then made the car jump off the sidewalk as if nothing had happened. Some angry faces looked at her as she was leaving; they were probably thinking she was a menace behind the wheel, which was quite understandable, but hardly accurate. If there was one thing she was really menacing at was in her unconventional use of simple objects, such as candles, pocket watches or glimmering key chains.
* * *
An hour later, after a very relaxing shower, Agent 47-D reached the underground facilities and immediately upon entering them, offered a warm smile to one of the guards on duty.
He smiled right back at her, as he watched her magnificent hazelnut eyes. It didn't take long for his eyes to roll down into her asymmetric transparent shirt partially visible behind a beautiful Navy-blue jacket, plunging afterward into the contours of her matching, tight skirt, until they became suddenly transfixed in her unbelievably long legs and on the highly erotic pointy shoes she was wearing. Under normal circumstances, that wasn't a very polite attitude, yet at that time it was the only one his brain was telling him to adopt. Alexandra stopped in front of him and kissed him on the forehead while whispering: