Amanda Cia Agent

If you're new to the series, please take note: this story is in the Nonconsent category. As in previous chapters, this episode also features pervasive coercion and humiliation. Consider yourself warned!

This story is a fantasy. The author does not condone any real-world nonconsensual touching or sexual activity, infliction of pain or emotional distress, or mistreatment of any person.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia, May 2007

"You'll be in the conference room. Follow me," said Natasha, Percy's administrative assistant, as she disappeared around the corner.

Amanda hurried to catch up, then lightly touched Natasha's shoulder. Natasha abruptly wheeled on her. "What?"

"Um." She swallowed, then held up a thick file. "Is this about my latest intercepts, or --" She hesitated.

"Or about your habituation?" Natasha smirked. "He didn't say. Could be either." She marched off again.

Amanda glanced down at her grey wool skirt, which reached to the knee, and her cream colored dress blouse with its oversized bow at the front. They were comfortable, and well suited for a day spent isolated in her secure work area scrutinizing intercepts, but they didn't display her body to best advantage.

They were certainly not what she'd have chosen for a habituation meeting. By necessity, that clothing would have tested the bounds of propriety.

Again she scurried after Natasha. "Usually it's just Percy and me." Or some smelly, doddering division chief and me, she didn't say. "Is someone else joining us?"

"Yes." She turned and pushed open a door. "Go right in."

Percy sat at the head of the table, and Amanda recognized Wilson Blodgett, chief of an operational planning group, to his right. Beside Wilson was a younger man she didn't know.

"Hi, I'm Amanda Stevens." She extended her hand.

He stood and shook her hand. "Tyler Oxley, from Wilson's team."

The woman on Percy's left was also unfamiliar, so she offered her hand with a smile. "I'm Amanda."

The woman frowned at her hand a moment before brushing it with her own. "Emma Lacroix," she sniffed, then turned away.

Amanda took a seat beside her.

As she waited, she took in the conference room. Like many in the building, it was windowless and utilitarian. Dusty overhead fixtures illuminated a laminated woodgrain table surrounded by rolling chairs upholstered in faded lime green and bright yellow striped cotton.

Turning back, she caught Wilson gazing at her like a bobble-head, his focus moving from face to hair to breasts to hips to hemline to calves, then back up. He's imagining me naked, she thought.

Had he seen her naked before? She tried to remember. A year ago, she could have counted such men on one hand, but since then, she'd stripped for so many different people, she'd lost count.

Or maybe it was just that she tried to forget them. Despite the repetition, it never got easier. She still felt every bit as mortified as she had the first time.

Her list of sexual partners was shorter, but that wasn't getting easier either. At least she could remember those. In her head, she rattled off the list. Wilson wasn't on it.

He was still staring at her, and she kept her own eyes averted. Had he seen her naked? She didn't think so, but she couldn't be certain. Scrutinizing her naked form frequently intensified men's interest, particularly when they didn't have an opportunity to further explore her body with their hands, mouths, and penises. On the other hand, sometimes such exploration only compounded their obsession. Merely going for coffee had begun to feel like running a gauntlet.

The door opened, and a tall, slim man with white hair strode in and sat at the far end of the table. With a start, Amanda recognized Harlan Kimmel, the Deputy Director of Operations.

Percy sat up straight in his chair, and his easy smile disappeared. Wilson pivoted toward Kimmel and watched him expectantly.

Amanda sensed the sudden tension and inferred there would be an unplanned discussion above her pay grade. She grabbed her folder and moved toward the door. "I'll wait outside."

Apparently Kimmel knew who she was. He motioned her back to her chair. "What's the update on Humble Garden?"

"Oh." Amanda retook her seat and opened her folder, surprised at her sense of calm confidence. "Analysis of the latest intercepts suggests Bin Laden has a new deputy in Iraq to replace Al-Zarqawi, who we killed last June. His name is Waleed Khoury."

Kimmel fixed her with an unblinking stare. "What's his background?"

"Born in Nasiriyah in 1975, to a poor family. His father's a street vendor, and initially Waleed followed in his footsteps. Joined a radical mosque in 1996, and recruited by Khalid Sheikh Mohammed in 1998."

"Did he play a role in 9/11?"

"Yes. He was actually pretty important. He worked with KSM to finalize the four strike teams, and acted as his agent in communicating orders to the team leaders."

Amanda cut her eyes to the right. Emma had turned to face her, and as she spoke, Emma inspected her face and body, taking her measure. It was distracting.

"Anyway, um, the recent surge in extremist signal volume in Iraq coincides with a sustained increase in Khoury's activity level. It may be a harbinger of another attack."

Kimmel turned toward Wilson. "What do you think?"

"It's likely. We should take him out at the first opportunity. Before he can consolidate his power base."

Kimmel rubbed his chin. "I agree. Put together a plan."

This was a better outcome than she ever could have hoped for. She struggled to remain in her chair. "Mr. Kimmel. If I may, I'd like to be a part of that operation."

Percy nearly burst a blood vessel. "Don't you dare --"

Kimmel waved away Percy's objection. "It's ok. Amanda, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but get in line. Half the NCS is dreaming of that one."

"Not many can match my fluency in Arabic, if you'll forgive me for saying so. And none of them lost their father on 9/11. For me, it's personal."

Percy snorted. "So we've heard. You'd love to saw off Waleed's balls with a dull butter knife. But," he jabbed his finger at her, "you're still in provisional status."

She began to protest, but Kimmel held up his hand. "Percy will determine your eligibility. Staffing the op is up to Wilson."

Percy met Amanda's eye. "We won't decide today. Let's see how you do on Generous Pilgrim."

Her shoulders slumped, but she nodded.

Tyler spoke to Wilson in a low voice. "Are we still having the briefing?"

Wilson shook his head. "Another time."

Kimmel overheard him. "Nonsense. Don't let me disrupt your agenda. What's Generous Pilgrim?" He lounged back in his chair.

Tyler dimmed the lights and switched on the video monitor. The screen showed an elderly man in a flowing white ankle-length tunic, which Amanda knew was called a thawb. She saw he also wore a traditional red and white checked cloth called a ghutra atop his head.

"This is Amir Hassan, age 62. He's a Yemeni national, and the owner of a large business in the United Arab Emirates, engaged in importing uniforms and foodstuffs and supplying them to various armed forces. He makes his home in Abu Dhabi, near his company headquarters."

"Does he also deal in weapons?" Wilson wondered.

"No, but he has close relationships with military leaders and government officials throughout the region. We could use him to influence governments and arms dealers to stop supplying weapons to terrorist organizations."

Emma sighed and began to tap her foot.

Percy perked up. "Why would he do that?"

"He wouldn't be motivated by principle. Our best option would be blackmail."

Wilson looked up. "Is he married?"

Tyler nodded as he advanced the slide. "Malika is Amir's latest wife. She's the youngest daughter of the Saudi deputy minister of defense. She lives with Amir in a large compound in Abu Dhabi."

Emma scoffed. "He's 62, and this is his wife? How old is she?"

"She's 19. They've been married six months."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "Any girlfriends?"

"One in Dubai, where he travels frequently for business." He brought up another photo.

Wilson gave a low whistle.

Tyler continued. "Her name is Maryam. She's from Medina, but she was educated in the UK. She lived in London and worked sporadically as a fashion model until meeting Amir in 2003. Now she's 26."

He advanced the slide again. "Then there's Zaina in Riyadh. He sees her when he's negotiating deals with the Saudis. She's getting her degree in computer science at --" He glanced at his notes. "Princess Nourah bint Abdulrahman University."

Amanda caught Tyler's eye. "Supporting all these beautiful young women must be expensive. Have you considered bribery?"

Emma shot her a cold glare.

Tyler shook his head. "Amir's already very wealthy, and the compound in Abu Dhabi was a wedding gift from Malika's father. An unsuccessful bribery attempt would tip our hand. He's very shrewd, and if his guard is up, he might not fall for our honeypot." He gestured toward Emma.

Percy nodded.

Amanda had assumed she herself would play the honeypot role, to her considerable apprehension. Since the moment she'd read her orders, the idea had gnawed at her insides. But now, she felt more disappointed than relieved.

As Kimmel and Wilson turned toward Emma, she sat up straight and grinned back at Percy, letting her finger slowly trace a path down her throat, across her collarbone, and into the vee formed by the plackets of her blouse. Nudging the material aside as she leaned forward and licked her lips, she let her finger settle into her cleavage. "He won't be able to resist me."

Watching her performance, Amanda suppressed a snort. She's not half as hot as she thinks, she told herself. Yes, her olive skin was flawless, and her breasts were high and firm, but they were smallish, certainly no match for her own. Emma's thick waist cried out for sessions with a trainer, and her modest hips fell equally short. Judging by his wife and girlfriends, Amir liked his women curvier.

However, Emma wasn't lacking in confidence. She seemed born to the part.

Wilson cleared his throat. "You're proposing to run this op in Abu Dhabi, I assume?"

Tyler shook his head. "Dubai is better. Amir behaves when he's at home, to keep the peace with his new wife, not to mention her father. But in Dubai he stays at the Alqasr Al'azraq, a luxury hotel catering to wealthy businessmen. Thanks to the tight security, he feels safe entertaining overnight guests there."

Next he showed a picture of a scowling man with large, dark eyes and a prominent scar across his cheek. Heavy stubble further darkened his swarthy coloring. His tailored uniform highlighted the powerful muscles of his chest and arms, as well as his trim waist.

"This is Farooq Akhtar. He's a former army major. Later he did a stint in the GIP, where he earned a reputation for brutality in his interrogations. Now he's head of security for the Alqasr Hotel. He's also Amir's cousin. Reportedly, he introduced Amir to Maryam, and earned 10,000 Dirham for his trouble."

He gestured toward Emma. "As soon as Amir plans his next trip, we'll move Emma into position. She'll make contact and lure him to her room, which will be wired for video. I'll send him a snip of the recording and force him to a meeting where I'll demand his cooperation."

Amanda leaned back in her chair. "It sounds like Farooq may be a procurer of young women for Amir --"

"Obviously," Tyler interrupted.

"What if we allow him to recruit Emma, and supply her to Amir?"

Amanda actually didn't think Emma was the best person for the job, but one battle at a time, she thought to herself.

"Why don't you leave the planning to Tyler?" said Wilson, annoyed.

Kimmel pointed at Tyler. "Anyone else on the team besides you and Emma?"

"Just Amanda. She'll make the travel arrangements, and assist Emma with anything else she needs."

Emma lifted her nose. "She can haul my bags for me."

Amanda gritted her teeth but remained quiet. She could angle for a meatier role next time.

Wilson nodded to Tyler. "Your plan sounds right to me. Harlan, do you want any other input?

Kimmel shook his head. "No, it's fine. Approved."

He rose to leave, then looked back at Tyler. "Include a copy of the video in your report."

* * *

That night, Amanda packed. It could be several days until Tyler signaled 'go', but then she'd launch a mad scramble to book flights and rooms. Everything else needed to be ready.

Clearly her carry-on wouldn't hold all the essential clothing and toiletries. Her frustration rose as she repeatedly removed items until the zipper finally closed. Most of her silk blouses and dressy skirts stayed behind, with their matching shoes, as did both her new one-piece swimsuits with their coverups and her compact travel hair dryer. Surely the Alqasr would have a hair dryer.

Tyler had assigned her responsibility for their electronics, which took up an entire suitcase, and Emma had usurped her remaining checked baggage allowance for her own third suitcase. Somehow the CIA could afford the four figure nightly rate at the Alqasr but refused to authorize an additional checked bag.

The next day, when Tyler called, she was thankful for her preparations, since there was so little time to spare. Before she rushed out the door, she snatched a bathing suit from atop her dresser. The Alqasr had a breathtaking infinity pool.

* * *

She napped fitfully during her 13 hour flight to Dubai. As an Alqasr limo carried her over the causeway to the hotel's private island, Amanda was awestruck by the deep blue of the hotel's glass and steel monolith, set against the dazzling turquoise of the harbor. When the car came to a stop, she entered the soaring atrium, where a representative escorted her to her sprawling duplex suite.

While she waited for Tyler and Emma to arrive, Amanda opened her electronics suitcase and began deploying her miniature sensors. She was still annoyed about Emma's starring role in the upcoming op, and her own subservient position. But if she was honest with herself, what was really impossible to stomach was Emma's disdain.

She shook her head. The girl was convinced she was more beautiful, despite all evidence. She needed to be knocked off her high horse.

Even so, Amanda hoped Emma's inevitable comeuppance didn't derail the mission. Since Tyler's briefing, her misgivings about Emma's effectiveness had grown. But she'd kept her concerns to herself.

By the time Emma and Tyler arrived, Amanda had nodded off. She awoke to Emma's voice, too loud in the late night stillness, followed by a bang as Tyler closed the door too hard. Emma was too enebriated to stand upright, so Tyler half dragged, half carried her up the stairs where they both fell into bed fully dressed.

The next morning, Amanda returned from an intensive workout and a leisurely breakfast to find them both still asleep. As she cleaned up in the opulent bathroom, she heard Tyler stirring in the next room. She rushed to finish her updo and rushed past him without a word.

"Hey, wait, where you going?"

She stopped and turned. "I, um, need to go plant the sensors at Cloudtops restaurant." She held up a packet of tiny chrome discs.

Still in his rumpled suit, he rose from the bed and stepped toward her. "Amanda. We talked about this. You need to be prepared in case you're seen. Take those off." He pointed at her loose fitting sweater and baggy pants.

From the bed, Emma gave a loud snore.

She put her hand on her hip. "I really don't see the point. What're you doing?"

Tyler had opened her carry on, and he rummaged inside. While she sputtered an objection, he held up and then discarded several pieces of her precisely folded designer lingerie, followed by a long sleeved blouse. Pushing her case closed, he stepped to the walk-in closet and opened a large bag filled with Emma's clothing.

"Under Non Official Cover, you don't have diplomatic immunity. If anyone catches you, you need to persuade them not to call security."

Amanda set her jaw. "I'm aware of my status." She checked her watch. Cloudtops opened in less than two hours, and Amir had a reservation for lunch. "I have to go now, or Emma's honeypot will have to wait until tomorrow."

He handed her a summer blouse and matching skirt. "Put these on."

She huffed as she took the garments. The blouse was thin, and the skirt was short. Neither was remotely appropriate in Dubai. Moreover, they were sized for Emma's narrower proportions.

"I don't think I can even get these on." But she turned toward the bathroom.

He blocked her path. "Let's see."

Amanda looked at him wide-eyed and clutched the clothing to her chest, shaking her head slowly.

Tyler held up a hand as his voice rose. "I don't want to hear it. For once, just do what I fucking tell you!"

She cringed as a bit of his spittle hit her face. She turned away, then hesitated. Behind her, Tyler made an exasperated sound.

She sighed, grasped the hem of her sweater, and pulled it over her head in a single motion, then shrugged on the blouse. The lower buttons fastened easily, but the upper portion strained to contain her bust.

She turned back to Tyler, and his eyes locked onto her chest. "That... fits perfectly." He swallowed. "Let's see the skirt."

She moved her hands to the front of her pants, then hesitated again. He would see her panties. She drew a deep breath.

There was no way to avoid it. Her fingers popped open the snaps, and she bent her knees to slide her pants off her hips and down her legs, dropping them atop her sweater. Her cheeks pink, she quickly stepped into the skirt and slipped it up her thighs.

The waistband stretched taut just below the points of her hips and refused to go any further. She reached behind herself to confirm the zipper was all the way down, and tugged on one side, then the other until it was past her hips.

Tyler stepped forward, grasped her zipper, and pulled it upward. He lingered behind her, admiring the way the tight skirt molded to the shape of her bottom. "Looks great."

She scoffed. "If I bend the wrong way, the seam will split, or the buttons will pop off my blouse. Maybe that's what you're hoping."

Holding her by the shoulder, he undid another button, just above the point where the cups of her bra joined, then yanked at the pins holding her coiled braids in place behind her head, unleashing a cascade of glossy dark hair. Finally he slapped her butt. "Get going."

Moments later, her face was still dark with anger as she crossed the atrium and rode the express elevator to the rooftop restaurant and bar. As expected, the host's podium was unattended, and she slipped inside undetected. The opulently furnished space featured floor-to-ceiling windows highlighting the breathtaking view.

Amanda withdrew a chrome disk from her packet and attached it to one of the window mounts. The disk was magnetic, and its size and color matched perfectly.

The room was large, and it would take several minutes to affix enough sensors to cover the area. Fortunately, there was still no sign of any employees.

When she'd deployed half the sensors, she checked her watch. Amir would arrive in 45 minutes. An employee could show up at any moment. She took out a few more sensors from her bag and began attaching them, working her way along the bank of windows.

Inevitably, she dropped a disk, which rolled beneath one of the impeccably laid tables. She knelt and crawled beneath the drape of the white linen tablecloth.

Grasping the wayward disk, she was beginning to back up when she spotted a shoe. A men's traditional black leather wingtip, polished to a high shine.

Startled, she raised her head abruptly, striking the underside of the table, overturning a pair of elegant blown crystal glasses, which fell to the thick carpet. She gasped, but exhaled with relief when neither shattered.