God Gems are Forever - Scene 3 (TEXT) (Patreon)

When Andrew arrived at New Anglian Foreign Intelligence HQ, or NAFI, for short, he was surprised to find the colossal monument to classical architecture much busier than he’d have assumed, given the late hour.

The moon shone brightly overhead as he was ushered past security at the door and into the building proper. Two more security checks later—one through a metal detector and another with a guard staring between him and his ID for what felt like five minutes—and he arrived at the heart of the operation, a richly appointed waiting room leading to over a dozen offices.

Men and women came and went constantly, the men all in suits, the women in pencil skirts and blouses. Given his own attire of just slacks and a button-down, he couldn’t help feeling rather under-dressed, but given where he’d just come from, he supposed it could have been a lot worse.

He managed to successfully not fall asleep in one of the unbelievably comfy armchairs that furnished the place—an achievement that he felt merited some kind of award all by itself—long enough for the secretary by the only pair of double doors in the room to call on him. “Mister Deep? Thank you for your patience. X will see you now.”

That was enough to blow away any cobwebs that might have been starting to form.

Andrew stood up with some hesitancy. X? X was the boss of the entire department. Why was he getting his mission from X? Fresh graduates didn’t get their missions from X. In the three years he’d been attending the academy, which was also at HQ, he’d never even seen the man.

Affecting the best casual air he could muster, Andrew strolled to the door and opened it gently. The smell of old books and whiskey assaulted his nose.

“Mister Deep?” called out an old male voice. “Come in, come in. Sit down.”

Andrew quickly did as requested, getting a good look at his new boss for the first time. X was an older man with glasses who looked like he could have once gone toe-to-toe with a bear, but for the passage of time and the bodily degradation of desk work. He was average height, but had clearly once been taller, and the slight pull on the suit jacket around his middle suggested that a trip to the tailor would soon be on the cards. Possibly another trip.

Andrew waited attentively as the man started reading a file in his hands. “I must congratulate you, Mister Deep. You’re one of the highest-scoring students the academy has ever produced, did you know that?”

“Thank you, Sir. I did know I scored highest from my cohort.” As had everyone else. They were spies after all. If you wanted to brag, all you had to do was leave your papers somewhere anyone could find them. Like in a locked safe.

“And you’re also the first student ever in the history of the program to score a perfect one hundred for seduction,” X continued.

That caused Andrew to wince ever so slightly. “Sir, if I may, I believe that is because the practical elements of the course were impossible to score perfect on. And they were removed the year I started.”

X looked at him over his glasses with a gimlet stare. “You doubt your prowess, Mister Deep?”

“No,” Andrew responded, a little more defensively than he intended before checking himself. “I mean, I know that I am perfectly capable. I’ve never received complaints. I just don’t believe that achieving a perfect score in that course can be taken as proof of sex god status.”

X returned his focus to the papers in his hand. “Well, proof or not, it’s the best we’ve got to go on outside of field reports and reputations. You can blame HR for that. We’ll reintroduce the practical elements once the academy has jumped through all their hoops, but until that time, you’re the best of our new agents in that field. Are you ready for a mission that will rely heavily on those skills?”

Andrew’s mind whirred. He was being given a seduction mission? Already? But he’d just left the academy. He was a neophyte. A greenie. He was so wet behind the ears you could attach a hose and water a garden.

None of those thoughts prevented him from answering in the affirmative, as was obviously expected, and a few moments later, X had picked up another file and tossed it over the desk towards him.

“Two weeks ago, one of our agents went missing in Vostovia. A local contact investigated and recovered a recording device which contained his last moments.”

Andrew’s eyes scanned over the transcript from the recording, his eyebrows rising at the grizzly way the agent had been killed. Then his eyes fell on the photo that had been included in the document. It showed a strikingly beautiful woman with piercing green eyes, long red hair, an hourglass figure, and a chest that was barely contained by the elegant dress she wore.

Andrew’s pulse started beating just a bit faster.

Beautiful, sexy… and a killer.

“Her name is Loveday Colletage,” X continued. “Half Vostovian, half Solazul.”

“Appropriate name,” Andrew commented before he could stop himself.

“We don’t know much about her, other than that her family fled Solazul as refugees during the Empire’s invasion while she was still a child,” X continued, clearly deciding to ignore his observation. “All four dropped off the map shortly thereafter — mother, father, and the two daughters. No idea about the family. We assume they’re all dead. Loveday turns up again twenty years later as an assistant to an arms dealer, but it seems she’s since parlayed that success into an operation of her own.”

Andrew ran all that against what he knew of that part of the world. “Good place for it,” he concluded. “Isn’t that where all the multinationals have their annual arms expo?”

“It is. And it just so happens that this year’s bash starts next month.” X took his glasses off and stared at Andrew. “I’m not going to beat about the bush, Mister Deep. We’ve been dealing with a large increase in trafficked weapons turning up in places they shouldn’t. We now suspect that Loveday is behind it.”

“So, you want me to shut her down?”

“On the contrary. I want you to open her up.”

Andrew gave his boss a deadpan stare.

He’d said it with a completely straight face. Not a hint of a smirk or a smile to be seen.

X threw Andrew another file across the desk. “If Loveday is behind the new proliferation of sophisticated arms and tools to people who have no business being plugged into that kind of network, then her operation represents a perfect opportunity to map out those people. Drug Cartels, organized crime lords, traffickers, terrorists, rogue states, etc, etc. Your mission is to travel to Vostovia, set up a parallel operation to hers, steal as many of her customers as you can, and then absorb or merge her business into yours.”

Andrew opened the new file and started perusing. “I can’t imagine she’ll be too happy about that.” The file was a list of everything he’d need to do and all the support HQ would be offering to pull off just the first phase of the operation. The sheer quantity of work was mind-numbing — like he’d just been handed instructions to build a skyscraper in just a few weeks. Everything about this assignment felt overwhelming.

X nodded. “That’s why we’re sending you. Best case, we’d like to bring Loveday over to our side. All our older agents are already in the field and of all the new graduates, you have the best track record.”

Andrew frowned. “I don’t have a track record.”

“Not according to your old flames.”

Andrew closed his eyes. Of course they’d interviewed his exes. Why had he assumed anything else? But at least that explained why they were sending a fresh agent out on so obviously a high-level operation. They were swamped. He knew the situation with the Empire had tensions rising everywhere, but were they really so bad that NAFI was going to send an unproven asset out on a dangerous and sensitive mission that looked like it was going to cost in the millions, if what he was reading here was any judge? Apparently so.

“You’ve been booked on the five O’clock red-eye to Ozero International,” X concluded, glancing at his watch. “Trace is expecting you down in the basement soon and you should have just enough time to get kitted out before you leave. Our local man will meet you at the airport and take you to your new digs. Any questions?”

Andrew took a steadying breath and glanced down at the picture of the beautiful killer whose arms-dealing operation he was being sent to disrupt. He actually had a ton of questions, but none of them were going to be answered now. “No, Sir.” He stood up. “And it sounds like I’d better be moving. Gadgets to get. Weapons to hustle. Femme fatals to bed.”

“That’s the spirit.” X picked up the receiver for his intercom. “Miss Clearwater? Could you see to it that our newest agent gets to the basement without undue hassle? Thank you.”

Andrew was already at the door.

“Oh, one last thing,” X said.

Andrew paused with his hand on the knob.

X fixed him with the same gimlet stare he’d used before. “Miss Colletage’s name may be appropriate, but I’m hoping that yours proves just as much so. Don’t disappoint me, Andrew B. Deep.”

Again, not a twitch, not a smirk, not a hint of a grin anywhere.

Andrew nodded curtly, opened the door, and left.