Spies: 7 Short Stories

Spies

  A Collection of Intrigue

  by

  Michael D. Britton

  * * * *

  All content copyright 2011, 2012 by Michael D. Britton / Intelligent Life Books

  Switch

  Jean Mitchell landed on her belly on the hardwood floor, rolled over her bleeding left elbow to wind up under the dining table, and let rip a spray of bullets from her Uzi, the rapport sounding like someone punching the throttle on a Harley.

  Crystal vases and a mirror shattered across the formal dining room while drywall splintered and pulverized to form a powdery cloud in the room. Jean quickly caught her breath, the floor having knocked it out of her on impact, then rolled onto her back and used her feet to capsize the heavy mahogany dining table onto its side, forming some cover.

  She then targeted the glimmering chandelier and blacked out the room. She lowered her night vision goggles over her eyes, peeked over the upturned table and saw the glowing figure darting across the room. He turned to fire in her direction, but she took him down with a short burst from the Uzi.

  Jean slowly stood and holstered her weapon on her thigh, then rubbed her elbow and stepped carefully across the room toward the kitchen, the soles of her shoes crunching on the glass and other debris. She reached her arm around the doorframe, raised her goggles, and flipped on the lights.

  In the middle of the dining room lay the man she’d been chasing for three weeks.

  Dead.

  She walked over to him, stepped on his wrist and bent down and twisted the gun out of his hand, then stood and nudged his head with her foot. It lolled to the side.

  She spoke, and it was picked up by the transmitter lodged in her bottom left wisdom tooth.“Schenker’s dead. Do you want the body?”

  The reply came through the tiny receiver implanted in her ear canal – a man’s voice. “No, leave it there. Get back to HQ – we have a special assignment for you.”

  No rest for the weary.

  #

  Jean arrived at Association HQ – a black glassy ten-story building just off the Bayshore Freeway in San Jose. She entered the empty lobby and took the elevator down to Six Below.

  In the elevator, she leaned back against the rosewood paneling and sighed. The bullet had only grazed her arm and the bleeding had stopped, but it still stung.

  She pulled the hair tie out of her long black hair and ran her fingers through it, then shook her head to loosen the strands.

  Once at Six Below, she didn’t need an ID card or a badge to get inside. She just passed through a flash-MRI doorway that read her inside-out in a microsecond, confirming her identity down to the DNA, and unlocking the interior doors.

  “Jean,” said Tom Worley, a lanky ginger-haired man standing just inside the doors to greet her. “Get cleaned up and meet me in the Switch Chamber.”

  Jean nodded and headed for her office, which had its own bathroom and shower. She unfastened her tool belt and weapons holsters, stripped off her grimy shirt and pants, and took a quick, hot shower.

  She didn’t look forward to this next meeting. The Switch Chamber meant one of two things – either she had to debrief an agent fresh from a switch, or she was the next one to have to undergo the process.

  She threw on some clean jeans and a black t-shirt and headed to the Switch Chamber.

  She opened the door, and it was as she remembered it – hot, humid, and dimly lit by recessed lighting. The room was circular, about thirty feet across, with no furniture and a computer console inset in the far wall. It smelled like wet moss.

  “Jean – there’s a situation,” said Worley, entering through a door straight across from her. Tom was about five years older than Jean – maybe 40 at most – and her immediate supervisor at the Association. His shaggy red hair made him look younger, though, and his manner of speaking was usually more casual than the typical supervisor. “Some junk head turned and gave you up. You’re blown wide open in five zones. You’ll be switched with Jamie Stanton. She’s still dark, and has some ins that you need to close the Schenker case.”

  “Uh, Schenker’s dead. Kinda closes the case, don’t ya think?”

  “No, I don’t think,” said Worley. “Schenker’s cousin, a David Talley, is the mind behind the mess. You need to bring him in – alive, please.”

  “What? I bring ‘em in alive. Sometimes.”

  “And you will this time.”

  The door through which Jean had entered opened, and in walked her fellow agent, Jamie Stanton.

  Jamie was a blonde, about five-eight, curvy – and absolutely wicked with a blade. Jean had gone to school with her, and had worked some cases with her early on, so she knew her well enough that she knew they could pull off a switch.

  “Hey, James,” said Jean. She’d called her that since college.

  “S’up, Jean.”

  “You both ready for this?” asked Worley.

  They both nodded.

  Jean had seen this done a hundred times or more, and done it once herself as part of her training for the Association, but had never actually undergone the procedure for a case.

  Worley entered some commands on the computer, and a circular area in the floor began to raise up slowly with a deep hum that gently vibrated the floor. A fine mist started to rise from the floor around the base of the platform. The sides of the circle stopped rising at about three feet, and the center part continued until it reached about five feet high.

  Each side looked like a hospital bed, and the center was a sort of grass-covered mound, upon which lay a naked woman Jean knew was named Q’Tal. She was an organic android with an exposed, bio-mechanical brain. Jean had never been briefed on Q’Tal’s origin, and part of her didn’t want to know. The strange creature appeared to be asleep, but Jean knew that her mind – or whatever that thing was in her clear skull – was processing fifty exabytes of data per second.

  “Go ahead, ladies, lay down,” said Worley. “Relax, close your eyes, and be prepared to feel – uh – well, very weird.”

  That was reassuring.

  Jean and Jamie both sat on the beds, one on each side of Q’Tal, and swung their feet up then laid down.

  Within moments, a blue glow appeared around Q’Tal’s head, and little vines sprung forth from her fingertips, growing so fast they looked like time-lapse video of ivy climbing the side of a house. The vines crept down and wrapped themselves around the head of each woman, blindfolding them, constricting them - not too tight, not too loose – leaving room to breathe. Then the tendrils snaked into their nostrils and ears – a very uncomfortable sensation.

  Jean suddenly felt so dizzy she was nauseated. In the darkness, her head swirled and spun. For a moment, she thought she could see herself, from above, her head wrapped in green strands of organic material.

  Then all she could see was a blue glow – bright, in all directions – and she heard an echoing voice saying words she couldn’t understand.

  And then she passed out.

  #

  She woke up with a jackhammer headache.

  She was no longer in the Switch Chamber. Standard protocol had her moved to her private office to recuperate. Even though she knew this, she still felt disoriented like a patient waking up in post-op.

  The Association had learned that an operative seeing their own body with someone else in it immediately upon switching could have a shock factor, and it was better to ease them into it by having them examine their new reality – their new body – before having contact with their switch counterpart.

  Jean slowly sat up.

  “Here, drink some water,” said Worley, who’d been standing by the door watching over her. “It’s important to stay well-hydrated for the ne
xt twenty-four hours.”

  He handed her a glass and she took it.

  The first thing she noticed was her hand.

  It wasn’t hers.

  No real surprise there – but it still felt bizarre to see someone else’s hand under her control.

  She downed the whole glass, then carefully stood and walked to a full-length mirror. The body in which she now moved felt different, responded differently – like driving someone else’s car. Jamie’s body was a tiny bit taller than Jean’s, and the small difference seemed somehow amplified – like when you step off a one-inch step you didn’t know was there, and it totally throws you off balance.

  “How do you feel?” asked Worley.

  “Fine,” said Jean, noting how odd it sounded for Jamie’s voice to be speaking her words. “I’ll get used to it.”

  “It usually takes a couple hours for mobility, a day or so for complete dexterity, and up to two weeks psychologically,” said Worley. “But you’ll be fine. And this way, you’ll be safe. You’re no longer compromised and you can get on with the case.”

  Jean moved close to the mirror and looked in her own eyes – but not her eyes. So strange. She knew she was in there, somewhere. She could feel herself inside this body.

  “Oh,” added Worley, “try to take good care of that body. Jamie does want it back, you know.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Sure. Let’s go talk to her. You’ll need to do a debrief before continuing anyway. You’re going to be living her life – you should know something about it.”

  “And vice versa,” said Jean.

  “Well, yeah,” said Worley. “Though she’ll pretty much be laying low until the case is closed. That body – that identity - is still a target.”

  “Right.”

  Worley escorted Jean down the corridor to another private office, and knocked.

  “Come in,” Jean heard her own voice reply through the door.

  Worley opened the door and Jean and Jamie just stood there and stared at each other for a few silent moments.

  “Come on,” said Worley, “let’s get down to business, there’s no time to waste.”

  They sat down across from each other on a set of low, brown leather couches separated by a glass-topped coffee table, and exchanged the basics of their private lives, so they could more easily fit into their cover roles. They’d been fairly good friends in the past, but they hadn’t caught up for several months.

  “You’re engaged?” asked Jean, some alarm mixed in with her happiness for Jamie. She didn’t want to have to deal with that.

  “Well, yeah,” said Jamie, using Jean’s lips. “We just set a date last week – the wedding is in three months.” She turned to Worley. “And by the way, this case better be wrapped up by then because I do not want Jean in Gavin’s bed on my honeymoon! No offense, Jean.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Worley, “I’m sure everything will be wrapped by then, and the two of you will be back in your own bodies.”

  “Good,” said Jean, relieved.

  “Now listen,” said Worley. “It is absolutely critical that you not reveal to anyone that you’ve been switched. The only people who know are the three of us, my immediate supervisor, and of course Q’Tal. There can be no breaches of security here. It is vital to this case and to the continuing mission of the Association. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” the operatives said together.

  “All right, then,” said Worley, standing up. “Jean, it’s time to pick up the trail of our man David Talley. His last known location was a plastic surgeon in San Mateo. We’re certain he’s changed his appearance. You need to lean on the surgeon to provide you the after pictures, and go from there.”

  “Okay,” said Jean. “Jamie, I’ll need your purse, your keys, and some of your clothes. And I’ll give you mine.”

  #

  Jean changed into one of Jamie’s outfits – a sleeveless peach-colored hoody dress – and made her way out of Six Below to the parking lot and found Jamie’s midnight blue Jaguar XJ220, opened the door and slid into the leather bucket seat.

  Nice ride.

  She was about to start it up when Jamie’s cell, in Jamie’s purse, started ringing.

  She picked it up and looked at the ID – Gavin. She sighed and answered it.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey honey. I just wanted to remind you of our date tonight.”

  “Uh, date?”

  “I knew you’d forget. We can’t miss this – it’s the annual firefighters fundraiser. We have obligations, you know?”

  Jean rolled her eyes. “Fine – I mean, sorry I forgot – I just have a lot on my mind right now. Will you pick me up at my place?”

  “Six thirty.”

  “’Kay, bye.”

  Great. A date with Jamie’s fiancée.

  Jean started up the car, its V6 twin turbo growling behind her shoulders and gently vibrating the seat. The pitch of the motor’s humming briefly made her flashback to the Switch Chamber. She shook her head to clear her mind, put it in gear, and took off with spinning tires.

  San Mateo was a short ride in mid-afternoon traffic in a car that could do ninety in second gear.

  She found the offices of Frehley, Chin, and Dexter, Cosmetic Surgery, and parked in the back.

  She entered the reception area and was greeted by the young Asian girl at the desk. “Hello, Miss Stanton.”

  Jean was surprised that she was known here, and wanted to know what it meant. For now, she’d use the familiarity to her advantage.

  “Hey there, how’s it going Lisa.” Jean had read the name tag.

  “You want to see Dr. Frehley?”

  “Of course. Sorry I don’t have an appointment.”

  Lisa laughed. “Funny. I’ll give him a call – go ahead and go on back.”

  Things were getting stranger by the minute.

  Jean walked through a door into the back offices, and before she could figure out where to go, she found herself facing a man in a white coat, in his mid-forties or younger, with thick blond hair and smooth, tan skin. He looked like a surfer dude playing a doctor in a soap opera.

  “Jamie, what brings you here?”

  “Actually, I had a question for you.”

  “Come into my office,” he said, stepping through a door marked Dr. Frehley.

  At least she had the right guy.

  “Well,” she said, sitting down when he did, “I was wondering if I could see some of your before-and-after pictures.”

  He chuckled. “Planning on getting some work done?” Then he shocked Jean by placing his hand on her bare knee. “You know you don’t need it, honey. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

  Jean faked a smile. “No, silly – I just want to check out your latest work.”

  “Oh – you mean that guy you sent me? The one who wanted no records of his visit kept?”

  “Yeah, that guy. Hey, I appreciate the favor you did, by the way,” she said, playing along.

  “Anything for you, babe. Well, I had Lisa destroy all the records, but I sure wasn’t going to delete the images – I did fantastic work on that guy, and kept the pics for my portfolio.”

  “Ooh, can I see?” asked Jean.

  “Sure.” He swiveled his chair to face his laptop and pulled up a folder full of images. “Check it out,” he said, handing the laptop over to Jean.

  David Talley. Before and after.

  “Nice work,” said Jean.

  “Hey, I gotta go suck fat, Jamie,” said Frehley. “I have someone waiting for me on the table. I’ll see you tonight?”

  Uh, no.

  “Can’t. I’m previously engaged.”

  Frehley barked out a laugh. “Ha! That’s good. Fine, call me tomorrow. Bye.”

  He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Jean was glad it was only on the cheek.

  “Bye.”

  Frehley left her alone in his office.


  Jean copied the images of Talley to a flash drive, then found her way out of the office and got back in the car. As much as she liked the car, she was starting to gain a distinct dislike for its owner.

  #

  She returned to Jamie’s apartment in Palo Alto and contacted Worley.

  “We may have a problem,” said Jean. “I think Jamie may be a double agent.”

  “No way,” said Worley. “She’s clean. Why you say that?”

  “Because she got Talley his new face.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “So, do you know what he looks like now?” asked Worley.

  “Yes. What are you gonna do about Jamie?”

  “Nothing yet. If she’s dirty, I’d rather watch and see what she does.”

  “Fair enough,” said Jean. “But she better not harm my body.”

  She hung up and started searching Jamie’s apartment for any clues that could shed some light on this unexpected connection to her case.

  She found nothing out of the ordinary.

  So, she went through her closet to find an outfit for tonight, and slipped into a couple of different evening gowns before settling on a slinky blue number with spaghetti straps. She found some spike-heeled shoes that matched, put her hair up and did her makeup. The next thing she knew, Gavin was at the door.

  “Wow,” he said when she opened the door. “You look – uh – you look -” he shook his head, looking her up and down. “You look amazing.”

  Jean felt self-conscious, even though it wasn’t her body he was ogling. “Thanks,” she smiled.

  He reached out his hand, she extended hers, and he took it, then pulled her close and gave her a long kiss on the lips.

  She pulled away. “Hey, you’ll smear my lipstick.”

  He wiped at his lips and looked at his fingers, smirking. “Oops. Come on, let’s go.”

  They went downstairs and climbed into his white 2009 Dodge Challenger.

  They made it most of the way to the Hotel Sofitel, a beautiful location right on the Bay, without speaking a word.

  “You’re awfully quiet, Jamie,” said Gavin. “Everything all right?”

  Jean tugged her dress down across her knees. “Just a lot on my mind. Sorry, honey, I’m just not much fun tonight, am I?”