Chapter #17Valentine's Date by: Seuzz   "This one," you say, as you show the professor the photograph of "Kali Valentine." "You say she's a teacher. Does she have any students now?"
"Two," he replies. "Possibly three, but only two are, erm, 'under her care' at the moment."
"What does that mean, 'under her care'?"
"Living with her." His lips twist. "Where else would they be, if she is training them?"
That should be an argument against using her as your infiltration point. But you see a way of turning it into an advantage.
"You want me doing this alone?" you ask.
The professor frowns. "You will have support nearby, in case—"
"I mean, am I the only one doing an ... infiltration?"
The professor's eyebrows arch.
"As I say," he says, "we hope you will be able to secure others for us at some point—"
"Because if she's got two students with her"—you tap the photograph—"that's two more infiltrations we can make. Three, if the other kid shows up again."
The professor's expression tightens.
"True," he says. "But they are not exactly the type we—"
"Then," you interrupt. "If another Stellae came along—one that's the type you want—I could move one of our guys out of his kid and into the new one."
Again, the professor's eyebrows arch. But this time he looks impressed, even as he asks, "And what would you do with the ... student ... that you moved your colleague out of?"
"You'd send me out another agent, and I'd put him in. Keep 'em stocked for when someone else comes out to visit."
The professor leans back in his chair, and a faint smile plays on his lips.
"That is a clever notion, Will," he says. "Yes, I can see the advantages—"
"Then let's do it that way." You toss the photographs back to him, and he scrambles to catch them. "How soon can we set it up?"
* * * * *
The apartment is smelling faintly (and deliciously!) of fresh ginger, and the air is crackling with the appetizing sizzle of frying beef, when the door opens and Gabriel comes in.
"Guess who brought a little surprise home with him!" he sings out. He dimples at you as he swings toward the kitchen. From the narrow brown sack in his hand he extracts a dark wine bottle.
You follow him, stopping to lean against the kitchen doorway, and watching as he sidles up to his husband. But Daniel is too concentrated on chopping vegetables to look up, until Gabriel waggles the bottle practically under his nose.
Even from across the wide kitchen you can see Daniel's nostrils flare.
"A merlot," he sniffs. "Lovely. Did you time-travel to twelve years ago, when they were still the fashion?"
Gabriel stiffens. "What's wrong with—? It's a good bottle, I paid a hundred and fifty—"
"I'll open it the next time we run out of cough syrup. Look what I'm fixing, Gabriel!" Daniel pushes him aside to lunge at the refrigerator. "You should have gotten a Gewurztraminer, a Gruner Veltliner, or— oh God, a Riesling, for Chrissakes!"
Gabriel glances back at you, and rolls his eyes.
"He always gets like this when company's coming over," he says as he sets the bottle down with rather more force than is called for. "Well, I'm sorry I didn't call your personal sommelier for a recommendation before—"
"You could have called me!" From the pantry Daniel takes a colander, and shoves it and a bag of green beans at Gabriel. "Here, start prepping these while I finish everything else. Lisa?" He glances at you. "You wanna open the bottle my helpmeet so thoughtfully—"
"Are you going to be like this at the table?" Gabriel's eyes flash.
"Calm down, both you queens," you snap, and advance to grab the wine bottle. "We'll pass it on to our real guest of honor."
"You're the one always telling us to keep in character," Daniel grumbles behind your back as you stalk off.
In character. Is that what it is? To your eye it looks a lot more like nerves. Because that's what you've got a bad case of. Nerves.
It's been seven weeks since that first meeting with the professor (with subsequent follow-up meetings to discuss contingencies and details). Five weeks since the point of contact was identified and secured. And one week since Kali Valentine accepted an invitation to dinner from her neighbors, Daniel Liang and Gabriel Castillo.
They all live in a Los Angeles luxury sky-rise. Gabriel, mid-thirties, is a newly minted senior vice president at Olive Tree Capital; and Daniel, late-twenties, is a fearsome "managing agent" at Enterprising Artists Agency, where he helps wrangle the talent in the highly popular "Crusader Cinematic Universe." Gabriel is trim, but there is something bearlike about his warm, olive-tan skin tones, his stubble, the dad-like energy in his grin. Daniel, with his feline features and sleek, swimmer's build, vibrates with a nervous energy.
The original plan—once it had been decided to seize their apartment for its proximity to the target's—had been to infiltrate one or the other with a Diana agent, then vacate the premises so that other agents could take their apartment. You suggested instead that the new equipment be tested on them, and that they be used as another "bank" through a rotating set of agents could be slowly filtered into the Stellae.
And so when Gabriel was drawn to London with an offer to manage a Fane-owned wealth management firm, he was knocked out, shoved inside the new machine, and had his soul (or P3, as Hyde-White and the "elves" who run the machinery would put it) sucked out of him; Muniz's soul was slid in instead. The newly recruited Gabriel Castillo then got his husband to jet out, ostensibly to talk about Fane's offer, but in reality to make another soul-swap. So it's now Cox driving around Daniel Liang's husk.
And you? Under an anonymous tat you've been living in a much cheaper apartment and playing a lot of solitaire while waiting for them to maneuver Kali Valentine into position for you.
It hasn't been easy. She's an architectural designer with a client list easily the equal of Daniel's. For three weeks after her neighbors got replaced she was out of town, and then for another week she politely declined all of their importunings to come to dinner.
But finally, tonight, she has agreed. Daniel promised her a home-cooked-by-him meal, but the deciding factor seems to have been the "date" that he said was the excuse for the dinner: a couple (he told her) that he and Gabriel have been trying to bring together. We don't want it to look too much like a set up, he said when he finally arranged another "chance meeting" with her in the hallway. So if we had a neighbor over—you, Kali, sweetheart?— She said she'd be delighted, and even agreed to play the part of the supposed "guest of honor" for Daniel and Gabriel, so that the actual guests—played by White and yourself—would not trip onto what is actually going on.
If it sounds byzantine, it is. So everyone is nervous about it coming off right.
You leave Daniel and Gabriel to bicker and steam in the kitchen, and drift into the living room, where White is picking out a series of chords on a grand piano.
"I didn't know you played," you say as you settle onto the corner of the bench with him.
"I thought you read all our dossiers when you hired us," he gruffly replies, and plays a quick riff of three jazzy chords.
"So it is you playing?" you reply. "It's not—?" You nudge him.
In his birthday suit, White is a big, black man with a lot of tattoos. He's still a big, black man, but the tattoos have vanished because it's the face and form of a different big, black man that he is sporting. Just as you are sporting the body of a plump red-head with thick, shoulder-length hair, and boobs, ass, and tummy that are a little too big for the green dress you've squeezed yourself in to.
"This is one of my old skins," he says, "from before we got the brainware."
"Why not a recent one?"
"Didn't see the point. I'm not supposed to be playing anyone in particular, right? Do you, uh, want me to change? I still could, we got—"
The doorbell chimes.
"No, you're right," you tell him as you get back to your feet. "The simple look's the best. Okay, places everyone!" you holler as Gabriel comes out of the kitchen. Dr. Plante—who brought the portable machine, and will be operating it on you, God willing, if things work out—peers out from the hallway. "I said 'places'," you snarl at him, and he ducks back into the guest bedroom.
"You there, me here." You point White to the cream-white sofa that sits in the middle of the living room. He hands you a glass of sparkling water—keeping the other for himself—and you relax with crossed legs onto the corner you claimed. He sits a few feet away, and you lean in to mime talking to each other as, from behind, you hear the sound of a door opening. You half turn to look.
Kali Valentine enters the apartment.
My God, you think. She's even more stunning in person.
And that is going to be me. You have the following choice:  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author