AUTHOR: Ardeth Saunders [a.k.a, Cruecial 411]
RATING: R [Language, violence, sexual situations]
SUMMARY: A former partner who wants revenge on Donovan and his fiancée exposes his 'other life' before taking command of the SOG.
GENRE: Drama and angst.
DISCLAIMER: UC: Undercover and its cast of characters belong to the writers, creators, NBC, and a dozen others. NO infringement intended. All other original characters belong solely to the sick, twisted, and vivid imagination of the author.
A/N: This is an alternate UC universe. This story may stray here and there from the show's original intent with regard to Donovan's past, why he left the CIA, etc. Readers may find several inconsistencies. This is simply an experiment in the making. RnR if you please!
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THE BEGINNING OF THE END Early 1998Chase Martel hid in the growing gloom. The darkness was perfect for him. After all, he was dressed from head to toe in black clothing. He brought up a set of night vision goggles and affixed them to his head. They were ridiculous things, but if one had to do night moves, they were a necessity. In the distance, he could make out the figure of a woman. He snarled and spat. When she first came into the agency, the superiors saw fit to put her in his group. She was a hotdog, or at least thought she was. She tried to outdo everyone in his squad and didn't mind to cheat, lie, and steal to get where she wanted to go. Currently, she was kissing the ass of several other agents and a few of them were the upper brass. Ungrateful bitch. I hate her. He hadn't necessarily given her a start, nor had he been partnered with her at any time, but she didn't mind shoving his face in the dirt to get past him. He sighed and waited patiently to move. The perpetual ass kisser had secured lead over the operation when she clearly didn't know what she was doing. He hated relying on someone so far beneath him in experience to bring them around. Kira Grant. It was a name he would never forget, a name he would try to drive away for years to come until she decided to haunt him again.
Kira Grant waited for the all clear before she called out to her fellow agents. She knew that Martel, Malone, Shelby, and Glenn were on standby. They were staking out an underground storage shed owned and operated by a group of terrorists. Of course, Grant had conveniently forgotten to share with her fellow ops what the real deal was. She wanted to send Martel in first, because he presented the greatest threat to her and her status in the agency. If he screwed up on purpose, he would face disciplinary action and perhaps expulsion. She was ready for that and had championed it in fact. She watched the men milling about. Sooner or later, she would call the troops in. Martel's job was easy enough. He was to storm into the building, take out as many bad guys as possible, and then seize the evidence. Yet, there was that little thing Grant had forgotten to mention to Martel. This building was actually the wrong one. It was owned and operated by the CIA as a dummy set up. Of course, the other agents knew nothing of this, since only the leads were told the true locations of any seizure of this size and nature. Grant had ensured that her name was kept off the list. Lead op for this mission was none other than Chase Martel himself. None of the paperwork mentioned Kira Grant by name. If anyone died tonight, it would be the CIA's own agents. Kiss my ass, Martel. Kiss my ass and like it.
Martel and the other agents heard Grant's commands to move out. Martel was the lead man, just as Grant had planned. Almost immediately, he was confronted with armed men who hesitated to shoot back. It didn't stop Martel or the others. They began plowing down bodies as if they were weeds in a cotton row. The next command Martel heard in his ear was to set the bombs and then move out. Although he hated Grant, he did as he was instructed. Not once did he bother checking out the identities of the men they killed. It didn't matter. They were sent in, they did the job, and now it was time to get the hell out. Martel set the bombs in strategic locations around the building and synchronized the timers. They had about thirty seconds to get out with their lives. With a stern shout [GET OUT], Martel and the others moved out and had barely gotten under cover before the building blew sky high. As he watched the flames shoot up and up, Martel grew sicker and sicker. This was one aspect of the job he hated most of all. It didn't sit well with him and he wanted out of this. He had no idea he would get out, but not the way he expected.
That night, Martel returned to camp. He and a few others were forced to sleep out in tents as if they were desert dwellers. In any other location in any other part of the country, it might have been nice. However, out here, there were bugs completely immune to every insecticide in the country. No matter how much he used, he was covered in itchy welts from head to foot. The first few weeks had been a nightmare. But now, it was normal, and he rarely flinched when bitten. Not necessarily a prolific writer, Martel kept a journal. Each night, he would write something down in it that expressed whatever was running through his mind. Tonight, he had written only a few words: blood, smoke, and fire. He closed the journal and tossed it over to the gunny sack that held a few articles of his clothing and other possessions. He leaned back, but couldn't sleep. The night's work weighed heavily on his chest and mind. What had they done? What sense did it make? It mattered little right now. There were other nights ahead that would mirror tonight. He fell into a fitful sleep, broken by dreams of men hesitating to open fire on them.
While Martel lamented over his night's work, Grant sat in her tent reading by weak lantern light. Whenever she thought of what transpired tonight, she laughed a little. Martel hadn't even suspected that the facility was CIA based. What an idiot he was. She glanced over the paperwork and computer program for the night's work. She rigged the computer and erased every shred of evidence pointing her way. She input Martel's name and added the other agents. Tomorrow morning, one CIA director was going to be very pissed. She wondered how long it would take to send Martel back home? Grant leaned back in her own tent and listened to the sounds of a sleeping camp around her. She wanted to be wide-awake when Martel was handed his walking papers. It would be a wonderful sight to see.
It wasn't yet dawn when Martel rose. He normally awoke before the others so he could shower and shave without waiting for an hour. The camp around him was still silent and he relished the quiet. He spent a major portion of his life alone, but it never bothered him. However, he was already sick of this shit and longed to do something else, something not so damn covert in nature. Shrugging off the disturbing thoughts, Martel continued onward toward the primitive facilities. He stood under the tepid spray of water from the weak shower and allowed it to cut through the grime from the night before. He wondered what gruesome activities were planned for this evening.
As soon as Martel returned to camp, others were rising and making their daily sojourns to the facilities. However, there was activity coming from the main tent, which served as the base operations. He heard the low voices of Kira Grant and Director Dubois. He was tempted to step over and eavesdrop. He didn't trust the bitch. Since they joined, they had been competing in some form or another. Martel seemed to outdo Grant in almost every facet of the agency and it pissed her off. Of course, he didn't give a shit. He drew great enjoyment from beating her at her own game. The job wasn't about competition, but Grant never understood that. She had never wanted to. Resisting the temptation to listen in, he moved back toward his tent to make ready for the briefings that would last all damn day. He had barely gotten his pants on when the tent flap flew open. His eyes beheld the butt ugly jet-black head of Kira Grant. Her eyes were fixed on him in their usual 'you're a bastard' gaze.
"Martel," she said gruffly, all business, as if she owned the world. "Dubois wants to see you right now."
"Get the fuck out of my tent," he growled, "and tell him I'll be there in five minutes."
It wasn't a rare occasion for Dubois to call him in for a meeting. It happened frequently, but something about Grant's gaze irked the shit out of him. He felt as if he was walking to his own death. When he approached the base tent, he saw that several people were awaiting him, including the other guys that were with him last night, along with Grant and Dubois. What the hell was this? Dubois didn't look very happy to see them, either. What problem would they have with him now? They had gone out to the location, taken out all the bad guys, and blew the building sky high. What else was there? Did Dubois want to throw them a party?
"What is this," Martel asked stiffly.
"Agent Martel, I would think that after what you and your colleagues did last night, your tone would be slightly different," Dubois said. "Agent Grant brought something to our attention this morning. The facility you stormed and obliterated was a dummy CIA operation. The men you killed were fellow agents. Basically, you declared war on our own."
Martel stared at Dubois as if he had lost his mind. What the hell was he talking about? He didn't have charge over any damn mission. It was given to Grant. She was the one who led them out to the location. They stormed it upon her request. Remember, Martel, they hesitated to draw on you. Remember how odd you thought that was? Well, now you know. Before he responded to Dubois, he fixed his eyes on Grant's face and stared at her darkly. She was grinning smugly, trying desperately to hide it. "Sir, I can assure you that I didn't have charge of the mission. If you'll look, the responsible party is standing right beside you."
Dubois nodded vaguely. "Your colleagues have corroborated that story, Agent Martel. However, the docket and computer do not lie. Agent Grant's name is nowhere to be found on any of this. The only name I see as lead operative is Chase Martel. Care to explain why you're pointing the finger at Grant? It's obvious who had charge. I have made contact with the vice-president and we are trying to decide what action to take next. From the looks of it, all of you will face disciplinary action, and perhaps criminal charges."
Martel knew that Dubois was a stubborn man. He could make no further arguments. It was clear whom he believed. He focused his eyes on Grant again. Her smile had yet to fade and she was fighting her laughter with everything she had in her. The worse part, the scariest part, was that Dubois was implying that Martel and the other agents had opened fire on their own men intentionally. So much for laying all your trust in the lead op. Never again, you fucking skank. How in the hell could he get out of this? He would find a way. Chase Martel was patient and quite persistent. He didn't stay down for long. Have your fun now, Agent Grant. You have yet to see the last of me.
Long after Martel and his buddies were gone, Kira Grant slept comfortably in her tent. Dubois would force the men to meet the vice-president and have a huge complicated hearing. For now, the man she hated more than life itself was out of her hair. He had been suspended pending an investigation. What was it about Martel that pissed her off? The two of them had been recruited at about the same time and had gone to training together. Grant was a competitive young lady and she wanted to be the best at everything. She actually believed she deserved to be the best. However, it appeared that she would only be second best. Chase Martel entered the picture, beating her at everything under the sun. She couldn't best the bastard no matter what task they were facing. He wasn't smug about it, but Grant had never been a graceful loser. What else was there? How else could she beat him? Her only way, of course, was through cheating and underhandedness. She cut him whenever she got the chance. Grant was wily enough and a good liar. She could convince Jesus that she was a born again Christian while seducing the hell out of Satan at the same time. Once she and Martel received their first assignments, Grant sabotaged Martel at every juncture. Most of the time, he rebounded quickly and brought himself back up to his feet. This time, he wasn't so lucky. Her latest scheme was the most elaborate and the most satisfying of them all. Martel would leave and she would receive the glory, working and cheating her way into Dubois' position. As she thought of her victory, she smiled a little, and was finally lulled to sleep.
He slipped into camp after all was quiet. He had been ordered away, but he had one more mission to complete before he left for good. He found Grant's tent easily enough. He drew his face into a snarl and listened to her breathing easily. She had ruined his life and it wasn't fair that she had such peace while he was tormented, not only by what he had to do day by day, but also from the simple fact that she had purposely put him in a situation he could not control.
Kira Grant awoke when she felt hands encircling her throat. She had only felt this one time in her life, but would never forget it. Someone was trying to strangle her. She opened her eyes and looked up in the face of Chase Martel. He had returned to kill her. Actually, he wasn't using enough pressure to kill her. He was trained well and knew a hundred different ways to kill a man or a woman with his bare hands. He wanted to put the fear of God into her and transmit as much pain as she had given out. Grant struggled beneath him, but he outweighed her and had an advantage. Every few seconds, he increased the pressure, just to scare the piss out of her, and he knew it was working. He saw it in her eyes. I don't want to kill her, I just want to fucking scare her too death. Of course, his fun was short-lived. He snarled again as he was pulled off her a few minutes later. He didn't care what they did to him. After all, what did he have to lose now?
Two days later, Chase Martel sat before Director Dubois. The director had just spoken to the vice-president who had thoroughly reviewed Martel's records. Now, Dubois was looking over them again. Other than the two incidents previous, Martel's record was spotless. He had been a top recruit, almost damn perfect, but had a few character flaws here and there. However, there hadn't been anything major until this slip. Not only had he made a grave mistake, but he'd also attacked a fellow agent. She was so shaken by the event that she had requested a leave of absence. What to do with Martel? Honestly, he didn't want to throw Martel out, but he also didn't just want to slap his wrist and let him go as if he had done nothing. There was some type of mental break in the making, and Dubois wasn't surprised. The CIA was an unforgiving agency that had little conscious for its deeds. The answer came to Dubois almost like the harking of an angel. Martel wasn't cut out to solely take lives. He was stoic, but had heart.
Dubois fixed his eyes on Martel. The young man literally looked like crap. He hadn't shaved in a few days and there were very dark circles beneath his eyes. It appeared as if he hadn't slept in several days. "Agent Martel, how would you feel about a vacation and then a transfer," he asked.
"What do you mean," he asked.
"I'm offering you an alternative to permanent dismissal. You have had a slight break from reality and I think a few weeks would do you some good. However, I don't want to see your talents wasted because of a few misguided deeds. Take a month or two and then I can arrange for a transfer. You won't see Kira Grant again."
Martel wanted to laugh in his face. A few days ago, the agency was ready to strap him into the electric chair. Today, they wanted to give him an extended vacation and then a new job? None of this made sense. He was perfectly sane, but often wondered if the world around him was. "The part where I'd never see Grant again sounds quite attractive. But what about the rest? How is that going to work? Former ops have issues with outside society, Director Dubois. You know that."
Dubois nodded. "I understand," he said. "I can clean up everything for you, every blotch, mark, and streak. As far as the outside world is concerned, you were never disciplined for any deeds that you've done. We can also set you up with a different identity and give you your choice of assignments. When Agent Grant returns, she will be sent another way."
Martel sat back and considered it. A new life and identity? It sounded too good to be true. Perhaps if he released his hold on the CIA, Kira Grant would give up on him and find another victim to terrorize. Another part of him wanted to throw the deal into Dubois' face. He had been let down by an agency he respected. They took the word of a two faced dragon over his. Then again, why would the director offer such a deal if he wholeheartedly believed Grant? Covering your ass, Director Dubois? "I don't want to live in D.C. It's much too close to headquarters and her. If you also agree to relocate me, consider the deal made and agreed upon. If not, send me on to whatever punishment you have set aside."
"We can do that. Consider this a redemption, Martel."
A redemption? He doesn't have any idea what he's talking about. I'm not sure who the ass kisser is, you or her. Instead of speaking, he nodded. "Very well."
"I'll move the paperwork immediately."
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She fell back to the bed in a dead pant. Her partner breathed heavily beside her. He was her boss and one lousy lover. However, Kira Grant couldn't get her way if she didn't offer herself to Dubois on a partial basis. It was one in a dozen ways that she had obtained privileged information and equipment. These jaunts had given her access to the programs that helped set up Martel.
"You are one delicious morsel," Dubois said as his hand ran along the inside of her thigh.
She smiled sweetly. I'd like to put your dick on a hard press and squash it flat. Do you think you do anything for me? "Not as delicious as you," she sighed. She turned to her stomach and began to gently caress his flaccid penis. It didn't take long for it to get perky again. "I'm so glad you got rid of Martel, baby. The guy gave me the creeps."
"Hmm," he grunted when she flicked her tongue over the tip of him. "Yeah, he's gone."
At this, she smiled. "Good." Her mouth enveloped him. When he was at his peak and his erection hard and throbbing, she withdrew. "What did you do to him? Where did he go," she asked sweetly.
He groaned in aggravation. She was a damn tease. "On vacation," he mumbled. "Vacation and then on to something else." He moaned. "Please Kira…get back to it."
"In a moment, lover," she said. "He isn't being disciplined?"
"No, but we sent him away."
He tangled his hand into her hair and brought her head back down. She had started this and she would finish it, of course, but she was highly displeased. Long after the disgusting son-of-a-bitch came and passed out beside her, Grant stayed awake for hours. Wherever he went, she'd find him. He didn't deserve a break or a new life. If she couldn't have one, no one could.
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To be continued…