A/N: To be continued. Blaine is a secret agent gone AWOL with classified info under a new identity, after being fired from the National Security Agency. Kurt Hummel is the agent set on a mission to find him, get close to him, create a fake relationship, and then lure Blaine into trusting him so he can ultimately give him over to the authorities. But, will Kurt end up creating a relationship that is all too real? Will it get in the way of his mission? AU, and will end up being rated M in later chapters
"Yes. Yes, Blaine Anderson. I think it's best if we let him go. His performance is usually top notch, but recently it's been mediocre at best, considering his 3 failed missions. It's time."
Blaine listened through the wall as the top supervisor at the National Security Agency considered his file on the phone in his private office. Neck clenched, and hands pressed against the wall, Blaine inhaled sharply as he realized what he was hearing in the one-sided phone exchange. Standing with his body pressed against the nearly sound-proof wall, he cupped his hands around his ear and pressed it against the wall in order to get a better listening point.
"No, I agree, it's definitely better if he goes. Okay, it's decided. Thank you for your time. Alright, talk to you later, good-bye.
Blaine heard the sound of the phone being returned to its cradle, and the scratch of pen on paper. A sigh. A chair being pushed back from a desk, and footsteps coming towards him. Blaine's heart quickened at the approaching supervisor and the realization that he was indefinitely losing his high-placement job at a top security agency. His fists clenched against the wall he was leaning up against and his eyebrows scrunched together. He was done. He quickly walked away towards the exit of the penthouse hallway, organizing his thoughts and pursing his lips.
Scratching absently at his arm as he cracked his head from side to side, Blaine let out an impatient breath. His lips twitched upwards as he gazed up at the chilly chamber he'd just entered, located in the enormous penthouse suite that housed the headquarters of the National Security Agency. Out of habit, he glanced over at the screen on the wall next to him, the one which used to identify the agents entering the covert chamber. The screen was dark, blank and smashed, shards of broken glass littering the floor under his feet. He let the brick in his hand drop to the floor, the sound echoing around the concrete walls.
Blaine crouched down beside the fallen brick, being careful not to lean down on the fragments of broken glass. Leaning forward on his toes, Blaine slid his hand behind the convex identification screen, feeling around the damage until he felt the spherical surface of a round light bulb.
Peering into the crack in the screen, he observed that a single red dot of light stayed constant through the damage that Blaine had caused, indicating the computer was still active despite the broken screen. Fuck. Blaine clenched his fists in frustration, as he realized he would have to identify himself to the computer in order to gain access to the top level of the chamber, accessible by elevator only, which was located behind the two extremely strong metal doors in front of him.
He raised himself from his crouching position, standing straight up, and crossing his arms over his chest. He considered his options. Leave, and abort the entire plan. Stay, and reveal to the agency that would let him go in a few days, that he was stealing back the classified information he had once supplied them. He chewed on his bottom lip and blinked hard, breathing in roughly through his nose. He'd made up his choice. He leaned towards the debris and pressed the manual identification button beside the now ruined screen. He figured that since he wasn't technically fired that his name and identity would still be in the system.
A crackling noise sounded out from the speaker, the familiar voice of the robotic identification system taking place of the buzz after a few moments.
"Identify yourself."
"Blaine Anderson."
The familiar crackling system returned, stuttering through the speakers, until it was replaced by a short beeping noise, and then silence. The wall beside the cracked screen opened up, revealing a tiny camera lens, and a touch sensitive screen below it.
"Welcome Agent Number 304. Please supply your identification card and lean forward towards the red scanner for print and eye analysis."
Blaine walked towards the lens, and hesitated, before holding up his passkey to it. Holding it up would mean sure identification when they looked at the history of members entering the chamber. He swallowed hard. He had to do it. He lifted his hand with the tiny key up to the lens, allowing the computer to analyze the numbers written on it.
Placing his other hand on the touch screen below the lens, he pressed the pads of his fingers firmly onto it, watching as his prints were scanned with a bright light, flashing in a single ray underneath them. As the light ray ceased moving, he bowed his head, and leaned his eyes in toward the camera lens, widening them for detection. The female robotic voice came from behind him now, blaring from the speakers behind the heavy metal doors.
"Agent 304 identified as Blaine Anderson. Access to head chamber initiated."
The metal doors clicked open behind him, and silently swung open towards him as the air seal released. Blaine turned away from the lens and touch screen as they moved back into the wall, disappearing behind the plaster.
Blaine entered the steel elevator, heart beating through his chest as the doors swung back to their previous closed position. He looked at the buttons next to the door, numbered, one until fifty-one. He pressed the highest number, and watched it light up as the elevator started up and began to move up the shaft. As the elevator swiftly passed each floor, a lighter, cheerier voice announced each level of the chamber.
"Level 1: Financial and Personal Records."
"Level 2: Biological Samples."
Until finally, "Level 51: High Priority Classified Information."
The elevator stopped smoothly, and the heavy doors swung open revealing a small room. Blaine exited, and walked directly to the single computer in the middle of the tiny room at the top of the information chamber. He paused in front of it, watching the screensaver, a floating image of the NSA logo. He bent down in front of the desk, and moved the mouse, exiting the screensaver mode and bringing up a log-on page that required a username and password. He hummed to himself as he entered his credentials, now committed to memory after many years of use, and pressed the enter key.
The computer whirred into action, the basic log-on screen disappearing, and a single unnamed file folder coming into view on the desktop. He double-clicked the folder, and watched as the entire database of classified information was supplied in front of him, taking several minutes to compile. Using the search tool, he quickly located all case files with information supplied by him—all his years of work.
Inserting his flash drive USB key into the slot, he copied all the files onto the stick, tapping his finger impatiently as the information loaded itself onto the key. When the USB stick stopped flashing, indicating that the copying was finished, he opened up the Command Prompt on the system, and typed in several lines of code, deleting the copies of the information left on the desktop, and removing all traces of his indiscretion. Quickly logging off the system, he pulled the USB key from the slot, and held it in his hand, staring at the tiny vessel of information that held some of the nation's most classified information. He smiled to himself, shaking his head.
"Jackpot."