Tasha steered her car out of its parking space, and drove out onto the road. The warmth from the coffee still sent a glow through her. Or maybe it's not just the coffee… she thought.
He's not my type, first of all. And we're not very much alike. But those eyes….the way they lit up when he talked about travelling. His smile—there's a hint of a dimple…the way that lock of hair falls over his forehead, and wow, he's built very well. You can tell he works out. As well he should, but- wow.
Come on, she told herself, making sure she was staying on the road, you're not falling for a man this quickly. I can admire him without ever expecting anything more….Besides, I'm not quite healed from the last time, and I don't want to get involved with a co-worker, of all messy things. If he even wants me—
No, cut it out. She made a conscious effort to shut off her emotions; a commitment to remaining objective where he was concerned.
That doesn't mean I can't have a professional interest in the physical attributes of my partner…but it also means I don't make that an excuse to cross the line.
It's his mental attributes I should focus on, like whether he is holding up his part of the assignment. He has seniority, but there's still this boyish naivety about him. This sort of recklessness that's endearing, but also potentially dangerous. I have a feeling I'm going to have to be the more responsible member of this team, though I'm the one that's fresh out of training.
At her apartment, she parked in the street and got out. As she climbed the stairs, she glimpsed some cigarette butts on the steps, and cringed. No, it's not my duty to clean the apartment complex- I just have to pretend none of this is there. This is only temporary till I get my next few paychecks, then everything will be stable enough so I can move out of this crummy neighborhood.
She unlocked her door, and shut it behind her, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of that dingy hallway. Still, she could hear muffled yells from one of the apartments below. And a baby crying.
No, I won't miss this place, she thought. I'll be glad to go on the mission just to have some peace and quiet at night. Not that I couldn't take care of myself if someone broke in. Her eyes drifted to the dresser drawer, where her gun was locked. She often debated whether to carry it with her; sometimes she did, but not today.
She set down her briefcase, and sat in the chair, pulling off her high heels. Mm, feels so much better. She rubbed her sore feet.
After shedding the rest of her work clothes, she pulled on some jeans and a light top. Then, barefoot, she set about making dinner, whipping up some pesto and setting some rotini on the stove.
One thing I didn't tell him I like to do, she thought, leaning on the island. The rather anomalous thing: cook. It helps me unwind and relax. Maybe I'll ask him over for a meal sometime. Professionally, of course.
The pasta done, she sat down at the round faux-wood table, bringing the assignment folder with, and read as she ate. Dry as the material was, she knew how to read between the lines. This sounds like a pretty interesting assignment, she thought, the more she read. Muldavia was a fascinating country; she'd known next to nothing about it before today.
It had united from warring tribes in the 11th century, and other than a brief rule by the Ottoman Turks, it had retained its sovereignty, despite its small size. In the 19th century, it was nearly annexed by the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but retained its fierce independence by fighting back. During World War II, it was neutral in the face of enormous pressure from both sides, although, it was discovered after the war, the King had had a secret policy that had led to smuggling thousands of Jews across the Austrian border.
There was a picture of King Roderick I. He cut an imposing figure; in his gold braid, sword at his side, he looked more like a monarch from the 19th century. According to the documents, he was as noble in actions as he was in appearance, and was a hero to his people.
His son had been a different story, wine and flying being his favorite activities. When his father died soon after the war, his illegitimate cousin, Erik Von Warberg, maneuvered to seize the crown. But, despite rumors his plane had crashed, the coronation had gone on without a snag, and King Roderick II had turned out to be as celebrated a king as his father.
His reign was short-lived, however. He had actually pardoned Von Warberg for attempting to assassinate him, but this act of mercy was lost on a man without conscience. Von Warberg had bided his time, and when the king put in place a few questionable policies, he used that as an excuse to take over with a small communist faction, and got what he wanted in the first place, killing the king, his wife and young son.
The country had been under communist rule ever since, and, although it copied the Soviet Union almost religiously at times, it still was strongly independent and nationalistic, believing it had the best people, the best products, the best art, on earth. It also had a cult of personality, both of Erik and now Karl Von Warberg, anyone questioning them amounting to treason. Though many people feared him, many almost worshipped him, believing he could do no wrong.
That's what happens when a country's as cut off from everything as it is, she thought, and with the Soviet Union as its big brother, no wonder it has a skewed perspective. It should be interesting to see what they think of us when we arrive, even though we're supposedly on their side.
Tasha washed out her dishes, and then read the rest of her assignment with the TV on in the background. Finally, she headed to bed.
For some reason, her thoughts kept drifting to Robert, her old boyfriend. Why am I even thinking about that no-good idiot? I should be over it.
Because he was perfect, at first. Tall, dark and serious (most of the time, with a deadpan sense of humor), he loved the things she loved. It had been a fairy-tale romance. They'd talked about marriage. Once, he'd taken her shopping and they'd half-facetiously looked at rings.
The worst part was, she'd never even noticed him drifting away. They were having as much fun as ever, when little hints started to pop up. She denied them at first, because of how happy she was. She didn't want to spoil it, especially if it was nothing.
One day, walking on campus, she'd seen him talking to another girl. As soon as she walked up, the girl went away, and there was something in Robert's face…
Finally the evidence piled up so much she confronted him about it. He blew up. He even accused her of cheating on him, of blaming him for her own guilt.
She'd slapped him. But he didn't just take it like a man. He slapped her back, threw her to the ground. He'd dragged her into his bedroom and locked her there, then sped away in his car.
She'd broken the window, climbed out, and never looked back. Although, sometimes, she found herself longing for his touch again….for things to go back the way they were. As they never would. She found herself having a hard time trusting other men; and now that she was starting her career, a romance would be adding one thing she didn't need, especially if, despite her caution, it got messy like the last time.
She cut off those thoughts, trying to go to sleep. Finally, pleasant darkness closed in on her mind.
In the dreamlike phase between sleeping and waking, Jason appeared before her. He smiled, reached out, touched her face—she leaned into the touch, lifted her face to his—
She shot up in the dark. Great. Is this what happens when my defenses are down? she wondered. I'm not really recovered from Robert, so I can't really trust what I'm feeling. I don't need anyone, especially not now. I need to focus on my mission. Be professional….
She lay back on the pillow, conjuring up the image of the shack on the Virginia beach where she'd spent her summers as a girl. The seagulls calling in the air, the waves lapping the sand, back and forth, back and forth….
Her thoughts temporarily free of intruders, she drifted off to sleep.
Jason lay back on his leather couch, plowing through the assignment. Why did they have to write these things like they were textbooks? For that matter, why did they have to write textbooks like they were textbooks? If it were up to me, I'd at least put some spark into the language…
Flipping through the photos, he came to the picture of the last king and stopped short. At first, he thought he was looking at a picture of his father when he was younger. Then he saw that he had a beard, and was, of course, wearing the uniform of royalty. The resemblance was striking; he had never seen someone look so alike to another, unless they were twins.
Shaking off that odd déjà vu-like feeling he had looking at the picture, he flipped to the last two, photos of Erik Von Warberg and his son, Karl. They were both rather unremarkable looking, except for the hint of cold determination in the eyes, the twist of cruelty in the mouth that the son had inherited from his father. There were even hints in the documentation that Karl may have had a hand in his father's rather untimely death….
These are the people we are up against, he thought. This is the country I am going into. A chill ran through him, knowing that in 48 hours, he'd be stepping into enemy territory.
His last few assignments had been setting up listening posts in countries that were allies: Britain, Italy. As much as he loved going to those countries, the missions had been brief. What Jason wanted, what he had trained for, was a deep cover mission. At least this was undercover, though he wouldn't be in it long.
I might as well throw my heart and soul into this, he thought. After what I gave up to be here- A twinge of sadness stabbed his heart, as he did whenever he thought of Gloria, though those moments were fading into bittersweet memory, as was his period of mourning after she had married someone else.
He let himself fall back into reminiscence, though he knew it might cost him to do so. Her name matched everything that she was. Long blonde hair, vivid blue eyes that sparked with delight or anger; an easy laugh, an infectious smile.
Gloria, sitting across from him studying, her eyes peering over her book with an irresistibly mischievous gaze….
Lying next to him on the hill above campus, munching on a bologna sandwich, a curl of blonde hair dangling over her face—how he'd longed to brush it back…
Running across the beach in the surf, her glistening form always ahead of him, boy could she run…
Standing on the Spanish Steps in Rome, she in a rare wistful mood, looking out over the city and its famed seven hills, a gust of wind blowing her hair about her shoulders—
He'd taken her in his arms and kissed her, and she'd kissed him back, and laughed…That was the moment he knew he loved her.
That summer, the summer of his post-grad World Tour Two, he would treasure forever. Nothing would invade it. No shadow of what was to come.
The day he got the letter, they'd just returned from the trip; they were both heavily tanned with sun-bleached hair, hers the color of white sand.
She hoisted herself up to the counter, taking a bite of a strawberry. He slid his thumb under the envelope's lip; it bit him, leaving a stinging cut.
Inside—a rather benign note. But he knew what it was. The NSA recruiters had come to him during college; he'd talked to them a bit, and taken an aptitude test one day in a deserted classroom. He'd barely thought of it since, but excitement surged through him.
"We are pleased to announce your acceptance into a special program…" No word like 'spy' or 'national security' was used, but there was no one else it could be from. It ordered him to a certain place and time the next week to report for training.
"What is it?" said Gloria.
"Nothing," he said.
She tried to snatch the letter away from him, but he wouldn't let her. She chased him through his apartment, and, knowing he could never outrun her (few people could), when she was out of sight, he tore it up and hid it in the wastebasket.
When she caught up, she attacked him, demanding to know where the letter was, half-jokingly at first. Then she kept at it—and he wouldn't give in. His denials made her all the more determined—and suspicious. Why would he hide a letter from her? He knew he couldn't show it to her; they'd made it clear to tell no one, not even his father.
It escalated from there. Looking back, he knew he should have handled it better. But the argument took on a life of its own, blowing up bigger than its original subject. They attacked each other with accusations. Their relationship grew colder, spiteful.
One day, he said something unforgivable. Instead of acting out, as he expected her to, her eyes filled with tears.
That hurt more than anything else she could have done.
That moment, more than anything, tore their relationship apart.
Maybe it could never have worked, he thought. We were too much alike…we were meant to clash sooner or later.
But he couldn't help but wonder, if he hadn't gotten that letter, if he hadn't pursued the NSA despite what was happening between them, that it could have worked out.
He could have sacrificed his career for her. What was more important in the end? It didn't matter now; he'd made his choice. Secrets would always keep a distance between him and the ones he loved.
From now on, he could only share his life fully with Agency employees, and even then…His father, he could tell things to, but still, the NSA discouraged full disclosure even to as distinguished a former employee as his father, and besides, Jason wouldn't want to endanger him by telling him too much.
In a way, this life was a lonely one. It meant sacrificing things others took for granted…
Would I trade it now, for another life, if I could?
Maybe he would have before. But now….he was oriented toward the future. Looking back, to the days with Gloria, hurt too much.
He could throw his life fully into being an agent.
That is what I wanted. Still want, with all my heart.
To distract himself from his thoughts, he flipped to the personnel file.
Tasha stared back at him with an intense, focused expression. Her deep brown eyes drew him in—though her hair was pulled back, a wisp of it had fallen rebelliously across her forehead…as if there was a hint of high spirits behind her professional façade.
If I went out with a co-worker…though that would have other complications of its own…secrets wouldn't matter. She would understand what this life was, what it means to me.
Where's that coming from! I just met her.
She is beautiful though. In her own way, as beautiful as Gloria…
Oh, cut it out, he thought. It's not like it's ever going to go anywhere…I can admire her, but from afar. I don't want to make this trip awkward; we are focusing on our job, and….I'm not even looking for romance. I doubt she is either, especially with someone like me.
I'm too tired to think straight, he thought, set the file down on the coffee table. He switched on the TV, and flipped to a movie, which happened to be "Raiders of the Lost Ark". As much as he loved the movie, before the end of it, he was fast asleep.