Operative "Pavo" sat back in his apartment on the Citadel, frowning at the letter he'd been working on. He'd spent the better part of an hour and a half drafting it, but still wasn't happy with it. Or maybe he just wasn't happy with the situation prompting it.

He was glad to find, when he thought about it, that he was not emotionally attached to his data source. Not at all. In fact, the idea was completely laughable: one did not get attached to women like that, not the least because she wouldn't permit an indignity like forming emotional attachments with anyone, so no one else was allowed to do so with her.

It also showed in the way he didn't feel it necessary to use her name. She was a tool, even now when she was about to be retired. There was no sympathy. There would be no remorse. It was just business.

She was fun to play with, the right kind of kinky to appeal to his tastes, dangerous…but you didn't trust women like that, and you had to know—as a Spectre—when to cut an information source loose.

Besides, as far as intel went, he was ninety nine percent sure she was tapped out. She was tapped, and he had what he wanted. Not necessarily what he needed, but he'd long ago realized she was not as big a fish as she liked to believe—as she was allowed to believe, in all probability. That was espionage (or counterespionage). It wasn't for the faint of heart or the morally irreproachable.

He would miss, though, the balancing act of eliciting information out of her (by word of mouth or by raiding her personal documentation) while leaving her just enough information to make her think she was successfully playing him—but all of which was not, in itself, problematic. She was clever, with a mind like a steel trap and razor-sharp intelligence. On that score, at least, she was every bit as well-developed as she liked to believe.

It had been fun, in a way, because each knew the other was trying to pry—though each maintained their own reasons for doing so under a cloud of obscurity. Unfortunately, Pavo had a larger organization behind him. A better-practiced one.

He found himself smirking: oh, was she about to get her comeuppance. Morally speaking she was a real piece of work, even by his questionable standards—Spectres usually had questionable moral standards, it was part of the job when one had to make uncomfortable decisions on a regular basis.

It would be poetic justice, and when she settled down enough to plot revenge (she rarely knew when she was bested) she'd appreciate it…even as she appreciated the merits of finding him and disemboweling him.

In short, she'd be out of control of her own situation as soon as this letter reached its intended destination—and if there was one thing she couldn't bear it was to be out of control. She'd learned to be a controller at a young age; it had only gotten worse as she got older. She'd have made a superb Spectre if she'd had loyalty to anything other than her own interests.

Ah, well, such was life, so full of 'almost.'

At the very least—as far as he was concerned—their last assignation was the perfect note to end on: she certainly hadn't been in control then. The thought brought about a smug flutter of his mandibles. No, that wasn't a side of her she liked people to see.

If she managed to squiggle out of the tight spot into which he was about to put her, things could become very interesting. Bullets would assuredly be involved, but some people were easier to kill if lulled into complacency.

And he wasn't above that tactic himself. It would be a very interesting scenario.

But he doubted it would ever come about. The Alliance wanted their mole too badly.

-J-

To: Sheffler, John. (Human Systems Alliance, Arcturus Station.)

From: Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, Agent Designation "Pavo"

[This file is double encrypted. Please enter your alliance military access code for access.]

USERINPUT: 44532218

[INPUT MATCH. Accepted. Decrypting.]

Commander Sheffler:

The Special Tactics and Reconnaissance (Spectres) have been involved in a major ongoing investigation, the nature of which is not up for discussion. Part of that investigation dealt with mining the terrorist organization designated 'Cerberus' for certain information. Being a hostile entity towards myself and my compatriots, we have been forced to gather intelligence via second parties.

I am now turning one of those parties over to you: former Commander Eva Kathryn Rogers, a member of the Corsair program administrated by your military. The name may be familiar to you.

You have a mole, Commander, and it is my understanding that you've been looking for her. Here she is. She has ceased to be essential as an information pipeline to me, but perhaps she can still be useful to you.

I attach certain documentation that your Intelligence branch may look over as they like. I can assure you it is all authentic. She's clever, but she's no Spectre. If she asks, please do tell her who sold her out. She knew it would come to this, she simply thought she would be the one on top when it happened.

On a serious note, exercise supreme caution should you try to bring her in: she's a biotic, but more than that she's cunning, ruthless, and a perfect opportunist. Pick your battlefield carefully. Detach her from her crew. I hope your interrogation teams have improved since the last time anyone I knew chatted with them.

"Pavo"

-J-

Fourteen hours later, after a very long day, John Sheffler opened his mailbox, read the letter, and stared at the accumulated footage, spending logs, action reports—enough information to have damned Rogers so completely that even miracles wouldn't have saved her.

The one morning, he thought grimly, the one morning he didn't check his email.