High-Caliber Concealer
Read High-Caliber Concealer Online
Authors: Bethany Maines
Tags: #cia, #mystery, #action, #espionage, #heroine, #spy, #actionadventure, #feminist, #carrie mae
by
BETHANY MAINES
2661 N. Pearl, #360
Tacoma WA 98407
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual
events or persons living or dead is entirely
coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Bethany
Maines
All rights reserved, including the
right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form
whatsoever.
Cover art by
LILT
.
To Zoe
July I
Brunch
Mexico
“I hate this,” said Jane. “I can’t believe
you let Darla split us up.”
Nikki wanted to adjust her earpiece, so that
Jane’s complaints wouldn’t be coming in so loudly, but she was in
full view out on a city street. Talking to herself and adjusting
equipment would be a total giveaway to the mark. So instead, she
grimaced behind her sunglasses and sucked it up.
“And Jenny’s all by herself back in LA. What
if she needs us?”
Nikki wanted to reply that between Jenny’s
bombshell blonde looks, Southern charm, and weapons proficiency
that included everything from tanks to derringers, Jenny could look
after herself. Nikki walked a few more feet, pretending to window
shop while following her mark, an unassuming bank manager, who was
about to have a bad day.
“And what are we doing? Scut work. We’re
half of the premier Carrie Mae covert action team and we’re out on
a Robin Hood job that a couple of newbs could handle. It’s like
having Batman and Robin go after shoplifters. You’re Batman, by the
way. In case you were concerned by that analogy.”
“I’m Batman?” Nikki was startled enough to
speak out loud, drawing a stare from a passing blonde, probably a
tourist, with a toddler. The toddler looked up and grinned.
“I am Batman!” he yelled and began to run,
pulling his mother with him.
“Of course,” said Jane. “I would never
suggest that you would wear red, yellow, and green all together
with your coloring. That would be wrong.”
Nikki glanced at her reflection in the shop
window—pale skin, gray eyes, red hair. Red, yellow and green would
indeed be an atrocity on her. The real question was: did they ever
look good on anyone?
“And what about Ellen? Sent off alone to
Canada to work for that racist wench. How could you let Darla send
her away like that? For one thing, you know Ellen. What if she
loses her temper? I mean, she doesn’t usually. But what if she goes
off on one of her tangents without us there to bring her back
down?”
Nikki, had she been able to respond, would
have agreed on that point. Ellen had started out life as a
professor’s wife and mother of two lovely young women who were now
mothers themselves. Nikki suspected that she must have lived a
Walter Mitty-esque existence prior to joining Carrie Mae. But
somehow, between losing fifty pounds and becoming a military-level
sniper, Ellen had begun to embrace all of the impulses she had
previously kept inside. Unfortunately, not all of her impulses
needed to be let out. When Ellen got mad, protocol had a tendency
to go out the window.
“Meanwhile,” Jane continued, “ as your tech
officer, I have to say that I’m going to register a complaint when
I get back. Half the crap we got in our package is like five years
old. I’m not saying we haven’t worked with worse, but if Darla
would have fully briefed us before we left, maybe I could have
packed to compensate. This really is ridiculous. Sub-par gear like
this could put your life at risk. I really am going to
complain.”
Nikki smiled, picturing Jane’s Betty Page
bangs bouncing in anger. Goth in style, nerd at heart, Jane had a
rather black and white view of the world. She frequently missed the
nuances of politics—hence her current rant against Darla, the
temporary West Coast division manager.
They were a block away from the bank. Time
to make a decision. Stick to the plan? Or deviate?
“OK, I’ve got eyes on the target,” said
Jane. “You are approaching go time. Phase One, implant the
recording device. I’ll handle Phase Two.”
Nikki pulled the bank manager’s wallet out
of her skirt pocket and picked up speed. “Excuse me! Excuse me,
Sir!” She waved the wallet in the air. The bank manager finally
turned around as he reached the corner. “
Hola
,” she said putting as much of an American accent
on the word as she could. “You dropped your—” she hesitated,
pretending to look for the right word. “
Billetera
?”
The bank manager patted his pockets, looking
for the wallet that they had removed from his person as he’d left
the bank for lunch. He looked surprised and then stepped forward to
accept the wallet.
“Ah,
gracias.
I’m
not sure how that happened.” His English, as was to be expected
from someone working in international finance, was flawless. She
held out the wallet and waited until his fingers made contact with
the leather.
“There’s a bank account number inside. You
will transfer all of the funds from Jirair Sarkassian’s account
into it.”
“I can’t do that! Who are you?” He pulled at
the wallet wanting to leave.
“You will do it, Raul.” Nikki held onto the
wallet, and with her right hand she flicked out a deadly sharp
little pocket-knife. The blade clicked as it locked into place and
Raul’s eyes widened at the sound. She took a step closer, pushing
the knife against his groin, hiding the movement with her full
skirt.
Raul’s face went white under his tan. “I
can’t just transfer a client’s funds!” He gasped, sweating. “He’ll
notice. You don’t know who he is. He has associates who are… not
nice people. And I’ve heard his girlfriend is psychotic. What
you’re asking is suicide.”
“Trust me, Raul. He won’t notice. He’s dead.
And as for his girlfriend—who do you think I am?”
Raul gulped.
“Just transfer the money like a good boy
Raul, and I won’t have to cut off any appendages.” Nikki smiled and
released the wallet. “You have until the close of business,
understand?” He nodded and Nikki removed the knife, smiled and
patted his cheek. “Good boy.” Nikki proceeded up the street,
leaving Raul sweating through his suit on the corner.
For the first time in an hour there was
quiet in her earpiece. She made it nearly two blocks in blissful
silence before Jane cleared her throat.
“Nikki, I’m fairly certain that was not what
we were supposed to do. Darla had a whole plan.”
“Two things,” said Nikki, continuing toward
the rendezvous point. “One, that plan was overly complicated and
ridiculous. Two, Darla’s not here. I took a short-cut and the job
got done.”
“If he complies,” said Jane, sounding
nervous.
“He’ll comply,” said Nikki.
“Probably, but it might have been nice if
you’d let me know.”
Nikki’s stride slowed. There was an
undercurrent to Jane’s tone. “I was trying to give you plausible
deniability.”
“Well, I was kind of looking forward to
getting to do… Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
There was static as Jane’s line went dead.
Nikki saw her friend walk out of the alleyway in front of her. Even
in sunny Mexico, Jane was dressed in all black. This week the tips
of her hair were dyed purple.
“Also, I’m not comfortable with you
pretending to be Val Robinson. It gives me the creeps.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You told that guy you were Sarkassian’s
girlfriend. At her time of death, I’m pretty sure that was Val.
Don’t pretend to be her; it’s bad mojo.”
Nikki shrugged. “I didn’t have time to go
through the six degrees of separation. It was faster this way.”
Jane looked skeptical, before her focus
switched to a point a few inches above Nikki’s head, her expression
blank. Probably observing the internet through the screen of her
Google-glass type eyewear, one of Carrie Mae’s more recent
innovations.
“He just logged in, and is transferring the
money. That was fast. I guess you were right. Anyway, I’m all for
speed and efficiancy, but this doesn’t make you a little
uncomfortable? I mean, you kind of robbed a guy on the street.
You’re a mugger!”
“When you take fifty dollars, you’re a
mugger. When you take five million dollars, you’re a
businesswoman.”
“And if you use that five million to fund an
organization dedicated to fighting for the rights of women?”
“Then I say that makes me a Goddamned hero,”
said Nikki. “Now let’s get out of here. I have a date tonight.”
II
Midnight Snack
Los Angeles
Nikki and Z’ev walked out of the salsa club
laughing and holding hands. Date night with Z’ev Coralles, her half
Afro-cuban, half-Jewish, all CIA agent boyfriend, had started out
with dinner and moved on to dancing. She loved it when he planned
date night—everything was always perfect.
“I guess we should practice that a bit
more,” said Z’ev ruefully. “That was bad. I didn’t remember half
the turn patterns.”
“We weren’t the worst couple on the dance
floor,” protested Nikki.
“We were rusty at best. You had a couple of
good shines though.”
