Mina Cortez: From Bouquets to Bullets (6 page)

As Mina was about to spring off the desk
toward him, they were interrupted by a firm voice. “Enough! Her
chip has obviously taken fine.”

Mina was startled enough that her readiness
to leap almost translated into tumbling forward face-first off the
desk. Instead, she felt her arm and shoulder tucking without her
bidding, turning the fall into a graceful roll and perfect dismount
off the desk top. She had in her mind to hit the guy who'd been
swinging at her, just in case, but the same odd new reflex she'd
been feeling guiding her through the action movie moves told her
there was no more threat present. She almost smacked him anyway, on
principle.

That urge dissipated as she finally got a
look at the third person present, and immediately recognized her.
The big woman from her bicycle wipe-out, with the cyber-arm. “What
...?” she stammered, eyes locked on the figure. The woman responded
by gesturing to the pair of men. The one still armed set his baton
down. Both removed their masks, and turned to face the woman with
the cyber-arm. “There will be more tests, but you passed the most
crucial one. You've accepted your chip. Welcome to the Secret
Police, Miss Cortez.”

“Okay, okay ... slow down ... Secret Police
... what?” Mina started, tensing up again. “Who are you people? Why
did they attack me? Why am I not in the center? Why do I know
aikido? Why am I dressed?” she rapid fired, tone shifting from
baffled to almost accusing as she locked eyes on the big woman.

The woman looked unstirred, just waiting for
Mina to finish before saying a word. “A little respect, Miss
Cortez. I know this is confusing, but not half as confusing as the
bigger world you're about to enter. Let's begin with this: you are
presently in no danger. This may be the last time in your new life
I can say that with certainty. Secondly, I am Director Fiona
Richter, henceforth, either Director, Director Richter, or Ma'am
while here. Outside these walls, we do not know each other. Is that
clear?”

Chapter
Six

Faint hints of aluminum chewing, as one part
of Mina's brain told her to salute. She ignored it and stopped the
twitch of her arm before it got far into the reflex motion. She
also bit back any number of sarcastic comments from another part of
her brain entirely. Now that the adrenaline had died down, she was
having an easier time recognizing the chipped impulses and
reflexes. She still couldn't imagine why she needed those kind of
reflexes, but at least she knew they were there. “All right ... I
mean, yes, Director,” Mina answered, quickly starting to feel like
she was talking to her father.

“Very good, Miss Cortez. You have been
selected to receive one of the rarest chips in the world.”

Mina's brain, still firing off questions
rapid fire, prompted her to interrupt the Director's all-too-slow
explanation. “So, wait, I got a cop chip?”

The Director's response, maddeningly, was to
slow down further, just fixing Mina with a stern gaze that chased
any more urge to fire off questions to the back of her mind.
Towering over her, the woman suddenly seemed like she'd grown
another two feet, or Mina had shrunk. As soon as Director Richter
was content that she had Mina's undivided attention, she continued
in deliberate fashion.

“Police chips are admirable things. I
wouldn't mind seeing more people get them, but no. You're not a
policewoman, though that is one of the most common and broadly
useful cover identities used in our line of work. You're now a
deep-cover spy, of sorts. Inserted into the normal population with
a complex chip capable of helping you with your other career. When
called upon for assignment, you'll engage in espionage, high-level
city security activities, counter-terrorism work, and the
occasional black market investigation when it goes above the
police's heads. You have a license to work within any of the
nations signed on to the security agreement, as well as the
necessary language skills, but will primarily be quartered here in
Seattle.”

Mina blinked. There was a pause, then it grew
longer while Mina absorbed some of what she was being told. She
realized that the Director was awaiting some acknowledgment she
understood, and the next question, along with a gaze that said that
the next question had better be a very good one. “So ...” she
started, “I'm not going to be running the flower shop? All my
aptitude tests said I'd be perfect for, you know, selling flowers
... “She immediately felt like an idiot as the words left her
mouth.

The Director's tone stayed even. “Well, yes,
your file suggested you would be an excellent florist ... except
the part in your psych profile that indicated that you'd snap
within 5 years. Same reason we end up having to be so careful with
postal worker and air traffic controller chips.” If that was a
joke, the woman wasn't laughing.

After a brief pause, she continued. “However,
you will still be selling and delivering flowers. As far as your
parents or most of the city are concerned, you are a delivery girl,
chipped to eventually take over your parents' business. We could
think of no better cover than someone who has an excuse to be
absolutely anywhere at almost any time. We just have to call and
place an order, and you have an excuse to be away for variable
amounts of time. Many of the chip routines are also similar:
perfect city maps, multiple programmed languages, and so on.”

Mina just nodded along, before the words
actually registered fully. “So ... wait ... I'm a spy ... and a
secret cop ... and whatever else ... and my parents still get to
make me do inventory?”

The Director raised a brow. “Something like
that. Though you have a significant expense account, suitable to
your pay grade, you will be expected to live within your cover
identity's means. No fancy car, no buying a house tomorrow, and due
to risks of spies being compromised, very limited vacations.
However, be assured, you'll someday be able to retire very
comfortably. You will be expected to live up to the expectations of
your cover: inventory, deliveries, sales ... everything you'd do
otherwise. 80 to 90 percent of the time, that will be the extent of
your work, in ideal circumstances. It needs to be believable over a
wide span of years. Be assured, however, that does not make what
you're actually doing any less important. During the remaining ten
to twenty percent of your time, you will be helping to save the
world as we know it—no exaggeration.”

Mina thought about it a few moments. Aside
from the flower delivery part, it sounded kind of exciting.
Besides, she supposed she'd have plenty of things to think on while
running inventory or checking receipts. In any case, this didn't
sound like the sort of job you turned down.” So ... who can I tell
about all of this, exactly?”

“The people in this room, the Deputy Mayor
and her entourage, and other individuals we specify. Your chip has
clearance levels programmed in. You'll be able to recognize the
handful of authorized people, and it will give you a warning if
you're about to say something you shouldn't to anyone else.”

“So, my parents—”

“Are not to know anything. Your maternal
grandfather didn't tell his daughter, and neither of their psych
profiles suggest they would take it very well.

“A—” Mina attempted to interrupt, but the
woman spoke right on through.

“When we need you, we'll arrange reasons for
you to be out of the shop for as much time as needed. Right now,
for example, there's a complication with your chipping, and you're
under observation. That will go on through your meeting with the
Deputy Mayor.

“But A—” Mina tried again. The Director was
having none of it.

“You will have regular deliveries to make in
the mornings for some time. Primarily, this will give us time to
introduce you to your first assignment. It will also let us work on
your physical training.” Finally, when Mina was giving up on
getting the question in, Director Richter affirmed, “Yes, your
maternal grandfather was one of our agents. The shop still has a
couple of hidden areas. It had the advantage of being one of those
rare places anyone could reasonably walk into without drawing
attention, and few people tend to associate flower shops with
spycraft.”

Mina blinked several times. A bit of
additional motion to one side drew her attention, snapping her back
to the realization the other people, still all in black, but no
longer masked, were still flanking her. To her left was a tall,
thin man, now revealed to be perhaps a few years older than her
parents, with hints of mixed Asian ancestry of some sort.

“Your grandfather taught me everything I know
about the job. He was a good man,” he said, with an easy smile.
“Now I get to return the favor. You'll be reporting in to me
tomorrow, and I'll get you all caught up and start your
training.”

“What kind of training, exactly?” Mina asked,
directing it vaguely between the older man and the Director, for
whoever cared to answer, finding herself hoping her new trainer
would be the one to field it.

No such luck, the Director took the
initiative again. “Part of the selection process for agents is
physical ability. Every agent tests in the top percentiles in
numerous areas. Endurance, fitness, ability to push
themselves—trying to get into a top ballet academy has served you
well. You pushed yourself to the top of the toughest dance program
in your price range. You then biked a dozen miles at a time through
the hills on deliveries. It was enough to get you in the door. Now
we're going to take that potential and push it to its limits.
You'll be trained to ambidexterity. Get as comfortable with
backwards or lateral movement either direction as normal walking.
There will be overspeed training. Most importantly, we'll be
coaching up your fast-twitch muscles. The chip in your spine lets
you react as close to the speed of thought as your body is
physically capable. Your reaction to Agents Park and Hall showed
that to be reasonably capable, but your muscles are still unused to
this kind of action. We need to improve on that speed, and we
will.”

Agent Park, she guessed, was nodding to one
side. Mina wasn't entirely sure she liked the look of his
expression, and could already start to feel the burn in her
muscles. She was positive she didn't like the look on the
Director's face though, so she still thought it preferable.

A glance, at last, in her other direction,
and Mina's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't dated much in school.
That would have taken time from work—not an option—or dance class,
equally non-negotiable as far as Mina herself was concerned. She
did know the boys she had seen here and there for school functions
weren't really her type, and she'd tried to just not worry too much
about it. (It had helped that, even at the worst of the boy-crazy
phases of most of her friends and classmates, Miko had continued to
profess that the only guy she had the vaguest hint of a crush on
was John Belushi, whoever that was.) Whatever defined her type,
though, she was pretty sure Agent Hall was it. Tall, dark, just a
little rugged. Maybe four or five years older than she was. Mina
felt a slight heat, her cheeks coloring, and tried to bring herself
back to the seriousness of the situation. Thankfully, or
unfortunately, the Director's stern gaze did wonders for dragging
her back to the moment.

“Now, the initial test is done, and my comm
just told me the Deputy Mayor has arrived to meet our newest agent.
I'm sure she'll be happy to take the rest of your questions,” she
told Mina. Left unsaid, but clear, nonetheless, was anything about
exactly how unhappy the Director was to be being pulled away from
her workload to answer rookie questions at all. “Agent Park, can
you show Agent Cortez to the meeting room and help her get
acclimated?”

Agent Park—the older man, as she'd
guessed—quickly agreed, much as Mina found herself wishing it was
Agent Hall helping her get acclimated. Even so, she was hating this
less and less by the moment.

Chapter
Seven

“So these are the Seattle FBI offices? Quite
a drive from the Bellevue chipping center,” Mina remarked during
the short tour of the building she'd awoken in. It was going much
better than the previous conversation.

Agent Park nodded. “Your doctors and nurses
were cleared to handle the sensitive information chips. Once you
were safe to move, the nurses got you dressed and loaded into a
refitted police transport truck, sort of half-ambulance.”

It was nice to get reasonably sensible
answers to her initial questions. “And it's okay to just go
anywhere in this place?”

“Technically, yes. Don't let any of the FBI
staff get too used to you, though. Agents, civilians, anybody.
Except, obviously, Director Richter. Her day job is here.”

“That's probably convenient for her,
right?”

“Yes. It lets her monitor federal
investigations, stuff that connects to the bigger job.”

“And you? And, um, Agent Hall?” She told
herself not to blush.

“Police detectives,” he said, not letting on
if he noticed the blushing or not as they walked to a particularly
quiet part of the building. “This bit here is our corner, for when
we all actually do have to meet in person. Director Richter's
office, a couple of typically empty meeting rooms, and a temp
office for the Deputy Mayor, 'just to coordinate with various
authorities for the city's Security Commission,' you know.” The
older man's tone grew lighter and drier as he pointed out the
appropriate doors.

Mina recognized the tone as referencing an
apparent cover story. She was clearly going to have to get used to
a lot of those. “So what about the part of that I don't know?” Mina
asked.

“More of a question for Miss Lasko herself,”
Agent Park said, smiling. “Now, the next part of the rundown. I
want you to think of St. Joshua's medical clinic.”