By Joshua Vise – February 25, 2024

Published in the anthology Femme Fatale Flashes by Wicked Shadow Press. Lulu: Paperback or EPUB

The man slammed the phone’s receiver down hard, and then buzzed his secretary.

“Yes, Director Mc…Michaels…”

“McMichelsmithtonhorst! Christ Debby, this is the CIA, not a Starbucks. Get it right, or you’re fired!”

“Apologies, director,” came the tinny reply over the intercom.

“And get me a car to Walter Reed Army Medical Center. We’ve got an agent down.”

“Right away, director,” answered Debby, wisely choosing to omit the surname.

Director of Field Operations Michael McMichelsmithtonhorst normally wouldn’t pay such a personal visit to the hospital. After all, field agents know the risks associated with their clandestine work. However, Agent 49 was no normal agent, nor was her assignment a typical one, even by CIA standards. No, given the nature of her skillset, the director felt personally responsible for the outcome of Agent Hecht’s mission, and as such, a personal debriefing was in order.

“Your car is waiting at the door, Director Mc-Michel-smith-ton-horst.” 

Debby cleared each syllable like an Olympian jumping hurdles.

Director McMichelsmithtonhorst stood from his desk, took a moment to adjust the creases in his uniform and straighten his extra-long nametag, and headed out.

*****

“How long has she been here?” Michael spat at the doctor, not bothering to slow his pace as he marched through the long white corridors of the hospital.

“The chartered plane touched down only two hours ago. She’s been here ever since,” said the doctor, whose stethoscope bounced against his chest as he struggled to maintain the director’s pace.

“Which room is she in?”

“She’s in 3A.”

“Is she alone?”

“Yes, mister…”

The doctor took one look at his name tag.

“…Director.”

“Good. I’d like to speak with her,” said McMichelsmithtonhorst as he increased his pace.

“But she’s…”

Michael spun on his heels, going nose to nose with the trailing doctor.

“Alone, doctor.”

“Yes, sir.”

The doctor stood upright, a white-knuckled grip on his clipboard as the director continued through the brightly lit passage on his own.

As he marched down the hall accompanied only by the sound of his highly-polished wingtips tapping the floor, Michael tried his best to anticipate the conversation that was to follow. After all, as Director of Field Operations, it was in his nature to always be prepared. Still, Agent Crystal Hecht was a formidable person, intimidating even to her allies. Her seductive exterior, curvier than a Peruvian highway and twice as dangerous, concealed a lethal cunning and cold demeanor that made her perfect for infiltration work. She could drink a special forces soldier under the table without smearing her lipstick and still return with reliable intel. She achieved more in heels than any number of regular boots on the ground could accomplish.

And yet, no agent is immortal. Missions go sideways. Luck runs out. As his hand rested on the cool metal of the doorknob, McMichelsmithtonhorst took a moment to breathe deeply, preparing himself for whatever had befallen his best operative. Simultaneously, he made a mental note not to let her allure cloud the facts. After all, the charms that had drawn many a foreign spy to their demise could be aimed anywhere Agent Hecht pleased, and he was fully aware that she could put the ‘fire’ in friendly fire if she so chose.

Michael turned the knob and stepped in, then immediately stopped in his tracks.

On the opposite side of the room was Agent 49. She was propped upright at a 60 degree angle from the floor, her arms extended forward and upward. Only her left eye, left nostril, and the tips of her fingers remained exposed. The rest of her was wrapped tightly in a full-body cast.

“Jesus, Crystal. You look like a goddamn Emmy award.”

Still, the plastered linen hugged her frame in all the right places, accentuating her hips and narrow waist while amplifying her bosom. Had she been sculpted from marble instead of plaster, Agent 49 would have looked at home among the Hellenistic figures at the Louvre. Michael shook this association from his head and continued.

“Well, you really shit the bed with this one, Agent Hecht.”

“Mfggmfmfmmgggmmfmfmgg…,” came the sound from underneath the cast.

“Don’t you ‘But Director McMichelsmithtonhorst’ me!” snapped the director. “Acquiring that code was mission directive numero alpha.”

He paused as he realized that alpha was no numero. Unsure of how to correct himself or save face, he opted to continue with his rant.

“And you blew it! Now the entire eastern seaboard may be at risk!”

Through the hole in the linen, Agent Hecht blinked twice, fluttering her few remaining eyelashes.

“And don’t play coy with me, either! I’m not a mark! I’m the Director of Field Operations!”

McMichelsmithtonhorst began pacing around the room as he recited back to her the information he had received in his report.

“Not only did you fail to retrieve the code, but you killed the prince and blew up their embassy! I’ve got to meet with the president today at fifteen-hundred hours. How am I supposed to explain this mess to him? How exactly do you justify your actions?”

“Merffmggmdfrmfffmarfmmdmdmmf.”

“Go on,” said the director.

“Mffgrffbmbbbmbmfffmmdrddrfff.”

“Yeah, well that may play with the media, but not the security council,” retorted Michael. “Look…”

McMichelsmithtonhorst stopped pacing and stood directly in front of the statue-cum-agent.

“This isn’t just about the field…”

He rested his hand against the plaster over her hip.

“This isn’t even about you and me…”

He gazed deeply into her eye. Her nostril flared seductively.

“I need something concrete. Otherwise, you’ll be driving a desk in Langley for the rest of your career, and there will be nothing I can do to protect you.”

“Merfmerfmerfmerfffff.”

“I know you think that, Crystal,” interrupted Michael, turning away from her. “But it isn’t true. Everyone needs protection sometimes. Everyone needs an ally.”

He turned back to her, his oversized nametag whistling through the air as he spun.

“Everyone needs…”

His hand found the small arch in the plaster where her back probably still was.

“…someone.”

In the corner of the room, the electrocardiogram’s heart rate monitor steadily ticked upward. A smile began to etch its way through McMichelsmithtonhorst’s usually stony face.

“I knew you felt the same.”

A heavy silence hung like a fog in the room, punctuated only by the sound of hospital machinery. After a moment, the director pulled his gaze away from her and turned.

“But none of it matters unless you have something.”

Agent Hecht snapped her fingers, the sound echoing like a gunshot off the hospital tile. The director turned.

“What is it?”

“Bufwhoo! Kooo. Arrr.”

She snapped her fingers on her right hand again.

McMichelsmithtonhorst’s face lit up, his eyebrows raising nearly to the brim of his cap. Locating a small step stool in the corner of the room, he raised himself up gingerly along her right side, and studied her hand. There, lacquered under a layer of clear nail polish, was a tiny sticker, on top of which was printed a QR code.

“No…” said McMichelsmithtonhorst. “That couldn’t be.”

He pulled his smartphone from his pocket and opened his QR code reader app. He snapped a picture, and the app instantly spit out an alphanumeric string of text.

“This is the code?” the director asked excitedly.

“Mmfmm.”

He stepped down from the stool and quickly pocketed his phone.

“Crystal, you did it,” he said in amazement. “You may just have saved the world.”

“Mrrmbugurrmfarrfmmfnnrg,” came the sound from deep within the plaster head dressing.

“What do you mean this doesn’t change anything about us?” responded Michael, the previous glow fleeing from his face. Try as he might, he was unable to keep a hint of emotion from creeping into his question.

“Mergbuffluggluggergmmmnnf.”

“That’s cold.”

After a momentary pause, McMichelsmithtonhorst turned and gripped the doorknob.

“Which is why you’re the best, Agent Hecht,” he said over his shoulder. He stepped into the hall, not bothering to look behind him as the door closed.