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Eternity

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SIX MONTHS AGO

"So you're telling me that one of our best agents went rogue and stole several million dollars in gold and currency from Salim Mazandrani and then murdered the agent she was controlling--who happened to be one of our most important deep cover assets inside the Iranian regime and a CIA agent, to boot--and then was subsequently killed by Iranian state security?" the National Security Adviser asked.  She was not in a pleasant mood when she entered the room, and her mood had since soured considerably.  The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency and the Director of Analysis, flanking her at the table, both wore grim expressions as the analyst, a young CIA officer, wearing khakis, a button down blue shirt, and a sweater vest, delivered the briefing from the other side of the table. 

The blonde, bearded analyst, who looked like the picture of a clean-cut Boy Scout-type except for his bushy, trendy beard, shifted a little nervously in his chair under the heat of the National Security Adviser's glare.  His boss, a senior analyst from NESA* and twenty-three year Company veteran, sat comfortably in the chair to the young man's left, reclined with his arms crossed.  A senior field agent from the Clandestine Service sat on the other side of the briefer, scratching his cheek as he read through the report and pretended to listen to the kid stumble through the presentation.

"These two women had worked together several times before.  Is it true they had some kind of extracurricular relationship going on?" the NSA asked.

"Yep," the agent from the Clandestine Service replied without looking up from the briefing document.

"Yep?" the National Security Advisor asked testily.  "That's all you have to say about it?"

"Yep," the agent replied, again without looking up.

"And do you think their relationship had anything to do with this...this catastrophe?" the NSA asked, abruptly adding, "and look at me when I'm talking to you, Agent White!"

The covert officer, Agent White, shrugged.  "How the fuck should I know?  And I don't work for you," he said, then placed the paper down and, glancing up briefly to give the NSA a contemptuous smirk, removed his phone from the table and tinkered with it.

"But you DO work for me," the Director of the CIA said, "and you were ordered to come here to answer the NSA's questions because you've got more field time with these two agents than anyone else.  So answer her damned questions." 

At this, the agent placed his phone back on the tabletop and looked up at his boss.

"I'm not a psychiatrist, sir.  I can't offer a reliable opinion on the states of mind of the two agents in question.  I've worked with them both individually and collectively on more than one occasion, and all I can tell you is that they were always extremely professional and seemed to handle stressful situations well, especially when working together," the agent said, looking at the CIA Director, not the NSA.  "They were close.  They were screwing each other.  They were both crazy in the way you have to be to be successful in this line of work.  I can't imagine Didi Flowers doing something like this, but then, I couldn't have imagined you all hanging us out to dry like you did in Libya, so I'm not much of an oracle."

The National Security Adviser gasped audibly and her face curled into a mask of rage, and the CIA Director went purple.  The young analyst blushed and swallowed hard.  His supervisor continued to stare placidly across the table, arms still folded.

"Get out, White," the head of the Agency said, pointing at the door.  "I'll deal with you later." 

Agent White stood up, picked up his phone and slid it into his pocket, and then walked out of the room, eyes fixed on the face of the National Security Adviser the whole way, the contemptuous smirk back on his face.

The door slammed behind White and the National Security Adviser huffed, "Now where were we?  Does your office have any ideas as to how this could have happened?  How could one of our own agents, working alongside our supposed allies, have done something of this nature without us having any inkling that it was coming?" she asked the Director of Analysis.

"Maybe she was inspired by a video," the senior NESA analyst said with a chuckle.  He was met with icy glares from everyone in the room except the bushy-bearded kid, who looked as if he were trying to decide who in the room he was more afraid of.

The NSA calmed herself for a moment, then asked coldly, "Are we even sure that the reports we've received are accurate?  Do we know this is what really happened?"

The senior NESA man nodded curtly and said, "Yes ma'am, we believe so, and we have some strong evidence to indicate as much," he said, unfolding his arms to tap the young analyst on the shoulder.  The blonde man pressed a few keys and screens flipped up in front of each seat at the table.  A moment later a video began to play on the screens and on wide screens on the walls in front of and to each side of the National Security Adviser. 

Maureen Mazandrani, nee O'Mara, was gagged and bound to a metal chair by her wrists and ankles, a terrified look on her face.  She was wearing nothing but black panties and a pair of very expensive black patent leather pumps.  She began to weep as a blonde woman passed through the field of view.  Maureen's head turned and her eyes followed the woman.  She began to shake her head as the blonde came back into view.  This time, the blonde had a gun in her hand and was screwing a suppressor onto the barrel.  Maureen began to moan into her gag.  She was clearly begging.  The blonde looked back towards the camera and said something.  Despite the knit beanie and sunglasses it was obvious enough that the blonde was Diana Flowers.  She turned back to Maureen and then smacked her hard with the pistol, then placed the muzzle to the bound woman's head.  Maureen began to shake her head slightly, almost as if it were vibrating.  She then closed her eyes tight, and at almost that moment Diana Flowers fired.  The scene was as horrifying as it was anticlimactic.  Maureen's head twitched slightly and then lolled forward and off to the side, a five millimeter hole in the center of her forehead.  A drop of blood fell to the floor as Diana exited the screen again.  It was followed by several more.  The video ended and began to play again on a loop.  The young analyst paused it.

"Oh my God!" the National Security Adviser gasped.  Then, after gathering herself for a moment.  "Sh...shouldn't there be more blood than that or something?"

"An astute question, ma'am, but it looks like Agent Flowers used a .22 caliber Beretta automatic, probably with frangible hollow-point ammunition.  Notice how the pistol's slide didn't recoil to the rear?  Failure to cycle is common with that type of ammunition, which is actually advantageous for something like this.  It means the cartridge casing doesn't eject from the weapon, potentially leaving evidence behind.  A frangible .22 would've scrambled Agent O'Mara's brains without leaving much mess.  As you can see, our evidence, at least for this portion of the events, seems quite definitive."

The National Security Adviser nodded, "But we still don't know why.  Why would Agent Flowers do something like that?  Was it the money?"

The young analyst worked up his courage and spoke.  "We believe Agent Flowers and Agent O'Mara had a falling out.  Agent Flowers' reports seem to indicate that Agent O'Mara was losing perspective, falling victim to a form of Stockholm syndrome.  Her treatment at the hands of Salim Mazandrani ranged from beatings and various forms of physical and psychological cruelty to worshipful adoration.  She was also showered with gifts and given access to immense wealth..."

The senior analyst interjected, "My colleague is correct, and I think I have to say here that both of these agents were a bit idealistic.  What we call 'true believers'.  They started out believing they were making the world a better place.  Our political embrace of the regime that they were operating against was demoralizing to them.  In Maureen O'Mara's case, we believe that made her especially susceptible to a change of heart.  She kind of felt like, 'What am I doing here?  Why am I going through all this?'  It made it easy for her to give up, in a way.  Some of her reports contain shocking descriptions of physical violence and marital rape, but it seems Salim mostly left her to her own devices, with a virtually unlimited credit card to her name.  We believe she chose to endure the physical abuse, probably hoping she could change Salim's treatment of her over time, and embraced the wealth and privilege, feeling she didn't have anywhere or anything to come home to.  Diana Flowers felt that Agent O'Mara had 'retired' and more or less gone over to the other side for the money, and Agent Flowers saw this as not just treasonous, but as a personal betrayal, given their long-standing relationship with each other."

The young agent nodded and continued, "We feel that Agent Flowers--now feeling betrayed by the US government, the Agency, and her best friend and lover--became extremely weak to the urging of Farsad Turani, who saw an opportunity to eliminate Agent O'Mara and accrue a great deal of money for himself and his cause by attacking Salim Mazandrani's gold shipment.  He needed the inside information that Agent Flowers possessed, and she needed the muscle Turani could provide."

The National Security Adviser nodded.  "But Farsad Turani is one of our key assets, isn't he?"

The senior analyst nodded in reply.  "Yes, he's always been honest and reliable.  At least, as much as we could ever hope for from someone in his position.  Turani, like most of the opposition to the regime in Iran, feels like the United States has sold him out in favor of the mullahs."

"But that's ridiculous," the National Security Adviser gasped.  "The Iranians are our partners in peace."

The NESA man smiled blankly, it taking every ounce of effort he could muster not to burst out laughing.  "Madame Adviser, a substantial percentage of the people in this building feel you've sold them out in favor of the mullahs."

The National Security Adviser stared ahead silently for a moment, and the senior analyst started again.  "We believe Turani and Agent Flowers attacked Mazandrani's gold shipment, then Agent Flowers executed Agent O'Mara.  She then tried to ransom Agent O'Mara--Mrs. Mazandrani, if you prefer--back to Salim, who didn't know his wife was already dead.  We believe Salim paid this ransom, more out of fear that it would be found out his wife had been kidnapped and that he would look impotent than out of a desire to get her back, and then Agent Flowers burned him by releasing the video of his wife's execution, anyway."

"But before Agent Flowers could leave the country and make her escape, Salim's men found her and killed her," the young agent chimed in.  "We have several different reports, both from inside the IRGC and from people within Turani's group, corroborating this version of events, but we're not able to independently confirm any of them."

"And then Salim himself disappeared," the National Security Adviser concluded.

"Yes ma'am," the senior analyst said.  "We believe your 'partner in peace' was executed by his comrades within the IRGC, but we've not been able to confirm it yet."

There were a few more minutes of discussion, and then the parties stood and left the room.  The NESA analysts were the first to go.

"Good job in there, Bryan," the senior man said to the bearded young analyst, giving him a pat on the shoulder as they were joined in the hallway by Agent White.

"Thank you, sir," Bryan replied with a dip of his head and a proud smile, before turning on a heel and heading back towards his work station.  Agent White and the senior analyst turned and began to stroll off in the other direction.

"Good kid.  Seems a little timid, though."  Agent White said.  Then, after a pause, "You think they bought any of that bullshit, Earl?" he asked as he and the senior analyst walked down a long, broad corridor.

"Can you really blame him?  We're old enough to remember when we knew our enemies were our enemies and we treated them as such.  Now we pretend we don't have enemies, or pretend our enemies are our friends.  It creates a bizarre, difficult, work environment," Earl laughed.  "And I have no idea what you mean, White," the senior analyst said.  "Are you implying that Flowers and O'Mara robbed Salim Mazandrani blind to set him up for execution at the hands of his own islamofascist thug comrades and gave us all the dipsy doodle?"

Agent White simply smiled.  Earl smiled back, gave Agent White a pat on the shoulder, and turned back to follow Bryan back towards his work area.  "You need to be more careful in what you say around here, DeJuan, and how you say it and who you say it to."

"Nah, don't worry about me, man.  I already got a private contractor job lined up pays twice what the Company does.  You're the one who needs to watch out, brother.  You're the career man.  I mean, look who's talking."  He then said over his shoulder as he started to walk the other way,  "And say hello to the wife for me."

"Will do, White.  Oh, and by this time next week I will be officially retired," the old man said.  "I don't give a damn anymore.  You'll have to come up to the lake house for some fishing sometime."

*NESA = Office of Near Eastern and South Asian Analysis


CURRENT DAY

The waves crashed rhythmically against white sands of the beach, the water blue and flawless, marred only by the crisp, white crests of the gentle waves for as far as the eye could see.  The blonde sat up on her blanket and stretched her arms out emitting a languid, contented yawn.  The redhead on the blanket next to her lay on her belly reading a magazine, legs kicking lazily back and forth.  The blonde stood up and waded into the lagoon.  The pool was partially surrounded by high cliffs with waterfalls that rushed majestically down to the pool below.  The water in the pool was as smooth as glass, completely placid save for the roiling froth beneath the waterfalls.

"You think they'll ever find us here?" the redhead asked after her, removing her broad sun hat and pulling herself up onto her knees.

"How could they?  We're dead," the blonde replied with a chuckle, looking back over her shoulder.

"I'll bet Earl knows.  That guy knows everything," the redhead ventured.

The blonde stopped for a moment, shrugged, and nodded.  "Yeah, probably.  He's uncanny."

"And White," the redhead added, standing up and wading into the natural pool, herself.

"If they brought him in on it, yeah.  He'd catch onto the fake execution bit in a heartbeat," the blonde said.  "Who do you think I picked that one up from?  Remember Ankara?"

"Yes, he knows us too well," the redhead said, moving closer to the blonde.  "That hurt, by the way.  A lot."

"No pain, no gain," the blonde smiled, gently rubbing her fingertips over the spot where she'd "shot" her partner in the forehead.  The ammunition was designed to believably mark her forehead by blasting through the skin but not penetrating the skull.  The blood and powder burns would be convincing unless the viewer was able to examine the wound closely.  She'd unobtrusively given the redhead a drug to slow her heart rate before she'd walked over to pick up the gun, so by the time "Maureen Mazandrani," clenched her eyes shut, she was already halfway to dreamland.  She dangled authentically in the ropes because she was deeply unconscious; about as close to dead as you can be without someone giving a eulogy.

"You think they'll rat on us?" the redhead asked, putting her arms around the blonde's waist and dragging them both down onto their knees in the still water.

"Nah, even if they figure it out, those two would never do that to us.  Besides, they'd never find us," the blonde grinned, pulling the redhead down all the way into the water with her and rolling on top of her, then slipping away and backing up onto a small, partially submerged sand bar.

The redhead rolled back over and up onto her knees again with a laugh, then looked down the beach towards their bungalow.  In the distance an Otter floatplane bobbed next to a small dock.  "I can believe that.  I don't even know where we are, but I'm pretty sure we're not in Kansas anymore."

"We took the second star to the right and went straight on 'til morning, baby," the blonde smiled as the redhead pushed her down into the sand and climbed atop her with a giggle.  There was a long pause as they stared into each other's eyes, followed by a kiss.

==================================================================================================

:iconethereas:  'The Redhead'/Maureen Mazandrani/Maureen O'Mara

:icondonnadomenitzo:  'The Blonde'/Miss Golam/Diana Flowers

You can see the first three chapters of the story   here:

Hostage by EthereaS 

Ransom by EthereaS 
Elimination by EthereaS

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© 2016 - 2024 EthereaS
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Shavedpronghorn's avatar
Such beautiful work!! Fantastic!! I would love to share your sexy friend with you Etherea!!!! ;-))