Arthur schooled his expression, settling back into parade rest, begrudgingly amused. ‘He bites,’ Thompson had warned after all. “Of course, Deputy Director, and congratulations on your promotion. I won’t keep you any longer.” He tucked the small bundle of papers into his jacket and turned to leave.
“Oh, and Agent Dufault?” Syler called. Arthur half-turned back. “Expense reports are due to accounting by close of business tomorrow. They’re loath to grant extensions, so do have them on my desk before lunch.”
The agent grinned, the promise of retaliation ahead, and nodded before heading out.
---
Syler received pristinely written justification forms—entirely in Arabic.
“It seemed pertinent to capture the events as authentically as possible and I was in Dubai.”
---
A week later, Agent Dufault was headed on deployment to Beijing. Syler outfitted him with a Glock 19, six magazines, an ear piece, and a localized EMP device disguised in a key fob to help disable and pass through his target’s security system undetected. When he attempted to wheedle his way into a new toy, he was presented with a green paperclip. Arthur held it up to the light, squinting.
“Bring it back and I might just assign you one of your precious Sigs next time.”
---
He returned eight days later with a singed key fob and a pristine Glock, though the waterlogged remnants of the ear piece left Syler massaging his temples to ward off a headache. Arthur gave his report on the five missing magazines and empty sixth, still locked into the Glock, in fluent Mandarin, before presenting the paperclip with a flourish.
“Out.”
Six
The first time Syler ran comms for Agent Dufault, he corrected himself—menace was not a strong enough word. In fact, there may well not have existed a strong enough word in the English language, perhaps any language in existence, living or dead.
Agent Garcia’s work in Bolivia six weeks prior had led them to a higher up in the Brazilian banking industry by the name of Enrique Oliveria. The man was otherwise unremarkable beyond financing a corrupt Bolivian politician, but closer inspection revealed incoming transfers of stolen funds that matched recent hacks of US financial institutions. The hacks wouldn’t have warranted CIA attention were it not for their discreet methodology and remotely impenetrable cyber security. As it was, Dufault was sent in to make contact with Oliveria in hopes of discreetly retrieving enough information on their dealings to determine the key players and shut them down before they could cause more trouble.
“What in the actual hell do you think you’re doing, Agent Dufault?” Syler barked into his headset, the distant throb of a headache forming at the center-front of his forehead echoing dully.
“Intel was off. Oliveria left for a private meeting with other conference members before I could make contact.” The security cameras at the gala’s event center showed the agent at the coat-check, leaned against the wall a short distance away from where a striking brunette in a figure-hugging backless evening gown was retrieving her jacket.
“So you’re turning this into a nice little vacation hook up now?” Syler shot back in disbelief. “Return to the rendezvous point and we’ll determine another way in. His cyber security system may be good, but you’re on the ground now. I can guide you the rest of the way.”
On camera, Syler watched the agent’s mouth stretch into a disarming grin just this side of leering as the woman shot him a look filled with promise over her shoulder before returning her attention to the coat clerk. “Mm, way ahead of you. That’ll be Oliveria's wife.”
“No. There are more discreet ways in than—” The agent subtly tapped his ear piece off, stepping up to the woman to help her into her coat. “—sleeping with the man’s wife. Oh, why do I bother with you?” Pulling up what he could on the woman in question, Syler watched Agent Dufault stretch out a hand invitingly to Adriana Oliveria, resigned, and began working on a back door into the security system of the Oliveria estate. Blessedly, and a bit alarmingly, the man had put far more effort into securing his computer network than his home.
Several hours later, Agent Dufault slipped out of the bedroom where Oliveria's wife slept and tapped his comm back on.
“Oh, look, you do know how it works. Color me—”
“I need directions to Oliveria's office,” Arthur cut in, tone all business.
Syler blinked, taken aback for a fraction of a second, before settling into professionalism. “Door at the west end of the hall on the third floor. Take the main staircase up. Security lock has been disarmed and cameras are temporarily looping for the top floors, but I still have eyes on you.” The agent made his way to the room briskly, shutting the door soundlessly behind himself. “Insert the root flash drive before powering his computer on. It’s programmed to bypass the login screen.” Dufault complied, computer booting to life.
“How long will it take?” he asked. The login screen flashed and vanished as quickly as it appeared, desktop loading a mere second later.
“Oh ye of little faith,” Syler said, watching as his drive transmitted a mirror image of the target’s desktop to a screen at the command desk for his perusal. “Open a command prompt from the start menu. Enter the following precisely,” Syler rattled off the code to begin copying the hard drive. “ETA on transfer completion is seven minutes. Open a second window.”
Arthur completed the second string of commands, watching the progress bar on both. “And what’s this one?”
“I want a backdoor into the system for later use. If you’d be so kind as to leave discreetly, Oliveria and his associates will be none the wiser.”
Arthur hummed, turning to the desk’s drawers, searching until he came to a faux back panel, locked. “Now what do you suppose is back here?” he asked rhetorically, setting about picking the lock. “Shame you can’t manage to unlock this drawer remotely as well.”
“I’ll make you an automatic
