xxxi. rogue missions

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xxxi

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xxxi. ROGUE MISSIONS

"Hello mam," the security guard states.

The giant seal of the Central Intelligence Agency was carved into the wall behind him. The daunting protrusion shook me slightly. In an attempt to maintain my casual ambiance, I give the guard a small smile. He scans my badge, takes my briefcase, and has me walk through a metal detector.

"Ms. Smith," the guard says in a wary tone. "Even at level eight clearance, I can't let you bring this in."

Smith? Level eight clearance? Oh right, that's the information printed on the fake ID.

"Bring what in?" I ask with faux confusion.

"It's your briefcase. You can't bring in a stun gun."

I laugh it off. Subtly, my hand runs through the blonde strands of my wig. "My mistake. It's just for me to feel safe in the city."

The guard nods politely. He takes out my stun gun and hands back my briefcase. With level eight security clearance, Thirteen had made my life a hundred times easier. I didn't even need my computer to hack into security.

He practically allowed me to waltz into the most fortified agency in the world with nothing but a fake ID. Now where is that USB? My burner phone suddenly buzzes in my back pocket. There's a text message from an unknown number.

"Good job, Darling." It read.

Only one person called my that obnoxious name. My nude high heels spin around to see if there was anyone who looked even remotely suspicious, though the entire first floor was practically empty.

"Where are you, Thirteen?" I text back.

"I see that you've decided to accept my offer."

"Just don't hurt my family or I'll destroy the USB."

"You have my word. You look good as a blonde."

"Gag me. With cyanide. Then throw me into a river. Now what do you want?"

"The USB is in the underground 3rd floor. The code is Delta, Romeo, Alfa, Sierra."

"How do you even get all this information?"

"I ask nicely. And if they don't tell me, I kill them."

I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or serious. Either way, I click off the phone and take the elevator to the instructed floor. The underground floor is scarce with people. My face is masked with confidence as I walk down to the end of the hallway. With my best attempt, I try to avoid letting security cameras catch my face, only my wig.

A gaggle of guards are debating one another at the end of the hallway right in front of the door where the USB is being held. As I get closer, glimpses of their conversation fill more of the corridor.

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