Part 1: A Pleasant Fiction
Locking the bathroom door really ticked them off, judging from all the knocking.
“Elizabeth!?” one of the female guards called. “Elizabeth, you’ll need to be ready in the next five minutes. You have a very important appointment tonight. For your own sake, it would be better if you were on time. Perhaps you’ll survive with a bit less powder on your nose, yes?”
The same two condescending guards had been shadowing me since I began this mission six months ago. And after six months, neither of them trusted me. Still couldn’t believe it had been that long. Six months in the deep in the belly of enemy territory. Six months with no contact with headquarters.
“Elizabeth, put your brush down,” one of the guards demanded. “Open this door. It’s time to go.”
Of course “Elizabeth” had never really existed. “Elizabeth” was the punch line of a joke that wasn’t supposed to be funny. “Elizabeth” was a necessary fiction, just another name in a selection of names I used in undercover assignments.
After deliberately making them wait, I opened the door. The shapely, vivacious guards escorted me down the hall toward the elevator, flanking me from front to back, both of them with tense, uneasy facial expressions. Not only didn’t trust me, they couldn’t understand why their superior did.
Had it been up to them, I’m sure they’d have slit my throat weeks ago and toss my body into the nearest trench without a moment’s hesitation. In fact, I’m sure their superior would have done the same had I not released my pheromones on him. Although how much longer the effects would last was starting to worry me.
Which is why I had to make sure that tonight would be my last night. Tonight I was going to finish this mission.
Part 2: Failure is Not An Option
My date stood waiting for me by the elevator in his building. From his first glimpse, I knew he was undressing me with his eyes. Of course, that’s what I thought all evil men did when they stared at a beautiful woman for more than five seconds. And I was usually right, which would explain why my employers, my real ones, thought I was so good at my job.
When we reached elevator, he pressed a button and the doors immediately opened. Then he looked at me and smiled, as if his vain attempt at chivalry was supposed to impress me. But since I was undercover, I had to smile back, and giggle softly. He was my target, after all. So I had to be extra careful. I hooked my arm inside of his and walked into the elevator with him, my two-guard escort saluting me with one final, scornful “I hope you die a horrible death” stare as a the big metal doors shut.
The organization that had hired me to do this job used to have so many government acronyms, and titles and subtitles, that I often forgot its name. It had a network of secret agents, the majority of them possessing what some might call superpowers. Super speed, optic blasts, flight, weather control, whatever.
The Lord gave me a more subtle ability, a far more useful one, in my opinion.
Though I had done many jobs for the organization in the past, this would be my first operation since I changed my name. I got the assignment from a non-returnable email address. And I was not going to fail.
Part 3: Esther’s Greatest Weapon
The target’s name was Joseph Hart, president and CEO of Hart COM, a major player in the communications industry. My employers specialize in finding demons. Or those who have been possessed by them.
They did some research on Mr. Hart and apparently there were three layers to the man. By day, he was one of the city’s most successful stories of wealth and power, frequently seen donating to charities and glad-handing with politician. First layer. By night, however, he ran a sophisticated criminal syndicate. Second layer The syndicate was into the basic stuff – drugs, money and weapons. My organization did some digging and apparently found financial records showing that Hart COM had been funding the syndicate in secret.
It wasn’t the first time my superiors had exposed one of the company’s dirty little secrets. But Mr. Hart was a very powerful man. His expensive lawyers had many tricks. Magic tricks. Feats of impossibility that would somehow make any evidence brought against the company disappear. Which is why I was brought in. My employers suspected that Hart my be under a demonic possession, which would explain several facets of his life, including his evasion of justice and the exponential growth of his company. Joseph Hart was a very powerful man, indeed.
The Lord must have had Hart in mind when he created me, as He had given me an effective way of dealing with powerful men. My mission was to get close, confirm his demonic possession, then detain him.
Six months ago, I applied to an open position in the company’s sales department. I excelled at the job given to me. But it wasn’t the reason why I was promoted to vice president of sales only six months later.
It was because Mr. Hart had a weakness for women, although it didn’t take an expert to figure that out. All you had to do was look at those ratchet female guards he kept around. When they weren’t stalking me, they were, and I quote, “eminently in conference with Mr. Hart and not to be disturbed.” For hours. Disgusting.
Hart was especially susceptible to attributes of a women from African descent, a resource that God had given me in abundance – thick black hair that stretched to my shoulders, brown sugar lips, skin as smooth as chocolate milk, and a curvy set of hips to match. I had everything I needed to live up to my code name.
During biblical times, the beautiful Esther drove the Persian King Xerxes so mad with love that he made the Jewish woman his queen and was willing to give her half his kingdom in order to please her. Realizing that her beauty and honor were from the Lord, Esther used her position within Xerxes’ kingdom to save God’s people from the grave.
Of all the heroes in the Bible, Esther was my favorite. I wanted to be like her ever since I was a little girl. And so God gave me Esther’s greatest weapon. Charm. And Joseph Hart didn’t stand a chance against that.
Part 4: Joseph the Wicked
On the way up to Joseph Hart’s office, I observed him. He was smiling and rubbing a hand around his chin. It was supposed to be attractive, I assumed. So I blushed a bit and giggled some more. I couldn’t wait to get the job over with.
“I’m very happy that you decided to join me this evening,” Hart said as we traveled up the elevator. He had a faint sliver of Spanish in his voice. “It appears our fortunes are now intertwined, much to my…delight.”
On the outside, Joseph Hart was the complete opposite of everything I would ever want in a man. I hated bald men. And I hated them more when they stuck hot, smelly cigars between their lips, something Mr. Hart was extremely fond of. He was also fond of blue, pinstriped suits and burgundy ties. Either he wore the same clothes every day or he had purchased millions of blue suits and ugly ties to hang in his closet. After hacking into several of his bank accounts, I assumed it was the latter.
His office was on the last floor of the building. When the elevator stopped, I made certain that he got off first. On our other trips up the elevator, he would let me by first, not because he was a gentleman, but because he wanted to stare at my bottom. It made sick. He made me sick.
Yet for all his repulsiveness, for all his slime and greed, there was something….something on a spiritual level, that was faintly alluring. Something strangely supernatural about him. You see, I have no problem admitting what I am. I understand that nothing good lives in me. I have too much sin in my heart, committed too many horrible deeds in my…former line of work, for anything good to live in me.
We arrived at his office. If you could even call an office. It was more like an elaborate hotel suite. The office was broken into two halves.
The first half was supposed to be an actual place of business. There was a large desk made of a very expensive, marble material. He had pictures mounted in gold and silver frames hanging everywhere, pictures of himself along with company shareholders from all over the world.
Half buried under the hundreds of files on his desk was a small picture of his family in a frame that looked to have been purchased from the dollar store, a slight indication of the regard in which he held them.
“Does your wife know you’re here late with me,” I asked, predicting already what lie or foul thing he was going to tell me. “I don’t want to cause any confusion at your home.”
“Come now, my dear,” he said as he was waving his hands dismissively. “My plan was to make our meeting together as pleasant as possible. Let’s not ruin it with talk of my boring spouse.”
Part 5: The Luxury Half
Though my distaste for Joseph Hart was almost too much for me to bear, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the luxury half of his office. There were cream-colored silk curtains separating it from his normal office. With a smile, Mr. Hart pulled the cords to reveal the luxury half. It was like walking into a fine restaurant off some villa in southern Italy.
The walls had been erected with handmade brown bricks. How this was done during the construction of the building will forever remain a mystery to me. There was a spider-shaped chandelier hanging from the ceiling in reverse, custom built with a colorful mixture of fine glass and ocean crystals.
In the middle of the room was a circular wooden table with a pair of small cylinder candles softly burning in its center. To the left was a kitchen where a small chef was preparing our meal. He was singing to himself in Italian, so thoroughly engrossed in himself that he didn’t even notice us walk in, even though Mr. Hart had been bragging very loudly about his latest automobile purchases.
On the right side was a large window with an amazing view of the downtown skyline, as if the very city itself was eye candy for Mr. Hart’s amusement. It was in this half of the office that I planned to undo Mr. Hart in three steps.
“I can’t express what a…pleasure it is to dine with you,” Mr. Hart said as we sat across from each other at the wooden table. “A man would kill his dying grandmother if it meant sharing a meal with the beautiful Elizabeth Chase.”
“Mr. Hart,” I began with my soft voice. “I think it’s time I got straight with you. My name isn’t Elizabeth. It’s Alice. I…I changed my name because of my criminal record.”
“Criminal record?” he replied with intrigue as the chef was serving us our Caesar salad. “What exactly did you do? You kill someone?”
“No, No,” I replied. “Nothing like that. I was into robbery, money laundering, that sort of thing. You know what I mean?”
I chewed a fork full of lettuce covered in Caesar salad dressing.
“Of course, you don’t,” I continued after swallowing. “What am I talking about?! You’re Joseph Hart, one of the most successful men in the city. You probably don’t know the first thing about crime. And I’m certain you’re appalled that I do.”
Hart didn’t respond. He just stared at me, a concentrated squint forming above his eyes, as if he wanted to tell me something. Step one was complete. During my training to become a secret agent, they taught us that when a dirty person discovered someone else’s dirt, it made them feel more comfortable to share their secrets because they think they have something to hold over you. He was right where I wanted him. But from here on out, it was going to be a delicate process. I committed now. I couldn’t afford any slip ups. Or I’d end up dead.
Part 6: Temptation Arises
In the luxury half of Joseph Hart’s office, the chef brought us the entrees, garlic shrimp linguine top with chopped asparagus and bell peppers all covered in a homemade wine sauce. The chef smiled as he sliced tiny bits of Parmesan cheese on top of our entree with his cheese grater.
“I hope this doesn’t change all the hard work I’ve put into this job,” I said. “If you don’t want me with the company anymore, then I’ll understand. But don’t fire me. Please allow me to quit with dignity.”
“Come now, Elizabe…I mean, Alice,” Joseph Hart said as he was placing a cloth napkin over his thighs. “You’re being much too hard on yourself. Do you honestly think I’d let the past get in the way of who you are today? In fact…”
Hart stopped himself. I knew I was close to breaking through. But he was going to need a bit more encouragement. I needed him to let go, to let the demon take control. It’s the demon I want to confront, not Hart himself. It was time for step two.
“You know,” I began. “You’re a very special man. I mean, the average employer would have probably fired me without hesitation. But you’re so quick to forgive me. It takes a real man to do that.”
“Well, thank you, Jayna,” Hart said with a smiled as he blushed.
Men like Joseph Hart didn’t get very many compliments in life. His line of work was fast-paced, demanding and unforgiving. Jobs like that usually left little room for compassion and sensitivity. So in order for him to become successful, everyone had to hate him – his employees, his colleagues, his competition in the industry, perhaps even his family. Even though it might not have seemed like much, a formal statement of praise from a beautiful woman can go a long way. Step two was complete.
“Have you ever thought about doing it again?” Hart asked. “You know, as a side job?”
“Absolutely not,” I replied. “Jail wasn’t fun. Besides, who’d want my services now anyway? I’ve been blacklisted. My name, my real name, is registered in over a hundred different law enforcement agencies from the local police to Interpol. I’d be a major liability.”
“But what if you could do it again and not get caught?” Hart asked. “If there was a way to side step the law, get a new identity. Between that and you’re job here, Alice, you could be making a rather large sum of money.”
They told us during our training that undercover was like two sides of a double-edged sword being sharpen at the same time. And sometimes the deeper you go, the sharper things get. Sometimes, no matter how horrible the enemy was, you might find yourself attracted to the allure of evil.
It always seemed like the good things that I needed to accomplish were always at war with the horrible things I was tempted by daily. It seemed like it took all the effort and energy I have to do one good deed. But one tiny nudge in the wrong direction could easily send me into a lifetime of evil deeds. Joseph Hart just gave me that nudge. I was getting closer. The demon’s presence was rising, thickening the air with its power. My plan was working. But was I strong enough to resist?
Part 7: Careful Decisions
I could see in his eyes a faint purple glow in his manic, slightly jumpy pupils. His breaths became heavier, more labored. Every so often with he spoke, I could to the traces of green venom lining the corners of his mouth, acidifying his saliva. The demon was coming. Some part of Hart’s subconscious might have been trying to hold it back, but the creature was beginning to seize control. Yes, I was scared. But not for the reason you might think.
I had been working Hart for six months. Six months non-stop. Watching him. Learning about every facet of his life and his home and his money and his power. Over the last six months, I could feel something pressing against my soul, a tingling sensation that burns so very good. This was the work of the demon, trying ever so subtly to forces its will onto me through use of my own desires. I had been Hart’s shadow. And now there’s a question: What would it be like be Hart? To have everything?
My mother always told me that resisting temptation came down to one, simple question.
“You either love God, or you don’t,” she always told me. “Which is it?”
Evil’s pull was a tough current to resist. But in the end, I always knew what kind of God I served. So it was time for me to get my head back in the game and focus on the mission.
“It would be way too risky,” I said, replying to Joseph Hart’s request to join the criminal organization he was funding. I thought about it and realized that I could use my delayed answer against him, making him believe I’m vulnerable. “The group that employs me would really have to trust me.”
It was silent for a while. Joseph Hart’s face was at still as stone as he sat at the table deep in contemplation. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He wanted to bring me into the fold and use me as the new money girl in his crime syndicate. If I didn’t cooperate, he would threaten to go to the police about my so-called criminal record.
But there were a lot of things he had to consider first, most of it having to do with my “liability” problem. If his organization got into any kind of trouble because someone found out about my background, his criminal superiors in the syndicate would probably have him killed.
Conversely, if he decided to hire me and nothing went wrong, then he would most likely receive a bigger share of whatever activities the group was involved in. He had to make careful decisions about who to let in and who to keep out. What I had to do was make sure he made the choice that best suited my mission. It was time for step three. And I hated step three. It was always more personal than the rest.
“Will our chef be bringing us any champagne tonight?” I asked.
“No, no,” Hart replied. “Champagne is for celebrations, my dear. And this is a time for making decisions. Our wonderful chef has prepared martinis for us.”
Then Hart snapped his fingers and the chef was at the table almost immediately, carrying a small tray with a pair of cocktail glasses filled with a mixture of gin and cherry-red vermouth, each garnished with an actual cherry. I hated alcohol more than I hated cigars. My mother raised me to hate them both. She worked as bartender to help support the family and was always telling me how useless they were. But in this situation, the martinis were either going to make step three easier or harder.
Part 8: The Final Step
Step three was the last phase of my mission. No mistakes. No going back. It was all or nothing now.
“And just what kind decision are you thinking about making, Mr. Hart?” I asked.
“Alice, I’ve been involved with some…other business associates, for lack of a better term. Acquaintances who might be interested in your talents.”
“Oh, Mr. Hart,” I replied. “You think more of me than you should. I know we’ve had record sales since I became VP of sales, but that doesn’t mean -“
“I’m not talking about you work here,” Hart interrupted after taking a few sips from his cocktail glass. “I’m considering a new opportunity for you in reference of your prior talents with money.”
“But you know I can’t do that anymore, Mr. Hart,” I said doing my best impression of a begging toddler.
I needed to make him ask me that question. The one that would ensure the completion of step three and ultimately the completion of the mission.
I blinked with hopeless confusion, like a vulnerable teenage girl in her high school teacher’s office. If I was going to make him ask me the question, I had to make myself look as weak and defenseless as I possibly.
I took deep breaths so that I would appear uncomfortable. It was tough because, at the same time, I had to keep him unaware of the fact that I hadn’t touched my martini. I had to make him feel like he didn’t need the alcohol to soften me up before he asked the question.
The awkward minutes went by slowly. And just when I thought he was going to see through my plan, he finally asked the question.
“Will you dance with me, Alice?”
“But sir,” I hesitantly answered with a crackling voice. “I do my best to maintain a professional relationship with my -“
“Alice,” Hart said again, this time with a deeper, stronger, more demanding tone as stood up and extended his hand. “Dance will me.”
Perfect. If he was going to bring me into his fold, he was going to do it with his wit. He was going to do it by wooing me into submission. Men like him were all the same. Power and dominance were their weapons of choice. Dancing would give him the opportunity to assert himself over me, to demonstrate his irresistible command. Martinis, persuasive words and a passion dance were always a powerful combination. Fortunately for me, I knew all of Satan’s tricks.
Part 9: Mission Completed
The soft music began to play. He stood up from his seat, walked to the middle space in the room and extended his hand. Step three was complete. I let him dance with me for a moment, let him whisper his sweet nothings into my ear, let his grubby little fingers run down my spine until they reached the base of my back. I endure it all until he finally told me what I needed to hear.
“I’m connected,” he began. “Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to the executive members of a large criminal syndicate known as B.A.A.L. Cooperate and I can make you a very rich woman. Refuse at your own risk. I’m sure we understand each other, yes?”
As soon as the last word fell from his crusted lips, I took his arm and flipped him to the ground. The way his body crashed to the ground was the most satisfying feeling I had all night, apart from the salad.
“Got it!” I yelled into my watch. “Proceed with phase two!”
The window with the view of the city shattered and the infantry unit that had been placed on the roof of the building flew in on cables, clad in black and purple fatigue with their guns pointed at the chef who had retreated under the table, muttering frantically in Italian.
“It’s ok,” I yelled. “And for goodness sakes, don’t shoot the chef. It’s guy over there on the ground.
“Ok, Alpha Team!” one of the men yelled to the rest of the ground as he pointed to an unconscious Joseph Hart. “There’s the package. Let’s get’em ready for delivery. Move! Move! Move!”
I watched the helicopter swoop down near the window as Alpha team chained up Joseph arms and legs. And I could help but smile as they did. Joseph Hart had first known me as Elizabeth Chase. Then he knew me as Alice Chase. In truth, neither of them were my name. As a matter of fact, Chase wasn’t my last name either. No one knew my real name. And no one ever would.
As the team loaded him on the helicopter, one of the solider got curious.
“It’s a long way back to headquarters from here,” he said. “About two hours, as a matter of fact. What do you plan to do on a helicopter with Joseph Hart for two hours.”
I looked at Joseph and the answer was easy.
“When he wakes up,” I began as I nodded my head toward Joseph, “I think I’ll read him the book of Esther.”
Mission Completed.