Codename: Ghost

Party Favors (3)

Military life required sacrifice. Generals of their conscious. Squadleaders of their soldiers. Soldiers of their lives. And covert operatives their identity.

I've never been the "center of attention" type. As a young girl I cared only for gymnastics. As a teen it was all about politics. Then as an adult I finally found my way into covert ops, which required secret training and an aversion to fame. Sadly, permanent anonymity was impossible. The Golden General's legacy required all mercenary armies to gather at the bi-annual Peace Summit. At the most recent one I had spent most of my time nursing a beer alone at a bar. This was where the BBB had found me. She had aggressively hit on me until I fled. Amidst general laughter she had called out for another chance at my "sugar plumb". It was gross. Guess that wasn't bad enough, though. Somehow she had now found me again while I was on a dangerous infiltration mission into a bloodthirsty dictator's private island mansion. So what the hell could I say?

My expression remained neutral during this awkward silence. "Is there something I can help you with?" I finally asked.

"Oh come on," she purred. "You look so damn familiar. Don't leave me hanging."

Wait. Of course! My prosthetic face and dyed hair should prevent true recognition. "Really. Do you know my name?" My heart was pounding...

Turning, the BBB walked slowly around my body to eye all the details. "Mmm. Who cares? I never forget an ass, and yours is seared into my brain from somewhere, sugar plumb."

Again? This bitch was unreal. "I'm flattered. Truly. But you must be mistaken." I gave her an apologetic smile and walked off. A guest called for me. I bowed, offering my tray. Another called. I repeated. After a few minutes her burning gaze finally left my backside.

Why did aggressive female flirtation usually fluster me? I'm heterosexual. Still, my poise was rattled. Each stranger's glance towards me felt suspicious. Hushed voices like accusations. Thankfully, by the time I reached the north lawn it had returned. My poise. My calm. My center. Things were clear again.

While the clock kept ticking.

All covert ops had a time limit. Some lasted long enough to become a lifestyle, but most were over in weeks, days, or hours. This was the "hours" type. When the party ended, so did my shot.

Without hurrying, I continued on towards the mansion's grand front entrance. The guard presence here was heavy, but they let us all through to the bottom of the wide outer steps. I joined the stream climbing them. It was slow going. Bodies pressed against me. Warmth. Touch. A hand slipped into my pocket. On instinct, I grabbed its wrist and twisted HARD. It let my All1 core go. I turned. The young pickpocket's astonished eyes stared into my cold ones. Abruptly I let go, allowing the flow to separate us.

Relax. I had to maintain my cover.

The grand porch was a plaza. Crossing it still took less time than the stairs. I passed into light through an open set of gilded double doors. A grand entrance hall lay ahead. Halls led left, right, and forward under a dual staircase converging into an overhanging balcony. Thickening crowds churned. I traded my empty tray for an unattended wine bottle and its opener. Pushing down the central hallway was slower going, with distractions all around. Lone violinists and fiddlers roamed. Sidehalls led to small balconies overlooking gardens, ocean views, or minor courtyards. Attractive escorts of both genders beckoned from private nooks. My attire was noticed. Some guests called for me, but I kept my eyes forward. A waltz slowly become audible over the gluttonous roar. I made a last push towards it, finally emerging out into the main dining room. Well, the space was more like a dining stadium. The grand dining table was longer than a bus and buried under bouquets of bright flowers. Great lords and politicians filled its ornate seats, their plates still empty. Below its raised dais swirled lesser players in one great big corpulent mass. Flanking this central area were two ballroom floors. Professional dancers moved in perfect tandem across them, with the very best partners twirling atop raised platforms. Behind them all was a massive orchestra upon mid-level balconies. They went silent during my inspection. This was quickly followed by a general hush.

The dictator was about to make his grand entrance.