As she hung up, a wave of wretchedness washed over her. She reflected on the events that had led her here, to this life of deception. It had been one mistake, years ago, a misjudgment that had spiraled into the life she led now, indebted to the CIA, and working to right a wrong.
Now, she found herself lying to the man who was supposed to be her partner in all things. The guilt was a heavy burden on her shoulders as she prepared for the evening ahead. She had to see Ortega and retrieve the ledger from his safe, a task she dreaded but simply couldn’t refuse.
As she stood and headed towards the bedroom to get ready for her meeting with Lopez, Clara felt the full weight of her actions bearing down on her. Lying to her mate was something she had never thought she would do, yet here she was, choosing duty over the sacred bond they shared. She wondered if there would ever come a day when she could be honest with Seb, or if the remnants of her past mistakes would always loom between them.
Later that day, Clara entered the CIA field office with a sense of purpose, her eyes scanning the building she knew so well. Her steps faltered when her gaze landed on Seb. She hadn’t known he would be there, and if she was being honest, she’d hoped not to run into him. Their eyes met, and there was a brief moment where the world seemed to pause. A silent recognition of the intricacies of their relationship seemed to pass between them. The air felt thick with the lies she had told him about the previous night.
“Seb,” she greeted him, her voice a careful mask of professionalism that hid her desire to reach for him and spill all her secrets, begging him to forgive her for her deception.
“Clara,” Seb responded, the awkwardness evident in his tone. “How was your run last night?”
Her stomach flipflopped. “It was... refreshing,” she replied, the lie leaving a sour taste in her mouth—a taste she was getting used to and hated all the more for it. “I have to meet with my handler now. I’ll catch you later, okay?”
Seb nodded, a flicker of something undefinable crossing his features before he masked it with a curt smile. “Of course. Take care, Clara.”
With a tight smile, she turned and made her way to the meeting room where Senior Officer Lopez and Senior Officer Miller were both waiting for her to arrive. She knocked and entered, finding Lopez staring intently at his cellphone and Miller looking through some paperwork on the desk in front of him. Their gazes lifted as she closed the door behind her. After their initial greetings, she handed Lopez the envelope that Martinez had given her the night before and he opened it and pored through its contents.
“Sit down, Clara,” he said, eyes never leaving the documents. “Let us have a look through these then we’ll go over your plan for tonight.”
Clara took a seat, her posture straight as she waited. Finally, Lopez handed the paperwork to Miller who studied the contents intently before he lifted his gaze to hers, his finger tapping the envelope.
“So, it seems that Martinez has managed to get Ortega’s eye trained on a new piece of art, a painting he’s made sure he can’t resist. Ortega will be persuaded to call you in to appraise it. While you’re there, Martinez has arranged for a diversion outside—something that will draw Ortega’s attention. When he’s called away, it will give you a few minutes to access the safe and retrieve the ledger,” Miller said, his eyes locked onto Clara’s.
“And the handover?” she asked, her mind racing with the logistics of the operation. “Should I give the ledger to Martinez?”
“Once you have the ledger, you’ll give it to me. I’ll be waiting in a van down the street from Ortega’s house,” Lopez said. “I’ll copy the pages and return the ledger to you, so you can meet Martinez at midnight for the final handover.”
Miller nodded. “If CN-6 know about the ledger and where it is kept then they’ll also know what it contains. They’d know if we swapped it for a fake one and that would blow your cover with them.”
Clara’s thoughts turned to the repercussions of their actions. “And what happens when Ortega realizes the ledger is missing? Won’t doing this blow my cover with him?”
Lopez leaned back in his chair, a confident, almost smug smile on his face. “If this ledger contains what we think it does, it won’t matter. The operation will be concluded, and we’ll have enough evidence to arrest Ortega and many of his associates.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Clara pressed, needing to understand every possible outcome.
Lopez shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, focus on the mission at hand.”
As Clara stood to leave, a lingering question held her back. She turned to her superiors, her resolve evident. “Can I tell Seb about all of this? About being a double agent? He’s my mate and I hate lying to him.”
Miller opened his mouth to say something, and Clara was filled with a moment of hope before Lopez spoke, his response immediate and unequivocal.
“No. Absolutely not. Not until we identify the mole. This stays between us.”
She didn’t miss the slight frown on Miller’s face, but he remained quiet and she wondered if that was because he didn’t want to undermine Senior Officer Lopez who was her regular handler.
She nodded, a heavy weight settling in her chest. She left the meeting room with her mission clear, but her heart heavy with the secrets she was still being forced to keep. She drove home with a nagging sense of unease. She’d been on countless missions before in which she’d been tasked with gathering intel, but stealing a ledger from right under Ortega’s nose, not knowing how long he would be out of the room for or what he would do if he caught her in the act filled her with unease.
She had just stepped into the sanctuary of her apartment when the shrill tone of her cell phone pierced the quiet of the room. Ortega’s number flashed up on the screen. She pulled in a steadying breath then answered, her voice sounding calm despite the sudden spike of adrenaline.
“Miss Young,” Ortega’s voice came through, cordial as ever. “Are you available to appraise a new painting I am thinking of acquiring?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Ortega,” Clara responded, grateful for her art history degree and previous work at art galleries which allowed her to carry out the task confidently. “I can be there in an hour.”
“Excellent,” he replied, and after a few more pleasantries, the call ended.
Clara moved quickly, getting ready with mechanical efficiency, then she sent a quick text to Martinez. As she dressed, her thoughts wandered to the implications of the night’s task. If the ledger contained the evidence the CIA needed, it would mean the end of Ortega’s reign of criminal terror—and the end of her role as a double agent.
She had been living a life shrouded in shadows for three long years, her every action observed, her every decision scrutinized. The CIA had made her a promise—help with one final case, infiltrate Ortega’s operation and help to bring it down, and she would finally be free. It was a promise that had seemed distant, almost unattainable, until now. She honestly hadn’t minded the work previously, seeing it as her penance for being so extraordinarily naïve in her youth, but now the lies and deceit to those she cared about—to Seb, in particular—felt like a burden that was far too heavy to carry.
