Perfect Crime
Chapter 3
“I got a hit!” The FBI bureaucrat pushed his chair back in celebration, and had the supervisor over his head in seconds.
“This spreadsheet,” he explained, “is the list of all invitees to a galá hosted by Anne Whitworth, some fashion company executive. We picked up a last-minute addition to it: Laura van Beek, together with another guy who doesn’t seem to be connected.”
The supervisor looked hopeful that the search for the actress wouldn’t last much longer. “This is a rich party, right? In that case…” he took over his employee’s keyboard for a minute, and entered the name below Laura’s, Ronald McMullen, into the main database. “Since the highest-earning man with that name in the US is an electrical engineer, we can assume that this is a cover identity for our missing agent.” Finally, a result that made sense. He grabbed his phone and called the first agent that came to mind, who could blend in as a rich socialite at an event.
“Agent Ashford. We’ll need you, and a fancy dress if you have one, for tonight. The actress is going to a party downtown, and it looks like James Kirkland wants to accompany her incognito. Assume that he has brainwashed her, don’t try to cooperate with her. Monitor and get what intel you can.”
Julia Ashford’s crystal clear answer came almost immediately. “Copy that. Will be at the Division in thirty.”
I came up to the bouncers, arm in arm with the beautiful Laura. We were both dressed sharply: me in a typical navy blue suit, and her in a shining silver dress. My goal was for as much of the attention to be diverted to the woman—she was, after all, the celebrity—so that I could pull any tricks freely.
Sure enough, the eyes of all nearby were fixated on Laura as we entered the venue, occasionally shooting a second glance at the not particularly impressive, unknown man accompanying her. Little did they know that I was doing the thinking for both of us: Laura’s head was by this point nearly empty, with only enough surface-level memories to engage in small talk with other guests. After all, she would be out of the country in less than 36 hours, so what did she need the brainpower for anyway?
One blessing of brute-forcing our way into the invitee list for a random event was that the circle of Laura’s acquaintances and the circle of guests present overlapped just barely, meaning we rarely had to stop for meaningless introductions and discussions. Crucially, though, the circles overlapped over the name of model and private jet renter Monica Navarro, who I had just spotted on the floor above, deep in conversation and wearing a curve-hugging blue dress.
I kept a five feet distance from my companion as an older lady approached her and started barraging her with questions. “Oh, hi Laura, how have you been? I didn’t know you would be here!” I stood to listen for a moment and confirm that Laura could still hold a normal discussion without devolving into sex talk, and took the time to scan my surroundings. Even though the venue appeared to be a converted mall, it all looked like what I’d expect from an elite LA party: more fancy suits and dresses, expensive cars pulling up on the road, and the list went on.
Then, almost hidden behind dozens of figures, I spotted her in a strapless black dress: Julia Ashford. A colleague in theory, though I had never really worked with her, only heard her name in the context of briefings. However, if she was at this innocuous party and looking in my direction, it was clear: the FBI was not far behind me.
It was time to test my comms with my newfound ally, Oversight. I didn’t know who he was, but I knew that without his help, my chances of leaving the country in one piece were slim.
“Do you copy? We have a hostile agent with us,” as I pressed the tiny device against my ear.
“Really? What agency?” Oversight’s output was clearly going through a voice changer; not a bad idea if he wanted to obscure his identity.
“FBI, of course. The name’s Ashford, and I can’t get to my target without neutralizing her first.”
“I hope neutralizing doesn’t mean pulling a gun inside a crowded party,” he replied, his concern clear even through the voice changer.
“Of course it doesn’t. Didn’t Mark tell you what my modus operandi is? Especially when it comes to attractive women the universe throws in my way.” Laura chose the perfect moment to take my hand again and nuzzle against my shoulder.
“Oh right, it was something about hypnosis. If you want to come up to her and work your magic, be my guest.”
“That’s not an option right now, Oversight. She has her own comms with the FBI, and by the looks of it she’s using them quite frequently. If I am to get her, I need them disabled.”
“Of course, why didn’t I think of just disabling them? FBI does stand for Force of Bad Intercoms, after all.”
“Not the time to be snarky, Oversight. I know they can be jammed. How long can you do it for?”
“Uh… I could find the radio frequency and jam it by spewing garbage on it, but then they’ll just instantly switch to a different backup frequency.”
“Instantly? How quickly can they do that?“
“Well, they need to realize their frequency isn’t working, and then write the actual commands to switch. It takes ten seconds tops.”
“Ten seconds. That will do.”
“I thought your line of work needed a lot more than that.”
“It does. But we have no better option, so I’ll do something known as a shock induction.“
“Go ahead, cowboy.”
“The only remaining issue is her mission itself. She has to keep a line of sight to us at all times and report our activities. So I’ll have to find a way to interrupt that, but don’t worry.”
The instant she saw the number, Anne picked up the phone. “Who is this?”
“Are you alone?”
“Not yet, one sec.” Snaking through crowds of guests and avoiding any and all of them, she arrived at a secluded corner. “I am, now.”
“Excellent. It’s James, and it is time to be useful.“
“Ooohh yess—” Anne’s eyes rolled back, and her grip on the phone grew weaker as she pressed her back against the wall. For a moment, she experienced profound sexual pleasure, reaching the best orgasm she’d had in years and dampening her underwear. I patted myself on the back for giving her the pleasure trigger—in my opinion, woefully underused in FBI tactics.
The night was progressing slowly, and Julia almost felt bored with her assignment. An elite party promised an entirely different experience from her past missions, but it had quickly devolved into a repetitive slog: report that the target agent was walking to one direction or another, report he was saying something to van Beek, get stuck in a conversation with a guy who was obviously only talking to her for her looks…
Then suddenly, her line of sight to the target was interrupted by a woman. More precisely, by her ample bosom, and it was moving straight in her direction. Julia tried to step aside and regain sight of the target, but the blonde was closing in on her and was obviously in a mood for talking.
“Hi! Have we met before? I’m Anne Whitworth!” She sounded rather ditzy, but from the air in her step and the way the guests made room for her, it appeared she was the host that had been mentioned in ing during the briefing.
“Hello, I’m glad to meet you. I’m Nikki Nowak and I work in the fragrance industry.” Before she could elaborate on the sob story the FBI had cooked up for her, Whitworth was already asking complicated questions about the company employing her and the challenges it was facing.
For James, this was the perfect opportunity. The agent opposite him not only had lost sight, allowing him to reposition and even get behind her, but she was also growing more stressed as she tried to recollect minute details of her cover identity. Now only separated from Julia by a large plant, he gave the signal to Oversight. “We are a go.”
Julia’s intercom was flooded with noise, splitting her attention behind the meaningless talk with the executive and the technical issue. In that perfect storm, her shoulder was grabbed by a stranger behind her, and she was forced to turn around.
The figure grabbed her left arm, raising it above her head as all her attention was diverted to it. Having to already contend with the woman and the radio noise, her brain neither kicked in the FBI combat training nor recognized who the perpetrator was. Instead, she could only watch and try to catch up.
“Watch your hand, watch it, DROP!” The figure yanked her arm downwards, and she followed it as she closed her eyes and fell into its own arms. “Deeper and deeper…”
She was then treated to the fastest round of commands James had ever needed to give.
“You will only report me standing in place and talking for the whole night. Meet me at the exit when it’s over to exchange s.”
“Yess… Tonight… Exit… Exchange…” Julia repeated in a low voice.
As her head was lying on James’ shoulder, he could hear the noise on her intercoms clearing, and so snapped her back into consciousness.
“Agent Ashford here, what was that interference? I got eyes back on target, not doing anything conspicuous.” James gave her an encouraging pat, and for a second basked in his success. Behind Julia’s back, he saw Anne simply standing, as if fulfilling Master’s last request meant her life no longer had meaning. It was rather poetic that the first slave had helped convert the second, and the second had now helped convert the third.
Wait, slave? He could have sworn this all started with wanting one girl, but letting the other beauties go after the effort of enthralling them felt dishonest.
James’ mind raced back to his days in college. He was staying with Hunchback, the ‘affectionate’ nickname for the roommate who had taught him all the secrets of hypnosis. It was all about the hot girls, back then—he could ride on the coattails of his post-hypnotic suggestions for months sometimes, making even the most popular girls forget all about their weekly visits to a specific frat house. What would Hunchback think, seeing present James painstakingly capture gorgeous executives and agents only to do nothing with them?
Where was Laura, anyway? James looked around for any trace of the actress and pondered what his brainwashed subjects did when not given exact orders. It only reinforced his belief: the women under his hypnotic control needed a firm hand, preferably his own and preferably on their ass, to guide them.
“Thank you so much, Oversight.” Right, this party wasn’t over yet. Miss Private Jet was still on the loose, and she was his ticket to Mexico.