T/N: Found an interesting one on J's hard drive. He thinks he can get around my password. And thanks to the guy who wrote and gave him the encryption program suggestion. I got it first. The Tower is mine, his laptop is his. Enjoy. He wrote this in stages between late '07 and mid-'08 when he started the Green Eyed Girl and got lost. Anyhooooo...read it. Like it. Hate it. He don't care.

Nik

Prologue

He'd been thrown out on his ear. He cut all ties with family and friends. He disappeared until early 2005 when he returned, tail between his legs, to the place he called home. What family he had left absorbed the cover story and swept him back into the fold. Everything was fine until…well, something had happened and it changed his life.

He never left things to chance. He'd been an agent/operative for almost two years and a 'contactor' for another 3 years and had never failed to eliminate the marks he accepted. His fee was always the same – information and money. The information he gleaned from various 'salted' web sites and used or sold to other friendly governments. The money was always deposited into an account in the Caymans where it would remain for not more than 15 seconds before being electronically distributed to other accounts in other banks in other countries.

He was a church, a bank, an oil company, a travel agency, a charity, an aging rock star, a pension fund and other covers for his various accounts. Twice a month his automated programs would 'sweep' his accounts of any deposits and forward them to a numbered account back in the Caymans leaving just enough money in each of the 'swept' accounts to keep it active.

This bright and sunny winter morning had found him sitting in a car beside a Starbucks riding their WiFi and logging into an intranet he used to check for 'engagement contracts'. There was an 'email', for lack of a better descriptor, waiting for him. It requested a videoconference and stressed that it was critical that he log on at the appointed time. What caught his attention was the fee amount: $500,000US, and a brief text message.

You have not responded to requests for your services in nearly 6 months. If you fail to respond to this request, your employment file will be closed on the assumption you are no longer pursuing engagements or you are dead. Kappa, we need your services. Note the fee. Log into the video intranet using the usual means at the appointed time.

The date/time stamp was for the previous day. He'd been busy and hadn't checked his employer accounts for some time. Living a double and now a triple life was time-consuming.

He laughed when he saw who had sent him the email – Diane Beckman, now General Diane Beckman. She owed him. He'd once been tasked to eliminate her but his personal ethics would not allow him to take the task. He'd demurred and nearly lost a lucrative client, his former employer, the CIA.

He had sent her an email warning her that the CIA was on her ass and outlining the Termination Order. She'd responded in her usual terse manner saying her 'ass is worth more that a mere $100,000US'. She still had class and style. And she hadn't betrayed 'her' to the CIA either. Another mark in her favor.

The device around his throat altered his voice, making voice print analysis useless and a total waste of time. He'd tinkered a bit with it and eliminated the circuitry that would have enabled his former 'employers' to defeat the device and obtain a voiceprint. Any records of his voice at Langley or FT Meade had been mysteriously corrupted upon his unannounced departure, as had any record of his existence. He'd been on assignment and simply…disappeared. It happened all the time. The Agency simply stopped paying the agent and moved on.

Later that evening he logged on to the intranet site and entered his username and password and after a 5-second delay was connected to General Beckman who glanced up and smiled.

"I knew you were too mean to kill and too greedy to pass up the bounty. Are you still mission-capable, Kappa?"

A voice eerily similar to her own answered, "Of course, Diane. Always. And is your ass still worth more than $100,000US?" It was a long-standing opening gambit between them.

"Of course, my dear. And I'm happy to see yours is in one piece. Well, hear…since after all these years I still don't know what you look like."

"Part of the mystery and cover. I can be anyone I wish. Now, to business. Who is the mark and why is the fee so high? A high profile target? You know I will not accept just any mark. What are the mark's qualifiers?" Kappa's qualifiers were moral as well as political. Turncoats, terrorists, criminals who escaped punishment on 'technicalities', those types of marks.

Beckman looked uncomfortable. Actually, she looked…sad.

"You know of Project Omaha, of course. Well, a renegade agent infiltrated the Project, stole the database, destroyed the Project site and all programs, data and hardware and transmitted the database to an individual. This individual is now the Human Intersect with incredible abilities to store and retrieve data. We've tasked an NSA major and a CIA agent as his handlers but it's all falling apart."

"So, this individual is the mark? You have not met my qualifiers. I'm sorry, I must decline."

"Wait, Kappa. We've recently learned that Fulcrum has identified him and has recruited him. You know what damage he can do to us and what a benefit he can be to them. He must be eliminated."

There was a one-minute delay in Kappa's response. "Why not have his handlers kill him? That's what they are there for, correct? To eliminate him when the time is right?"

"Impossible. The woman is in love with her asset and Major Casey has refused to execute his instructions. They don't believe the intersect has been turned. The woman is hopelessly compromised and Major Casey is now suspected of being Fulcrum. Your brief is to eliminate the intersect host and, if necessary, his handlers."

"Why not simply extract him and put him in deep security? That way you retain his 'utility' without the loss of the data."

"We've tried. Twice. Both times his handler or handlers intervened and foiled our attempts. The CIA is not aware of our attempts. Director Graham does not believe Bartowski has been turned and is actively supporting the compromised agent to the point of allowing a relationship to develop between them. They will soon be told that they are free to 'see what develops' as well as move in together to enhance security."

"What is the source of your information that Bar – the mark – has been recruited and that Major Casey is Fulcrum?"

"A deep cover agent infiltrated Fulcrum and discovered the information. He is a friend of the target and former partner to the CIA handler. His name is Bryce Larkin. His character and reputation are impeccable. There is no reason to question the validity of his report. It is irrefutable."

"What time frame is desired?"

"Within 72 hours."

"Location?"

"Burbank, California."

"Impossible. It will take me 24 hours simply to arrange getting there and I have to survey the terrain and then conduct extensive reconnaissance of the mark. Find someone else. You conditions are unacceptable."

"Fine, as long as he's dead by the end of the month. That gives you 7 days, Kappa. I'll deposit 10% of the fee as usual and the balance upon confirmation that the target has been eliminated. A 5% bonus if the mark's death is 'accidental'."

"I accept."

General Beckman smiled and asked if she's considered her repeated offer to meet at some quiet, out of the way spot, perhaps Bermuda or the Bahamas, to see what else they might have in common.

Another pause.

"Perhaps after this contract, Diane, perhaps I'll see you then. In fact, I think you can make reservations – for two, sweetie."

The conference was disconnected and the last image was of a leering, smiling, Diane Beckman.

"Son of a bitch!" He tore off the voice-altering device and threw it across the bedroom.

Chuck Bartowski was pissed!