Prologue

 

"You can't be a good spy and have everyone know who you are and what your drink is. That's just hysterically funny." - Roger Moore

Part I

 

"Special Agent Maryland, thank you for coming so quickly."

"Thank you, Deputy Director Carson." I swallowed hard, hardly able to believe it. Summoned for a personal interview. Was this the promotion I'd worked so hard for, at last?

"I've read your report on breaking the Iron Pipeline. Taking down the flow of weapons to the Ku Klux Klan. That's not been done in eight years. Six months of work supervising an undercover agent. That's something to be proud of, and because of that I want you for a special mission. If you complete this assignment with the same level of expertise that you brought to the last one, I'm going to recommend you for command of a field office."

"What's the job, sir?"

"Theresa - may I call you Theresa?"

I nodded. The familiarity would be excellent leverage later on. I smoothed my skirt, wishing I'd had a chance to iron it when I got the call from him, earlier.

"Down in Sierra Madre, a community outside Pasadena, California, a nonprofit organization has come to our attention. They call themselves, 'New Beginnings'. It's a restorative justice program catering to ex-convicts. At first it seemed innocuous enough, but recently it's begun to attract attention. As you know, ex-cons usually have trouble reintegrating into society."

"Of course, sir. It's an old story. Besides the difficulties with securing work, there are personal problems, all of which frequently lead to them re-offending. The recidivism rate is usually about forty-five percent."

"New Beginnings has a recidivism rate of zero," he said.

"That's impossible," I gasped. His eyes were intent, and he slowly shook his head.

"About one out of five never make it through the program: escapes, drugs, one way or another they break the rules and are kicked out and sent back to jail or prison. But those who graduate from New Beginnings never re-offend. The program has been running for five years now, and is slated to get a federal grant and a possible influx of inmates from national facilities. That's what brought them to our attention."

"It sounds like some sort of cult."

"Far from it. It's a nonprofit organization which is being run in Southern California. It works in conjunction with the California Department of Corrections. It began as a halfway house for inmates being reintroduced into society following incarceration. It showed considerable success, and has since been expanded into a larger operation with approximately six hundred residents spread out over three separate compounds. New Beginnings only takes women, which isn't too surprising. California has a high rate of female inmates. So, any program which eases the strain is going to be welcome. But the Southern California operation seems to be extremely choosey about the kinds of people they take: only females, no violent offenders, no one with family connections, no drug addicts, and the list goes on. Also, those who join have to sign a complete waiver giving the program carte blanche to literally do anything to break their cycle of incarceration and re-offenses. Furthermore, if the graduates complete a series of tests which were worked out between the state and the program heads, their records are expunged and they are given a fresh start. The latter was worked out in a series of negotiations with the governor."

"I've never heard of such a program before offering to expunge an outstanding criminal record, outside of the French Foreign Legion."

"And yet, it exists, and it has a one hundred percent success rate amongst its graduates."

"It works?"

He nodded. "Totally successful. The attendees go on to a variety of different employment positions: construction, plumbing, business, finance, a variety of entertainment careers, and even farming. What's curious is that friends of these people report complete personality changes. In some cases, they say it's as though a different consciousness has been transferred into the body."

"Why hasn't there been a raid on the premises?"

"No probable cause. None of those who go on to gainful employment could be convinced that anything was wrong with them. They're happy, productive workers with job skills and no problems. Why would they complain?"

"If the program is so successful why are we looking into it?"

"A preliminary investigation by our financial crimes unit says that one of the primary funding sources for New Beginnings is a shell corporation in the Cayman Islands. We've not been able to get hard copies of the incorporation papers, and their firewalls are too strong for a sustained data tap. However, one thing we have been able to discern is that it appears the money was deposited from outside the United States. It's possible that despite its successes, this is a front for some sort of money laundering scheme."

"A restorative justice program is a new one in money laundering," I noted. "Although it might be an excellent way to gain access to the prison system itself."

"Perhaps so. But that's just the tip of the iceberg. They appear to be branching out. Many new for-profit businesses in the Los Angeles area have begun opening, with direct connections to the parent company. Most of them are straightforward enough: restaurants, nightclubs, retail shops. But nearly all of them are staffed by graduates from this program."

"Ex-convicts aren't supposed to associate with each other. That should be enough to bust the operation."

"No, Theresa, that only applies if the people are on probation. Also, remember, graduates of the program have had their records expunged. But get a load of this: many of the workers are still actually serving their final three months of time. Yet they are working in the open and still returning to the New Beginnings compound in the evening. There are ample opportunities for them to run away, but they don't. These are hardened criminals when they go in, but in a matter of months they appear to have been changed into honorable workers. It hardly seems possible."

"It shouldn't be, sir."

"There's worse to come. Some of those who actually complete the entire twelve months seem to drop off the grid. It's entirely voluntary, though. They leave behind testimonials and letters telling of love and emotional satisfaction and exploring new horizons; all the missives sound very much the same. But it's still not enough for a raid."

"Are you alleging they've been changed into slaves?"

"That's what we'd like you to find out, and discover whether this is a money-laundering operation, or something else. Now, given your exemplary work in the most recent operation and in Project Swordfish in Florida, you've proven to be adept at efficiency and independent work."

"What do you want me to do, sir?" I placed myself directly into his hands.

"Through our contacts with the Department of Corrections, we've reserved a seat on the next bus of inmates going into the New Beginning compound. You'll be infiltrating it undercover, using the identity of a female convict already pre-approved for the program. You'll be equipped with a hidden transmitter and briefed on how to use it. You'll send regular reports to a team on the outside. Tell us what you can about the program, and whether there are any actual violations of the law. When you spot some, word will be relayed and we'll bust the place and figure out exactly what's happening and where the money is coming from."

I took a deep breath. This was going to be a tough assignment. But if I did it, I'd have the command position I'd always deserved.

"When do you need me, sir?"

"In a week. You'll be going in under the name Theresa Mayfield. There's an inmate with that name and a record already. She's being held in an administrative segregation unit in Utah and won't be released until after the conclusion of this operation. Can you do it?"

"I just need to turn in notice at my apartment and put some things in storage. I can be ready in four days."

"Excellent. I knew I could count on you." He extended his hand, and I took it with a smile.

 

When I got back to my apartment, the place was dark, and I felt a qualm of fear. Where was Kevin? Had my boyfriend and fellow agent already discovered my secret? Then he appeared in the doorway to our bedroom, shirtless, and offered his hand. Scented candles were already burning, filling the air with cinnamon and spiced apples. His strong arms enfolded me and I felt him pulling me after him. Swallowing my misgivings, I gave myself to the moment.

His kisses were long and deep and in seconds he had me out of my dress and was caressing my tiny breasts. We'd been separated for several days while he cleaned up the Iron Pipeline operation; I'd presented the reports. I hadn't realized he missed me this much.

"Oh Kevin," I whispered. He'd commenced running his hands up and down my skin like a skater on the ice. It was one of my favorite lovemaking tricks. It raised gooseflesh on me, and I closed my eyes in bliss. My hands reached for him, but he'd already dropped down to slide my panties off. I stepped out of them and then giggled. He was licking the edges of my pussy; then he recommenced skating on my skin-my thighs, tummy, and up my back.

"Theresa..." he whispered in my ear. I knew what he wanted.

I dropped to my knees and took his manhood in my mouth. It was a long sausage, swiftly thickening as my tongue worked its feminine magic on the length and began a slow rolling over the head. I gripped Kevin's buttocks and began sliding it back and forth in my mouth. It was solid wood now, the head a chunk of marble which was beginning to quiver. With a deep chuckle I opened my throat completely, knowing the moment had come. An instant later he came, and I savored the sweet-salty flavor of my lover's essence. Oh! I loved doing this to him. It was proof positive that I was the dominant in our relationship. That and the fact that he cooked for me.

As I licked him clean, I felt his hands in my armpits. Now he would lift me up, kiss me, and tell me how much he loved me. That's what he always did.

In a single motion, Kevin scooped me up and deposited me on our bed without a sound. With a flip of his hand he undid my garters and yanked my stockings off, hurling them to the far side of the room. What was going on? This was new.

He spun me about, put me on my hands and knees, peeled apart my legs and took me from behind. His abdomen clapped against my buttocks and his jutting cock impaled me with all seven inches. I gasped at the sensation and then yipped in surprise as he withdrew and then rammed into me again in a frenetic pumping motion which left me gasping. The intensity of this fucking was unlike anything I'd ever experienced, and so soon after I'd just sucked him off. Usually it took him at least thirty minutes to get his second wind. But not now.

I raised my head to look back at him, but he growled and pushed my head back down to the mattress and slammed in again. I grunted at the force, gasped, and then cried out as a sudden orgasm surged through my body. It was a blasting wave which overwhelmed me and left me gasping. Strength left me and I fell forward, struggling to catch my breath. Whatever was going on, I loved it. It reminded me of a persistent fantasy I'd had since girlhood of living at the feet of a strong, dominant man. He commanded, and I obeyed. It'd frightened me, and was partly why I'd consistently topped Kevin and pushed hard at work.

What was happening?

He was on me in an instant, yanking off my bra. My boobs were clenched and the nipples flicked and pinched mercilessly. Another orgasm flashed through my body and I moaned. This was almost too much. My fingers splayed out and somehow, I found the strength to drag a pillow over and rest my face against it. My heart was pounding and what little strength I had was needed for the ruins of my conscious mind. But Kevin wasn't done with me yet.

I didn't know him anymore. He was like a man possessed. His cock was an unforgiving pile-driver. Every stroke, every movement was a harsh, unsympathetic, unrelenting penetration of my body. He held my hips and then my shoulders and continued to drive his way into me, and I loved every minute of it. It was like I'd entered Heaven on a cresting wave of sexual bliss and the sensations were unlike anything I'd ever experienced in my entire life. I was the focus of his passion, the medium for his masculinity. We were one like never before. If only he'd been this way with me from the beginning! Climax gave way to orgasm which was followed by a firework display of pleasure which sucked the last vestige of energy from me. As I fell down atop the mattress, Kevin gave a hoarse shout and spent himself again inside me. The hot wave of semen was the final straw, and I slept.

Hours later I raised a sleepy eyelid, hoping my lover had some refreshments ready. Instead, I saw him fully dressed, beside a pile of cardboard boxes.

"What's going on, Kevin? Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving. I know what you did."

"You-"

"You bitch! You twisted the wording of the report, giving you sole credit for the Iron Pipeline project. That was my idea, my operation, and my infiltration of the Klan. Mine, all the way down the line. All you did was sit in that hotel and manage the transmissions of the microphone taped to my chest. But you took the credit for the whole thing."

"Kevin, if you'll just listen," I protested. I'd hoped to tell him before he found out. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The heart-stopping sex we'd just enjoyed suddenly made more sense.

"I'm through listening to your lies, Theresa. I'm leaving. We could have had something, but you stabbed me in the back. Two years of love and emotional connection, and my forlorn hope that maybe we could have made a marriage out of it. But no, you decided your career was more important than anything else. Your ambition trumped everything else. Now I know where I stand: second-rate to your advancement. You've got a thirst for power, and I've seen what that does to people. I will not be along for the ride. I'm done with you. Hope you enjoyed the hatefuck. I wanted to get something out of you before I left you."

"But Kevin, you mean so much to me," I pleaded, holding my arms to him. He could be useful to me out there. He had street cred I'd need for this assignment.

"Oh, blow me! I'm not going to play second fiddle to your desire to be Director before you're twenty-six." He picked up his boxes and walked out, kicking the door shut in my face.

Pathetic. He would never have done anything worthwhile with the fame anyway. Just asked for another hard assignment in some backwater town like he had before. No, it took imagination and drive to get up the ladder. Iron Pipeline had provided me with that, and with New Beginnings busted open, I could pick whatever I wanted. Carson wanted me to command a field office, but I had my sights higher. His job would do nicely. Deputy Director Maryland! It had a nice ring to it. The final step would be so much easier, then.

From an overlooked waif in a third-rate orphanage to a high post in the top law-enforcement corps in the land. This was the penultimate post, the ultimate reward and by God, I was going to have it. I deserved it. No one was going to stop me, not Kevin, not Carson, and not any of the scummy, scabby, criminal scum whom I was going to have to live with over the next year.