5 - Diamonds Are Forever
The alarm blared at 7:00 AM. It was that J-pop song she used to love. Hearing it every morning had fixed that.
She rolled over and slapped it quiet. Lying still, she watched the ceiling fan complete a slow, clicking rotation before she finally sat up.
Her black bodysuit hung on the chair right where she'd left it. She pulled it on. It was a bit tighter than she remembered, and in the places she didn't want. Her breasts and butt always felt somehow more exposed in this ridiculous getup. But it's all part of the job.
In the kitchen, the cereal box stood waiting on the counter, the cartoon sun on its front grinning its usual wide grin. She poured a bowl, added milk, and ate. The first spoonful tasted faintly of cardboard, the way it always did when the box was nearly empty.
After rinsing the bowl and leaving it on the counter, she checked her phone.
One new message from D.
Good morning, Agent Red. Meet me where the ground turns to energy. Usual time.
A smile touched her lips before she even thought about it. She slipped on her shoes and stepped out into the night.
Her walk through the neighborhood followed the same familiar script. Sneak past the dogs. Dart through the alleys. Run across the roof of that house with the awful seafoam green paint. And the blue sedan at the curb was still there, its one flat tire looking permanent.
She looked around. With three precise knocks, a compartment opened. Inside, a single manila folder waited. She grabbed it, and continued on.
The streetlight by the coffee shop held a single silhouette. He was already there, and he looked around as she crept up. The mask he wore was always… shifting. The voice changed, the face changed. It changed races, genders, even ages. She would unmask him today.
Evening, Agent Red, he said.
She froze. One day. One day she'll get the drop on him. Then she'll see who this really is.
He turned directly to her and approached with a confident stride. Thinking you'll get those soft, luscious hands on me today? He snorted. Doubtful. Regardless we have a new assignment today. Seems the Bureau has located our target. Or, targets. Turns out, there's two. His eyes traveled up and down her form. Check your file for more details. His coat shimmered briefly, then he vanished, only a faint anomaly shifting to the shadows remained.
Red kept her eyes on it, the manila folder cool against her fingertips. Two targets. That was new. She didn't turn around, speaking to the space where he'd been. Or where he still might be. An obvious test. Two. Doubles the fun, I suppose. Though I do hope the briefing in this file is more substantial than your usual poetic clues. Where the ground turns to energy. Really, D?
She finally looked down, cracking the folder open with one thumb. Her expression remained impassive as she scanned the contents, but her mind was on the anomaly by the wall, the residual heat of his presence. On the way his eyes had traveled over her. A professional assessment, of course. Mostly.
The empty space spoke. Clever girl. Get going, Red. I'll back you up via comms. This time, the faint, vague shape stayed gone.
Red's eyes flicked back to the file. Photographs, schematics, biometric data. Two individuals. A corporate research facility, Gammatech.
She snapped the folder shut. The suit felt tighter still, a second skin of anticipation. He would be watching, listening. She adjusted a seam at her hip, a pointless, purely tactile gesture. I do hope your commentary is more actionable than your rendezvous points. A girl likes to know she's being watched by someone with a clear line of sight. She melted into the shadow of the next building, a phantom in the city's pulse, already calculating the fastest route to Gammatech. The game was on.
D's voice came through the earpiece. The static did little to hide his posh accent. Listen closely, Red. Though the file said Gammatech, this one is tricky. Gammatech doesn't exist yet, but according to our benefactors, it will.
Red flung herself across the rooftops like some sort of catgirl. In her gloves, steel claws gave her what she needed to climb. Her boots held hidden blades. Across her waist sat a belt full of her usual tools: truth serum, poison lipstick, and a love potion. Would she really need all this?
D continued. The targets in this timeline are two identical baristas, working identical coffee shops that perfectly mirror each other on Main Street. They are using messages hidden in the foam to control the stock market. We stop them now, and there's hope yet.
Red's boots skidded to a halt on a gravel-covered roof. She crouched, a silhouette against the neon glow of the city, processing the absurdity. A temporal paradox and coffee art. Only D.
She touched her earpiece, her voice a low murmur barely above the wind. So we're pruning branches before they grow. Charming. And you think I need truth serum for a barista? The love potion is frankly insulting, by the way.
Her eyes scanned the skyline, pinpointing the mirrored shops. A tactical puzzle. Two identical targets, operating in perfect sync. It would require precision, and a very specific approach.
Unless you're suggesting I seduce the financial stability out of the market. A bit crude, even for me. She paused, a slight, deliberate breath into the comm. Which one do you want me to start with, D? Or shall I make them both an offer they can't refuse?
D snickered. Red, you're thinking too much about this. No, what we need is merely to order the exact same cup at each location. Send them to me for verification, and I will crack the code. Be warned though, once you go into either location, you'll lose comms. You'll be all on your own. Is that clear?
Crystal. Try not to miss me. She descended the fire escape with silent grace, the claws retracting. The first coffee shop's glow spilled onto the sidewalk. She paused, a final glance back toward the shadows where she knew he observed. She pushed the door open, a soft bell above chiming her entry. The comms died instantly, leaving a hollow silence in her ear.
The barista behind the counter looked up, a perfect, smiling duplicate of the file photo. Blue shirt. Plain features. Ah, evening madam. How can I serve you?
Red looked around. Something about him was familiar. A large latte. Extra shot. She leaned over the counter, her voice shifting to a silken hum. And make a heart in the foam, would you? I'm feeling sentimental.
The barista's eyes flew exactly where she knew they would. She twirled one of her fiery locks and giggled. Careful, cutie. Her fingertip skated down his arm. I bite.
The barista turned away quickly, shuffling to the back to make her order. He returned after a moment, sheepishly offering the drink. H-Here you are. Hope it's to your liking.
Red took the cup with a wink, and a slight purse of her lips. She walked to the exit, hips swaying. She shot a look over her shoulder.
The barista was gone.
The second shop's door chimed with the same pitch. What looked to be the same barista stood behind the counter. The only difference being a mustache that didn't quite match his features.
Red placed her first cup on the counter with a soft tap. Same order, please. And make it a mirror image. Her smile was all sharp edges.
He complied without a word, his movements efficient, his gaze lingering on the first cup she'd brought in. The silence between them was a taut wire.
She accepted the second latte. The foam design was indeed a perfect reverse of the first. Twin messages. Twin threats.
Stepping back into the night, the comms link fizzed back to life in her ear. She held the two cups aloft, steam curling into the cold air. Two hearts, D. One nervous, one cold as stone. Your mirrored world is perfectly reflected. And deeply unsettling. The codes are in the foam. Ready?
It took D a moment longer to respond than she expected. When he spoke, he sounded almost winded. Of…course. Ready and waiting. Find a secluded spot and forward the photos.
Red slipped into the narrow alley. She placed the cups on a discarded crate. A faint light above illuminated the swirling foam. She photographed each cup from multiple angles, her movements economical. Photos sent. She kept her voice low. You sound strained. Something in the code already, or is the view from your shadowy perch not agreeing with you?
She didn't wait for an answer, instead lifting the first cup. She studied the foam's topography, the delicate bubbles already beginning to collapse. The pattern was not just a heart. There were minute variations, ridges and valleys that could be binary. Or a map. The second cup was its opposite, a negative image. Together, they might form a key. Well? Don't keep me in suspense, darling.
The comm crackled after a beat. Perfect. There's definitely a cipher hidden here. You'll need to interrogate one of them. Which will you extract?
A slow smile touched her lips, unseen in the dark alley. The nervous one, of course. The flustered are always more… pliable. And he already knows I bite. She left the cups steaming on the crate and moved back toward the first shop. She swiftly moved around back. Her gloved hand found the handle of the delivery door. Locked, but simple. A twist of a pick from her belt, a soft click, and she was inside.
She could hear the soft, shaky whistle of the first barista cleaning the steam wand. Red leaned against the doorframe, allowing the light from the main shop to silhouette her. We need to have a chat about your latte art.
With a startled yelp, the barista dropped the cup he was cleaning. Jesus, R… Redhead! What's going on? Why are you back here?
Red took a single step. The door shut behind her. She plucked the damp rag from his hand and set it aside. Redhead is better than my full title, I suppose. Less official. Her voice was warm and seductive, despite the situation. But you knew that, didn't you? She reached into her belt, her movements slow, deliberate. Her fingers bypassed the truth serum and the poison. They closed around the small, delicate vial of love potion. She didn't remove it, just let her thumb trace its contour through the fabric. Now. About those hearts you pour. They carry a message. I need you to translate. Her eyes locked onto his. Will you do it the easy way? Or would you prefer the alternative?
The barista's stammer was gone. Instead, a frigid tone arose. The alternative. Please. He leaned forward, hand darting to the same pocket, snatching the vial. He dangled it in Red's face. It was already empty. He continued, a hauntingly familiar posh accent breaking through. But, it's looking like you'll be the one needing help… His lips brushed her ear. Right, Red?
A tremor, hot and unwelcome, shot through her core. The world narrowed to the scent of him and the warmth of his breath against her ear. Her hand, which should have been driving a knife into his ribs, came up instead to rest against his chest. A traitorous gesture. She could feel the steady beat of his heart through his shirt, a rhythm she wanted to map with her lips. Clever boy. Her voice was a husky whisper, stripped of its ice, laced with a want she could no longer hide. You drugged the coffee with my own tools. A shaky gasp. This is a dangerous game you're playing. I'm not… I'm not myself.
Her other hand frantically grasped in the fabric of his apron, holding him close even as her mind screamed to push him away. The file, the mission… it all blurred into static. There was only the overwhelming, terrifying need to close the last inch between them. Tell me this was part of the plan. Tell me you have an antidote. Or I can't be held responsible for what I do next.
She closed the final inch, her lips finding his in a desperate, drugged kiss. The world dissolved into a blinding white flash.