Ep. 6: Too Deep, Too Long
An undercover agent realizes she's been had.
Fucking Nazis.
Pasiolibas, as we call them in my culture. Fascists. Scared, pathetic, racist drones. They come back around every time the generation that dealt with them is mostly gone. Like cockroaches, they feed on the leftover xenophobia, prejudice, and selfishness that’s left in the underpinnings of society. I know it’s only human nature...but I’ve never been able to dispel the loathing I have for them.
I turn around and kick one in the teeth with my pointed boot. A few incisors give way and the man who just grabbed my ass drops to his knees and clutches his face. Hurting people isn’t something I generally enjoy. But this time, I certainly don’t mind upholding my reputation. The scrawny man, a fascist pig, holds his mouth as crimson rushes onto his palm and onto the freshly waxed marble floor.
“You don’t get to touch me, swine.” I spit on him. A nice touch. “If you lay another hand on me or any other woman again I’ll cut both of your hands off and let you watch as I feed them to my dogs. Then my brothers will torture you until you’re almost dead, inject you with adrenaline, and feed you to the sharks while you’re still alive.”
Some sort of unintelligible hum comes from behind his hand. Surely it was a compliment of my morbid creativity. But his eyes were angry, so perhaps not.
“Commander Isolde!”
Shit.
I’d recognize that voice anywhere. A deep, commanding tone with a slight rasp he earned by taking a bullet to the neck as a young soldier. I turn around at attention.
“Colonel Aberg, sir.” I remain stiff as a board.
The tall, cleanly shaven man does not break his stride’s usual aggressive rhythm and halts directly next to me, likely looking down with curiosity and even pity on the coward trying desperately to hold the teeth inside his skull. The colonel smells like sandalwood and aftershave.
“Care to explain this, Commander?”
“He grabbed my rear, sir.”
I feel him peer at me. We make eye contact for a moment before he returns his expressionless gaze to the downed man.
“Hmpf. Meet me in my office Isolde. Now.” Polished shoes clack down the reverberant hall. Aberg doesn’t look back.
This is a first. Being so close to accomplishing my goal, I can’t afford any derailments. I’ve been under cover for years, cultivating this persona. So many distasteful things it took for me to make it here. But all will be worth it if I can last for just another few weeks.
Aberg’s office is immaculate. It must be cleaned on an hourly basis. Oaken bookshelf-lined walls, black stone sculptures, a dragon-glass globe, pure gold accents, a large gold telescope and one massive window letting in afternoon light work together to create what is likely the nicest study I’ve ever experienced.
“Isolde, your ferocity is admirable. Your country needs you. Sit.” Words dampen softly around him, nearly forming an aura. Even the acoustics of the space are pleasant.
Informality?
Colonel Aberg flips open a black folder, revealing a few papers printed in black ink so heavy I’d likely be able to smell them if not for frankincense smoldering in the back corner. Its smoke slightly obscures the light coming through the one, wall-covering window. I walk over to a rather uncomfortable looking red-leather lined wooden chair. I sink into it - far more pleasant than I had expected. I have to pull my neck upward like a marionette to avoid the urge to slouch.
“You have proven worthy of your rank time and time again. Your strength will be needed now more than ever.” A shallow breath and another naturally hard gaze. He returns his attention to the documents. “What I’m about to show you is not public knowledge, and is to be kept this way. Is this understood?”
I nod as if he were waiting for my affirmation. He was not.
“Good.”
The thick, textured ebony card-stock folder spins an effortless 180 degrees on the polished table and a picture in the lower right hand corner causes my heart to drop. In the instant it takes for my brain to process the image my hands become clammy. I think about how it feels to change the color of my hair and eyes. I picture the way my hair’s color looks like an oil slick in one moment and the next it’s whatever color I imagine. Skin, surprisingly, takes less effort to change.
The breathing slits just below my collar twitch. They yearn for water.
“We were testing a submersible in Lake Konigssee when it was attacked and sunk by an unknown assailant at a depth of 160 meters.” Aberg gestures for me to examine the documents freely before placing both hands in his lap. “As you can see this was not some kind of wild beast.”
Large gashes and punctures in the metal hull are unmistakable. Magne-spears. Ours.
Drolleg, you imbecile.
“Many of the on board sensors were destroyed before the vehicle flooded. We suspect by sonic technology or powerful electromagnetic pulses. We have ruled out Americans, Russians, or any other land threat.”
“Forgive me sir, but land threat? Is the implication that someone lives down there?” I’m a good actress. Have been for a long time. How would a normal human act if they heard this information? Honestly I’m not really sure. But I do my best.
“We need the threat identified and destroyed.” He slides the folder suggestively toward me and doesn’t answer the question. I wonder if that was purposeful.
“Have we ruled out natural causes?...Sir.” Though I’m not looking at him, I feel his gaze piercing me like a harpoon.
“No. In fact, Isolde, we knew of them before this. It was assumed they would remain passive. Our assumptions have proven incorrect.”
“Them?”
“Finish examining the file.” A stern command —that’s more like him.
I skip a page and land on two pictures of different women. One has short, blonde, neck length hair. The other wears brown hair extending below the shoulders. Their skin tones and eyes are slightly different. The blonde woman dons an officer’s uniform and the other, a civilian dress. It takes far longer than it should for me to recognize them.
Both women are me.
I look to Colonel Aberg to see his stone gaze is fixed on my eyes. We peer into each other’s souls and though my expression doesn’t change, I feel an unwelcome guilt flood my chest. I’d been too deep, too long.
“Shapeshifters. We have known of you for some time, Isolde. You have been quite useful and your people have been...benign. But things change. And now you have a choice. Tell us how to defeat them, or die right here, right now.”
The hammer of a revolver clicks into place beneath the desk.
Oddly, I’m less nervous now. Killer instincts never leave you. I have a magknife on my hip. My father’s folded steel magknife. The watch on my wrist contains a miniature omni-directional field generator that responds to small electrical variances in my hand. Took a long time to hone it, but I’ve used it for 20 years now.
Without moving a muscle, I’ll guide the blade out of its sheath, shoot it between Aberg’s ribs, and rupture his heart before he knows what’s going on. I’ll take a bullet. It might kill me but it’ll be worth it.
Fucking Nazis.
