I like my apartment in Georgetown. The neighborhood's nice and the shopping opportunities are plentiful. The only real problem I have with it is that parking can be a nightmare. I usually leave my car in the lot and jog to work anyway so even that didn't annoy me too much.
What was annoying me was that I was stuck on translation detail again. This time doodles on napkins from an OPEC meeting. So far I'd found six phone numbers, the comment 'Chavez is a horse's ass' (underlined twice!), a hummus recipe (which made me hungry), directions to a strip club (in Prague I think), and a cute little squiggle picture of a camel. Not a productive day even by my considerably low standards. Then my phone rang.
"Agent Summers, please report to the tasking office ASAP."
My eyebrows raised and I pulled open my desk drawer to grab my cell, "On my way."
Imagine Tasking as the duty sergeant at a police station. They're responsible for making sure missions have agents that are qualified to do the job. I was at the office in five minutes.
"Agent Summers reporting."
The receptionist looked up and stared at me, "You're a qualified field agent?"
I stared back and let a little slayer leak through. She looked away and quickly dialed an extension, "She's here." Looking back at me but not meeting my eyes she pointed down the hall, "Room 1162."
I nodded and walked down to the designated room. The door was ajar so I walked in closing it behind me. Inside was a typical briefing room. Conference table, chairs, whiteboard, and a bureaucrat in a Men's Wearhouse suit.
"Have you done courier duty before?"
"As part of an escort team."
"Yes, well this time you'll be solo. You fly to London tonight and pick up the package and a sat-phone. Tomorrow morning you board a train to Istanbul. You'll be met at the station there to hand over the package and the phone. Simple enough."
The exaggerated casualness of the way he talked was starting to make me nervous. Something wasn't right here and I was having that baity feeling.
Buffy property of Mutant Enemy