The Temp

A Lioness Hunts Her Prey

By Mongoose750 (mongoose750@yahoo.com)

"But I tell you, Joe, there's something funny about that temp!" Fred said to his fellow security employee.

"Like what, Fred?" Joe replied. "Sure, she looks hot, but that could hardly be considered a crime."

"It's not that. Well, her eyes for one thing, they look like she's a predator or something."

"Fred, half the field operatives that report here look like they want your lunch money. A few of our female agents look like they want to eat your face off; and that's when they're in a good mood."

"There's her hands too."

"Last I checked, she had two of them, with five fingers on each."

"I shook her hand once. She had a strong handshake, and her hands felt hard, callused, like she broke bricks and boards, you know, like those karate masters," Fred explained, managing to keep his voice down.

"Strong? I'm not surprised. She looks like she works out a lot. I've been trying to get Wilma to work out more often. And so what if she takes karate?"

"It's just, something's wrong, that's all I can say."

"Well unless you can prove it with better evidence than that to our superiors, you're not going to get anywhere. I think you've been watching too many spy movies."

"Joe, we live in a spy movie!" Fred replied, again in a tight whisper. "We both know our employer is connected with that outfit that's named after the Fantastic Four's greatest enemy. And there's been supposed "terrorist' attacks on our related companies."

"Yeah, right, right," Joe agreed.

"And there's that absurd order we received a few weeks ago before it got rescinded."

Joe laughed. "How could I forget? To be on the lookout for exotic-looking women, particularly those who look like they're from Japan or India, and look at their feet. Look at their feet? What kind of nonsense was that?"

"I don't know, but Lisa, one of the secretaries who happens to be from Bangladesh, and runs around in her stocking feet half the time, raised a big stink about it until they retracted it."

"Heh. Well whether she's an assassin, spy, or she's able to detonate like a nuclear bomb, it doesn't matter to me; and you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it is now the end of my shift. Nothing happened during my shift, so it has been a good day. This place can go up in flames as far as I'm concerned after my shift is over. During my shift, I protect the place, after that, it's on it's own. I have a hot dinner and a ball game waiting for me when this is over, and you do too. You can leave your mystery woman to the night shift, unless you're going to work overtime."

Fred thought for a moment. "No, you're right, Joe, it's no longer my problem. Besides, I want to see how my boy did on his spelling test today."

Joe slapped his hand on Fred's back. "There you go. Come on, let's clock out."

The security officer had been right to be a little suspicious of the temporary worker with the eyes of a predator. For she was a Lioness, a clan of female assassins located in Africa. Even with the war between DOOM and the two assassin guilds, the Poison Geisha and the Silkworms nearing its conclusion, there were still a few high profile targets the two clans want to eliminate. However, DOOM, though almost too late, had learned to keep an eye out for their former clients. Some places verged on the edge of blatant discrimination, issuing an edict on not allowing any visitors of oriental or Indian origin near the building, and keeping an eye on employees of that descent. Needless to say, DOOM employees who were not black or white were a little hostile about it, and upon realizing that both clans were worldwide organizations and multi-ethnic, the edict was dropped.

For this particular sanction, the two assassin guilds asked their sister guild, the Lionesses for help. They were all too pleased to help. At this one business that also posed as an investment firm, the target wasn't the CEO. The true brains rested upon the executive vice-president, a man who lived hermit-like inside his office and did not go home or anywhere without a small legion of armed guards.

The assassin employed for the task was Elaine Peterson. She was white, stood 5'7 #", and had long brown hair placed up in a bun. She had a muscular slim build, more than adequate enough to perform her assigned task. And she loved her job. She likened her task to more of a big game hunt, where she would be hunting the most dangerous game of all. Her favorite hunting ground was the "Urban Jungle," particularly the office.

Elaine was a second-degree black belt in karate, and she was also a master of a la mano, in Spanish, or # port#e de main, in French, which means, loosely translated in English, at hand. The style was made into a fighting art by a short secretary who sliced open the throats of two intruders who tried to tried to invade the Lionesses' main office, with a paper clip. She realized that in the targets' lair, be it home or work, almost literally anything could be used as a weapon. The best part was most of them were not obvious. For example, on the typical office desk, a standard letter opener may be suspected, but not a sharpened pencil. After the deed was done, the murder weapon could be reduced to nothingness in a pencil sharpener. Elaine's favorite weapon of choice for stabbing was Pentel# mechanical pencils, preferably a .5 or .3 tip. Even if her wardrobe didn't allow it fashion-wise, she normally wore a pocket protector inside her suit coat armed with a few of them. Besides that, she could be very creative.

Before she left for the states, Elaine was warned that her target would be heavily guarded, and to take her time. Patience, for Elaine was one of her biggest weapons. Familiarity eventually caused a target to drop their guard, and that's when they would be dealt with.

Elaine became a temporary replacement for one of the office workers when one of the staff became ill. She estimated the woman she replaced should recover from the concoction she slipped into her tea by the end of the week. That should be enough time.

Elaine's business outfit consisted of a black business suit involving a suit jacket and short skirt, a sleeveless white button blouse with a black nylon ribbon worn as a bow tie, and black slides with a medium high heel; the outfit was both fashionable and potentially deadly.

Once Elaine reached her office, she took off her suit coat before sitting down at her desk. It was a warm day; not as warm as it gets in South Africa, but warm enough. She then kicked off her shoes. Before committing a sanction, she liked to be as comfortable as possible. Then she did some regular work until break time. When the clock announced the time for a break, she placed both her jacket and her shoes in a big black purse. She didn't plan on wearing either clothing item again that night. The hunt was on.

There were several break rooms scattered throughout the floor and the building. Elaine padded to a room that wasn't used that much during the evening. She peeked in the recycle bin and smiled. She took out four days worth of the Times, and placed them on the table. Elaine fixed a cup of gourmet coffee, turned on the rooms' TV to a news channel, and sat down.

Sipping her coffee, she laid out the paper, and carefully started rolling it tightly. Once she finished with a section, she added one to it, reinforcing it. Circulars and glossy ads were included, giving it added weight. When she finished, she had a few stray corners stick out for a "blade," and grabbing some transparent tape, she wrapped it around the "handle" part to keep it from unraveling. Elaine stood up, and using her few lessons in kendo, took a few practice swings, slices, and cuts.

"This is my best one yet!" She said to herself.

She sat back down to review. According to her plan, she only needed to sanction at least three people; the main target, her "getaway guy," and one who would most likely be in the way. That's not counting additional guards that may try to stop her if they unexpectedly show up. She leaned her creation in a corner and left.

The floor also had a surveillance room where two people literally sat and watched coverage of the whole floor over closed circuit television. It was about as exciting as watching grass grow. Well at least they'll be put out of their misery. Elaine snuck into the room, her bare feet feeling the warmth from a dozen monitors and recording machines in the small room. She pondered why this room was never locked, and then she saw her answer.

Both men were half asleep. One was almost out, while the other kept fading in and out of consciousness. A small part of Elaine felt sorry for them, but only a small part. She'd deal with the nodding one first.

Raising her right hand, she silently inhaled, then delivered a knife hand strike to the back of the neck. She grabbed the falling head before it hit anything and leaned it back. Fortunately, the seat was able to support the first mans' broken neck.

The second man was staring to stir, so she quickly untied the ribbon around her neck, and wrapped it around the neck of the second man. The man suddenly awakened to find he couldn't breathe. He tried to claw at the ribbon, but Elaine jerked him from side to side, keeping him off balance, not allowing his sleep-addled brain to provide a defense.

When she was through, she looked over the dead man. She had an interest in him because he was about the same height and build, and hair color. She also liked his last name, Smith. Unbuttoning the first two buttons on her blouse, and putting her ribbon into her shirt pocket, she got to work. She stripped off his shirt, trousers, and hat. When she got to his shoes, she frowned. Like the Silkworms and many of the Poison Geisha, Lionesses performed their assassinations barefoot. Though that wasn't the purpose for the uniform, that detail could be crucial. After a moment's thought, she stripped off the man's socks. Elaine was pleased when she saw he wore odor-eating insoles. She folded up the uniform, and placed it in a corner. She took both bodies and moved them in another corner.

Sitting in front of the monitors, Elaine found the cameras were almost everywhere and saw almost everything. She already saw enough footage to blackmail a few employees and supervisors. They even posted a few in some ' but not all, thankfully ' in some of the washrooms and break rooms. She was wise in picking that one room; no cameras were installed there, she checked. Apparently the voyeur who designed the surveillance system chose the high-traffic areas, and a few discrete places where people sneak around. She halfway expected a camera in the room itself. After she glanced around and saw none, she glanced at the varied screens.

On the one screen that shown her work area, all was well. No one was checking around her desk, which was good, but she needed to make an appearance anyway. She checked the other monitors until she found what she was looking for, the office of the vice-president, or at least the outside of the place, anyway. The two solemn guards stood outside the door. From what Elaine surmised, four of them stood inside the inner sanctum. Elaine shook her head. It's not always a matter of if person or persons can get you, but how bad they desire to do it. Even if you're a world leader, someone can get through your defenses and kill you eventually; the question is will they be able to get away. That was Elaine's theory, anyway. She considered her opinion to be a little valid, since she specialized in sanctioning well-guarded people.

Getting what she needed to know, she turned off half the monitors, and as a second thought, turned off the monitors to the hidden places as well. Matt and Sally would be happy that their office romance would remain hidden. Pulling a key out of the guard's uniform pants, she locked the room before returning to her desk.

She was twenty minutes late returning to her desk, but no one really noticed. A coworker saw her bare feet, then smiled and kicked her pumps off, enjoying the guilty pleasure. The evening shift was a little more relaxed, but it didn't matter either way. She played catch up on her work, and when she caught up on everything, she clocked out early. She didn't head home, but back to the break room.

For at a particular time, the vice-president poked his head out like a ground hog on Ground Hog day, and went to the break room alone, if one would call two bodyguards tagging along alone. He did it at the same time every workday like clockwork. It appeared he didn't trust or like his employees very much. Again, Elaine shook her head. Trusted employees were more likely to protect you, why risk your life for a stranger? No wonder DOOM was losing.

After she entered the break room, she walked over to the vending machine. Another reason they're losing; allegedly they're supposed to be one of the top spy organizations, yet they fill their bodies with junk. She bought a roll of Sweet Tarts#, grabbed her weapon, and sat at a table. When she heard people approaching, she placed six of the candies in her mouth. She laid the newspaper on the table.

The two bodyguards came in; checking the place like it was rigged with bombs. All that was missing was their sidearm fanning the room. If Elaine truly worked here, she'd be insulted. The vice-president entered, once he got the go-ahead. He didn't look any different from the other employees; someone about to hit middle age, brown hair with one streak of gray, stood close to six feet, average build, nothing spectacular. He did however, seem to have a sense of self-importance that drifted in the room like the expensive aftershave he wore. Neither he nor the two bodyguards acknowledged her presence. He turned on the TV, and fixed himself some coffee.

For a few minutes, all was silent, except for the reporter on the television. After he fixed his coffee, the vice-president turned to one of his guards, and said, "Who is that?"

I'm in the room, Elaine thought, and the way he said that sounded more like she was an inanimate object or a roach running across the floor. Oh, she was going to love doing this one!

"I don't know," the bodyguard addressed answered. The other one shrugged his shoulders.

"Then remove her, now."

Elaine popped three more Sweet Tarts in her mouth and started chewing. The crunching noise seemed to fill the room. The bodyguard walked, no, swaggered over to where Elaine was sitting, and said in a voice filled with condescension and flirtation combined.

"Little lady, you heard the boss man, you need to find another room," he said.

By way of response, Elaine turned and spat a mouthful of Sweet Tarts in his face, the eyes particularly. What happened next occurred in seconds. Under the table, Elaine kicked his right knee, then spun in her rolling chair, carrying the rolled up newspaper with her. She hopped up, and delivered a forward slash. The bulk of the newspaper missed the guard, but a few of the "blades" didn't. The result was a very nasty paper cut that left the guard holding his throat. The second guard reached for his gun, but Elaine was faster, delivering a blow to his gun arm. The man cried out in surprise and alarm.

A newspaper in its standard form can do no more than a painful paper cut, but packed tightly, a rolled up newspaper can deliver a blow similar to a baseball bat or even an iron bar. One of Elaine's fellow assassins quipped that the process is just regrowing a tree. And it's recyclable.

Elaine followed up with a blow to the temple. As the second guard went down, the vice-president attempted to make a break for it. Elaine delivered a side kick to the chest that staggered him back. She followed up with a downward strike, breaking his left collarbone, and readied herself for a killing stroke.

"Who are you?" He croaked.

"I am a Lioness, and the Poison Geisha and Silkworms have tolerated your presence long enough," Elaine replied, and then dispatched him with a final stroke to the head.

No one was expected to arrive, and there wasn't enough noise to attract attention, but she needed to act quickly. She unwrapped the tape, and dropped the deadly newspapers back in the recycle bin. She pulled out her stolen set of keys, and locked the door to the break room. Anyone who passed by the doors' window could see something was wrong, but it would take a minute to get in. Grabbing her purse, she trotted back to the surveillance room. Once inside, she locked the door behind her and sat down. She calmly put on the paramilitary suit jacket, pants, tie and socks she stripped from the guard she killed earlier. She looked at the company-issue black shoes, and decided to leave them behind. When all chaos insured, the last thing people would notice was a security guard with black socks and no shoes. She placed her skirt in her purse with her jacket and shoes.

Elaine turned on the monitors as she straightened her tie. According to the clock, some of the workers should be having another break. Though that break room wasn't visited often, someone should notice something amiss as they passed by. Two minutes later, she was right. On one of the monitors, two staffers staggered back in shock in the hallway by that room. A small crowd then started to form, with a few trying vainly to turn the doorknob. Finally, someone gathered their wits just enough to call security. They appeared as if by magic. Elaine wondered why they were scarce earlier. Either way, it was her cue.

Remembering to lock the door behind her, she placed and hid her purse by a door to a stairway, then trotted to the crowd in the hallway by the break room. The night supervisor was busy doing ten things at once. Obviously he wasn't used to crises occurring on his shift.

"I'll check the rear stairway, the intruder might have left that way," Elaine said.

"Good idea, uh, Smith," he said, glancing at Elaine's nametag. "Keep me informed."

"Yes sir."

She trotted to the door, grabbed her large purse from its hiding place, and descended down the stairs. She could've left after the assassination, but there were too many people who could see her leaving, and later put two and two together. Supposedly leaving way before the incident, and making her true departure as a security guard sounded better to her. She wasn't known in the states, and wanted to keep it that way. Besides, it was always good to hold on to a good alias; one never knows where it might come in handy again. Bypassing the parking garage to get to a smaller parking lot, she threw the jacket on the passenger seat in her jeep, pulled loose her hair, and drove off.

It would be an hour before anyone got into the surveillance room. It would take thirty minutes before the evening head of security remembered to radio the room several times with no response. It took another twenty minutes to get into the room, for only a few guards were authorized to carry keys to the room; in which the security head finally remembered he was one of them. He dug through his set of keys twice before he found the right ones. And it took another ten minutes to sort out what happened. By the time the security head realized there was no female in his detail named Smith, Elaine was long gone.

Only a few bodyguards, and authorized members of security were allowed to carry firearms or anything resembling a weapon, so the carnage in the break room remained a mystery. The only passable sign, if any, was a blood spot on some of the slightly rolled up newspapers in the recycle bin. In office life, paper cuts were a fact of life, so no one even gave them a second thought. And then they disappeared completely, as the recycling department came by to pick them up the next day.

The CEO was contacted later that evening to tell him the sad news. Actually, the CEO was horrified and relieved at the same time. He felt horrified that someone entered his company and assassinated one of his employees under his nose, and relieved because the little upstart kept popping off about how valuable he was to the company and to DOOM, and that they'll probably give him a company someday, maybe his company. An unwritten rule about the business they were in, and especially the connections to a covert agency they had was not only does the squeaky wheel get the grease, they most likely would get attacked first. The Poison Geisha and Silkworms could've killed him easily, but instead, they targeted the little snot and eliminated him with surgical precision. He tried to warn him, but what can you do?

I think I'll cut my ties to DOOM, the CEO said out loud as he returned to bed. He had no real need to worry; the two assassin guilds will take care of that for him.

The next morning, Fred and Joe arrived at work to find things in a state of panic.

"What's going on?" Fred asked an office worker on her way to make copies.

"You haven't heard? The VP and two of his bodyguards were killed last night," she said.

"How did that happen? The man was guarded more closely than Fort Knox," said Joe.

"Not closely enough. The little snot had it coming if you ask me, if you know what I mean. The big boss is holding a memorial service this afternoon around lunchtime. He may give more details then." The woman sped off toward the copy room.

Joe turned to Fred. "Don't start," he warned.

"Who, me? I didn't say a thing. Just voiced my suspicions, that's all. No one believed me, so there you go. Chances are it probably wasn't that temp I had suspicions about. You did get your wish though," Fred said.

"What's that?"

"This stuff didn't happen on our shift, so this day is not a total loss at least."

A few days later, Elaine sat on the deck of her apartment, dressed in the elegant robes of her homeland. She already contacted the head Lioness the night of the sanction, and told her the operation was a success. She was told her sisters in the Poison Geisha and Silkworms will be pleased, and will well reward her on top of her standard fee.

She rested her bare soles on the railing as she checked her mail in the late morning sun. Tomorrow she'll fly back to South Africa; she was starting to feel a little homesick. Suddenly she broke out laughing after she read one letter enclosed with a check.

The letter read:

Ms. Peterson:

We thank you for filling in for Ms. White during her recent illness. Since she has returned, we regret that we no longer have any need for your services at this time.

We will keep you on our temporary worker list, however, and may be calling on your services again in the future.

Enclosed is a bonus check for the exceptional job you have done for us.

Sincerely,

Kelly Fredrick, Human Resources.

For any comments, suggestions, or story ideas, please contact the author at shrewsberry@juno.com.

If you enjoyed this story, perhaps you would like to read my other selections as well. You can find them at http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/mongoose/index.htm.

#2009, Barefoot Heroines, Inc.