Free Complicity in Heels by Matt Leatherwood Jr. Page A

official sat waiting at a table. Nikki stared in his direction. Who the hell is that? she wondered.
    The bureaucrat wore the same standard suit as Harlan, however his was gray and accentuated with a blue striped tie. His shiny pate reflected a shimmer of office light.
    “You wanna know why you had to do the extended time?” Harlan asked. “Meet Warren Kepler, our new regional director.”
    Director Kepler stood. He was a towering six foot three, a stark contrast to Harlan. In his left hand, he clutched a yellow folder labeled, “Confidential.”
    Nikki extended her hand in a friendly gesture.
    “Sir, Special Agent Nicole Frank,” Harlan said.
    The two shook hands.
    “Pleased to meet you, Agent Frank.”
    “Thank you, sir, but what happened to Director Garrett?”
    “RD Garrett was promoted to Deputy Director of Undercover and Sensitive Operations, East Coast.”
    “Oh,” Nikki said, surprised. “Well, good for him.”
    Harlan turned toward her. “That happened about midway through your sentence.”
    “Speaking of my sentence, sir, my field supervisor here tells me you’ll be able to shed some light on why I had to do the extended time.”
    Director Kepler fidgeted with the folder in his hand. “Eighteen months seemed a little fishy…too short. Harlan and I discussed the matter when I first came on board. I felt in order for the task force to get the most mileage out of this program, you simply had to do more time.”
    Nikki cut a cursory glance in Harlan’s direction. Really? she thought. I thought you were supposed to be my advocate. You’ve always gone to bat for personnel in the past. What’s changed?
    “Besides,” the director continued, arching his eyebrows. “With overcrowding and good behavior, you still came out earlier than expected.”
    Nikki let out an unintentional sigh. “That’s not the point, sir.”
    “You’re right. Backstopping your cover and making sure it was airtight was. The days of assumed identities and aliases are over. They require heavy logistical support, put agents under an enormous amount of stress, and most important, they simply don’t hold up under intense scrutiny. You are your cover. So everything about Nicole Frank needs to scream criminal, ex-con, shady individual.” Director Kepler opened the folder and glanced over the documents inside. “Now, are you ready to take on another assignment?”
    Nikki balked at even responding to the question.
    “Zayda Voshkie,” Harlan read off a brief sheet on the table. “Forty-five, female, Armenian descent. Heavy dealings in securities fraud, money laundering, embezzlement, and wire fraud. Close ties to Russian arms dealer Yuri Abelev.”
    Nikki moved around the table in between the two men. “Whoa, hold on a minute. Before we get wrapped up in Zayda Ushki—”
    “That’s Voshkie,” Harlan corrected.
    Nikki tilted her head toward her field supervisor. “Voshkie, thank you.”
    Harlan grinned.
    “We,” she continued, “need to reassess and reevaluate the Cordoza crew.”
    Director Kepler made a disgruntled face. “The Cordoza crew? What do we want with those yahoos?”
    “Besides,” Harlan added, “your cover is already set. They were a means to an end: help establish your backstory. Strictly small potatoes.”
    Nikki shook her head. “I’m not so sure about that.”
    “Look, I know what this is,” Director Kepler said, cutting in. “Crossed-lives syndrome. You’ve been under so long that you’ve established formidable bonds with these people. You want to spend more time with them, live in this fictional world you’ve created, and dispense with your true identity.”
    Harlan looked Nikki over. The maize-colored cocktail dress she had on clearly caught his attention. “Perhaps that explains this prom-dress thing she’s wearing, sir. Last time I checked, newly released inmates wore something a bit more plain.”
    “Gentlemen, I don’t have crossed-lives syndrome,” Nikki snapped. “What I do have