The cacophony of packed cars and busy pedestrian foot-traffic was almost lost on me, as I marveled at the Colosseum from the back of the humming motorcycle. It'd been over three hours since the break of dawn, but the trip was worth it...in more ways than one. I'd never actually been to Rome before, as I interviewed for my position during multiple rounds of video chats. Before everything derailed, I stayed in Naples for a few nights, planning to take the train up for finalizing things in person. Not sure that was gonna happen now.

  “Did you hear me?” Jack's voice cut through the noise.

  “Sorry, lost in wonder,” I shook my head, awakening myself from a daze.

  “Let me take you sightseeing.”

  “R-really?” I perked up.

  “You said you've never been before, right?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, let's play the hits.”

  I beamed, nodding, and drifting back into my stupor, as we rolled onward, passing by monument after monument. Sometimes, I wondered if the real monument was sitting in front of me, with my hands wrapped around his waist, as I glowed with joy, forgetting our predicament, for even just a moment.

  Jack wheeled the motorcycle to a stop across from the Pantheon. “C'mon,” he said, offering me a hand and parking the ride.

  We trotted across the way to the storied pillars towering mightily, and settled inside their enthralling arms. Such an immense foundation lay before us, underneath an immaculately crafted dome, along with wonderfully sculpted statues framed ahead. I walked up to one, wanting to lay a hand on it, feel history at the touch of a fingerprint, but thought else-wise. “Who's this?” I asked, pointing to a statue of a man in flowing movement.

  “Not sure,” Jack said, leading us past the crowd of onlookers clamoring excitedly with flash photography, even in this age, and continuing on deeper into the building, as I followed suit.

  “I thought you were taking me on a tour?”

  “I did,” Jack said, leading me down a tunnel and a dimly lit stairwell descending even further underground.

  I couldn't help but frown, almost audibly with how much gravitas I did it with. I think Jack noticed.

  “Ya know, Kings were buried down here. Even the great artist Raphael.” Jack motioned towards an entryway that was manned by a young attendant, the boy couldn't have been over 21.

  The attendant glanced at me, and back to Jack. “The way to Raphael's tomb...” he stated dryly.

  “Is awash with the blood of the kings,” Jack responded.

  The attendant looked back to me warily.

  “And the Queens,” Jack added, wryly.

  The attendant looked back at Jack, a smirk forming at the edge of his lips. “Very good sir,” he said, pushing a palm against a nearby stone wall, which unlocked a slight crack, forming a doorframe.

  “A pleasure as always, Acu?a.” Jack said, grasping my hand and pushing through the sliding wall.

  “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Welker.”

  The door locked behind us, my hand gracing Jack's searchingly whilst in the throes of darkness. “Where are we?” I whispered.

  Suddenly, florescent lights kicked on from the ceiling, draping us in the color of a tight, yet modern looking platformed stairwell.

  “We're home,” Jack said, leading me down further, where a lone steel door, with no handle sat at the bottom.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Jack pressed a palm to a black side panel, which scanned his prints, before happily chiming and sliding open for entry. Jack grinned back at me, before entering. I tepidly followed behind.

  Before me, stood a wide open facility, consisting of one upper level, and one lower, with glass panels and high tech looking computers and equipment, a real secret base! “Wow...” I fawned after the wonder of it all.

  “Right?” Jack said, standing triumphantly. “Not a bad setup.”

  “I'm sure that line works on them all,” a stout middle aged man with curly brown locks hanging above a neat suit strutted up to us, with a smile on his face, as he shook Jack's hand. “Took a while, huh?”

  “We got a little sidetracked,” Jack said.

  “That's what they're calling it now-a-days?” The man looked at me and winked.

  I blushed at the thought of his implication, though would be happy if it was a reality.

  “Elliott Spencer,” Jack said, motioning to the man. “This is Ariana Hart.”

  “Ari,” I confirmed, moving forward to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you...under the circumstances that is.”

  “It certainly is, Ari,” Elliott shook my hand rigorously. “I hope this man has treated you well so far.”

  “He's saved my life plenty of times over already.”

  “Well...that's Jack,” he said. “Come,” he flagged us around a side hall, “you're just in time for the briefing.”

  “Better yet,” Jack said, “we have some information of our own.”

  Elliott opened a glass door into a small briefing room, with a large round table. Three individuals were deep in conversation as we entered.

  A grizzled young man, with a chiseled jaw and a messy crop of untamed black and grey strands glared at me under his black clad dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top three buttons, showing a toned chest, and cutting off their conversation, while a middle aged woman with a friendly bob noticed us and smiled warmly. A third individual stood between them, a tall, middle aged man, wearing a lanyard and sleek translucent circular spectacles, under a mane of neatly combed grey hair above a plaid shirt. He held a file in his hands, which his eyes raised up from, expectingly.

  “Why hello!” the woman said, her midwestern twang bringing me back to the states. “You must be Ms. Hart!” She raced forward, clumsily, to give me a pleasant embrace. “I'm glad you're safe. I'm Patty. I take care of the paperwork here...all the stuff everyone else can't stand!” She laughed heartily.

  “Angus,” Jack growled, looking at the grizzled young man beside them.

  “Welker,” Angus scowled, his Scottish accent coming through strong...and mighty handsomely, if I do say so myself.

  “Welcome back, Agent Welker,” the third individual said without inflection. “Nice job out there.”

  “Thank you Mr. Beckman. We faced some trouble out there though.”

  “Nothing you couldn't handle, I'm sure.”

  Angus scoffed and stormed out of the room.

  “Proceed with caution Agent McCullogh,” Beckman said, eying Angus as he left.

  “I always do,” Angus chided, as he left the room.

  “He seems fun at parties,” I said, unable to help myself.

  Patty chuckled loudly. “You bet, doll!”

  “What did you find out?” Beckman asked.

  “The organization contracted out from well known Mafia head, Don Armando. We were accosted in the middle of the night. Didn't end well for them. We've ascertained that Armando is currently off the Almafi coast, on his private vessel, The Pequod. They surely have information about this organization that we can gather.”

  “Very good,” Beckman ackowledged. “This organization is exceptionally well hidden. Any information we can glean would help in aiding Mr. Hart in protection...as well as the young Ms. Hart.”

  “Why is my father even a target?” I cut in.

  “That, my dear, is classified, even to you.”

  I sighed heavily, unable to contain myself, and still unsure what part my family even played in this whole ordeal.

  Footsteps sounded off behind us. Everyone looked to find the form fitting black leather pants and rider's jacket strapped on the visage of perfection that came with a fitness model. Long brown hair swung perfectly down the sides of her immaculately tanned face.

  “Mission complete,” the thick Ukranian accent alighted. “The mark has been...silenced.”

  “Excellent work, Agent Dubrovka,” Beckman said.

  The woman glared at me, before turning her gaze to Jack briefly, and exiting the room.

  “That Natalya scares me sometimes,” Patty joked. “Guess she scared that old flame, Jack, sometimes time.”

  Old flame? I mulled over. You never want to hear that...especially when the man you're interested in, still works with her...and she's the Victoria's Secret version of an assassin. Real great stuff here. I met Jack's gaze, and he averted his eyes, at my questioning thoughts, most likely.

  “This is a real worldly group you got here,” I chimed in.

  “Well, it is a joint undercover task force. We all work well together...despite some of the...rougher personalities,” Patty said.

  “Back to the task at hand,” Beckman said. “We'll pinpoint the location of this Pequod and you two will infiltrate, and gather what information you can about the organization.”

  “You two?” I said, guffawing. “Me?”

  “That's correct, Ms. Hart.”

  “She's no agent,” Jack spoke up, his voice straining slightly. “She could get hurt, or worse.”

  “Agent Dubrovka has another operation, and we have no other free operatives in this capacity. You'll go in under disguise. You can finally use that love of literature, Ms. Hart. Perhaps you can use other...methods...to get close to the Don.”

  “Sir,” Jack stood up, “this isn't an optimal strategy.”

  “You're right,” Beckman said, moving past him and out of the room. “It's the only strategy. Good luck agents. We'll make contact when you're in Naples.”

  Agents, I played around with the word in my mind. I'm no agent! But...I was hankering to finally use some of that book learning. And I always did want to sail the Almafi Coast. Besides, Jack was with me. I looked up at him, to see him sweating, ever-so slightly. Was that...over me?

  “Well,” Patty chirped, “better pack your Sperrys!”