Secret Wife is A Hero

The Baccarat crystal tumbler shattered in Culver Lancaster's grip. Shards embedded themselves into his palm, but he ignored the blood. The drug moving through his veins made his hands shake uncontrollably.

"Eclipse." That's what the street chemists called it, a new synthetic. Someone had slipped it into his scotch.

Julian Banks was already moving, the Chief of Staff slammed his hand against the biometric panel on the wall. The heavy, bulletproof doors of the penthouse office hissed shut.

"Sir." Julian's voice was calm.

Culver clawed at his tie, he needed release. The drug was an aphrodisiac weaponized to destroy logic.

"Get me..." Culver gasped, his knees hitting the carpet. "A woman. Now."

Julian didn't flinch, he looked at his watch. "An escort is a blackmail risk. A staff member is a lawsuit."

Culver dragged himself toward the leather sofa. "I don't care. Just get someone."

Julian pulled a burner phone from his jacket pocket and dialed.

"Handler," Julian said. "I have a Code Black, I need an asset deployed, the Ghost Protocol."

There was a pause on the other end.

"I don't care about the extraction fee," Julian snapped. "I'm sending the chopper to the designated coordinates. Have her ready in ten minutes, and make sure she's on a chemical leash. "

Julian hung up and walked over to Culver. He pulled a syringe from a hidden medical kit. "This is a sedative, Culver. It won't stop the effects, but it will buy us two hours to get you to the estate."

At the facility, Arla Reid woke up as a technician grabbed her jaw.

"Asset 7 is active," the technician barked. He checked her mouth for contraband. "System is clean, prep for transport."

They clipped her into a harness and dressed her in a simple black gown. Arla tried to stand her ground, but the suppressants made her muscles weak. They dragged her down the corridor to the exit.

A man stood there, checking his cufflinks. He looked at her legs, assessing her structure.

"The file," the technician said, handing over a tablet. "Vocal cords temporarily paralyzed, retrograde amnesia, no next of kin."

"Perfect," the man said. "Untraceable."

Julian signed the transfer document, two massive men hoisted Arla up and carried her to the waiting helicopter.

They threw her into the back seat. Julian climbed in opposite her, opening a tablet and ignoring her.

The helicopter lifted. Arla stared out the window, trying to speak, but only a rasping hiss came out.

Julian didn't look up. "Be quiet. If you want to survive the night, you will be silent."

They flew over the Long Island Sound toward a massive estate on the coastline.