A Spy's Guardian Angel

Warning: PG/PG-13 content; brief, vague allusions to drinking, sex, and gun violence/activity; also a few religious references

I watch over Wesley Portier, a secret agent for the CIA. The Creator certainly gifted him with many skills and strengths for the job, while his continued preservation is typically my handiwork. Where Jesus Christ could’ve called ten thousand angels while He hung on the cross, Wesley’s daily life feels like it could employ just as many sometimes but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else while he combats terror and crime. The last heavenly being who sought more acclaim than deserved was expelled from the realm, anyways. 

Wesley’s current job began with any rescue and recovery that was possible after strings of robberies and kidnappings around the city of Parkbay in recent weeks. One criminal group made a clean getaway from a bank with money and valuables in hand, while another group grabbed the mayor’s teenage daughter and some of her friends as they were out on the town. Either group had a Claiborne Brother alongside other family members. The city law enforcement started to see clues pointing to a potential mafia war as they realized the Parkbay mayor favored the Claiborne rivals, the Merriotta family. 

Wesley led the undercover heist to reclaim the mayor’s daughter and the stolen bank property. The valuables were swapped with decoys containing secret mics or trackers so the agencies could gain more intel and prove their hunch. The op would’ve been seamless if it weren’t for Claiborne’s men unexpectedly dropping in, but by the time the firefight broke out, the mayor’s daughter and the valuables were at a safe distance. The Claiborne team had stronger firepower but Wesley’s team had the numbers and a dose of divine intervention. They walked away with only minor, non-lethal injuries. 

In the following days, the planted bugs revealed more locations and connections, one such being a Claiborne-owned club where Wesley was sent undercover for reconnaissance and surveillance. Wesley Portier carried himself with stalwart and discipline in most situations, but deep underneath that exterior hardened by extreme operative training, he still fancied himself a James Bond kind of ladies’ man and clubs put him in this element. I can only do so much: I can’t sway the bosses to consider a different placement. If this weren’t such serious business he engaged in, I could divert him myself somehow without imparting serious harm. More still, only he can guard his heart when faced with temptation. 

So yea, we walked through the valley of shadows, darkening the doorstep of the penumbral Claiborne Club Jagger. Passion and sensuality were everywhere, but Wesley, fearing no evil, did not seem dissuaded from the focus of the mission. Not at first anyways. 

After people-watching and subtle eavesdropping for intel, Wesley wanted a drink. Sure enough, he filled an empty space next to his Kryptonite; this time, she wore her brown hair pinned up and her petite frame filled a black halter dress that stopped above her knees. Her eyes were gray but her skin tone was warm. 

“Is this spot taken?” Wesley asked her. 

“Go ahead,” She invited, her pink lips curving into a smile. He was further charmed by her accent too. 

That’s when I started to lose him. More than that, my divine knowledge and intuition told me that she was Blair Connors, Claiborne’s personally-hired private investigator from the UK with a natural instinct for using firearms. I have an urge to keep an eye on his drink, especially if she or the bartender discovers him. 

They banter between friendly and coy for the next several minutes, using their cover names and stories, of course. Wesley’s cover in this case is as a talent scout named Thomas Peters. Incidentally, Blair’s cover was as Hanna Maria Wood, a model from Europe. 

“Divine intervention must have brought us together, Ms. Wood,” Wesley/Thomas declared as he sipped his drink. 

“No way, bud,” I’m thinking. “It’s just a coincidence!” 

“If we could go somewhere private, I could show you more of my work,” Blair/Hanna Maria petitioned with another smile. 

“Absolutely!” Wesley/Thomas agreed, finishing his drink. “Would love to get better acquainted!” 

“Aww, heck no!” I winced, watching the two of them get up and start for the door. “No! No! No!” I urge my charge to no avail. He’s not aware of my constant presence, and again, even if he was, all bets are off when a girl gets his attention. I made for the door myself, just catching them before they rounded the corner of the building and down a private, shadowy pier. They’re in a stand-off, guns in hand, by the time I catch up to them. 

“Who are you working for?” Blair demanded.

“I’m not with the Merriotta’s!” Wesley answered. “What does Claiborne have planned?”

Ok, so Wesley must’ve known about Blair all along. I can’t decide if he’s an idiot or ingenious in his approach though. 

“Tell me who you’re working for!” Blair demanded again. 

“Some powerful people,” Wesley fed a half-truth. “If we can put our guns away and really get acquainted, I’ll tell you about them. They may be interested in backing Claiborne but I need to know what he’s doing first.” 

As an act of good faith, he laid his weapon down first. Blair held her stern gaze over the gun barrel for a moment longer, watching him put his hands in the air. 

“Alright,” She finally sat hers down. “But not here,” She led him back into the club to a private room, where they really got acquainted and Wesley got the intel amid their trysts. 

Can I call him a genius even though I don’t condone his actions? 

Their bodies were relaxed, intertwined, when they heard last call from the common area.

“So, do you think your bosses will join up with Claiborne?” Blair asked, refusing to be free of Wesley’s embrace. 

“I’ll have to call in the info,” Wesley gave another half-truth, likewise uninterested in shifting positions. Blair was full of fire and fight but felt soft in his arms. 

“Will I see you again?” Her eyes grew with hope and wonder. 

“I’d like to,” He didn’t want to lie to those eyes. He squeezed her close to kiss her. The kiss grew long and they started feeling frisky again before another last call interrupted their next round of foreplay. They took the hint and made themselves decent enough to leave.  

After they parted ways, I saw Wesley shift from a romantic sap and back into a secret agent. He phoned his people. 

“I got it, guys! Here’s the plan...” He filled them in on Blair’s confession about Claiborne’s intentions to bomb the gala fundraiser that the mayor and the Merriotta’s held every year. From there, they talked tactics for intervention.

 “And one more thing,” He added to the discussion. “I’ll go after his agent, Blair Connors.”  

Would it be wrong to say I’m glad that I’m not him? He’s going to need all the heavenly hosts on his side when she finds out who he’s really with...