“Your hair is bursting with secrets, again.” Devon leaned against the door frame of Rose’s office.
Rose looked up from her computer and saw her reflection in the window. Her curly blond hair stood out from her head like the strands were playing ‘the scalp is lava’. Rose stuck her tongue out at her reflection. Devon slipped inside the door and closed it, movement fluid as water.
“In this office,” Rose minimized her work windows as Devon took a seat. “Is it any wonder?”
Devon chuckled softly. “I guess not,” he allowed. “Perhaps that’s why most of us wear our hair short.”
“Perhaps.” Rose took two paper clips off of her desk and used them in lieu of bobby pins to keep her rambunctious curls out of her face. “But that’s not why you dropped into my office.” Her eyes didn’t flick to the closed door, but Devon heard the question anyway. He reached inside his jacket and retrieved a pale blue envelope.
“I’ve been approached by a highly placed agent in the FSO. In exchange for eventual asylum and protection for himself and another, he is willing to get us… pretty much whatever we want.”
Rose raised an eyebrow and took the envelope. Devon leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Rose opened the envelope and pulled out a faintly blue paper. She read the name and her eyes snapped back up to Devon’s half opened ones.
“This is who approached you?”
Rose let out her breath and returned to the few lines on the paper. She flattened all the creases and tucked the paper back in. “What’s the catch?”
“The second person.”
Rose wished Devon would dispense with the suspense games, though it did allow her to pull out her director’s glare. She rested her finger tips on the table and did not tap them. Devon closed his eyes as he smiled. “I believe you remember Ira Kiev?”
“Brilliant.” Rose ran her hands through her hair, displacing her paper clips and getting her hair more snarled. “Can we do it-” She held up a hand. “Can we do it without excessive risks to either side?”
“We can.” Still water in a pond – that was Devon. She bet he still carried a cigarette smoke bomb and owned a rotating tie rack. And in professional matters, he was always spot on. She passed the envelope back to him.
He accepted it and rose to leave.
“Rose.” He paused, his hand on the door.
“Why isn’t this your office?” It had been bothering her for weeks, but she had to know why the most accomplished agent she knew had turned down the directorship. She absently pulled on a curl.
Devon slipped the envelope into his pocket. “Because my hair is not the kind that can hold secrets. You’ve read my dossier.”
Rose had read it. Four times. “It was less than enlightening.”
“I always need a clear goal. Stop the bomb, rescue the hostage, convince people to work with us, plant evidence – clear delineated goal.” He gestured to the desk. “The person who sits there needs to hold many many goals, evaluate them, and play nice with the other agencies. I would have ignited a multi-agency war in my first week simply to avoid all the details.” He smiled at her and went to his desk.