Agent Ann Kassidy was finishing another day as a government drone: more files, more paperwork, more boredom. This was not what she signed up for, but it was how her career had ended up--a dead-end like so like so many initially promising government careers. Still, working for the Agency was a sweet deal: pension, full benefits, recession-proof employment, set for life. The salary was not great, but her expenses were low.

Today was Declassification Tuesday, at least to her. She liked to group her various tasks together. Little games like that made it easier somehow. Declassification was mostly about digging out old files, making copies, censoring as needed, and then sending materials up the line for approval. Ever since the Freedom of Information Act, UFO hunters and conspiracy freaks can't seem to get enough of old government records. It was interesting to read what they wanted to know more about. At least half of them were nut jobs from what she could tell. Just think they can vote. Still, declassification was fun sometimes. Just the other day someone wanted pictures of Deep Throat.

Of course, most of the older stuff was in the bottom drawers. Rummaging around pulling files would be a whole lot easier if it weren't for the anachronistic dress code, part of a jealously guarded conservative tradition at the Agency. Knee length skirts were required, so her "uniform" was pretty much always a business suit, black by preference. The requisite white dress shirt--silk, of course--was concealed behind suit buttons up the front to just above her breasts.

A long time ago she learned the benefits of custom tailoring and fine fabrics, even if the expense could be a stretch on her Agency salary. She would not seem out of place in a law office or a corporate business meeting. Her suit was always contoured flawlessly to her shape, but was never overly tight and revealing. To complete her version of the drone look, she kept her hair back in a bun and used only minimal make-up. However, she did not succumb completely; she refused to wear flats like most of the other women, and always wore her 4" heels with their rebellious open toes, a little mark of self-identity no other women in the office imitated. Besides, they helped to even out her height a little with all the taller men she was around.

The files in the lowest drawers required careful maneuvering. She could bend over at the waist, displaying her ass to any potential onlookers, or she could bend her legs conservatively, trying to keep her knees together without falling over in her skirt and heels. She worked hard on her body and showing off her ass did not bother her a bit, but that was her little secret. She wanted to keep a conservative image.

Audaciously, she opted for bending over at the waist. It was just then that Special Agent Simon Peters appeared behind her. She never heard him coming and almost spilled the stack of folders she was holding in surprise. He most certainly got a good look at her tight, bent-over, rear. Maybe the quiet approach was on purpose. She wanted to think so.

She had never really talked with Peters, but knew who he was. He was one of the lucky ones that somehow cheated slow career death by bureaucracy and lived to climb the ladder of success. He was the ideal picture of a tall, handsome and fit field agent with stunning chiseled masculine facial features and broad shoulders.

Peters understood why Director Timor had noticed her. How could you not notice an ass like that? Shit. Peters told himself that he would have to come downstairs more often.

"Kassidy, right?" he said as he checked the ID hanging on her lapel. Ann noticed his eyes rudely lingering on her nearby globes, making her grateful for the third button of her suit jacket. He seemed to be pushy, young and arrogant to her, exactly the kind of asshole she avoided and the type of attention she could do without.

She took half a moment to find her voice after the surprise. When she heard herself say "yes," she was not happy about how timid she sounded.

"Do you have a few minutes to talk in private?"

Peters didn't wait for her answer and gestured for her to go first, down the hall to the small file room. A half dozen fears all started running through her mind. She had no idea what trouble she might be in, but was sure that something was up. Still, she made sure to walk carefully and confidently. Maybe she could project cool professionalism...and confident innocence.

Watching the scenery in front of him, Peters was getting a good feeling about this one. She couldn't be a prude with an ass wiggle like that and 4" heels. She was just scientific about how she presented herself, the tailored clothing a precise calculation. He wondered just what he would find under that suit.

"Have a seat Agent Kassidy."

Kassidy sat down feeling dread spreading through her body, but Peters remained standing. He pulled a small electronic device out of his suit jacket and started scanning the room. She realized that the lack of windows, a telephone or much of anything else was part of the plan.

"The Agency has a bit of a problem right now. I'm not at liberty to discuss the details with you at this time, but it involves a field assignment."

Kassidy couldn't believe what she had just heard. After all this time? She had pretty much given up hope. Instantly, she fought to keep from getting too excited. He probably wanted some file, off the record, without the right paperwork or something. At least he skipped the small talk, that was good though, no fake sentiment.

"As you may know, I work on the Domestic Counter-Terrorism Task Force. We have need of a fully committed agent for a code one mission, a fully committed female agent."

This was the first time she had even heard of an active code one mission. "Code one" was the designation for a highly dangerous mission that was of utmost importance for national security--a suicide mission of last resort. She wasn't stupid either. The way he said "female" told her immediately that it would involve sex if needed. She had always daydreamed of the idea. She would fantasize of being captured and gang raped or of seducing an enemy agent. What would it be like? Could she handle it? Don't all female agents think about such things? Regardless, she knew that it was all just fantasy. The reality would be entirely different and much more terrible than her lurid imaginings.

This kind of mission was highly irregular regardless of the code one. The Agency didn't ask women to spread their legs for country anymore. Using female agents, even volunteers, to whore for information or anything else had been against policy for decades now. She had a million questions, but started with the first thing that came to mind. "Is the situation really that bad?"

Peters didn't hesitate for a moment, "Most certainly."

"When you said 'female' was the implication intentional?"

Peters hesitated. "I'll be perfectly up front. Yes. It involves most of the improper conduct I'm not ever allowed to talk about let alone ask of a fellow agent. The mission could involve sexual behavior which could leave you emotionally scarred or physically harmed. I would never risk my career even approaching you in such a way if the situation didn't warrant it."

Kassidy knew this was her moment. The moment; the one chance for her to do something great with her life and a rare chance to climb past the glass ceiling. Why did it have to be tainted with sexual antics and improper behavior? In the end, she knew that no one would ever know what great lengths some shadowy agent had taken for the safety of the nation. The details would be lost in another file under a restricted access label or on another encrypted hard drive in the terabyte forest. Few would know, least of all remember, how she broke through to rise up the ladder. She had seen it before on Black Ops missions.

She answered plainly and with conviction, "Where do I sign?"