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Jameson: Seduction (or Everything but the Girl)

Updated on February 3, 2014

It was late afternoon, and Jameson was just finishing up his exercises for the day. This mainly consisted of 200 push-ups, 300 sit-ups, a 10-mile sprint, and ASP kata. To add to the difficulty, he drank from a Camelbak full of Johnny Walker Black Label Scotch. It wasn't that he had a drinking problem; Jameson actually was quite conservative in his usual drinking. The intent of this out-of-the-ordinary binge was to place himself at a disadvantage in training, so that he would do better in the field with a clear head. Jameson liked to think of this as "Double-Cross Training".

As Jameson had finished using his ASP to beat the daylights out of a wooden-man dummy, his secure cell rang. The caller ID showed it was Wes, and the picture accompanying the number showed Wes, all smiles and thumbs-up, in front of a lab bench full of burning equipment. Jameson liked Wes, as his desire to push the envelope with technology knew no bounds. In fact, Wes pushed, pulled, spindled and mutilated technology to make it do what he wanted it to. Jameson was glad to have him on the team. He answered with his usual warmth and charm.

"Jameson. Go, Wes." This was about as warm as he's going to get, citizens.

"Well, greetings and salutations to you too, Agent Jameson," Wes answered with genuine friendliness. He knew where he truly stood with Jameson, and afforded him the courtesies that the Agent could not. "Hey, uh, I just got a lead on someone who could fill an entirely overlooked aspect of this team. Any chance you could utilize a non-Office lady-spy type of person?"

Jameson mulled this over in his head, which was clear from the effects of the Johnny Walker. He'd pretty much processed that out of his system, thanks to the exercise and a little Office "creative body modification". "A femme fatale, eh, Wes? Hmmm. Can you vouch for this 'non-Office lady-spy type of person'?"

"Agent Jameson, I have it on the highest confidence that this lady has the looks, charisma, and field skills necessary to pull it off. Plus, it's my understanding that she has some killer..."

"Curves? Lips? Eyes?"

"Well, no, I was going to say 'gear'. Get your mind out of the gutter, Jameson. She packs a lot of good tech."

"Ah. Sorry about that. You understand that I'm placing a lot of trust in you on this. I can't have some amateur running around and fouling up the operation."

"Agent Jameson, you have my word as a professional that she's on the up-and-up. She'll be more than able to handle herself with Konstantin. Texting you directions on where to meet her, now. I know she'll be there tonight."

Jameson's text alert went off, and he looked at the address. He gave a slight chuckle.






"If you want to meet her, yes. Otherwise, I'm not sure."

"Well, I guess I'd better go find something black."

"It's not like you don't have enough of that stuff, right?"

"True. Thanks for the tip, Wes."

"No problem, Agent Jameson."

"Jameson, out."

"Love ya too, buddy!", Wes jested has he hung up. As Wes turned back to his work bench, which actually did have a few things smoldering, he said to himself, "She has all that other stuff, too."

Jameson ventured out into the night and headed to L Street. Onward he walked from the parking garage and headed to the entrance to Spellbound. There, a pleasant young lady took Jameson's money and provided him with a hand stamp. He entered and proceeded to the area around the dance floor, on which people were dancing to The Cruxshadows, which the DJ was transitioning into something by Abney Park. There was black... so much black. Jameson blended in perfectly with a simple field operator's uniform, which added to his comfort level. He surveyed the area in an attempt to determine who this mystery lady was. Jameson approached the bar and ordered a Dewar's on the rocks. That was when his secure cell alerted him to an incoming text. He was shocked to see the message:

Stay right there. I see you. ^__^

The odd thing is that it wasn't the message itself that surprised Jameson. He'd received secure texts from anonymous sources before. Don't smirk. It happens. Actually, it was the "^__^" emoticon that threw him off. Who does that?, Jameson wondered.

"Who does that?", Jameson said again to himself, out loud. One bar patron overheard Jameson's comment and replied, "Ah. Snapchat, huh? Yeah, I get some pretty pervy stuff on that..."

Jameson ignored the comment and continued to wonder about the emoticon. As he was pondering, Jameson could tell someone was behind him, but allowed it, as they were in an open area. He deduced that an attacker would choose a better venue than this to engage him, and really didn't want to accidentally smash an elbow into someone's throat, thereby ruining their good time. Jameson was courteous like that. He felt light hands on his shoulder and a soft breath on his ear. This must be the "non-Office lady-spy person" that Wes had told him about. If not, Jameson thought, one would have to admire the lady's moxie. Unless it was a male. Then, he would admire the gentleman's moxie and politely decline. Jameson was, indeed, progressive.

"So we finally meet, Agent Jameson," the mystery lady said. "I'm Lea. Lea L'amour. I'll assume you want to get a look at me, so turn around."

"Honestly, the suspense was killing me," Jameson began, as he turned, "I thought I may have been on a wild goose chaaaaa... wow," was the only thing he could say, upon seeing the tentative new "non-Office lady-spy person".

Jameson noted all of the things that make a femme fatale a femme fatale. Eyes? Green. Beutiful. Hair? Dark blond with blood red highlights. Beautiful. Lips? Red to match the highlights. Beautiful. Curves? Definitely in all the right places. Beautiful. Personality? At this time, smoldering, sensual. Beautiful. Clothing? A variation of the field uniform; a black form-fitting long-sleeved shirt, black cargo pants, black boots. The variation was that her shirt had a Mandarin collar with a cut deep enough to show certain assets. Yes, Jameson noted all of these things. Then, he put his notebook away, so as not to be rude.

"Agent Jameson, did you just mark off a checklist?", L'amour asked, quite indignant.

"Yes, Ms. L'amour. Indeed I did."

"Seriously? That's kind of demeaning, you know."

"I wanted to make sure you had, at least, the aesthetic qualifications."

"So do I, at least, have the asthetic qualifications?" She was, at this point, appearing a slight bit more indignant that she had been before.

"Oh, yes. Definitely. I don't just give a 'wow' to any lady."

"Imagine my relief," L'amour said, with a bit of sarcasm creeping in with the indignation, turning the comment into something like sarcagnation or indignasm.

"You should be. If you hadn't made it this far, I'd have to take you to get your mind wiped."

"Well that would suck, wouldn't it?"

"Not really. It would probably feel like the mother of all hangovers, but you'd be okay."



L'amour looked at Agent Jameson. The look on her face changed from sarcagnation or indignasm to more of a sultry countenance. She slowly went face-to-face with Jameson and gently traced her index finger down the side of his face. A playful, rather sexy, grin crossed L'amour's face.

"Agent Jameson, what other tests do I need to pass to be part of this team?" With that, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Well, there's the seduction part. I mean, can you seduce a target on the spot, with little to no prep? This is important, you know."

She regarded Jameson with a look that, if in physical form, would punch a person in the face, make them cough up their lunch money, then call their mother and curse them out for having an idiot for a child. "What the hell do you think I'm doing? Having general conversation with you about the weather?"

"Ah. See, there's a problem with that. I'm conditioned to resist that kind of thing. Don't get me wrong, Ms. L'amour. I do believe that if I were a lesser man, I would definitely succumb to your looks and wiles. In addition to my conditioning, I have a newly-resurrected significant other that I think of regularly."


"Long story. Well, not really long. Just unbelievable. In any case, pick a target, you seduce them, get them to go out to the parking garage. Go to floor five, spot 528. Do a non-lethal take-out. I'll be following. That's Phase Two, Ms. L'amour."

"You want me to get a guy..."

"Guy or girl. You need to be prepared for anything."

"Right. You want me to get a... someone... to follow me up to the fifth floor of a parking garage, then knock them out."

"Correct. Spot 528."

"Okay, then. Watch me work," she said, as she sauntered onto the dance floor, looking for her potential target. She danced by herself for a minute or two before settling on a twenty-something man in black leather pants, a billowy white shirt and lots of silver jewelry, who she invited to dance with her. L'amour danced close to him, appearing to whisper in his ear. She glanced at Jameson, who looked at her and tapped his watch, indicating that she had 15 minutes to complete the action. L'amour danced closer to the man, almost (but not quite, for the PG audience) grinding against him. He seemed to be quite into her, and she took full advantage of it. After a few minutes, she appeared to speak into his ear again, then gazed into his eyes with a sensuous look. L'amour took his hand and led him off the floor and out the club's front door. Two minutes later, Jameson followed.

Jameson reached the fifth floor of the parking garage as L'amour guided the target to spot 528. She kissed him.

"Turn around," she said. "I want to get a look at the total package, here."

"Sure, baby. No problem," he said as he turned away from her. "Like what you see?" He attempted to flex his glutes through his pants, which were, by any sane measure, very tight. Escape artists would even argue about the tightness of his pants.

"Oooo. Yeah. That's it right there," L'amour purred. As his back was turned, she delivered a knockout punch to the back of the man's skull. As she made contact, she yelled, "BONK!" He dropped like a bag of random heavy objects.

Jameson approached and surveyed the scene. He had to give her credit; she did exactly what was asked of her. One thing nagged Agent Jameson to the point of inquiring about it.

"Nicely done, Ms. L'amour. However... 'bonk'? What was the 'bonk' all about?"

"Oh, it's something a friend of mine used to say when he'd headshot someone with a sniper rifle in Borderlands 2. I thought it was funny. Something wrong with that, Agent Jameson?", L'amour said, looking somewhat deflated.

"No. Not really. Just remember that there are times when stealth is called for. You can't just go around saying 'bonk!' all the time."

"Okay, no problem. No saying 'bonk'. I just kind of wanted a catchphrase."

"I used to have one of those. Pretty much got it beaten out of me by my Agent Instructor."


"You have no idea, Ms. L'amour. Well, I guess we're on to the third and final phase."

"Which is?", L'amour asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Jameson unsheathed his custom-made 48-inch ASP and approached his tentative femme fatale. "Combat."

With that, L'amour flung her right arm out, extending her own custom-made 49-inch ASP. Jameson paused and considered.

"Heh. Mine is bigger than yours, Agent Jameson," L'amour said with a smile and wink.

"Ah. But it's all in the way you use it, Ms. L'amour," Jameson replied, and gave her the Bruce Lee "come on" gesture.

L'amour charged and swung the ASP in an overhand arc, which Jameson moved to block. She quickly changed the course of the weapon, and swung to the right, catching Jameson on the left shoulder. He stepped back and considered his underestimated opponent.

"Nicely done, Ms. L'amour," Jameson said with a slight nod to her.

"Why thank you! But I don't think we're done yet, are we?"

"No. Not by a long shot," he said, and advanced again. Their moves were fluid, ASP against ASP. They parried, they dodged, they spun, they thrust for about 10 minutes. Then, L'amour made a low sweep with the ASP, which Jameson down-blocked and trapped with his foot. He gave a less-than-gentle tap to her arm, causing her to lose the ASP. L'amour quickly backpedaled and slapped her left thigh. A very small gun popped out of the cargo pocket, and she immediately fired at Jameson. Fortunately for him, Jameson was able to dodge behind a car to avoid being hit. He noted, however, that there wasn't the usual bullet damage to the area around him, indicating blanks. Having assessed the combat prowess of the tentative team member, Jameson called out to L'amour.

"Ms. L'amour! Well done. You've passed."

"Really?", L'amour asked, rather pleased with herself.

"You've done everything I've asked of you. I believe you have a place on our team... as our femme fatale," Jameson said, offering his hand to her.

"Thank you very much, Agent Jameson. I'll do my best to help you with this Konstantin mission," L'amour said as she shook Jameson's hand.

Jameson stopped mid-handshake. "How did you know the nature of the mission?", he asked.

"Why, Agent Jameson, as a professional courtesy, a girl should be allowed some secrets, should she not?", she replied with a wicked smile.

Jameson thought about it for a moment, then continued the handshake. "Of course, Ms. L'amour. Welcome to the team. You have my number, I have yours. I'll be contacting you in the next few days with the date and time of our first meeting as a team. You're sure you want in?"

"Agent Jameson," L'amour replied, "I wouldn't have done all this today if I didn't. I'll see you then."

"You will. Don't get killed in the mean time," Jameson joked. He turned and headed out, back to his (yes, still very nice) condo in Georgetown.

Lea waited for Jameson to get out of earshot before she pulled out her cell phone. She excitedly hit the speed dial, called her mom by mistake, then speed dialed the number she wanted.

"Hey, sweetie! Guess what? I'm in! I made it! He said to wait for his call, and I'm on the team! Ohmyfu*kinggod, is this great news or what?"

On the other end of the line, Wes just smiled. "I told you that you could do it! I'm so happy for you, and for us. We're going to be working together, and I can't think of anything better than that.

"Well, I get to shoot guys in the face," Lea taunted.

"Yeah, but I get to make the stuff that shoots guys in the face," Wes replied, playfully snarky.

"Okay, okay! We'll be good at doing stuff that results in shooting guys in the face," Lea said, laughing out loud. "I'll see you when I get home, okay?"

"I'll be there, beautiful. See you later." As Wes was hanging up, he couldn't help but smile as he heard Lea go "Squeeeeeee!" on the other end of the line. Life was good.


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