Inside Girl

By Carmenica Diaz

In a very secret United Nations research facility in the desert, someone has been sending confidential information out and Joshua Evans is framed for spying!
Ejected from the facility, his reputation in tatters, Joshua is offered a way for Joshua to clear his name.
The only problem is that Joshua has to go back inside the facility and as a woman!

Carmenica Diaz writes erotic fiction that is either hard and nasty or soft and tender, depending on her moods.
Ms Diaz commenced writing at the urging of close friends and now has a substantial following of loyal readers.
Her work is in two clear genres – Erotica and Transgender fiction.
Carmenica Diaz is, of course, a penname and, in real life, Ms Diaz is an accomplished woman of academia.
When asked to use single words to describe Carmenica, a close friend chose the following – impatient, dominant, arrogant, tender, caring, romantic, hurtful, precise, nasty, supportive, and mercurial.
They are still friends as she told the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291709971

Book preview

Inside Girl

Inside Girl

Carmenica Diaz

EPUB Edition 1

Copyright © 2014 Lulu Press

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-291-70997-1

Framed

I knew I was in trouble the moment I saw Gibbon and his goons walk through the locker room door. The look of scorn and even hatred in his eyes confirmed the depth of shite I was in now.

Gibbon was head of security at Mana Base and he was a big, surly man that suspected everyone and everything of every possible misdemeanour.

Even though he was obsessed with the security of the project and, therefore, protecting us, Gibbon made everyone uneasy.

It’s logical, I suppose, that a top-secret research laboratory needs a person such as Gibbon to ensure security but he did get on the nerves of the scientists and technicians alike.

For example, Gibbon insisted on random testing for recreational drugs as he felt that a cunning outsider who wanted to gain access to the research could manipulate any addiction and gain information.

There had been some initial murmured protests especially from the technical staff but they were, of course, overruled.

Therefore, everyone had to be squeaky clean from any recreational drug.

Gibbon also rationed alcohol for the same reason, which was not a popular decision with the laboratory technicians who arrived each month.

Thinking ignoring Gibbon and his henchman was my only option, I opened my locker and removed my lab coat.

‘Don’t bother,’ Gibbon grunted at me.

‘Huh?’

‘Don’t bother with the coat, Doctor Evans,’ Gibbon said in that flat baritone. ‘Please come with me.’

Gibbon was a big man, some said that he played American football in his youth but, because of my small stature, he always seemed huge to me!

There had been talk that they were bringing in the next team of technicians from Britain and, as I was the only Brit in the Institute, I assumed he wanted my help in vetting any new arrivals.

I couldn’t have been more wrong!

Suddenly, I was sandwiched between his goons and found myself half carried, half pushed down the long corridor. Some lab staff in their coloured lab coats averted their eyes and I knew I was in trouble.

‘What…what’s going on, Gibbon?’ I squeaked, instantly cursing my reedy voice.

Gibbon ignored me and I had no choice but to follow until he pushed the doors open to the conference room.

Professor John Mason, head of the Institute sat at the table with Doctor Robert Payton, head of research. Mason stared coldly at me as Gibbon jammed me into a chair opposite the duo, and then stood behind me, arms folded.

‘Very disappointed in you, Evans,’ John Mason intoned and I blinked.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked worriedly. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I never thought you’d sell us out, Evans,’ Robert Payton said hotly.

‘Sell…sell you out? What do you mean?’

Robert opened a file and shuffled through some documents.

‘Colonel Gibbon has been watching you for some time. We all knew someone from the research team was sending out the preliminary results but it took time to narrow the suspects down to you!’

‘Me! That’s bollocks!’

Shocked, I gaped at the two, unsmiling people across the table.

‘I haven’t done anything!’

‘No use in pretending to be innocent, Evans,’ Mason snapped. ‘We have evidence.’

‘Evidence? Impossible,’ I declared, ‘I am innocent! I haven’t done…’

Robert began reading from the documents.

‘Secret files were found on your computer, a sum of money, precisely ten thousand dollars was deposited in your bank account and copies of sensitive files were found in hidden folders in your desktop computer.’

‘It’s a lie! I…’

‘Oh shut up!’ Mason snapped. ‘You’ve been terminated and will be escorted from the base! You can keep your blood money; treat it as severance pay!’

‘But…but wait. This can’t be happening! I haven’t done anything. This is a mistake! You can’t just pass judgement without an investigation!’

‘We’ve had our investigation!’

‘But…’’

‘Get him out of here!’

‘You can’t do this!’ I shouted as the goons grabbed me.

‘No? I think we can!’

‘You can’t just fire me…’

‘Oh yes we can,’ Mason smirked. ‘Get rid of him!’

‘You can’t! You can’t just chuck me out into the desert! This…this is crazy!’

‘Gibbon will escort you to the highway. If I were you, Evans, I’d get back to the U.K. and scrounge for a job! You’ll never work in research in the U.S. again!’

He smiled thinly at me and then gestured to Gibbon.

‘Take him out of my sight!’

●●●

Gibbon had allowed me to pack my clothes and take my personal effects but that was it. As I scrambled to throw things in a suitcase, he maintained a heavy silence, his baggy eyes watching my every move and silently examining every object and article of clothing I jammed into the case in case I stole something.

As he marched me down the corridors towards the entrance, we passed some of the technical staff. They looked at me curiously but they didn’t have a clue as to what was going on because of the rotational system.

The techs were rotated every month so they couldn’t gain any in-depth knowledge or even know what the project was about. Only the six members of the research team and John Mason knew.

And now, with them kicking me out, there is one less in the team! I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to the other four on the team who were at least friendly to me.

Were friendly to me; not now, not now that I’ve been framed!

Who is going to believe me against the might of NATO?

I still couldn’t believe it was happening but, suddenly, there I was standing outside the entrance, blinking in the hot desert sun.

‘Get in,’ Gibbon said, pointing at an unmarked jeep. ‘I’ll drop you at the truck stop. You can get the bus from there. You’ll be in L.A. in a day and a half.’

‘Oh goody,’ I said sarcastically as I clambered in.

‘You know...,’ he growled, ‘...I could just kick your around a little before I drop you. Keep up your mouth shut or I just might!’

I shivered at his cold eyes and stared moodily ahead as Gibbon drove the jeep through the gates with a wave to the soldiers and down the dusty track towards the highway.

What was I going to do?

Where was I going to go?

My reputation was in tatters, I had no hope of finding another job now that I had been effectively discredited and who would trust me to conduct sensitive research?

I was finished!

I seethed at the unfairness of it all but how could I prove I was innocent?

Somebody had set me up, there was nothing I could do about it, and an immense feeling of powerlessness swept over me as I stared at the repetitive landscape from the jeep.

●●●

‘Get out,’ Gibbon said succinctly the moment the jeep rolled to a stop at the truck stop.

There was, I knew, no point in arguing and I stepped out, pulling my bag with me, trying to think of a smart and cutting farewell remark.

Gibbon didn’t give me an opportunity and immediately drove off into the dusk.

‘Well...,’ I murmured, ‘...that’s that!"

I looked around and saw a small motel, large petrol – sorry, gas station – and a small bar attached to the motel.

At this point in my life, the bar looked the best option. Shouldering my bag, I walked over and pushed open the grimy glass door.

It was almost empty with a few local lads playing pool and a man in a business suit watching the television set that hung in a corner.

‘What’ll it be?’

The man behind the bar was another man mountain – how do they breed them like that? He ran his sausage-like fingers over his unshaven chin, creating a rasping sound that carried over the sound of the television and looked me up and down.

I would have loved to order what I usually drank – chilled white wine – but thought the likelihood of ordering that drink in this bar and surviving would be minuscule.

I didn’t want a beating by some Neanderthal on top of everything else that had happened. It seemed that beer was my best option.

‘Beer.’

‘Draught or bottle?’

‘Draught,’ I said, not really knowing what the difference was.

He looked at me as if I was insane, picked up a glass and held it under the tap.

I was suffering through the beer – it had lumps of yeast in it, for god sakes – and staring miserably at the TV, trying to plan my next move when the man in the business suit sat next to me.

‘Condolences,’ he said quietly.

I recognised the flat, nasal vowels of an Australian accent – Australians are everywhere in London – in fact they are one of the world’s great travellers and popped up everywhere. I immediately assumed he was referring to some sporting event.

Australians were fanatical about sport and, I suppose, no wonder. For a country of their size, they manage to beat everyone in everything! From my time living in London, I knew it was wise to agree with Australians when talking about sport, buy them a beer and just smile.

Don’t prod them or taunt them. They take sport very seriously and have no problems getting into a punch up over it.

Frankly, I thought they were a little insane but, I suppose, not all Aussies were like that.

There’s Clive James and other Australian intellectuals in London – couldn’t imagine any of them swinging a fist at me.

Although I haven’t seen any of those talking sport.

Anyway, the Aussies I knew seemed to like to fight and one night in a pub in South London, I saw two Aussies stand toe to toe with six local lads and the Aussies came out on top!

A few beers, the topic of sport and an Australian is a dangerous combination that can lead to a violent night.

‘I don’t follow cricket, Rugby or anything else,’ I said moodily, throwing caution to the wind.

‘Don’t blame you, mate,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You Poms[1] can’t play either game. No...,’ he added quietly, ‘...I was talking about your job.’

Startled, I looked closely at him and wondered if I vaguely recognised him.

‘My...my job?’

He offered his hand.

‘Jack Wade,’ he offered and I tentatively took his hand. It was like grabbing a ham!

I expected him to crush my hand in an overt display of macho strength but he surprised me by just shaking my hand and quickly releasing it.

‘Joshua Evans,’ I volunteered and then added. ‘But you knew that, didn’t you?’

He calmly nodded and gestured at the TV set.

‘Don’t understand this Yank football. They play it like they fight war – no passion or creativity. It’s boring. And all that protection is for sissies! Most of those guys wouldn’t last ten minutes in a Rugby game back home!’

I looked around the bar to see if any of the Americans heard him. Jack Wade seemed remarkably unconcerned.

I thought about pointing out that not everyone is fanatical