The Innocent Assassins

by Pema Donyo

  "Have you ever met him?"

  "Sure, plenty of times." Marty trundled back into his office, and I followed him. "When you've been around as long as I have, you've seen and heard it all regarding CO."

  "Marty..." I tried to keep my voice casual. "Could I ask you something?”

  He picked up what appeared to be a gun on his desk, but had a much smaller barrel. "I'll answer if you try this out for me."

  I took the weapon in his hand, pointing it downward to the floor as I walked with Marty toward the firing range on the opposite side of his Workshop. "Marty, does CO only take in orphans?"

  "Oh, no." Marty pointed at the target he wanted me to use, the familiar red and white circles overlapping to form a pink center where I was to hit. "CO takes in abandoned children. They've rescued children from whorehouses, Skid Row, you name it."

  I fired the weapon and, to my amazement, a laser shot from the barrel and clipped the circle from the center of the target. I gaped as the small pink bull’s-eye fell to the ground. Marty whooped for joy and hugged me. "It works; it works!" He cried. "Oh, thank you for trying it out. New weapon for you all now."

  "Marty, what if a child's parents search for the child and want the child back? Does CO ever give the child back?"

  Marty's face clouded. There was something dark in his features, as if I'd asked a question which provoked a more sinister side to him. "Of course not. Too many secrets at stake."

  "Then what happens to the parents?"

  Marty took the weapon from my hands, not roughly, but with finality. He adjusted something on the trigger and handed it back to me. "Try it again," he insisted.

  I did, and this time the beam was larger, burning a bigger hole in the target. But Marty was silent this time. Something joyless replaced his jubilance.

  "Well, right now there's Troy Archer. Third year at CO. Parents are currently calling in, wanting their child back from the foster home they last left him in." Marty sucked in a breath of air, and then patted my hand. The darker look to his expression remained, but his tone sought to provide comfort. "CO is going to deal with his parents in the way CO can, keeping the boy safe and the secrets of CO safe."

  I didn't move a muscle. I’d secretly suspected Marty was on the inside of CO information, but being right provided no satisfaction. "And how are they going to deal with them, exactly?"

  As Marty stared at me, the sinister look disappeared and a cheerful one took its place. "Don't you worry. Did I answer your question?"

  "Yes, yes of course." I set down the laser gun on the counter of the target practice area. "Thank you."

  Marty patted my shoulder, like a grandfather proud of his granddaughter. I couldn’t help feeling like I was extorting information out of a relative. I was betraying blood. "Since I've answered your question, I'm hoping you'll answer mine."

  "What is it?"

  "I need a new teacher for the second-year Judo class. The students are seven-year-olds, eight-year-olds maybe. The old teacher was too stern. You'd be much better, and you're the best I've ever trained at Judo." His expression was optimistic and trusting. "What do you say?"

  I nodded. "Of course. What time?"

  "Eight o'clock. Don't be late, now." He waggled a finger. Then he embraced me, his arms enfolding me in a tight grip. “I’m so glad you returned. We’re all glad you’re back at CO.”

  “I can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.”

  The lies were becoming so much easier to tell.

  ****

  Nobody knew exactly how CEO's were chosen.

  The current CEO had led the company for the past forty years. The office for the CEO stood at the north end of CO headquarters. Those two facts were all I knew about CO's leadership.

  So when I pushed open the imposing wooden doors leading into the waiting room for the CEO's office, I was surprised to see the amount of people sitting in the lobby. None of them were agents; they were all executives in monochrome business suits and stiff collars. They huddled in small groups outside the board room like they were camped out for the night.

  "Miss Lu?"

  I presented my CO badge to the secretary, who took it from me and told me to take a seat. I wasn't sure where, exactly, because anywhere I sat would be close to the small huddled groups of the executives. Still, it could be a long wait. No point in standing.

  I sank back into one of the red leather loveseats which formed an open square in front of a roaring fire. Three executives huddled together a few seats away from me, deep in discussion. Whatever they were talking about, the secrecy of their conversation piqued my curiosity. The moment I heard their whispers, I craned my neck toward them while putting my hands out in a feigned effort to warm my hands by the fire.

  "Change in... new CEO... his favorite... King." The bits of conversation I heard from tuning my ears to their conversation were barely enough to assemble coherent thoughts. So the rumors were circulating around the executives as well.

  I bit my lip. There was only one King working for CO.

  "Training... soon... won't be executive... straight to CEO."

  I craned my neck further to hear more, but soon realized it wasn't necessary.

  "But this is ridiculous!" The heated cries of one of the executives were heard by everyone in the room. His colleagues tried to quiet him, but the executive couldn't be consoled. He stood straight up. His face was red, and the creases in his forehead spoke of stress. "He's too young."

  "Quiet," another executive warned him. "Nothing's confirmed yet."

  The impassioned executive shook his head, but he sat back down with a defeated look. The three of them went back to whispering, in lower tones than I could detect. I continued to stare into the embers of the fire, watching the kindling strike with the orange-yellow flames.

  All of the executives were called into the board room. I was the only one left once everyone was inside, discussing with the CEO what I assumed was the change in leadership. The flames danced before my eyes as I processed the whispered words of the executives. Tristan needed to know. I asked the receptionist where the bathroom was and she gestured toward the hall.

  The board room and the empty office of the CEO passed me as I walked along the hallway to the bathroom. After a quick check above the toilet, behind the sink, and in the corners of the room for a safety check of any microphones or cameras, I finally took out the compact and lipstick Tristan had given me.

  I glanced into the small mirror and smoothed the lipstick on. For a CIA secret spy weapon, this was actually pretty good lipstick. The color was all right; the consistency was perfect for sliding on. "Props to you, CIA," I said to myself in the mirror.

  "Thanks, I appreciate it."

  Oh, great.

  The impertinent voice continued onward. "Now are you going to keep talking to yourself or actually tell me something important?"

  I narrowed my eyes at the door, checked the lock again, and switched the fan on. The loud noise of the fan soundproofed the room even more. "Tristan, take notes.” I spoke into the lipstick, enunciating my words. “Troy Archer. A-r-c-h-e-r. CO is going to terminate his parents."

  Tristan's playful tone from the other end of the line switched to intensity. "When?"

  "Don't know. Soon."

  "Troy Archer?"

  "Born in either 2004 or 2005."

  "Got it."

  "How do I turn this thing off?"

  "Close the compact."

  I closed it midway before Tristan's voice stopped me.

  "Wait!"

  "What?"

  There was a pause for a moment, but then Tristan spoke, the voice through the compact sounding more genuine and heartfelt than I'd heard him before. "You're saving the lives of this kid's parents. You should feel proud of yourself, kid."

  I answered Tristan by closing the compact. There was a part of me which understood. I prevented another kid from losing his parents too. There was a still a chance for him to someday meet them. Two innocent people would continue
enjoying their lives.

  But there was another part of me which wanted to laugh. Proud of myself? Proud? Extorting information from my childhood mentor and role model to betray the organization he pledged his life to? Yeah, sure, sounds worthy of real pride to me.

  I put away the make-up, flushed the toilet, and washed my hands, in case there was anyone on the other side of the door. No need to be suspected as a spy already.

  And good thing, too, because right outside the door stood the CEO's secretary.

  Her look was as emotionless as the pressed grey suit she wore – no crinkles, no lines, nothing less than professional. "I'm so sorry, but the CEO regrets he will not be able to speak to you this evening due to an emergency conference with the executives."

  "What's the conference about?"

  She raised one painted-on eyebrow, the pencil line so thick I knew I could remove it with a standard school rubber eraser. "A change of leadership."

  "Do you think we're having a new CEO?"

  "I think you're asking too many questions." She huffed, spinning around on her stilettos and walking back to her desk.

  I strode out of the hallway lobby and back into the warm summer air outside the headquarters. I'm not sure whether it was the warm breeze in the air which gave me a sudden burst of confidence, or the simple joy from knowing I was one step closer to living a normal life - free from the secrecy and deception of CO and espionage.

  So I hadn't found very much information at the CEO's office. Big deal.

  I'll find the answers on my own, I thought.

  ****

  I'd killed a seven-year-old girl.

  Or at least I could have, if I hadn't guided her down on her last throw.

  "C'mon, Nina, let's try it again." I held her hand as she lifted herself up. The little girl’s height came up to my hip, and her tiny feet barely made a dent in the blue plastic mat. I'd knocked her to the floor, but she was still beaming up at me, all too ready for a second round. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

  It wasn't just her. The entire class of seven-year-olds gazed at me with shining eyes and even shinier smiles. I would've been creeped out by their enthusiasm for being beaten in endless rounds of Judo too, had I not once been one of those creepy enthusiastic kids myself.

  "All right, class. Watch me and Nina."

  Nina tightened the belt around her waist, and her heels bobbed up and down against the mat. After we bowed to one another, I started instructing the class as we fought.

  "Remember, wait until you're in a good position to strike. No point in a meaningless punch." We circled each other, both of us bringing our hands into fists against our face. Nina reached first, grabbing my fists and trying to push me downward. "Good, notice how once she was ready Nina wasn't afraid to move first and tackle me." I let her shove me to the floor, my back arching downward. After she pushed my back against the mat, I got back up. "But if I go straight down to the floor, bracing my knees like this…” I formed a makeshift table top, on my elbows and knees on the mat. "Then I can bring myself back up." I pushed upward on my elbows, moving just fast enough to be standing again before Nina made her next move.

  "I'm on my feet again, and this time I'll reach first." I grabbed Nina's back and pushed her down. She felt like plywood in my arms, so small and light. "Then reach behind and around your opponent, and flip them over to the ground." I picked up Nina and flipped her over with ease, guiding her fall with her arms to prevent injury. "Of course, when you're in real combat, feel free to flip them and push them down to the ground as hard as possible, in order to maximize the damage you do. If you don't guide down their fall, they could die. I've closed two contracts this way."

  The little ones ooh-ed and aah-ed at the phrase "closed the contracts." It's what all the teachers said instead of "assassinated in cold blood" or "brutally murdered." Both terms, however, would have been too much of the truth to expose to the young students. It was enough for them to be exposed to the concept of murder for now. Not that any kid was satisfied with simply a “concept.”

  "When do we get to use this in real life?" one of the boys demanded.

  "When you're either eleven or twelve. Then you'll be working until you're eighteen." I couldn't even count the amount of times I'd asked the same question during my training. The itch to use the special skills in real life was one I couldn't wait to scratch. The boy looked at me with the same expression of excitement and wonder as I'd had at his age.

  "Is it true you ran away from the copses and ran them over with a car to get away and back to CO?"

  I laughed. The rumors about my disappearance from and return to CO seemed to range from everything from hitchhiking across the country on a bear's back (mentioned to me by Nina) to apparently running from the cops.

  "It's cops, not copses. And you shouldn’t listen to rumors.”

  I noticed Marty beckoning to me through the classroom window. He pointed outside. I read his lips as he mouthed, "Come over here now." I nodded at him, then focused my attention back to face the innocent third-years.

  "Now practice what I was demonstrating with a partner." I watched the kids scramble to find their best friend with amusement. The kid you selected in training sessions nearly always became your partner in missions. I felt the familiar squeezing in my gut as Adrian's face appeared in my mind. "Remember, flip them over gently, not like in real combat. This is just practice."

  I opened the door of the classroom and walked over to Marty. He smiled, the urgent message he'd mouthed to me replaced by one of joy. "There’s a surprise for you at the front of the headquarters."

  I hitched my thumb back in the direction of the classroom. "I'm teaching a class right now."

  "I know; I'll be back with your surprise in five minutes." He disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

  Did he have a present for me? It wasn’t my birthday or anything. Unless it was the laser gun he’d made me test. I blanched at the thought.

  Nina opened the door. Her little hand made the same beckoning motion Marty had made to me through the window moments earlier. "Tommy's hurt! Tommy's hurt!"

  I rushed back inside. Wailing there on the blue mat was Tommy Denton, the scrawniest kid in the class. He brought his knee up to his chest, and tears streamed down his cheeks. Adrian and I used to train Tommy when he was a first-year, back when we led the Basic Skills class. Tommy overreacted to every paper cut he received, much less actual injury, but he tried his best.

  "Ansel didn't guide him down gently, like you told us!" Nina exclaimed in distress. The little doll wrung her hands next to Tommy.

  "Did not." A voice retorted, angry but still trembling, from a kid I assumed was Ansel. I ignored the bickering and focused on Tommy.

  I smoothed my hand over his back to soothe him. "Tommy, let me see your knee." I did the standard inspection I'd been taught as a fourth-year, checking for shin splits or a displaced knee. Neither. I flexed out his leg, and he didn't respond any more than before.

  He still cried, but he took a moment's respite to note the smile tugging at the edges of my mouth. "Why are you smiling?" he cried. The little boy, wracked from the pain in his knee, slowed his bawling to a sniffle.

  I patted his knee and brought him up to stand. As I predicted, he stood normally. I held his hand and walked him over to the door. "I think you just hit your knee a little too hard, and you may get a bruise. Come on, I'll take you to the infirmary and get you some ice before the swelling starts.”

  Tommy rubbed the tears away from his eyes. An audible sigh of relief came from the entire class. My heart warmed at the sound of loyalty. Even during my year, each incoming class of fifty was a tight-knit bunch. Every one of us cared about the other, and no one wanted to see anyone hurt.

  I checked again if there was any blood on Tommy’s skin or signs of internal bleeding on his leg. Finding none, I squeezed his hand tighter. Goodness, I would've never forgiven myself if a student was hurt due to my lack of instruction. I opened the door before Tomm
y and waited for him to close it behind him before I started walking him toward the infirmary.

  But Tommy ran ahead of me, his bruise on his knee forgotten in the excitement of ditching class. I put a hand on my hip, watching the boy disappear around the corner and hearing his whoop of glee over how “Class is over! Yeah!”

  Well, as long as he was all right.

  The patter of his footsteps skidded to a stop. I jogged after him, worried he had fallen down.

  "Tommy, are you all right?”

  I slowed to a stop. Tommy was all right; he was being lifted up and spun around in the air by another agent, one he was clearly familiar with.

  No, it was me who wasn't all right. Because my heart was beating a thousand times a minute and my palms pricked with anticipation and my feet couldn't move from the floor and alarm bells rang in my head.

  Once Tommy was set back on the ground, the agent who'd spun him around and made airplane sounds looked back at me. There were bags beneath his eyes, purplish symbols of sleepless nights I was unaccustomed to seeing on him. His hair was dirty, ruffled, and down-right messy. There was a stern glaze over his chiseled face, like someone who'd hardened up during a World War. The skin on his cheekbones no longer possessed the normal muscular tautness. It was like a few weeks for me was the equivalent of twenty years for him.

  But his eyes were the exact same. Still pools of blue swimming with eagerness and a penchant for pondering the great big philosophical questions of life. Still the orbs which had seen me through the age of six to seventeen. Still the eyes of my best friend.

  "Jane."

  Shivers ran up my spine at the sound of his voice. It felt oddly surreal, like he was someone known and familiar and comfortable, but at the same time removed, like I was meeting him for the first time and we were still just getting to know each other. Either one of us was the same and the other was different, or we'd both changed in each other's absence.

  I didn't bother deciding who or why at the moment. I could only drink in the sight of him, bask in the sound of his voice, and somehow find the strength to respond.