by Brett Baker
“That sounds good,” I said. I’d always hated having people take care of me, and under ordinary circumstances I would have objected to Johnny wanting to book my flight, but I’m sure he had the same feeling as me: the need to do something. So I’d let him take care of the flight.
But the sad reality was that there was nothing we could do. Our parents were dead, and we didn’t stop it. We didn’t get to say goodbye, or tell them we loved them, or help protect them. As Johnny told me to get some sleep, and I hung up the phone, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d let my parents down. I fought bad guys and helped protect people for a living—even more than just a living, as a way of life—yet I didn’t protect my parents. I didn’t even know they were in danger.
I’d never felt like such a failure.
7
Chapter 7
I woke early the next morning to face a changed world. The old world—the one in which I knew my parents were alive, that I could talk to them just by dialing their phone number, that the two people who’d help me become me were still on this earth—was gone. The suddenness and shock of the loss assaulted me upon opening my eyes. I curled in my bed, pulled the covers up to my chin, and wailed an ocean of wet tears for fifteen minutes.
After I gained some semblance of composure, I called Stanley, my current contact at The Summit. The all-encompassing nature of The Summit required full disclosure by all members. Other agents I’d talked to joked that we could barely use the bathroom or eat a bowl of cereal without informing The Summit, but their jokes weren’t too far from the truth. As soon as I’d hung up with Johnny the night before I thought about calling Stanley, but I’d decided that the call could wait until the morning. My personal loss had nothing to do with The Summit, and I needed some time to myself, just a few hours during which there was something about my life that The Summit didn’t know.
I dialed Stanley’s number and he picked up on the fourth ring.
“This is Mia Mathis,” I said.
“Mia!” Stanley sounded excited, almost relieved to hear from me. “I’m glad to hear you’re alive. I have to tell you, when we didn’t hear from you yesterday, and considering the day you had before that, I worried that someone might wait for you at your apartment and we’d never see you again.”
“Did you send another agent to check on that? To monitor my apartment?” I asked.
Stanley paused, and then very uncomfortably said, “Well, no, it was just a thought I had. We didn’t act on it.”
“Well I’m glad no one was waiting for me. You couldn’t have been too worried about me if you didn’t act on your hunch. I thought we looked out for each other.”
“I just knew my hunch was wrong,” Stanley said, dismissively. “You know as well as I do that in this line of work we have dozens of thoughts a day that turn out to be nothing. The way you move up in this organization is developing the skill to realize which hunches should be obeyed and which should be ignored.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me,” I said. “You didn’t act, and you got lucky this time. Or I should say, I got lucky this time. Just do me a favor, the next time you get a hunch that I might be in danger, don’t ignore it. I might not be so lucky next time.”
“Fair enough,” Stanley said. “I hope you’re just calling to talk about the weather.”
Almost all calls that agents make to their contacts are required to be made from The Summit’s various Roosts around the world. The secure phone technology ensures that no secrets are intercepted, and thus no mission, or agent safety is compromised. Any time I’d made a call to my contact without going to The Roost, I’d always been reminded that we should only talk about the weather, which was code for only talking about something unimportant.
“For you it’s the weather, but for me it’s the world.” The world was code for something important, because what’s more important than the world? It’s the only one we’ve got, and it’s where everything happens.
“Are you sure you want to talk about the world here?” Stanley asked, “here” being on a phone not in The Roost.
“It’s my world,” I said. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll trust your judgment,” Stanley said.
“Good.” I took a deep breath and tried to relax. I hadn’t told anyone about my parents’ death, and I had no idea if I’d be able to do it. Talking about things makes those things real, and I worried that despite the tears and immeasurable sadness, that my parents’ death didn’t yet seem real. “My parents died. Yesterday.”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry to hear that, Mia. Both of them? Was this expected?”
“No, it wasn’t expected at all. They were stabbed. Murdered.” I felt the fury return. The unfair violence of such a death enraged me. As I waited a couple of silent seconds for Stanley to recover from his shock and offer a response, it occurred to me that the fury’s presence eliminated the sadness.
“Are you sure this is the weather for me?” Stanley asked.
Over the years I’d become used to The Summit’s detached analysis of a situation. No matter what events unfolded, every member of The Summit had to analyze them through the lens of what was best for The Summit. We all realized that by doing so we were also thinking of what was best for each individual agent, as the absolute safety and security of each agent was what was best for The Summit. However, hearing Stanley’s immediate transition from expressing personal concern for me, to professional concern for The Summit, felt like a betrayal.
“It’s more weather for you than it is for me, Stanley. This isn’t your life.”
“I understand that. I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine the shock of losing both parents at once, let alone in such a violent way. However, you know how things work. We can’t just assume that this is just the weather. We need to be sure.” Stanley seemed to have something else he wanted to say. I waited for him to continue, but only heard silence.
“Stanley, are you there? Stanley?”
“Let’s continue this conversation elsewhere,” Stanley said. “I’ll be home all morning. Try again.”
One of the skills required to succeed in The Summit was the ability to pickup on subtle cues and inferences. Stanley’s sudden silence, and his request to continue the conversation later, were clear to me.
“I understand,” I said. “Let’s talk later.”
I hung up the phone and left my apartment. Since I planned to leave town later in the day, and knew that I might not be back for some time, I figured it best to settle this issue with The Summit right away. The next few days would be the most difficult of my life. And speaking as someone whose life is endangered on a regular basis, that’s really saying something. But the days would be even more difficult if The Summit became involved. My heartache would be compounded if I had to deal with secret agents lingering around the funeral, or strange visitors to my childhood home, or outsiders asking off-the-wall questions to my parents’ friends and neighbors.
When I approached The Roost, I was shocked to see Motorcycle Man’s motorcycle still parked in front of the frozen yogurt shop. Whoever gave Motorcycle Man his orders ran a sloppy operation. If the police investigated the abandon motorcycle and connected it to the man who got creamed by a bus, they might start putting together pieces of some unknown puzzle. If I didn’t hate riding motorcycles so much I would have helped myself to the bike. Dead men don’t need motorcycles.
I walked down the alley and into the door leading to The Roost. The place looked undisturbed, as usual. Before calling Stanley I spent a few minutes staring out the window to make sure no one followed me. The coast appeared clear, so I sat down and dialed Stanley’s number, much more relaxed than I’d been two days before when I called him from the same phone.
“That was prompt,” Stanley said. “I’m glad you understood.”
“I understood, but this is really a waste of time. I just can’t imagine any possible way that this could be connected with The Summit.”
“What does local law enforcemen
t say?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to them. I just got word last night. My brother talked to the sheriff, but he didn’t mention anything about a lead. Our parents were murdered. Forgive me if The Summit isn’t my foremost concern.”
“Please, Mia, don’t think we’re being insensitive here. Our thoughts are with you, and take as much time away as you need.”
“I’m already decommissioned,” I said. “Perhaps you forgot since people are still trying to kill me, but this is supposed to be time off anyway. Although I’ve had clandestine missions that have been more relaxing than my past three days. I just don’t feel like making things more complicated than they need to be, and that’s what you’re doing here. People get killed, Stanley. Not all murders are related to The Summit.”
“Why are you so quick to dismiss this?”
“I’m not quick to dismiss it. There’s just nothing there.”
“I hope you’re right. What do you know about your parents? What were they involved in? Did you tell them about your work?”
“My parents think I’m a freelance technical writer. They’ve never suspected a thing. And what were they into? What are all old people into? Bingo, crosswords, Wheel of Fortune.”
“How old were they?”
“Sixty-five. Both of them.”
“That’s not that old,” Stanley said. “You talk about them like they’re infirm geriatrics. We’ve got agents that old.”
“Yeah, well my mom and dad weren’t agents. They’re a couple of retired people who never stayed away from Eutaw, Alabama for more than a couple of days at a time.”
“So who killed them then?”
“I don’t know who killed them,” I said, exasperated. “Maybe some coke head needed money for his next fix. Maybe it was mistaken identity. Maybe dad told an old racist joke to the wrong guy at the VFW. I don’t know. They’ve been dead less than twenty-four hours. I’m too sad to worry about who killed them.”
I didn’t want to admit to Stanley that at times the question of who killed my parents consumed me. I awoke from a deep sleep in the middle of the night with my heart racing and my palms sweaty, with thoughts of my parents’ killers on my mind.
“Your encounters the other day, nothing about them seemed familiar?”
“It all seemed familiar,” I said. “I’ve been shot at more times than I can count. I’ve crushed a man’s trachea before. I’ve left a guy for dead on a beach before. I’ve been kidnapped, I’ve fought my way out of a car. Although, I never caused a guy to get run over by a bus, so that was new.”
“But did they say anything familiar?”
“You mean did they ask me if my parents live in Alabama and drive an old Chevy? No, they weren’t that specific.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful here, Mia.”
“Well you’re failing. Nothing that happened yesterday reminded me of home, or my parents, or anything else other than the ridiculous line of work I chose. Now, if we’re done talking about this, I’ve got a plane to catch.”
Stanley wanted to continue questioning me, but he knew from experience that confrontational inquiry frequently remained unproductive.
I hung up the phone after promising to check-in with Stanley as soon as I returned from Alabama, and to be on guard both for my own safety, and in case I came across any information that might link my parents’ murders to The Summit.
8
Chapter 8
I exited the black steel door at the bottom of The Roost’s stairwell, and saw the man quickly pull his head back behind the brick wall that jutted perpendicularly out from the building, into the alley, providing a shield that obscured a view of the door from the street. I looked over my shoulder in case someone was ready to attack me from behind, but saw no one, so I slowly walked around the corner of the wall, ready to defend myself from whatever I might encounter.
As soon as the man saw my face he sprinted down the alley, away from me, toward the street. Judging from his clothes and his speed, he seemed young, maybe in his early twenties. I took off after him, and shouted a plea for him to stop, which he obviously ignored. He turned left upon exiting the alley, and when I followed suit a second later I saw him crossing the street. I did the same, but although I had closed the distance between us, I couldn’t quite reach him. He ran down the sidewalk, pushing people out of his way, glancing back at me every few seconds, but never slowing down. He wore tight, skinny black jeans, black and white Converse shoes, and a plain yellow T-shirt with the word sunshine written in black cursive on the back. Sunshine’s short, dark hair was cut into a mohawk, and he had at least three bracelets on his left hand.
“Stop that guy, he stole my purse!” I yelled. No matter that he wasn’t carrying a purse. Someone who wanted to intervene and help a woman in need wouldn’t be stopped by such a minor detail. Unfortunately, no vigilante decided to act, so Sunshine extended the distance between us. When he ducked into a Chinese restaurant storefront I followed him, only to find an angry elderly woman—presumably the matriarch of the family—at the counter, facing the back of the store and watching as two men who I guessed were her sons, ran out the back door of the small restaurant in pursuit of Sunshine. When the elderly woman heard me come in the store she turned and frantically swung a spatula at me.
“Get out! Don’t come in. Out, out, out.” I decided not to defend myself against the rambunctious woman, and instead apologized and exited the way I’d come in. I ran to the end of the building and looked down the alley but didn’t see Sunshine or the two men chasing him.
I leaned against the building to catch my breath. Although Sunshine hadn’t threatened me, and obviously wanted no interaction with me, his presence so close to the entrance of The Roost worried me. I’d never seen anyone in the alley, much less steps away from the door. A building blocked the far end of the alley, so no one passed through on their way to somewhere else. I couldn’t imagine another reason for anyone to walk down the alley if not to access the door to The Roost.
After a few minutes I walked back the way that I’d come, and thought about Stanley’s request to pay particular attention to anything that might connect my parents’ death with The Summit. Since Sunshine hadn’t assaulted me or tried to kill me—unlike the men that I encountered the previous day—I considered the idea that maybe he wasn’t actually looking for me, and that when he saw me he just got spooked and ran away. He almost looked too young to believe that anyone would have enough confidence in him to send him on an important task. My innate paranoia justified my concern about Sunshine’s snooping, but he just as easily could have been some punk kid who thought he’d found a stealth location to smoke a joint and just freaked out when I caught him. I wish I could have explained to him that I wasn’t going to injure or kill him unless I had a good reason.
Back at the alley that led to The Roost, I checked the black steel door to make sure I’d closed it, and then left. Motorcycle Man’s motorcycle remained parked on the street, and I thought about knocking it over, just to draw attention to it, but didn’t want to risk getting arrested before going to Alabama to bury my parents.
I walked the same street as I had the day that Motorcycle Man and his comrades kidnapped me, but this time I paid greater attention to my surroundings. The Summit taught me to perceive everyone as a threat, especially when in the midst of a mission. Since my decommission had evolved into some sort of mission unknown to me, I walked with a high degree of awareness.
I noticed the athletic man with a hard six-pack and legs like a gazelle who ran toward and then past me. I noticed the middle-aged lady with three shopping bags draped over her shoulder. I even noticed the tall dad with his two young sons, one holding each of his hands, laughing and skipping, and I half-expected the man to suddenly let go of the kids’ hands and accost me.
I’d just silently cursed myself for assuming everyone I encountered wanted to do me harm when I saw the yellow shirt out of the corner of my eye. I stopped in my tracks and turned t
o my left and saw Sunshine walking toward me in a wide alley between two rows of buildings. He was thirty feet away, but staring down at his phone and didn’t see me. I walked briskly toward him, trying to silence my footfalls, and came within ten feet of him before he looked up at me with a panicked face. He stopped, spun around and started running back down the alley.
This time I was close enough that he couldn’t escape me. After a short chase I grabbed him by the back of the shirt and threw him to the ground. He rolled three times, hitting his head against the brick wall of a building, and coming to rest at the base of a six-foot-tall wooden fence badly in need of a new coat of paint. He cowered against the fence, covered his head with his hands, and looked quite pitiful.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Why are you running?” Sunshine said nothing. He lowered his hands away from his face, looked past me toward the end of the alley, and gave me the finger. “What’s your problem, asshole? Why are you running from me?”
“Why are you chasing me?”
“You’re snooping around my…” I realized I had no idea how to refer to The Roost, and had I known how to refer to it, I probably would have had to censor myself anyway. “What were you doing in that alley?”
“What were you doing in that building?” he asked. “You weren’t in there very long. You were there a couple days ago. What’s in there? How come you keep coming and going?”
“You saw me there before?” I asked.
Sunshine nodded. “You left there, went across to the yogurt shop, and then turned down this street. What are you doing around here?”
“I live there,” I lied. “What the fuck is it to you?”
“Bullshit. No one lives in that building. I see people come and go all the time. What’s going on? Is it some drug house or something?”
“Is that your deal? You’re a druggie? Just looking to score? What are you looking for? You can’t be looking for anything too hard. No dope fiend can run like you run.”