by Sara Schoen
“Who died?” I asked curiously as Damon worked the machine. He let out an exaggerated sigh, probably trying to figure out if it was better to just tell me and have me stop asking so many questions or to let me stay in the dark. He chose the former and gave me what I wanted to know.
“Most of our original team. We had five people, but only two survived the last mission to tell the horrific tale and now we can't stop fighting with each other about it,” he sighed heavily at the thought before continuing. “There was me, Mark, a thief, a reconnaissance member, and a shape shifter, as we called him, meaning he was an expert at quickly changing his appearance to blend in with those around him. All of them were highly skilled, but taken out as if they were nothing more than fresh rookies. There was nothing we could do, but it is both of our faults. Mark is so distraught by the grief that he didn't want to bring anyone new on to the team, but we needed someone. We have to rebuild and it just so happened to be you,” Damon explained as a mechanical door swung open to reveal the equipment he had called for.
“Did you look for other thieves?”
“We did,” he answered honestly turning his dark eyes to me. “They had a natural talent like you did, but they were still a little too young to be recruited and the ones who were old enough declined after starting training. That's why you have such little time.”
“Are you finding the other two? The other components of the team, the shape-shifter and reconnaissance expert, I mean.”
“Yes, everyone is looking for them with Sharp Shooter. We have to find possible recruits and watch them to see if they can be taught and trained. We just haven't found those two yet, or at least no one that seems likely to blossom into the range we would like them to be in, but until then we have replacements from other teams. We'll be a mash-up temporarily, but that's only for a little while hopefully.”
“Who are the others we are going with?”
“Raider, a reconnaissance man that's been here ten years; Spit Fire, who is a tactician really, but we needed another person and that’s who was free. She is remarkable at what she does, just not a role normally a part of this team. I wouldn't want to go into a fight against her, I would lose,” he said honestly as he grabbed a few pieces of equipment from the supply that came.
“Who chooses these people to become a part of the agency?”
“I do actually, along with Sharp Shooter, and an analyst named Hunter. It's a skill, we have to read people and analyze their skills. We see if they can be of use or if it just won't work out, even after training. I had my eye on you for a while, and after showing Hunter and Sharp Shooter what you could do they agreed,” Damon admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “You have a habit of stealing things. Of course, it was nothing big, mostly gum from my back pocket and CDs from your friend's backpacks, but it was more than that. There was a finesse to your work that we need and that I admired. Because of that, you were going to be chosen eventually, but not for this team originally.”
“Why not?” I asked, ignoring the nagging question in the back of my mind at why the director had an odd name and called Mark and Damon different names when I met him.
“This team is made up of highly skilled agents that have trained for their area at least three years and have mission experience, but it typically takes five years of training to even be considered for it. You made it because we don't have another thief remaining in the agency, we only had one left and we have none in training. Finding a thief, we look for a lot of aspects, so it's hard to find one. We will train you, take you on the mission and see if you can handle it. If you can, then you stay, if not then you are moved to a different team or set free,” Damon said before changing the topic. “Now, please call your foster parents and tell them whatever you need to in order to be free for the rest of the weekend. You'll be back late Monday night. If you make it out of this training period alive,” Damon whispered as he added the last part, hoping I wouldn't hear it, but I did.
“That doesn't sound promising,” I said as my hand instinctively went to my front pocket, but my phone was gone. “Damon, where is my phone?” I asked as I patted down all my pockets to realize everything I carried in my pockets was gone. “And my keys, my gum, and everything else!”
“I had to take them from you because anything you have could be easily traced, you'll get them back before you go home,” Damon said as he handed me a phone from his pocket.
I glanced between him and the phone before I took it. Why was his phone any different than mine? How was my gum going to get me tracked down? No one was going to put a tracker in my gum. I growled slightly in annoyance as I dialed in the number for my adoptive family. Once the phone started to ring, I instantly felt a guilt creep over me. I hated lying to them, but they were used to it by now and they could hear it in my voice when I spoke. How was I going to make this sound like the truth?
“Hello?” Mrs. Ricker asked when she picked up the telephone.
“Hi Mrs. Ricker, it's Sara. I was wondering if I could stay over at a friend's house for the weekend,” I lied smoothly. I was able to lie well when I didn't have to come up with specifics, but once they started asking questions my lie would crumble most of the time. I knew the more specific the lie, the more believable it was, but that wasn't the case with my adoptive family. The less I had to say the better.
“Who is this friend, Sara?”
“Ali Schwartz. It's her birthday and I just want to be there to help her set up for the party and everything on Monday,” I said hesitantly as I glanced at Damon for support. He just shook his head and rolled his eyes at me while listening to my pathetic attempts to lie. It was starting to crumble—even I could tell.
“That is fine, sweetheart, we will see you later. Please be safe,” she pleaded before she hung up the phone and I released a sigh of relief.
“I got the okay to be gone,” I said with a proud smile on my lips. “I think it went pretty well.”
“She took pity on you,” Damon replied quickly. “You know that she knew you were lying right? That was the worst effort of lying that I had ever seen. Heck, you could have told her that you were staying the weekend in a secret military organization to gather information on a cartel and you somehow would have made that seem like a lie. That's going to be something we work on later, but right now we have to get started. Choose a weapon and get ready for hell week put into three days, and the graduation prize, the cartel.”
“That sounds awful.” I groaned as Damon popped open a large metal chest with an assortment of weapons inside.
I cringed slightly at the sight of the guns and heavy artillery, not because they scared me, but because I wouldn't be able to operate or control them accurately in two days. I didn't want to have to carry something that would become heavy and inconvenient. Then I would have to worry about the safety being on or off or running out of bullets, there was just too much risk in those types of weapons to me, even though I knew the advantages of the long range they provided.
My fingers scanned through the arsenal and touched two weapons that I knew would fit perfectly with me; a knife and a whip. The knife would be good for close combat, because when I thought of a thief I thought of silent, stealthy, and very rarely in any other fighting than close combat. A whip would be good for a longer range, but other than that I wasn't sure what use it would have.
“You have to pick one, Sara,” Damon informed me as I glanced between the two weapons.
“Which one would you choose?” I asked, worried to make the wrong choice.
“For your profession, I would go with the knife,” Damon said as he removed the whip from my hands and threw it back into storage. He placed the knife into the sleeve before handing it to me gingerly as if I would die if he didn't. Once he was sure I didn't get injured with the knife already, he pushed the box out of the way on to the wall behind him.
“What now?”
“We begin training. You won't need your knife right now, so put it aside,” he instructed.
I walked over and put it on the metal storage box it had come out of while he continued to talk.
“Instead we will practice stealth, unarmed fighting, and lock picking for the next few hours. Those are the skills you will need most for this mission and those are the ones that will keep you alive from this moment on. Let's get started,” Damon said as he walked a few paces away from me.
I waited for him to tell me what to do, but it was clear this was going to be all instinct, as he spun around quickly and began to throw knives at my head.
Chapter 6
“You could have killed me!” I cried as I glanced at the knives in the wall behind where my head and chest had once been. I had seen the flash of metal before he threw the knives at me, and was able to jump aside the first time, but then he forced me to move quicker and dodge faster. I had to use cheerleading moves that my sister and I used to do together four years ago, and I think I pulled something for not properly stretching.
“I needed a reaction, Sara. You have to be fast, quiet, and effective. For that you need to be trained for years. Unfortunately, we only have a few days and that means extreme measures must be taken. I'm sorry,” Damon said as he walked over to pull the knives from the wall and then assist me so that I would get up from the ground. “We break at one, until then, watch out,” he said just before he tossed the knives again and forced me, on instinct, to back handspring out of range just as one of the knives swept past my face and cut a few strands of my dirty blonde hair off.
I stumbled backwards out of surprise and fear as he threw the remaining knives in my direction. To be honest, I didn't see what this was teaching me. I already knew how to do these moves, I knew how to escape and move quickly, but this was clearly not for those skills. The only thing I was learning was fear, and to be alert because every time I stopped for even a second Damon would toss a few more at me. More than anything I was learning that getting sliced by a knife hurt, even if it was just a superficial wound.
We trained like this until one, more like I ran until Damon finally stopped chasing me around the blue padded room and put the knives away. The moment he stopped I crashed to ground and laid down so I could catch my breath. Running was my least favorite form of exercise, I would say because it was boring, but when knives are thrown at you while you run, that's not really true. I was dripping in sweat and about to pass out from exhaustion when he tapped me on the shoulder with the toe of his shoe and gave me his hand to help me up.
“It's time for lunch and a well-deserved break,” he said as he lifted me easily off the ground and guided me out of the room.
“How did I do?” I asked as we walked around the tiled building. There was black tile everywhere, or at least in the parts of the building I had been in so far. I could vaguely remember the director's office since I had rushed out before taking in my surroundings, but I believed that it was tiled. It was odd, because you could hear everything once you were in the hallway. The footsteps from upstairs, that would echo off the floors and walls, the voices that would bounce around and the click of boots on the tiled floor. I was going into sensory overload.
“You did well for a rookie,” was all he said as he continued to lead me through the building.
I could tell from his curt reply that he didn't want to talk about it. I must have been worse than he thought I would be or he was looking at a bad situation about to go worse, I thought to myself as we walked through the main hub of the building. It seemed to be the center of the building judging from how it was arranged with long rows of padded chairs for agents to sit while they waited for news on their missions and watch the large monitors which were displaying details from all over the globe. A few bulletins swept by as we walked through the room and my feet hit carpeted floor for the first time I had been here.
“This is where you hang out or wait for a mission. It just depends on where you are comfortable, most come here to watch the news of our missions. As agents report in, there will be a bulletin that will pass by, and you'll know what's going on wherever those agents are. If there's an emergency then it will be in red and a buzzer will sound. Then other agents will be sent to help out, hopefully before the mission goes south,” Damon explained as we walked up the stairs and left the room behind us.
“How big is this building?”
“It's huge; I haven't even explored it all yet and I've been here for five years,” he said as a few people passed us and waved.
Others glanced at me curiously or with distaste and continued on their way as if I was trash to them. The more people we passed the more I noticed few people were pleased that I was here. Suddenly, I didn't feel very welcome in the building.
“So when do I meet these other people for our mission?” I questioned as I grew tired of the mean looks. It reminded me too much of high school.
“Right now,” Damon said as he pushed open the double doors to reveal a cafeteria-like room. There were multiple long tables for groups to meet and socialize, but as I looked closely at the groups it was easy to see which ones were here for business and which ones were here for a break. “This is Spit Fire and Raider; this is Sara.”
“Does everyone here have a code name?” I questioned as Damon pulled my seat out for me to take a seat.
“Yes, and if you join you will have one too,” Raider said. “I'm Raider, my skills include reconnaissance and hand-to-hand combat.” His dark voice surprised me and his black eyes sent chills up my spine in fear. His black hair covered part of his eyes and made him mysterious, and creepy at the same time. While his facial expression hinted that he was fine with meeting me, his body language showed deep displeasure at my presence. After he took a few more seconds to size me up he spoke again. “Why is she here, Demon? She's a rookie, actually she's worse than a rookie. She's useless!”
“Excuse you!” I cried out as Damon placed his hand on my shoulder to hold me in place.
“She may be a rookie, but she's better than you were when you started out and she learns faster. How about you keep your thoughts to yourself, Raider, and remember you take orders from me now.” Damon growled as he gestured for Raider to get up. They moved in unison as they got up from the table and went to get food.
“So who are you?” I asked awkwardly as I glanced nervously at the red head across the table from me. She hadn't said anything during the exchange with Raider and now I was afraid she would be like him and the others that I had seen on my way over here. Angry, confused and maybe even a little worried about my rookie status and taking on this mission.
“I'm Spit Fire, my skills include intelligence, surveillance, and shadow manipulation,” she said with a triumphant smile as she tilted her head and flicked her bangs out of her face.
“Shadow manipulation?” I questioned as I nervously pulled on the end of my ponytail. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the skills everyone here had, I had none. I had practiced for years, thanks to Damon forcing me to practice without my knowing, even then I had nothing compared to these people.
“It's the skill Demon has,” she said.
I skipped over the code name, otherwise it would just confuse me and listened to her.
“Actually he practically invented it. It means that you move with the shadows and they move simultaneously with you. So when he uses the smokescreen, that's a very basic aspect of shadow manipulation, mostly used by rookies, but it works well in a tight spot. It comes in handy and has saved my skin more times than I'm comfortable admitting. Demon is a remarkable trainer, I have no doubt you'll be ready for the mission. You can just ignore Raider,” Spit Fire added with an exaggerated eye roll. “He thinks that he's the best agent in the building because the director gave him his own team. He's a hot head and that's all he's got going for him.”
“I'm sure Sharp Shooter has a reason for giving Raider a team though. Maybe he trains well too,” I suggested as Raider returned to take his seat next to Spit Fire. I glanced at both of them to see surprised expressions and shock etched onto their
faces. Spit Fire had just put a grape in her mouth and now her mouth was hanging open which allowed the grape to fall out. “What's wrong?”
“You called him by his code name. He hasn't let anyone do that since he became director, it's remarkable. You must have done something to really impress him,” Spit Fire said as she gave Raider a sideways glance. He looked angry for some reason, and knowing his short fuse as Spit Fire had told me I would find out soon enough why he was angry at me now.
“He's just mad because the director doesn't even let him call him by his code name and he's been here a long time. Director says it's a sign of disrespect to call him by his code name, now that he's in control of the whole agency, and he wants to be respected like the last one was. He even went with the director on a mission and wasn't allowed to use the code name the entire time,” Damon explained as he placed a tray of food in front of me and took the empty seat next to me.
“Oh,” was all I could say as I stuffed food in my mouth so I wouldn't have to talk. There was an awkward and angry silence that fell over us as no one spoke. Raider was glaring angrily at me and muttering under his breath so I couldn't hear him, while Damon calmly ate his meal, looking over a magazine he had brought back with the food, and Spit Fire looked like she was about to explode with anger, just hopefully not at me.
“So, Rookie, what makes you so special?” Raider asked in a condescending tone.
“Look,” Spit Fire said as she hands slammed down on the table to gather everyone's attention. “We have to work together now, so Raider straighten up before I knock you out for a few moments of peace and quiet. Your attitude is awful and that's why no one wants to work with you, not even your own team. So what if she is new and can call the director by his code name? Get over it, because we have to work together and finish this before even more people lose their lives. Also, if you don't straighten up I will personally go to the director and tell him you aren't fit for a team,” Spit Fire threatened as she broke Raider's glare and forced his attention onto her.