Suicide Mission (Guarded Secrets Series Book 1)

by Sara Schoen

  Damon was going to laugh hysterically at me when I told him the dream I had, I thought with a smile as I flipped the sheets off of me to reveal my body to the morning air. My skin prickled slightly at the cool air my comforter had been protecting me from as I sat up and pulled my phone out of its charger.

  I turned on some music and went to get ready for whatever amount of time was still in the day, but as I got off my bed I knew something was wrong. Whenever I normally got out of bed I would hit a lose floor board, and it would squeak no matter what. I glanced down at the floor to see the blue rug I had gotten when I first moved in because I didn't like waking up and putting my bare feet on hardwood floors. I glanced around to see my closet door open, but as I walked over to look inside, it wasn't my closet. It was a bathroom.

  “What?” I asked as a knock rapped on my door.

  “Sara, get up. We have training to do. I will be back in five and you better be ready for the day. Don't even think about rolling over and going back to sleep,” Damon said before I heard his footsteps walk away from the door.

  I walked over to the door to my room and opened it to reveal a hallway that wouldn't be in the Ricker home. I caught the sight of Damon turning the corner and disappearing down another hallway. If Damon was here talking about training, and my room was different, the only reason I could think of was that I was still in the agency. I hadn't dreamed up the experience, but it also meant that they had somehow replicated my entire room from the Ricker home.

  I closed the door and looked around my room carefully as I got dressed from the clothes in my dresser. I wonder if Mrs. DeLuca picked these clothes out for me. Where did they even get all these clothes? I asked myself as I pulled up a pair of shorts and pulled on a shirt to cover the sports bra I had found in the drawers. My curiosity continued as I inspected every item in my room that I could, so far everything was exactly the same that I had at home.

  “This is so creepy,” I said as I picked up the throw pillows and stuffed animals that I had seen when I first got up. The stuffed toys were exactly the same as the ones back at the Ricker home, even my stuffed husky had a nick out of its ear from when I got it out of my parents’ home. I dropped the toy on the bed and looked around the room. The paper crane lamp I had made with Alex, the paintings I did with Seth and the photos of my family, photos with the Rickers, it was exactly the same.

  “How? They know every little detail of my room,” I mused to myself as I heard another knock on my door.

  “Are you up?” Damon's voice asked through the wooden door. He was not kidding about the five minutes he had given me, I thought. I quickly opened the door, knowing that Damon hated waiting for anyone. He was more impatient then I was, but that could just because he liked to get as much done as possible. I opened the door to reveal his messy black hair and tall muscular figure, and surprisingly a soft smile. “Glad you're up, let's go. It's time for your meeting, then we go to breakfast, and after you go to train with Rue,” he said as he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room.

  I grabbed the door knob just in time to shut it as Damon led me down the hallways of the agency. It was a good thing I had been ready when he came, I had a feeling even if I hadn't been ready he would have dragged me out of my room in my pajamas. That would have given everyone a sight to see, I thought as I pictured my usual dress to bed. I typically wore black shorts and a sports bra only. It wouldn't have been a shock to anyone; but I was so exhausted yesterday that I took off my sweat covered clothes and just went to bed in my underwear. Now, that would have been more interesting.

  “So what do you think of your room?” Damon asked curiously, interrupting my thoughts.

  I had been so distracted by the image of Damon pulling me through the hallways of the building in only my panties that I hadn't been paying any attention to how we made it from one end of the building to the next. This building just seemed to be an endless stream of hallways and doors. How did you know which door was a room and which one was an office or training room? More importantly, how big was this building to have this much space?

  “Sara,” Damon barked to bring my focus back to him. “What did you think of your room?”

  “I can see why people call this place home, it looks exactly like my room,” I said bluntly, causing Damon to laugh at the distraught expression on my face. “Exactly how long were you guys watching me? Did you watch me all the time or just sometimes? I mean, that's so creepy. How can you do stalk people and it not be considered illegal? You even know that my stuffed dog has a notch missing from his left ear! That's just—”

  “Stop, seriously. Just calm down. It's not that big of a deal,” Damon said with a heavy breath and his smile gone. “Relax, we didn't stalk you and we didn't go into your house while everyone was gone to copy it. We've been friends for years, Sara. Mark and I knew what your room looked like when you moved into the Ricker's home. It wasn't done in some creepy way like you're thinking.”

  “Well, I see why people call it home, because it's exactly like wherever they came from! Who does that?”

  “We do that. It allows for agents to have an easier transition. Your room is a reflection of you, if we just stuck you into a concrete room with only a bed and no windows, then you’d be traumatized. Most of our agents were found around high school age, and a majority choose to stay with it as a career.”

  “What about college?” I asked, interrupting him before he could continue.

  “It's kind of like the army, you serve with us, and we help you out. If people choose to stay, they can attend college, as long as it's in state so we can pull them if needed. They have a cover story and live here while attending school. It can take longer than a normal four year degree depending on how many missions you're needed on, but you can still do it. If you plan to leave the agency, and wish to go to college, or start a new life. We have a machine that can wipe your memory so that we don't have to worry about any information leaking out.”

  “How do you wipe their memories?”

  “Did you ever see the movie Men in Black?” I nodded as an answer. “It's kind of like that, but not as portable as theirs. You stand in a tube-like machine and have a mechanical arm go around you, lights flash, you get disoriented, and eventually you forget everything. Then we feed you a cover story that you'll consider be true.” I must have looked horrified, because Damon offered a soft smile and added, “Let's just hope you never have to see it.”

  “Even if I did, I wouldn't remember it,” I said with a shrug.

  “That's one way to look at it,” Damon replied as he pulled open a door to reveal a familiar office. The horseshoe shaped table arrangement allowed a better visual of the large screen in the back of the room, and the plush chairs, one of which I had woken up on, surrounded the tables. When we entered, all faces turned to us. We had kept the team waiting and I was sure that I was going to hear about it from Raider later. I sighed as I took a seat next to Spit Fire and Damon sat next to Mark.

  “Nice to see you could all make it,” Sharp Shooter said. “I'm going to brief you on the cartel, so that you are better prepared for this mission. I understand that most of you have heard this information before and you may leave to train if you wish.” On that suggestion I heard chairs moved across the linoleum floor and saw Raider, Mark and Spit Fire get up to leave.

  Spit Fire placed a hand on my shoulder for a moment before she left. “Be strong and remain calm.” I turned to ask her what she meant, but she was already half way out the door. I glanced over at Damon, who remained in his seat.

  “Why didn't you go? You've had to have heard this before.”

  “I have, but someone needed to stay with you, and that was going to be me. I knew that before I came to wake you up today. No one else was going to, even though most of them now have some amount of respect for you as a teammate, but someone had to be here so you could get to training afterward, and so you wouldn't fall asleep during the meeting.”

  I was about to respond when Sharp
Shooter started to talk. “The Cardoza Cartel is a dangerous one. We've been watching them since we were informed of their movements in Colorado and Nevada, and they have been in Maryland for about two years now. They are led by a ruthless man who doesn't care about the age of his workers, those he threatens or even kills. He will use children as drug runners by offering them anything they wish. Most times he doesn't give what he promised and kills them when they are no longer useful. He collects families that are going through hard times and does the same thing to them over and over again. While they are useful to him, they are his family, but after they have outlived their usefulness, they are killed.”

  “That's pretty black and white,” I mused to myself.

  “Not always to those closest to it,” David responded under his breath before Sharp Shooter spoke up again.

  “You only have one job, but it is crucial that you aren’t discovered, caught or seen. You are going after any information that they have to tell us where they are going to next, and what they are into. Look for possible locations that they would choose to change their base of operation, members of the cartel, but preferably high ranking members, and any information on their trades, drug or artillery alike. We need to know more of what we are facing, if they move to the bosses' headquarters then we are in for a messy clean up.”

  “How do we know that information is there?” I asked curiously, but as the words left my mouth I felt Damon jab his elbow into my side. “What?”

  “You sit here and listen. Don't ask questions,” Damon growled.

  “But then how would I know all the information for-”

  “That sounds like a question,” Damon retorted before glancing back at Sharp Shooter, who kept talking as if he hadn't heard us talking.

  “We have intelligence that within the compound is the office of their boss, Sam Hicks. In there would be everything we would need,” Sharp Shooter said, looking me in the eye to let me know that he was talking directly to me. “Sara, that information is needed for any aspects on this case in the future. Just take the files you think we would find useful to find this cartel later and get out. We need you alive, and while the information is important, your life is more important. Don't get risky, and get the information safely. That's all you have to do,” Sharp Shooter said as he flipped through photos on the large screen behind him to show me the encampment.

  “Where am I going exactly to find this information?”

  “This building,” he said as he clicked to an aerial photo of the compound. He aimed a laser pointer at the photo to the building in the middle of the compound. It was dead center in encampment, and would be difficult to make it to without being seen or noticed, at least for a rookie. “Inside is Sam's office and hopefully all the information we will need.”

  “What happens if I'm seen?”

  “You'll be killed without a second thought,” Sharp Shooter said without a moment of hesitation. I looked into his green eyes, looking for a hint of humor in his eyes. There wasn't one; not a glimmer of a smile, nor even a lift in his eyebrow to show that he was joking. He was serious, dead serious.

  I could die if I make a simple mistake, I thought as my heart started to beat faster in my chest. How could they shoot me dead without a second thought and be okay with that? I was going to die, because I had such little experience. It would be a miracle if I could make it out alive. “This is insane! Why are you risking more lives to go into this place?” I yelled.

  “To save more lives than we risk. That is why we do everything we do, and that is what each agent accepts from the start.”

  I swallowed, suddenly very nervous about my predicament. “It's a lose-lose. Either more civilians lose their lives, or I risk mine and if I'm caught, I die,” I said, voicing my thoughts out loud.

  “This will be incredibly dangerous, I can't emphasize that enough,” Sharp Shooter said. “If you are caught, you will be killed; no ifs, ands, or buts. They will shoot you or kill you with their own hands. They will not let you get away, and they certainly won't let you have the chance to pass on any information. We need you to do this because we need someone practiced in stealth and stealing.”

  “Sara, I know it's scary, but think about it. You almost ended your life once before, now you could end it and have it mean something,” Damon said as he put his hand on my back to offer some comfort.

  “We need these files to find them and bring them down before they cause more deaths. If you are caught, not only will you be gone, but then more people will die for their drug war. You can't get caught if we want this to end well,” Sharp Shooter said, waiting for my answer.

  Damon had said exactly what I needed to hear. I had attempted to kill myself, but I was looking for a better purpose in life and this was it. I wouldn't allow any more deaths of innocent civilians not anymore, not ever again. I couldn't let that happen. It was time for the cartel to be taken down—they have to learn that they can't kill civilians that get in their way, at least not without having someone come back at them. I was going to be that person.

  “Then I won't get caught,” I said confidently.

  Chapter 12

  Damon led me to Rum's training room after the meeting, as he was instructed to do, to find her meditating in the center of the room. Damon had told me Rum didn't like to be disturbed while training, and now I was curious if meditating counted as training for her. If it did, I certainly didn't want to interrupt her because I would receive the wrong end of her anger if I did. The punishment could be anything, but I didn't want to push my luck and make her angry with me. I cautiously walked in, worried that I would interrupt her focus or shatter her intentions by coming in.

  Slowly I made my way into the room and waited close by her. I stood there for a few moments in the room, unsure if she heard me enter or not, and trying not to breathe too loudly. I had hoped she would stop when I entered and talk to me, but clearly that wasn't going to happen. Should I speak up or let her meditate longer? I asked myself. I was about to clear my throat when she spoke up suddenly.

  “Stretch until I tell you to stop,” she ordered without moving her position. I wasn't even sure she opened her eyes or twitched while she barked the order, but I didn't say a word to her as I started to stretch. I lifted my foot behind me and grabbed it with my hand to stretch my quadriceps. I held each side for thirty seconds, making sure not to bounce or move around a lot, before I moved into a different position. I moved to stretch my hamstrings and calves, then eventually made it up to my shoulders until I ran out of ideas and sat on the floor waiting for her to be done.

  “Did I tell you to stop?” Rum asked. She didn't even turn her head to look at me, so how did she know I even stopped? Maybe I had decided to sit on the floor to stretch, I thought sarcastically to myself. I sighed, there was no point in starting a fight with her, she caught me and I just had to be honest.

  “No, but I don't know what else I could do. I've run out of—”

  “Your answer was no; I didn't tell you to stop. That means keep stretching, and don't stop until I tell you to this time.”

  I sighed heavily unable to hold in my displeasure as I moved to continue stretching. I wish there was music to listen to, I thought as continued to stretch the same muscles I had done before. For concentration, I assume, Rum had no music playing. It was completely silent, so quiet at times I could hear others talking in the hallways while I stretched. It was distracting to how quiet it was, I was focusing more on the sounds then I was on stretching. I had gone through the routine for the fourth time when Rum finally told me to join her. I moved to sit down next to her and, in an attempt to mimic her posture and position, I almost fell over. I was about to ask what she wanted me to do now, but I noticed a black mark on her shoulder. It looked like a scroll tattoo, but the markings were completely indecipherable to me.

  “What's your tattoo?” I caught myself asking before I could stop the words from escaping my mouth.

  “It's five lines of the Hah Taew Yant,” Rum said
with a soft sigh.

  I wasn't sure if it was a part of her meditation or if she was annoyed with my question.

  “Each of the five lines of the Hah Taew Yant can carry a different meaning, it is capable of bestowing various benefits to the wearer depending on the Sak Yant Master, who is the person that does the tattoo, and the wishes of the recipient. It is a powerful and sacred blessing bestowed on the wearer and in order to receive the full powers the Yant is given to a Buddhist Monk.”

  “So you're Buddhist?” I asked curiously. She knew a lot of information about her tattoo, and she was probably telling me all of it so I would stop asking questions. I was sure by now my questions were annoying her, but I continued through my curiosity until she answered.

  “Does my religion matter?” she asked curtly as she lifted an eyebrow.

  “No, not at all,” I said quickly, hoping I didn't offend her by accident. “Why do you have a tattoo, does everyone here have one here?” I asked trying to remember if Mark or Damon had a tattoo. I couldn't think that either had one, but I guess it could be somewhere I wouldn't think to look or they could hide it under their clothes. I hadn't ever looked for one, but I liked to think I would have noticed if it was visible.

  “No, not everyone does, they are optional upon acceptance into the agency. Most people do get them as a remembrance or as a symbol of their commitment to the agency and acceptance of their new life. It can also be given when you make it into a highly trained group in the agency. Straighten your posture, pretend there is a string from the crown of your head and pull it so you straighten your spine,” she instructed, interrupting her own train of thought to fix my posture.