The Spy
“Why do you want this job?”
I
take a deep breath. I've waited so long to get here, spent my whole life
preparing for this day, this hour, this moment.
It
feels that way. Like this has always been my purpose in life. Even if it hasn't. It was the Catastrophe that brought me here, that realized this was the
job I wanted, the job I needed.
“I’ve
always wanted it,” I say. I've always been a good liar. The trick is making
yourself think the lie is true so everyone else thinks it is, too. “I want to
protect people in this country,” I say. “Not as a soldier, not as a police
officer, but as an agent. I remember 9/11. I want to make sure nothing like
that ever happens again.”
Even
if it kills me.
The
interviewer fingers paperwork. “It says here that you lost a brother in that
attack? Is that why you’re here?”
Not
just a brother. Not just an attack. A twin. A massacre.
I’ve
tried to forget about it for so long, tried to lie to myself for years, try to
imagine that I never had a brother. It never works.
“He
was there when it happened.”
The
interviewer nods. Approval. “A good reason to want to join.” He starts
shuffling papers. “However, we cannot overlook certain qualifications you do
not fulfill. We don’t accept anyone under the age of 18 or anyone without a
college degree. I’m sorry, Mr. Rothstein.”
I
sink. I knew this was coming, I knew they’d never say yes. I don’t know what I was
expecting. They only gave me interview so I would leave them alone. What was I
thinking, expecting a different answer than the one I got? That the CIA would
let a fifteen year old kid join their ranks, let him drop out of high school?
Stupid.
“Thank
you for your time.”
His
face is a blank slab of stone, no guilt, no regret, no pity. He doesn't care if I've worked every minute of every day for this. He doesn't care that I've spent
hours training my mind and body to be the best applicant he could have asked
for, despite my age. He just cares about getting the job done.
I
stand. “Thank you,” I say evenly. Too evenly. The lie comes far too easy. It
would have been a good quality for a spy.
I
shake his hand, leave the room. I want to be angry but I’m not sure how. I’m
shocked. I knew the rules, I knew I needed a college degree, I knew I needed to
be a legal adult. But I’d hoped, I’d fantasized that they’d overlook it. If it weren't for my age, I’d be the best spy they could hire. I could have done a
lot of good if they had let me.
I pause,
standing in the hallway, glancing across the room. A man leaning against the
wall, wearing a black suit, hands shoved in his pockets.
“So,”
he says, “They didn't accept you.”
I
grit my teeth, clench my fists. It’s starting to sink in. My failure. Zack. I
failed him, I failed to become the one thing that could prevent deaths like
his.
I’m
walking away and the man calls after me. “Where are you going?”
“Home.
I did what I could.”
The
man runs, catches up to me. “What would you say if I told you I could help you
be an agent based here in Chicago?”
I
stop. “What do you mean?”
He’s
smirking a little now. “There’s an organization founded by a CIA agent meant to
fight crime in Chicago. Is that something you’d be interested in?”
“Are
you offering?”
He
grins. Hands me a black file full of paperwork. “There’s everything you need to
know in there. If you decide you’re interested, I left my contact information
inside.”
I
glance down at the file. A red dragon embossed on black. Swirling across the
space of the file, smoke rising from its nostrils.
“Who
are you?”
The
man smiles. Holds out his hand. “Garrett Kingston. Head of the organization
known as The Dragon.”
*******Thanks for reading! As the schedule goes, next Friday, February 13, I will release a short story called THE HOSTAGE.********
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