What happens when your name is on a hit list? Or even worse a spy hit list? The best of the best are slowly being hunted down one by one and the tables are turned when Charlee and her team of agents are being targeted by an unknown enemy.
Charlee w...
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The unspoken rule about being a spy is that you're not allowed to complain. You knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this job. There's no room for errors because not only could you get fired, you could very well lose your life.
You and the people you work with are in constant danger, so it always pays to be safe. The fewer people know about what you do for a living, the better. When people ask what I do for a living, I tell them I work at an art museum. What I don't tell them is that I don't deal with the art or the museum itself. It's a little more complicated than that, not that they're itching to know about my museum tour guide life. The conversation usually ends there.
People tend to focus on the glamour of being a spy and forget that we usually put ourselves at risk daily. There are obvious perks to the job, but the dangers generally outweigh those perks. This line of work is for the dedicated and well prepared.
You never know what could go wrong and you dread the phone call that tells you that someone you love is gone. They gave up their life doing the same job you do every day.
And so, when that phone call comes in the dead of night, you know. But no matter how prepared you thought you were, no matter how many awful things you've seen in your life, and no matter how convinced you were that you could handle it, your whole world comes to a halt.
"Charlee, it's your parents," I heard Tiffany's quiet and regretful voice on the other side of the line. She must've been the one to draw the short straw and forced to break the news to me. I sat up on my side of the bed with my phone in my hand.
I couldn't breathe or think or reply. As if Eric could sense something was wrong, he woke up seconds later, alert and concerned. He got up from his side of the bed and took the phone away from me. I don't know what he said to Tiffany or when he even hung up the phone.
Everything around me was white noise as I felt myself collapse into Eric's arms and sob. For a few minutes, my body allowed me to stop worrying about my job and staying alert and just let me fall apart.
"You know you don't have to go to work today. Tiffany said she could take over for you," Eric told me the following morning.
"No, I need to know what happened. I need the details and the closure," I shook my head as I began to get changed.
"I'll make breakfast, ok, take your time. You don't need to rush today," Eric warned me as he headed to our kitchen. I sighed as I put on my shoes feeling numb. Everything that happened last night felt like a nightmare. I knew the risks that my family took. I just never thought it would happen. I wasn't ready to lose my parents at only twenty-six.
I picked at my food and managed to stomach some orange juice to keep Eric from getting overly concerned.
"I'll drive you," he said dressed and ready to go.
"Eric, I don't need to be babied. I can drive myself to work."
"I know you can take care of yourself but do you know what this means?" he asked me grabbing my left hand and I looked down at my engagement ring, "It means I'm going to be here for you for better and for worse, so let me be here for you," he told me rubbing his thumb over my hand and I smiled, or at least tried.
"I'm just still in shock, and this can't be happening to me. My parents can't be gone, they can't," I told him, my voice cracking as I tried to stop myself from crying all over again.
"I know, but we're going to get through this, one step at a time. You're not alone, and I'm not just talking about me. You have all of your friends too," he promised me, and I nodded my head.
"Let's get to work,"
The museum has been renovated over the last eight years quite a bit. Headquarters is now above ground, safely hidden away at the top level of the museum. To any other person, it's just the personnel area where the office is. Everyone who works at the museum is an agent of R.I.P; the Retaliation and Investigation Program.
Across from the museum is our newest addition: The exclusive Young Arts Academy, which is a huge building dedicated to teaching selective young students in the art of espionage. As I said, it's exclusive. As far as anyone is concerned, it's just an expensive art school funded by the museum.
It has its dorms, classrooms, libraries, cafeteria, and just about anything any regular school would have. Well, traditional schools don't usually have a weapons room or hacking as an elective, but every school's got something right? Our students are just like any others except for the fact that most are training to get a license to kill instead of only a driver's license.
"Agent Wynters, I didn't know you were coming into work today," Diane, our secretary, and my assistant said as I walked through the museum doors. It wasn't opening hours yet but we never really close.
"Well I am, so make sure to email me today's schedule by seven," I told her, and she nodded her head returning to her computer.
Eric and I walked through the main floor, where the staff was cleaning and getting the museum ready for opening. We headed towards the elevators. Once the doors closed, I pressed the numbers on the elevator buttons 2-3-2-1-9 and the elevator buzzed to life, sending us up to headquarters.
"So we haven't talked about whether you'll keep being called Agent Wynters after we get married or are you going to steal my last name?" Eric asked me playfully, but I knew he was trying to keep my mind off the inevitable.
"I think that I like Agent Wynters a lot more than Agent Alonzo," I told him.
"I'm offended," he said clutching his heard in mock pain and I laughed just as the elevator doors swung open. As we walked through the control room, I could feel the other agents staring at me, but I continued walking until I reached my office. Tiffany, Blaire, and Jacob were already inside waiting for me.
I stared at them expectantly, and Tiffany nodded her head, handing me a file with shaky hands.
"Do you want to be alone or...?" Blaire asked me, but I shook my head.
"I need you all here, please," I told them as I prepared to open the files that would tell me how and why my parents are dead.
