What Divides Us

Mission Accomplished

              Once I’m safe inside our black van, I stifle the impulse to slap Caleb upside the head.  No, I cannot do that again.  The last time that the director found out that I had “physically abused” my partner, I got into a load of trouble.  I was not allowed to go on missions and confined to my living space for a week.  That may not appear to be that harsh, but since my whole world revolves around my job, it was a low blow. I was reduced to surfing the internet, reading about the latest weaponry that I could possibly add to my Christmas list.  I’m thinking of requesting an OTs-38 Stechkin silent revolver. 

            “You secured the package?” the nerd asks.

            I reply with a curt nod.  Pulling the envelope out of a pocket inside my jacket and inspect it closely.  Nothing out of the ordinary, just your run of the mill white business envelope.  I hand it over to Caleb.

            “Nice work,” he tosses it onto his dashboard without a second glance.  At least he is keeping his eyes on the road. 

            “No thanks to you,” I sneer.  I couldn’t help it.  Caleb knows that I absolutely detest tight spaces.  If I had not been trained to be ready for any possible situation, I probably would be claustrophobic.  He purposely made me go through the ventilation system.  There were multiple ways to escape and he chose to give me the most difficult option.

            He replies with a seemingly innocent smile.  “What?  I was just doing my job.”

            I purse my lips.  “I didn’t realize that it was your duty to make my assignment increasingly difficult,” I retort.  My assignments were difficult as is.  I don’t need some tech nerd trying to screw with me. 

            “Awwww,” he cooes. “Are these assignments too hard for my little Alex.”  However it sounds more like he is talking to an infant saying, “Awe des assignments too hawd fow my wittle Awex?”  I hate baby talk.  Once during an assignment, I had to retrieve a flash drive from a woman’s home.  However, she came home early and started talking to her dog in that same baby voice.  It took all my self-restraint not to pull out my Glock 22 to shoot her and her stupid rat. 

            Caleb stops the car in front of the large hospital.  Our intelligence facility is located underground, cliché I know.  The hospital is the intelligence agency’s side job.  It helps bring in enough funds to keep our weapons and transportation up to date, which doesn’t bother me in the least.  Additionally, when one of our members is injured on duty, there are no questions asked because the hospital members work for us.  No news leaked to the media.  Clever, aren’t we?

            I make my way through the glass doors, toward the elevator that leads to the underground facility.  We board the elevator and go through the regular procedure of a retina scan and ID scan.  We all wear a dog tag that has our information saved inside on a chip. 

            Exiting the elevator, Caleb and I are greeted and congratulated on our success.  Ignoring the ruckus, I make my way down the stairs to the woman’s boarding level and into my room; male boarding and women boarding is separate for obvious reasons.  Shuffling from behind me affirms that Caleb is following me. 

            I collapse on my bed.  My adrenaline rush is gone and now I feel exhausted.  Suddenly, something is thrown at my head.  My head snaps in Caleb’s direction and I shoot him a cold glare.  Turning my attention to the foreign object, I break out into a wide smile.  I crack open the bag and the aroma of artificial cheese flavoring fills the room.  Cheetos, also known as my favorite food.  Candace, my nutritionist, keeps me on a strict diet that gives me only enough calories to keep me alive.  In other words, Candace is like a hippie who only feeds me organic crap and won’t let me eat junk food.  However, Candace is like a mother to me.  Well, a mother who is in her early twenties, but I love her just the same.  Anyway, she means well and that’s all that matters.

            “Mmmm!” I say as I stuff my face with the delightful chips.

            He chuckles at my barbaric mannerisms.  “I know you so well.”

            I can’t argue with that.  Caleb and I have been partners since I was eleven, he was thirteen.  In the agency, as soon as you hit age thirteen, you are given access to less important missions (as in pick pocketing and breaking in homes for intelligence).  Gradually as a young agent gains more experience, more crucial assignments are given.  However, I was eleven when I began receiving missions.  It was not because I was the strongest or even the most agile of the children that I was chosen to start early, it was due to the fact that I had been training longer than the others.  The others were recruited and some even had parental consent.  As for myself, my parents died in a car accident, or so I was told.  The agency found me and took me in at age five.  Intensive combat training did not commence until I was of age seven.

            Other teens here tend to stay away from me.  I’m not sure why, but Caleb says it is because I’m extremely intimidating and I always have a sour expression.  I don’t care much, but it would be nice if I had other people to discuss tactics and favorable weapons with.  I guess you could say that Caleb is my best and only friend. 

            “Shut up you stupid tech nerd,” I mutter. 

To be fair, Caleb does not necessarily look like a nerd.  In fact, to an average teenage girl, he might be considered quite handsome.  He has blue eyes that illuminate whenever he starts talking about new computer software, clipped dirty blonde hair that matches his light apricot skin, and he’s about six foot and pretty muscular.  The loudspeaker suddenly interrupted my thoughts. “Agent six report at the Director’s office.  The package is needed.”

Caleb smiles apologetically.  “Duty calls,” he mutters as he makes his way to my door.  He turns on his heel and looks at me expectantly.  This may seem odd, but usually I am a great bestower of parting wisdom and he needs all the wisdom he can get.

Bowing deeply, as my karate teacher had taught, I say, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.”

He seemed to mull over my parting words.  “Lao Tsu?”

“It just so happens that your first step is out of my room,” I retort icily, ignoring his correct guess.  I hate when he wins.  You see, when Caleb and I were first paired up to be partners, I was not equipped with enough social experience to hold a regular conversation.  So, I would speak to him in quotes.  I figured that the intellectuals of the past must have been more equipped to socialize than I, so why not give it a shot by quoting them?  However, much to my surprise (and disappointment), Caleb was much more intelligent than I gave him credit for; he would simply smile and name the source of my quote.  Thus, our game was born.  We exchange quotes and guess the source.  If a source is incorrect, the other person gains the upper hand in our relationship.  Just so that you are aware, I no longer speak in just quotes.  I can socialize somewhat and it only took a few years of being around Caleb to become accustomed to speaking with people other than my instructors.   

“Bye Princess,” he chuckles as he exits my room, narrowly missing the book I fling at his head.  I hate when he calls me Princess.