"Zach!" I exclaimed. I couldn't believe my eyes. I took in his appearance. Tall, tanned skin, and dark hair perfectly coiffed. It was Zach! And he was covered in coffee...
"I'm sorry," I apologized hurriedly as I attempted to gather the empty coffee cups scattered on the floor. I caught some names written on the side in thick, black marker. Lilly. Martin. Kevin.
"They sent you running for coffee, I see," I chuckled as I handed him the Styrofoam cups. He stopped wiping at his stained shirt, which was clearly doing no good, to take them from my hands. "I'm sorry," I said again. "I can go run and get some coffee if you wanna change your shirt."
Zach wasn't talking to me as he stacked the empty cups into each other. The silence made me uneasy. The person before me was most definitely Zach. It was the same boy I had been thinking about for months. The only difference was he wasn't saying anything to me. A moment such as this was just calling for a sarcastic comment. This wasn't how I imagined our reunion would be.
"Look, I'm really sorry."
"Laura," he said finally. "I have to go, okay?" He backed away quickly before disappearing into the crowd of agents moving briskly back and forth.
I stood in the middle of the lobby not sure where to go or what to do. I stared at the spot Zach stood at only moments before. Six months. Six months we hadn't said a word to each other. We finally, literally, run in to each other and he doesn't even say hi?
I tried to calm myself. He was a big-shot now. He was busy. Clearly they had him running errands for the departments, getting coffee, sending messages. Of course he didn't have time to chitchat. He couldn't afford to lose his job. That explained it. That was why he was so tense. He was on the clock and my clumsiness cost him valuable time.
Someone laid a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"There you are! We don't want to be late for the meeting," Fred said.
Together we made our way to the conference room on the third floor. The large glass doors were opened wide as several men in suits entered the room. A few nodded at Fred and cast me curious glances, but no one said anything.
"You have nothing to be nervous about, love," Fred whispered in my ear. "It's just a meeting."
"Agent Hughes. Agent Porter." A large gentleman approached Fred and me. The man was old and overweight, his large belly bursting over the top of his pants. His belt looked ready to snap. His hair was white, like crisp snow. He could have passed for a Santa at the mall, but his expression was anything but jovial as he neared us. His mouth was pulled into a tight line.
"Agent Pillington," Fred said, thrusting out his hand in greeting. "It's good to see you, mate." Fred patted the man on the back three or four times, but Agent Pillington clearly didn't wish to return the friendly formality.
Fred quickly realized this and took a step away. "Pillington, this is my goddaughter Laura," he said, nudging me toward the old man.
I extended my hand, but Pillington's short, pudgy arms remained glued to his sides. Slowly I lowered my hand and ran it down my dress, pretending to smooth its invisible wrinkles. "Nice to meet you, Agent Pillington," I managed to say stiffly. I didn't care for his cold demeanor towards me and Fred.
"I've heard many things about you, Agent Porter." I couldn't tell from his flat tone if those said things were good or bad.
Fred spoke up for me. "All good things, I hope," he joked as he wound an arm around my waist and pulled me close like a proud father would do to his little girl.
Agent Pillington ignored Fred's comment and examined the gold watch on his wrist. "If you excuse me, I have some things to settle before the meeting starts." With that he turned his back towards us and strutted into the conference room. There were about a dozen people sitting at the rectangular table. They had been lax and talkative until Pillington entered the room. Instantly they straightened in the maroon, cushioned seats. Several muttered inaudible greetings towards the old man.
I folded my arms across my chest in disbelief. "He is so-"
"He's my boss, Laura," Fred interjected hurriedly before I said something we would both regret. "Which makes him your boss as well."
"Agent Hughes!" Another gentleman, this one wearing a smile, waved towards Fred from his seat in the conference room.
"Billy!" Fred joined his friend, leaving me alone in the corridor.
This was far more than a meeting. These agents were getting ready to deploy me on a mission. I could sense it, the way they eyed me up and down as they passed me in the hall, as if they were studying me before sending me off to the races. I had to get out of this. I wasn't ready to go back yet.
I watched the few latecomers make their way down the corridor and a familiar face caused my heart to leap. Zach was behind a group of men. His stained white shirt was now covered by a black blazer. A clipboard and folder full of papers was held tightly to his chest, like he was a schoolboy getting ready for class.
I waved as he neared me. "I didn't know you were at this meeting too!" Maybe this gave me reason to stay...
He looked at the floor. "Laura, I really don't have time to talk," he said before shoving past me and entering the conference room.
The second time he blew me off hurt worse than the first time. I tried to think of excuses for the cold-shoulder, but I couldn't. I watched through the glass wall as Zach took a seat between a young girl with a short, black bob and an older man with graying hair and a wispy goatee.
The table was nearly full, so I gathered my courage and entered the conference room. There was no escaping now that the boss had seen me. I kept my head down, not willing to look at any of the agents, but especially not at Zach.
Fred patted my knee as I pulled my chair in next to him. I felt sick. Nervously I took a sip from my glass of water set before me. It nearly dribbled down my chin, I was shaking so much.
The agents around me were right out of the movies: clean-cut, good-looking, and totally professional. The girl next to Zach was wearing a designer suit I had seen in a Beverly Hills shop only the week before. A young man sitting to the left of Pillington, perhaps in his mid-twenties, had the structured face of a model. He scrolled though his smartphone, his expression bored, before tucking it into the pocket of his silk suit. Then there was me: a flustered, fumbling, bumbling mess of a person.
A large, flat-screen television hung on the wall at the head of the table, displaying the CIA's logo boldly and proudly. Pillington sat in front of it. He cleared his throat, signaling the meeting's start. The agents sat at attention. Zach held a pen in his grip, at the ready to jot down any notes.
Pillington's eyes scanned the room, pausing at an empty chair across from me.
"Where is Agent Spencer?" He sighed heavily.
The other agents shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Several men chuckled.
"Perhaps he is studying the psychological impact of the recent string of murders in the south east portion of the western United States and how it has influenced the recent increase in traffic congestion or some other rubbish that child always has to bring up when it is clear no one cares," the woman next to Zach said in one swift sentence. When she finished she closed her mouth and sat back, a look of approval on her face as she waited to get her reward for being the biggest snot I had ever seen in my life.
The entire room erupted into laughter and she tucked her black hair behind her ears. She smiled brightly at the people around the room. I half expected her to stand up and give an acceptance speech. She grated on me, especially when she rested her hand on Zach's arm as she asked him for a pencil.
The rowdy laughter continued. Fred and I glanced at each other. It was like high school all over again, except this time I was at the cool table and it wasn't that fun.
Suddenly the laughter ceased as a young man hurriedly entered the conference room. He was tall and lanky, his figure made more awkward as it was hidden behind long dress pants and a purple sweater-vest. His disheveled chestnut hair curled just beneath his ears and I noticed he struggled to keep a stray strand out of his eyes.
He held a laptop in one arm while balancing several notebooks and binders in the other. The other agents watched him, never trying to hide their annoyance at his late and not-so-discreet arrival.
Clumsily he sat in the chair across from me. As he took his seat, he glanced my way and smiled slightly, giving me a glimpse of sparkling brown eyes, large and child-like. Uncomfortably, I looked away, focusing my attention back on Pillington.
"Agent Spencer, nice of you to finally join us," he chided.
Agent Spencer didn't seem to notice the snickers around the room. "I apologize," he said, "I was in the library studying a book on the psychological patterns serial killers play in our society as a way to brush up on this-"
"He's rambling," the girl with the black bob said with a roll of her eyes.
Agent Spencer shrunk back into his seat and remained silent without finishing his sentence. He lowered his eyes momentarily before focusing them on Pillington. I was staring at the girl next to Zach, hoping I was giving her my best bitch-face, though with my luck I probably just looked constipated. Why did she have to be so mean?
Pillington took the silence as an opportunity to continue with the meeting. "As you all know, Agent Fred Hughes recently filed an inquiry pertaining to the deaths of three students in St. Margaret's College for the Academics in the outskirts of London. Agent Rosewood," he motioned to the snobby girl with the bob next to Zach, "if you and Agent Freeman can distribute the folders."
Zach and Agent Rosewood passed large blue folders around the table. Zach ignored my gaze as he threw the heavy folder in front of me. Packets of papers slid out and onto the table. Instantly I looked away as my brain registered what my eyes were seeing: the smashed body of a teenage boy, lying lifelessly in a stagnant pool of blood.
What were these people getting me into?
"The local police department already ruled all three deaths as suicides," Pillington continued over the sound of pages being turned as everybody at the table examined the case files, "but the headmistress of the school, Professor Scott, contacted Agent Hughes and asked the agency to investigate further."
"Sir," Agent Rosewood spoke up, "I don't see why this pertains to us." She pursed her lips and looked around the room haughtily, as if expecting someone to back her up.
"Some of you may not know, but Professor Scott was once one of the best agents MI6 had to offer. Agent Hughes and she were partners in the 1980s and prevented nearly two dozen terrorist attacks. Together they received medals of honors from the Queen herself." I looked at Fred as if I was seeing him for the first time. No...no. There was no way that Fred, lanky, awkward Fred with his posh accent and designer suits had been one of MI6's best agents. No. Fred was Fred.
Fred looked down in his lap as scattered applause went around the room. I noticed that Zach was one of the few who clapped, though he continued to stare at the table in front of him.
"It would be a disservice," Pillington continued, "for us not to help her in this time of need." Despite his words, I heard a tint of reluctance in his tone.
"Are you saying," another young agent in thick lenses said, "that she believes this," he lifted the picture I had earlier ignored into the air, "is murder?"
"Sir," Agent Rosewood said again, "normally we don't handle murder cases. There have been exceptions, of course." For a split second her icy eyes landed on me.
"Of course," Agent Pillington agreed. "Which is why, when Agent Hughes brought the case to my attention for approval, I chose he and Agent Porter to lead the investigation."
I tried not to appear shocked, but in a room full of spies, I was sure I wasn't fooling anybody. Fred was leaving his office, venturing into the outdoors? In only a few short minutes, my vision of Fred, the man who gave savings bonds as birthday presents, was altering before my eyes.
"They have had prior experience in murder investigation. Also," Pillington sniffed, "we here at Langley are far too busy to investigate this case ourselves, but I doubt you over at P.I.N. have any dire urgency you need to address, unless Katy Gaga or Lady Perry or whatever her name is has some stalker you've got to arrest." His momentary pause was clearly a cue for forced laughter from the other agents in the room. The only two who weren't laughing was Zach, who was staring so intently at the tabletop I thought his eyes were going to burn holes in it, and Agent Spencer, across from me, who shot me a slightly pitiful expression as he brushed some hair out of his face.
Fred chuckled stiffly. We were being mocked! Did Pillington really think us that dumb that we couldn't see what was right in front of us? I thought back to Zach all those months ago, telling me how Langley thought us local branches were a big joke. At the time I thought he was saying that just to hurt me, to push me away. At the time, maybe he was. But it was clear he wasn't too far from the truth.
"Professor Scott is with us via webcam. Agent Freeman," he ordered.
Zach lifted a little gray remote. Instantly the CIA's logo on the television disappeared and, in its place, was the face of a middle-aged woman. Her skin was pale and smooth, nearly wrinkle-free except for laugh-lines around her crystal-blue eyes. She wore her brown hair back in a tight bun, but several curls had escaped from their pins and framed her face quite nicely. She smiled brightly at the room until her eyes landed on Fred and stayed there.
"Fred, nice to see you again." Her smile widened.
Fred sputtered. He was blushing. His cheeks were a bright pink, like he had just come in from the cold snow, despite the fact that Virginia was nearly 85 degrees outside. After several attempts in which nothing came out of his mouth, he finally managed a squeaky "hello."
My eyes widened. I knew those symptoms. I practically invented those awkward symptoms.
He was totally crushing on her! My Fred was in love with an MI6 agent.
Then it hit me. That's why he was so adamant on pursuing this case. It wasn't for any noble, greater cause. It was for her.
Anger boiled inside of me and it only got worse. He had lied to me, had broken his promise to me, for a girl. How selfish was that? Here I was, a girl who had risked her neck for him last year and how does he repay me? But putting my life on the line once again so he can talk to his crush!
I was seething. I didn't know where to turn because suddenly, in a room full of strangers, my only friends had turned on me.
"I look forward to seeing you all next week when you come to England," Professor Scott said. Her voice sobered. "I only wish the circumstances weren't so grim."
"All three agents will be briefed," Pillington told her.
Three? Me, Fred, and...maybe that was why Zach was acting so strange towards me? Were we going to work together again? But why would that upset him?
Fred apparently recovered from his speechlessness. "Three, sir?"
"I decided not to send you two P.I.N. agents over entirely empty handed. Langley has approved the use of one of our own agents." Pillington spoke as if he was doing us some great favor. "Agent Spencer will be joining you in England."
My head whipped around to look at the lanky agent across from me. He was the opposite of Zach in every way imaginable. No...this couldn't be happening. Never. There was no way he could be an agent! Is this what Zach felt like when he first had to work with me? This feeling of hopelessness and embarrassment?
I turned to my former partner, silently imploring him to just look me in the eyes once, but he was entranced by the paperwork in front of him.
Agent Spencer lifted his arm to give a little wave towards Professor Scott. He spoke excitedly. "I'm a huge fan of your scholarly papers and-" His arm knocked over the large pitcher of water.
I watched in horror as the ice cubes and water soared through the air, heading right towards me. There was no time to move out of the way before the tidal wave of icy water spilled onto my clothes.
I gasped and scooted back in my chair so quickly it fell out from under me, sending me crashing to the ground and falling hard on my behind.
"Laura!" Fred was staring down at me, his mouth hanging open.
"I'm so sorry! Sorry!" I stared at a pair of purple Converse shoes. My gaze followed up the body, from the damp shoes standing in a puddle of water to the wrinkled clothing to a flaming-red face of Agent Spencer. He too was drenched in water. He held out a hand, waiting for me to take it.
He was an actual agent? As in the crime-fighting, super-secret agents? He didn't even look like he could hold a gun, let alone shoot one. And he wasn't very good at flying under the radar. I could point out all of that in less than five minutes! How was it possible he was going to be my partner? I mean, I knew I was bad, but wouldn't the agency partner me up with someone good, like Zach, to even it out. You know, neutralize it a bit?
From my spot on the floor, I glared at Zach, who continued to avoid my gaze. He was still thoroughly intrigued by the folder in front of him, his fingers drumming on its cover.
"Agent Porter, I am so sorry," Agent Spencer breathed, his hand still out held in front of him. I took it, but only because I didn't think I could lift myself up without help. My legs felt as if they were going to give out.
"Agent Spencer," Pillington began sternly, "after this meeting you will get a towel and dry this table, do you understand me? It was a prized gift from the Australian division and I will not have it ruined by your inability to function."
"Yes sir," Agent Spencer said before returning to his seat, his face still glowing.
Pillington cleared his throat, signaling for the meeting to resume. Fred shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Even Professor Scott glanced down. I couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment, or if she was attempting to hide the laughter others in the conference room were not as talented at disguising. The model-like man was hiding his face behind his hand.
I could feel the eyes of everybody at the table glancing between me and Agent Spencer. I could practically hear their thoughts: This should be interesting.
"This meeting is adjourned. All agents involved will be given the required paperwork before leaving Langley. Thank you," Pillington ended the discussion.
Instantly a buzz went up around the room as chairs were pushed away from the table and all of the agents shuffled out.
"Get a towel, Agent Spencer," I heard Pillington bark at the young agent.
"What a spaz," Agent Rosewood giggled as she passed me. I lowered my gaze. She could have been talking about me or Agent Spencer. There wasn't that much of a difference.
"Laura..." Fred said softly. I ignored him.
I wouldn't talk to Fred. I couldn't talk to Fred. There was nothing civilized enough that I could say in a public place to Fred. Before he could turn to me with an explanation, I fled the conference room.
My footsteps were heavy and loud as I stamped down the hallway. My breathing was short and ragged and I fought desperately to hold back tears. There were posters on the walls, pictures of smiling CIA agents. I had a sudden urge to throw a tantrum and tear those sickening pictures from the walls, ripping them into tiny pieces. Clearly none of the people in those pictures had a godfather who lied to them, told them they could take a break and then use them in some sort of game so he could get with a crush from twenty-five years ago!
I had never been so angry. I had never felt so betrayed.
A hand grabbed my arm and pulled me from the hallway.
"What the-" I started before I collided with a hard body.
My eyes adjusted to the room I was in. Boxes were stacked high on metal shelves. A broom and mop were in the corner, standing in a bucket that smelled as if it had never been washed out.
My gaze traveled up the firm chest my head had just hit. Finally my eyes met Zach's.
My rage exploded.
"So you can't talk to me in public, but you corner me in a storage closet!"
Suddenly Zach's hand covered my mouth and he pleaded with me quietly. His eyes were large and alarmed as they shifted nervously around the small space. I suddenly became aware of how much bigger than me he was. Not bigger, bigger, he was so fit it was envious, but he was so much taller than me. I barely reached his shoulders. I also discovered, my face warming, how very, very close our bodies were. There wasn't much room to maneuver in this storage closet and as a result, we were pressed against each other in a way I would have found funny in any other circumstance. His heart was beating rapidly.
"Please, don't yell," he said several times before pulling his hand from my face.
I gawked at him. I had every right to yell! Everyone I knew was betraying me!
"Laura, please, just listen," Zach begged as I opened my mouth again. "We can't talk to each other like we used to." He looked away and shoved his hands in his pockets.
An intense pain crippled my body as he said this. And all I could think of was one thing, something he had said in Paris so long ago, before we even became friends: "You think you are better than me?" My voice was hoarse as it lodged in my throat, scratchy and burning.
Zach shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, yet he didn't exactly say "No."
"We were friends," I continued, trying to catch his gaze. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with me? Why couldn't we see each other anymore?
He took a small step back until he was leaning against the door, his hand on the knob as he prepared for a quick escape, away from me forever.
"Things change," he whispered before exiting the closet and leaving me alone, something, I realized painfully, I was awfully used to.