Whaaat? A FIC post? NO WAI.
You spend twenty weeks at Quantico-eight hundred and fifty hours of instruction, on anything and everything from academics to case exercises, firearms training to operational skills; the most rigorous and selective application process in the nation-just so you can learn how to unlearn things.
You trade in your standard issue .40 caliber Smith & Wesson for an M9; ditch Hogan’s Alley in favor of dirty urban back streets, and wharfs that always smell like decaying fish and raw sewage; and you even unlearn your own name.
You effectively become someone else. The transformation is so convincing, in fact, even you sometimes forget who you were when you started out.
After all, if the act isn’t believable, it won’t much matter who you were to begin with. You’ll still end up dead.
Too-hot water runs pink down a sink drain that’s probably seen more blood than soap in its lifetime. She almost drops her cell phone, catching it in the crook of her elbow and quickly pinning it between her shoulder and her ear in time to catch the tail end of the operator’s address.
“-and number?”
Four-Six-Eight-One, routing number Three-Beta-Delta-Six-Nine-Six-Alpha.”
“Please hold.”
She glances over her shoulder, searching for the telltale signs of shifting shadows through the crack under the locked bathroom door.
“This is Agent Moss.”
“Larry,” she breathes, turning back to the sink. “It’s Renee.”
“Renee? What the hell-where have you been?”
“There’s a meet planned at the eastside Mills Corp textile plant, one o’clock, tonight. I think something big is going down.”
“Wait just a second! You missed your last check-in.”
“Yeah, it’s been kind of busy, Larry.”
“Hey! Don’t get attitude with me. These calls are standard procedure; how else am I supposed to know whether you’re alive, or dead, or in trouble…?”
“All right.”
She sighs, allows herself the luxury of closing her eyes just for a moment, and rubs her forehead with the back of her wrist. A thin trickle of water runs to her elbow.
“I’m sorry, okay? There was no opportunity for me to get away without arousing suspicion. Everyone’s been on edge all week. That’s why I think something big’s happening tonight.”
“Renee.”
“There could be anywhere from… four to seven, armed, from our group. I have no idea how many with the buyer, probably around the same…”
“Renee.”
“What?”
There are quiet sounds from the other end of the line, feet shuffling across cheap carpet, and a door softly closing.
“Are you okay?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Vladimir Laitanan. Your mission reports-”
“I’m fine, Larry.”
“Listen to me. You’ve reported a growing number of injuries sustained over the last month, that I do not believe to be accidental in nature.”
This is where he expects her to speak. It’s always the same routine with Larry: the muted compassion of an anxious friend, chased by the hard-ass demands of a boss. It strands him in this awkward limbo between the confidante he wants to be, and the top brass asshole he can’t help himself from becoming when his level of control is threatened.
It fails to provoke her into answering, though that’s mostly due to the boulder in her throat.
“Renee?”
“I’m here.”
“I’m pulling you.”
“What? Larry, you can’t-”
“You’re displaying erratic behavior-”
“For Christ’s sake, I missed a couple of check-ins!”
“-And willful disregard for your personal safety-”
“Larry, I’m fine. I knew the kind of people I was involving myself with before I took this mission, okay; we knew that there was always going to be risk involved. But I can handle this. If you pull me now, everything I’ve done so far will be for nothing! We’re so close to nailing these guys; I can feel it.”
“Renee, what if he puts you in the hospital?”
“He won’t. Okay? That’s not where he wants me.”
“You’re not pleading your case very well.”
“Larry, you trusted me enough to give me this assignment in the first place. I’m just asking you to trust me now. Let me see this through.”
She hears movement again, and she can almost imagine the frustrated way he rubs at his forehead and drags his hand down his face.
“You guarantee me that at the first sign of serious physical danger you’ll get out of there?”
"Larry.” She drops her voice, tone soft and placating. “I promise you.”
“All right. Tell me about this meet; make it quick.”
She hits the button to end the call, leaving a watery splotch on the keypad. The sink is still running, steam rising from the faucet and obscuring small sections of the vanity mirror overhead. She turns the water off with one pink hand, and glances at her reflection.
The deep purple and green looks even less natural on her pale complexion, setting in around her left eye and jaw line. Her lip has stopped bleeding, and that’s all she had really been hoping for.
She’s not sure how she’ll explain this to Larry, but then she doesn’t have to. That’s Renee Walker’s job.
Renee Zadan, on the other hand…
Well. She’s a different animal entirely.