The Secret

Five

One week later, and I am holed up in a tiny room with walls made of black onyx. I’ve been plonked onto a classy, black leather chair by Sven as he paces around the interview table nervously.

“You’ve been doing quite well this week in training, Nadia,” he goes on. “You received A-levels from the examiners so you won’t need to worry about flunking that aspect of your preparations to become a spy-”

“Oh really? I thought I was nothing, there’s still room for improvement,” I mimic the words he said that infuriated me last week.

“You don’t understand,” Sven shakes his head. “I’m your trainer and I’m here to help you!”

“You’re only helping me because you’re supposed to,” I mumble under my breath, folding my arms over my chest. I’m fed of being told people want to help me. They don’t; they’re only there to use me and when they’re done I’m tossed, thrown away, and useless, like a piece of garbage.

Sven stops pacing around the room and crouches down next to me. “Don’t talk like that,” he says, a true glint of emotion in his voice. “I really do want to help you, Nadia, I truly do. Otherwise I would have left Dr. Parker to savour you to the sharks, remember?”

Touché. But I can’t help remembering how it sounded like he was doing it to save his job when Dr. Parker threatened him.

Why is everything always against me?

There is brief interruption at the door. “Listen,” Sven takes my face into his hands. “I know I’ve been hard on you. But it’s only for your own benefit. Believe me, Nadia, believe me! Dr. Parker is going to interview you. It’ll only be short; don’t let him intimidate you, and be one-hundred per cent honest. Got it?”

One-hundred per cent honest. That’s a joke. How can I afford to be honest when keeping my secret is a matter of life or death?

There is a second knock at the door. “Got it!?”

“Got it,” I squeeze in just as the door bursts open. A middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed moustache appears, annoyance overriding his well looked-after face. His bushy eyebrows furrow together at the sight of us. He reminds me of the Guardian that once guarded my cube in the complex.

“The party’s over, folks,” Dr. Parker orders callously, authority washing over the two of us. “Sven, get out of here. It’s my turn to interview the young lady, not yours.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Sven ducks his head and makes his way out of the room. The Doctor comes in and settles himself down arrogantly into the identical leather chair across the table.

“So,” he begins, folding his arms behind his head. “You’re Nadia, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“How old are you? Our recruits must be over fifteen years of age to become spies, if you didn’t know.”

“I am sixteen, Doctor,” I say.

“Good. There’s a new mission that’s come into the E3 spotlight lately,” he runs through some of the files he brought in. “Aha. It’s regarding the president of the United Nations. There have been numerous rumours regarding his suicidal behaviour and many branches and organisations have requested us to spend some of our spies in to investigate this case furthermore.”

I lift up my gaze to meet his. His face does look somewhat hopeful, surprisingly, and he raises the corners of his lips suggestively. Are they sending me to find out about the United Nations’ president’s suicidal behaviour?

“Well?” he prompts. “Would you agree to this privileged opportunity?”

So far, Dr. Parker has definitely not come across as one of the most pliable personalities here at the headquarters. And he sounds like an easily provoked man, too.

I swallow hard. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

“Great!” he exclaims carelessly, and gets up, making his way to the door. I sit; still slumping on the chair, facing the wall in shock as the door gently clicks shut behind me.

What have I just done?