If Only

Prologue:

The older lady stared at the 7 babies that lay in their cribs, "I asked for nine," she said curling her lip with disgust. "Unless I'm much mistaken," she snarled in her unrecognizable accent. "Which I'm not, there are only seven baby girls here. What do you have to say to that 211C19 ?"I let my self internally cringe I HATED to be called by my code, it made me feel like a robot, or a box of cereal. Ever since we got our nicknames I've insisted on being called Gap, never my code, or my real name, just Gap. "Have you forgotten your training," she growled with a sneer "would you like to go over numbers again?" I had to bite my tongue (metaphorically speaking of course, if Miss. Hartin had even sensed I'd had twitched my smallest toe it would be a severe beating. She did not like girls that showed even the slightest amount of fear). She held up nine fingers "this is how many baby girls I asked for, nine, count 'em, one, two, three..." she said softly and slowly wiggling each finger when she said its number as if she was talking to a young child. "and if you return without the final two," she said flashing the eight and ninth finger again, "then you might find you only have eight fingers left."

I absentmindedly rubbed the nub where my pinkie used to be, I knew Miss. Hartin was dead serious. My tongue felt like sand paper, and I could feel my heart rate raising rapidly.  I focused on sticking to my training; deep breath and look into her eyes in a submissive way (a dominate glare would get me tackled, trust me, it wouldn't have been the first time).  "I'm sorry I disappointed you Miss Hartin, I'll go early tomorrow and fetch you the eight and ninth." I turned curtly and walked away making sure my posture was perfect and my chin was up to show confidence, even if it wasn't there.

I rounded the corner and listened to my footsteps making sure they were even like we had been taught. I went to my new sleeping quarters in then same Corridor as all the other mentors.  I swung the unlocked door open and plopped down on the twin sized bed that took up most of the "room". Not that I would necessarily  consider it a room, it was like a large closet, when I laid on the bed I could touch one wall with my hand, and the other with my elbow.

The ceiling dipped down lower that regulation would allow. That is, if anyone knew about the school except the girls who had gone to it, couple of people high up in the FBI, and CIA. But since it was kept top secret nobody knew (or cared) that the ceilings had buckled. The pipes leaked, and left streaks of mold on the walls. Ms. Hartin had a special squadron of girls, who had been trained to fix all the problems in our school, but unfortunately, the nine specially trained girls were no match for the three hundred year old school.

Not that I was complaining, I truly did enjoy having my own space. Back in the Special OP room I was surround by women waiting to be called in for a mission. The hackers sat in the back on their bean bags, their fingers a whirl or color as they hit the keys. The rest of us worked on keeping our minds and bodies in top condition. I would alternate spending a day at the gym, then hitting the books. I got called in every couple of weeks, nothing too hard, but I soon realized I wanted to do more. I sent in a request to be signed up as a mentor, and Ms. Hartin quickly accepted me. I had already been flown out of state twice in the past week to pick up toddlers, and driven just about everywhere in the state. I promised myself tomorrow would be different, the nearby town was only a couple hour walk, and I was going to be picked up then driven back by one of the supply trucks. The other trips had been painstakingly long and stressful, but as suggested by Bott (the mentor to a group of fours)I had left the nearest town for last, hoping to make it quicker.

I went into the room the mentors called "the camo shack" and grabbed my disguise from one if the racks in the corner. I picked up a pair of black leggings, combat boots, a striped tank top, and a large maroon sweatshirt. A plain backpack from the front of the room brought my whole outfit together, and added the functionality I needed. I snatched a rentable phone from a table, then my scanned assortment of items. I left a description of my mission for the two girls in the mandatory explanation box, scanned the code on my ankle identifying who I was, and returned to my room.