Spy School and the Dead Agent

Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Brother

1800 Hours

Wednesday

Ronald Reagan National Airport, Washington

I stretched my hands in the night sky as I arrived in Washington. I didn't know how long I'd been on the plane, but I knew it was a very long damn flight. After exiting the terminal and double-checking my belongings to see if I had forgotten anything, I immediately looked for the car that was supposed to pick me up. While I was waiting on one of the provided chairs, checking out my phone, and using the airport's free internet, I spotted a 1970 Dodge Charger pulling into one of the pickup/drop-off lanes. As I approached it, I saw a middle-aged blonde woman peeking out of the window.

"Hi Mikey! Over here," she said, happily waving towards me. I walked towards the car, opened the door, and placed my only baggage, a backpack, in the back seat.

I was really lucky that the CIA gave me permission to take a two-day break to visit my family. My request was accepted mainly because I'd been on actual missions and resumed my training in Alaska, so they informed my instructors and allowed it.

"Where is he?" I asked her. Mom didn't look at me; she kept her eyes on the road, driving steadily.

"Well, he was patched up in Philadelphia, but the doctor allowed us to relocate him here in Washington," Mom answered as she drove onto the main highway.

"What happened?" I asked her.

Mom glanced at me briefly.

"I'm not sure of all the details, but here's what I know." She gestured toward the phone. I took it from her.

"Your brother was attacked while his school was on a field trip a week ago. Go check the gallery," Mom said as I opened my phone and looked at the most recent video. It was a video taken from a CCTV camera.

The footage was from some sort of museum. For the first few seconds, nothing happened. People were just going about their business—walking down the hallway, taking pictures of the displays. Then I saw my brother; his black hair, his posture, and his choice of clothing made me certain that it was him. He entered the frame with his friends, chatting for a while, and taking selfies in one of the displays before gesturing to one of them that he was going to the bathroom.

"Oh yes, he was at the Benjamin Franklin Museum, by the way," Mom said as she changed lanes. I glanced at her and nodded before looking back at the phone.

After he entered the bathroom, his friends wandered off, and more people left the area until only about five people remained. Suddenly, I noticed one of them, who had been leaning against the wall near the bathroom, heading towards the bathroom. He was wearing an old-looking brown trench coat, a cap, gloves, and dark pants. Due to the poor quality of the CCTV footage, I couldn't see his face. He briefly looked around to see if anyone was watching before entering. There was a moment of silence.

Then I heard the most blood-curdling scream coming from the bathroom. Although the camera's audio was bad, I could tell it was my brother. The few people in the room glanced toward the bathroom, and the man in the trench coat exited and entered another room. Some of the people decided to check out the bathroom and gasped when they saw what was inside. They immediately took out their phones and dialed what I assumed were the authorities.

I quickly exited the video and checked the other recent camera feeds, but there were no other videos or pictures of the event. The only exception was a photo of my brother with a doctor putting a cast on his arm.

"Why is this the only video we have of the guy who broke his arm?" I asked Mom. She frowned sadly.

"The guards and police searched everywhere for his attacker, both in the cameras inside and outside the museum," she said, looking concerned. I frowned too.