Truth Chasers

(2) The Boy with a Telescope

Saturday 11th August, 2040.
HQ- Section 2, Quarter 1.
11:15pm.
___________________

As the seventeen pairs of eyes stare deep into my soul, I can't help but hate myself.  This is just great!  I think dryly.

I count to five in my head but they don't look away. No one even says anything. They look as though they are trying really hard to figure out who I am. But can I blame them? To spies, nothing and especially no one is random. There is nothing like chance or luck. Everything is planned and purposeful. Within minutes, a spy can decipher if someone is a friend or foe, an ally or an enemy. The last thing I need to do is act suspicious. Ignoring my trembling knees, I push myself up to my feet and nervously dust off my knees even though there's no speck of dust on them.

Should I leave? Any reasonable person would up, turn around and leave immediately. But I find myself unmoving. I can't tear my gaze away from the wonder that is this very room I have dreamt about for so long. I've already made it this far; I've toured the building, I've heard dad host the meeting for a few minutes and now I am actually in the room.
I can't leave. Not yet.

My eyes land on the obnoxiously empty space occupied by a glass podium just in front of the projection on the wall. It is adorned with scattered papers and the same black folder dad left the hotel room with. The black folder that contains documents he has never told me anything about. I can't leave yet. At least not until I finally know what this meeting is about. Not until I see what is in that folder and not until I know if there will be another war.

I clear my throat and walk further inside. I have never felt so small in my life. The gazes of everyone on me intimidates me. The sheer size of this room and the air of seriousness makes me want to run and hide but I have made up my mind. I will go through with this. I straighten my back and lift my chin up. Mock confidence is something I have forced myself to acquire. 'Often times Saylor you get through life by pretending you have it all figured out. If you pretend to have the power, everyone else will be forced to believe it.'
Dad's words give me the courage to not run away.

My footsteps echo across the porcelain tiled floor as I trudge deeper into the unknown. I finally make it to the front of the room, standing behind the glass podium, and a rush of blood pulsates through me. I only ever get this feeling of undiluted exhilaration when I'm in the driver's seat of my car, racing with Knockout around the race track. The adrenaline rush helps me keep up my front. I ignore my shaky hands and take shallow breaths.

Everyone stares at me expectantly and almost fearfully. Probably still wondering who I am. Perhaps the only reason they haven't kicked me out yet is because I'm dressed just like them. I blend in with them. This is where I belong. This thought threatens to make me smile. But I don't.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. My name is—" I stop myself from completing that sentence as the realization that these are highly trained spies that will have my name written down in their memories and soon enough my dad could hear of this.
"Not important right now." I correct myself quickly. I plan on making this meet and greet as fast as possible. I have to be in and out of here before dad can even sense something is wrong. I have fifteen minutes and the clock is already ticking.
"All you need to know is that I was sent by—"
How do they address my father? Does he have a number just like the rest of them? Is he number One? Zero? Or do they call him by his name? Mr. Cohen? James? Agent James Cohen?
I'm taking too long trying to think of this.
"The boss." I finally decide. I grab a sheet of paper from the many that lay on the top of the podium and scan through it. I hope right now no one can tell that I am incredibly confused as I stare down at it. It's just a bunch of names and coded words written on it.