Agent (Book 1)

Chapter 33-Lynn

33

Lynn Kramer

Agent: 53

Mission: Not Applicable

Date: September 11th, 2089

Time: 0700

Agent Hood's called for a meeting with Rap. Obviously, I've never been one to miss important conversations, so I go meet up with them. I could use all the new information I can get, because after Rap's meeting in the cafeteria, I've been whipping my head back at the slightest of footsteps. I can no longer be sure who it is coming down the hall. And even if they don't appear as an immediate threat, how do I know they don't brandish a knife, and won't hesitate to stick it up my back? Exactly.

I'm in Rap's office first, as usual, and it isn't surprising to see his hair tousled, light shadows forming on his lower lids. For one split second, I think I see a flicker of longing in his dark eyes, but he looks up and it disappears instantly. I see that a lot lately.

I catch a glance at the papers in his hand and immediately recognize Commander Pyle's delicate script. My heart sinks. As I approach his desk, I say, "He deserves to know about that, you know. I just...don't know how to say it." I rub the back of my neck and motion to the papers, which he pushes away and rises.

After a few moments he replies in a weak voice, "You have to tell him, Lynn. He'll have to see it eventually." He lays his hands on both of my shoulders. My eyes stray away for a moment, to the projected map on the back wall. The small black marks (the one's signifying the King's attack rate) dot its surface on every available inch of space.

"Do you expect war from this?" I whisper, as though I can somehow ward off the inevitable. I already know the answer before it has passed his lips.

"I do," He says.

"And the trials for the accused?"

He hesitates. "Soon," He mutters. He couldn't sound less unsure. Something registers, but I push it aside almost immediately. Maybe he really does believe I'm working against him...I nearly pound my skull. Such nonsense.

A vicious pounding on the door follows the awkward silence between us, and Hood swings the door wide open and steps inside. Rap straightens up almost immediately. In a much more formal tone, he announces, "You wanted to speak with me, Agent Hood?"

Of which, Hood wastes little time. He immediately dives into his story of the events of the last night, waking up, a knocking at the door. "The girl there, Ava, claimed that her mother had disappeared." He's frantic, speaking so very quick, that I can barely process the words.

"We're all aware of the traitors among us, but they could very well be launching their moves from the inside. I don't know if Ava's mother really was killed, but consider this really happening. They could be picking us apart right from under our noses." He looks at me, like he wants some support, but I don't speak.

Rap pauses before responding, wide-eyed, as he fights to comprehend this quick explanation. I'm struggling as well. Of course, these concerns are not foreign to any of us. "If there are traitors here, we all know there are bound to be repercussions, Agent Hood, I assure you," Rap says. "We're going to hold the trial soon."

"And that's not soon enough," Hood fires back. "Trust me."

"We've got it under control, Agent, there's nothing you need to worry—"

"Help me out here, Fifty-three," Hood snaps, turning on me for real this time.

I glance between the both of them. Rap's face is set in a fine line, and his eyes are nearly unreadable to someone unlike me. There's slight disgust and a touch of impatience. I don't blame him. He's got enough on his mind, without agents coming around to voice all of his problems. Maybe, if Hood would just step back, everything would sort itself out. And besides, he's already undergone enough struggles of his own these past few days, without any additional stress.

"I can understand your concern," I say. I sound so unlike myself, I have to stop for a moment. Rap's measured, authoritative voice seems to rise in my own. "I think we should look into this a bit more before we come to any conclusions."

There I've done it. I've established my loyalty. Hood immediately turns away, frustration turning his face maroon, anger tightening his hands into balls. "You must get the accused together now," he says.

In a much gruffer voice, Rap says, "I'm afraid it isn't your place to demand things of me, Agent Hood. I've told you my intentions. We will conduct a trial soon." There is warning entirely evident in his face, and though Hood must know this, he does not back down. He doesn't even flinch, though such harsh words from the Commander are sure to sting.

In fact, his expression remains much unchanged. "I'm not accusing agents that could very well be innocent," Rap adds.

Hood's jaw is clenched so hard, I'm afraid it might break. He whips around and faces the door, like he's prepared to stalk through the frame, but is holding himself back. "Dismissed," Rap commands, when he doesn't move.

It's at this point, when I begin to notice the changes in Hood's physique, from the last time I've seen him standing like this. He looks thinner, not as lean and strong as I had once thought. The image sends a picture of those innocents in Division 9, the way their shoulders suggested a time when they could be strong, but hunger had ripped it away; left their faces sunken, hair greasy.

Hood turns and meets Rap with a steady eye. Flame flairs and catches the blue irises alight. "Every second they're out there, all of our lives are at risk," he says. He does not whisper, he does not yell. He just says it. Then, with the foulest of expressions, he walks out.

Without meeting Rap's eye, I move after him. He knows it's me, has to, coming after him, but doesn't pause for an instant. His eyes are trained directly ahead, as if moved by some urgent purpose.

Only after I've repeated his name several times and caught up to his side, does he acknowledge me. "What do you want?" Hood says, venom seeping into his every word.

I don't know if he'll follow, but I start down the hall anyways, and turn into a random doorway. I peek inside (Supply closet, boxes and janitorial items scattered across the back wall, comfortable amount of space) and enter. There is nothing for a moment, and then a sigh, as he walks in after me.

This is it, I think, hands growing moist. This is where you tell him. After all, it is best to do it when he's already relatively angry. If I can just slip it in now, it'll just build up a bit more, until he finally deflates. Hopefully.

But it isn't easy. I have to admit, because I lick my lips several times, and wipe my palms down slick on my pants before I can even find the words.

I am not the first to speak, because just as I'm opening my mouth does he grab my arms and squeeze, demanding my attention. Rage still seethes in his eyes, but it is overpowered by new fear. "You have to persuade him," He says, squeezing harder. "They're going to tear us apart."

"Calm down," I mutter, frustrated that he's interrupted my speech. I soon realize what a poor move this was on my part, because his voice rises to a deafening pitch.

"Just listen!" He shouts. I stare, but barely react as he passes a hand through his hair. He leans up against the door, arms crossed, face flushed. "I'm sorry," he says, but his expression never changes, and though I desperately wish to spit out every bit of knowledge I have, I keep to myself. Besides, every possible explanation I can think of comes out in the worst of ways.

Hey, remember how you were talking about your parents disappearance? Turns out they had another son after you that you never knew about. But you know, no big deal.

The lightbulb flickers overhead, engulfing the room in darkness, enough so that he can't make out the guilt in my eyes. Why is this so hard to say? It isn't helping, the fact that he insists that Rap eradicate the traitors almost immediately, regardless of questioning. Doesn't he understand what Rap's going through? How stressful this must be?

Hood straightens up. "What did you want to tell me?" He asks, eyes downcast. I'm glad he's not watching my face, because I'm sure regret has lit me up like a Christmas tree.

I blink. "Nothing," I say. Absolutely nothing.