Smokescreen

4

Ben concluded his presentation, careful to remain bored in the face of these pigs in suits. He curbed his anger at their flippant words in response to his trauma. They had never seen the face of death staring them in the eyes. They had never seen the life drain out of their best friend's eyes. They had never seen a former friend turn into an enemy.

The fat cats of the CIA chattered away. Why was he even here? He slumped in his chair, keeping his hand on his holster and his eyes on the door. They were not threats to him, the five chubby men in the straight backed chairs of the thirteenth board room. They were not threats to Benjamin Ripley, a decorated veteran at age seventeen, who was sitting in boardroom thirteen in the CIA's academy for future agents in a suit, paranoid but trying to pretend he was bored.

The whole board room was a thinly veiled facade of order. The table was newly wiped of fingerprints, but the side tables in the corner were coated in a fine layer of grey dust. Six glasses of liquor were placed around the table, evidencing that these men had no idea who he was. He didn't dare drink the glass of whiskey- poisoning attempts were more than probable.

He was easily pushed aside when they began talking about golfing and retreats. Ben shook his head, grabbing the manila folder that was unwanted on the shiny wood table. Opening it, Ben began to review the case.

Erica had been dispatched at the beginning of the year to go undercover working as a bartender in the club. She was expected to befriend and worm her way into the gang, which was at the heart of the booming D.C. drug market and suspected for the recent killings that took place.

She went under the name of Jana Spencer- the female counterpart of Janus, the god of secrets and pathways. As he continued to read, the angrier Ben got. They had known she was being tortured for months. The job situation was abusive and unnecessary. Why had they just gone for her now? He wasn't even supposed to have rescued her- his mission was to do reconnaissance, that was it.

"Agent Ripley?" Ben turned unimpressed eyes onto the speaker. The man shivered under the cutting gaze that informed the recipient that Ben was not in the mood for polite conversation. He never was. "Thank you. You are dismissed."

A nod. Ben got up, limping slightly as he walked away. All he needed was underestimation. All he needed was for these men to go back to their bosses and mention that the poor young boy who had done so many great things when he was younger was going to be a desk jockey. Murray had something right, but not for the right reasons. They needed to go under the radar. It was easier that way. He'd had enough excitement for a lifetime.

Ben resumed his normal pace of walk once he was out of sight of the hallway. Rubbing the back of his neck, he tried to quell the ubiquitous feeling of dread that haunted him every second he was awake. Footsteps thudded behind him, and his hand grabbed onto his pistol as he turned around.

"Ben!" It was Zoe, running frantically down the hallway. She was waving her arms, and Ben looked around, seemingly terrified of attention being drawn to him. There was no point. The hallways were empty; all of the students were out in the nearby town for the weekend.

"Report?" Ben said, trying to control his breathing. Zoe nodded, catching her breath and pushing her hair back with one hand on her knees.

"Erica's awake." Ben raised an eyebrow. It had only been a few hours since he had left the hospital room. She was a fighter; maybe it was possible that Erica had beaten the odds. A bitter feeling rose up in his chest, a vicious monster that he had tried so long to bottle.

"They didn't care this much when you were tortured." The creature jeered. Ben shook his head to clear his thoughts, but they persisted. It was his fault anyway. He pushed them away, but Erica was the one who left and Mike was the one who escaped. Zoe had blamed him, afraid to even look at his face. She saw a killer. It made him wonder: was that what other people saw too?

He glanced to look over at her as they jogged down to the med wing. Zoe had barely grown a millimeter since they had met at age 12, when he was only about a meter and a half. Ben, however, had grown tall- if not taller than Chip, who was a good half meter taller than his girlfriend.

"You look different." Zoe said.

"Smalltalk?" They rounded the corner. "Didn't take you as the type anymore."

"Just answer the question."

"You look different'' is a statement, Ms. Zibell. And, well, three years and a lot of growing up will do that to you. You look the same." They arrived at the medical ward, the left corner of Ben's mouth tilted upwards in the most resemblance of a smile his face had shown since... He couldn't think. He didn't think.

Ben continued to run past all of the closed curtains in the ER to the private rooms. Zoe tried to match pace, but was slowly left behind. Ben had trained himself to be on the top of his game secretly for years. This was the first reason he had truly had to show his skills in years. He slowed down as they got to the door, knocking three times and opening the door slowly with his right hand and keeping his left close to his gun as Zoe caught up with him. Chip had left, so it was only Jawa and Alexander in the small hospital room with Erica.

Alexander was holding his daughter's hand as she talked with Jawa. As Ben stood in the doorway, he fought the urge to fix his hair and blazer, instead deciding to examine Erica. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, but Jawa didn't seem particularly worried as he continued to ask her questions. She grimaced when Jawa tapped against her ribs, and Ben guessed that at least one of them was bruised- at worst, broken or shattered.

"Agents Hale." He decided to announce himself, stepping into the room and letting Zoe in as well. Alexander's haunted blue eyes snapped to Ben, taking in the boy who looked like a man. In the span of a second, Ben felt as if he was reduced to the same bullied, naive and desperate twelve year old he was when Alexander stepped through the door to his house and introduced him to this ghastly world as a pawn.

"Ben?" Erica spoke up, her voice slow and croaky. Emotions warred across her face as he pulled out a pen and paper. Exhaling slowly, Ben raised an eyebrow and passed his tools to his left hand, extending his right to shake for Alexander.

"Agent Hale." The man took Ben's hand, dumbly shaking it and staring up at him in shock. Ben kept his composure, instead turning to the authority figure in the room, the one he knew could control the way this went- Jawa.

"If it is alright with you, Dr. O'Shea, I'd like to ask Agent Hale a few questions about her experience." It was phrased as a request, but it was clearly a statement from a person used to being in command of a situation. Jawa nodded stiffly, ushering a shaken Alexander and concerned Zoe out of the room.

"Let's begin, shall we, Agent Hale?" Ben sat down, clicking the pen open.

"Erica." She spoke up from the bed. Ben merely raised an eyebrow, refusing himself the right to look at her, for fear that he'd lose everything, just like he had before. For Erica was, whether knowingly or not, a siren. She lured men into their dooms. She had been what convinced Ben to stay at the school, to stay with the CIA, to do all these terrible things that had led him to become this monster. Perhaps it wasn't fair for him to blame her like this, but at least he was blaming someone else but himself.

"Pardon?" He responded, finally looking at her. Erica's blue eyes, the colour of ice, looked shattered. Thoughts raced through her head. This could have- no- should have been a joyous moment. Where had it all gone wrong? Things had been so good for a time after SPYDER was neutralized, and then she was called away...

Erica had a realization on that hospital bed. She had left when Ben had needed her most. She had left when it seemed like all hope had been lost and all light had been snuffed out. Erica had expected that he would wait. Why would he? She was the one who had betrayed him. Her next words seemed like more of a plea.

"You know my name, Ben. Use it," A miniscule flinch; a crack in the facade. A whisper. "Please."

"I'm expected to remain professional, Agent Hale." Ben tried to steel himself. "If you are ready, I'd like to ask a few questions." A nod. After three years, they began to talk at last..