“Yes,” I reply, my tone clipped. “Can you catch me up on Kandy?” I could wait until Ian, Oliver, and myself can connect. But Oliver decided to have his new assistant in here. He can find a way to talk around it.
“Minister Atapattu will meet with us when the team arrives for the race. We’ll work closely with his team and see to it no detailsslip. Ensure aseamlessevent,” Oliver relays.
It sounds like our usual jargon. But the words Oliver has used clue me in.
Slip – as in someone is letting information slip. Based on our past conversations with the minister of defense, I can guess there is someone in Atapattu’s department who is slipping information to a local cartel that is terrorizing segments of the capital city, and they need to be stopped.
Seamless – no loose ends. As in, we will engage with each member of his team to determine who the leak is and identify them. From there, we can assume the minister of defense will dismiss them from their post. Or will follow the leak to identify members of the cartel. Either way, we’ll have enough people on site, enough eyes on the course and his team, to make sure we find the answer.
Charlie cuts in. “Should I add any specific meetings to the agenda for when the team arrives for the triathlon?”
First day. Only female in a room full of men. At least four years younger than me, which means she’s two or three decades younger than everyone else. She’s speaking up right away. That takes confidence. I have to admit I’m impressed.
She isn’t hiding behind any “it’s my first day” excuses. But she hasn’t been fully vetted. Oliver hired her without talking to anyone else. Did he check that she wasn’t sent by the Order? Has she already been briefed on us by her handler?
“Yes,” I say at the same time as Oliver says, “Exactly. We’ll confirm details with his team over the coming weeks.”
The thought of these missions used to give me a thrill. My time in the navy gave me the skills to do this job. I loved serving my country, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was expendable. An interchangeable cog. At FIRE, I thought I could really make a difference.
My mood sours thinking of how I started here. Xander Caruso recruiting me. X.C., my mentor. My friend. My final memory of him flashes in my mind. His confusion just seconds before we were both blown into Osaka Bay. Fighting the waves only to realize X.C. wasn’t next to me. We’d been betrayed on that mission and X.C. paid with his life. If I had been faster, my thoughts sharper, I could have saved him. Saved us both. The guilt is as suffocating as the frigid water he never surfaced from.
It was Oliver’s faith in my ability to help stop the Order and hold their members accountable that kept me going. My trust is still in tatters.
It makes me a better agent, I tell myself.Trust was a weakness.
That’s why I’m still here at FIRE. To stop the Order.
Everything else? It’s just another contract signed. Another city to host an ultra-marathon, an endurance triathlon, some new spin on a death-defying open-water swim. Meet with the head of local police to help weed out an informant selling secrets to organized crime. Make sure the weak link in a local crime family is intercepted by the authorities. And on and on and on.
I used to think we were making a difference, a dent in the evil in the world. Now it’s like an arcade game of whack-a-mole with no prizes to be had. Only more work to be done, more ruin to unravel.
I eye Charlie and catch her assessing me. She looks away quickly, suddenly engrossed in her notes. And now I have a new challenge. To root out if she is, in fact, just a new executive assistant or if she is here to sabotage our mission.
I add one more to-do onto the pile.
5
CHARLIE
By Wednesday, I’ve found a great route to get to the office with minimal traffic. I’ve located the forms I’ll need for an inventory restock. And, thanks to Ana, I’ve sampled the best Cuban food I’ve had in my life at a café not far from the office.
But I have not met with my boss yet to discuss his expectations or any goals for my position. That is about to change.
“Ready?” I lean into Oliver’s office. We have our one-on-one on the calendar, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been pulled into a new emergency or a report of some kind.
“Yes! Charlie, come on in.” He gestures with a wave and pushes the papers in front of him aside. They go into a haphazard pile that has me itching to straighten it. His cluttered shelves around the office are full of trophies, medals, and photographs of Oliver and various coaches, athletes, celebrities, and heads of state.
I’m settling into one of the cushioned chairs in front of his desk when he dives right in. “How is your first week going so far?”
The thing with Oliver Hawkins is that when you have his attention, you have all of it. For better or worse. He can be kind of intense that way. I think I once heard someone say “cluttered desk, organized mind.” It must be true because Oliver has the sharpest mind of anyone I’ve ever met.
“I like the office, and having a desk is a nice change,” is the first thing that pops out of my mouth. I wince. It sounds silly, but it’s true; I do love it. The buzz of phones and chatter of coworkers is a pleasant white noise, an ambient soundtrack to a peaceful work environment. That’s what I wanted in a new job. There is also the undeniable cool factor.
“Well, half the team is either heading to a race or heading back from one. Great for concentrating when we are in season, not great for tracking people down,” Oliver explains. “But this is an office job. Sitting is the new smoking. If you need a standing desk to get on your feet, let me know,” he says, before giving a slight grimace. He realizes the double meaning of his words. That I’m off my feet, literally sitting at a desk all day. Which is a legitimate health concern. But his phrasing also reminds me that I’moffmy feet, as prescribed. No running. Nothing to stress the body too much. “You let me know at the first signs of any—” Oliver begins, but I cut him off.
“I don’t need bubble wrap.” I spill out the same words I said to my mother two weeks ago when I told her I’d accepted this job. Yes, it will have a certain level of stress. But I’ve been healthy for four years now. And while I loved being my dad’s assistant running coach, I do not miss the blistering sun on a long training day. Or the smell of the locker room that would permeate the coaching office. I don’t miss the looks either. Pity or judgment. I hung up my running shoes years ago and then, a couple weeks ago, I hung up my whistle too.
Oliver pushes his lips together, holding back whatever he wants to say. I understand his worry. But I’m not a child. I can make my own decisions, take an exciting job opportunity, and monitor my own health.
