I found my eyelids growing heavier with each passing minute, the weight of exhaustion tugged on me. The last half hour of my watch seemed to continue endlessly and I could barely hold on. To fight off my fatigue, I occupied my mind with the thoughts of our failed mission.
How did things go so wrong? It’s almost like they had been waiting for us, ready to strike upon our arrival.
Images of Marcus and Owen being struck down by the helmets flashed before my eyes. Vivid crimson splattering onto the walls and on us. They had been chosen to be our leaders tonight and now they were gone.
I found myself uttering a prayer, seeking comfort and peace, for the haunting image of losing two brothers continued to torment me. Death was familiar to me, but this time it felt different, heavier. The weight of grief settled on my shoulders, but I couldn't allow myself to dwell on it for long.
I needed to channel these emotions into discovering what had gone awry and avenging their deaths. I could only hope that the rest of the team had made it to the chopper in time. Kyle's voice crackled through the radio, confirming his safety and inquiring about my location. However, Daniel and Carter remained unaccounted for, as far as I knew. The thought of Sergeant Stewart learning about this tragedy weighed heavily on my mind.
The alarm on my watch jolted me back to reality. My feet dragged wearily as I made my way to the bedroom. Pushing the door open quietly, I saw her in a deep slumber, yet her face etched with the burdens of stress. I stood there for a moment, observing her. Though petite in stature, she exuded an air of intelligence and resilience. It was evident that she knew how to hold her own.
Almost as if she sensed my presence, she stirred from her slumber. To avoid alarming her, I spoke softly, my voice cutting through the silence. "It's time." Raising my wrist to show her the time, she nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. With a swift motion, she retrieved a pistol from under her pillow, and for a fleeting moment, I braced myself. But she holstered it securely at her back.
"Take all the time you need to rest. You look like you could use it," she murmured, making her way towards the door.
Her words, laced with comfort, acted as a soothing balm to my weariness. "No. Wake me the moment you feel yourself starting to slip. You don’t need to worry about me." I assured her, attempting to maintain a firm tone despite my gratitude for her kindness.
A sleepy smile played upon her lips. "I'll be fine. Those dark circles under your eyes tell a different story. So, as I said, get your sleep." With that, the door closed, ending our conversation.
I settled into the warmth of the bed, the sheets carrying a discrete floral scent. It was light, almost ethereal, but as I nestled into the pillow, the fragrance enveloped me.
The scent seemed to possess a soothing quality, lulling me into a peaceful slumber.
The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow upon my cheek. My eyes opened, and a sudden panic of dread flooded my senses. I glanced at my watch.
She let me sleep too long. She must be asleep herself!
I threw off the covers and stomped into the living area, only to find her already awake. In fact, she had been preparing breakfast, the aroma wafting from the stove as she served it onto plates.
"Good morning, bedhead," she chuckled, gesturing at my dishevelled hair. I turned to face the mirror on the wall and saw the blonde strands sticking up in every direction. Embarrassed, I attempted to smooth it out with my hand.
"Why did you let me sleep? I specifically told you to wake--"
"I let you sleep for an extra hour compared to me," she assured me. "I'll catch up on rest later in the day. You can keep watch then to make it up to me." She placed two plates of grits on the table.
I settled into my seat, and she took her place across from me. My spoon prodded at the food instinctively, checking for any signs of tampering.
"Geez... you're fine! If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it while you were sleeping," she rolled her eyes. "Eat. I didn't have to be this nice, you know? I could have made you fend for yourself."
Suppressing the urge to make a sarcastic comment, I chuckled. "Thank you. I genuinely appreciate this." I scooped a bite onto the spoon, hesitating for a moment before bringing it into my mouth.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, and with each bite, I felt a growing sense of gratitude. I hadn't realized how hungry I was.
Finally, Ivy broke the silence. Her gaze shifted towards the radio strapped to my vest in the living area. "That radio. When do you think you'll use it again for exfiltration?"
I shook my head, uncertainty clouding my expression. "No idea. I had to go off the grid completely." I stared off into the distance, memories of Marcus and Owen flooding my mind.
I contemplated asking her about her mission, knowing that if she revealed her story, I would have to share mine. Despite her occasional brashness, she didn't seem like a threat. In fact, I felt sympathy for her.
"I suppose we shouldn't share the details of our failed missions," her voice seemed to read my thoughts. "But I think we both sense the disappointment and grief we both have."
I nodded, my gaze meeting hers. "We lost two soldiers. They were like brothers to me."
"I lost my partner. He sacrificed himself so I could escape," her voice quivered with emotion.
A frown etched upon my face as I glanced down at the grits. "I'm sorry."
"Me too," she whispered softly.
I observed her discreetly swipe at a tear on her cheek before she shifted the topic. "There’s a shortage of food supplies here. Depending on how long we're stranded, we'll need to address that."
"Agreed. How long do you plan on remaining off the grid?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.
She bowed her head, uncertainty etched into her words. "I'm not sure. I don't have a means of contacting my agency."
Perplexed, I scoffed at the revelation. "What? So you're telling me they sent you on a mission without a contingency plan in case things went awry? No emergency contact? No safe house for extraction?"
She shook her head, her expression filled with a mixture of frustration and resignation. "No. I've been on this mission for four months. We had two more months to gather as much intel as possible, and then extraction was planned."
I let out a frustrated huff, my disappointment wasn't with her, but at her agency's lack of planning. She was a rookie. Her agency had failed her, leaving her to navigate this mission alone and left her with no options for safety. It seemed like a suicide mission, exploiting her intel-gathering capabilities and using her as just a chess piece in a vicious game. It was unfair to her.
"Once I reactivate the radio, I'll contact my captain, and I'm confident we can arrange transportation for you," I assured her, trying to offer some assurance.
"Thank you," she murmured softly, her voice carrying a sense of gratitude. We shifted our focus away from the topic, finishing our meal in a comfortable silence, occasionally attempting to engage in awkward conversation.
As the morning stretched into the afternoon and then evening, we maintained limited interactions, our discussions guarded, revealing only fragments of our respective backgrounds. Most of the time, we remained silent, lost in our own thoughts. I took the opportunity to sharpen my knives while she curled up on the couch for a nap. I noticed her shivering, the temperature in the apartment had gotten low with the winter weather. I reached for her jacket, gently draping it over her slumbering form.
Sitting on the floor, my gaze fixated on one of my knives, I found myself lost in my own thoughts. Ivy had mentioned her undercover mission lasting four months. Our task force had been deployed to this location after weeks of planning and gathering intelligence. Serbia had been on the United States' radar, with the infiltration of drug cartels. It dawned on me that she must have been embedded amidst one of these cartels.
She possessed a remarkable level of toughness and intellect to operate in such a role. They don't entrust just anyone with this type of mission. Gradually, I came to a realization: it wasn't her naivety that had cost her partner's life and nearly her own. It couldn’t have been. The gears in my head turned more.
There had to be a traitor. Someone on the inside, working with them for some personal gain. Just as there must have been a traitor within our own ranks, alerting our enemies to our presence that night.
The revelations unfolded in a dream, unravelling the mystery that had been plaguing my thoughts. In my slumber, a vivid image materialized—a chessboard, its pieces making calculated movements until an unseen force toppled the board over. It could only mean one thing.
There was a traitor within the CIA field group.
My eyes snapped open, my body jolting upright from the couch. My abrupt actions caught Apollo's attention as he sat on the floor, and his gaze shifted towards me.
His voice carried an undercurrent of anger as he began to speak. "There's a-"
"A traitor. In the CIA," I interjected, my breath catching in my throat. "Everything falls into place now. The mission was progressing smoothly, and suddenly everything turned against us. Ricardo... he gained some kind of awareness and snapped that night."
Apollo nodded, rising to his feet. "I believe there's a traitor within my ranks as well. It's the only explanation for why those men were waiting for us, aimed at the door as we entered. They knew we were coming."
I glanced away momentarily, gathering my thoughts. "I know we agreed not to discuss our respective missions," I hesitated for a moment. "But did your mission involve drug trafficking?"
"Yes," Apollo responded without any hesitation. "I assume Ricardo was a member of a cartel?"
I nodded. "He was the leader. We infiltrated their ranks. I.. seduced him. The things I had to do..." My hands instinctively rose to my face, rubbing my temples. "Sam died. The traitor, or maybe even traitors, were responsible for his death."
Apollo settled on the couch beside me, his presence providing some comfort. "Exactly. We were just pawns in their game."
"You can't use that radio. They'll track us down and kill us," I stated, my voice trembling with fear. The realization that we were alone washed over me.
"I don't believe Captain Stewart is the traitor." Apollo snapped, his frustration evident. "I've worked with him for years. He would never betray us."
"Apollo... while you may be right about Captain Stewart, someone within your ranks is undoubtedly a traitor," I argued, shaking my head. "That's precisely why we can’t disclose our location."
He sighed, his agitation palpable. "So what are we supposed to do, then?"
"I don't know," I admitted, a sense of helplessness flooding over me. "But using the radio is too risky. We need to devise an alternative plan, think outside the box."
A moment of silence enveloped the room as we pondered our options, our thoughts intertwining.
"What about an encrypted messaging service?" Apollo suggested. "We can utilize public Wi-Fi, attempt to contact Stewart using a coded message. We await his instructions and then proceed accordingly."
I nodded in agreement. "And if he turns out to be a traitor? If he sends us to a location where our demise awaits?"
Apollo's gaze locked onto mine, a fierce intensity burning in his eyes. "Just trust me on this. Please?"
I trimmed my damp, lengthy strands of hair, severing them to a length that barely grazed my shoulders. As I stood before the bathroom mirror, I felt a pair of eyes watching me. I turned to find Apollo, his gaze transfixed, seemingly lost in a trance.
"Do you like the haircut or something?" I teased.
He nodded, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "It's... suitable. It definitely alters your appearance."
I slid a gray beanie over my head, its thick fabric concealing the scar forming on my forehead. The flannel shirt I wore enveloped my frame, despite my efforts to tuck it in. I looked disheveled and it would help me blend in.
Apollo packed a backpack with our limited provisions, knowing that we wouldn't return to this place. I desired to bring an end to this ordeal, be it through demise or our rescue.
"You need to wear one as well," I asserted, breaking the silence. Apollo turned, and I thrust a hat into his chest. "Your blond hair will undoubtedly draw attention."
"I'm well aware of that, rookie. This isn't my first rodeo," he retorted, pulling it over his head and adjusting it in the bathroom mirror before we stepped out.
"Apollo, it would be just fantastic if you could hurry this along. I’d hate to stick around and run into our friends, ya know?” I whispered in his ear, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words.
If you continue to rush me, we won’t need to run into friends to have ourselves killed. The unencrypted message would be enough to give us away,” he retorted sharply, his tone matching my own.
We sat in the confines of a public library, utilizing one of the available computers. I assisted Apollo in bypassing the library's database, granting us broader access. His task involved accessing an encrypted messaging service to transmit a carefully coded message, but progress proved more difficult than anticipated.
Impatience gnawed at me, causing my fingers to drum against the table's surface and my leg to bounce restlessly. I couldn't help but scan our surroundings, alert for any signs of danger or unwelcome attention.
"You're risking our cover, rookie, with your nervousness. Were you not trained in situational awareness, or were you too busy flirting with an instructor?" Apollo whispered to me, a trace of annoyance in his voice.
I couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him, and playfully kicked his shin. He stifled a groan, and I couldn't help but smirk. "Seems like a touch of jealousy, if you ask me. You may have the looks, but any woman can detect that non-existent charm from a mile away."
A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his irritation momentarily forgotten. "So, you think I'm good looking."
I rolled my eyes, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't say I was attracted to you. Besides, I'm not the one who constantly stares."
Heat flushed his cheeks, but he swiftly redirected his focus to the computer. After a few moments, he had finally gained access to the system.
"We're in," he whispered to me, and a smile of satisfaction spread across my face. Apollo began crafting a coded message for Captain Stewart.
Leaning over his shoulder, I recited the message aloud. "An eagle and a sparrow fly low in the crimson sky, seeking guidance to a new nest."
My eyes flicked to his, a mischievous glint present. "Impressive work, adrenaline junkie. There's more to you than meets the eye," I paused briefly. "But I must ask, why a sparrow and not another eagle?"
"It's a code for someone outside our ops team who requires exfiltration as well. They'll receive further instructions from you once they pick us up," he explained, his voice steady.
Nodding in understanding, I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest as we both stared at the screen. We awaited a response that would signal our departure.
Half an hour dragged by, and our impatience grew palpable. The librarians cast suspicious glances in our direction, their curiosity piqued by our heightened distress.
Leaning closer to the computer, Apollo gestured for me to join him, whispering, "We can’t linger here much longer. I think we have overstayed our welcome and we’re becoming suspicious."
Suddenly, the computer chimed, signalling an incoming message. "Head eagle leads second flock to sideline four. Head eagle's first flock arriving in a week. Requesting low flight patterns and navigation. Eagle out."
"What does that mean?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
"We need to cross the border to reach the safehouse. Exfiltration will take place in a week," he replied, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
"A week? What the hell?" I exclaimed, my frustration growing.
"It will likely take us a couple of days to cross the border, and another day to reach the safehouse. Not to mention, we must maintain a low profile," he sighed. "Stewart must have thought it unsafe or unwise to exfil at our current location."
"We don't have enough supplies for such a journey, and we're lacking critical information," I pointed out, my concern evident.
The librarians continued to cast suspicious glances in our direction, sensing the tension in the air. Apollo tapped my thigh gently, urging me to action. "Let's move, Ivy. It's no longer safe for us here."
