Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, tracking device, on a sesame seed bun.
I walked into the fast-food restaurant with a complete back story for my new identity, but no name. I’d always had a problem with names, which is what led to the debacle with Isabelle’s last name. Every name I could think of reminded me of someone I’d actually known, or a character in a book or movie, or just didn’t seem to fit. I’d never liked my own name, but who would with a name like Sandra? All I could ever hope for was a life of being unfavorably compared to Sandra Bullock, an actress I quite liked otherwise. And it never seemed to suit me. Maybe this whole ordeal was just the universe’s way of rewarding me by giving me the life I always wanted, right down to the name. The problem was, I wasn’t entirely sure what that life was.
I walked up to the counter and ordered a meal, though I wasn’t really hungry. It would look odd to just sit in a booth without any food. It was going to be weird enough sitting there by myself. I gathered up my food, got some catsup, and sat down to nibble on my burger. I went over my identity one more time, and tried to make sure there were no gaps. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. For now.
I was single, well-educated, and a low-level accountant in a large firm. Pretty much the same type of paper-pushing job I have, or rather, had, in the agency. It seemed the best way to be able to fake my way through it. I could reasonably talk about programs and office issues and sound like I was who I said I was. Unlike, for instance, telling everyone I was an engineer working on the Large Hadron Collider. That might sound like a great job, but knowing my luck I’d end up next to a particle physicist at a party and my cover would be completely blown. My knowledge of physics doesn’t extend beyond what you get in a basic college physics class, and the thing I remember most was the test question “George is standing in the middle of a frictionless, frozen lake. How does he get off”? Which, to some (with dirty minds), is a very questionable question. Others wonder how he managed to stop in the middle of the lake, as it is frictionless. I always imagined he was lowered there by a helicopter, left stranded by a not quite as smart as he thinks he is evil mastermind. See? I was destined for the spy business. And in case you’re wondering, the answer is that he takes his shoe off and throws it away. Conservation of momentum, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Sure, he’ll move slowly, but because the lake is frictionless he won’t stop until he reaches the edge. So if the evil mastermind had been as smart as he thought he was, George would have been naked. Then there’d at least have been a chance that he’d freeze to death before help arrived.
I was brought out of my musing about George and how he’d extract revenge on the evil mastermind for dropping him in the middle of a lake to die (after getting new footwear, of course) by the arrival of Robert. He wandered in with a goofy grin on his face, like he didn’t have a care in the world. I was gratified that his eyes slid over me, at least the first time. Then he noticed me and my heart sank. I must be worse at this spy stuff than I thought.
“I don’t have much time. I figured out how they’d been tracking me, and there’s nothing I can do about it at the moment,” he said, grabbing a handful of my fries. What is it with men and food?
“And how is that?” I asked.
“First off, when was the last time you ate anything provided by the agency or anyone at the agency?” He eyed my barely-eaten burger, and I pushed it towards him. It was gone in seconds.
“I… don’t recall, honestly,” I said.
“No doughnuts at meetings, no food provided at the apartment?” He grabbed the rest of the fries, and at least this time he ate them individually after dipping them in the catsup.
“I never got invited to any meetings, and everyone in my area was on that diet program, so the food brought in was always crap like wheat-grass smoothies. Not my cup of tea. As for the apartment…” I thought about it for a few minutes. I had made a quick stop at the grocery store on one of my many trips to the storage unit, and I was pretty sure that was the only food I’d eaten. The kitchen had come stocked with some staples, like flour, sugar, spices, and some canned goods, but nothing I’d had time to fix. “There was some food there, but I’m pretty sure I’ve only eaten things I bought. To be honest, I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”
“I’m not surprised. But at least that means they aren’t tracking you.”
“Do you mean they put tracking devices in the food? Can they do that?”
“I had a buddy of mine search for bugs, and the only blip he got was right here.” He patted his stomach. “It’s the only thing I can think of.”
“I just can’t believe they don’t trust their own employees…” My voice drifted off as I thought over what I’d said. Of course they didn’t trust us. The whole premise of the spy business was about not trusting anyone. Why would an employee be any different? Plenty of employees had turned on them. “Okay, I can believe it. I wouldn’t trust most of them as far as I could throw them, and given access to that sort of technology, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”
“True. But it’s not safe for us to meet again until I work this out of me.”
“How often do they feed you guys doughnuts?”
“Every other day or so, someone brings them in.”
“Who?”
“I dunno, they just show up in the break room.” He had the grace to look sheepish.
“And it never occurred to any of you to question where they came from? To think that eating food from an unknown source would be bad? You’re a spy for goodness sake. Isn’t it your job to be suspicious?” I stared at him. He looked down and flushed, but rallied.
“It was in the office. Who there would want to hurt us?”
“You know, when I become an evil mastermind bent on world domination – and it could happen – my plan of attack with be to turn everyone into my zombie army by using mind-altering drugs I bake into pastries and place in offices all over the world. Domination by doughnut.”
He considered, then nodded. “It’d probably work, too.”
“Great, now all I need is a mind-altering drug and an army of minion to deliver my baked goods. And probably an industrial kitchen. I can’t imagine baking the thousands of cookies, cakes, pies, and doughnuts I’d need in a regular home kitchen.” I sat back and contemplated life as a baker. I liked to cook. Maybe that would be my new identity, if I survived this.
“Right.” He looked as though he was wondering if he should take me seriously and consider me a threat to the safety of the world as we knew it. “They’ll be here momentarily, I’m sure, so maybe we should get down to business? And I suppose I should make sure you are who I think you are.”
“I am. No need to bring names into it. Look, I don’t know why you decided to write that number on the door-”
He cut me off. “I have information about a rather unethical and unpleasant operation involving an agent, and I suspected, based on where you were, what we were doing, and the improbability of unfrozen items in a freezer, that you were that agent. And if you were her, you’d know what those numbers meant and how to get in touch with me. Obviously, I was right.”
“Operation?” I said stupidly. Even though I’d suspected it, to hear it made my heart sink. If the whole agency was behind this, I had very little chance of getting out of it. Even with help from the inside.
“Just take this.” He passed me a jump drive. “How can I get in contact with you when it’s safe?”
“I don’t know. I plan on staying at the apartment, but it would be risky to call me there.” I was lying to him, but what else could I do. I still wasn’t completely sure I could trust him. The information on the drive he’d given me could be false. This could be part of their game. “I just spent way too much of my money on stuff I’ve always wanted, it’s rather like home now. And I have a good resume to get a new job, I’ll probably settle in and forget about my old life. It seems the only option.”
There was a flicker in his eyes. Was it relief? I’d said something right, something he wanted to hear. I was suddenly very, very glad I hadn’t told him the truth. I still had my out, and I planned on taking it. Soon.
“Well, I’ll try to get in touch with you as soon as I can. In the meantime, lay low.” He got up, and with a single backwards glance walked out of the restaurant. I reached down in my purse for the small tracking device hidden there and turned it on. A small blip started traveling down Highway 7.
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