Colonel John Haverson was tired. He had began his day sitting at his desk on the fifteenth floor of Intelligence and Defense Agency HQ and was still at the same spot twelve hours later. He leaned back into his chair, his back creaking in protest at the movement after being so long stationary. Getting old, John thought glumly. Getting old.
The Colonel rubbed his eyes as he stifled a yawn. Closing the latest report he had just reviewed, his gaze drifted over to the framed photos on his desk. John had never been one for nostalgia but he reached over and lifted one of the pictures. In truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he had paid it any mind. The photo was of him, twenty years previous. His broad chest was puffed out as some unknown Major affixed a medal to his tunic. John had been a Lieutenant then, and had pulled a superior officer from a burning building. It was about the only part of that operation that had actually gone right. Still he had made it out alive, and had gotten a medal because of it. One of many shiny pieces of metal that occupied a drawer somewhere in his house.
The man sitting at his desk now was different than the fresh faced Lieutenant from the picture. He still had the same flinty jaw and deep tan. His muscular physique had remained strong well into his forties; a testament to the active lifestyle of a professional soldier. The passage of time couldn’t be completely ignored however. His dark hair was still thick but had lost the battle with grey at the temples, while laughter lines tugged at the corner of each eye and furrowed his brow. Neither feature was a blemish. Rather, they added to a distinguished look mixed in with a rugged handsomeness that still managed to turn heads.
They were other pictures on the desk too. Most of his ex-wife and Rachel. They had been happy once, but the distance had become too much. It had led to a lot of fights, and the eventual divorce. Since their split, he and his ex-wife had become much more amicable. His most recent picture was of Rachel on her first day of middle school. Yet another reminder of that passage of time.
The intercom on his desk broke him from his reverie. “Haverson.”
“Colonel.” It was the Chief’s voice. “My office.”
“Right away, boss.” John lifted his finger off the intercom and checked his watch, a two tone Rolex Submariner. It was nearing midnight and the Chief was summoning him to the ‘Penthouse.’ John knew he had done nothing that needed reprimanding but the thought was little comfort. You weren’t summoned upstairs to get good news.
The Chief was an ancient man. A relic of the Cold War still clinging on to the top spot in one of the Government’s most secret agencies. He invited John to sit on one of the plush seats at the corner of his office rather than at his desk. That boded well, suggesting an informal meeting. Of course, a cynic could just as easily point out the old timer was looking to lure John into a false sense of security.
The Chief handed John a tumbler of brandy. John took a dutiful sip. He hated the stuff, had always been a beer or whiskey man, but the Chief had always insisted on joining him for a tipple when the fancy took him. He sat on the settee across from the Colonel.
"I take it you've had time to read the personnel reports of the newest recruits?"
"I have, yes Sir."
"Any standouts?"
John puffed his cheeks as he considered the question. As a senior agent, it was his job to familiarise himself with each new member of his department. "Lachlan from military intelligence seems like a good fit for the agency. The transferee from the Blackwatch programme seems like she has potential too."
The Chief nodded. "What about Volkov?”
John shrugged his broad shoulders. "There was next to nothing in her file. Hard to make much of a judgement."
The Chief grunted. “Happens we’ve had our eye on her. One of a few promising candidates we’ve been looking to approach and bring on board to your department."
“Young,” John replied. “Is she even twenty five?”
“Twenty seven,” the Chief answered.
John nodded. The files had included profiles of each recruit. He remembered Volkov’s ID photo showing a pretty young blonde woman who looked like she was barely out of college. “Young.” John repeated.
“Very. A lot to learn of the world, both intelligence related and otherwise. She’d need a experienced hand to partner up with. Take her under his wing and knock some of that youthful brashness out of her.”
John nodded before the words slowly sank in. He looked up sharply. “You don’t mean-”
“-She’ll be reporting 0800 on Monday,” the Chief said, cutting John off. His smile could almost have been sympathetic. “I can’t think of a better field trainer than you, Colonel.”
The Colonel rubbed his eyes as he stifled a yawn. Closing the latest report he had just reviewed, his gaze drifted over to the framed photos on his desk. John had never been one for nostalgia but he reached over and lifted one of the pictures. In truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he had paid it any mind. The photo was of him, twenty years previous. His broad chest was puffed out as some unknown Major affixed a medal to his tunic. John had been a Lieutenant then, and had pulled a superior officer from a burning building. It was about the only part of that operation that had actually gone right. Still he had made it out alive, and had gotten a medal because of it. One of many shiny pieces of metal that occupied a drawer somewhere in his house.
The man sitting at his desk now was different than the fresh faced Lieutenant from the picture. He still had the same flinty jaw and deep tan. His muscular physique had remained strong well into his forties; a testament to the active lifestyle of a professional soldier. The passage of time couldn’t be completely ignored however. His dark hair was still thick but had lost the battle with grey at the temples, while laughter lines tugged at the corner of each eye and furrowed his brow. Neither feature was a blemish. Rather, they added to a distinguished look mixed in with a rugged handsomeness that still managed to turn heads.
They were other pictures on the desk too. Most of his ex-wife and Rachel. They had been happy once, but the distance had become too much. It had led to a lot of fights, and the eventual divorce. Since their split, he and his ex-wife had become much more amicable. His most recent picture was of Rachel on her first day of middle school. Yet another reminder of that passage of time.
The intercom on his desk broke him from his reverie. “Haverson.”
“Colonel.” It was the Chief’s voice. “My office.”
“Right away, boss.” John lifted his finger off the intercom and checked his watch, a two tone Rolex Submariner. It was nearing midnight and the Chief was summoning him to the ‘Penthouse.’ John knew he had done nothing that needed reprimanding but the thought was little comfort. You weren’t summoned upstairs to get good news.
The Chief was an ancient man. A relic of the Cold War still clinging on to the top spot in one of the Government’s most secret agencies. He invited John to sit on one of the plush seats at the corner of his office rather than at his desk. That boded well, suggesting an informal meeting. Of course, a cynic could just as easily point out the old timer was looking to lure John into a false sense of security.
The Chief handed John a tumbler of brandy. John took a dutiful sip. He hated the stuff, had always been a beer or whiskey man, but the Chief had always insisted on joining him for a tipple when the fancy took him. He sat on the settee across from the Colonel.
"I take it you've had time to read the personnel reports of the newest recruits?"
"I have, yes Sir."
"Any standouts?"
John puffed his cheeks as he considered the question. As a senior agent, it was his job to familiarise himself with each new member of his department. "Lachlan from military intelligence seems like a good fit for the agency. The transferee from the Blackwatch programme seems like she has potential too."
The Chief nodded. "What about Volkov?”
John shrugged his broad shoulders. "There was next to nothing in her file. Hard to make much of a judgement."
The Chief grunted. “Happens we’ve had our eye on her. One of a few promising candidates we’ve been looking to approach and bring on board to your department."
“Young,” John replied. “Is she even twenty five?”
“Twenty seven,” the Chief answered.
John nodded. The files had included profiles of each recruit. He remembered Volkov’s ID photo showing a pretty young blonde woman who looked like she was barely out of college. “Young.” John repeated.
“Very. A lot to learn of the world, both intelligence related and otherwise. She’d need a experienced hand to partner up with. Take her under his wing and knock some of that youthful brashness out of her.”
John nodded before the words slowly sank in. He looked up sharply. “You don’t mean-”
“-She’ll be reporting 0800 on Monday,” the Chief said, cutting John off. His smile could almost have been sympathetic. “I can’t think of a better field trainer than you, Colonel.”
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