"What if I fail?"
Ness sat forward. "You won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because I said so. Now, the first order of business is to fill out some paperwork--big surprise there, I know. You'll also be expected to keep up with the filing as part of your regular job, but given how easy that was for you I don't imagine you'll have too much trouble. I'm going to assign SA-7 as your program counselor, so if at any point you need to make changes he'll be the one to talk to."
"Okay."
"Here's your application packet." The folder full of forms was half an inch thick. "You have today and tomorrow off as per Dr. Nava, but Wednesday we'll get started, so have those filled out by then. I hope you don't mind moving to a mostly-nocturnal schedule."
"Not at all," Sara said, trying not to sound as overwhelmed as she was feeling. "I'm definitely not a morning person."
"Good, because neither are vampires. Wednesday come in to Admin at 10am, as usual, then at 3 report to the infirmary; Dr. Nava will run a physical and the usual battery of tests. Then at 5 you'll have your first meeting with your counselor."
"Yes ma'am."
Ness stood, her standard dismissal, and Sara did the same, shaking her proffered hand. "Good luck. It will be hard, Sara, but you'll do fine."
"Thank you," Sara said with what she hoped looked like a confident smile. "I won't let you down."
"I know. And Sara…"
She paused, looking back at the Director, who gave her a genuine smile. "I've never been wrong about a new recruit. Prove me wrong and I'll kick your ass."
*****
The novelty of sitting in a vampire's office kept Sara from being nauseated as she waited for her counselor to arrive Wednesday night.
Two hours of being poked and prodded and running on a treadmill hooked up to electrodes and MRIs and x-rays and questions about her medical history had left Sara in a pretty foul mood, but she was still extremely nervous. This would be the first time she'd been alone with SA-7 since he'd interrogated her--plus, she had no idea what to expect from this whole Agent training thing, other than the fact that the thought of holding a gun was both ludicrous and scary as hell.
It occurred to her that even Rowan must have had weapons training, being an SA and all. She couldn't imagine him killing anyone either, but somehow he must have gotten through it.
SA-7's office was, as he'd mentioned, adjacent to the lounge, so the tantalizing smell of coffee wafted in. It was pretty normal as offices went, with a sophisticated computer system, a flat-panel monitor on the wall tracking what Agent was where, desk and chair, a mini-fridge in the back corner…she wondered what was in it…and the usual seeming chaos of papers corralled into piles. There wasn't much in the way of personal effects or decoration, except for an ivy of some kind in a blue pot on the fridge, trailing all the way down to the floor; and a gorgeous figurine of a red and black dragon sitting next to the monitor. She thought she recognized the artist as one that was popular among Pagans--Pena, or something like that.
There was also, she saw, a small brown paper bag on the desk. She grinned, and with a quick glance behind her to be sure no one was coming, reached over and poked it, finding something hard and round that had to be some sort of fruit.
"Beck's patrol route, my ass," Sara muttered. "You need to work on your cover story, Mr. Hot Stuff."
The door opened, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, yelping, which of course made her blush with embarrassment as Jason Adams appeared in all his trench-coated, blue-eyed, utterly indifferent glory.
He sat down at his desk, and she saw that once again he had her file--if the first thing he asked was if she knew why she'd been brought here, she was running for the hills.
"So," he said, folding his hands. "Ness seems to think you'd make a good Agent."
"Yeah." Sara crossed one leg over the other and tried to sound casual. "She also said she's never been wrong."
A flicker of a smile. "She hasn't, to my knowledge. And, for the record, I think she's right this time too."
Sara blinked. Had he just complimented her? "You do?"
"You need a lot of work, that's certain. Your physical fitness is pretty abysmal. Your psychic abilities, while considerable, aren't half of what they should be in terms of control and finesse. Clearly you've never held a firearm in your life, and if presented with a situation requiring hand to hand combat you'd try to sarcasm your way out of it and end up with a broken neck."
"Thanks," she said irritably, knowing he was right on all counts. "I appreciate the support."
"However," he went on, ignoring her, "You are remarkably calm under pressure for a human; you're intelligent, a fast learner, and able to overcome your fears. You've also got mothering-strong gifts. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be a credit to this Agency. Now." He opened her file, where the enormous stack of application forms were already signed and annotated in what she recognized as his handwriting. "Based on your assessments we'll set up your schedule. Carlos will be your personal trainer, and I'm assigning SA-8 to you on weapons for the first six months. We'll need you to take the SF3AT tomorrow…"
"The what?"
He didn't look up, but said, "Specialized Field Agent Aptitude Assessment Test. Report to SSR-3 for that tomorrow at 10. SA-5 has an opening at 2 for your first psionics session. That will be in L-27. We'll fit the rest of your evaluations in on Friday, and by Monday you'll have a schedule for the next month."
Her mind was reeling. "What kind of aptitudes are they testing for?"
"Tomorrow? English, math, logic and reasoning, written communication, computer skills, the usual. Then you'll be tested out for official levels on your psychic gifts. Friday will be a session with Carlos to determine your physical fitness, and you'll also be given a complete psychological profile."
"All this and filing too," she said, already tired just thinking about it.
"You'll be paid overtime," he replied evenly, making some notations on her forms, before closing the file and finally looking at her.
It was really unfortunate that him being gay didn't stop him from being infernally attractive. The futility of wanting to leap across the table and suck his tonsils out was incredibly frustrating. Just as well that he wasn't going to be her weapons trainer--getting to see him all sweaty and armed would just make things worse until her body caught up with the idea that she was lusting in vain.
Of course, she was still doomed to spend hours at a time with Rowan, and she had a sinking feeling that one-on-one psychic work was going to be even more intimate. What was worse: a gay vampire or a celibate Elf? Couldn't at least one of them have been ugly?
"You'll make bimonthly reports to me on your progress. If all goes as planned you'll graduate in a year. I should tell you, however…" He seemed to debate on whether or not to go on, but said finally, "there's every possibility that you'll be sent out into the field before that on a conditional basis."
"You mean before I'm certified? Can you do that?"
"Under certain circumstances, yes. You may or may not recall Ness saying that our other contact clairvoyant died two weeks ago. We have several Agents with far lesser powers who can work together to fill in if necessary, but if something comes up where only SA-22 would have been strong enough, you may find yourself temporarily drafted."
He saw the panic on her face, and added, "You'll of course be well protected if we have to send you out, most likely with myself or SA-8 as a bodyguard. We're not going to risk your life before we have to."
"That's supposed to be comforting, right?"
For a moment his eyes became piercing, and she had a feeling he was looking into her, not at her. "Miss Larson…this isn't a game, and it isn't for fun. You're training to become an agent of the government who investigates and enforces occult law. As an SA you will see and take part in things that no ordinary human should ever have to be involved with. That may include killing other people and races. It may involve getting injured or killed, or at le
ast seeing other Agents injured or killed. If I put a gun in your hand and you're unable to pull the trigger, you have no business as an Agent. As your counselor I'm taking responsibility for your performance here, so if you have any doubts as to whether or not you can handle this job, you had better back out now. If your work reflects poorly on me or on the Shadow Agency, there will be serious consequences."
She swallowed hard. Here, again, was the predator she'd seen that first night, his eyes edged with silver, steel underscoring every word.
"We'll go ahead with your assessments, but by the time we meet again on Monday I expect you to have thought long and hard about whether you want to do this. There's no shame in not being cut out for this line of work, Miss Larson."
She nodded. "Do you think I am?"
He lifted his chin, considering. "Yes."
"Based on what?"
"Based on the fact that SA-5 said you are."
She smiled. "And you trust his judgment?"
"Completely. Now, do you have any questions before I send your paperwork ahead?"
Sara took a deep breath, waiting for something to come up, but she was still too dazed by the whole thing to really articulate anything specific. The first thing that came to her lips, bursting past her brain/mouth filter as such things were wont to do, was, "Yeah…do you want me to take that to him for you?"
He followed her eyes to the paper bag, and then looked back at her. His expression, while potentially hazardous to her health, was priceless--a split-second of shock, followed by anger, followed by recognition. Within a heartbeat his face had resumed its usual calm.
"All right," he said, crossing his arms. "What's it going to take?"
"What do you mean?"
He gave her what she was sure was a rare smile, this one wry. "For you to keep your mouth shut."
She laughed. "Why don't you want him to know? It's just fruit."
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you playing me?"
"No, no. And I'm not trying to blackmail you either, I swear. I'm not even 100% sure what I'm not supposed to know, here."
He stared at her for a long moment, unspeaking, and she wished she hadn't been so forward--it wasn't as if they were destined to be friends or anything like that. He was, more or less, her boss now, and definitely her superior, and it was none of her business regardless why he let the Elf think Beck kept him in strawberries. One of these days her mouth really was going to get her killed.
Finally, he reached over and picked up a pad of Post-It notes and wrote something on one, then pulled it off and handed it to her.
Sara looked down. "Eliza Doolittle?"
Jason clicked his pen and shuffled through several reports on his desk, looking completely disinterested in her confusion. "When Dru was a child she watched My Fair Lady at least once a day for over a year. Her first pet, a stray cat found near a flower market downtown, was named after the heroine." He shrugged. "Just for your information. I'd suggest you destroy that immediately."
Sara grinned, holding back gales of laughter. "Absolutely. Thank you. I'll see you Monday, then."
"5pm. You can go now."
She did, and all but skipped from his office.
It wasn't quite 6, meaning she wasn't off shift technically for another hour; she could clock out early and nobody would care given the state of flux she was in until Monday, or she could go into the Current Case Files room and…see if there was anything she needed to catch up on for the day. She was, after all, going to have to keep up her work filing while she trained, if she trained. She'd think about that later.
Just to be safe, she looked over at Dru's office door before entering the file room--it was dark. Excellent. The network would detect if two computers were signed on with the same ID.
She ran her badge through the scanner to get access to the main server, and pulled up the Finder. The Personnel files were clearly labeled, but when she had tried to open them she was prompted for a username and password. The usernames were the employee's last name plus first initial. Sara, smiling to herself, typed in "CarterD" and for the password, "elizadoolittle."
It worked. Access granted.
Impossible as it was to believe, her own counselor had just helped her perform espionage. She all but whooped in triumph, and tucked the Post-it note in her pocket; there was an office shredder on the Floor she could run it through on her way out.
There were folders for each department, and within that, a folder for each member of the staff. Naturally, she opened up the SA folder first, and double-clicked on SA-7.
You do not have sufficient security clearance to access this file.
"Oh, god damn it!" She exclaimed.
It seemed that Dru had access to the files for the Admins, R&D, Food Service, Housekeeping, and General Staff, but not the Agents themselves. There were exactly two usernames with those privileges: MacMillanV and AdamsJ.
Bastard. Of course he'd known that. She could spend days poring over the files of all the other staff, and probably find out some really interesting things, but the people she wanted to know most about were out of reach, unless she could figure out Ness's password…or Jason's.
Given that he was over a century old, it could be anything.
She stuck her head back out the door and noted that his light, too, was now off. He'd have left for the field already and would be out of the system. She could try, she figured, but what? "Beck" wouldn't work; the system required at least five characters for a…password…
Sara felt a twinge of almost demonic glee as she typed in, "Rowan."
Access granted.
"Pathetic, SA-7," she muttered. "I hope you guys are way more observant in the field than you are when it comes to each other."
The first file she opened, of course, was Jason's.
At least a dozen documents populated the list--basic personnel data, scans of forms, medical results, and a file that was apparently specific data on his species. She started at the beginning.
"Jason Adams, born May 1857, City of New York," she read. "Exact date of birth unknown; abandoned along with twin sister Rebecca on the steps of St. Jude's Foundling Hospital. Later DNA testing confirms: offspring of Irish immigrants."
Aside from the fact that his history took place in the 19th century, really, Jason's youth wasn't all that remarkable--an orphan, raised by nuns, then sent to work as a servant in the home of a corrupt Irish politician at age 11. Life was hard for the Irish in New York, so he'd been lucky to find work at all. Beck, too, had worked at the estate as a kitchen maid. It was hard to imagine them that young, let alone that young and practically slave labor, but at least they had a roof over their heads and food to eat…until…
Until six years later, when Jason was discharged for unspecified misconduct. Sara couldn't find any reference to what that might have been. Where Jason went, Beck followed, and the two landed work at a boarding school for young Northeastern aristocrats. Again, only a few months later, Jason was fired, again without a reason given.
The facts were dry in black and white, but Sara felt a stab of sympathy for the twins, alone in a hostile world with no inheritance and few opportunities. In 1881, at the age of 24, they went to work at yet another wealthy New Yorker's estate, this one listed as Charles Duvalier, a Parisian immigrant who, as it turned out, was a vampire.
There had to be more to the story than what she saw, but basically, Duvalier had turned Jason into a vampire and then Jason had turned Beck. All three had lived together for nearly 20 years before members of some sort of anti-occult holy roller society killed Duvalier. In turn, the entire society--all 15 members--was found dead, bodies drained of blood, one by one over the course of the next two weeks.
At that point Jason and Beck left New York and took up residence in Washington, DC. They lived off of Duvalier's remaining fortune until Jason joined the SA, just after it was formed in 1941; he had been an Agent ever since. Beck had followed a year later.
There was a list of commendations and awards Ja
son had earned during his tenure, which took up several pages. He'd served in six different branches, and had arrived in Austin ten years ago. He'd trained over 100 Agents, been senior Agent on nearly 1200 cases, and had been presented with a Silver Hexagram for Distinguished Service by JFK.
That would, Sara supposed, explain why he didn't have any qualms helping her get into the files. Someone with his record was pretty much an 800-pound gorilla.
According to the data sheet he also enjoyed basketball and played the violin.
She looked at Jason's medical history, again amazed; he'd been injured hundreds of times, but apparently vampires healed very quickly, so only a few of those injuries had still been in existence by the time he got back to the base to file an incident report. Mostly there were just notations, a long log of gunshot wounds and lacerations, a few burns. Once or twice he'd been hospitalized for sun exposure; she'd have to read the other file to see just how bad that was, and whether vampires really went poof if they were in the sun too long.
The Agency, Volume I Page 7
