Back in white - Reaper # 4

Chapter 5

It was just a formality. Homeland wanted me, they simply wanted to know my demands. I had never really noticed the building before, tucked away behind another building and a row of trees. Once through security, a security officer leads me to Joshua Houde's office, the head of the branch. He looks nothing like Martin, and he's certainly not someone I would call in the middle of the night to discuss my personal anxieties. He seems to be on a dead-end path, not progressing any further in the hierarchy despite his fifty-plus years. However, he immediately puts me at ease as I shake his hand. He has already been briefed and smiles at me as he presents the contract for me to sign. I quickly look over the information regarding my status, grade, and salary, smiling at the mentioned benefits. I sign the contract and push it towards my new superior, who reaches out to take my CID badge and plaque. It pains me to give them to him; it's a part of my life coming to an end, and I can see in his eyes that he understands. I then take out my other plaque, the one from the FBI, and hesitatingly, he looks at his computer screen before shaking his head.

"Keep it, if it was given to you, there's a reason for it. It's always useful."

Interesting.

Rising to my feet, I follow him through the hallways until he opens a door leading to an office with a view of the parking lot and a cross street. There's even a potted plant in one corner.

"Your workstation," he says.

"Thank you."

"There are already two or three cases filed in your drawers," he says as I sit down, opening the first drawer to retrieve my new badge. In the second drawer, there's a navy blue windbreaker with the yellow inscription HOMELAND.

"Perfect, thank you," I say.

"The IT department will create a profile for you, and you'll be connected to the intranet by tomorrow. Myra?" he calls out, sticking his head into the hallway and stepping aside to introduce the woman who approaches. "Myra, meet Emily Lowry, our new colleague joining us from the CID. Emily, this is Myra Christensen. She will assist you in settling in and be your point of contact with the office when you're on the move."

I look at the woman who will be my contact, in her early forties, with a friendly face and twinkling eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you. CID, Marines?"

"Yes."

"I was in Fallujah between 2004 and 2007."

"You laid the groundwork before I arrived in the area. Nice to meet you."

"Shall we use first names?"

"Of course, Myra. Well, I should get going. I have an ongoing investigation," I say, catching them off guard as I slide my badge into my pocket. "Does security have an access badge for me?"

"Yes. What investigation is it?"

"Warren will inform you. In summary, a general, personal file transmissions. Unless I call in sick, I'll be working. I don't clock in. I may be requested for parallel operations, Warren will also inform you. Thank you, Joshua, Myra. Here's my phone number. Feel free to call me. I'll give you another number. The person who answers will be able to tell you where I am."

They are still in my office wondering who I am, while I've already obtained my access badge, shaken some hands, exchanged smiles with the security staff, and taken my motorcycle.

I feel invigorated as I speed along US 11, heading back towards Quebec, veering off a few meters before the border to head south towards Fort Drum once I've bypassed Lake Champlain. I wonder if Warren is aware that I have a second set of CID plaques, thanks to an incident where my official vehicle exploded. At the time, I cleverly claimed that my plaque was in the glove compartment. Now, I find myself with three plaques from different federal agencies, taking up space in my pockets, but it's likely the last time I'll use the CID one as my access will soon be deactivated. Might as well make the most of it one last time.