The Agency - Operation Delta (Part II)

Chapter 7

Standing in the bustling concourse of the station, Vanessa took a deep breath, trying to steady herself amidst the cacophony of families reuniting. Emotionally charged shouts and sobs reverberated against the timeless sandstone walls that had seen countless farewells and welcomes. She passed by parents clutching their children in tearful embraces, painfully aware that instead of a train full of young faces, only a handful of buses had pulled in. "Another mission gone wrong," she thought, a bitter taste forming at the back of her mouth. "More lives I couldn't save."

As police investigators moved among the families, taking statements, Vanessa mentally scoffed. It felt like an exercise in futility—what good would statements do when the reality was that they were at war. Yet she also understood the ritual of it; procedure provided the illusion of order, a semblance of control in a world on the brink. It gave people the comfort, or maybe the illusion, that something—anything—was being done to make things better.

Her eyes darted to the looming assignment on her mind, and her heart quickened. The risks she'd undertaken this time were far greater, teetering on the edge of recklessness.

Above her, an antiquated wooden clock adorned the terminal. The stone floors underfoot were polished to a sheen, and the benches lining the concourse had recently received a coat of fresh blue paint. Despite the ongoing war, Bradfield Park station had stood unyielding, a testament to resilience and history.

Then her eyes caught something—a glimmer of hope in the form of a sleek maglev train parked beneath the old clock. Around the maglev, station staff scurried. Clad in formal uniforms, they barely gave a second glance to the families surrounding them. Vanessa sensed the gravity of the moment for them; their involvement in this day's events would be the subject of station gossip for weeks to come.

Bradfield Park marked the conclusion of the Orange Hill operation. In theory, this should have felt like an ending, a chapter closed. But to Vanessa, it felt like anything but closure. "Failure on failure, a chain of defeats," she thought, wrestling with a wave of emotion she couldn't afford to indulge.

At the outpost, she'd been briefed on the military's preliminary findings. Her own initial report had pointed to locations near the crash site where they might find soldiers' remains. Come morning, they had found no one—her decision to let the commander go now seemed like a gambit that had paid off. "At least they'll find no trace of my mistake," she consoled herself, feeling the weight of that decision, too.

Glancing around, Vanessa sought some sign of what would come next. She could hear officials mingling with the distraught families, promising them housing and employment. The consequences of a single family's actions had created this ripple effect.

Resting her forehead in her hand, Vanessa's eyes remained glued to the people disembarking from the train. She was gripped by uncertainty, unsure of the reception that awaited her. At the Windfield hospital, her last-minute plea for aid had been met with instructions to continue on with the Orange Hill students. It was a gamble, but one she had to take. She placed her trust in the lingering networks her family once had, hoping they still held sway.

The ticking of the clock overhead filled her ears, each tick growing louder and more imposing. Thump, thump, thump. It was as if the clock was counting down to some inevitable reckoning she couldn't escape.

The train had journeyed from Government City, a highly regimented schedule guiding its movements. Such a valuable target could not afford delays or deviations. The meeting—this moment—was fraught with danger, tangled in a web of political agendas. For all her strategic acumen and mathematical prowess, the unpredictable, labyrinthine chaos of bureaucracy was a puzzle she couldn't solve.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a touch on her shoulder. Whirling around, she found herself face-to-face with Agent Turner. "What are you doing here?" she blurted out, taken aback.

Agent Turner, his black hair slicked back in a style reminiscent of a used car salesman, ran his hand through it as he responded. "I've been reassigned to Government City. Good to see you're okay."

The surprise in Vanessa's voice was palpable. "I don't understand. How are you here? The train line was destroyed. You were still in Windfield when I left." She studied his face, noticing the tan and sunspots that hadn't been there before. "What are you doing in Bradfield Park?"

Chuckling, he quipped, "Keeping tabs on my movements, are you? I'm always on the move. I heard many of the students were saved. Seems like you deserve commendation."

As they spoke, Vanessa caught sight of a small group of personal security agents in suits disembarking from the carriage closest to them. Her attention snapped back to Turner. "A commendation? Right now, I think an investigation into how this all happened in the first place is far more crucial."

He shrugged. "We're at war. These types of things are inevitable. The fact you saved as many as you did, under those circumstances, is nothing short of miraculous."

"What circumstances?"

"The radar issues," he said as if it were common knowledge.

"What are you talking about?"

He leaned in slightly. "I read the report you submitted last night. You did an incredible job getting help. You deserve some time off."

"After all of this there needs to be an investigation into how the systems went down. I don't remember submitting my report to you," Vanessa retorted. She couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that things were not as they appeared.

"Is it true, I hear Laura Reid survived?"

Agent Turner's line of questioning was intrusive, and his quick access to her reports was disconcerting. Just then, she locked eyes with one of the security personnel; a brief, but clear signal. Her heart pounded louder than the relentless ticking of the old clock—her cue had come. The gravity of the situation weighed on her. Without a guiding hand or sponsorship, she'd be a fugitive. The Agency was compromised, Riley was nowhere, and Davidson would love nothing more than to lock her up and throw away the key.

As she started to move past Turner, he grabbed her arm, halting her. Startled, she spun back around to face him. "Did you hear what I asked?" His voice had turned grave, its undercurrent darkening.

Vanessa's eyes turned icy. "I suggest you let go of me and remember who you're talking to. You're a corporate. You have no business questioning me about operational matters."

Smirking, he released his grip. "I didn't mean to offend you."

Leaving Agent Turner, Vanessa made her way through the station, her thoughts racing even faster than her footsteps. Her pulse quickened in sync with the ticking of the clock as she pondered the gravity of the meeting she was about to attend. During her brief, hasty call from the hospital, she had proposed a covert mission to the head of government himself—a mission aimed at unmasking the traitor within their ranks. He had agreed that something needed to be done but insisted on discussing the details face-to-face.

As she approached the station master's office, her mind swirled with conflicting emotions and nagging doubts. When she finally reached the door, she took a moment to compose herself before stepping inside. Now was not the time for hesitation; now was the time for bold decisions and even bolder actions. With her freedom and life teetering on the brink, she was ready to make her case, ready to propose the secret mission.