How does one go from a depressed and neurotic adolescent to a top ranking FBI agent?
For Agent A, it was as simple as taking candy from a baby. All she needed, however, was a plan and a set of rules. Luckily for her, she was a fast learner.
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IT WAS A midsummer's day, in the dead center of June, and I could not have picked a worse day to wear all black. The wool cap on my head, pre-cut with four holes, was bunched up at my forehead, digging into my skin. I rolled the ends of the cap to alleviate some of the pressure that was beginning to give me a killer headache, but the white gloves on my hands made this a tricky task. Huffing, I removed my hands from my forehead and, instead, tried to pull the black tank-top I was wearing away from my sweat-laced skin. The bullet-proof vest I wore underneath it was making matters worse, but I took out a couple of napkins from the bag I was carrying and wiped the piled up sweat from my chest, armpits, and upper back. Wherever I could reach, really.
My ripped jeans did not provide much ventilation, and neither did the heavy army boots I had decided to wear. When I had planned everything months prior, it had still been relatively cool. I did not take the heat into account, and now I was going to pay for it. I glanced down at my watch. It was a quarter to three, which meant I only had to hang tight for a couple more minutes. Looking at the sun glaring down at me, though, the seconds seemed to drag on. I cursed my luck.
"Any sign of movement?" I asked, picking up my radio and bringing it near my mouth. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm, slightly disgusted.
The radio cracked before a muffled voice came through. "No, little miss. Nothing yet."
"Donald...how many time do I have to tell you not to call me little miss?"
He chuckled, the sound of his laughter fading in and out of the radio as static overshadowed him. "As many...times...as it takes for you...to stop calling me Donald. No one calls me that anymore, Angie. It's Don now."
He moved, the sudden loudness of static noises a dead giveaway, and then spoke again, this time stern and serious. Just like how Dex often spoke when he smelled danger and wanted me to reconsider my plan. "Two guys just left the building...I repeat. Two guys left the building."
"Copy," I said, grabbing the blueprints of the building out of my bag. Unrolling them, I cursorily glanced at the marks I had made before honing on the first step of the operation.
"Operation: Klein Brothers is good to go," I said, circling the phases of my plan with a yellow sharpie.
"Tell me again how you're gonna make it through such tight security?" Don asked, most likely pacing back and forth out of concern.
Although he was ex-CIA, and a rogue mercenary who had fought with the biggest criminals, he was showing more nerves than me, a rookie. The thought of Dex possibly setting him up with me as a babysitter rather an ally did not sit right with me. Shit, I should've searched for my own contacts than taking on one of Dex's friends. I shook my head. The water had been spilled, the operation was underway, and I had come too far to lose any help now.
"You're saying that as if we're raiding the White House. Relax, it's just an old building with a couple of henchmen with a few guns. No big deal."
"We're talking about the same thing, right? This is the dungeon of the Klein Brothers, a gang known for their ties with King. It's a huge deal!"
