Copenhagen, Denmark
15 years ago
It was busy along the promenade. Lunch hour had arrived and the tables that lined outside the cafés were full.
Samantha's eyes darted from person to person, unsure of where she was supposed to be. And then she spotted her, an elderly white woman with silver hair sitting alone under a green parasol. With a deep breath Samantha approached and stood at one side of the table to face her.
"Madam," she said respectfully.
The woman gestured for Samantha to take a seat, and she complied without a word. There was an impenetrable silence between them as the woman leafed through some documents. Samantha clasped her hands together, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.
"Agent 42-12-19 -"
"Samantha," Samantha insisted.
"I'm looking at your records and I'm wondering why someone who was top of their class, with 100% success rate on missions so far - and with missions done so cleanly that an increase in your security clearance is being considered - wants to leave the agency."
"Well that's the thing, madam," Samantha replied, her mouth suddenly dry, "I don't want to leave. That was just something I said to get someone's attention."
The woman pursed her lips, vexation crossing her features.
"Then why have you decided to waste my time?" she said.
Samantha took a deep breath to steady her racing heartbeat. She had rehearsed this conversation over and over in her head but still found it difficult to speak.
"I want to know who my parents are," she said in one quick exhale, "I want to know who I am and where I came from."
The woman placed her palms on the table before her and sighed.
"Agent, your identity has been erased. We don't have the resources to-"
"Bullshit."
The woman lapsed into silence with a steely glare. Samantha held her ground. Keep trying, keep fighting. That's what Paolo told her. The higher-ups kept themselves shrouded in their own sense of self importance that it was difficult to even reach them by phone, let alone in person.
"You said yourself that you didn't want to leave the agency," the woman said, "Recovering your identity will compromise your position, put the entire agency itself in jeopardy. If you have a fixed identity you are vulnerable. Do you understand?"
"Yes, madam."
"So if you want to find out who you are, then you may do so, but it will cost you your position in the agency."
Samantha cast her eyes downward, thinking carefully.
"Then what if I left?" she said.
The woman laughed.
"Do you think you're ready for that?"
"Other people have done it," Samantha shrugged, "Why can't I?"
"Other people have somewhere to go, or someone to go with. What would you do? Where would you go? Do even know anyone on the outside? How will you survive?"
"What happens to those who retire?"
The woman sighed. She seemed tired.
"Retirees receive a severance package from the agency," she spoke, "We write a new life for them, offer them a pension. But that is a reward for a lifetime of service. Those who choose to leave before retirement receive nothing."
Samantha's throat tightened. All that fuss, all that effort she made to get here was all for nothing. She felt utterly deflated.
"I understand, madam," she uttered, blinking hard against threatening tears, "I'm sorry to have wasted your time."
She stood to take her leave.
"Samantha," the woman said, stopping Samantha in her tracks, "You're a good agent. If you keep it up you could be looking at early retirement with a generous severance package."
Samantha gave a curt nod but was not reassured. She thought she had grasped a hope of finding herself, of having control, but that hope was snuffed out as soon as it found kindling.
"Thank you, madam," was all she said and she strolled back out to the promenade, losing herself to the crowd.