Better Off Dead.

January of 1993.

Quebec.

In the spy business, you have to make friends. Connections. Not with civilians, but with other spies. You have to invite dangerous liars into your life, because you never know when you might need their help on a complicated assignment. But making friends has its downsides.

Jason was my age.

He was similar to me, one of those people you had a hard time picking out of a lineup. Essential for a spy. He had tidy brown hair, a beard ringing his jaw, and dark eyes. Judging by his rigid posture, I guessed he got his start as a marine. He had not been in the business for very long. Larry told me he was still in training, operating under the watchful eyes of Mateo Vasquez.

Jason and I were similar in more ways than just physical appearance. He was more open than I was, telling me about his past – his mother was a drunk, his father out of the picture. He joined the military to make a difference. It turned into something else. He said he was good at it, but sometimes he wondered… We seemed to be the same. Maybe that was why I got this mission.

Mateo was in his early fifties. His hair was still dark, his eyes ringed with shadows, his skin a sun-kissed shade of brown. He filled the same role for Jason that Larry did for me. Only he seemed more level-headed, more rational – kinder. His long years as a spy had made him calmer and more decisive, almost relaxed. But that was no reason to underestimate him.

"Your call," Mateo said to Larry, motioning to the deck.

Larry sighed to himself, grumbling "Not my game."

Spies rarely met up. There were no spy parties in the newspaper, no little black books, no social circles. But rare circumstances forced several of us together to work as a team. An elite group. It was difficult, because every spy thought he knew best. We were hardheaded, secretive. Stubborn.

For now, the mission was simple. We were negotiation with some businessmen overseas. They thought Mateo was the head of a private 'security' firm, and that he was negotiating the removal of a troublesome village. The company, my company, wanted the village removed, as well – a point of contention between Larry and I – and an oil well put in its place. The businessmen would prefer a mining operation be launched. It was our job to negotiate in our interests, preferably while also getting the villagers to relocate. Convincing an entire population of people to move was the challenging part, but also the most necessary, where I was concerned.

It was going poorly on all fronts.

But most of the job was waiting around for calls. Operating out of Quebec seemed strategic, though Larry wouldn't elaborate on why we were here, rather than in Nigeria, where the negotiating was actually taking place. Something about connections, about business. Maybe the company wanted our hands off of this as much as possible.

Let them fight their little wars, Larry would say.

"You bastard," Larry said, as Mateo cleaned him out.

Mateo smiled, "Not your game, indeed."

We had been here for two weeks, watching and waiting. Before that, I had spent a few days in Russia, following a lead on a possible nuclear warhead being carted around the country. I came up with nothing. But it was far more exciting than this.

"Want to go another round at pinball?" Jason asked me.

"No, thanks," I said shortly, uninterested. Nothing was of much interest to me here. I was missing the thrilling parts of the job – the lying, the fighting, the manipulation. Coming off of days in Russia, interrogations, intrigue, this slow mission was torture.

I excused myself, going up to the roof. We had a beautiful view from here, at one of the premier hotels in the middle of the city. Everything was beautiful, sparkling. Snow was falling. I trembled the moment I was outside, slapped in the face by the cold air. Canada in the winter. Poor choice. But it had been colder in Russia.

Larry joined me after a few minutes, rubbing his arms. "Cold as shit out here."

I nodded.

"You could at least pretend to enjoy yourself," Larry chastised, coming up to the edge. His sharp features were exaggerated by the city lights, making him look villainous. "Not much longer on this, I promise. We can go somewhere fun next time, eh?"

"Not much longer?"

Did he know something I didn't? Of course he did. Larry never told me everything. It was one of the reasons I found it so hard to work with him.

"Yeah, shouldn't be long."

"Can you elaborate?"

He smiled. "What do you make of Mateo and Jason? Hmm?"

"I don't know. They seem okay."

"Do they? Is that your official assessment?"

I thought harder, concerned by his tone. He was mocking me. I was missing something. I analyzed my interactions with the two spies, coming up blank. Mateo seemed down-to-earth, kind even. Jason was new, sort of rigid, but otherwise nice enough.

"How influential do you think money can be?" Larry asked, looking out over the city, his voice becoming wistful. "Would it turn people against their friends? Families? Against their countries? What do you think they would do, if the money was right?"

"Anything," I answered simply.

"Right, and who do you think has more money? Us, or those businessmen we're negotiating with? Who do you think holds more sway?"

"Them?"

He put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing, now staring at me. His intensity threw me. "Right, and what do you suppose a traitor looks like, kid? How would you tell?"

I felt a tremor of doubt, "Mateo and Jason are traitors?"

"It's a possibility. It's why we're here."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted you to pick it out on your own, which clearly wasn't happening." He sighed. "It's okay. You're still new. It'll come to you."

"What makes you think they're traitors?"

"It's in the patterns, kid. A dead body here. A suspicious bank deposit. Mysterious communication errors during missions. A history of poverty. A sick family member. If you look harder, you see things." He heaved a deep breath, sending steam into the air on his exhale. "Keep an eye out. Things are getting heated. Mateo requested this assignment. I'm not sure what he wants to achieve here, but we're here to stop him."

What could he want? Money from the businessmen? For what? What was he willing to do for them? I ran through the possibilities, unable to settle on one.

"Until we find out, everything is fine." Larry patted my back and left the roof.

XxX

Paranoia sunk in over the next couple of days. I analyzed everything the two of them did, all the while trying to appear as casual as I could. I took Jason up on his offers to play pinball, made casual conversation. Larry played cards with Mateo. When calls came in, Mateo negotiated, talking shop, and I listened intently for any signs of treachery.

I saw nothing, heard nothing.

It was frustrating. Larry said I was still new, that I would get it. But I had been in this field for years. He was clearly disappointed. And that shouldn't matter to me as much as it did. I had spent a lot of time convincing myself that I didn't want to be like Larry – but here I was, frustrated because I wasn't more like him. He was seeing something I wasn't. That gave him more power.

"Our goal is to preserve life, you know," Mateo was saying, tipping a beer back. He was in the middle of a long talk about his purpose as a spy. Larry was already asleep, so it was just the three of us in the living room, sitting around, bonding.

"So why do they send us to do this?" he went on, his words slurred. I saw the cracks in him for the first time, realizing that he was not as laid back as he appeared. I wondered what decades in this job would do to me. Would I look like Mateo one day? Shadows in my eyes, black marks on my soul? Would I betray my country, my company? Would I have some young spy watching my every move, possibly plotting my downfall?

Mateo had a voice like stone grinding against stone.

"If the village goes, it goes, right? It's just a matter of what happens to the dirt under it. That's all they see. The ground."

Jason was nodding along. "Who cares?"

A chill went through me. I said nothing.

Mateo shrugged. "Could mean something, is all, you know. You get it, right, Michael?"

I wasn't sure what he meant, but I nodded.

"See, he gets it." Mateo sighed, shutting his eyes. He sank into the couch. "At least it'll mean something. For me. For Linda. You know."

Jason added, "For Tyler."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Mateo opened his eyes again, remembering I was there. "You got someone you love back home?"

I hesitated. "Yeah."

"Listen, kid. You got a long way to go. How old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

Mateo whistled. "Yeah, you got a long way to go." He trailed off, and then picked it back up. "Listen, once this is all over, we can keep in touch. Don't let this job get to you. We can make it mean something, you know?"

"I'm not sure what you-"

The satellite phone started beeping, interrupting us. Mateo jumped up, like he hadn't been drunk at all. He answered it, looking grim. "I have to take this." He left the room.

Jason was relaxed, like nothing had happened. "It can mean something," he reiterated.

It meant something already. To me, at least. I wondered who would be calling Mateo in the middle of the night, but leaving to follow him wasn't an option with Jason sitting here. I decided to bring it up to Larry in the morning, to see if he could get a trace on the call.

"They would be better off, you know," Jason said suddenly, in a slurred voice.

I sat a little stiffer, "Who?"

"The villagers," he clarified. "Do you have any idea what the AIDs rate is in that village? The average lifespan is forty years, at most."

"Better off… dead?"

He nodded.

"And right now, there are two choices, right?" Jason went on. "Die for gems, or die for oil. Whatever they find under there. They haven't even surveyed it, you know. They just think there's something valuable there, based on geological shit. But think about it. It could be for nothing, right now. No purpose. If it happens too late."

"I'm not sure I get it."

"Right now, there's a guy in the village," Jason said. "And a lot of people who want him dead."

"And?"

"And if the village is going anyway…" he rolled his hand.

"We're supposed to try to save it, to relocate them," I pointed out.

"That's not gonna happen." Jason shook his head. "The guy would disappear."

"Yeah, I guess. But all those people would live."

Jason watched me with hazy eyes.

I stared back at him, in challenge. "Did someone ask you to get rid of that guy?"

He looked away.

Mateo came back in.

Jason stood up, frowning. "I guess you're not on board."

I had a split second to decide. "No. I can't let you do that."

Why did he even tell me?

"You would have made a good teammate," Mateo said regretfully. He shot a look at Jason, setting the satellite phone gently on the table. "But it's too late. It's already done."

It was two against one. I didn't stand a chance.

Jason charged, and Mateo was right behind him. Before a minute had passed, I was flat on the floor behind the couch. Jason pressed his knee into my neck, cutting off my air.

A gun fired.

Jason fled. Mateo fired back. Everyone took cover. I crawled to the other side of the couch, wheezing, and collapsed. The door slammed shut. Someone cried out.

Larry grabbed my arm. "Hey, kid, you okay? Report!"

"I'm fine!" I shouted.

He disappeared.

I hauled myself up to my feet, confused, full of adrenaline. Mateo and Jason were gone. Larry had run after them. There was a bullet hole in the wall, a spray of blood.

They had tried to recruit me, testing my loyalty, my morals.

Larry returned after several minutes, gun in hand. He scowled. "Bastards got away. I put in a call. Looks like the CIA made a preemptive strike on the village. Got a direct order."

"Someone paid them. They had a target in the village."

"Figures." Larry came over, examining my neck. "Oh, that's gonna bruise."

"What now?" I demanded. "We have to go after them."

"No point in it. The company got what they wanted. They're free and clear."

"He tried to kill me!"

Larry shrugged. "In their eyes, it's a job done. That's all that matters."

XxX

Last count, there were five hundred and fourteen people in that village. Dead. For one guy and a stack of cash. Details emerged over the next few hours. Larry fielded calls and explained the situation. The entire village was burned to the ground, survivors gunned down. The businessmen paid five million dollars to offshore accounts, not realizing they were no longer dealing with the company. They had been terminated shortly thereafter.

Mateo and Jason would be reassigned, with no repercussions for their actions.

The land would be surveyed and put to use.

I viewed the satellite images, the destruction, the plume of smoke erupting from the earth. Just a few hours ago, Mateo and Jason had seemed mostly harmless. But things happened quickly in the spy world. Friends could be enemies in a heartbeat, could go from playing pinball with you to trying to strangle you. Could compromise their morals, their missions, for money.

And then there could be no consequences, no backlash.

"I know what you're thinking," Larry said to me, as I carefully, meticulously packed my things. I did little to show the rage boiling just below the surface. "And I don't want you going after them."

"You don't know what I'm thinking."

"I know you, Michael."

"You don't, though." I zipped up my suitcase, my meager belongings. "You and I are nothing alike. We don't think the same." I brushed past him, heading for the door.

"If you kill them, you're as good as burned, kid."

I shrugged and left him standing there.

Burned.

Maybe it was worth it.