Redux: Chapter 2
His name was Mitchell Flinkman.
The twenty-something with black bed-hair and a nose that nose suited him well, that was Mitchell. We were formerly introduced on the bus ride to the Farm, but other than shaking hands we didn't say much. I sat next to him; he slept with his head against the window and I thought of Vaughn.
We stopped and I tapped Mitchell on the shoulder. He woke up and we filed off of the bus with the thirty other trainees. Thirty-two men and woman were divided into four groups of eight, before being sent off to our dorms to drop our stuff off and subsequently report to class. All of us were excited and happy to be there, finally away from that hell-hole called Headquarters and CIA 101.
Mitchell was sorted into my group along with Guy Haines, the ex-army Captain from Texas, who sported horrible cologne; H.H. Hughson, a handsome and buff black man, who I would trust my life with in a millisecond; Stella Reynolds, a linguistic professor from some Mid-Western university, who looked like she didn't get her tenure and was going through her mid-life crisis; Midge Atwood, a recent recruit and graduate from MIT, who didn't let you forget she went to MIT (graduated magna cum laude, too boot); Rebecca Valentino, who would be the perfect swallow agent if she didn't have morals to go with her drop-dead gorgeous Italian heritage; and Rod Taylor, the Harvard lawyer, who was the least interesting person I have ever met in my life. Mitchell and I were the only ones under thirty.
The first class was what I expected, more lectures, more instructions, more rules. Tomorrow will would start basic training. They told us to eat a good meal and go to bed, tomorrow was going to be a long day. Mitchell and I were the only ones that took the bed advice, everyone else got smashed and most were hung over the next morning.
At dinner, the eight of us sat today and got to know each other (it was Stella's idea). The elders sat around swapping life stories about their Alma Mater, relationships, horror stories, and pets. I sat quietly, cataloging all the information and laughing at them to myself. Apparently the fact they were in CST spilled their mind. Mitchell didn't say much either, he eat his cream of broccoli soup by pushing the spoon away from, not towards, himself. I liked that; someone taught him proper etiquette.
Midge wouldn't shut up about MIT and her graduate professors. I listened to them discuss their life accomplishments and how they joined the CIA to "give something back", and my worthiness increased ten fold. I was not on the same playing field with these people. What the hell was I doing there? Finally, my quietness caught Midge's attention. She pressed her lips together, a habit I would grow to loathe, and questioned, "What about you, Hun?" Another habit I grew to detest, "Why are you here? You seem so…" She searched for the right word, and came up with, "Young."
I hid my disgust with a twitchy smile, and responded, "I'm twenty-one, and the recruiter said I fit the Profile."
"Profile?" Midge pressed on, "What does that mean?"
I didn't have a clue. But, my mouth opened up and I spit out, "Profile for the primer agent; someone highly intelligent, capable, and active, with no family, no friends, no life to leave behind. Someone that can commit 110% to becoming the next Company man or woman. That is The Profile."
To this day, I have no idea where the bitterness came from. I looked around at the shocked faces, and suddenly hated my father. Isn't that why I was here? Because I had no family or life? If I had been a happy college student, and been in a better relationship with my father would I still have been here? I suddenly realized my reasons for being at the CIA had nothing to do with adrenaline rushes or patriotism or "giving something back". It had do with Vaughn.
Hughson spoke first, "Well, Miss, I'm sorry to hear that. Now, what did you say your name was again?"
I smiled at him, thanking God, he was changing the subject. "Alicia Vaughn."
"Such a pretty name," Haines said in his Southern drawl, "Is it a family name?"
I didn't want to divulge my family history, or my history for that matter, with these people. I was training to be a CIA officer, for God's sake. But I didn't want to be rude, I was going to have to work with them for months, so I responded, "No, my parents named me after a character in their favorite Hitchcock movie."
None of the other got it. Mitchell said to me in an energetic voice (which surprised me considering how quiet he'd been), "You're parents have great taste. I always consider that to be the best of his black and white films. And quite fitting considering you are here now."
"It's one of my top five favorite movies, but surprisingly it's not my favorite Hitchcock film. I'm partial to [i]Vertigo[/i]."
"Well, who isn't? I mean, James Stewart has never been better. I have to say my favorite, favorite, film by Hitchcock is [i]North by Northwest[/i]."
"What? Everyone says that. What about [i]Strangers on a Train[/i], or [i]The Man Who Knew Too Much[/i]?"
"Cary Grant, Alicia, Cary Grant."
"Then why not [i]To Catch A Thief[/i]?"
"I do not know, I simply like [i]North By Northwest[/i] better."
I shrugged the others looked at us strangely; Hughson grinned and Rebecca looked perplexed. "What movie are you talking about?"
"[i]Notorious[/i], starring Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman." I said and paused, but their faces didn't change. I continued to explain the plot, "The woman, Alicia Hubermen, is the daughter of a Nazi-spy and after he father hangs himself in prison, a CIA case officer, H.R. Devlin, recruits her to go to Rio to get close to and spy on Alex Sebastian, a former Nazi. Alicia and Devlin fall in love, but her assignment gets in the way, you can deduct what happens from there."
"What happens?" Taylor asked. You've got to be kidding me. How did the CIA find these people? Mitchell finished it off for me.
"Alicia's assignment is to married Alex; and she does. She and Dev fight and she starts to get sick, and disappears for a couple days. He worries, and then finds out that Alex discovered the truth about his wife and started poisoning her to kept things quiet. However, Dev discovers the truth and saves Alicia. And they live happily ever after."
"How sweet." Stella says, "Sounds like a good movie."
"It is." Mitchell and I said in unison.
"But that stuff only happens in the movies. I heard it is impossible to keep a relationship, let alone inter-agency with someone if you work here." Midge inserted to kill the mood.
"I suppose you never heard about Boy Scout and Mountaineer." Rebecca spat back; she apparently was just as impressed with Midge as I.
"Oh please, that is just a Legend."
The others nodded and Mitchell sipped his soup, finishing it up, and didn't say a word. Apparently, it was my turn to act stupid, since clearly I was the only one who didn't know the story of Boy Scout and Mountaineer. When I asked, Midge huffed, suggesting I should have read up on all my Agency folklore before I joined up.
Has Midge told it, "Mountaineer was Boy Scout's asset when Mountaineer was double agent. However, it was much more than that. Mountaineer would only work for Boy Scout; and Boy Scout was deemed too emotionally attached to be Mountaineer's case officer. But it was too late, because they were already in love, and were the best team the CIA had. They two of them single-handedly took down the organization Mountaineer was a double for in record time. After that, they were the toast of the Agency until Mountaineer died in a freak accident, and Boy Scout quit the Agency."
"But that's not a happy ending." I said to Rebecca, "They failed."
Rebecca threw a look to Midge and told me, "There is more. Mountaineer didn't die. Mountaineer was kidnapped by another organization and disappeared for two years, reappearing after with no memory of the time passed. Mountaineer woke up and discovered Boy Scout married another. Life apparently was hell, until they discovered the truth: that Boy Scout's spouse worked to the people who kidnapped Mountaineer, to make sure when Boy Scout sobered up Boy Scout never tried to find Mountaineer or learn the truth. And Boy Scout had been conditioned to forget Mountaineer. After they discovered the truth, they killed the spouse, destroyed the organization, and quit. They got their happily ever after."
"No," Stella corrected. "They never took down the organization, they just quit."
Even Hughson had an opinion, "They didn't quit, they went rogue."
"Either way, they were together. They made it." Rebecca concluded.
I hated to admit it, but I agreed with Midge. I thought the story was hogwash. That Sh-t just doesn't happen. But I nodded, and was glad I knew the story of Boy Scout and Mountaineer. The table went quiet again, and Midge loaded on the questions for me.
"So, Hun, what did your parents say when you told them? I bet your mother nearly had a heart-attack!"
"My mother is dead." I curtly said and hoped she felt horrible. The woman started acting like mothers, and consoling me about my lost. I smiled and didn't say a word.
"Then what about your father?"
I paused. This was before I knew his true profession, and I regretted, I suppose, not telling him where I would be for the next two years. At CIA 101, they inform you, you're allowed to disclose your job to the innermost members of your family. Some do and some don't.
I stared at the phone for an hour, having a heatedly debate with myself on if I should call up my father who I haven't seen in two years and tell him I'm joining the CIA. In the end, that same voice who stopped me from telling him I loved him my freshman year stopped me again. He doesn't care about me, he only cared about my mother. Or, I thought: he would just try to stop me and try to control my life.
Wasn't that what he and Mom subtly did, when they made me learn all those languages when the other kids were watching Blue's Clues? They subtly made every decision in my life for me, so, finally, I am going to make one of my own. I finished packing and didn't call. Not even to tell him I wouldn't be in touch. Let him sweat.
"My father's heart collapsed shortly after Mom died."
That was not a total lie, that was simply stretching the truth. Vaughn emotionally died with Mom; only his shell survived.
"I'm so sorry, Hun."
Aren't we all. I shamelessly changed the topic. "Et tu, Mitchell. Why are you here?" I mimicked Midge's tone. Only he got the reference.
"Well, Ali, I'm a twenty-four year old Hindu and recent graduate of ITT with a Ph.D. in nuclear chemistry, a Masters in Psychics and a B.S in Astrometry. I just finished up school, and got on a plane to Ronald Reagan. And now, I am here!"
"You're twenty-four?" He was lying, I just knew it. The others, clearly thought he was insane as well.
"Technically, I'm a genius. I tested out of High School, half way through my sophomore year and went to MIT. However, Midge, I don't know how you stood it there. All the kids did was play Dungeons and Dragons or got pissed. They were a bunch of intellectual idiots, and the professors were pompous assholes. Unfortunately, I wasn't legal so I had to stay their until I was eighteen and transferred to IIT."
I could have kissed him. The look on Midge's face. Genius. Pure Genius. She didn't retort, and I checked my watch. It was getting late, and decided to take a run to work off my energy before going to bed. Mitchell followed, muttering something about not wanting to be with Midge. The others stayed behind and got drunk. I went for a five mile run on the treadmill while watching the Anderson Cooper. Then I went to bed.
The first week of training went great. The instructors loved me, the students hated me, and Mitchell tried his best not to snicker all day long. He had a sick sense of humor, I thoughly enjoyed. He laughed a lot at me and I rolled my eyed at him. The instructor, I who I would knock out in a few days kept a keen idea on me. After a month we were allowed to leave the Farm for an excursion. Mitchell and I decided to check out the indie theater.
Life, for the first time since Mom died, was going fantastic.
TBC...
His name was Mitchell Flinkman.
The twenty-something with black bed-hair and a nose that nose suited him well, that was Mitchell. We were formerly introduced on the bus ride to the Farm, but other than shaking hands we didn't say much. I sat next to him; he slept with his head against the window and I thought of Vaughn.
We stopped and I tapped Mitchell on the shoulder. He woke up and we filed off of the bus with the thirty other trainees. Thirty-two men and woman were divided into four groups of eight, before being sent off to our dorms to drop our stuff off and subsequently report to class. All of us were excited and happy to be there, finally away from that hell-hole called Headquarters and CIA 101.
Mitchell was sorted into my group along with Guy Haines, the ex-army Captain from Texas, who sported horrible cologne; H.H. Hughson, a handsome and buff black man, who I would trust my life with in a millisecond; Stella Reynolds, a linguistic professor from some Mid-Western university, who looked like she didn't get her tenure and was going through her mid-life crisis; Midge Atwood, a recent recruit and graduate from MIT, who didn't let you forget she went to MIT (graduated magna cum laude, too boot); Rebecca Valentino, who would be the perfect swallow agent if she didn't have morals to go with her drop-dead gorgeous Italian heritage; and Rod Taylor, the Harvard lawyer, who was the least interesting person I have ever met in my life. Mitchell and I were the only ones under thirty.
The first class was what I expected, more lectures, more instructions, more rules. Tomorrow will would start basic training. They told us to eat a good meal and go to bed, tomorrow was going to be a long day. Mitchell and I were the only ones that took the bed advice, everyone else got smashed and most were hung over the next morning.
At dinner, the eight of us sat today and got to know each other (it was Stella's idea). The elders sat around swapping life stories about their Alma Mater, relationships, horror stories, and pets. I sat quietly, cataloging all the information and laughing at them to myself. Apparently the fact they were in CST spilled their mind. Mitchell didn't say much either, he eat his cream of broccoli soup by pushing the spoon away from, not towards, himself. I liked that; someone taught him proper etiquette.
Midge wouldn't shut up about MIT and her graduate professors. I listened to them discuss their life accomplishments and how they joined the CIA to "give something back", and my worthiness increased ten fold. I was not on the same playing field with these people. What the hell was I doing there? Finally, my quietness caught Midge's attention. She pressed her lips together, a habit I would grow to loathe, and questioned, "What about you, Hun?" Another habit I grew to detest, "Why are you here? You seem so…" She searched for the right word, and came up with, "Young."
I hid my disgust with a twitchy smile, and responded, "I'm twenty-one, and the recruiter said I fit the Profile."
"Profile?" Midge pressed on, "What does that mean?"
I didn't have a clue. But, my mouth opened up and I spit out, "Profile for the primer agent; someone highly intelligent, capable, and active, with no family, no friends, no life to leave behind. Someone that can commit 110% to becoming the next Company man or woman. That is The Profile."
To this day, I have no idea where the bitterness came from. I looked around at the shocked faces, and suddenly hated my father. Isn't that why I was here? Because I had no family or life? If I had been a happy college student, and been in a better relationship with my father would I still have been here? I suddenly realized my reasons for being at the CIA had nothing to do with adrenaline rushes or patriotism or "giving something back". It had do with Vaughn.
Hughson spoke first, "Well, Miss, I'm sorry to hear that. Now, what did you say your name was again?"
I smiled at him, thanking God, he was changing the subject. "Alicia Vaughn."
"Such a pretty name," Haines said in his Southern drawl, "Is it a family name?"
I didn't want to divulge my family history, or my history for that matter, with these people. I was training to be a CIA officer, for God's sake. But I didn't want to be rude, I was going to have to work with them for months, so I responded, "No, my parents named me after a character in their favorite Hitchcock movie."
None of the other got it. Mitchell said to me in an energetic voice (which surprised me considering how quiet he'd been), "You're parents have great taste. I always consider that to be the best of his black and white films. And quite fitting considering you are here now."
"It's one of my top five favorite movies, but surprisingly it's not my favorite Hitchcock film. I'm partial to [i]Vertigo[/i]."
"Well, who isn't? I mean, James Stewart has never been better. I have to say my favorite, favorite, film by Hitchcock is [i]North by Northwest[/i]."
"What? Everyone says that. What about [i]Strangers on a Train[/i], or [i]The Man Who Knew Too Much[/i]?"
"Cary Grant, Alicia, Cary Grant."
"Then why not [i]To Catch A Thief[/i]?"
"I do not know, I simply like [i]North By Northwest[/i] better."
I shrugged the others looked at us strangely; Hughson grinned and Rebecca looked perplexed. "What movie are you talking about?"
"[i]Notorious[/i], starring Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman." I said and paused, but their faces didn't change. I continued to explain the plot, "The woman, Alicia Hubermen, is the daughter of a Nazi-spy and after he father hangs himself in prison, a CIA case officer, H.R. Devlin, recruits her to go to Rio to get close to and spy on Alex Sebastian, a former Nazi. Alicia and Devlin fall in love, but her assignment gets in the way, you can deduct what happens from there."
"What happens?" Taylor asked. You've got to be kidding me. How did the CIA find these people? Mitchell finished it off for me.
"Alicia's assignment is to married Alex; and she does. She and Dev fight and she starts to get sick, and disappears for a couple days. He worries, and then finds out that Alex discovered the truth about his wife and started poisoning her to kept things quiet. However, Dev discovers the truth and saves Alicia. And they live happily ever after."
"How sweet." Stella says, "Sounds like a good movie."
"It is." Mitchell and I said in unison.
"But that stuff only happens in the movies. I heard it is impossible to keep a relationship, let alone inter-agency with someone if you work here." Midge inserted to kill the mood.
"I suppose you never heard about Boy Scout and Mountaineer." Rebecca spat back; she apparently was just as impressed with Midge as I.
"Oh please, that is just a Legend."
The others nodded and Mitchell sipped his soup, finishing it up, and didn't say a word. Apparently, it was my turn to act stupid, since clearly I was the only one who didn't know the story of Boy Scout and Mountaineer. When I asked, Midge huffed, suggesting I should have read up on all my Agency folklore before I joined up.
Has Midge told it, "Mountaineer was Boy Scout's asset when Mountaineer was double agent. However, it was much more than that. Mountaineer would only work for Boy Scout; and Boy Scout was deemed too emotionally attached to be Mountaineer's case officer. But it was too late, because they were already in love, and were the best team the CIA had. They two of them single-handedly took down the organization Mountaineer was a double for in record time. After that, they were the toast of the Agency until Mountaineer died in a freak accident, and Boy Scout quit the Agency."
"But that's not a happy ending." I said to Rebecca, "They failed."
Rebecca threw a look to Midge and told me, "There is more. Mountaineer didn't die. Mountaineer was kidnapped by another organization and disappeared for two years, reappearing after with no memory of the time passed. Mountaineer woke up and discovered Boy Scout married another. Life apparently was hell, until they discovered the truth: that Boy Scout's spouse worked to the people who kidnapped Mountaineer, to make sure when Boy Scout sobered up Boy Scout never tried to find Mountaineer or learn the truth. And Boy Scout had been conditioned to forget Mountaineer. After they discovered the truth, they killed the spouse, destroyed the organization, and quit. They got their happily ever after."
"No," Stella corrected. "They never took down the organization, they just quit."
Even Hughson had an opinion, "They didn't quit, they went rogue."
"Either way, they were together. They made it." Rebecca concluded.
I hated to admit it, but I agreed with Midge. I thought the story was hogwash. That Sh-t just doesn't happen. But I nodded, and was glad I knew the story of Boy Scout and Mountaineer. The table went quiet again, and Midge loaded on the questions for me.
"So, Hun, what did your parents say when you told them? I bet your mother nearly had a heart-attack!"
"My mother is dead." I curtly said and hoped she felt horrible. The woman started acting like mothers, and consoling me about my lost. I smiled and didn't say a word.
"Then what about your father?"
I paused. This was before I knew his true profession, and I regretted, I suppose, not telling him where I would be for the next two years. At CIA 101, they inform you, you're allowed to disclose your job to the innermost members of your family. Some do and some don't.
I stared at the phone for an hour, having a heatedly debate with myself on if I should call up my father who I haven't seen in two years and tell him I'm joining the CIA. In the end, that same voice who stopped me from telling him I loved him my freshman year stopped me again. He doesn't care about me, he only cared about my mother. Or, I thought: he would just try to stop me and try to control my life.
Wasn't that what he and Mom subtly did, when they made me learn all those languages when the other kids were watching Blue's Clues? They subtly made every decision in my life for me, so, finally, I am going to make one of my own. I finished packing and didn't call. Not even to tell him I wouldn't be in touch. Let him sweat.
"My father's heart collapsed shortly after Mom died."
That was not a total lie, that was simply stretching the truth. Vaughn emotionally died with Mom; only his shell survived.
"I'm so sorry, Hun."
Aren't we all. I shamelessly changed the topic. "Et tu, Mitchell. Why are you here?" I mimicked Midge's tone. Only he got the reference.
"Well, Ali, I'm a twenty-four year old Hindu and recent graduate of ITT with a Ph.D. in nuclear chemistry, a Masters in Psychics and a B.S in Astrometry. I just finished up school, and got on a plane to Ronald Reagan. And now, I am here!"
"You're twenty-four?" He was lying, I just knew it. The others, clearly thought he was insane as well.
"Technically, I'm a genius. I tested out of High School, half way through my sophomore year and went to MIT. However, Midge, I don't know how you stood it there. All the kids did was play Dungeons and Dragons or got pissed. They were a bunch of intellectual idiots, and the professors were pompous assholes. Unfortunately, I wasn't legal so I had to stay their until I was eighteen and transferred to IIT."
I could have kissed him. The look on Midge's face. Genius. Pure Genius. She didn't retort, and I checked my watch. It was getting late, and decided to take a run to work off my energy before going to bed. Mitchell followed, muttering something about not wanting to be with Midge. The others stayed behind and got drunk. I went for a five mile run on the treadmill while watching the Anderson Cooper. Then I went to bed.
The first week of training went great. The instructors loved me, the students hated me, and Mitchell tried his best not to snicker all day long. He had a sick sense of humor, I thoughly enjoyed. He laughed a lot at me and I rolled my eyed at him. The instructor, I who I would knock out in a few days kept a keen idea on me. After a month we were allowed to leave the Farm for an excursion. Mitchell and I decided to check out the indie theater.
Life, for the first time since Mom died, was going fantastic.
TBC...