5 months later, my phone buzzes. The normal chatter of the conference room silences, and I ignore the call.
"Sorry," I murmur, barely audible.
"That's perfectly okay, Ms. Turner. Just make sure you turn it off prior to our meetings next time." Ms. Woods says, absent-mindedly smoothing down her perfectly ironed black pencil skirt. I nod, my face flushing.
"Okay, so we have everything worked out for the heist this evening." She concludes. The room begins to hum again as the team straightens out their work and starts to leave.
"And, team?" She says, her strong voice commanding us to halt. "Be careful." The rest of the room leaves and I walk over to where she reviews the rest of her paper work.
"Ms. Woods, sorry to interrupt, but I really think I have a strong background that can be influential to the success of this heist." My voice unintentionally shakes.
"Ana, you have been with the CIA for nearly 3 months and you have almost no field experience, what on earth makes you think I would put you on one of the largest cases?" Her thin lips purse, the ruby-red stain smearing.
"Well, prior to this job, I have had a lot of field experience." My hands clasp together behind my back, hiding the sweat.
"With all due respect, you running around London with two random men does not exactly qualify as experience." She looks at me in such a way that makes my skin crawl. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my boss. She is hard, but she gets it. But she seems to always have not liked me. She almost didn't hire me, but thanks to Lestrade, my recommendations were almost too good.
"Those two 'random' men and I solved at least 10 high risk murders in a 1 month period. Running around London got me more experience in a 4-week period than my participation in the CIA for nearly half a year! All I've done is bloody paperwork!"
"Ms. Turner," she says, standing. "Being part of the Criminal Intelligence Agency is not all about being on the field and solving these 'murders.' It's about learning to work along your peers and being able to learn from them. So far, I have not seen the greatest effort in that area. In addition to that, your 'field work' is not what, we here respect. You did not look into any of the cases that you solved, you just ran in there and caught a man. If we did that, here in America, we would all be dead. The CIA is about balancing physical power with mental power. That being said, I do think that you have incredible abilities on and off the field, and I do think that your contribution to this case would be tremendous. You are going to monitor the exterior of the house, while Wallace and Thompson enter. Here is your file, and your communication unit." Her thin lips perk up at the edges: a smile.
"Thank you so much, Ms. Woods. You won't be disappointed." I march out of there, head high.
My back presses against the edge of the house. My heart pumping in my chest. I can hear rustling in the house. Then a gunshot. One, then two. A cry for help and another shot. My lips move, breath directed towards the comms unit, but no sound forms. The gun presses hard on my hip.
"What should I do?" I frantically screech, making as little noise as possible. A cool, calm voice returns.
"Nothing, hold your place." I wipe my forehead, as three more shots go off.
"I can't do that." And I make a decision. I tear the comms unit out of my ear and race into the house. My foot connects with the door and tears it down in one swift motion. My hands reach for the gun on my hip, and my fingers immediately place themselves on the trigger.
"Hands up! Everyone get your hands where I can see them." I say, strong and loud. The two men on the floor, one CIA, one rebel, put their hands in the air. The third over on the couch raises his as well. His voice sputters.
"Please, please don't hurt me." Blood dribbles out of his mouth as he speaks.
"Yeah, just like you did that little girl. Where is she?" I command. But all he does it turns his head.
"Backup!" I holler to the van, and two more guys burst in holding weapons.
"Where the hell is that little girl?" I scream.
"Upstairs, corner room." He finally manages. I tuck my gun away and run up the staircase directly to my left.
I reach the top and locate the corner room. I press my ear to the old wood of the door. A slight ticking resounds around the room. The room must be empty except for a large object in the middle, that must be the girl. The sound waves are absorbed by her, reflected everywhere else. I bang the door open. As I expected a little girl, hair covered in dust, sits in the middle. But the man behind her pointing a gun at me was unexpected. I fire once, twice. He falls before he can catch his breath. The little girl screams, her voice breaking the silence.
"Its okay, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." I whisper, nearing her. "We just need to get you out of here, okay?" I scoop her up in my arms, ignoring her pounding on my chest and run out of the room and down the stairs. BOOM. I fall to the ground, tumbling down the remainder of the stairs, the girl tight against my chest. We roll and roll until we halt, almost through the front door and out onto the porch. I get up, grab the girl and drag her out of there.
"Bomb, bomb," I jabber. "There was a bomb up there. There will be more." I nearly chuck the girl to the nearest officer as two more go off. The house keeps shuddering with more explosions until it stops and the earth shakes beneath us as the house crumbles. The entire CIA force stares, as the building collapses.
"So," I say, in the silence that follows, "Who's buying drinks?"
Sorry I haven't updated in so long! You know school and all that stuff. I have some really great ideas for this so hopefully, my schedule will allow time for it! Reviews will help me understand your like or dislike of this story and will encourage me to update faster! Thanks for reading!
CaughtInTheStorm