Friday 2nd Feb 2018

I had to leave off rather suddenly yesterday, Dear Diary, but don’t worry. You get to hear the whole story from the horse’s mouth… the participant’s… hand… whatever.

As you will remember, I was acting like a spoiled brat, bemoaning my shortcomings as a stake-out artist and wondering whether to go home. Suddenly I was alerted by the swish of the automatic doors and looked up to see a familiar figure crossing the cafe threshold.

It was him! Old Smirk-Eyes himself had entered the building.

As a result of my abysmal failure to pay attention I hadn’t seen him approach from outside, and was caught by surprise. I gazed open-mouthed for a few seconds and scribbled that quick note before good sense kicked in. I shovelled my possessions into my bag and gracefully pelted across the cafe to intercept him.

He was leaning on the counter and had already given his order. Unsurprisingly, he heard me coming (a baby rhinoceros would have been more subtle than I was) and he turned to blast me with his signature smirk at full volume.

I skidded to a halt, gasping for breath (from shock more than from exertion. The cafe isn’t very big and I’m not THAT unfit). “You!” I managed to exclaim. After that height of eloquence, I’m afraid further words escaped me. I had even prepared a script for this very moment, but in the heat of seeing him again, I couldn’t remember a word of it. And if that sounds stupid, well YOU try reciting a memorised speech while being silently mocked by an inhumanly beautiful specimen of the human race. Did I mention his handsomeness in the last entries, Dear Diary? Ok good. I thought I had, but just so you remember. He’s really quite gorgeous. Oh, and his eyes are dark brown. (I was too far away to spot that detail last time.)

“Sophie,” he greeted me as if we were old friends. Turning back to the counter, he accepted two paper mugs from the barista. “I got you a drink. Let’s go outside.” He strode off towards the cafe entrance.

My mouth was already open, so that saved me some time in terms of gaping efficiency. I stood stupidly gawking at his receding back for a moment or two before my feet carried me after him of their own accord. A small part of my brain questioned the wisdom of following a strange man to god-knows-where. Especially when I was reasonably sure he was a dangerous cyber-criminal. However, the main part of my brain - the part that was shocked, frustrated and hungry for answers - told the small part to pipe down.

Meanwhile the man in question had led us outside to a row of nearby benches. He gestured to one of the empty ones. “Shall we sit here?”

By now I’d recovered some of the poise I’d lost, and I proved as much by plonking myself sulkily on the bench. I felt decidedly crabby. Bad enough that this infuriating man had thwarted my attempts at being a master spy, he’d also bought me a coffee for god’s sake! It was quite chilly outside so I couldn’t even grant myself the satisfaction of refusing it.

He sat down next to me and stayed silent for a few moments. My thoughts were in turmoil, raging with questions and complaints. I had no idea which of them to air first so instead I settled for admiring his profile from my unexpected new close proximity.

He grinned without turning his head. “Go ahead. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“Are you from The Future?” was the first thing that burst out of my mouth. Bollocks, I meant to work my way up to asking him that. Way to go, Sophie. Interrogator extraordinaire!

The smile disappeared and he turned his head sharply. For the first time I saw a hint of disconcertion in his eyes. “How do you know about The Future?”

I put the coffee down and folded my arms. This was more like it. “You haven’t answered my question.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not affiliated with that organisation.”

“Oh.” There went my theory. Damn. “So why have you been hanging around and silently mocking me for the past week?”

His face broke into a smile. “Mocking you? Is that what you thought?” He shook his head. “I wasn’t mocking you, Sophie. I might have been watching-”

“With a mocking smile on your face.”

He paused, then chuckled at my indignant expression. “I’m sorry if it disconcerted you. I honestly didn’t mean it that way. As for why… well let’s start with an easier question. Don’t you want to know what happened to your student record?”

I already knew what had happened to my student record, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. “Ok then. What happened to my student record?”

He stared at his coffee cup for a moment. “It’s a long story, Sophie Dayton. Really it goes all the way back to when your parents were murdered.”

My stomach did a flip. “What!” I squeaked. “Murdered? I thought they died in a car crash!” I was only eight when it happened but I have vivid memories of my mother’s friend, who happened to be my babysitter for the evening, crying into the phone and then sitting me down to explain that my parents wouldn’t be coming to pick me up.

Murdered? I felt suddenly nauseated.

He looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I expect they glossed over the details because you were so young. Our records of that time are quite sparse. Social Services reacted quicker than we’d anticipated. We lost track of you for a while and by the time we’d found you again, you’d already been placed in a foster family. It was deemed better to monitor rather than intervene.”

My head was spinning so hard that I could hear a rushing noise in my ears. “You’ve been monitoring me? But why?” Doubt suddenly filled my head and I recalled Ethan’s comments. about The Future and how they got a kick out of messing with people. “Why should I believe you? You could be making this all up!” I shot to my feet, ready to get the hell out of there.

He grabbed my arm. “Sophie, sit down please. Let me explain from the beginning and perhaps you’ll get more of an idea of the background and my — or rather our purpose here.

I plopped back onto the bench and folded my arms again.

He scratched his head. “Sophie you probably don’t have much idea of what your parents did, but they were-”

“Accountants.” I declared.

He shook his head. “No. That might have been the cover story they used, but Paul and Hannah Dayton definitely weren’t pencil pushers. They were secret agents. Highly respected agents. Some of our best. And I’m a part of the organisation they used to work for. I’m too young to have been around when they were still alive, but let me tell you, Sophie, your parents’ reputations live on.”

I stared at him. “Secret agents? Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Just think about it, Sophie. You must have some memories of your parents. Doesn’t it seem to you that they were smarter and better than most people you’ve encountered since?”

“Of course!” I scoffed. “But they were my parents. Every kid thinks their mom and dad are the best.”

“And what about you? Has it struck you that you’re also smarter and more resourceful than most people?”

I was taken aback. “Me?”

“Have you ever stopped to consider just how unlikely it is for a girl who changed schools as many times as you to have won a full scholarship for university? Have you ever had to study or revise for exams?”

I shook my head slowly. School had always seemed easy. I complained like everyone else because that was what you did, but I’d never had trouble with learning or tests. I’d switched foster homes so often that I’d always moved onto the next school before the other kids realised I was beating them all in the class rankings. I narrowed my eyes. “But anyone can be good at school. That doesn’t prove my parents were secret agents.”

He laughed. “I think you’d find plenty of people who would disagree with that statement, but I’m not going to argue with you.” He lifted his rucksack onto the bench and dug around in it. “I brought some files I think you’d be interested in seeing.”

He laid several manila folders on my lap and opened the first one.

The first page was a profile of my father listing his personal information. A high quality close-up of his face took up a quarter of the page. Unexpectedly, I felt my eyes fill with tears. With the confusion after my parents’ deaths and all the moving around, I hadn’t been able to hold onto any family photos, but even after all these years I recognised my father’s blue gaze. He always used to crinkle one eyebrow when he wanted to make me laugh. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve to prevent droplets falling onto the files.

“I’m going to leave you with these for a while,” murmured my companion. “Take your time.”

I hardly noticed him leave, I was so eager to open the next file and see my mother’s face. The photograph didn’t do her justice but it was enough for memories to bloom in my mind. I could practically hear her voice and smell her wonderful perfume. I remembered how she used to hug me tightly when she collected me after school.

The times when she’d been around and able to collect me, that was. My parents had done a lot of travelling. They’d often left me with a babysitter or family friend, or else allowed me to spend the weekend at one of my classmates’ houses. At the time I’d had a child’s acceptance of the way things were. But looking back it seemed like a whole lot more business trips than two accountants were likely to take.

I opened the third folder and found a selection of photographs of my parents on location. And when I say on location, I don’t mean on holiday. The exotic backgrounds belied their serious expressions and professional air. It was clear from the photos that they were working. These were the kind of photographs that scream “secret agent”. If it had been a spy film, these were the type of images that always get handed over to the bad guy along with the words “here’s your target”.

I shivered violently, and not just from the cold. The folder held several dozen photographs, each one presumably from a different mission. This was unreal. Of course, it could still be an elaborate hoax… But I couldn’t work out why someone would go to the trouble of faking a bunch of photos for the sake of playing a trick on me. What would they stand to gain from it? And where would they have got all these photos of my parents from.

The alternative was almost too mind-blowing to contemplate.

I was still flicking through the photographs when he returned.

“What’s your name, anyway?” I demanded as he sat down next to me. I couldn’t keep calling him Smirk Guy, for god’s sake.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he stuck out a hand. “It’s Adam.”

I put down the photograph I was holding in order to take his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Adam seemed fitting. Probably due to the biblical allusion. A testament to his divine looks and all that. His warm grip felt hot as a stove on my icy fingers.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he exclaimed. “Let’s go back inside.”

I pulled my hand away. “No. I want to get this sorted. Look, Adam. What’s the point of all this?” I gestured to the mass of photographs on my lap. “Why are you showing me these photos? What’s the idea?”

He relaxed into the seat. “What do you think?”

I ground my teeth in frustration. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking! It doesn’t seem worth it to go to all this trouble just to mess with my head. If these images are photoshopped then it’s very well done and I don’t get why. On the other hand, if they’re real, I also don’t get what your organisation has to gain from showing them to me. Are you trying to recruit me or something?”

He grinned lazily. “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly it.”

I shot up off the bench scattering photos in all directions. “What!” My foot had fallen asleep and I hobbled around a bit, swearing and trying to stamp away the pins and needles. Meanwhile Adam lounged on the bench laughing at me. “What the fuck, dude?” I raged in his direction. “That’s not funny.” He didn’t bother with a response. Once I’d got some feeling back in my foot, I picked up the photos I’d dropped, piled them neatly on the bench and sat down again. “Seriously?”

He nodded, still smiling.

“What the fuck?”

He spread his hands. “Why not? We have to recruit from somewhere. And you fulfil many of the basic criteria.” He ticked off on his fingers. “Excellent genes, above-average intelligence, proven ability to handle stress, good people skills, few social connections…”

“Wait a minute, why is that…?” I began. He regarded me steadily. “Oh.”

He continued. “You’re special, Sophie. Dealing with trauma at a young age. Moving around, changing schools so often. None of it is ideal for a normal child, but for someone like you… well it gave you the chance to develop the type of skills that are highly valued in my organisation.”

“What type of skills?”

“Adaptability. Fitting in. Managing people. For example, you had to deal with an alcoholic foster mother didn’t you? Francesca Morton.”

I shuddered. “Don’t remind me.” To this day I couldn’t smell gin without recalling a host of unpleasant memories. “How do you even know about that?”

“Believe me, Sophie, as soon as my organisation realised the type of person you were fostered with, we pulled strings to get you out of there. But the point is that you handled it perfectly in the meantime. You stayed out of her way. She was potentially violent but you didn’t antagonise her or get hurt. Not many children could have assessed the situation and developed strategies for dealing with it so successfully.”

I hadn’t thought of it as a strategy. More like the obvious thing. If your foster mother is drunk, you stay out of her way. Duh. “So you were sort of like guardian angels, watching over me in the background.”

“Yes, something like that.” He smiled and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “It’s also impressive that you figured out that I was worth chasing up,” he continued. “You only saw me twice but you knew I was important. You were waiting for me in that coffee shop weren’t you?”

I nodded, trying not to dwell on the mass of doodles in my notebook. “Three times actually. My flatmate saw you when we were moving my stuff and I recognised you from her description.”

“Right. Well that just proves what I’m saying. Most people wouldn’t have put it all together and come looking for me.”

I tried not to let the compliment distract me. “So what exactly is it that you’re offering me?”

He spread his hands. “A job, basically. Full training provided.”

“And what exactly is the job? Would I be a spy? Like James Bond?” I couldn’t keep the note of scepticism out of my voice.

He chuckled. “Sort of. It’s along those lines. Although in the interests of full disclosure I have to tell you that there is significantly less skiing involved than you might expect from having followed the work of Mr Bond. Personally I’d never had to ski down a mountain with bad guys chasing me. I’m not saying it couldn’t happen-”

“And if I say yes? What happens then?”

“Well, it’s not as easy as simply agreeing. You also have to prove you can handle the work. As with any job, there’s an interview process. In our case…” He paused. “Well, it’s more like those fairy tales where the prince was required to perform tasks to prove he was worthy of marrying the princess.”

“Don’t tell me I have to go and fight dragons and shit.”

“No, nothing as dramatic as that. Secret agent work is generally much less glamorous than people believe. A lot of it is just gathering information, and that’s exactly what we want you to do.”

“What kind of information?”

“There are four separate tasks. The first-”

“Four!” I exclaimed. “Wasn’t it always three tasks?”

“Just be glad your name isn’t Hercules,” he retorted. “As I was saying, I’m authorised to give you the details of the first task, if you’re interested…?” He looked at me for confirmation and I nodded. “Good. Your task is to find out who was responsible for erasing your student record-”

“Oh I already know that.”

He looked at me sharply. “Go on.”

“It was an organisation called The Future. They didn’t exactly erase me, they just changed my name to Cole Havers and uploaded a picture of some black guy. Oh and they were messing with my study path too.”

Adam was silent for a moment. “Very good, Miss Dayton. You’re further ahead than we expected. I’ll admit I suspected as much when your first question to me was about The Future. I don’t know how you found that out but you’ve done very well.”

“I still don’t get why they did it though.”

There was a glint of anger in Adam’s eyes. “The Future is… Let’s say they’re a rival organisation. For the past few years they’ve been making a concerted effort to undermine our operations. They’ve made overtures to some of our agents and it seems they’ve taken a special interest in you - probably as a result of your family connection to us. It would have been a big coup for them to be able to recruit you from under our noses.”

“If that was their goal, they’ve done a shitty job!” I exclaimed. I don’t know what those guys were thinking but ruining a girl’s life generally isn’t the best way to win her over.

“More fool them.” Adam looked decidedly smug. “So, since you’ve completed the first challenge ahead of schedule, I think that means we can increase the level of challenge a little.”

“Oh goody,” I muttered. See, Sophie? That’s what you get for showing off.

“It’s good that you’ve already come into contact with The Future,” he said. “For one thing, it’s important for you to realise that there are alternatives to what we’re offering you. This isn’t a brainwashing operation. We want you to enter this world with a clear mind and open eyes.”

“Who is ‘we’ exactly?” I asked. “I mean, what’s the name of your organisation?”

“We have a few different names but among employees it’s Mana.”

“Like the biblical food?”

“Yes. The word can also denote mother, or an important political figure, depending on the language. Make of that what you will.”

I didn’t make anything much.

“So let’s talk about test number two,” he said. “Actually your timing in solving the first task was perfect because there’s an ideal chance for you to complete the second one on Saturday evening.”

“Saturday,” I exclaimed. “That’s… soon.”

“There’s a gala dinner at the university. An agent from our organisation will be there.” He leaned forward. “Your task will be to identify him or her.”

I had an image of myself pulling a halloween mask off the agent, Scooby-Doo style. “And do I have to expose them or something?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. The agent will be there for other reasons. You shouldn’t make any contact with him or her. This is simply an exercise in observation.”

“And then I have to tell you who it was?”

“Yes.”

“And how do I do that?”

“We’ll meet and then you’ll describe the person to me.”

“Won’t everybody be wearing evening dress?”

He shrugged. “It’s a formal event.”

“So if it’s a male agent, how am I supposed to distinguish between various men wearing identical evening jackets in my description?” I snapped.

He smirked. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.” He rose from the bench and gathered up the photos. “Good luck Sophie. Oh, and check your inbox.” With a parting nod, he strode off.

“But you don’t have my… Never mind” I muttered in the direction of his retreating back.

Of course he had my email address.