TEAM ALPHA-1: Chapters 1-3

CHAPTER ONE, THE NORMAL KID

Vancouver, BC, Canada

“Yo, Phoebe, do they ever, like, run out of gas?”
         The tough-looking lady refilling the coffee machine at the other end of the Snack Stop yelled back, “You’ve never seen a Shell truck with a big tube, haven’t you?  You’re such a nutshell, Sam.”
         I sighed and tapped my hands on the cash register.  For the tenth time today, the same question rattled on in my brain, “How the heck did your cousin convince you to work at the gas station for the whole summer, you nitwit?”
         Yeah, I’m Sam, age fourteen, an average student at Redford Secondary.  In fact, I’m about the most average person you’ll ever meet.  I have a brother and a mother and a gone father.  We have an average income and live in an average neat apartment.  I’m of medium height and weight.  I have brown eyes and brown hair, which is a common gene.  I have an okay fashion taste, I guess.  I have my good subjects and bad subjects.  I like my music, I like my TV, and I like to fight with my bro over the Playstation 2 we own.  We don’t have a pet because mom’s allergic.  I’ve got nice friends but I’m not too popular.  I get good grades and bad grades.  I have my hobbies, and I –
         And yes, I’m a boring person.  In fact, why waste so much time on me?
         It was evening, and my shift was almost over, thankfully.  I leaned back behind the counter and took off my ugly yellow cap when Phoebe – my cousin/trainer/slave-driver – wasn’t looking.  Phoebe had offered me this job even though I was underage, and I had been lured in by the nine-dollars-an-hour wage. 
They were playing the CTV evening news on the TV mounted at the ceiling corner.  I chewed my fingernails and watched the headline story – something about ten terrorists’ plan to bomb five airlines with bottles of water.  At first it didn’t make much sense until I saw the genius in it and shivered.  If they can blow up planes with bottles of Evian, I don’t want to go on a plane again!
         Phoebe was leaning over the counter and reading The Vancouver Sun.  She wrinkled her freckled nose and rubbed her greasy face.  “Now they’re preventing anyone from bringing liquid onboard.  Can’t you believe that?”
         Suddenly two men dressed in black suits and wearing black sunglasses barged into the station.  They looked almost identical, and the way they walked into the deserted food stop made me snap upright at attention.  Even Phoebe stopped chewing her gum and looked at them curiously.  They came to the counter.  They were straightforward and up-to-the-point.  They paid for thirty litres of gas, a bag of chips, and two cans of coke.  They seemed to have little cash, so one man fumbled into his tight pants pocket and took out a slim wallet, using his credit card.  I fumbled with it and uttered a nervous, “Thanks and have a good day.”  As soon as they were in, they were out.  They could be CIA agents, for all I knew…
         I shrugged and looked at the time.  “Oh, wow, can’t you believe that!  I’m heading home!”  I whistled and tore off my stinking yellow employee shirt to reveal a skate tee underneath.  I tossed my wallet and mp3 into my jacket and put that on for the cool Vancouver summer evening.  Then I was out of the dreaded gas station before Phoebe could throw another complaint.
         Home wasn’t so far from the Snack Stop on the boring scale.  Our apartment was on the seventh floor two blocks away.  I threw down my creaky un-oiled longboard and jumped on, carving the slopes easily as sparse traffic whistled by.  There weren’t a lot of people at this hour.  Folks here sleep early.  I sighed as I pumped up the speed for the daily ride.  In doing so, I was fulfilling three months’ worth of tradition of the summer month.  I was born in this neighbourhood and, for fourteen years, nothing remotely interesting has ever happened here.
         Twenty minutes later, I sat at the rickety dining table reading the Province.  All I can say is, I’m the most normal person in all history of human normality.  Now, I know a lot of you out there are aching to be normal because, uh, you guys lead a student life and a celebrity’s life, or you’ve got genius IQ and kids think you’re nerdy, or you’ve won state championships in equestrian sports and have been to all the continents of the world including Antarctica and go to a different school every year…or even if you work as a top-secret agent of the CIA.  All of this stuff is cool; I mean, it sure beats being normal.
         “What’s up, home slice?”  I looked up as Phillip flounced into the dining room.  He wore a cheerful smile – as always.  He’s a good brother, but I think he can be a bit too stressed sometimes, since he’s going to college the year after the coming one.  He was happy at the moment – not studying his head off, reviewing, previewing, or reminiscing over his last girlfriend Vicky – and that was a blessing.
         “Nothin’ much,” I shrugged.
         “Did you see the news?  They have a TV at the Snack Stop, don’t they?”
         “Yeah.”
         “Did you see the thing with the liquid bombs?  Genius, isn’t it?”
         “Yeah,” I agreed.  “I wonder who found out.  You really have to think out of the box with that one.”
         Philip shrugged.  “Some policeman…or maybe a spy or something.”
         “Wish I was a spy.”
         “Like James Bond?”
         “Totally.”
         I looked down at the Province and something caught my eye.  “Hey, look at this.  Someone just bought a deluxe mansion on Beverly Hills.  Must have cost a fortune.  Says she paid twice the amount ‘cause the realtor wouldn’t let her.  Says she works for the CIA…Assistant Director?!  Maybe this person’s a spy!  God, you get that much money at the CIA?  Man, now I really want to be a spy!”
         Philip shook his head and sighed.  “Stop acting like a ten year-old.  There are tons of spoiled, dirty rich people out there – government officials included.  How ‘bout I take you to the Spy Store tomorrow, eh?”
         I rolled my eyes.  “No thanks!  And besides, I have a…meeting.”
         “A meeting?  Saturday?”  He raised his eyebrows.  “Who’s it this time?”
         I scowled.  “Zoey Roberts.”
         “Is that like the fifth girl this summer?  You’re getting dumped that much?”  He laughed.
         I scowled even deeper.  “I never said they were dates, Phil.”
         He made puppy-dog eyes, smiled, and imitated my somewhat high voice, “Oh, Zoey…I wish I were a spy…!”
         I was about to reach across the table and hit him when Mom strolled into the room.  She laughed at us, told us to stop, and pushed back her faded brown hair to reveal tired, dark eyes.  Then she took out the dinner in the fridge, microwaved it, and we all sat about eating dinner and listening to The Beat – to that annoying song by Rihanna.  “Ella – ella – ella – eh – eh – eh…”

CHAPTER TWO, DISASTROUS DATE

I met Zoey on Robson street the next day.  I was trying to tell myself to breathe, to act cool.  Technically, it wasn’t a date.  I just met her and found out we had some stuff in common, and that we were both interested at a little window-shopping and movie-watching.  So she called a few of her friends and I called a few of mine.  It was fun up to that point.  Then Randy had a b-ball game and Cole had math tutoring.  And Tracy had a piano competition, Claire a shopping date with her mom, and Harriet got out of the country to go shopping in the States.
         I saw her as she stepped out of the bus – a few inches short of me, brilliant hazel eyes, strawberry-blond hair, blue summer skirt and white tank top.  She was carrying a small, pink purse on one arm.  I cleared my throat, brushed back my hair and stuck my hands into my jean’s pockets, leaning slightly forward.  She saw me, smiled, and waved.  I couldn’t help smiling back.  I waved.  “Yo,” I said simply.
         “Hey,” she said.
         “So…uh, what do you wanna watch?” I inquired.
         She shrugged.  “I’m in the mood for some scary movies!”
         Okay.  That was surprising.  “Sure,” I said.  We had high-school student passes.  We could probably pass through a 14A-rated thing at the most.  “What do you wanna watch?”
         “The Mist!” she exclaimed.  “After that, I need a new pair of flip-flops…”
         It was summertime and we were going to watch The Mist, some film based on a Stephen King book with giant insects and Cloverfield creatures hiding in a mist…very unfitting and slightly gory…but there was no way I was going to disagree with Zoey. 
         I’d probably watched The Grudge and The Ring like five hundred times.  I braced myself to hear Zoey scream but surprisingly that girl was quite tough.  I came out pretty wiped but she was quite happy.
         Sigh.  Shopping was pretty boring too.  All the stores were female stores – no Best Buy, Circuit City, and the stuff that I like.  Actually, we passed a few unisex stores, and when I looked down at my Coca-Cola T-shirt and undersized jeans, I was tempted to buy some good stuff.  Too bad my mom had only gave me twenty bucks and I’d cut that rationale in half for my movie ticket.
         It was getting late.  Helping Zoey drag a load of shopping bags, we dragged ourselves back to the bus stop.  The road was busy.  It was rush hour, and cars hurtled at dangerous speeds before getting caught up in the traffic congestion.
         The bus stop was situated at a busy intersection – the type where lots of road rage occur.  Right now drivers were screaming from their windows.  I really wanted to tell them to shut up, for goodness sakes.  Oh well, Mom does that a lot too.  I looked at the cars, yawned, and dismissed them.
         Then, suddenly, Zoey screamed.  I looked at her, giant insects flying through my head, before she pointed towards the intersection.  I followed her gaze and scowled in disbelief. 
         A kid – probably two or even younger, was toddling across the street after a rolling ball.  His parents were unseen.  Looking to the left, I saw a truck van doing seventy kilometres an hour hurtling towards him.  The kid didn’t even bother to look up, just flounced after his ball.  I gulped.  Was I going to see a two-year-old get run over by a truck?  Suddenly an image crossed my mind – spilled brains, mashed guts, spurting blood…the indecency!  My face contorted into a “This is gross” look. 
         The truck was accelerating.
         My fists clenched and unclenched.  No way was I going to let this happen!  No way was I going to see two-year-old guts strewn bloodily across the street!
         By now spectators had noticed the kid.  They were screaming and shouting.  A woman was running down the sidewalk towards him, flailing her arms.  His mother?  She wasn’t going to outrun the truck, that was for sure. 
         Sweat broke out on my forehead.  Zoey was covering her mouth and screaming at the same time.
         Everything was happening in slow motion.  I saw the truck lurch towards the boy and the driver’s eyes goggling in disbelief.  The boy looked up, saw the truck for the first time, and exploded into a veil of shrieking and tears.  It was so overwhelming, and for some reason I thought I had first-row seats to see the tragedy.  I mean, I felt I’d zoomed in on the scene. 
         I opened my mouth, but only a silent cry escaped from my lips – a whoosh of air.  I begged for the truck to stop…and then the strangest thing happened.  It felt as if a whoosh of air – no, energy – escaped from my being and directed itself at the truck.
         I was sure the truck driver didn’t press any brakes, but the truck skittered to a stop…not a foot far from the boy. 
         I saw the truck driver almost hurtle out the windshield with the sudden momentum, but he had seatbelts on and had a look of extreme relief.  I saw the mother run to the toddler and scoop him up in her arms, embracing him like it was the end of the world.  And the toddler was crying, embracing his mother.  The bystanders let out a sigh of relief and continued their goings.  Some people were shaking their heads.
         “Oh my gosh,” said Zoey, “Sam, that truck driver must have had the skills – Sam…?”
         But I was far away now.  I tore across the sidewalk and budged the line of people lining up for the bus, which had just arrived.  I pushed and shoved and found a window seat at the end of the bus.
         I huffed and pressed my face against the window.
         I was puffing.  My heart was trying to break free of my chest.  Sweat glistened on my forehead and matted my hair.

CHAPTER THREE, REMINISCING

Reykjavik, Iceland

The Chief stood facing the Iceland landscape through the floor-to-ceiling high-def windows of the facility.  Her hair was dark and wet from the shower, and she was dressed in a cheap but cozy-looking bathrobe.  Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she was barefoot.  She wasn’t cold – the building had an excellent heater system, and Iceland’s landscape really wasn’t all ice – more like rolling green hills, like the European landscape the team had just visited.
         The Chief was taking a break in the world’s most secret facility – the World Embassy, otherwise known as the WIAHQ or the World Intelligence Agency Headquarters.
         The World Intelligence Agency was the chief of all intelligence agencies.  The CIA, M-15, and others were merely babies compared to the WIA.  It was funded by the United Nations, and all agents working at the WIA were from the countries of the UN.  They had to be the best of the best, and were allowed to be hired by any country of the UN.  They infiltrated many terrorist groups and dangerous secret societies in the world, and they were responsible for cutting international crime down by about thirty percent.  However, the public had no idea that that was happening…nor was their existence even known.
           They made James Bond look like child’s play and, of course, they were top secret.  WIAQ had two main sub-groups: the Special Agents Unit (SAU) filled with top-level intelligence agents, and the Special Skills Unit (SSU).  So no one had ever heard of them before.  And that was possible because you can never track down a person that went by the word “Chief”.
         As she stared at the landscape, the Chief’s mind thought backwards.  She was the leader of WIA’s most successful team – Team Alpha.  And to add, Team Alpha was from the elite Special Skills Unit.  Only the directors and vice-directors of the top intelligence agencies, top UN officials, a selected group of prime ministers and presidents, the Queen of England, and even just the senior officials of the WIA itself knew that the SSU existed.  And very few of them knew what it truly could do.
         For the hundredth time the Chief tossed her wet hair back and sighed openly to the ceiling.  She looked around the room.  The room was large and open, with high-def one-way windows all around with simple drapery.  It was like a lounge – complete with a forty-seven-inch widescreen plasma TV, a rocking chair, two lounge chairs, three four-seat sofas, two coffee tables with one piled high with magazines, a flat-monitor desktop computer with internet access for your enjoyment, and a cozy fireplace.
         “Good afternoon, Chief.”
         The Chief turned her head ever so slightly to see the tall, thin, wiry man that had just strolled noiselessly into the room.  He was wearing a buttoned white shirt with no tie and black dress pants.  The dark circles under his eyes and his red flaking skin made him look extremely tired.  He was in his fifties and wore wispy grey hair shot through with white hanging on to his balding head.  His eyes, though, were intensely youthful despite their fatigue – a brilliant green, like emeralds.  The Chief could never forget those eyes.
         The Chief acknowledged her senior with a nod.  “Good day, Mr. Bear.”
         Mr. Bear – that was his codename – sat down on one of the plush sofas and looked at the stiff, wet and miserable girl.  His eyes widened with pity and he smiled warmly.  “I have to say, once again, Chief, very  well done,” he said.  “No, extremely well done.  You saved hundreds of people.  You and your fast-thinking, talent, action – “
         “Thank-you, sir,” the Chief muttered and plopped on the sofa opposite him so the magazine pile was between them.
         Mr. Bear sighed.  “Ah, here comes the rest of you guys.”
         The Chief watched as the twins walked into the room quietly.  Usually, they would have been yelling, playing tag and chasing each other over the sofas.  Today, though, they sulked in.  Fox’s hair was sticking up from the recent shower.  His glasses were askew as he threw himself into the nearest armchair.  Juno was wearing a bathrobe also and a pair of oversized sandals.  He too looked fed up, but at least dry.  They had all spent a week without washing.
         Ruby walked in next, her white form sagging, followed by Stone.  He walked slowly with his head bent, Mohawk drooping, and hands in his pockets.  Ruby sat with the twins, awaiting Mr. Bear’s words.  Stone sat down next to the Chief.  Without looking at each other, they exchanged their greetings.
         “Hey, Chief.”
         “Yo.”
         “So,” said Mr. Bear, “thank you all for coming.  I have already mentioned to the Chief that all of you have been awesome.  The WIA thanks you again!  You guys are absolutely the smartest teenagers in the whole planet.  You saved the day – and hundreds of lives – again!
         “I’ll be arranging a flight for all of us to be back home in less than two days.  So far, we have no intelligence missions suitable for any of you for a long time.  It might even be possible that this summer you’ll be free.  I know this past mission has taken out a whole week of your last school term, so I highly advise all of you to review your studies.”
         “Bleh,” muttered Juno, and Ruby glared at him.
         “In the meantime,” said Mr. Bear, “I’m ordering you all to rest up, but keep on training once we get back to Vancouver.”
         “Mr. Bear,” the Chief said quietly, “how about Sumo?”
         Mr. Bear seemed to cringe as five pairs of young eyes looked up at him with a depressing look.  “I…I am very sorry,” he said.  “We have already notified his family, who are flying from the States to Vancouver to meet with me when we get back.  They’ll get all the explanation they’ll need, and we will prepare a service.  His coffin will be draped with the UN flag, and the most important intelligence leaders will attend.  However, not many people will because, of course, we have to keep it a secret.”  He coughed.  “I hope you all understand how important that is.”
         “Yeah, we know,” sighed Ruby.
         “Some countries would sue us if they knew we were employing children.”  Mr. Bear shook his head.  “However, Sumo was an invaluable agent.  Silly, sometimes, but gifted and valued nonetheless.”
         “It’s so unfair!” Juno exclaimed.  “Why did he have to die?  He was just fourteen years old…that’s like…Fox and I in four years.  I don’t want to die in four years!”
         “Then be careful,” Ruby shot at him.
         Juno glared back.
         “Alright, children,” said Mr. Bear.  “Dinner is at six o’clock, in the dining hall.  I do have some good news, however.”
         “And what’s that?” Stone said.
         “Team Alpha has lost a clairvoyant,” said Mr. Bear, “and I cannot allow that.  Therefore, I have arranged to appoint a new member to your team.”
         “Really?” Juno exclaimed.  “Who is it?  Can it be a guy our age, ‘cos I’m afraid Stone’s a bit too touchy…?”
         “I’m sorry, Juno,” said Mr. Bear, “but I’m afraid I can’t promise you both age and gender.  I’ve already tested some recommended trainees…  The one I’ve chosen is a bit young, but a rather talented girl.  She’s sending in her codename tomorrow.  We’ll meet her in Vancouver.”
         “How old is she?” asked the Chief.
         Mr. Bear hesitated.  “Nine.”
         “What?!” Juno almost yelled.  Fox and Ruby exchanged glances.  Stone whistled. 
         The Chief scowled.  “I’m not sure if we can work with a kid that young, Mr. Bear.  I mean, the twins are already a handful.”
         Fox and Juno scowled.
         “You’ll come to like her; I’m confident,” said Mr. Bear reassuringly. 
         The Chief glanced briefly around.  Fox and Juno, already troublesome, were ten.  Sumo had been fourteen.  Ruby was turning twelve in a few weeks.  Stone was the oldest by a month at fifteen. 
         “Alright,” she said, “we’ll try.”
         Mr. Bear smiled and patted her hand.  “That’s my girl.”  He exited the room – he was a very busy man.  The twins decided to go to the games room to play pool.  Ruby went back to her dorm to read a book.  The Chief was left with Stone.
         “I still can’t believe we lost Sumo,” said Stone, “he was a good kid.”
         “A great kid,” said the Chief.
         “You know,” said Stone, “next time you and I should seriously look out for the younger ones.  I don’t want to lose any of them.”
         “Yeah, and I’ll try not to lose you too in the process.”
         Stone smiled tightly at her as he got up.  “Well, see ya.  Got some snooze to do.”
         Chief sighed and sprawled out on the couch, staring at the boring white ceiling, when Mr. Bear appeared at the door again. 
         “I almost forgot,” he said, smiling, “Happy Birthday, Chief.”
         Chief blinked and shrugged.  “Thanks, sir.”
         “You’re fifteen now,” he acknoledged.  But you seem so much more than that.