I frowned at Señor Ramirez. Señor Ramirez turned round and stood up. A well-dressed man, probably in his fifties, strolled in and shook Señor Ramirez’s hand.
“Welcome, Mr Sanchez,” Señor Ramirez said.
“Thank you, Gerard,” his voice was deep and possessed an air of power and authority. “Marco, I am stunned by your abilities.”
I nodded in thanks and looked at Señor Ramirez. He read my confused look.
“Marco, this is Malcolm Sanchez, the Head of Covert Operations in the CIA.
09:33.I had overslept once again. I groaned, as I uncurled myself and sat up on my bed. I winced in pain, as my ankle was still sore. My head felt heavy and a wave of thirst came over me. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stood up. Limping off to the bathroom, I splashed three handfuls of ice cold water on my face, instantly waking me up. I looked myself in the mirror. Dark circles surrounded my eyes, as the events that had unfolded just a few days ago played itself out in my mind, like a ghost that remained persistent in its pursuit to haunt me. First, Zak and the tiger. The staircase that had appeared literally out of nowhere. Adrian’s betrayal. Obsidian’s headquarters. The dungeon. The warehouse. The laboratory. The bomb explosion. The helicopter chase.
“Well?” I demanded, as Senor Ramirez helped himself to another cup of tea and sat down on the sofa.“Relax. Everything I said was a lie. Malcolm Sanchez told me to make something up so that you could enrol in the CIA. I’m proud that you agreed to join the CIA, but as you know, we cannot tell your parents or anyone about this. So, your parents and everyone at school will think that you’re off to a school in Singapore when actually you will still be in the United States!” Senor Ramirez chuckled.“You think this is funny? Is this some sort of game?” I asked incredulously. Senor Ramirez’s expressi
“Marco! We’ve arrived now,” I heard Senor Ramirez.I had drifted off to sleep, which was an inevitability in the scorching sunshine and the luxury of the Mercedes. I slowly opened my eyes, eager to see where we’d arrived. I looked through the tinted windows and was truly stunned at where the Covert Operations division of the CIA was located.“Thank you,” Senor Ramirez said to the driver. “Your car is a gem!”“Thanks mate! Indeed it is,” the driver replied, patting the steering wheel in admiration.
I was greeted with an abundance of blinding white light as a wave of cool, refreshing air slapped me in the face. I found myself in a narrow corridor that led to another door, which was twenty feet further ahead. Apart from the stream of white light shining from the in-built ceiling lights, everything else in the corridor was sparkling black, from the tiled flooring, to the two walls either side of me. Senor Ramirez stood by the door, gesturing me to hurry along. He seemed unable to contain his excitement, which was strange considering his usual stern and serious demeanour. “I just want to say a few things before we open this door, Marco,” Senor Ramirez said, breaking the eerie silence of the corridor as we stood in front of the mysterious door. “I know this might be all too much for you. After all, it was literally a
“This is Sir Cornelius Slater. He is a wealthy English businessman. In fact, he is the richest man in the UK, with a net worth of £450 billion. He has now integrated himself in the world of English politics and is the leader of the new Action Party. He is running for Prime Minister of the UK in the upcoming elections,” Malcolm informed, pointing at the close-up photograph of a man in his early fifties, with a few strands of white in his otherwise dark brown hair. The CIA employees around me were typing rapidly on their laptops and scribbling notes on their notepads. I certainly felt out of place here, as I simply could do nothing but look ahead at the large screen ahead of me and wait for Malcolm to continue. Senor Ramirez, who was standing next to Malcolm, whispered something in his ear. Malcolm frowned and nodded.