Watching the foam swirl around and stick to the edges of my cup, I shook my head. My face felt hot and I was sick to my stomach. I was sure I was turning green as a toad just thinking about what the man had just asked me to do.

“I can’t,” I mumbled into my drink, “I just can’t do it.”

“Very well,” the man said coldly, “let us know if you change your mind.” I heard something fall lightly on the table. A second later the door to my cozy, modern apartment slammed shut. I waited until the sound of muffled footsteps had completely receded before I looked up. A stiff, white business card with silver lettering lay on the cold, marble countertop. I groaned, burying my head in my hands.

“Oh Napoleon, what am I going to do?” I asked despairingly to my black and white cat. Napoleon rubbed up against my legs and purred.

“I’m not a spy! For heaven’s sake, I’m a journalist, not some kind of wacked out stunt double!” I glanced over at my coffee table, which cluttered with books, half-finished scraps of writing, and chocolate bar wrappers, and remembered what the man had said.
“‘You have sharp eyes. This country could use you watching out for it. We have several letters of recommendation from several respectable CIA members, including your parents,’” the spy had told me. I had winced at the mention of them. My parents were dead, killed on a joint mission.
“I don’t know Napoleon, the agent said Mom and Dad wanted me to do this, the least I can do is honor their wishes, but I’m no spy! Sure I’m observant, I can shoot fairly accurately, I know Tai-Kwan-Do, and-,” I broke off suddenly. They’d been preparing me. My concealed weapons license, self-defense classes, all those lessons at the shooting range, the pistol in my closet, the lie detector lessons. How could I have ever thought it was because I was an 18 year old woman living alone in an apartment! Had my whole life been leading up to this moment? Smacking my forehead with the heel of my hand, I chastised myself.
“Jessie, you’re supposed to be observant,” I exclaimed, “How could you have missed such a major detail?” Staring at the phone, I made a split second decision. Napoleon purred his encouragement from his position around my ankles. Picking up the business card, my eyes scanned the silver, reflective words.
Agent K3F1
CIA
208-577-325-4781
Burn this message


I took a deep breath, and began to dial the phone.