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“You got a mocha latte from the machine. After you took your first sip, you frowned and said, ‘Not enough cocoa.’ ”
So I did drop a hint. Better stay on top of that.
“You are quite observant, Airman Gonzalez.”
“Thank you. I, too, am training for profiling.” He gave her a friendly wink.
“You devil.” Melanie grinned. “And you said nothing yesterday.”
“Correct. Part of being a good agent often requires listening. Observing.”
“Well, you’re doing a good job of it.” Melanie walked over to a table that wasn’t cluttered with documents. She unwrapped her sandwich and asked Gonzalez to sit.
“No can do. You’re on your own. I’ll see you at seventeen hundred hours.” He turned and left the room.
She chomped through her sandwich lickety-split. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until the salt of the bacon hit her lips. She opened the carton of chocolate milk. This would be a lesson for her. She had to pay better attention to herself and others.
As the afternoon wound down, Melanie surmised the trucker was carrying something perishable, because traces of wood fragments were found in some of the clothing of the victims. The fragments came from the same type of wood used to make crates for citrus. She checked the clock. She had an hour left to write up her summary. It was like being back in college when she had to finish a test before the buzzer rang.
She finished her analysis, certain the criminal was a truck driver who went from state to state doing what they called “short runs.” He’d show up at a distribution center somewhere and do a local run. Then he would travel to a different state and do the same.
Captain Chen entered the room at the stroke of five o’clock, or seventeen hundred hours. Melanie stood and read her notes out loud. Chen stood with his hands folded. He had absolutely no facial expression whatsoever. She didn’t know if she was going down the right path or boring her supervisor to death. When she finished, he said, “Congratulations. You solved your first case.”
Melanie was stunned. So soon? “Thank you, sir.” Melanie was accustomed to doing research and compiling data. This was similar to doing a term paper, except she only had one day to finish.
“Were you considered studious in school?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” she answered.
“Never suppose. It’s either yes or no.”
“Understood,” she replied in an even tone. “But sir, doesn’t this process utilize suppositions?” She wondered if she had overstepped.
“Very good point,” he said. “So were you or were you not studious?” He knew she had to have been in order to advance this far in the organization. He was also very impressed with how quickly she could process information.
“Yes, sir. Studious.” Melanie didn’t want to get into how she got engrossed in books. She also didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him she had a few magic tricks up her sleeve.
“Very good,” Chen continued. “You will be trained in the prescribed program under my tutelage and be given intermittent exams. Upon passing said exams, you will move to the next level until you become classified as a special agent.”
Melanie didn’t dare ask how long that was going to take.
He answered her. “The speed with which you complete the courses will determine how quickly you get to do field work. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
* * *
For the next two years, Melanie worked on kidnapping cold cases, reviewing old data and looking for new evidence. She felt it was important work. People needed to know what had happened to a family member who’d been taken. She knew the older the case was, the less the chance of recovering anything. But she had to try. Not just because it was her job, but because she felt the need to help if she could.
Most of the cases remained cold, with no more insight than in the past. Only two of them had resolution, but not the kind she’d hoped for. One body was found as a result of digging at a new construction site; the other, by hikers who were digging a shallow depression in the soil in order to build a campfire.
There was no satisfaction in shutting those cases. At least the family would have some closure. But not Melanie. She was never able to shake the fact that someone had gotten away with murder. It disturbed her deeply.
* * *
By the third year, Melanie was sent to the Special Issuance Agency, where she was issued a maroon passport. It was the color for U.S. Government employees who would be traveling for official duty. Often, they were called to assist other agencies across the globe. The travel was draining. There was no commercial flying unless absolutely necessary, and agents were expected to travel in Air Force cargo planes. She had to leave on their schedule, which sometimes meant getting up in the middle of the night.
Accommodations were often hostels, the food was whatever was available, and a hot shower was a luxury. Most of her work involved tracking terrorists and developing profiles on them. She would travel to the country where the chatter was coming from, so she could get a feel for the type of environment the offender was living in. After several weeks, she would return stateside and enter her data, analyze her data, and share her data. She wondered how long she could keep this up. She hated it. So much for diplomacy. Beale was right. It was a matter of thwarting disasters.
