An Evil Mind

I shouldn’t be here.

I should be in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

I should be at Harvard, settling in to my lackluster dorm room and learning to tolerate the idiot who will be my roommate for a year. I should be taking classes now, taking notes on the laptop Mom bought me. But I returned the laptop, and I returned my dorm room. I returned it all. I redacted my tuition and closed my bank accounts and packed a single black backpack and left a note on the kitchen counter that told Mom not to worry.

And then I left.

That world, the innocent little fishbowl of young adult angst people like to call college, isn’t meant for me. I am older than they are. I always have been. I am smarter than they are. I always have been.

‘I’m amazed you manage to get your head off your pillow in the mornings.’

The voice rings, clear and bright in my ears. But I’m better at ignoring it, now. It’s gotten fainter. I haven’t seen her for half a year, and yet her voice clings in my brain. It’s incredible. Incredibly annoying. It’s either a testament to her infuriatingly persistent personality, or a testament to my unwillingness to let go of the last few moments in my life I recall being truly happy. Happy? I’m unsure if I was ever happy, even with her. It’s a mishmash of fuzzy memories and stolen moments of tenderness, all laced with the searing edge of guilt that is Sophia’s face.

Maybe I was happy. But it’s pointless. There’s no real value in being happy.

There’s no real value in something that doesn’t last.

I take a right onto the shipping roads of Columbus, where eighteen-wheelers gather five deep and Matson containers choke the dusty, fenced-in lots. Two massive cranes noisily rearrange blocks of containers, loading and unloading with creaking, dutiful slowness. Men in orange vests and hardhats weave between containers, checking the contents, marking things on clipboards, and shouting obscenities at each other over the ordered chaos. Gregory - a tall, broad-shouldered man with an impressive white mustache and a tweed suit - stands in a near-empty lot. A shorter, yet somehow even beefier young man stands next to him, wearing a dark suit like me. His posture is tense, yet relaxed, his hair spiked and his eyes dark. A dragon tattoo twines up his neck. It’s Charlie Moriyama – Gregory’s right hand man and most trusted bodyguard, aside from me.

Across from both of them is a woman with black hair tied up in a neat bun. She shuns a business skirt for a woman’s suit, instead, looking every part a professional. But a professional of what, I can’t quite tell. There’s no obvious weapon lump on her, and any jewelry that would mark her as a drug dealer or tattoos that would mark her as a gang member are well-hidden, if they exist at all. She doesn’t even wear makeup. Odd, considering most of the women who contract Gregory’s services are usually wealthy housewives with a vengeance.

Gregory sees me coming, and waves me over. He plays the jolly old man bit almost too well, but it serves to hide the vicious businessman, wizened soldier, and master black-belt beneath.

“Jack! Vanessa and I were just talking about you.”

I sidle up beside Charlie, who crosses his arms and grunts.

“You took too long.”

“Had to make a detour,” I say. “Road construction.”

Charlie snorts. “Yeah? Is this the same ‘road construction’ that got you on the news last week?”

“Charlie, c’mon.” Gregory smiles. “Let’s at least try to pretend to be friends when in front of –” He turns and cocks an eyebrow at the woman, as if asking her what she is.

“Let’s call me a potential client for now,” Vanessa says. Her blue eyes are sharp, and riveted to my knuckles. I try to wipe the blood off on my pant leg.

“ – in front of a potential client,” Gregory finishes. “Besides, Jack’s entitled to his five minutes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Charlie scoffs. “Jealous? Yeah, boss, I’m real jealous of wannabe Batman over here.”

I’d risen in the ranks faster than anyone at Vortex. Gregory himself had trained me. Of course Charlie’s jealous. He’s been in the business for years, even though he can’t be more than twenty-two. He had to claw his way up by his hangnails. He thinks I’m pampered and spoiled.

“I wasn’t aware what I did in my free time was up for criticism by you,” I say. Charlie throws a glare at me.

“It’s up for criticism when you f*ckin’ decide to use your training to beat the shit out of guys who steal popsicles from 7-11.”

“They mugged a woman,” I counter smoothly.

“They were small time idiots pulling off small crime!” Charlie snarls. “But your little savior complex had you wasting time on their stupid asses.”

“My time. Not yours. It’s hardly any of your concern.”

“You got us on the news, idiot! We’re Vortex, not goddamn Walmart!”

“They never got his name, or a picture of him,” Gregory steps in. “Really, Charlie, you can relax. We aren’t here for a witch hunt, we’re here for the client. Settle this later.”

Charlie goes red down to his spiked roots. I glance at Gregory, and despite his smile he narrows his eyes slightly. He should’ve told Charlie to be quiet ages ago. Letting him blab in front of a client was Gregory’s way of letting Charlie embarrass himself. It’s the subtle kind of mind-trap game Gregory loves to play. Most of the young men he hires are too stupid to sidestep it. Save for me.

“Vanessa,” Gregory begins. “Would you do the honors?”

She nods, and pulls an ID out from her jacket. I feel my breathing slow. CIA.

“Jesus, boss,” Charlie sucks his teeth. “What the hell are we doing talking to feds?”

“I’m Vanessa Redgate,” the woman says. “Cyber Security Branch. We’re offering Mr. Callan a contract.”

“Outside of CIA approval, I assume?” I ask, and motion around. “Considering the unorthodox meeting area.”

Vanessa nods. “We are after a small, elite group of hackers who have been shuffling funds for the largest black market on the internet.”

“The Spice Road,” I say. Vanessa nods again.

“I’m impressed. I wasn’t aware Vortex agents excelled anywhere beyond their muscles.”

Gregory laughs and claps me on the shoulder. “Jack’s a special case. Please, continue.”

“Regardless, these hackers worked for the Spice Road. They call themselves The Gatekeepers. The CIA commissions board has unanimously decided against using third-party mercenaries –”

“Contractors,” Gregory interrupts, flashing a smile. “We prefer the term ‘contractors’.”

Vanessa eyes him warily, but corrects herself.

“- decided against using third-party contractors. But my supervisor, and a great number of agents within the project, have worked for years to trace the Gatekeepers. We finally have a lead, but the commissions board doesn’t want to risk deploying a team and spooking them into going to ground. Training special agents for this particular mission is just not cost-effective, and by the time we do train them, the lead may have already gone dry. ”

“So this is where we come in,” I say. She nods.

“We have strong evidence that two people closely connected to the Gatekeepers recently transferred into Ohio State College as Sophomores. The goal would be to maintain surveillance on these two without rousing suspicion. The ultimate goal would be to gather evidence, preferably hard copies and byte logs of their hacking activities, or their correspondences with the Gatekeepers themselves.”