James (Teumessian Trilogy Book 2) (3 page)

James reported for basic classes the following week at CIAU. He was a member of a training class of fifteen new recruits; of which he was the youngest. James looked around the plain classroom which reminded him of high school, only with none of the creative decorations his teachers would put up. He looked closer at his classmates to break them down, five women and the rest were men. Everyone was dressed the same. Grey sweatpants and grey shirts with the CIA logo on left breast. However, James was not as interested in the men as he was in the women. They had caught his eye. James had developed a love for beautiful women, but keeping them was not his thing. He couldn’t maintain any of his relationships. Even at the age of only eighteen, he had developed a pattern when it came to women. He was never good at forming relationships, but his looks and intelligence had taught him how to get female attention at least for the short term. James was so distracted by a blonde with a pixie cut in the room that he didn’t notice a dark-haired man sitting down next to him.

“So, I see they are bringing guys in straight out of preschool,” he said with a laugh as the rest of the men around him let out a chuckle. “I’m Elliot, graduated top of my class at Duke, and yourself?” Elliot questioned, in his snooty uppity tone, looking over at James.

James was still staring at the blonde.

“I’m sorry, are you hard at hearing young-in? I asked where you graduated from.” Elliot asked again, slightly annoyed that James was ignoring him.

James knew he was the youngest and didn’t want them to know. “It doesn’t matter. We are all here to learn and train. What we have done before doesn’t matter.” James said, turning away from the blonde to face the front of the room.

“So nowhere of importance, I take it, or no college at all, which wouldn’t surprise me since you look like you’re ten,” Elliot said with a laugh.

James just ignored him as he stared straight at the front.

“Fine, little boy, don’t talk to me, just don’t expect my help.” Elliot winked as he turned to face the front.

“Who said I would need it?” James muttered as he crossed his arms.

Behind the whiteboard stood two men, watching the new recruits through the two-way mirror installed within the chalkboard.

“So, these are the candidates?” the sandy blonde haired man asked the other.

“Yes, all their applications check out along with transcripts, except for one.” The shorter grey haired man replied.

“John, please tell me why we have a candidate in this room who does not check out with the rest. Which one is he?”

“Ray, it’s that one.” John said, pointing to James sitting in the middle of the room.

“Give me his file.” Ray reached out toward John.

John quickly shuffled through the pile of files he was holding and found James’s file. “We have very little on him, but his addition came from the top,” he said as he handed it to Ray.

Ray opened the file and looked at the two pages in front of him. “Where is the rest of his file?” Ray asked annoyed.

“That’s what I was trying to say. We have no information on him other than his birth certificate and a letter from the President adding him to the list,” John replied.

“So the President of the United States wanted James Gold added to the program but gave us no information as to why?” Ray asked.

“I looked up the boy on the internet. It appears as though his father was a big timer in the military. He was killed by one of his men about sixteen years ago. It made the boy an orphan,” John replied.

“Daddy was a big shot, so the boy gets preferential treatment. Find anything else out?” Ray questioned.

“He graduated top of his high school class, so he has to be smart and he at least looks like he can handle himself.”

Ray was staring at the birth certificate, “It lists no mother. This is looking fishy. Keep an eye on the boy. I don’t care who his father was, he may be trouble.” Ray closed the file and handed it to John.

“Okay, let’s get to work,” he said as he exited the room and into the hallway. Ray walked straight to the classroom door, straightened his black tie and brushed off his black suit. He pulled open the door and stepped into the classroom. As he did, all the candidates sat up straight in their chairs.

“Welcome to day one. You have all been brought here to join us in building the future of the Central Intelligence Agency. I am Raymond Clayton and you will report directly to me. You will be trained in linguistics. Communication is the key to our future. You will also receive various weapons trainings as part of your education.” James was directly in Ray’s eye line. He couldn’t look away from James.
Why is this boy here?
He kept thinking to himself.

Ray was distracted by a raised hand to his left, he turned to look at Elliot, “Yes, and your name please?” Ray said calmly.

“Elliot Mont. Sir, we are here to become interpreters?” Elliot asked.

“Yes, that is your role here. Do you not wish to continue with the CIA?” Ray asked.

“No, sir. I just wanted to make sure I understood,” Elliot said.

“Does anyone else wish to ask questions? Because I will tell you, it is best to do as you are told and not to question.” Ray said firmly as he looked around the room. He made eye contact with James again. James didn’t look away from Ray, just stared back. James was listening and watching, it was what he did best. It was how he learned.

‘Why is the CIA training interpreters?’ He wondered to himself. That made no sense to James, especially interpreters that can handle weapons.

“Then you will each be called one by one for your first assessment,” Ray said as he reached out to John who had followed him into the room. “John Alfred here will be in charge of your education. You will each master four languages, Russian, Standard Chinese, Spanish, and Arabic. The ability to master the spoken and written form of these languages will be the primary basis of your assessments. However, today you will get to have a meeting with the psychologist to make sure you are fit to continue.” Ray said, looking around the room to each of the candidates. “John, if you please.” Ray ushered his hand for John to speak.

“James Gold,” John said, looking at James. “You are up first.” John pointed to the door. James stood up and walked toward the door. “Third door to your left,” John said, sizing up James.

“Thank you, sir.” James replied, making eye contact with John before leaving the room.

James swiftly made his way down the hallway. He was not a fan of therapy. His uncle had made him talk to a therapist when he was little and he hadn't enjoyed the time. James figured it was his Uncle Finn’s way of trying to help him deal with losing his father, but it never really helped. When James opened the grey door and saw the therapist, he instantly smiled. It was a woman. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. James stepped into the room and extended his hand.

“Hello, I’m James, I guess we get to spend some time together,” he said with a smile firmly placed on his face.

The red haired woman adjusted her glasses and sat back in her chair, “Have a seat,” she instructed, clicking her pen.

“Okay then,” James said, withdrawing his hand and taking the seat on the brown couch across from her.

“James Gold, only son of General Ulysses Gold. Orphaned at the age of 4 and raised by your Uncle, Finnegan Gold.” She read, staring at the file in her hands. James just sat silently. Was that a question? He thought to himself. “Graduated first in your class from high school.” She took her glasses off as she looked up at James. He instantly noticed her eyes, the lightest shade of blue. “So, do you have anything else to add to that?” she questioned, placing her glasses on the wood table next to her.

“I can bench two hundred and fifty pounds,” James said with a smile.

The woman didn’t react, her face stone cold. James could see he was getting nowhere. “Okay, you’re the therapist. What do you want to know?” he said, sitting back in the couch.

“You are a mystery, Mr. Gold. We know very little about you,” she said calmly, resting her hands on her lap. “How about we start with what you remember about your father?”

“Oh, the deep stuff. You know I am not really okay with talking about my father with you when I don’t even know your name,” James replied, crossing his arms.

The woman took a deep breath, “You can call me Ms. Fowler.”

“Do you have a first name?” James said, with a wink.

“Rachel. Can we continue?” Rachel replied.

“Okay, Rachel. I was only four; well, I was actually close to five when my father died. I have very few memories of him.” James said as confidently as he could. He was lying, and he didn’t want her to know he remembered a lot more. Telling a therapist you remembered the day your father died and being taken to a woman who was apparently your mother, only to watch her kill a man and then herself was a one way trip to a long string of therapy sessions. James had never told a soul he remembered it all. His uncle was a kind man who James never wanted to upset with bringing any of it up. James had always wondered if she really was his mother or if it was all just a sick game put on by his father’s killer. “So, I am not sure what you want to know,” James continued.

“Do you have any memories of your mother? Or who she was?” Rachel questioned.

“No….none,” James replied, trying to keep his composure.

“Okay then, we are done. You may go,” Rachel gestured her hand for James to leave.

“Wait, what? All you want to know is if I remember anything about my life before I was like five years old?” James replied confused.

“That is all. You may go.” Rachel replied firmly, pointing to the door as she reached over to pick up her glasses with her free hand.

James was silent. He couldn’t understand why they wanted to know things like that. He quietly got up and left the room, looking back to Rachel, but she didn’t look back up as she was busy sorting through another file. James made his way back to the classroom and took his seat again. The rest of the candidates were busy talking, but James ignored them all anyway. He couldn’t get past the fact they were only interested in his parents. They had nothing to do with him. In fact, his mother was never involved. He wasn’t even sure who she was. One by one, each of the candidates took their turns. James just sat in silence the whole time.

Finally, the last candidate returned. John stood up from the desk in the front of the room that he had made his station. He had been writing notes the entire time as he watched the candidates interact.

“Okay, you may all report to your dormitories. You each received a letter showing your assignment prior to your arrival. Please move there now. Each of your belongings have already been taken there. You are dismissed.”

              James got up with the rest of the candidates and made his way to dormitory 7B. He watched the rest of the group as they moved out of the classroom and quickly found out he would be stuck with Elliot, along with two other men in their dormitory room.

“Top bunk,” Elliot said with a laugh and he pulled himself up to the top of the first set of bunk beds in the room and laid down on the green comforter that covered the bed.

James walked in behind him. He was the last one in the room, the other bunk bed set had already been taken.

“Looks like you get bottom,” Elliot said with a laugh, looking down at James.

“I guess so,” James said calmly as he picked up his bag from next to the doorway and placed it on the bottom bunk.

“Enjoy being on bottom,” Elliot chuckled.

“Is that really the level of maturity you are going to fill this room with?” the other roommate said sitting on the other top bunk. He was a tall man with light brown hair. He jumped down from the top bunk and extended his hand to James, “I’m Tim and this here is Greg,” Tim said, pointing to the African American man sitting at the wooden desk next to the beds.

“Hey man,” Greg said as he stood up and walked over to shake James’s hand. James smiled. Tim and Greg seemed like nice guys to him, maybe having roommates wouldn’t be so bad after all, he thought to himself.

“So, where are you from?” Tim asked, climbing back up to his bed.

“I grew up in Boston, but am originally from just outside of D.C.,” James answered, sitting down on his bunk.

“Cool. I’m from the Midwest. St Louis to be more exact, so you better keep your Red Socks fan status under wraps,” Tim said with a laugh.

“I don’t follow sports so you need not worry about that,” James said with a chuckle.

“No sports for you?” Greg was puzzled. “If it’s on, I am watching.” He added with a laugh. When he spoke, Greg had a sweet southern accent. It was familiar to James as it was one of the few strong memories he had of his father, his voice.

James smiled, “No, my uncle was a book man so I read a lot, but never got into sports.”

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. James instantly stood up and walked to the door.

“Get the door, honey,” Elliot yelled to James.

James ignored him and walked over to the door and opened it. There stood a brunette with long hair pushing a large cart. “Your dinner,” she said, handing four covered trays to James.

“We eat in our room?” James asked, confused.