Chapter 3

In reality, Amanda did not die. Instead, she slipped back into unconsciousness and slept for two days. The minute she finally began to awaken, a nurse walked up and began to attend to her.

“Doctor,” the nurse said. “She’s coming around.”

A heavy, bearded man wearing a white overcoat walked up and shined a penlight in her eyes. Her left eye was still pretty swollen but it was already starting to get a little better and she could actually see out of it a little, but not much. Her other eye was blurry.

“Where am I? What happened?”

Her mind was racing, trying to remember all of the events that had transpired. Bits and pieces of the car chase, and the ensuing accident, came back to her in brief, violent flashes that shocked and terrified her.

She tried to sit up, which was an extreme challenge since she was so sore. Every part of her ached and felt like it had been damaged in some way, some parts more badly than others.

“Slowly,” the doctor said. “You’ve been through a lot. Don’t rush yourself.”

James came into view directly behind him. He looked extremely haggard, as though he hadn’t slept for days. His face was covered with stubble, he had long wrinkles under both eyes, and his eyes themselves were bloodshot. It was quite a contrast to what Amanda was used to seeing, as James was an attractive man who was normally very well-kept.

“May I speak to her?”

“Give me a minute.” The doctor continued his examination for a couple of seconds, which included examining the readouts on the machine above her head and asking her a series of brief questions.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not good. My head is pounding. And I’m dizzy. And my arm is killing me.”

The doctor smiled. “That’s not surprising. The pounding in your head and the dizziness are due to the concussion you suffered. You should start feeling better soon, but if the pain gets too much to bear tell me and I’ll take care of it. Regarding the pain in your arm, it’s to be expected since you broke it in five different places.”

“I broke my arm?” Amanda looked down and sure enough, her left arm was wrapped in gauze and had been placed in some type of splint.

The doctor nodded. “The surgery went well. Luckily, all of the fractures were clean so I was able to set everything nicely. I expect it to recover fully with no ill effects whatsoever. But you’ll have a slight scar on your inner arm, just above your elbow where I had to make the largest incision. It shouldn’t be too noticeable but if you’re unhappy with it I’ll give you a referral to a plastic surgeon and he can clean it up for you. I’m going to cast your arm as soon as the swelling subsides.”

It was at that point Amanda realized there was another part of her body that ached even worse than her arm.

“My ribs. It hurts when I breathe.”

“You’re going to have some discomfort for a while. You broke three different ribs, one in two spots. But they’ll be fine. They were small fractures and unlike your arm did not require any surgery.”

Amanda nodded. She was starting to wonder how many other body parts she had broken but never got the chance to ask.

“Your vitals all look good,” the doctor said. “I still want to monitor you for a couple more days, but if everything goes according to plan we should be able to get you out of here soon. In the meantime, there’s someone here who has been waiting a long time to talk to you.”

At that, he motioned to James, who immediately took his place at Amanda’s side.

“How are you doing, kiddo?”

“I’ve had better days.”

“I can imagine. You’ve been asleep for two days. I was starting to get worried.”

“Two days?” Amanda could hardly believe it. To her, the car accident had just happened a few seconds ago. The brief, violent flashes continued to form in her head, and they seemed so vivid and so real.

“What happened? Where are we?”

“We’re in a hospital in downtown LA, in a special ward used exclusively by my agency.”

“Agency? What do you mean? You’re a salesman at Anaheim Dodge.”

James smiled. “That was my cover. In reality, I’m an agent for the USIA.”

“An agent?” She didn’t know what he meant by that, and with her head still foggy, she was having an even harder time than normal following what he was saying.

“An operative,” James said, trying to clarify things for her.

“A spy?”

He smiled. “That’s an antiquated term. It was popular in the sixties and seventies but nowadays we prefer the word agent.”

Amanda nodded, but really she had no idea what he was talking about. “USIA?”

“United States Intelligence Agency.”

“I thought the US intelligence agency was the CIA.”

“Not anymore. The CIA became too big and too well known to be effective. It still exists, but is really just a front for the general public and for the media. It’s the same with the NSA.”

“NSA?” Amanda had never heard the term NSA before.

“The National Security Agency. It was the military’s version of the CIA. Kinda. But anyway, nowadays the real American intelligence agency is the USIA. It was formed about ten years ago and its identity is kept much more confidential than the CIA and the NSA. Few people outside of the agency know of its existence.”

Amanda’s head started to spin again and she couldn’t tell if it was due to her current physical condition or due to the fact she couldn’t handle what James was telling her. Her mind, which was already in a complete fog, was doing overtime, trying to digest all of the information she had been told, but she couldn’t believe any of it. All of these years, she had thought James was a car salesman, who worked at a small Dodge dealership, and nothing more. But in reality he had been a spy, working for a top-secret, covert agency she had never heard of before.

But in some ways, however, it made sense. Over the years, James had frequently gone on out-of-state business trips, sometimes with very little advance notice, and sometimes the trips had been for extended periods of time. Usually they were just for a day or two, but Amanda remembered one trip a few years back that had lasted nearly two weeks. She had had to stay with her uncle Dan and her aunt Patty in Pasadena while he was away. He had told her it was some type of training seminar, but in reality it had probably been a foreign assignment.

It also explained his injuries. Sometimes, when he came back from his ‘business’ trips, he would have strange injuries. One time, he had returned with a black eye and another time he had been shot in the leg. He always had an explanation for them, most of which involved bizarre, freak accidents, and the time he had been shot he had claimed he had been mugged while walking down a street in Detroit (which Amanda actually believed since she had been to Detroit once and she hadn’t been impressed).

It would also explain the gun. Years ago, when Amanda had been ten, she had been in James’s bedroom putting away his laundry (unlike most kids, she had always liked doing laundry – don’t ask her why), and had been putting his socks into the top drawer of his dresser, just the way he had liked. At one point, as she was placing the socks into the drawer, her hand touched a spot on the drawer’s side, just below its uppermost lip, and the drawer’s bottom slid open revealing a small, hidden compartment. Sitting within the compartment was a revolver with a silencer on the end of its barrel. Later, when she had asked him about it, he had immediately gotten defensive and had told her he had it in case someone broke into their house.

“How long have you been an agent?”

“Pretty much forever. I was recruited by the CIA straight out of college and I transferred to the USIA as soon as it was formed. The USIA only took a select group of agents from the CIA so it was seen as quite an honor. I’ve been with them ever since. Your mom worked for them, too.”

Amanda’s heart raced. “Mom was an agent, too?”

James nodded. “That’s how we met, on an assignment in Paris. She was my contact.”

Amanda’s mom had died several years earlier, in a car accident coming home from work one day. Ever since, Amanda and James had lived on their own in their house in Anaheim. Amanda was about to ask some more questions about her mom, to find out more about her involvement with the USIA, but she never got the chance because she was beset by a series of quick, sharp bursts in the front of her forehead, just above her eyes. For a few brief seconds (which seemed like an eternity to her) she felt like her head was going to explode. Her eyes started to glaze over and she leaned back in her bed.

James saw what was happening and called out to the doctor, who was standing on the fire side of the room examining some paperwork on a clipboard. He rushed over and did a quick exam. Luckily for Amanda, and much to her relief, the bursts of pain did not last for long.

“It’s nothing serious,” the doctor said. “But you need to get some more rest.” He turned to James. “You can continue your explanation later. With a concussion of this severity, we need to proceed slowly.”

James immediately started to protest, as he didn’t want to leave, and Amanda didn’t want him to go either, but the doctor was adamant. As such, he and the nurse accompanied James from the room. Amanda was pretty disappointed to see them go, but in the long run it was probably for the best, since a second later she was sound asleep.