I'm NOT a Super Spy!

As the car turned, John could hear Lea on the phone when he woke up slightly.

"Yeah, he's here." said Lea. "No he's patched up. I'm taking him now."

John didn't care who she was talking to.

He was too tired.

He went back to sleep, thinking about what the Chief told him in the office that day when he left to the will reading.

***

Chief Roman swung his office door open, his voice booming across the floor.

“Nero! Get in here!”

The entire office fell silent.

All eyes turned to him.

John sighed, rubbing his temple.

He hated this part.

The Economic Crimes Unit wasn’t flashy, but it was always busy—agents and analysts rushing between desks, stacks of paper flying, the clatter of keyboards filling the air.

Rows of desks stretched across the open floor, each one stacked with two or three monitors. The ceiling was lined with security cameras, their ever-present gaze impossible to ignore.

And every agent?

Suits, CIA pins, and glasses.

John wore glasses too that he kept at his desk—but unlike the others, he didn’t need them. His were just to block out the blue light from staring at screens all day.

He liked this job. Liked the numbers, the patterns, the strategy. It was the only way to fight the good fight without getting your hands too dirty. That’s why they call it white collar.

But right now?

He felt like a kid getting called to the front of the class, knowing exactly what was coming.

John took a deep breath, picked up his briefcase, and walked across the floor.

Chief Roman was waiting.

Chief Roman was a small man with a thick mustache and slicked-back hair, the kind of guy who carried himself like he was twice his actual size.

Born and raised in Queens, he had spent his early years getting into the kind of trouble that should have landed him in prison.

By his own admission, it was only by the grace of God that he wasn’t behind bars. Growing up Italian, he had hung around a certain kind, but never officially joined any groups. He loved to “freelance”.

That belief showed in his office.

His desk—a massive, standard-issue CIA monstrosity—was cluttered with trinkets. A golden cross. A figurine of the Virgin Mary. Two more crosses adorned the walls—one behind his guest chairs, the other hanging dead center between the large windows overlooking Langley. A bookcase stood behind him, filled with thick, important-looking books.

No one believed he’d actually read them.

No one dared ask.

John believed that the Chief wanted people to think he was book smart. Everyone knew it wasn’t his book smarts that got him there. He and John had that in common.

John stepped inside and sat across from his desk.

Roman closed the door and slowly walked around to the front of his desk, settling himself on the edge, hands clasped between his knees.

"I'm gonna cut the shit," he said. "I'm sorry."

John raised an eyebrow. "You're sorry?"

"Don't bullshit me." Roman’s voice was firm, but not unkind. "Your dad's dead. And I’m sorry for that. I know you two had a… complicated relationship.

 When people die, that’s usually something you say. To be nice. Also, I want you to know, we had nothing to do with his death."

"I know that," John said.

"Yes, I know you know he died of natural causes," Roman continued. "But considering the business we’re in, I could just as easily be lying to you."

John met his gaze. "Yes. I know."

Roman leaned forward slightly. "I want you to have no doubts. The CIA had nothing to do with it. Neither did the FBI. Or Homeland Security."

"I appreciate you telling me that," John said.

"The reason I’m telling you," Roman said, "is because you and I? We come from the same kind of place. And when I lost my father, let’s just say I spent a long time looking over my shoulder, wondering if someone had helped him along."

John said nothing.

Roman exhaled. "When’s the funeral?"

"I don’t know yet," John admitted. "Actually, I was going to see you anyway—to request some time off. Not the whole day, just to leave early. Today."

Roman gave him a long look. "To leave early today. To go where?"

"Are you asking because you need confirmation, or because you don’t know?"

A beat of silence.

Then Roman cleared his throat, pushed off his desk, and finally walked around and sat down in his chair.

"I'll authorize your flight to Boston for the will reading," he said. "In fact, I don’t think you should be here at all. I think you should take the next available flight."

John frowned. "You want me to leave now? Why? I still have to-"

Roman lifted his hand and cut him off. "Because, first of all, you need actual time to process this. I know you, Nero. I know how your brain works.

If you just push through it, pretend like it doesn’t matter, it’ll come back to bite you later. That’s not something we want."

"You know I’m not that type," John said.

"I know," Roman said. "And we're trying to keep it that way."

He paused. "The other reason? You need to be at the will reading on time."

John's jaw tightened. "Oh. So you do know."

Roman met his stare. "And you also know what I’m going to ask you."

John leaned forward, resting his arms on the chair. "I’m not wearing a wire."

Roman exhaled through his nose. "John—"

"I’m an economist," John snapped. "I did everything I could to get away from that life. And now you’re telling me I have to be a field agent? I’m not doing it! I gave up the other family! I’m not doing it! I’m not going into the field!"

"Not a field agent," Roman corrected, raising his voice "Just someone on the inside. Come on, you knew what this was when you signed up. Don’t play dumb now."

John shook his head. "I’m not wearing a wire."

Roman’s expression darkened. He stood out of his chair. "You are going to wear this wire, and you’re going to like it! Damnit Nero, what the hell are we doing here? Playing kickball? I get how you feel, but this is the way it is! "

Silence.

Then Roman leaned forward, voice lower, colder.

"Because if you don’t," he said, "we’re going to go from a cozy working relationship to something else. Something uglier. I’m not going to risk MY boss being up my ass to spare YOUR feelings! Do you understand?"

John held his gaze. He tightened his grip on the arm rests of the chair. For a moment, a light flickered in his eye, as if he would jump up to his feet.

But Chief Roman stared him down. The Chief was a master at “the look”.

It was an Italian thing. Roman’s grandparents were from Palermo, Italy and with the mix of Queens New York, the glare was ultra devastating. 

No blinking. No fear. Not a crease or crack to be seen. Just still eyes, daring you to make a move.

John backed down and relaxed. John looked away and Roman, satisfied in his victory, calmly sat back down. John understood perfectly.

It didn’t matter what he wanted. He had known this was coming. The worst part? His siblings would know, too.

And when they found the wire—because they would—he wasn’t sure if he’d walk out of there alive.

"When’s the reading?" Roman asked.

"Nine p.m.," John said.

"Then leave immediately."

John pushed up from the chair.

"Oh, one more thing," Roman said.

John paused. "What?"

"Take Lea with you."

John turned fully. "Lea? Why?"

"Everyone needs backup, John," Roman said. "Plus, we need to make sure you don’t run. That you don’t go anywhere unprotected."

John understood the implication immediately.

It wasn’t for his protection.

It was for the CIA’s.

To make sure he didn’t disappear. To make sure he didn’t flip.

John said nothing.

He just turned and walked toward the door.

Right as he reached for the handle, Roman spoke again.

"I am sorry, John," he said. "I wish it was anyone but you. If we had someone else, we'd use them. But with less than twenty-four hours to prepare, you're all we got. Godspeed."

John exhaled and opened the door.

"I know you’ve got the place already bugged," he muttered. "So why does it matter if I wear a wire?"

Roman leaned back in his chair, smirking slightly. "It only matters what you do."

With that, he waved John away.

John walked out of the office.

At his desk, Lea was already sitting on top of it, arms crossed, waiting.

"What did he say?" she asked.

John sighed. "Did you already know you were coming with me?"

"Of course," she said. "I suggested it."

John narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Because I’m your friend," Lea said simply. "For now."

John let out a snort. "Fine. Take me to the prep room." He ran a hand through his hair. "This wire better not get me killed."

Lea hopped off his desk.

"No promises."