The Agency
© Jennifer Cox

He reached for the microphone, still unsure of what he was going to say. His palms began to sweat, making it difficult to maintain his grip. His mouth went dry and he cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, I can't begin to tell you how much of a pleasure it is to receive this illustrious honor” God. He felt like such a fraud. Didn't these people know he was nothing more than a liar? Couldn't they see what was really going on?

It had all begun about a year ago, quite innocently actually. He was a senior in college at the time, and although he was close to graduation, he had no plans for the future. In fact the future was something that rarely crossed his mind. He spent most of his time with his head buried in a bottle rather than a book. That is, until he met John Radcliff. He had simply been trying to get some aspirin to cure one of his many hangover-induced headaches. Instead, he had changed the course of history.

He walked through the door of the drug store. He didn't remove his sunglasses because he knew from experience that the neon lights would cause even more pain than he was already experiencing. He kept his head down and went straight toward the aisle where the pain relievers were stored. This was a path that had been worn permanently into his neural pathways. He was surprised that it hadn't also been permanently worn into the floor itself. When he ran into something blocking his way, he was forced to look up and see what it was. What it was, was a tall and slim, but distinguished looking man wearing a gray suit and carrying a wooden cane. When the voice that came out of that mouth spoke with an American rather than British accent he couldn't help but be surprised.

“You're late” the voice said simply as if this were not a completely irrational statement. Questioning his own sanity for the first, but not nearly the last time, he responded stuttering “D-do I know you?” Unfazed, the man answered, “You're Tom Sterling.” It was not a question. “I am John Radcliff. I've been sent here to collect you.” Confusion turning slowly into fear Tom stammered, “Collect me?” “The Agency…” John's face began to change “Well, never mind. It's best you just come with me.” As the response began to form in Tom's mind he noticed John's hand moving and his jacket opening slightly. Just barely visible was a gun. “Well, I guess that would be best.” Tom responded instead. “I'm glad we see things eye to eye.” John said.

Next thing he knew, Tom was inside a van and on his way to some unknown destination. He was surrounded by men in black with suspicious looking bulges under their coats. It was possible that these were not guns, but after seeing what John had hidden under his coat Tom wasn't interested in finding out. “Where are we going?” he questioned timidly. “The Agency” one of the most likely armed guards responded. “What's...” Tom continued, but John cut him off. “No more questions. Everything will be explained upon arrival.” He felt a sharp pain in his side and everything slowly faded to black.

When everything came back into focus he found himself inside a comfortably furnished room. He was on a king size bed with a plush comforter. He yawned and

stretched. Despite the apparent effort put into making this room comfortable, Tom felt far from at ease. The door opened and John walked in. “It's good to see that you've gotten some rest.” “That's one way of looking at it” Tom responded, ”The other is to say that I was drugged.” The smile momentarily flashed from John's face. “There's no need to worry about that.” He said dismissively, “We're not out to hurt you here.” His smile grew. “In fact, we are prepared to make your dreams come true.” “What, but why?” Tom stammered. “Perhaps you should rest up a little more.” John said standing to leave the room “I'll be back” he finished and closed the door. “Wait” Tom pleaded, “I need to know what's going on.” But his plea was in vain. A cloud of smoke began to fill the room. And he felt himself fall backwards.

He woke up after an indeterminable amount of time. There were no windows in the room and no clocks, so it was impossible to know what time it was or even to be sure if it was day or night. He waited in anticipation of John's return, but he didn't come. Tom got up to explore the room. Everything was carefully placed in order to resemble a familiar, yet indistinct, American bedroom. There was nothing to give him any clue about where he was or what was happening. Or, more importantly, what exactly was this agency they all kept talking about. If he had paid attention in any of his psychology classes he would think that he was experiencing a psychotic break. Instead, he simply felt like he was loosing his mind.

When he was on the verge of panic, John finally returned. “I trust you've gotten a significant amount of rest.” He said as he closed the door. “Yes, sir” John responded hoping to avoid being drugged yet again and to finally get the information he had been waiting to hear. “We've had our eyes on you for a while.” John began, seeming to anticipate the questions forming in Tom's mind. “But why me?” Tom asked, “Because you are the epitome of average. You are the kind of person people want to see succeed because you're just like them.” “Uh, thanks I guess.” Tom mumbled. “Believe me, I mean it with the highest level of respect.” John continued, “Anyway, we have quite a path laid out for you. Soon you will be one of the richest, most powerful men in the world.” He paused to gauge Tom's reaction, “All you have to do is do exactly as we tell you.” As someone who was quite used to simply going with the flow, Tom was not completely opposed to this idea. He just wasn't sure he should trust these people. “How do I know I can trust you?” Tom questioned timidly. “Ask for something and if we are unable to produce it, you are free to go.” John responded. “The Agency is more powerful than you could imagine. Every time you hear talk of the ubiquitous “them”, it is really the agency.” He paused, “I'll leave you alone to think about things.”

Tom began to contemplate the implications of John's words, most important being that at the current time he was not free to go. He was in fact a prisoner, even if his cell was outfitted with all the comforts of home. What choice did he have? He could try to run. And then what? If he were caught what would happen? It seemed that there was no harm in complying for the time being. There were only two possible outcomes: whatever wild request he could come up with would be met, or he would be allowed to leave. He had made his decision

When John returned, Tom was prepared to make a request that would not only fulfill his wildest dreams, but prove what sort of power he was actually up against. “Have you made your decision?” John asked, with a look on his face that implied he already knew the answer. “Yes, “ Tom responded with a confidence he did not entirely feel. “I have a request,” he continued “but I want you to promise that if you can't meet it, I will be free to go.” Tom realized the futility of this request, but felt the need to make it anyway. After all he was in no position to be making demands. “Of course” John said simply, and waited for Tom to continue. “Ok, I put a lot of thought into this.” Tom began, clearing his throat. “I want to be president.” A smile crossed John's lips. “Done” he said, and that was that.

He had little more than a second to pause and consider how he had gotten here before beginning his ascent up the stairs. There was no point in thinking about it now. He had made his way onto the stage. He had gone too far. He had no choice now but to go ahead with it. Really, he wasn't sure he had ever had a choice. Tom finally knew what he could not have understood before this point. His greed and laziness had allowed him to be easily manipulated. He was willing to be little more than a slave as long as all his basest needs were met. But all this understanding had no place in his life now. There was nothing else he could do. He stepped up to the podium, looked at the microphone, and took a deep breath.