The blood in her mouth was of little concern, as the small area around her was filling with water.

She thought to herself, Oh, shit! What did I get myself into? I can’t believe that I was dumb enough to actually agree to this. She scrolled through her brain like a video reel, scanning every bit of information she had learned through life and training in hopes of figuring out just how to survive this awful experience. The water kept rushing in as she clawed and pried at the edges of the box that she was confined to. It was wooden and much smaller than she stood tall, mirroring the effect of a coffin. There was one small two-inch hole that she could see out beyond her confines. Her eyes hadn’t seen daylight in weeks, so looking out of that hole caused her eyes to water and burn as if she was looking directly at the sun.

“Burning eyes are still not the fucking priority here, dumbass. I’m gonna have to breathe here in a minute, and I ain’t a goddammed goldfish!” she sarcastically reminded herself.

The water, still rising, was now at her chest, and she gasped for as many breaths as she could, nearly hyperventilating. She could feel the intense panic set in. “Don’t panic. There is always a way out. I just have to be smarter than the morons who came up with this contraption of death. There has gotta be a way out,” she sternly told herself. They wouldn’t have taken me if they thought I couldn’t handle it…right? she thought as she questioned her motives.

         She continued feeling around the seams of the box, trying to feel for any small crack or space to squeeze her fingertips into. The pitch blackness of the box yielded zero visibility, so her success and survival were all based completely on feel. She pressed her knees into the bottom of the box and pressed her back up, fighting to get any kind of leverage at all. The way they had positioned her in the box removed any chance for her to use her body to try to escape this damned death trap. When the water reached her chin, she pressed her face and mouth as close to that hole as possible, knowing that her source of precious air would be gone in the very next moments to come. She continued searching and scanning every inch of her mind trying to come up with some way to pry her battered physique out of this tiny tomb.

         The panic, however, was overwhelming. “How can they do this to me? I’m supposed to be on their side…They’re supposed to be on MY team. Why is this necessary? What did I do? I’m gonna die in here!” she said. All rational thought had left her consciousness, and all that remained was a primal urge to live…to breathe. As the water splashed into her nose and mouth, she continued to spit it out violently and thrash around, trying to loosen the corners of what seemed to be her final resting place. “They won’t let me die in here. Please, God, don’t let them let me die in here,” she begged.

         As she took her final breath, thoughts of how she got into this predicament ran through her mind like a series of flashcards. Playing back every interaction, conversation, and event leading up to her current circumstance.

         (Flashback)

“PRAZICH!” bellowed a large military police officer in a deep, strong voice. She stood from her seat in the hallway and headed into the small conference room within the old base administration building. As she walked in, she saw a small, rectangular, wooden table, similar to the ones you might see in a cafeteria. Around that table sat five older, highly decorated Marine Corps officers in their Alpha greens.

Recognizing the situation, she immediately stood at attention and snapped a salute. They each stood up, returned the salute to her, and sat back down in their seats. Three men and two women all shared the same clean and crisp appearance. In the corner were two more men and one woman, seated but wearing plain black suits and nothing else to distinguish them: not even the base mandated name tags for visitors. Hmmm, what’s with the suits? she thought.

         She knew she was coming in for an evaluation on her performance and conduct, but honestly, she had never seen so much heavy brass in one place before. She was enlisted, and in the Marine Corps, birds of a feather flock together and fraternization between officers and enlisted is more than frowned upon. Flying with pilots, you frequently see the lieutenants and captains and even the occasional major, but the brass here was a shit-ton heavier than those guys. It took a minute for her to realize that these people were not even from her unit. She was familiar with absolutely no one in that tiny little room. Never even heard of them. Right then, she knew this was going to go one of two ways; short, sweet and straight, or long, invasive, and drastically sideways.

She took a second to glance around. At best, the room was perhaps ten by twelve feet with one small rectangular window that you couldn’t even see through. Some fog-like condensation had come between the panes of glass, creating an opaque, smoked-out look, with merely a few little streaks of daylight coming through here and there. The floor was the old USMC linoleum that was waxed weekly. The walls were large concrete brick, covered in some semi-gloss shiny battleship gray paint. Nothing else decorated the walls. No posters, no flyers, not even any pictures of the good ole’ Commandant. Nothing. For a second, it almost felt like she was in for some sort of court-martial or something.

         As the MP closed the heavy wooden door behind her, the highest-ranking officer in the room stood and said, “Sergeant Prazich. I am General Raines. Thank you for coming. Please have a seat, and we will get started.”

         General Raines was a stout man, easily in his mid-sixties, but he was incredibly physically fit. He had a high and tight faded haircut of salt and pepper hair, but truth be told, more salt than pepper. One could guess that a lifetime in the Marine Corps would do that to you. Considering he had four shiny silver stars on each shoulder, she knew that he had seen more than meets the eye. He had very masculine and chiseled facial features, which kept him quite attractive despite his folded leathery skin. Most noticeable was his strong jaw, but only second to that were eyes as blue as a glacial lake. When she looked into those eyes, it was truly mesmerizing for a moment, like staring into an abyss. She could feel his calm confidence, but the years of battle were undeniable, and the toll it had taken on his soul was quite evident.

         She looked around the room for her chair. She sat in the only empty chair available, set in the opposite corner with all eyes on her. Feeling their awkward, penetrating gazes, like laser beams burning into her, she thought, Ummm, okay, kinda feeling like a zoo animal here. I wonder if I should moo or roar like a tiger? Nawww, wrong crowd for sure. What in the hell is going on here? This is really getting weird. Somebody needs to say something, as long as it’s not me.

         She sat down in the most formal manner possible. Her back was straight, and she was very erect. Her hands were palms down, resting on the tops of her thighs and her feet were flat on the shiny linoleum floor, just like they taught her in boot camp. As she sat, she snuck another second to re-check her uniform. Boots glowing…check. Gig line straight…check. Creases crisp…check. Ribbons in order…check.

She went over that list in her mind just one more time. For a girl of only twenty-one years, she was the picture-perfect United States Marine. In her short three years of service, she was already able to earn the non-commissioned officer’s rank of sergeant. To most, this would seem a nearly impossible accomplishment. Why her? What made Jelena Prazich so special?

 She had skills that most girls couldn’t even begin to grasp and an affinity for violence. Not the kind of violence where she was a felon or anything of the sort, quite the contrary. She chose to use her power for good and was indeed fearless. Fighting the good fight was something she enjoyed passionately, always sticking up for the weaker kids…always challenging the bullies on the playground. She never shied away from a fight in her entire life, but she wasn’t a bad person…or at least she didn’t start out that way.

 Most of her useful skills were imparted by her father, Radomir Prazich, a Russian immigrant. Son of Mary Agnus-Irma and Stanislaus Prazich from a remote southern town on the Russia/Poland border. They immigrated to the land of opportunity, America, to flee the advances of Hitler and the SS when Rad was only a small boy. They settled in Pennsylvania, and Rad grew up on the rougher side of Philadelphia, where most immigrants lived. His parents worked in the factories there, and they didn’t have the easiest lives, but they had something that they never had before…hope.

 Radomir grew to be a stern man, with a round face and a chiseled jawline that was always covered with a beard. He was big and strong and was a prized boxer in his own time, but his deep brown eyes were always warm and welcoming. He was the first in his family to be formally educated and to attend college. He focused on the subject of History, but he also studied the arts of war and peace…culture and science…and he was absolutely Jelena’s idol. In her eyes, even though he was incredibly hard on her at times, the sun rose and set on her father.

 He taught her everything that she would need to know to survive just about anything. He taught her to fight, shoot, and handle edged weapons like knives and axes…He taught her that the ‘bad guys’ don’t care if she was a girl or a boy, that they would hurt her just the same, and she needed to always remember to get up and keep fighting, no matter what. He taught her that pain exists in the mind and that pain could be controlled. He taught her not only how to dish out the hits but also how to take them and how important recovery and refocus were in winning a fight or living to fight another day. He taught her how to hunt, live off the land, and so many other things that would come to be quite useful. Between the strength and precision of her father and the grace and cunningness of her mother, she blossomed into what would be one of the most beautiful but lethal flowers the world would ever come to know.

“Sergeant Jelena Prazich,” General Raines began. “In your short service, you have become one of the youngest and most decorated Marines on this base. Most Marines cannot accomplish what you have, and that is why you are here. Your sergeant major and your commanding officer have even recommended you for acceptance into the Annapolis Naval Academy. I have to say, to impress those two salty dogs, that is quite the feat in and of itself. Your tenacity, combat skills, strength, determination, and character have built you a reputation that precedes you. I realize that you may not know us, but we most definitely know you. We have followed you, your tours, your actions. We have been keeping quite close tabs on you, actually, just to be able to convene this panel and discuss your future and how we can help each other.”

Jelena’s eyes must have shot over to look at the folks in suits just as the general looked back at her. When she realized that he was looking at her, she did not look away. She looked directly into his eyes without any visible reaction. Stoicism was one of her favorite games to play with people. She preferred playing her hands quite close to the chest, especially regarding her emotions and reactions. She prided herself in being ‘difficult to read.’ She called it her undefeated poker face. It had a two-prong

 affect, in that it worked well with playing poker as well as playing politics.

“Sergeant Prazich, these folks have a project that we believe you would be perfect for,” General Raines said. “Colonel Jacobs, I think this is where you can start to lay out some groundwork for the young sergeant.”

Colonel Wanda Jacobs also looked like she had had a challenging Marine Corps career. She was a shorter lady, perhaps measuring 5’5 in her USMC-issued patent leather pumps. She had a very petite build with long delicate-looking fingers. She was a lady in her fifties, with sandy blonde hair and visible roots of a different shade. Her hair was pulled back in a gentle bun, with a few wispy gray hairs mixed in on the sides. She had deep round brown eyes that were magnified behind the gray military reading glasses she wore. She had some folds to her skin, as well, and some worry lines that were proof of her own battles. Being a woman in the Marines is tough enough, but to climb the ranks as she had done over the years is a tall order to fill.

 Colonel Jacobs began, “Certainly General Raines. Thank you. Sergeant Prazich, my name is Colonel Jacobs. We obviously have some extra folks here today, and I am sure you are curious. They are not Marines, but they are with a different governmental agency. Should we conclude this panel and determine that you are indeed a good fit for their…umm…project, then you would be able to retain your military rank and pay, be eligible for a promotion, as well as future promotions, and be able to receive pay from their agency too, making this quite the lucrative project for you…should you accept, that is.”

         Lieutenant Colonel Barrs, the other female officer, then interrupted, “Please understand, Sergeant Prazich, we value your service, and we would hate to see you go, but we are all on the same team here,” she hesitated and glanced back at General Raines before reluctantly continuing, “…ultimately at least…and in the name of what is in the best interest of our great nation, we all agree, that you are one of our finest assets, and that your participation in this project would be of an even greater value to our country. “

         Lieutenant Colonel Mary Barrs looked like she was the youngest of the bunch. Either she was in her late thirties, or she just had some incredible genes allowing her to be quite attractive. She was around 5’9 and slender. It honestly looked like she couldn’t have done a pull-up even with help. However, by most standards, she could have easily been a model. Her skin was smooth and tan, and her hair was cut at an angled bob just below her ears. Her hair was so black that it nearly appeared a deep violet in the few beams of sunlight that broke through the cracks in the window. She had vividly green eyes, perfectly straight, white teeth, and spoke without much presence. Her lack of confidence and command made Jelena question how this meek female became the leader of a rowdy bunch of Jarheads. Just seemed a bit unlikely, but then again, we all have sides of ourselves that are not always on display.

         Jelena carefully looked at each of the five USMC officers, studying every single face. All displayed similar stoicism to her own, except Lieutenant Colonel Barrs. Although it was obvious that she was trying to keep and maintain her bearing, it was blatant that she was not happy with the situation or whatever ‘project’ the black suits were proposing. Jelena glanced over at the black suits. They had a much different look, almost of glee, sort of like the cat that ate the canary. All they were missing were the little feathers sticking out of the crooks of their mouths. They merely looked right back at Jelena as if she were the winning horse they had all bet on.

         Hmmm, weird, thought Jelena. No briefcases, no papers, no name tags, no wedding rings…hmmm, nothing. Not even a damn pencil. Who comes to a meeting with nothing? Who in the hell are these people? And more to the point, what in the hell do they want with me? What is this project? I think it’s time for some answers!

         “Sir, permission to speak freely?” Jelena asked.

         “Within reason, granted,” General Raines replied.

         “Sirs and ma’ams, I have a few questions,” Jelena continued.

         “Certainly, we will answer them to the best of our ability,” the general followed.

         Jelena took a second to gather her thoughts and stood up to address the panel and the three black suits. She tried to prepare herself for whatever crazy notions these bureaucrats had stuffed up their sleeves. She didn’t want to give them any facial reaction that they may or may not misinterpret, but she knew they wanted something from her. From the look on Lieutenant Colonel Barrs’ face, it was not even remotely in the realm of good…it may have even been immoral and most likely ethically questionable.

         “Thank you, sir,” Jelena said. “My first question is, what agency are these folks with, and is that the agency that I would be serving?”

         The room began to buzz with movement. It was quite plain to see how that one particular question made every single person in the room, other than Jelena, rather uncomfortable as they looked back and forth at each other and shifted a bit in their seats.

         Boy, did I just publicly announce the few national secrets that I am privy to, or what? Jelena thought.

         “Before we answer any questions, we just need you to sign this first,” said General Raines.

         “What is this?” asked Jelena.

         “It is simply a non-disclosure statement. In military terms, it is a gag order,” General Raines explained. “It just means that you cannot discuss anything that is discussed here in this room, during this meeting with anyone at all. Also, you have to understand that once we discuss these things with you, we will need an answer from you immediately, so we do want you to ask as many questions as you need to come to a timely decision.”

         He slid a form across the table for Jelena to sign. It had all her personal details, such as name, rank, social security number, etc., already filled into the appropriate places. He held out a pen for Jelena to take. As she peered into his icy blue eyes, she gently took the pen and signed the form without hesitation.

         I mean…it’s just a form saying that I won’t blab right. No big deal. So here ya go. My John Hancock right. There, done, she thought as she braced herself for some intense declarations.

         “Okay, Sergeant. So, to answer your question,” General Raines began. “These folks are with the Central Intelligence Agency, and yes, that is the agency that you would be working for.”

         Jelena continued, “What is the ‘project’ that they need me for, and what does that entail exactly?”

         General Raines looked over at the taller of the men in the black suits and said, “Perhaps you would be best to field that particular question.”

         The taller man stood from his seat. Tall indeed, he was an easy 6’6 with an athletic frame. He had a few ethnic features, which made him look slightly exotic. Dark hair, dark eyes, high cheekbones, no facial hair, but he had thick full lips and an olive tone to his skin. Italian, Indian or Israeli, perhaps. Though he spoke with no accent, his deep baritone voice was the one crooners dreamed of having. Jelena thought he probably got his way quite often since his voice could melt nearly any female heart within earshot…except perhaps hers. Jelena watched as even the female officers in the room were tuned in completely to his every word and mannerism. She refocused her attention onto him.

         “Sergeant Prazich, we need a fresh female operative. We have located a particular person of interest with some extremely sensitive information in their possession. We need a female operative to develop a relationship with this man and recover the thumb drive with the information on it. Then just simply bring it back to us,” the man said.

         “And who are you?” Jelena asked.

         “Who I am, is of no importance,” the man replied

         “Well, what kind of information?” Jelena asked.

         “That is also none of your concern,” the man replied. “When you work for us, you only get the information that you require to get the job done. Nothing more. Consider it classified beyond your security clearance level.”

         “Um, okay,” Jelena mumbled. “How long is this project supposed to take?”

         “However long it takes for you to earn his trust, learn where he keeps the drive, steal it and return with it. So however long it takes, is however long it takes. We will not reach out to you, but you will have a point of contact nearby and a handler, and you will be responsible for reaching out at least once a month, or more, to provide us with appropriate situational reports. Progress reports, if you will. You will be issued a new name with new credit/bank cards, identification, passport, and the lot. You will also be issued a code name. A name that only a very few assets will know. People that can help you in the field, when we cannot,” the man explained.

         “Alright. Do I come back to my unit once this ‘project’ is over?” Jelena asked.

         “Yes,” the man stated. “However, we may call on you in the future for other… ‘projects.’ It is very time consuming and costs quite a bit to get operatives trained and field ready. Once we have sound operatives, we contact them first when assignments come up. I am sure you understand.”

         “Absolutely,” Jelena said. “I totally understand. What happens if I get caught?”

         “My best suggestion is…don’t. Don’t get caught. Typically, if you get caught, we don’t know you and we will deny all involvement with you. Your getting caught and us admitting that we know you could cause the next World War. Upper management will do everything possible to avoid that situation, and I do mean everything. There are extremely rare situations where we will try to help you to the best of our ability, but really it will come down to your prowess to get yourself out of those situations,” the man explained. “But there are other assets out in the field, resources that you can contact for help if you get jammed up.”

         So, no guarantee on getting any help to get out of there, huh. Gotcha. I’ve always had my unit…I have never gone by myself before…totally rogue. I mean, this seems easy enough, and more money…just steal the drive and get the hell on out of there. I think I can do this. I can’t believe that he basically said, ‘You’re on your own, kid,’ Jelena thought.

         Jelena was quiet for an extended moment, processing the information she was just told.

         “So, I just have to go somewhere and meet some guy, pretend to be his girlfriend, steal some thumb drive, and then come back…right?” Jelena asked as respectfully as possible.

         “Yes, basically,” the man replied.

         “Sergeant Prazich, do you have any other questions?” asked General Raines.

         “Yes, you mentioned getting field operatives trained and field ready. What exactly does that mean? I mean, what do I have to do in there?” Jelena asked.

         The man explained, “We send you to a sort of boot camp training facility, not much more different than Field Combat Training. We will teach you how we do things and put you through various training scenarios. Once you have completed that successfully, we will send you on a very simple assignment with another asset…a more senior and experienced asset, to see how you do. We only have one shot at this guy, Sergeant, so we cannot afford to send you in if you are not one hundred percent ready and able to accomplish the goal of this assignment completely on your own.”

         “Alright, I understand,” Jelena said. “If I say ‘yes’ that I will accept this assignment or project or whatever, when do I leave for this training?”

         He responded curtly, “In less than twenty-four hours.”