Two novice teen agents. A world teetering on the brink. One mission that could change history.
Summer, 1965. Eighteen-year-old James Vagus has no clear future—until a shadowy recruiter offers him an extraordinary path: espionage. Thrust into a secret world of danger and deception, James quickly learns that every move could be his last.
His first mission takes him to the beaches of Miami, where he must infiltrate the Golden Syndicate, a covert organization led by the enigmatic Dr. van Heerden. With the help of fellow agent Dakota Walker, a fiercely skilled Cherokee teen, James plunges into a deadly web of espionage, betrayal, and high-stakes international intrigue.
The deeper they dig, the more dangerous their mission becomes. Clues lead them from the neon-lit streets of Miami to the dark walkways of Vienna, the bustling chaos of Madras, and the treacherous waters of the Florida Keys. As they uncover a plot designed to disrupt the global balance of power, the stakes rise higher than ever.
With enemies closing in and time running out, James and Dakota must rely on their wits, their training, and each other to stop an impending catastrophe. But espionage is never black and white—and survival is never guaranteed.
Two novice teen agents. A world teetering on the brink. One mission that could change history.
Summer, 1965. Eighteen-year-old James Vagus has no clear future—until a shadowy recruiter offers him an extraordinary path: espionage. Thrust into a secret world of danger and deception, James quickly learns that every move could be his last.
His first mission takes him to the beaches of Miami, where he must infiltrate the Golden Syndicate, a covert organization led by the enigmatic Dr. van Heerden. With the help of fellow agent Dakota Walker, a fiercely skilled Cherokee teen, James plunges into a deadly web of espionage, betrayal, and high-stakes international intrigue.
The deeper they dig, the more dangerous their mission becomes. Clues lead them from the neon-lit streets of Miami to the dark walkways of Vienna, the bustling chaos of Madras, and the treacherous waters of the Florida Keys. As they uncover a plot designed to disrupt the global balance of power, the stakes rise higher than ever.
With enemies closing in and time running out, James and Dakota must rely on their wits, their training, and each other to stop an impending catastrophe. But espionage is never black and white—and survival is never guaranteed.
St. Michael’s Academy for Boys
Ashford, Ohio
Blackwood Residence Hall, Room 203
June 18, 1965
James Vagus pushed open the door to his dorm room and stepped inside. He tossed his diploma folder and program onto the bed. The cover read St. Michael’s Academy for Boys 1965 Graduation Ceremony in a suitable formal typeface. While he sat in the stuffy auditorium during the proceedings, he grew bored with the never-ending speeches and checked for his name. It was listed way back on page 8… the curse of having a surname starting with a letter toward the end of the alphabet.
Loosening his tie, he scanned the small room — his home for the past six years. A single, not very comfortable bed, an overloaded bookcase, a compact metal desk with a lamp, a chair, and a wardrobe. Spartan. He never added homey touches. Never saw the point. He had no family photos to display, anyway.
In only two weeks, he had to move out, but he had no idea where he would go. The thought of applying for a job at the Academy crossed his mind again. That would provide him with room and board, but he also knew it would drive his teachers and counselors crazy. They all assumed he would pursue higher education, “since he was such a bright young man.” He was pulled aside many times during the past year — even up to the very morning of the ceremony — to engage in “little chats” about it.
But the truth was, James had no intention of going to college or had any plans for his future at the moment. Of course, he listened to the adults politely, told them he appreciated their concern, but this bright young man had no bright ideas about his future.
He took off his jacket and hung it up in the wardrobe with great care. He didn’t have many clothes, so he had to make the ones he had last. Plopping down on the uncomfortable mattress, he loosened his tie as he gazed at his diploma. There it was: the result of twelve years of schooling. It was supposed to be a significant achievement, something to be proud of and shared… but for him, it was only another piece of paper. Albeit a fancy printed one.
James stood, moved to the window and opened it, letting a rush of warm, humid air fill the room. He watched families clustered in the courtyard below, their faces glowing with joy, their voices a chorus of celebration. Cameras flashed, capturing moments that would be enshrined in photo albums and memories for years. A little boy ran across the grass, waving a mortarboard too large for his small hands. A man scooped him up, ruffling his hair, and the boy’s giggles echoed upward.
James stared at them for a long moment. He gripped the sash, ready to slam the window shut, lock out all the loud noise of family happiness — then he paused, breathing deep, forcing down the resentment. He was working hard not to be bitter. Turning his back on the scene outside, he tried to block out the sounds of a life he never knew.
From his pocket, he pulled a small felted blue jewelry box and opened it. Inside, a small sterling silver cross gleamed. He smiled, rubbing the cross between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its cool, smooth contours. The sisters from the orphanage attended the graduation, and seeing their familiar, kind faces in the crowd meant more than he could express. They were the closest thing to a family he ever had.
He took the cross and held it up, letting it catch the light. Slowly, he draped it around his neck, the metal settling against his chest with a comforting weight. He touched it again, vowing to himself that he would never remove their gift.
There was a knock, startling him. James turned toward the door. “Come in.”
A middle-aged man stepped into the room. He was a little shorter than James, who stood at six feet tall. His hair had begun to show hints of gray, and he wore a well-fitted pinstripe suit. He entered the room with an air of authority, but otherwise possessed an unremarkable appearance. Put him against a blank wall, and he’d blend in seamlessly. James did not recognize his visitor at all.
“I would like to congratulate you on your graduation,” the man said.
“Thanks.” James studied him, trying to place the face. Nothing. “Mister…?”
There was no answer. Instead, the man looked around the room and walked over to the bookcase. He ran a finger along the spines. “You have quite a collection of foreign language books.”
“I speak four languages fluently, and four more to some degree. Whenever an overseas sister came to the orphanage, I pestered her until she taught me her native language.” James shrugged. “I guess I have a facility for it.”
The man turned, hands in pockets. “I would say that was more than a mere facility.”
James was still at a loss to what the man wanted, or who he was. Did the guy wander into the wrong room? “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” He waited, curious, wary. The visitor appeared to be somebody important, but why the mystery?
“Why didn’t you accept the valedictorian honor when it was offered?” the man asked, ignoring James’ hint.
“I thought it should go to someone whose family could share in the pride,” James answered before realizing it wasn’t the man’s business at all.
“Interesting,” the man said, more to himself than James. He then studied James like he was a piece of abstract art hanging in a museum, trying to determine the painting’s subject.
“How did you know about that?” James demanded.
The man flashed a tight smile, as though his lips were out of practice. “Let’s say it’s a privilege of the one paying the bills.”
“Paying the bills…” James repeated. His brow furrowed in confusion. Was this man some type of anonymous benefactor revealing his existence? Was he about to yell “Surprise! I’m your lost rich uncle!” James shook his head slightly in confusion. “Wait… are you saying… I thought I was here on a full scholarship.”
“You were.” He walked to the window. “Of sorts.”
“Of sorts? What does that mean? Are you telling me you picked up the tab for the past six years?” James asked.
“To respond to your last question — no, I personally did not pay your tuition. However, I represent the organization that did.” The visitor looked over the school grounds.
“I’m sorry… who are you again? What’s this ‘organization’?” James took a couple of steps toward the man.
The man met James’ gaze as he turned to him — steady, steely. “Smith. My name is John Smith,” came the response after a brief pause, almost as if he was thinking up an alias on the spot.
The answer seemed flung like a challenge, as if the man was testing James’ reaction to such an obvious lie. James was tempted to respond with a sarcastic “you’ve got to be kidding”, but decided not to.
Perhaps this man was some type of eccentric millionaire who bankrolled James’ education, and this was some weird rite he liked to perform. James supposed people like that could exist and figured he had enough time to play along. After all, he was not expected at any post-graduation parties. His tone implied that he was aware the name was false, but he accepted it — for now. “A pleasure to meet you, Mister… Smith.”
Smith nodded, as though James had passed a test. “At least that’s the name I’m using for the present time,” he said without a trace of irony or explanation. He went to the desk and sat in the chair. James took a seat on the bed.
James’ gaze remained locked on the man sitting across from him as memories pulled him back to the orphanage. There, he learned the craft of careful observation and subtle adaptation in order to please potential adoptive parents. Now, as he sat on the edge of the bed, James couldn’t shake the feeling that he was once again being judged and evaluated. And he automatically was again playing that same game, mirroring his visitor’s every move, analyzing words used and body language, engaging in a mental chess match. But this time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to please or deceive. But it was clearly his turn.
“How very interesting. What kind of organization?” James asked. “The one I can thank for the open checkbook.”
Smith’s cool demeanor remained unchanged. “The world has been split into two halves after World War II. There is now intense geopolitical tension between the United States and its NATO allies, representing Western capitalist democracies, and the Soviet Union and its Eastern Bloc allies, representing communist states.”
“I know. I got an ‘A’ in Social Science,” James said. “What does — ”
The visitor went on. “Then you are aware there is a fierce ideological struggle between capitalism and communism. This Cold War has permeated global politics, economics, and cultures. So far, direct military confrontation has been avoided, but both superpowers seek to extend their influence globally. While avoiding shooting at each other, the two sides engage in proxy wars, nuclear armament races, and intense espionage.”
“Yes, and…” James prompted.
Smith spoke after a moment’s silence. “The group of which I am a member is part of that struggle.”
James folded his arms across his chest and grinned. He volleyed the ball back. “Sounds like you’re talking about the CIA.”
The reply erased his smile.
“Same league, different team,” Smith said. “The CIA personnel are quite capable, but may at times have experience difficulty entering certain locales because of their higher average age. It was proposed that a smaller agency consisting of younger operatives could be of assistance in certain cases, and handle some basic surveillance tasks. This would free older agents for other missions.”
“Like a squad of boy secret spies?” James raised an eyebrow.
“Not exactly.” Smith paid no attention to the sarcasm. “A male needs to be 18 years old to join the military without parent or guardian permission. So youngsters serving as spies are the stuff of fiction. But there is a need for younger agents, particularly in infiltrating specific areas. Colleges, rock concerts, clubs, that kind of scenario. It is assumed these youthful operatives would be useful for approximately five years or so. Although as long as they can pass for somebody younger than their actual age, the service length could be extended. For example, your blonde hair, blue eyes and boyish looks could lead to a longer career.”
James nodded in appreciation of the compliment. “And when they become old and wrinkled, they’re put out to pasture? Or are they merely shot?”
“None of that,” Smith dismissed. “The agents will be offered a choice to either retire from the organization with their country’s gratitude and a generous pension, or transfer to a different agency — the CIA. I am a part of what is known as MIS-X. Originally, it was a secret military intelligence unit formed in World War II to help Allied prisoners escape Axis prison camps. Although it was inactive after the peace, it was never officially disbanded. Like most government programs, it existed in some form, if only in a folder residing in a file drawer. Now, MIS-X is being reconstituted to train and deploy young agents for a new purpose.”
“It would be a shame to waste all that stationary,” James remarked dryly.
“Indeed,” Smith said in sincerity. James concluded his visitor had no sense of humor.
“MIS-X has been in an organizational and planning mode,” Smith went on. “It has spent several years locating, monitoring, and sometimes, providing support for hundreds of children who we projected could fill our staff.”
James aimed his dart. “Sounds like you’ve been raising prize hogs, waiting for them to get fatter for slaughter.” There was no reaction. “Am I safe to believe I was I one of those ‘monitored and supported’ children?”
Smith nodded.
“I trust I’ve been an interesting subject,” James returned.
Smith shrugged. “About average.”
“And now you’ve come for your pound of flesh?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“A nice Shakespearean allusion… The Merchant of Venice. Act Three, if I remember,” Smith said.
“Act Four,” James corrected. “Shylock was unsuccessful in his quest.”
A flicker of approval appeared in Smith’s brown eyes. “Yes, you are correct.” He flashed another tight smile. “But no, that is not my purpose here.”
Memories from the orphanage again intruded into James’ mind. Of all those meetings with prospective parents, the trying for approval from them, for adoption by them, followed by crushing disappointment. A surge of anger he couldn’t control, the anger of never being chosen, of always wondering why he wasn’t good enough, why no family wanted to adopt him, flared. He jumped up and strode to Smith. His eyes narrowed as he jabbed his index finger at his visitor. “Did your ‘monitoring’ derail those potential adoptions of me that fell through?”
Smith rose, his actions precise and controlled. He stood with his weight evenly distributed on both feet, arms held at his sides. James couldn’t help but think it appeared Smith was expecting a violent response from him… or perhaps he was testing James’ reaction to that idea.
“No. We did not influence those.” Smith spoke in a quiet voice, maintaining eye contact with James. “It’s more likely that you intimidated the couples.”
“Intimidated them?” James sputtered.
Smith relaxed his stance. “Most people seeking to adopt don’t want a child who is far more intelligent than they are.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” James fired back.
Smith remained unruffled. “No, simply an observation. At any rate, your adoption status would have made no difference to us. We still would have communicated with you at this time, although families complicate matters.”
Silence settled over the room. James stared hard at Smith, the man’s calm, calculated presence gnawing at him. Smith continued to observe James with an intense gaze, as if he were assigning points for different aspects and then tallying the total. Finally, he gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. “I think you have potential.”
James unclenched his fists, not realizing he’d balled them up. “Potential?”
“Based on my observations and your school record, you have the foundations to join us. MIS-X is now ready to enter its operational stage, although experimental — a trial — at first. A small operation with a limited number of agents. I am offering you a slot in the first training class,” Smith said.
James couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Just moments ago, he didn’t have an idea about his future. Now, he was being offered the opportunity to become a secret agent — it was all too much to take in. There most likely be possibility of injury… or worse. Did he want to risk becoming involved in that type of life? “I… I need some time to think about this…”
“Understandable,” Smith replied. “You do not have to decide immediately.”
“And if I say no?” James asked.
“You’re under no obligation to accept, of course.” Smith answered. “We will never force anyone to join the organization. A coerced operative is a dangerous and unpredictable one. You are free to live a life of your own making. With or without service to MIS-X.”
James gestured around the room. “And all the money you’ve spent on my education?”
“Consider it a scholarship, as you called it. You do not need to repay.” Smith adjusted his suit with a flick of his wrists. He extended his hand. James shook it. “Remember, your age is crucial to the MIS-X mission, so my offer is only open for two weeks. The training program starts in a month and a half. We have other possible recruits to contact in the meantime. If you wish to join, you can stay at the decommissioned military base we’re using without cost until we begin.”
As he turned to leave, he cast a look at James’ slender build. “There are excellent weight lifting facilities there.” He placed a business card on the desk. “You can call this number when you decide. Again, congratulations on your graduation, James. I hope that you will become part of MIS-X.”
The door closed with a soft click. James stood motionless, the room’s silence pressing in on him, stunned at the interview he just went through. He tried to understand what just had occurred, the wholly unexpected choice offered to him. After a few minutes, he walked to the desk and picked up the card. It was blank, other than a single phone number, centered and printed in crisp, black ink.
Tapping the card against his thumb, James stared after Smith.
The story wastes no time pulling readers into the action with main character James’s first mission: an assignment that immediately goes off the rails. The story may have skipped past the classic training montage, but we immediately get a sense for what James learned and how he reacts under pressure when things don't go as planned. The stakes are set early and escalate with each chapter, pulling the reader deeper into an adrenaline-filled adventure.
The writing is tight and focused, zeroing in on the action without getting sidetracked. The pacing keeps you right alongside James, allowing you to experience the tension, urgency, and thrill of the moment with him. He might keep his cool, but I was on the edge of my seat. I felt fully immersed in what was happening, with each scene pulling me deeper.
The setting is a fitting backdrop for a young spy, as it takes place in Miami, where there is sun-soaked energy and an undercurrent of youthful mischief. The setting feels alive and layered, and the action remains in Miami long enough to build out the world of the story before expanding internationally.
There’s something wonderfully cinematic about the whole setup. The time period, mysterious plot threads, and fast-paced momentum remind me of a young, trained Indiana Jones story, blending classic adventure with covert espionage back in time (the 1960's).
The world-building is balanced, and the story is strong but not overpowering of the immediate action. The story doesn’t try to be overly expansive because it focuses on what's right in front of James. This is exactly what gives the world a sense of authenticity. We get just enough backstory on James and eventually Dakota to make us care about them as people and as spies on a mission.
Tension is built masterfully throughout, keeping stakes high without ever feeling forced. If you are a fan of a good action spy thriller, then this is a fun and quick read.