I used to think that the worst part of being a secret agent was going undercover and being detected. Once, I stopped going on those missions, I realized that the fear never subsides. The lingering paranoia that someone is going to put their hand on your shoulder, and point the gun at your temple just as you turn to see who it is, is an overwhelming and a repetitive part of your haunting dream. Agents acquire these fears over time, and the happier they get, the worse the fear becomes. Creatures that lived for one moment to the next, never are able to adjust to lives that they had dreamed of.
It is worse for people who leave the business. It is a dangerous sector, and every person involved in it thinks of escaping once or another, but it's not that easy. If you hold key information about missions that can leak out, you are at high risk. Further, higher the position you were in, worse are the chances that you will be found and killed. That is the way of life, and one must do everything to feel safe, to not let their fears overtake the few moments of joy they receive in their short lives.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I made sure that all the windows were secured. I double checked.
The car was, of course, tank proof, and hopefully, no one was stupid enough to try and bomb it. The glasses were the darkest shade available, and the car in itself, inconspicuous.
I left no stone unturned to ensure that I was not recognized.
My hair was matted down, and my hairstyle was not understandable. I'd worn a pair of nice earrings, which I never did, and put on the happiest clothes I could manage. No one that wanted to kill me would ever see through my sunny disposition.
I hoped that I could escape Jacob's notice as long as I could, but the task needed to be done. We didn't' have much to talk about, but a formal apology and an explanation were necessary; we had been best friends for the longest time. I could respect that.
My real reason for avoiding the meeting was my embedded paranoia. I could preach about inculcating happiness, but deep down my fear ate up my soul. No, it was not common for people to leave the business and assume new identities, but it was rarer for them to survive.
I wanted to survive.
I cared for my life, and now that I finally had a chance to live it like I wanted to, I didn't know if it was possible.
Some of the people who tried to leave the business were the luckiest kind. And then there were some that came too close and then lost their chance. It was considered a curse really, leaving your job as an agent. People were discovered on their last day as an agent or murdered the first day of their new lives.
Somewhere at the back of my mind, I had grown sure that the moment I quit my position, something would happen to me. And for many hours I wondered what would happen if something did happen. I would die. I wanted to live, but I don't know a better world, I wouldn't miss anyone.
I know, I was not making much sense to myself, either, at that point. It wasn't even funny like it would have been years ago.
I had made a few more calls to Jacob in the days following my revelation. He had been pleased to hear from me. He was willing to step out from his office and his mindset as the chief so that he could talk to me as we really needed to. As two people who had known each other for far too long and didn't know where their relationship was headed. Of course, we knew, but the ambiguity of the terms of separation made both of us anxious, I suppose.
We had decided on a small restaurant inside the city and promised to avoid drinking. That never took anyone, anywhere.
When I parked opposite the restaurant, I looked around first to see if I had been followed. I performed this routine every thirty seconds while I was on the road. I slid out of the car and kept my head down as I entered the little place. It was raining, and my coat had dark blots of raindrops on it. I shrugged it off and placed it over my arm as I tried to search for him.