Interpol has a funny way of reassigning double agents like Jack. Keeps them in the seats, as they say, to see the two go at it again. That’s what the people want. This time, the stakes are a little higher. Another piece added to the puzzle that makes me Sam Iam. As long as I’ve known Jack, it’s been strictly business. Black Ops, Psy Ops, secret coups and guerilla war games, rockets, satellites, underground laboratories. Our relationship goes deeper than a nuclear submarine. There’s almost a cordiality between us at this point. Even as I throw him off another roof or into the next volcano, I bid him good evening until we meet again. I know he won’t die. He never does. He simply reappears just when I think it’s over.
I’ve never complained about the life of an agent. It’s a lonely life, but then again, I was always lonely to begin with. I never minded hanging on the edge of a cliff or running into a hail of gunfire. Makes life worth living knowing you can lose it at any time. But after a while, you get tired of the blood and smoke. You start feeling old, sentimental, looking for memories that aren’t there. Try to make some new ones that you can keep. Run off and sign out of the network, go off the grid, and disappear somewhere in paradise. That’s when I met her: My True Love. The girl with eyes darker than the darkest darkness. The girl with the long black hair. We searched for electric blue fish at night with a flashlight. I used to see her in my dreams every night. Not anymore.
I wonder where she is and if I’ll ever see her again. I wonder if Interpol will give me back my memories. I wonder why I don’t see her in my dreams like I used to. What firewall is there?