With Adil as a tail, I stealthily enter a number more IS bases; I relay the coordinates and he records them. I glance at the paper every once in a while to ensure that the coordinates are written legibly and legitimately to avoid any possible sources of betrayal from the person I know so little about. After approximately four bases, I pause while regurgitating the coordinates displayed on my watch.
I look past him as if surveying our surroundings and casually ask, "Why exactly are you following me? And why of all places would I meet you in Islamic State-held territory? You go to my school, right? So are you actually a student or are you a spy?" He chuckles and looks over at my watch to write the coordinates himself.
"Is that what you think of yourself as, Zima?" he asks smugly.
My blood freezes. How could he have...?
He makes his final few marks on the pad with a flourish and looks me in the eye. "You really ought to remember to lock your door during class hours. This isn't Moscow; here, things are rough, so people act like it."
I begin to seriously question if I should trust this kid I've essentially entrusted the heart of my mission to. He isn't armed - unless you'd count his binoculars, which despite being heavy and hanging around his neck from a cord that could make a satisfactory garrote, I wouldn't - so I could quite easily rectify this error. I open my mouth to say something appropriately intimidating when he laughs agreeably and clamps his hand on my shoulder, disarming me completely.
"I'd only wanted to make sure that you were who I'd suspected you were," he says amiably as if we've been friends for years. "Not many Russians come through here these days without adversarial intentions, and if they do, they don't look like you do, as if ready at any instant for a fight. And they certainly don't sleep with rifles under their beds. I wanted to know if I could trust you, you see, and the records you've got rather inexpertly hidden in your dorm proved quite nicely that I can. Although they don't teach you guys common sense over there in your military academies, do they?"
He laughs at his own joke.
I'm at a loss for anything to say, so I just clear my throat and glance at my watch. He stuffs his notepad into a back pocket, readying to move on.
"Don't feel self-conscious, Vasily; don't feel threatened either." He extends his right hand and offers it to me.
I take it tentatively and we shake.
"My name is Adil," he says almost formally. "I'm following you because I think you could help me," he smiles, "and yes, I am a student at your school. But unlike you, I am not an agent; rather, I am an informant."
He says the word with evident pride.
"I have reasons for these passes, and no, I do not ally myself with the Islamic State; actually, it's quite the opposite."
He takes a deep breath, and I allow him to continue explaining himself. His face and his voice both darken.
"My father has been forcibly recruited to fight alongside the IS as a guard for territories being raided by the Syrian Army. I wish nothing but the absolute annihilation of the cult that dragged him away, the extermination of their twisted ideology as well as the freedom of my father."
"Also, if you ever need any information regarding your missions, feel free to ask me. I charge rather reasonably for extensive amounts of intelligence, but the assistance I will provide today is free of charge."
He winks at me - really like we're old buddies or something - and waits for me to make the next move. I decide to head out, since the immediate coordinates have been recorded, and move on to the next portion of the town in search of more bases. I smile, not out of what can be called insanity, but out of the genuine happiness derived from meeting an outside, a non-hostile source on my mission. Achieving an objective is always satisfying, but there's something more complete about that gratification when you've got a comrade to stand with.
Mallet-Bompard International Academy
We return, once again under cover of the night. I wave to him as we part ways, and head towards the foreign student dorms. I easily slip past the security stationed in the lobby as a preventative for students leaving during curfew and head to the second floor where my room dwelled. As I walk into my room, I am surprised to find an envelope that had been slid under the door. I tear off the seal to withdraw a few pieces of paper inquiring about the state of my health. I stand confused, but then realize that the teacher had asked whether I was feeling alright upon me missing the entire day of curriculum. Alongside the envelope lay a few pages of class notes, which I pick up and review while sprawled across my twin-sized bed.
I awake with a jolt around 3 AM, realizing that I had forgotten a key point of my mission. No, I'd forgotten why I'd gone ranging over the whole damn hostile countryside the day before at all. I reach under the bed to withdraw a large metal case containing a radio, in fragments for convenience during travel. I piece it together and isolate all openings to the outside world using my bedsheets and pillows to ensure that I would not be eavesdropped on. I tune my radio to the assigned frequency.
"Falcon 4, this is Wolf Cub, here to report on the situation of IS camps. Does anyone read me?" I loudly whisper. I await a response, which is delivered about thirty seconds after the fact.
"Wolf Cub, we read you. We will relay you to division N, as we are out of service at this time. Standby." I patiently await a response for what seems to be five minutes.
"Wolf Cub, this is Falcon division N. We will take the coordinates you have collected during mission hours..." I mute the radio and hide it under my shirt, as I hear loud footsteps outside my door. They stop before my room. My heart beats loudly and time seems to flow a lot slower, even without the use of the Chronos. A series of knocking resonates across the hall from my room, followed by the demand to open up. The security guard steps into my neighbor's room and scolds him for leaving his light on after lights-out. The student apologizes with a weak voice and closes the door; security retreats back to the station. At this moment, the tuning pitch of the radio sounds once more.
"Falcon N is still awaiting coordinates." A somewhat inpatient voice sounds from the other side of the line, so I quickly respond by relaying all of the collected coordinates."
"Well done. Air support is on the way ETA twenty minutes. Sleep well, kid." With that, I disassemble the radio and place it back into the case where it resides. I retract all the bedding from around the room and reset my cot in attempt to once again fall asleep.
The next morning, I awake at the usual time for class. I follow my new morning routine, which now involves brushing my teeth and dressing in front of the television to tuned to the American station displaying foreign news to ensure that I don't miss a second of the broadcast. Today, I have a slight feeling that the news would be quite different than that of the day prior. As the tv is turned on, I am greeted by the large-eared president of the United States, Barack Obama, giving a speech before a number of international news outlets. As I read the subtitles, my playful mockery of my own president's neo-ally turns to bitter rage.
"Upon hearing of the Russians' bombing of towns brimming with innocent people and their raising of the death toll in this Middle Eastern conflict by another seven hundred in a single night, I am forced to take drastic measures, effective immediately."
My anger only increases with each passing word the translation ticker displays.
"In accordance with the power bestowed upon me by Congress, the United States will begin immediate evacuation of its forces and assets present in the disputed area. In addition, we will be placing new sanctions on Russia with the hope of having every other member of the EU join us in our opposition to their extraneously aggressive actions. I would advise what Russian diplomats are present in this country and elsewhere who may be listening to urge their commanders to stop killing civilians; they are not our targets in this war. My intent is not to stifle Russian military might in any way, but merely to prevent any protracted conflict with foreign nations."
I hurl the remote across the room; it slams into the television screen, jarring it off and causing the remote's seal to break and the batteries to fall out.
Civilians, huh? Far from it. The heathens of the Islamic State must be laughing maniacally right now. Not only did the Americans pull out of the fight over minimal casualty of terrorist forces, but the entire European Union is to follow in both withdrawal and economic strangulation of the terrorists' strongest oppressors, weakening the offensive presented by the Russians. In time, the isolated force of the Syrian army would be overcome and the malignant evil of the region would spread to encompass the previously liberated lands, likely extending farther. I force myself to walk to the remote to reinsert the batteries and quickly head to class, as the entire ordeal has made me late to first period.