Enigma

CHAPTER 1

LANA

Under the cold glow, contrasting with the warm sun of home, I step off the plane with just one suitcase and make my way through the corridors of Boston Airport. I hide behind dark sunglasses, observing as people throw furtive glances my way, eyeing me up and down. I keep walking until I reach the airport exit.

"Miss Lombardi," calls a man in his fifties.

"That's me," I smile, shaking his hand. "Call me Lana. And you are?"

"My name is Roger. I'll be in charge of your transport to the facilities," he replies, grabbing my suitcase to take me straight to my new prison.

The ride to the command center is silent. As we leave the city, we drive along a road flanked by strategically planted trees, forming a natural barrier to whatever lies behind.

We first arrive at a checkpoint where entry is granted only with a credential, and then proceed another 60 meters to a second checkpoint guarded by several armed soldiers. Roger shows his credential again, and the gates open as they inspect the car with some sensors. I make a mental note of this for later while pretending to be distracted by the scenery. Roger seems reserved, as he doesn't ask me anything about my former position or what I did before arriving.

"Could you explain the layout of the place, Roger? I'd hate to get lost on my first day," I smile to make him think I'm friendly.

"This sector is the entrance area. We continue until we reach the roundabout where the paths diverge," he says, slowing down as we approach the main plaza with a large eagle emblem. "See those buildings?" I nod. "The one in the middle is where you need to go tomorrow for orientation. You'll get to know the rest over time." He says no more, and I dock him points for being a poor guide.

We take the right path, leading to a residential area resembling a small city but with only one central ten-story building that seems to be the most luxurious. The surrounding buildings are up to five stories, styled like condominiums.

Roger parks in front of one of the smaller buildings, marked "Zone F, Block 3," and guides me to what I suppose is my new cell.

"Inside the envelope are the instructions you must follow. This is yourapartment; just place your fingerprint, and it will unlock. Any questions?" I shake my head.

"Thank you." He nods but doesn't move, likely waiting to lock me in like a poor soul. I turn and smile, waiting for him to depart. "You can go now; I'll handle it from here." He smiles, scrutinizing my face.

"Welcome." He leaves after saying the word, and I close the door, pondering what I've gotten myself into.

?????

I wake up late due to jet lag; I didn't calculate the time difference properly. Right now, I'm in a rush, getting ready to be on time. I'm supposed to make a good impression from the start as Italy's top agent, but that's not what I'm doing.

I dress in my clothes because this excuse for a wardrobe only has the simplest garments I've ever seen in my life. Technically, it's my first day, so I'll play dumb if anyone comments on my diamond-studded top and the badge I snatched from one of my sisters, even though it's not my style. I finish applying makeup and doing my hair because I always have to look perfect, like the doll that I am.

"Damn it! I forgot to ask about transportation here." I search outside for something to get around in and breathe a sigh of relief when I find a golf cart parked outside another block. I glance around to see if it belongs to someone who's already given up due to being slow, and I start it up, checking my watch.

"I'm using it!" a woman shouts from behind. "Tough luck, darling," I yell back, sliding across the console. I pass the tennis courts, swimming pools, and circuits until I finally reach the building Roger pointed out yesterday.

I rush to the entrance, bounding up the stairs, feeling the hair on my neck stand up as I sense eyes on me. I look up, but the windows reveal nothing, so I ignore it and sprint to the elevator, hitting the 9th floor button.

"Only five minutes late," I congratulate myself, making sure I look put together and maintaining a poker face.

The doors open to reveal a meeting room with a central table and ten pairs of eyes staring through the mirrored wall that doubles as a screen for the minimum induction designed to react to a direct attack, though it's foolish because they shoot and that glass can be deadly.

I enter with the same expression, in case the other recruits want to intimidate me in their uniforms, and walk confidently to the available chair in front. The older woman watches me until I sit down, frowning.

"Proceed," I tell her calmly, holding back a laugh at my icy performance.

She continues giving instructions for a while, while some continue to glance at me, probably wondering if I already work here because I'm not wearing a uniform.

The sound of the elevator prompts me to look in the mirror as I tense up, seeing the confident person entering. His dark blond hair is neatly styled, framing clear eyes, a straight nose, and strong cheekbones. I discreetly check out his body, noticing the black long-sleeved shirt that clings to his muscles and matching pants that highlight his legs. The style is familiar, and his bearing completes the picture of the most handsome man I've ever seen.

The woman stands up, causing everyone to do the same, and I follow a bit behind while I compose myself. He keeps walking until he positions himself at the front.

"Attention!" I snap into a military pose, controlling my pulse at the impact of his voice.

"Sir, yes, sir!" we respond in unison.

He says nothing as his eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes me feel exposed.

Outwardly, my expression is impassive as I hold his gaze in this duel of wills. His face barely shows any emotion, but I can sense the power emanating from him.

"I am General Sokolov," he announces in a hoarse tone, making his command position clear. He shifts his gaze from mine and begins to pace back and forth with determination. "I am the ultimate authority, which means you can drop the delusions of grandeur you may have, because here, you're just agents." I bite my cheek, feeling that indirect comment was aimed at me.

As he speaks, I can't help but notice the arrogance in his tone. His eyes lock onto mine again, as if seeking to assert personal power, trying to establish dominance over me in a way that goes beyond mere military orders.

"I don't care if your countries made you believe you were leaders. You have no voice, vote, or choice here. Understood?" he asserts.

"Yes, General!" we chorus, words that clearly stroke his ego.

With an arrogant gesture, he orders the woman to continue with the briefing, while rolling the chair he was sitting on. We remain standing at attention. I decide to ignore him and refocus on the screen when they reveal the reality of the documents each of us signed for the "transfer."

"The document you received at your home offices isn't just a confidentiality agreement," she explains firmly. "It's a contract binding you to this organization as agents for hire." She displays political logos endorsing this circus. "We handle clandestine work in trafficking, kidnappings, drug and arms trade, and more."

"Does that mean all the medals and recognition you supposedly earned are because of me?" the General says, relaxed in his chair.

"What do you mean by saying all the recognitions are because of you?" I ask angrily, irritated by his mockery of our ignorance.

The General turns his head, evaluating my boldness, and I can feel the tension among everyone as they await his response.

"Step forward, Lombardi," he says in a tone barely concealing his disdain.

I take a few steps and turn around to face everyone, while he stands up and walks around me, evaluating. I see others starting to show signs of arm fatigue, but no one says anything. He pauses his approach, standing in front of me, and I notice he's taller than I calculated.

"Look me in the eyes, Lombardi," I raise my gaze, resisting the urge to throttle him, and just display my best expression while he scrutinizes, searching for a weakness.

"Could you answer me, General?" I ask seriously. He smirks slightly at my challenge and turns away.

"Ivanov," he addresses one of the recruits. "February 8th. Decorated for capturing Dragovych. Undercover mission. They reached the attic in Moscow where a luxurious clandestine party was being held. They entered, neutralizing the four guards and attacking head-on to secure the target."

"Yes, General," responds one I can't see because of him.

"Who thinks they gave the Russian militia the location and the specified time they had to attack, and especially the position of each security member?" He says arrogantly, drilling into his back with my eyes. I curiously lower my gaze and can't deny that the garments fit his body exactly.

I release a laugh that I hide with a cough when he turns around, and try to be serious again. He looks annoyed and turns to the others, calling each agent: Williams (USA), Aoki (Japan), Richter (Germany), Park (South Korea), Silva (Brazil), Abdullah (Arabia), specifying the most important mission for each and highlighting how they could win their awards. He turns around again and raises an eyebrow.

"Agent Lombardi. November 15th. Decorated for the best range of missions accomplished with the assassination of "The Godmother." Destroying the main warehouse with connections, information, and allies of Barbieri in Vienna. They reached Warehouse 98, ending with ten guards and three snipers in less than two hours until they located the central area where the target was.

I nodded, noticing a chill run down my back as images of that mission returned to my mind and how I almost lost something valuable to me but it served as an incentive to continue to win. A sense of intrigue takes over me. How did he know all the details?

"We had information on every operation, and all you did was the simplest part, acting at the right time and place. Plus, if you failed, we were the contingency plan. There's your answer, Agent."

He stands beside me, and I don't let the anger reflect on my face as I feel his eyes on my profile.

"The stage where you were "decorative dolls" receiving only benefits is over. You must be functional agents and eliminate any weaknesses or leave," I turn tired of hearing his voice in my ear and look at him furiously for doing so while approaching again almost pouncing on me.

"I give the orders, and you only obey, and this goes for everyone," he says, breathing on my face, "understood?"

"Yes, General," the others respond as I look at him angrily.

He turns around without saying a word and leaves through a door I hadn't noticed. Everyone relaxes and sits back down. I close my eyes, breathing to do the same and continue listening to what the woman tells us.

From first impression, I'm only sure of two things. I already know who the famous general is and the temperament I need to deal with to get what I want.