Enemy Agents Read Free

program. Most years only had three graduates. Today was the final day of training.
    Moving as quietly as possible, hoping that his camouflage was working, Quarrel advanced on the structure. He didn’t have a plan. While the other four team members had huddled to hash out a strategy, Quarrel had ran off to the side of the field of play and began his crawl toward the deck alone. This game was only ten minutes and the defenders knew they were coming. There was no time to plan, only to act, and Quarrel intended to win this thing on his own and guarantee that he passed the program.
    The deck was pretty basic: an elevated wooden platform, six by twelve, with a stairway in each corner. The walls of the deck were four feet high, easily enough to hide behind, so the attackers would be at a severe disadvantage as they climbed the stairs. The instructor, Jack, sat on a sort of lifeguard chair behind the flagpole, elevated higher than the rest of the deck. He said nothing at any point in the game, other than declaring victory for one team or the other. Hall’s chair pivoted so he could see all directions, observing the field of play. Three other instructors, dressed in bright orange like hunters, supervised from the forest below.
    Quarrel pulled himself along the forest floor, watching the stairways on the deck in case any guards were watching. He saw nothing. With fifteen feet to go he broke out in a run, sprinting not to the stairs but underneath the deck, where he hoped the guards wouldn’t be able to see him. There was no sound of footstep above, which di d no t mean he hadn’t been seen, only that the defenders were smart enough to stay quiet.
    Two other attackers were already there, having apparently chosen this as a rally point. Erica Gibbons, from Quarrel’s office, and a skinny American named Jones. Quarrel raised one finger to them . I got one kill . The others both shook their heads. So there might still be four defenders. He checked his watch. Six minutes fifty seconds. If any other attackers were alive, they’d have to show up now. No one came.
    They spread out, each to a different staircase. The combination of their heavy boots and the wooden stairs would make a stealthy approach impossible. Their best bet would be to storm three sides at once, hoping to overwhelm the defence. As long as one attacker made it to the flagpole, their team would win. Dying didn’t matter. The mission mattered. Nothing else.
    Jones gave th e advanc e signal and all three attackers pounded up their stairs, running hard and making tons of noise. Quarrel turned his body to the doorway before he reached the opening so that when he emerged, the defender was right in his sights.
    Twip. The defender went down. Directly in front of Quarrel, a second defender shot Jones. Quarrel shot the man in the back. The defender gave an annoyed shrug and looked over his shoulder at Quarrel before he too lay down, wanting to know who had shot him. On the far side, Gibbons had taken out her target before he could shoot. That left the fourth corner, the stairway that nobody had taken. There was a defender here as well; apparently their plan had been to guard all entrances, with the extra man, Hershey, roving through the woods. The last defender turned around, surprised to find enemies behind him. For a split second his focus was split between Quarrel and Gibbons. He made his choice and lined up Quarrel, just as both attackers unleashed a barrage of red paint at him. He went down.
    Finally, Quarrel was able to break silence. “That’s it. We got all five. Game over.”
    Sitting on his elevated chair, Hall said nothing. Quarrel smiled as he walked over to the flagpole. All that was left was to lower the flag and he’d not only have won the game, he’d also be one of just two survivors. That had to help with getting one of those five certificates.
    He never heard the shot, just felt the familiar sting of a paintball in the back. He turned, confused, and saw a