The Junior Intelligence Agency: Book 1

By Alyssa Lesho

All her life Alex has been trained by the Junior Intelligence Agency to fight terrorists, prevent wars, and save lives. Despite all of this training, however, she finds herself unprepared for the challenges posed by her next mission. Not only must she chase down a power-hungry rich guy while avoiding capture by his evil minions, but she must confront her feelings for the pilot of her spy plane, Blake, and make decisions that could have an effect on the future of science, the agency, and her position as a Special Agent for one of the best-kept secrets in all of history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alyssa Lesho
• Release date: Mar 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465771063

Alyssa Lesho

I am eighteen years old and live in Maryland with my parents and two sisters. Follow me on Twitter @alyssalesho or Tumblr (thejiaseries.tumblr.com) or email me at [e-mail].

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The Junior Intelligence Agency: Book 1

Alyssa Lesho

Copyright 2012 by Alyssa Lesho

Smashwords Edition

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The Junior Intelligence Agency: Book 1

by Alyssa Lesho

Prologue

The events in this book are not fictional. I wouldn’t have spent so much time documenting them if I’d made them up, so I would appreciate it if you would take them seriously. However, if you want to read this as though it is fiction, I can’t stop you. You may even find it preferable to do so.

When I was six years old, I was given a job. It was not an easy job, not the kind of job one might normally give a kindergartener. I didn’t really get a choice in the matter, but I don’t think that, given the chance, I would have declined. My job enabled me to make a difference, and as I got older I learned to appreciate the significance of that.

I was part of a small, elite, multi-million dollar agency called the Junior Intelligence Agency. It’s an independent organization that combines the best aspects of the CIA, FBI, NSA and some parts of the military. It collects kids and trains them to be spies for the United States. The idea is that training us so young has benefits. As kids, we can get away with a lot more than adults. We are faster, inherently better with technology, and less likely to be killed if captured by terrorists. We are easily underestimated. Very, very few people know about us, but our work reaches to the far and forgotten countries of the world. There aren’t many of us, but we are effective.

When I was six years old, two people came to my school in New York. They pulled me aside and asked me a lot of questions. I drew pictures for them and talked with them for a long time. That night they showed up at my foster family’s house. My foster parents signed a ton of papers and the next morning I boarded a plane to Colorado.

After passing the first year of testing in Colorado, I was transferred to the JIA D.C. Base. Since then I’ve been through one of the most rigorous training programs in the world. I learned how to drive a car when I was twelve, fly numerous types of planes at fourteen, and shoot an assortment of guns at fifteen. I could run a five minute mile. My friends were the kids with whom I trained, my competition for the coolest and most interesting missions.

If this is too much for you, I urge you to put down this book. If it doesn’t sound interesting, if I haven’t captivated you thus far with my introduction, I’m sorry, but this is the first time I’ve actually written anything. This book, a diary of sorts concerning a single mission, is not the sort of thing I thought I would be doing at this point in my life. There are a lot of things I would rather be doing, but that is another story entirely.

I could have written about any mission, but I chose this one because it was special, and because it was during this mission that I met Blake. It hasn't been a very long time since this all occurred - only three years, and I remember it quite clearly and I think you will find it accurate. This book will only cover the beginning of this mission. There is more, much more, but I’m still working on the rest of it. It is a hard story to explain, not because of its complexity, but because of how close I became to it.

The thing is I think it’s a story worth telling. It is not the greatest story ever written. I don’t pretend to be a great writer, but I need to write about this, regardless. There is little else into which I have put so much heart and effort. I could probably be tried for treason for telling you this, so be careful with whom you share it, please. Even if you are pretending it’s all fiction.

Chapter 1

My smartphone vibrated earlier than usual that morning. I lay very still for a few seconds, trying to hold on to the last remnants of the very vivid dream I'd been dreaming. I had been in Italy, at a little café drinking an iced latte. I knew it was a dream because I never drank coffee. The sun was bright in the dream, the air was warm. I was sitting alone, and the people at the tables around me were faceless. I felt like I was waiting for something, but whatever it was disintegrated into reality even as I grasped for it. It was hopeless and the dream slipped through my groggy mind and I was left alone in the darkness of my room.

I grasped for my phone in the darkness.

I swear I put it here last night. I just heard it. The screen didn't light up. Why didn't the screen light up?

My groping hand found the little thing, lying upside-down on my bedside table. I picked it up and answered, noticing the time as I did so: five thirty.

What do you want? I growled.

Alex, it’s Skylar. This is, like, the fifth time I've called you. Get your phone off vibrate and get your butt out of bed. You’re needed in Sara's office in negative ten minutes.

You’ve got to be kidding me. What’s this about?

Obviously she's got a mission for us. I'm already here. Move it.

That struck me as odd. We were called upon at all hours, but Sara usually emailed us mission details after the mission has been worked out by the superiors. The superiors sat in an office building in Colorado and intercepted radio scanners, satellite feeds, and other intelligence agency data. They analyzed it, and then sent it to councilors who had kids fit for the job.

I closed my eyes, just for a moment. I breathed in slowly.

Okay, okay, I’m coming.

I pulled myself out of bed, stumbling slightly in my sleepy state, and ran to my closet, grabbing the first things I saw - jeans and an FBI t-shirt, which I pulled over the tank top in which I had fallen asleep. I brushed my teeth and ran a comb through my dark brown hair, tying it up in a neat bun. I barely had a moment to look at myself in the mirror. Green eyes, blotchy from lack of sleep, stared back. Nothing I could do about that.

I pulled on my boots, shoved my phone in my back pocket, and was out the door in just over a minute. I ran down the hall of my dormitory, catapulted myself down the steps, flew through the lobby and out the front door, and hurried down the steps in front of Building A. Sara's office was in Building C, across the quad. I skirted around the statue of our founder that stood guard above a fountain in the center of the quad. All JIA campuses look like college campuses. We live on them, learn on them, and train on them. Besides field trips to museums and quick runs to the CIA or nearest airfield for private lessons, we rarely leave for anything except a mission.

The D.C. campus is expansive, but secluded. The buildings are inconspicuous from the air. We don’t exist on MapQuest, and in satellite images we could pass for a small military base. The entrance is disguised as one.

The buildings are divided into dorms, offices, classrooms, training facilities, and a main center with a dining hall and rarely-used lounge. There is an airplane hangar and a runway behind the office building, a parking garage filled with both very nice sports cars and black SUVs, and practice fields behind the training facilities. It’s all very efficient and self-contained. The JIA Headquarters in Colorado delivers supplies to all the bases, like food and new technology, and we do what HQ asks.

I entered Building C and took the steps to the second floor. The gray hallways in Building C were silent. Not many people were around. Most were away on missions. Everyone else was grabbing a few hours of precious sleep between training schedules and classes.

I almost ran into my trainer as I rounded the corner at the top of the steps.

Whoa there, Alex, he said, balancing his mug so his coffee wouldn't spill. He was wearing sweatpants, and had a black duffle bag on one shoulder.

Morning, Sam, I replied, not stopping.

Sara needs you.

I know, I know, I called back, already halfway down the hall.

You need to send me your times from yesterday!

Oh, yeah. My running times. It wasn't the first time I'd forgotten.

The door of Sara’s office, C214, was made of frosted glass. I slid it open and walked into the room which was furnished with a desk and three chairs. A white screen covered the left wall. A projector was mounted on the ceiling and a laptop was set up on the desk. Two people were already in the room, eating breakfast from a platter on the desk. The woman behind the desk looked up. She had black hair pulled back in a bun like mine and wore a blazer that hugged her hunched shoulders tightly. I knew she was wearing heels, even though the sun had barely been up half an hour, and I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. I hadn’t even been awake ten minutes.

We called her Sara, but that wasn’t her real name. The JIA doesn't use real names. Once you were chosen and flown to Colorado, you were given a code name. Sara was an ex-Special Agent, now a councilor. She was in charge of all the girls on the D.C. base (all three of us). She briefed us before missions and worked on possible strategies with us, going over the best weapons, planes, and tactics we'd need to use. She'd been through everything I was going through and she understood my strengths and weaknesses better than I did (although that is sort of her job). She'd become one of my closest friends. Sara had been really good when she was my age, and she taught me a lot about what it means to be a Special Agent. The kind of thing that can't be covered in a classroom, no matter how technologically advanced.

The other person was Skylar. She was from the streets of New York as well, and we had sat on the plane together as six year olds on our way to the JIA’s headquarters and training facilities in Colorado. We had excelled in our training program together, encouraging and supporting each other. We knew each other inside out and we worked great as a pair, so we were put on a lot of missions together. Skylar was leaning back in her chair, an apple in one hand, staring at the ceiling. Her blonde hair was tied back in a disheveled bun that was sure to attract stern looks and her shirt was unbuttoned and hanging open, exposing her sports bra and six-pack. As I walked into the room she kicked the chair next to her toward me. I sat down, took a bagel from the platter, and spread peanut butter on top. Sara started up at once.

You two are here because we received an urgent call twenty minutes ago that requires immediate action. Alex and Skylar, you are currently the most experienced pair we have on this base. I know you both just got back from missions, but–

This is a last-minute briefing? I asked. Now I was really confused.

Yes.

Usually for those you just-

Get you straight on a plane and then email you. Yes, I know, but this is very sensitive information that came to me directly, not from the superiors, and I have some confusing instructions for you. I wanted to go over it with you in person.

Those kinds of missions, the ones where the directives and the goals aren't straightforward, usually got turned over to the CIA after a few days. One exception, of course, was the Cold War, when the JIA had plenty of confusing objectives, but was still more active than the CIA and the NSA in obtaining sensitive information about Russian missiles. I was sure that this one would follow the usual pattern, however, of going right to the CIA.

It's going to be an interesting mission, Sara began. I really hoped that was the case. I'd just finished a very long, very boring mission in England, guarding a diplomat's kid during school hours. Even a short, challenging mission would be better than that.

I twisted the ring on my right ring finger, the ring I had gotten from the JIA. It was silver plated with a sapphire in the center, designed to look like a high school class ring. The letters JIA were engraved on one side. There was a spy plane depicted on the other side, to show that I was a Special Agent. On the inside of the band there was