(This is Part Two of the story. Be sure to read Part One before you keep going.)
I winced at the shakiness in my voice. I didn’t realize it in the moment, but it had been over 40 years since I had answered one of these phone calls.
The line was quiet. Not dead, I could hear someone’s breathing. It was muffled, like they had their hand over the receiver, but it was there. Heavy breathing, like they had been running to get somewhere. Or away from someone.
I tried to recall my training, tougher now that I was in my 60’s.
“Agent, what is your call sign?” I asked hesitantly. I think it was call sign.
There was more muffled breathing. No response.
“Agent? What is your call sign?”
“I don’t have a call sign. They never gave me one…well, I am technically not an agent.”
I looked forward blankly. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t remember what to do. Who was this? What was the protocol? I tried to think back to orientation.
“Okay. Who is your commanding officer?” I asked.
“I told you I’m not an agent. I don’t have a commanding officer. But my father did.” There was anger and frustration in his voice. I wondered if it was about his present circumstance, his father, or my lack of cooperation.
Father. That would make this a legacy agent. I thought that they were just a rumor.
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