Secret YMPA Base (Maine)
Mission:
- Contact Agent D7
10:25
For footsteps that dramatic, I was expecting some towering war general. Instead, a slim guy about my height walked up—tan skin, messy black hair, faint stubble, and a sharp jaw that made him look like a discount Oscar Isaac who’d overslept. Gray hoodie, cargo pants, and this “I’ve seen too much paperwork” energy.
Beside him stood two bodyguards, each a few inches taller, geared head-to-toe like they were about to storm a fortress. Navy armor that looked practically black in the low light, and bright yellow utility belts that screamed YMPA.
“Connor, right?” the man repeated.
We both answered at once in a jumble of words.
“Yes.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s him…”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Now, normally, I’d say to schedule before showing up so you wouldn’t catch me dressed like this,” he said, glancing at his hoodie. “But we heard what happened at the stadium. Did both of you get kidnapped? You look horrible.”
“No, just him,” September said.
I let out a weak chuckle. Fair.
“You saved him?” he asked, genuinely impressed. “Wow. They really should’ve looped me in. Where’s the rest of your team—wait.” His eyes widened. “You did it by yourself?”
“Yeah,” September said, like it was no big deal. “Either way, we need to contact Agent D7.”
“D7 from where?” he asked.
“From… YMPA headquarters?” I said slowly. I assumed that’s where D7 was. I didn’t exactly have his mailing address.
“Which one?” the man asked.
“Listen,” I said. “I was on a mission to find a mole. The board gave me an earpiece so mission control could hear everything that happened. The guy on the other end told me to call him D7. Just D7.”
“Ohhh,” the man nodded. “He’s probably an M.A. dispatcher.”
I frowned. Before I could ask, he added, “Mission Assistance. They’re assigned to teams that need extra support. They listen in, offer intel, coordinate backup. If you had one, that means your mission was flagged as high-risk. You must’ve been an… interesting case.”
“Gotcha…” I muttered.
“Follow me,” he said, turning on his heel.
We moved from the large operations floor into a narrower hallway lined with open doorways. Inside each room were more agents: on phones, at computers, deep in reports. It felt like walking through a college hallway—if college came with fluorescent lighting that made everything look yellow and mildly sick.
“Connor, right?” he asked again.
“Yep,” I said.
“I’m Director Chavez,” he said. “I keep this base functioning—logistics, vehicles, fuel, routes. We manage anything transport-related from Maine to Vermont, at least outside the big cities. Other teams handle security, infrastructure, all the… simpler pieces that make this place not collapse.”
September nodded like she’d heard this before.
“Is there a reason you specifically want Agent D7?” Chavez asked as we kept walking.
“He’s the only one who was working with me before everything went to flames,” I said. “He knows the mission, the suspects, the context. I’d rather talk to someone who doesn’t need the full two-hour recap.”
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“That’s fair,” Chavez said. “But that’s assuming communication hasn’t already been compromised.”
“There’s a chance it has,” September said. “But what else can we realistically do?”
“Stay here until lines are clear again,” Chavez replied. “This is a base. Sure, our primary role is transportation, repairs, refuels, but we’re also a safe haven. Like any other YMPA base.” He glanced at September. “You’d know that.”
“You’ve been on missions like that before?” I asked her.
“Some really bad ones,” she said, laughing softly. “Those were the most fun.”
“So the Armonk was just… another fun mission to you?” I asked.
“That was one of the fun ones,” she said. “Might be one of the best I’ve had.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“Going on a mission outside of Mr. Drails’ orders was kind of an adrenaline rush for me,” she added, lifting her brows as she rested a hand briefly on my shoulder. “So, thanks for that.”
On instinct—and maybe a bit of willpower—I placed my hand over hers for a second.
Chavez watched us with mild concern. “We also have some bunk beds, if you need to crash,” he said. “Bunk beds.”
“Oh… that’s nice,” I said. It took me a solid five seconds to realize what he was hinting at. Then I wanted to disappear.
We finally stopped at a room filled with cubicles and desks. In the center sat a lone phone on a small table with a computer set up beside it.
“D7, correct?” Chavez asked.
“Yeah,” we both confirmed.
He powered on the computer. The monitor looked like it had been salvaged from 2001—chunky, matte white, and humming like an ancient relic. The screen flashed blue, a wall of boot-up text flickered by, and then a menu of options popped up.
He clicked through a few things. The phone’s little display lit up, and the sound of a dial tone morphed into something more like a loading bar as a progress bar slowly crawled across the computer screen.
“When that bar completes, you should have a clean line to who I assume is your Agent D7,” Chavez said. “If comms haven’t been hijacked, that is.”
“If it isn’t D7?” I asked.
“We’ll trace the call,” he replied calmly. “If it’s an enemy agent auditioning for drama school, we’ll cut it off before they get anything useful.”
He gestured for his bodyguards to step out, and they left without a word. Just before exiting, Chavez paused, turned back, and pointed at me.
“Connor, right?”
“Yes,” I answered, a little too fast.
“Good. Good, good,” he said, like he’d just checked off a box, then shut the door.
I turned to September. She dipped her head toward the chair by the phone, silently telling me to sit.
“You know who he is,” she said.
I nodded, fingers flexing nervously as I lowered myself into the seat. My arms rested heavy on the table as I watched the green bar creep to the end.
It completed. The display flipped to a speaker icon. The phone light turned bright green.
I picked it up.
“Hello… hello?”
September stared at me, tense, eyes locked on mine like she was ready to fry the phone if the wrong voice answered.
Then I heard the one I’d been waiting for.
Agent D7: “Connor? That you?”
I exhaled so hard it was almost embarrassing. September did too, shoulders dropping.
“Thank God it’s you,” I breathed.
Agent D7: “Hold on a sec… Y’ALL, COME HERE! I’M IN CONTACT WITH CHARLIE!”
In the background, the room exploded with noise—cheers, whoops, clapping. It sounded like they’d just watched us win the Tryouts Game in overtime. I’m pretty sure I heard someone start crying.
One problem.
“Who’s Charlie?” I asked, suddenly panicked.
Agent D7: “Codeword, Connor. Codeword. You’re a spy, aren’t you? They haven’t taught y’all that yet?”
“No. We mostly just try not to say our names,” I said. “Either way—I’m safe. September’s with me, and—”
Agent D7: “September? As in… Carvey?”
“The only September in the school,” I said.
Agent D7: “You say that like I have your yearbook memorized. Did she get captured too?”
“No,” I said quickly. “She actually saved me. By herself, by the way. We made it to the secret base in Maine.”
Agent D7: “Fordross Base?”
“I… guess?” I looked at September. She nodded.
“So yes. We met Director Chavez and his guys,” I said.
Agent D7: “Yeah, that’s Fordross. Let me just trace this call real quick—”
“Yes, yes, we’re here, you don’t have to—”
Agent D7: “Policy, man. Honestly I should’ve done it before I answered, but truth is, we haven’t been able to reach any other branches since the stadium attack. You’re the first real line we’ve had in days.”
“Wow,” I said. “Okay. Then I need to tell you something right now.”
Agent D7: “Hit me.”
“Mari French is the mole,” I said. “She planned the entire attack, stole intel, and the bomb hoax under the school? That was her too.”
Silence.
Not just him. Everything went quiet on the other end. For a second, I imagined an entire room of people frozen mid-breath, staring at each other like someone had just cut the lights.
Agent D7: “…Jesus, man,” he finally muttered, voice a little farther from the mic, like he’d leaned back. “Jesus…”
“She was working with us to ‘find’ the mole,” I said. “Using our suspicion, steering it. She made herself invisible. Seamless. I was… stupid.”
Agent D7: “She’s probably already cleared her stuff and vanished from the YMPA. We’ll have to bait her back in.”
“How do you plan on doing that?” September asked.