Five stories down - three below the lowest level most people in this building ever went - Meg stepped out of the elevator. After a small landing, a stairwell of exactly thirty steps with an arched ceiling and lined with yellowing subway tiles led further down. At the bottom, a seemingly forgotten, nineteenth-century subway station stood empty. Its ribbed vaults were topped with faux skylights of stained glass, hidden illumination simulating the natural sunlight that couldn't possibly be real more than one hundred feet below the surface. 

A slight movement in the air and the low hum of machinery signaled the approach of her ride, and within seconds, a futuristic people-mover pulled up. Comprised of a single car that contained only four seats - two on opposite ends facing each other - its clean lines, white color, and modern technology were in stark contrast to the rest of the surroundings.

Meg got on, but like with everything else after she input her access code in the elevator, the ride was automatic. The machine knew where to deliver her, and after zooming through a criss-cross of pitch black tunnels for less than a minute, it came to a smooth stop.

"Welcome to CANDY, Agent Capulet," a robotic voice greeted her as she stepped onto the platform. Unlike her departure station, the aesthetic here was less Augustus Pugin and more Steve Jobs. Carved into the bedrock under Washington, DC, everything that wasn't glass or concrete was pure white. And here, she was immediately in the center of activity.

Men and women wearing dark suits and holding clipboards or file folders hurried back and forth, often disappearing down adjacent hallways or into glass-walled meeting rooms. The thirty-foot ceilings allowed for an open catwalk to connect several suspended offices, fully utilizing the unusual space.

With nearly ten minutes to spare, Meg took the long way to the director's office. A logistics coordinator - Agent Orsino, wasn't it? - caught her as she passed the infosec unit.

"His schedule's changed, so Director Stoker wants to see you immediately." The older man handed her a mug. Wisps of steam were still rising from the top. "Fat free milk, no sugar, right?"

Taking the coffee, she smiled. "Yes. Thanks."

The beverage was just cool enough to sip by the time she stopped in front of a frosted-glass door. Moving the mug away from her lips to allow the faint laser beam to scan her facial features, she waited for the door to slide open before entering.

The director was standing across the room with his back to her, studying a map of north Africa projected onto the wall. He waited for the door to close and hermetically seal off the space before speaking. "Morning, Megara," he addressed her by her full, legal name, preferring the convention over aliases when meeting his agents in private.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, walking closer. "Are you planning on sending me to the Sahara?" she jokingly guessed.

Stoker turned, but there wasn't a hint of amusement on his young face. And young definitely wasn't an understatement. Standing there in his custom-made suit, skinny black tie, and sun-bleached (and perhaps a bit over-gelled) hair, Meg still had to tell herself to remember to take her boss seriously, even if he was seven years her junior. And she was only twenty-five!

Director Bram Stoker may have been a child prodigy, but he wasn't an anomaly at CANDY. Many potential agents were recruited in their late-teens and trained to be super-spies. Hell, her start at the Yard a year out of college practically made her a late-bloomer! But as an unmatched computer hacker and equally talented criminal profiler, he had gotten fast-tracked to a supervisory role. And he had proven to be damned good at the job, having fifteen successful missions in the last two years with just her alone.

Thanks to protocol, Meg didn't even know the cover identities of the others under Stoker, but one piece of information was common knowledge: he hadn't lost an agent yet. So in spite of her fatigue - she'd only gotten home from South America late last night - she knew to trust him to make the right call, if the welfare of the nation depended on it.

Stoker took a step forward and held out his palm. "I trust you have the package?"

Meg put her coffee down before reaching for her right earlobe. She removed the earring and handed the gem-encrusted tear drop jewelry over. "You were right about the weakness in their encryption algorithm. It was almost laughably easy to get to the data."

"Of course I was right," he muttered, retreating behind a console holding three, flat-screen monitors. The earring easily snapped into a specially designed case that converted it into a flash drive, which Stoker inserted into the accompanying computer. Within seconds, he had access to the information Meg had copied off her target's cell phone.

"Is it what you had hoped to get?" she asked, picking her mug up again before taking a sip.

Without taking his eyes off what was displayed on the screens, he nodded. "It'll take some time to scrub this intel, but yes, I think it'll prove useful."

She didn't prod further. Her job was to get information. What that information was, what it meant, and what it could do (and who it could do it for) wasn't her concern.

Meg took another gulp of coffee, the smell of the dark roast lingering in her nostrils. "Your message yesterday said something about not bothering to unpack, sir?"

He looked around the monitor. "You know I didn't mean that literally, right?" The first hint of teenage self-doubt emerged. Getting up, Stoker rounded the desk then leaned back against it, extending his long legs and crossing his ankles. "Obviously you should take some clean clothes."

"Of course, sir." Meg had to hold back a smile. "And what is my destination?"

"You'll be on an afternoon flight to Skopje for a quick recon mission. It shouldn't take more than a few days," he said. "My understanding is you had plans to vacation in Greece?"

She nodded. Drinking ouzo under a beach umbrella in the near future seemed less and less likely.

Stoker crossed his arms. "If you'd like, we can have an extra bag delivered to your hotel there. Macedonia is just across the border. You can go on your holidays as soon as you're done."

Suddenly, Meg could feel the warm sand under her toes. "That would be perfect. Thank you, sir. And what kind of information will I be looking for?"

"SAL will brief you. She's waiting for you upstairs, when you're ready."