Adam Parrish sat at his desk in his office in CIA headquarters at Langley, Virginia. He worked in the intelligence and espionage department. Hired right out of university he quickly rose in rank in record time. And he was excellent at his job. He had escaped field work and enjoyed his desk job. Tonight in particular was a busy night. Him and many other agents had stayed late to file paperwork after an operation went wrong. He went to the breakroom to get a cup of coffee, filling it with sugar and creamer to disguise the bitter taste. He sat down and flicked his sleeves, ready to get back to work when the sound of a chair rolling over altered him to a new presence behind him. It was Carthurs, another agent in the intelligence department. “Hey Parrish, how’s the ol’ grind going? Got any leads?” “No Carthurs, just reviewing the documents, nothing new,” Adam said. Which was not completely true. He was going over the reports with a fine toothed comb trying to find errors and connections that others had missed. Adam turned back to his computer while Carthurs hovered over his shoulder. Adam struggled to find something to say to get Carthurs to leave without being too rude, but before he could open his mouth Adam’s work phone began to ring. It was a restricted number. He answered. A soft voice on the other end begins without a greeting: “This is agent Plodma and this is a courtesy call. I know you and Richard Gansey the Third were once good friends. That is why I am calling to inform you that he has gone MIA, and is presumed dead. I am sorry for your loss.” She hung up. Adam didn’t move, his phone hovering above his hearing ear despite the call was over. Adam struggled to parse what he had just heard. Gansey, his longtime friend and mentor, was missing in action.