Our small group wandered over to a group of chairs in a corner and did full introductions. Most of what was said, I already knew from reading their personnel files, but the cliff notes version included that Jon was from some small town in England, received a criminology degree from Trinity College in Ireland, and spent the last eleven years working for Interpol. Amir is a first-generation American and most of his family is still in Pakistan. His first language was Urdu, and he enlisted into the Marine Corps straight out of high school. Victor was born and raised in New York City and had been trying his chances as a professional boxer when a shoulder injury took him out of the big leagues and onto Whistler’s front door. Oliver was from the San Francisco area, attended Caltech on a full-ride scholarship, and promised that he could hack into any mainframe or database that they could think of.
When prompted, I gave the fake background I had spent hours memorizing. I told them I was from Bridgeview Illinois, had studied business and psychology at Northwestern University, and had spent the summer interning with the FBI. As I was only twenty-four, this timeline made sense. I couldn’t pad my resume with additional fake work experience that reflected my actual skill level because then my story would start to seem unbelievable. And one of the things my fake background had to be was believable. For this reason, I was left sounding like an inexperienced girl after hearing about each of their impressive histories. I guess I would just have to prove to them that they could take me seriously.
Thirty minutes later Dwight led the entire group out of the building and onto a semi-cleared patch of woods. Here the trees were splattered with many different colors of paint and there were dozens of paintball guns leaning against a shed. It wasn’t hard to surmise that we were going to try out our new teams with a competitive game of paintball. In fact, Dwight explained that we would be playing a version of capture the flag. Each team would be able to hide their flag in a visible area. The first team to either capture their opponents’ flag or shoot everyone on the opposing team would win.
Once everyone had been equipped with a paintball gun and protective gear Dwight pointed out small courses deeper within the forest. We were then broken into sets of teams, each with a trainer to supervise.
Our team was to be supervised by Ford and moved to the far course. Jon inquired who in the group could shoot. Amir and I raised our hands while Victor looked at the ground uncomfortably and Oliver maintained a friendly smile I was starting to think was a trademark look for him. Once Jon saw our shooting abilities he laid out a plan where two groups of two would go in search for the flag while Amir would find a high vantage point up a tree and defend both us and our flag snipper style. Jon paired up with Victor and left Oliver and me as the other offensive team.
This proved to be an effective strategy, as ten minutes after Ford called the start of the first game our team had hit all the opposing team members with red paint. Amir took out two, Jon took out one, and I had hit the last two in quick succession. Ford gave us five minutes to recover and talk before starting another round. Jon suggested that we keep the same strategy but this time we would try to let Oliver and Victor take the active shooter role. Jon and I would watch their backs and only fire if our pair was in danger of being hit.
As the next game was called to start, Oliver stalked ungracefully through the trees with me only a step behind. Every time Oliver’s root would snap a branch or his shoulder would scrap against a tree, I would cringe and hope the sound wasn’t giving our position away. About three minutes later I heard someone moving to our left. I tapped Oliver’s shoulder and pointed in that direction and then motioned for us to take cover behind a thick stand of trees. Oliver nodded and when we were in position, he took aim and fired a burst of shots towards their opponent. I mused that he didn’t really aim but his method did get the job done.
As we continued our search for the other team’s flag I caught movement up within a tree moments before a paintball hit a tree trunk a mere two inches from my head. It would seem the other team had adopted their strategy of hiding a sniper in the treetops. The moment I had spotted the shooter my instincts kicked in and I dove to push Oliver into a position of cover. That quick movement kept the first shot from hitting my head, but I wasn’t as lucky for the second and third shots.
The balls of paint hit my back as I tackled Oliver to the ground. The good news was that we now knew the location of the sniper, the bad news was that I was now out of the game. I let out a groan as I rolled off Oliver to lay next to him.
“Holy fuck, Payton are you okay?” Oliver whisper yelled in my face.
“Yeah, I am fine. It’s just a little paint,” I replied.
“Wait, you got hit?”
“Yup. Two in the back. So, you better take that shooter in the trees out or I would have done a suicide swan dive for nothing.” I whispered back with a small smile on my face. Oliver looked altogether too serious as he gave me one sharp head nod and belly crawled around the tree to get a better vantage point. He took down the snipper in another burst of paint and turned to give me his megawatt smile.
I chuckled at his enthusiasm and told him, “Go find that flag. I have to return to the penalty box.” He saluted me as I walked back through the course with my gun up above my head to signal that I was already hit. I was surprised to see that both Jon and Victor were already standing at the side of the course. Jon had two green splotches of paint on his chest while Victor’s helmet was tagged. This game was a lot more even than the first one had been. A short while later Ford indicated the end of the game and Oliver emerged from the trees with a blue bandana and victorious grin on his face. As I took in Oliver’s enthusiasm and joy, I decided his smile was worth any number of paintball shots to the back.
We played two more games, one of which we lost. After all the matches were finished, we were dismissed for the night. Jon asked us to meet back in the dining hall for dinner after we had cleaned up so we could talk as a team. I returned to my hotel room, showered, and then pulled the personal files of my new team. I spent the next hour reviewing the details within the files and then the entire dinner observing their interactions.
Even though nothing had been officially decided, the entire team had accepted Jon as the leader. He seemed to have an analytical mind but had enough real-world experience to handle situations with ease that demonstrated he was aware of possible political or emotional problems. Jon was also the oldest of the group but not by much. He was in his late thirties while Amir was thirty-two and Victor was twenty-nine. I was twenty-four and Oliver was one year younger than that.
Victor was quick to anger and I imagined violence too, but once that initial reaction had passed, he seemed to be fairly open-minded and would listen to other’s opinions. I suspected that his anger was a defense mechanism against a world that had not always treated him fairly. He claimed that he stopped fighting professionally because of an injured shoulder, but I didn’t observe any physical weakness or compensation due to an injury and wondered what was the real reason behind him leaving competitive fighting.
Victor and Oliver were the loudest of the group while Amir was the quietest. He was observing the group just as I was. There was a fierce intellect within his eyes along with something much darker. His left fingers were bent and badly scarred as if they had been smashed and not healed correctly. When Amir saw that I had noticed his hand, he raised his eyes to meet mine in a clear challenge for me to comment on his disfigurement. In response, I gave a small smile and shrug to let him know that I didn’t think him weak because of it. I had no doubt that Amir was the most dangerous out of the group, including myself, and I had no intentions of offending him.
As the dinner progressed I watched as Oliver won each of the team members over with his easy charm and lighthearted manner. It was clear that he excelled at making interpersonal connections. At first, I was a little jealous. I had started to feel like I had a special connection with Oliver, but he seemed to make connections so easy. My first inclination was that our budding friendship would be overshadowed by the plethora of other connections Oliver was making. But I eventually came to understand that his lighthearted and friendly manner was born out of innocence and openness that could only stem from a sheltered life. Oliver was a well-adjusted man who probably hadn’t experienced any real trauma in his life. I could never blame him for that. In fact, it only made my protective instincts toward Oliver grow.
Everyone was tired from the day and they didn’t linger over dinner. I returned to my room and readied myself for bed. As I moved through my nightly routine, I thought that maybe, just maybe I could work within this team.
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