Chapter 1
“Focus on the reward, not the fear. I can do that.”
Where do I start? You may know me from the escapades I have had with BCI, Neil Baggio, and Gaines Chemical. Luckily for this girl, I’m an asset my country wants to use; otherwise, I’d still be a burned spy or in a dark prison somewhere. But I’ve also done some unforgivable things; I have killed an FBI agent, plus a witness for a crime boss, one that friends were close to pu ing away for a long time. I fell into a trap, and climbing out of that dark hole put me in the crosshairs of some bad people.
When the CIA brought me back in, they told me I needed to change my name again, so the new and hopefully improved me is known as Marie Perdita. Marie reminds me of the last person who ever trusted me, someone very close to my heart, so I felt it was a great place to begin.
My new first name had to be something I’ll feel normal and familiar with over time. And I thought perdita was a bit funny since it’s Latin for lost. Plus, the name Marie Perdita looks superb when I sign it; it’s the li le things that get us through the day. Since I’ve had to change who I am over and over, this is a way for me to feel at home despite feeling lost.
My name was Erin Beddington, but I’ve gone by so many last names that I don’t know who I am anymore.
What I do know is that Erin is the name I was born with. It was also my grandmother’s name.
But that’s not important right now.
What is important is that I’m on a riverboat riding up the Mississippi outside of New Orleans, my hands bound with tape and a gag in my mouth. I’m being left for dead in a pile of trash, but this can’t be the end for me.
But before I explain how I got here, let me give you a little background on where I’m from.
I grew up in the small town of Rincon, Georgia, to a farmer father and three brothers. I’m the second oldest. For my family’s sake and the safety of all involved, I’ll keep their names out of it, but I will share some stories that got me to this point.
Growing up in that small town allowed us the small-town feel with access to a city much bigger nearby. Though Savannah isn’t like Atlanta, it feels huge compared to Rincon. That family life, living on a farm, taught me the value of hard work and shit days. Life is going to throw rough weeks at you; that’s just the way it is. You’re going to have poor crop seasons and have to live broke. That mindset, along with my drive and intellect, have allowed me to survive this long on a career path not known for longevity.
Having three bigger brothers, even though I was older than two of them, gave me a bit of a complex. I was super aggressive in sports, always trying to outdo my siblings. There I was (and still am) standing a mere five-seven and weighing in at about one-forty. My brothers, though, were all more than six feet and played football like proper country southern boys. One of them, the middle brother, got into baseball because of a coach and now plays in the majors. They didn’t care that I was a girl.
I was a three-sport athlete, specializing in running. I was a cross-country and track star, even at the state level. Then I played basketball for fun and to stay in shape. I was always pushing myself to do better, and I took the same approach with school. My mother, an English professor at the local college, made certain of that. She was always my motivator with school. Even as a spy, I want to make my mother proud, yet she can never know what I do.
My family thinks I joined the military and do secret research projects for Homeland Security. It covers me being gone for months at a time, sometimes longer. I know it’s hard on them, but it’s a dream that I had to chase. My father is a Marine. After serving for almost a decade, he retired at twenty-seven. When he met my mother, he became a farmer and settled down. He outworked, outhustled, and out-loved everyone I knew. I think it’s safe to say my fearless attitude came from watching him wake at four in the morning and push for that success in everything.
I can remember the day that it all came to fruition, the day that fear no longer stopped me. I was struggling to swing off a rope into the lake next to our property. The swing was on an embankment nearly ten feet above the lake. This meant a pre y big drop, especially for an eleven-year-old still afraid of heights. My dad pulled me aside when he watched me struggling, with my mom screaming in the background.
“Honey, if she doesn’t want to swing, don’t force her!” my mom yelled.
“Erin, you eventually have to learn to embrace your fears. Life is going to be filled with them. If you don’t want to do something because it’s not fun for you, that’s one thing. Don’t let fear stop you from enjoying something. Fear is just an awareness that something different is happening. It’s up to you to manage it, sift through the variables, and make a decision.” That’s how my dad talked—Marine, remember?
“Dad, it’s not that simple. You don’t know how scared I am right now.”
“Baby girl, I’m not fearless. Hell, I’m scared shitless plenty. The only difference is I don’t let it stop me. Now you can sit here, give up, and wonder ‘what if.’ This is a defining moment in your character. This can be the step forward for the next ten years.”
“I know, Dad. I want to be strong, and I want to be fearless.”
“It’s not about being fearless. It’s about wanting the reward on the other side of fear more. That’s what you need to focus on. Focus on the fun you’ll have, the excitement you’ll have every time you come out here once you overcome this fear.”
“Focus on the reward, not the fear. I can do that.”
I grabbed the rope and thought about all the fun my brothers were having. My younger brother was only eight and he was flying off this thing like he’s a pro. That smile he gets, the joy I see in his face, I want that. No, I need that. Dad is right.
I took a couple of deep breaths, got all psyched up, sprinted down the hill a bit, and took off. I had gone so fast I spun my little body to the point that I did a somersault in the air, landing in the water feetfirst. When I came up for air, I could hear my brothers and Dad screaming and clapping for me. You would have thought I just won the state championship with that jump.
“Hell yeah, girl, that’s it! Don’t let anything stop you ever again!” Dad was going nuts.
“Sis, you rock! Did you see that flip?!”
“I didn’t see it; I was too busy doing it. Hell, yeah!” We high-fived and screamed a bit.
“Aren’t you glad you did that now?”
“Heck yeah. That was AWESOME!”
It was that day, that moment in my life, that changed it all. The course of my life could have gone in an entirely different direction had my father not stepped in and coached me. Without that guidance, without that phrase in my head, I can see so many choices I made coming out differently. Focus on the reward past the fear rings in my ears all the time.
One could also say that’s the first step in the journey that led to me stuck on a riverboat with no backup, doing off-book jobs for the CIA because of other poor choices in my life. I was asked to look into a lead involving a local crew in to everything from drug running to major theft. They have recently been accused of upping their game to weapons trafficking. The CIA wants to know if they are terrorists or simply in it for the money.
Remember that part where I told you I came back to the CIA? It’s only half true. I know I’m lying already, but what can I say? It’s a habit; it’s a reflex at this point in my life. They brought me back, but they ship me out to other agencies for cases such as this. Don’t think of me as a hired gun in the wild west or some futuristic crimefighting movie. Whatever awesome role you are imagining, I’m not it. I’m more like a really talented retail worker getting thrown around during the holiday season to do the shittiest jobs around. The only difference is that these window sets could quite possibly get me killed. My government figured instead of throwing me away in a dark hole, they’d use my skills for their purposes. I get to stay out of prison and get to do what I love. They get someone willing to take crazy risks to stay out of prison, like encouraging large men to hit me as a way to distract them.
“She isn’t going to tell us shit. This Ms. Perdita lady is crazy. We might as well kill her now.” The Cajun accent is a bit thick, but I can understand it.
“Hey guys, don’t be talking dirty in front of the lady; that’s not nice.” I need to buy some time.
“Just do us a favor and either tell us where you hid our money or shut up!” He’s so macho.
“Aren’t we Mr. Macho Guy, ge ing all big in front of the li le lady?”
He reared back and hit me one more time, a nasty cross. Shit, that hurt. It felt like my face exploded for a minute. I intended to get him angry, hoping he either breaks the chair or does something stupid. Like, oh shit, here we go.
“Ms. Perdita, shut up! Just stop your incessant talking or I’ll throw you overboard.” I knew he couldn’t throw me that far, weak-ass!
“Twenty bucks says you can’t get me clear of the lower deck. If you throw me, chair and all, I’ll crash below.”
He picked me up quite easily; this might not have been a good idea. He lifted me up above his head and tossed me over the railing. That shit was so fast that before I knew it, I was crashing down into the water. Although, not before the chair and my legs caught the side of the boat, breaking it up just enough that I could get free. Well, this should be fun; now I have to free my hands so I can swim to shore. I never was a fan of my father’s crazy survival tests, but in moments like this, I get all nostalgic.
I know, right? You had no idea what you were getting yourself into.
