Chapter 100: Agent Classification
"General. What do you need?"
The others had filed out. Simon stood in front of the screen.
"Now that you're formally commissioned," Beckman said, "you need a cover designation. An alias for the record."
"A field name," Simon said.
"Correct. It will travel with you through your career. Your clearances, your support requests, your operational communications — all routed through this name."
She looked at him. "What would you like to be called?"
Simon thought for approximately two seconds.
"Tom Clancy," he said.
Beckman looked at him.
"Tom Clancy," she said.
"Yes."
A pause that communicated something.
"Very well," Beckman said. "Agent Tom Clancy will be registered at B-level clearance. Casey will walk you through what that means operationally." She made a note. "I also have an assignment for you."
Simon stood straighter.
"After school ends in June," Beckman said, "you'll go to this location." A satellite image appeared on the secondary screen beside her — an LA neighborhood, an address, nothing distinctive. "Find the person there."
"Who is it?" Simon said.
"A R.E.D. operative."
"R.E.D.?" Simon said.
"Casey will explain. What you need to know for now: go to that address in the summer. Find this person. How you do it is your problem."
"That's the whole brief?"
"It's a test," Beckman said.
She ended the call.
Simon looked at the blank screen for a moment.
Casey was in the armory when Simon found him.
"B-level," Simon said. "What does that mean?"
"How old are you?" Sarah said, from behind him.
"Eighteen."
"Youngest B-level operative on record," she said. "That I know of."
Casey set down what he was examining and gave Simon the classification structure.
G-Level: probationary. No field authorization, no independent access.
F-Level: intelligence analysis and logistics. Back-room work, no field presence.
E-Level: support operative. Assists higher-level agents, runs communication relays, holds perimeters.
D-Level: entry field. Surveillance, transport, advance work.
C-Level: standard field operative. Operates in teams, executes assigned parameters, supports B and above.
B-Level: independent operative. Authorized to operate alone. No mission selection — takes what's assigned.
A-Level: senior operative. Mission selection within parameters. Commands C-level teams or mixed units on significant operations.
AA-Level: elite senior operative. Full mission selection, unit or department command authority.
S-Level: ace operative. Rare designation. Handles operations that would otherwise be described as impossible.
"Practical implications for you at B-level," Casey said. "Full access to federal law enforcement databases — facial recognition, vehicle registration, personal records. You can request a tactical support unit for field backup. You can request a logistics team for post-operation cleanup."
"And my independent unit?" Simon said.
"Separate authority, granted directly by Beckman. Up to ten members, your selection, outside the standard chain." Casey looked at him. "The classification and the unit authority are parallel tracks. One doesn't limit the other."
"What's R.E.D.?" Simon said.
Casey's expression shifted slightly — not uncomfortable, exactly, but the look of someone explaining something they had personal feelings about.
"Retired. Extremely. Dangerous," Casey said. "The classification applies to former operatives who remain threat-relevant after separation from active service. Their skills don't retire when they do. So the designation stays active."
"And Beckman wants me to find one," Simon said.
"In the summer," Casey said. "Which means you have five months to think about how."
"Any guidance?"
"She said it was a test," Casey said. "Which means she wants to see how you approach it without guidance."
Simon filed this and let it rest.
He and Chuck drove to the Buy More together.
The store had a new energy when they arrived — a posted notice near the Nerd Herd desk announcing a monthly employee performance evaluation, winner to receive a commendation and a prize that the notice was careful not to specify.
"What's the prize?" Simon asked Morgan.
Morgan shrugged. "A mug. Maybe a planner. Something with the Buy More logo on it."
"And your plan is to compete for the lowest score."
"We talked about it," Morgan said. "As a group. It's a solidarity thing."
Simon thought about this for a moment and decided it was none of his business. He was here, he was being paid, and he was going to do his job the way he'd been doing it.
He went to work.
The customer appeared an hour into the shift.
He was in his forties, broad-shouldered, the specific physical presence of someone who had spent years doing things that required controlled strength. He moved through the store with the easy authority of someone who assessed spaces automatically.
Simon recognized him.
Not personally. From the briefing photograph. The Intersect confirmed it in the same instant his memory did.
Ty Bennett.
Simon kept his expression at its default retail setting.
"Excuse me," Bennett said. He had a good voice — the kind that filled space without effort. "I'm looking for John Casey. I have something of his."
"Casey?" Simon said. "He might be in the back. Let me check for you." He held up a finger. "One moment."
He walked into the employee corridor, moved far enough from the door that his voice wouldn't carry, and called Casey.
"Bennett is in the store," Simon said. "He's asking for you by name. Says he has something of yours."
A pause.
"Say that again," Casey said.
"Bennett. Here. Asking for you personally."
"We're twenty minutes out," Casey said. "Stall him. Don't engage. Don't let him know you know who he is."
"Understood."
Simon walked back out to the floor.
"I'm sorry," he said to Bennett. "Casey's actually out right now — stepped out a little while ago. I can try to reach him, or I can take a message if that's easier."
Bennett looked at him for a moment with an attention that was slightly more evaluative than a retail interaction usually warranted.
Then he relaxed.
"It can wait," he said. "Thanks for checking."
"Of course," Simon said. "Since you're here — how was the service today? We do a customer feedback card." He produced one from his apron pocket.
Bennett looked at the card. Looked at Simon.
He smiled — a genuine one, not a performance. He took the card, marked it, and handed it back.
Perfect score.
"Good store," Bennett said. "Clean floor. Helpful staff."
He walked out.
Simon looked at the score card.
Chuck appeared at his elbow approximately two seconds after the door closed. "Was that—"
"Yes," Simon said. "Stay here. Tell Casey when he arrives." He took off his apron and set it on the counter. "I'm going to follow him."
"Simon—"
"I'm not engaging him," Simon said. "I just want to know where he goes. If I lose him, I lose him."
He went through the front door into the parking lot.
Bennett was unhurried, moving toward a vehicle on the far side of the lot — the easy pace of someone who didn't think he was being watched.
Simon hung back at the entrance, used the parked cars as cover, and watched which direction Bennett pulled out.
Then he went to the Mustang.
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