Nearly the End of Summer Season

I was driving from LA to San Francisco.

It was nearly the end of summer.

A female friend I had met while studying in Japan had just moved to Daly City for work.

At the time, I was living alone in LA. I had just finished my master's degree, and I was doing an internship at a computer store. Even the owner had gone off traveling with the other interns. I didn't really have anyone I could talk to. At most, I would drive by myself to Downtown LA just to kill some time.

So when I heard that an old friend from my school days had also come to California for work, my boring life finally seemed to have a little excitement again.

"I just arrived in San Francisco, and I don't have a car. If you drive up here, I can also buy some things I need for my new place."

It sounded like a pretty good idea to me.

Besides, I had never driven from LA to San Francisco before. Other classmates had done it, so how could I miss the chance?

I calculated the time. Taking Highway 101, I should be able to get there in six to seven hours, as long as there wasn't any traffic.

So the next morning, I left my rental apartment in East Los Angeles at exactly eight o'clock.

It was my first time driving this route.

I followed the directions from my external TomTom GPS, excited about the trip ahead.

"Downtown," the sign said, pointing to the left.

I saw it at a highway split and thought, Well, today I'm finally driving somewhere farther away.

I turned up the pop music.

I needed something energetic to keep me awake because I didn't have much time to stop. Other than getting gas and using the bathroom, I planned to keep every stop under fifteen minutes.

Otherwise, I wouldn't have enough time to enjoy San Francisco in the afternoon.

"Take me away, to a better place..."

The music and lyrics filled the air-conditioned car, creating a strange contrast with the sunlight outside.

The atmosphere inside the car and the scenery outside somehow didn't match.

Suddenly, the screen on my car showed an incoming call.

I assumed it was my friend from Japan.

I answered.

"Hey! I'll be there in about three hours. What's up?"

On the other end, there was only a faint, crackling sound.

"Can you hear me, Sandy?" I asked.

Still nothing but static.

I figured it was because I was driving through a remote stretch of highway. Poor reception wasn't unusual around here.

"Call me back, or I'll call you later."

I ended the call.

"Country roads, take me home..."

I listened to the song for a while before deciding to call her back.

Then I saw another incoming call.

I answered.

"Hey."

Silence.

"Hello? Hello?"

I said it several times.

Still nothing.

I thought maybe she had accidentally touched her phone and called the last number in her call history. Maybe she had finished talking to someone and hadn't locked her screen, and her phone had been triggered inside her bag.

I was about to hang up.

Then I heard four words through the car speakers.

"Your passport is fake."

I was completely confused.

"Who got arrested?"

"What are you talking about? Are you watching TV or something?"

Silence.

Then, again:

"The passport you used to enter the United States is fake."

My index finger stopped about an inch from the touchscreen.

My body froze.

But my right foot was still pressing the accelerator.

A chill ran down my back.

Who is this? How does he know?

"Who are you?" I asked.

The call ended.

My thoughts were completely out of control.

It felt as if someone sitting in the back seat had just punched me in the back of the head.

I felt like I was about to pass out.

I immediately started looking for the next rest stop on the highway signs.

Seven kilometers.

That was the closest one.

A gas station.

A quick coffee.

A terrible frozen sandwich.

And an overwhelming feeling that something was terribly wrong.

My emotions were as out of control as the 130-kilometer-per-hour speed I was driving.

"This is a secret that can never be told."

Who had leaked it?

Had my identity been exposed?

Impossible.

I had never told anyone.

Not even my girlfriend.

The screen rang again.

Unknown Number.

I answered.

And what came through the speakers was...

a recording.

A familiar voice.

A confession.

It was...

my voice.

My entire body went rigid.

"On July 31, 2015, I signed an agreement to join a classified intelligence organization and pledged complete loyalty to every mission assigned to me, even at the cost of my life. During my missions, I was forbidden from developing emotional attachments or revealing any operational information to anyone—not family, not partners, not officers from other agencies, under any..."

The voice slowly faded away.

Why hadn't the rest stop appeared yet?

I was becoming more and more anxious.

I had a feeling something was going to happen.

"Rest stop arriving in one kilometer," the navigation system announced.

I swallowed.

Could someone be waiting for me at that rest stop?

The thought suddenly crossed my mind.

My right turn signal was blinking as I slowly moved toward the right lane.

But every alarm in my head was screaming.

With only one hundred meters left before the entrance, I suddenly turned on my left signal, accelerated, and drove past the exit to the rest stop.

"Baaaastard!"

I could see the driver behind me shouting something through his windshield.

I accelerated back into the fast lane.

He had no idea that his string of curses didn't matter to me at all.

I was facing something much more serious:

a countdown to whether I would even be alive to see the moon tonight.

"Why today? Why now?"

I kept asking myself that as I drove along the toll highway.

Was I being followed?

How had I not noticed?

I had always been careful...

Then the screen rang again.

It was Sandy.

I forced myself to calm down.

The screen showed 1:47 p.m.

I answered.

"Hey. I'm at the San Francisco station now. I should be able to meet you downtown within an hour. You said Coffee and Leaf downtown, right?"

"Yeah. I should get there in about thirty minutes if there's no traffic. If you get there first, just order something. Whoever gets there first should let the other person know."

"Okay. See you soon."

The call ended.

I turned my eyes back to the road and tried to calm myself down.

Then a notification appeared on the screen.

Daly City.

My eyes widened.

My heart nearly stopped.

This person knows where I'm going?

I must be being monitored.

Another message appeared.

"Are you going to meet her? Or are you going to meet me?"

My heartbeat was now faster than the highway speed limit.

Shit.

At that moment, I desperately wished I were already in San Francisco instead of still being on the highway.

If I didn't go meet him, would something happen to her?

If I went to meet him, would she be safe?

Who was he?

Or was it a she?

Who the hell was it?

I finally saw the road signs for Downtown San Francisco.

I had officially arrived in San Francisco.

Back in 2015, I had received specialized training at the Bay Area intelligence division.

But I remembered telling no one about it.

An old memory suddenly flashed through my mind.

I had to start analyzing everything.

Every possibility had to be considered.

"A situation that looks normal can still hide a problem. But the most dangerous things are the things that look unusually normal."

That was something I had learned during my forensic science and criminal psychology training.

Because of that training, I had developed a habit of becoming tense over the smallest details in everyday life.

The more normal something looked, the more suspicious it could become.

Why had Sandy come to San Francisco on the exact day this mysterious person had contacted me?

Why had my identity been exposed?

Why did someone have a recording of my voice?

"When did I meet Sandy?"

Goosebumps rose across my skin.

Christmas Eve, 2013.

After completing my forensic science examination, I had two years before beginning formal professional training. During those two years, the military allowed us to study abroad using government funding.

I chose Japan.

I started school in September.

Outside of my part-time job, I began going out with classmates.

That was when I met Sandy.

"No... that can't be."

I whispered to myself.

She looked like...

I mean, just a normal woman.

But what Russian female spy didn't look like a normal woman?

"How could I have been so stupid?"

"Twenty minutes to your destination," the navigation system announced.

I wished those twenty minutes would never end.

But what was coming was coming.

I decided to face it normally.

If I determined that Sandy really was a "false angel," I would report her to the agency.

I hoped...

I truly hoped...

that she wasn't the person I thought she was.

I found a paid parking garage in Downtown San Francisco.

My parking space was on Level B3.

I drove down from the surface, circling deeper and deeper underground.

Just like the mystery that was becoming more confusing in my head, one circle seemed to surround another.

After parking, I took the elevator toward the coffee shop.

I knew it was only a seven-minute walk.

As I walked, I started analyzing why she had suddenly come to San Francisco for work.

Six months earlier, she had told me she had found a job in Japan. She said the money was pretty good and that she had met someone she liked.

I had never heard that she had broken up with him.

Just last week, I had seen her post a photo on Instagram with her boyfriend.

Had something happened between Sandy and me when we were in Japan?

Impossible.

At the time, I had been in a relationship with someone I loved very much.

Sandy wasn't my type.

She had just always been there whenever our mutual friends went out together.

"Every time we went out, she was there..."

Every time...

She was there...

I understood.

I had never really noticed her.

I had her phone number, but I had never known where she lived.

She was a good friend of my ex-girlfriend, and I had always thought I shouldn't know where she lived unless I was listed as her emergency contact.

My ex-girlfriend was her emergency contact.

But Sandy knew everything about me.

Which school I attended.

My class schedule.

My ex-girlfriend.

Where my ex-girlfriend and I lived.

The places our mutual friends used to go.

"A situation that looks normal can still hide a problem. But the most dangerous things are the things that look unusually normal."

At that moment, I arrived outside the coffee shop.

I took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

There were about thirty seats inside.

I called Sandy.

Her phone rang, but she didn't answer.

Maybe she was in the bathroom.

Stay calm. Adapt to the situation.

I ordered a coffee and found a seat.

I called Sandy again.

Still no answer.

My red flag was officially up.

I looked around the café.

I searched for her again and again.

After fifteen minutes, I was certain.

She wasn't there.

I left two voice messages.

"I'm at the café. Where are you?"

"Are you in the bathroom?"

"Call me back, okay?"

No response.

Just as I was about to walk out of the café, my phone vibrated.

I immediately checked it.

A message.

From an unknown number.

I opened it.

And immediately regretted it.

Unknown Number:

There are no secrets forever.

The identity you have hidden has already been noticed by the Russians.

You thought changing your name, moving to another country, and cutting contact with your family would mean no one was watching you.

You go to sleep at three every morning.

When you turn off the lights...

are you really sleeping peacefully?