Stella C. wrote: Haha, I would also not make a good spy either!
Oh, well, it's fun to write about them.
Almost like you are experiencing the adventure.
Here is another chapter. Let me know if the chapters are getting too long (didn't see a better place to stop).
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Tasha stood, her heart pounding, knowing that any wrong move could be her last. She laid her hand on Jason’s arm; his pulse raced against her fingers. “Cash, stop.”
“But I can’t let them—“
“There is time sensitive information that he needs, and targeting this man’s daughter is the most efficient way to get it. That’s right, isn’t it?” She looked at Zahl, whose cold eyes softened slightly.
“That’s right. Knowing where the rebels are is imperative if we are to save lives.”
“Like what you did with the other prisoners?” Jason stepped toward Zahl; the guard responded by clicking back the safety on his pistol.
I’m not sure if this is the right thing to do or not, thought Tasha, but it’s the only way I can see to defuse this. Taking a deep breath, she stood in front of Jason and grabbed the gun. At first, he didn’t let go, but then let her take it, though he still cradled the girl close to his chest. Tanya snuggled up against him; looked back at Tasha, her eyes brimming with fear. Tasha’s heart broke for the both of them. But she said, “Would you like me to finish the job?”
“No,” said Zahl, a smile at the edge of his mouth. “I think you have proved yourself.”
She handed Zahl his gun. He took it, and aimed it at Jason, who closed his eyes, as if in resignation, and shielded Tanya with his body.
Zahl pulled the trigger.
Tasha jumped.
But there was no sound. Just an empty click. Zahl’s laugh, hearty and deep, echoed through the prison. “You’ve called our bluff, Cash.”
“Bluff?” Jason looked shocked. Tasha didn’t blame him; she was shaken herself.
“The profile of this man suggested that he would give us information more readily if he thought we would kill his family. You see, in psychological warfare, it doesn’t matter what we are actually going to do. It matters whether the subject truly believes we will do what we say.
“Few could have taken the shot, much less someone new at this. That is part of the education we are giving you.”
“You won’t hurt her?”
“If she were dead, he would have nothing to motivate him. Of course, if he was unforthcoming, we might have had to hurt her in other ways. But I doubt you would have the fortitude for that. Your partner on the other hand—“ He looked at Tasha, admiration in his eyes. She felt a rush of gratification—or rather, her alias did; then her real self felt a sharp sting of guilt for her ostensible collaboration. But no one had gotten hurt, and the mission was safe, for now; she should be congratulating herself. Relief washed through her, but she still felt on edge. And the guilt would not go away.
“I am interested in the procedure of how you find out who is guilty or not,” she said. “Is it possible that this man might be innocent?”
“That is a good question. It is possible, of course; we have been watching him, and he has shown suspicious activity. He has had conversations with known rebels. It could be a coincidence, and he is guilty of nothing more than being a Christian. But the only way to find out was to bring him here.”
He spoke to the guard, who grabbed the little girl. She clutched Jason’s neck and wouldn’t let go; Jason wrapped his arms around her. Tasha sent him a warning look, hoping he’d heed it, hoping this wouldn’t escalate yet again.
“Don’t worry, Cash. We are taking her back to her home.”
“You aren’t going to keep them here?”
“The man, yes. Tanya, no. We’ll have to find other ways of making him talk.”
Jason released the little girl, and she cried as the guard took her away, up the stairs.
“So,” said Zahl, “have you two had enough, or are you interested in witnessing this man’s interrogation?” He looked at Tasha.
“I think—that I would like to see more, but Cash and I need to get back to our hotel and get started on our stories. You have given us a lot of food for thought. Thank you for bringing us on this tour. I have a much clearer perspective now on how your justice system works.”
“My pleasure,” said Zahl. He put his hand on Jason’s shoulder; Jason did not flinch, to his credit. “I hope that you have not been too discouraged by what you have seen. You are an American; it is only natural that you would not yet see things the way we do. Life in a capitalist country has kept you soft, corrupted your vision. Kept you from accepting the harsh realities that we must face if we are to claim victory.”
“I—will keep that in mind.”
“Good.”
The guards unchained the prisoner from the wall; as he walked past, he stumbled against Tasha. One of the guards backhanded him; he collapsed to his hands and knees, his mouth bleeding. The last thing that Tasha saw before she ascended the steps was his dark eyes, glaring at her as if in accusation as they dragged him away.
Outside, it was early evening, the sun lowering over the brick facades of buildings. Elena and Munroe were waiting for them back at the center square, two guards with them. The guards left as soon as Jason and Tasha arrived, and as they walked to the car, Tasha told them what had happened.
“The little girl is safe, at least,” said Elena, looking at Jason. “I am glad you stood up to him.”
Munroe stopped in front of the car. “I don’t like what goes on in Aleem Center any more than you do. Probably less.” He gave a mirthless smile; Tasha remembered the scars on his arm, and a chill ran through her at his understatement. “But that is the way things are here. We have to—“
“Ignore them?” said Jason.
“Unless there is something we can do, yes. Until better days arrive.”
“Those days won’t come without help.”
Munroe narrowed his eyes. “No, they won’t.” He turned and got into the car. They were mostly silent on the way back to the Vanguard office, except for Elena, who spoke to Jason in tones so low Tasha could hardly hear. Tasha looked out the window, burning to tell Jason what she thought of his performance today. Seniority or not, he needed to be reined in, or the mission would be over before it began.
They said goodbye to Munroe and Elena, and then took a cab back to the hotel.
Back in their room, Tasha said, “I think I’ll take a shower,” wishing that were really the case. She could use a shower, however cold it would probably be. But she grabbed him by the arm, more roughly than she intended, and pulled him toward the bathroom.
“Wha—“ he began.
She raised a finger to her lips. He followed her inside, face full of questions. She turned on the shower to its highest setting, and the faucet for good measure. There. Enough white noise to drown out their words, if they didn’t raise their voices.
She stepped close to Jason, whispered, “What was that?” Anger trembled through her, the same that she’d experienced in the airplane; this time she didn’t have the stress of flying as an excuse. But the truth was, this was at least as stressful a situation as flying.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean! Your— performance back there! You didn’t have to pull a gun on the chief of police.”
“So you think I should have shot the little girl.”
“No—but you could have handled it more diplomatically.”
“Like you.”
“Well, yes.”
“Stood in front of Zahl. Protected that man with your life.”
“If that’s what it takes to accomplish the mission.”
“The mission!”
“Yes, the mission. That’s what we’re here for. We’re not here to help every suffering child we see.”
“That is who we are here to help.”
“Jason, we can’t help them if the mission is compromised. You think you could have helped her if you were riddled with bullets? You’ve got to look at the big picture here. Our mission is just one small part of a larger strategy. We’re only here to set up for those who will come after us. And even they will only be mostly observing. But the intelligence we learn will be used to help bring down not just this petty dictator, but all communist countries. That is our end goal. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to accomplish our goal. Sometimes we have to ignore a few people’s suffering so that a whole country can be saved.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t think like that.”
“Then maybe you’re in the wrong business.” Jason’s eyes flickered; for a moment, she regretted what she said. But only for a moment.
“If it means not killing an innocent child, I’d gladly sacrifice the mission. I could never coldly measure everything according to abstract principles, instead of its impact on real people.”
“I suppose your sacrifice would have been gratifying as you sat there in a cell, being tortured out of your mind. Zahl was testing us, and you failed.”
“He didn’t expect me to pass—that was the point.”
“You didn’t have to go overboard. It’s one thing or the other with you, isn’t it? You were so enthusiastic about their ‘communist paradise’ earlier today, and to do a complete one-eighty—it’s bound to raise Zahl’s suspicions. From now on, we will have to be extra careful and stick to the mission parameters, because if Zahl wasn’t watching us before, you can be sure he is now.” She reached over and shut off the shower. The steam was almost stifling, fogging up the mirror, making breathing difficult. If anyone was going to take a shower, it would have to be him; she’d already taken up the time that she would have taken a shower after announcing it to any eavesdroppers.
She left him behind in the bathroom, and sat in the chair by the window. Exhaustion overtaking her, she leaned her head in her hands.
This was different than the incident in the airplane; it had deeper consequences. She doubted they would ever be able to go back to the way things were. After what had happened today, she didn’t know if she could trust him. His heart was in the right place, but that would do them no good if it got them killed. And if they were killed, or worse, successfully interrogated, it could spell disaster for the NSA. At the very least, it would set them back several years in regards to their fledgling presence in Muldavia. Without support, the rebel’s movement could collapse, even if there was much of an organized resistance in the first place, which she was beginning to doubt.
So where did that leave them? Tasha could go along with Jason, hoping he wouldn’t commit any more blunders…or…she hesitated. To even think of going against protocol in that manner- it went against everything she’d learned. There were exceptions in extreme cases, but did this warrant—that?
I’ll have to play it by ear, she thought. Till tomorrow, at least, when we get our transmitter set up. That’s the only way I’d be able to contact Donovan, to ask…whether I should be the one to take over the assignment, despite Jason’s seniority. If he doesn’t see reason, it may be the only chance to save the mission—and our lives—before it’s too late.
She heard the shower sputter to life again, and took the opportunity to get changed into something more comfortable, a T-shirt and some jeans. It was only 6:00; too early to get ready for bed. Maybe she’d head out and find a café somewhere. Whether Jason wanted to come or not.
She took the clothes she’d worn that day and hung them up in the closet near the door. As she did so, though, something fell out of her skirt pocket. A crumpled piece of paper. She smoothed it out; a few words were scrawled across it, along with dark stains that looked like blood. It must have been more than an accident today when that prisoner had stumbled against her. Somehow he’d stuffed this into her pocket, maybe because he didn’t want to be caught with something incriminating, or maybe because he’d wanted to give her a message.
The words meant nothing to her; they said simply, “Araz, R. 21, M. Cart.”
I should probably throw it away, she thought. It’s not likely it would have anything to do with the mission, anyway. It could compromise the mission if anyone found this among my things.
After memorizing the message, she dug in her purse and took out a book of matches. Struck one, and it flared to life, filling the room with the smell of smoke.
Just then, Jason opened the bathroom door and looked out. Startled, she dropped the match, and stomped on it before it could do any damage to the carpet.
“What are you doing?” he said.
She hesitated. Debated whether to tell him, or just burn it.
Without speaking, she showed it to him. His eyebrows shot up.
“Would you like to come to a café with me?” she said. “Maybe we could stop by the Vanguard office on the way back. I have something I’d like to run past Munroe.”
“Fine with me,” said Jason. He darted back into the bathroom, and came out fully dressed.
Tasha found a little café a few blocks from the hotel. It was more pleasant and relaxed without all the pressure to pretend during the ‘official tour’, and nice to see a Muldavia that wasn’t all pre-packaged.
However, there was a distance between her and Jason now. Even though they couldn’t speak about it openly in public, it was still there, almost tangible. Sore spots that they had to avoid. They mostly spoke about the food, comparing it to the restaurant earlier that day. It was actually almost as good as the fancy restaurant, although simpler. Salads, sandwiches, a light, creamy dessert made with strawberries.
“Do you think I should bother Munroe tonight with my question?” she asked, and slid a forkful of dessert into her mouth.
“I think so,” he said.
“But maybe it’s too trivial to go to all the trouble—“
“We should ask him. After all, he would know better than us whether it’s important or not.”
“That’s true. But maybe we should wait until morning.”
“We don’t have much time in this country as it is.”
At least he seemed more reasonable now, but she was getting a little unnerved by his subdued demeanor. He didn’t seem himself, or at least the self she had known for the past several days. But now that things were…different, she didn’t know what to expect. She felt a little off-balance herself, as if there had been a shift inside her which she was only now realizing was present. It was so ethereal she wasn’t even sure it existed. But she knew one thing: she didn’t like it.
They drove to the Vanguard office. Elena greeted them; she told them that Munroe had gone home early, since he wasn’t feeling very well.
“Maybe we should come back tomorrow, then,” said Tasha.
“Perhaps I can help you,” said Elena.
“I’m not sure that—well, it’s something that Munroe’s more likely to know.”
Dana, who had been typing furiously at her desk, strode over to them. “I might be able to help. What is it?”
“Well—it’s hard to explain. I want to ask something that doesn’t have a direct bearing on the stories we’re working on.”
“Would it have to do with the warehouse?”
“It might.”
Dana nodded. “Come.” She motioned, and they followed her.
“Should I go with you?” said Elena, standing there in her light pink blouse and short gray shirt—too short to be professional, in Tasha’s opinion.
Dana stopped midstride, regarded her. “I suppose. Yes, it might be a good idea.”
Elena tagged along with them down the hallway; Tasha kept up with Dana’s brisk stride, but Jason fell back to Elena’s position.
They emerged into the warehouse, with its huge cacophonous fan.
“What is it?” said Dana.
“Um—“ Tasha glanced at Elena.
“It’s all right,” said Dana. “Munroe decided to trust her. He told her about our operation just before he left.”
“I hate what Von Warberg has done to my country,” said Elena, “and I want to do all I can to help take it back.”
“She’s nothing if not enthusiastic,” said Dana with a wry smile. “So what do you have for me?”
Tasha tugged the piece of paper from her pocket. Dana took it, inspected it. “Hm,” she said.
“Do you know what it means?”
“Not sure. Araz means ‘spider’.”
“Spider. Must be code for something.”
“Could be. Or else—“ she looked at it again. “It could be short for Arazonda. As in Arazonda Street.”
“Is that here in Rakima?”
“Yes. It’s in the Old Quarter. Lot of run-down buildings over there. R. 21 could mean the building number. M. Cart might be its occupant. That’d be my guess, anyway.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” said Jason.
“You’re not seriously thinking-“ said Tasha.
“It might be a good idea, actually,” said Dana.
“But Zahl will be watching us.”
“He’s always watching everyone. We’re reporters. We have the license to do things that in others might seem suspicious.”
“It could be a trap.”
“That’s why we’ll have to be extra cautious. I assume you have some spy gear with you?”
“Spy gear?”
Jason took the pen from his shirt pocket. Pressed the bottom of it, and a sharp blade appeared.
“Excellent,” said Dana.
“And we also brought the camera,” said Jason.
“A camera can be a weapon in the right hands, but…”
“It’s also a gun.”
“Oh.”
Elena was gazing at Jason as if he was the most amazing thing she’d ever come across in her short life. Tasha fought the urge to roll her eyes.
They all headed out and climbed into Dana’s car, orange and gold splashed across the sky, deepening to purple.
After driving downtown, they passed building after building with broken windows, pockmarked bricks. “The Old Quarter was once the most venerable part of the city,” said Dana, “but now we try to pretend it doesn’t exist. Definitely not something you would be shown on an official tour.”
She drove down Arazonda Street, cobblestoned, trash bags piled up along the buildings. Children ran in front of the headlights and disappeared down an alley. “It’s not the safest place to be at night, either,” said Dana.
They stopped at Building 21. Its tall red-brick form loomed up in the growing darkness.
They stepped inside a vacant lobby and climbed the stairs, not trusting the elevator. On the second floor landing, Dana asked a middle-aged woman if she knew a Mr. Cartier. Tasha wondered how she knew it was ‘Cartier’ and not something else.
The woman shook her head, fear in her eyes. “Please, I vant no trouble,” she said in a thick accent, with a lilt Tasha couldn’t quite place.
“We only want to talk to him.”
“Maybe Miranda knows someting.”
“Where is Miranda?”
“My daughter-in-law. She lives on the third floor.” She pointed up the stairs, and then turned her back on them, stepping inside her apartment.
On the third floor, they knocked on several doors before they found Miranda. “Did my mother-in-law send you?”
Dana nodded.
“Of course she did. Now what do you want?” She crossed her arms. She had the same dark hair and olive complexion as the first woman.
Dana told her, and Miranda directed them to M. Cartier’s room, with a little….encouragement, in the form of fifty Muldavian doorts.
Room 405. The numbers on the door had long since fallen off, and the door looked like it could be kicked in with little effort. They knocked anyway.
There was no answer.
On the third knock, a thin male voice called, “Who’s there?”
“Dana Kant. I would like to talk to you.”
“I don’t talk to anyone. Not anymore. Now go away.”
“It is important business. It concerns the old days.”
“The old days. Ha!” Silence again. They waited out in the gloom, the building settling, creaking as if a strong wind could blow it over.
Finally, the door opened. An old man looked out. He was bent over a wooden cane, and his eyes were unfocused, as if he couldn’t see well. His face was heavily wrinkled, and wispy gray hair covered his head.
“Well?” he said.
“Could we come in?”
“If you must. I can’t do much to stop you.”
They filed in behind him. The place consisted of a table in the kitchen, and a bed with a nightstand on the opposite wall. There was dust on every surface, and the curtains looked as if they were made out of torn bed sheets. I thought my apartment was bad, thought Tasha.
“Have a seat,” said the man, gesturing to the four chairs around the table. He sat on the bed, breathing hard, as if it had taken a lot out of him just to get up.
Dana, Tasha, Elena, and Jason dragged chairs over beside the bed.
“Excuse—this place,” said the man, sweeping his hand around the room, “but I haven’t had visitors in a long time.” Sadness shadowed his face. “So to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“It’s hard to explain,” said Jason, “but—someone gave us your address yesterday. He was in prison. We thought you might know why he had your name.”
Alarm crossed his face. “He had my name?”
“Just M. Cart,” said Dana.
“It was Richard, wasn’t it? Only he would be so—careless.”
“I don’t know,” said Jason. “He had a daughter called Tanya.”
“I don’t know about his daughter and I don’t want to know about anything else you have to say. I think this visit has been a waste of your time.”
“Maybe we had better go,” said Dana. “Thank you.”
The old man nodded.
They got up. All except Jason. He was staring at the picture on the old man’s lampstand. “Where did you get this?” he said.
“What? This picture?” The old man picked up the picture, and clutched it against his chest.
“Could I see it?”
“Why?”
“Because—it’s my father.”