Chapter 44: The Captive
“Who is she?” Federal Agent Calhoun asked aloud. He was referring to a woman on the far side of a one way mirror. She was slim, attractive with fair hair and blue eyes and looked to be quite exhausted. She was a little bruised and battered, possibly from an earlier interrogation.
Agent Calhoun had spent almost twenty years as a Federal Agent. Like many agent operatives there were many aspects of his job that he disliked. In the past few years the one thing he disliked more than most was dealing with Reapers. He suspected, before he asked the question, that this case was Reapers related and that most likely he would be performing a babysitting job until their arrival. Agent Calhoun didn’t like having people to report to who were as arrogant and difficult as the Reapers. It was inevitable unless he altered his career that it was something he would have to do again and again.
The experienced Federal Agent rubbed his chin as he looked at the beautiful specimen in front of him and waited for his colleague’s response. Agent Calhoun had a tight haircut with a few sprinkles of grey hair. Now that he was thirty nine his skin was becoming progressively drier and drier. His wife always claimed that he had blue eyes like Paul Newman but he always believed that the similarity ended there.
“We’ve been questioning her for 36 hours on and off,” Agent Lumiskey responded. “The Reapers have taken an interest in her. One of them will be with us shortly. She hasn’t told us much. We suspect she’s a changeling from a distant planet who landed here recently. She has no identification on her. We’ve been performing background checks such as DNA testing, missing persons, escapees, you name it. So far we’ve reached a dead end. We haven’t established how she got here, even if she is an alien life form. She was found looking for food in the countryside. I don’t think she’s eaten in more than 48 hours. I’ve been keeping it that way in the hope that she would crack.”
Agent Calhoun had known his colleague for five years. Ron Lumiskey was very thorough and probably enjoyed his work more than his associate did. When he wasn’t talking about work, he was informing Agent Calhoun about the gossip on his neighbours, his relatives and his friends. Agent Calhoun always lost track of the names involved and was never that interested prying into other people’s lives unless he had to.
“I don’t think she’s going to crack,” the blue eyed Federal Agent divulged.
“Why do you say that?” Agent Lumiskey asked in a surprised manner.
“We have no leverage,” his colleague replied as he continued to closely monitor every expression on the captive’s face. “We don’t know who she is. She holds the aces. Besides there appears to be a resilience about her.”
“You think there is a resilience to her? How can you tell?” Agent Lumiskey asked in a manner that suggested he was in total disagreement. “You’ve only seen her for two minutes. Let’s see how much resilience there is when the Reaper gets here.”
“I think it’s time for the good cop method,” Agent Calhoun declared as he picked up his lunch from the table and started to rise from his seat.
“You’re not thinking of going in there, now are you? You could end up in hot water over this. Take my advice. Wait for the Reapers to handle this.” Ron Lumiskey seemed to be barking up the wrong tree. His colleague knew that Ron was soft underneath and that if the Reapers did come, Ron would back his colleague as much as he could.
Agent Calhoun entered the interrogation room with a bottle of water and a chicken sandwich. The lunch was initially intended for him, but today he was feeling charitable. “Good morning,” he said to the young woman, wearing an orange prisoner’s uniform. Her face had bruise marks and dirt marks. She didn’t seem very responsive or emotional. She failed to respond to Agent Calhoun but looked into space instead. “Are you hungry?” he asked, offering her the sandwich and bottle of water. Again she didn’t respond but slowly unwrapped the sandwich and started to eat it.
“If you don’t provide me with answers, soon there will be others here with far more brutal methods than my comrades,” he said before pausing. “Where did you come from?”
Again there was no answer. She continued to devour the sandwich.
“I can help you,” he said with a hint of compassion, “but only if you co-operate. Do you understand?”
The prisoner didn’t even move her head.
“A reaper is coming. They have methods. We have rules but they don’t. They can drug you, torture you. They can do anything to make you talk. It’s in your interests to co-operate. Now tell me about yourself before it’s too late.”
Again, the woman did not show a flicker of a reaction.
“I could go on like a broken record warning you about these monsters they call Reapers. You seem to think you can handle anything but nothing can prepare you for what these guys will do to you. They’ll tear out your limbs or your nails if they have to. You will break. The faster you cooperate the easier it will be for you.”
The Federal Agent still did not get the reaction he was looking for. Instead, she kept eating.
Agent Calhoun breathed a sigh of frustration. Even he did not enjoy seeing the Reapers at work.
“Ok then. So be it, but I did warn you.”
He glanced at the one way mirror, stood up and walked out of the interrogation room.
“I told you that you were wasting your time,” Agent Lumiskey said aloud the instant that his colleague entered the room once more. “If she wasn’t a changeling I’d probably fancy her myself.”
Suddenly a Reaper barged into the room without any warning.
“So this is the woman,” he said aloud. “What has she told you?”
“Nothing,” Agent Calhoun said nervously as if he had a lump in his throat.
“You mean to tell me that she’s been here for nearly two days and she’s said nothing whatever,” he said in an angry voice. “Did you feed her?”
“I…I gave her a sandwich and some water a few minutes ago.”
“Very well. Give her this serum,” he said holding a tube in his hand. “Once it start’s working, we can go to work on her.”
“Is it a truth drug?” Agent Calhoun asked aloud.
“Do as you are instructed,” the Reaper responded aggressively. “You don’t need to know of our methods.”
The Federal Agent took the serum and left the room. A million thoughts were racing through his head. It was one of those days that he wanted to be anywhere but in his current predicament. He feared for her.
Agent Lumiskey stared across the table at the young woman whose identity was still a mystery.
“We have decided to put you out into the world once more. The name of the city is Badham. We believe that there is an underground network of changelings working in that city. We want you to infiltrate them and betray them. If you don’t do this we will execute you, but if you do, we can promise you a more comfortable life. We have a contact in the Bayeaux Tavern on the corner of Franciscan Avenue and Leopold Street. As soon as you have information, you can go there and ask for Gunter. We suspect that some of them are located in the North East of the city in a district called Laramie. We suggest that you concentrate most of your movements in this area. We will give you some money which you will tell them you robbed off an old Lady in Suffolk Street. What do you say?”
“Why should I trust you”
“We’re the good guys. The guys who we are asking you to infiltrate are killers, mercenaries… They are dangerous. Don’t get too close to them or they will either kill you or convert you into another one of their terrorists. Others have co-opertated in the past and been rewarded for their compliance.”
Many thoughts were flashing through the young woman’s mind. ‘What drugs did they give me?’ she wondered. She had been unconscious for some time. What could have happened then? Could she trust anyone in this city, whether they be terrorists or Federal Agents? What was to prevent her making a run for it once more?
“We’re also giving you back some of your old clothes,” Agent Lumiskey continued. “They will give you greater credibility than anything else we could supply you with. We interrogated you because we didn’t know how trustworthy you were. You passed all our tests, even if you have not been the most forthcoming with information.”
A week later, the young woman entered The Bayeaux Tavern, addressed the barman and asked for Gunter. She sat down at an unoccupied table. There were three men sitting at the bar, drinking alcoholic beverages. A fourth man sat at a table near the window, reading from a newspaper while picking at what was left of his food. A waiter emerged from another room that was separated by a red curtain. “Perhaps, madam, you would be more comfortable in our restaurant area,” he declared. He led her to another table in the Restaurant. There was nobody there other than the staff. She sat down once more. The young woman had not washed in a week and she was exhausted and hungry. She had done exactly as had been instructed by the Federal Agent. The alleged Changeling had concentrated most of her movements in the Laramie area. She ran out of money the previous day. She didn’t believe in stealing, no matter how hungry she was.
A largely bald man with fair hair emerged from the Kitchen. “What does Madam desire?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Gunther. I’m tired and hungry and I want food. I have no money left.”
In her own mind, the young woman was determined to flee. She wanted food and enough money to get away from this miserable town.
“Well I’m afraid that there is no Gunter here. If you have no money you should leave.”
The young woman was taken by surprise. She had been betting all her resources on Gunter being her contact, and a man who would help her out. Reluctantly she stood up and slowly walked out of the street. She could not sink much lower, she told herself. She walked down Franciscan Avenue and turned the corner onto Etienne Avenue. Etienne Avenue was a market street full of stalls with food and other items for sale. She was contemplating going against her own principles and taking something to eat.
Suddenly a man came from around the corner and pointed a knife to her throat. The mole recognised him from the bar. He wore a hat. He was middle-aged and hadn’t shaved in weeks.
“Who are you, and who do you work for?” he asked her in a threatening manner.
“Are you Gunther,” she asked aloud.
“Who’s Gunther?” he asked
“You must be a terrorist. It isn’t safe for you,” she responded. “They are probably watching us as we speak.”
“I’m well aware of what dangers there are in this city, so follow me,” he replied putting his arm around her and ensuring that the knife was pressed firmly against her side.
The man with the knife directed her down the street and up a set of stairs that led to a church. When they were half way up the steps, he turned his head to look around. He could see two agents approaching from the base of the steps. Instead of continuing up the steps, he found a doorway on his left hand side and opened it. They both entered. Once inside, the unshaven man bolted the door. He removed a scanning device from his pocket and started to scan his captive. As he did this, the young woman apprehensively looked around the room. She could see a couple who looked to be in their seventies tied up on two chairs. They were in a kitchen. It looked like a pensioners kitchen. The furniture was old but they clearly had enough time on their hands to keep it extremely tidy.
“This is going to hurt,” the captor declared.
It seemed that the scanner he had in his possession was also capable of removing an implant concealed three inches to the left of her navel. Like a magnet, it ripped it from her stomach. For a few seconds the pain was excruciating but the unshaven man was not finished. He removed tiny bugs which were probably listening devices from her hair and arms. There were four of them in all.
The captive did not know who she should be scared of most, the unshaven man or the Federal Agents who were about to break the door down.
“Through here,” the terrorist directed her into the sitting room.
Outside, the two Federal Agents known as Hersh and Kaxton attempted to open the door. It was locked. Hersh tried to ram it with his shoulder but it ended up hurting and had little or no impact.
Finally Kaxton started shooting at the lock. After about seven attempts they were able to gain entry. They saw an old couple bound and gagged. They ignored the old couple and continued searching for the man and the girl. Ten minutes later they had searched the entire house with no success. Kaxton went back to the old couple and ungagged them.
“Where did they go?” Kaxton asked.
“They went into the living room. After that, I couldn’t say. Thank you young man but can you untie us?”
Agent Kaxton proceeded to do as they wished.
“Who was it that bound you?”
“Why it was the same man. Unshaven he was. He gagged us two hours ago. He didn’t steal anything though. You’re such a good man to free us. Two hours is a long time for a couple like us to be stuck in such an uncomfortable position.”
“Agent Kaxton,” his colleague addressed him. “There is a Reaper outside waiting to talk to us.”
Nervously Agent Kaxton left the small house and went outside to engage with the Reaper.
“Where is the man and the girl?” the Reaper demanded.
“They got away, but at least we have them on video,” Agent Kaxton said in an attempt to save face.
“The footage shows that this changeling took the form of a Federal Agent. One of your colleagues. Agent Gray. Agent Gray is currently on duty in Pittsburgh.”
The Federal agent thought he looked familiar. The situation was humiliating enough without being ridiculed by an arrogant Reaper. Somehow, he had to redeem himself. “Well, we do have some witnesses.”
“Who?” the Reaper asked.
“An old man and an old lady.”
“You do realise that the occupants of the house are currently on vacation. Show them to me.”
Kaxton re-entered the house once more. The old couple had also disappeared. “You incompetent fool,” the Reaper said in a heavy voice. Desperately Kaxton searched the house once more. They could find no clue as to where the four suspects had gone to. This is not going to look good on my CV he thought to himself.
The unshaven man placed a blindfold over the eyes of the mysterious young woman. “Where are you taking me?” she asked. The man did not respond. The last thing she remembered was walking down a narrow street, that was quite crowded. After about forty yards they turned right, up about thirty steps, turned left and then walked for about eighty yards. They then climbed into a Rickshaw and travelled for about fifteen minutes. She left the Rickshaw and turned right up a step and into what seemed like a shop. She believed it was a shop because there was a ring when the door opened. She went up some more steps and turned right. After about eight feet they climbed into what seemed to be an elevator and appeared to be going downwards. The elevator itself appeared to be old and somewhat rickety. She left the elevator and the doors were closed behind her. They then descended some steps and entered through another doorway. A short time later she found herself in a large room with an unpleasant smell. The underfoot conditions appeared to be wet.
The young woman tried to memorise every detail, in case it was important in the near future. She still did not know who to distrust the most, the terrorists or the authorities. It had occurred to her that they could both be as bad as one another.
The unshaven man untied her blindfold. She looked around. There were twenty or so people there many of whom were sitting on beds. These wooden beds went up along the walls, eight high in some places. These individuals seemed to be a mixture of young and old. A boy and two girls seemed to range in age from eight to twelve. Three of them appeared to be older than sixty but the rest were largely young adults in the full of their health.
“Now,” her captor addressed her. “Who are you?”
“My name is Dorothy.”
“And your surname?”
“Fielding.”
The mysterious young woman was still breathing heavily as a result of her escape. She was also still bleeding from her stomach. The unshaven man and his colleagues did not know whether the heavy breathing was also an indication of stress and nervousness. They were taking a big risk in taking her to their lair and couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
“Where are you from?”
“I am a Kylot. I came from Todor. The planet as we know it was destroyed by Kylons. I managed to escape.”
“And you expect us to believe you?” a man sitting on a bed addressed her. He was in his late twenties and had a scar across the left side of his face. “I say you’re a Kylon, here to infiltrate us. You’re naïve Stanislas,” he addressed her captor.
“If she is a Kylon, then I will have no hesitation but to slit her throat,” the man identified as Stanislas declared. “Otherwise, she could be an asset to our group. We need all the young recruits we can get.”
“Who is to say that she doesn’t have a tracking device on her,” the man with the facial scar responded. “She was in captivity, wasn’t she?”
“I was captured by agents,” the woman who called herself Dorothy said aloud. “They drugged me. I don’t know what else they might have done. I was fully unconscious for a long time.”
“I removed a tracking device and some wires from her,” Stanislas retorted.
“Who is to say that our equipment isn’t outdated?” the younger man replied.
“I have faith in the professor,” the unshaven man declared with confidence.
“Young man,” an old man standing fifteen feet away addressed the dissenting voice, “unless there are advances in modern technology then my devices are as good as any.”
“I just think that we are taking too many risks,” the vociferous objector responded.
“Every decision we make is fraught with risks.” Stanislas replied. “This is no greater than any other.”
“She’s just a woman, and a frail one at that. She’s a liability. We have enough mouths to feed without bringing her into the equation.”
“I can handle myself,” Dorothy replied defiantly. “Even though I’ve barely had any food for two days I bet I could kick your butt.
“Okay, let’s see you in action.” The man with the scar stood up and stuck out his chest proudly. He approached the young woman to a point where she was only six feet away. “What are you waiting for,” he taunted her.
Dorothy wrapped her right foot around the man’s leg and pushed him over in one fluid movement. The man with the scar fell to the ground and most of the onlookers burst out laughing. He then tried to conceal his embarrassment as well as he could. “You prove me wrong and I will repay you a thousand fold, but if you step out of line, I’ll be right there beside you, ready when the time comes. The name’s Clayton, Clayton Harkwell.”
They shook hands and put their initial differences behind them.
Stanislas then introduced her to the rest of the gang, including the Professor, a large and powerfully built African American named Jesse and a forty year old woman named Alexis. Alexis seemed to see herself as the mother of the group. She cooked the dinners and also stressed the fact that she also cleaned up after everyone. She seemed to be quite proud to do both.
When they were finished Stanislas showed her around the hideout. Her bed was located on the fifth row up. It wasn’t exactly the Ritz but it was more comfortable than anything she had experienced in the past few weeks. Dorothy believed rightly or wrongly that she could trust her new friends and that she could sleep easier at night.
While Alexis was in charge of food, supplies were either gathered through hunting, stealing from the wealthy or relying on the generosity of their allies above ground. Most of their supposed terrorist activity included anti-establishment graffiti, fliers and other forms of propaganda. None of their group had ever killed another human being or changeling for that matter. All of them were united in their ideals and would do anything to oppose President Westwood and his group called the Reapers.