Saturday, May 14, 2011

The Interview (Chapter3)



             I awoke to find myself seated, slumped over what felt like a cold metal table.  Sitting up slowly, I opened my eyes to darkness.  My mouth and throat were bone dry.  My head hurt with a dull throbbing ache that seemed to radiate down my spine.  There was a noticeable ringing in my ears, an after effect of the sedatives, perhaps.  As I coughed to clear my throat, I noticed a slight echo implying the room was small with hard surfaces.  
            Where the fuck am I?
I rose slowly out of the chair in an attempt to stand up straight, only to find that my hands were cuffed to the table in front of me.  It wasn’t long before I discovered my feet were restrained as well.  My ankles were cuffed together through some sort of metal loop on the ground, only allowing me to pull my feet a few centimeters apart and a few centimeters off the ground.  There wasn’t much room to maneuver.  
I struggled against the restraints for a while, but they didn’t show any signs of giving way.  In testing the restraints I learned a few things.  The table was fixed firmly to the floor, trapping me in a vulnerable position I’d never be able to fight effectively from. It had become painfully obvious the room was set up specifically for interrogations. The equipment being used indicated a professional setup.  To top it off I was in a weakened state.  I felt dizzy and disoriented, and the physical exertion made it worse.  It felt like the whole room was slowly spinning around me.  I dropped back down into the chair.  
Well shit, this isn’t good.  
I’ve been in this situation before, but only in training.  Granted it was very thorough training, and it had been realistic enough to kill more than one trainee and leave me resolute to the idea that I would rather die fighting than be taken alive.  
So much for that idea.  
Touching my wrist I noticed that my watch was gone, but suspected that was the case before I had checked.  Time deprivation was a common tactic in interrogations for pretty much anyone.  Sensory deprivation was another technique that was clearly being used, judging by how dark the room was.  It would have been completely quiet, as well, had it not been for the ringing in my ears.  Luckily that was subsiding.  
Time and sensory deprivation was often used to disorient and soften up targets for interrogation.  Adding to the disorientation was the fact I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious, where I was, who was holding me here, or what they wanted.
Contrary to popular belief perpetuated by popular media, interrogation relies less on torture and more on psychological manipulation to obtain accurate information. The threat of the unknown and the target’s own imagination of what might happen is usually a far more effective tool to getting accurate information than physical torture.  Beat on people all you want, but more often than not those people will just end up doing whatever it takes to make the pain stop, including lying out of their asses.
I had a quick epiphany and leaned forward, bringing my face close to my restrained hands.  I felt stubble, maybe two or three days worth.  I was clean shaven when I had left the station.
Shit, why was I out so long?
My heart beat hard in my chest.  A lump formed in my throat from the anxiety.  The thought that someone was probably going to come into the room and torture the shit out of me at some point wasn’t helping.  Neither was the lack of control.  It's never a good feeling not knowing what your future holds, especially when all of the evidence suggests it was going to be bad.  I took a little solace in the fact that I probably didn’t want to know what was to come.
Falling back on my training I focused on what little I could control, starting with my breathing.  Inhale slowly on a four count...hold for two...exhale for four, and repeat.  The breathing technique itself served to calm me, occupying and focusing my thoughts.  Keeping my head was paramount. Controlled breathing was just one option to accomplish that aim.  Focusing on learning about my surroundings was another, but basically anything other than dwelling on thoughts of how completely fucked I was would do.  That’s easier said than done when in the unfortunate position of being completely fucked, even with prior training on the subject.
I wasn’t wearing the clothes I had on before, it felt like some sort of scratchy jumper.  The fabric was rough to the touch.  It was too dark to tell, but I was betting it was brown.  For some reason they were always brown.  I wiggled my toes.  My feet felt like they were in hospital slippers.  Whatever they were they were they felt nice, so at least there was that.  
It could be worse. I’m not suspended from the ceiling by my arms and being sprayed with cold water from a hose, one of my least favorite memories from training.  I’m not being beaten with said hose either, so that was nice too.  Small blessings, although there is still plenty of time for something like that to happen later.  I shuddered as I recalled the memory in vivid detail.  I quickly pushed those thoughts out of my mind.

After some minutes had passed the lights in the room were suddenly switched on.  The illumination level was normal, but my extended time in the dark made it seem blindingly bright. I squinted hard, struggling to take in what little I could while my eyes were still adjusting to the change.  
The room was small, grey, and concrete without any notable features other than a metal door on the other side of the room. It was the only discernible route into or out of the cell.  Looking down at my torso I saw that my jumper was, indeed, brown.  
Surprise surprise.  
I turned my attention to my restraints.  They were made of a strong metal alloy and had electronic controls.  
State of the art...no way I’m getting out of these.
As I was inspecting the restraints I noticed what looked like a needle puncture mark near a vein on my right arm.  It looked as if blood had been drawn, or perhaps it was the site where an IV line had been.  I wasn’t sure which, but if it was an IV injection site it would have explained the extended unconsciousness.
The door across the room slid open.  An Achura woman wearing a grey business suit strode in, carrying some sort of PDA.  She was an attractive brunette who looked to be in her early 40’s, stood about five and a half feet tall, and carried herself with a confident, almost haughty demeanor.  She had the look of someone that was highly educated.
Interesting choice for a lead off interrogator.  
“First off let me apologize for the way you were brought in,” she said as she moved for the empty chair on the opposite side of the table, “but it was a necessary precaution to keep this facility secret, and frankly from what little I’ve been told about you, it was as much for your safety as it was our own.”
I remained silent as she took a seat across from me.  She didn’t shy away from direct eye contact. She had soul piercing green eyes and their gaze was slightly off putting. She looked me over for a few moments as if she was studying me for a reaction. I tried not to give one.  
“My name is Dr. Allison Krieger, but you can call me Allison,” she said with a polite smile.  I returned the smile and extended an open hand as far as the restraints would allow.
“Has that ever worked for you?” she asked with a sly smile, wisely declining a handshake that wouldn't have ended well for her.
It was worth a shot.
I responded with a shrug, but declined to speak.  I made up my mind to stay silent.
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me your name?”  she asked, seemingly unrattled.  She tilted her head to one side slightly.  A few strands of her long straight dark brown hair fell down over her shoulder.
I stayed quiet. She smirked slightly.
“Would you like me to get you anything?  Some water perhaps?”
A loaded gun and a way out would be nice, I thought to myself.  I was thirsty but stayed silent.  I wasn’t expecting the first person to come through the door to be Caldari. Who did she work for?  
There were so many different State corporations, each with their own private police or military wing.  I had worked in favor of, as well as against, the direct interests of many of them.  It was anybodies guess as to which one of them would have wanted to grab me if they somehow had knowledge of my past actions.  Of course, she might just be a traitor chosen to interrogate me because someone figured I’d be more likely talk to another Caldari.
“Are you feeling okay?” She paused awaiting a response that didn’t come. “ Have you had any strange dreams or hallucinations?”  she asked softly.  Her voice was calm and confident.
I kept silent.  She was asking innocuous yes or no questions to get me talking to build up rapport and momentum.  I wasn’t about to let her have it. Once a person starts talking in interrogation it becomes harder to stop.  Captured soldiers often repeated their name, rank, and serial number.  If I was going to talk that would be as good a way to go as any, but I don’t have a rank, or a serial number, although I did have a bunch of names I could have given her.
A look of amusement appeared on her face.  “As fun as it would be to put your resistance to interrogation to the test, that’s not why you were brought here, and it would be,” she pursed her lips as she looked for the right word, “counterproductive.  I am not your enemy.”  Her tone shifted to one of seriousness as she read off the PDA in front of her. “Your mission authentication code is phoenix red five one nine.”  She paused for a second and looked up at me.  “Your handlers code name for this assignment is Warthog.”  She slid the PDA across the table so I could view it.  “You’ve been assigned directly to me by your handler.”
I glanced suspiciously at the PDA screen.  The first thing to stand out was the seal of the Ishukone Black Projects Division on the header of the message.  The BPD, as it was often referred to by the intelligence community, was a secretive branch of the Ishukone corporation.  It was well funded and carried out discrete research projects that were out of the purview of all but the highest ranking officials of the Ishukone corporation and Caldari State.  All the information she had given checked out.  Only two people would have had access to the information she had given me, myself and my handler.  The authentication code would have been given to her to confirm that she was the client I was working for.  I allowed myself to feel the surge of relief that came with the confirmation code.
“Now that I’ve given you confirmation I trust I can have your restraints removed without you doing anything rash?” she asked while pulling the PDA back towards her.
“You can,” I replied.  
She smiled pleasantly in response to my broken silence.  “I was told once I had given you the authentication code I would have your full cooperation.  Is that correct?”
“It is,” I responded.
She bit her lower lip, perhaps wondering to herself if releasing me was really a good idea.  Making up her mind quickly, she reached into her pocket and typed something into a small device. The restraints on both my hands and my feet popped open, allowing me to remove them.  She looked down at the PDA screen.  “I have a report stating the ID found on you identified you as Aaron White.”  She glanced back up at me.”  Is that correct?”  She spoke with a calm and deliberate tone that was oddly soothing, even before I learned she wasn’t here to torture me.
I nodded.  She smirked.  She looked back down at the PDA.
“Mr. Aaron White...it would appear you have no living relatives, a job history filled with companies that no longer exist or have staff that could not be reached to confirm that you’ve worked for them.  There doesn’t seem to be any physical evidence of the existence of a Mr. Aaron White with your physical description, and there is no electronic evidence of your existence in any records that dated back before a period of about six months ago.”  Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at me for a reaction. “Furthermore a man was captured attempting to smuggle weapons off the Korama III Ishukone Watch Station using a boarding pass under the same identity.”  
I couldn’t help but crack a smile, and responded with a shrug.  Traveling identities within the State were not usually designed to stand up to such close scrutiny.
“I see you find that funny,”  she said calmly.  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her left leg over her right. “When I attempted to run facial recognition on you the computer couldn’t find a single match in any database, civilian or military.  Care to explain why this is?”
“I’m not in them.”
“Obviously.  My question is why are you not in them?” she asked in an assertive tone.
“I’m not answering that question,” I said, frowning.
She nodded slowly, glaring at me silently for a few seconds.  “I don’t suppose you would mind telling me your real name?  Your handler didn’t mention it.”
“If my handler did we would have a problem,”  I said in a matter of fact tone.
“Would we?” She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of problem?”
The kind where you end up dead.
“Let’s just leave it at that,” I said with narrowed eyes.  The only way she would have gotten my real name would have been to torture it out of my handler.  I would have known she was hostile and would have had to act accordingly, and by act accordingly I mean go on a rampage.
“I see,”  She said.  She didn’t seem shaken, but I was fairly sure she caught my drift.  “The organization you work for.  As I understand it you have carried out discrete assignments for it of a military nature. Does it have a name?”
“If you were supposed to know the answer to that question you would.”  The real answer was no, but I thought it was better I didn’t give a straight answer.
“Is this what you consider full cooperation?”  she asked, visibly displeased.
I shrugged again.
She studied my face closely.  Her right brow raised quizzically.  “Do you know why you’re here?”
“No.”
“Well at least you seem to be as badly informed as I am,” she said.  A hint of frustration seeped through in the form of a sigh, but she maintained her cat like calm.
“Why was I kept unconscious for days?”
She looked surprised by the question, and hesitated for a moment before speaking.  “Ah, the facial hair growth.  Very resourceful.”  She typed a short note in the PDA, but I couldn’t see what. “We had to confirm your suitability for the project.”
That was pretty damned vague.
Project?”  I asked.
“The reason why you were brought here.  I need to ask you a few more questions and I’ll answer whatever questions of yours I can.”
Fair enough.  
I nodded.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty three.”
“I was told you are a highly trained operative.  Can you confirm that?”
“If that’s what you were told, I can,” I replied.
“You’re a little young for an operator aren’t you?
I shrugged.  “Some learn faster than others.”
Doesn’t hurt to have an early start either.
“Where did you do your training, with what branches?”  she asked as she leaned forward slightly.
“I can’t answer that question.”
“Can’t or won’t?” she asked.
“Both.”
There were no records of my prior service but that didn’t mean someone I had trained with in the past wouldn’t recognize my picture had they seen it.  I didn’t give her my real name for the same reason.
“Is it safe to assume you’ve seen combat?”
“It is,” I replied.
“How much action have you seen?” she asked.
“Plenty.”
“Where?”
“I can’t answer that question,”  I said firmly.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both,” I replied roughly.
She stared at me for some time.  “Curious,” she said.  She leaned forward in her chair, placing the PDA on the table.  “I have one of the highest security clearances there is.  Was given the green light to evaluate and pluck soldiers, from special operations units from nearly every Caldari State military branch, corporate police force, or intelligence agency.  Vetted them for the project based on psychological evaluations, personal histories, combat records.  All of it highly confidential information.”  She grew a wry smile. “Then I get an order from somewhere high up telling me to make room for one more, and that I had no choice about your inclusion.  I’ll admit at first I was irritated about the situation.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m just curious.”  Dr. Krieger paused, and looked down at her watch and then back up at me. “We should continue this somewhere less...ominous.  I’m sure you’re ready for a real meal.  I’m about to have dinner.  Would you join me?”
“Yes, if it means I can have my turn at asking the questions,”  I said, slightly annoyed.   
“I might even provide more satisfactory answers than you’ve given me,”  She said with a slight smile.  
“I’m not trying to be intentionally difficult.  Someone in your line of work can appreciate the need to compartmentalize sensitive information.”
“It’s easier to appreciate that need when you’re the one holding the information.” She stood up. “I’ll have someone come along and bring you your things, and show you to my quarters.”  She started towards the door.  “One last thing.  If you check the base of your skull you’ll notice a neural socket that wasn’t there before.  I didn’t want you finding it on your own and freaking out.  Nothing to be alarmed about, in fact quite the opposite.  You’re going to be apart of something special.”  
I touched the back of my neck, and felt the socket.  What the hell have I gotten myself into? 

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