Madam President ✓

30. Interrogation

   Alex

  He sits in one of the many interrogation rooms now, tapping his fingers on the metal table. We got countless looks from fellow agents and security as we brought him to this section of the building, even more so when the security guard who stands outside this hallway asked me what lead I had with him and I refused to answer. Normally, he and the other agents gossip about cases. Officially this is banned but the law is never enforced.

  So I'm not technically doing anything wrong. At the most- I've let him know that the lead I have is so great, so explosive that it needs to be private until I can piece the whole thing together.

  For whatever reason- I drop my phone.

  And when I bend down to pick it up I'm hit with a wave of lightheaded-ness. I stumble, placing my hand on the wall and trying to convince myself I can go a bit longer without food. This too, has always been a problem of mine- some undetected medical condition. I go more than six hours without food- I start feeling like I'm going to die.

  I can feel it coming on now, much later than usual- threatening to derail my questioning. Another wave hits. This time I do black out for a split seconds and then Jeremy's suddenly standing over me, the deli sandwich he was going to give to the congressman so we don't get suspended for mistreatment in his right hand.

  "Okay-" He grabs my waist in a platonic way. "I know you think that somebody's gonna somehow poison you but there are about a hundred of these in the fridge right now and the people at the deli made four hundred. At what point do you think somebody did that? When they were making the sandwiches? They'd have a 1/400 chance of pinning it on you and if they missed they'd have another person dead who doesn't have the information we do- and they will have poisoned someone for no reason. They wouldn't do that. Whoever did this is methodical- they don't act without reason. When they put them in the fridge so they wouldn't go bad? Same logic, and it'd be obvious if it were unwrapped."

  "Jeremy... either way we don't have all the time in the world. The longer-"

  "this goes on, the bigger chance whoever planned this gets away with it? I know. You- eat this. I'm going in."

  Before I have a chance to protest, he's unlocking the door to the interrogation room and shoving the Sandwich in my hands. "Jeremy you have no experience with interrogation-"

  "Do you trust anybody else right now?" He raises an eyebrow at me. "That's what I thought."

  And then I'm left in the tiny observation room, a second away from giving in, Congressman Rogers staring at Jeremy like he's got five heads.

  I give up and tear the wrap open. The sandwich is squished thin from being under so many- whether that was in transportation or the fridge I don't know, and it does look like it hasn't been touched since it was made. They spent an entire week teaching us how to avoid poisoning and even mildly poisoned us in the lessons- because they wanted us to take it seriously. So now, checking for poison is a reflex of mine and I often don't realize I'm doing it. It's saved my life countless times- so I'll always be thankful to the instructor who gave me a low dose of antifreeze.

  I take a bite as big as my own mouth as I turn my attention back to the interrogation room.

  "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Food?" Jeremy asks. Ahh. So he's going for the sugar-first method. I've found that it's almost always successful- and when it isn't I move into hardball mode.

  "Well seeing as you pulled me out of my fucking home in the middle of the night I'm not exactly hungry." He spits, now refusing to look at Jeremy. He smirks.