Spy School and the Dead Agent

Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Interview

2000 Hours

Monday

Wilmington, Delaware

Wilmington felt colder than I remembered. The old safe house, an unremarkable brick building tucked into a forgotten corner of the city, was quiet except for the low hum of machinery in the basement and the occasional creak from the wooden floorboards. Alexander was slouched in a chair, his hat tipped over his face, catching a few moments of sleep. I wasn't sure if he was genuinely tired or just avoiding the drama unfolding in front of us.

Erica, Catherine, and I stood by the door, watching as Murray and Warren, both tied up to the same chair, began another one of their ridiculous arguments. The two of them had been going at it for a good half hour now, their voices bouncing off the cold, concrete walls of the basement like some sort of twisted echo chamber. I shifted on my feet, my arms crossed over my chest as I tried to focus on what they were actually saying.

Murray, looking as pathetic as ever with his mousy hair falling over his eyes, whined, "I just don't understand why Zoe isn't here. She always brightens up the room, you know? Makes it feel less... dank."

I rolled my eyes. "Dank?" I muttered under my breath. That's the word he chose to describe the place? Meanwhile, Warren, who had a perpetual frown etched into his features, scoffed loudly.

"Brightens up the room?" Warren snapped, turning his head as much as he could despite being tied up. "You're delusional, Murray. I've known Zoe way longer than you. I was always there for her when you were nowhere to be found. You think you can just waltz in at the last minute and steal her away with your pathetic attempts at flirting?"

Murray's face turned beet red. "Flirting? Me? I've been nothing but respectful! Unlike you, always hovering over her like some overprotective... overprotective—"

"Guard dog?" Warren offered with a sneer. "At least I'm not acting like a love-struck puppy, wagging my tail every time she looks my way."

I could see the frustration building in Erica's expression. Her fingers tapped against her leg rhythmically, like she was counting down to something, and I could only imagine what she had in mind. But Murray and Warren were too absorbed in their petty squabble to notice.

Murray puffed out his chest and blurted, "I've actually talked to Zoe! I make her laugh! When was the last time you even made her smile, Warren?"

Warren's face twisted with annoyance. "You think she's interested in you? Ha! She just feels sorry for you. Zoe and I have a connection, an understanding that goes way beyond your childish antics."

Mike, leaning against the wall, chuckled to himself and muttered, "Dense, both of them."

Before I could say anything, Erica had apparently reached her limit. Out of nowhere, she pulled a wooden mallet from behind her back—where she had been hiding that, I had no idea—and slammed it against Murray's knee with a sharp, calculated thud.

Murray let out a yelp that could've woken the dead. "Ow! What the—why did you do that?"

Erica looked down at him, her expression calm but her eyes cold. "Because you two are wasting our time," she replied flatly. "And you're giving me a headache."

Catherine sighed, stepping closer to her daughter. "Erica," she chided softly, her voice low enough that only I could hear. "We don't use unnecessary force. Not like this."

I watched Catherine closely as she spoke. Her face was composed, but there was a slight frown there, a flicker of disapproval that she tried to hide. It made me wonder what was really going on in her head. Was she angry? Frustrated? Or was it something else?