Double Crossed

Bigger Than The Sahara Desert

The four Hecate agents surrounding me keep their guns raised as they continue to lead me throughout the base. I can tell they are trying to take me through the back ways where there aren't as many people. They don't want me to figure out who's escaped or even that someone has escaped, and I'm guessing that the main passage ways are filled with frantic, scrambling Hecate agents.

All the theatrics they are going through to keep me from finding out makes me wonder who has escaped.

As my captor's continue leading me to what I can only assume is an interrogation room, I can't help but notice that the interior design of this building is very similar to what we had at CSIS. Everything from the layout to the position of the plants in the corners of rooms and hallways. So either we had the same interior designer and contractor or the mole inside CSIS is higher up in the chain of command than I thought.

It only takes another three minutes before we pass through a metal door. They push me inside a tiny room, in the center is a table with three chairs surrounding it, two on one side and one on the other. The woman, who's clearly in charge here, stands by the door while the other three push me towards the lone chair. They unclip one of the cuffs around my wrist only to clip it to the table. Then the four agents leave the room, slamming the door behind them.

Normally I might struggle against the handcuffs, but we didn't exactly cover escaping enemy prisons while I was at CSIS. I'm sure we would have if we had more time, either way I'm stuck here for now.

While I'm waiting I look around my surrounding, the room is tiny and the walls are a dull white in colour while the floors are a dark grey. The lights in the ceiling light the room brightly, leaving no shadows. That just means there is no cover in here, I'm completely exposed. I'm also fairly positive there is a hidden window on the wall just to the right of the door, it would give people the best view of everything going on.

They keep me waiting for a couple of minutes, but not as long as I expected. The door opens calmly and a short, but fit, man walks in. He's got thinning black hair and slight wrinkles that a person in their late fifties, early sixties would have. His face is friendly, the last thing I expected to find, and his white shirt with dark pit stains under the arms match his flushed face.

The man closes the door behind him and I can clearly see he's holding a file in his left hand, he walks closer and sits in the chair across from me.

What do they have planned?

At first, he doesn't say anything, but his beady blue eyes stare back at me with such force I could swear he's reading my mind.

"Hello, Erin King," the man says, crossing his arms across the table. "My name's Steven."

Yeah, right. If he thinks I'm going to believe him then I've been giving these people way too much credit. My face remains blank and I don't move, I just stare back at him emotionlessly.

"I know what you're doing and it's not going to work," he says. "A profiler like you should have been able to see this scenario coming. But, I guess if you had, you wouldn't be sitting here with me."

So that's what they're doing, this guy is a profiler and he's trying to get inside my head. He must be good if he was sent in here with me, but if he's so good then why am I figuring this out so quick into the interrogation? They must overestimate his abilities. I smirk.

"By now I assume you've figured out that I'm a profiler, like you. And if you haven't, well, I guess now you know," he pauses, not saying anything for a minute. Then, as if to prove he's telling the truth, he says, "and yes, my name really is Steven."

For the first time since I was dropped here by those agents, I lean forward on the table, mimicking Steven's position. "And who said I didn't believe you?"