The Other Side

Three Teenagers: One Spy: Chapter 10

We were both sitting in his office as told and Malcolm was spinning around in his swirly chair.

    “OK.” He started and stopped spinning, “Lying. Audio bugs and tracking communications.” He said simply. “Anyone know what they are?”

    “Lying is a miss-truth. Bugs are just creepy crawlers and tracking communications are little red buttons?” I asked rather than stated.

    He let out a long laugh, “No.” He grinned wildly, “Not at all. Wrong, wrong and wrong.”

    I scowled, feeling even more frustrated.

    “Lying is something we tell to strangers, we tell them to our family, we tell them to our friends. Sometimes we even manage to tell them to ourselves. Audio bugs are small orbs we use to gain visuals or voicing. And tracking communications – you can call them ‘Tommy.’ – are used to communicate and track.” He said simply as if it were simple.

    I huffed angrily, “Tommy?”

    Morris stood up and walked over to where I was sitting on the wooden floor, “Yes, “Tommy”. It’s a code. And when you go to . . . Where you’re going . . . You will use it.” He said.

    “Which school are we going to?” I wondered aloud, whilst gaining composure. Well, when a man like Malcolm is towering over you. It makes you a little . . . Squirmy.

    He looked around and weighed up whether he should tell me or not. Bouncing from foot to foot he said like a question rather than a statement, “Manhattan’s Rovers High School?”

    “We’re in Manhattan?” Dylan cried. I thought Dylan – of all people – knew where we were. Guess not.

    “I’m confused now.” I interjected.     

    “Malcolm! Tell us.” Dylan persuaded.

    With a roll of his eyes he said, “I kind of knocked you out with something that made Dylan sleep for 10 hours and Tansy for 30. Then I kidnapped you. We flew to Manhattan. With Andrew’s private jet. Then I put Tansy in a room to be unconscious whilst Dylan did the test. Then I put Tansy in. And you know the rest of the story.”

    I sighed, knowing that’s all we could know and that his details were very secluded, “So now here’s the question. Why are you doing this for us?”

    He grinned, “That’s for me to know. And for you to find out.”

    Dylan groaned, “Why do you have to be so cryptic! We’re on the same team here.”

    Malcolm made sure his office door was closed before leaning against it, “We live life on a need to know basis.”

    “OK. OK. I get it. No answers for us. Now let’s move on. Let’s get back to training?” I asked, trying to break the soon-to-be-argument up.

    “Good idea.” Morris said, knowing what I had done, “So lying. How to do it? How do you to detect them?” He started. “Anyone know?”

    “No. That’s why we’re here.” Dylan rolled his eyes.

    “Dylan . . .” He warned, “Lying. We lie through our mouth. Yes, people say, you need to keep your tone of voice steady and calm. And your heart rate at a normal speed, but what about your eyes?”

    “What about your eyes?” I stuck in. I’m not a big fan of introductions, as you can see.

    “Your eyes reveal everything. Your words say one thing, your eyes say another. Let me show you something that proves my point.” Morris said, pulling a disk out.

    I watched the 3D Holo-Interview. A lady was talking – well lying – about her house. How all her precious air looms were stolen.

    With a chuckle Malcolm paused the 3D holograms.

    “She really is a horrible liar.” He laughed, swinging his legs, sitting on his swirly chair.

    “But she was crying!” Dylan exclaimed. She was crying but it seemed so un-real, like it was fake tears.

    I must have said that aloud because Malcolm nodded at me, “Tansy is right. Elaborate please.”

    “I’m not sure . . . It’s just it seemed too unreal. Like. . .  Like there was something missing!”

    Malcolm stood up and walked to the corner of the room where the holograms were. He stood very close next to the woman and pointed his index finger at her forehead, “When you cry, your head becomes crumpled and wrinkled with sadness or anger. There’s no tension there whatsoever.” He faced us, “She won’t even look the camera in the eye.”

    “But . . .” Dylan started, with a frown.

    “But nothing.” Morris shook his head, “When you cry, your face gets flushed and you gulp back tears. They rush out and they aren’t like what she was doing.”

    “He’s right.” I sighed. “He’s always right.”

    “So?” Dylan said, “How does that help us lie?” He asked him.

    “It teaches you that lying isn’t just about what they’re giving you. Micro-expressions and tone is all good. But lying is more about what they aren’t giving you. Think about it. She says she’s sad. Is she acting sad? It’s basically simple.”

    “I guess so.” Dylan shrugged.

    It went on like that for ages, Malcolm throwing points, teaching us and Dylan disagreeing or arguing.

    By the end of our ‘spy’ exposé Malcolm was seriously annoyed. ‘Very’ was perhaps an understatement – scratch that it was an understatement.

    On the bright side, I learned how to lie without looking like an idiot. I learned how to detect when someone was lying to me and most of all I learned that Dylan didn’t like admitting defeat at all.