Not My Spook!

by Tinnean

  The shorter one moved so fast I didn’t even see it coming. The barrel of my Smith and Wesson slammed me high on my cheekbone, and I staggered back.

  “You will speak to M. l’Administrateur with respect, cochon!”

  I straightened and shrugged to settle my suit jacket over my shoulders. “Was that necessary? We are supposed to be civilized, after all.” Blood began a slow crawl down my cheek. “You have my weapons; you know I’m unarmed. May I get a handkerchief from my pocket?”

  The Administrator nodded.

  I took out a handkerchief and held it to my cheek, which was beginning to throb so hard I wondered if it was fractured.

  The younger man leaned down and whispered frantically once more. The Administrator smiled, a twist of the lips that wasn’t even a distant cousin to humor. His gaze grew hooded. “So you are Quinton Mann. I have heard of your expertise in the area of operational targeting.”

  My eyes flew to the young man, who shifted uncomfortably. How did he know me? His eyes dropped away from mine, and he worried his lower lip until I thought he would draw blood.

  “I’m flattered. I had no idea my reputation preceded me.”

  “Martyn here has told me of you. He has been helpful in the selection of operatives for Prinzip, but a man of your caliber would be of even more use in—” His eyes clouded for a moment as if recalling something that saddened him. “—in my organization. You see, I need capable operatives who do not require a three-year training period. After the error in trying to collect recruits from the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security, I feel it would be wiser staying with the more mainstream agencies.”

  “Meaning the CIA?”

  “I do not restrict myself in my preferences, Mr. Mann. The Russians, the British, the Israelis, the Germans, Italians, and French, they also proudly give Prinzip their allegiance. My hope is that you’ll be reasonable about this.”

  “What is it that you would have me do?”

  The Administrator sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his abdomen. “The recruiting is taking longer than I had anticipated. Martyn is familiar with his former colleagues, but you, as a senior staff member, will be able to assign the most accomplished of the younger men and women who have applied to the Company to the European sector, and no one will think anything of it.”

  “You don’t think they’ll question me when these men and women don’t return home?”

  He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I have every confidence in you, Mr. Mann. I’m sure you’ll find a way to talk yourself out of any situation that might arise.”

  “Please, Mr. Mann.” The younger man was pale and sweating. Was he another Louis Buonfiglio, someone who never should have been recruited by the Company? “You’ll stay alive!”

  “Of course, that is always an imperative. So I help you. I betray my country for… how much will this earn me?” I blotted my cheek again. “What’s a conscience worth these days?” I stared at Martyn.

  “I’m sure I can make it worth your while.” The Administrator was totally oblivious to the currents running between Martyn and me.

  “Mr. Mann doesn’t need money; he’s wealthy!” The younger man now looked sick, and he blurted, “He’s not going to do it! I can tell! I can tell! He’s going to turn me… us in! I can’t survive in prison! They’ll do unspeakable things to me! Richard, please, you can’t let him…!”

  The Administrator frowned at him. “I’m afraid you’re right, young Martyn. Especially now, since you’ve prematurely revealed my identity to him. Etienne.” He nodded, and I was suddenly aware of a hard body at my back. While I’d been distracted, the big man had moved behind me. Arms like steel bands imprisoned mine. His smaller partner laughed nastily and came closer. I was helpless. The unmistakable odor of chloroform filled my nose and throat as the chemical-soaked cloth was pressed over the lower portion of my face.

  Mark would be disappointed that I’d allowed myself to be so easily taken. That was my last thought before I sagged in the big man’s arms and oblivion overtook me.

  II

  WHEN I regained consciousness, my cheek throbbed painfully, my head pounded like a hollow drum, my stomach roiled in protest, and there was a vile aftertaste in my mouth.

  I was in a windowless room that held the sour odor of mold and mildew, my ankle shackled to a wall and my hands cuffed behind my back. A small overhead light shed enough illumination so that I could see there were no amenities beyond a small toilet in a corner. The chain was long enough for me to reach it, but otherwise my movements were restricted.

  My shoes were gone, along with the pocketknife I’d been depending on. I sighed. Also gone were my tie and belt, and with them the tracking devices that would have kept Langley informed of my whereabouts. I wasn’t even sure if this was the same building.

  It looked as if I was really on my own.

  I lurched to my feet, knowing the chain would not allow me to reach the door. If I turned my back to it, might I be able to reach it that way? It was most likely locked, but I had to at least try. It was the Mann way, the Sebring way.

  My stomach heaved, and I swallowed repeatedly until it settled.

  “Bonsoir, M. Mann.”

  I hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone. I spun around and flinched at the pain that exploded behind my eyes. “Who are you?” Dammit, was the door unlocked?

  The man who stood there was short, about five foot seven, with dark-blond hair and eyes the color of champagne. He didn’t look old enough to buy a drink without being carded, but I was sure that as with most things in the intelligence community, this was an illusion.

  He was dressed in faded green scrubs and a white lab coat that had a smear of fresh blood and something else on the left sleeve. A stethoscope was looped around his neck. In his breast pocket he carried a penlight flashlight, a hemostat, a slim leather case, and a tricolored pen.

  “I am Max. Open your mouth, please.” He held his right palm out to me. On it were two blue caplets. “You will take these. They’ll make you feel better, I promise you.” In his other hand was a glass of water.

  What did I have to lose? If they’d wanted me dead, they’d already had the opportunity to kill me. I nodded, and he put the caplets into my mouth, then held the glass to my lips, permitting me to swallow them down.

  He nodded. “I was to give you another pill with the aspirin. It would have made you… relaxed.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, m’sieur.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Prinzip gives me more credit than I’m due. Considering the way I’m feeling, and with these—” I turned sideways to show the handcuffs and cause the chain on my ankle to rattle. “—I’m fairly certain I’d be unable to attack you, even without the tranquilizer.”

  “You are CIA, m’sieur?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “I was hoping that you were someone from the WBIS.”

  “Should I be insulted?”

  He looked puzzled, and I shook my head.

  “Unimportant. I thought the Administrator had decided against ‘recruiting’ more WBIS agents.” The pills were starting to work, and the fuzziness that had been enveloping my brain began to dissipate. My muscles were also less achy.

  “Yes, but not before—” He changed his mind about whatever he was going to say. “The Administrator was not pleased with your response. You forced him to have Collin Martyn canceled, and now he has no one who is familiar enough with the CIA to give him the intel he needs.”

  My lover would have said something snarky, like, “Let’s pause for a moment to remember the dearly departed. The little shit.”

  I cleared my throat. I couldn’t afford to let myself be distracted again. “I was under the impression he had a number of my people imprisoned.”

  “Apparently they are unable to tell him anything.”

  More likely unwilling. They might have been inexperienced by some standards, but they were still CIA.

&n
bsp; “I regret I must give you an injection of scopolamine, m’sieur.” He withdrew a small vial and a syringe from another pocket and drew up the drug. “Would you prefer to relieve yourself first?”

  He saw my surprise. An experienced interrogator would refuse permission to use the bathroom, thereby forcing the one he was questioning to humiliate himself by having a childish accident. The emotional distress to an adult would be severe. That made him either inexperienced or else playing some deep game of his own.

  Max just shrugged. “Sooner or later, one way or another, the Administrator will have the information he requires. I see no need to make this more uncomfortable than necessary. Turn around, please.”

  He was so polite. Could I use that to buy myself some time? He freed one wrist, leaving the cuffs dangling from the other.

  “You might think to overpower me, m’sieur, but Etienne is waiting just outside this cell. In your present condition, I don’t think you could get past him.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” I wasn’t going to tell him he was only partially right. If I could undo the chain around my ankle, if I could then unfasten it from the wall, I’d have a weapon that would serve me in good stead.

  But I needed to do a little surveillance first. I’d play along.

  I went to the corner, unzipped my fly and took my cock out, then started to whistle, as if I had a hard time trying to urinate in front of an audience. I had to put together a plan.

  After college, when I was supposed to have been traveling through Europe, I had learned any number of things, a form of self-hypnosis among them. Once I’d joined the CIA, I had honed that ability.

  If I murmured a phrase under my breath that would trigger a posthypnotic suggestion, I’d be able to wipe out seventeen years worth of memories, but what could I use to get myself out of it? There was a safe word in my personal file at Langley, which did me absolutely no good here. Someone I trusted would have to utter it.

  Going on the memories of my twenty-year-old self, I would have none of the advanced knowledge of self-defense that I’d acquired in the interim, and I’d be at the mercy of these men who had none. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, and I was fucked no matter what direction I chose.

  However, I had learned a technique that would render me tongue-tied when it came to certain memories tied to the CIA. A phrase spoken in advance would trigger it, and no matter what was done to me, I would be unable to get the words out of my mouth.

  The results would in no way be pretty—I would still be fucked—but it would keep my enemies from knowing anything of value: the names of officers who would accept anything coming from me because of their trust in me, the ability to access certain documents.

  The fact that Mark Vincent was my lover.

  I shook off my cock and tucked it away. There was no sink, and I was unable to wash my hands, but I’d already been aware of that. I turned and rolled up my sleeve. “I’m at your service, M. Max.” The first phrase, and I could feel it begin to work.

  He slid the needle into the muscle of my upper arm and injected the truth drug.

  III

  I WAS on my back on the floor in my little cell, again manacled to the wall. I felt wrung out. My ribs were sore and bruised, my shoulders ached from my arms being cuffed behind my back, and each breath I took burned.

  Max squatted beside me, brushing that lock of hair back off my forehead. “I am sorry, m’sieur.”

  “What happened?” I asked tiredly, breathing as shallowly as possible. The second phrase enabled me to speak.

  “You don’t remember?” He looked concerned. “It was Gaston.”

  I rolled onto my side and winced. There was no way I could push myself up off the unyielding floor.

  “Permettez.” Max uncuffed me.

  “Merci.” I rolled onto my stomach, then somehow managed to get onto my hands and knees. My head hung down, and I bit back a groan. “Damn. Tell me what happened.”

  “You would not answer the Administrator’s questions to his satisfaction. M’sieur?” Max didn’t understand my grim smile.

  The Administrator just hadn’t known what questions to ask.

  “What happened then?”

  “He was called away. He should have known better than to leave the questioning to Gaston, but he didn’t, and Gaston—” Max swore. I’d noticed on more than one occasion that French swearing could be bland. Nom d’un nom d’un nom. It hardly did justice to his obvious ire. “There was no need for him to hurt you.”

  “You’re upset?” I snorted. “The man you work for doesn’t have the milk of human kindness in his veins. You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

  “M’sieur, I—”

  “Call me Mann,” I interrupted him.

  “M. Mann.” He stopped, confused when I started to chuckle.

  The chuckle turned into a groan. Damn, that was uncomfortable. The only part of my body that didn’t seem to hurt was my eyelashes. When Max spoke again, it wasn’t much above a whisper.

  “Many of the operatives the Administrator has conscripted are being controlled through the use of drugs. I thought—I had hoped that perhaps with your help, we might be able to get free of him.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “Fifteen at this point, although one—” Once again he cut off whatever he had been about to say. After a brief moment he continued. “Not as many as the Administrator would like. He hopes to have more soon.”

  With my help? I’d die first, and I didn’t fucking care how melodramatic that sounded. “Who helped him in the first place? Gaston and Etienne?”

  “No. They are more for his personal protection. He seems to feel an attempt on his life is imminent. As for the ones used to lure the agents here….” He shook his head. “I have little contact with them, only to give them antibiotics for the venereal diseases they always seem to contract. All I know is that they once worked for an agency called the Division.”

  Jesus, was Pierre de Becque involved in this? It would devastate Mark if he was.

  “The ones from your organization were relieved when they learned that you were here. They feel that their rescue is imminent.”

  I hoped so, but I wasn’t about to tell him that I had been unable to get a message back to Langley. “You realize that what the Administrator is attempting is insane?”

  “The Administrator…. There is something wrong there, m’sieur.”

  “Oh, really?”

  He ignored my snide remark. “I have come upon him at times when he is having detailed conversations with someone he calls ‘Lindsey.’ M’sieur, at those times, he is alone.”

  Well, that put the icing on the cake. Nothing like having to deal with a madman. I forced myself up to my feet, and the chain clanked against the floor. A coppery taste filled my mouth, and I crossed to the toilet and spat into it. Blood, and for a second I panicked. “My lungs?”

  “No, your ribs are bruised because Gaston had started to kick you after he knocked you down. The punch to the mouth must have caused you to cut your inner cheek with your teeth.”

  I sagged in relief. Of course not; the pain would have been more severe. All the same, a punctured lung wasn’t something I felt capable of dealing with just then.

  “The Administrator was most unhappy when he returned. He ordered ’Tienne to get Gaston out of his sight. I told Richard—I told the Administrator that it was the dose of scopolamine that was at fault, that whoever had gotten the medical supplies had bungled. It will take a few days for new supplies to be liberated. That should give you some time to recoup.” He pushed back his sleeve to look at his watch. “I must go now. I will leave your hands free.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll also see about bringing you something to eat.” He paused at the door and then turned to look back at me, and I could see his knuckles were white where his hands were fisted at his sides. “We do not have much time, M. Mann. I do not know what I can do to make you trust me, although if you repeat
to Etienne or Gaston what I told you about their plans, it will result in my death, and it will make no difference that I am the only doctor that Richard has.”

  He left, and I heard the key turn in the lock.

  “Allons-y, ’Tienne.” Their footsteps faded down the corridor.

  I sat down and tried to make myself comfortable, but cold was seeping into my bare feet. I had no choice but to settle my feet on my thighs in the lotus position, which helped a little.

  What Max had told me could be the truth, but it could also be a lie shaded with just enough truth that I would believe him, trust him. In the intelligence community, trust was a very rare commodity.

  My head was fuzzy from the lingering effects of the chloroform, the truth drug, and the beating. If I trusted him and I was wrong, people would die. If I didn’t trust him and I was wrong, people would die.

  Mark probably would have just killed him and not bothered worrying about it at all.

  IV

  I LOST track of the amount of time that I’d been in this place. They’d taken my wristwatch away that first day, and with no window, it was impossible to tell day from night.

  “M. Mann. Wake up, if you please.” That lightly accented voice had been periodically forcing me to rouse to consciousness.

  “Go ’way,” I slurred. I tried to bat away his hand. Thankfully he’d left the cuffs off.

  “I cannot. The odds that Gaston has given you a concussion this time are too great. Please, m’sieur. You must tell me how many fingers you see.” He leaned close and held his hand before my face.

  I peeled open an eye. “Three,” I growled at him. “Same as last time. Satisfied? May I go back to sleep now?”

  “Naturellement. I must check on… someone else. I will be back to make sure you have not slipped into unconsciousness.”

  “Max, don’t you think if I was concussed it would have been manifested by now? How many times have you wakened me already?”

  “It is 3:00 a.m. now, so this would make… five times.”