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Look what we found...

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(Yes it's not brilliant. Consider it a sort of teaser for an idea that's rattling off the dusty interior of my thick skull at present. Rambling to follow.)

9:30---
Agent Rex Angelis almost choked into his Grande Mocha latte when he heard what Frank Carver said.
'We got who?' he spluttered, mopping coffee froth off his lips. 'Bull shit, read me that again, Carver.'
Carver, a whitewall cut blimp barely clinging to his thirties swallowed hard, gave a mad little laugh, and flapped the dossier he held in his hairy ham fingers.
'Have a read for yourself, Angelis;' he replied, grinning like a loon as he thrust the paperwork at his superior. Angelis swiped the folder, flipped it open, and slapped it on his desk, scanning through the hasty printouts. Then, he sat back, arms limp by his side, his eyes distant and unfocused.
'Fuck me.' He murmured. He looked to Carver. 'When?'
Carver's grin widened; he looked as though he might fly around the room in puerile joy. 'About three hours ago. A black hawk dropped her off at the Oithex compound outside the capital.'

Angelis's thick brow crooked.
'How many...' he began, cleared his throat, found fortitude, and finished. 'How many did it take to get her?'
Carver's mood slipped, and nervousness stole over his ruddy moon face.
'Three.' he managed, barely daring let the word out of his mouth. 'A..and another's likely to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.' He coughed, and tried not to meet Angelis's gaze. 'They, umm. Delta, Delta force, Boss. Orders came from the top.'
'I know.' Angelis replied, dryly. 'Got the memo last Friday.'
The Intelligence Agent unfolded out of his chair; the leather, sodden with the island's infernal humidity peeled off his equally sopping shirt with an audible slurp. Angelis shuddered and adjusted his attire, straightened his tie and snatched his rumpled jacket off the stand in the corner.
'Where's she now?' He asked, shouldering his jacket on.
'They're bringing her in now.' Carver answered, heading for the door; way ahead of his boss. 'Charlie company put together a convoy, and we managed to finagle an old prison van off the island's police. Should be here any minute.'
Angelis nodded.
'Cool.' He replied. 'Cool. Um...' he cast about himself, fetched his service pistol from the desk drawer, and then nodded to the door. 'Let's go see the monster, Carver.'


The two agents ambled out into the piercing, white hot light of the compound just in time to see the convoy tear in through the front gates. A half dozen Humvees spilled in, ranked up, and disgorged their marine occupants. A sergeant jogged across to Angelis and ripped off a salute.
'We got her, sir!' he beamed, sagged out of the salute, and nodded toward the ancient black police van that juddered into the yard behind it's escorts.
Carver grinned madly once more, and glanced up at his taller boss.
'Can you believe it, Angelis?' He chortled. 'Six fucking months. Six months!' He gave another little laugh, and rubbed his hands together. Angelis nodded, and ran a hand through his slicked back black hair. He felt his pulse quicken as the van stopped, and two dozen marines hurried towards it's back doors, M16's head ready as the two guard's dismounted and opened the van's back doors.

Then she stepped out. It was a second's glance before she was swamped by marines, burying her from view, but Angelis was sure. It was her. They'd got the bitch. He glanced at Carver. The little prick looked like he was ready to piss himself with excitement.

17.05---
Angelis peered through the one way mirror with a look of intense, almost perverse fascination on his face.
There she was, sat in the chair, obviously tied down, like the maniac she was.
She looked smaller than Angelis had been told. He was so intently focused on the dark haired young woman that he completely blanked Major Harper, the chief interrogator, rise from his chair and storm away from the table.

Only when the door clunked open did Angelis return to reality with a start. Red in the face and oozing sweat, the bedraggled shape of Major Harper stormed out of the interrogation room and into the dank, cool office. He flung the door shut behind him.
'Major?' Agent Carver faltered.
'FU... not now, Carver.' Harper growled, barely keeping his volcanic temper in check. He ran a hand through his sandy hair, and pinched at the bridge of his broad nose.

'Trouble, Major?' Angelis asked, sweetly.
Harper almost span, regained his cool at the last moment, and managed to effect a twitchy grin at the Agent.
'No.. no, everything's....' Harper growled and fished a damp cigarette out of his pocket. Angelis offered a lighter, and the Major sparked up and took a long drag, sending a blue-grey pall ceiling-ward.
 
'She's fucking impossible.' He replied with a grunt. 'Refuses to answer anything, and when she does, it's with some wacky commie bullshit that sounds like it's straight out of a Social Justice blog.' He growled again and cast his hands about expansively. 'The only way that bitch is going to talk is if we....' He swallowed, cast a look at the sergeant, who was making himself scarce, then leant toward Angelis and hissed; 'The only way we'll get anything out of her is if we do her over.'
He pulled back and dragged on the rancid cigarette until it singed it's own filter.

Angelis shook his slender, square head and made a severe face. He nodded to Carver, who cleared his throat and ordered the duty Sergeant, who was hovering, just in case, from the room.

Angelis fixed the Major with a long, slow stare, and then walked over and sat on the Sergeant's desk.
'Major... you know we can't do that.'
'Not even...'
'Not even.' Angelis retorted, cutting him off. 'I've orders from the top that she's to be paraded before the media in 48 hours time.'
'You mean I've got forty eight hours to get anything out of that fucking psycho?'  Harper exploded.
'Yes.' Replied Angelis. 'And if there's a single bruise; a single papercut on her, the media will tear this place -tear US- apart.'
'Well, talking isn't going to work. We tried threats. We tried offering amnesty, we...'
Angelis waved his finger.
Harper cast his hands about, and then whispered, hoarsely;
'Look, we could waterboa....'
'Say that word, and there'll be trouble.' Angelis murmured.
'But it won't leave any marks!'
'I don't care whether it leaves her looking like a fucking supermodel;' Angelis spat. 'The media gets one tiny hint that we've had her under a damp towel, and fuck me; we're going to lose any credibility we might have had.' He stood up, his lanky frame unfolding. 'We're on thin ice, here, Major. The public's already on edge with all the shit going on stateside. They catch word that we're fucking over prisoners again, and we're done.'

Major Harper huffed the last of the cigarette, and then sagged against the wall.
'Well what do you propose, Angelis?' he growled, casting the dog-end into a planter. 'We can't talk to her, we can't touch her.' He shrugged. 'What, you want me to put out a call for a psychic? Some sort of fucking magician?'
The major's frown dissipated into a look of puzzlement when he saw the look on Angelis's face.

'As a matter of fact, Major... I happen to know a miracle worker.'
He turned to Carter, and nodded to him.
'Get a line to Central.' He instructed. 'Have them patch me through to the Chinese.'

Carver's thick brow furrowed.
'Chi....'
'Ask for a General Tao.' Angelis continued. 'When you get through to him, toss the name 'Leang' around a bit, you'll get through then, trust me.'

Carver gave a pout of disbelief, but nodded regardless, and left the room.

Angelis drew out a cigarette of his own, and lit up.
'Don't worry about it, Major.'
'Why?' Harper snapped. 'We've got to get some Chinese fella in to sort OUR shit out for us, now? What'll the media say about that, huh?'
Angelis gave a wry smile and gazed at the ceiling.
'She doesn't leave much footprint.' He replied. 'The media won't know a thing.'
Harper shook his head, and shrugged.
'Well.' He said, exasperated. 'I'm sure you spooks know what you're doing. I sure as fuck don't.' He went to the one-way mirror, and nodded through it. 
Angelis joined him.
The two stood in silence for a long time.
'She scares the fuck out of me.' Harper murmured.
Angelis didn't reply. Harper looked at him. He'd gone sheet white, and was visibly trembling. The cigarette between his thin fingers flapped ferociously.
The Major cleared his throat, and Angelis shot him a nervous look. His face was dripping with sweat.
'You too?' Harper asked, forcing a weak smile as he cupped the agent by the shoulder, and lead him away from the mirror.

Angelis flopped into the chair and looked up at Harper, trembling.
'H...how Th..the fuck you sit opposite her, Harper?' he mumbled.
'With great difficulty.' the Major replied. He lit another cigarette for Angelis, and swopped it with the agent's burnt out one.

'Just... just sat there tapping her foot and staring straight into me... th..through the damn mirror.' Angelis wheedled. A nervous laugh left his lips, and he gave Harper another stunned look.
In forty years, terror had never so wholly gripped Angelis. When that car had nearly hit him, aged 9, and he'd shat himself; when he'd had that crazed militant detonate himself not twenty yards away... all the countless other times when Angelis's heart had damn near stopped from abject, bowel voiding terror; they were nothing compared to the utter, heartless, robotic terror that blasted out of the girl's dark eyes like a blowtorch.



Beyond the glass, Pies Descalzos tapped her bare feet on the floor arrythmically, and allowed herself a slight, lopsided smile.
'Puta.'  she muttered.

(Sorry if it's a bit long winded! Had a little idea in mind for a while, and I really wanted to use a bit of fiction to set the scene for what may potentially become an image series. Maybe even a little comic or something!)
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MoreThanNone's avatar
I like this little piece you've written here, nice to learn about a character though the eyes of others. Hope there'll be more though I didn't actually count on her sounding so ruthless! Also, is it one-way mirror or two-way mirror or one-way glass - I never can tell!