Hello, my name is Matthew Morgan, CIA.

Not to worry. I won't hurt you. That is, unless I have a reason to.

And that does not include you, Joe Solomon. Yes, I know you've tapped into this feed somehow, you idiot.

If I could figure out how... Anyway, this is the story of how I died.

Even if I'm dead, I can still tell the story, yes. That's because the best spies will always find a way to do anything we have to do. We have to.

I looked up from where I had been watching the clouds float by outside the plane when I heard the announcement that signified that we were about to land. We were undercover, so Joe and I were on a normal flight to Norfolk International. It was a huge, bustling place so we didn't have to worry too hard about looking out of place. All sorts came here. Even so, I wore a brown wig and colored contacts. Joe had the worse of it-he'd had to shave his head for his last mission and the stubble was barely starting to come back in.

Joe barely shifted in his seat at the announcement, accustomed to the noise such a plane would produce and more. I turn my thoughts from that track, not wanting to remember the failure in Switzerland that resulted in an asset nearly dying. He had been given memory tea when he reached the hospital, and would not remember the two determined CIA operatives he had helped.

He would help them no more. At least he would be safe now, I thought morbidly as I poked Joe. He groaned, turned his back to me and opened one eye sleepily. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. We're here." I prodded him again, jokingly.

He groaned again and sat up as I laughed. Half of his face was red with imprints from the textured fabric of the chair he had been sleeping in. Then the plane shook briefly as its runners made contact with the ground. We had landed.

It was a hop and a skip back to Langley, since we had managed to catch a flight back to Virginia. The harder part was making sure no one tailed us back, but no one did. That in and of itself seemed odd after days of shaking tails and getting into and out of situations, but it wasn't anything to truly be concerned with. Only, the debrief to come would be trouble.

And so it was, as Joe and I found ourselves sitting in infuriatingly comfortable chairs as the deputy director of CIA paced in front of us, behind his large mahogany desk. It was easy to tell he was not pleased about something. Again. "Agent Morgan. Agent Solomon. What were you two doing in Switzerland?"

I let nothing slip through my mask of polite attentiveness. We knew he would know that much-the CIA tracked its agents as much as its agents tracked for it. It was a problem we had run into several times along the years, and we were well used to it.

"Nothing really," Joe said from beside me, calm as lightening is bright. "We just took some vacation time."

"In Switzerland?"

"Yes, Sir." he replied curtly. "In Switzerland. Snowboarding and skiing."

"Snowboarding and skiing, eh? And not catching up with the Circle of Cavan?"

"No, Sir. Just snowboarding and skiing." He sounded remarkably calm, as if the deputy director had not just hit the nail on the head.

It's been years since that reprimand about going after the thrice-damned Circle, and ever since then whenever the two of us would disappear for anything, the CIA has kept watch for anything involving the Circle around us. Somehow we managed to keep it all under wraps. We had to. The Circle has spies everywhere. That was why we were on our own.

Not that that was new to us, I thought as the man began to pace again. We'd been on our own for years. Not even Rachel knew what we were doing when we disappeared together. I knew it worried her, but she kept quiet. Even so, even Cammie was starting to catch on that something was off when Dad left. She'd never met Joe Solomon, and likely never would. Both Joe and I agreed that, at least for now, that was for the better. It would lend her a semblance of safety, for both her and myself.

"Are you sure you weren't involved with Circle activities on your own again, Agent Solomon?"

"No, no, surely not!" Unfortunately, he had said it a little too fast. A normal person wouldn't have noticed, but we weren't normal people. We were spies, trained to notice every nuance and abnormality. The slip-up was very obvious to people like us. Joe sank back into the seat a little bit, as if wanting to be anywhere but here. I sympathized with him, but I didn't say anything.

"And you plan on going away again soon, Agent Solomon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, postpone that trip."

"But I'll miss-" A slap on the desk cut him off, and he ducked his head. "Yes, sir."

"All right then, dismissed, Agent Morgan. Agent Solomon, stay a moment."

We didn't make eye contact as I stood up. He patted my back and I felt an unobtrusive piece of paper slide into my collar. Then I nodded to the CIA deputy director and walked out of the room. I decided to go to the rest room-which I hadn't used since before we'd gotten on the plane in Switzerland-and touched the paper. Evapopaper, I noted. Then I read the note. In Joe's neat handwriting was: Phone call. Athens, Greece. Asset 18. ***C 3235554928

My breath caught for a second as I saw the trip-star-C and instinctively remembered the codes we'd come up with for if we'd ever had a large breakthrough. This was the highest level one, and for the Circle of Cavan. I crumpled up the note and tipped my head backward. It was one of the disgusting ones, and I quickly put a mint from the stash in my back pocket in my mouth as I left the room.

I went to the front of the HQ and pulled out a reader to wait for Joe. Soon he walked out of the room, trying not to be visibly disappointed. He would have convinced everyone except me-I'd known him longer and spent more time with him than anyone alive. Or dead for that matter.

I stood up and shut the reader off and the two of us walked out to the waiting car in silence. Joe gave the driver the address of his apartment and settled in back with me. It took a couple minutes to set up a scramble so that the bugs would hear us reading out diologue from Romeo and Juliet before I gave Joe the quizzical look that told him to start talking.

"I...am not being allowed to go to Athens." He started out. "He didn't believe us so he's giving me desk duty. Sorry, Matt."

"It's alright." Someone was bound to become suspicious anyway, if the two of us kept disappearing.

"But the problem is that the Athens call said it was time critical." My eyes cut sideways to him. "And I don't want you to go alone."

"But you were going to be going alone." I point out, slightly annoyed. I was as good a spy as Joe, and it wasn't like him to be condescending.

"It's not your competence I'm worried about. Just call it a bad feeling. I have a feeling its going to get really hot over there while I'm stuck in Langley." He looked away, out the window.

"I still don't see why I shouldn't go." I replied, almost indignantly. "We've been working together a long time, old friend. If it's getting hot over there, then that's the place to be. And you know I can handle myself."

"It may be nothing. But if something is wrong..." He trailed off. "If something's wrong, I'd rather it be me caught in the flames, not you. It's not going to hurt any noncombatants if I get caught up in the fire, but you have Rachel and Cammie. It's just that I'd rather not see Rachel or Cammie go through that."

"That's just more reason to do it. I want to stop it before it burns Cammie's generation too much. If we can stop it, we can save people before they get recruited to the Circle." I reply, but relief courses through my veins, and guilt at ever thinking the thought. A spy had to have faith in his friends always, else he would always see what wasn't there to be seen and spent the rest of their lives jumping at shadows.

Joe winced and then nodded slowly as if he knew there would be no convincing me. Then I opened my journal and wrote in that journal entry. Day 5860. It began. Had it really been 5770 days since I first found out that Joe had been recruited by the Circle when he was a teen and started our vendetta against it? It must have. I wrote in that last entry and turned to Joe. "When do I leave?"

He handed me a plane ticket. I looked at it. Six days. I had six days to spend with Rachel and Cammie this time. I sighed and tucked it into a pocket. "What's the scoop?" He handed me another piece of paper. "The address of the asset." He answered my unasked question. I nodded and put it in my pocket, beside the ticket. "Wait a day before you contact him. He'll wait another day after that for you."

I nodded again, and clasped his hand as he got out in front of his apartment. He had a worried look on his face. "And be careful, okay?"

"Always." I hand him my journal. He accepts it, almost unwillingly, as always. We both kept journals, and when one of us was on a mission, we gave ours to the other. It contained information valuable to the enemy, and just keeping it was taking a huge chance. Still, we both had the need to retain the semblance of being normal, at least for the sake of our own sanity.

Then Joe shut the door and I took down the scramble and settled in for the long ride to Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. And exceptional they are, I thought as I drifted off to a light doze.

Soon the tires screeched to a stop at the bottom of the familiar half-mile driveway and jolted me awake. Twelve minutes later we were at the top of it. Fourteen minutes later I was in the school, having thanked the driver, and on my way to Rachel's office. Fifteen minutes later I was on the outward-facing side of her door. I sighed and pushed the door in, mentally reminding myself to tell her to try locking it on occasion.

Even so I forgot it when I saw the surprise and welcome on her face as she rose to greet me. But I was already there and encircled her with a hug. She leaned into it and rested her head on my shoulder. It was comforting to me, and it was obvious she was past exhausted. "Where's Cammie?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Class, but lunch is in twenty minutes. I can call her out then." she replied, and gave me a kiss, which I returned."How long?"

Then we separated and I sat down in the chair in front of her desk. She started to pace, not unlike the deputy from before. I shun the thought and said "Six days."

"Six days?" I nod. "That's a bit short." She frowned and looked back at me. "I'd hoped you'd have more time."

"Sorry, love. But work is work and we're on the brink of something big. I promise that if it goes well, I'll be home a lot more for a long time."

She made an effort to smile at me. I could sense the hope in her eyes, and swallowed, willing myself to meet her expectations, and knowing that I failed. "We don't really get to choose, Matt."

"Who said anything about choosing, dear?" I smiled. "With the best of luck, they might actually be pleased with me!"

She turned on her heel. "Those nags at CIA HQ are never pleased with anything." I grinned, then sobered. I'm suddenly glad that I turned on a scrambler before I entered the room. The people at CIA did not need to hear Rachel call them 'nags'. Who knows what they'd come up with for Rachel as revenge.

"Dear, dear. We can't go around dissing the people up high, or they'll strike out at us." I replied, game.

However, I didn't get a rise out of Rachel. She just harrumphed and turned again, stopping mid-pace to take the seat across from me. I moved to the side of the room. The bell rang, signaling the next period, and Rachel stood again. "I'll be right back, Matt, so don't move." Then she surveyed the room and turned back to me. "And don't prank me either! I swear to god that one of these days..." My laughter followed her out the door.

When she came back, minutes later, Cammie was in tow. It'd been a few months since I saw my little girl, as I inevitably still thought of her, and it hadn't hit me until that moment how much I'd missed her. I thought back to what Joe said, in that brief moment when I hugged her, I thought I'll be careful, Joe. I'll be careful for Cammie.

Lunch was a blur, and all too soon I was getting ready to go to sleep. Somehow I managed to wrangle getting assigned to Rachel, and I'm glad I did. It'd been months since I'd seen her either, and I did miss her. We snuggled for a while, Rachel filling me on what I missed at Gallagher, and then we drifted off to sleep.

The morning came, and my heart thudded as I bolted upright at dawn. The bed beside me was empty. Typical Gallagher style, what with girls' school starting before the crack of dawn. I rolled out of the bed, pulled on home clothes, and walked out into the empty passage way. Not knowing what else to do, I went to Rachel's office. It was empty so I leaned against the wall, waiting for her to come back. I couldn't exactly spend my entire break lounging about, doing nothing with no one. What was the point in that?

I didn't hear her come in; I'd been reading. It was a rather good book too, 1,756 Ways to Get a Person's Attention. It was a humorous, useless book, starting with 1. Throw a beach ball at his/her head.

I was at around 413. Drive a forklift through any wall at an engagement you both are at and lean out saying "We. Need. To Talk.". when she walked in. After a quick look at me, she just walked over to her desk and started to punch in keys on her terminal, probably deciding I was hopeless.

Nothing happened on days three, four, and five either. On day six, there were a lot of tears and hugs. It really was too short of a time to spend with family. I really needed to take some time just to be with them, I thought. Be the father that Cammie deserves and the husband that Rachel deserves, and not just the kind of friend that Joe deserves. I know I had tears at the corners of my eyes as I stepped into the car that would take me back to the airport I had been at barely a week before to catch my flight. Athens, Athens, here we come!

Okay, my slight excitement was maybe a bit overboard, but I'd not made a trip to Greece in years. While I felt a twinge of nervousness and soberness, that was not out of place by far, not with the alert we had received. We might finally have unearthed the Circle far enough and take it out for good. At least, to take out the part of the Circle that had been plaguing us in particular. And, at least for the first stages, I would be doing it alone. Not being with Joe this time, I decided not to chance sleeping and started to stare out the window, out at the fluffy white clouds passing by.

True to myself, I didn't so much as doze off during the long ride. An enemy spy can be anywhere, and the Circle has spies everywhere. Then again, I'm also pretty jittery. If this goes right, the Circle is going to be hurt. Severely. After eighteen years of trying, this is the first chance we've had at anything like this. God only knows when we'll get one again.

I stepped out of the plane into the bustling airport. I went to go claim my bags when the hair on my neck flew up. I looked into the shiny metal on the pole by the conveyor belt. Keeping one eye on the belt for my bags, I looked into the metal. It twisted things around like some sort of demented mirror, and made me wish that my disguise was a woman-they could take out mirrors at any point for makeup and use them to look.

Even so, the signs were unmistakable. Someone had been waiting for me. Maybe not for me personally, or even Joe. But they had seen me and latched on. Time to start countersurveilling.

Two hours later I had ducked into half of the airport's sundry shops, changed clothes and disguises three times and used a bunch of techniques I hadn't had to dust off since the time in Montreal, or possibly Singapore, and all I had managed to do was gain more tails. They had definitely been waiting for me, or Joe since he was supposed to be here instead of me, with teams on call. Pretty elaborate operation at best.

I was definitely the target, but of what? What did they want, really? Information? Allegiance? Blackmail? It could be any of them, really. It was time to get out of the airport and into town. Maybe I could lose them there. Elaborate or no, I was a spy, and a halfway decent one as well. They'd have to catch me first. Besides, their resources could only be finite. Sooner or later, I'd make them hit a brick wall. That was what I'd have to count on.

I did manage to get to town thinking about strategies of survival and not being kidnapped or anything of the sort now that the shit had hit the fan. And in a way I had truly not been expecting it to. After a while, it seemed as though I'd lost them. Glad to finally be alone, I checked into an inn. It was getting dark, and the crowds were thinning and there was no way that I could get to the safehouse tonight. I'd go in the morning, when I could mix in with the early bird crowd, so I set my alarm for six am, ate a dinner from a stash of food in my luggage (airport sensors are too easily fooled) and went to sleep. Tomorrow and the next day would be long days because of the mission, and I dared not be any later for the sake of the asset than I absolutely had to be. The only things more imperative than getting there was making sure that neither I nor the asset got caught by the Circle.

That night I dreamt of Christmas a few years ago with Cammie. Rachel had been off out in Brazil somewhere, so it had been just the two of us. It had been peaceful, aside from the missing Rachel. Cammie was nine, so she had known for a while that Rachel and I wouldn't always be home. I always felt guilty when I was out at work during an occasion, but Cammie always told us to go 'work hard, and come back soon!' and sent us off with a smile as big as her face could hold. We'd just finished decorating the tree, and Cammie was tweaking the little balls so they were just so, as she liked them.

As I held her up high so she could work with the highest ones, which I 'always got wrong', she had asked us why we were gone at such weird and random times, as it seemed to her. That was when she found out we were spies, and when we left we were on missions. Rachel and I had been wanting to tell her, but we didn't know how to. This time, opportunity presented itself. Just like now.

My dreams turned more somber as I thought about all the things that could possibly go wrong tomorrow. Vivid scenarios passed though my head, each briefly lived though and sent back to my overactive imagination. I drifted in that land, half asleep, half dreaming for a long time. Too long. I just couldn't settle down, for some reason. I steeled myself. Matthew, you aren't a fresh agent on his first mission. You've been doing this for two decades, and you know what you're doing. So don't act as if you don't. You will just not sleep and be tired tomorrow, when you need to be at your best.

I rolled over, contented and determined to sleep by those last thoughts. So much so that I didn't notice the guy coming in my second-floor window until I heard the soft thump of shoes on carpet. Then I heard another. The door opened, admitting at least another pair of people. Four assailants, huh. They were staying in place, so I had no reason to get up and reveal that I knew they were there.

A fifth and sixth person joined them. Seven, Eight, Nine. Damn. Nine agents. Were they Circle, or some other enemy of the CIA? I was betting on the former, while hoping for the latter. The latter wouldn't be able to find out that I was here, most likely, and I don't think I annoyed any of them enough to free up enough agents (undertrained, especially for an operation like this) to take me out. Even so, nine half-trained agents could take me out, but not hold me alive, which would be pointless if they had nothing against me in particular. It had to be the Circle.

Just as I was deciding this, a tenth person arrived, and things suddenly went up in flames. Not literally, else alarms would sound and things would get messy. This was obviously a well-planned operation, and a downright quiet one at that. There was no way I could take down ten trained agents. That meant that I would have to trigger some sort of alarm system to cut it short. The only one that was nearly instantaneous was the fire alarm.

The problem was that while they hadn't achieved total surprise, I would have to reveal that I was indeed awake to get to any sort of fire-making gadget, and I wouldn't have the time to make a fire the old fashioned way. Even ten almost untrained agents would be a problem, as there was a point at which sheer numbers came and prevailed. I had a feeling that we were past that, and that these agents would be pretty well trained. Circle agents tended to be.

And just like that they all started to move. For once I'm glad I usually sleep on top of the covers, because they can't pool around my feet and hinder my movement. I kicked out with both feet as soon as they come into range, and the momentum drags me off the bed. I, thankfully, land on my feet and adopt a fortified fighting stance as I'm rushed on both sides.

I actually had a short-lived element of surprise. Somehow, I'd managed to convince them I was still sleeping. Even so, it didn't really set them off balance. They were good. Definitely Circle. And that meant...well, I wasn't sure what that meant but I was sure I'd find out.

The two of them fell, then a third. A fourth stumbled, and then they were on me. They were on my back, pulling on my front and sides to bring me down. Flailing fists were caught and someone's hands went around my neck. My arms were pulled behind my back as I, overwhelmed by the enemy agents, choked as a chloroform-soaked rag was held up to my nostrils. Soon, the room faded and all I saw was black. I had failed.

When I woke up, I was unmistakably groggy. I didn't open my eyes, and I was sure to relegate my breathing. Maybe I'd find out something from listening to the Circle agents. I doubted it-they were trained by our own institutions. Even so, a spy is not infallible. If they were waiting for me to wake up, then they might get bored and just a bit careless. I couldn't count on it, but it was all I had at that moment.

Fifteen or so minutes later, all I had heard was pacing, and a single question as to when they thought I'd wake up. So they hadn't figured out yet. Good. I could use every advantage I could get, which wasn't many. There was a great chance I was in a building I likely never had known, with little in the way of weapons, makeshift or not, up against people with numbers and home field advantage, plus likely trackers. All my equipment to disable them would be back in the hotel room, if they hadn't ransacked the stuff. That's more likely to have happened, in an attempt to scrounge up more equipment for their teams from my equipment. As they say, to the victor goes the spoils. To the Circle goes the top-of-the-line spy gear.

I don't even want to think about how much worse it could be had I come even a little more heavily armed. I could have brought anything I wanted through the airport scanners, but I still hadn't brought much in the way of weapons-our asset would be stocked and I could take from that. After all, it was we who had stocked him up in the first place, whether he knew it or not. I wondered dimly whether the asset had called Joe yet, saying I was late. What time was it anyway?

It didn't matter, or wouldn't soon. Because soon I would likely be dead. Sorry, Joe. Guess I wasn't careful enough, old friend.

I twitched as I felt the unexpected sensation of scalding liquid on my leg. I heard a voice above me say "Oops! Guess I'm a bit of a klutz." Was it Goo? Goon? My sleep-deprived drug-muddled brain tried to think through possible names. Ghoul? I was sure I knew the woman from somewhere. Good? Ah yes, that was it. Goode. Catherine Goode. Her.

I bared my teeth at her involuntarily, then force myself to stop as I open my eyes. That may have just been my only chance at surviving. After all, she knew as well as I did that that was what I really thought of her, and that anything to the contrary would just be a spy being a spy-lies.

"Matthew Morgan. How nice to see you." That person traced an imaginary line on my arm. I was manacled to a metal chair. I kicked the bottoms with what I still could, only to find it was welded into the ground. Figures.

"Now, now, Agent Morgan. We don't want that." She paced around me. My blood ran cold and my stomach dropped when she disappeared from my view to behind me; I couldn't turn around. She stopped, and put her hands on my shoulders and whispered into my ear. "We just want some answers, Matthew. Just a few teensy weensy words and you can die quickly.

"I'll not die at all." I hissed back. Even so, the hopelessness dragged at me. There was little to no chance I'd get out of this alive, and we both knew it. We both also knew how deeply she enjoyed wielding that particular weapon-the self-inflicted ones were her favorite. Joe and I had once rescued an agent that had gotten himself caught by her, and he'd been raving mad. Even so, much of what he had said about her had sent a chill up my spine at the time, and did so again now. I swallowed and shut my eyes, concentrating on my breathing.

"Hmmm?" She pursed her lips, face still by my ear. She drew her head back and pinched the ear hard, eliciting a bitten lip from me. "I don't think so. You're going to help us, Agent Matthew. And you don't even have to go anywhere! Now think about that, CIA boy. Aren't you tired of traveling at their whim?" She started to circle me again, drawing back the sharp fingernails. I felt a trickle come down my ear, annoyed that I couldn't wipe it away. It was now itchy, like how your nose gets when you know you can't scratch it. Luckily for me, my nose wasn't itching yet.

She asked several more times, still circling me like a vulture or other carrion-bird does their prey. That was all well and good, excepting that the prey in this situation was me. The room chilled a bit, and the coolness of the metal burned dully on my skin where it was directly exposed. She laughed, and the walls rang with it. Then she punched me in the gut, turned on her heel, and left.

I hunched over as far as I could (not far) to help ease the ache her punch caused. I could have withstood much more, but I'd take what I get, thank you very much. Seeing as there wasn't much I could do, I spent some time calming my mind with meditation. Sometime in that period, I fell asleep.

At one point, I woke up. I had no idea what day or time it was, and at first no idea where. Then it hit me. Literally. A droplet of liquid fell on my head. Half-dazed as I was, I turned my head upwards and tasted. Water. I heard a voice. Her voice. "Water. For now, anyway."

Deciding I didn't want to think about the ominous warning, I turned my head upwards to accept the water, then stopped. They had to feed me and give me liquid to keep me alive. If I was going to die anyway, I could just not eat or drink to die. It would be a slow, painful way to go, but it would do the job. They wouldn't get anything from me. That was all I could promise. I turned my head from the water and felt it run down my hair.

The water went on for hours it seemed before I heard stomping footsteps and the door swung open. A few strides later and hands went around my head, pulling it up to face the water. I guess they realized that I was going to dehydrate myself, which would be counterproductive for them. I felt them pull up my head, but I kept my lips and eyes tightly shut. Pressure was applied on my eyeballs and a stray kick barked my right shin while hands pried open my lips. I pushed those muscles together, hands curling into fists with the effort. All too soon, fingers were inside them, pulling them apart. I felt a trickle of liquid go down my throat as someone held my head sky-high. I peeked out of my eyes. It was guards, three whom I had never before met. I shut my eyes again and went to thinking about other plans. So much for that one.

Catherine's laugh went through my head. Yes, I thought. It's her little sadistic game with me. Cat and mouse, if you will. Matt, you're the mouse. And you can't run. My thoughts turned so teacher-lecture like I thought I was talking to Joe when he got into one of his straits. If he weren't with me searching out the Circle, if he were normal, he might have made a good college professor.

Joe...he would come looking for me, of course. I hoped. Or rather, I didn't. They'd lay a trap, the Circle would. He would backtrack from the asset I never met to find that I had gotten to Greece. They he might find me...or he might not. I think he would, but I'm not about to go and place bets on that right now. I have bigger problems to deal with. Like this room, the metal chair, and the welded metal cuffs where my hands and feet were.

My muscles were sore from sitting on the metal chair for god-knows-how-long. My head ached. I still felt a lingering pain in my gut. My lip was split, probably from the struggle with the water, and the metallic taste of blood had reintroduced itself to my taste buds long before. In short, I was miserable, and starting to turn to despair. I forced myself away from that, as despairing would make it easier for them to get what they wanted out of me. If there's one thing I'm going to do, its make sure that they don't.

All too soon, the door reopened. She wore a malicious smile and was surrounded by a dark aura. Well, maybe that part was my imagination, but it certainly would have fit with what I was sure would happen. Besides, killing me would be counterproductive if they didn't get information from me. I took a wee bit of solace from that as she started pacing around me again. Surely she knew how maddening it was! Well, that had to have been the point. To remind the prisoner, me, where she stood and where I stood, or rather sat.

Even so, the technique was pretty effective in inducing hopelessness I thought as I fought my own battle with it. I tried to force my voice to sound normal and bored, as if there was no inner turmoil, as I said. "What do you want?" I think it worked because when her face came into view, her lip was curled and because one talent of a spy is acting. How else would we go undercover, if we couldn't act?

My words only seemed to increase and thicken the air already fraught silence as she didn't respond, but stopped behind me suddenly. Her voice was authoritative when she spoke. "Why do you think you are here, Agent Morgan?"

"Why, you don't know? I'm here because I couldn't overpower near a dozen agents alone when they came for me at oh-dark-early." I quipped in as reasonable and thoughtful a tone as I could manage. Apparently my answer didn't impress her because she humphed and started walking again. Her hair hid her face from view when she came around my front. Then came the thick blindfold and the ear plugs. I could no longer tell if she paced or stood, whether the door opened or was still, and I certainly couldn't hear the rattle of the chains and wristlets as I jangled them against the freezing chair.

She took out one ear plug. "It's called sensory deprivation, Mr. Morgan, and you will be experiencing quite a lot of it in the next few days. That is, unless you give me what we want." I could hear her pace now, but I had to strain my ears when she was on my other side. Her footsteps were quiet and I was used to employing both ears.

"What do you want?" A bit of weariness crept into my tone, despite the best that I could do. I mentally winced and hoped she wouldn't notice. She did, of course.

"Information, Mr. Matthew. Information. Information that isn't worth all this suffering and solitude, isn't that right Agent Morgan? And if you miss your family," She stopped. "I'm sure Rachel would be happy to join you." She smiled, and this time it shouted triumph and her eyes glinted with predatory sadism. "As for Cammie: sweet, little Cammie Ann Morgan, I'm sure I could raise another child! She'll do, after a full memory wipe and a few sessions to stop her from trying to reach her memories. I'm sure she'd be a great daughter for me, and sister to my son Zachery. Actually, I'm sure that after she undergoes the same treatment he did, she'd be very compliant, and a good teammate for Zach. Cammie Ann Goode, oh, how nice that sounds!" She giggled.

My blood had run cold (well, colder, it was already freezing from the frigid temperature of the metal) at the mention of my family. One of our (Joe and my) objectives was to leave everyone else out of it. Even so, if she got thrust into this, Rachel would probably be able to deal with it. She is a spy. But Cammie...she's my little girl. She's also not a spy yet, and from the sounds of it she would have the worst of it. I couldn't do that to her, condemn her to that fate. But I also couldn't yield to her. But I also couldn't let Cammie go through that, so much worse than anything else. Besides, if she did go through that sort of treatment and with Catherine, there's a good chance I or Rachel would end up fighting and/or killing our daughter who didn't remember us. Or getting dead ourselves because we could not bring ourselves to do it. So, no, I couldn't yield to her. Rachel and Cammie would just have to take care of themselves.

She fell silent, still smiling. I did not share in her glee. Instead I bent my head. My family was never particularly religious, but I had been brought up to believe in Him, and sent a quick prayer up asking Him to safekeep Rachel and Cammie (Especially Cammie, because she couldn't yet defend herself properly) and protect them from all things regarding the thrice-damned Circle of Cavan.

Besides, she hadn't exactly been specific. What information did she want? Even if it turned out to be something harmless, (Unlikely) I had to demur and reject to give it on a matter of principle. It would be against my morals to help the Circle in any way. What I would do if the actually brought Cammie here, I don't know. But somehow, I don't think they'll get that far. For that matter, I probably won't survive that long. Not if I can help it. If I couldn't escape the only option I had was to become safely dead before they got something, or gleaned from what I didn't say, that was of sufficient import. Things that could kill/kidnap/hurt any of a multitude of people, including both assets and people I cared for.

If that happened, I'm not sure how I'd survive. Yes, I'd like to see my family again. But not here. And besides, these welded hunks of metal don't look like they come off easily. They might be impossible to get off without damaging me, it seems. Just as well, especially since I'd already decided I wasn't getting out of here. Really, how things become less complicated when you decide you will die. You don't have much of anything to lose.

She picked up my head and slapped my cheek. (As Cammie put it once in her diary that I really wasn't supposed to read, real slappage) I tried not to flinch back more than I would involuntarily. My efforts had little success. Then she pressed a button on her 'pager' and three masked guards walked in. Two held my mouth open while the third pushed food into it. Then they forced me to chew and swallow, washing the sustenance down with a few swigs of water.

For the first time I was aware of my grumbling stomach as a separate pain from the others. I had had much success lumping them all together and calling it pain, instead of a collection of scrapes, cold, and other classifications, the number of which was enough to make anyone miserable. Or more miserable, as was the case. Catherine Goode was studying me again, as only a Gallagher Girl could.

She had been in Rachel's class, and they had been teammates and friends when I ran into them first, on my search for the local leaders of the branch of the Circle of Cavan Joe and I were dealing with. Somehow, when they were helping us (without really knowing it-we'd given a tip off through a voice changer) I had bumped into Rachel and fell in love. That had eventually driven Catherine over the edge so that when they had stumbled upon the Circle, Catherine had signed up with them. Rachel had always blamed herself for her teammate's defection.

It only made more real what would happen if they took Cammie. We'd seen how the Circle took a person, warped their beliefs, and spat them back out, all chewed up and pieced back together with bits of strange clay, new foundations that radically turned around their values. Catherine was obviously not the sweet, not-quiet-but-not-loud girl I once knew. The girl I had regarded much like a younger sister would never make those threats. No, that girl died when she signed up. I couldn't let that happen to Cammie.

I forced myself to clear my head and tried to concentrate on that emptiness, ignoring both Catherine and the guards that were only now slipping out the ajar door. I knew I was failing miserably when I felt the plug get shoved back into my ear and felt the floor vibrate as Catherine walked (stomped?) her way out of the room and slammed the door.

I sat in silence, feeling its cold, scaly hands encircle me. I shuddered, then forced myself to still as I took stock. Every hair of mine was rigidly at attention, my skin writhing at the merest breeze. What I could feel of it, anyway. I couldn't smell anything, but that may have been just because there was nothing to be smelled. I focused on my breathing, and soon enough I lapsed back into a world of dreams.

I woke up again to an empty cell. So, I waited. And waited. A human could go for weeks without food, and water came out of the hose they had tried to use the first time. I could never quite predict where it would be, so I had to wait to react to whatever I felt. No one came to talk to me. Even so, I was sure that Catherine Goode and her people were watching me for the merest hint of submission and yielding, which they didn't get. Still, I was slowly becoming more aware of my empty stomach despite my best efforts. I was slowly wasting away. I can only wonder, where did that man-the man who stood up to Goode to tell her he wouldn't die-where did he go?

I'd long since lost track of time, and I was sure my sleep schedule was off. But what did it matter, to a dying man like me? For that's what it was. I was starving. Sure, I had water. Until yesterday, at least. I think that by now, they've either forgotten about me or making it look like there was not any reason to be forgotten in the first place. The latter was more likely I mused. How was I still sane? A small part of my brain screamed at me. Why aren't you fighting harder? Why aren't you fighting to live?

That voice was the last thing I heard for a long, long time.

When I woke up, I brushed my hair from my face, idly wondering that I could move my hand at all, and rolled up into a sitting position. Then I froze. I could move my hands. I could move my legs. I wasn't tethered to that chair any longer. I wasn't tethered to it! I felt like whooping in glee, then I wondered. What had happened? Why was I not in that chair? Did I accidentally let something slip? Did I confess and forget via the use of drugs? The latter was not so likely-I didn't feel any of the usual side effects, but anything is possible. They could have created a new drug. I leaned up against a wall in the same sitting position, resolute to stay there until someone came for me. I mean, if they were going to let me waste away, then why take me out of the chair? Why whole, when pieces would be so much easier and simpler? Why?

I didn't know I'd nodded off until I saw the face above me. It was that of a young boy, perhaps around Cammie's age. He had been poking me in the shoulder which, thankfully, didn't hurt. When I peeked up, he gave off a small smile. The boy exuded absolutely no innocence as he asked in a sotto voice, "Are you alright, Mister?"

"Umm..." This was something I wasn't expecting. I mean, how were you supposed to react after all that to a child coming and asking if you were alright! The boy nodded knowingly as he put out a hand. I shook it, grateful that someone here could maintain a semblance of normality. "Matthew Morgan. And you?"

"Zach. Zachary Goode." The boy replied. So this was 'her' boy, Zachary. He seemed almost dazed, and almost as if he was just going through the motions-he might well be at that. He probably was. He didn't seem fazed by the bruises he could see. As Catherine's 'son', he'd probably seen all too many of them-and more on a single person. The thought was scarcely comforting and I felt fresh anger at Catherine for bringing a child into this. Two, if you wanted to count Cammie even if she didn't know it yet. Then I remembered-I could be looking at Cammie. Or how she would be in a few years if things got ugly for her and Rachel at Gallagher.

Zach studied me, obviously bored. I decided I might as well make conversation while there was another person to talk to that I didn't hate the guts out of. Yes he was her 'son', but he was his own person. He didn't seem to have in abundance that cruel sadism of his 'mother', if he had it at all. He was just a curious little boy, in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, he seemed used to the sight of injured people. That said a lot about how Goode had raised the boy-or not, as the case may be.

Laissez faire might just be her poison when it came to children. After all, she seemed to think of children only as pawns, things to hold hostage against one of the few chinks in any spy-who-doubles-as-a-parent's armor. I have no idea who Zach's real parents are, and I don't think he would either, and it was a subject I dared not broach for many reasons. First was the cameras-it could be taken as a sign of weakness by Catherine. Also, I had no idea how Zach would react, or even whether or not he knew.

Thinking of Zach, I looked over at the boy. Then a button on his watch started to flash. Seconds later, the noise of alarms hastily clashed through the complex. I felt the stone rotate beneath me. From the boy's watch spoke Catherine Goode's disembodied voice. It said simply, "If you say anything you are a dead man, Morgan. Not a peep."

Then the people outside, they must be enemies of Catherine's or the Circle's. Friends of mine. I dredged up the strength to get up on my knees and settle backwards. Then I raised my hands, lowered my head, and prayed. Please, I thought desperately, incoherently, Please oh Please!

I wasn't sure quite who they were, but in the end it didn't matter. They came too close, and they died. I heard the shotgun's report from behind the walls. I could barely make out the screaming voice. It was possibly the asset, possibly an innocent, possibly someone else entirely, but they weren't CIA, M16, or Joe. They wouldn't have been so careless.

Then I heard the recording. It was Joe's voice, talking to another I didn't recognize and I suddenly felt sick. I forgot myself and screamed out for them to stop. Seconds later, I started to feel sluggish. Poison of some sort. In the water? The food? Injected when I was asleep? It had to have been in some sort of capsule or enclosure, I thought even more sluggishly, else it would not randomly start affecting me now.

Then I heard the thing that made my heart crack. I still heard Joe's voice, but it was a repeat of what he had started with. An exact repeat. A recording. I had lost my life over a stupid recording. Curse Goode! Curse the witch to eternal hellfire! I thought sickly as I slid down to lay on the ground, no longer having the strength to hold myself on my knees. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was the sad, knowing eyes of the boy across from me. I tried to reach out and pat him, a last bit of comfort. My hand never made it there. I just couldn't make it move. It hovered a moment just short of the boy, and crashed down to the stone.

The pain felt curiously and languidly muted. I shut my eyes and thought. I'm sorry, Joe. We didn't do it. You'll have to figure it out yourself. If it's you, you'll do it. I believe you can, old friend.

Rachel, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't get to come home to my weeks with you and Cammie. I'm sorry for the pain I'm going to cause, even if it makes no difference, I'm sorry.

Sorry, Cammie. Daddy's not coming home this time. Daddy's not coming home. I shut my eyes even harder, warding against the tears. I had at least that much dignity left to me, didn't I? Make me proud someday, Cammie. I'm sure you'll make me proud, my little girl.

With that, I felt a knot of tension in my heart ease. It was the best I could do and I did it. And not a moment too soon, because just then the poison had spread too far. For a moment I heard Catherine's terrible laughter once more, her threats, and then I was dead.

Alright, darker than I usually write, and longer, but the guy had to die. Of course, we don't know for sure, but it's what I decided to write. :) I think it also neatly wraps up why Ms. Goode is after Cammie. I fixed the name fir Ms. Goode, but this won't be GG5 compliant. I might write a second chapter, now that I've read GG5 that will start the same but be GG5 compliant.