Note:

Oooooo, a sequel already! Please read Protocols ( /s/9423377/1/Protocols ) first.

September 2012

My hands shook. They were clasped tight in my lap, but they shook anyway. Couldn't blame them, really, not after what I'd been through today. My entire body trembled from time to time. Maybe it was some after-effect of the electrical shocks, or maybe my body was like a car engine, sputtering on the last fumes of adrenaline with no gas station in sight. Or maybe it was nerves.

I'd done a lot of dubious things in my life, especially after meeting John, but lying to a federal agent was a definite first.

Special Agent Donnelly sat next to me in front of his desk. He had one leg crossed over the other and his shiny brown Oxfords gleamed beneath the glare of the florescent light fixtures overhead. He was hunched over his clipboard, writing down in his impeccable handwriting every word I said, and then some. His pen scratched and scraped in the quiet of the FBI office. His tired eyes were fixed on the paper. There were deep, dark circles beneath those eyes, and his skin drooped a little there, making him look like a sleepy old basset hound. Yet at the same time, every so often he would glance at me, and I would see the fiery alertness behind those eyes, taking in every detail, all the time.

John had told me about Donnelly. He was a good man, John had said. A good agent. But that didn't change the fact that he was hell-bent on putting John and anyone who worked with him behind bars. And here I was, John's sidekick, telling Donnelly a story, every word a lie...starting with my name.

"We're almost done, Miss Weston," Donnelly said. I squirmed in battered seat. A sharp tear in the leather cushion poked at the back of my legs and I winced, wishing for the dozenth time that the thin gown I had been given was more substantial. I mean, it was better than being naked—but still. The blue fabric was thin and the sleeves were short. Maybe it was just as well. The angry red welts on my arms and legs—burns from the electrodes—stung enough without the added aggravation of cheap fabric rubbing against them.

The ones elsewhere on my body...well, I just had to grit my teeth and put up with the itching.

Agent Donnelly glanced at me, then looked back down at his notes. He scratched the back of his head as he read. "You're a great help, Merida; a real great help. We've been trying to nab these guys for years."

I nodded, and then, because Agent Donnelly seemed like the guy who would bend over backward for an innocent young woman in distress, I faked a sniffle or two and threw a little waver into my voice. "So are they gonna go to jail?"

"Oh, most definitely," he said. "Don't you worry. We've got all the evidence we need to keep these people from hurting anyone else." He held the pen against the clipboard with one hand, reached for the paper cup that had been set precariously close to the cell phone on the desk. He took a long sip, then said, "You sure I can't get you some coffee? You look like you could use it."

"I'm fine," I said, glancing over my shoulder and looking at the corridor leading to the elevators. I wanted out of this office. I wanted to go find the nearest of John's safehouses and lick my wounds and curl up into a little ball on the couch and not come out to see the world for a good week or so. But I couldn't leave just yet without attracting suspicion.

"So," Donnelly said. His eyes were on the paper. He waved the pen around like a baton to direct his thoughts. "Let's just go over this real quick...you arrived at the black-hat convention on Friday?"

"Y-yeah," I said. My leg didn't want to stop wiggling.

"Okay. Then, you said, last night you—"

He was interrupted by the arrival of a young man with curly blond hair and the kind of thick-rimmed glasses that looked like they'd been imported direct from the 50s.

"Agent Donnely, sir?" he said. "Alex salvaged that VHS footage. You won't believe how clear it is."

Donnelly's face lit up like he was a little boy getting a new remote-control airplane for Christmas. He said, "I'm sorry, Merida, but I really have to handle this. Wait here a few minutes, will you? I'll be back as soon as I can." I nodded, and Donnelly lurched out of his seat to follow the young man, leaving his clipboard, his coffee, and his cell phone behind. Not to mention me. He disappeared into an open doorway about ten feet away.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, wondering how long until I could safely leave. Probably, not until Agent Donnelly was through with his paperwork. He seemed to love paperwork. There was probably a paper he needed to sign about talking to a witness...and then a paper to sign about signing a paper about talking to a witness...

I stared down at my hands, still clasped tight in my lap. The shakes seemed to be receding, and for that, I was thankful. Now, fatigue was setting in. If it hadn't been for the voices babbling through the doorway, I might've fallen asleep right then and there. Donnelly's voice carried above the rest, and he sounded pretty damn excited.

"That's the best view we have of the area," he said.

Someone else said, "He'll be on screen in just a minute, I think—we rewound the tape a bit too far..."

On the desk in front of me, Donnelly's cell phone chimed. I ignored it, until it chimed a second time. Then a third. And then, it began to play an ominous little tune. It took me a few seconds to recognize it: the song was the boss theme for an old cartridge video game from the 90s.

I glanced up and smiled, amused—Donnelly did not seem to be the type to listen to old video game tunes—but the smile slid right off my face when I noticed the word on the screen: ruben pick up.

Oh. Shit, I thought. Is it John? I glanced around, then snagged the cell phone off the desk. It didn't even give me a chance to touch the screen. The words disappeared and were replaced with another message.

take phone and run, it said. There was a short pause, during which my heart accelerated like a warp drive and my brain tried to catch up, and then I noticed the sender: Sybil Thornhill.

As soon as I saw that, I knew I had to act fast. Clutching Donnelly's cell phone (what was a little theft on top of lying to a federal agent?), I stood, pulled the gown tighter around my body, and crept towards the hallway, winding my way between the desks. My heart thudded and fear dripped down my spine, like ice water. There were two other agents towards the other side of the room, but neither of them looked up at me—thank goodness. I would've fainted.

The voices from the office became even louder.

"That's no better than the footage we already have," Donnelly said. There was a note of disappointment in his voice. "I can hardly see him."

"But wait," said the other voice. "There's someone else with him. Look."

A pause. I was almost at the mouth of the hallway. The elevators were just around the corner at the end of the hallway—thirty feet away.

Donnelly's voice. "Who is that? No no, go back...that's—is that—shit—"

"Isn't that the girl you were just—?"

The phone buzzed in my hand.

I made the mistake of looking back over my shoulder. Donnelly stood in the doorway across the office, his mouth agape. Those droopy eyes were droopy no longer—they were wide, and they were mad.

"Stop!" Agent Donnelly shouted. The other two agents looked up. Donnelly vaulted a desk in front of him like it was nothing more than a speedbump and barreled towards me. "Someone stop her! Stop!"

I didn't need any more motivation—I ran.