Thirty-one: Vulture and Weasel

The interview room contained two men in business suits. One balding man hunched over a laptop in the corner of the desk like a vulture, while the other had more hair, a sharp nose and a scar on his nose, reminding me of a floppy haired weasel. The weasel sat in the more open area of the desk directly across from one of the straight backed chairs we normally reserved for our clients.

"Mr Cooper, Mr Raring, this is Jean Wallace. Jean, Mr Cooper and Mr Raring," Eleanor made the introductions. "Jean, I'm going to leave you with them."

Before I could even turn around, she had nudged me forwards and closed the door behind me.

What? What was that? Who were they? Finish your introduction! I mean, I could guess, but hey!

Her footsteps padded away on the carpet and for some reason, I felt as if I had been abandoned in a den of lions. I guessed this was the interview that would clear or condemn me a traitor but some clarity on the matter would have been appreciated. Unless it was some corporate thing. I didn't know. Nevertheless, I gathered my wits about me.

No matter what it was about, keeping my wits about me was a must. If I could convince them of my innocence, I might be able to escape from the life of awaiting the executioner's bullet.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I said to try and ease my nervousness. Despite myself, I found myself fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

"Call me Bevan," the weasel with floppy hair and the nose scar, shook my hand and gestured toward the only other available chair in the room. The vulture rose briefly to shake my hand half-heartedly without really looking at me. He adjusted the laptop and video camera on the table instead. At the same time, Mr Cooper smoothed his hair back, showing his receding hairline which explained the reason for the floppy fringe hair. "This is Alistair. Please, have a seat, Jean. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," I slid into my seat, unable to stop myself from adding, "I hope."

Mr Cooper chuckled and I wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt. He had rather plain grey eyes with crows feet when he laughed. Both men looked vaguely familiar, but for the moment, I couldn't quite place when or where I had seen them.

"You're probably wondering what this is all about," Mr Cooper said, indicating at the camera and microphone attached to the laptop by black wires, "but before we get there, I have to inform you that this meeting is being recorded. Nevertheless, the contents of our conversation will remain confidential and will not be passed on to your employer without consent. You may not discuss the contents of this meeting with anyone outside this room."

I nodded and Mr Cooper smoothed his hair back again. So they were government agents. It was about time they got around to questioning me. It had taken them long enough. Did this mean I'd get to finally move out of the Compound after tonight? I mean, a girl could dream, right? Justice would prevail and all that?

"You might have guessed by now," he said, "that we are National Security Agents. We apologise for taking so long to get around to you. We're here to find out everything you know or can remember about the evening of or in the lead up to the Bosky Invasion."

I nodded again and Mr Cooper smoothed his hair back once more before continuing. I tried to find a comfortable position in the chair and forced myself to try and relax a bit.

"What I need from you," he said, "is to be completely honest and as specific as possible. Any attempts to lie or mislead us could be considered an offence and could get you prosecuted for treason, which could get you anywhere between twenty years to a lifetime in prison or executed. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I glanced at the balding man hunched over the laptop. I guessed he wouldn't be doing any talking unless he had to, watching whatever it was on his screen and typing the transcript of what we said. Unless he was making notes of his own observations.

"I am going to ask you to tell us what you remember of the Invasion and then we'll go back over anything that I need more details on, and ask you any questions if I need to. Now then, Jean. Please begin."

The Bosky soldier's warning rang loudly in my head, and so I told what I could. I told them about the Bosky soldiers in the train station and how one of them had saved me from a runaway trolley and warned me not to hang around. I told them how my brother managed to get back home, but I didn't, instead having to escape in the dark from the soldiers. I omitted mentioning the Bosky soldier again.

"I was so frightened," I told them, resisting the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my trousers, "that I kept running until I ran into a police patrol. They directed me to an emergency shelter and in the morning, I went to work to find many of my colleagues in the same predicament. Boss helped us to register, because of our addresses, you know, being on the other side of the city. After that, we were sent to the Compound. I was sent to a completely different block from my colleagues. My room gets searched every few days, but I don't know what anyone is looking for. I'm no spy. Nor am I a Bosky sympathiser."

"Is everything you just told us the truth?"

"Yes," I tried not to fidget, but I couldn't meet their eyes. It was as much truth as I dared to tell them. Of all times, my ability to show a poker face and lie was not making itself known. I was much too nervous for that.

"Indeed," said Mr Cooper in a soft voice. He wasn't baring his teeth at me but the feeling of being menaced made it feel like he was. "I'd hate to know you are lying to us in any way, Jean."

"Of course," I replied and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Surely nobody would lie to you without a pressing reason."

"Shall we dispense with the polite niceties and dancing in circles and get to the crux of the matter?" Mr Cooper gave me the kind of smile a weasel might give its meal when it had caught it in a death grip.

I swallowed.

"You're lying to me, Jean," he slammed a fist on the table and I jumped. He hadn't raised his voice but that controlled tone told me that I was already dead meat. "The truth, if you please. While we're still being nice."