Thirty-three: Damned

I looked at the two impassive faces observing me. One directly. One indirectly through the laptop.

An explanation was required. A defence needed to be made, but in the light of this much photo evidence against me, the odds were definitely not in my favour. I didn't know where to start. How to begin.

Jean," said the balding vulture in the corner. His soft, dry voice made me startle. His beady eyes peered at me from slightly drooping eyelids. "Explain."

There was no judgement in that voice. Just a simple instruction. And yet, my voice felt frozen, stuck in my throat.

"The Boskies only managed to take us by surprise, because they had help from people on our side," Mr Cooper said in a hard voice. "We and many other agents have been tasked with finding out who those traitors are. The Boskies weren't able to complete their takeover of the city, because of the unexpected severity of the flooding that the storm that night caused. Our investigations led us the other day, to a spy's nest, where the wall was covered with some of these photos. You were flagged from the beginning, because you and this man seem to keep appearing in photos together, almost as if you were meeting, but now we find that the other side is also keeping tabs on you and thinking you are one of our agents or something. In fact, it looks as if you're on their hit list. Perhaps they have information we don't. Information like whether you are working for another government to help destabilise both our countries? It must have something to do with this man. Would you happen to have any reason?"

I couldn't reply. I could only look at the photos in speechless horror and wipe my eyes. A double agent or another country's spy. They thought I was some sort of double agent.

I was dead. I was so dead.

Why was it so hard to breathe? The air in the office felt so stuffy.

"Is it possible," said Mr Cooper, still in a hard voice, "that you have not been completely honest so far or have been hiding something from us?"

I nodded without realising and swallowed hard.

"Jean," said Mr Raring's cool dry voice. My eyes were drawn to his. "Explain why you sorted the photos in this way. Tell me. What is this group?"

"Have a sip of water."

A cup was placed in front of me and I wiped the sweat trickling down my temples and into my eyes. Taking a sip, I closed my eyes for a moment. A deep breath. Count to ten.

Be brave, Jean. Be brave.

Damned if I did. Damned if I didn't. Either way, it was up to my luck now, to see which way the chips would fall and highly likely that they still wouldn't believe me, whatever I said. Those photos were enough to send me to prison given the current war time measures. If I hadn't known me, I'd have thought I was a spy working for the other side. Perhaps they'd be able to protect me from the Bosky soldier when he found out. We would soon find out.

Wiping my hands on my skirt, I took one more deep breath. Then I locked eyes with the vulture called Mr Raring.

"Ask me," I said in a firm voice.

He switched places with the weaselly Mr Cooper. He asked me questions. I answered. I held nothing back and hid nothing from him.

Once they had me talking freely, they switched places again and Mr Cooper continued asking the questions. I explained how the Bosky soldier had threatened me - the reason for my earlier omissions in my story. I explained every one of the staged photos. I told them everything I knew about everyone visible in every single photo. They seemed taken aback at my detailed memory.

Mr Cooper had me describe what the Bosky was wearing at different times, what his facial features looked like from up close and what his voice sounded like. I repeated what the Bosky soldier had said to me, as close to verbatim as I could remember. I told them any distinguishing features or mannerisms that I could remember and admitted that I had no idea why anyone might have me on their hit list.

I couldn't tell if they believed me or not. They looked deep into my eyes and I looked back. With earnest, near desperation. I didn't want to be sent to prison. I didn't want to be shot as a traitor.

They asked a lot more questions, going back over my story in detail. I even repeated some stories more than once. They asked about my family, colleagues and all other relationships. They asked some things in such detail that I didn't understand why they would want to know, but hey, I had nothing left to hide from them, so I told them.

"That should be all for now, Jean," Mr Cooper said at last and I sighed with relief, shaking his cool, dry hand with my warm, sticky one. "Thank you for being so forthcoming. You have a good memory for details."

"Glad I can help," I said, glancing out the window and finding that night had fallen. The clock told me it was long past even the second curfew time. I felt drained, thirsty and exhausted after all that. My tummy rumbled, complaining about the lack of dinner. I had no idea whether they would still convict me or whether they would release me. In a way, I didn't really care anymore. I was just glad to have gotten everything off my chest. "I've missed curfew."

"I'll inform them," Mr Raring said. He paused in his packing up of the laptop to make the phone call. His dry voice and posture triggered the memory I had been seeking for since I first entered the interview room.

"Now I remember," I said without thinking when a lightbulb flashed in my memory.

"Remember what?" Mr Cooper asked with curiosity, pausing in where he had been continuing to pack up the laptop instead of Mr Raring. Mr Raring had his back to me while he was on the phone.

"Where I've seen you both before," I replied.

Mr Raring turned around with a raised eyebrow.

"You have?" Mr Cooper had an amused smile and glanced at Mr Raring as if to say it couldn't possibly be true. Mr Raring's face was inscrutable. "Where?"

"In the Compound a few days ago. I ran past you outside an apartment block. Block G, if I remember correctly. It was just past five-thirty, I think. There was a limp red balloon bobbing at a lamppost where somebody must have tied it a few days earlier. A couple ran out the back of the same apartment. The woman had rather memorable hair with bleached and pink tinged tips and had a sprained ankle. The man reminded me of a flat bean pod of sorts."

The agents exchanged looks. After a moment's silent communication, they sat back down, taking the laptop back out again. They gestured for me to retake my seat.

"Actually," Mr Raring said into his mobile phone, "something's come up. We're going to be back much later. We'll let you know when we're bringing her back."

"Tell us," Mr Cooper said, with an intense look in his eyes, pulling out a notebook and pen. "Tell us everything you can remember."

I told them about my race with Katja and then how I had inadvertently followed the strange couple through the length of that shortcut, overtaking and jumping the wall just ahead of them. Mr Cooper asked more questions than I knew could be asked about such a short length of time and discovered things I had remembered that I hadn't known I had, such as the whiff of smoke and ashes that had trailed behind them. By the time the agents were done, they seemed very satisfied. Excited almost.

"Thank you, Jean," Mr Cooper said, sounding very pleased with himself. Mr Raring looked like a smug vulture. "You've been very helpful today. Don't worry too much about the Bosky soldier and whoever else seems to be following you. We'll organise for someone to keep an eye out for you and to keep you safe. Just continue your usual routine tomorrow, as if nothing has happened."

Yawning, I nodded. I wanted my bed, lumpy mattress or not. My brain had been so picked at, it felt like a ball of cotton fluff. It seemed like I'd convinced them. Like they believed I wasn't a spy. Maybe I'd be leaving the Compound soon. I hoped.