We needed toilet paper. I wanted beer. There was no reason to think that running to the store was going to be a problem, so I did it, because that’s what normal civilian people do. People who aren’t constantly looking over their shoulders for terrorists.

I can tell that Mary is enjoying the semblance of normality. Sometimes we exchange little smiles, shared and unspoken thoughts as to how strange and how good it is to pretend that the world is a safe place.

But we are pretending. And I’m reminded of that the second I pull back up to the house. Something is wrong. All the blinds are shut, and that’s just weird because Tom loves having the sun shining in. There are also several near new vehicles I don’t recognize whatsoever parked in the vicinity. This, in a neighborhood where you can be fined for leaving your vehicle in the driveway. Whoever has been parking isn’t familiar with our ways and customs, and prefers rental vehicles.

I leave the beer and TP in the car and draw my gun before I go into the house, but the moment I walk through the door, I realize how useless it is. Tom is sitting on the couch, a black eye coming up on the right side of his face. Mary is cable tied to a chair and gagged.

The sight makes me want to murder every single one of the assholes who are standing in my brother’s house, but I restrain the impulse for the moment. Something is happening here. Something I need to understand.

The leader of the intruders is a youngish, pale faced man with ultra blonde hair and blue eyes. When he speaks, he has a noticeable German accent.

“We haff been expecting you, Ares.”

“Yeah?”

I grit my teeth and I wait for the explanation which seems to be forthcoming.

“I am Herr Schnitzenwiess,” he says, speaking with clipped, efficient formality. “We are doing you the courtesy of letting you know that we are removing a spy from your midst. You have a reputation as a man well versed in the art of extractions, so it is best you know this now, before it happens. We would not like to kill a brave man such as yourself unnecessarily if you were to be foolish enough to come after us.”

What the fuck is going on?

“A spy?”

He gestures toward Mary. “This woman’s name is not Mary Brown. It is Ekaterina Akova. She is a Russian spy. We previously caught her attempting to infiltrate our facility in Chile, and took her prisoner. You released her, and in doing so, released something very dangerous into the world.”

Mary is not a spy. She is the least spy-like person I know. Spies are subtle and calm and calculating. Like this asshole in front of me.

“I thought she was a journalist.”

“She vas not a journalist,” he says, occasionally slipping into the German V for W sound. “She was a spy. Raised a spy.”

I smirk and shake my head. “That girl is many things. But I can tell you now, she’s not a spy. She has the subtlety of a bulldozer and the stealth of a fireworks display.”

“Ve did not say she was a very good spy,” he says flatly.

This is ridiculous. Mary is not a spy. But if Mary isn’t a spy, then why the fuck are there foreign security agents standing in my brother’s house? And if I don’t believe them, then why aren’t I calling the cops?

I look at her. They’ve gagged her, but I can see something hunted and haunting in her eyes. Something that speaks volumes. Sometimes, when you hear the truth, it seems like something you should have recognized all along. Maybe even something you did know, but tried to ignore.

A tear is slipping down her cheek. That tear tells me more than any of the words this little shit is spewing at me.

“We are taking her. Do not try to find her again. That would be a severe mistake on your part.”

“You can’t have her,” I say, firmly. The odds aren’t great. There are two of them to every one of us and she’s tied up and only I’m armed but I will die before I let the same people who tortured her for months take her again, no matter what she is or isn’t.

“You want to keep her? For what? You want to keep her like a kitten in your garden? She is a tigress, and she should be locked up for the greater good. We had her contained, until you were contacted by an intermediary for the KGB and sent in to play Rambo.”

“You were experimenting on people there.”

“Zat is not the point,” he says. “You think your own government doesn’t have testing facilities? You think they do not need to know precisely how new nerve agents, toxins, biological actors affect the human system? You think they do not carry out any testing at all? Or perhaps you think all that stalled back in the 60’s and since then they have only been vorking out how to distill the essences of rainbows?”

I do not need his sarcasm

“I’m pretty fucking sure we don’t have hospitals full of people held against their will being used as test subjects,” I growl.

“You not know, because you are not paid to know,” he says. “You are paid to be Rambo and you are a very good Rambo, but you are no spymaster, and she is no little girl.”

Tom lets out a low growl.

“Oh yes, ve heard how you spoke to her. Very sweet. Like baby talking a grenade,” he smirks. “You had your fun, gentlemen. You had your use of her. We will finish with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She is far too dangerous to live. She will be deconstructed and disposed of.”

“You mean you’re going to torture and kill her. I can’t allow that.”

“You have no choice,” he snaps, voice cold, his eyes almost reptilian in their inhuman disconnection. “We have evidence of you acting in accord with Russian agents. We have evidence of you taking one along on your duties, and then sending her home to infiltrate the homeland from your brother’s house. If I were to so much as breathe a word of this to your command, you would not just be discharged. You would spend the rest of your existence in a military prison. Your brother would likely be charged with treason too. You would both serve life sentences. And in aid of what? A spy who lied to you every moment of every day you knew her?” He gives a derisive snort. “We own you. You will do as you are told.”

The rage I feel is unspeakable. These men need to know they can’t do this. I suspect they already do. This attempt to talk to me, get me to let them take her, it’s an effort to avoid the bloodbath they know will follow if I’m not on board with it. Smart on their part, but it’s not going to work.

“I won’t let you kill her. If you kill her, I promise you I will destroy everything you stand for, and I will not be taken alive. I will go down fighting in her name. I’m not afraid to die, nor is Tom. So give us our girl, and get the fuck out of my brother’s house.”

“Men are always so villing to die for vomen,” he sighs. “You are a pitiful cliche.”

“I’m a pitiful cliche with enough ammunition to shred you until there’s nothing left,” I say, my voice like cold steel. “And I know you don’t represent any current government. You don’t represent anything. The only reason I’m going to let you walk out of here today is because Tom just got his carpets cleaned.”

It’s not a joke. Killing them would make a mess. Turn this place into a crime scene. Expose us all. These people do not represent the German government. They’re a splinter group from a time gone by. They’re the incarnation of an evil that will not die. I have killed many men like these. I will kill many more. But not today. Today is about keeping Mary and Tom safe, not shedding their worthless blood.

“So brutal,” he laughs. “You want to be responsible for a Russian agent, Ares? Very well. You take responsibility for her. You continue your treasonous activities, which can only end in chaos and death. You will remain at my disposal if you do not wish to be reported. I will refrain from that for the moment. Give you a chance to cool down and think more clearly. She will only bring you pain.”

With that, they leave, just file out of the house, leaving Mary bound on the chair. Tom and I rush for her. I cut the ties off her, pull the gag out of her mouth, and pull her into a hug.

She’s crying her eyes out as I hold her.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“Easy,” Tom says. “Take a breath. You’re safe.”

“I’m not safe. None of us are. I told you that you shouldn’t let me stay here.”

The tears course down her cheeks. She looks utterly miserable and defeated.

“So it’s true, what they said,” I say, flatly, pulling back a little. Shit. Fuck. Goddamn. Part of me wishes she’d just denied it.

“It’s true enough,” she cries as Tom sits on the floor and pulls her into his arms, practically cradling her like a baby. This isn’t the typical way to hold an interrogation, but it’s an interrogation nonetheless. I need to know what the truth is, and I need it now. No more lies.

“Mary, enough,” I growl. “We don’t have time for hysterics. Calm down and talk to me.”

“Easy,” Tom says, raising a brow.

“They were right. She’s not a little girl, she’s…”

“I don’t care what she is, she’s my little girl,” Tom rumbles back at me. “And we have a minute for her to calm down in.”

I get up and start pacing. Time really is of the essence. If everything that agent just told me was true, then we are capital F fucked.

Tom is doing a decent job of calming her down. A better job than I would. I only know one way to deal with spies. My training is telling me to tie her back in a chair and not stop questioning her until I’m sure she’s stopped lying, but I don’t want to treat Mary that way, and thankfully Tom wouldn’t let me anyway. She’s lucky she has both of us, because I’m at war with myself right now.

“Is it true? You’re a spy?” I repeat the question when she’s composed enough to talk. “Shall we call you Ekaterina now?”

“No,” she says through her tears. “I’m Mary to you. I want to be Mary to me too.”

Right now, I don’t care what her damn name is. I want to know what’s going on.

“I was raised here. My parents were Russian,” she admits, her words spilling out in a fast tumbling confession. “They raised me as a sort of sleeper agent. I didn’t want to be, but you don’t really get a choice.”

So she is a spy. And has been one her entire life. I have been fucking a goddamn Russian spy.

“And Chile?”

“They wanted me to infiltrate that hospital posing as a college kid on holiday, but I guess the Germans had a better idea of who I was than the US did. Because I got caught. So yeah, technically I’m a spy and a traitor and everything else they called me. But you’re right. I’m not a very good one.”

I take a sharp breath. This is just as bad as I thought. “Not being a very good spy isn’t a defense against treason.”

She wipes her eyes and I see her old composure return as she pulls away from Tom and stands up on her own two feet. She lifts her chin, bravely and tells me exactly what I don’t want to hear.

“I know. I’m sorry. You should turn me in. Let me go to jail here. It’s better than what the Germans or Russians would do to me. And you might get to keep some of your career, or at least not end up in prison too.”

She deserves to go to jail. Everything I fight for, everything I uphold is completely turned upside down simply by her existence. I love her more than anything, but the right thing to do is to turn her ass in, just like she says.

“It was really nice,” she says, tears filling her eyes. “It was nice being loved. It was nice feeling like I had a life, even just for a few weeks. Thank you. I won’t forget it.”

Is this a manipulation? Is it another lie? I want to believe her, but she’s never told me a damn thing I needed to know and she’s only telling me this now because her hand was forced. How many other secrets has she been keeping from me?

“You’re not going to jail,” Tom says.

I can’t agree. She might be going to prison for a very long time. I can’t really see a way out of it. It wasn’t just the Chile mission. She also got an embed position in Afghanistan. How much information was she funneling to the Russians then? And did she attack that guy in the village just to get out? How much of what she’s done is deliberate, and how much is just a scared girl trying to survive? I don’t know, and that bothers me.

“I am,” she says. “Because I have to.”

“Why?”

She looks from him to me. “Because you won’t ever know how sorry I really am until you see that I’m prepared to take the consequences of my actions. Report me, Ken. Take me in and turn me over. You know you have to.”

“Stay here,” I grind out. I need space to think and I have work to do. “And I do really mean stay fucking here. If I find you’ve put so much as a finger outside, you’ll be in a black site before you know it.”

“Jesus, Ken,” Tom swears, getting to his feet. “Go easy on her.”

I can’t go easy on her. I don’t have that luxury. “You go easy on her,” I say. “And enjoy it. Be glad one of us can.”