MARY
I talk for what feels like forever. I tell the lady about what happened in Chile. And then I tell her what happened before Chile. How people would come to see me at college and give me little tasks to do that seemed so innocuous. I tell her about what happened after Ken saved me, how I fucked everything up and then suddenly I had papers for Afghanistan. Didn’t matter that I knew I wasn’t really a journalist. By that time I was just glad to have something to do. Didn’t matter if I died. A lot of what I’ve told Ken over the weeks is true. But I’ve omitted other things. Things that happened to me, things I did. I sold drugs. I took drugs. I have been captured twice by dealers since he rescued me and managed to escape both times.
The woman listens. Sometimes she asks questions. I answer as best I can. But then, in the end, I run out of words. And as the silence falls, I know my judgement is imminent. Any moment now, I will feel the cold steel of cuffs on my hands, and I will be taken to the kind of cell you never leave.
She steeples her hands. “Mary,” she says. “You have shown a remarkable lack of judgement over the years, only made up for by sheer tenacity and what one might call dumb luck. Your association with your Russian handlers has made you a traitor by all reasonable definitions, and yet your loyalty to them can hardly be verified as you seem to have made no contact whatsoever after obtaining passage to Afghanistan. In short, you are a spy who has never actually spied to any successful extent.”
That sounds about right. I’ve been used in a hundred ways, but I’ve managed to avoid being useful in any of them. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help me much now. I’m still a criminal, a liar and a traitor.
“I’ve spoken extensively with Ares,” she continues. “He has provided his impressions and assessment of you, which of course, has to be tempered with the personal component of your relationship. He may not be the most objective source, but I note he did expel you from Afghanistan when he thought necessary, and he did bring you to us immediately upon discovering your identity, so I do still trust his judgement where you are concerned.”
It’s probably easy for him to judge me. He must hate me so much now. He’s not like Tom. He’s not sentimental. I’m pretty sure once you cross Ken, that’s the end of it. He’s done with me, I’m sure.
“I’ve made my decision, Miss Brown.”
Oh shit. Here it comes. The cuffs and the cell.
“From this moment onwards, you are property of the United States of America. You are an asset. You do not have the rights or protections of a citizen. You can and likely will be called on to do dangerous work, which we will expect you to be competent in.”
Shit. I’ve heard this talk before. This is the talk they give you when they tell you they can kill you at any moment. At this point, I almost wish they would. I have screwed my life up a thousand time over. Some things can’t be un-fucked. This is one of them.
“I’m really not a very good spy though…”
“You will be. Ares has been reassigned. He will be your handler. He will make sure you carry out missions assigned to you with competency. You will answer to him in every way. Do you understand?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My punishment is going to be… belonging to Ken?
“He wants me?”
“Consider yourself very, very lucky, young lady,” she says. “He requested this course of action. I was disinclined to grant it, but all things considered, I am willing to give you a chance. You must realize that there will not be others.”
Gratitude overwhelms me. I can’t believe that I am really being give another chance. Ken must have called in a lifetime of favors to swing this one. “Oh my god, thank you! Thank you so much!”
She smiles tightly, and it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t thank me just yet, Miss Brown. You now fall under a very strict hierarchy, and I can promise you here and now that you will not find the leniency, nor the leeway you experienced under your previous handlers.”
“Well they didn’t really…”
“Precisely,” she says, her lips thinning. She lifts her voice a little. “Ares, you may come collect your material.”
Material. I’m just stuff to this woman. Like a bag of old socks, but I don’t care because I’m free - well, sort of, and I’m Ken’s.
I smile as he comes into the room. He doesn’t smile back. He looks at me with an expression which sends a chill right through to the very core of me. Has he stopped loving me? No. I don’t believe that. He wouldn’t have asked to keep me if he hated me. This is his professional facade. The mask he needs to wear. It’s a frightening one to be sure.
“Come with me,” he says, beckoning me. I get up and do as I’m told. From here on out, this is my life. I literally owe him my obedience. There’s no question in my mind about doing what he says. He saved me. He saved me from those who were trying to hurt me, and in the end, he’s saved me from the destiny that was picked out for me before I was even conceived. There will be no more lies between us. I swear that to myself. I’ll never lie to him again.
* * *
Ken and I leave the room together. I never thought I’d see him again, and now I’m right by his side. I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.
“Thank you so much, Ken.”
“Sir.”
“What?”
“Call me sir.”
Oh shit. So that is how this is going to be.
“We’re not going back to Tom’s house, I guess.”
“No,” he says, turning to look down at me. “This is a secure facility where you will start your training with me. This is going to be your home for the next year at least.”
He seems so different now. Colder. Sterner. Harsher.
“But what about Tom?”
“I’ll tell Tom where you are.”
“Can I see him?”
“When you’ve earned it.”
“What about him? What about what he wants?”
“No more questions,” he snaps in final tones. That voice he’s using is one he’s only used on me a handful of times. It’s the voice of command. The one that tells me what I want doesn’t matter and I need to do as I’m damn well told.
I have Ken, but I don’t have the Ken I used to have. I used to have a lover. Now I have a handler.