"You are under arrest."
Great. I hate that little sentence. And I've heard it way too often for my tastes. I wonder if NCIS knows how many times they've actually arrested me.
Don't get me wrong; it's not as though I get in trouble a lot for stuff I shouldn't do. I end up getting in trouble for stuff that I should do. Or, technically, most of my activities are against the law, but it doesn't really bother me. I work undercover. I get arrested a lot.
By this time a brown-haired male agent has me handcuffed and in the back of the NCIS truck. Lovely. Nothing I like more than a nice little vacation in the back of a big white truck that is typically used to transport corpses.
The CIA isn't supposed to operate within our own country's borders. Not technically, anyway. But we do, occasionally. Unfortunately, my boss can't admit that he sent me to do whatever illegal activity I am arrested for. So, I get to find my own way out of jail. It's actually quite entertaining.
Each time I am arrested, I try to act like a completely different person so that they don't realize that I am a regular 'guest' to their interrogation facilities. It's not easy, of course. My fingerprints aren't registered, but each time I have to hack into the system to delete the fingerprints that they've added that day. DNA, too. And then there's personality. That bit is fun.
Okay, I'll admit that my idea of 'fun' is a bit different than most people's…
Last time I wore purple hair extensions and refused to speak. Literally. Fell asleep on the ride over, didn't ask for a lawyer, and wouldn't say my name, shuffled sullenly as I walked, just watched them with my arms crossed. It was great. Coffee-man, an elderly grey-haired man who appears to be the team's leader, was particularly annoyed. He ended up throwing a chair across the room. When it knocked a huge dent in the wall, he was even less happy. It was shortly after that that the same man who handcuffed me today entered. He wouldn't shut up. Talked about movies until I would have liked to break or quite possibly even remove a couple of his limbs.
Or the time that I wore a pink sweater and matching miniskirt. I wouldn't stop demanding a lawyer, and even when they provided one I wouldn't shut up. Repeating over and over again that I was minding my own business and who did they think they were to keep me here? The bespectacled, slightly pudgy man interrogating me appeared terrified. I recognized him as a really famous author. Gemcity, or some other made-up name. Then they sent in a woman, long dark hair and a foreign accent, looked like a ninja. When she threatened me, I started to scream and wouldn't stop. They let me go soon after that.
But I'm almost to the Navy Yard by now. What to do this time? Should I go for the 'spaz' approach? Works every time. Or perhaps the more believable 'sarcasm in the extreme' approach?
Ah, we have arrived. Ninja is here to escort me to interrogation. I make my eyes go wide. "Hi," I say really fast. I've decided on the 'dangerously unhinged' personality.
She looks at me as though I may pounce. "Hello."
"Where'rewegoing?" I am still speaking as quickly as I can.
"I cannot understand you," she says hesitantly.
"Oh." I try to sound extremely disappointed, "CanIhavesomenachos, please?"
"What?" she snaps.
"Nach-os," I say loudly and slowly, in that stereotypical American-speak-loudly-in-English-and-foreigner-understand voice.
She glares at me and opens the door to the second interrogation room. I waltz inside.
Now they will make me wait. It is a critical part of the interrogation process. If I were guilty, I might appear nervous, convinced that they knew that I was guilty, and, if I were weak-minded, I would probably jump all over them the moment that they appeared, spilling out my life's story. Well, ha, I'm not. So let them watch me.
I tilt my chair back on two legs and put my feet up on the table. I start playing with my fingernails. I tap out different rhythms on the table. I pull a Chewy bar from my purse and make it last for ten minutes. I can almost feel their eyes boring into me from behind the two-way glass. Hi. I tap on the table in Morse code. How are you all doing back there?
TV dude comes a few moments later. So they did understand me then. Ha ha. I love messing with people's minds.
"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," he introduces himself.
I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes.
"What's your name?" he prompts me.
"Carrie."
"Carrie...?" he fishes for my last name. I nod and smile brightly.
He finally gives up that line of questioning. "Well now Carrie, a suspect matching your general description was spotted fleeing a naval officer's home in which a robbery took place about a week ago. And now today we got a call from a neighbor who said that you appeared to be observing their house for hours. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Idiots. If I were to actually break into a house, I wouldn't be nearly so obvious about it. "I wasn't doing anything like that," I say calmly, "I was driving into town and my boss called me on my cell. I pulled over. I'm a very responsible driver sir." I smile earnestly.
He smirks, "And that took up 'hours'?"
"No, he wanted some paperwork turned in by three," I look dramatically at my watch, "and it is certainly overdue by now. I thought that I might have an excuse if I blamed it on car troubles."
"And your resemblance to the robber?"
I shake my head sadly, "There are six billion people in this world. Go figure."
He stares at me steadily. I smile blandly. My arguments are weak, but he is running out of angles to take this interrogation and we both know that.
See, this is why I hate interrogating someone. I've had to before as just a routine part of the job. However, given the choice, I prefer to interrogate someone in a quiet little out-of-the-way place. There are a great many perks to doing so: 1. There's not as much fuss about the Geneva Convention, 2. It's so much faster, and 3. You don't have to clean up afterward or worry about little niceties like 'warrants' and 'police brutality. After all, 'torture' is such an ugly word. I like the term 'persuasion' so much better.
"How do you know Morse code?" he asks.
"I was bored one day."
He abruptly stands up and leaves the room. Yay me. I win.
Or, unfortunately not. Ninja and coffee-man have just entered the room. She doesn't look very happy.
Time for part dos of my little game. I chew furiously on my fingernails. Biting my thumbnail down below the quick makes my eyes water. I play up on this, letting my eyes fill with tears.
"It wasn't me!" I blubber hysterically. "I didn't steal anything! I promise!"
I reach across the table to clutch at their hands. They pull back in disgust. I bring my knees up in front of me and press my forehead to them, rocking back and forth and sobbing.
They aren't doing anything, just watching me. I'm running out of fake tears. I redouble my sniveling, shaking so hard that I fall off the chair. On the floor I curl up into a ball and bury my face in my hands.
I can hear the door to my right bang open. I don't look up.
"Jessica Whitman, get up right now by order of the director of the CIA."
Surprise. Well, that puts a damper on things. If they knew this the whole time and just let me make a fool of myself, I'm going to be furious. My head snaps up.
A red-haired woman is looking down at me, with TV standing behind her. "Can I help you ma'am?" I ask politely, as though there aren't tears streaked down my face and I haven't been harassing her agents.
She seems amused. "Yes. You can get off the floor." I comply while she studies me closely. "You didn't rob that house, did you?" It isn't specifically a question.
I answer anyway, "No."
"Your recent activities are probably far more illegal, right?" Again, not really a question.
"You say 'illegal,' I say 'don't get caught.' Tomato, toh-mah-toe."
She lets that pass unchallenged. "Your boss has agreed to let NCIS 'borrow' you for the rest of the day. We have a case that we think you may be able to help us with. It's really the least you can do for our silence," she finishes quietly.
I nod abruptly.
"Good. Agent Gibbs, Officer David, meet your newest lead in the Menden case." She waves her hand over in my general direction.
This should be interesting.