To my left, diagonal from my shoulder about six steps up. Just within my periphery without having to put in any effort to glance further to the side, was my target. He stood on the capitol steps, watching over the square below for any signs of suspicious activity. So basically, he was looking for anyone like me who might bring up a ruckus in the area or endanger the capitol's precious classified information. But I knew how to conceal my motives and I knew how to spot a cop while he was dressed in civilian clothes. Apparently, he didn't know how to do the same because I remained undetected, not even the slightest notion of being noticed.
The plainclothe shifted, scratching his ear and yawning. He was more suspicious than me, standing alert and unmoving. Shoulders too square and back too straight to be anything below formal and attentive. Military trained. I noticed that his boots needed blacking and the third button from the top of his peacoat was of a slightly lighter shade of brown, most likely a replacement. Or, if he was more than a cop and our files were incomplete, which was a rarity, then it was a false button, hollowed out and containing microfilms. I wouldn't ever know, however, because this was a public area and it wasn't my job to search the body... this time. There wasn't anything interesting about him, standard american shorthaired, grey and apricot coat. He had abnormally long whiskers on his forehead and seemed to favor his left leg. From what I had read, he was an old war vet, somehow having survived the battle of the bulge after being dropped into the flooded farmlands of northern France. one of the lucky ones that were far enough away to avoid anything war related beyond the harsh winters and lack of actually good supplies. I wondered if he would be able to smell the gunmetal in my palm, having familiarized himself with it back in '45.
I adjusted my leather gloves, thanking the chilly weather for giving reason for me to wear them. Otherwise, I would be burning up and thick leather work gloves in warm weather are extremely noticeable. Keys, coins, and a wallet rattled in my coat pocket as I ascended the steps, keeping the cop on my ten o'clock and within sight.
Left glove ready, I passed the cop, bumping him with my shoulder and pressing the nose of my concealed pistol, tucked within the palm of my leather glove, to his side. Hidden by my purposeful accident, the pressure of my pistol to his ribcage caused the single shot to fire. Once again, I thanked the chilly weather as the noise of the shot was muffled by his layers of wool and cotton.
Mumbling a "sorry," to please the few civilians that might have witnessed what looked like a simple shoulder bump, I continued to ascend, hearing the satisfying thump as his body fell to its knees and rolled down a few steps.
Slipping into a shadowed archway, I disposed of my gloves in a nearby trash bin and made my way inside. I glanced at the Brumidi at the top of the dome and smirked. Americans and their neoclassical obsessions always confounded me, wanting to be like Rome, wanting to be a superpower that expands and colonizes all in the name of their own personal "greater good." Capitalists. I was a revisionist by nature so the fairy tale of Germany never declaring war on the United States seemed like the better outcome of the war. They would have retained their neutrality and the USSR would fill that power vacuum to the brim. Maybe I would own a nice flat in Kursk and be paid more than slightly below the measly minimum wage. Or maybe i would never have gotten involved in government work and would have been drafted, now lying under the snow somewhere in the countryside of France. A guy could dream.
It was then I noticed the thin, cold, nuzzle of a gun resting to the back of my neck. With steady hands I raised my arms. Capitol police must catch on fast if I'm already being detained. the small bustle of people that had previously been winding through the arched barrel vaults and carrying all sorts of papers and briefcases had disappeared, leaving the strange hollow echo of my breathing and the reverberation of the pistol's safety being turned off.
"What seems to be the problem officer?" I asked, in my best false accent, keeping my expression and tone neutral. I knew how these Americans worked. Hint at any kind of sarcasm or tonal aggression, intentional or not, and they use that as reason for brutality. if I even look at the berk wrong and he will use it as an example of assaulting an officer and there goes my Kursk flat. I had enough scars and bruises, I didn't need to add to my collection at this moment, so play nice was my best bet.
"You're under arrest for the murder of Officer Rumpus." The officer to my right had a smooth voice, young and with a bit of unsure waver. A newbie, probably never arrested anyone for anything more than littering.
"And do you have proof? I was just making my way to the west wing, I'm meeting a friend for lunch I have her name and everything if you need." I could feel the gun, now warmed by the contact with my neck, shift back and forth ever so minutely, the other cop must be new as well to have such an unsteady hand in an important time that requires absolute stoicism. I tried not to smirk. These two would be easy to finagle. "I promise you boys, go ask the secretary of agriculture for Mrs. Teazer. She's my sister you know, I ain't seen her in a while and this will be our first meet since I moved to London."
"Bailey here saw you bump into George and then he just fell. I'm not sure what you did but he's dead and you're the only correlation we could see as of yet." The amount of hurt seeping through the young officer's voice was hard not to laugh at. Weakness and personal connection where two things that made me not even have a hint of respect for the American force.
"Tell me," The young cop next to me nodded, I could see the uncertainty in his eyes as they walked me through a hall, most likely to their holding pen for further questioning. "Wouldn't it be more logical to assume that he was shot from afar, or maybe, since he's the old type, had some kind of stroke? I think it's unfair to just blame me when I merely bumped into the lad."
"Well… we can't just let you go without a proper body search. And I think it's a might suspicious that you are so calm like."
"I'm calm cuz I'm innocent you berk." I spat. Honestly, the logical jumps these boys were making, although correct, were annoying and tedious.
The one without a gun pointed to my neck opened a small door with a cloudy glass window and the words "security office" almost completely scraped off. The office itself was shabby, unsurprisingly, and seemed to have been forgotten by everyone except the two boys that some fool had hired as guards. I was walked past a paper cluttered desk to a small barred cell with a bench and a sink. Compared to previous haunts and detainments, this was luxury, and the two boys (or at leas the one I had been talking to) seemed partial to conversation so there wasn't any fear of becoming bored.
"I'm gonna call the chief to see what we should do next, can you keep an eye on him Bailey?" Finally being able to see the other half of the duo, I watched the young guard nod his head as he sheathed his gun and took his perch on a stool by the door of the cell. "Oh, and have him empty his pockets too." The other guard said before exiting the room. The one on the stool, Bailey, stood again and walked over to the cell, unlocking it and closing himself in. Careless child.
"Ok I gotta pat you down and empty your coat, if you try anything I have a gun and am pretty strong for my age." He smirked, motioning for me to lift my arms before patting his hands down my sides and digging into my pockets, tossing my belongings into a small plastic tub just outside of the cell.
"You a sleeper or something?" he asked, leaving the cell and picking up the tub to rifle through my belongings. I glared at him but made sure to cover it with false hurt and such an accusation.
"And why would you think that? I'm, as I said, just trying to visit my sister. I promise, she works here. legitimate and everyhtin."
"Well, you got microfilm coins for one and this key here," He picked up my keychain, choosing a bronze one and pressing the side, revealing my secret knife. My stomach flipped into my throat. "You're equipment is a bit outdated. We just got a briefing on all your little spook doodads and stuff last week. I may be young but I know what kinda stuff to look for in a sleeper pocket and I know how to tell the difference between a mint and a hollow coin." he tossed the three nickels in the air and caught them again. I could feel the panic and fury rise within me but I had to hold strong. Even if I did get arrested for being a spy, I was good at holding my story straight and I wasn't flying naked. I had people on the inside to back me up and tons of details and alibis that would ensure my eventual release.
I had developed a nasty habit of pacing when I got nervous. Anything to keep your lips sealed and your head clear I suppose. But In this situation, where I was under watch in a small cell, the urge to pace had to be suppressed. Nothing is more suspicious than a foreigner being found with spy equipment in his pocket and pacing a rut in the cell of the US capitol basement after the assassination of a plainclothes officer.
Bailey, although still visibly nervous, had a smug smirk creeping on the corners of his mouth. Most likely at the thought of a possible promotion for capturing a red spy at such a young age. He placed the plastic tub back onto the desk and returned to his stool by the cell. We sat in silence, my mind racing as to how to handle my predicament and berating myself for being careless. Honestly, I also somewhat blamed my handler. He knew I was an intelligence collector, not a damn assassin so it was inevitable that this would be an imperfect job.
The door to the office opened and the officer from before walked in with an older looking woman. I showed my visible surprise to see a woman in uniform, especially since most jobs provided to them in the states were labor based and it's almost impossible for them to rise in ranks. Wondering what in god's name she could have possible done to prove her legitimacy in this position, she walked over with a glare that stared me down like I was her next prey.
She was old, possibly at the youngest fifty, and carried herself like a hefty and strong Irish Catholic mother. Her coat was the most interesting visual about her, which is saying a lot considering the immense presence this woman had from just walking into a room. It was not only striped like a tabby but contained leopard spots dispersed among the orange fur, giving her a unique and almost exotic physique.
"State your name and business dear." She said in a sweet voice that somehow simultaneously commanded authority.
"Mungojerrie ma'am, I'm here on holiday trying to visit my sister when these two caught me and accused me of murder and spook activity. I promise ma'am I wouldn't even dream of hurting this fine country."
"You're a Londoner?" the question caught me off guard, momentarily forgetting that I was putting on an act.
"Yes ma'am and proud of it."
"My husband always rants and raves about London. He was part of the railroad expansion from Ireland to the main cities before the war. It's lovely in the spring i've heard." She shooed Bailey out of the stool so she could take the seat herself. While the small talk was pleasant, I was almost positive it was meant to butter me up and get me relaxed enough to miss a detail and slip up my information. "Now," Bailey handed her the plastic tub of my belongings to her outstretched paw. "These are some interesting objects Mr. Jerrie. Some of these are very likely to get you sent to some serious trials and prison time. And, although I've only exchanged a few words with you, you're a charming young man and i would hate for you to just… disappear. Your supposed sister wouldn't be too happy about that, would she?"
"Are you trying to strike up some kind of deal miss…"
"Jennyanydots." She gave a small smile and adjusted her uniform hat.
"Miss, Dots. Because, I have nothing to hide and nothing to prove besides my innocence."
"I'm afraid that's impossible dear, because this is incriminating evidence and if you'r backstory and alibi don't explain the microfilm and pair of leather gloves concealing a small pistol I found in a bin in the front lobby, then I guess you're out of luck." the condescending tone her voice took as she spoke and unscrewed one of the nickels, showing the microfilm I had planned on dropping off with Teazer was aggravating. "Now, there isn't much we can do right now, and I certainly don't want to be known as the officer that let a spy get away, but we do have two options." Her eyes lifted and met mine with a steady gaze.
"First, you admit your motives, go to jail, and are subjected to whatever the CIA wants to do with you." She held up a single finger. "You will most likely spend a considerable amount of time locked up and will be interrogated." She lifted another finger and smiled again like a grandmother would her relatives. "The other option is that you spend considerable amounts of money and waste considerable amounts of time on a trial that may not be even granted to you, and you gamble with walking free or more likely being locked away and eventually looping back to option one. It's up to you dear." And with that she stood and left me alone with the two young guards again.
Neither option seemed in my favor and I knew that my odds were stacked against me. Again I cursed my handler for assigning me this stupid task. I supposed that the first was more likely the best bet, since I didn't have the money or any hope of finding a good lawyer and Jenny had been correct in that I wasn't even going to get a trial at this rate. Sitting on the small metal bench that was bolted to the concrete wall, I let my head fall into my hands and finally showed my emotions to the young officers that hadn't stopped staring at me with their big naieve eyes.