AN: I am sorry for any mistakes in this chapter as I am slightly inebriated right now. BUT as a great writer once said: "Write drunk, edit sober." – I don't want to wait 'til I'm sober to edit so you'll all have to deal ;) PEACE OUT. xoxo

My wrists are so sore after being handcuffed for hours that day. I slowly stretched my arms out from behind me and my shoulders cracked more than what was probably considered normal. I stood up to try and stretch out properly but the second my ass left the chair Smith shot up from his seat and glared me down and studied every tiny detail of my movement. Jesus, I know I can be a handful but that was a bit of an overreaction.

"Smith, chill. I've been in that chair all day, I'm just stretching," I told him in a hopeful attempt to get him to stop staring at me like I was a murderer. (Well… I did murder a few people a while back but that's not the point. Nor is it a story for today.)

"Forgive me, Miss Mitchell, but the last time we let you get out of your chair, you did try to escape the room and assaulted an agent." He let out a small chuckle before continuing, "I don't know why you bothered. You know this place, you know that you couldn't get out of this floor, let alone the building, alive."

I just shrugged my shoulders.

"Meh, maybe I just like to keep you all on your toes. It's amusing watching you all panic. Mostly because I used to be exactly like you and I guess now it's funny to watch it from the other side. How life changes, eh?"

How life changes indeed. My existence has been a less than normal one from start to present day and I don't expect it to get any less strange as I get older. Well, if I get older. I started life in a broken home with an alcoholic mother and a dad who was never to be found. I grew up looking out for myself and never socialised until high school when my dad shows up again. I go from mature for my age to absolute teenage rebel without a cause in a matter of months. College helped me calm down a little but I still loved to push the buttons.

My favourite person to annoy was Aubrey Posen. She was the captain of the Bellas; that a cappella group Chloe's boobs got me to join. She hated my guts and I played on it so much.

"Plus, that dude was a dick. He punched me for singing to him! I'll have you know I helped win the national trophy for colligate a cappella. My singing is beautiful, not punch worthy at all." I added. My cockiness only grew since I 'left' the CIA. I spent four years with a stick up my ass taking life seriously. Ugh, it was the worst. I've come to the conclusion that life's too short.

"We know, Miss Mitchell. You forget we know everything about you."

"You might want to delete everything about me from your computers if you have a mole."

"Who said anything about a mole?" He asked in a confused tone.

"I did. You said this guy Harris has lists. How has he obtained them? It's not exactly something you can find on Google. He either is amazing at computers or you have a mole. I bet you right down to my last dollar, it's a mole. Either way, you need to destroy your files on me, even if I'm listed as inactive or enemy of the state or whatever."

"All of your money is on the mole?" He said, suddenly intrigued with what I had said. Surely they thought of this possibility before, right?

"Every last cent. I'd even bet your state secrets." Truth rang through my words. I am many things. I am a murderer. I am a thief. I am a lowlife piece of shit. However, I am not a liar. Smith knows this. In all the interviews I have had, all the interrogations, all of the missions I did with him back in the day, I never lied. There's a way to get out of telling the truth without lying. I had become the master of deflection and distraction in my time here. A skill I've taken everywhere I've been.

Despite our current situation, Smith and I used to be inseparable. We were partners before I decided to become a criminal for a living.

You know I made more money in half an hour doing it illegally than I have ever earned in my entire life. Fuck working for another 50 years for the equivalent of a tenth of what I stole from the government.

I didn't just steal money. Oh no, I wouldn't be potentially facing death over money. I stole something much more valuable. I stole Information. Information the US would not want to get around. Funnily enough, I wasn't even looking for it. Once I had the money and secured it so they wouldn't find it, I decided whilst I was on the system and they hadn't caught on what I was doing, I would have a poke around some files and leave a trail to freak them out. It wasn't my intention to come across what I did. I knew there was something dodgy about the whole situation but I never expected to see blatant evidence of it. I found a lot of files to do with the war in the Middle East. One of them was a full report on bombings. There was some explaining the reasoning's for invading and a complete run down of the 9/11 attacks. Let's just say, it's not looking good for Bush, especially since I have those files also now. I never planned on doing anything with it but they don't know that. Smith knows that but they're not exactly going to take our words for it.

I thought a little more about the offer that had been made to me. No way in hell I was getting out of this alive. I pride myself on being knowledgeable. It's helped me this far but for once in my life, I know too much. I've always been smart. However, the second I opened those files, I became a moron. Who in their right mind steals state secrets and gets away with it? Let alone a pardon just for helping bring down a counterfeiter in return? No one.

I realised I'd been a moron twice now, not counting the time I got drunk in a bar in Thailand and mistook a lady-boy for Cher. I'd agreed to help them just at the mention of Chloe's name. I didn't think this through at all. I'm not getting out of this without a fight. The CIA is going to sell me out to the feds the second I complete their work.

I let out a sigh and sat back down in the chair and Smith looked me up and down quizzically. It looked like he had a lot to say but didn't know how. I chose to not say anything else. I needed to make a plan because I'm up shit creek with chopsticks for paddles right now.

The only thing keeping me alive at the moment is this mission and ironically, Chloe, the stupid ginger. Why did she have to get caught up in this business? She doesn't need me coming along to fuck shit up with her husband. They obviously have the nicest life money can buy at the moment, I'm sure Harris can provide her with all of the finer things what with all his fake money and probably secret business. There's no way she'd stay with him if she knew what was going on, she's too much of a goody-two-shoes for that.

"What can you tell me about the Harris' then?" I spoke up eventually after what seemed like an eternity. If I was going to escape this, I needed more information.

"Their names are Thomas and Chloe Harris. They got married in December 2008, 6 months after they both graduated college. Their daughter, Nala, was born in August 2009; she's now 6 years old, 7 in a few weeks. They live in Atlanta still, they never moved after they got married despite Thomas' occupation. The couple has rarely ever seen together in the year we have been collecting information. Chloe is an insurance broker and you know what Harris does. Their daughter attends Crawford elementary, a private school as I'm sure Mr Harris is like you and he's not short of money and can afford it." He turned the page on the huge file they have on the family and continued.

"Moving onto the interesting stuff. Mr Harris began a small engineering business in 2010 after losing his job. He hired a small team of men to help it build it and the illegal work came about 8 months after the business' establishment when he hit a lot of financial trouble. They started with drugs but soon that progressed and the more money came in, the more powerful he became. He supposedly stopped dealing directly with the drug side of the business and left that to a close friend, Joe Molano, to run. We know next to nothing about the counterfeiting other than it came shortly after the drug handover. He's been using the money to invest in the stock market where he makes even more money and to fund his lavish lifestyle. We have reason to believe he has secret bank accounts all over the place in several countries but no solid evidence. He's clever but not that clever. Someone else is pulling the strings somewhere, I just know it."

I sat back and let it all sink in. Chloe had a kid? Well shit. What a deal breaker. Anyway, I let my mind run back to how I was going to evade this deal with Smith. I still needed a plan of attack. This guy didn't seem to know what he was doing but at least he had the sense to hire someone to do the thinking for him. I let my mind drift once more and all of a sudden, I had a plan. No idea how I was going to pull it off, but a plan at least.

"When do we start?" I asked.

Smith looked up from his file. "We can start you in 2 days. You need a day to go through orientation and to be fully briefed on what's expected of you." He closed the case file and pushed it across the desk to me. "Read through it before tomorrow and we'll get you on the next flight to Georgia once you're prepped."

He stood up out of his chair and extended his hand to me. I shook his hand and he nodded before opening the door for us both.

"It's good to have you back on our side, Beca."

"Now, Jerry, don't you go getting all soppy on me. Can't have your rep ruined, can we?"

He chuckled lightly and led me through the labyrinth of corridors until we reached the room I'd been staying in and we parted ways without any further words ushered between us. I entered the room and threw myself onto the bed. I opened the file and began to read through it carefully as I pieced together the finer points of my plot to get out of this situation with my life.