A/N: Thanks for the reviews! They make me smile :)

Disclaimer: I am not ally carter. no way. And I do not own the Gallagher girls series.

Once inside CIA headquarters, I was lead to a dark room qith chairs and sofas. A man in a dark suit sat down in front of me. He looked exhausted, but he smiled. "Hello Saniyah, I'm Mr. Fifts." He held out his hand. I didn't shake it. "I wanted to tell you that what you did is very impressive. Not many trained operatives can avoid trails even with the proper amount of back up.

If he was expecting me to say thank you, it wasn't going to happen.

"We just have a few questions for you. If you'll come with me." He lead me to sterile room with a chair and a large screen. "Just take a seat."

Reluctantly I did as told. There was a bald man standing at what I knew to be a polygraph machine. "What's your name?" he asked as if he didn't know.

"Saniyah," I answered. Loud and strong.

"What's your full name?"

"Saniyah Lea Solomon."

"When is your birthday?"

"Planning on buying me a present?" It just slipped out. Mr. Fifts was smiling.

"When is your date of birth?" I knew that everything I said they would try to trace back to my mother. They'd try to find her- maybe kill her. Who knew what they'd do to me. But then I realized they already knew. They had files on every employee. If it wasn't in my father's file, they probably had it from school records.

"March 7, 1991."

"Where were you born?"

"Damascus, Syria."

"Just a few more," encourage Mr. Fifts as if that would automatically make everything better.

"Who is your biological father?" As if he hadn't debriefed him before.

"Joesph Solomon."

"Who is your biological mother?" This was it. The question. This was the question they didn't know the answer to. Mr. Polygraph had taken his eyes off the screen. Mr. Fifts was twirling his mustache. My mind began to race. The letters. They had to have had the letters. They already knew she probably lived in Damascus. If I lied, the polygraph machine would most likely detect it, if it didn't a fake name would put someone else in danger. If I told them the truth, they'd find her.

So I sat there.

Mr. Polygraph repeated the question twice.

I refused to answer.

So they took me to Damascus. For weeks we walked the streets. For weeks we watched surveillance videos. For weeks I would escape trying to distract them. After the first time, they put a chip under my skin. The second time, I dropped it down a river. But I always came back when I noticed the number of agents increase so they wouldn't accidentally spot my mother.

"Whose side are you on?" asked an agent named Ron.

"America's I guess. Equal rights and freedoms, you know?"

"Then why won't you help us?

"Would you ever help someone kill your mom?"

He never asked again.

It was inevitable I suppose. Just a matter of time and resources. I guess I always knew they'd find her. They only have to get lucky once.

It was on surveillance. Every women who had been over eight-teen in 1991 in Damascus found on surveillance was compared to files from hosptial security cameras and records.

Eleven months and twenty-two days since they rang the doorbell. But they found her.

"You were good Saniyah, but there was nothing else you could do," said Agent Ron. "At least you can go home now."

But I couldn't.

My name is Saniyah. In Arabic it means radiant. In America it translates to unwanted. But the CIA won't ever let me go.

A/N: I really really do love reviews.