Chess Rules of Play: Pieces cannot move through other pieces.

Raven sat in the empty room. Her chair was the only piece of furniture. The fluorescent lights buzzed a contented hum. She continued to chew and pop her gum to convey her nonchalant attitude about being essentially placed into an interrogation room. If Trask thought that was going to intimidate her, he was very wrong.

So she kept up her façade of the vapid young woman who didn't really care about more than her nails and her hair. It was a very convenient cover and had saved her countless times. Men were so naive. She played them like a virtuoso no matter where she went.

The door squeaked open to admit a man in a business suit. But the business suit didn't suit him. He looked uncomfortable and out-of-place in it. He'd have looked more at home in coveralls or a dirty white t-shirt. But apparently, Trask required even his muscle to have some sort of decorum.

He carried another chair and a small table with him. He sat the table down first, directly in front of Raven and over her legs. Then he placed the second chair facing her. He looked at her once, and she smiled a million watt smile at him. He looked confused for a few seconds before retreating back to the doorway.

"That will be all, Jones," Trask's voice floated from behind Raven. She turned to see him entering with a file folder in his hands. Nice, she thought, he does his own interrogations, I mean, 'interviews'. She smiled at her own internal correction.

"Ms. Tammilyn Foster," he greeted her.

"Yes, sir," she answered in a sunny voice. He stopped next to her to look down into her upturned face, taking in her smile, her low-cut blouse, and her short skirt. Seeming displeased by all of it, he returned his gaze to the file.

"Yes," he parroted back. "I see here you have no college degree." He threw the file onto the table and took the seat with an arrogance Raven could practically smell.

"No, sir, but I have a certificate from the National School of Typing and Dictation. I've not needed more since working for Mr. Morrison," she reported, batting her eyelashes.

Trask sighed. "You can stop flirting with me, Ms. Foster," he informed her.

"Excuse me, Mr. Trask, but I was just being friendly. Mr. Morrison always seems to enjoy my friendliness."

"I imagine," he returned.

Tammy scoffed. "Not like that. We have a professional relationship," she threw back at him, pouting a little and crossing her arms defensively.

Trask just smiled.

"Good," he said absently. "You have worked for him for three years now?"

"Yes, thereabouts."

"And you would say that he's a good boss?"

"He's as good as any other. Are you trying to get me fired?" Tammy inquired.

Trask held up his hands in a placating manner. "Oh, no, no. I'm simply interested in your level of loyalty to Mr. Morrison. If, for instance, you found out that he was involved in anything that would compromise his ability to carry out his duties as a member of our Central Intelligence Agency. That's all."

"I see," she returned. "Do you suspect Mr. Morrison of something, sir?" Raven let a little bit of fear creep into her eyes.

Trask decided to take a different tack now. He put on what he thought of as his most charming smile. Raven resisted the urge to smirk at his efforts. He looked like a sleazy pimp under the best of conditions. His attempt to look understanding and solicitous of her just amped him up to kingpin pimp.

Instead, she smiled back, playing into his attempt to 'sweet talk' her into betraying Morrison or whatever he planned to do.

"Ms. Foster. As a contractor, part of my job is to ensure that we have no leaks of information through my company or through any agency with which we work. Weapons contracting and the type of genetic research we are engaging in are the tip top of top secret," he oozed. When he smiled at her again, she picked up on what was supposed to be a little joke and giggled behind a lifted hand for maximum effect.

"That's why I invited you here for our little interview. I want to know more about you and what you do for Mr. Morrison. To ensure that you follow appropriate safety protocols and don't discuss work matters with friends or family," he continued.

Tammy giggled again. "My family would have no idea what to make of any of the things that Mr. Morrison has me type up, Mr. Trask. It'd all be gibberish to them. Most of the time I don't even really listen when he talks. I just hear the words and write them down in the correct order. You know what I mean?" she asked with a wink to seal the deal.

Trask smiled once more. "Yes, I think that I do," he assured her. "Do you know what tetrahydrocelinium X is, Ms. Foster?"

Tammy shook her head slowly. "No, I don't think I do. Is it something I should know?" Raven really poured on the nervousness now. A jittery female was guaranteed to put a man off balance.

"No, I don't expect you to know it. But it's one of the things that might have come up when Mr. Morrison was dictating," he answered.

"Well, if it did, it was in one ear and out the other, Mr. Trask," she said, giggling again.

"Yes."

Trask slid a business card across the table at this point. "Ms. Foster, if you ever suspect that Mr. Morrison is dealing with anything that could be considered un-American, would you please contact my security team? Their number is on that card." He nodded at the card, and Tammy reached to pick it up with her manicured fingers.

"Certainly, Mr. Trask. But, really, sir, I think Mr. Morrison is a good man. He is working to keep us all safe, isn't he?" she asked him as she toyed with the card.

Trask kept his eyes on hers and not on her hands. She folded them demurely in front of her.

"We certainly think so, Ms. Foster," he assured her.

He spent another minute looking through her file before shutting it again. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you once more. And under less pressing circumstances," he said and leaned a little farther across the table toward her. Raven kept her position.

Then he stood abruptly as if he had thought of something else he needed to do right away.

As he walked briskly away from her, Raven swiveled her head to watch him. He spared her no second glance. All he threw back was a 'Good day!' and then Jones was escorting her out the door of the nondescript room and toward the front doors of the building. She smiled benignly at him as well and kept up the charade until she was seated safely on the bus and blocks from Trask's building.

Then she let herself relax.