Trev
"Hey, Oso, can I use your printer?" I asked.
"Sì," he adopted a shrewd expression, "¿Por qué?"
I held up a flash-drive, "Need to print some stolen, classified files."
"O.K.," he smiled and nodded, "Como siempre y cuando no es pornografía."
"Exactly, who do you let use your computer?"
"Mi esposa."
"Say no more."
KT
Ow... my head... my shoulder...
I blinked my eyes open. Slowly the room came into focus.
Well, this guy is original. This isn't just a concrete bunker with me tied into a chair bolted to the ground. This place has a nice style. Plastic taupalin on the floor and walls. Makes cleaning the mess easier. The only light comes from a uncovered bulb hanging from the ceiling. Hey, he's using one of the eco-friendly ones!
I looked behind me. Well, it's either a garage or storage unit. I could see day light from the crack on the ground.
I closed my eyes and resigned myself. It will all be over soon, one way or another.
I heard the door open.
Trev
I walked in like I owned the place, file in my hand. It made for a good read.
"Caitlin Todd," I said, "You would be under arrest, if i was a cop. And if you had done anything illegal that I can prove. But, the only thing you did was royally piss me off. Which is really, really stupid."
She blinked, "W-what did you call me?"
"I hate it when people play dumb," I sighed, "Your name, Caitlin Todd, ring any bells?" I studied her face. And then something amazed me.
She honestly didn't recognize her name.
"You served with the Secret Service from '95-'03, then did a two year stint at NCIS till you faked your death in '05."
"I- I don't..." she shook her head, looking for all the world as if she had the beginning of a migraine.
She didn't recognize it.
I checked the photo that came with the file. She had surgery, but not much. It's a little known fact that when you change your face, you have to learn how to reuse the muscles. For this reason, the face is only changed a little bit at a time to keep the "natural" expressions and help them blend in better.
That said, a little plastic surgery goes a long way. Change the way the cheekbones look, reduce or add fat to the chin, maybe even mess with the brow a little bit, and their own mother won't recognize them. They will look like someone you once knew, but unless you have a firm grasp on bone structure, they can fly under your radar.
Things you can't change are the space between your eyes, your forehead size, and the width of the head in general. Thank you, Brennan.
It was with those that I identified her. Yep, definitely her.
I flipped the photo to her, "Caitlin Todd, 1975-2005, died, killed by a sniper on a rooftop. Well, apparently not."
She scowled and shook her head, the migraine was getting larger, "I can't remember!" she screeched.
Now, this is weird.
She isn't lying.
I did the one thing I could think of. I reached behind her head, and slapped the back of her skull.
She gasped, and choked, her face morphed into one of pure agony, she wasn't even able to scream. The only time I have ever seen that look on someone's face was when they were stabbed in the kidney. That produces the agonizing pain that can't even permit a scream.
After two minutes she stopped, gasping for a breathe. Her eyes were unfocused, and blood dripped from her nose. I stared in amazement.
"You truly don't remember."
She smiled a content smile, and leaned back, relaxed, "I have... a name... a name..." she said it like it was the most beautiful thing in the world, "I can... I can remember... a mother... a father... brothers... a sister..." and then she started sobbing tears of joy.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I- For four years, I was trapped, alone in the dark. Now, now I can see."
"Uh-huh," I don't need this touchy-feely bullshit, I need answers, "Who do you work for?"
"I don't know," she replied, "They put some sort of device next to my heart. It will blow in a little bit, and kill me. But, I.. am.. Kate... Mary Anne... Todd." Never mess with the value an amnesiac puts on a name they just remembered. You'd think it was their first-born son.
"Say what now?" Did she just say that she has an explosive surgically implanted in her chest?
I didn't stop to listen. I got out my smart phone and pulled up the Stethoscope App. It is essentially just a hyper sensitive microphone.
I placed it on her chest and listened as it magnified the beating of her heart.
Oh yeah something hard is there.
I got out the Signal Sercher App. It will detect any signal near it, whether it receives it of sends it.
No signal.
I then pulled out the EMF Scanner App (this thing is awesome!). The EMF scanner will pick up any un-biological electro-magnetic field.
No field.
"Hate to break it to you, but that bomb is about as dangerous as a pacemaker," I informed her. I actually didn't hate to inform her.
"Wait, what?"
"I guess when you got zapped it short-circuited the signal and fuse." I explained, "So, let me get this straight: amnesiac, bomb in the ticker, feelings of entrapment. My guess is, you don't like these guys."
"Shut up and let me out of here," she demanded, "I want these pigs' head on my mantle."
I think I'm beginning to like her.
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