Three—A Successful Mission

"She won't speak to me."

Jack flipped through the pages in a thick file folder.  "Derevko only speaks to certain agents, and only regarding certain missions."

"Well, make this mission one of them."

He looked up at Madison, slight surprise flashing across his face before his mask returned.  "No."

"No?"  She stared, challenging him.

"No," he repeated, turning back to his reading.

"Why not?"

"Agent Thompson, you're a fine agent.  This"—he indicated the folder—"demonstrates your abilities in analysis as well as in the field.  Helsinki.  Vienna.  Bogotá."

She nodded, waiting for his implied "but."

"However, I do not think this mission is a wise one.  It is poorly planned and ill-advised and should be aborted immediately."

"No offense, sir, but have you read the mission specs?  This threat of biological warfare is not imagined; it is very real.  We finally have a lead, a solid lead, that can help us stop this before it starts.  We have names, but nothing that we can use in a court of law.

"If I can insinuate myself into Burke's life, just think how much intel I can obtain that we can use.  Contacts, research . . . we can see how much progress they are making, damage the research they do have . . . the possibilities are endless."

Madison paused and drew in a deep breath.  "But I'll be honest.  None of my ops in the past have truly prepared me for this one.  I want—no, I need—to speak with someone who has successfully completed this type of mission.  Someone who understands what it will be like, who knows the risks involved."

"'Someone who has successfully completed this type of mission,'" Jack repeated.  His eyes narrowed.  "What exactly do you know about Derevko's mission?" he asked in a tight voice.

She had obviously struck a nerve, although she wasn't sure why.  "She met and married an intelligence officer, gathered intel from him when he wasn't looking, and sent it back to her superiors.  I don't know specifics, but I have been told she was successful."

"By whom?"

"Mr. Devlin."

"Really."

"Yes," she replied, wondering why Agent Bristow was taking this so personally . . . "Oh."

"What?" he questioned, a hint of fear in his eyes.

"I—I just thought of a new way to interrogate Derevko," she blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind.  "Do you think it would be all right if I tried again?"

"That is up to you, Agent Thompson.  However, I would not trust her too much.  She is, after all, trained in the art of deception."  Jack turned around and closed the file folder, adding it to a stack of papers on his desk.

Madison turned and walked away, realizing that she now had to face Derevko again.  She repeated her journey into the depths of the Joint Task Center, proud that she found her way back to the guards without getting lost.

"You again?" the guard smirked.  She nodded.  "What, you didn't get enough the first time?"

It was time to put her game face on again, time to put pricks like him in his place.  She stared at him with cold eyes.

"Take me to the prisoner."

*****

"We meet again."

Madison stared at Irina, surprise etched across her face.  "Yes, we do.  Ms. Derevko, I really do need to speak with you."

"Do you," she mused.

"Yes.  There are so many questions I have . . . and you're the only person I can talk to about this."

Silence.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Madison asked.

"Don't let the CIA order you around.  You don't have to take this mission.  Refuse it.  Back away from all of this before it's too late," she said in an impassioned voice.

"Refuse?" she echoed.

"You must be fairly intelligent, or they would have never recruited you," Irina smirked.  "Think this through before you get involved in something you will regret."  She nodded and turned, walking back to her bed.  She sat down and began to read again.

"Ms. Derevko, please.  I must speak with you."

"The only thing you must do is reconsider your assignment," Irina said, looking up at Madison's worried face.  "Everything else will fall into place."

It didn't matter that Madison stood there for two hours, that she saw the dinner tray being delivered and later picked up, food untouched.  Irina continued to stare at the pages of her book, studiously ignoring her surroundings.  Frustrated, Madison finally returned down the long hallway, the gates clanging around her as she made her escape.

At last Irina lifted her head and turned up the corners of her mouth.  It was so easy with these young agents.  They didn't understand the concept of waiting out their opponent.

Of course, they would also never understand the many layers of Irina Derevko.

*****

"You're sure that this agent won't be needing his desk?" Madison double-checked.

"No, he's gone for the night.  He's got hockey tickets.  Didn't invite me this time either," the dark-haired agent pouted.  "Ever since his girlfriend quit her second job, she's been enjoying front row seats to all the Kings games."

"Oh," Madison said, unsure how to respond.  "Thanks for finding me an open cubicle.  I've just got to make one phone call, and then I'll be out of your way."

"No problem," he said, stuffing his right hand into the pocket of his suit jacket.  He walked away, whistling and pulling out a bright red yo-yo.

Madison watched him disappear into the madness of the Joint Ops Center before picking up the phone.  She quickly dialed her number and waited.

"Hello, Mr. Devlin?  This is Agent Thompson.  The prisoner is being uncooperative and refuses to—what?  Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, sir.  Yes, contact will begin on whichever day Burke is more accessible.  By Monday?  I should be able to return here on Monday . . . but are you certain she'll talk?  Okay, Mr. Devlin.  Yes, sir.  Yes, sir.  Good-bye, sir."  She hung up the phone and sighed.

And pitied the unlucky soul who had been given the job to talk to her.

*****