Chapter Two - Interrogation Room A - NSB Headquarters
The prisoner at the table did not react when Steve entered the room. Instead of sitting down, he began pacing directly in front of her, in what would've been her line of vision if she wasn't staring blankly into space. He forced a harsh tone into his voice. "Burglary, Destruction of Government Property, Felony Theft, Double Homicide," he recited loudly, "Quite a rap sheet. You'd think if someone put that much effort into a job, they'd want credit for it, but you won't even tell us your name!" Steve slammed his fist down on the table hard enough to make the table jump, but not enough to break it. The prisoner didn't jump, didn't flinch, didn't even blink.
"You should get credit for your accomplishments," he told her. "What's your name?" Nothing. Steve pounded the table again, this time splintering it to pieces. "Dammit! Who are you?" Still getting no response, he pulled a chair into the pile of table pieces, sitting as close as he could get to her, virtually knee-to-knee, and looking deeply into her eyes. "Look," he said, much more softly, "I'm here to help you. Please...let me help you?"
The deep hazel eyes met his gaze for one brief millisecond before continuing to stare at nothing. That second spoke volumes to Steve. He saw a desperately frightened little girl, one who needed and wanted help but had no idea how to get it. And, to his dismay, he saw Jaime. He found her hand amidst the shackles and held it tightly. "You need to let me in, Sweetheart. Hansen's pushing to have you executed. You need help." Still, she said nothing. "I know who you are. And I love you, Jaime."
A slight tear formed in the corner of one of her eyes. Her mouth opened and closed several times before one small sound came out. "Steve..." she whispered. Instantly, she was jolted upright in her seat, a look of intense, unbearable pain on her face. She made no attempt to say anything more.
It was enough. Steve now understood, without a doubt, exactly what was going on. He left the interrogation room and ran down the hall to find Oscar. His boss looked up questioningly. "Well?"
"She's Jaime. Oscar, I need a pencil and some paper - fast. I'll explain when I'm done." Steve collected what he needed and returned to the prisoner. He quickly wrote on the paper: Jaime, is someone listening to us right now? He showed it to her, and she nodded silently.
Steve put the pencil to the paper again: Don't pay any attention to what I say out loud; only to what I write down, ok? Jaime nodded. Steve began yelling at her while simultaneously writing what he really wanted to say.
"You know they're going to execute you, right?" he shouted. "As in dead, gone, fried. That what you want?" The paper read Jaime, do they have some way to hurt you, right now? Jaime nodded emphatically, trembling.
"C'mon, Mata Hari - what's your name?" Is it some kind of device, an implant? She nodded again. "Staring like a zombie is only gonna get you one thing - dead! If you're ok with that, fine!" Do you know where it is? Jaime pointed to a spot just behind her right ear. "I'll just leave you to it, then. Your choice; your funeral." Don't worry, Sweetheart - you're going to be ok. Their eyes met once again, and Steve gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
Rudy was coming down the hall when Steve emerged from the room. He grabbed the doctor lightly by his arm to stop him. "Rudy, before you go in there, I need to talk to you." Steve led him to the conference room, where Oscar was waiting, and closed the door. "It's an implant," Steve told them urgently. "Some kind of chip in her brain or in her ear. They can hear her, and they can hurt her - badly - if she opens her mouth. Rudy, she pointed to a spot near her right ear. Can you find it and remove it without them being able to hear it?"
"If it's what I'm picturing," Rudy answered, "a white noise box should jam it."
"I'll have a page get one right away," Oscar added.
"And Rudy, you don't need a DNA test. I looked in her eyes, and I can tell you, 1000 percent: that is Jaime."