Chapter 16

"If you guys and gals can just stand over here for a moment, the tour will begin in just a few moments."

The speaker was a stylish middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Angela and spoke with a soft southern drawl. Frankie turned away from the model she was studying and joined the growing group of people shuffling over to stand where Angela had indicated. Soon, a cluster of fifteen people ranging from a ten-year-old girl to an elderly man wearing a Vietnam Veteran ball cap were gathered and waiting for Angela.

"Welcome to the pentagon, ladies and gentlemen. If you will follow me, we will begin the tour."

Frankie and the group followed her like a flock of ducklings following their mother as she led them through the pentagon for the next hour, rattling off information and history about the building as she went. Facts like it being the world's largest office building or that the nation's capital building would fit entirely within one of its five section. All the same information that anyone could easily find on the internet. What couldn't be found on the internet were the two additional levels beneath the two basement levels known to the public. Those levels were used for holding and interrogating high level persons of interest. There was also a high-speed monorail connecting the building with a top-secret bunker nearly one hundred miles away in the mountains.

"Everyday 4500 cups of coffee, 1700 pints of milk and 6800 sodas are served to the visitors and occupants of this building. Which reminds me, there are also 284 bathrooms." This elicited a few laughs from the group. They were back at the mini mall on the southeast side of the building. "And with that, I will release you to have refreshments and wander through the shops. Remember, always keep your visitor badge visible and do not try to go past any of the screening stations at the exits of this area. Thank you for visiting us here at the pentagon and have an enjoyable visit to our nation's capital."

Frankie wandered away from the group, angling towards the Burger King in the food court. She was thirsty and had fifteen more minutes before she had to perform her assigned task. She planned to do the tourist bit and buy a souvenir or two since she had never been to DC.

Paying for her soda, she headed for a table to sit for a few minutes. She was more nervous than she would like to admit. There were a lot of military security personnel in this building. If something went wrong, it was likely she might never see the outside world again. But she was committed to getting Rory out, so it was a chance she had to take.

Movement caught her eye as a nondescript man in casual clothes deposited the remains of his lunch in a nearby trash can. The book satchel he carried slipped off his shoulder and he nearly dropped his tray trying to catch it. From a side pocket of the satchel, an envelope dropped to the floor by the bin. He nudged it with his foot to push partially under the bin, then turned and walked away, leaving it behind. That was her cue. All she had to do was get up, walk over to the trash can to throw away her soda, and make a noise about the finding the envelope, chase after the man to return it to him, and generally cause a big distraction.

Once Dean was several feet away, Frankie stood up and strode over to the bin. As she dumped her empty soda, another movement caught her eye, freezing her in place for a second. Walking down the middle of the corridor was Clint Barton. Deep in conversation with the man at his side, he didn't see her standing there frozen like a scared rabbit. That would end the moment she enacted her part of the plan. She turned her back to him to think.

"Well, fuck."

She was between him and the exit, so she could probably make it to the exit without him seeing her and escape undetected, but what about the distraction? An idea came to her and she smiled to herself and walked towards the exit. Once in the line to turn in her visitor badge and leave the building, she looked over her shoulder to locate him. He was listening intently to the other man only thirty feet away from her.

She quelled her impatience and the two people in front of her in the line chatted with the young man checking visitors out. Finally, she moved up to the table and handed over her visitor ID. After she signed out and handed the clipboard back, she took a deep breath, released it slowly and turned around to face the last person whose attention she wanted. She waved a hand to catch his attention and Barton glanced up to catch her standing there looking straight at him. His eyes widened with recognition and surprise. Frankie gave him a wicked smile and flipped him off, then she spun and dashed for the exit.

Shouts erupted behind her.

"Frankie, stop!"

"Someone stop that woman!"

A marine with a rifle stepped between her and the exit, "Stop right there!"

Instead of obeying she feigned a dodge to his right, then slipped past him on the left. She ducked under the rifle of the marine coming up behind him and pushed through the nearest door, knocking what looked like an air force officer down in the process. Making a hard turn to her left, she ran to the escalators leading down to the train platform. They were packed with people. It was lunch and one of the high traffic times, that's why they had planned her distraction for now. To cause the most chaos possible during an already chaotic time.

She was never going to get down to the station ahead of her pursuers with all the people between her and her goal, so she hopped up on the rail and ran down handrail partition between each escalator, her arms flailing to keep her balance. She was counting on the marines not firing into the crowd. Jumping off at the bottom she stumbled several steps, nearly falling, before catching her balance. There was a train at the station preparing to leave, the shrill beeping announcing the closing of the doors. Frankie sprinted across the platform shoving people out of her way and squeezed through the gap just before they closed completely.

Breathing hard from both her mad dash and excitement, she wove through the crowded car and found a place to stand as far from the door as possible. Another series of beeps announced the train's departure from the station. She steadied herself as the car accelerated forward smoothly and allowed herself a sigh of relief. She had done it. Hopefully, it had been enough of a distraction for the other agents to do what they needed to do. That wasn't her worry now, though. She just needed to get back to the pickup point within the next two hours.

The car lurched unexpectedly under her, slowing down, then coming to a stop.

Well, fuck.

Slumped at the metal table with her head resting on her arms, the least uncomfortable position she could find with her wrists cuffed and attached to the table through a metal loop, Frankie dozed off and on while she waited. This wasn't her first time in an interrogation room, and she knew the routine well. They would make her wait while they reviewed security footage and researched her. The wait had the added benefit of letting her get worked up with stress or anger. Either would cause her to make mistakes and possibly play right into their hands.

Unfortunately for them, Frankie had no intention of getting worked up. Not only had she been through this before, but she had also trained for it at the facility. Her answers weren't going to be made up on the fly during the interrogation. No, she had already practiced them multiple times to the point where they would come easier than the truth.

Finally, the door opened and a man in a neat navy-blue suit entered the room with a manila folder in his hand. She would guess he was homeland security or FBI.

"Sorry for making you wait so long, Miss Vigil. Veronica Vigil, right?" He dropped the folder on the table and pulled out the metal chair opposite her, making a nerve jarring screech of metal against concrete.

Sitting down, he looked at her appraisingly, "or is it Mercedes Gonzales? No? How about Liberty Jones?"

She didn't answer. She just sat there and met his stare calmly.

"I could go on for a while, but I think I'll use Francesca Cabrini. Or Frankie. That is what your friends call you, right?"

She lifted on shoulder, "Frankie will work, agent…?"

"Special Agent Fuller. Why all the aliases, Frankie?"

"I was homeless for years and now I'm an exotic dancer," she told him as if it explained everything as she looked behind him at the 2-way mirror. Barton was behind it; she could almost feel his intensity through it. "Why don't you come question me yourself, Clint?"

Fuller flipped a page in the file, "according to this, stripping isn't all you have done for a living. Let's see, two counts of prostitution…,"

"Those charges were dropped," she never took her eyes off the mirror. "Come on, I promise not to hurt you this time." She held up her hands in their cuffs as far as she could. "I'm restrained."

"Three counts of theft…," Fuller continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"Again, no charges were filed. Come on Clint," she gave a little pout. "You're much more interesting than Agent Fuller here."

"Special Agent Fuller," he corrected. "One count of possession with intent to distribute." This time he paused rather than let her interrupt again.

"Yeah, that one is right," she admitted. "I was on my way to a party. How about you Clint? You ever party that hard? I bet you did. I bet you were quite the wild thing when you were young. You know, before you got that stick shoved up your ass."

Fuller slammed his hand down on the table to get her attention back on him. Frankie didn't jump, she had anticipated his reaction to be something along those lines. She had thought it would take a couple more questions before he got to that point, though. This one has a short fuse, she thought wryly.

"I don't think you understand the trouble you're in, Frankie," he glowered at her.

"You're bluffing, Agent Fuller. Possessing a fake ID is at most a misdemeanor," she focused her attention back on the agent across from her.

"Special Agent Fuller," he corrected more brusquely this time. "And conspiracy to commit an act of terrorism is not."

"Terrorism?" she laughed at this, "I'm sure you reviewed the videos before you came in. All I did was go on the tour and have a soda. It was a nice day up until your pet Avenger and marines started to chase me." She looked back up at the mirror and winked, "I'll let you search me, Clint, since you seem so keen to get your hands on me."

"Who are you working with?" Fuller wasn't giving up.

"Right now, I'm between jobs, but you can ask him," she indicated the mirror with her chin, "about my last job. He caused me to lose it by kidnapping me."

"What was your objective?"

"Objective? I just wanted to have a nice day. And maybe pick up a couple of tacky souvenirs. Don't you think it's ironic that the souvenirs sold at the pentagon are all made in China?"

Before Fuller could respond, the door opened admitting Barton and another man to the room. The second man stood several inches taller than the Avenger, and Frankie immediately recognized him from TV and her training.

"Special Agent Fuller," Nick Fury strode into the room and left Barton holding the door open, "would you give us the room."

Well, fuck.