A little flash-back chapter...
Chapter 5
Mrs. Jones was lucky to have chosen this career. She liked it most of times but to everything that you like, there matches something you don't like. And this definitely was one of it. She hadn't feel alright already when Mr. Blunt told her about this task.
She had asked him if he couldn't do this, asking things like that was very rare and he would have liked to, but couldn't. Mrs. Jones felt like running back to the plane as soon as her feet touched American soil. She saw the white mountains far away and through the windy air she fought her way to the shuttle bus which brought her to the building of the airport.
She was somewhere in Northwest of Alaska now. It was about minus twenty degrees centigrade which still was a very friendly climate. A bus without heater brought her to the next bigger city and there she was awaited by a guard of the Alaska prison. He drove her through the incredible white and huge landscape to one of the most secure places in the world. Nobody was ever thought to break out of it.
Mrs. Jones' stomach turned when she saw the impressive stone-building with its over-dimensional walls appearing at the horizon and cursed her superior Mr. Blunt one more time. It took twenty-more minutes until they passed the huge, grey stone-wall. She was searched kindly, there were only male guards. The watcher who had driven her here led her to the cell blocks.
He opened a door and what followed left Mrs. Jones with terror in her bones. It was a huge corridor with cells on the right and left. All of them were about three times two meters with two beds as loft at the wall.
The inmates started scream at the guard and at her, they haven't seen a woman for ages, except of course, deceased Natasha and her daughter.
The MI6 agent stared at the men, all skin colours, all hair colours, but all muscular and some of them with psychopathic, paedophile glances x-raying her. She tried to ignore them and followed the guard. Finally, he stopped in front of one of the tiny cells.
Mrs. Jones turned around and saw the typical cell with the beds, one over the other one. A small desk at the other sides, she noticed some books on the floor. First, she recognized a man lying on the upper bed. He looked at her, he was tall, muscular, had black eyes, tan skin, and dark brown hair.
His arms were both fully tattooed and he wore the typical blue jail overall. Then she looked over to the second person who just got up from the lower bed. She looked taller than on the photos but weaker.
Mrs. Jones couldn't imagine she was the person she'd heard of, a cruel killer, born by a cruel mother, now surrounded by violent men, growing up in the most unfriendly, toughest place of the world.
"Mrs. Jones. I wondered when I was going to meet you," she said and smiled at the agent. Even her smile let Mrs. Jones shivers run down her spine.
"You know me?"
"Oh, Mr. Blunt was so nice to send me some reports about my father, his missions...," she now stood right at the bars, in front of Mrs. Jones. The agent didn't want to step back, although in safe distance she felt uncomfortable.
"You're scared of me," the girl muttered. "What do you expect me to do?"
Her voice was clear and strong, also charming and sounding so friendly, falsely friendly. She spoke English with an American accent, as having grown up surrounded by international criminals, teaching her to talk and to write.
Mr. Blunt has wanted her to become educated, Mrs. Jones betted he already regretted it deeply. It had turned out that the girl was very smart and intelligent, learning quickly. From her mother she had learned Russian, from some other inmates other languages.
Mrs. Jones had to keep in mind that her counterpart used every weakness of her enemies, searched for holes in the walls of one's mind and was fluent in at least English, Russian, French, Spanish, Arabic and German.
"He sent you information about me, too?" she asked surprised. Blunt hasn't told her that.
"You have a lot of free time in here...after learning those files by heart I got bored. He just sent me new stuff to read...interesting stuff."
Mrs. Jones sighed and is glad that she didn't go any further by going through her personal life like uncountable psychologists did before. It was her weakness and the girl seemed to know this.
"I heard about Alex' adventure at Skeleton key. He seems to be a really good tool for the British secret service," she hissed, although there was nothing directly unfriendly with her, Mrs. Jones was disgusted.
She imagined how many people she had already killed during prison riots, how many battles to prove that she isn't just everybody's girl for the night. Mrs. Jones promised herself that if she ever had to tell Alex about her, she'd leave out that part.
"He is no tool. He's...just doing some work for us. And yes, he is effective."
"Must be the family," she said.
Mrs. Jones didn't know what to respond. She was so right, Alex had learnt a lot from his uncle, such an unfortunate he'd never got to know his own father.
"Mr. Blunt wanted to know how you are."
She laughs shortly. "Why doesn't he come, then? Did he tell you about the last visit?"
"No," she hesitated saying that. Mr. Blunt has never told her much about the encounter with this girl and they both had needed to keep her identity and even existence secret. "He wanted to know...if you still live. I heard you've been making friends here."
"There's no other possibility than making friends or die...you can't imagine this, Mrs. Jones. It is impossible for you to know how to feel. As the only women among dozens of men, having had any pleasure for ages, being cramped in here for sexual assaults or violent attacks, murders..." she answered and the agent could see the madness in her eyes.
"I can imagine that...it wasn't very easy for you..." Mrs. Jones stammered not knowing what to say. Of course, before the girl was old enough to protect herself, she has only had her mother. And a woman with a child was easy prey for hungry men like here were.
The girl leaned forward to Mrs. Jones and whispered: "What have you been told? ...Don't be so shy...Tell me, I haven't spoken with another woman for years...except for psychologists or teachers..."
"One of your teachers you killed..."
"I enjoyed it..."
Mrs. Jones felt her last meal turning in her stomach while seeing the girl grin. "The men...used to abuse you...hit you, beat you up."
"And the doctors here always kept me alive so that I could endure more suffering and more pain..."
"They...they abused you sexually...?"
"Yes...something you can't imagine, Mrs. Jones. You're growing up in well-known London and everything you know about it is something you read in the newspaper or see on TV...the first time I was seven. Then it went on and on. And when my mum died, there was nothing to hold them back. And you know what, after a time you start to enjoy it. Something you could never dream of as well...but I don't blame you, you know,"
she whispered and leaned back again so that the agent sighed in relief. "You live in Great Britain, in a civilisation with free people. You have no idea what it is like to grow up as a prisoner and never ever to be released...just because your agent had to fuck a Russian spy," she said in normal voice again. But she didn't sound aggressive, just like clarifying facts.
"You read a lot about your father...what do you think about him?" Mrs. Jones watched her eyes becoming even colder, she laughed silently.
"My mum told me to hate him. He was a British spy, seducing her just for information. When she found out that he had been married, nothing made her happier than the news of his death a few months later. Then she realized that she was pregnant and finally he was indicated as my father."
"You were the child from a man she hated..."
"She condemned him but she accepted me as the final pay-back. It wasn't good for him to have a daughter from a Russian spy and this knowledge satisfied her. I don't hate my father and it's such a shame I didn't get him to know...and that I didn't get the chance to kill him myself." She shrugged. "He was one of your greatest agents. His brother Ian also was. You should watch Alex good, he's the last one you have." She paused. "Do you plan to use him again?"
"We...think about it. Mr. Blunt thinks he's doing remarkable work."
"But you have your doubts. He's just a kid. A fourteen year old kid. But look at me. I'm fourteen as well and you wouldn't hesitate to send me into some danger. And you'd be glad if I got killed. But that's another story, it's because I'm evil...in your eyes. And my dear half-brother is just an innocent young boy..." She sighed, staring somewhere into nothing before she looked back at Mrs. Jones.
"I'll let you know if we use him again," Mrs. Jones summed up and turned to leave.
"Wait," the girl asked and stepped closer to the bars again.
Mrs. Jones looked back at the girl who seemed so small and helpless right now. All fake, she thought. She could kill me within seconds.
"Please send Alan my regards...it was nice to meet you, Tulip..." she said and suddenly she seemed to be a normal human being, a young woman with a nice and friendly nature.
"I will, Alex," Mrs. Jones said and finally turned again. While walking away, sensing the stare of Alexandra and the other inmates on her back, she thought about if it was coincidence that Natasha chose the female version of John's son's name for their daughter.
But then, stepping out into the bright sunlight again, she felt an immense burden fall down from her and made her breathe freely in relief again. She stepped into the black car and wished nothing more than return to the Kingdom as soon as possible.
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