Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
AN: Thank you edward-bella-harry-ginny for your beta skills! Your advice is invaluable, as always!
And thank you to all the reviewers! I was so excited by all the responses to Ch. 1!
Ch. 2. Interview.
I woke at 4:40 according to my treasured ice blue iHome. I pounded my head on my pillows about six times for waking before my precious remaining 20 minutes of sleep were up. Between the sixth and seventh pounding, the events of the previous day flooded back into my mind and I sat up on the edge of my bed, suddenly certain that someone was in the apartment with me. I grabbed the Charlie's old baseball bat from under the edge of the bed and crept out toward the living area. I flipped on the lights and looked around frantically. No one was there. My door was still dead bolted, chain on.
I flipped on every light as I went through the small space, bat at the ready. No one.
I realized that I wasn't going to get over this anytime soon. My personal space had been invaded, and I was terrified and furious, and I didn't even know what it was all about. Yet.
The worst feeling was that there was no one I could consult. The confidentiality meant my hands were tied; I couldn't see how I could report the break-in without violating the other confidence. Who would I have called anyway? Dr. Molina? Renee? Ben? Sad to say, the closest person to me now might have been Major Newton. We were working in the same office and had shared some patients. Somehow I didn't think he needed the encouragement.
I put on my running clothes, grabbed a towel and my iPod, and went down to the gym in the basement. The well-equipped free gym had been the deal-maker for getting my new apartment, which was small and had a terrible view. There was no pool, but there was a room with three high quality treadmills, cybex weight machines, and nice looking weight benches. The flat panel tv and the powerful air conditioning were icing on the cake. I spent the entire run trying to take control of my emotions, especially the fear. I stopped after 30 minutes, and did my stretches and crunches. I wanted to be ready in plenty of time for the car coming for me at 0800, and I planned to have a good breakfast to make up for missing dinner the night before.
I showered quickly, toasted some whole wheat, and cooked up an omelet with ham and swiss. I pulled out my laptop and started going over my schedule for the next few days. I hoped the interview wouldn't last past the morning; I needed to swing by my office in the afternoon since I wouldn't be back until Tuesday. I spent Fridays and Mondays at the VA in Hampton, Virginia. I had been assigned there for the past two years. I synced my appointments with my cell phone and checked over my email to see if there were any sudden changes in my patient appointments for the next day. My actions were so ordinary. I dropped my fork and sniffed the room suddenly. I wasn't sure if I could still smell smoke and cologne or if it was just my imagination.
I left my apartment at exactly 0750, dressed in uniform and carrying my messenger bag. I waited near the doors to my building for a car to arrive.
I felt my left eyebrow twitch (I needed to learn to get that under control) when a very shiny black town car came around the corner. The windows were tinted so dark that I wondered if the driver could see. The car stopped directly in front of me, and the passenger door swung open. This was it.
I climbed into the car, and realized with surprise that no one was in the back seat. I shut the door, and the car smoothly pulled away from the curb. I could not see through the windows. At all. The back seat was lit with an overhead light, and there was an opaque divider separating me from the front seat. I hoped to heaven that I didn't puke in the moving vehicle since I had no horizon on which to orient myself.
A voice came over the speakers in the back. "Major Swan. Take the papers out of the compartment in front you, and please place your cell phone in the compartment."
A drawer-like compartment opened in the front center console. I took out the stack of papers and placed my cell phone inside. The drawer closed of its own accord, sort of like a drive-through banking unit.
"The location of the interview is secret. We'll have to disable your cell phone and GPS for the duration of this trip. Please sign the confidentiality agreements. If you decide you cannot fulfill these agreements, we will return you to your apartment."
I read over the documents, twice, since the first time I couldn't process what I was seeing. The Mystery Man's words from the night before kept coming back to me, and I wondered if I had any choice in whether I should sign the agreements. If I didn't sign them, I obviously wasn't doing my best to obtain this job. I had no idea if turning down the job would lead to some sort of retaliation, or if Mystery Man would simply disappear from my life. If I did sign the agreements, it looked like I was doing so with the express intent of breaking them. And the penalty, apparently, was court martial. Fantastic.
Anyone with sense would have turned down the job now. Mystery Man surely would just vanish; it wasn't like I could track him down. He had the upper hand.
Apparently I didn't have sense. I could feel the drive to know burning through me. It was the same feeling that kept me in the library for hours on end when I was working on my dissertation. It wasn't just curiosity; the drive to know and to understand was a demand far beyond idle musings. I wanted to know why this interview was a secret. I wanted to know what was so important that a man purportedly connected with Congress would break into my apartment and pressure me. And, Lord help me, I wanted to be a part of it.
I signed and dated each document. The drawer slid open again, and I put the signed agreements inside. I was committed, either to defy Mystery Man or to commit treason and break the confidentiality agreement and be court martialed. Except, was it treason if Mystery Man was truly a patriot? Perhaps this secretive operation was circumventing the law and I would be bound by my oath of office to report it.
I felt the car slow and make a series of tight turns.
"Major Swan, we have arrived. We will return your cell phone when we return you to your apartment. Take the elevator to level 8."
My door opened abruptly. I grabbed my messenger bag and stepped out. I had wondered how they would keep the location secret when clearly we hadn't left the tri-state area, but I emerged in a dimly lit underground parking garage. There were no markings indicating the building or location and, more disturbingly, no cars on my level. I couldn't even copy down a license plate. My steps echoed off the hard surfaces in the cavernous space.
I entered the nondescript elevator and pressed the button for level 8, which was apparently below my current position. When I stepped into the elevator, I appeared to be on level 3. The elevator went down to level 10 and up to level 1. I imagined there was a separate bank of elevators for any above-ground floors.
When the elevator doors opened on the opposite side from where I had entered, there was a sergeant waiting to escort me. He stood at the beginning of a long, white, concrete block hallway with hideous white lineoleum tiles (with orange speckles!). The fluorescent lighting was cheap, making a buzzing noise and with a visible flashing.
"Major Swan, if you would step through the scanners, we're going to sweep for devices. If you have any electronics in your bag, please declare them now."
"Sergeant. I've got an iPod. My cell phone is with the car." I handed him my bag and stepped through the door-frame shaped scanner. It was like stepping through security at an airport. My escort picked up a wand off the table and scanned my bag. He then opened it and sifted through the contents. I watched in semi-amusement as he unzipped the ladies friend compartment. He was relatively unruffled by its contents, but didn't quite meet my eye as he handed back my bag. We marched down the institutional hallway until he reached a grey unmarked door.
"Major Swan." He opened the door for me, and I walked in, unsure of what to expect. Nothing I had seen this morning had been in the realm of my previous experiences.
The room was a rectangle, its only furniture a rectangular table and two chairs. The back wall was a mirror. I realized I had seen this room before – on countless TV cop shows. It was an interrogation room. I was greeted by an enormous well-muscled man, mid-40s, grim-faced. He had a dusting of grey at his temples, but otherwise his short curly hair was a deep brown. He wore the uniform of a colonel.
"Major Swan? Colonel Emmett McCarty. Please, have a seat." His voice was deep and gravelly, and he didn't crack a smile.
As he was on the far side of the metal table, I was forced to face the mirror. I worked to keep my eyes focused on him and not to drift off to our reflections. I also tried not to speculate about what the mirror was hiding. Colonel McCarty was studying me intently, and I started to feel a little uncomfortable. I kept eye contact and waited for him to begin.
"Your security clearance makes you one possible candidate for a job, the details of which cannot be revealed until after your selection and acceptance. I understand this may disturb you, since you will be forced to commit to a job without knowing key details. If this makes you uncomfortable, you can decline immediately." He looked up at me from the folder he was examining, waiting to see my reaction.
"I'm not familiar with the protocols in Special Forces, Colonel McCarty. I assume this is somewhat standard?" There. That sounded confident.
"I'm not sure we've had this particular situation arise, but we are following procedure. I take it you wish to continue the interview?"
"Yes, sir." There it was again, the burning curiosity, the need to know. I was more and more intrigued with the entire setup.
"Good. Your specialty has been counseling and treatment of returning servicemen?"
"Yes, specifically those suffering traumas of PTSD or those coping with life-changing injuries."
"Have you spent any time in a combat situation?"
"Colonel McCarty, you know that I am prohibited, as a woman in the U.S. army, from combat situations."
"Forget regulations for a moment, Major Swan. Have you been in a combat situation?" He sounded annoyed. I was annoyed as well; he had my file in front of him. At least, I assumed it was a file on me.
"I did one tour in Afghanistan, before completing my M.S. degree. I was assigned to a medical unit, but...." I stopped for a moment. The chaos we had to enter on almost a daily basis couldn't be classified as anything other than combat.
"I know. I've been." There was a brief pause in the interview before Colonel McCarty began again. "What is your strategy when counseling patients who are extremely reluctant, at best, and highly antagonistic at worst?"
"That varies considerably, depending on other factors. Every person is different and requires a different approach. I—" I wasn't sure how to explain it. It wasn't exactly explained in any manuals; I only knew that it worked for me. "I learn people, Colonel McCarty. If I can spend time, nonconfrontationally, in a non-treatment setting, I have always been able to find the key."
"The key?"
"The key to helping the individual."
"And do they appreciate that?"
"Not always. I think the results have been worth it, but it's frequently a difficult process."
Colonel McCarty turned his head slightly, then put one hand to the earpiece he was wearing. I assumed someone behind the glass was giving him a suggestion. Or maybe I was just a paranoid idiot. Who had strange men break into her apartment and then got whisked away by invisible men in cars with blacked-out windows to undisclosed locations.
"You have a part-time staff position at the Pentagon, but you're still counseling patients?"
"Yes. I'm continuing my work at the VA in Hampton, but I'm not taking on any new patients until after my time at the Pentagon is over."
"This assignment may require you to release your patients to other counselors."
"Do I have to give them up to take the position? I'd rather see if I can make the scheduling work. Most patients develop a rapport with a counselor. It can cause setbacks to switch."
"We will leave the details up to you." He turned his head again, and I knew he was listening to his headset. He turned back to me. "I think I've heard enough for today, Major Swan. Your escort will return you to the elevator, and the car is waiting." He was dismissive, and only barely polite.
"Thank you, sir."
As I rode in silence back to my apartment (I hoped – it wasn't like I could tell where we were or where we were going), I had to compare the meetings from today and from the night before. Colonel McCarty was only barely polite, showing no sign of whether he thought I was capable of performing the job in question. He offered me nothing, gave me every chance to back out, and even told me I should drop patients if I took the job. He was apparently under no obligation to make this assignment look attractive. Mystery Man started off by breaking into my apartment and scaring the crap out of me, followed up by demanding I take the job, but offered me everything I wanted and more. If it's too good to be true, it probably is.
At the moment, neither Colonel McCarty nor Mystery Man had done much to earn my trust. I had to admit that Colonel McCarty appeared to be following some type of protocol; the request to attend the interview had come from a legitimate office and was signed by an actual human. One point for the colonel.
I supposed the worst part about my day was that I had learned almost nothing beyond what I had known before. Mystery Man wanted me to have this job and to pass information about it. I still didn't know what the job was or who to trust.
When I arrived at the Pentagon, I was still lost in thought. It was just after lunchtime, and I was able to sit quietly in my office eating a sandwich and reviewing some data I had requested on demographics of soldiers making visits to the VA system within 12 months of returning from combat. The numbers swam in front of me, and I was unable to stop myself from checking the patient file for F. Conner. It still held a single sheet of letterhead, and I felt reassured somehow.
I shook my head in disgust as I closed my file drawer, and I decided a cup of coffee would help distract me.
"Mail's in, Major Swan." Angela handed me a stack which was thankfully devoid of anything remotely confidential.
"Thanks. Are Mike and Tyler still at lunch?"
"They should be back any moment now," she replied as I tossed my mail on my desk. I came back out into the common area, and poured myself a cup.
"There she is!" called Mike as he came in the door, closely followed by Tyler. "Where were you this morning, at your lake?"
"My lake?"
"You know, Swan Lake?" he replied, clearly pleased with himself.
I felt my mouth drop open in disbelief. Was anyone really this cheesy?
"Yeah, sure. I had one of your figs there." I looked at Angela, who rolled her eyes in amused disgust.
"Now you've done it, Major Swan. You've played his game, and he'll never stop now." Tyler was clearly humored by the interchange.
"Okay, I'm going back to work," I announced, shaking my head.
I made it through a few more pages of dense statistics when Mike poked his head into my door.
"Seriously, Swan-ee River, what's up with the morning?" Mike had a look of innocent curiosity, but a chill went through me. Was he involved?
"I had an appointment I couldn't break," I answered, relatively honestly. I tried to let him know through my expression that I considered the matter closed.
"You know I'm here for you if you need to talk, right?" His face was very sincere.
"Of course, Major Newton." His face fell a little at my formal response, but he didn't walk away. "Um, was there something else?"
"No, I guess not." He gave me a weak smile and walked out.
At the end of the day, I headed for the Metro stop with Angela; I couldn't afford to work late on the nights I had to drive back to Hampton. We boarded together and shared one of the hard plastic seats. I had to switch lines downtown, but Angela followed the line all the way to the last stop and then drove further out.
"So, did he ask you?" asked Angela quietly.
"Did who ask me what?" I asked in surprise.
"Major Newton. He announced to everyone that he was taking you out for dinner tonight."
"What? Oh, no. No, no, no. Crap. I guess I shot him down without knowing. And yet, what a painless way for me to go." I grimaced in embarrassment, relief, and a little guilt.
Angela giggled. "Major Crowley and I told him not to do it. You haven't encouraged him even one time."
"No, not even once." I winced. "Maybe he'll get over it this weekend." I looked forward even more to leaving DC for the weekend, seeing my patients, and living what had been my normal life up until two weeks before. Even the prospect of seeing my annoying roommate Jessica was pleasant.
I watched the psychologist chick walk down the hall with Henry escorting her. She wasn't bad looking, but her file told a story of a true career woman. No turns to the right or left, no people distracting her from the goal. I shut the door to the interview room and pulled the next file. I had two more interviews with the crazy docs, and then I could go back to dealing with reality. I shook my head in disgust. I just had to volunteer for this assignment.
My in-ear speaker tickled as a voice crackled through. The sound was still off, even after all the fiddling we had done with the electronics. "Yes, you did have to volunteer for this assignment. She's got to be the plant."
You don't know that.
"You saw her file. She got the right security clearance one week ago. She got put in the Pentagon one week ago."
Someone's got to be the newest kid on the block. The thought brought a tune to mind.
"There's more than just the security clearance. And please don't spout bad lyrics to worse tunes in your head. For my sanity."
You're just freaked because you didn't get a read on her.
"I am not freaked."
You are a paranoid freak. All I saw was a workaholic career chick.
"She's perfect for recruiting. No friends, hardly any family, and a true idealist. She's the plant. God only knows what they offered her."
May I remind you that we don't even know if there is a plant or even a "they." This could all be legit. Psych evals for secret military units are actually a damn good idea. You're all psycho. And I mean that in the nicest way.
"May I remind you that you came out of this same unit?"
Exactly my point. Even I had to snicker at that joke.
"They're about to page you, Colonel."
You know, using my rank as a sarcastic comment will not earn you any brownie points. Are you going AWOL to check her out?
"I'm military through and through. Don't ask; don't tell."
AN/2: This may not work because ff strips urls in (to me) an unpredictable way, but the background information on women in combat situations came primarily from here:
www (dot) nytimes (dot) com / 2009/08/16/us/ 16women (dot) html
The article is pretty powerful.
I didn't mean to do multiple POVs; I thought that if this was going to be twilight-y, I should stick to Bella. My story had other ideas. I'll try always to mark them with the horizontal line.