Stepping through the door of the hospital room that was Rhiana's temporary accommodation, Moragh found the Romulan out of bed and sitting in a comfortable armchair, a blanket over her lap. "Jolan tru." He spoke fairly good Rihannsu, albeit with an accent that was thick enough to make her wince.

"I thought it would be someone from Starfleet Intelligence," she blurted, obviously not at all pleased to see him. She looked him up and down, taking in his black uniform, his rank insignia, the temporary department patch on his sleeve. Her lip curled in distaste. "They replaced him fast enough."

"It was necessary," Moragh informed her, reining in his annoyance at her attitude with some effort. She had asked for this debriefing and her rudeness was uncalled for. This was not truly the Rhiana he knew, he reminded himself… not the Rhiana who had lived for years in the Federation, but the cold, ruthless Tal Shiar agent that she had been sixteen or so years ago. Arrhae, that was the name she'd used while undercover, and he rather suspected it was Arrhae he was addressing now. "Quick action had to be taken to protect the lives of agents. With both you and Krang out of the picture, I was called in to deal with the situation. I should introduce myself by the way, I am Security Captain Moragh sutai Khamran, in temporary command of FedKIN."

With a sigh the Romulan woman gestured to the other chair. "You might as well sit down."

He took the seat she offered, and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small device and placed it on the nearby table. "I should tell you that from this point on, our conversation is being recorded. This device will also ensure that no other recording equipment within hearing range is able to operate. With that said, are you willing to continue?"

She nodded and he was about to instruct her to give her consent verbally when she did just that, belatedly remembering that the recording device was audio only. "Yes, I am willing. What do you want to know?"

"I understand that your memory is beginning to return," Moragh said. "As you are aware, it's important that we learn anything you can remember about the mission you were undertaking – specifically, what happened to cause you to break cover, and anything you can tell us about the people who took Krang."

"What, your doctor didn't do a good enough hack job removing the recording equipment?" she asked bitterly, reaching up to touch the eye that, although repaired, still showed signs of damage. Her vision in that eye was still cloudy but was slowly improving, and right now it was itching chronically, something that doctors told her was a good thing because it meant the nerve cells were regenerating.

"The fault was not my doctor; it was the ship's battle surgeon," Moragh growled. "And if he had done a good enough hack job, as you put it, then you would not now be suffering with visual problems and impaired memory. I can assure you, Rhiana, that he will be severely disciplined for the neural damage he caused you." He let out a heavy sigh. "Besides, thanks to the damage, the data we retrieved from the chip was limited. Whatever you can tell us to supplement it may be the key to this mess."

Rhiana nodded, accepting that. "I understand," she said, "But I did not break cover!"

"You made the right choice in the circumstances," Moragh told her. "Retrieving Krang took precedence over everything else. Nevertheless, the mission failed. We did make some arrests but were not able to reach the top echelons of the organisation as we had hoped."

"I didn't break cover," she repeated, tensing visibly as she tried to piece together the memories. "At least not deliberately. I was out in the Neutral Zone – I did a few illegal jobs out there to enhance my cover story and let it be known in various places that I was for hire. Someone took the bait, a man who called himself Henry Smith… not his real name, by the way… but anyway, I got to the rendezvous and was about to close the deal and find out what he wanted me to do. I was bargaining with him… didn't want to appear too eager. That's when I saw Krang's knife and realised something bad had happened." Carefully she continued, explaining how she had managed to persuade her contact to let her spend some time with the prisoner.

Moragh gave an understanding nod. "So, what went wrong?" he asked carefully, "When the soldiers arrived you appeared to be fighting to defend yourself and Krang."

"I was trying to make it look like I was torturing the prisoner for information," she said. "I slapped him and threw water in his face… He was choking... like... there was something caught in his throat... which there was, I suppose – I had just shoved a transceiver in his mouth…" She glared at him before continuing… "Have you seen the size of those things? They aren't exactly easy to swallow, you know!"

They were exactly half the size of the average Terran painkiller, but Moragh did not take the bait. "And?" he prompted, carefully ignoring her ire. "What happened then? I assume that at some point they concluded you were a threat and took action against you?"

She nodded, shivering at the memory, one of the very few things she could actually recall. "Krang didn't know who I was, and he tried to get the knife off me. Next thing I remember, the guards were there and attacking both of us. The rest you know."

The security captain sighed. "You did well," he told her. "And you did the right thing in getting him out of there."

"I should have been more wary," she chastised herself, "…should have realised they wouldn't leave me completely unmonitored. I did wonder if I should just conclude the business deal, get the hell out of there and then call for help, but I was worried they'd just bomb the place. You know how heavy-handed Klingons can be, and I wanted to get Krang out alive."

"It was an easy mistake to make under the circumstances" he reassured her. "You did the right thing. Can you think of anything else that will help us identify the leader of this group?"

"I think… he looked and sounded human. Called himself Henry Smith. But I think he might have been Cardassian..."

"Cardassian? Are you sure?" Moragh said sharply. He had not been made aware of any prisoner of that race in the group arrested, nor had a Cardassian body been reported.

"Like I said, he didn't look Cardassian… some sort of surgery or maybe synthetic skin." Rhiana thought carefully, determined to remember the details. "No… actually, I don't think he was – it doesn't feel right somehow. He swore in Cardassian, and it sounded authentic, but… no, not Cardassian – but not Terran either."

Moragh nodded thoughtfully. "What do your instincts tell you?"

"Instincts don't count as evidence," she reminded him, "but with that disclaimer…" She paused, trying to work it out. "If it wasn't for the fact that he was so blatantly not telepathic – because if he was, he'd have read my mind and killed me within minutes of my arrival – I'd have been inclined to say Betazoid."

Moragh scowled. He really didn't like telepaths although he occasionally had to work with them, and the Betazoids were the worst of the lot. "Was there anything else to identify him?"

"He... had something on his hand... a ring, I think… it was big and heavy... He kept covering it up with his other hand, like he was being protective of it, or didn't want me to get a good look at it – which is odd, because you don't wear a big, fancy jewel like that unless you want to show off, so it might be significant in some way."

"A ring?" One of the Terrans arrested had been wearing a large and ostentatious ring. They'd assumed the ringleader had escaped, but if Rhiana was right… just maybe he was right under their noses. Reaching over to deactivate the recording device, he opened a comm channel. "Moragh to Kahsil. Call BortaS again. If it hasn't already been done, tell them to put the Terran prisoners through a full DNA identity scan."

"Acknowledged, sir. What are they looking for?"

"Cardassian DNA," Moragh said tersely. "Or more probably, Betazoid. Focus on the prisoner with the fancy ring; the others more likely will be exactly what they seem, but check them anyway – and confiscate that ring, by the way and have it analysed. If they find anything, have the DNA sent across to the appropriate authorities to see if you can get an ID and have him separated from the others. He may be the ringleader we've been looking for."

"Understood. I'm on it!"

"Acknowledged." He cut the connection and returned his attention to Rhiana. She was pale and looked exhausted. The effort of puzzling out what had happened was telling on her. Enough was enough, he decided. "I think we are done for now. I would ask however, that if you remember anything else, no matter insignificant it may seem, that you contact me immediately."

There was a moment's silence before Rhiana looked back at him. "Security Captain?"

He returned her gaze. "Yes, Rhiana?"

"Did I know you... before?"

He nodded. "I was based on Qo'noS, so we did not meet often, but I spoke to you occasionally by long range comms."

There was nothing left for Moragh to say except 'thank you', something he didn't have to say very often but this was the Federation and they loved their unnecessary politeness so he said it. Surprised by his good manners, she'd told him he was welcome, and with that, the briefing was finished. Overall, he thought it had gone well. Once she'd got over her little temper tantrum – which he generously decided to put down to the trauma she had undergone – and decided to cooperate, it had been surprisingly informative. He now had a much better picture in his mind of what had happened, and that would be very useful when he interrogated the prisoners. He was almost at the door when the Romulan's voice called him back and he turned enquiringly.

"Make them pay, Moragh."

Her voice was cold and hard, and he nodded, his expression grim. "I will, you can be sure of that." Not knowing if she would understand the meaning, he nevertheless opened his palm, exposing the livid, unhealed scar to her gaze. The slight smile that upturned her lips but did not reach her eyes told him that yes, she did understand. "I promise you, Rhiana; they will pay for what they have done."

Interrogation Room, IKS BortaS,

Reading the list of prisoners, Moragh had been shocked to find a woman and a twelve-year-old boy amongst them. The soldiers had not discriminated. Anyone and everyone found inside the compound had been arrested, or if they had been stupid enough to fight back, killed.

Deciding to question her first, he had her brought to the designated 'interview' room, an empty space containing nothing more than two chairs and a desk. An unarmed and clearly terrified forty-year-old woman was no threat to him, and so, seating himself in one chair, he politely gestured for her to sit down in the other one. She did so, eyeing him warily; politeness was not what she expected from her captors.

Her name, he quickly discovered was Clara Wilkins and she was employed as a cook and housekeeper for the man who called himself Henry Smith. Her husband also worked for him in a security capacity… and Moragh barely held back a snort at that euphemism; if her mate was not one of the surviving prisoners – and he quickly ascertained that he was not – then he must have been one of the prison guards who had been involved in Krang's torture.

It did not escape Moragh's notice that faced with the confirmation of his death, she did not seem particularly grief-stricken. That was interesting, but for the moment, he moved past it and asked his next question. "And the boy? Is he your son?" Moragh already knew the answer to that question since the DNA scan results were on the padd in his had, but he wanted to hear what she would say.

"We adopted him when he was six," she admitted. "He's a good boy. You won't hurt him, will you?"

"I have no reason to hurt him," Moragh said, and she relaxed instantly, only to tense again when he asked for the provenance, wanting to know through which planetary authorities had they adopted and where were the adoption documents? She looked scared again, from which he guessed that no such paperwork existed, and cringed away from him when he stood up and leaned over the desk towards her. This close, he could not avoid noticing the bruises on her arms, some of them no doubt caused by the overzealous actions of his soldiers, but some of them looked older. Either she was very clumsy, or… since some of those marks looked like fingerprints, someone, mostly likely her mate, was abusing her. Moragh growled. It was a shame that the mate was probably already dead. A few questions later, he came to his decision; if the other prisoners corroborated her story, then he would have her and the boy remanded to the custody of the Federation social workers.

He took the boy in for questioning next, and mindful of the child's age, he activated a recording device to film the session in accordance with the Federation laws regarding the treatment of minors. The child, whose name turned out to be Matthew, was belligerent and uncooperative at first, shouting at Moragh that he was a Federation citizen and they had no right to hold him prisoner. He'd been very surprised when Moragh had agreed and suggested that he come and sit down, and he'd see what could be done to remedy that. He asked the boy many questions – what did he know about his father's work? What was it like living in the compound? Did he go to school or receive any form of education? And then came the most important question of all… "Do you remember your life before?"

The boy shook his head, wary now. "Dad says I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"Your father is not here," Moragh pointed out. "I am, however, and if I am to help you, I need to know everything you can tell me about what happened to your birth family and how you came here.

Something indefinable passed across the boy's face. "Is Dad dead? He wasn't in the cell with us."

Moragh nodded. "Yes."

The boy gave no sign that he'd even heard the Klingon's answer, showing not even the slightest signs of grief or anger. Rather, he seemed to be thinking of something else, and after a moment, he went back to Moragh's question about his previous life. "I remember being at a zoo," he said slowly. "I was looking at the tiger through a big glass wall. I'd been at the monkey enclosure, but I saw the picture of the tigers, so I ran off to find them. They were really scary, but it was exciting because they were so close, and their paws and their teeth were huge! I couldn't find my parents after that, and a man said he'd help me. He took me to a room and then another man came, and that was Mr Smith. He took me away and after that I lived with my new mum and dad." He looked anxiously at the Klingon. "Please don't blame my mum. It wasn't her fault, and she was always nice to me. Dad used to hit her sometimes – he hit me as well if I didn't do what he wanted, and she always tried to stop him."

With some effort that Moragh remained calm and hid his anger. The boy was a victim and there was no point in scaring him any more than he already was. He had more questions to ask – this was a stolen child and anything they could learn now might help identify and locate his birth family. Beginning to realise that this big, intimidating Klingon in the black uniform really wasn't his enemy, the boy cooperated as best he could, and little by little, Moragh was able to tease out much of the necessary information.

Considering the available evidence, Moragh concluded that he would stand by his original choice to send them to the Federation, where it was likely that they would be separated, and the boy put into temporary social care until his family was found. The adoptive mother would probably be arrested and end up with a suspended sentence. He shrugged; what happened to her was not his problem. Decision made, he put a call through to the captain and issued his instructions.

The rest of his day was spent observing the interrogation of the lesser prisoners, all except the one he believed to be the ringleader. One by one, each was removed from the holding cell, questioned, and returned to a different cell, well away from those who had not yet been questioned. From his hidden vantage point, Moragh watched and listened, and when it was done and he was satisfied there was nothing more to learn, he sentenced them all to life without parole on the Klingon penal colony of Rura Penthe.