When the CIA says that they are to interrogate you, it's code for brutal torture until you give them what they want. Whether or not you are admitting the truth, if you find yourself in the hands of the United States Government, it no longer matters what is the actual truth. If they think you're guilty then you're sure as hell going to give them what they want. In training, we had learned about speculations and the few accounts of survivors in this situation, but many of those who had been caught by the United States were either dead or mentally too far gone to give us any actual preparation. Additionally, multiple years of holding POW's and the planning of a potential nuclear war would speed up the technology and methods of systemized brutality that they would need to squeeze out any bit of information from us commies. I had made sure to take note of every second I experienced so that, if I got out alive and well, I could report back to my comrades about what kind if games the Americans liked to play.

The body cannot withstand over eleven days without sleep when in average to good health. A beaten and starved body that has been supporting all it's weight on it's arms, causing nerve damage within the first 48 hours, can maybe last eight days but I was still counting and pushing my luck on the experiment. If I had money or a pack of dodgers I would bet them on making it to nine since I was feeling lucky. This being said, I currently found myself in the process of "interrogation" as they kept me standing in a room, my hands chained above my head and only an inch of space between my sides and the cold metal walls. My knees ached and my arms had already succumbed from the strain of supporting my body weight, all the blood drained downward and leaving nothing but numbing pins and needles and pain if I made the mistake of shifting myself even a fraction of an inch. The damage would be irreparable and I prayed to god that I would at least be able to hold a pencil properly if I ever got out of here. I hadn't slept in days, the risk of causing more damage to the nerves in my arms too much to allow my legs to buckle under the strain. The downside is that I had to try extra hard to keep my resolve or else my sleep deprived brain would mess up and reveal my web of lies.

I hadn't admitted to anything yet, I was a resilient son of a bitch and knew how to hold my tongue while also giving them what they wanted. You can't hope to infiltrate the United States capitol without multiple backup stories that creates a win win situation and you can't hope to stay alive in a position of any kind of power in the USSR without knowing how to keep your head down and your tail between your legs while simultaneously showing how utilitarian you are. In this case I lied that I had been forced into the task of assassinating George, with the threat of death to my sister from the KGB. The best thing about working for the USSR is that the United States knew that the trail would go cold immediately if you try to fit the pieces together. My story was sealed tight and they wouldn't even try to check the sources if everything within reach seemed plausible.

The window of my small room slid open, allowing me to meet a familiar gaze of two pale blue eyes on a grey and white furred face. My heart leapt and I thanked god for double agents and the United State's inability to see that even their own residents can hitch a ride on the red train. Or at least, find ways to benefit from the ride without actually turning coats.

"Well, if it ain't my favorite bagman." I said smugly, receiving a glare and a hiss that bounced off the metal walls and caused my ears to ring,

"Shut it or we both die, this is not the place." Munkustrap whispered as he opened the door and helped me down from my shackles and acted as my support as I was led down a twisting hallway to a small room with a table and two chairs. The dark window off to the side of the room and horribly hidden bug to the left of a fire sprinkler on the ceiling let me know that we were being watched and listened to intently.

"Sit." he stated bluntly. The look in his eye was clearly readable: I don't know you and you don't know me. I understood the severity of the situation, although the light at the end of the tunnel was suddenly and pleasantly blinding. "From this past week's interrogation it has become clear that, although you are responsible for the murder of one of our officers and for supplying information to an unknown receiver within our government, you were under threat. With this, we have decided that the valuable information you have given us is enough and your only punishment is revoking your visa and sending you back to… England."

I nodded, understanding . This wasn't going to look good on my record at all and will probably result in a suspension from my duties, if not then complete termination both from my job and my life.

"Alright, now that's that in order, I will be your escort to the airport where you will be under watch your entire trip to the United Kingdom." Munkustrap pulled me up by the arm, ignoring my painful wince, and led me, once again, through what felt like an obscenely long labyrinth of hallways until we reached an elevator. Once inside the elevator he released his grip and shot me the quickest smile before returning to his serious persona, hoping no one saw his faux pas. But, it was enough to let me know that we wouldn't be going to the airport that night and I wasn't going to see England any time soon.

The elevator opened in the back of a warehouse on the outskirts of D.C. that seemed to store old car parts and discarded surplus war packs that were unneeded when the battle ended. The whole place smelled musty and old with an undertone of cold dampness and mold as we quickly padded across the shelf lined room. After a moment I was dragged off to the left where we continued on until we found a small door off to the side that opened to an empty lot, save for one car seated on the gravel. It was a black, 1940 Ford Woodie that had been kept in beautiful shiny condition. The wood grain on the sides showing a mesmerizing pattern that seemed to map out my escape to freedom.

"Get in." Munkustrap instructed, opening the passenger door and letting me sit down, hands still cuffed. The whole car smelled like new leather and the underlying hint of nice cigars. Either Munkustrap liked to curl up in the lap of luxury or this wasn't his car and we had another loose end that needed to be eventually fixed. I was less than worried about any screw-up's at the moment, more focused on getting to whatever safe haven my friend had set up for me and getting to finally sleep. After I had settled into my seat, Munkustrap took his place behind the wheel and sped off.

"You're very lucky Mungo. If they hadn't given me your file then you'd still be down there with your arms slowly ripping off by your own body weight or would be escorted to England and have to figure out how to get around West Europe sans proper papers without being caught." Munkustrap kept his eyes level and forward, never giving me a glance. It was how he always had been and I understood that but the thought of being looked at and having that silent confirmation of an ally would be comforting at this specific time. Eyes give answers that lips keep sealed away, I had learned that while in Prague, trying to get codes from an enigma runner hidden in the city. Munkus had been an excellent ally to me in the past, selling me information and documents that I was otherwise unable to obtain. How he manages to stay employed by the US government undetected is an amazing feat in my book and I hoped we'd be in each other's presence long enough some day for me to find out.

"You look awful by the way, I almost didn't recognize you when I saw your photo. They really did a number." He took an exit off the main road that continued on to a residential street. "I'll have to call in some medical help, I don't know much beyond basic stitches and tourniquets."

"You taking me to the airport or someplace a little nicer?" I asked with a smirk.

"We both need to disappear for a while so it seems that we both got on that plane. I'm dropping you off at one of my shelters and I'll have a friend come pick you up in a week when things get covered over by other emergencies and suspicions. Fair?"

"Seems so." I shrugged.

His car sped through the winding streets of D.C. until the large buildings dispersed and shrank into smaller personal homes and eventually hilly countryside with speckles of trees and farms. Upon the horizon a large storm sat, a canopy of dark clouds and rain that we would be driving into.

"You can stop with the fake cockney by the way. The car isn't bugged." A small snort punctuating his sentence was the only indication of a casual setting and familiarity.

"It's fun though!" I smirked, thickening the accent. "I'd rather be constantly on alert than risk having jaspered and my red showing." My tone becoming more softer and serious. "So, what have you been up to since I saw you in Kaliningrad Munkus?"

"Don't call me that." He grumbled before continuing. "I've been laying low, collecting information and potential clients within the embassy. Tying to make a comprehensive list of double agents and dangles. Not only will it make my job easier so I don't have to tip toe around topics or risk my hide but I can sell the list to actual embassy members and bureaucrats for quite the pretty penny."

The car took a relatively sharp turn, jostling me against the door and producing a small grunt of pain to which I received a small "sorry" from Munkus who, once again, had yet to take his eyes off the road for even a second.

"Speaking of losing jobs and the like," I gazed out the window, feeling guilt creep up my spine as the mention of the traitor list reminded me of my own possible mistake. "Is Teazer alright? I mentioned her as an alibi but I don't want her to lose her position or go through what I did just because I was cocky."

"Last I checked she was taken in for questioning but the CIA never interrogated her to the full extent. Since your story of being forced into the situation seemed to work I think she was let off the hook. Can't speak for her job at the capitol though. Hopefully that doesn't lead to complications back at the Kremlin for her."

"If she loses her job then she loses her job job. It's hard to score a long term plant as a woman in our line of work. She wouldn't be given a second chance." I muttered out the window. Small raindrops had begun to hit the glass and the landscape was much more wooded and hidden. The road less cared for and broken, causing the car to rumble and jolt at every pothole. I wished that I had direct contact with my sister so that I knew she was alright.

"Hey," I looked up at the touch of his paw on my thigh, rubbing comforting circles into the pant. "I'll make sure to let you know if I hear anything. While I'm laying low I still haven't lost all my embassy connections nor my position in the ranks and I know how to send coded and untraceable telegrams or letters if need be."

"Can we stop talking about this tomtit? All this stuffy rain and shitty asphalt is makin me carsick." Grumbling, I curled up in my seat, wincing at the pain that shot through my arms as I attempted to get comfortable and closed my eyes. I hadn't slept in weeks and although the motion sickness was prevalent, the soft rumble of the engine and the smell of leather and expensive cigars was enveloping me in a comforting blanket that I was going to utilize.

"Whatever you say MJ." Munkustrap chuckled, switching on the windshield wipers to a higher setting, causing them to rhythmically squeak against the glass. "We aren't far anyway so I wouldn't get too comfortable."

I muttered something that wasn't quite words, my exhaustion draining any energy or chance of coherent communication from my mind. I was too tired and in too much pain to care that Munkustrap would have to deal with waking me up.