"If you ask me, the interrogation looks like a waste of time," said Samuel Titcher, mug of coffee in hand. He leaned back against the desk, studying the surveillance tape of Summers' interrogation. "Just look at her! She's clearly deranged."

"She knows something she's not telling us," said Gardell. "I'm sure. I can feel it!"

He paced the office, irritated. Letting the recording of the interrogation sink into his psyche. Percolate there.

"Yeah, well, you better get something out of her soon," said Samuel. Taking a sip of coffee. "Because Gwen Cooper and Ianto Jones are still on the loose. The Brits say Harkness isn't talking. And tomorrow's when it all goes down."

Gardell grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"Yep," Samuel said. Tapping his fingers against the mug. "Kids all speaking at once. Weirdest thing ever." He reflected. "It happened at seven o'clock, this time — just when the kids were all getting up for school. Another scare tactic, you think?"

"Seven here; noon in London," said Gardell. "If you look at the times when this is happening, the Torchwood group's clearly targeting the Brits. It's only since Summers was moved to the States that the children have begun speaking at convenient times for us, too."

On the recording of the interrogation, Summers was shouting about this all being some set-up, and a massive conspiracy. And before Gardell had gotten out his next question, she'd already begun to scream that she could escape anything, and he wouldn't be able to keep her there. Gardell, on the recording, calm and composed, went on with his questioning. Asked her about a point that didn't make sense with her story. Summers froze. Caught out. Then had begun shouting, "I want a lawyer! I know my rights; I've watched CSI!"

Which was right when she convulsed, clutching her head.

And collapsed.

Gardell paused the surveillance tape.

Studying it carefully.

"How do you know she has anything to do with this in the first place?" said Samuel. "Maybe the Brits got it wrong."

Gardell waved the remote at the time stamp, in the corner of the image on the surveillance screen. "6:57 am. Three minutes before the children started talking in unison. That was when Summers had her fit."

Samuel turned. His eyebrows raised, as he regarded it. "All right. You've got a point."

"She's involved with this, somehow," Gardell said. He pulled out her file, flipping through it. "Looking back through ambulance reports, 999 calls… it's clear. She collapses just before the children speak in unison. Every single time." He snapped the file shut. "That can't be a coincidence."

"So what are you thinking?" said Samuel. "Is she Torchwood's fall-guy, or the instigator of their plot?"

Gardell shrugged. "Could go either way," he admitted. "But I'm leaning towards fall-guy. She's obviously confused. She seems to think she's been framed. If Torchwood's drugged her, somehow… maybe given her an early version of whatever toxin is infecting our kids…"

"That could explain the change in her behavior, after she collapsed," Samuel agreed. "Reasonable enough explanation."

Gardell frowned. Pacing, yet again. "Except if she were the fall-guy, why won't she tell us anything? She knows she's being set up! She hinted that she knew Torchwood's plan. Two-thirds of Earth's children, she said."

Samuel whistled, impressed.

"But she's stubborn," said Gardell. "She's sure these Torchwood guys are a group committed to saving the world. Even if she understands they're framing her, she still won't betray them. No matter what."

He fiddled with the remote, skipped ahead to the next interrogation.

Watching the recording of himself and the spaced-out Summers.

Samuel regarded the screen, thoughtfully. Watching. "If she is connected with the children," he pointed out, "then why's she not acting like them? No speaking in unison, no stopping, just… convulsions." His forehead creased, as he watched her. "And her body language, afterwards — it's like she's become a completely different person."

"I don't know," said Gardell. "I've got our medical team running tests to find out anything that could justify this, but… so far, they've come up empty."

"Just like the test results for the kids," Samuel agreed.

Gardell's lips formed a thin line. As he continued to pace. Continued to think this all through in his head.

"You think Hiskaloph knows anything?" Samuel asked.

Gardell sighed. "I doubt it," he admitted. "I've seen the interrogation tapes of her, but… she seems more interested in making us believe she knows something than in proving she does. Summers has connections with Hiskaloph's Slayer Institute. I think this is Hiskaloph trying to protect her friend."

Samuel swirled the coffee around in his mug. "Interesting theory."

Gardell paused. Turned to Samuel. "You think otherwise?"

"Me and a lot of other people," Samuel agreed. "Yeah." He sipped his coffee, again. "That Hiskaloph's a sly one. She seems clean on the surface, but if you look at her connections… they run too deep. Her Slayer Institute has backers all over Washington."

Gardell thought this through.

"We've been keeping tabs on that Slayer Institute place for a while," said Samuel. "It seems to be some kind of heavily-armed militia organization. Full of radicalist doomsayers who believe there are demons and devils in every back alley." He gave a small laugh. "And their mission statement! 'To save the world from invading aliens, evil demons, and the forces of darkness'!"

"Sounds like a cult," said Gardell.

"Yeah — but no one can touch it," said Samuel. Put down his coffee on the desk behind him. "We can't raid the place. Can't even get someone undercover! Like I said — whatever Hiskaloph's running, over there in Cleveland — the politicians in Washington are up to their necks in it."

Gardell thought about this a long moment.

Then grabbed up Hiskaloph's file, thumbing through it, as he made his way out of the office. "Wait a few minutes, then work on Summers, again. Try a little good-cop. Get her on our side."

His eyes were fixed on the file in front of him. As he read through the information.

Time for some words, in person, with the mysterious Ria Hiskaloph.

Hiskaloph sat on her chair, hands folded in front of her. Looking completely calm, unshaken, unconcerned. Just as she'd been the moment Gardell had arrived.

"…will be better if you told us the truth," Gardell explained to her. "We've been keeping tabs on your 'Slayer' group for some time. Evidence shows that Summers, herself, ran the group before surrendering her position to you."

Hiskaloph didn't seem bothered by this. Acted as if she were perfectly content to sit there all day. "Is that so?"

"We know there's a connection between you and Summers," said Gardell. "So. Are you protecting her, Ms. Hiskaloph?"

Hiskaloph raised her eyebrows. "You tell me."

Gardell leaned forwards. Making it look as if he, at great personal risk, were letting out a secret he really shouldn't. "Look, I'm going to be straight with you," Gardell said. "Cooper, Jones, and Harkness have already confessed. They've blamed Summers for everything. The only way you can protect her is to tell us what you know. Tell us what she's actually done."

Hiskaloph leaned forwards, also conspiratorially. Considering. "You want me to tell you something?" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Here's something. Have you ever watched TV news pundits?"

Gardell sat back in his chair. He was beginning to get frustrated.

The more he talked to Hiskaloph, the more certain he was that she knew nothing about what was happening at Torchwood, or what was happening to the kids.

No.

She just wanted them to think that she did. To divert attention from Summers.

"Especially those really loud-mouthed pundits," Hiskaloph continued, in her normal voice. "You know? The ones with their own shows? Talk Fast with Peter Carverson, or Strike Him Out with Leonard Potter." She shrugged. "Usually, I just ignore them." She glanced up to meet his eyes. "I'm guessing you do the same."

"I don't think you understand how serious this is, Ms. Hiskaloph," Gardell tried again. "You were caught trying to smuggle an international terrorist onto US soil. She's already been denounced by her associates. The only way either you or her have a chance is if you—"

"Denounced, huh?" said Hiskaloph. "By Gwen, Ianto, and Jack?" She gave a small laugh. "Are you the one making that up, or did the lie start with the British government and work its way over here?"

Gardell folded his hands on the table. His face blank, calm and composed.

"How'd your British counterparts take the news that you were interrogating Buffy, by the way?" Hiskaloph asked. She folded her arms, looking a little smug. "I bet they weren't too happy about it."

There was a little something in her eyes, as she said it.

A spark, like she was leading him on. Purposely.

"Ms. Hiskaloph," Gardell said, with a little sigh, "it's clear to me that you think your friend is innocent. What you don't seem to understand is… I believe you're right."

Hiskaloph still didn't betray anything.

But he could see… he'd gained her interest.

"You don't have to imprison yourself in order to protect her," Gardell coaxed. "If you know something — anything — about this, I can help you."

Hiskaloph reflected.

For a few moments, Gardell thought she'd actually spill the beans.

Then Hiskaloph's grin widened, and she leaned back in her chair. "Mitch Philhorn," she said. "Now there's a great pundit. I mean, you've got no idea how powerful someone like that is. He says something, and the nation laps it up."

Looked like Gardell would have to reveal some information, to make his position stronger. Convince her to talk.

"I've seen Summers under the influence of perception-altering drugs," said Gardell. "You've as much as admitted that you think this is a set-up. That she's being framed. It's probable she's been given something by the people at Torchwood, to make her seem guilty. So… what are the drugs? What's making her act this way?"

Hiskaloph didn't answer.

But Gardell could tell, from the way she was sitting, the way her face bent, the way she was a little too easy about all this… she wanted to let him help her.

He was close.

"Your organization's mission statement is to save the world," Gardell said. Pushing just a little bit more. "You don't like what's happening to the children any more than we do. You're a mother. You want to see it stopped. If you just told us the truth—"

"Then you'd never believe it," Hiskaloph interrupted. Her ease gone, in a second, a seriousness washing across her. "I've seen this kind of thing happen over and over again. If I tell you what's really happening — that's just words. Something for someone else to deny." She leaned forwards. "How do you think I knew you were lying about Gwen, Ianto, and Jack's denouncements? Tell me that."

"Just because they haven't denounced her, yet, doesn't mean they won't in the near future," Gardell pointed out. "I've seen what's happening to Summers. She's clearly been set up to take the fall for whatever Torchwood's planning."

Hiskaloph gave a small, unamused laugh. "Oh, you have no idea."

"I don't?" Gardell asked her. Twisting her question back on her.

"And that's why I can't tell you," Hiskaloph explained. "Because this is wrong — so phenomenally, monumentally wrong that I don't even know where to begin — and you can't help me, Mr. Gardell. Because you just wouldn't understand."

Now he was getting somewhere.

"What wouldn't I understand?" Gardell said.

Hiskaloph shook her head, annoyed. "I've been interrogated by the government before, you know," she said. "By this point, someone should have stepped in. Some top-secret government agency that even the FBI doesn't know about, a group that actually understands what Buffy and I do." Her lips formed a thin frown. "And that hasn't happened, yet. Which is worrying. It might mean this cover-up extends further than I thought." Her eyes flashed. "I don't know if I can trust you, Gardell."

Gardell nodded, slowly.

"You think this is a government conspiracy," he said. He pretended to think about it. "I see."

Hiskaloph sat back. Trying to read him.

But he gave nothing away. He'd been trained too well for that.

Gardell raised up a little device, and flipped it at the cameras. The recording lights went off, as they appeared — to all external eyes — to shut down. Appeared to, anyways. Then he turned back to Hiskaloph.

"Off the record," Gardell said. "Whatever's going on, you can tell me. I'll believe you."

Hiskaloph considered.

For a long, long time.

The clock ticking in the background, as the seconds slowly drifted by.

"You could be in on it, too," Hiskaloph said, at last. She gestured at him. "What you're doing now… it could be a trick. You fishing around to find out what I know, see if I'm a threat. Then, after I tell you, you'll kill me and Buffy and make sure your plan succeeds, anyways." Her eyes flashed with challenge. "How can you guarantee you're on my side?"

Gardell furrowed his brow. Putting on a concerned-and-slightly-alarmed act. "You think someone in the government is actually trying to kill you?"

He didn't have to act very hard, though, to make the gesture seem genuine.

Out to kill her?!

And he could tell by the body-language that she meant it. She really thought there was a conspiracy. That she and Summers were in mortal danger.

So. Was this unwarranted paranoia? Or… did they know something he didn't?

"I can't tell you anything unless I know it's safe," Hiskaloph continued. "Dawn would kill me if I didn't…"

Which was when the door opened, and one of Gardell's coworkers — a tall, thin man, named Reynolds — stepped inside. Not saying anything, but giving Gardell a look that said, "Get out here, now."

Hiskaloph stopped.

A smile spreading across her face.

"There we go," Hiskaloph said, her body language now a lot more easygoing. "I was wondering how long I had to stall you before this happened."

Gardell had to force down his irritation, as he got up from the table.

This wasn't standard protocol.

And now that he'd been interrupted… he'd never get anywhere with Hiskaloph. She'd never tell him anything, again.

"A phone call for Mr. Gardell?" Hiskaloph asked Reynolds. She leaned her chair back on two legs. "Figured. Tell Frobisher to give my love to Rupert Giles."

"We'll resume this another time," Gardell told Hiskaloph.

Hiskaloph shrugged.

"I dunno," Hiskaloph said, as Gardell left. "Personally, I think you'd get more information watching Mitch Philhorn."