"Good morning, everyone. Have a seat wherever you'd like," Michael said the following Monday. The four new students shuffled into the classroom and spread out among the clump of chairs. Eight students at a time could be too much if one of them was like Neal, so Michael had requested they send him four at a time instead.
"I'm Michael Westen," he said, pulling the door closed behind him. "Over near the window amassing ammo is Fiona Glenanne. Wave, Fi." She did.
One of the students shifted in his seat nervously when he saw what Fiona was doing. Michael noticed. "Don't worry, it's not live. We've learned that lesson," he said warmly. "Right, Fi? Not live?" Fiona didn't answer. "FI," Michael said loudly. "FINE," she sighed, sweeping one little pile of bullets into her cupped hand. "There. It's not live." The student exhaled. "But it's not like they're going to be rubber bullets in the field," Fiona said under her breath.
"As I was saying. I'm Michael Westen. The Agency has asked me to lead you all this week in learning some basic field protocols and tactical skills. I've got a fair bit of experience in the field, which I'm assuming is why they asked me." Michael sat down on the table behind him. "Fiona has, well, she's got field experience as well. Let's leave it at that.
"Let's go around and have you all introduce yourselves," Michael said. "Why don't we start with the gentleman who managed to rid the room of live ammunition."
"Oh, okay. I'm David Josef. I'm in DC doing logistics support for ops in Mexico and Central America. I joined the Agency in 2012 and have been in DC since I started. Hoping to move to the Mexico City office in the next year."
"What's your background, David?" asked Michael.
"I got my masters in supply chain management and logistics at MIT."
"Great. Good to have you here. Who's next?"
A tall, black man built like a linebacker said, "I'll go. Name's Justin Clements. I'm here in Miami. I'm doing intel and analysis on emerging threats in India and Pakistan. I got my Ph.D. in South Asian languages and civilizations in 2006, and then I lived in Mumbai from '06 to 2010. Worked at the consulate there. I got recruited by the Agency when I was at the consulate, and the rest is history."
"Excellent. How badly did you stick out in Mumbai?" Michael asked, grinning.
"Oh, it was pretty bad. Pretty awful treatment of Africans there. Was a little better once people believed I was American. But yeah, not a great place for someone like me."
"Glad to have you. Ma'am?" Michael said, gesturing to the redheaded woman next to Justin.
"Me?" she asked.
Michael wrinkled his forehead a little, confused. "Yes, please."
She cleared her throat. "Anne Frank."
Michael looked at her; then reached back for the sheet with the students' names, information, and photos; then studied the page; then looked back to Anne. "Anne Frank?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Anne Frank, as in the diary of?"
She shifted in her seat. "Yes."
Michael put the papers back on the table. "Well, this is a new one, Anne. Because I know your name isn't Anne. Or Frank."
Fiona's ears perked up at the possibility of an unknown threat. She still had the live ammo, after all. She walked to the edge of the group and got her game face on in case she had to kill Anne Frank. Then she shuddered. She doesn't mind killing people, but she was sickened at the thought of killing someone named Anne Frank, even someone pretending. So, for the first time in her life, Fiona hoped the situation would end peacefully.
Michael looked at the mystery woman. "Why did you say your name is Anne Frank?"
"I'm not supposed to tell anyone I work for the Agency."
"True, ordinarily, but it seems the jig is up in here," said Michael.
"Well, maybe so, but . . . . Whatever. I'm not comfortable with it."
"Huh. I have to say, this is fascinating," Michael remarked. "I know you're lying, and now so does everyone in the room. But you and I are the only ones who know your real name." Fiona quickly moved to the table and grabbed Michael's paper. "And now Fiona knows your real name," Michael said. "But she's not going to say anything yet. Are you, Fiona," he said, raising his volume slightly. What should have been a question was an order. Fiona rolled her eyes.
"So, the question is this. Do you tell your classmates your real name as a sign of trust and camaraderie? Bear in mind they're your classmates now, but they may be your coworkers one day. They may be called on to save your life one day. Or, do you continue to keep your secret, which might say to them that you take your job so seriously as to be absurd, which then might assure them you can be trusted even though you're lying to them?"
"All I know is I'm not supposed to tell anyone I work for the Agency."
"Number two it is, then," Michael said. "I'm actually glad this happened, because one of our lessons today is how to lie effectively. I'm going to bump that up to the first thing we do, because you're a terrible liar, Anne. Of the infinite names you could've picked, you chose a teenager famous for being murdered by the Nazis. I'd go with something more low key."
Anne didn't say anything, but she nodded.
"We're not going to call you Anne," Michael continued. "It's going to remind everyone of genocide. Pick something else."
"Umm . . . Leslie."
"Leslie. Better. Leslie who?"
"Nielsen."
Michael leaned his head all the way back. "Leslie Nielsen it is. For now." He refaced the group. "Tell us something about yourself, Leslie. Something true."
She stared unwaveringly at Michael for a few seconds before speaking. "I am an engineer."
"Great. What kind?"
"I'd rather not say."
"You'd rather not say. How about this. What office are you in?"
"Well, if I can't say that I work for the Agency, I certainly can't say where I don't work for them," Leslie replied.
Michael broadened his lips into his infamous, I-want-to-shoot-you smile. "Good talking with you, Leslie. Glad you're here. All right. Last but not least," he said, gesturing to a petite woman with an asymmetrical, dark bob.
"I'm Helen . . . Keller! Heh. Sorry. Couldn't resist." Everyone except Anne/Leslie laughed. "Helen Tollesse. I'm with David in the Directorate of Support in DC, but I do medical. I was a public health specialist at the CDC before I joined the Agency about six months ago. Right now they've got me focused on shoring up our medical response capabilities in and around the Middle East."
"On behalf of those of us who've been maimed in the Middle East, thank you," Michael said, smiling. A natural smile this time.
"All right. Let me give you a 30 second overview of what we'll do in the next three days," said Michael. "We've got several exercises that put you in the two most common situations you'll find yourself in if you go into the field, which are (a) you're trying to do something sneaky, or (b) you're being interrogated and you have to convince your interrogators that you're harmless. We're going to teach you the broad concepts of what you want to accomplish, and we'll give you a bunch of practical tips.
"This is the seventh session we've done, and you know what they say. Seventh time's the charm. Fiona and I have tweaked the exercises as we've gone along based on what we were seeing from your predecessors. Things get better every week, but I do need to warn you that a few people have hyperventilated from the stress. So, just remember that you're all learning and we're just here to help. This should be educational, not unduly stressful," Michael said kindly. "Okay!" he declared, clapping twice. "Let's take five minutes. There's coffee and stuff two doors down. See you in five for Lying 101." The four students started to get up. "Oh, I almost forgot," said Michael. "Make sure to tell one of us if you're afraid of heights because we'll be jumping off the roof on Wednesday."
The students filed out, and Michael and Fiona stayed in the room. Michael opened a bottle of water as Fiona sidled up to him. "Jillian is mine," she said, smirking and rubbing her hands together. Jillian was Anne/Leslie. She was indeed an engineer. A software engineer. And she'd started with the Agency eight months ago. She was stationed at a satellite office in Cheyenne, Wyoming, where a grand total of five people worked. Michael and Fiona understood quickly why they'd put her there instead of DC or anywhere else with, you know, people.
"No, Fi, you're liable to make her chew a cyanide capsule rather than give up information," Michael said. "This calls for a more delicate approach."
"Come on, Michael, you know I can do delicate."
"But you won't do delicate here, Fi, will you." Again, it should have been a question, but it was a declaration of fact.
Fiona harumphhhed. "Fine. But you'll owe me. You still owe me for Neal, by the way. And Phillip. And What's-His-Face with the moles."
"I seem to recall paying my debt in full for Neal," said Michael. "The hair on my wrists is finally growing back."
"No, that didn't count because I allowed you to have sex with me right after that."
"'Allowed me'? Please. You're such a revisionist. Who threw who on the hallway floor?"
"Who threw whom. And you loved it."
"I would've loved it more without the near concussion. You couldn't've waited just ten more feet to get to our bed?"
"I didn't care to, no." Fiona got even closer to Michael and whispered right in his ear. "All this bickering and violence has got me in a very charged state. We will need to continue this discussion tonight." She pivoted on one foot and strutted across the room.
Michael worked to control his breathing as he watched her hair sway behind her.
A couple of minutes later, David, Justin, Anne/Leslie/Jillian, and Helen were back in the room. "Okay," Michael said. "Let's learn to lie.
"First thing to know is that your lies aren't lies in the field. They're your truths. Your life probably depends on them. They can't be lies to you."
Leslie raised her hand. "Already, Leslie?" Michael asked.
"Yes."
"Okay, shoot."
She stood up. "Will we be asked to lie in the exercises?"
Michael stared at her. "Uhhh, yeah."
"I'm not comfortable with that."
"The first word you said in this room was a lie," Michael said.
"That was different."
Fiona stood up from her table in the back corner, scraping her chair loudly against the floor. Everyone turned to look at her. Their eyes followed her as she strode to where Michael was standing.
"Leslie," Fiona said quietly. "I'm very tempted to shoot you. I'm not apologizing for it. I just know Michael would want me to warn you."
Leslie inhaled nervously. "My work depends on my telling the truth. The people who use my work have to be one hundred percent comfortable that I've told them everything there is to know," she said. "It's critical."
"Except your name," said Michael.
"They don't need to know my name. They need to believe my work."
Michael looked at her, then nodded slightly. "You know, I agree with you on that."
"Thank you," Leslie replied.
"But if you don't learn to lie well, you're going to be tortured, killed, and dropped in a pit somewhere. That's all I'm saying. Your choice."
"I will bear that in mind. Thank you, sir." Leslie sat down.
"You bet. All right. Back to what I was saying," Michael said. "There are lots of involuntary physical responses you have when you're lying, which we'll talk about in a bit. There are some voluntary ones as well, and we'll definitely talk about those so you can stop them. But probably the biggest giveaway that you're lying is how you answer the question." Michael paused to let his statement linger in the air. "I'll give you an example. This one could go either way. Fi. You still got the live ammo in your pocket?"
"What?" she asked.
"The live ammo. It still in your pocket from earlier?"
"Michael, seriously, let it go. I'm not going to shoot her. Not here, anyway."
"So you took it out?"
"Honestly, Michael, I'm not a child. I can be responsible with weaponry."
Michael looked at the students. "So?" he asked. "What do you think?"
"She's been honest so far in here," David said. "I mean, she came up and told Leslie she wants to shoot her. So I say she's telling the truth."
"Anyone else?" asked Michael. Justin and Helen sort of mumbled their agreement. Leslie, of course, said nothing.
"Fi?" Michael prompted. Fiona retrieved a handful of bullets from one of the large pockets of her cargo pants.
"Did you all notice that she never answered my question directly?" said Michael. "The answer to 'do you still have the live ammo in your pocket?' is yes or no. She never said no, because that would be a complete lie. She did a classic diversion instead, which was to act insulted that I would doubt her. Most liars' consciences prevent them from lying a hundred percent. They'll dance around it. They may get close to it. Really close to it. But their consciences stop them from actually saying no when the answer is yes. So you'll need to be able to turn off your conscience at will."
Three students murmured in agreement, scratching out some notes in their notebooks. Leslie was motionless.
"Alright. Take two minutes and think of five facts about yourself. At least one needs to be true and at least one needs to be a lie. You can go either way on the other three. Make sure you can say a bunch of stuff about them, because we'll be interrogating each other for a while. Write down your facts, indicate which ones are true and which ones are lies, and then fold up your piece of paper and drop it in the box on the counter. I'll choose a fact or two for each of you and let you all question each other."
Everyone got to work. Even Leslie.
Michael intended to take advantage of the two minutes to think about absolutely nothing. Then his phone vibrated to indicate he had an incoming text. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and grinned when he read the screen:
I'm going to be Leslie tonight.
He tapped out a response:
Leslie and Neal should meet.