"Curfew in fifteen minutes." The radio in Six's dwelling announced cheerfully. "Fifteen minutes to curfew."

On the screen Six laid down his book and rose from the chair. Two stood also. Splendid, at last the man was going to act. Six went to the door. It failed to open for him. Undeterred he headed for the window. Two smiled. Even the most suborn of men can be led if he believes the path is of his own choosing. Six moved through the Village as Two watched.

The phone buzzed. Two picked up.

The supervisor was on the other end. "Number Six leaving outer perimeter." He said. "Should we issue a yellow alert?"

"No alert. Just keep him in sight. I will be there straight away."

The screen showed Six moving down the beach. A man on a mission. Everything was going to plan. He only need set up the pieces and watch them fall.

Six followed the lone foot prints in the sand. The usual response to his defiance failed to materialize. He looked back at the Village, quiet in the early evening. It would seem he had been correct. This was the trap they had laid for him. He walked on, unmolested. At the point where the rocks jutted out towards the water, he saw her.

Number Seven was perched on a large rock, head down. He approached quietly. There was a small pile of debris beside her, the things she had collected on the beach. Snarled fishing line, a piece of broken glass, rusted pieces of wire and a couple of pretty shells. She had also gathered a pile of drift wood and some dried seaweed in preparation for a fire. How long would they indulge even this simple act of self preservation?

She was bent over, beating a heavy bit of wire with a stone. So intent on her work she failed to notice him. He watched for awhile. Whatever she was doing fully engrossed her.

Finally he said. "Pleasant evening."

She leaped down from the rock as if she might run. He moved to block her escape and oddly she smiled at him.

"Nice to see a familiar face." She said.

"Have we met?"

"Not formally. I saw you when I was in Number Two's office." she said. "up on that big screen of his. Are there cameras in all the rooms?"

"There are no secrets in this place," he said. "Everything is seen and heard."

"Can they see us now?"

"We are always under surveillance."

"Are they listening as well?"

"Not out here."

She looked out at the ocean. The sun was sinking low. "Where exactly is this, geographically speaking?"

"Some place that is very difficult to find and even more difficult to leave."

"Have you tried to escape?"

"It's a common pass time," he said. "Your accent, American?"

She nodded.

"What did you do before you were brought here?"

"Nothing important."

"People are brought here for many reasons. All of them are important to someone."

She looked down. Unwilling to meet his eyes. She was hiding something.

"What is like beyond the Village?" She asked.

"There are mountains. Very high and very rugged."

"Passable?"

"I wouldn't lay odds on a barefoot girl," he said. "Who did you work for? CIA?"

"It's all in my very complete file," anger tinged her tone. "How about the ocean?"

"I haven't had the pleasure of reading your file," she wasn't giving him an inch. "The ocean is well guarded."

"Will they kill me or just drag me back?"

"Depends on how valuable you are."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Not very. Are you?"

"That's a matter of some debate. Why did they bring you here?"

"They want my soul."

Curious answer. Not what he was expecting.

"Who's side are you on?" He asked.

"My own."

"Aren't we all? Except of course those who are working for the enemy."

He moved closer and she stepped away, keeping the distance. Their shadows were long on the sand. A cool breeze came off the ocean. She hugged herself, already feeling the chill.

"Did your masters send you out here so I would find you, cold and hungry," he watched her face, "like a stray dog."

She said, "I have no masters."

He saw it then, the spark of life. Or perhaps it was only what he wished to see. There was something else. Almost a familiarity. As if he'd seen those eyes somewhere before. They stirred the memory of a mystery from the distant past. A friend gone missing without a trace. Suspicion pushed hard on its heels. Could her presents here be anything but a ruse to draw him out?

He pushed harder. "Is it an attempt to make me feel something for you?"

"Like pity?" She said bitterly. "Maybe you're supposed take me home. Give me a bowl of milk and a blanket by the fireplace."

"Perhaps take you into my confidence."

"Don't."

"Why? Isn't that what you want? What they want?"

"Safe bet somebody wants it."

"But not you." He said. "What is it you do want?"

"Nothing." She went back to working the piece of metal. It was crudely bent and flattened. She was honing it's tip against the edge of a stone.

"Everyone wants something." He said. "That's how they set the hook."

She kept at her work, not looking at him. Though she was smiling, enjoying a private joke.

"What is that you're making?" He asked.

She laughed as if struck by something funny. "A hook."

"Planning on doing some fishing?"

"They may have denied me a bread card." She held up the primitive hook so that he might admire it. "But I still intend to eat."

"With some luck you'll find a fish that wants something."

She caught his meaning and the fun went out of the moment. Her face became serious as she tested the tip of the hook against her finger. It pricked the skin.

"Let me see." He moved close again. This time she allowed it.

"It's fine," she said, "I've had a tetanus shot."

He took her hand anyway. Her fingers were sandy and cold. She pulled back, but not very hard. Her expression was unhappy.

"Did they put you up to this?" He asked.

"I don't doubt this is some kind of a game. The only question is, which of us is it designed to trap?"

"A very good question."

She took her hand away and put a discreet distance between them. If he were the fish she intended to catch she was going about it in an unusual fashion. He watched her as she picked up the snarled fishing line and began untangling it.

He said. "You remind me of someone."

Just the slightest flutter. "Who?"

He smiled. "A man I used to work with."

"That's hardly flattering."

"It's more of a family resemblance."

She kept at her work, giving nothing away. Good as any trained operative.

"Perhaps it's just a coincidence." He said dismissively. "Never mind."

"No such thing as coincidences," She said without looking up. "Just missing information."

She did like to play, this one.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Casey." Uttering the name seemed to crush her. Her face went to pieces. And then she was crying.

"Tears aren't magic." Now perhaps he would feel the barb of her hook. "They won't make me melt."

She wiped her eyes, fighting to pull herself together. "Will they make you leave?"

"Very well." It was unsettling how hard she wasn't trying. "As you wish."

He walked away. She paid no further attention to him, as if he no longer mattered. He stopped a short distance down the beach and looked back. She had won the war over her emotions and was again working on the fishing line, content it seemed to let him go.

"Watch out for Rover." He said.

She glanced up. "A dog?"

"A very aggressive beach ball." He treated her to the salute. "Be seeing you."

Casey looked suitably puzzled.