He woke to the sound of rain. Six lay looking up at the dark ceiling, trying to remember why it mattered. Then it came. The girl on the beach. Thunder grumbled and lighting lit up the room. He rose, went to the window and looked out at the wet darkness. This is what they wanted. They wanted him to go out on this God forsaken night, find that bedraggled girl and drag her back here. Rescue her.
He spun away from the window, paced the length of the room. His eyes went to the camera. Other eyes were looking back, waiting for him to take the bait. Again thunder and a bright flash. The rain come harder, like the pounding beat of a drum, urging action. She'd be a drowned rat. Not a fate she deserved. Not one he could truly save her from. Only postpone. And in doing so play his keepers' game. Why make them wait any longer? He went to the wardrobe.
On the screen Number Two watched Six drop from the balcony. Predictably he headed for the beach,moving quickly through the dark Village. A true man of action. How he must have missed this. Risking it all to play the hero and save the damsel. It is such a noble weakness to care.
The wind coming off the ocean had a nasty bite as it drove the rain at him. Six pushed through it searching the night. From time to time lighting opened the sky showing him the wet world in stark detail. He retraced his steps, following the waters edge. No rover emerged to menace him. No sirens cried after him. Only the wild roll of the water and the storm unaccompanied his willful disobedience. He might have been alone in the world. There could be no doubt this is what they wanted from him. A wiser man would have let it be. He was a fool.
The rain came down steadily, though the fury of storm had passed by the time saw her down by the rocks. She lay crumpled on the wet sand. She didn't answer his call. He approached like a man prepared to make an unhappy discovery. He bent down and put on hand on her shoulder. To his relief she raised her head at at his touch. Even in the dimness he could see the gash across her cheek.
He looked round, her fire had been kicked apart. Her fishing pole lay broken on the sand. "What happened?"
"Fires aren't permitted." Her voice was weak, barley heard above the noise of the waves. "A couple of guys came by to tell me."
Anger surged in him. They had roughed her up pretty badly. "Can you walk?" he took hold of her, helping her to her feet.
She made a pitiful try at pulling away."You should leave me here."
"Don't argue. You stay out here, you die."
"Now or latter," it was scarce a whisper. "Does it matter?"
He got her arm across his shoulders and his own around her waist. She was soaked to the skin and cold as a fish. She leaned on him heavily.
It was nothing but up hill from the beach to his apartment and she was all but a dead weight stumbling at his side. The blank eyes of many cameras swung to record their awkward trek through the empty streets. And still no one came to dissuade him from this folly.
He was near spent when they reached his door. It opened for them of its own accord. How considerate of Number Two. Six heaved his burden inside. She was giving out completely. He had to carry her up the steps and into the bedroom. He flopped her down on the bed. In the light of the room he could see the bruising on her face. They had slapped her around pretty good. More than they would have if she'd hadn't fought them. In her suborn pride she did herself herself no favors. Something he all to well understood.
"Come on now." He shook her. "Wake up. You mustn't go to sleep just yet."
She opened her eyes and blinked at him. "They kicked sand on my fire." It was a harsh whisper. "The fish is gone. I couldn't find it."
"Sit up." He had to lift her. She swayed, scarcely conscious, lifeless as a doll. "Look at me. You may have a concussion. You must stay awake."
"I have to catch another one." Her voice was thick.
He gave her a shake, getting her eyes to focus on him. "you have to get out of these wet cloths. You understand?"
"I lost your lighter."
"Never mind that," he said. "You're freezing. You need to change. Can you do that?"
Her eyes focused on him and she nodded.
"Good girl." He went to the wardrobe, got out his dressing gown and tossed it on the bed. She looked at it dully.
"Put that on. I'll make some tea."
She reached for the gown and he left her to it. He went to the kitchen, started the kettle and waited. Still they were content to watch. He gave the camera a salute.
He paced to the window. Looked out at the now quiet night. A shower and a change of cloths would make it more pleasant. Sleep would make it even better. He glanced back at the bedroom. Casey was now in his dressing gown, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her cloths lay in a wet, sandy heap on the floor. Two had been honest as to his intent. Had he not interfered she would still be out there, left to the mercy of the elements. They would see her dead before they allowed her to return unrepentant to the comforts of the Village.
And when they had enough of this game they would take her back there and force him to witness either her death or her surrender. Was that how they intended to break him? By destroying her before his eyes. He was a fool to allow himself to be drawn in.
And there was that other thing the cold calculating part of him longed to discover. The how and the why of her presents and how she tied to a past the insanity of this place could never erase.
He fixed a cup of tea and went back to the bedroom. Casey's dull eyes looked at the floor. She was scarcely aware of him.
"Here," Six put a hand on her, drawing her back to the world. "drink up. It will help warm you."
She took the cup clumsily. Her hands shook so she had trouble drinking.
He got a rug out of wardrobe and draped it round her shoulders. Some life was returning to her. When she looked up at him there was a spark of light in her eyes.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"Yes. Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I haven't done anything for you. There is nothing I can do for you."
"I know." She looked away.
A trained interrogator can tell when a subject is ready to talk. The cruel, though practical demonstration of her weakness had brought Casey to that point. He could easily exploit it.
"Very soon," he said. "men are going to come to take you. I won't be able to stop them."
This revelation was another act of cruelty. When her eyes met his they were devoid of hope. He felt that familiar pang as his conscious punished him. He had been so very good at his job.
He leaned close, "Casey, there is a way we might be able to help one another."
"How?"
"Confide in me."
She dropped her eyes not quite ready to yield, still clinging to her suspicions. But it was a mere reflex of habit. She wanted to trust him. He only need give her a reason.
"Come now, I've given you tea and let you wear my dressing gown." a gentle nudge. "That must earn me some measure of confidence."
The slightest smile flickered across her ruined face.
"That's my girl," Six glanced at the camera reminding the watchers that he hadn't forgotten.
She followed his gaze in the direction of the unseen camera.
"Never mind them." he said. "They love to listen. Gives them a sense of importance."
The microphones in this room were very sensitive. If they didn't know what he was beginning to suspect it wouldn't do to help them discover it. He would have to be ever so careful. He sat next to her on the bed, close enough that his shoulder touched hers. She was shaking, still suffering from the effects of hypothermia. She was in no condition for an interrogation. She needed to be in hospital. He took the empty cup form her limp hands, set in on the night stand. She was vulnerable. A good operative always presses the advantage.
He whispered. "How is it you know me?"
He felt her tense.
"Now, no nonsense, Casey. We haven't time for it." he hissed. "When we met on the beach, you recognized me. How?"
For a moment she looked at him reproachfully, like a little girl caught in a lie. Then she relaxed giving into the desire to have him as an ally.
"You were in a picture," she said faintly, "with my dad."
And now he was getting some where.
"What is his name?"
She shook her head, "When I was growing up he used a lot of names. We all did." her voice trailed off. "That was the part mom hated most. Changing her name."
Of course he wouldn't have used his own name. If Casey's father and his long lost friend were truly one and the same that conformation may have to come from elsewhere. Perhaps Number Two.
"Where is your father, Casey?"
"Dead."
It didn't shock him. He had long suspected it. Since the day Chambers had failed to meet him at the foreign office. But Casey's existence suggested his friend's fate had caught up with him much latter. How many years had he spent in hiding? The girl sitting beside him was a wealth of information but she didn't have the physical fortitude for this kind of emotional dredging. She was flagging fast. And yet he pushed her.
"How did he die?"
Her breath caught. She was going to collapse on him again. He put an arm round her gently. She allowed herself to lean on him.
"Tell me, Casey."
"I don't know," she shook her head weakly against his shoulder. "He left."
"How do you know he's dead?"
"He never came back." her hushed voice trembled. "If he were alive he would have come back."
Not conclusive. Nothing he was getting from her was. Even in her most honest state, Casey was infuriatingly mysterious. And time was running out. Their watchers would not tolerate being left in the dark so long.
"Before he left he showed me your picture and said I was to go to you if I was ever in trouble." she whispered. "I tried once."
"You tried to find me?"
She nodded. "But you were gone. You'd retired."
There is was. The reason for this farce. The question of his resignation. No wonder Number Two was so patient. Unconsciously his grip on the girl, his interrogator, tightened. He glared up at the camera. Did they think this pathetic attempt would sway him? His rage welled.
"What are you waiting for?" he breathed. "Ask your questions."
"Is that why you're here?" Casey stirred, uncomfortable in the vice his arm had become. "Because you quit?"
"You know more about that than you pretend," it was near a snarl. "What promises have they made you?"
She was getting restless with his harshness of his tone and the confinement of his hold, but had no strength to fight.
"How did your father die? Was he brought here to have his mind pumped? Did they kill him before or after he gave them what they were after?" he was shaking. "how long did he hold out?"
Casey was frozen. He shifted away from her enough to see her face. His accusation had been unfounded. She didn't know what had become of her father, but what she now suspected shown in her eyes.