Call Me Gray

The events of the previous evening were heavy on his mind as Mr. Gray stepped out of the elevator. He rubbed gently at the itchy bandage on his forehead, feeling the pain of the wound beneath. The lobby that opened up in front of him was innocent-looking enough to convince most people that this was a legitimate firm. Only the employees knew the truth- not even family members knew the kind of work that their loved ones did- not that Mr. Gray had any family.

With a respectful nod to Miss Violet at the reception desk, Mr. Gray turned immediately left, passing her and continued down to his office. He figured that if he kept moving, no one would have time to ask about the thick bandage or the blackened eye that he donned this particular morning. Of course, agents often got hurt in this line of work. The only difference in this case, the reason he wanted to avoid the scrutiny of his peers, was that all his wounds from this last job had been inflicted by a woman...a mysterious, and very well-trained operative. The image of those electrifying green eyes of his assailant toyed with his focus; and he was glad to reach the office and slip inside, avoiding the stares of the other employees.

After his long debriefing the night before, Mr. Gray was determined to find some distraction from the lingering thoughts of the woman and the insecurity she'd caused him. He slipped into his chair, eyeing the new stack of files on his desk. Thankfully, there were blessed few. Flipping open the first file he scanned the front page, which detailed the sort of assignment it was- a simple surveillance gig, and put it aside for later. He wasn't in the mood to run out of the office so soon after arriving. Mr. Gray thought he might actually stay in today, do some research, have a few drinks and 'nurse his wounds' so-to-speak.

Mr. Black, one of the agency founders, introduced his entry to the room with a single light knock. Mr. Gray looked up at Mr. Black blankly at first, holding back his reaction to perhaps get a reading of the man's mood as he shut the door and approached the desk.

"Read your report, Gray," the older man said in his usual, gruff tone. "Had any insights or recollections over night?"

Mr. Gray pushed back from the desk, swiveling the chair in the boss's direction. "No, sir. I've never seen this woman before; and she doesn't appear to be in our database."

Mr. Black nodded, his already grim features turning a bit more rigid with his annoyance. "Well, she's on someone's payroll."

Bosses had the luxury of stating the obvious. "White hasn't broken her yet?"

After a long, agitated pause, Mr. Black said a soft, "No, I'm afraid not." Mr. Gray was silent. Somehow he wasn't surprised that she was giving their lead interrogator a run for his money.

Suddenly the gruff and agitation melted from the old features to reveal hints of amusement. "Fine shiner she gave you, Gray," Mr. Black said, making a gesture toward Mr. Gray's swollen features. "Did you hurt her at all?"

Despite the personal attack to his ego, Mr. Gray stayed cool and unreadable. Not a muscle twitched on his face, though he lowered his head just a bit, to draw the old man's attention to the intensity of his dark brown eyes. He was not a man to be easily cowed by such childish tactics.

"I'm certain I did, sir. The situation wouldn't have gotten so sticky if certain individuals hadn't decided to come barreling in at the wrong moment."

"I know about Green," he interrupted. "What can I say; he's young...new at this."

"I can't train a man who won't follow my orders, sir," Mr. Gray said firmly. His tone was not quite a threat, but he could easily push in that direction.

The boss's response was authoritative. "Now isn't the time to throw your weight around, Mr. Gray. Your team dropped the ball last night. We have to get those discs back before they fall into the wrong hands."

Mr. Gray was preparing a response, but didn't get a chance to speak before the boss was already turning away. So, he simply said, "Perhaps I'll have a chat with Mr. White," to the departing man's back.

--------------

Mr. White's 'workroom' was in the basement of the building. The walls were designed to dampen sound; and the highest security measures were in place to assure that no one got in or out of the room who shouldn't. Gray had ample clearance to sweep effortlessly through security to the basement, but chose not to be as brash and intrusive as Mr. Black. Instead, he 'rang-the-bell' and waited for Mr. White to buzz him in through the thick doors and into the stark white room, which was currently marred by splashes of blood from the on-going interrogation.

Mr. White wore a doctor's lab coat over his dress shirt and dark slacks, to protect them from collecting noticeable blood stains. As he was their foremost expert (more precisely, enthusiast) on effective interrogation techniques, he had a reputation among the operatives for being cold and cruel. Personally, Gray liked his get-to-the-point way of doing business. Mr. White was not the kind of guy to waste your time with highlights from the ball game the previous evening or a chauvinistic play-by-play of the great lap dance he'd gotten from some woman. With White, it was all work and no play.

"Black ruffling your feathers?" White asked, moving away from the bleeding woman, bound to a metal chair at his side. He approached Mr. Gray, looking only minimally interested in the answer he might receive.

"A bit," Gray admitted, not bothering to smile at the blank features of his colleague.

"Black was never the patient type." White looked over his shoulder at the woman. Her dark hair was wet with perspiration; and it clung to her forehead and cheeks as she let her head fall back heavily against the back of the chair. The resulting thud did not seem to affect her as she was already in noticeable pain from the multiple bruises, fractures and lacerations Mr. White had inflicted on her. "I, however, am very...patient."

"How long have you been at it?" Gray moved a few paces around White to get an even less impaired view of the dark-haired woman. Her previously smooth and delicate features were almost unrecognizable to him through the swelling.

"Several hours. She really is very well conditioned." The hint of admiration in the middle-aged man's tone was not lost on Mr. Gray.

"Can you break her?"

"Before she dies?"

"Well...yes."

After a contemplative pause, White moved back toward the chair and leaned over the woman, examining his handiwork. Several more moments passed; and Mr. Gray tried not to be disturbed by the look Mr. White was directing at the prisoner. It was a tender, almost loving glance that a man might give his lover.

"Probably not," Mr. White said softly, pulling his gaze away to look in Gray's direction.

It took Mr. Gray an extra moment to recall the question the man was answering. His thoughts had been distracted by the morbid scene of affection. Once he had his mind set right again, he nodded to signify his understanding. "Perhaps you should tell Mr. Black...before you do kill her."

White withdrew again with a mild sigh of regret. Moving to stand at his colleague's side, he let his steely eyes fall on Mr. Gray. "Because I know how important this is, I'm going to suggest we change tactics. I think we should bring in Brown."

Gray's eyes widened with disbelief. Considering the amount of pleasure Mr. White received from his work, it literally seemed out of character for him to make such a suggestion.

"I've had my fun with her. Now it is my duty to turn her over to Brown." To show that he was standing firmly behind his decision, Mr. White unbuttoned the lab coat, slipped it from his shoulders and threw it across the worktable set a few paces from the prisoner. The stained lab coat fell across the tray of instruments Mr. White had handy for his interrogations.

"Need any assistance moving her?" Gray said, trying to recover the conversation and seem genuinely helpful. "She's stronger than she looks."

"No, I don't think so." The man looked slightly offended that Mr. Gray would doubt him, but pushed past it without comment. "Go work your other cases. Get some proper sleep. Your eye looks terrible."

Again Mr. Gray did not smile. These observations and tidbits of advice were not offered by a friend. So, he would not act the fool and pretend they were. "Send me a copy of your report when you submit it to Black," he said hollowly, turning back to view the prisoner once more. Her breathing was shallow, slow and painful- telltale signs that she probably had at least one broken rib. There was little doubt in Gray's mind that this woman would be dead within the next few days. Despite the wounds she had inflicted upon him, he hoped her demise would not be by his hand. In his opinion, it would be a waste of an excellent operative...even though she worked for one of their competitors.

--------------

A couple of days later, Mr. Gray sat in on a meeting in Mr. Black's sizeable office. "I've read your findings, several times, Mr. Brown...and I still don't understand the reasoning behind this...scheme of yours," Mr. Black stated emphatically, accompanying the words with wild hand gestures. "You claim the evidence indicates she has hidden the discs somewhere."

"Yes sir," Mr. Brown replied.

"But, I don't see this evidence anywhere in your report. How did you come to this conclusion?"

From his position on Mr. Black's right side, Mr. Gray shifted his attention fully on Mr. Brown.

"I cross-referenced the helicopter surveillance footage with Mr. Gray and Green's reports of the incident. She clearly did not have time or opportunity to hand over the discs before she was apprehended. The chase might have taken close to an hour, but she was never out of the agents' view longer than a half minute."

"We've torn apart that neighborhood as discreetly as possible and found nothing," Black reminded the young man. "Valuable time has already been lost on this. Now you want me to waste more?"

"Sir," Brown began with determination, "I know I don't have to remind either of you the importance of those files. Yes, they may be lost, but if there is any chance at getting them back, this is it."

"Chemical-induced amnesia..." Mr. Black murmured, his eyes dropping to the contents of the report on the desk in front of him. "Shouldn't we want her to remember where she hid the file?" the old man asked with a noticeable edge to his tone. Clearly he thought the young man was out of his mind.

"This woman is so deeply conditioned, I don't think we'll ever get the information we want otherwise. We need to strip away all of it and give her a fresh start. The memories should resurface gradually, triggered by stimulus that we can provide."

"Does any of this shit make sense to you, Gray?" Mr. Black asked.

Mr. Gray nodded stiffly. "I'm following him, but I have lots of questions."

"Such as?"

"Where will we keep this woman while all this mind-manipulation is going on? Who is going to supervise? What happens when she does remember?"

Black looked to Brown, his eyes hardening. "Well...?"

"I've already thought this through. I have come up with a scenario that I think will be the best foundation for the project," Brown said. "I can write it up and have it back to you before lunch."

Still visibly vexed with everything he understood and didn't understand about Mr. Brown's plan, Mr. Black agreed. Then he kicked both Gray and Brown out of his office.

--------------

Mr. Gray knew something was up the moment he stepped off the elevator the following morning. Miss Violet urgently waved him over while trying to complete a phone conversation. She put her hand over the mouthpiece as he stepped up to her desk and softly informed him that Mr. Brown needed to speak with him immediately in the 'wardrobe'.

Thanking her respectfully, Gray left the lobby, heading to a nearby elevator that would take him to the lower levels of the building. The wardrobe, aptly named because it stored numerous costumes and accessories helpful in undercover surveillance, was empty that morning with the exception of Mr. Brown and Miss Rose, one of Brown's psychologist protégés.

"Good morning," Mr. Brown said the moment Gray stepped into the massive room. He looked up from a small pile of clothes laid out on the table in front of him and asked eagerly, "Did you get my proposal?"

"No, I just arrived," Gray explained. "Miss Violet sent me right down."

"Oh, I see. That's my fault," he said. "I told her it was important."

"What is this about?" Gray asked. A suspicious knot was forming in his stomach. He'd really hoped to have this whole affair behind him by now. This summons seemed to imply that his involvement would continue.

Standing up a bit straighter and crossing his arms across his bulky chest, Mr. Brown said, "Mr. Black and I have decided that you are the best person for the job."

Gray kept his look blank despite the clenching in his stomach. "Job?"

"You're going undercover...as the husband."

"You're not serious?" Gray was quick to respond. He leveled his harsh brown eyes on the psychologist. "I haven't the skill or desire to pass off such a role."

Miss Rose found something funny in this statement and managed a few giggles before a cold look from Mr. Gray silenced her.

"Nonsense," Brown said decidedly. "Perhaps you are reluctant because the woman nearly killed you," he offered.

Gray's frown deepened. "You seem to be misinformed about certain outcomes from my encounter with this woman. However, one thing I think we'll both agree on...is that she's dangerous."

"That's all the more reason to have an experienced agent on this case," Brown said. "We're moving her to a private medical facility this afternoon. Please read through the paperwork on your desk and be ready to join her there."

Gray glared, biting back venomous retorts with every ounce of his waning self-control. He walked stiffly from the room, pondering the possibility of using his clout to get out of this assignment. Surely there was someone more qualified to play the loving, supportive husband than he? He considered the candidates while in the elevator and all the way to his office. Mr. Green was too unfocussed and impulsive. Mr. Red and Mr. Yellow were both married men and couldn't possibly be away that long without raising suspicion. White? Images of the way the interrogator had looked at the bound and bleeding woman revisited Gray's mind. No, definitely not White. Mr. Gold, like Mr. Black, was too old and grumpy for something like this. The list was quickly getting very short.

Gray burst into his office to find Mr. Black seated at his desk, glancing through a blue folder on the desktop. Considering his mind was already preoccupied, it took Mr. Gray a few moments to gather his wits and address his boss. "Good morning, sir," he managed.

"This psycho babble reads like a poor script for a soap opera," Black said, hardly looking up from the pages to acknowledge Gray. "I can't believe I'm signing off on it."

Gray closed the office door and stepped toward the desk. "Mr. Black, if you are having doubts, why not just pull the plug on the whole...?"

"Because I need it to work, Gray," the old man said, resting his hands on the arms of the chair. He slowly looked up to meet the younger man's gaze. "Not everything on those discs can be so easily redone or hidden." The gruff was suddenly gone, leaving only a tired, vulnerable old man for Gray's inspection.

Gray tried not to let the unexpected loss of the man's usual façade affect him, but he didn't dare speak to him in a tone higher than a whisper or more threatening than that of a respecting colleague. "There are so many variables to consider," Mr. Gray guessed, having yet to read the file. "One misstep...and it will fall apart."

"I have five children," Black said softly. "I can't uproot them, their spouses, my grandchildren and relocate them all. Perhaps you don't understand because you have no family, but...if we can't find those files and guarantee that they have not been compromised- then...my family will be in danger. I'm hardly sleeping at night, worrying about it."

To appear as if he was considering this information important, Mr. Gray waited his comments for several moments. Finally, he said, "It is true that I have no living family. Though it would be convenient to put me on this case, I do not think I am a good choice."

"Don't think I haven't given this a lot of thought," Black said. "I need someone I can trust on this assignment- someone who is smart and able to adapt. I know this isn't your usual cup-of-tea, Gray, but I need you to step-up and handle this mess for us."

Though the older man hadn't made a direct reference to the forthcoming retirements of he and Mr. Gold, Gray realized that Mr. Black was looking for someone to whom he could hand over the reigns of the agency. All things being as they were, Mr. Gray knew he was a prime candidate for such a responsibility.

"Even if it works, it could takes months, maybe even years, to get the information we need out of this woman," Gray said evenly. "That will add up to many sleepless nights, I think."

Black nodded, looking distractedly at the file's contents. Then slowly he stood and came around the desk. "Play along for now, Gray. Consider it a vacation of sorts- a chance to get out of the office."

Gray allowed himself to sigh in defeat, giving in to the desires of his boss. For the chance to inherit the agency, he knew he'd do just about anything- even pretend to be married. Most likely, the memory-effecting chemicals wouldn't work and the woman would have to be disposed of anyway.

"I won't forget this," Black promised as he re-donned the gruff and determined look and let himself out of the office.

--------------

The Pinewood Medical Center was a sophisticated private hospital located on several acres of picture-perfect land on the outskirts of the neighboring towns of Wellman and Lake Ridge. Gray wasn't too familiar with the area, but he found Pinewood effortlessly. He eased the Jeep Cherokee up the long drive, deciding he wouldn't complain about the vehicle issued to him for this assignment as it was comfortable, handled well and was in reasonably good condition. He parked in the visitor's section in the shade of a maple tree, taking note of all he saw as he made the walk to the front entrance.

The woman at the admissions desk smiled warmly at him as he stepped up to the counter. He met her look with one of pleasant urgency. "I'm looking for my wife, Amanda Butler. She was transferred here this afternoon," he said.

Ten minutes later, Gray was admitted to an observation room where Mr. Brown, dressed in a doctor's coat, was waiting. "I asked you to be here hours ago," the younger man said, looking at his watch to emphasize his irritation.

Gray turned his attention to the hospital room beyond the one-way glass. The woman, now bandaged, was hooked up to an I.V. and various other machines of which Gray was vaguely interested.

"I stopped by the house after I packed a few things," he said coolly. "I thought it was supposed to be believably empty."

"We only provided a few pieces of furniture and things," Brown said, his agitation building. "She won't be leaving here soon anyway. You'll have time to shop for more before you take her there."

Gray shook his head, sneaking a peek at Brown. "I doubt a loving husband would put forth much effort to furnish a home that his wife might never get to see," he said. After a calculated pause, he asked, "Has she been asleep since the...procedure?"

"No," Brown said, stepping up to the glass beside Gray. "She woke up about an hour ago for a few minutes. Miss Rose spoke with her. So far, the chemicals appear to have done their job."