The Consequences of Spying

"How about that one?"

Olivia cupped her hand around her eye to peer into the window display against the sun's glare. It was a nice enough dress on the mannequin, navy blue with a diamond cut along the waist, two straps filling the void to wrap around the plastic torso. It fell mid-thigh, but with her long legs she estimated it would fall a little shorter on her own body.

She turned to her friend, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear in thought. "It's cute, but let's keep looking."

Emily huffed, animatedly blowing a strand of hair from her own face through the side of her mouth and crossing her arms. It was a jest, but still conveyed the underlying irritation. Olivia shot her friend a half smile and a little shrug. "Listen, you knew what you were getting into."

"I didn't realize you meant window shopping," Emily said, arms still crossed against her chest. "How do you ever buy anything?"

"I don't, that's kind of the problem," Olivia said with a small laugh. She turned back to the display, but something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning her head again, she caught sight of a man standing a few windows down. Her eyes lingered on him for a few moments as her brain tried to parse whether or not he seemed familiar. He wasn't looking at them, but instead peering into the window in front of him. A moment later his own head turned and their eyes met and a little charge of electricity ran through her. He gave her a quizzical look, eyebrows coming slightly together before he turned and continued down the street. She watched him go, a thought pulling somewhere in the back of her mind.

"Olivia? Everything ok?" Emily's voice cut through her thoughts, and she blinked, turning her attention back to the display.

"Yeah," she said. Her voice and thoughts felt slow. "Sorry, I thought maybe I knew that guy from somewhere, but he didn't seem to recognize me." She closed her eyes and took a few deep, measured breaths, creating a picture in her mind of the scene to go back to later. Blue sweater, collared shirt, chinos, Oxfords, brown hair, glasses. Saving the picture to memory, she opened her eyes again and made her face into a smile. "I know you love shopping, but it really tires me out. Want to get a drink?"

They turned and walked along the street, Olivia guiding them in the opposite direction. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, but she didn't dare glance behind her. "So how's work been going?" she asked Emily, signaling with her hand that they should turn the corner. Olivia listened to her friend's answer attentively, her face expressionless as she led them across a street and down another, winding their way through the city until they arrived at Rosepetal, one of her old haunts. The afternoon was gearing down, the clear sky just starting to pale before deepening into sunset as they slipped inside.

"I'm going to run to the ladies, will you order me a gin and tonic?" Olivia asked her friend, who nodded. Olivia hitched her bag on her right shoulder and walked through the bar to the back, slipping into one of the single stall bathrooms. With the door locked, she took out her phone and ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her forehead as she typed out a message in an encrypted app.

Didn't find a dress today; I'm starting to worry I'll run out of time to find one before the wedding.

She waited, closing her eyes again and forcing herself not to hold her breath until she felt her phone vibrate in her hand.

What's the dress code?

Semi-formal. Though I'm having trouble talking my boyfriend out of going casual.

Men can be hard to convince once they've made their minds up. When's the wedding?

Next weekend. I saw a red dress today that I liked, but their color scheme is muted, I'm not sure if it would be too bold.

Right, don't want to inadvertently upstage anyone. Did you get a photo?

Didn't manage it, looked like it was going to rain so we left.

I think I have something you can borrow. Why don't you come by?

That would be great, thank you. I'll stop by soon. Maybe half an hour.

Olivia took a deep breath and then turned to the mirror. She examined her face for a few moments. With a tiny nod to herself, she began.

She shrugged off her gray coat, turning it inside out and feeling along the edge of the lining until she found loose stitches and tugged. They came apart easily, allowing her to pull a thin green sweater over her head. She used a hair tie from her purse to tie her long blonde hair into a bun, pulling a hat she'd hidden in her coat lining over it and down to her ears. She slipped her pants down and turned them inside out, changing their floral pattern into denim as she slipped them back up her hips. Fishing in her purse again she found lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara, and quickly drew them on before returning them to her bag in exchange for a glasses case, which she clicked open before sliding the frames into place. She kept her keys and wallet, but stuffed her bag and ruined coat to the bottom of the trash can.

The last thing to do was her phone. She swiped through the settings until she found the factory reset and wiped it. Slipping the wallet and keys into one back pocket and the phone into the other, she took one more glance in the mirror and exited the bathroom. She focused on walking quickly but confidently, her face expressionless as she made her way back through the bar.

"Have a good night," she smiled at the hostess, picking a camel peacoat from the coat rack. "It's chilly out, stay warm." Sliding it on, she slipped back through the doors into the evening. Sorry, Emily, she thought.

A few blocks away she ditched the phone in a city trash can. She took the long route, taking quick breaks now and then along the river to admire it, turning to look down as it flowed toward where she'd come from, turning the other way to see from where it was coming. She doubled back a few blocks, slipped down a side street and then made her way into a grocery store. In the clothing aisle she slipped her coat and hat off, leaving them hidden behind some stacks of clothing before undoing her hair and leaving through a different exit.

She passed her destination by the first time, walking down the block and taking a left, walked down another block and then stopped at a restaurant to read the menu in the window. It was dark out, and she pretended to study the menu, keeping tabs on her peripheries. But she didn't see anyone. Finally satisfied, she continued back to her destination and pulled her keys from her pocket.

It was an unassuming building, but the first lock used a magnetic code system. She fished out the right key, holding her hand steady until she could get inside the first door. Just behind it, another door with an electronic entrance that she scanned past. Inside there was another metal gate with an electronic keypad. She pressed in the code and pressed her thumb to the scanner before it beeped and unlocked. She made her way up the stairs of the apartment building to the third floor, finding the apartment before opening the final magnetic lock.

She let the door close behind her and slid down it, finally allowing herself to catch her breath. The apartment was unassuming - a one bedroom it looked like, furnished with a couch and a drop-leaf table and a couple of chairs, an entertainment center with a television and shelves of books, another table in the corner with a computer and a router. She got up to check the other rooms - kitchen, though there was no food in the cabinets or fridge, a furnished bedroom, a bathroom. She knew there would be clothes for her, if not exciting ones. The windows had white curtains drawn over them that she didn't dare pull back.

There was a knock on the door. She froze in place and then relaxed - no one unexpected could get through all the layers of security to get there. Even so, she moved quietly across the apartment again until she was standing just next to the door. Quickly, she knocked back twice.

"I brought the dress," a familiar voice said through the door. "It's emerald, hope that's okay."

She let out a breath again and leaned over, knocking twice on her side of the door. He returned three, and then she heard him slide his key into the lock and the door opened again.

***

They were seated at the table, Olivia on one end and Grant on the other. She finished telling him what had happened that afternoon. His face was expressionless but he listened to her intently, his hands clasped on the table in front of him.

"Did he recognize you?" Grant finally asked, taking a sip of the water in front of him. He had entered the apartment not with a dress but with a bag of food that they'd unloaded into the fridge for her to use over the next few days. Hopefully it would only be a few days.

"I don't know. He must have, right? It took me a minute to place him, but he'd know me anywhere."

"Do you think running into him was random?"

Her heart beat a little faster. "I don't know. I took all the precautions anyway - I don't know if we were followed to the bar, but I'm positive I wasn't followed here. Those are the options though, right? Either he knew I was in town and therefore knows there's an operation going on - or it was a random chance meeting. Either way - we have to assume he recognized me, and that regardless of whether they knew before, they definitely know now."

"Your phone?"

"Wiped it and tossed it a few blocks from the bar."

Grant looked thoughtfully toward the entertainment center bookshelves, his hand on his chin. He extended his index finger and bounced it against his lips. "At least you weren't doing something mission related when he saw you. That should slow them down. But you're right - they'll be looking for intel now. Trying to find out what we're up to."

They fell into a few minutes of silence before she broke it again. "I thought he was supposed to be dead."

Grant nodded, slowly. "He is. Are you sure, absolutely sure, that it was him?"

Her head felt funny, lightheaded. "Yeah. It took me a moment. But it was definitely him."

"Then you're compromised, and we've got to pull you out."

She sighed, looking down at her hands on the table. "I know. Ugh. We were so close, too. Did the hostess handle Emily?"

"Yes - gave her the message there was an emergency. Anyway, civilians never think anything suspicious is up if you play into their thinking. In a few days we'll send her an email as you saying you had to fly back to see family and you lost your phone. I really don't think she'll question it."

"Cleaning up as always," Olivia smiled. "What would I do without you?"

Grant laughed, "I don't know; Starve to death in this safehouse, probably."

***

Olivia stayed in the apartment for three days. She spent the time reading and watching television, bored out of her mind. The reports only took a few hours to write, and without the ability to open the windows she felt shut in, like the walls were closing in on her from all sides.

On the morning of the fourth day, there was a knock at the door of the apartment. Grant again, this time with new documents. "You'll have to dye your hair," he said. "I brought a box for you. Tawny brown, it's called. You'd be amazed at the names of the shades. Gingerbread, syrup, peanut, saddle. When I think head hair I don't think cutesy names."

She let his attempt at humor calm her as she took the box from him. Her blonde wasn't natural, and she wouldn't miss it -- the upkeep had been horrendous.

Her flight was the next day. She was almost out, she just had to keep looking one moment at a time. Soon she'd be somewhere else, far away, working on some other mission, a completely different person.

She woke early in the morning. The car was scheduled for nine, and when the knock came on her door in the correct pattern she opened it, allowing the man on the other end to lead her back down the stairs and out of the building to the car idling at the curb. He opened the door for her and she slid into the backseat, buckling her seatbelt and looking out at the city.

It took an hour to get to the airport, and when they arrived the man pulled a rolling suitcase and a backpack from the trunk. "Safe travels," he said.

She'd done this so many times that there was no nervousness in checking in at the kiosk. She had already memorized the name on the passport - it wasn't hard to remember all the new IDs once you had practice with the right mnemonics.

Her first flight was to Dallas. From there she had an hour to connect to New York, and after that Brussels. At least they were sending her somewhere cool. She got through security and to her gate, where she took a seat looking out the window at the planes coming in. She wasn't quite safe yet, but there was something comforting about being through security and on the other side. Her thoughts wandered, finding themselves thinking of what could be next for her.

"Hi, you," a voice said. Her head jerked up, but not in time to respond and stop him from quickly depressing a shot of something into the muscle of her thigh, through the thick denim of her jeans. "Airport security," he murmured, leaning over to speak into her ear as he pulled the syringe from her and pressed a cap on it before tucking it back in the pocket of his coat, "kind of a pathetic joke, don't you think?"

She considered her options, and he watched her do so with a look of mild amusement on his face. "No gun, no knife. Can't attack me with all these people watching -- the joy of cellphones, always someone on hand ready to play videographer. What do you think, would someone uploading a viral video of you killing me with your bare hands in an airport end your career, do you think? Seems like a big mess for your people to clean up. You could try running, but you'll be unconscious in about fifteen minutes. You know sometimes I do wish this were more like the movies - I guess I could have tried to find a vein, but you'll excuse me for needing some quick leverage."

She fixed her gaze forward and tried to wipe the expression from her face. "What do you want, Logan?"

He smiled, putting his hand on her leg, letting his palm rest on the spot he'd just injected her. "You know you're going to have a bruise there tomorrow. Maybe I just want to give you more than one."

"We thought you were dead. We were off your trail. You want me to believe that you resurfaced just to give me a bruise or two?"

He gave a throaty little laugh, his fingers splaying out to gently brush against her inner thigh. "I told you what I wanted, once. Or don't you remember?"

"I could break your fucking fingers," she said, pushing the breath sharply out from between her teeth as she ignored his taunt.

"You could," he said. He was amused and she knew it. "You've always been one for empty threats, though. You're going to be unconscious in -- oh, what, thirteen minutes now? Do you really want to make your situation worse?"

"How is it going to look taking an unconscious woman out of an airport?" she spat back before taking in a deep breath. There was a pressure starting to build in her head. Anger was rising to her face, but the drugs made almost all of her options disappear. Even if she ran, all he had to do was follow her until the drugs dragged her under.

"There are lots of ways to make that look convincing, such as having some friends of mine dress up as EMTs. Come now, you know that's checkmate. You're many things, but stupid was never one of them. Come with me, quickly, and you'll walk out of here unscathed. That much I can promise, at least. I can also drag you out, but do you really want to have to endure what I have planned for you after fighting - and losing?"

Finally she turned to look at him. Brown eyes on blue-gray, she hoped she betrayed as little as he did. She said nothing, but after a moment let out a little exhale that was all the answer he needed. He smiled, standing up and extending his hand to her. "Come along then, little spy."

They walked quickly, his arm linked with hers. She watched the exits, tried to figure an out, but he was right -- the drugs made every possible escape scenario impossible, and her thoughts were growing hazy, analytical thinking growing more difficult. She was already feeling lightheaded, the world beginning to spin, forcing her to lean on him a bit as they walked. Please have posted someone to make sure I got on the plane, she thought as he led her out of security and down a hallway that led to the parking complex.

A car was waiting for them. He opened the back door for her with a smile. She hated him - felt it rise up inside her as a heat that flushed her face. She thought about running - could have, should have at least tried - but the world was spinning and there was a ringing in her ears. She hated that he had led her here, effortlessly, without even breaking a sweat, with just some whispered threats. She hated that he'd cheated with the drugs, taking away the precious commodity that was time.

Seeming impatient with her hesitation, he gave her a little push into the car and she felt her body collapse like a doll into the leather interior. She heard the door close but couldn't lift her head to look and just remained like that, lying sideways until he slid in from the other side and lifted her head to put it in his lap. Her hatred reared up again, but darkness was starting to set in.

She gathered her energy and forced herself to look up at him. "I'm going to kill you," she tried to say, but it came out slurred and jumbled. She heard him laugh but had to close her eyes. She thought she might throw up, her face hot and flushed as she fought for consciousness.

"Oh little spy, I'd like to see you try."

***

She came to slowly, grogginess pulling at her eyes as she opened them. It took her a minute to place the events of the day - was it the same day? It could have been the next day - there was no telling how long those drugs could have left her unconscious.

Alertness came back to her at length, allowing her to take in her surroundings. From the give of the surface beneath her and the layout of the room that she could see, she figured that she was on some kind of exam table. Her arms were above her head and stuck there - so she was strapped down. There was another strap holding her forehead down, and she could feel others at her chest, waist, hips, and at intervals along each of her legs. She could tell that they were spread, and she could feel the still air of the room pressing against her. She experimented with moving, testing the bonds, but they held her almost completely still.

Her heart thumped in her chest - in fear, in hatred. She moved her eyes as much as she could -- she could make out that there was a kind of counter that ran along three sides of the room, with three levels of identical cabinets. She couldn't make out any objects on the counter except for a dispenser of liquid soap and a box of gloves next to a steel sink. She looked down her nose at the door - a simple swing door with a lever handle. Next to it was a large rectangle of glass. On the other side of the glass, Logan was peering in at her, his expression unscruitable.

When their eyes met, he nodded his head the slightest bit in acknowledgement. She felt something well inside her chest that made her want to scream, but she swallowed it and bit it back. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The door swung open and he stepped inside. She tried not to think about his view. He was dressed casually, in a slate gray button up that he had rolled up to his elbows and tucked into dark slacks. A different outfit from the airport, which she surmised meant she'd been out for at least a day.