The Interlude

"How?" She allowed the weapon to drop to the ground, she was caught and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Your husband," he replied, "our boss told me that he suspected that you had been compromised. He paired me with you so that I could try to gather evidence whether you had or had not. He took special precaution to tell me that you would try to seduce me, and that I would have to play my part."

"My husband knew..."

"My report contains every detail of every single one of our encounters," Presley replied, "the one I would give him spared him the more detailed events. I could not bear to see a man be broken more than he already was. After the first operation, he wanted me to continue, he suspected that you had an entire network of operatives working for you, all gathered and recruited from other agencies. Even he was amazed at the number, 37 different agents, he didn't need to wonder how you brought them under your employment."

"So, why now?" Margie asked, "why did you finally bring me down now?"

"You tried to have me killed," Presley replied, "I knew about your plan, I just did not think it would happen so soon. The Russian clued me in, his lust for you. I knew that you had fucked him already, I knew that he would be your trigger man."

"I was so fucking careful," she replied, venom in her voice, "that motherfucker just couldn't keep it to himself."

"You were always good at your job," Presley replied, "too good I think." As he turned to leave, she stopped him.

"Why didn't it work on you?"

"It did," he replied, he did not dare look at her in the face when he continued, "too well." His voice had begun to break, he knew that he could say no more. The door shut behind him, the wailing of the woman was the only sound drowning out his footsteps as he made his way to the office. The darkened corridors hid the one single tear that had managed to escape from his eyes.

"You did a good job," a voice said from behind a large desk. The office door bore a name that Presley did not need to read, this was the Director, the man with whom he had been sharing the same woman for the past months. "No one could have made these connections, no one could have resisted her for as long as you did."

"Thank you, sir," Presley replied, sitting across from the man that he had cucked for a long time, "I don't think I could have resisted more." He looked at the pack of cigarettes that rested in the desk, "do you mind?"

"Help yourself," the man replied, "I thought you had quit."

"She had asked me to," Presley replied as he lit the cigarette, "it doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"I want you to take a few weeks," he replied, "get yourself together. Go see the Doc, I'm sure she will have a field day trying to unfuck the damage my bitch of a wife did to you, son. For what is worth, I'm sorry I put you so close to the flame."

"Like you said, sir," he exhaled the aromatic tobacco, "there was no other way and there was no one else. I'll see the Doc tomorrow."

"I mean it, Presley," the Director said, "go see her before you come back to full duty. I don't want to see you anywhere near this building for the next two weeks. Go see that sweet girl of yours, see if she'll take you back."

"We both know she won't," he replied, "I can't very well tell her where I have been or why I had to leave her, sir. She's better off without me in her life."

"I'll make sure your instructions are followed," the Director replied, "she will be placed in isolation for the next few days, see if it starts cracking her. No communication with anyone, even when we bring her food, she will be gassed before they bring it in."

"That should make it easier for the interrogators," Presley stood to leave, "if not, give me a call. I'll see you in a few weeks, sir."

"Presley," he said, "don't beat yourself over her, she had us all fooled, son. Me far longer than anyone else."

Presley smiled politely at the man and made his way outside to his waiting vehicle. The sniper teams moved out of their location just as he drove by them, a second cigarette calmed his mind long enough for him to try to find a bar in which to drown his latest sorrows. The place he selected was dirty, barely lit, and filled with smoke. A single patron sat at the bar, Presley picked the opposite side of him where to rest. The man looked into his drink, surely they shared similar sorrows, Presley thought to himself.

"What are you having?" The bartender looked pleasant enough, he was older than Presley and the scars in his arms revealed a hard life that was behind him. A small tattoo showed his military heritage, Presley felt at ease in the place immediately.

"Coors light on tap." The bartender looked at the man and shook his head as he poured the drink.

"Rough night?" He placed the glass neatly in front of him before he reached for a second glass and poured himself a drink.

"They don't get easier." Presley raised his glass to the bartender and took a long sip.

"Is it a woman?" The bartender asked, his voice husky from years of tobacco use. Presley nodded before returning to his drink, "just don't start crying like a little bitch and we won't have any trouble, you and me. Bitches come and go, you're still young. Plenty of fish in the sea."

"She was my sea," Presley replied as the bartender moved to serve another drink to the man across the bar.

...

"The Director told me you would be coming by," Doctor Maria Gallegos, CIA psychologist greeted him as he entered her office. "I wasn't really sure if you would be coming by or not to tell you the truth."

"Why is that?" Presley asked, truly confused by her statement.

"Well I thought you would take the whole manly stand on emotions and feelings. That you would just try to push it down like so many other agents try to do until you pop and we have to take you off active duty." She smiled at him, "I am glad I was mistaken."

"I was ordered to come in," he replied, "there isn't much of an option when the Director himself tells you to come. So what do we do here? I tell you what happened and you tell me how it wasn't my fault?"

"No, not really," she laughed at his comment, "we're going to figure out how much damage to your psyche was done in your latest operation and how to bring you back to full health or as close to it as possible. It really depends on the case."

"You don't know what operation I was in?"

"I try not to read patient profiles until after the first session that way my analysis of them is not tainted by bias." She pointed to the file sitting in her desk, "but I do have your file, and yes I will be reading it tonight. Tell me what you think I should know about it before hand, ok?"

"I was selected to take part in an undercover operation to try to trap a mole within the organization, in fact a series of moles spread out throughout many organizations across the world."

"Why do you think you were selected?"

"The Director himself selected me because of my skills," Presley replied, "and because of my lack of attachments."

"What do you mean?"

"I have no family, Doc. No emotional attachments to anyone. No romantic relationships. You'll probably see in my file that I actually have several disorders that make it very difficult for me to become attached to people."

"I mean why do you say those are the reasons that you were selected?"

"That's what the Director himself told me," Presley replied, "the operation had a very specific asset that needed to be exploited. That asset happened to be one of our own, and one of the best at covert operations. Especially at exploiting other operatives."

"Oh, I see," she wrote a note in her notepad before continuing, "and tell me, how did that make you feel?"

"That I was selected because of my own fucked up past? I guess it made it worth it." Presley looked at the woman with clinical precision; she had an inner strength gathered from years in her profession. He had to remind himself that she was not a target and that he was not in yet another operation. This was simply another professional trying to help him.

"Tell me, umm..."

"Call me Presley," he replied as she was trying to locate his name on his file, "no need to find my first name."

"Very well," she smiled at him, that smile that was designed to give him comfort, "Presley, tell me, do you think you are as damaged as the Director thinks you are?"

"I think so," he replied, "I have a long string of failed relationships behind me to let me know that there is definitely something wrong with me. A lot of similar voices telling me the same thing throughout the years."

"But that is what others think of you," she replied, the tenderness in her voice renewing the sense of security in the place. "Tell me what you think of yourself?"

"I think that I am a well maintained asset to my country," he replied, "I think that I am a valuable tool in the ever changing climate of warfare that we are facing. I am a product of the machine, a well-crafted product."

"So you think you are nothing more than a machine?"

"No," he replied, "a machine doesn't think, it doesn't feel, it only executes commands. I am a patriot."

"Tell me more about your last mission," she replied as she jotted more noted into her notepad, "what happened?"

"The mole had been using assets to gather her own group of moles. Her intent was to create a network of spies that would sell information from one country to another, she was a warmonger. Looking to benefit from the deaths of any person that crossed her sights. I was undercover for over a year with this asset, gathering intelligence by any means necessary. My reports to the Director outlined the details of each operation, quickly the evidence stacked up the more we worked together."

"So you were placed in a position where you were convincing her that you were another of her assets?"

"No, I was placed in a position where she could try to recruit me, and try she did. I was to get close enough to earn her trust, but not so far that she would discard me and search for another target. I had to remain as close to her as possible without falling for her tricks."

"Those are very dangerous mission parameters," she replied, he had her full attention.

"The more time I spent with her, the more her defenses went down. I was able to gather details about her secondary missions directly under her nose. But to do that, I had to make her feel like she had some control of me."

"What kind of control?"

"Emotional control." He continued, "I had to convince her that I was in love with her, but without giving her the impression that I truly was, else she would again seek another asset and my mission would be a failure."

"How did you manage that?"

"By allowing her to peer into my mind, getting close to her, building a relationship with her with boundaries that I would allow her to cross. The less boundaries she felt she had, the more she opened up to me in order to get into those other boundaries."

"It sounds like you were actually building a real relationship with this woman," she replied.

"That was the point," he said, "the problem with playing with fire is that you are bound to eventually burn yourself."

"You pretended to fall in love with her long enough that you actually did..." her voice trailed as she finished her statement.

Presley continued, "I had played the card of the incorruptible man long enough that she felt I needed to be taken care of other ways."

"So she tried to have you...?

"Killed." Presley looked at her for a second, her professional armor dropped for a fraction of the time. He saw behind those eyes sorrow and pity for his situation, "she had contacted one of her assets to setup a fake buy of some very important software. I would make the exchange, he would kill me, I would get a funeral with honors. She would move on to her next target."

"I think I need to read your file, Agent Presley," she said, "I will contact you to schedule your next session."

"Whatever you say, Doc," he replied, "take your time reading that stuff. I hear that wine is too soft to handle the details inside that folder. Whiskey might help you get through it."

"I'll keep that in mind, Agent Presley." Once the door closed, she immediately reached for her phone and dialed the direct connection to the Director's Office.

"He didn't show?"

"He did," she replied, "I can't believe you put him in such a case. You know how dangerous those can be."

"Read his file," the man replied, "you'll understand why I sent him." Without any other words, he ended the call.

"That poor man," she said to herself as she gathered her belongings to leave for the day. Mentally she reminded herself to pick up a bottle of whiskey on her way home.

...

"I take it that you took a look at the file?" Presley waked into the office to see Dr. Gallegos clearly sporting a hangover. Presley chuckled softly to himself before handing her the cup of coffee he had brought with him. As she took a drink from the bitter contents, he laughed louder, "its black. It'll help with the headache and the taste in your mouth. Whiskey is high on sugar, that's why you feel so terrible."

"How..." the sound of her voice caused her some pain, Presley laughed more and turned off the lights in the office before sitting down, "thank you. How are you feeling today, Agent Presley?"

"Better than you, Doc," he laughed, "how did you enjoy the reading material?"

"I have read hundreds of personnel files on agents from different agencies and different backgrounds, both military and otherwise." She took another drink from the coffee before continuing, "I got to say, I don't think I've ever read one with so much obvious traumatic experiences as yours."

"You should meet my friend," he chuckled to himself, "anyway, what do you think, Doc? You think you can bring me back to normal?"

"I don't think there is enough time in your life to bring you back to normal," she replied, "the extent of your psychological trauma even before you took this assignment was so extensive," she reached for the file and opened it. She held it in one hand, the file was divided unevenly, if it could be separated into sections, she was holding a 3^rd of the section open. "Anything before this point would be considered catastrophic trauma," she returned the file to her desk, "I spoke to the Director briefly after you left."

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"He said I would understand why he selected you for this mission," another swallow of the coffee, the life was slowly returning to her face, "I have to agree with him. Your vast experience in interrogation techniques, espionage, long range surveillance, hell even your Special Forces training prepared you to deal with the trauma that would inevitably come out from this assignment."

"In English, Doc" he said.

"You can't fuck up a man more when he's already completely fucked up. I'm afraid the best I can do for you is teach you better techniques on how to deal with your growing list of psychological traumas," she exhaled loudly, "either that or recommend that you be kept from the field for the rest of your career."

"You can't do that!" Presley stood up, this was the worst news he could have ever heard.

"I'm not," she laughed, "even if the Director agreed with that recommendation, which trust me he won't, doing so would be more detrimental to your wellbeing. You need constant mental stimulation, a puzzle to solve. A challenge to overcome, but once you do there will be a complete collapse of the barriers you have built within yourself. Tell me about your friend?"

"Friend?"

"The one you mentioned a few minutes ago," she sat across from him, looking directly at his eyes.

"D." He looked around the office, "do you think we can go outside? I need a cigarette."

"Yes," she stood up, "I could use some fresh air myself."

"You'll need your sunglasses, Doc," he smirked, "the sun is mighty strong today." She grabbed the sunglasses and moved behind him as they walked outside the office. "You've read my file, Doc, you know details about my past endeavors in the military."

"A little, whatever I have clearance and need to know for, yes."

"Most of my deployments were simple affairs, one mission, one target." Presley lit one of his cigarettes, "in Boot Camp, I made friends with this one guy, D. Like me, he was going in the fast track for special operations, he was going Ranger. I ran into him a few times throughout my career, I lost track of him after I came on board, that is until Fallujah."

"I remember reading details on that operation," she said, "so he was the contractor asset that you took with you throughout the operations there?"

"Yeah, that was him." He looked at her, "Doc, he is every bit as broken and fucked up as I am. When I looked into his files, if you think the damage I have sustained is irreparable, then you would have less hope for him. He is probably the only man that can outsmart me, outperform me in every stage or level, shit he is a better Soldier than I could ever hope to be. People flock to him like moths, his strong sense of duty and loyalty makes the ones that get near him become so much better."

"So," she remarked, "he is your challenge?"

"Yes," he replied, "no matter how good I am, no matter how well I can survive or adjust to my circumstances, I know deep inside he could and probably does a better job at it. The way he thinks, its remarkable to see him in action. Every time I see him, it reminds me of myself, of how good I could be as a human being. I don't know how he does it, Doc, I don't know how he doesn't just swallow a bullet. Until he does, I won't."

"That is quite a dichotomy," she remarked, "you measure yourself to him and find meaning of yourself through him. Do you hate him, Agent Presley?"

"Yes." He took a drag from his cigarette, "and no. I could never have pushed myself without him, and he couldn't have done the same without me. We are opposite sides of the same coin, though sometimes we are not even the same currency, but even still..."

"Did you know your recommendations for the interrogation of Agent Margaret Register were successful?" She looked at him, "the Director followed your instructions to the letter, she immediately broke down and gave every detail of every operation. I think they are still keeping her in isolation until her trial. How did you know that would be the best way to break her down?"

"She depends on social interaction to value herself," he replied, "without it, all she can rely on is showing others just how smart she is, and that alone would force her to divulge the details of her operation to show just how smart she was to everyone."

"It is remarkable," she continued, "you have so much knowledge and potential, you could become one of the best agents in CIA history, however that is not your aspiration, is it?"

"I don't think so," he replied, "I don't want to be Director, I wouldn't turn away a position as trainer but I know I lack the basic qualities for that type of position. Besides, I am at my best in the field, Doc."

"I am going to be referring your care to a colleague of mine," she replied, "I was hoping that this conversation would change my mind but I think its for the best that you see this person."

"Why is that, Doc?"

"Because I find you incredibly attractive, and I am afraid that if we spend more time together my medical and professional ethics would be violated. So its best that we go our separate ways for now, Agent Presley."

"Well, that's a first," he laughed.

"What is?"

"Being dumped before actually starting a relationship." Presley lit another cigarette before he walked away, "see you later, Doc. Have your colleague give me a call to setup my next appointment."