"Once again," Mark said, "I am really, really sorry."
Debbie blinked. She didn't want to hear it right now. Thanks to Mark, they had both been kidnapped.
"Mark?" she asked in a tight voice.
"Yeah?" He replied. He sounded hopeful, like he thought she was about to forgive him.
"You have explained," she began, "multiple times, that you were just doing your job. You didn't have any choice. You didn't mean to learn everything you could about me for a paycheck." She turned her head to face him. "With absolutely no due respect, Mark the spy, I do not want to hear it. At all. So shut up."
Mark drew his lips into a thin line and nodded his head, understanding. He turned away from her and hung his head in shame. Debbie couldn't help but feel a tiny bit sorry for him. She wasn't used to being the bad guy in any situation. She still felt bad breaking up with Alex.
They waited in silence. Time stretched out beyond all reason, and Debbie's mind grew restless.
This is really getting old, she thought. I dont know who, or what, it behind this, but I am so damn tired of being kidnapped every five minutes!
Debbie was sick of being the damsel in distress. As she came back to consciousness, following yet another kidnapping, she was concerned with how familiar it all felt. Being strapped to a chair, with ropes around her wrists, ankles, and midsection, Debbie surrendered herself to the fact that this was her fate.
From her limited vantage, she guessed that she was in an office. She was on a chair, facing an ornate wooden desk. It was minimally decorated with a brass lamp, a small stack of books about real estate, and a glass paperweight. She froze when she saw the nameplate sitting in the middle of the desk. It read, "Lincoln Ambrose." Her eyes traveled to the office chair, which was facing away from her, and toward the wide window that looked out over Baltimore.
Oh gosh, she thought. Maybe Mark was right all along.
She started wriggling in her chair, trying to come loose. They remained tight.
"That's not going to work," said a voice to her right. She looked over and saw Mark, also bound to a chair. He had a black eye and a thin cut along his right cheek.
"Mark?" she asked. "What happened?"
Mark looked rough, like he had been taken out to a back alley and thrown against the wall a few times. His shirt was torn, and his hair was sticking out at odd ends.
"Got on Lincoln's bad side," he said, shrugging as far as his restraints would let him. "Got punished for it. It happens. Nature of the job."
"How long have we been here?" she asked, looking around the plain white office. There were a few dashes of gray and black to break up the monotony. A massive desktop computer sat on one end of the desk with the Enrichment logo stamped across the back.
Mark tilted his head back, so he was looking at the ceiling, trying to think.
"A few hours, at least," he said. He looked out the window. "Judging by the light out there, I'd say it's afternoon. Maybe twelve hours? Lincoln really needs to put a clock in here."
"Do you know what's going on?" Debbie asked, feeling afraid.
"Kidnapped," Mark said. "Standard procedure with corporate espionage, really."
"I noticed," Debbie said, flatly. She was getting very tired of being kidnapped every week.
At least it adds some spice to a boring job, she thought. Then, she kicked herself. A part of her hoped that Alex would come barging through the doors, declaring his love for her while single-handedly beating down everyone who got in his way. Debbie never thought she would have missed being rescued.
Suddenly, the chair spun around, revealing a face Debbie knew all too well. Riley Naysmith placed a clipboard on the desk and leaned forward, a wicked grin on his face. Debbie's jaw dropped, and she screamed so loudly that Mark cringed away from her. When she stopped screaming, Riley began to laugh.
"You're dead!" she yelled. "The tower blew up with you inside of it! I saw it go up in flames! I was there! You're supposed to be dead!"
Riley's grin sharpened. "Survival of the fittest, my dear Debbie."
"Don't call me that!" she yelled, pulling at her restraints.
"I'll call you whatever I want," Riley said snidely. Then, he turned his attention to Mark, who looked at him with a placid expression, as if he had been expecting Riley to reveal himself.
"I know what I am," Mark said, proudly jutting out his chin.
"Then say it," Riley challenged, "out loud."
Mark took a deep breath and proudly declared, "I'm a traitor."
Wait a minute, Debbie thought, perplexed. Who did he betray?
Corporate spies weren't supposed to betray their employers. At least, that was her understanding of it. Alex had explained a few times about how his father had dealt with corporate espionage, but the whole concept had gone over Debbie's head. When she thought about spies and espionage, she thought of James Bond. She looked at Mark. He was short, skinny, and looked like he could use a makeover. He was no James Bond.
"Damn right you are," Riley said, smacking his hand on the desk. He picked up the clipboard and looked between the two of them, glowering. "We're going to have a little interrogation session. I'll ask you some questions, and you will respond. If I like the answers I hear, I might think about possibly letting you go. Does that sound fair?"
"It sounds like you're overcompensating for something," she said.
Riley turned to look at her. His face was creased with annoyance. Clearly, he was frustrated that she dared to speak out of turn.
Good, Debbie thought. At least I know I can get him to react.
"I wasn't talking to you," Riley said in a snide voice.
"I know," Debbie said. "Here I was, thinking I was talking to a ghost. But no, you're still alive. A girl needs to know that the idiot who kidnaps her is actually alive when she witnessed his tower exploding!"
Riley gave her a long, cold stare. "My, my, my,"" said Riley. "We're feeling snippy this evening, aren't we? I wonder what makes you think you have all the power here, when I'm the one in control of this interview."
"Interview?" Debbie asked, arching an eyebrow. "You mean you're giving us a job interview because you want to feel powerful for five minutes while your real boss gets the real torture ready?"
Riley was silent for a very long time as he regarded Debbie. He leaned over the desk, tenting his fingers and looking at her, like a villain from a James Bond movie. Debbie cringed. She hated feeling like she was being assessed.
"Maybe," Mark said, breaking the silence, "Riley's interview is the torture."
Debbie and Riley both looked at him, expecting him to say something more.
A faint blush crept up Mark's cheeks. "The job interview from hell," Mark exlaborated. "Interviewing us to see who's the most capable of being your prisoner. Trying to wear us down because you can."
"Shut up, traitor," Riley said. "I didn't survive blowing up my own damn building just to listen to some James Bond wannabe try to psych me out of my comfort zone."
"Why do you even have us here?" Mark demanded. "Don't forget, Riley, I know every dirty detail about you." He narrowed his eyes and glowered at Riley. "I know what happened in Virginia. I could ruin you, Riley. Just with what I know."
At that, Riley's eyes went wide and his nostrils flared. Then, he regained his composure and leaned back in the chair, his tented fingers resting against his chest. He swivelled from side to side as he regarded Mark. A soft, creepy smile curled at the corners of his lips, and a dark light lit up in his eyes as an idea occurred to him.
"You know so much about everyone else," Riley said, "it's really quite admirable. I wonder what your girlfriend makes of your profession."
Debbie watched as Riley's verbal blow struck home. Mark's mouth gaped open, and he spluttered as he tried to find the words to say, but nothing came out. He closed his mouth and glared at Riley, his eyes glistening.
Is he going to cry? Debbie thought, surprised. It dawned on her that she didn't actually know Mark that well, and she had been ready to judge him based on what he knew about her. It was jarring to know that someone had been spying on you, and to actually meet that someone. However, Debbie knew Riley, and she knew that Riley always went for the low blows. When Riley had mentioned Mark's girlfriend, the light had disappeared from Mark's eyes.
He's lonely, she realized. He doesn't have anybody to love. That's so sad.
Riley smiked as Mark hung his head, and kept to himself. Now more than ever, Debbie wished that he hadn't escaped from the explosion.
Debbie couldn't get over the fact that Riley was still alive. It was like looking at a ghost. She didn't want to believe that even Riley could survive death.
"Just get on with it, Naysmith," Debbie said.
"Temper, temper, my dear Debbie," he said, waving the clipboard. He grinned at her discomfort. "I think the first question should go to you."
"Hit me with it," she said, feeling defeated.
Riley's smile darkened as he read from the clipboard, pulling out a pen for dramatic effect.
"First question," he said. "How long were you in the employ of Alex Ambrose?"
"Too long." Debbie said.
"Wrong answer," said Riley, scribbling on the clipboard. He turned to Mark. "Same question."
Mark glared at Riley and didn't say anything for a full minute.
"Wrong. Answer!" Riley scribbled something on his clipboard, pressing so hard that the noise scratched Debbie's ears.
Debbie was overcome with a powerful urge to punch him in the face, and only her restraints kept her from doing so.
"Next question," Riley said, dramatically flourishing the keyboard. "Why did you leave your previous position with Alex Ambrose?" He looked at Debbie with a wry smile.
Debbie said nothing. Riley turned to Mark. Mark said nothing.
"Oh, you two are such poor sports," he said, making a note. "Next question. Oh, interesting." He peeked over the top of the clipboard at Mark. "This one's just for you. Are you prepared to die to hide your treachery?"
Mark went pale in the face and sweat beaded on his forehead. His Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed. Debbie found herself feeling sorry for the spy.
Maybe, she thought, Mark isn't so bad after all.