3. Three
3
THREE
ELIANA RICHARDS
CIA Headquarter, July 2022
“ A re you fucking kidding me, Oliver? You knocked her unconscious and she probably even has a concussion! Don’t you think that was too much of a drama show? This is not Iraq; it’s a fucking job interview!”
The female voice sounded muffled, like the person was standing miles away from my body. But someone gently tapped a soft material against my temple, shooting another wave of pain through my body. My stomach turned and I was scared I needed to vomit.
Yes, very clearly a concussion.
But I wouldn’t vomit in front of Oliver McGreen, because then I would be considered as not suitable for the task force. And I worked so hard for this the past months.
“First of all, it was Jakob who knocked her unconscious and we needed that to transport her to this room. I won’t let her run through the public part of headquarters as soon as the scenario starts.”
The female voice clicked her tongue and sighed loudly.
“She’s fucking bleeding. An anesthetic would have done the same job. You weren’t that ruthless with the last one.”
“I need someone to replace Butch…don’t look at me like that, Lynn. Just in case he will never be 100% because of the knee.”
“He won’t be happy to hear about your scenario idea.”
“Most of it was his idea. Apparently, you don’t know your lover well enough.”
What the hell is going on here?
Who is the woman talking?
What scenario?
My brain was lagging, like you had an unstable internet connection in an online video game. I wasn’t able to understand even half of the stuff that was spoken.
I opened my eyes just a tiny slit to check my surroundings, but the world started to spin before it even became clear.
Yeah, that’s a concussion.
Wonderful start into this test. Or scenario, or however you wanna call this shit.
What I could see was a white coat loosely hanging in front of me, probably belonging to the woman that I had heard speaking. A stethoscope was stuffed into one pocket of her coat, making me realize that she was a doctor. Something was put on my temple which I thought was some sort of Band-Aid because I could still feel her soft fingers working on my face. She gently grabbed my chin, raised my head, and I couldn’t resist opening my eyes.
Dark brown eyes cleared in my vision and a beautiful woman looked at me with a furrow between her brows.
“Ms. Richards?”
I grunted in response, closing my eyes again as the dark spots in my vision became more prominent.
“If she starts to vomit, I will end this immediately. Do you understand?”
I didn’t think she was talking to me, but I wasn’t sure at that point, so I opened my eyes and saw her turned around, facing someone I couldn’t see from the position I was in.
Taking a deep breath, I swallowed the bile in my throat again and carefully turned my head around to observe where they brought me. I blinked twice to get a better picture, but still my surroundings looked a hell lot like an abandoned brick stone building.
Where the hell am I?
And how long was I unconscious that they were able to transport me here?
“Sure.” McGreen’s voice echoed and I saw him stepping into my eyesight when the doctor stepped away and out of the room, pulling off the rubber gloves with a disapproving grumble.
“Ms. Richards?”
My head shot to the side, looking at him with the attempt of maintaining a straight face. I will not let him break me today. This is my only chance to get the job I've dreamed of my entire life.
“Yes, sir,” I answered with a slight shake in my voice. Dammit. My own body betrayed me.
“Welcome to the real job interview. You find yourself in a hostage situation in enemy territory. Your goal is simple: flee this room without getting killed. As soon as you step outside of this door, you pass the scenario. Any questions?”
“So I need to leave the room through the door and can’t find a different way out?”
McGreen’s eyebrow lifted until it was lost in his hairline before he let his gaze wander around the windowless room as if he wanted to look for a different way out.
“Do you see another way out?”
“No, sir. But your reaction to my questions proved that there really is no other way, so I know where to start with my strategy.”
For a brink of a second, he looked surprised before his lips curled into a smile.
“I hope you don’t disappoint me, Richards.”
Wow, that really sounded like he wanted me to pass this test and I took this as a huge compliment. Let’s show them what I trained for .
“I won’t, sir!”
Now it was my turn to smile, determination and confidence flooding my body while I circled my shoulders to appear like I was getting ready for the scenario.
But for me, it had already started, and instead of just casually rolling my shoulders, I checked my range of motions and the rope that was holding my hands together on the chair I was sitting on.
“Remember, this is a scenario. This is not a life-or-death situation. Whenever things are becoming too much for you, say the safe word ‘apple-pie’ and we will stop immediately. Our goal is not to break you mentally or physically. We just want to test how you handle a stress situation and what skills you’re bringing with you that we can’t read in a CV. Sorry for the little headache, that wasn’t the original plan.”
For a moment, he let the facade of the strong and ruthless team leader slip and his face furrowed in a painful grimace.
“Are there any guns included?”
“Yes, your kidnappers will use gun replicas that are filled with soft air balls. They are not strong enough to hurt you, but you will feel when you are shot. Obviously being shot means you failed the scenario.”
“Understood.”
“Any further questions?”
“Time limit?”
“We would love to be done before dinner, because today is lasagna day, but no official time limit, no.”
“I’ll get that done. ”
Confidently, I winked at him.
I fucking winked at my future team lead.
That has to be the result of the concussion, because either I was entirely stupid right now or an arrogant bitch. Both options wouldn’t let me pass this scenario.
“I have no doubts,” McGreen answered before he turned around to leave the door.
And I was alone with my thoughts.
This was really happening. I was in a hostage situation and I needed to get out of this room to pass the test. I had exactly one shot to prove that I’m worth the position in the team. The pressure felt almost unbearable.
One second, I was confident to beat this scenario in record time, and the next, I felt like a complete loser that would rot to death in this room. That was a quick change in emotions.
My heart was beating so loud that it sounded like drums within my ears and I needed to take deep breaths to calm my galloping organ while scanning the room.
At that moment, the reality of my brain looked like a mass apocalypse. Small people with their hands above their heads wildly running around in my brain, screaming at the top of their lungs. I don’t know if it was the pressure of only having one chance, or the still lingering concussion, or maybe a mixture of both. I’ve never been one to panic easily.
“Stay calm, you’re prepared for this. You had hostage training at the FBI once a year,” I mumbled to myself before quickly shutting my mouth. They were probably observing me closely, and I needed to maintain the version of Eliana that I showed them earlier. They didn’t know about the turmoil in my brain or the real reasons behind the lies about why I wanted to join the CIA.
My skill set wasn’t a lie.
My dream to make the world a better place wasn’t a lie.
And now it was time to show what I’ve got in me.
“Showtime, Eliana,” I pep-talked myself one last time, before turning my head to look at the rope that was wrapped around my hands.
Like I’ve learned, I started to alternately move my hands up and down, trying to loosen the hold of the rope around my wrists. It worked better than I thought, especially because the rope they used was thick, so the knot at the end wasn’t as tight as it would be with a thinner rope. When I would organize such a scenario, I would use cable ties, they are way harder to break than getting rid of a rope.
But before I was able to get my hands completely free, steps could be heard from outside the room. My head swung around, eyes fixed on the metallic door while the footsteps became louder with every second.
Someone turned the lock around and opened the door afterwards. Watching two men in full tactical gear and face masks enter the room, my brain finally reached its normal capacity again and was able to overpower the concussion. Finally, I was able to form a coherent thought.
They had to turn a lock to unlock the door. It was a mechanical ‘click’, not an electrical one like when you use a key card to open a room.
That knowledge made me more confident, because it gave me a real chance to break through the door without any other equipment.
“Ms. Richards,” a man with a black face mask, who only showed a little bit of his dark skin and the walnut-colored eyes, said. Most present was the white skull imprint on the face mask, making me smirk a little.
“Oh, you’re a Modern Warfare fan? I had a weakness for Ghost all along. Nice cosplay.”
The man’s shoulders stiffened when he made two big strides until he stood in front of me. His colleague stood by the now closed door, leaning against the wall with a rifle in his hand.
Ghost—at least that’s what I called him in my head—slowly leaned down to be on eye level with me. His intense glare washed the smirk off my face and my confidence shrunk.
Would torture be part of the scenario?
Because that man was not amused about my comment and I could swear I saw redemption shimmering in his eyes.
“You think you’re funny, huh?”
I swallowed another comment, trying to not make him more angry. Slowly I shook my head, avoiding his gaze and moving my eyes along his legs to look if he was wearing a knife that I could steal.
But how? My hands were still restrained behind my back.
“That’s what I thought,” he continued before he raised his upper body again so that he was hovering above me. I still didn’t dare to look at him, so I preferred looking at my own feet, just to realize that they were not shackled like my hands. Okay great, that would make things easier.
My basic instinct told me to kick against the man’s shin, but that wouldn’t bring me anything other than more hatred. My first goal was to free my hands. Until then, I was at the mercy of Ghost’s temper.
The hairs on my arms were rising and I knew he was staring at me. As slowly as possible, I looked to his military boots and all the way up along his legs—yes, there was a knife in a holster on his right thigh—to his stomach, his chest, and finally his face. Or his mask, because I was still not able to see a lot of his face.
“Would you do me a favor and tell me why you want to switch agencies?”
“I already told Agent McGreen that…”
“Don’t bullshit me, Richards. You might have tricked Oliver and Marta, but I don’t buy it. You’re changing agencies like you change your underwear. Why’s that? Are you bored easily? Are you not able to stay with your decision for longer than a year? Or are they bullying you because you’re a woman? ”
My face fell after hearing his monologue.
They didn’t buy my story. They knew something was up with the several changes of academies and agencies. And I’m sure I won’t get out of this scenario without telling them my real motives. Telling them my story. But that will also mean that I will not get this job. They would never give me a job if they knew about my childhood. About my father. And how much power he was still holding over me.
I would be too much of a risk to deal with.
“No, sir. I don’t know what you want to hear, but I just think that I have it in me to do more than only solving murder cases or robberies.”
Ghost’s eyes narrowed and I thought this wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.
“So you say your work at the FBI was…boring?”
That probably was a trick question and I maneuvered myself into this situation like a na?ve newbie.
Dammit, Eliana.
“No, sir. The FBI is doing great and important work, but murder cases are just not my favorite field of activity. Especially when your work is limited by country borders.”
“I hope you’re aware that we’re having great cooperative task forces within the CIA. The drug trafficking task force for example would never be so successful without working together with the DEA.”
That man was definitely working in that task force, because the shimmer of pride in his eyes was undeniable. Weird, I thought McGreen said this is a hostage scenario on enemy territory. Looks like Ghost is falling off the script.
“I have no doubts, sir. Being able to cooperate with other team members, task forces, or even agencies is very important to reach your goal.”
“Indeed. My question is: why didn’t you change task forces within the FBI? They have one for terrorism, as well. It would have been the logical choice to look for a new challenge within your own agency. Why do you completely want to change agencies, Richards?”
His colleague shifted in his position, slightly leaning forward while locking his gaze on me. Looks like he was curious about my answer, as well.
“Like I said, sir. The FBI is limited by operation only within the United States. And even if I would be able to do great work within the borders of our country, the real threats are not waiting here to do terrorist attacks or kill the President.”
Ghost nodded, but I wasn’t sure if he agreed with me or planned his next move. In one quick and clean move, he grabbed the knife out of his thigh holster and made the two steps towards my sitting form.
My breath quickened when I felt the cold metal of the knife’s blade grazing at my throat. All he needed to do was dig a little deeper and I would be in big trouble here.
I focused on my breathing, reducing as many movements as possible in this area. Swallowing only small portions of a quickly increasing amount of saliva in my mouth, a stress reaction of my body to the threatening situation.
I dared to look into Ghost’s brown eyes, my shackled hands shaking, but I managed to control the rest of my body as well as possible. The situation changed from an interrogation to near-death-experience very quickly.
“I don’t buy it, Richards. Re-think your answer or I’ll be back with some new toys to get you to confess what I want to hear,” he whispered in my ear, his hot breath letting the hair on my neck rise and goosebumps appear on my forearms.
Shit was about to get real.
Ghost retrieved the knife from my throat, making me take deep breaths for the first time in what felt like forever. Although it was probably less than thirty seconds.
He and his colleague left the room afterwards, the mechanical ‘click’ of the lock sent me into fight-or-flight mode immediately.
I needed to get rid of the rope around my hands.
Pretty sure when they return, I wouldn’t be able to withstand the potential torture. This time frame now was my only chance to win this scenario.
Rhythmically, I moved my hands up and down, feeling the knot loosen more and more. Almost there. I increased the speed, pulling on the rope here and there to test if it would already break free and when my arms started to become sore, the knot finally burst open.
I quickly pulled my arms to the front of the chair, looking at the red and irritated skin on both of my wrists. On the left one the skin was even slightly broken, letting some blood appear that I tried to ignore.
Adrenalin would get me through this, I would deal with my wounds later.
When I rose from the chair to walk around the room, I realized my mistake almost too late. The room spun around me and I grabbed the backrest of the chair to steady myself. Fucking concussion.
No way I would let my body give in to the unconsciousness again. That would mean the end of the scenario and my failure.
“No failure allowed today, Eliana.” It was almost like I was hearing my father’s hateful voice.
A few moments later, the dizziness had subsided, so I quickly stepped towards the door to check for the lock. No need to waste more time to look around the room for tools. Probably they had hid something here to make the scenario passable, but I didn’t need it.
My arm flung back to the back of my hair, where I hid three bobby pins on the nape of my ponytail. They were invisible in the thick, brown hair I inherited from the eastern European side of my family, but they came in pretty handy today.
At the FBI academy, we had one professor who taught us what TV show and movie myths were actually true and which were only for the drama. That’s where I learned that kicking in a door would be more effective than running against it with your shoulder first. Prevents a lot of upper arm injuries .
He also showed us how to use credit cards and bobby pins to open a door, but I have to admit it fascinated me so much that I trained it several hours in my dorm room. Mihaela always told me that if I wouldn’t become a famous FBI Agent, I could still switch sides and become a gangster boss. I wouldn’t go that far, but opening the door with a bobby pin was always a great party trick.
It took one destroyed bobby pin and a few attempts with the next one, but finally I managed to unlock the metallic door. Carefully, I turned the handle and shot quick glazes around the hallway to see if anyone was waiting for me.
To my big surprise, no one was seen nearby, so I stepped fully outside of the room to find myself in…a shooting range?
Wait a goddamn minute.
Confused, I pulled my head back inside of the room I was just held hostage and it clearly looked like a weathered brick stone building. But outside it looked like a top, modern shooting range and I was surrounded by constructs like clean walls, fake targets, and other doors.
Where the hell am I?
My head spun around when I heard someone clap their hands and I saw Oliver McGreen.
“Congratulations, Ms. Richards. You passed the scenario with flying colors. I must admit, it was quicker than we thought, the bobby pin trick was really impressive. We didn’t see that coming. ”
I probably just blankly looked at him because he slightly tilted his head to the side while waiting for any kind of reaction.
“Ms. Richards, are you okay?”
His brows furrowed and he stepped closer to me, observing me from head to toe as if he was worried I would collapse any minute. Which wasn’t unrealistic now that the adrenaline slowly wore off and the headache returned.
“Yeah…Yeah I’m good. Where the hell am I?” I blurted out, making him stop his movement.
“You’re in the CIA’s virtual reality training center. We can let you dive into various different scenarios to train our agents as realistic as possible. It’s unique in the entire world.”
“Without VR glasses? That’s impossible.”
“It’s not. Every wall is made to be able to show any kind of realistic projections, that’s why the inside of the interrogation cell looked like a brick building. If you hadn’t had a concussion, you would have probably seen that it’s not perfect, but it’s still amazing to train our agents.”
I nodded once before wincing a little and closing my eyes. The headache came back with brutal force, as if my head was run over by a car.
“Come on, let’s get you checked by Dr. Summers, and we can talk about your new position a little.”
My new position?
I made it .
I passed the scenario and I got the job.
That was worth the headache.
Central Intelligence Agency, here I come. Be prepared for Eliana Richards becoming the best agent you’ve ever seen.