“IT SHOULDN’T TAKE LONG NOW,” Cynthia said to Agent Rodrigo Ochoa. She tapped on the large flat panel display. It showed a split view: on the left a close up of Sandra Tomek’s trembling lips and facial features, and on the right a wide angle view of the interrogation room.

Ochoa stood there, arms folded over his chest, feeling cold for that poor girl, not looking forward to being cold when he joined her.

Cynthia hooked her left wrist over his right shoulder. “We’re on the verge of a breakthrough. I can feel it.”

He took a deep breath, refusing to acknowledge her pride in this, her interrogation technique. As if to counter his apprehension, her hand slid onto the back of his shoulder, and her knuckles kneaded him there.

“Ready to jump in?”

He pulled away from her reach. “I’m ready when you are.”

“And they’re ready for you next door.”

He turned to leave, but she wouldn’t let him go without one more swipe.

“It will be quite the mission, Ocho. Like nothing you’ve dropped into before.”

He shook his head, turned the knob and flung the door open. This would be the last one of these, he reminded himself. One way or the other, he’d punch out after this one.

Sandra had no clock to go by, but Cynth stayed out more than ten minutes. Way longer. Sandra had no doubt about that. And maybe her staying out for more than ten minutes worked after all, because Sandra spent the first ten imagining ways for proclaiming her innocence.

Maybe she should cry, go hysterical. Maybe she should point out how she didn’t have as much as a parking ticket to her name. Always a schoolgirl. Always good with math and science and computers, studying her heart out. Full scholarship to Caltech. She’d even had a nine month internship at one of the local defense contractors, complete with full background checks and security clearances she would have never gotten if her nose had been anything but clean. Couldn’t they see that? Couldn’t they admit how much of an outstanding citizen they’d holed up in this interrogation room?

But after the first ten minutes, she’d set all that aside. Maybe the shivering did it. Maybe something else—despair and the realization that they had some sort of evidence on her, and they felt it solid enough to treat her like… What? A terrorist? An enemy combatant? To rendition her?

What exactly had she looked at in that first picture? Stolen government computer equipment, maybe? Someone had set her up as the fall gal for an illicit black market transfer of high grade computer equipment? If so, why? Who would do such a thing?

Not entirely sure how much time had passed, she told herself she had figured it out somewhere between the twelve and fifteen minute mark. She felt a heat rise up from her core. It flowed through her veins. It rose like a low grade smoldering fire.

“Hey!” she yelled out, at the precise moment she also realized that’s what they wanted from her—yelling, the more desperate the better. “I think I got something!”

She left it at that, safeguarding whatever dignity she had left. Dignity and her naked shivering body. She had to hold on to both of them.

But Cynth and the rest of them wanted to hold on to their own thing—the power they held over her. Or maybe the cup of hot coffee they were enjoying? The image of it flashed in her mind. She could almost taste it—no, no could about it. She did taste it. She smelled it, too. The aroma of it wafted into her nostrils. She felt its warmth flowing down her throat, and the caffeine pumping through her veins.

Yeah, that’s what they wanted—her imagining things. Longing for better. Getting desperate to the point where she’d tell them anything they needed or wanted to hear.

Whatever their scheme or reason, they made her wait. She couldn’t tell for how long. Maybe another five minutes. More time to freeze her, to ice her for good, inside and out.

“Hey!” she shouted again.

Still, no response. The seconds ticked off. Her teeth clattered, and she shook to the pseudo-random rhythm of time passing by.

It came to her then. They had read her those Miranda rights, hadn’t they? They only did that with people who got arrested, right? She had rights!

“I want my lawyer, now!”

The door clicked and parted not a second after that. Like Cynth had stood there all along, counting, waiting for the third outburst. Three strikes, and in she came.

“I want my lawyer!”

“But you haven’t been arrested.”

“Yess…” Her fluttering lips betrayed her. “Yes, I have.”

Cynth closed the door and approached. In her right hand she carried that same paper sack, except now it looked more like a shopping bag. In her left, a large white mug of steaming coffee floated along like a fulfilled vision. The scent of it expanded and filled the room. Same aroma Sandra had imagined a few minutes ago.

“I want my lawyer.” Her voice sounded tiny, almost imperceptible. She kept eyeing the coffee mug.

Cynth set it on the table—her side of the table. Let it sit right there on the corner. The shopping bag she dropped closer to Sandra, in the middle of the table, well within her reach.

Cynth sat. She crossed her legs and arms. “I’m not much for legal technicalities. But the smarter people tell me we don’t need to resort to lawyers at the moment.”

“What?”

Cynth nodded at the bag. “Go ahead. Get dressed. Before you turn a darker shade of blue.”

I hope you enjoyed reading the beginning of Virtual Identity. As we speak, I am readying to release this story next month, February 18. To stay up to date about this and future news, join my Reader’s Club. Oh, and let me know what you think of this story!