Page 51 of Need to Know

“Thanks. This’ll get me favourite uncle status for life!” He sent me a relaxed smile, and then looked a little chagrined as, after hearing a sharp knock on his window he noticed that Agent Devereux stood at the driver side door, his arms folded and mouth in a moue of a pout. “Oops, busted!” he chuckled as he clicked the door controls on the dashboard. Deveraux opened my door. I got out of the car.

“Where are we?” I demanded. I was paranoid, thirsty, hungry, and twitchy.

“Follow me. As I said, we need to have that chat,” the agent said flatly.

“Where’s Nate? Why can’t you tell me what’s going on? Argh, you’re insufferable,” I grumbled.

“Darling, you’re not the first man to say that!” he flirted. I clenched my jaw, but followed him to where the woman was waiting. She offered her hand,

“Special Agent Hadley Porter, FBI,” she introduced.

“I’m sure you’re wondering where your partner is. Mr. Linden is here,” Special Agent Porter revealed as we walked down long corridors, the tip-tap of our footfalls echoing.

“Is he okay? We had a bad night and when I woke, he was gone. I was worried,” I said urgently. Agent Devereaux turned and gave me a dagger look, and then mimed for me to zip my mouth. I’d thought there was a ‘special relationship’ between the US and UK security services, but maybe that was just on TV! I guess I should shut my cake-hole!

“Mr. Linden is helping us with enquiries into a serious matter he bought to our attention,” Porter revealed as we came to a junction. “It was nice to meet you Mr. Boyd. Agent Deveraux, you’ve been given use of Room IS3, right and down the hall. I’ll circle back later,” she said giving him a look that I knew shared secret things I was not party to. She pivoted to take to the left corridor while Agent D directed me to the right. I was led to an interview room with a table and two chairs. An African American woman waited beside a small trolley with medical equipment on it.

“You’re in safe hands, I’ll be back when you’re done,” Deveraux directed before leaving the room. I was a little confused.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Fran Cagle. Please, take a seat, Mr. Boyd.”

“Um, okay,” I sat numbly.

“Mr. Linden told me you were both drugged last night.”

“Yeah, we were.”

“I’ll need to check you over, take blood and urine samples,” the doctor stated. It sounded like a sensible thing to do. And so, I just sat there, answered the doctor’s questions, and signed a digital form permitting the tests.

Ten minutes later, samples taken, checks complete. “You’re quite dehydrated,” Dr. Cagle said, “But not enough to require an IV.” She put a bottle of Gatorade and bottle of water on the table. Then she left me alone in the room with the door closed. I virtually inhaled the bottle of water. I hope that they’d let me see Nate now. I’d been convinced he’d gone off sleuthing on his own, when the reality seemed to be he’d merely asked for help at his country’s embassy. I felt like an idiot for doubting him and thinking he’d abandoned me.

The door opened and Agent Deveraux stepped in. He’d removed his linen suit jacket to reveal a lightweight cream shirt with the sleeves rolled up over slender forearms. His long black silky hair was pulled up into a bun, and with razor sharp cheekbones and well-shaped brows he was beautifully androgynous. Deveraux took the seat opposite. He placed a phone, and tablet on the table and studied me, his thin lips held in a studious straight line. I’d never been arrested, nor been in an interview room like this in real-life, only on set, and so I was uneasy with my predicament. The room had no windows and no décor of note. It could have been anywhere in the world. I supposed this was good research for future roles. Yes, this is just research, everything is fine.

“I’d like to record our conversation, that okay?” Deveraux began. He set an app on his phone to record and then stated the time, date, location and who was present for the interview.

“How are you feeling Jack? Is it okay if I call you Jack, or would you prefer Mr. Boyd?” the agent asked tentatively.

I didn’t have airs, and hated it when anyone called me Mr. Boyd, although, I didn’t mind sir! “Um, yeah, sure, call me Jack,” I said sounding anything but sure. I knew this ‘chat’ was an information gathering exercise for Agent D. I was hyperaware that the Rohypnol was still doing a number on me and I was desperate to stay in control. I reminded myself of my priorities: to find Nate and protect him. If he believed this confusing mess was something to do with him, I had to be circumspect with how much I shared with the agent. I didn’t want to get Nate in to trouble.

“You can call me Alex,” the agent said.

I sat back in the uncomfortable chair. “Okay, Alex, when can I see Nate?” I asked.

“Nate’s chatting with Special Agent Porter, he’s not far away. There’s no need to worry, he’s been checked over by the doctor too, and apart from being a little dehydrated he’s fine.” Agent Deveraux paused for a thoughtful moment before he revealed,

“I understand how unnerving this can be, Jack, so I instructed the Americans to turn their security camera off,” he said this in an almost druggingly gentle voice, as he gestured to the small camera installed in the corner of the room where no red ‘on’ light was visible. “It’s just you and me, Jack, you’ve nothing to fear. Want to tell me what’s been going on?” Alex said softly. “I’m here to help you.”

His gentle, soothing questioning had me a little off-kilter. I knew he’d told me these things to gain my trust. But who is Agent Alexander Deveraux and why should I trust him? He wasn’t my friend, hell, I’d met him less than an hour ago, and even though he was easy on the eye and told me he was on my side, he wanted something valuable that I possessed—information. Thriller story arcs were always a tennis match, a back-and-forth seeking vital information another party possessed. I didn’t know what to do for the best.

“It’s all pretty fucked up,” I admitted, “I don’t know where to start.” My shoulders slumped as I sighed. I was tired to my bones.

“Our American friends shared some footage from a hotel security camera on Prenzlauer Alee. Want to start there?”

Deveraux picked up the tablet and after a few clicks, turned the screen to me.

The security footage was from a camera across the street from the junction of Prenzlauer Alee and Saarbrücker Strasse. It showed the black SUV pulling to the curb, two men, whose faces were a blur of white pixels, approached two figures that I knew were Nate and me.

“Why are their faces like that?” I quizzed.