He lay motionless, exhausted, spent. He closed his eyes, they were simply too heavy to keep open, and sank into a fulfilling slumber.
Elisa carefully allowed him to slip out of her and retreated into the bathroom. She took a short shower to feel clean and re-entered hotel room proper, where the captain lay motionless, only his chest rising and falling, breathing shallowly and turned over on his side. She wouldn’t be crawling back into that bed, he’d leaked onto the sheets while he slept. She didn’t dress — if he awoke she’d need to recapture his attention and so she squatted down, nude, freshly clean, considering the episode, not fully satisfied, but that was really not the purpose than either. She’d have to educate him a little more if she was going to be expected to do this much longer.
She snapped the two locks on the briefcase, made sure he was still sleeping, and opened it up, thumbing through all sorts of papers and folders. She read some things, things that appeared to be of interest, like documentation on her assistant’s sexual habits, or the detailed reports on her movements, as well as a short note about a meeting she’d had with Arthur Dodger. Her file was considerably thick, photos (some arguably non-official), reports, surveillance logs, a contact list, a character profile (this she found amusing), but nothing about the resistance. There were some questionable notations, obscure references to something outside of her existence, Arthur’s name underlined, photocopied pages from what must have been his file, field notes on a mysterious character called ‘the wolf’, but Elisa didn’t have the time to read it all, she was too nervous, with him sleeping five feet away from her, all he had to do was roll over, all she had to do was rustle a piece of paper or snap a paperclip, and he’d catch her.
Her hands shook as she flipped through the papers, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder every few seconds, and she was thinking about what would happen if the captain ever turned her file in — that would mean she would be retrieved, that one day a group of men would come to see her and they would order her to go with them and she would be taken away. She didn’t know what they did to them, but she’d met a few ‘rebranded’ women before, they were lobotomized, strange wraiths of life, constantly repeating the same preprogrammed words. You could see it in their eyes, there was an absence, a lack of will left, a sort of zombie look, like the dead eyes of a shark. She gulped in air as she poured over the files, as quietly as she could. At least she’d found some information, at least she could tell Arthur something. She placed the papers back in the briefcase and snapped it shut. He was still sleeping.
She picked up his coat and rummaged through the pockets, nothing but a watch and a pen. Then she felt something in the collar; it ran down from the lapel and inside the sleeves, ending in one of the buttons. She followed the thick plastic wire from the sleeve and into the back of the jacket, just about at waist level. It was a transmission device. He turned it on by pushing one of the buttons on his sleeve — how many times she’d seem him fidgeting with them as they conversed — and there was a tiny microphone in the collar. Was it on? She imagined two husky men sitting in a van outside, listening… they’d heard all of it… they knew the captain had intercourse with her that evening, they’d heard her moans and his haughty breaths. Could they tell what she was doing? She put his coat back where she’d found it and took his wallet from his pants: his ID card (C-list), no section identification (perhaps out of fear of her finding it), pictures of her (all very innocent thankfully), figures (digital account balance looked high), a membership card to a gentlemen’s club (would have never thought), and that was all.
Elisa replaced his wallet and returned to the briefcase for a second time. She unlatched it, checked him, thumbed through the reports, took several documents, folded them up and placed them in her purse, then decided that was too obvious and placed them in a portfolio of the hotel’s amenities, changed her mind, just in case he decided to order something or needed to dial out, and finally slid them underneath the mattress of the second bed (unused at this point). She checked him again, this time actually tiptoeing up and making sure he was asleep and closed his briefcase and placed it exactly where it had been before. Then she joined the sleeping agent in the bed, avoiding the soiled spot, but curling herself up so that he could encircle her body.
Just for good measure: “Oh Vincent, this is so nice…”
* * *
Captain Vincent could not get her out of his mind, she leaked into every one of his thoughts, despite his attempts at ignoring her. When he filled out reports, Elisa was reading them over his shoulder, when he talked with another agent, she was scrutinizing whatever he said, when he was away from her, she never left his side. He tried to laugh at his own foolishness: it was absurd to involve himself with a subject, one that he knew was not interested in him, but using him for information; but he was oddly obsessed with her. Though no one at the agency knew of the relationship, and he could easily keep it quiet, Captain Vincent felt that he could have no peace until she was legitimized and his completely. He was afraid of the humiliation, should she acquire information from him and it was discovered by another section. He was afraid of the humiliation of being used, of not being in control of his emotions, of other people finding out he had been romantically involved with one of his subjects and that she had gotten the best of him. Vincent made up his mind that he would give her nothing and take what he needed. He told himself over and over that he would use her, gratify himself, and call in Section 9 when he was finished with her. She would have nothing to tell Arthur Dodger and the others; she would have prostituted herself to his will, and be cornered. Then, he would give her an ultimatum, one she could not refuse. Vincent would offer her up or she would offer herself to him. For now, he would keep their relationship on his terms, he was an engineer, he worked downtown, he would see her when he had time. He refused to give her any opening she could exploit, although, admittedly, he knew that her sexuality always left him at a disadvantage, that she controlled him in those instances, that he could not handle her nudity, her smell, her wanting eyes, that she could get anything she wanted out of him by exploiting herself. And she was willing to do it.
Captain Vincent needed to control himself. He would leave her hanging for a few days, not call her, she had no way of contacting him, and then, just as she began to wonder, he would show up. He could tell her feelings from that, all he had to do was restrain himself.
The struggle with himself had taken no time, the afternoon of his decision to not see Elisa for a few days, and he found himself at the door of her apartment complex, unable to avoid his desire. Still, he reasoned, he usually came to see her early in the morning; he had made her wait until well into the afternoon. It would still be useful, how she reacted to his delayed arrival.
“I assumed you weren’t coming today,” Elisa said at the door.
Vincent reddened noticeably; his heart rate quickened, and beads of perspiration appeared around his temples. “I was detained, I apologize.”
“No matter, I always forgive trespasses,” she moved aside to let him in. His response seemed to satisfy her and he felt concerned, perhaps his plan had not worked. She didn’t seem to mind his absence at all. She was wearing a plaid miniskirt, a sheer white blouse and a necktie (a grown-up schoolgirl) though, and he comforted himself in the idea that she must have worn it in expectation for his arrival (a begrudging promise made after much begging on his part).