quick-sketch: the feeb

“Is there something I can help you with sir,” she says to one of the men behind them, both her age or less, one in a Hawaiian shirt and 5.11 cargo shorts, and the other in jeans and a baggy Bruins jersey covering a sidearm and handcuff pouch.

With a disarming smile, he replies, “There is actually. I’m Chad, a Special Agent of the FBI. This is Teddy, also a Special Agent. Can we have a quick chat?

“A word about my day today or about my past?”

He smiles, “Your past. I’m with Counterintelligence. You’re not in trouble with us, but we have concerns we want to talk about. I’d like to chat with you alone if I could.”

Margo, wanting to give them their spaces nervously mentions, “I’ll head down to U-Burger for dinner. I’ll be back in what, an hour good for you two?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” replied Chad, with the other G-man staying silent. “Thanks.”

Zoe opens the door and they walk inside.

“So what’s up?”

“Zoe, the deal they had offered, that you had set up with the CIA, was that you would remain in the DC-metro area, that you would take the position at the NRO and they’d pay for your healthcare.”

“And I said no to that deal and took the cash instead.”

“Look, we now see a couple of problems with that. After your mental issues, we had to shut down every aspect of your cover. That means companies had to close with backstories, companies needed to be wound down on paper, phone numbers changed, other officers you worked with on that cover needed changes to their cover, etc.”

“I get it, I’m a liability. But I don’t work there anymore?” Zoe replied with frustration.

“If you took the alternate career paths they provided you could have been brought back to a degree of health and you’d be under our watchful eye in case you had trouble.”

“What do you want!?”

“Now, don’t get upset. All we want is you to get better. We want you to return to DC and take the positions we offered while you get back to full health.”

“I want a life. I’m in my fucking thirties and have nothing to show for it. I am done being a civil servant.”

“You can have it your way. But you had better find a way to heal and not talk. And you need a job. Our money won’t be there forever. Our budgets may be black, but we have bean counters too.”

“So, you’re cutting me off?”

“If you don’t choose to come back to DC and take the offered job, you’re on your own after six months. And, if your health isn’t materially better and you continue to present a risk…I don’t know how they’ll deal with that.”

Zoe sighs.

.

“Here’s my card. Let me know by tomorrow.”