That summer was hot; the woman I was torturing, hotter…
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OPERATION: The Price of a Kiss, A Conrad Flynn Mission
©2024 Misty Evans
That summer was hot; the woman I was torturing, hotter.
The CIA had rotated me out of the field to run new recruits through The Farm, a training
camp located in the Virginia woods where spies learn paramilitary and tradecraft skills. Because
of my background, I was in charge of Isolation and Interrogation in the mock prison camp set up
as alternate reality where recruits were subjected to torture much like fraternity hazing. My kill
rate—getting students to break under extreme stress—was a hundred percent.
Until that summer.
Until that woman.
To graduate The Farm, you must jump from a tower positioned at the exact height to
break your neck if you land wrong or the rope harness snaps. You must fling yourself from a
helicopter with an M-16 machine gun ready to fire the moment you land. You must survive
being hunted through the Virginia woods without food, water or bug repellent by qualified
military specialists.
And you must fail Isolation and Interrogation.
Every person, even a trained operative, will break at some point. If you want accurate
information, you must manipulate a person’s weaknesses; break their mind along with their
body.
The woman in the three-by-three isolation chamber was like no other student I’d dealt
with. She had sat in the corner for the past forty-eight hours with knees bent, head bowed—not
in frustration or worry, but calm rest. She’d shown no signs of separation anxiety, panic or
agitation.
Digging for what made her tick, I scanned her classified personnel file, reviewing her
history, Myers-Briggs personality test results and psych eval. Julia Torrison was a high analytic
who preferred working alone. She sought out peace and quiet and avoided socializing. She was a
lone wolf that isolation alone would not break.
Changing tactics, I sent in other trainers to get in her face. They yelled at her like drill
sergeants, told her raunchy jokes like drunken sea dogs, interrogated her about the delicate
subject of the child abuse she suffered at the hands of her stepfather.
She gave up nothing.
More hours passed. She leaned against the cell wall, unmoving, her eyes hard as stones.
What would it take to make this woman dissolve into tears? To make her beg me to let her go?
Entering her cubicle, I moved in close, pressing her body against the cold concrete wall
with mine. Her eyes were a startling emerald green, but the fire I’d seen in them earlier was
gone. Still she locked her gaze on me, a battle line being drawn. I lowered my face so close to
hers our noses almost touched.
“I’d love to kiss you,” I whispered.
I wasn’t lying. Since the moment I’d spotted her in the new recruits, she’d become a
wicked form of Venus taunting me day and night…her flirty lips teasing me, her gutsy bravado
challenging me, her carefree attitude pissing me off.
She hadn’t slept more than an hour in four days. She’d eaten only bread and water. Her
long hair was a wild tangle around her pale face and there was dirt smudged on her jaw line. Inthe two months of watching her excel at everything from hand-to-hand combat to passing a lie
detector test, I wanted her just as badly as ever.
Waves of heat rolled off her body onto mine. Something sparked in her eyes, the fire in
her gut still not dead after all.
In one swift, calculated movement, her knee connected with my balls.
I buckled, white hot pain searing my groin. As I fell, she snatched the gun from my
waistband and pointed it at my head. “The price of a kiss is your life, Conrad Flynn.”
My perfect record took a hit that summer, but I got what I wanted in the end.
And that kiss? That kiss was just the beginning…