Arc II: Grey Eyes, Silver Tongue

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ARC II PART II: Grey Eyes, Silver Tongue

London, England
January 1944

Eades stared through the glass into the room on the other side. The Japanese spy sat perfectly still, and though they had left the bag on his head, Eades sensed that the spy's expression was just as composed as the rest of him.

He tilted his head towards the blond man standing beside him. Fernsby was a rough looking fellow with hands that were too big for the rest of him. He'd racked up quite the record, despite being one of the youngest agents employed by the office. Eades never liked the look of him; the young man had started the war with a chip on his shoulder, and that agitation had only magnified. But he couldn't deny that they made a decent team.

"What do you think he's thinking right now?" Eades asked, returning his attention to the other room.

"Probably wishing he signed up to be a pilot instead of a spy," Fernsby sneered.

The look in his eyes alarmed Eades. It was never a good idea to interrogate someone when angry. He narrowed his grey eyes. "Are you sure you're in the right state to do this?" he asked. "I know you're upset about your brother, but I need you in control. That kid is no good to us dead."

Eades could feel the anger radiating off of Fernsby. "Before he died," he spat, "my brother use to write to me about some of the stories he heard about the Japanese. They torture captured soldiers for fun and use civilians as target practice. To think that my brother was killed in such a barbaric way... trust me, Eades, the world would be a better place with one less of their kind in it."

"I'm sorry about your brother," Eades said. "And this spy won't escape justice. But I do have a plan."

Fernsby growled. "Just make sure that I get at least one good punch in," he muttered.

To that, Eades said nothing. Instead, he opened the door to the interrogation room. Taking the seat across from the spy, he motioned for Fernsby to take the bag off the spy's head.

Shoma's eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light, and he scanned the room to see what he was dealing with. There were two chairs, one of which he occupied, a plain wooden table in between, and a low hanging light. From the corner, the blond man that had held him at gunpoint glowered at him. A posh man with thinning hair sat across the table from him. If it were not for the keen grey eyes that peered at him from behind tortoiseshell glasses, Shoma would have never recognized him as the homeless man. Finally, Shoma ran an assessment of his own person. They'd taken his coat, notebook, and time machine.

"Long time no see," the grey-eyed man remarked. "How are you holding up?"

Shoma said nothing. There were many things on this trip that he had not planned for: knowing how to pronounce "lorry," Darcy holding his hand... but this he had expected. His father and grandfather had trained him for such a moment. Though his heart was hammering against his chest so hard that Shoma was sure the whole city could hear it beat, he kept his hands still and his face tranquil.

The grey-eyed man pointed at himself. "I'm Eades, and the bloke in the corner is Fernsby. Whether or not you two become better acquainted all depends on how willing you are to cooperate."

Shoma didn't dare look in Fernsby's direction. Instead, he maintained Eades unrelenting eye contact. His mind raced. Where was he? Had they followed him the whole time, or just since the Underground? Had they captured his brother or Lills, or... no, Shoma didn't dare think about the possibility of Darcy being captured.

Eades clicked open a leather briefcase and produced a single sheet of paper and a fountain pen.

"May I please get your name and rank?" Eades asked.

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