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{Won (Korean) - unwillingness to let go of illusion.}
You're in a well-furnished living room, but you and I know it's really a cell.
You belong in this cell. You're an assassin. A spy. A criminal mastermind. You're the kind of woman who fakes her own death, abandons her daughter, and marries a man for the express purpose of betraying him.
Is there any part of you that belongs in a plush, soft room? That deserves to be beautifully lit and tastefully dressed?
Is any part of you still my mom?
When I was little, you would read to me before bed. A chapter a night, every night. As soon as I outgrew Dr. Seuss, you had me on the classics. Dickens, Twain, the Alice books, a magical six months in Narnia. The Scarlet Pimpernel was my favorite; I always thought it might be yours too.
In the summer--and it was nearly always summer, it seems-- we would drive to the beach and build sand castles. Our Coke bottles would support the towers. You taught me that castles needed wide, deep moats.
Every week, after my ballet class, you took me to the grocery store and we played hide-and-seek in the produce aisle.
I have happy memories, and I'm thankful for them. But, you know, I can't remember one time that you scolded me or sent me to my room. The first time you punished me was the day you shot me in the shoulder.
Did you love me so much you couldn't bear to be firm with me? Or was it too much trouble to be a good mother?
Which mother were you? Which woman is waiting in that cell for me?
I can't walk in there until I know for sure.
2. Jack - "Razbliuto"
{Razbliuto (Russian) - the feeling a person has for someone he or she once loved but now does not.}
I don't believe it.
I don't believe a word of it.
Oh, I believe that you want SD-6 destroyed; your little game with Mr. Tippen is proof enough of that.
I believe you want to see Sloane humbled in the dirt nearly as much as I do. I may not know why yet--though I will--but I believe it.
But is that the reason you killed your own second-in- command and turned yourself in to the CIA?
Not a chance in hell.
What is it? You weren't satisfied with a daughter so devoted to your memory that both her cover and her real career involved following in your footsteps?
She wasn't in enough danger from that psychotic weasel Cole? Or when you fed Tippen leads about me, knowing that if I'm exposed she is too?
No. I know. You had such a good time breaking her heart when she found out you were still alive. It was so satisfying to put a bullet into your own child's body. And you thought--because who wouldn't--you thought, I know what could be even more entertaining. I'll sit in a cell where she can see me every day, maybe drop a few hints about those pesky spies at SD-6, and of course the best fun will be telling her it's all for her.
Right?
I loved you once. I took a life's worth of passion and divided it between my job and my wife. I lusted after you. I worshipped you. I made a baby with you.
And now you're using my baby to further some twisted agenda.
If you hurt her, I will kill you. I can't make it any clearer than that.
3. Vaughn - "Korinthenkacker"
{Korinthenkacker (German) - a person overly concerned with trivial details.}
Miss Derevko. Or do you prefer Mrs. Bristow? I didn't think so. My name is Michael. I've been assigned to your CIA interrogation team.
Let's talk about the missions you were assigned by the KGB.
Yes. The assassinations.
Do you remember the names of the men and women you killed? Identifying details? I have a list here, if you need--no, I didn't think so.
I'd like to draw your attention to the twelfth name on this list. Vaughn, William C.
He was...let me see...six feet even. Two hundred and fifteen pounds. Brown hair. Green eyes. You remember him?
What was Mr. Vaughn wearing the day you shot him? Come, Miss Derevko, you just claimed to have perfect recall. A suit? What color? Brown? Gray? Light gray? I'm sure the blood stood out against that.
I understand you shot him in a parking garage. That is, he was in the garage. You were quite a distance away. I hear amazing things about your marksmanship, ma'am. What kind of rifle were you using? Really? Good choice. A bit conservative, perhaps...
What kind of car did Mr. Vaughn drive? I assume you killed him near his car. That's a family car, Miss Derevko. Yes, I'm quite sure you never owned one.
So, tell me. Did you follow Mr. Vaughn to that garage? Were you familiar with his schedule and habits? Yes, patterns are vital in my occupation as well. Did you ever shadow your target at his residence? Observe him at home with his family?
How many children do you recall in the Vaughn household? Just the one? Hmm.
Did you stay at the scene after shooting Mr. Vaughn? Or did you leave immediately? Wise choice.
He was shot...let me see...oh, through the chest, puncturing a lung. Very good shooting indeed, ma'am. Often patients with these wounds survive for several minutes before drowning in their own blood.
Do you think Mr. Vaughn was alive when the paramedics arrived? Do you think he asked for his wife and son before he died?
No. I don't think he did either.
4. Devlin - "Plunderbund"
{Plunderbund (Dutch) - group or alliance of financial or political interests that exploits the public.}
Miss Derevko. My name is Devlin; I head the Los Angeles regional office of the CIA. I am, therefore, the de facto head of the operation that will someday destroy SD-6.
You'll forgive me for staring. I've heard so much about you. It's quite amazing to meet you after all this time.
At any rate...shall we begin?
Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Alliance or any Alliance-sponsored organization?
Now, Miss Derevko, there's no need to use that kind of language with me. And I'm certainly not replacing the lamp. I didn't break it, after all.
It's a reasonable question. The last time my government knew your whereabouts, you were an enemy of the United States. Some two decades later, we find you again, and you're even more of an enemy. I find it highly probable that you've colluded and collaborated with other terrorist organizations over the years. You had to go somewhere after the Iron Curtain fell, did you not?
What was that about Pakistan? Excuse me, I'm just making a note to myself.
When did you become aware of the existence of the Alliance? And you immediately considered them a threat? How forward- thinking of you.
Where did you learn of the Alliance? From your employers at the KGB? Or from the members of what became K- Directorate?
Well, you did have several of their leaders murdered. It seems reasonable that you knew them--or perhaps more to the point, that they knew of you.
I need your sources, madam. If I can't verify your intelligence, then it is worthless to me. And if you can't give me anything of value, well, what reason do I have to hold back the hordes of State's attorneys who are clamoring to try you publicly for twelve counts of lying in wait to murder? You're a career-maker, Miss Derevko.
I want details, madam. I want the inner working of the Alliance. I want corroborating sources. And I want them immediately. Your daughter would make a wonderful character witness at your trial, wouldn't she?
5. Weiss - "Mokita"
{Mokita (Kiriwina, New Guinea) - truth everybody knows but nobody speaks.}
I have to say, you're very good-looking for an evil bitch.
No, I'm sorry, I can't talk any louder. I have a bit of a sore throat. It's a side effect from that bullet in the neck. Remember?
Yeah, that was me. I know--I'm taller when I'm not in shock.
So. Let's go over the list, okay? You killed...roughly...everyone who's ever gotten in your way. Except for the husband you hung out to dry. But hey, what do I know about marriage? My mom got a sailboat from my dad in the divorce, and she doesn't even swim. He'd probably have preferred a jail term.
Right. Murder. We covered that. Oh, and there's the spying. Obviously. Faking your own death. Hey, did you really suck the air out of the tire? Sydney had this whole elaborate theory, but I thought...you did. Huh. That is one warped set of DNA you passed on to your kid, let me tell you.
Sorry. Sorry. Moving on. I get distracted, I can't help it. You're all just so...insane.
Then you left the country and we didn't hear from you for a while. In the meantime, you start your own intelligence organization. Sort of an SD-6 Ladies Auxiliary.
You know, it's a good thing I don't speak Russian. Say whatever you like, lady. I don't mind. We haven't even gotten to the part where, as head of this supercool mercenary group, you nicknamed yourself "The Man." The Freudian implications--and the lack of imagination--are just staggering.
So. Formed your little company, blah blah. Put a spy in the CIA, blah blah. Brought down your second-biggest rivals. Blah blah blah. Built the big red water balloon, tried to kidnap Sydney, shot Sydney, lost Sydney. Busy day for you.
Then my guess is that you went too long without shooting somebody and you got twitchy. Otherwise you'd've just turned yourself in without all that unnecessary shooting people in the neck and whatnot.
I'm not afraid to admit that you are one immensely scary lady. I can't decide whether I should propose to your daughter or get a restraining order against her. Sheesh.
6. Barnett - "Maya"
{Maya (Sanskrit) - the mistaken belief that a symbol is the same as the reality it represents.}
Irina. You'll be glad to know I've run the last of the tests. I finished your writeup yesterday.
My conclusions? What do you suppose I've concluded, Irina?
"Psychopath" is such an easy label to slap on someone these days. In your case, some of my colleagues have suggested "sociopath" instead.
That makes you smile? I wonder, Irina, are you proud that you don't have a conscience, or proud that you've misled us so well?
You're not smiling any more.
Do you ever know what your final goal is, Irina? Do you know who you're betraying and who you're helping? Or are you so many moves into this chess game that not even you can see past your strategy?
I think we're done here. We could talk for hours and all we'd do is recycle the lies. When this all falls apart, if you want to talk about it, tell the agents at the door. They'll find me.
Goodbye, Irina.
--the end--
All the foreign words and their definitions come from a great, thought-provoking book called "They Have a Word For It : A Lighthearted Lexicon of Untranslatable Words and Phrases" by Howard Rheingold.
Photo from www.abc.com and used without permission.
