"You're going to be locked up for a long time," I said, pacing on my side of the table. There was only one other person in this room; Jennifer McCellan. I sympathize with the woman; sold off at the age of 8 to pay for a gambling debt, learned to read on her accord, a survivor of countless abuses, and now an actor on the international stage. Her name is known the world over; not publicly, but you can find people from all walks of life around the world who know her on a first name basis.

If it was only for the good. A murderer at 14, rehabilitated a dozen times in the next four years, and then became among the world's foremost arms smugglers. There was no character she would not sell weapons to; terrorists, despotic autocrats, religious fundamentalists, and criminal gangs to name a few. The weapons she sold could be found in every warzone imaginable.

I continued my little speech, one I've always wanted to say. "You fueled genocide and repression across the face of God's green Earth. You're the closest thing to the Angel of Death, dear. And I'm the man who will have you behind bars. No rehabilitation for you." You could say I had a little grin on my face, as my hands rested on the table.

She reclined in her polished aluminum chair, balanced slightly on the rear two legs. To my surprise, she gave a little smile.

"What'cha smiling about? This is the end of the road for you. Your daughter? She's an adult, and will be charged as such. If you're lucky, you'll get to share a cell."

She said "Everything you said past 'dear' is wrong, Agent." Settling the front legs to a light tap on the concrete floor and assuming a more relaxed form, she said "I take it you don't know the whole story."

"Anything more you have to say?" I asked, looking right into her eyes. For some reason, I felt as if she was looking into me.

"Yeah. It's true I sold guns to a lot of people. But do you know who sells the most?"

Taking out my notepad, I prepared to write down her confession.

"Our employer."

"Our employer?"

"Yes. Our employer. You see, your employer, the Paternian government, likes to sell guns to lots of people. I'll give them credit for doing it much better than I can. Some of their customers are like the liberty-lovers in Berus. Others, like the Awwami Sultan, are autocratic a--holes but are pretty good friends with Paternia. Mostly."

"Get to the point," I said, a little weary of her tirade.

"Then you have the likes of the African Union. Freedom fighter, terrorist group, doesn't matter. Paternia can't be seen selling them guns. And there's only so much you can pass under the table."

Stretching a bit, she said "That's where I come in. Give another table to pass guns under. If I do my job and the guns get through, I get paid and your employer gets to arm people that they can't be seen arming."

"That didn't seem to work out, did it?" I smirked.

"Well here's the trick. If I'm caught, and it's probably by people like you, then your employer can simply forget that we know each other at all. If I'm lucky, I'll walk out this place with my daughter."

"Bullshit," I said, slamming the aluminum table. The sound reverberated through the interrogation cell.

She chuckled "Here's what going to happen. There'll be a knock on the door, and you'll of course have to leave. You'll meet a lovely lady named Colonel Olivia East. She'll tell you about what a great job you've done, and offer you a promotion. But then she'll say that I'll have to be released immediately. You'll argue about it, but the decision is final. They've decided that I'm too important for the security of Paternia to stay here for long. And so me and my daughter will be provided with a one-way trip to O'Hare. Where I'll be after that is none of your business."

I laughed, saying "You can't be serious."

Then we heard a light rap on the door. We locked eyes as a lion would do with the gazelle. She raised her eyebrows, her head cocked slightly to the right.

"Well? Are you going to answer it?"