Covert Interview

by Missy Marciassa

  Elle nodded. She really should have picked up a bottled water at the coffee shop. Preston had told her she was in. The letter said she was in. Well, the letter offered her employment as an analyst at the Central Intelligence Agency. There was nothing unreasonable about her assumption that she was hired, was there? So what the hell was all of this?

  Elle was tempted to think this was some kind of elaborate practical joke on the noob, but Mason didn’t seem like the practical joking kind of guy. The TV monitors were awash in color. One had an image that was in the shape of a head with the brain illuminated in different colors. Was that her head and her brain? She tried to swallow again, which caused her to cough, since her throat was so dry.

  Mason pulled a bottled water out of his bag from underneath the table and set it in front of her. Well. The guy wasn’t just a machine after all.

  “Thank you,” Elle croaked, opening it. She was glad to break the seal. Things had taken such a crazy turn, she didn’t know if it would be wise to trust an opened bottle of water from him. She took several deep swallows. At least she could talk now.

  Once she set the bottle down, Mason held out what looked like a tiny cap. It was for her finger. Elle held her hand out, and he slid it onto the tip of her index finger. She couldn’t resist glancing up at her reflection in the mirror before looking away. She looked so pale and skittish the people observing probably wondered if she was going to bolt at any moment. What a great image. Well, studying her reflection wasn’t going to help matters, nor was wondering who was on the other side of the one-way mirror.

  Mason settled back in his chair, as if they had just finished some hard work and could relax. Well, he could relax. Elle tried not to fidget as she focused on his blank face.

  “First, let’s start with some basic questions. What is your name?”

  At least they were starting off with questions she couldn’t possibly screw up. “Elle- Eleanor Paquet.” Dammit, how had she nearly screwed up giving her own name? No one would hold it against her if she referred to her nickname rather than her legal name, would they? It was an honest mistake.

  “What is your date of birth?”

  “January 16, 1991.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “Champaign-Urbana, Illinois.”

  Mason checked the squiggly lines and studied the TV monitors behind Elle’s head before giving a nod. He focused on Elle again.

  “Did you apply for a position as an analyst with the Central Intelligence Agency?”

  Elle nodded.

  “I need for you to answer verbally, Ms. Paquet.”

  Of course he did. Another flub. Dammit, dammit, dammit! “Oh, I’m sorry- um, yes.”

  “Where does your father work?”

  They had asked Elle about her parents- and stepparents- employment in an earlier interview, so they must have it on file to verify. “Williams-Whitman Holdings.” He was a senior vice-president in the corporation.

  “Your mother?”

  “She’s a housewife.”

  “Why are you interested in working for the Central Intelligence Agency?”

  Mason had pretty much just given her this answer when they met in his office. Was it a trick question? Well, her earlier answers hadn’t seemed to go over well, so she’d have to go with his. She sat up a little straighter. Satisfied she looked more confident, Elle said, “To help the United States of America maintain its position as the premier world superpower.”

  He remained expressionless, but Elle felt satisfied with her answer. That should do it. What else could they want to hear?

  “I’m going to present you with some hypothetical scenarios, Ms. Paquet.”

  She knew this deal. The last interviewer had done that as well. They made Elle want to tear her hair out because figuring out the “right” answer was virtually impossible, and not being able to determine the right answers put her teeth on edge. However, she nodded, taking a deep breath.

  It wasn’t like she could just rip the electrodes off and bolt. Even if she did bolt, where would she go? The CIA had sent a car for her: she couldn’t even drive herself away from Langley. Could they arrest her if she tried to run? Could she just change her mind and say she didn’t want to work for the CIA after all?

  Elle could feel her heart pound harder with each question that surfaced in her head. The colors flared on the TV monitors in the one-way mirror, and the needles on the EEG and EKG machines started dancing a little more. She needed to get a grip. Now. She wanted to work for the CIA; she could make it through this interview. She had nothing to hide.

  Mason looked at the machines’ output, looked past her to the TV monitors, and then focused on Elle again. There wasn’t even a crack in his poker face.

  “Say you are playing a game of chess,” Mason said. Oh boy. She used to play chess with her grandfather when she was younger, but he had died years ago. She hadn’t played since. “It’s your turn, you study the board, and you realize that you’re going to lose. You made a critical error a few moves ago, and now there’s no way for you to win. What do you do?”

  Say what? Elle knew this was an entirely realistic scenario- it had happened to her enough when she played with her grandfather- but what was the “right” answer for this? Her first thought was “finish the game.” It was poor sportsmanship to quit, but would the CIA appreciate sportsmanship or view it as being too passive? Was cheating an acceptable option? In real life, who just kept doing something they knew wasn’t going to work out? The colors continued to change in the monitors, and the needles remained pretty active. At least they could see she was thinking. She didn’t know if that was good or bad, though.

  Mason’s face remained inscrutable - no hints there.

  Elle knew the goal of these questions was to learn more about her, but at least the questions in the earlier interviews were multiple choice. She had to generate her own answer here.

  “I would do everything I could to win the game,” she finally said. Lame, she knew. In chess, when it was over, it was over.

  “What if you can’t?”

  So she hadn’t given the right answer if he had to ask again. Maybe “I’d quit” was an acceptable answer, but Elle couldn’t see how it would be. Cheat? She remembered something Preston had once told her, saying intelligence was about “stealing secrets.” This was the CIA. They stole all the time: dishonesty was part of the profession. But they probably only wanted employees who were dishonest and stole for them, which was pretty ironic. The CIA had to figure out who was a trustworthy thief.

  Elle met Mason’s unwavering gaze directly. “I would do whatever it took to win. Talk to my opponent, maybe distract them so they make a bigger mistake or get them to think I’m going to win so they quit, or minimize the damage, at the very least.” Those were realistic answers: her grandfather had taught her those tricks.

  Mason simply stared at her for a few more moments. Had she just gotten her invitation to join the CIA revoked?

  “Name two of your closest friends.”

  Elle blinked. Huh? Mason had to be one of the most impersonal people she had ever interacted with- and for someone in her field that was saying something- and he was asking about her friends? “Marni and Tina,” she finally said. She had nothing to hide and saying just their first names protected their privacy. Who was she kidding? This was the CIA: they could find out who her friends were. She, Marni and Tina had been close since their first year in college. Elle and Marni had been roommates for three years. It wouldn’t take much expertise to document their friendship.

  “Marni and Tina,” Mason repeated, writing the names down. Was he actually going to investigate them? The CIA couldn’t do anything on domestic soil, Elle reminded herself. “So let’s say Marni does something to Tina.”

  Where the hell was this going?

  “Let’s say Marni…” Mason actually got a little animated as he seemed to think. After a moment, he gave a little shrug as he continued, “sleeps with Tina’s boyfriend.” His dem
eanor was relaxed, but his eyes were hawk-like. “Would you tell Tina?”

  WTF??? Elle didn’t know what to say to that one. If Marni actually betrayed Tina like that, Elle would first have to throttle Marni. She would never do anything like that, though: they were all friends. What could the CIA possibly want her to say in response to this scenario? Keeping Marni’s secret might indicate Elle was dishonest. Telling Tina might indicate she couldn’t keep things confidential, especially since it technically didn’t involve her. Lots of things probably occurred at the CIA that she couldn’t repeat.

  Mason’s pose was relaxed but any signs of animation disappeared.

  “I would…” Elle struggled to think, ignoring the cascade of colors on the monitors and the waving needles of the EEG and EKG machines. She finally came up with something that was honest and realistic. “I would make Marni tell Tina.”

  “Let’s say Marni refused.”

  This was getting annoying. What the hell did he want from her? “I wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Elle replied. She met his gaze. Two could be inscrutable. Well, as inscrutable as possible with machines monitoring all of her physical and physiological responses.

  Although he remained fairly monotone and expressionless, Elle thought she detected a hint of disbelief in his eyes. She refused to look away, standing her ground. Her answer was honest. She would insist Marni tell Tina, even if she had to physically drag her to Tina and lock the door until Marni confessed.

  “Say you’re a manager.”

  Elle didn’t know if it was to her credit that he just moved on rather than openly questioning her response, but she decided to see it as a personal triumph. Score one for her.

  “You need to fill a position, and you have two strong candidates,” Mason continued. “One is exceptional in terms of his job performance. The other is very good, not quite exceptional, but is extremely loyal to the company. Whichever one you choose, you have to be worried about the other one quitting because they’ll be upset about being passed over. Losing either one would be bad for the company. Who do you select and why?”

  Elle smothered a sigh. Last week, she had been a student. She hadn’t even had her first real job yet, and she was being asked about management decisions? Seriously? How the hell was she supposed to know? Well, she knew “I don’t know” wouldn’t be a good answer even without a textbook.

  Okay. She needed to think. Skills vs loyalty. Would the CIA value skills more or loyalty more? Working for the CIA required both, didn’t it? After a few more moments of thought, she said, “I’d promote the exceptional one.”

  “The exceptional one?” There was nothing in Mason’s voice to indicate if her answer was the “right” one or the “wrong” one.

  Elle wondered if she should change her answer, but changing her answer would probably make her look wishy-washy, which couldn’t be good. Time to stand her ground. “The loyal one should stay with the company regardless if he- or she- is loyal. The exceptional one would be more likely to leave if not promoted.” Seemed like sound reasoning to her.

  Mason made a notation on his notepad before asking his next question. “Say a friend- let’s say Marni- gets a job offer at a rival company for more money. She wants your advice about whether or not she should take the job. What would you tell her?”

  Talk about a devil’s choice for a job interview question. In all truth, Elle would advise Marni to take the job that paid more money, not that Marni would even need that advice. She’d do it without prompting. Yet would the CIA, or any employer, want to hear that? Would it be obvious she was lying if she said she would advise her friend to stay in a job with less pay? Who would believe it?

  Elle saw the frustration on her face in the one-way mirror and worked to hide it. She needed to think. She thought back on some of the psychology coursework she had to take as part of her human-computer interaction studies and remembered something a professor had once mentioned about psychological testing: sometimes they included questions for “validity” purposes. The question would have an honest answer that may be embarrassing to admit, such as “Do you pick your nose?” Everyone did it, but no one admitted to it, so if someone marked “no,” it was likely the person was lying. Was this a validity question?

  She looked Mason in the eye. Here went nothing. “I’d advise her to take the new job.”

  As expected, his face gave away nothing. Had she scored a second point? At this point, she was clueless.

  Mason asked more questions. She gave more answers. She began to feel like a rat trapped in a cage with a floor that delivered electric shocks. After a while, rats stopped trying to avoid the shocks because nothing they did to escape them worked. They just endured the shocks. She honestly had no idea how much time had passed before Mason said, “That concludes your interview. Thank you, Ms. Paquet.”

  Elle got the sensor off her fingertip before pulling at the electrodes attached to her forehead. She tried not to openly yank them off; Mason and whoever was behind the one-way mirror were still observing her. She realized she was actually damp with sweat. Her silk blouse was probably ruined. Well, there was no telling if she had a job with the CIA or not, but she didn’t think she could have done anything differently, short of taking a tranquilizer before coming.

  “We will review the results and let you know tomorrow morning at nine am. I’ll escort you downstairs.”

  Elle didn’t dare ask who “we” was or how the interview was evaluated. She already knew the agency operated on a “need to know” basis. The water bottle was empty, so she looked for a trash can to throw it away.

  “I’ll take care of that,” Mason told her, motioning for her to leave it on the table.

  Elle started to pick up her tote when he said, “You’ll need to remove the electrodes from your chest.” She’d forgotten all about those; she just wanted out of that room.

  After Elle had taken off those electrodes in the tiny restroom adjacent to the interview room, Mason walked her down to the lobby. He motioned towards the reception desk.

  “Tomorrow morning at nine,” he said.

  Elle felt drained but remembered the etiquette lessons from the interview book. “It was nice meeting you.” Now that was a lie but hopefully it sounded convincing.

  Mason actually looked startled for a second before nodding. “Likewise.”

  After Elle returned her badge to the receptionist, she stepped outside, where the same driver was waiting. How had he known? Mason must’ve called when she was in the restroom, taking the electrodes off her chest. He nodded at her, and she returned the nod as she got into the car. These people really weren’t big on talking. Elle checked her phone and saw that it wasn’t even one o’clock yet. Maybe she should call some of the places she had interviewed at that hadn’t made a final decision, let them know she might be available after all.

  Chapter Four

  Had she honestly said “Nice to meet you” before leaving? It may be the typical thing to say after a first meeting with someone, but there was nothing typical about the CIA. Elle flopped back onto her bed, relieved to be in jeans and a t-shirt, her college uniform. It looked like working for the CIA was just going to be a dream after that crazy “interview” or whatever the hell it really was.

  She wouldn’t see Preston until dinner that evening, so she couldn’t talk to him. Elle checked her watch. It was one-thirty, which meant it was six-thirty in London, where Marni and Tina were vacationing. Maybe they hadn’t gone out to dinner yet. She got her tablet and turned on the web camera before logging into her internet chat account.

  Tina’s face materialized just a few seconds later. “Hey, what are you doing home? Did you leave work early?”

  Elle wished she could tell them the whole saga, but she assumed she was still under her confidentiality agreement with the agency. She bit her lip to keep the words back. “I finished up with my paperwork and all,” she finally said. If she didn’t get the job, what would she tell them? She quit? It just didn’t work out? She’
d have to deal with that when- no, if- it happened.

  “You don’t look excited,” Tina observed. Her perceptive skills were sharp even across the Atlantic.

  Elle forced a smile. “I’m just- nervous. It’s real. I’m expected to be a grown up.”

  Marni poked her head into view. “If anyone’s ready to be a grown-up, it’s you,” she said. “You graduated in four years with a master’s degree. You were grown up our first year.”

  Elle’s forced smile became genuine as she stretched out on her stomach on the bed. The tablet was propped up on the head board.

  “That’s the truth,” Tina added. “If anyone’s ready for the real world, it’s you.”

  Elle didn’t feel like making up elaborate lies about work, so she changed the subject. “How’s London?” Marni and Tina were spending the summer in Europe and London. They wanted Elle to join them, and she wouldn’t mind it if the opportunity presented itself. Maybe the CIA would need a long time to make a final decision and she would end up starting in July or something. If she started at all.

  “Cool,” Marni said.

  “She means that literally,” Tina added. “It’s not warm enough for shorts.”

  Elle enjoyed listening to her friends talk about their adventures, although it also made her feel wistful. She had spent so much time with them over the past four years; it felt weird to be separated from them like this and to know they wouldn’t all be getting back together next fall for another semester of college.

  They ended the conversation with Tina and Marni insisting she try to get some time off around the 4th of July weekend so she could join them for at least a few days. Elle had been given a generous graduation gift from her father: if she got the job with the CIA, then she could afford to splurge on the trip. She didn’t even know how to tell Marni and Tina that may not happen, so she just promised she would do her best.

  ***

  “You knew they were going to… to… interrogate me like that?” Elle demanded at dinner that evening with Preston.