Jason is deposited in a numbered office in an unlabeled building, clearly owned by the SVR - the Russian foreign intelligence service. He’s sure the FSB would have liked to have him, but also reasonably sure of his own memories. What’s coming next will have to be conducted by these people.
The case officer comes through the door. Jason can glimpse the armed guard posted outside, for the moment the door is open. That won’t be a problem.
The woman wears a bored, detached look on her face - the face of a professional spymaster. She carries a manila folder crammed thick with papers, printouts, and photos. “You are Jason Quill, American,” she announces. She places the tome of a folder on the table, opens it, and rattles off a set of biographical facts, all correct (as expected), as recorded in its depths.
“You have been found to possess nanotechnology which may endanger the security of the Russian state and have been remanded to the custody of the Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation until such time as this technology may be studied and found secure.”
Translation: they want to scan your nanotech, the Mirror comments.
The woman continues. “Your aircraft was found in the place you indicated. We appreciate your cooperation. However, signals indicating the presence of this unknown nanotechnology were detected emanating from inside the craft, so we have been forced to hold it in a secure facility for a similar duration.”
And they’d like to study your Dragonfly.
Jason nods. “Of course. The fault was mine for coming down so unexpectedly in your sovereign territory. I’m happy to cooperate with your investigation, to the best of my ability.”
Of course it’s going to blow up in their faces. Byron Quill’s last-ditch security system, and all that. Ahh, I understand now. You want to get something from the bowels of their laboratories, and make off with it in the chaos. Very clever, even if you won’t tell me what it is.
Jason doesn’t answer the Mirror. He’s content to smile at the case officer. And in the moment she spends glancing up at the clock on the wall, he palms a pair of paperclips from the voluminous folder on the table before him.
Jason is blindfolded and placed in a wheelchair, with restraints. He’s wheeled through the building, with switch-backs, multiple elevator trips, and variations in speed to try and obscure his sense of where he’s going.
28, 29, 30… The Mirror is counting steps for him, perhaps just to show off. You’re in the third sub-basement. They switched ID badges twice.
“Mm-hmm,” mumbles Jason.
It’s kind of fun, doing this with you.
“Hmm?” Jason doesn’t want to chance actually vocalizing.
Espionage. Infiltration. Even though I don’t know why you’re here, it’s… just fun doing it, I suppose.
“Mhm.”
I’ve narrowed your potential list of goals to three. First, you’re hoping the security system blow-up will get me out of your head, so you can get back home securely. Until then, you don’t know just how much control over your body I might have. I might be holding back. So you don’t dare chance it.
Jason hums noncommittally.
Second. You want to send a signal to American intelligence, alerting them to the danger you see yourself in. You could have done this from many locations, and you’re doing it here because here is where you are. Your odds are not good but it’s something.
“Mmm.” Jason’s smile remains vague.
Third. You’re hoping the blow-up will draw the attention of a nanotech expert here in Russia, who can help you exorcise me.
Jason’s hum is more positive and encouraging.
“Mr. Quill,” comes a voice. “You will now be transferred to a table. For your own safety, you will be restrained. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” says Jason.
It’s possible your ‘random destination’ was pre-planned, but unlikely, the Mirror says, mostly to herself. There are better places to land, and better ways to infiltrate a complex like this if it was your goal specifically. The paperclips tell me you’re not here to cooperate with anyone. I haven’t heard any trace of familiarity, recognition, code word exchange, or other signs of collaboration with anyone you’ve talked to. So you’re here by chance, and improvising your way through. But not simply to get back to your home - you’re going to get rid of me, as thoroughly as you know how.
Jason is being secured to the table. He feels straps tighten, feels the restraints - good, good, old style mechanical locks, pickable with the right paperclip - and breathes.
His sense of presence tells him the attendant has stepped away, and he’s alone for the moment. Well, aside from the voice in his head.
You may as well admit the truth. Once again, I’ve got you figured out, Jason Quill, and you can’t admit it, so you’re going to kill me off and pretend like you’ve just terminated another AI. Me, the only girl you ever–
“Привет красавчик. Hello, handsome.” The voice is warm, and familiar. Soft hands peel off the blindfold. Jason finds himself staring up at the face of a redheaded Russian girl, about his own age.
Jason smiles charmingly. “Well, well. Jenny Byrne. Fancy meeting you here.”