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slowly
dissolves as my eyes unwillingly close. I hear my captor’s heavy footfalls
leave the room. After several minutes, I hear him return. A chair scoots across
the floor. I hear paper rustling. “Now,” he whispers, “you’re going to answer
my questions.” I sense movement next to me, and I hear the chair being pulled
up closer.
    Darkness lingers over me, but it doesn’t completely engulf
me. My limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. I hear him ask the first question.
    “What is your name? Your real name, American.”
    I’m not saying anything! Kiss my ass! “Isabel Riley.” What
the hell? I can’t believe I just told him that. I had every intention of
revealing nothing.
    “Spell your first name, please.”
    No! “I-S-A-B-E-L.” Damn it!
    “Spell your last name.”
    Piss off! “R-I-L-E-Y.” Son of a—
    “Recite your military issued serial number.”
    I want to say no, I really do, but I feel as if a part of my
mind has been switched off. “0-2-5-7-9-6-4.” Damn it! I’m completely helpless
to censor my answers. This drug is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my
training. I didn’t even know the Nazis had anything like this.
    “Good,” my questioner murmurs. I hear a pen whispering
across paper.
    “Why did you come to Berlin?”
    Name and serial number I can almost live with, but I really
don’t want to tell him the details of my mission. I try to stay silent, but I
blurt out the truth.
    “I’m here to obtain details on a reported new spy plane that
was recently built.”
    “Really? What plane?”
    The pen is a mad whisper across paper.
    “Sources reported that Germany had constructed a plane
labeled the C-60, which would be capable of cruising undetected over US soil at
extremely high altitudes.”
    “How do you know about the C-60?”
    “My superiors told me.”
    “How did they obtain information on the C-60?”
    “I don’t know.”
    He pauses for a moment. “Does your agency have informants in
key positions within the empire?”
    “I think so.”
    “Who are these informants?”
    “I don’t know.”
    He lets out a frustrated sigh. I have the impression he’s
asked that question to other spies and gotten the same answer. “All right. What
did you learn about the C-60?”
    “The plane is real but initial tests have been
disappointing. The plane is easily detectable on standard surveillance
equipment.”
    That was actually the highlight of the information I found,
the part I knew my superiors would like. As a matter of fact, I found a lot of
information on the plane, including a glossy, printed manual. I have a
suspicion it was used as part of a presentation. Since it was about the plane,
I dutifully memorized all seventy-eight pages, including all photos and graphs.
I also memorized the name and address of the printing house, which was stamped
on the inside of the front cover.
    Since it’s about the plane and because he asked me what I
learned, the drug compels me to start reciting the manual. I repeat the German
words in German, alternating to English only to explain what I found. It feels
weird for this information to pour from me like this, but I can’t stop it.
    Loosely translated, I say, “Manual located, title, The
Spy Plane of the Future. Printed by Shultzer and Gaines, 641 E Rhonesburg
Street, Berlin, Germany, 10115. Printed by permission.” The rest of the manual
quickly follows as his pen frantically moves across paper.
    I know to some outside observer, it might seem a bit odd
that I memorized such minute details such as the name and address of the
printer. But one has to understand, it’s never been my job to determine what is
and isn’t valuable information.
    My orders were to get into the Echelon, a secure military
building in Berlin, locate all files on the C-60, memorize everything and then
report to my superiors what I found. Besides, the name and address of the
printing house could be important. In the future, our agents may slip
into that facility in