[ WP ] During the first day of grade school , a sleeper agent 's activation code is spoken 20 years too early .

`` That him?'' I said, peering through the two way mirror into the interrogation room. `` Does n't look like much.'' 
 
 The man next to me fidgeted nervously. `` That's him. 37 years old, single, travels during his vacations. Teaches... well teached, after today, 3rd grade at the Assets school. Did you get the file?'' 
 
 
 `` Read it on the plane ride. You really fucked the chicken on this one.'' I stated bluntly. 
 
 
 He sighed, resigned. `` I'm still under the impression this guy knows more than what he lets on. This is too big of a coincidence. Especially his survival. His excuse is..'' 
 
 `` I'll talk to him. Hows containment?'' 
 
 `` Ongoing. The Asset self-terminated upon arrival with local law enforcement as scheduled. At that time I took command of the intitial response unit and grabbed that fat asshole in there out of Room 207. Barely managed to sanitize the room without the rest of the guys getting involved. Had to fake a nervous breakdown and send for the medics, luckily no one else wanted to stay in that particular room any longer than necessary.'' He swallowed. I sympathized. `` I thought the whole thi-'' 
 
 `` Markinson, write your opinions in your report, please. In the meantime, I need to know if any actual-factual information is going to spring up.'' My temples ached. The entire scenario had gone almost exactly according to plan, only a good 8 years too early and with too many witnesses. I had flown in on a Shop LearJet loaded with analysts and field advisors, which was already drawing a small crowd of aviation aficionados at the local strip. The teacher had survived and it had only been pure luck that our plant in the local PD had managed to land a spot on the SWAT team the previous year out of pure aptitude rather than string pulling. There was literally zero contingency plans that had taken this type of occurrence into account. 
 
 The frumpy little man in the interrogation room shifted nervously. `` Did that fucker just fart?'' Markinson asked. 
 
 `` I think the blood is sticking to his pants. You got the box?'' He nodded. `` Hand it over. I've got some questions to ask, you've got a cover to maintain.'' He gave a curt nod, passing over a small mail carrier with a lid before turning and leaving the small office into the bustling hallway. 
 
 I walked into the room. As the door opened, the man jumped in his seat and settled quickly. I gave him a quick once over glance, setting the mail container across the table from him and settling into the folding chair. Thick glasses rested on his cheeks more than his nose, which was oddly small and sharp considering the soft features of the rest of his face. While not quite the fat fucker Markinson obviously thought he was, middle age was catching up to him quickly. 
 
 `` Mr. Blum,'' I started. `` My name is Agent Curtiss, I'm with the FBI. I'm the LA in a division charged with the investigation of school shootings.'' The lies flowed easily out of my mouth. `` I'm here to do a preliminary interview with you regarding todays events. Can I get you anything?'' 
 
 With an almost desperate pleading look on his face, he timidly replied `` Water? I've been in here for a while.'' 
 
 I allowed myself to look sympathetic. `` Of course. You could have said something earlier.'' 
 
 `` I know..well, not... I'm kind of shaken up here.'' He replied. `` I do n't know whats going on.'' 
 
 `` I ca n't even imagine, Mr. Blum. I'll be right back.'' I lifted the lid off the container and pulled a small notepad from it, placing it by my seat with the cover open, handwritten notes visible. A sign of trust. I left the room in time to find Markinson and an imposing man entering the office between the hallway and interview room. 
 
 **I'll write more when I wake up, hopefully I can remember where I am going with this** 
 

