Mila sat at the table with her knees pulled up to her chest. Josef had left the room nearly an hour ago, and she's been alone ever since. Her mind had raced with a million thoughts the moment he'd stepped out the door. How long would she be kept in this tiny room? Would Josef succeed in getting her out of here? Would Lieutenant Hoffmann return to finish what he'd started? How soon would Gestapo arrive?

She was pulled abruptly from her thoughts when the door creaked open. Josef stepped inside, a file in one hand, a tape recorder in the other, and closed the door behind him. She stood to her feet expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm here to conduct your interview," He said, gesturing to the chair she'd abruptly stood up from. "Please, sit."

Sitting down, she waited as he made his way across the room, taking a seat in the chair across from her. Putting the file down in front of him, he sat the recorder beside it.

"Before I turn this tape on I want to be perfectly clear," He began. Leaning forward he propped him elbows on the table. "I have a part to play, and so do you. Do you understand?"

She nodded. They both had to play this game, and play it perfectly, if there was an chance of getting out of it alive. Josef nodded back, pressing play on the recorder.

"State your name," He began flatly, opening up the folder.

"Mila Goldstein," She replied.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"Where are you from?"

"Den Haag."

"And where are you employed?"

"The German War Office."

"How do you know Harvey Lingard, and Catherine Hereford?"

"I don't," She lied.

"That's not what Captain Lingard had to say," He pressed.

"What did he have to say?"

"He told us you're the mole that's been passing information from the War Office to British Intelligence," He replied matter-of-factly.

"I don't know what he's talking about," She shook her head.

"Is it true you secured forged papers and have been living under the alias Mila Vanderwall?" He asked, redirecting the conversation entirely.

Hesitating, she answered him begrudgingly. "Yes."

"And is it true your father also operated as a spy for the SIS, and worked in close proximity with Captain Lingard?"

"I don't know." She knew this was all for show, but she was becoming flustered, nonetheless. "He wasn't particularly forthcoming about his dealings with the British ... I suppose it's possible Captain Lingard knew my father."

"So," Josef began, doubtfully. "You expect us to believe Captain Lingard fabricated the entire story, and decided to use an unassuming girl whom he's never met, and whose father he may or may not have worked with, as a scapegoat?"

"Men say a lot of things while being tortured," She shot back.

"True," He shrugged. "But the stories they tell often have a thread of truth to them."

"Well his doesn't."

"Stop lying," He said through gritted teeth, banging his fist against the table. She jumped at the sudden outburst.

"Captain Fischer," A voice called from the doorway. Mila's eyes darted to the door, where two men in dark grey uniforms stood.

"Can I help you?" Josef asked, standing to his feet.

"S.S. Meyer," The man in front introduced himself. He was tall and muscular, with bright, blonde hair that peaked out the sides of his hat. "And this is S.S. Wagner," He said, gesturing to the man beside him. S.S. Wagner was a few inches shorter than Meyer, though he easily towered over Mila by a foot. His hair was a darker blonde, his eyes a deep green, and they were staring directly at her. She glanced away, training her eyes on the table as they continued to talk.

"I didn't think Gestapo would arrive so quickly," Josef commented, approaching the two officers.

"We were told it was vital we come right away," Meyer replied, accepting the handshake Josef had extended to him. "Thank you Captain, for getting things started, but I believe we'll take it from here."

"Of course," Josef nodded.

"Wagner," S.S. Meyer gestured in Mila's direction. "Escort Ms. Goldstein to a holding cell while I speak with the Captain."

With a nod, S.S. Wagner approached her. She didn't fight back, allowing him to lead her out of the room and down a dimly lit hallway. Reaching the end of the hallway, he unlocked a door, and led her inside. The room was identical to the one they'd just left, except for a bed that sat in the far corner of the room, and a toilet stationed in the other. Closing the door behind them, he propped himself against the wall and pulled out an apple from his pocket.

"Are you hungry?" S.S. Wagner asked, holding up the apple. Taking out his knife, he sliced a chunk off and held it out for Mila to take. "Take it," He nodded, gesturing to his outstretched hand. Hesitantly, she took it, and ate it. She was starving, having not eaten for nearly twenty-four hours.

"You know, I've seen this happen before," He began, taking a bite. "A young, misguided girl gets in over her head because of the mistakes of someone else," He shrugged. "I get it." Finishing off the apple, he pushed himself off the wall and tossed the core into the trash, turning to face her.

"Just tell me whatever you know, and I can make all of this go away," He said in mock earnest. He was trying to manipulate her ... Get her to let her guard down. "You can trust me."

"I don't know anything," She shook her head. He smiled pleasantly at her, his eyes scanning every part of her face.

"That looks pretty bad," He said, gesturing to the bruise on her cheek where Lieutenant Hoffman had hit her. "Did Captain Fischer do that to you?"

"No," She replied quickly.

"So pretty," He said matter-of-factly. Raising his hand, he stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. She flinched away reflexively, keeping her eyes glued on him. "I'd hate to resort to less civilized methods to get what I want," He said, his eyes locking with her's.

"I told you," She took a step back. "I don't know anything."

"Don't lie to me," He shook his head. His expression was calm, almost pleasant. Stepping back, he unbuttoned his uniform coat, and took it off. Folding it slowly and methodically, he laid it over the back of one of the chairs in the room. He rolled the sleeves of his button down up to his elbows, and, unbuckling his belt, slid it from the loops of his pants. Looping the belt around his hand, he approached her.

"I really don't want to mess up this lovely face," He said, brushing his hand against her cheek again. "So I'll ask you one last time before we begin ... What do you know?"

"I don't know anything, I swear." Tears brimmed in her eyes as she stared back at him. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if he were dreading what he was about to do.

~

Grabbing her arm, he yanked her from the wall, into the center of the room. Without warning, he reared back and swung, the belt connecting with her shoulder blade. She yelped in pain, falling to the ground. Rolling over, she held up her hands in self defense just as another blow connected with her forearm.

"Please! Stop!" She begged.

"I will. Once you tell me what I want to know," He replied calmly. He didn't seem angry, as Lieutenant Hoffman had. He was cool and calculating, as though he'd done this a million times before.

"I don't know anything!" She screamed. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she cradled her head in her arms, trying to protect herself.

"More lies," He said matter-of-factly. Swinging the belt, he whipped her across her legs, then again on her arm. "Tell me the truth Mila." After he'd swung a few more times, he stood back, as if to examine his work.

~

She blinked through the tears that flooded her eyes, stealing a glance at him. He was looking down at her, the belt still in his hand. His expression was neutral, void of any emotion as he studied her. Slowly, she pushed herself off the floor, and stood, on shaky legs, to her feet. Her entire body ached, her arms and legs littered with red stripes from the beating she'd taken. A smirk turned up the corners of S.S. Wagner's lips as he watched her struggle to stand.

"You're a tough little thing," He commented, his smirk widening. "We'll change that."