His brows creased slightly as he spoke the single word, his tone softened by a quiet, bitter note.
He was good at this, lying. He had been trained well.
He remembered it, siting in a chair under spotlights with his sleeves rolled up and shirt unbuttoned, monitors strapped to his skin. They measured blood pressure, heartrate, respiration, among other physiological responses. The tricky one was galvanic skin response, but they'd drilled him until he could even overcome that, spin the most outrageous lies and keep the needle steady.
It was a fine enough thing to fool a machine, which David didn't think much of anyway. Much harder were people, circumventing instinct and the most minuscule tells.
He didn't know how sensitive to emotional cues this Rakitin was, but if he was KGB, he'd at least had the minimum training in how to look for a lie, the hesitant speech or avoidant gaze, clearing the throat, overly formalized diction. David knew all of those, too, but what it boiled down to was that you needed to keep every lie as simple as possible. Less to screw up later, as well.
David eyed the syringe in the KGB pathologist's hand, but only for a moment. Instead of hesitating, he made a show of offering the wrong arm but getting it caught in the tubes, fumbling as the pressure pulled on the IV bag.
"Sorry," he said, wincing, pausing to untangle himself. "What's that? Is that the antidote?"
He looked up at Rakitin as he said it, a let a cautious glimmer of hope flicker in his eyes.
It very easily could be, but he couldn't take chances, just in case they'd figured out who he was and thought the easiest way to subdue him would be to simply have the seemingly-friendly pathologist come in an administer a shot. He needed to be sure.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-10-26 09:51 pm (UTC)His brows creased slightly as he spoke the single word, his tone softened by a quiet, bitter note.
He was good at this, lying. He had been trained well.
He remembered it, siting in a chair under spotlights with his sleeves rolled up and shirt unbuttoned, monitors strapped to his skin. They measured blood pressure, heartrate, respiration, among other physiological responses. The tricky one was galvanic skin response, but they'd drilled him until he could even overcome that, spin the most outrageous lies and keep the needle steady.
It was a fine enough thing to fool a machine, which David didn't think much of anyway. Much harder were people, circumventing instinct and the most minuscule tells.
He didn't know how sensitive to emotional cues this Rakitin was, but if he was KGB, he'd at least had the minimum training in how to look for a lie, the hesitant speech or avoidant gaze, clearing the throat, overly formalized diction. David knew all of those, too, but what it boiled down to was that you needed to keep every lie as simple as possible. Less to screw up later, as well.
David eyed the syringe in the KGB pathologist's hand, but only for a moment. Instead of hesitating, he made a show of offering the wrong arm but getting it caught in the tubes, fumbling as the pressure pulled on the IV bag.
"Sorry," he said, wincing, pausing to untangle himself. "What's that? Is that the antidote?"
He looked up at Rakitin as he said it, a let a cautious glimmer of hope flicker in his eyes.
It very easily could be, but he couldn't take chances, just in case they'd figured out who he was and thought the easiest way to subdue him would be to simply have the seemingly-friendly pathologist come in an administer a shot. He needed to be sure.