Author's note: Welcome to my first Steven Universe fic! I'm trying an alternate universe story similar to Gravity Falls fics I've already written, being an historical thriller rather than a fantasy show; hopefully, you'll find the story interesting and my treatment of the characters acceptable even if it's an unusual setting. Not committing to any ships this early in the game, we'll see how the story unfolds. Thanks for reading, and please feel free to favorite, follow and review (constructive criticism welcome)!
September 15th, 1975
WASHINGTON, DC
Peridot couldn't remember where she'd seen the witness before. She looked extremely familiar - one doesn't forget someone like that, at least six feet tall, rail thin like a dancer, her strawberry-blond hair coiffed to a curious point in the back, a strange air of aristocratic grace mixed with unconscionable nervousness - but she couldn't place her.
All she knew, as she walked into the hearing room, was her name: PEARL WHITE.
Peridot ("Perry" to her friends, because who would go around with the name Peridot?) sat on one side of the table with a tape recorder set up beside her. Next to her, a tall nebbishy staffer, Dylan Cartwright, fiddled with the microphone until it screamed playback into their faces.
"Jesus Christ, Dylan," she said, punching him in the arm. "You don't wanna scare away all our witnesses."
"I'm sorry," Dylan muttered as he turned the volume down to a manageable level. "That's a bit unfair, though. If they aren't scared of a Congressional subpoena or press coverage or notoriety..."
"If the Republic falls and anarchy reigns, it will be all your fault," Peridot growled, ignoring him.
She was teasing, but not really. She didn't really like Dylan, a humorless, stuck-up young Republican who thought himself a genius for being a young Republican (even though he was clearly deficient in basic technical, motor and social skills). If she had to work with a minority party staffer, she wished that Senator Baker's aide Mike was with her instead. At least he was cute (as guys went, anyway) and competent and had a sense of humor and some neat Watergate stories.
"Sorry for the mayhem," Peridot said, raising out of her seat and extending a hand to her witness. She looked down and noticed a huge wrinkle in her green pantsuit, and sheepishly patted it down with her free hand. Pearl, dressed in a flawless dark blue outfit, smiled indulgently.
"My name is Peridot Khoury," the assistant continued, shaking Pearl's hand. "I work for Senator Dewey from Delmarva. I believe we spoke on the phone."
"Yes, I remember," Pearl said. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She looked wryly at Dylan, still trying to position the microphone just so. "And don't worry, I see a lot more intimidating people than you and your friend on a daily basis."
Peridot laughed, a deep nasal chortle that briefly startled Pearl. "Don't mind him," she said in a stage whisper, "he's a Republican." Dylan muttered something inaudible in response. And Pearl's sardonic expression indicated to Peridot that she wasn't overly fond of Democrats, either.
"Anyway, my "friend" here is Dylan Cartwright, who's an aide to Senator Schweiker," she continued officiously. Dylan looked up from the tape recorder long enough to extend a hand absently to Pearl, nod, then turn back to his hapless technical fidgeting.
"Like we discussed on the phone, this is just a pro forma interview," Peridot said, nervously straightening her blonde hair and her jewelry. "We're vetting potential witnesses for the Committee and your name came up on a few lists we received from the Vice President's office."
"Yes, you mentioned that," Pearl said, her voice studiously polite. "Of course, I have no idea why and how my name came up..."
"You used to work for the FBI, didn't you?" Peridot asked.
"Used to being the operative word," Pearl emphasized. "And it isn't like I had access to any state secrets or things that are worth questioning me about. Still, I was in town and didn't have anything better to do today..."
"Then this should go easily," Peridot said, a little testily, as she invited her witness to sit down.
She felt just a bit annoyed, though not really surprised, that they'd handed her minor, inconsequential witnesses like this. After all, Senator Dewey was the junior senator on the Church Committee, having just been elected the previous fall, and hadn't done much to distinguish himself yet. He only received a spot because a more senior Senator had a heart attack and had to be replaced at the last moment. Such are the verities of Washington.
She rued that Mike and Natalie Cohen, her two best friends among the investigative staff, had been preparing William Colby, the former CIA director, for his public testimony scheduled the following day. That was sure to get all sorts of attention, not least because Senator Church had arranged for television coverage of the event. And high level Company officials testifying about assassination and espionage was sure to bring all kinds of attention and accolades.
No one was going to care about Pearl White, or even know her name, outside of this room. She might not even make it past the vetting unless she had something interesting to say. Which Peridot doubted. A mid-level FBI staffer, who probably did nothing more than type letters and file envelopes? It was a waste of time.
Still, she had to admire the committee's thoroughness and commitment to turning over every possible rock for leads and information. It showed that they were seriously committed to finding the truth. She just wished that she'd received a more interesting rock to examine than this.
Yet she now felt that there might be something interesting about Pearl. Her appearance was striking, but that wasn't it. The aloof, knowing if slightly irritated way she carried herself intrigued Peridot, making her think that she might well be keeping some secrets. But it was up to her to find out.
"As you know, this isn't a deposition or official testimony," Peridot said. "That's why we didn't ask you to bring along an attorney or..."
She interrupted her statement to watch Dylan angrily punch the tape recorder. Peridot exchanged glances with Pearl, whose polite, poised smile couldn't hide her growing irritation. Peridot blushed; at this point, she couldn't blame Pearl.
Peridot audibly sighed and pulled the tape recorder away from Dylan. Then she pushed the RECORD button, before turning back to Pearl and continuing her introduction.
Around the same time, Oliverio Vasquez left the Capitol annex, harried and a bit irritated. He'd been interviewed that day for the second time by a few committee staffers. They still weren't sure they wanted to have him publicly testify. And Vasquez, by now, was rather irritated.
Vasquez felt his story was a good one. He'd been an aide to Salvadore Allende, the former President of Chile whose left wing politics landed him in trouble with the United States. Despite Vasquez's best efforts to negotiate with the striking workers in that country, the unions liked American dollars more than Chilean promises, and their holdout caused the economy to stagnate. When Augusto Pinochet seized power on September 11th, 1973, it came as no surprise to Vasquez, who knew something drastic would unfold.
Because Vasquez, despite his connection to the late President, moved in the same circles as Pinochet's clan and heard whispers long before it happened. While visiting Valparaiso that July, he'd chatted at length with an indiscreet, possibly drunk American intelligence officer who confided that the Chilean military was preparing to make its move. He might not have thought anything of it, until two days later, when someone in the Chilean Defense Ministry told him the same thing. And in explicit detail, as well, that "the Yanquis are preparing to deliver us from socialism. God bless the United States."
Circumstantial evidence, perhaps. But it struck Vasquez as incriminating, showing at the very least that the imminent coup was common knowledge, that everyone knew it was coming, and that most people connected it instantly with the Americans. And what would the Church Committee like more than testimony about that?
Then why hadn't he done anything about it? Vasquez puzzled that one out endlessly. Instead of informing his boss or the proper authorities, he kept mum, perhaps hoping it was just loose talk, perhaps not really expecting it to come off, even if tried. But after awhile he couldn't ignore it, and on September 11th, as the Army seized Santiago and Allende put a rifle in his mouth, Vasquez caught a flight to Mexico City, surrounded himself with bodyguards and handguns, and waited until he had a chance, finally, to make his case and tell his story to American officials.
Maybe that was why he was so keen on testifying about it now. He could talk to the newspapers, but that would bring him mere notoriety, and there'd be no way to verify his claims. Testimony under oath, before Congress, would be something much more convincing. More concrete. Perhaps enough to change Americans' minds, and perhaps even get some justice for his home country. He could hope.
But his meetings with the American investigators - a young man and woman, young enough to be his children, certainly long haired and awkward enough to seem like kids playing dress-up than real adults - hadn't impressed him. He'd told as much of his story as he could, found them somewhat nonplussed, feeling that his tale was too vague and unspecific to be very helpful, yet intrigued enough that it might contain something to ask him back a second time. Only to elicit the same confused, hopeful but noncommittal response.
Maybe he would just talk to the Washington Post or the New York Times after all, he thought as he stepped into his car, trying to. I might have J. Anthony Lukas or Seymour Hersh's numbers at my hotel...
Such were his last thoughts, hope tinged with resentment, as the ignition sparked and the car exploded into a giant fireball, incinerating him in an instant.
"Did you tell them anything?"
Pearl looked across the seat to her friend Garnet, a tall black woman with a West Indian accent. They were driving through the city in a beat-up Plymouth Road Runner.
"I told them that I worked for the FBI and handled materials from the director's office," Pearl responded. "A nice, legalistic response that's Strictly True, but doesn't really tell them anything. Just like we discussed."
Garnet nodded in approval. "Good."
"I'm still not sure why we shouldn't cooperate with Congress," a raspy voice popped up from the backseat. "I mean, they're basically exposing everything that we've been trying to expose. Wouldn't it make more sense to go public?"
"We've been over this a million times, Amethyst" Garnet said coolly. "They're politicians. We can't trust them. They want attention, they want to grandstand, they don't actually want to do anything. If they wanted to do something about intelligence agencies, they would have done it a long time ago. Now that it gives them something to draw attention to themselves and beat down any real change."
"Hey, I'm not saying I trust politicians or anything," Amethyst responded. "I mean, fuck those guys. But still, seems kinda dumb to keep hiding it when everyone's interested. Plus, how many people would see Pearl or any of us on TV and hear our story?"
"Too many," Garnet growled in a menacing tone.
Pearl nodded gravely. "I don't know if I entirely agree with Garnet," she admitted. "I mean, any exposure or scrutiny might help. But she's right that we can't always rely on elected officials to do the right thing. Besides, we need to be sure that we can make a concrete, lasting difference before making a move in public. And we don't want anyone trying to knock us off beforehand."
"Pff, Like I'm afraid of any government creeps," Amethyst said, cracking her knuckles.
"They have guns, Amethyst," Pearl reminded her.
"So do we," Amethyst insisted.
"Guns or no guns, we've been acting outside the law for the past four years," Garnet added. "We can't just show up at the Capitol Building and say, hey, we've been stealing incriminating documents and things from you guys, and now we want to give them back. Would be kinda foolish, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Amethyst admitted.
"Better safe than sorry," Pearl agreed. Though as they drove through the city, she wondered how far she and her friends could really take that maxim.
At a cafe in Alexandria, a heavily-built woman sat sipping tea and reading a newspaper. She tried to look inconspicuous, wearing a dark overcoat and with her frazzled blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. But from appearance alone, she couldn't help standing out. And certainly the jasper stone pinned on her coat lapel didn't help, either.
She'd heard police sirens and a loud commotion from several blocks over. Too vague to figure out whether it meant anything, though she hoped it was a good sign.
Finally, a tall, thin Hispanic man approached, struggling to keep his cool. She gestured to the chair beside her as she kept her head buried in her newspaper.
"Well?" she asked after a long moment.
"Mr. Vasquez kept his appointment," he said cryptically.
The woman smiled. "Glad to hear it, Jorge," she said. "Could have done something more discreet though, don't you think?"
"General Pinochet wanted to send a message," he responded.
"The General isn't the one calling the shots," she reminded him. "Either way, it's done now. Good work."
Jorge nodded and handed her a list.
"Jasper, that makes three down on our list. Three in two weeks. Not bad for a wet job."
"Do you wanna say that a little louder to make sure the whole city hears us?" Jasper snapped, still not looking up at him. "Get back to your hotel and get packing. There's a ticket to Asuncion which you might wanna take advantage of before someone gets wise."
"What about these other three?" he asked.
"Don't worry about it," Jasper assured him. "I'll take care of 'em myself."
"Best of luck, friend," Jorge said. Jasper just nodded without acknowledging him.
What a doofus, she thought, watching her agent, into a waiting cab. We're trying to be as discreet as possible and he's using goddamn car bombs. It didn't make any sense, and it's like he was begging to be caught.
Sighing, Jasper put down her newspaper and pulled the list over to her. If you want something done right... she thought, reading it over.
There were three names remaining. The first was Ricky Capuano, an associate of the Chicago mob who occasionally did business in the Capital. Jasper smiled, knowing him as a fourth-rate hood with a big mouth and some first rate secrets. Probably not smart enough to hide, which makes him an easy mark.
The second name was Pearl White. Jasper knew that she had worked for the FBI for several years, in a position to handle sensitive materials at the very least. She probably didn't actually know anything incriminating, but better safe than sorry.
Jasper read the last name, and did a double take in response. She read it again to make sure she had it right. But there it was:
LAPIS LAZULI.