Author's Note: So... Ishd asked me for a 100-word drabble that dealt with Remi learning about Oscar's death, but I couldn't handle that in 100 words. She (I think you're a 'she', Ishd?) also asked me for a drabble about Remi learning about Shepherd and one about Roman, so this will be multi-chaptered as Remi works through the Sandstorm file.
Remi leaned back in the chair in the tiny meeting room, the paper transcript of Jane Doe's testimony under a coronary polygraph held in her hands. Nas Kamal, the NSA agent doing the interrogating, had been unknown to 'Sandstorm'—what a stupid name—when they'd been planning Remi's implantation at the FBI. She crossed one leg over the other as she took stock of what she'd read so far.
Jane had told the Feds about meeting with Oscar and their plan for Phase One, and that Oscar had killed that bitch Mayfair. What had she been thinking? But this had been years ago. How had she managed to salvage her position and remain undercover? Had Oscar run, giving the Feds a target to protect her cover? Was he hiding in some country without US extradition laws? At least he'd gotten to kill Mayfair. What her use of illegal data had done to his family had been unconscionable.
She resumed reading, needing to know how this had all turned out.
NK: Where is Oscar now?
JD: I tracked him down. I wanted to bring him in, to put an end to all of this. But he attacked me, so I killed him.
Remi's fingers tightened on the page, creasing it, as she read the three words over and over again. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.
No. This had to be a lie, an elaborate ruse that Jane and Oscar had planned to get the Feds off their trail. But as she read further through the transcript, Jane gave details, naming a barn a couple of turnoffs from an upstate rest stop. They'd used it as a body dump site before.
JD: He tased me as I approached Mayfair's body. When I came to, I was tied to a chair and Oscar was preparing to give me more ZIP. A higher dose, so I wouldn't remember anything and my memories wouldn't come back with time. He said I wasn't Taylor Shaw, that it was part of the plan to make me think that I was, to get close to Kurt Weller. He mentioned something about a…a Phase Two, said getting Mayfair out of the way and putting Weller in her place was just the first phase of their plan. Shepherd's plan. Something about burning down the corrupt government. He seemed scared of Shepherd, but that was the first time he mentioned him.
Remi swallowed hard. They knew about Phase Two. They knew Shepherd's name. But not that Shepherd was female. At least that was something. How had they allowed Jane Doe to continue? How had Weller married her after this? Nothing made sense.
Oscar had been about to ZIP her again, a higher dose? He wouldn't have. It would have wiped out all trace of who she, Remi, was, as well as everything Jane Doe knew. He would have known that.
Then again, faced with a Jane Doe who hated him or a Jane Doe who could be manipulated again, could still be used for Phase Two… Maybe he'd chosen to kill Remi permanently, for the good of the mission.
It shouldn't have hurt. She'd known the assignment would be risky and she might be exposed, or die in combat if her skills ended up less sharp after the ZIP. But knowing that her last moments with Oscar had been a fight to the death, him intending to wipe out every trace of both of her selves to appease Shepherd, and her intent on arresting him and bringing him to the Feds… God, that was the worst scenario she could imagine.
He'd deferred to the mission and his fear of Shepherd's wrath over his love for her.
She fought the wave of betrayal that threatened to break over her. No, that was the best decision. For the mission. The mission is the most important thing.
Swallowing hard, she read on.
JD: I managed to flip the chair hard enough to break it and I got loose. An oil lamp got knocked over and things started to burn. I told him I was taking him in, but he…he wouldn't go. He attacked me with a scythe. It missed and embedded itself in a wooden pillar. We fought some more, I pulled it out and I… I ran it through his gut. I watched him die. The barn was really burning by then, and I had to get out before it collapsed. Then I spray-painted 'For Marcos' on Oscar's truck, so the rest of them would think it was Cade who did it, just in case they sent another handler and Weller wanted me to play along with them.
Remi read the last few pages of the testimony in a haze, as Jane told Nas Kamal how she'd driven home to her safehouse, trying to call Weller the whole way, to tell him what she'd learned. She'd gotten home to find Weller already there.
The revelation that Papa Weller had died and revealed where he'd buried little Taylor Shaw did little to shock Remi after what had come before. She was incapable of feeling anything about the fact that she'd been arrested, had spent three months at a CIA black site being tortured for information, then had escaped. She didn't care that she'd spent a couple of weeks hiding out in New Jersey, before the FBI had scooped her back up for the interrogation she was reading the transcript for.
She slid the document back into the giant Sandstorm folder and sat still for a couple of moments, knowing it was pointless reading any more of the file until she'd come to terms with what she'd already read.
Remi put the file back in the filing cabinet with shaking hands, then headed for the exit, shooting a fleeting smile at anyone who greeted her. One guy, the completely insufferable Rich Dotcom—what the fuck was with that name, anyway?—tried to engage her in conversation, but she held up a hand. "Look, not now, Rich, okay? I have to…" She continued towards the elevator without elaborating what she had to do, and he filled in whatever made the most sense to him, calling out something reassuring in her wake. She didn't bother to look back.
Once she was in her car—Weller's car, actually—she rested her hands on the steering wheel and stared blankly at them for a minute. These same hands had yanked a scythe from a wooden pillar and hewn it through the gut of the man she loved. And she didn't remember a second of it. How could that be? Surely her clueless amnesiac self had had some idea of how important Oscar was to her? Hell, it had said so in the testimony. Jane had remembered she'd been engaged to Oscar. How could she have snuffed out the life of one of the few people Remi actually cared about?
Why did she feel guilty for something that bitch had done?
You're acting weak. Shepherd's voice rang through her mind, and Remi straightened immediately, reaching for the keys and jamming them into the ignition.
She drove for over three hours, not bothering to turn on the radio, not stopping for gas or snacks or even a bathroom break. The burnt-out remains of the barn still stood, the roof collapsed in on itself, a few scorched wall-boards still precariously standing. Grass had grown over the charcoal-littered interior, and she kicked at it, wondering if she'd find anything the Feds had overlooked when they'd taken Mayfair's and Oscar's bodies away.
Like a scythe.
The thought made her suddenly nauseous. Her stomach heaving, she stumbled outside the perimeter of the ruined barn and threw up into the grass until there was nothing left in her stomach. Then, trembling, she sat down and rested her head between her knees, fighting back tears.
Oscar. My Oscar.
His face flashed through her memory. His tattoo. The way he always looked down when he laughed. The fluid way he dodged when they sparred—before she knocked him on his ass, like always.
She only realised she was crying when a sob wrenched out of her chest. Hot on its heels, Shepherd's admonition rang through her mind. Weak!
Remi wiped away her tears and got to her feet, stood straight and tall, her teeth gritted. She would not be weak. She had a mission to complete.
Then she looked down at the vomit-spattered grass.
Fuck. That's probably DNA evidence.
Not that there was much chance they'd come back out here. It had been years since this would have been a site of interest. But she got the snow shovel out of the trunk of the car anyway, dug up the spot where her vomit and saliva had fallen, then threw the contaminated soil and grass into the creek that ran behind the barn before washing the spade clean.
Then she got behind the wheel and began the drive back to New York City, where she'd just be in time for visiting hours with her comatose…husband.
Nothing could jeopardise this mission. Not when Oscar had died to preserve it.