Inquiry
Summary: Lauren's first encounter with Mr. Sark while he's being held with the CIA. Inspired by A Missing Link. Pretty pointless and probably a one- parter, but why not :)
Washington D.C.
"Mr. Sark. My name is Lauren Reed, of the NSC. I'm here to interrogate you on the subject of your personal arms trades in the past three years."
She catches his eyes, searching her, taking in her face.
He has to be so young, she thinks, noting his tousled blond hair and seemingly innocent clear blue eyes. Innocent, she almost laughs to herself. Not a word one would use to describe a sociopathic assassin. Perhaps it was this supposed innocence that had played a part in his rapid career advancement.
"Ms. Reed?" His voice cuts into her thoughts. "If you've finished your initial - assessment, please proceed with the interrogation. It's not something I would like to prolong."
She colors a little, seeing the amused, slight smirk resting on his face. A million responses rise to her lips, and she forces them all down, knowing all too well that his aim is to get a rise out of her.
She clears her throat, pulls out a chair, and takes a seat, facing Sark at the next table.
"I would expect you already have a file on this," he remarks.
"We feel it's incomplete. We would appreciate it if you were cooperative in filling in the blanks."
"It's not as though I have much choice, is it?" She doesn't answer. "If you would allow me a legal pad and pen, both of our jobs would become much easier."
Lauren turns and nods to one of the men by the doorway. She turns back to Sark, who is now looking at her with some curiosity.
Lauren attempts to look nonchalant and turns her attention to the sheets of paper in front of her. Mentally she goes over all the points she has to make, the questions she has to ask. Somehow they seem to have become lost and scattered in her memory.
"Carlton."
She looks up, startled. "Pardon?"
"You were there, were you not? Carlton Preparatory."
"How do you . . . know?" she asks, her interest piqued in spite of herself.
"One learns to tell the difference," he says simply. His eyes shift to the door. Lauren turns and sees the man, back with the supplies. She rises and walks over, thanks the man, and brings the pad and pen to Sark. She returns to her seat.
"Were you a student there?" she asks casually.
"I never was. However, the school was a subject of some discussion where I attended. Now, if we could commence the interrogation, please."
You brought it up, Lauren thinks, the blush creeping back onto her face. She doesn't consider herself to be easily moved. "We shall. And, please, this time, try to stay on topic."
"I wasn't aware we had any specific topic."
"Post June 30th, 2000," Lauren begins brusquely. "Describe your actions regarding your dealings with former Soviet leaders."
"No need to shout," he murmurs, the pen scratching on the legal pad.
Lauren glances up at him. That had come out a bit loud, she realizes. Before she can respond, she sees that one-quarter of the page is already filled.
She raises her eyebrows. Innocence. It was almost an antonym of the man.
After several more minutes and several more pages, he looks up, his face one of resigned boredom.
"Describe your dealings in biological weapon trades, post June 30th, 2000."
Several more questions are asked, resulting in more lengthy scribbling. It takes Lauren a little longer than she first anticipated. He will be returning to L.A. in the next two hours; she can't afford to go overtime.
He sets his pen down. Immediately she says, "Thank you. Your assistance is appreciated."
There is no way to avoid his gaze. "It was a pleasure getting to know you," he says with perfect seriousness.
Without answering she rises, straightens her coat, and picks up her papers. She takes the legal pad and pen, and starts out the door.
The guard looks almost amused. She purses her lips and passes by, almost slamming the door behind her.
Rifling through what appears to be a half-full legal pad, her eyes catch the last page. Scanning it, sighing, and shaking her head slightly, she tears it out, folds it, and sticks it in her pocket.
Ms. Reed -
I rather enjoyed your performance in your school's rendition of The Three Bears. You made a phenomal Goldilocks. It was quite a memorable visit. Perhaps we can reminisce upon our next meeting.
- Sark
Summary: Lauren's first encounter with Mr. Sark while he's being held with the CIA. Inspired by A Missing Link. Pretty pointless and probably a one- parter, but why not :)
Washington D.C.
"Mr. Sark. My name is Lauren Reed, of the NSC. I'm here to interrogate you on the subject of your personal arms trades in the past three years."
She catches his eyes, searching her, taking in her face.
He has to be so young, she thinks, noting his tousled blond hair and seemingly innocent clear blue eyes. Innocent, she almost laughs to herself. Not a word one would use to describe a sociopathic assassin. Perhaps it was this supposed innocence that had played a part in his rapid career advancement.
"Ms. Reed?" His voice cuts into her thoughts. "If you've finished your initial - assessment, please proceed with the interrogation. It's not something I would like to prolong."
She colors a little, seeing the amused, slight smirk resting on his face. A million responses rise to her lips, and she forces them all down, knowing all too well that his aim is to get a rise out of her.
She clears her throat, pulls out a chair, and takes a seat, facing Sark at the next table.
"I would expect you already have a file on this," he remarks.
"We feel it's incomplete. We would appreciate it if you were cooperative in filling in the blanks."
"It's not as though I have much choice, is it?" She doesn't answer. "If you would allow me a legal pad and pen, both of our jobs would become much easier."
Lauren turns and nods to one of the men by the doorway. She turns back to Sark, who is now looking at her with some curiosity.
Lauren attempts to look nonchalant and turns her attention to the sheets of paper in front of her. Mentally she goes over all the points she has to make, the questions she has to ask. Somehow they seem to have become lost and scattered in her memory.
"Carlton."
She looks up, startled. "Pardon?"
"You were there, were you not? Carlton Preparatory."
"How do you . . . know?" she asks, her interest piqued in spite of herself.
"One learns to tell the difference," he says simply. His eyes shift to the door. Lauren turns and sees the man, back with the supplies. She rises and walks over, thanks the man, and brings the pad and pen to Sark. She returns to her seat.
"Were you a student there?" she asks casually.
"I never was. However, the school was a subject of some discussion where I attended. Now, if we could commence the interrogation, please."
You brought it up, Lauren thinks, the blush creeping back onto her face. She doesn't consider herself to be easily moved. "We shall. And, please, this time, try to stay on topic."
"I wasn't aware we had any specific topic."
"Post June 30th, 2000," Lauren begins brusquely. "Describe your actions regarding your dealings with former Soviet leaders."
"No need to shout," he murmurs, the pen scratching on the legal pad.
Lauren glances up at him. That had come out a bit loud, she realizes. Before she can respond, she sees that one-quarter of the page is already filled.
She raises her eyebrows. Innocence. It was almost an antonym of the man.
After several more minutes and several more pages, he looks up, his face one of resigned boredom.
"Describe your dealings in biological weapon trades, post June 30th, 2000."
Several more questions are asked, resulting in more lengthy scribbling. It takes Lauren a little longer than she first anticipated. He will be returning to L.A. in the next two hours; she can't afford to go overtime.
He sets his pen down. Immediately she says, "Thank you. Your assistance is appreciated."
There is no way to avoid his gaze. "It was a pleasure getting to know you," he says with perfect seriousness.
Without answering she rises, straightens her coat, and picks up her papers. She takes the legal pad and pen, and starts out the door.
The guard looks almost amused. She purses her lips and passes by, almost slamming the door behind her.
Rifling through what appears to be a half-full legal pad, her eyes catch the last page. Scanning it, sighing, and shaking her head slightly, she tears it out, folds it, and sticks it in her pocket.
Ms. Reed -
I rather enjoyed your performance in your school's rendition of The Three Bears. You made a phenomal Goldilocks. It was quite a memorable visit. Perhaps we can reminisce upon our next meeting.
- Sark