The next morning after the rather confusing visit from the SIS agent, Myka headed in at seven to find Artie already there, frowning at his computer screen. Sipping at her instant coffee (it was better than nothing and her favourite cafe wasn't open this early), she sat near him, leaning forward to put her weight on her forearm.
"What're you doing?"
"Researching our friend from yesterday," He replied, "Called in a few favours."
"Right," She really didn't want to think about who was giving him these favours, "What'd you find?"
He gestured at the screen, "Agent Helena Wells, age thirty-four. Been with the SIS for ten years. Smart woman-went to Cambridge, has a masters in engineering, recruited straight out of her undergrad." He drummed his fingers, "Next of kin is a brother, no other family. And that's about it-surface information, nothing more," He sighed, leaning back, "I'm trying to find a link to MacPherson, but we don't have access to any of her files and the SIS aren't just going to give them to us."
"It's like trying to get stuff off the CIA," Pete said, around a mouthful of muffin as he strode in, "Only worse because they're British."
Myka rolled her eyes and asked, "So why exactly do you think she's connected to him? She didn't have to give us the file."
He grunted, "Everything we already knew with a few extra minor things to make us think she's on our side. She knows MacPherson-I met her briefly when I was working with him," his mouth twisted and she really wanted to know what had gone down with that, "He called her HG. They were friendly."
"So you think that she might be protecting him?" Myka asked.
He shrugged, "I don't know. But she does know more than she's saying and we need all the information on MacPherson we can get."
"MI6 won't play ball," Pete reminded them, licking chocolate off his fingertips.
"Of course they won't," Artie snapped back.
"Why is she even in the US?" She questioned, grimacing at her partner.
"'Security attache' to the UK Embassy," His mouth twisted, "I hate spies." Myka smirked at that, coffee hot and bitter in her mouth.
"Sooo," Pete drew the word out, "What do we do?"
Artie didn't lift his eyes from the screen, "Myka will call Agent Wells and talk to her. Try to get some answers. The rest of us will continue with our leads. You still have the number?"
She gave him a really look, "Eidetic memory."
"Right. Go call her. Pete get back to work!"
Myka wandered down the hall a bit, so she didn't have to listen to Pete talking about the 'hot British spy' and dialled the number Helena Wells had given her. It rang in her ears for several long seconds. Myka couldn't say she'd done this before.
And how the hell is she going to get information out of an unwilling SIS agent? They tended to be damn good liars.
"Wells."
Myka leaned against the wall, "This is Agent Bering."
A huff of something close to laughter, "I was expecting at least two days."
She gritted her teeth, "Really."
The Englishwoman almost purred back, "What can I help you with, Agent Bering?"
Myka Bering took a deep breath, "I need to go over a few things in the file with you."
"Righty ho then," That really shouldn't have been so charming, "Do you know that little cafe a few blocks from the FBI building? The one with the books?"
"Yeah."
"Excellent! I shall see you at ten then." Wells said happily.
"Wait what?"
The woman laughed, "Agent Bering, I do hope you aren't suggesting we discuss classified files over the phone."
"No, of course not," Get it together Bering, she's trying to put you off balance, "You're suggesting to discuss it in public, Wells."
"Sometimes the best place to hide is right there in the open."
And she hung up. Myka glared at the phone for a long moment before shoving it back into her pocket.
Later, when she stepped out of her SUV onto the street, it was hot enough to make wearing her suit jacket uncomfortable, the morning sun seeping into her skin. She unbuttoned it as she strode into the cafe Agent Wells had chosen for their meeting, making sure the material concealed her holstered sidearm and badge. People tended to get nervous when an armed FBI walked turned up for some reason.
She cast her eyes over the heads bent over small tables and cups of coffee. Agent Wells was tucked into a corner, where someone who wasn't looking for her wouldn't see her.
She was staring down at a black notebook, sleeves rolled to the elbow, pen scraping against paper. She looked up as Myka's shadow fell across her, something in her eyes, something sharp-edged and dark that faded quickly as she closed the notebook and carefully laid her pen on top of it.
"Agent Bering," She extended a hand. They shook. There were stains of blue ink on her fingertips that left faint smudges on the back of Myka's hand, "Please sit."
Myka lowered herself into the chair, brushing her fingers on the MI6 file on James MacPherson, "What're you doing there?"
Wells smiled slightly, "An experiment of sorts." She leaned back, folding her hands on top of the notebook, as if to guard it, "Now, what did you require of me?"
Myka put the file between them, "There's a lot of redactions in this."
Helena Wells raised an eyebrow, "Surely you don't expect us to give you his file in its entirety. We are called the Secret Intelligence Service for a reason, Agent Bering. The FBI should know better." Their voices were low, conversational. Their conversation was easily lost in the hum of the cafe.
"We need everything on him," Myka insisted, leaning forward. It wasn't going to happen-intelligence agencies loved their secrets and their cloak and dagger-but had to have a lead in. And if it led Wells to underestimate her, all the better.
"I can't give you that and we both know it," Wells countered calmly, "Think of it as merely a tool to assist you in understanding him. Understand the man and he's yours."
"Maybe you can help with that," Myka replied, tilting her head, "You know him, right?"
Wells laughed softly at that, "Agent Nielson sent you to investigate me, did he? He never did trust me. Though, he did trust MacPherson." The last was sly and cutting.
"I just want to know everything about him that I can," Myka retorted.
Wells just looked at her. Their eyes caught and she refused to look away. HG's eyes were very dark, almost black and sharp with intelligence.
It was the SIS agent who finally looked away, letting out a breath that was close to a sigh. "You know that Mr MacPherson is capable of terrible acts. I have little I could tell you that you do not already know."
"You worked with him," Myka pointed out.
"Oh, how very odd indeed. Two SIS agents working together," Wells shot back, smirking as if to say your move.
"You know him," Myka pointed out.
"As does Arthur Nielson," Something close to rage passed briefly over her face, so quickly Myka nearly missed it, "I want James MacPherson in prison as much as you do."
"What did he do to you?" Myka asked curiously.
Wells smiled wryly, "He betrayed the people I work for. Do I need any other reason?"
"What happened?" She asked, a hint of frustration flavouring her voice. There was a lot MI6 wasn't saying and Myka hated it when this sort of thing happened. It was hard enough working with another American agency, let alone a bloody British one.
The amusement was there in full force, "If I told you that, Agent Bering, I'd have to kill you. And that would be a shame."
Myka let out an annoyed huff and Wells sipped from her tea cup, eyes glittering as she watched her. Myka's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, giving the Englishwoman an apologetic glance.
Mykes, you better get back here ASAP. Claudia.
"I've got to go," She began. And then Agent Wells leaned forward and snagged the phone from her hands and set it beside her own, calmly tapping into it.
Myka stared at her, "What are you doing."
"I may need to contact you, now that we're hunting the same man," She replied matter-of-factly.
"This how you normally get a woman's number?" Myka asked dryly, not sure whether to be charmed or annoyed. Maybe both. She held a hand out for her phone.
Wells placed it in her palm, fingertips brushing against her wrist, "Only if she wants me to, Agent Bering."
And then she was walking out, leather jacket folded over her arm, notebook clasped in the other fist, leaving Myka sitting there with her phone in her hand and James MacPherson's file sitting in front of her. On her phone there was a new contact under HG Wells.
Woman just had to have the last word.
Predictably, when she arrived back at the office, Pete wanted to know all about 'her date with the hot English spy'.
"One," Myka said, dropping her jacket onto the back of her chair and swinging to glare at her partner who grinned in that (somewhat charming) boyish way of his, "It wasn't a date. I'm not you. Two, we talked about work. I'm not you."
"Ouch," Pete declared, clutching his chest like she'd stabbed him.
Myka rolled her eyes, "What was the hurry get back here?"
"We've got a ping," Claudia answered, "Let's go!"