Special Agent Lee woke with a very bad headache. It felt as if a dozen elephants were dancing sarabande on her forehead. Her ears were pulsating, her bloodshot eyes filled with tears of pain. No matter what she tried it wouldn't go away and she wondered if the headache had anything to do with the twelve tequila shots she'd had last night at Arlene's Grocery at the birthday party of her sister, Brittany. Having had three coffees with her breakfast, three dark, strong Italian espressos without sugar, the pain succumbed to a manageable level and she gave herself the green light to drive to the office. Even being a non-religious person, she silently prayed during the half-hour long drive to Headquarters so that she wouldn't accidentally kill anyone on the road. Luckily, the highway was not that crowded and she had a rather relaxing drive as she put on her favourite Lacuna Coil CD and sang together with Cristina in her pleasant voice.
When she arrived, she parked her yellow Mustang Convertible at her private spot under the building and went up two storeys with the elevator to Personnel Entry. Having cleared the daily security routine, she clocked in and took the stairs towards her office on the fourth floor. She had a slight form of claustrophobia, which she – until now – had managed to keep a well-preserved secret during the yearly compulsory medical and psychological checkups. When asked about her strange preference, she always joked about extra pounds gained during office hours, which normally did the trick, no further questions asked.
Having graduated from the Academy two years ago, Special Agent Lee and her two best friends, Jackie and Christie were fortunate enough to have been assigned to the same Squad Theta where they were immediately baptised Siamese Triplet for being completely inseparable. They were the perfect team together: Christie, the strategist, Jackie, the techie and Lee, l'agent perfect, with or without a weapon. Nevertheless, they'd spent these two years at boring office work, without ever having a real case assigned to them, and by now Lee was seriously asking herself the question if this was what she wanted to make of her life.
With an exasperated sigh, the tiny agent threw her heavy attache-case on the floor. Frantically rummaging in her desk drawer, she fished out a bar of her favourite Nestle chocolate from there, took a delighted bite from the sweets and rushed for the pantry for another refill of coffee, what would be her fourth one in something less than an hour.
"Hey, Hobbit!" Christie lovingly brushed the hair of her best friend. The Irish redhead was a little less than a foot longer than Lee. Lee only smiled at her antics.
"Hey Chris, did you manage to get some sleep last night?" she inquited with a playful spark in her hazel eyes.
"Honestly Hobbit, never slept that well in my entire life. Next time I have insomnia, I'll make sure to have a bottle of tequila handy," she admitted, while consulting her pocket mirror and after careful consideration applying her favourite lipstick. "Oh no, not him again..."
Turning away from the coffee-maker, Lee followed Christie's eyes. She caught sight of Brian, Tactical Commander, entering the office, followed by an out-of-breath Bernie, their Squad leader. Brian was a very good-looking, handsome gentleman in his mid-fifties, somewhat resembling a mixture of George Clooney and Richard Gere, an experienced, cunning old fox almost all female agents – and secretly some male ones as well – were hopelessly in love with. He had one irritating habit. He was a movie freak and gave everybody in the department nicknames derived from the names of his favourite actors and actresses. The very first day he baptized Christie Uma Thurman, making her instantly hate him. Overhearing Lee's nickname he decided it really fit her, but the very first time he tried to call her Hobbit Lee very clearly and maybe slightly too loudly explained to him that it was the privilege of her best friends only. Later having apologized to the Commander, they called it a truce and settled for Lana – after Lana Turner, of course – rhyming with her given names, Lee Anne.
Without even taking note of them, Brian headed straight to the meeting room they were using for their usual morning briefings.
"Triplet, with me. Now!" barked Bernie, a usually calm, somewhat restrained former Marine. The girls, by now joined by Jackie, cast a curious glance at him, but said nothing. By now they'd learned to obey direct orders immediately, so they collected their scrapbooks and PDA's and rushed to the meeting room. The other agents curiously followed them with their eyes through the door, but the blinds were closed almost immediately and a hushed, but distinctively audible buzz signed that the meeting room had been electronically scrambled.
"Triplet, thanks for joining," started Brian without too much ado, no trace of irony in his voice. Piercing the girls with his sea-blue eyes, he nodded at them understandingly.
"Eight? Nine?" he inquired, barely suppressing a smile. Lee flushed red. Barely audibly, she muttered a word. Bernie shook his head in disbelief.
"Special Agent Lee, could you please repeat it again, for all of us?" he requested in a formal tone. Lee flushed deeper.
"Actually, Sir, it was twelve shots," she repeated, this time louder.
"That's a good girl!" laughed the Commander. "Am I safe to assume you've won the contest?"
"No, Sir," admitted Lee, lowering her head, "actually the tequila won. I've never had such a horrible headache in my entire life before as this morning."
The Commander looked at the girl with a trace of sympathy in his glance. "Are you able to attend?" he inquired; he'd never have admitted it in public but despite that confrontation of theirs he'd grown fond of the tiny girl.
"Yes, Commander, thanks for asking," answered Lee in a formal tone, trying to remain emotionless, but silently she had to admit that she was somewhat flattered by the sudden attention of the Commander.
"Ok, Triplet, here's the deal. This is your first real assignment," started Bernie, taking the lead, "your 'baptism of fire'. There were two disappearances within 24 hours, one in NY, one in Washington, and the Bureau is taking over the investigation from the respective police departments."
"Sir, may I ask who were the people who disappeared?" inquired Jackie, who was the most observant from the girls. She already started taking notes on her PDA; she was all in mission mode.
"Yes, you may, agent Slocombe." Brian opened his briefcase and produced five identical files bearing the infamous red "Top Secret" logo on the cover, giving each of them a copy, keeping the fifth one for himself. Lee gasped loudly and stopped her mouth with her hand. This was it, the moment she'd been waiting for ever since she'd set her signature under the admittance form.
With a questioning look, she looked up. Bernie nodded silently and all of them opened their files. Lee quickly, with hands trembling from sheer excitement, rushed through the handful of pages and maybe a dozen Polaroid photos, then looked up again.
"A Rabbi and a Mullah?" her voice reflected her state of disbelief. "Are you kidding, Sir?"
"I can assure you, agent Sarrazano," stressing her title, Brian turned serious, "I would love to, but I'm serious. Sometime during the last 24 hours, Mullah Kareem Abdoul ibn Kareem, resident of New York City, Secretary General of the Islamic Society of North America, and Samuel Levi Rosenbaum, Chief Rabbi of the United States, resident of Washington D.C. have disappeared from their offices, without leaving the slightest trace and haven't been seen ever since. These gentlemen are two of the religious leaders of this country."
Measuring the girls with his glance, Bernie leaned back in his chair. "Go through your files, Triplet, you've got five minutes!" he commanded, checking his watch.
Acknowledging his order, the girls went silent and concentrated on the reports and evidence material, every now and then taking short notices. Just like in the good old times at the Academy, doing our case studies, Jackie dreamed away for a second.
"Time's up, ladies. Your ideas! No thinking, just say the first thing on the tip of your tongue. Five minutes. Go, go, go!" Bernie snapped his file shut and with an impatient gesture nodded towards the girls. Brian, while silently enjoying himself, produced his Mont Blanc fountain pen and his notebook, ready to take notes.
"No signs of violence, no signs of struggle, no kidnapping," started Christie somewhat timidly. The Mont Blanc scraped a few words. "You wouldn't struggle too much either if someone held a .44 against your forehead. I'd assume, agent Mulcahy, that you'd prefer to go silently and hope for a better moment to escape. Further!" retorted Bernie, but gave a curt, approving nod.
"I wouldn't have allowed anyone point a .44 at me, for one..." mumbled Christie barely audibly; she had to admit Bernie was right or at least he had a valid point.
"No farewell letters found, either at their offices, or at their homes. No obvious suicide. Could be an accident, though," interjected Jackie. Brian measured her with an approving glance. "That's an option, hospitals and morgues need to be checked. Can't completely exclude suicide, though," he went on.
Christie shook her gorgeous head. "With all respect, Sir, two identical suicides? Too much of a coincidence and too few evidences."
"I still prefer the kidnapping idea," Lee stood up and walked over to the flipchart, drawing several bullet points. "One: an atheist who's got fed up with God's ideas. Two: someone, who wants to destabilize the status quo in the Middle East, kidnaps an important Jew and an important Moslim and lets the two sides blame each other. Three: a bigot Christian on a modern Crusade."
"Too much of John Grisham, if you ask my opinion, agent Sarrazano." Brian's eyes laughed but his voice was serious.
"Sir, we have to check out if they had common friends or enemies, if they had appointments with the same person or persons," countered Lee.
"Then do it, agent Sarrazano!" snapped Bernie in a mocking harsh voice; he couldn't mistake the joy in the girl's eyes as she got permission to carry out her first individual investigation and was secretly amusing himself. "If you need to fly to DC, Susan or Cathy will arrange the ticket for you on the first available flight."
"With your permission, Sir," with a deep blush on her face Lee collected her things and without waiting for his answer rushed out of the meeting room. The other four followed her with their eyes, the commanders with certain amusement at her antics, the two female agents with a hint of jealousy and pride at the same time.
"Agent Slocombe, your idea. Hospitals, morgues, 'lost & found'. Agent Mulcahy, written plan and a detailed analysis of the events and evidences so far. Request feedback from your colleagues via scrambled telephone lines only. At 18:00 report back to me. That's it." With a nervous gesture Brian dismissed the meeting. When the girls left, he turned to Bernie.
"Eager, aren't they?" he inquired absentmindedly, lighting a Camel with his antique Zippo and offering one him as well from his leather port-cigars.
"They were best of class at the Academy but got somewhat rusty here. They want to prove themselves," the Theta Squad leader replied, massaging his aching temples.
"Maybe they are even too eager to do so," he mused while standing up and opening the blinds.
"Watch out for them, will you? I don't want them to get hurt on their first mission," Brian clapped him on his shoulder.
"Me neither, Commander, me neither..." the former Marine agreed, looking deep into the Commander's eyes. "Care for a real coffee instead of this instant crap?"
"You know bloody well I can never say 'no', don't you?" admitted Brian, throwing back his chair and standing up in one smooth movement. "Sue, we're off for half an hour. We're on the phone, if need be."
"Right-o, Chef!" Susan laughed, instantly redirecting the two incoming phone lines. "Will you think of your favourite secretary while you are drinking your Honey Delight?" she added with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"Oriental Mocca, with cinnamon, right?" inquired the Commander, nodding his agreement.