Disclaimer: I do not own Timeless.

Villa Serena: Part 4

The phone buzzed, sending a furtive Denise's heart racing. She tried to check it without drawing attention, but it was just Olivia sending a funny meme. Denise didn't get it- something about Kermit the frog.

"Are we keeping you from somehting, Agent Christopher?" asked a stern male voice and Denise hurriedly laid her phone on its face.

"No, sir- just my daughter," she said. The men around the conference table all exchanged private snickers. Of course the only mother in the room was thinking about her family at a time like this. After all, none of them could be bothered at work by their families.

"As I was saying," said the field agent, continuing with his presentation. It was a report on gun smugglers coming from south of the border and his team had nothing new, although the agent was adept at rephrasing everything said in his last report so that it sounded different. It reminded Denise of the time she'd found Mark copying his friends' homework only to change certain words here and there. She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

"Part of our problem is our inability to verify with our sources south of the border," explained the agent, whose name Denise had long forgotten. "This makes us believe that the weapons aren't being smuggled from Mexico, but rather a central American country further south."

That's what happens when you rely on Mexico's port authority for intelligence, Denise thought privately. It's not the information that's wrong, it's the people giving it to you. Half of the federales who were willing to cooperate with the US government were only doing it to mislead the intelligence. But if she tried telling this guy that, she'd likely be slapped on the wrist for unsportsmanlike conduct.

"Thank you, Agent Yoon," said Bob, and the young agent took his seat. "Now, if you'll please turn in your hymnals to Operation Wells."

No one laughed at Bob's joke as they all flipped through the pages in front of them to Denise's report. She cleared her throat and stood up. The Operation was code word classified because not all the agents present were read in. Most of their report was blacked out- she kept hidden anything directly related to the physics of time travel or classified sources (read, people from different timestreams or anything Jiya learned from her visions).

"This past year, as you know," she said, "Connor Mason and I have been apprehending and eliminating sleeper agents still working for Rittenhouse. We believe the sleepers have been neutralized, but Rittenhouse is still in possession of the Well. We're not sure of their intentions for it."

"The Well" was the codename for the Mothership- many of the uncleared agents were under the impression that Mason had developed some kind of alternative energy that was weaponized by Rittenhouse. However, since they couldn't see the effects of Rittenhouse tampering with history, many of them grossly underestimated the implications. Since she'd been assigned to reclaim the Mothership, many months had passed without an observable threat or results. Sure, Rittenhouse's criminal enterprise was uncovered, but they simply couldn't understand why she alone was given so many resources or why the mysterious "Well" was still in enemy hands. It made Denise's participation in these reports considerably grueling.

"Tell us about Mason Industries," Bob instructed. "The President tells me he's still concerned about the company's rapid bankruptcy. Technology and aerospace engineering stocks are otherwise soaring, which looks good for the economy, but the fall of Mason Industries so soon after cooperating with the fed is giving chairpersons uneasy feelings about government contracts."

"You have to understand that most of Mason Industries was being financed by the criminal organization I was tasked with bringing down," Denise reminded him, for at least the twelfth time. "Connor Mason was forced into witness protection because of it- he wanted Rittenhouse destabilized as much as we did."

"He has business dealings with Congress and this administration," Bob reminded her. "Not to mention, generous campaign contributions to House Republicans who are nervous about keeping their seats this November."

And House Democrats- Connor believes in hedging his bets, Denise thought, but she didn't share that.

"If you'd like, I can bring Mason out of hiding but I can't promise that his fortune will be rebuilt between now and the midterms. Or that what remains of Rittenhouse won't have him killed."

"I have a question, Director Greenblatt," said another agent, a young woman named Hivver. When she was hired, Denise was relieved to have another female senior agent, but it became quite clear that that Hivver saw the office more as a place of competition than cooperation. Denise could respect that, but Hivver liked to play dirty.

"Yes, Agent Hivver," said Bob, who appeared to puff his chest out at the use of his job title.

"Substantial amounts of the report are redacted," said Hivver, "so I have to wonder how reliable the sources are, that they can't even be disclosed to fellow agents."

That wasn't a question, so Denise didn't respond. Bob read through it and said, "You're right- most of the trouble seemed to be coming from this Benjamin Cahill, Jacob Neville, and Carol Preston. And according to your report, Cahill and Neville and imprisoned and Preston was killed by the pilot, whose identity we can't confirm."

This was bureaucracy- without revealing time travel, Emma was legally dead, and as there'd been no mention of her in any of the evidence used to cripple Rittenhouse, she was still very much hidden from the federal government.

Denise replied, "The pilot murdered Carol Preston- our team confirmed that. We don't know what the pilot's intentions are for the Well."

"What about Flynn?" asked Bob. "Are we any closer to tracking him down?"

"We know he's in Venezuela," said Denise. "But our agents there are have no leads and the country's extradition policy prohibits their government from even confirming his presence," said Denise. This was precisely the reason she'd chosen Venezuela as a cover.

"So you have nothing?" said Yoon.

Denise shot him a glare that would've at least made her children cower. Unfortunately, DHS agents were resilient to "mom eyes" and even Hivver smirked along with them.

"I still have my team," she said.

.

.

"I don't think you understand what we do, son," Ben McCoy was saying. "We just take folks out on the ocean, let 'em do some fishin' and such."

"It ain't our business sneakin' y'all into some fancy boy's bash," Bill agreed.

They were standing on the dock by the McCoy's little motorboat. Jiya hung back, not sure how early twentieth century men felt about young Lebanese women. She noticed Flynn was also keeping his mouth shut. That left Wyatt and Lucy to do the talking.

"Please sir, you've gotta understand how important this is," Lucy was saying. "The people are in danger and security won't believe us."

"Yeah, what would John Hancock do?" asked Wyatt, gesturing at Bill, who blinked suspiciously. "He's your hero, isn't he?"

"He wasn't some ancient warrior, boy, he was a merchant and a Patriot," Bill said. "A statesman of honor and integrity. You think you can convince me to join in on some date-brained petty crime by dropping his name like a hat?"

Flynn smirked and Jiya looked at him. "Using the word hero as someone you personally admire won't be a concept for another few decades," he whispered.

Jiya nodded and turned back to the conversation. Lucy was talking now. "And wasn't Hancock the one who said that getting along with others was one of the noblest things a businessman could do?"

Bill McCoy nodded slowly, his straw hat keeping his eyes shaded. It was hard to tell what he was thinking.

"Sir, I feel like I know you," said Wyatt. "I'm a soldier. I've served in war too. I know you were in Havana when the Maine exploded." Neither McCoy said anything.

Lucy pressed on. "You know what the papers did after that," she said. "You saw how they manipulated and used the deaths of your friends to push America into war. That's why you left, isn't it? You've seen firsthand how terrible war is. We're trying to prevent something just as bad."

The McCoy brothers looked at each other and then Bill nodded. "In our boat, there's only one rule," Bill said. "You do as we say."

"Thank you, sir," said Wyatt, offering him the sack of coins again.

"Keep it," said Bill. "Let it never be said that the Real McCoy ever took a bribe, however well intentioned."

Wyatt pocketed the bag with a shrug and gestured for Flynn and Lucy to climb aboard the motorboat.

"Nicely done," Jiya said to Lucy as she settled in the seat beside her.

"We're not out of the woods yet," said Lucy.

"What woods?" asked Ben, who'd been listening.

"Nothing," the two women said together.

.

.

As it turned out, "woods" was not the most accurate 21st century phrase Lucy should've employed. The Everglades were harsh and unforgiving. It'd taken maybe twenty minutes for the McCoy brothers to motor out of the harbor and up one of the many waterways that led to the swamp.

Then they were forced to reduce their speed to barely fifteen knots as they crept past pillowing fluff mud and low-hanging branches.

"Watch your head," Ben warned whenever they came across one. "Snakes like to jump atcha if you disturb 'em in the branches."

Thankfully, Flynn never saw any snakes although Jiya swore she saw an alligator. Wyatt said it was probably a log, but he looked nervous.

Bill and Ben were reading an old map that looked like it might've been printed on animal skin. Flynn reasoned that it was probably safer against the elements, but he was sure that the new developments would not be on it.

"This oughtta be it," said Bill, cutting the motor off and letting the boat come to a rest up against a muddy shore. Wyatt jumped out and hauled the boat further up.

"We'll wait here for you," said Bill, handing the map to Wyatt. "We think the developments are right along here," he pointed. "Should be maybe a ten minute walk. Watch out for cottonmouths, though."

"Jeez, you can never get away from snakes in this state, can you?" quipped Jiya as she followed Wyatt through the shrubs.

"You've obviously never been to Australia," said Flynn right behind, helping Lucy with her skirt.

They trekked through the relatively dry forest, occasionally walking around mud and twice looking for an alternate route through some high grass where no one wanted to risk snakes.

Finally, up ahead, they saw the houses. "There's Villa Serena," said Lucy, pointing at the grandest one. "That's Secretary Bryan's house."

"Please, let's get indoors," said Jiya, panting. "Florida in July is literally hell."

"You know that house won't have air conditioning, right?" said Flynn.

Jiya blinked. "That is the meanest thing you've ever done to me."

"Do we know Emma's there?" asked Wyatt, ignoring them. "What if she's in the crowd?"

"Jiya, what do you see?" asked Lucy, turning to the younger woman.

Jiya rolled her eyes backwards and her lips starting mouthing words silently. Flynn, who had never seen her visions before, thought it looked alarmingly like a supernatural possession. He wasn't sure if he believed in hell and demons, but the appearance unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

"I see Wyatt chasing somebody through the crowd, but I can't see who. Bryan's there too, but he's not gonna be there long. He goes back to his house."

"Ok," said Lucy. "Wyatt, you and Jiya go to the crowd. Look for anybody Rittenhouse. Flynn and I will go to Villa Serena and wait for Bryan there. If anything goes wrong, we meet back at McCoy's boat."

While she spoke, Flynn noticed Wyatt giving him an odd look, then turn back to the house. He looked like he wanted to argue, but couldn't. Was he trying to stay on Lucy's good side? Or did he have another reason to want to go to the house? Would Jessica be there?

"Alright," Jiya said, and to Flynn's relief, her eyes returned to their appropriate position. "Let's roll."

He and Lucy took off at a jog out of the woods and through the grass to Villa Serena. The back door was unguarded and Flynn realized why.

"Emma's already been here," he said, pointing to the trail of blood on the back porch. It led to a guard whose body had been unceremoniously thrown in the bushes.

"Oh, god," said Lucy, pushing her way into the house. The back door was connected to the front door by a grand foyer, with stairways on either side. Flynn moved forward and looked under a decorative spindly table against the wall. He immediately saw why Emma had broken in. And this pipe bomb definitely wasn't made out of a paper towel roll.