AN: Day 21... Things are about to get very, very interesting. Please read this chapter while seated.
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MUSIC CUES: Can't Get Shot In The Back If You Don't Run - Matthew Good; Speed The Collapse - Metric; You're Not Here - Melissa Williamson
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight.
1793462 Seconds
It was his first full day back on duty and only two hours in, Booth was bored to tears.
There were outstanding reports for simple cases to file and a report outstanding from the Sawyer case that needed corrections and final approval. There were about eighty emails – none from Dr. Yeung – to catch up on to, with several marked urgent and numerous others demanding an actual reply. The cherry on top of the bullshit sundae, however, was the five-page booklet Dr. Duritz expected him to complete today in anticipation of their first mandatory session tomorrow.
His only anchor to sanity was the picture on his desk of his family: Parker, Christine, himself and Bones. They were the reason he needed to join the Bureau's reindeer games. They were why he couldn't shove the booklet straight up Duritz's snooty behind.
There was a tremendous advantage to being back on duty, however: access to Bureau resources. As Booth wrote the bare minimum for a shooting he'd assisted on several weeks ago, Charlie was working the tech angle of things and trying to figure out what happened to the email he should have received from the professor. Innocent and contrite, he diligently completed his backlog, while his trusted friend did a little "off the record" digging. He could tell that his mere presence threatened Flynn; the smug bastard had walked past his office three times already with a permanent scowl.
He's just waiting for a reason to have you fired, Booth reminded himself. Keep your cool.
A rat-tat-tat on the door pulled him from his monotonous detailing of suspect descriptions and Booth waved Charlie inside. Charlie closed the door behind him, scanning the hallway before settling nervously into the chair opposite Booth. It made his blood run cold: Charlie didn't spook easily.
"You got something for me?"
Charlie nodded. "I have good news and bad news, and also horrible news. What do you want first?"
"Let's start positive."
Charlie nodded. "Alright, the good news is that I was able – with an unusual amount of effort – to track down the traces of the deleted email. Without that, I wouldn't be able to tell you anything. Unfortunately, the good news ends there."
"Figured as much," Booth grumbled.
"I backtraced it as far as I could, but whoever deleted the email did so remotely, and used a series of switch-proxies behind a firewall. Long story short: I couldn't narrow it down beyond the eastern United States." Charlie shook his head. "Whoever did this seriously knew their stuff. They definitely do not want to be found."
Booth sighed. It had to be Pelant. No one working from the inside would go to so much trouble. "And the horrible news?"
Charlie hesitated. "Well… Change your credentials, Booth. You've been accessed at least four times in the last six weeks alone. Whoever did this has been playing in your inbox often enough to be concerned."
"Shit! I was afraid of that." His hand slammed down on the desk in frustration and Charlie jumped in the chair.
"Anything else you need?"
Booth shook his head. "No, Charlie. Thank you for doing this and keeping it between us."
"Sure, Booth. I'm down the hall if you need me."
Booth leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities. Six weeks… All of our correspondence prior to Pelant's hearing… All of our preliminary work on the Sawyer case… Hell, anything saved in folders was there for the taking. This is bad. He tapped his pen erratically against the desk, mulling his next option. I can't trust the Bureau if there's someone being blackmailed by Pelant. Flynn is useless. Cam won't keep this to herself. Booth could change his own credentials easily enough with a simple request, but there was a very real possibility that everyone was compromised: Cullen, Flynn, Hacker –
Hacker. He was on their side. Booth could read people well, and the solidarity was sincere. Hodgins and Angela had mentioned an email from Hacker authorizing further investigation over Flynn's head, which supported his gut instincts. Picking up the phone, he hit a preset and waited.
"Andrew Hacker."
"I need to meet with you about an urgent matter," Booth said. "When can I come to your office?"
Andrew hesitated, flipping papers. "I'm free for the next twenty minutes and then slammed until four. Can you do it now?"
"Absolutely, sir. Be right there."
Booth gathered up several file folders as a cover story and made his way to the other side of the busy floor. Several agents nodded in respect as he passed; most struggled to conceal looks of suspicion or pity. Doesn't matter. They'll find out the truth. Hacker's door was open when he reached it and he rushed inside, shutting the door abruptly and dropping the files on his desk.
"They're cover, ignore them," Booth said.
Hacker tilted his head askance. "What's this about?"
Booth took a deep breath, steadying himself before beginning to speak. "Sir, my email was broken into by an unknown outside source several times over the last six weeks. A lot of confidential material has effectively been compromised."
"Damn it," Hacker muttered. "You're certain?"
"Emails sent to me were deleted before I could read them, for starters. I confirmed this with our tech department." Booth grimaced, mulling the larger problem and how best to break the bad news. "There's more."
Hacker leaned back in his chair. "Why do I think you're about to ruin my entire day?"
"Because I am. Welcome to Hell, where I've been living for the last three weeks. The Jeffersonian has confirmed the existence of a code almost certainly planted by Pelant that is capable of retrieving credentials for the CIA and possibly the FBI. I suspect this is how I was compromised."
"What? Credentials? Are we talking names here, or –"
"Logins, passwords, UPS tracking numbers. The works, Hacker."
Andrew shoved aside several papers strewn over his keyboard, launching his email application. With a few quick clicks, Booth recognized the steps: he was requesting a credential change. Cursing under his breath, he rose and slowly paced.
"There's more, isn't there?" he asked quietly.
Booth nodded. "I think Pelant's got an inside man. Perhaps he blackmailed someone with information from their email account. I don't know. I just know that this sort of Federal chaos is his specialty and having an insider would explain his ability to stay a jump ahead of us at every turn."
"What's your evidence?"
"The Jeffersonian has enough to point a solid finger at Pelant. They've replicated the actions of the code."
Hacker nodded. "Have they told Flynn?"
"Not yet, although I'm told he'll be notified today. The final pieces came together yesterday and I wanted to confirm the matter when I came in today."
Hacker sat silently, eyes glazed over. Booth remained silent, understanding that whatever course of action Hacker chose, it had to be carefully executed. When he spoke at last, Booth knew that he'd trusted the right person.
"I am going to notify Cullen that I've received intel of a potential attempt at obtaining FBI credentials and recommend a Bureau-wide reset and change. He's so frustrated with the Sawyer case and the media circus that he'll do anything I say without actually listening to me. You," he continued, "are going to investigate this breach and possible insider off the books. And by off the books, I mean that you aren't allowed to investigate anything right now, so be a ninja about it. If you find anything else, bring it to me directly."
Booth almost agreed, then had a thought. "No offense Hacker, but how do I know that you're not Pelant's insider?"
Hacker chuckled. "A very good point. I'm not, but you know what? Don't tell me a thing until you have absolutely have to – like, say, if you're busted snooping into things. Fair?"
"Thanks. I'll go back to my game of paperwork Jenga now."
Booth picked up his stack of folders and papers, shuffling them around lest anyone notice they'd been untouched during the meeting. With a nod, he opened the door, feigning exasperation as he returned to his office. Let everyone believe that he and Hacker were at odds. If Pelant had Bureau eyes, he'd make sure he didn't tip his hand.
1799601 Seconds
Hodgins crossed the street towards the Royal, replaying the phone call in his mind. There had been no exchange of pleasantries, no real greeting, no meandering chat. Just a simple request to meet in an hour at the Royal and come alone. It was completely out of character, but then again, everything about the Jeffersonian felt out of character now. Angela had chosen to take three days off for personal reasons and Hodgins was proud of her for looking after her own needs for a change. Michael was at daycare and she was hopefully lounging in the bath or watching lousy TV on the couch.
He stepped aside and allowed an elderly couple to exit before entering the diner and scanning the tables. Finding the caller, he casually walked over to the rear table and took a seat opposite him.
"Sweets."
"Thanks for coming, Dr. Hodgins," the lanky young doctor said. "I don't trust my phone right now after what Agent Booth told me."
"That explains the call," Hodgins replied. "You okay man?"
Lance Sweets shrugged, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'm pissed off at Flynn for questioning my professional opinion and throwing me off the case. I spend every day waiting for someone else to get hurt or framed for something. There's been other issues but I've finally resolved one, which is where you come in."
Hodgins felt incredibly confused. "Speak English. What's going on?"
Sweets glanced around before leaning closer, lowering his voice. "It took a lot of work, but I managed to obtain access to a resource that may break this wide open. I'm off the case, so my hands are pretty tied. I need you to gather up materials and deliver them for me."
"What materials?"
"A copy of the code on the wall and the books and journal articles Dr. Yeung provided Agent Booth with. He gave you those this morning, correct?"
Hodgins nodded. "I left them at home to keep them secure. Where am I taking these things, M.?"
Sweets slipped a folded piece of paper across the table. "Your mission, Bond."
Hodgins opened the paper slowly, staring at the doctor's neat handwriting. It wasn't possible…
"Dude, how?"
Sweets smiled. "I mentioned Dr. Brennan's current situation. Strong sense of loyalty."
"When?"
"Anytime you're able."
Hodgins grinned. "You're fun when you're flouting rules, Sweets."
Sweets was also pleased. "I know. Now go tell Cam a story and make contact."
Back at the Jeffersonian, Cam Saroyan was contemplating smashing her telephone during a tedious and awkward conference call. After weeks of dismissive emails and calls from Agent Flynn, Cam was fed up with his refusal to pursue the Berman angle. In a dirty move, she'd arranged for this call with Flynn and Deputy Director Cullen – one step short of tattle-tale behavior.
He asked for it.
"Let me get this straight: Sophia Berman is the daughter of a man who committed suicide after being defrauded by a CI," Cullen said.
"That's correct, sir," Cam replied.
"This CI was one of the files in the room where the remains of the Danish woman were found," he continued.
"Again, correct."
"Prior to Dr. Sawyer's death, she attempted to gain access to him at Hinsdale under false pretenses, which leads the Jeffersonian to believe that not only is Berman a person of interest with respect to the previous murders, but Sawyer's death as well," Cullen concluded.
"Yes, sir. We feel she should be questioned with respect to her attempt to visit Dr. Sawyer, as well as further questioning about her father's passing and contact with Ezra Krane prior to his death," Cam stated.
"Ms. Berman was already questioned in detail by Agent Booth months ago, and no further action was taken then," Flynn interjected, irate.
"That was before she visited Dr. Sawyer," Cam countered. "She is an IT expert, Deputy Director. She's certainly capable of complicated coding."
Cam held her breath, awaiting Cullen's response. It was a new strategy, one she hoped Flynn couldn't refute. If they couldn't directly go after Pelant, they could go after someone else. Reasonable doubt, Cam.
"Agent Flynn, I would like to know why this woman was impersonating a family member to gain access to a man who is now dead," Cullen said at last.
Cam was grateful for the ability to grin without being seen on the other end. If she wasn't afraid of Ms. Wick walking by, she'd likely get up and feign a touchdown spike.
"That's certainly worth bringing Ms. Berman back in for," Flynn agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "I'll make arrangements to have her brought in. The Jeffersonian has noted several times that Dr. Brennan lacks computer programming skills. Perhaps she and Berman were colluding."
Cam fought the urge to scream. Flynn was a dog with a meaty bone, jaws locked tightly around the prize. At least he'll bring her in, she reminded herself. It was what they all wanted, and Cullen had forced Flynn to deliver.
"If that's all Dr. Saroyan, I'll let you return to your lab," Cullen said.
"Thank you, Deputy Director. Agent Flynn, I'll send that image and our notes from the witnesses at Hinsdale for your conversation with Ms. Berman."
"That's appreciated."
No, it's not, Cam answered silently. You sound ready to smash every piece of equipment in this lab. The call ended, she leaned back and sighed. She missed Booth and Brennan. She missed the old routine, the lighthearted camaraderie of the lab. With no further action to take, Clark and Daisy were in Limbo, Angela had taken personal days and Hodgins… Hmm. Where is Hodgins?
"Dr. Saroyan?"
Speak of the devil. Cam eyed Hodgins, noting his tensed muscles and twitching hands. Something's up with him.
"What is it, Dr. Hodgins?"
"I have a personal errand to attend to, if that's alright with you," he said, blatantly forcing himself to sound calm.
"Is everything okay?" Cam asked.
Hodgins nodded. "Absolutely. I've got nothing at my station to work on and you can always reach me on my cell phone if a case comes in."
Whatever the errand, it seemed important to Hodgins. She needed to re-establish goodwill with her staff. Let him go, Cam.
"That's fine, Dr. Hodgins. I'll call you if anything comes up."
Cam watched as he half-ran down the corridor and out the main doors of the Medico-Legal Lab. Instinct told her that this was no personal errand, but a perhaps questionable means of pursuing the truth in the Sawyer case. If he finds something of value, he'll tell me, she reasoned. Besides, the Lab was quiet – perhaps too quiet. A calm before a storm.
Might as well enjoy it while it lasts…
1806826 Seconds
The sound of the key turning in the lock was almost deafening in contrast with the stark silence of the house. It was a stabbing pain in her chest, this concrete image of what life had become. Bren and Christine are gone, Angela thought to herself as she stepped inside the foyer of their "mighty hut", as they affectionately called it.
She had tried to relax and unwind, just as Jack had told her to. She'd taken a long shower, moisturized and exfoliated every inch of her skin and watched talk shows while giving herself a long overdue manicure and pedicure. She'd lounged in a silky bathrobe that always felt indulgent – a gift from their time in Paris.
She'd made it to the afternoon before deciding she was ready to snap with nervous energy. Remembering her long-ago promise to Booth and aware that he was running out of clothes to recycle at their place, she'd packed a few cleaning supplies into the car and driven over to their house. Cleaning was strangely therapeutic for Angela. There was a sense of a fresh start in a clean room, a new life just waiting in the wings.
Besides, her place was already spotless and she still felt herself jittering. What else could she do?
She flipped the light switch for the living room, grimacing at the footprints marring the normally pristine floors. Books and knick knacks were askew; furniture was pulled away from walls; and framed photos had been pried opened in search of hidden documents and other treasures. It was no wonder he'd fled this scene of domestic carnage: it was the epitome of what had become of his family, his world.
"Well, Ange, you wanted something to do," she muttered.
The kitchen seemed to be in the best shape on the main floor: a few stacks of dishes remained on the counters and the omnipresent footprints spun circles on the tiles. Setting her supply bag on the counter, she began opening doors and drawers, making her best guesses on where things belonged. Satisfied that everything was out of sight at least, she opened the fridge and began yanking expired food from the shelves and door. Ancient Thai take-out containers, milk, eggs, something that may have been a kiwi fruit, a mushy head of lettuce… Angela grimaced, struggling not to inhale as she pitched items into a large plastic bag. Tying it off, she sat it outside on the porch to deal with later.
I feel a little better already, she thought as she sorted books back onto their shelves. Doing something – anything – for Bren and Booth… it helps. Humming a tune to herself, she continued to organize Brennan's many books, dusting the shelves as she went.
Ring!
Angela paused, glancing towards the kitchen. "Oh God Hodgins, you are not checking up on me!"
After three rings she relented, dropping a stack of books on the desk and retrieving her phone from her purse. With an exasperated sigh, she answered the call.
She nearly dropped the phone when she heard the caller on the other end. Her eyes darted in all directions as the voice continued to speak in a hushed, urgent manner.
Upstairs. I can go upstairs, she told herself. She obeyed the caller, terrified of what lay just beyond the suddenly flimsy locks of the Booth and Brennan home. Her feet were light on the steps as she carefully ascended, keeping her body low to avoid being seen from the windows.
"You're coming?" she whispered anxiously.
Yes. The caller promised to be there soon. Wait in the bedroom.
Angela clutched the phone to her chest as she shut the door behind her and dropped to the floor beside the bed. Oh God Hodgins, I'm sorry. I should have listened to you and stayed home in bed. I should have eaten ice cream for breakfast and slept and stayed in the safety of your guards and elaborate security system.
Beneath her feet, she heard a scraping noise and whimpered in spite of herself. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she searched for a makeshift weapon, just in case.
I love you, Jack. I love you, Michael. Please, someone, help me…
A deafening boom filled the room, and Angela's world faded to black.
He'd been stealthy in picking up the books and articles, not wanting to disturb Angela. She'd obviously listened to him and remained in bed, and while she wasn't a light sleeper, she did struggle with daytime naps. No kiss goodbye for him this time. Besides, he had a pressing appointment to keep.
The building was as he remembered it, although it had been some time since he'd seen it – over a year, by his estimation. It wasn't his choice to be absent, but he'd been powerless to protest.
He flashed his identification at the door and was searched, scanned and escorted through a series of corridors to a disproportionately large room with a long table and two chairs. The guard hesitated outside the room, turning back towards him.
"You sure?"
"Absolutely," Jack said, without hesitation.
"If he's violent, shout for help," the guard said solemnly.
Violent?
The door was opened before him and Jack entered slowly, his eyes closed. Holding his breath, he slowly forced his eyes open and studied the man seated before him, shackled to the floor. He smiled in greeting as the guard shut the door, leaving them to their semblance of privacy. His hair was long and tangled, his ears hidden beneath the loose curls, but he was otherwise just as Jack remembered him.
"I knew you'd come," Zack Addy said cheerfully. "Just as he knows you've come."
"Who?"
"Pelant," he said calmly. "Sit down, Hodgins. We don't have much time, and I have a great deal to tell you…"
*dodges objects thrown at her head* Don't kill me! Please! I love Angela. Just remember that. I also love Zack and am so glad to have Mr. Addy on Brennan's side, aren't you? We'll pick up right where we left off next chapter with a little (er, a lot) of that research I always say I do. Sweets prepped him well over the last few weeks.
Please review, let me know how I'm doing, comment on who Angela was speaking to... Take wild guesses on what comes next... Random mentions of LOLcats... Whatever you like!
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See you Thursday for our next installment.