DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of it.
::::::::::
In The Name of The Father
Chapter
XIII
Most Wanted
::::::::::
Several hours passed before they came back for Dean. By then his legs were dead asleep, two lifeless limbs barely able to move. Still in handcuffs, he was dragged upstairs and shoved into a metal conference room where Sam, handcuffed as well, was sitting at the end of a long table. A large stranger in a dark suit sat on Sam's left. A second man, speaking on a cell phone, stood in the far corner of the room, watching everything with steely resolve.
Dean smiled when he saw Sam. It was the first time they had seen each other since they had been arrested. "Hey Sammy, you're looking well. How ya been sleeping?"
"Like a baby. Every morning I wake up wet."
He nodded knowingly. "Fuckin' hose."
Dean took the seat across from Sam and studied the man to his side. He was roughly taller in height, apparently taller than Sam and out weight him by a hundred pounds. Muscle, not flab. Dean stared at him for five seconds, sizing him up, and in all that time he couldn't find his neck. Finally, to break the silence, Dean introduced himself. "I'm Dean Winchester. And you are?"
The yeti stared back at Dean but didn't say a word. He just let out a soft growl.
Sam, who had the physique of defensive back, snorted. "Thank God he hates you, too or . . . Maybe he's just deaf."
"Any idea what this is about?"
"Not a clue. And you?"
Dean shook his head. "I was promised a phone call for today but never got to make it. Maybe these guys are from the embassy."
"No," blurted the man on the cell phone. "We aren't from the embassy."
"Oooooh!" Dean teased. "Sammy, They can talk!"
"Yes, Mr. Winchester, we can talk. But I promise this will be a short conversation if you continue to make comments at our expense. I will not tolerate lip from a prisoner."
The guy was six foot two, in his mid-thirties, and a total prick. They could tell that immediately. There was something about his demeanor that said. If you fuck with me, I'll shit in your corn flakes. Maybe it was his hair, which was blond high and tight, or his eyes, where were steely cold blue and reptilian. Whatever it was, he made it work because there was no doubt he was running things. "So, should I leave right now, or will you shut up long enought to listen?'
Dean hadn't followed orders since he was in the military but got the sense that they had no choice. Either they listened to this guy, or they went back to their cells for a very long time. "Sure, silence can be arranged. But only if you give us the courtesy of your name and rank. I fell that's the least we deserve."
"No, Dean, you don't deserve a thing. Not with the charges you're facing."
The man took a seat at the far end of the table and removed a folder from his leather briefcase. Then he sat there for a minute, studying its contents. Refusing to say a word. The only sound in the room was the occasional rustle of paperwork. When he spoke again, the harshness in his voice was softer than before. Like he had reconsidered how to handle things. "However, due to the circumstances of my proposal, I think it would be best if I remained civil."
"Your proposal?" Dean asked.
"Before I get to that, let me honor your request. My name is Luc Pellegrino, and I'm with the Central Intelligence Agency." He whipped out his identification and handed it to Dean. Luc's partner followed his lead. "This here is John DeSantis, he likes to be called as Golem though. Anyway, he's been teamed with me for this particular, um, situation."
Dean studied both IDs, then passed them over to Sam. "I don't get it. What do we have to do with the CIA? Shouldn't this be an embassy matter?"
Luc grabbed his badge, then ordered Golem to stand guard across the room. Dean found that kind of strange, since they were in the middle of a secure facility. Nevertheless, the big guy lumbered over there and leaned his ass against the door like a tired moose.
"This is well past an embassy matter," Luc assured him. "The embassy tends to avoid crimes of this nature."
"Crimes? What the hell are you talking about? We didn't do anything. We came here to have some fun as tourists."
"Come now, Dean. Both of us know the type of missions you used to run. I'm sure if you thought about it you could come up with a long list of activities that the Spanish government might disapprove of." Luc leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. "For now I think it would be best if we refrain from any specifics. You never know who might be listening."
Dean thought back to his time with the MANIACs and realized they had passed through Spain on hundreds of occasions. Moron Air Base, located near Seville, was midway between the U.S. and southwest Asia, making it a prime spot to gather supplies and jump-start missions. Same with Naval Station (NAVSTA) Rota, positioned on the Atlantic coast near the Strait of Gibraltar. It gave them access to the Mediterranean Sea and assistance on amphibious assaults. Throw in Torrejón Air Base and all the other U.S. facilities scattered around Spain, and Dean shuddered at everything they might have on him and Sam.
Hell, every time they carried weapons off the base was a breach of regulations. So was crossing the border with non-military personnel. Or flying through restricted airspace. In fact, just about everything the MANIACs did in Spain - even though it was always in the line of duty - bordered on a punishable offense. Not the type of violation that was ever pursued or prosecuted. The symbiotic relationship between the U.S. and Spain would not survive if the Spanish government started cracking down on active personnel in sanctioned U.S. missions. Still, the thing that worried Dean was the classified nature of his operations. How could he defend himself if he wasn't allowed to talk about anything he did?
Dean said, "You know, you're right. This isn't an embassy matter. It's way beyond their scope. This is something the Pentagon will have to handle themselves."
Luc shook his head. "Sorry, gentlemen, it's not going to happen. The Pentagon was notified by the Spanish government as soon as you were arrested. Sadly, in their eyes they have nothing to gain by getting involved. Can you imagine the public relations nightmare they'd face if they admitted to the missions you were involved in? Things might be different if you were still on active duty. Unfortunately, their desire to help is usually related to your current usefulness. And since you're currently retired, they view your usefulness as next to nothing. Of course, you and your brother."
Luc smiled crookedly. "It's a cruel world. Isn't it, Dean?"
Dean wanted to jump across the table and show Luc how cruel the world could be. Just to shut his cake hole up. But he knew he couldn't do that. Not until he found out whey he and Sam was there, whey the CIA was interested in his situation. For all he knew, Luc could be his only ally. "And what about you? Does your organization view us as useful?"
Luc's smile widened. "I wasn't so sure until I read about your trip to Cuba. Very impressive. In my mind, anyone who could do that is useful . . . That mission still boggle my imagination."
Dean and Sam looked at each other, confused. No one except the top brass at the Pentagon was supposed to know about Cuba. Not the CIA, the FBI, or even the president. As it stood, the Cubans didn't even know about Cuba, because the moment they found out, they were going to be pissed. Anyhow, the fact that Luc knew about their trip told them a lot. It meant he was a heavy hitter with some serious connections. Someone who could cut a deal.
"Awesome," Dean said. "You've done your homework. Unfortunately, there's still one damn question you haven't answered. Why the fuck are you here?"
Luc leaned back in his chair, quiet. Watching them squirm. Most people would've answered right away, but not this guy. He was cooler than that. Much cooler. The definition of self-control. Finally, when he sensed that they were about to lose their patience, he gave them an answer. "I'm here to by your freedom."
Freedom. Neither Dean nor Sam knew how that was possible, but that didn't stop Luc from sitting there, stoic, enjoying the power he had over them like an evil puppet master. He didn't smile, frown, or even blink. After several seconds of silence, he pulled out another folder, this one several inches thick and wrapped in a rubber band.
A single name appeared on the cover: Dr. Mark Crowley Sheppard.
"Gentlemen, I've been authorized by the Spanish government to make a once-in-a-lifetime offer. If you're willing to accept my term, they won't keep you in jail for your lifetime."
Sam grimaced at the pun. "Then, who do they want us to kill?"
Luc glared at him. "I'm not sure what you were used to doing for the MANIACs, but I can assure you that the CIA would never broker an assassination."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Are you sure? 'cause I can name at least twenty cases where the CIA was involved in the death of a key political figure - and that's not even counting the Kennedys."
"Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant. What is important is this: My proposal doesn't involve murder or illegal activities of any kind."
Dean remained skeptical. "Right. So what does it involve?"
"A missing person."
"Excuse me? They want us to find a missing person? And if we agree, they'll what? Let us walk?" Dean read the name on the manila folder. "Let me guess, Dr. Mark Crowley Sheppard?"
Luc nodded. "That's affirmative. We'd like you to find Dr. Crowley."
Dean sat there, waiting for more information. When it didn't come, he said, "And out of curiosity, who the hell is Dr. Crowley?"
His question was intended for Luc. But Sam stunned everyone by supplying the answer. "If I'm not mistaken, he's an archaeologist from England."
Luc glanced at Sam. "How did you know that?"
Sam sighed and said, "I saw Crowley on the History Channel. Seems to me he's a professor at Oxford or one of those fancy pants English schools. It might've been Hogwarts for all I know. Anyway, he was talking about the Roman Empire and how it influenced modern society."
Luc wrote a note to himself. "What else did you learn?"
"I never knew the Romans had indoor plumbing. I always thought -"
He cut him off. "I meant about Crowley."
"Oh, not much. They used his voice but he rarely appeared on screen. He was just the narrator."
Dean rubbed his eyes, trying to play catch-up. "Let me get this straight. Dr. Crowley is an English archaeologist, someone with enough credibility to teach at a world-famous university and narrate a special on the History Channel?'
Luc nodded, refusing to give additional information.
"OK, here's what I don't understand. What's the big emergency here? I mean, whey does the Spanish government want this guy so badly that they're willing to cut a deal with two prisoners? Furthermore, where does the CIA fit into this? Something just doesn't add up here."
Luc gave him a cold, hard stare, one that suggested he wasn't ready to lay his cards on the table. Nevertheless, Dean stared back, unwilling to back down. He'd been locked up for seventy-two hours and was sick of being jerked around. His aggressiveness paid off moments later when Luc leaned back in his chair and sighed. A long, drawn-out sigh. A sound that told Dean he had backed his prey into a corner, and he was about to surrender.
Luc stayed like that for a moment, like he was still trying to decide if it was the right thing to do. Finally, with reluctance on his face, he pushed the folder forward.
"Dr. Mark Crowley Sheppard is the most wanted criminal in Europe."
::::::::::
TBC
::::::::::
AN:
Morón Air Base - is located at 37°10′N 5°36′W in southern Spain, approximately 35 miles (56 km) southeast of the city of Seville and 75 miles (121 km) northeast of Naval Station Rota. The base gets its name from the nearby town of Morón de la Frontera. Morón's massive flight line, in-ground aircraft refueling system, long runway and prime location on the Iberian peninsula, close to theMediterranean and the Middle East, means the base is a vital link in any operation moving east from the United States.
Naval Station Rota - also known as NAVSTA Rota, (IATA: ROZ, ICAO: LERT) (Spanish: Base Naval de Rota), is a Spanishnaval base commanded by a Spanish Rear Admiral and fully funded by the United States of America. Located in Rota in the Province of Cádiz, near the town of El Puerto de Santa María, NAVSTA Rota is the largest American military community inSpain and houses US Navy and US Marine Corps personnel. There are also small US Army and US Air Force contingents on the base.
Torrejón Air Base - (Base Aérea de Torrejón de Ardoz) is a major Spanish Air Force base and a secondary civilian airport for Madrid Madrid-Torrejón Airport.
Strait of Gibraltar - is a narrow strait that connects the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea and separates Gibraltar and Peninsular Spain in Europe from Morocco and Ceuta (Spain) inAfrica. The name comes from the Rock of Gibraltar, which in turn originates from the Arabic Jebel Tariq (meaning "Tariq's mountain") named after Tariq ibn Ziyad. It is also known as the Straits of Gibraltar, or STROG (Strait Of Gibraltar), innaval use and as the "Pillars of Hercules" (Ancient Greek: αἱ Ἡράκλειοι στῆλαι) in the ancient world.
Luc, as you can see is Lucifer played by Mark Pellegrino. Golem on the other hand, is played by John DeSantis and a saboteur of Aaron Bass, a members of Men-of-Letters.
Source: Wikipedia.