A/N: Okay people, so after the kinda intense last chapter, this one will be more of a "let's see where we are" kinda thing.
As always, thanks to my wonderful beta!
I wait inside the car a little longer and only start it twenty minutes after the last vehicle has speed its way in the direction of the warehouse. By my experience I know that they'll be there a while, combing every inch of the area for clues. For the moment I try not to worry about what they may find since apparently, I have a direct line to their investigation. Of course that will depend on how much Delphine will be inclined to share with me.
Perhaps I've struck gold without realizing it. It appears that Delphine wants me right where I am, and maybe she'll be open to some negotiation, a little reciprocity that will put me in a privileged position. Even so, she'll have the upper hand. No matter the part she wants me to play, Delphine holds in her hand the instruments to make me bend to her will. My options will be very limited by what Delphine decides and, historically, I don't do well with being cornered.
I can already feel it, the fight looming in my head, the unyielding intransigence building in my spirit, even before Delphine has stated her conditions.
Before I reach the Holland Tunnel, I turn on my personal phone, having turned it off during the meeting at Sarah's request. She picks up at the second ringtone.
"Jesus Christ, Cosima, about time!" She greets me with a tense voice. "Where the hell are you?"
"On my way to New York," I answer. "I think I was able to shake them, but I want to be sure."
"So you got to the backup car?" Sarah asks, slightly more calm.
"Yeah," I reply. "But I don't want to go directly to the Estate. Gonna lay low in the city for a couple of days, make sure no one is onto me."
"Well, Daniel is not happy how shit went down," Sarah says, and I can imagine her saying this as she sits next to the man. She was evidently not happy about how Daniel handled himself throughout the whole ordeal, but she won't say anything straight to his face.
"We'll talk about it when I get back," I say, not wanting to get into it over the phone.
There was a leak. I know it isn't me or Sarah, and certainly not Daniel. The man has his flaws, but he would be the last to benefit from something like this. No one else on our team knew where we were going or what we were doing so, I don't know how it could've come from our end. Maybe the leak is on the Russians' side.
And yet immediately, my thoughts go to Delphine. She has the means to acquire the information, but I don't see how could she have the opportunity, since she hasn't been around during the arrangements for this meeting. Although, even that fact can be used against to support the theory that she could be involved. How convenient for her to be nowhere to be found while all this was going down? I wonder if these same thoughts are on Daniel's mind? If, after all the dust has settled, he starts to look for someone to blame, he'll make the same connection, and his suspicions will land on his beautiful and mysterious fiancée, who's been gone for weeks under the pretext of visiting family in Europe.
The address Delphine gave me is located in the Village, to my surprise. It's a four story building, recently painted in brick red, with a bookstore on the ground level, and a small coffee shop in the adjacent building. She's surrounded by middle class, young couples starting their lives together, and independent professionals. I take the elevator to the top floor, to find her door at the end of the corridor.
I was expecting another safe house, like the one I now know she took me to in Boston, but it seems I was wrong. This is Delphine's private home, and I see her everywhere the moment I open the door. The apartment itself is small, but the light palette of colors gives an elegant and clean look along with the illusion of space. The front door opens to the living room, walls painted in traditional white, with a long, black sofa facing a medium sized flat screen. A few pillows and a plaid blanket are draped over the back, all in several shades of light gray. The couch is bracketed by two small, glass top tables with a few books, and the TV remote. A matching desk is next to a sliding door that opens to a small balcony, and I push aside the thin, silver drapes to peek outside, noticing an ashtray resting on top of a small patio table, empty but not clean. I then turn my attention to the desk, where only a laptop sits with a pack of cigarettes next to it and a lighter. The top of the computer is down but it's in hibernation mode. When I open it, the screen prompts me for a password and I shut it, trying instead the white drawer cabinet under the desk, but that too is locked, requiring a key.
"Geez… where's the trust, Delphine?" I mumble to myself, stepping away.
I continue my snooping into her private life, scanning a couple of bookshelves that reveal her first passion. There are several books on art, mainly painting, but sculpting and photography, as well as studies of the classics. Another shelf is reserved for fiction, though not displayed in any particular order. Delphine holds a collection that ranges from French classic literature, to more recent American novels. Every book looks well worn and not there simply for display. On the walls there are a few frames, works in graffiti that actually bring a smile to my lips, that complements the spirit of the rest of decor.
This is Delphine's living space, decorated to her liking to provide comfort when she's at home. I can easily see her relaxing on the couch with a book in hand.
Her bedroom door is wide open, and I take a look inside to find her bed carefully made. The duvet is a surprising blue, like a cloudless sky, neatly folded. A large black and white painting of the most famous Parisian sight hangs on the white wall over her bed. I see a vanity and a closet in the same dark wood as her bed before I become self-conscious about invading her personal space and close the door.
I choose instead the kitchen. The appliances are modern, in shiny stainless steel, perfectly suited for a single person. The place is immaculate, save for a bowl and a spoon drying in the sink, probably from a quick breakfast before she left for the day. I open the fridge, and find it filled with fresh vegetables, and milk and eggs, certainly not what one has in storage if they've been gone for several weeks. In a box there are some deli products that I place on the counter and search the cupboard until I find whole wheat bread, kept among some dry pastas. The sandwich is my reward for this tedious day, and the hunger is starting to annoy me. Besides, who knows when she'll return. Opening the fridge, I grab a cold beer as well.
I finish eating in the kitchen, and take what's left of the beer to the living room. I suppose it's better I make myself comfortable.
Placing the bottle on the side table, I take off my coat, unbuckle my holster, and, after some hesitation, hang both on the hooks by the front door, it's probably as good place as any to leave it. I take off my boots as well, leaving them by the door, and padding across the hardwood floor to the couch, where I drop gracelessly, and prop my legs up while reaching for the remote.
I leave it on the news for a while, but there's no report of any type of suspicious activity happening in an abandoned industrial complex outside Jersey. Eventually, I lose interest and, having finished the beer, get more comfortable on the couch, the adrenaline rush from earlier has left me spent.
I wake up, startled by the noise of the doorbell, and rise with a groan to press the buzzer. While I wait for Delphine to reach the top floor, I search in the pocket of my jacket for my phone. It's almost 2am and I've been out for a good four hours. When I hear footsteps approaching, I open the door, and Delphine enters wordlessly, looking exhausted. She strips off her coat, and hangs it next to my own, raising a brow when she sees my gun.
"So, if I were to run the serial number on this, will I find it registered?" She asks, stepping out of her shoes.
"Ohh… it's registered, just not to me," I answer, following her first with my eyes before I follow after her. "It came from your fiancé's armory."
"What about a license? Do you have one of those?"
"Several. One for each alias," I respond, earning a side glance from her.
"And how many of those do you have?" There's a casualness in her tone, while she takes stock of the state of her living room. "Glad you made yourself at home," she adds, picking up the empty bottle that I left on the side table.
"I made a sandwich too," I comment, trailing her to the kitchen where she disposes of the bottle. "And I actually don't think I know how many identities I have, never bothered to count them."
"You're aware you've just confessed to several felonies to a federal officer, right?" Delphine says, leaning her hip against the balcony.
"Disregard that then, Special Agent Cormier." I half smile. "I guess I'm still trying to adjust to this new, totally weird reality."
She sighs deeply, and passes her fingers through blonde curls that seemed to have gained a life of their own. "It's too late for that, and I'm too tired to get into it."
I take a closer look. Delphine is back in civilian clothes; tight jeans and a thick sweater. Her posture is slumped, her usually proud shoulders appear to be carrying the weight of a very long day.
"Did you just leave there?" I ask, with genuine empathy over how tired she looks.
"Are you worried about what we found?" Delphine asks, narrowing her eyes at me. Even through the exhaustion, Delphine doesn't let her guard down.
I shrug, understanding that given the circumstances, her defensive reaction is not unexpected. "I was just thinking that maybe the feds are working you too hard."
"Like I don't know that," she snorts, her posture softening slightly as she brushes pass me to walk back to the living room.
"However…" I venture, continuing to follow her around and watching her grab the pack of cigarettes on top of her desk. "If you need to talk about it…"
This time Delphine laughs wholeheartedly. "You probably know more about what happened in there than I do," she stops to light the cigarette and opens the balcony door. "Since you were there and all."
I remain quiet while she smokes. Delphine's not expecting any sort of answer from me, her eyes are on the empty street, the air thick with the fog that rises from the river not far. She has a contemplative, distant look, bringing the cigarette to her lips, closing her eyes, and raising her head to expel a tendril of smoke.
"You know what I find curious?" Delphine only speaks when she stubs the cigarette out and walks back inside. "Aside from Daniel's, whose prints we have on file, we've only found two other sets that we were unable to identify and they were all over the place."
I replay the evening in my mind, remembering the confusion that ensued after the warehouse was stormed, and looking back at the table, finding it completely empty. Only one explanation comes to mind.
"They took it," I say as she lifts a brow. "They only touched a couple of things, and were fast enough to swipe them when they left."
"And the prints we've found?" She continues with certainty in her voice. "Yours and… Sarah's, I venture." Delphine looks at me for a confirmation that I'm not ready to give, despite the fact that she really doesn't need it. "Even more curious, is that I got a match on one of those same prints to a partial on a case of mine that remains unsolved." Another pause and I keep quiet, waiting for more information.
"You wouldn't know anything about a particular expensive painting going missing from a house in Washington?" Delphine tries me.
"Ohhh… a Renoir, if my memory serves me right. Quite an ugly thing" I answer, narrowing my eyes as if I'm trying to remember. "I'm afraid I have no idea where it is."
Delphine gives me an ugly look that I should really take more serious.
"Don't feel bad about it," I say, unable to keep the smirk from my lips. "It was some of my best work."
"That is not why I'm angry," she states, pressing her words.
"Didn't think it was," I shrug again.
"You know who that painting belongs to?" She asks with an edge.
"Like I said, I don't know where it is now, who has it..." I answer, slight confused by this line of questioning.
"The original, legal owner, Cosima!" She's clearly getting exasperated. "The Turkish Ambassador! That was his private residence you robbed."
"Technically, burglarized," I correct her with a finger in the air.
"Is that really what you want to focus on?" Delphine raises her brow, and the explosion is momentarily disarmed.
"If I'm gonna get arrested I want it to be for the right crime," I respond, and I really should be more careful with what I'm saying. To test Delphine's patience is probably not my best move, especially after such a long day for both of us.
"Considering your current position, lifting a painting is the least of your concerns," she says in a calmer tone. "And if I were to arrest you, I'd have done so by now, and obviously wouldn't have given you the keys to my home."
"I figured as much," I nod, my own temper dying down. I'm not giving Delphine enough credit for how much she's putting at risk just by getting me out of there. "So, what exactly are your plans for me?"
Delphine takes another deep breath, and I see the same doubts from earlier crossing her features when she caught me red-handed. "I'm not sure yet," she admits. "What I know is that I need a shower."
Without another word, she goes to the bathroom, leaving a sliver of the door open. I wait a moment until I hear water running and the door of the shower stall closing, before I approach the door, leaning against the wall next to it.
"What exactly have you told your… co-workers?" I ask through the opening.
"What do you mean?" I hear Delphine.
"Well… I'm assuming you didn't tell them about finding me earlier today, or you'd have a very hard time explaining why you didn't bring me in," I say with my head turned to the side and Delphine hums acknowledging my words. "But what about before that? Do they know who I am?"
"They know your name, and your accomplices, know that you're on the Websters' payroll" she answers, and I wince at her choice of words. "But they don't know we… have a history, if that's what you're wondering."
"What about Warsaw?" I ask, my mind racing with questions, and wondering when Delphine will shut me down like she's done in the past. "Do they know I was there? And what was the FBI doing there? Aren't they limited to act in the US?"
Delphine sighs loud enough for me to hear. "You are full of questions."
"Shit, this isn't even the tip of the iceberg," I comment, smirking to myself. "We could be here all night, and I'd still be confused."
"Maybe because you're not asking the right questions," she says. "They know you were in Warsaw, but they don't know we've… worked together. To the FBI, Oskar's notes were acquired after I sneaked into your bedroom when you were out," she goes on. "Which reminds me: you're not getting those back. On a positive note, I also haven't told them about our road trip so our host is off the hook."
Delphine pauses and I hear her fumbling with what I assume is the bottle of shampoo. " And I was in constant contact with Interpol. This is a joint effort by several countries." Delphine addresses my questions anyway, not appearing to be holding back. "They reached out to us when they got word that some Russian… undesirables were making moves, looking for someone in the States to help them out."
My mind is trying to process all that she's saying, while at the same time searching for new questions to take advantage of her fleeting honesty. "Help them out with what?" I ask, and instinctively start to open the door so I can look at her while we talk, but catch myself in time.
"Who the fuck knows?!" Delphine raises her voice a little bit, or maybe it just sounds louder after she turns off the water. "The Russians have their hands in so many cookie jars, that it's hard to follow." I hear her opening the shower door. "Interpol knows as little as we do. All they know is that they are bad news."
"Yeah… or they're not telling you everything they know," I comment, my ears picking up every little movement coming from inside the bathroom. "Law enforcement agencies are not exactly the best when it comes to share information, otherwise my work would be much harder."
"I've never had any problems regarding cooperation with other agencies," Delphine says just before she opens the door with nothing but a towel around her torso.
My brain falters momentarily, my eyes glued to Delphine's form as she passes by me, barefoot, with water still dripping from her long curls onto her well defined shoulders. "Have you…" I start after a small pause, but have to stop again to clear my voice, scolding myself for the lapse. "Have you worked with other agencies often?"
"Some times," Delphine answers, briefly looking at me over her shoulder, a small smirk on her lips. "Although things are not usually this tense. Of course I tend to be after art thieves and forgers, not Russian mobsters, so…" she says from the bedroom. "I was assigned to this operation because of my connection to the Webster family in the past. They figured it was easier for me to infiltrate them than a stranger."
"Ahhhh… thus the search for the illusive Renoir," I joke.
"Don't remind me!" She warns, and I'd be tempted to take it a little more serious if Delphine didn't have a hint of a smile on her lips when she returns dressed in pink boxers and a black tank top.
"Also, I feel like I should really explain why you've found that partial," I continue in a light tone and Delphine raises an amused brow at me. "See, usually I wouldn't have left a trace for you to find, but I didn't notice had a nick on my glove until it was too late."
"You think it's wise to try to impress me with how good a thief you are?" Delphine crosses her arms over her chest, looking pointedly at me, as she leans against the edge of her desk.
"I wouldn't say I'm trying to impress you," I chuckle. "But I've got a reputation to defend. Leaving a print behind is quite embarrassing."
"I would say your secret is safe with me, but I don't know if I'm not gonna have to use it against you in the future," she says, and I can see the glint in her eye, the calculated move she's making. Delphine's taking this conversation where she wants it to end, even if that was not her intention initially.
"And what is it that you want to keep this between us?" I take the bait, treading more carefully around the subject.
"Information," she states, raising her shoulders. "You have access to Daniel in ways I do not. You tell me all that you know, all that he relays to you in the future, and I forget your… past indiscretions."
"If I agree to that, what will you tell your friends when you have to justify how you had access to such information?" I ask cautiously.
"Unnamed source," Delphine answers without hesitation. "I understand you'd be worried about having your identity revealed, but I can assure you anonymity."
"Yeah… that's all great," I say, unconvinced by her promises. "But when this all blows over, mine and my partners names and activities are still in your file."
"I'm not in a position to grant you immunity, Cosima." Delphine speaks softly, I can see that she's treating this with the utmost importance. This is her goal, she wants me to confide in her all that I know. "Not yet, anyway. I can make no promises for the future. But you'd be doing the right thing."
"You're appealing to my morals now?" I challenge her, somewhat offended that she felt the need to make such statement.
I have no love for the man, owe him no loyalty, Delphine herself should know that by now. It's completely unnecessary for her to make that observation. I'd gladly deliver him on a silver platter, if not for the consequences that could fall back on me and my team. I don't need her to tell me what's right, I need her to assure me that I, and the others won't feel the backlash when the Websters fall.
"I'm appealing to your reason!" She counters, slightly exasperated. "We'll bring them down, it's just a matter of time, but with your assistance, it could be much faster." Delphine pauses for a moment, shaking her head. "When this is all over, I can intercede on your behalf, but you need to help me bringing them down. This is your chance to choose the winning side. I'm trying to help you."
"You're trying to use me. And if you were that close to catching them, you wouldn't be so desperate for my help," I rebuke. "Give me a reason to help you, give me assurances, and maybe I give you what you want."
"Okay! Fine!" Delphine says, her voice raising angrily. "I can take you to my boss, you can negotiate with the DA, have them write down a nice little agreement giving you some sort of immunity. I, or one of my colleagues become your official handler. Is that what you want? To make everything official? Because I can do that. What I can't do is give you both assurance and anonymity. You have to choose one of the two."
"Or I could just disappear, along with Sarah and Felix, and leave your kind dealing with this clusterfuck ," I say matter-of-factually.
Delphine looks hard at me, searching my expression for signs of the determination I don't truly feel. It's tempting, at the very least. If it weren't for the possibility that this mess could somehow connect to us, to Siobhan and whoever seems interested in bringing her down, that would've been my instinct. To drop the whole thing, cut our losses and call it a night.
"Do what you want, Cosima," Delphine shakes her head, in her eyes I can read the disappointment she doesn't bother to hide.
She doesn't threaten me with what she has on me, she doesn't make an allusion to her ability to have me arrested or make my life a lot more difficult. She just seems to give up. And this is what I find difficult to understand, the image doesn't match the woman I know. Maybe it's just the long day weighing on her, but I have a hard time associating an easy retreat to Delphine's usually stubborn character.
I watch her in silence for a while, trying to make sense of it, as she moves in the kitchen and prepares a sandwich for herself.
"Didn't you catch any of the Russians?" I put an end to the uncomfortable silence.
"Three of them, none of yours," she answers without turning to me, her voice devoid of emotion. "They seem to be the muscle."
"Any with a broken nose?" I ask, and this makes her turn around, finally facing me in confusion. "Cause you met him in Warsaw," I explain, swinging a fist through the air. Her reaction is to simply hum, and I clear my voice awkwardly. "Have any of them talked? Do you know who they work for?"
"They are refusing to answer questions," Delphine replies curtly.
"That can't be very helpful," I comment thoughtfully. "What about the airfield?" I continue to try to engage her in any sort of conversation, but Delphine seems to have shut down. "Do you even know where they landed?"
"Why the fuck do you care?" Delphine's words are hostile, but her voice never raises.
"Are you trying to shame me into helping you?" I ask, indignant.
"No," she comes closer and I can see the spark of anger just beneath the surface, not yet fully ignited, but requiring just a little more heat. "But the fact that you're feeling ashamed for not helping me means there's still hope for you."
"Hey! I'm just looking out for myself and my people!" I justify, but I can see by the twist of her mouth that she's reading it as an excuse.
"You're being a self-serving asshole," she accuses, the spark of anger flashing again.
"Like you're being any better," I recklessly challenge. "You're trying to use me for your benefit."
"To catch the bad guys!" She corrects me in an instant. "And you not helping me, is making you one of them." Delphine pauses and shakes her head again, her gaze disengaging. "I thought you were better than this, Cosima," she adds in a lower voice.
"This doesn't affect only me, Delphine," her words make me bend a little, but not break. "I can't make this decision on my own."
"Well, I can't give you what you want on my own either, so…" she exhales and steps back, understanding the impasse we're both in.
"Wait," I murmur, holding her wrist weakly before she gets too far. Delphine eyes me with surprise, apparently convinced we had hit a wall. "I need to talk to someone. I may be able to give you another answer then," I say a little louder when she gives me her attention. "But I need to tell them who you are, and who you work for."
Delphine's golden eyes pin me down, scrutinizing, assessing all alternatives, for all I know. It doesn't last more than ten seconds, but she uses that time to carefully make her choice. "Do you trust this person?" She then asks.
"With my life," I don't hesitate.
"Bon…" she whispers and nods. Our agreement complete.
It won't be as easy to convince Siobhan. As long as I've known her, she has seen law enforcement not exactly as an enemy, but still an adversary that we must avoid at all cost. For us to cooperate with the FBI, even if off the record, and solely in the person of Delphine, is to go against her more basic instincts. It falls on my shoulders the responsibility to make it happen, and, perhaps, this time she'll be more receptive to such an arrangement. Who knows? This could actually help us uncover who's behind all the problems we've been having. And still, after all this reasoning, I believe convincing Siobhan will not be an easy task.
"Bon," I mimic Delphine's words, at last the tension starting to dissipate. "Now, if you don't mind," I continue, finally releasing her arm that she never made an effort to recover, and step away from her, "I'm gonna have to use your shower." I say, crossing the living room, and unceremoniously pulling my shirt over my head, to drop it on the couch on my way to the bathroom.