Back over to the CIA for a bit before KP and Ron commence their final approach!

Hope you enjoy!

Richard Melbourne stared across the table at his assembled staff. One assistant deputy director, three officers, two special agents, and half a dozen administrative assistants and other support staff members filled the conference room to capacity.

"First off, folks, I want to thank you for your hard work over the past few weeks. We've had quite an interesting run, and all of you have performed exceptionally. Without your hard work, it is very possible that the President and or princess could have been severely injured."

Melbourne's face became more serious as he continued. "Unfortunately, because of the unpopular media attention, coupled with some other factors I am not totally at liberty to discuss, we have been asked not to work with Kim Possible and her associates for the foreseeable future. And let me be quite clear when I say 'not work with', I mean absolutely no contact. I don't want so much as a phone call made. I know it sounds harsh, but this directive comes directly from the National Security Advisor, so I expect that all of you will act accordingly."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Jack Brigsby mumbled from his seat to Melbourne's right.

Melbourne glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. "I thought you had finally realized how important Mr. Stoppable was to the operation."

"Realized, yes. Like him, no."

Melbourne sighed heavily. "Fair enough." He paused for a moment, a bit irritated he'd had to call together his entire staff for such a simple announcement. He tried to think of something else worthwhile he could do with them so that the meeting would at least have something that resembled a productive outcome, but his mind was blank. "All right folks, that's all I have. Mr. Brigsby and Mrs. Carter, if you'll stay behind, the rest of you can get back to work.

The room filled with quiet murmurs of acknowledgement, and the members slowly filed out of the rear door, most grateful that they could return to productive work. The last man to leave quietly shut the door, leaving Melbourne, Brigsby, and Assistant Deputy Director Catherine Carter alone.

"Mr. Brigsby, Mrs. Carter and I found your after-action report, shall I say, most interesting?" Melborune said softly as he pulled a copy of the paper out of his leather briefcase.

"I tried to be as factual as possible, sir. As you can tell, I do not believe that Mr. Stoppable brought onboard any special skills which could not have been found in an agent or military officer. Even a cadet from one of the service academies, perhaps, if you really wanted someone in her age group."

"That is all well and good, Jack," Carter began, her voice far more forceful than Melbourne's almost soothing tone, "but you continued on. You harpooned this young man's character, criticized the decisions of your superiors, and you do not, at any point, recognize the complete and total success of the operation."

"To address your last point first, ma'am, I did note that the operation was successful. I just stated that had we used an agent rather than an incompetent outsider, we would have completed the operation with far lower risk and without many of the headaches we had. Do I really need to remind you that we made the front page of every major newspaper on the West Coast?"

"Most of them seem to realize that their initially harsh criticism of the operation was ill-founded. The LA Times even sent me a formal letter of apology," Melbourne said.

"And last time I checked, the editor at the LA Times was not trained in intelligence, law enforcement, security, or any other subject that would give his opinion credence in this matter."

"The point is not his credibility, it is ours," Carter countered. "By retracting their statements, the paper restores our credibility in the public eye."

"I see that my opinion is not counting for much," Brigsby replied sourly.

"Plus, you still haven't accounted for your lambasting of Ron Stoppable," Melbourne said accusingly.

"If you had spent the amount of time with him I did, you would understand."

"I rather liked him the one time I met him," Carter commented. "Reminded me a bit of my oldest son back when he was in high school."

"My deepest sympathies, ma'am," Brigsby said, his face dead serious. Carter glared at him angrily but held her tongue. She knew that Melbourne was unhappy, and that his words would carry more weight.

"Mr. Brigsby," Melbourne spit out in a surprising fit of anger, "Ronald Stoppable did his job perfectly, and you have the nerve to not just criticize him, but to utterly tear apart his character, citing every possible flaw you could find within him."

"I assure you, compared to what I could have written, those words were quite kind. The kid is clueless. He's like a walking shell of a human being... the body is there, the brain isn't. You asked me to teach him etiquette, and I did... it took days. Things that normally take minutes took hours. He constantly had some ill conceived comment to make, and his insistence on bringing a hairless rat around wherever he went was unusual and unpleasant to say the least."

"He's eighteen," Carter said bluntly.

"Eighteen might mean inexperienced. It doesn't have to mean stupid."

"He is not stupid," Melbourne coughed, a flash of anger crossing his normally tranquil face.

"He ate caviar... with his hands!" Brigsby exclaimed. "He hit himself in the head with a phone. He-"

"Saved the life of the President of the United States," Melbourne interjected. "I'm ordering that you review your report."

"It is my report. You can write an amendment to it in order to explain your objections, sir." The last word of his sentence was decidedly sour, the tone itself a challenge to Melbourne's authority.

"I don't think you understand, Mr. Brigsby. This document will likely be declassified in relatively short order as nothing within it contains materials that are considered sensitive. When that happens, the press will be lining up to read it. We will not; we can not allow this inaccurate image of internal dissent and incompetence to be portrayed to the public. It would be bad enough if it was true."

"Sir, this is the truth, and I believe what you are asking me to do as falsify a document."

"Nothing of the sort. I'm asking you to withhold personal opinions based on your difficulty working with Mr. Stoppable prior to the beginning of the Princess' visit. I want you to focus on his performance following her arrival, and I want this revised document done in 24 hours." Melbounre laid his big palms on the table before him, looking at Brigsby with an iron gaze. "You are not going to tear apart the professional life of this young man before it begins because of your personal feelings."

"Who is being personal now, sir?" Brigsby countered. "You are worried that if this was publicized, it could adversely affect him. That doesn't seem to be something you should be concerned about if your goal is objectivity."

"Since when am I not concerned about the welfare of those I work with?" Melbourne asked.

"Since the National Security Advisor said you couldn't be."

"This is not what she meant."

"Can you be sure?"

Melbourne stood up, towering over Brigsby. "Listen carefully, Agent Brigsby. That document is inadequate. If you fail to make the appropriate changes, I'll be forced to explain to the Director why one of my staff took it upon himself to write a work of fiction and submit it to the National Security Council. Needless to say, you won't be around here for long."

"Mr. Melbourne, I stand by my assertions, but if you deem it necessary, I will make the appropriate changes. However, I will request that the original document be kept on an internal file for records purposes and classified as needed."

"Fair enough. The copy that will be publicly released has to be clean, but there is nothing that says we can't keep an additional document internally offering a different viewpoint. However, it will not be in any way, shape, or form considered official."

"Understood, sir."

"But, and I ask this out of personal curiosity, not in my role as deputy director, what is it about this young man that makes you're reaction towards him so venomous ?"

"Sir, this boy is what his peers call a loser... he's a social outcast lacking in the basic skills required for someone to be an effective member of society, not to mention lacking in intelligence, dexterity, culture, and much more... at least when compared to other young agents I've worked with. I cannot make an accurate comparison between him and other kids his age, but heaven help us if there are many like him."

"Tell him to reduce the collective further and allow the helicopter to descend at around five hundred feet per minute." Wade's voice was beginning to sound a bit stressed, the reality of how dangerous the next few minutes would be on his mind. It still sounded far better than Kim's voice. She had spent the majority of the trip relaying commands from Wade to Ron, yelling over the constant whine of gas turbines and beating of rotor blades. Her throat was now sore, her vocal chords strained.

"Ron," she said, looking at her pilot, "Wade says to decrease the collective and start going down at about five-hundred feet per minute."

"Decreasing collective," Ron said slowly as he smoothly adjusted a lever. Kim felt the helicopter start to drop, accelerating rapidly downward. It then shuddered slightly before the descent slowed. Kim looked over at Ron and saw his eyes wide with surprise, having apparently startled himself with the abrupt loss of altitude.

"When you are at about one hundred feet, you gotta slow your descent in order to land nice and gently... in front of the submarine." Wade typed on his computer for a moment, than returned his full attention to Kim. "The sea is pretty calm, so as long as Ron touches down gently, you should be ok."

"That's good news," Kim said. At least something was going their way.

The black submarine was looming larger now, and Kim peered through her binoculars again, trying to determine if anyone was watching them. Oddly enough, no one seemed to be above deck. Normally, a submarine would have at least a lookout, but Drakken's submarine could have passed for abandoned were it not for the churned up wake that streamed around it's hull as the small diesel sub plowed forward. With the lack of a sentry in mind, Kim decided it would be best to try and get close to the submarine before leaving the helicopter.

"Ron, try and put us down about five hundred yards off the bow," Kim said. "Not directly in front of it," she added. She hoped that would be obvious to Ron, but had learned never to count on his common sense.

"What," Ron shot back.

"Land four football fields away from the front end. A little off to one side."

"Gotcha covered, KP. We are going down."

"Rephrase please."

"We're going in."

"Ron!"

"What?"

Kim shook her head and looked away from Ron, mentally calculating how she was going to make her next move. If Wade was right about the speed of the submarine, which she had confidence he was, and Ron put the helicopter down where it was supposed to go, which she had many more concerns about, they would have roughly thirty seconds until the bow passed them...

They were now barely 50 feet off the surface, and Ron had increased power slightly as Wade had instructed him, slowing the helicopter's rate of descent. Kim looked out the window, the dark shape of the submarine growing ever larger. The small waves themselves grew as the chopper drifted lower, its massive rotor was kicking up tremendous amounts of spray. The helicopter seemed to be coming down too fast, something Kim could tell Ron noticed as well. He began to add power, but by then it was too late.