Between the Lines – Chapter 5
Disclaimer- Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, the WB own Roswell and all connected characters. Cameron, Eglee, and Fox own Dark Angel and all her characters. There's part of a scene here that I couldn't remember how the conversation went exactly, but I paraphrased to the best of my ability and added in some things.
I own my little muse, a red dragon who had now been named Jareth. So blame or sue him if you have any problems. J/k
The J. Edgar Hoover building, still a bulwark of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and a symbol of America before terrorists set of a electromagnetic pulse bomb off the Western Coast and plunged the United States into an instant third world country over night, stood proud and regal in her resting place in Washington, DC.
The signs of improvement and the economy getting back on its feet was evident in the determined strides of businessmen and common people turned businessmen and women bustling about. The East Coast hadn't been affected so drastically, and their comeback was steadily and surely bringing the rest of the country back on its feet.
The J. Edgar Hoover building saw some of the most activity, as agents and field officers, consultants and civilian contractors bustled in and out of the pristine glass doors. The building fairly sparkled as the contractors fought to erase the graffiti and glass and debris that a broken world had accumulated since the Pulse of '09.
Inside the busily humming building, in one of its deepest recesses, there stood a wing of offices that were blocked in by bulletproof glass and a sign that read
RESTRICTED:
Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point.
Here were some of the few remaining working laboratories, complete with forensics, anthropological, medical examiner, and coroner facilities. It was here also that a short, balding man with a Patrick Stewart-esque hairstyle and a dark, bushy full beard and mustache that matched his lingering hair. His deep brown eyes were the color of caramel and Hershey kisses, but were void of any warmth the comparison might have. They were squinted under equally bushy eyebrows as he scowled down at the report in front of him.
One of those 'blue ear' hands free phone headsets was attached to one ear, and he was currently yelling at someone on the other end. The scientist 'squints' of the underground laboratories cringed and ducked into other labs, shutting the doors, wincing in sympathy for whoever was on the other end of the conversation.
"You are interrupting and taking chances with my investigation, Ms. Topolsky! This won't happen again or I'll yank you so fast from the field you won't even know your butt was now sitting at a different desk!"
With an agitated jerk of his hand the irate FBI agent hung up his phone and glared down at the multiple pages of the report in front of him. There was so much technical jargon and charts and graphs and spikes and who knows what else that didn't make sense to anyone without four PhD's that he tossed it irritably on the desk in front of him.
The one thing he did know was one thing was for certain: the D.N.A. testing had come back and there were traces of what he'd termed 'what we're looking for'. He didn't pay attention to the other half of the report, already focused on one thing, and left his office to prepare to keep an eye on his erstwhile field agent. He didn't even pay attention as his assistant entered his office and took a glance at that report.
The assistant casually flipped through the report, and froze, momentarily forgetting to breathe. His breath came faster and his heart pounded in time as he read through the full report and discovered what his boss, Agent Pierce, had neglected. Heart beating erratically, he left the office, taking the report with him, and found a secluded and isolated room in which he placed a phone call.
"Hello, this is Agent Colby. Patch me in to Colonel Lydecker. I think I found one of his kids." There was a pause, then, "Yeah, I'm faxing it on over to you right now."
The jacket on the report the agent held read Parker, Liz, Roswell, New Mexico.
Manticore undercover Agent Colby was found three hours later in that room, his neck twisted at an awkward angle, eyes surprised and unseeing. There was nothing around the body but the agents who found him thought it odd that it seemed as if the fax machine had been used. Tests later proved that the machine's memory had been wiped, as well as all fingers or D.N.A. traces on the body and the machine, and Colby's cell phone and wallet were missing.
Outside in Washington, D.C., while the city prepared itself for sleep, a lone figure sat in the top floor of the abandoned Washington Memorial, overlooking the sunset and city.
The figure dialed a number from memory on the confiscated phone and waited out the rings for the connection. In his free hand dangled the purloined FBI report. The phone was answered on the second ring.
"It's Zane. Listen big brother; get down to Roswell, New Mexico, immediately. I think Manticore found one of our sisters."
Duh-duh-dun! Left you hanging didn't we? Jareth and I are so ebil, lol.
