Vetting Process

"Hey Jesse." The silver-haired Navy Seal got up to shake the ex-counter-intelligence agent's hand. "Thanks for coming down for this."

Jesse shrugged as he dropped into the chair. "Not like I got a lot else going on right now."

Sam winced. "Still no luck on the job search, huh?"

"I tell you, man." Jesse shook his head. "Help a fugitive from the law one time—"

"Actually we kinda did that twice." Sam pointed out.

"—okay, fine, help a fugitive branded as a traitor TWO times—"

"Three times, really, if you count the whole thing in South America where we didn't know we'd been branded as traitors." Sam mused.

"-okay, three times—"

"Plus, I suppose technically, when you first lost your job and were branded as a traitor, you came around to help Mike, who was also considered a traitor at the time, so really it's four..."

"—screw up a couple times, and it seems like the CIA never forgets it." Jesse sighed and slumped back in his chair. "I mean, I've gotten some offers from security sub-contractors and so forth—there's this McQuaid Security headhunter who's been on my case—but I don't know, man, the private sector just isn't for me."

"Not even Stark Industries?"

Jesse snorted. "Yeah, I'm totally at superhero profile level." At Sam's look he sighed. "No, not even Stark Industries. I dunno, it just seems so mercenary. And Stark... man, he's a genius and all, but honestly from what I see on newsreels, he's not the sort of boss I'd take a shine to." Jesse blew the air out of his mouth and rubbed his eyes. "Unemployment sucks."

"Eh." Sam nodded. "Well, I hear you there, I can't get a legitimate career to save my life either."

"Oh, poor baby." Jesse's frown turned to a smirk. "Look at the sad little sugar daddy running destitute on his girlfriend's savings."

Sam adopted a wounded expression. "Hey, I'll have you know it's pretty damn emasculating."

"Uh-huh. 'cause being a boy-toy always bothered you before."

Sam smirked and gave a little shrug. "Don't knock the life until you've tried it, brother." The smile faded. "But that aside, I want to be a bit more than a 'boy-toy' to Elsa. I mean, that girl practically gave up everything for me. Seems like I ought to be able to do more than just keep her warm at nights."

Jesse nodded. "Fair enough." He leaned back. "So. Sounds like we both could use this job. What'd you say it was?"

"Honestly not sure." Sam checked his watch. "One of my old war buddies set up the meet. Didn't give specifics, just said it was someone who had a little problem they couldn't afford to take to the usual suspects."

"Ah. That's us. Bargain value secret agents." Jesse nursed his drink and looked morose. "Hey, think we might actually get paid this time?"

Sam shrugged. "A man can dream."

"Sam Axe? And Jesse Porter?"

Both men looked up. A tall, statuesque asian woman, eyes hidden behind shades, had come up to their table and was staring at them imperiously. A tall, dark-skinned man with muttonchops and close-cropped hair flanked her, and met their gazes with a smile.

"Oh, if I wasn't married..." Sam muttered.

"You're not." Jesse looked at his friend in confusion.

Sam glared at him, extended a hand to the woman, and smiled. "That's us, beautiful. May I take it you're our client, then?"

A muscle in the woman's neck twitched, but she nodded and slid into a seat. "My name is May," she said crisply, as the dark-skinned man sat next to her. "Melinda May. Information Broker. I was informed you have the requisite skills to... handle a certain problem that has arisen."

"Just call us the local Robin Hoods." Sam smiled. "We love helping damsels in distress."

Another twitch. Jesse caught the eye of the dark-skinned man, he seemed quietly amused by something.

"As I said, I am an information broker." May said, speaking with apparent calm. "Situations are not uncommon in my line of work, but previously I have always been able to defuse them. Recently, however, I stumbled across a bit of intel that... seems to have drawn me some unwanted attention."

"What kind of information?" Jesse asked.

A thin snort. "If I just gave out information for free, I wouldn't be much of a broker, now would I?"

"You might be a dead one." Jesse suggested. Sam threw him a dark glare.

May studied him for a moment. "Design specifications." She finally said. "From a defunct corporation, called Cybertek. Heard of it?"

"Can't say I have." Jesse shook his head.

"They're rather... thoroughly out of business," there was a twist to the woman's mouth, "so I doubt they're the problem. But I've been routinely harassed by other agents." The woman brought up her phone and cycled through some images of suit-clad men with SMG's.

Sam was frowning. "If you're expecting us to fight a war for you, lady..."

"No, of course not." The woman shook her head. "I just need you to find out who they are." Another image, this of a map with a highlighted section. "I know they operate out of this facility." She produced a thumbdrive. "Infiltrate the facility, and plug this into the computer. I should be able to take it from there."

Jesse exchanged a troubled look with Sam, who looked none too happy himself. There was something very strange about this mission...

Apparently the woman saw it. "In return, I am willing to pay you each 50,000 dollars cash, plus expenses."

Both men's faces quickly cleared. "Sounds good." Sam answered, picking up the drive. "Jesse and I will scope the place out and figure out the best plan of attack."

"One thing more." May held up a hand. "This is Mr. Tripp." She indicated the dark-skinned man, who nodded at the two of them pleasantly. "He's an associate of mine. In order to ensure that everything proceeds smoothly and in a manner I would wish, he will accompany you."

Both Jesse and Sam looked very troubled again. "Ma'am, no disrespect, but Sam and I..." Jesse gestured. "...we've worked together a lot, and we've got a sort of rhythm. To stick someone new into that..."

"It's not negotiable." May stood up. She dropped two envelopes on the table. "Here is half your agreed payment. You'll receive the other half upon completion. Tripp will know how to contact me when that is done."

And with that, she walked away from the table.

"Well, whoever they are, they certainly are careful." Jesse grumbled. He and Tripp were in a car a safe distance away from the suspicious warehouse. "There's gotta be no less than six security cameras covering the front alone, and that's even without the two curiously well-groomed homeless guys with suspiciously good angles on the street."

"Those doors don't look like easy hits either." Tripp frowned.

Another car pulled up alongside them. "So, I made the rounds." Sam said, leaning out the windows. "Not a lot I could figure out. These guys keep a pretty low profile, but when they do pop up, they tend to scare people silent."

"You find anything useful?" Jesse threw him a look.

"Barry, as usual." Sam answered. "He didn't work with them—said they were too scary, and he got the feeling they were the 'tie up loose ends' sort of organization, so he forwarded them onto some other guy."

"You talk to this other guy?"

"He's dead."

Jesse winced. "Ouch. Looks like Barry's instincts were right for once. Too bad about his friend."

"Actually, that's part of the thing. Apparently Barry couldn't stand this guy." Sam grinned a little. "Doesn't make it any less creepy, though. Hell, Tripp, who did your boss piss off?"

Tripp gave the man a quizzical look. "Isn't that what you guys were supposed to figure out?"

"Rhetorical question." Sam sighed. "Anyway, Barry said they were a bunch of big guys in suits. Leader's was the kind of preppy white guy who smiles too much. They said they wanted help moving money in and out of an account in Cuba."

"Cuba?" Jesse's eyebrows jumped. "Sure it wasn't a Cayman islands or Swiss bank account? Cuban banks are not the choice of the discerning miscreant."

"Positive." Sam nodded. "That's exactly why Barry remembered, because of how weird it was. Heck, man, I didn't even know they HAD banks in Cuba."

"Certainly none that gangsters tend to use." Jesse frowned. "So... we're not looking at a cartel or mob here. We're looking at spies."

Sam shook his head. "That doesn't make much more sense. Any spy agency worth their salt would have dummy accounts and assets already to go. Or they'd have people back in Moscow or wherever to set it up for them."

"So these are rogues." Jesse hypothesized. "They've broken off from their main agency, and now they're in the spy-for-hire business."

Sam looked at the warehouse. He looked back at Jesse. He leaned back and sighed. "Damnnit..." He groaned. "I hate spies. Buncha bitchy little girls."

"Look, it's all good, man." Jesse shrugged. "I still got some buds in the CIA, we'll drop a line to them about Cuban spies setting up shop in Miami, they take care of the heavy lifting for us."

"No federal agencies." Tripp spoke up suddenly. "If my boss had wanted the CIA involved, she would have gone to them herself."

Sam and Jesse sent him a look. "Your boss hired us to find out who was hunting her. We found out."

"She hired you to place a flash drive in their systems so she could verify who they were." Tripp shook his head. "Not make a bunch of half-assed guesses based on what some money launderer said."

Sam's eyes narrowed at the man. "Did you see the security on that front door? Short of a

tank, we're not getting in there. I prefer not dying. Besides, this is a bit beyond your boss now."

"She paid you to place the flash drive." Tripp insisted. "I can't guarantee the rest of your payment if..."

"Sorry, man, but we're going to have to forego that bit." Jesse was also shaking his head. "Much as I need the cash, national security threat trumps next month's laundry money."

"Then this is where I get off." Tripp opened the car door and stepped out. "If you change your mind, this is where I'll be."

"We'll tell the CIA assault team to keep an eye out." Sam smirked, and he and Jesse drove off.

"What the hell?" Sam's face was knit in fury. They were at a more upscale bar, now, in downtown Miami. "We come to you with a credible international threat, and you give us this bullshit?"

Andrew Strong, on the other side of the table, spread his hands apologetically. "Hey, I believe you guys, but Miami's not my purview. I passed your tip on to my superiors, along with my recommendation that it be taken seriously, but..."

"...they sent back 'mind your own business?'" Jesse didn't look any happier than Sam. "Seriously?"

"More like 'if there was a threat there, we'd know about it.'" Andrew let out a heavy sigh. "Look, it's... things have changed since you guys left the agency, okay? A lot of our intel is run through this 'Decima Technologies' group, and the top brass think the moon and stars of what they give out."

Jesse seemed to consider. "I suppose our tip was awfully vague."

"Still, doesn't the CIA doesn't take tips anymore?" Sam demanded.

"Sure they do." Andrew was clearly uncomfortable. "Look, I don't get it either. But my boss said they looked into your tip and found it non-credible."

"How could they have done that?" Sam snapped. "We just told you yesterday!"

"Whoah, Sam." Jesse placed a hand on Sam's shoulder to calm him down. "Take it easy on the guy, okay? You know what it's like to get stonewalled by the Man."

Sam's shoulders slumped. "I know." He sighed. "I just... I guess I was hoping we could win some points with the agency for this. Now we just probably look more desperate and unreliable than ever."

"For what it's worth, I'm still going to bat for you guys." Andrew looked somewhat relieved that they weren't blaming him anymore. "But I used up most of my favors just keeping you out of prison. And honestly..." He hesitated, "...like I said, things have been... different in the agency. Ever since that whole mess with SHIELD there's been a lot more oversight—checks and reports and supervisory committees and spies spying on spies spying on spies..." A shake of the head. "Some days I have a hard time remembering why I joined the CIA in the first place."

"Ouch." Jesse eyed the man. "Thanks for the pep talk, man. I feel so much better."

Andrew mustered a smile. "Anything to help." He got up from the table. "Well, I need to get back to it. Sorry I couldn't come with better news for you guys. Don't mind the tab, I'll take care of it."

"Okay." Jesse said, as the CIA agent walked off. "So what's Plan B?"

"This was plan B." Sam grunted, nursing his drink. "Plan C is to go back to Plan A. But to do that, we're going to need more resources."

"Shit." Sam's old SEAL buddy, Vergil, lowered the binoculars as he gazed out the window of the car. "Well, direct assault's a no-go, I can tell you that."

"Yeah, we figured that too." Sam chewed his lip. "But getting an 'in' with these guys doesn't seem too doable either. Maybe we mount a distraction on the left while another squad blows in through the right?"

Jesse shook his head. "It'd need to be one hell of a distraction, man. We got barely enough firepower to consider even a single assault."

Sam sighed. "I wish Mike were here." He muttered. "He'd have some plan."

"Or Fiona." Jesse mused. "She'd have some firepower."

"Or Madeline." Vergil looked wistful. "She'd have some..." He let the sentence trail off.

There was a moment's melancholic silence.

"Sorry about it, gents, but you're going to have to make do with me." All three men jumped and swiveled as Tripp opened the door to the car. "Sam. Jesse." He nodded pleasantly, sliding into the back. "Thought you might be back. What's the new plan?"

"You guys always have such elaborate plans?"

"Elaborate?" Jesse glanced over at Tripp. It was night now, and the two were sitting with Virgil in a beat-up SUV in the exact same spot as before. "Man, you think this is elaborate, you should have seen some of the stuff we did back with the old gang."

Tripp shrugged. "Just seems like this whole gambit with Sam pulling some 'Chuck Finley' double-agent routine is unnecessary."

"Hey, let the man do his thing, a'right?" Jesse threw the man a look. "Sam can be annoying as hell sometimes, but he can pull a con off like nobody's business."

Vergil, who was scanning the front with binoculars, snorted. "Don't know where he learned that." He muttered. "SEAL training doesn't leave much room for acting classes."

"I get the feeling most of his theatrical training was done in bars and dining halls." Jesse chuckled.

"He a pick-up artist?" Tripp grinned.

"Artist is stretching a point. Ladies' man maybe. He can make most women believe whatever he wants them to." Jesse's shoulders gave a light shrug. "He's just not always so good at knowing what they want to believe."

Tripp shook his head. "What's the story behind how you two met?"

"Forget about us for a second." Jesses eyes were deceptively calm, his gaze hooded. "What's your story, Tripp?"

"Me?" Tripp chuckled. "Gun for hire. End of story."

"Oh please." Jesse scoffed. "Have some respect for my intelligence here, man."

"You crept up to a car with two Navy Seals in it, and none of us noticed you until you opened the door." Vergil lifted the binoculars for a moment to give the man a pointed look. "I'm not naturally paranoid, but that makes me wonder."

"Then I must be naturally paranoid, because I don't have to wonder." Jesse cut in. "You're ex-black-ops of some kind. Accent doesn't seem feigned, so you're American, most likely CIA. A spec ops soldier would have tats of some kind."

"Have more muscle, too." Vergil pointed out. "No offense, Jesse, but you intelligence boys are scrawny."

Jesse rolled his eyes but continued addressing Tripp. "Then there was that bit with the plan. Sam's first idea to go in as a CIA insider was good, and then suddenly you speak up and say, no, that won't work, you don't think these guys'll go for CIA secrets. And I ask why not and you clam up. Instead you suggest a genetics researcher, and whadaya know, they eat it up." Jesse pointed at Tripp. "No way that was a lucky guess. You know something that you're not sharing, and that's the sort of stunt that can get folks killed."

"So," Jesse shifted position, bringing his pistol into plain view, "before I call up Sam and give him the final go-ahead, there's one point I'd like to clear up." His gaze was hard and fixed on the man. "You're too expensive to be a supervisor. And you're too knowledgeable about the situation to be a gun-for-hire, and you're just not helpful enough to be an advisor. But you're just the right mixture to be the guy who arranges for someone to kill his enemies, and then shoots that someone in the back."

Tripp raised his eyebrows. "Wow, you are paranoid."

"Nope. Just raised in Counter-Intelligence." Jesse gave a thin-smile. "Makes me second-guess everything."

"Fair enough." Tripp shrugged. "Tell you what. I'll take point, you two run behind me. That way you can keep your eye on me, and I'm the only one likely to get shot in the back."

"That still leaves that awkward interval after the battle when you could slip into the shadows and garrote one of us." Jesse glared.

An exaggerated eye roll. "So don't drop your guard after the battle. I can't do your whole job for you. Anyway, do you have some kind of choice? I was under the impression that you needed all the manpower you could get."

Jesse glared at him for a few seconds longer before dropping the look. "Fine." He picked up the phone. "Sam, move in."

Tripp smiled. "Glad we could come to an agreement."

"Just so long as your boss holds up on that distraction we asked her to arrange." Jesse answered. He still didn't look happy.

"Sam's up." Vergil said suddenly, as a black sedan pulled up to the front. Dropping the binoculars, he picked up one of the M-16's in the back. "Better get ready."

All three watched as suited men took Sam out of the car, searched him, and then marched him inside.

"You're sure your boss is going to come through on the distraction?" Jesse repeated.

"Dude." Tripp looked at him. "Seriously. Chill. It can't come too soon or it'll be way too suspicious."

"Well, they can't come too late either, or..."

The smash of a glass bottle drew their attention. Off to the side, in the road by the warehouse, two men were arguing. As they argued, others began to appear from the shadows and form on either side of the quarrel.

"Your boss's diversion is a gang war?" Vergil asked in disbelief, as the first punch was thrown.

"Gang war?" Tripp looked at the older man. "That's a flash mob, man. Most of those people are east-side hipsters who think they're engaging in a post-ironic depiction of modern-age obsession with violence."

"Son-of-a-bitch." Jesse shook his head, as more men in suits began to appear by the front doors. "Your boss thought of this?"

"Technically, a girl she has working for her." Tripp shrugging, picking up the backpack at his feet. "Say, are we ready to blow a hole in the back part of the wall? Because, all else aside, half of that mob is the waistcoat devotee crowd, and the other half is the sweater devotee crowd, so things could get sort of messy."

Jesse shook his head, but he could not help smiling as he got out of the car.

"Nice job, Axe." Tripp looked about the remains of what had been the control center. "Had to admit, I was worried this was going to turn into a hostage scenario, but you really came through."

"The boss is still around somewhere." Sam was breathing hard, and the glasses he had put on for his role were somewhere smashed on the floor, but he looked well enough. "Went outside with the others."

"That mob sounds like it's dying down." Vergil observed, glancing to the door. "He could be back any minute."

"Then let's get this done." Tripp said, pulling the flash drive from his pack.

"Hey, hold on a second there, Delta force." Sam raised his hand. "You've got some explaining to do."

"Yeah." Jesse nodded. "Among other things, where you learned to clear a room like that. I think I barely fired my gun."

Sam ignored him. "These guys weren't Cubans or Russians or whatever, they were Americans! Part of some... domestic terror cell, I guess. I heard them talking, they've got more places like this in other towns, kidnapping people and... doing some sort of experiments!" His eyes narrowed at Tripp. "They were REALLY interested in that genetic scientist background you set up for me. Said it was exactly what they were looking for. How'd you know exactly what they were looking for?"

"Look, we can talk about this later..." Tripp smiled, spreading his hand.

"Later nothing!" Sam roared, moving a step closer. "Look at this!" In his hand was a half-smashed laptop, the "Decima Technologies" logo clearly visible on the front. "The CIA's new independent intel service, right? They were showing me all sorts of confidential data on this thing!" He stepped forward again, right up to Tripp. "Now you know something about these people, you and your boss, and so help me, you'd better..."

The doors blew open. The whole quartet whirled around, guns up, to confront a squad of five or six men in combat gear.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" Demanded the man at the head, his gun wavering. "What do you..." He caught sight of Tripp and his eyes widened. "Agent Tripp!"

At that moment, something knocked him down. The man on his right started to turn, only to get an elbow in the face, just as a leg knocked the floor out from under the feet of the man on his left. The remaining two men were just turning, guns up, to confront the intruder, when two shots from her dual-wielded pistols killed them dead.

Melinda May, now in a tightfitting blue jumpsuit, holstered her twin pistols and grabbed the leader by the scruff of his neck, dragging him into the room. Then, straightening up, she nodded at the others. "Everything in order?"

"All set, ma'am." Tripp grinned. "Uploading Skye's virus now." He plugged the flash drive into the computer.

"How... what..." Sam managed.

"Good." The woman gave a sharp nod. "The rest of the facility is clear. All that's left is to get some answers from this scumbag." Grabbing the leader, she forced him up against the wall. "Where are the others?" She demanded. "What was Garret's endgame?"

The leader's eyes creaked open. A slow smile spread across his face. And as the froth of cyanide poison bubbled over his gums, he managed to croak out:

"Hail Hydra."

"So. Hydra." Sam, Jesse, and Vergil were back at the diner, staring at May and Tripp.

"More accurately, a particular faction of Hydra that used to be led by an old friend of ours." May smiled tightly. "Not part of the regular Hydra organization. They had a somewhat... different agenda."

"What was that?"

"We're working on it." May admitted. "Something to do with those kidnappings you mentioned."

"And Decima's part of it?"

"Hard to say." May shook her head. "We're still working on whether Decima is part of the beast or its own animal entirely. This cell might just have paid Decima off, or they might have skated beneath the radar by simply not planning to attack the US... all criticisms aside, Decima's Samaritan protocol is very thorough, but it's only targeted on threats to the US, which these men were not." She shrugged. "Yet, anyway."

"Hydra does have sources inside the CIA. We're pretty certain of that." Tripp added.

"So if they're Hydra, you must be SHIELD." Jesse reasoned.

"Technically, SHIELD doesn't exist anymore." Tripp pointed out. "But yes. We're agents who felt the whole let's-dissolve-the-single-agency-best-suited-for-combating-Hydra thing was... kinda a stupid-ass decision."

"So we elected to ignore it." May smiled.

"Just the two of you?"

"No." May was still smiling. It wasn't the warmest smile, but it was confident. "There are more of us. And there are getting to be more all the time."

"We want to build SHIELD back up." Tripp explained. "Properly this time. There's all sorts of equipment and resource caches around the globe to help us out, too. But we need more manpower."

"You came here to recruit us." Jesse realized.

"Pretty much," answered Tripp. "I mean, May and I could have cleared that warehouse ourselves, but we wanted to get an idea of your strengths and weaknesses. Loyalties, too." Tripp smiled. "We've had some... surprises with Hydra before, obviously. And really, you guys did excellently. Everything went perfectly smoothly. Although we didn't expect your friend. Hadn't heard anything about him." Tripp gave an embarrassed nod to Vergil. "Sorry, man."

"Hey," Vergil gave a little wave. "Honestly, I'm too old for the game anyway. You're better off without me. And I'm better off not hearing the rest of this conversation." Downing the remainder of his drink, he got up. "Been a pleasure, Sam."

"Well?" May arched an imperious eyebrow as the ex-SEAL walked away. "I think we've established you've passed our test. And I think we've also established we're not terrorists. And I'm pretty sure we don't need to establish that you two have relatively little else going on."

"Hey!" Sam looked affronted.

"Dude, she's right." Jesse shrugged. Turning to the two SHIELD agents, he asked, "What sort of work are we talking about?"

"That would depend on where we needed you." May gave a small shrug. "But obviously counter-intelligence is a huge part of our focus right now, and equally obviously, we can use whatever trained operatives or infiltrators we can find. There are jobs, all around the world..."

"Uhhh..." Sam raised his hand. "I... kinda got a... girl here."

May's face had something of an "Are you kidding?" expression, but Tripp just shrugged. "We could also use a cell in Miami. Worst comes to worst, we could probably even arrange to move her."

"You can afford that?"

"I said there were resources left over, right?" Tripp grinned. "Oh, right, we should probably have mentioned that you do actually get paid."

May passed a check over the table. Sam and Jesse looked at it and then at each other.

"Think it over." May and Tripp both got up. "You decide, call this number"—a card was dropped to the table, "—to get in contact with us. Our man will tell you how to proceed from there."

"That's it?" Jesse frowned, picking up the card. "No code words, no pass phrases?"

May gave another small smile. "He'll know if it's you."

A wink from Tripp. "Drinks are on us."

Sam and Jesse stared at the two as they walked out of the bar. Then for a long moment they stared at each other. Finally, Sam snatched the card out of Jesse's hand and dug out his phone.

"You're calling? Just like that?" Jesse asked.

"I'm curious, okay?" Sam grumbled, putting the phone to his ear. "Yeah, hi, is this SHIELD headquarters?"

"Sam?"

"Mike?"

a/n: There we go! This took a while, but I wanted it to be a bit more involved than the "Coulson talks with fandom x" approach I've been going with so far. And it occurred to me that the quickest and most interesting way to form a partnership like this would be through a co-op mission. So I put that together. Not sure how Vergil crept in there, except that I really liked his character in the show and was sort of disappointed that he never came up more than twice.

So this wraps up the Burn Notice segment of the series. By the way, I want to give a plug to bissek and Michael Weyer, who have written their own Recruitment Drive stories on Noir ("Black Operations") and Nikita, ("Divisons") respectively. (bissek is also currently working on a Mission Impossible Recruitment Drive story) Please give them both a look, they're good stories on fandoms I'm not familiar with-hence why I'm grateful these authors wrote them.

We're getting through these, I swear. The spy ones have been long, but the rest should be a couple of short one-shots.