Happy new year 2017! :)
"Did you find anything more on it, Elsa?"
Hastily shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on the back of her desk chair, Emma quickly hurried over to her British associate, unconsciously crossing her fingers in the hopes good fortune would be on her side, and that the email she'd sent to the technician late last night might have proven itself to be the beginning of a trail for them to follow.
Carefully setting down the box of donuts she'd picked up when passing by the baker's earlier that morning, Emma offered one to her colleague and picked one out for herself before setting the carton package down–probably not the best things to start the day off with, but the rush of sugar would probably be sorely needed if Emma hoped for them to plough through this mess without over-working themselves- right next to the three empty coffee mugs neatly lined up next to the other agent's keyboard. Elsa had obviously decided to come in early after getting her message then, and Emma gathered that the older woman must have been working for quite a while already.
"I've been looking through the tape recording of Humbert's call, isolating any background noise I can find and singling out the voices but not very successfully, the exchange was too short for me to get anything truly substantial out of it." The blonde pointed back to the screen, where Emma saw what must have been one of her many computer detecting programs running, with several different colors identifying the levels of sound she'd managed to pull out from the initial recording –or at least, Emma assumed that's what it was, while she would define herself as quite a resourceful agent (and woman in general), she'd never truly understood the intricate workings of advanced computer programming given that it was not in her field of expertise, but she trusted Frost enough to assume she had a decent knowledge on the subject, and that she was pretty sure of what she was talking about.
"Well, if we've gotten whatever we can out of the call itself, maybe we should try to extrapolate a little." Given that the phone recording was unlikely to give them any extra information, Emma conceded that they might as well try and go down another route, see if they might not be more successful there. At the very least, it would give her something substantial enough to do with the skills she possessed and snooping around for any core-name related information from what they'd got from Humbert's seemed a lot more engaging to her than merely picking apart a phone call and continue to beat a dead horse.
Taking a bite out of one of the sugar donuts, Emma swerved back in her chair, picking up the pack she'd deposited beside her own desk upon entering the room and pulled out the typed up report on Humbert's case, flicking the first pages over knowing the agent's basic details weren't going to be of any help –might as well try and build on the hard facts that they already had.
As Nolan had clearly said, the goals of initial operation in itself weren't overly intricate –just find the Underworld cell and try to dismantle them from the inside, but as she flicked over several of the following pages, Emma felt any hope of finding extra crumbs of information crushed to nothing when it became obvious to her that even Humbert himself hadn't seemed to have been able to find much on the cell to further their investigation. Underworld had obviously been aware that the CIA were onto them even then, and thus had been exceedingly careful to not let the slightest piece of potential intelligence slip past them, given that most of potential assets agent Graham had met up with had given him next to nothing to work on.
It was as she flicked through the fifth page of the report that something caught her attention and, interest now piqued, Emma swung around on her chair, grabbed a pencil and carefully read through several of the reported written conversations between Humbert and what must have been a suspect he'd approached. She only made the connection after the name popped up for the third time, when she underlined it and linked it back to the audiotape she and Jones had heard of Queen's conversation with her deceased handler but there it was, written in black and white – Hearts.
Eyes snapping back to the British tech and quickly noticing that Elsa was still typing about on her keyboard, no doubt in an attempt to get something more out of their current lead, she craned her neck over Frost's computer, where a tuff of blondish hair signaled another fellow agent slaving away. As she got her first glance of him when she opted to actually go over to him with the intent of getting him to look into it, Emma had to admit that he didn't look much of an agent: sandy unkempt hair, green turtle-neck sweater and wide eyes that seemed to not have a clue as to what they were actually doing –obviously one of the Brits, Emma seemed to recall getting a glimpse of him the other day but had decided against outright talking to him (what with preferring to keep to herself, Emma wasn't particularly into the "getting to know you well" part of the job. As long as they managed to work together and get the damn thing done, it was enough in her books, no need to go and make friendship bracelets and bond over movie and food preferences with everyone she met).
"Hey you, Pan is it? Have a minute to spare?"
She must have startled him, given how his head snapped up and Emma had to repeat the question before Pan pushed his chair back and came over, hands on the desk and leaning over Elsa's shoulder slightly as he took in the open program. "Want a hand tracking where the sound came from? I can-"
"We need you to pull up whatever you have on a possible codename, Hearts." Emma interrupted, pointing to printed record of Humbert's conversation as she gave him a copy. "It might be nothing but it's the only lead that we've got for now. Anything you can find would be a help."
"Right on to it then."
Now Emma considered herself quite the resourceful agent –give her a gun, she'd know how to use it, give her a locked door and ten minutes later her own witty self would very likely have made it to the other side, have her meet up with a suspect in a luxurious restaurant and she would likely be able to talk him into revealing information she was after, but Pan, well Pan was something else entirely. As she nervously watched him typing away, unconsciously tapping her fingers the back of his chair in a poor attempt to relieve the stress, Emma watched intently as Pan alternated between scrutinizing his screen with a deep frown and glaring at his keyboard, as if blaming it for not getting him the results he was after. It was bearable for the first few minutes, but when as green light scanning the CIA's files kept flashing on the screen as it still had not come up with anything, she found herself unconsciously biting her bottom lip and fisting her shaking hand to stop the tremors –their first lead and nothing was coming up! Dammit!
Pan had yet to say something himself since he'd leaned forward on his elbows (so close to his screen that Emma was honestly wondered how he was able to read anything), eyes firmly locked on his monitor, and Emma had been about to suggest that he might want to sit back down for a moment or even suggest digging around for more information and trying the database again if they found something that might narrow their search down when her phone buzzed in her jeans pocket, nearly making her jump.
Awkwardly pulling out, she quickly checked the caller's ID –Jones, would you fancy that-before effectively answering.
"Swan. Need anything?" Had it not been for the previous tension, Emma might have noticed her clipped tone and done something but not now.
"Thought I'd give you a call, wanted to know if you missed me by any chance, what with leaving me in an empty apartment this morning and all-" Emma rolled her eyes, the guy really had a penchant to be over-dramatic, which she could do without when on the hunt for a potential terrorist group on the loose.
"Yeah well I'm going to have to cut you there spy-boy, I don't get overly attached to one-day acquaintances I'm afraid. And I wanted to come in early, had something I put Elsa on to yesterday that I wanted to look into."
"You got something out of that tape recording?"
"Pan's looking into a possible codename we picked up, called Hearts, although I haven't heard back from him yet. In the meantime though, I'd need you to take a detour before coming in. Think you can drop by Asset Queen? Name's Mills, lives on 56 Stayman Avenue, big white house. You won't miss it."
A moment's pause and- "Sure, I'll see what I can get out of her."
"Oh, and pick up a packet of donuts on your way in, I have a feeling we'll be needing the sugar rush." Emma added before hanging up.
She refused to acknowledge the small smile on her face when putting the phone down.
You have arrived at-
Killian cut the GPS short as he turned off the car engine and let it cool for a moment after pulling up what he could only describe as one luxurious entrance. Pristine lush garden, an almost gleaming sheen of white paint coating the walls and a freshly varnished front door made the whole place look extremely lavish, or at the very least it was a far cry from what he'd known for a good chunk of his childhood. He and Liam had never known something quite so opulent, that was certain.
Making sure to check the name on the copper-colored flap of the family letterbox –Hood, seemed like the right place-he quickly made it to the front door and gave the bell a ring, hoping for their asset to indeed be there, for neither he nor Emma had actually thought to ring her beforehand. Impromptu visits certainly weren't what he had the most fond memory of, some of MI5's partners being quite the handful to deal with when deciding to be difficult to work with, but with the severity of the case on hand, there had been little choice. It was either him or Swan, and after letting her chose Killian ended up being the one saddled with the responsibility to make his way down to Stayman Avenue by his lonesome.
It was a man that opened the door to him, hair slightly disgruntled, large shadows under his eyes, and if Killian didn't know better, he'd probably bet that the guy wasn't long out of bed and that he must have interrupted him in getting a much needed dose of coffee ready or buttering a few slices of warm toast.
"Can I help you?" Yeah, that was definitely sleep he could hear laced with the words.
"Ah aye, does someone called Regina live here?"
The immediate frown and the whole taking a step back business it got him in return was enough proof to him that their asset Queen did indeed live here, the man not very good at the whole don't let it show on your face business, but Killian wasn't here to conduct an interrogation and force it out of the man. Him being slightly suspicious at a stranger asking after his wife was quite understandable, after all.
"Has she done something wrong?" His brow creased with worry as he begun to pull the door back towards him, as if hoping to be able to shut it should things go south –Killian had had enough experience out in the field back in the UK to quickly notice peoples' skittish behavior, most days it was rather necessary for the job when trying to judge theirs suspects responses. And Hood was quite the nervous man. Might as well put him at ease right from the get-go then.
"No, don't worry mate, I'm just here to talk. You're all fine." And if the words still weren't enough to convince him, at least putting both hands up in a placating gesture seemed to do the trick, as Hood instantly let his shoulders sag a little and let out one big relieved sigh as he opened the door again.
Nodding, the man had been about to take a step back and probably go look for his wife when a woman's head popped around the door of their living-room, dark hair falling over her shoulder.
"Robin? Everything all-right?" She asked, looking at him slightly wearily as she made her way over, eyes attempting to look over his shoulder several times as she did so.
"I don't know, there's someone here for you, looks like the police or something."
Getting a better look over her partner's shoulder, Regina took a moment to look the guy up, still not sensing anything familiar about him until she spotted the design of the file he had in his hands, one she'd known quite well in her former years working under one David Nolan –CIA files, must be one of his people then. Well, she needn't worry about him then.
"It's okay Robin, I'll take it from here. Why don't you go back to Roland? We're probably going to be at this for a while at least." She offered, letting the man in while trying to usher her husband away, knowing it would be for the best that he not hear anything of this lest she wished to put him at risk. And Regina knew she couldn't do that when in the very next room was a four year-old boy who needed a father.
"And you are?" She stopped him, hand on his chest, unwilling to let him in any further without proof that she should be letting him in to her own home. The last few days had definitely made her weary of strangers, given her association to the CIA and the very direct link she had with Agent Humbert. She wasn't about to let her husband and child get anywhere near such nasty business.
"Agent Jones, part of the MI-5 contingency. Seems this case involves us too on some level."
Nodding as he offered her his personal badge as proof –Regina would rather be safe than sorry, especially where Underworld and the unsavory people part of such a group were concerned- she lead him into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for him as an invitation to sit down, immediately following suit when he declined her offer for coffee and instead got straight down to business as he opened the file, the familiar records of Graham Humbert at the top of the pile making her feel queasy. Regina had a feeling she was not going to enjoy this.
"This is about the Humbert case isn't it?" She cut straight to the point, knowing dallying around the subject would simply be a waste of both their time.
"Aye, from what Nolan told us, you were the one who kept contact with him, his handler so to speak?" At her nod, he continued on. "There's a team looking into the phone recording as we speak, trying to get any background sounds or voices that could give us a clue on Underworld's possible whereabouts, see if we can't get a lead from that. But with one of Nolan's agents and our technician, we managed to single out one name out of the whole thing, thought it might be a clue, and since you were the one who kept most in contact with Humbert, we thought he might have sent pieces of info to you. Does the codename Hearts ring any sort of bell?"
Regina pondered on it for a moment. Hearts was definitely what the panicked agent had said when she'd received his call –even remembering the whole damn conversation made her shudder- and although Regina prided herself with having an excellent memory even after quitting the service, she unfortunately could not for the life of her remember coming across the name during her time in the service.
"Can't say I recall it I'm afraid. I've only kept very brief contact with Nolan very the past few years, asked him not to let me into anything particularly explicit because it might put my kid at risk, I can't let anything happen to Roland, or Robin for that matter." She cast a worried glance to the living room, where Robin seemed to be pacing around, no doubt worried at what exactly was going on. And while Regina wished she could just go to him and tell him everything, knowledge of what potential harm could befall her husband kept her rooted to the chair.
"Are you sure he didn't let something out? Maybe coded language as to where exactly Underworld are located or something?" Killian pressed, leaning over slightly. This was always the nasty part about dealing with assets, you had the unpleasant part of pushing them for information when they were (understandably) reluctant to let it out. But this phone call was the only substantial lead they had so far, they needed to milk it for all that it was worth, and if Queen knew any tidbit of information, he would rather have it and it turn out to be useful than have her keep something potentially important from them, even if it meant forcing her hand a little.
Regina shook her head, honestly unable to recall anything more specific than what she'd already told Nolan. "Not really. The line was very unstable –kept cutting here and there and wherever he was when he called, the background noise definitely wasn't helping. He was too panicked to even get a complete sentence out anyway –young agent, probably in over his head too, unfortunately." She commented, regretfully. "He did mention that Underworld were definitely onto him though, they knew about him before he'd even arrived, so either they were listening into his conversations or someone must have sold him out. That's my guess at least." Regina shrugged, really not wishing to delve any deeper into this. She'd tried to come up with her own hypothesis for a short while, but chose not to let Nolan in on any of her speculations –the man had enough to deal with as it was, needless theories with very little basis wouldn't help-but it really was the only explanation she got out of it. Someone had been on to Humbert's case from the start, and now that that bit of speculation was in the capable hands of the CIA, she really didn't want to be involved any further. Roland and Robin weren't worth the risk.
"Aye, that's what Nolan said." Damn it, they really were opening a bloody can of worms, weren't they?
Catching a glimpse of the troubled woman, and having little doubts that her equally worried husband was restlessly pacing up and down the room next to them, Killian judged it would probably for the best if he called it a day. Queen herself had very little to go on anyway, and he would rather not push her for information when doing so might make her panic and divulge something false. Nolan had her phone number anyway, he and Swan could always call in sometime in the future if ever they needed her.
And when sending a quick glance down at his watch informed him that he'd spent much longer here than he initially should have, Killian quickly gathered up the spread out papers, carefully putting them back in the folder before getting up and fishing out a pen and piece of paper form his pocket.
"Thanks' for the extra info, we'll be sure to look into it with the rest of the team, at least have our technician look in to Hearts." And after scribbling the numbers, he handed it over to her. "If ever you remember anything else, you can give us a call. We'll be sure to keep in touch and not let anything happen to you or the family."
That seemed to do the trick, as Queen's shoulders immediately slacked and she cast a relieved glace back to the living room, where her husband and child –now a lot safer than they were a minute ago, in her eyes at least- were casually playing together, completely unaware of their troubles. The less they involved potential civilian casualties, the better, Nolan and Mills has wanted to keep it to a minimum anyway.
"Thank you." She added, as she lead him to the door, clutching the piece of paper in her right hand. "I guess Nolan's the one I should keep contact with?"
"Aye. Stick to what you know, right?" He suggested, offering her his hand. "Take care." He added, before heading back to the car and dumping the file on the passenger seat next to him.
He'd barely turned the keys to let the engine warm up when his phone buzzed beneath the paperwork on the passenger seat to his right, and any hopes of it being a somewhat fruitful message on their investigation turned to ashes when Killian swiped the screen and Pan's short message popped up:
Looked into Hearts in our database, but there's really nothing much apart from some suspected involvement with drug related gangs. Still searching for any extra tidbits though.
At this point, it was a wonder that they were even aware of Underworld in the first place, because apart from the two casualties –Cassidy and Humbert- the group was making damn sure to minutely hide the slightest hint of their existence, and tracking a ghost cell was going to be near impossible unless they were graced by a sudden stroke of luck soon. Otherwise, Mills and Nolan could kiss their chances of catching them goodbye, and Killian was just about sure to miss out on Liam's short stay once he disembarked from Dún Laoghaire for sure. Oh he'd definitely see him sometime during the year, it was just upsetting that he'd simply have to wait longer.
Damn was this turning into a nightmare. Looking on the bright side though, he still had Swan's donuts to pick up, and Killian mused that that had to count for something.
For all of his and Elsa's many conversations despairing on the less-than-easy roads to drive around in London, Killian had to admit that it's really was nothing when compared to Fairfax, because this was a bloody nightmare. He'd barely managed to pick up odds and ends for dinner and when he finally shut the door to the safe house shared with Swan finally and leaned on it heavily, he was rather relieved to finally be out of the traffic's incessant noise –poor Swan, having to deal with this all the time can't possibly be easy.
She was obviously still on the Grid, for there was no sign of her being home yet, and strangely enough, the whole place felt rather empty without her being there. Killian knew better than to expect anything much from the CIA in terms of housing (the few temporary places he'd shared with colleagues back in England hadn't been much better, why would their American cousins be any different?), and judging by the baby steps they were going to take in resolving this whole affair, he and Swan were probably going to be here for a while, might as well try and turn it into a temporary home then.
Ad a temporary home meant home meals, which, If he couldn't just pick them up in the local shop, Killian guessed he'd just have to make them up from scratch.
Hopefully Swan liked fish.
The smell was the first thing Emma noticed when she closed the door behind her, leaning her exhausted body against it just for a moment –felt good, getting rid of the day's stress for a while, and she would have gladly stayed like that for longer had her stomach not rumbled, expressing its displeasure at not having had anything substantial in the last couple of hours.
"Swan? That you?"
"Yeah." Emma made it to the kitchen, putting the pile of files on the table and setting her leather jacket on the chair after shrugging out of it. "What exactly are you doing?" She asked, one eyebrow raised, trying to peer over his shoulder as Jones filled up the plates.
"What does it look like? Dinner." That was much too cheerful a tone for Emma, and she quickly gathered why when she looked down right next to her paperwork –homemade fish and chips? "Are you serious?" She almost laughed, almost, but Emma had manners, and laughing probably wouldn't be seen as kind, especially when the guy had gone to the trouble of making dinner for the both of them when he could just as easily have picked up a back of Chinese or something. She knew the Brits liked their fish and chips, but this was taking it to a whole new level.
"Well I'm afraid it's not exactly authentic, but it's hot. And probably nice too, unless you let it get cold, so I suggest you dig in." Damn that stupid grin, he was proud of himself, wasn't he? Emma conceded when he handed her the cutlery, guessing there was little else for her to do than eat it –at least it would make one of them happy.
And truth was, Emma had to admit that it wasn't half bad –maybe not as nice as a genuine take-away, but it was definitely something her starving stomach most welcomed.
"So… How did you end up in the service anyway?"
Emma had been so focused on chasing after every scrap she could find on her plate that she didn't even register the question at first. It was only when she felt the silence hang between them and spared a glance towards Jones to see him looking at her almost expectantly that she realized he must have asked her something.
"Come again?" She offered between two mouthfuls –damn, this was really nice.
"How did you get into the service anyway?" He tilted his head, Emma noticing the lines of curiosity stretches upon his face, and it was only when the question hit home that her jaw froze. He was after personal information." Forgive me if I sound blunt, but you don't exactly look like the agent type."
Neither do you. Emma felt like biting back, wipe that all-too-polite smile off his damn face and show him a thing or two that might just make him rethink his previous assessment.
She certainly wasn't about let him in on how exactly she'd ended up working for Nolan –her time as a more or less illegal tradesperson wasn't a part of her past she was particularly proud of, but Emma would be the first one to concede that it had been something of a necessary evil in her life. Clients paid her good money to get a package from point A to point B, and as long as they deliver on their payment, Emma had never judged it necessary to know what exactly it was she was transporting. It had been a means to get by before having one of those "crisis of consciousness", as one would say it.
Her decision to enroll into the CIA had really been on a whim, Emma hadn't really thought it through at the time, but with patience and effort, she'd managed to make a small name for herself, and Nolan had taken her as his own agent on her head of section, Ingrid's advice-she still had to find a way to repay the lovely woman for that, by the way.
"I guess you could call it… A change of heart, of sorts." She answered, cryptically. Good, it would get him to ponder on it for a while at least, he wouldn't be back asking for more about herself. More Emma definitely wasn't inclined to share at the moment. "After that, simply worked my way up to where I am now." She added, not without a hint of pride –for Emma could confidently say that she did indeed take pride in both her job and in her efficiency at doing it. And that wasn't something Jones was about to change.
"And you?" Bounce the question back to him, it'll deflect from drawing attention to yourself. "You? Don't sound like Mills or Frost either I've gotta add."
At least Jones had the decency to smile –no hurt feelings then.
"'Matter of fact, I'm not. Let's say I fit in the oversea colleague –Elsa's words, not mine- I'm from county Wicklow, but making a life for yourself there… Not the easiest, unless you're aiming to raise sheep for the rest of your life. I moved over to London after getting the job, got paired up with Elsa after a year or two and we've been a sort of team ever since. You got any mates in this whole business?"
Well, that explained the accent business then, Emma reflected as she nodded. Nice to know Nolan had managed to pair two outsiders together for this too, life never ceased to be ironic, did it?
Well, at least this outsider had close friends (Emma had seen him and Frost out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps they weren't best friends like what one would grow up with in primary school, but she'd gathered a sense of camaraderie lingering around the pair. Made her wish she could say the same for herself, but closed-off Emma Swan was known to not let anyone in, and it was as she said the words that she realized –with a sudden pang- that that included potential friends), that was nice to know –lucky bastard.
"Nothing worth noting outside the usual CIA procedures and training." She answered curtly, and, being an expert at building walls around herself in the blink of an eye, Emma shut herself off by digging into the chips, rather glad when Jones caught on to the queue and didn't pry any further. She guessed that she could give him that, at least.
Or so she thought.
"So you're telling me that an orphan ending up working for the CIA isn't a story worth telling?"
Emma felt the chip slide out of her numb fingers.
The bastard. How-?
Almost reflexively Emma inched back towards the edge of the couch, ignoring his hand reaching out for her in a silent plea to make things right and apologize at the same time. This was getting way to personal, and she needed out, now.
Not thinking twice, Emma swiftly got back to her feet, picking up the empty wrapper and ignoring another Swan, please. I'm sorry. Maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was the added stress of having to live with a near stranger, maybe it was the personal jab –ort Hell, maybe it was all of it put together but Emma was exhausted, and reigning in her temper was definitely not her top priority right now.
"Look." She said, turning around sharply. "Right now, you and me, we're just colleagues working on this mess together. As soon as it's over, we're out of each others' lives forever. I don't think I need to know about you nor you about me for us to do this successfully, so until we get to the bottom of the crisis, I'd rather you not bring this up again. All right?"
She didn't wait for an answer and instead made a beeline to her own room –thank god they slept separately- mind reeling as she did so. How Jones had managed to read her so well when they'd only met a few days ago she wasn't too sure, but if that conversation had made anything clear, it was that Emma definitely needed to keep her guard up around him. They were colleagues, that was it, and it would never amount to anything more. And Emma would very much rather it remain so.