"Lieutenant Caine, I would like to introduce you to- Well, we don't know his name," Cobry gestured to the man in the chair, "For now, we'll use his codename, 'Tarquin'."
"After the legendary kings of Rome," Horatio noted.
The man in the chair smiled, "A man who know's his history," he said. The man was getting on in his years, almost nearing retirement age. He had a handsome, if slightly fleshy, face, a wide smile, and creases around his eyes that said that he smiled a lot. His eyes, though, were hard and bright. The eyes of one used to interrogating. He wore a cream colored hat, a Hawaiian shirtm, and cargo shorts. He could disappear in any tourist crowd in a heartbeat.
"He heads one of those secret units that we know nothing about," Cobry said, "After Pierce, he's one of the most dangerous men in this country."
"I assure you, I don't bite," he smiled. But his eyes never left Horatio's face. Horatio felt a chill creep up his spine. It was like he was being examined under a microscope. Everything he did was laid bare before this man.
He did not like the feeling.
"I take it Pierce worked for you during the operation in Shanghai?" Horatio asked.
"Not me," he said. He seemed almost amused at the thought, "No, Pierce used to work for me. Then he found... better employment."
"As an assassin," Horatio guessed.
"Please," Tarquin scoffed, "Anyone can be an assassin. I can be an assassin, me, an old fart! No, Pierce was special. He was a tracker. I worked with a hypochondriac who could possibly find Bin Laden by the brand of toilet paper he uses, but was useless in the field. Pierce could take a photo, a name, a string of what looked like random numbers and turn it into a who, what, where, when, how, and the type of toothpaste they use. And he could act on this intelligence autonomously."
"Do you have any idea what Pierce was doing in Shanghai?" Cobry asked.
"Curious as to what he got since that little firefight at the park?" Tarquin asked, "The people he worked with keep a tighter lid on their operations than we do, which deserves a medal in and of itself. But, Pierce leaves ripples. When underworld kingpins start doubling their bodyguards, you know Pierce is in town. He arrives at Shanghai, and five days later, some money the US Intelligence Community was tracking is stopped cold. Another body winds up in the Shanghai slums. Nothing all that unusual. But what set off the CIA, DIA, NSA, and everyother alphabet soup was the body of one of the foremost East Asia specialist winding up dead in a hotel room. A British tourist was found dead in an elevator."
Cobry's eyes flicked to Horatio. Evidently, he didn't know about that either. Tarquin smile faltered a bit, "You're hunting him, and you don't know the whole story? How were you ever going to find him, a master tracker, if you don't even know where the hell he's going?"
"Enlighten us," Horatio ordered.
"I protested the capture order from the start," Tarquin said, "From where we stood, where everyone stood, was that he had been attacked. That he was running from one of his many enemies. Once he almost killed Robert Claypool, well, you don't just attack one of the biggest political contributors without a damn good reason. The capture order was issued. Pierce was to be offered to the Indecision Makers as tribute."
"The British tourist," Cobry said.
"It wasn't a British tourist," Tarquin said, all trace of amusement gone, "I personally called it in. I was transfered to the head of Special Branch, UK FBI. He told me personally that it was a low-priority."
"Anything else you can tell us?" Horatio said.
"When Pierce released Claypool, I ordered my unit to investigate," Tarquin said, "A friend of mine backtracked his finances, discovered he was starting wars to sell arms and mercs to."
"Not surprising," Cobry said, "There have been rumors for years."
"Not those wars," he said, "I mean wars in places we never even thought he'd been in. South America, Azerbaijan, Myanmar. These wars have not profited Hellbourne Industries or any other of Claypool's companies."
"What else did you find?"
He leaned close, "I can't tell you specifics, but it looks like Claypool was paying favors. He starts a war in Country A, and Drug Company B has difficulty selling there, leading Conglomerate C to swoop in and buy them out. Conglomerate C then offers Claypool some lucrative offers to protect some of their shipping in hostile countries."
"Sounds like some sort of James Bond movie," Cobry said.
"Ha!" he chuckled, "You think it's that organized? That there is some all powerful council of doom? Nah, from what we could tell, these are just a collection of powerful assholes who have a mutual benefit from dirty business."
"Could they get a capture order on an innocent man?" Cobry asked.
"Would you believe that black ops have lobbyists?"
Trev
"She's waking up," I said.
"I can see that," Lyn snapped.
The kid groaned and stirred. I put foil on the windows and turned off the lights, leaving only a red industrial light on. Not only did they help you keep your night vision, they also didn't hurt as much when you had hangovers.
I saw her crack open her eyes. She blinked without fully opening them. She groaned.
The she attacked me.
She let out a feral scream and launched herself at me. I automatically stepped back, grabbed her right wrist with my right hand, her elbow with my left, and tried to use her momentum against her and slam her to the ground.
She responded like a pro MMA fighter. She lifted her elbow up, balanced herself, and aimed a punch at my throat.
She was fast. Lyn was faster. She tackled her to the ground. Lyn had spent almost ten years as a federal agent. Three of those protecting the President. Two working for a man who, when not working cases, was slave-driving his team with training. Just so you get an idea of the severity I mean when I say that the kid kicked Lyn off of her.
The kid rolled to her feet and grabbed one of the knives I had lying around.
"I told you to put those away," Lyn growled.
"Is now really the time?" I asked.
She held it in a proper knife fighting grip, allowing her to stab and slash with equal speed. She screamed at us. No words, but the meaning was clear: back off.
But what was also clear was her expression. She was afraid.
I held up my hands, "We're not going to hurt you," I said slowly. She screamed at me again. I continued, "We're not going to hurt you," I said again.
She was panting. I could see the initial adreniline wear off. Now she was going into preservation mode. Her eyes locked on the door behind me. She gestured at it with her knife.
I shook my head, "I can't let you leave just yet, okay?"
She screamed at me again. I said, "Let's just talk a bit, okay? My name's Trev," I gave her a little wave, "This is Caitlin Todd. We're nice people, okay? Not like those other guys who kept you underground."
She screamed at me again. Something popped in my head. This time, when I spoke, I signed along too, "Can you tell me your name?"
"Ahhh, rrrhhh," she made more sounds, like she new what needed to be done, but wasn't sure how to work the controls.
"Can you hear me?" I said as I signed, "Yes?" I nodded, "No?" I shook my head.
She nodded.
"Do you know your name?" I asked as I signed.
She looked me in the eye for a long time. Then she shook her head.
"How'd you do that?" Lyn asked.
"A study found that autistic children respond better when they are presented with a system of communication that they can use themselves," I explained, signing as I did so, "She can't speak. So, I'm signing."
"How'd you learn that?"
"Helped with my muscle memory," I said.
"No! The study."
"Oh. Med school."
"I didn't know you were a doctor," she said.
"More interested in how the body works than how to fix it," I said/ signed.
"Hem," the kid coughed. She gestured like, remember me?
"Sorry."
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