Daddy's Girl
Chapter 3: Homecomings
Michael was thankful that he had developed a great deal of patience working in the field; he had to wait three days to meet with James Teagan again. He had been deposited at the hotel on a Thursday night, and it seemed that whoever was calling the shots had decided to give Michael the weekend to stew and think things over. When Monday dawned, the overly loud ringing of the phone next to his head awaked him.
"Hello?" he mumbled into the phone
"Good Morning, Mr. Westen." James' voice was irritatingly jovial at the early hour. "Be dressed and outside in 30 minutes. It's time we continued our meeting."
Michael had never been a morning person, but he had learned to wake up and move quickly in the field, and he quickly cleaned up and got dressed. He paused for a moment before packing his bag, just in case this was the last chance he got before being transported to Miami. He left it on the same chair he had found it before leaving his room and closing the door behind him.
30 minutes later, a shiny black SUV pulled up to the front of the hotel. The driver's side door opened and a young man in his mid 20s hopped out to open the rear door for Michael, motioning for him to climb in. Michael took in the holstered sidearm that the kid flashed as he opened the door, but judging from the driver's age and the set of his chin under the dark glasses, Michael doubted that the guy had ever fired the gun except for the mandatory target practice at the range. Michael climbed into the backseat and saw that there were two more suits wearing dark glasses like it was the standard uniform of the CIA, and these guys had a more hardened look to them. It was hard to tell under the heavy suit coats they wore in deference to the cold weather, but Michael guessed that they, too, were armed.
"Hi, guys." Michael hazarded, trying to look at ease and harmless.
"Good morning, sir. Please fasten your seatbelt." Responded his escort who sat in the passenger's seat.
Michael did as the guard had asked. "I didn't know I rated 3 armed…escorts. Makes me feel kinda important."
The man sitting next to Michael chuckled. "Technically, sir, it's more like 2 and a half." He nodded towards the driver. "Murphy there was just promoted. We're just keeping an eye on him…and you."
Michael smiled into the rear-view mirror at Murphy. "Congratulations, Murphy. What did you get promoted from?"
"Thank you, sir. Probationary agent, sir." Murphy replied, his voice as high and tight as his haircut.
"We're here. Have a nice day, sir." The agent in the front seat said. Murphy parked the vehicle and opened his door quickly before opening Michael's door.
"Good luck, kid." Michael said amiably as he stepped out of the SUV. Murphy only nodded his thanks before slamming the door and climbing back into the driver's side. As the SUV pulled away, James Teagan walked out of the lobby to meet Michael.
"Welcome back, Mr. Westen." Said James, offering his hand.
Michael shook the offered hand, feeling his strong grip returned by James' large hand. "Thanks." Michael replied. The two walked in and across the lobby to a bank of elevators. Stepping inside, James hit a button and the doors closed.
"I thought you'd like to know," James said, as if picking up a friendly conversation, "We've reviewed the information you gave us. It's been remarkably useful. You'll be glad to know that we've also determined that Jesse Porter is innocent of any wrongdoing that led to his termination. As of now, the paperwork is being processed to reinstate him as an agent in the Counter Intelligence Unit in Miami. His pension and related funds are already unfrozen, and his medical bills relating to the apprehension of the man you know as Vaughn have been covered."
"Good. He deserves his life back." Michael replied.
The elevator doors opened, and this time Michael was led to an open and airy conference room. Coffee sat in a steaming pitcher on the center of the table, with a small pitcher of cream and a container of assorted sweeteners next to it. In a decorative basket, muffins were piled high, with a small bowl each of cream cheese and butter and a few plastic utensils wrapped in cellophane next to it. Plates and cups sat invitingly next to the display.
James poured himself a cup and added cream and sugar before he took a seat in the plush office chair at the head of the table. "Please, Michael, help yourself. I know you didn't get a chance to eat breakfast yet."
Michael poured himself some coffee and took a still warm muffin from the basket. Sinking into the chair, Michael unwrapped the muffin and broke it into pieces. "I've been considering your offer." He said finally to James.
"And?"
"I've decided to take it."
"Wonderful! I was hoping you would." Exclaimed James, smiling. "I have a feeling that you'd be well suited to the work."
"There are, of course, a few things I want first."
"Such as?"
"A guarantee, first off, that I will never again be burned, fired, or otherwise terminated without the ability to see the accusation against me and defend myself, and I don't care if I have to take a polygraph to do it."
"Understandable. Anything else?" James asked, indulgently.
"My friends and family will be protected should I ever need to leave the country again. You can be unobtrusive as possible, but I want nothing to happen to them while I'm not around that you can prevent."
"And if I can't grant your requests?" James asked, raising one bushy eyebrow
"Then I'll ask to be brought back to the hotel for my bag, and go home to Miami." Michael replied evenly.
James studied Michael for a moment before nodding. "I'll have the clauses you requested added to your contract. You'll be expected to sign it in Miami in one week, and start work the week after that. Your pay scale will, of course, reflect your new status and position. You are to report to the Miami field office's Counter Intelligence manager Chris Andrews. Your former handler Dan Siebels will be in contact with you soon. Agreed?"
Michael smiled. "Agreed."
James stood, picking up his cup of coffee. "Agents will be waiting downstairs with your bag and a ticket to Miami. Welcome back, Michael."
"Thanks…James."
"Take your time and finish your breakfast. Just don't…wander the halls." James added before he left, filling his cup. At Michael's quizzical look, he shrugged. "Fresh coffee. Can't get this around the office unless you make it yourself. Have a safe flight."
Michael was met downstairs by his overnight bag and another SUV, but this time the men had less of an edge to them and there were only two of them. Small talk wasn't high on their list of priorities, but they weren't as tense as the last batch had been. Michael wondered if he was considered less of a threat now and more like a fellow co-worker from another department, and the idea almost made him laugh out loud. The ride to the airport was mostly silent, giving Michael a chance to think about what his life would be like being unburned. He found that he had lost a feeling of determined drive; the burn notice had been his life for so long. He still wasn't a spy, but he had almost accepted that as impossibility now, much as it pained him. He had to keep himself from groaning at the fact that he was now a glorified desk jockey. Closing his eyes and resting his head against the seat, Michael sighed. He'd simply have to work at getting back to being a spy; maybe as 'head of security' as an American Embassy in another country that no one wanted him dead in.
The SUV was put into park and Michael opened his eyes. They weren't at Ronald Reagan National Airport, but rather a smaller airstrip with a private jet waiting.
"We're here, sir." Said Michael's driver. "Enjoy your flight."
"This is for me?" Michael asked, surprised.
"Yes, sir. Inspector General Teagan didn't want any…misunderstandings at a public airport in case they still had you flagged. It may take a while for you to be taken off their lists. Paper work and all that."
"Inspector- James Teagan is the Inspector General?" Michael asked, impressed in spite of himself.
His escort shrugged. "The jet is waiting sir. Have a nice trip."
Michael got out of the SUV, duffel bag in hand, and boarded the jet. The interior was sumptuous with soft leather seats, a large flat screen TV, and mahogany trim. A flight attendant smiled and took his bag to store it, and informed him that his meal and hot towel would be ready shortly. Michael had to smile; he'd missed this life.
*For those who are unaware or don't want to take the time to look it up, The Office of Inspector General promotes efficiency, effectiveness, and accountability in the administration of Agency activities, and seeks to prevent and detect fraud, waste, abuse, and mismanagement. The Inspector General, whose activities are independent of those of any other component in the Agency, reports directly to the Director of the CIA. Special thanks to Wikipedia for the information.
.org/wiki/CIA