Hi All, I've been posting the chapters of this story on SD1 first so FanFiction is a little behind. With SD1's regrettable closure I am posting chapters 13 - 22 here at once thus bringing the story up to date.
I would like to thank Spying on Jack over at SD1 who co-authored the latter part of Chapter 13 with me
So, without further ado...
Chapter 13
"Do you think we're getting old?" Sydney asked as she and Vaughn watched Nadia and Weiss dancing. They were sitting at a table on the upper level of 'Flames', currently Manhattan's hottest nightclub among the sophisticated over twenty-five set, looking down at the dance floor which was lit up by multi-coloured lights pulsing in time to the beat. One wall displayed a back projection of a burning fire, from which the club got its name.
Vaughn smiled at her, his green eyes crinkling, "No, we're just pacing ourselves!" he replied.
They continued watching as Weiss gave Nadia an exuberant kiss as the set ended, then followed her up the stairs back to the table. Weiss sat down heavily and took a long drink from his beer.
"Whoa, that really takes it out of you!" he observed, "It uses up more energy than a cross country run in full combat gear!"
Vaughn grinned at his friend, "Or you're out of condition." he suggested, looking meaningfully at Weiss's stocky form.
Weiss opened his mouth to reply, but the upcoming good natured argument was forestalled by Nadia.
"Any sign of our shadow?" she asked.
"We haven't made him." Sydney replied. "Outrigger, Merlin?"
"Our people haven't sighted him yet either." Dixon's voice came over their comms.
"Maybe, it's his night off?" the nervous voice of Marshall suggested, "You know, union rules or something."
Nadia and Sydney looked at each other, "Maybe you're on to something there, Merlin." Sydney said slowly. "What if he's not the only one? Maybe he's part of a team?"
Nadia took up and ran with the idea, "If that's the case, even if they're here, we'll never be able to ID them. This place is too crowded."
"That's definitely a possibility Phoenix, and if you're right, Evergreen is correct. The nightclub is an unsuitable location to identify them." Dixon observed. His tone became decisive. "Give me five minutes to get our people into position, then leave. We'll see if anyone follows you."
"Copy that." All four of them acknowledged.
"Why does work always interfere when I'm starting to have a good time?" Weiss bemoaned.
They finished their drinks and left the table, pushing their way through the crowded club to the cloakroom, where they collected their coats. Soon, they were standing on the sidewalk, outside. The area was crowded, the queue of people waiting to enter 'Flames' stretched around the block as late night revellers going to and from other clubs in the vicinity scurried past.
"Anything?" asked Vaughn.
"Negative, Shotgun." answered Dixon, "There's still too many people. Take a walk; try to find somewhere quieter."
"There's an all night Art-House cinema three blocks from here." suggested Nadia. "It's showing Historias mínimas by Carlos Sorin. That's not going to be crowded at this time of night.
Seeing the others stare at her, she shrugged, "What can I say? I was planning on going to see it anyway. It's one of my favourite movies."
"That sounds as good as anything." Dixon noted. "Proceed. I'll alert our people."
The party set off in the direction Nadia indicated, Vaughn and Weiss draping their arms around Sydney and Nadia. Just two couples on a normal double date.
"I wonder what these people's agenda is?" wondered Sydney as they strolled along.
"We don't have enough intel yet to even speculate." Vaughn responded. "It could be work related or even have something to do with your fathers' current predicament. Talking of which," he added, "Have you told them about any of this?"
"No." Sydney said. "We discussed it but decided against it. You know how over protective my father, at least, can be. After all, we're professional agents. We felt we could handle it without worrying them. Anyway, what can they do from – where they are?"
"Probably escape and kill whoever is behind this." Weiss joked.
"Don't say that, even as a joke. Given everything they've done, we thought that was a real possibility and we didn't want it to happen." Nadia responded. "They're in enough trouble as it is. We'll tell them when it's all over."
As they walked, the crowds thinned out and all four suddenly heard Dixon's triumphant voice over the comms.
"Got him!" he said with satisfaction. "He followed you out of the club and he's still on your tail. You were right. It's not the guy you described. So, there is some sort of organisation behind this."
It took all of their self control not to turn round immediately to take a good look at their shadow but Sydney knew she had to see him so she waited for an opportunity and, as they passed a shop window, she let out a cry of excitement. "Oh, look at that! Isn't it great?"
It was a sports shop. The window was dressed to show a skiing scene complete with a miniature working chair lift and skaters going round and round on a turntable disguised as an iced over lake. She pulled Vaughn towards the window and Nadia and Weiss followed. All four of them pretended to be engrossed in the scene but were really using the opportunity to see the man who was following them reflected in the window.
"He's at nine o'clock." reported Dixon and four pairs of eyes flicked to the spot indicated. They saw a youngish man, dressed pretty much like Vaughn and Weiss in the smart casual attire that would have made him virtually invisible in the nightclub.
"You are not to engage him. We need to know the identity of his employer." Dixon firmly reminded them. "Act normally for the remainder of the evening and we'll follow this guy once he's relieved and see who he reports to."
It went against every instinct they had but the logic was unanswerable.
"Copy that." They all acknowledged; their frustration obvious to their listeners.
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Serena stared through the window of the diner. As she expected Briscoe and Green were there, sitting at a table putting away substantial breakfasts. She knew that, cases permitting; they always ate here before their shift began.
She had tossed and turned for the remainder of the night and had not come to any conclusion but, sometime in the early hours, she had hit on a compromise. She pushed open the door and entered, sitting down at the table with them.
Briscoe looked at her in surprise, "Slumming, Ms Southerlyn?" he asked. "This is the first time we've had the pleasure of your company here." He looked more closely and added in a more concerned voice, "Are you OK? You look like you didn't sleep too good last night."
Serena took a deep breath, "I came here to ask for a favour. Can you guys look into something informally for me without asking any questions about why I want to know?"
Briscoe and Green exchanged looks.
"Sure, providing you're not asking us to do anything illegal." Green responded.
"Nothing like that." she replied. Serena produced the envelope that had contained the photographs of herself and Jenny. She had wrapped it in a clear plastic bag in an attempt to preserve any forensic evidence. "Last night I got home and found this had been delivered." She placed it on the table. "I want you to see if you can find out who sent it. Can you help? It's important to me."
She could see that both detectives were filled with questions but they controlled their natural inquisitiveness. They stared at the envelope, no doubt wondering what had been in it, finally they nodded.
"OK." Green said, "We'll let you know if we find out anything."
Serena looked at them both, "This is just between us." she emphasised. "Please don't talk to anyone else about it, even Jack McCoy."
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Arvin Sloane lay on his bunk reading Raiders of the Sagebrush. He had jammed his pillow against the wall behind his head and was feeling as comfortable as could reasonably be expected in the circumstances. Westerns were not his preferred reading matter but recently both he and Jack had noticed increased delays in receiving deliveries of items they had ordered from outside and, when they eventually arrived, it was clear they had been subjected to rigorous examination.
Having run out of anything to read and beggars not having the luxury of choice, he had swapped a bar of soap and two candy bars for the loan of this book. Technically, this was a violation of the rules, inmates were not allowed to barter items, but, even if he was caught, he felt he was reasonably safe from being written up; at least until the sludge ridden garbage container was removed from the jail. The guards would be unwilling to discipline him over such a minor matter in case he gave up their colleagues for their failure to report a fire.
He turned the page, then heard a familiar voice.
"Arvin."
"Jack." he acknowledged the presence of the man he still considered his friend, put the book down and sat up, indicating for Jack to join him on the bunk. They had not had an opportunity to speak without being overheard since he had hacked the control centre system. Although the cells had recently been unlocked and everyone was free to associate, he had deliberately not sought Jack out, waiting to see how long it would be before he came to him. Sloane looked at his watch, ten minutes; good, Jack was genuinely committed to the operation.
"Where's your cellmate?" Jack asked.
"On the Yard, he's trying to put on some muscle before going up-state." Sloane smiled as he replied. His cellmate was a college drop out convicted of running a meth. lab and waiting to be transferred to a State Prison to serve ten to twenty. On his committal, he'd been subjected to assault, both physical and otherwise, by other inmates. Noticing the caution with which they treated Sloane he had begged for protection, which Sloane had been pleased to grant – at a price. The kid now made Sloane's bunk, cleaned and tidied the cell and washed Sloane's personal clothing items. He was going to miss him when he finally went up-state.
Jack sat on the bunk. "What did you find out about the system?"
Sloane looked superior as he replied, "It's a standard DefGuard 3.5. It was state of the art when it was installed during the prison's renovation five years ago but now it's highly antiquated. The signals are transmitted along the standard electrical wiring for the building. If I can get hold of a laptop and access to the main junction box I can plug straight into the system and override any command entered by the Control Centre. I can also program in a time delay before the system executes any command I enter."
Jack's lips bent slightly. "Excellent. The only problem now is how we get hold of a laptop and then hide it until its needed; especially given the high level of surveillance and security we're under."
Sloane nodded. He's expected that interest in them both would reduce if they kept their heads down and caused no trouble but this hadn't happened. He knew that those at the very top of their profession not only demonstrated their complete understanding of its practical requirements but also had good instincts that they weren't afraid to follow. He and Jack both shared those characteristics, and so, it appeared did the Guard Captain of this facility. It was unfortunate but it had to be faced.
"We can't smuggle it in ourselves," he noted. "We're strip searched almost every time we leave the cellblock. If we pay someone else to do it, they are a potential security risk. I don't suppose you'd consider terminating them once they'd..?" He saw Jack's lips tighten and sighed, "No, I thought not. Well, that leaves us with a problem."
Then he had an inspiration. "They have laptops in the Education Department and that's located right next door to the Infirmary. Apart from the access gate to that section, all the doors have conventional locks. If we can arrange to be admitted to the Infirmary, it should be comparatively easy to get from there to the Education Department. Once we have the laptop we can go right ahead and stage our escape immediately!"
"We'd need to know more about the Infirmary routine and the security measures in place."
"An in-depth reconnaissance of that area is required." Sloane admitted. He stood up and squared his shoulders. Whatever happened, the next few days were going to be quite unpleasant. "Which do you prefer, the Infirmary or the Hole?"
Jack stood up to face him and, without warning, his fist lashed out, hitting Sloane squarely on the side of his face, cutting his lip and drawing blood. Sloane made no attempt to defend himself as another blow followed, then another.
Jack momentarily paused, giving Sloane a second to catch his breath from the beating he was dishing out. "Enough?" he asked quietly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sloane saw that several inmates had become aware of their fight and were moving rapidly toward his cell. Under his breath, he muttered, "Make it look real. We're about to have an audience."
Grabbing Sloane's shirtfront in one hand, Jack viciously backhanded him growling, "You snivelling sonofach!" Sloane raised his hands in a show of defence that Jack easily swept aside.
"I'm sick and tired of your lies and deceit!" he yelled.
Behind him, Jack heard voices shouting, "Do it man!" and "Hit him again!" He didn't need any urging as he vented some of the anger he'd held in check for many years. Finally, he had to reign himself in as Arvin began to slump. He didn't want to incapacitate Sloane for real. Besides, most of the blows he'd given were planned for maximum show and effect and not so much for true injury. Still, when he released Sloane, Arvin slid off the bed and onto the floor, his face a bloody mess and it was likely several severe bruises would be showing up.
Jack watched him fall with feigned disdain. Behind him, another voice said, "Ooooh, lover's quarrel!" He almost laughed at that, but his face remained a scowl as he stepped over Sloane's body to wash his hands at the sink. Sloane's blood and his own from several split knuckles washed down the drain. He knew his hands would probably swell and hoped it didn't hinder any fine motor control he might need. Before doing something like this again, he'd have to recommend that Arvin put on a little more weight for padding!
Turning, Jack didn't even glance down at Sloane as he walked to the door. The sea of prisoner onlookers parted out of his way with the exception of one burly looking man who blocked his path. Jack tried staring him down, but the man wouldn't budge. Finally, Jack asked, "You want some of what he got?"
"You think you could, old man?"
"The question is: are you willing to find out?"
After another long pause, taking each other's measure, the man finally backed out of his way. Inwardly, Jack sighed with relief. He'd been bluffing and was not at all sure he could have taken on the big man alone, especially with his hands beginning to ache. As he passed through the rest of the inmates, he felt all eyes upon him and wished he had an ally watching his back. Silently, he stalked to his own cell and went in, sitting down on his bunk, nearly exhausted.
In just a moment, he heard the commotion he'd been expecting as the alarm sounded off, meaning that Arvin had been discovered, or more likely, a stoolie had tipped off the guards. It was only a few seconds later that two guards appeared in his doorway and ordered, "Face down on the floor, Bristow!"
He complied, as it was not part of the plan to appear innocent.
"You move a muscle and you'll be tazered! Understand?" one of the guards yelled at him as Jack lowered himself to the floor. "Arms by your sides, palms down!"
Jack did as he was told, feeling the strain in his neck and shoulders from that position. One guard knelt behind him and handcuffed him behind his back. "Yep, looks like he was the one." The guard said and Jack could only surmise that he'd seen his skinned knuckles. The guard slipped a restrain belt around his waist and hooked the handcuffs to it, then roughly hauled him to his feet.
"You want to explain why you decided to beat the crap out of your buddy?" the guard asked. Jack didn't reply, but just looked at them disinterestedly. "Well, mister, you're going to regret that little incident. We'll see how you like cooling off in The Hole!"
With that, they led Jack off to the detention centre. He barely caught a glimpse of the gurney taking Arvin off to the infirmary. Phase one of the plan was in play.
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Sloane returned to consciousness but, with the skill drawn from long experience, gave no outward sign of the fact. He needed to evaluate his situation to know how best to play the next few moments. He was lying on a firm but comfortable surface and hands were professionally examining his body. Good, I'm in the Infirmary.
He raised his arms defensively. "No!! Jack, let me explain! For God's sake, man, just listen to me!" he shouted as hands grabbed his arms and tried to pull his arms away from his face. He resisted, continuing to protest.
"It's OK. Relax. No one's trying to hurt you!" a man's voice said. "You're in the Infirmary now. Relax!"
"No, please, stop…!" he cried one more time, before letting the doctor move his arms down.
"It's OK. You're safe now." He coaxed as Sloane opened his eyes, finding one already swollen. He moaned dramatically.
"Relax. I need to examine your wounds," the doctor ordered.
Sloane did as he was told, his suppressed groans of pain a master study in agony stoically endured as he was poked and prodded. One spot on his ribcage really did hurt, drawing a genuine yelp when the doctor palpated it. For effect, he complained loudly, "That bastard broke my ribs!"
The doctor called for the portable X-ray machine and indeed it later revealed he had a hairline fracture. Most of his other injuries were deemed not too serious and no internal injuries were discovered. Upon completing his exam, the doctor proceeded to put a few stitches into his split lip and several steri-strips were used to close up cuts on one cheek and above the other eye.
The doctor and the guard debated whether to send him back to his cell and he protested.
"Jack will only start where he left off! I tried to talk to him but he won't listen to reason! He's completely out of control at the moment!"
The guard told him that Jack had been sent to detention and Sloane nodded, saying, "That's good. It'll give him some time to calm down and reflect. But I still can't go back yet." He made the physical and mental adjustments needed to appear as small and frail as possible. "Look at me; I'm a middle aged business man! You know how it works in the cell blocks. I was able to survive before because the other inmates bought into this CIA black operations garbage the D.A. is spreading about us and I had Jack to watch my back. I don't have those protections anymore and an injured man is an easy target for the predators down there!"
He turned to the doctor, a pleading expression on his face, "You're a professional man like me. Could you survive even a day in general population, especially when you're injured?"
He watched as the doctor's expression softened before decreeing that he should spend a few days in the Infirmary, at least until his rib healed, before being sent back. It was exactly the result Sloane had worked towards and he lay back with a satisfied sigh.
T.B.C.
Glossary
Write up – Report for a disciplinary infraction.