Late Thursday Afternoon
"Goren, my office," Deakins called from his door.
Bobby crossed the space and entered.
"Shut the door," Deakins said as the man in the chair stood up and turned to face Bobby. "Detective Goren, this is Special Agent Wycoff, Detective Goren. Sit down, Bobby."
The two men shook hands and Bobby sat. "Special Agent Wycoff here is with the FBI. He wants to talk to you. I'll be upstairs if you need me." With that, Deakins left the two men alone and shut the office door behind him.
"What's this about?" Bobby asked.
"Dr. Gleason Wintermantle is your wife – correct, Detective?"
"Yes, is she all right?"
"She is fine. Dr. Wintermantle has agreed to cooperate with the American government in identifying some writing on an artifact. We appreciate her cooperation in this matter as she seems to be the top expert in deciphering ancient and obscure languages."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Your wife will be away for about six weeks, give or take, completing her analysis. This visit is a courtesy to you so you would not worry about her absence."
"Six weeks? Where is she going? When does she leave?"
"Her destination and the details about her work are confidential. She has signed a confidentiality agreement so she will not be able to discuss this with you upon her return. She has already left."
Bobby stood and paced in a square, "What?! She's already gone? What about her heart medication? She has a heart condition and needs medication."
"All of her basic needs have been attended to, including her medical needs. She will be cared for completely. You have nothing to be concerned about."
"Where is she going?"
"As I said, Detective, that is confidential. I assure you; no harm will come to her. She is doing the American government a tremendous service. You should be proud of her."
Bobby continued to pace and his agitation continued to climb, "I want to talk with her. How can I reach her? I want to speak with her."
Agent Wycoff stood and faced the detective; the Captain had warned him about this man's temper, "Detective, calm down. You cannot reach your wife. She is safe and will be in the protective custody of the United States government during her assistance. She will return in six week's time, perhaps sooner. Now sit down."
Bobby was at a loss, where is she? "You cannot do this. You cannot just pluck someone and sweep them off somewhere for six weeks. Tell me where she is!"
"Detective, I am warning you, calm down right now. Your wife is safe; no harm will come to her. Trust me; she is safe; let us do our job. Let her do her job. Now, I am going to leave and you are going to go back to your work. We will periodically update you to let you know how she is doing, do not try to contact us. Do we understand each other?" Agent Wycoff waited and then added, "I need to hear you say that you understand, Detective."
Bobby looked darkly at the other man and then spat out, "Yes, yes! I understand."
"Thank you for your cooperation. Have a good day." With that, Agent Wycoff left the office and walked straight to the elevators. Bobby stayed in Deakins' office for a few minutes and then returned to his desk. He tore his chair from its place and sat, hands over his face.
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Sledge caught Eames as she returned to the bullpen. "Alex," he said softly. She ignored him and kept walking. Sledge stopped and watched her continue to her desk, debating what to do.
Bobby flipped shut his cell, Gleason didn't answer her cell, so he tried her office.
"Ancient Studies, can I help you?"
"Hi, this is Robert Goren, why didn't this call go straight to Gleason Wintermantle's phone?" he asked.
"Oh, uh, faculty calls are currently being redirected through the department desk."
This didn't sound right, he thought. "Then put me through to Dr. Wintermantle, please."
"One moment."
Bobby heard a click, soft music, another click and then nothing.
He took the phone from his ear and stared at it. Then, he re-dialed, listened to the ring, heard a click, another and then nothing.
What is going on, he wondered. Bobby snapped shut his phone and saw Deakins return from the elevators.
"I need to speak with you," he said standing, following and then shutting Deakins' office door behind him. "What the fuck do you know about this?" he asked darkly.
"Bobby, I know nothing. I had a call that an agent was coming over to speak with you and to make sure you would be here. Since you and Eames were scheduled inside today, I said you would be here. Twenty minutes later, Wycoff shows up and he tells me he needs to speak to you about Gleason. I ask if she is ok, he says yes and then he asks if he needs to know anything about you. I tell him you have a bad temper, but are not violent and then he said to ask you to come in and that I was to leave. That's it. If I knew anything else, you know I would tell you." Deakins looked at the other man pace. "So, what's up? What can you tell me? Do I even want to know? Bobby, sit down."
Bobby stopped, looked at the man he trusted most and then sat. "He told me that Gleason is going to be working for the government for six weeks, he wouldn't say where. She's going to decipher some writing or something. I can't contact her, she can't contact me. They'll keep me informed. That's it."
Deakins and Bobby looked at each other and Deakins knew what Bobby was thinking. "Bobby, Wycoff told me to tell you not to try and use any resources to investigate this. He said you would be wise to let it be and wait for her to come home. Do what he says, Bobby. Let it be. Let Gleason do what she needs to do and then she will be home. Don't make trouble for her."
"'Don't make trouble for her?' What the hell is she doing? She's going to be gone for six weeks! Jesus, six weeks! I need to know where she is, that she's ok. I need to know, Captain." Bobby sounded desperate.
"Look, I'm telling you this as your boss and as your friend, do not pursue this, Bobby. It's the government. You will only make trouble for Gleason. It's only six weeks. Let it be."
"I don't have a good feeling about this. I don't. Something isn't right. I'm going to check out this Wycoff, see if he is who he says he is." Bobby stood and had his hand on the doorknob when Deakins said, "Don't do anything, Bobby. You will only make it worse. Let it be."
Bobby stopped and looked at this boss, "You know something, don't you?"
Deakins sighed and threw his pen onto the desk, "No, Bobby, I don't know anything. What I do know is that you are only going to make trouble. I'm ordering you to let it go. Wait for her to come home."
"You cannot order me on this, this is my wife! I'll do what I have to do," and Bobby strode back to his desk.
Deakins looked sadly at the man leave and lifted the phone, dialed, waited and then said, "He's going to make trouble."
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Eames stood at the fax machine, waiting for the paperwork from the Air Base at XXX. A pilot had been found shot to death in his living room and his Brazilian wife was nowhere to be found. Major Case was involved to work with the Air Force.
Sledge walked to her and stood with his hands in his pockets, "Hon," he said softly.
"You fucking bastard," she replied just as softly.
"We need to talk."
"You're just thinking of that now?" Eames glanced up at him and turned to walk away.
Without thinking, Sledge grabbed her arm and Alex wrenched away, "Keep your fucking hands off me, you bastard!" she said not so quietly.
Nearly the entire bullpen turned toward the couple, stared, and then returned to their business. Eames walked to her desk and Sledge watched her go.
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Thursday Night
"Alex, open the goddamn door," Sledge said darkly, quietly, leaning with his forehead against it. "I'm not leaving." He knew she was in there; she'd hung up on him when he'd called from the car. "Open the fucking door!" He'd left his key on the night table the last time he left.
A click, another, and he pushed it open and entered, shutting and locking it behind him. Alex crossed to the sofa, sat and drew up her legs; a nearly empty bottle of wine sat beside her glass on the end table. She had been crying.
"Hon –," and he didn't know what else to say. Eames wouldn't look at him, sobs hitched in her chest, and she wiped at her eyes and nose with the handkerchief Bobby had given her this afternoon.
Slowly, Sledge crossed the room and sat beside her. She turned, putting her back to him. "Hon, I'm sorry. I should have told you what I was going to do. I'm sorry."
Eames said nothing and reached for her glass. Sledge turned toward her, put a hand on her shoulder and took the glass from her, setting it on the coffee table. "Look at me. Come on, turn around and look at me."
Her head dropped and she cried anew and Sledge felt like shit. "Hon, come here." He turned her and she acquiesced, leaning against his chest and crying like a child. "Oh, Hon. I am so sorry. Alex . . . I am so sorry."
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Even though he knew he would find nothing, Bobby sat at in their apartment with a beer and his laptop searching the FBI web pages. He got further than most citizens do as he improperly and illegally used department access codes. He knew that these searches were laying down cookies on his home computer, and that he could get into serious trouble, but he didn't care.
Four hours later, he was frustrated and knew nothing – just as he had figured. Wycoff showed up nowhere anywhere Bobby had looked. He searched for anything related to anything and found nothing. Whatever Gleason was doing, it was deep.
Bobby closed up his computer, put his empty beer bottle in the recycling bin and headed to bed; but he didn't sleep.
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Sledge sat on Alex's sofa, holding her as she slept. They had talked and nothing was any better. He loved Alex, and he still loved his ex-wife, Linda, and he wanted to be away from them both.
What is wrong with me? he asked himself. This woman loves me and I love her. So, why can't I commit to her? What am I running from? What am I looking for? Sledge hated himself.
Alex sighed, shifted and woke. "Edward?" she asked drowsily.
"Hon, you awake?"
She unfolded herself from him, stretched and nodded, "Let's go to bed," she said standing.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Alex," he replied, looking up at her.
"Yeah, come on. I want to." They stared at each other, each knowing this was not a good idea at all and she reached her hand toward him. He took it and followed her to the bedroom.
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