Chapter 14. The Audit Job
February 24, 1977, 9 AM, Jamaica.
"I am not wearing that."
"But you can't just go into the Lazenby office looking like yourself. Romanova knows what you look like, and may have passed your description around."
As far as Roan was concerned, there was absolutely nothing wrong with looking like himself. He did understand Agent Gunter's concerns, though. His appearance could have been passed along through the SPIRITE ranks, so going in as himself did pose some risks. Still, there was a right way and a wrong way to do things, he thought, as he eyed the wig in Mary's hand with distaste.
"I suppose you have an eye patch to go with it?" he asked. The wig was ridiculous, a mop of black hair that wouldn't look convincing on anyone. If he put it on, it would practically scream 'I'm not who I say I am,' immediately followed by 'I don't know what I'm doing.'
"It's the best I could come up with," Agent Gunter explained. "We haven't had a lot of time to prepare."
That much was true. Normally, some reconnaissance would be undertaken prior to invading enemy territory. Unfortunately, the Director hadn't given them enough time to do this. In fact, until they'd received the package from Miami early in the morning, they hadn't been sure the mission would even take place.
Bartowski had been as good as his word, as the package contained what appeared to be the Klebichok detection device the Director had ordered him to build. It looked like an asthma inhaler, but with a sensor at one end. If the agent was nearby, presumably the light on the sensor would turn red. At least that was what Roan assumed; there hadn't been a chance to test it out.
In order to find out if Bartowski's device did work, they'd have to get inside the Lazenby office. And then, assuming the agent actually was there, they'd find out soon enough. But getting inside was step one, and it was clear he'd have to clamp down on Agent Gunter's enthusiasm if they wanted to do it right.
"Look," he explained patiently, "the most important part of a disguise isn't what you wear. It's believing that you're the person you want everyone else to see you as. A wig, or some put-on accent, isn't going to do that."
"So what do you suggest?" Agent Gunter asked.
"We just need to play on their own fears a bit."
Much better, Roan thought to himself as he studied his reflection in the mirror. While the makeshift CIA office didn't offer much in the way of comfort, it at least had a selection of items that allowed for a more suitable disguise. All he'd needed was a suit and some hair dye. At first he'd hadn't been too anxious to use the grey color, but it was clear that he wore it well. When he looked in the mirror, all he saw was a more debonair, distinguished version of himself.
He left the room to find Agent Gunter waiting outside, looking petulant. "I still don't know why this would work. Don't you think they'd know that no one was coming to check their books?"
Mary fidgeted with the glasses she was wearing as she said this. Dressed in a white blouse, and long wool skirt, her appearance perfectly matched Roan's intentions. The glasses were a nice touch, too. He answered, "You've seen the notes. SPIRITE is a vaguely interconnected web of companies. There won't be a lot of communication between the different branches. I doubt anyone at Lazenby will know anyone outside of that building. Which means it will be an office full of middle manager types. And if there's one thing they're paranoid about, it's the possibility of doing the wrong thing in front of a higher-up. So they won't question a thing we say, as long as they believe we, or at least I, outrank them. But we don't have time to debate, so let's go."
Once they had finished with their disguises, they headed down to the car that had been left for them by the CIA. The drive was short, but the roads were rough, to say the least. As they were driving, Roan asked, "You're clear with the plan?"
"Of course."
"Then all we have to worry about is that this toy of your boyfriend's actually works."
"Bartowski's hardly my boyfriend," Mary glared at him.
Roan chuckled. "You sure about that?"
"He's very good at his job, and I admire him for that. That's it." After a moment, she added, "We come from two different worlds, and we clearly believe different things."
Roan shrugged. "Doesn't seem like much of an obstacle to me. And you shouldn't underestimate the benefit of some pre-mission…stress-relieving."
"Yeah, I've heard all about your reputation for relieving yourself with every woman you can find," Mary replied tartly.
"And do I seem stressed to you?"
Agent Gunter didn't have an answer for that. And why would she? Going undercover, pretending to be someone he was not, was the best part of his job. Or second best, next to all the beautiful women. And the two often seemed to go hand in hand.
The rest of the car ride was quiet, but short, and they soon arrived at Lazenby Headquarters. The building was fairly small, about three stories of generic brick and siding, with a nondescript logo in the front. It certainly didn't give off a vibe of international terrorism. Agent Gunter commented as much as they left the car.
"Well, what did you expect? Their offices to be inside a volcano?" Roan led Mary up to the entrance, holding the door for her as she entered. Once inside, he moved in front of her and marched up to the front desk.
The receptionist was a native to the island, wearing a white linen shirt much like Agent Gunter's. She looked uncertain when she saw Roan enter the building, and even more uncertain when she saw his face.
"I'm here for the audit," Roan announced unceremoniously.
"Audit?" the woman asked.
"Well, of course." Roan looked over at Mary. "I told them to keep things quiet, but you'd think they'd at least know enough to notify reception." Turning back to the receptionist, "Yes of course, the audit. I'm from the front office, and here to make sure the proper protocol is being run."
The receptionist studied them for a moment. "Perhaps I'd better call my boss."
"Perhaps you should."
A moment after the young woman put down the phone, a short, balding man hurried out of the nearby elevator. Unlike the receptionist, he wasn't from the Island. Perhaps due to the heat, or perhaps due to the current situation, there was a fair amount of sweat on his forehead. He gave Mary only the slightest glance, then turned to Roan. "I'm Winton Brandt. I run things here. What is this about an audit?" He had managed to muster up some defiance, though Roan could see through it. He was little more than a middle man, one unlikely to know the truth behind his company.
"That's right. I trust you have everything ready."
"I know nothing about any audit!"
"It figures," Roan commented, then turned to Mary. "You didn't call ahead to let them know we were coming?"
Agent Gunter's face was all innocent confusion. "I thought this was supposed to be a surprise audit?"
"Well, of course it's not a surprise audit! They were supposed to get all of their paperwork ready beforehand. Now this is going to take twice as long!" He shook his head and flashed a quick, conspiratorial smile at Brandt. "Women, right?"
The man nodded, apparently thrilled to be part of the feigned camaraderie. A moment later, he appeared to take this as a sign to push his case. "I understand the predicament, but really you must have the wrong place. This is the Lazenby front office. If there was to be an audit, it would have been administered by me."
Roan made a point of rolling his eyes. "Of course I'm not from Lazenby front office! My orders came from much higher. Surely you know this is part of a conglomerate, don't you?"
Brandt was either crushed at being reminded of his own middling status, or by the rebuke from his supposed new ally. "Well, of course I do know that we have several sister companies…"
"Sisters, brothers, uncles, you name it. Let's just say that I'm from Great Grandpa. And he's a bit concerned about the way things are run over here. You don't want to get written out of his will, do you?"
This seemed to satisfy, or at least scare, the manager. "Tell me what you need."
"Why don't you talk to my secretary over here," Roan replied, pointing to Mary. "She'll make sure you get everything we need." Turning back to Agent Gunter, he added, "Don't forget, we need all shipping and receiving documentation for the last three years. And no sneaking off for a cigarette either. Since you decided this was a 'surprise' audit, you can make sure we make up some of the time. In the mean time, I need to call the head office." Turning back to the receptionist, he asked, "Is there a phone I can use?"
"We have one right here," the woman responded, smiling politely.
"No, that won't do. I need to give an accounting of everything so far, and it would be best not to have any prying ears."
The manager nodded. "Celia, why don't you show Mr…"
"Mr. Trevelyan," Roan responded, handing the other man the business card he'd had prepared earlier in the day.
"Mr. Trevelyan to my office. He can call from there."
Roan wasn't surprised to see the red light on the sensor. As clueless as Brandt seemed to be, it was unlikely that he even knew what the Klebichok agent was. If that was an act, he wasn't going to bring a stranger to its location.
Roan glanced around the office, checking to see if anything else of value would turn up. It was a fairly generic office, with a few drab landscapes on the wall, and the usual set of functional furniture. A typewriter stood on the desk, and the bookshelf mainly contained management-how-to books. Even the booze in the bottom desk drawer was low-end.
Roan decided it was time to move on. He slowly opened the door, making sure no one else was around. There were a few other offices along the way, containing busy or semi-busy employees, but none piqued either Roan's or the sensor's interest. One person looked up at him curiously, so he made a point of holding up the sensor to his mouth and coughing. Satisfied, and unconcerned, with the apparent asthma attack, the Lazenby employee and Roan both returned to work.
Eventually Roan found a stairwell and headed downward. He was about to open the door leading to the hallway, but stopped when he saw a guard walking by. A heavily armed guard, which didn't seem necessary for a place like this. Once the guard had passed, Roan quietly followed him.
As he slowly traced the guard's steps, Roan recognized the bearing and precise movements that only came from a military training. That, along with the firepower, both seemed out of place here. Unless, you knew who Lazenby belonged to.
The guard stopped at an iron door, and began punching numbers into a key lock next to it. Roan wasn't close enough for the sensor to be in range, but if the Klebichok was in the building, this seemed like a good candidate. He needed to get in there.
But at the moment, there wasn't a good way to do that. He'd have to wait. Unfortunately, as he backed away, his foot made the slightest squeak on the floor. The guard whirled around, the muzzle of his gun pointed at Roan.
"Come here," the guard commanded.
Roan put his hands over his head, moving slowly forward. "I seem to have gone down to the wrong floor. I was trying to get back to the entrance."
Once he was in range, the guard grabbed him with his paws, and frisked him. Reaching Roan's suit jacket, he paused at the inside pocket, and retrieved the sensor. He studied it curiously.
"My inhaler," Roan explained. "The heat down here in Jamaica can be a bit tough on me."
The guard tilted the sensor, allowing Roan to see the still-green light. When he flipped it around to examine the light, Roan saw his chance. He made a quick stab with his hand into the guard's solar plexus, then grabbed the hand holding the gun. Figuring this wasn't a time for style points, he then kneed the man in the groin. With the guard on the ground, and having released his firearm, all Roan needed to do was hit him in the head with the butt-end of the gun, and he was unconscious.
Remembering the code that the guard had entered into the key lock, Roan repeated it, and opened the door. He dragged the guard inside and had a look around.
As far as he, and the Klebichok detector, could tell, the room was completely chemical weapon-free. Instead, it was mainly filled with communications equipment, as well as a large computer terminal. Roan quickly moved over to one of the terminals, displaying a radar detector. After a few bleeps, he knew where he had to go next.
A crackle from behind returned Roan's attention to the unconscious guard. He knelt down to examine the man, and found a small earpiece. He removed it and stuck it inside his own ear.
"Vesper! Come in. You there?" Roan recognized the faint accent of the receptionist.
"Look, if you're not too busy fooling around," the woman's voice continued, "I'm sure these two people are the ones Romanova warned us about. The older man went off to make a phone call, or so he said. If he's this Montgomery, then he's more dangerous than he looks. I can take care of the woman."
Damn. Agent Gunter was in trouble. He'd have to hurry.
As he rushed back upstairs, Roan nearly ran into Brandt, carrying a stack of papers with him. Gambling on the man's cluelessness, the CIA Agent slowed his pace, and shifted his bearing back to that of the officious Trevelyan. "You!" he barked. "Where is my secretary?"
"Oh, she's in Conference Room B, down the hall. Here," he handed the papers to Roan, "these are the receiving logs from 1975. They'd been misfiled. You'll need them."
Roan grabbed the papers, and headed off to find his partner.
February 5, 2011. 10:00 PM, Echo Park, CA
"You what?"
Casey clearly still had some leftover aggression from his run-in with his daughter and Morgan earlier in the day. Chuck wished Sarah had been willing to wait to call him until the next morning, but she had been clear that the NSA agent needed to be brought in now. Which is why he now sat on their couch, fuming.
"We weren't sure what it was at first," Sarah explained patiently. She was standing between him and Casey, which Chuck found somewhat reassuring. "But there are too many parallels to what's going on now with Deloski. We need to look into them."
She handed Casey Chuck's notebook. He flipped through the pages for a few minutes, reading silently. "Well," he finally said, "it's no Tom Clancy, that's for damn sure. You say your father wrote this?" he asked.
Chuck nodded.
"Good thing he never quit his day job. Who are these people?"
"Well, the main guy is…Roan, actually." Seeing the confusion in Casey's expression he added, "The names in there were embedded in the Intersect."
This set Casey off again, and he jumped to his feet. "You mean this thing made you flash, and you didn't think it was important?"
Chuck shrugged. "My dad was a weird guy sometimes. It seemed like it was for me personally, not the CIA."
"Chemical weapons aren't personal, Bartowski," Casey growled.
"I know that, Casey. That's why we called you."
Casey looked like he was going to say something further, but finally he sighed, and sat back down again. He leafed through the notebook a little longer, his face intent with concentration.
As a peace offering, Chuck went to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of beer. Casey took it wordlessly. "So, everything ok? Whaddya say we just live and let live, huh?"
Casey smirked. "Live wasn't the word I was thinking of. But our priority is to find the Klebichok agent. You can die another day."
"Gee, thanks." Chuck walked over to Sarah and waited while Casey continued to read. "So, what do you think?"
Casey looked up. "I think I know what we need to do to finish that."
"What's that?"
"Have a talk with Roan Montgomery."
Will Agent Mary Gunter survive? Will she ever get the chance to become Chuck's mother…Hmm, I guess that's not much of a cliffhanger.
Try again.
Will the Lazenby offices get trashed in an epic battle? Will the cleaning crew have a huge mess on their hands. Stay tuned till the next episode of "From Burbank With Love."
Better.
As always, thanks everyone for loyally sticking by this story, and reviews – as always – are valued.