Participants:
| Scene Title | Bad Company, Part I |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Senior Agent Martin Crowley begins his internal investigation, starting with Minea Dahl. |
| Date | August 31, 2009 |
Fort Hero, Conference Room
Despite the fact that Fort Hero has all of the charms of a leaky aircraft carrier, the old decomissioned military base has some charms that can't quite be diminshed by the smell of wet metal, damp concrete and fresh plaster. In the months since retreating to this old decomissioned research facility, the Company has done its level best to bring up to not only building code, but also living standards.
While the gray-blue color of the freshly painted concrete in the conference room isn't quite the most cheerful color in the world, it offsets the battleship gray of the rest of Fort Hero remarkably well. It's here, at the long table reserved for Company meetings where Minea Dahl has been waiting for the last seventeen minutes.
Agonizingly boring time spent reminiscing about such fun anecdotes as, "that time Len yelled at me" and "the time Len yelled at me harder" start to leave an impression just in the time it takes for the short and bedraggled looking gentleman in tortoiseshell glasses to come in through the door. Juggling a styrofoam coffee cup, a tabbed folder of documents and a vibrating cell phone in some business world shuffle, he offers little in the line of believable excuses.
"Sorry about th'wait," his British accent is both charming and grating all in one, "I got a touch lost trying to find the conference room. This place is sort've built like a big game of Mousetrap, except nobody ever wins." His lips spread into a pearly white smile as the stack of folders is laid down, paged open, and a coffee ring promptly left on one corner as he sets his cup down.
"So, ah— you're my first interview since transferring here…" his fingers trace over the documents, tapping something written at the top. "Agent, ah, Dahl." The man's eyes uplift to the woman seated at the table, smile smaller now. "My name is Senior Agent Martin Crowley, and I'm with the COmpany's Internal Affairs department." The Company has an IA department; efficient, and excessively evil, even for the Company.
"I'm only going to take a little bit of your time, so I hope ambushing you like this isn't entirely a waste of both of our times." A pen pops out of his jacket, clutched between two fiddling fingers as he settles down into his seat that is set five inches too low, making him look like a fifth grader trying to sit at the big kids table. With a lever-action, he pumps himself up to proper adult height with only a modicum of embarassment.
"You're Minea Dahl. Your sister-in-law is Evolved— Registered, and she and her husband don't know you actually work for a paper company." Irony lights his voice with a reasonable facsimile of humor. "You are former International Security Agency.
"Still were when Christian got run over, and Kazimir Volken almost ended life as we know it with the Shanti virus. Your parting gift to them was a folder on the Phoenix roster circa 2009. Did you know you're about to become an aunt?"
Up from her chair Minea stands when he enters - her parents did instill some sense of manners in her- and an offering of her hand to him when he introduces himself. "Senior Agent Crowley" A nod of her head to the other man. IA, or it's ilk are not uncommon to Minea and she is so far from surprised that she's the first. Given a) who recruited her b) that she seems to pull miracles out of her ass, c) she was present on January 28th at a certain place that she really shouldn't have been albeit under the auspices of a different agency. Or that she recently did what she did, and a lot of people have met untimely ends or were injured while she was doing her job.
"Really big game of mousetrap, replete with strange monkey's that are half porcupines, enormous squirrel's and most of the cheese just out of reach. I'm sure most don't say this when you're around, but it's a pleasure to meet you Agent" She won't say that he's detracting from valuable time spent with a nose to the pavement and fruitlessly searching for Ivanov. Or renting an apartment for a month so that when her family comes up in a week and change she can pretend to live there. Can't exactly bring them back to Fort Hero now can we.
"Please, ask away" She eases back down into her chair, elbows on the arms of the seat, fingers steepled. Her leather jacket creaks a fraction, and her jeans scuff as she crosses a leg.
"You're joking about the monkey thing, right?" Martin asks with an awkward laugh, still paging thorugh documents, then looks up with brows furrowed. "I mean— everyone's joking about the monkey thing, right? Hazings or something, because if not I'm really not comfortable where I parked my car and— " he looks back to the door, lips pursed, and slouches back in his seat, grabbing his coffee cup to take a distracted sip.
"Ah, right where…" his eyes wander down back to the documents. "It says here we share a mutual work associate in Roger Goodman. I worked for him out in Chicago a few years back, and it says here you and he had some… connections?" Martin's eyes flit up to Minea, watching her reactions.
"Why don't you start with what you think of Roger," he talks about him like he's not dead, but someone of his level of security has to be aware of his condition, "and we'll just sort've go off from there. All of this is entirely off the record, and whatever you say here can't be used to discipline you in any fashion."
When Minea yanks the gun out of the holster and rolls to the side, she watches as two darts come shooting past her to stick into the floor with a resounding pair of thunks. The muffled curse under the breath of the black-clad man is all the confirmation Minea needs to know that whatever it is she's doing, it's not what he expected. She rises up into a crouch and levels the gun at the intruder, and as she squeezes down on the trigger something strange happens.
Right in front of her eyes there's a quick flash of blue-purple metallic particles, like metal filings thrown into the air. In that same moment, a deep magenta haze forms into the shape of a tall and thin man with dark, chocolate-brown skin in a full suit. His hand is resting on the barrel of the gun, and the gun is dissolving under his touch into metal shavings. His coal-black eyes peer down at her, even as the man behind him that Minea was aiming at lowers his gun.
"Miss Dahl." He says in a deep, calm voice as there's a violet flash under his hand, and the gun flies apart in disassembled pieces down to the screws and bolts, bullets falling apart as the gun seems to flicker away into component pieces, "You passed."
The hand turns, palm up as the bald man's brows raise, "Can I help you up off of the floor?" The man she drove a knife into raises both of his hands in a gesture of surrender near her, while the one she was about to shoot with the dart gun makes sure his weapon is holstered and then does the same.
What the hell is going on?
"Really not kidding about the monkey thing. I can provide you with a map. They're on the edge of the property. I'm hoping that someone sends a team out there to study them. Either Plum Island is not keeping good track of their experiments, and boy are they strange, or… they were doing some questionable things here before we took over" But enough about the monkey's.
"Roger Goodman. Roger Goodman was.. a man with.. good intentions, but the execution was flaw'd and the results that he wanted were something that will take many many years to come to fruition. He saw the error of his ways far too late to do much about them and I can admire his dedication and with how close he came to pulling it off. But his temerity… That the Company wouldn't find out" Minea shakes her head a bit. I hate him a bit. I hate that his actions left me on my kitchen floor and some side effects from what he had done ot me, but… " Of course it wouldn't be used to discipline her. But it could be used to blackmail her, discipline others etc etc etc. Minea's not an idiot. But she understands. She very much understands.
Minea stands, no move made to take her purse, just the push up of both hands against the arms of the seat as she comes to join him by the window. "You're evolved, Mr. Goodman. What's your thoughts on others who are born with this change in their genetic structure that gives them this added benefit"
One brow raises slowly at the question, and Roger turns around to fully take in Minea. "I, personally, like to quote a very venerable piece of literature that is no less timely today than when it was written — 'With great power, comes great repsponsibility.'" There is a crooked smile the seemingly straight-laced man delivers as he quotes from Spiderman, "But it is truth, I feel we Evolved have a great responsibility put upon us to help protect and guide those of us who have yet to undergo the next Evolutionary step. I do not see it as a matter of if all humans will one day be like myself, but when." He gives a slow, subtle nod of his head to Minea.
"I feel that those of us who act poorly in representation of we as a loose-knit people irreperably damage the future of our society as a whole, and people like myself are bound by the ideals of an umbrella of protection to offer additional security to our brothers and sisters — Evolver or not."
"The behavior of the one, reflects upon the behavior of the whole." Even she catches the spiderman reference as she glances out over the wasteland that is midtown. "You won't have to wait even two hours, Mr. Goodman. Last night, while a bit unorthodox, got my ire up and left me quite upset after. Made me realize what part of my career I do enjoy as well. I accept."
That surprises him, and it's visible on his face. Nodding his head slowly, there's a thin smile that creeps up across his lips as he moves towards his desk once more, bending over to push the powder blue folder towards Minea, with the logo of Biomere Research imprinted on the front. "Then, Miss Dahl," he flips the folder open to a single page document with the company's corporate log on it, and several signature lines on the bottom. "I think we have a secretary position that just opened for you." Producing a pen from his jacket, he lays it down on the document and slides it forward, white smile bright against his dark skin.
"Just sign here."
Both of Martin's brows go up, tapping the tip of his pen against his palm and unknowingly leaving tiny little black marks he'll wonder about later all over it. "That's a… particularly vivid explanation of Roger's actions." He turns his pen down to the paper, scribbling a few notes as his free hand scoops up that cup of coffee again, sipping from the styrofoam rim before looking up over the frames of his glasses to Minea.
"Things get a little more prickly from here on out." His dark brows furrow, eyes shifting to the side. "But, it's related to Roger in a way. Do you personally think the Company is doing it's job to the best of its ability to analyze and understand the Evolved, while at the same time protecting civillians from Evolved threats?"
"If I didn't Agent Crowley, I would have asked for a mind wipe and to be shoveled back to the ISA" Point blank, honest answer. "The company does the best it can, with what it can, and with it's history firmly around it's ankle, and a plan for the future. It may not be what the general public likes, or what the little vigilante baby terrorists like, but, there's been many more evolveds who might otherwise not have a firm hold on their ability, that do and are leading productive lives, and those who cannot or will not try to integrate themselves into society proper, are dealt with. Fear comes from not understanding. Understanding, makes the unknown, the boogeyman, known. Brings it out of the dark of your closet and into the light from your lamp and lets you see that it's just a damn coat hanger with a hat on top. The system isn't perfect, I'm sure, but nothing is. The system evolves, you account for mistakes, missteps, and you right them and you start over"
Bring it on mr. IA.
Once more both of Martn's brows go up, and despite the long and detailed analysis of Minea's statement, all he does is check off one, tiny box with a little 'X'. "Alright," another sip of his coffee, leaving a cream smudge on his lip that clarifies to Minea that it's a latte because coffee wouldn't give him that foamy moustache he's dashingly wearing now.
"Outside of our own performance, can you state any instances of knowing neglect that the Company has taken part in that endangered the lives of others?" One brow raises as he looks at the paper, then shifts to another, "or alternately can you tell me about anything you've witnessed yourself that seemed outside of the boundaries of acceptable Company behavior— something that you'd like to anonymously report in order to ensure it doesn't happen again?"
What is the guys level clearance?
It's a very bland look that the female agent gives the european as she opts to lean forward, a quizzical look on her face. "what's your clearance level?" there's a pause. "Five?"
"I actually don't have a number on my clearance level," Martin notes with a raise of his brows, "My status as Internal Affairs affords me a level of freedom of movement that supercedes Director's orders as long as it involves pursuing my current assignment, which happens to be— " he taps the butt of his pen down on the table with a ca-click, "investigating misappropriation of Company resources, improper management, and something a bit more classified." There's a touch of an insincere smile on Martin's face as his head dips to the side.
"I know what your clearance level is," he waves his pen in the direction of the file folder, "and I know what it might be lowered to if you don't happen to fulfill the laundry list of tasks that Denton assigned to you following your performance at the Metroplitan Museum of Art— " his smile spreads to even further levels of insincerity, "or what used to be the Met, at any rate."
"That is low, and you know it. Mine was an honest enough question" He hit a bone with her. Hit something. She was playing nice with him till then and the set of her jaw shows the tension now creeping in. "My clearance level does not match my actual knowledge of what the company has done in the past. But I keep my mouth shut because secret clandestine government agency's are never clean. Look who I worked for before I was recruited to here." Miena's nostril's flare a fraction.
"What they need to do? Keep better track and security of their vials of really dangerous viruses that could potentially mutate to kill 95 percent of the world population"
"and i'm working on finding kitty, no matter how hopeless a task that is unless somehow, Ms. Dalton or other saw fit to slap a tracker on his speedy ass"
"I'm not actually concerned about Felix Ivanov," Martin notes as if that's some sort've surprise, scribbling a note down in the margins before looking back up to Minea. "But, why don't you go over this virus business with me? Leave out the hearsay and go with what you saw and know yourself, it should be a sufficiently succinct list, then we'll beat 'round the bush a little bit and see what runs out."
There's a mildly off-put expression on Martin's face as he taps the end of his pen against the table. "Despite what you may've heard or seen, I'm actually on your side, Agent Dahl, if you've been victim to any inappropriate Company behavior. I've full authority to bring the purpetrators to a semblance of justice," at least he's not mincing words, "and you'd probably be surprised at the people I actually report to. Or— maybe you're not. So, let's talk more about this virus."
Unzipping his jacket in one brusque motion, he unearths a handful of paper from an inner pocket. Assuming that he isn't shot in the head by someone terribly paranoid about terrorists reaching into jackets, he casts them out onto chair. Scanned photography shows against the paper grain.
A tank ridden by a soldier in an unmarked uniform, assault rifle in hands; a scene of nude corpses tumbled about in the square maw of a modern day freight container, like a scene out of Auschwitz eerily misappropriated out of time; three people at a poker table, the two men's faces disguised by pixellation, the woman unmistakably Eileen Ruskin — ten years older; a room full of photographs clipped to string.
"These are reprinted from a package we got from the year 2018. They describe the world that's left after Volken guts the human population with a supervirus. He gets to be king," he concludes — for now, lifting his eyes.
"Agent Crowley, I know that IA is on our side. I've been there, I've done the interview, the spot checks, the redundancy examinations to make sure that both sides of the employee/employer are copacetic. You're doing you're job, I'm doing mine, they're doing theirs. it's a dance, but a necessary one to ensure that everything moves as it should" There's a tap of her forefinger on the table as she leans back.
"Bullshit" Comes from Minea's mouth. 2018? Is she the only one who isn't eating this line of crap? "You have pictures, from the future?" She's not bothering to come see the pictures, just finishing laying things out before getting herself a cup of coffee.
"Shanti Virus, the rest, well, All comes from the mouth's of babes, and a file I was handed to bring to them. Whether that file was forged, or real, I'll never know. But I do know, that it was an old company research that somehow, fell into wrong hands" There's a slight shrug from the woman across from him.
She swivels her chair from one side to the other. "Neext question agent Crowley"
There's a scribble of the name Shanti Virus down on Martin's notes with a large question mark written next to it. His eyes uplift to Minea, a faint smile creeping up on his lips — she's more resiliant than most of his appointments. "Alright, a bit of hardball then. Let's test that out of clearance knowledge of yours."
He leans back in his chair, the plastic frame creaking as he balances his pen between two fingers. "Tell me what you know about the destruction of Midtown, who was involved, and how the Company may have potentially mis-managed that situation… and," his head downcasts, "I'd like to remind you that anything said here on either side of the table remains confidential. I'd hate to have to interview you for entirely less plesant reasons."
Wiggling one finger around on the tip of his pen, Martin diverts back to the topic at hand. "So… ten megaton nuclear explosion, Sylar, Kirby Plaza— tell me what you know."
"Not one Gabriel Grey. One Peter Petrelli. Next question" God's honest truth. She's in for a penny in for a pound. "Mindwipe, number three, coming up, might as well make it worthwhile" There's a tap of her hand on the table as if to say hurry it up.
There's a chuckle from Martin, clearly that's a joke like the monkeys. "First of all, like I said, confidential. Secondly, if you're actually serious that a man the Company hired as an agent in the fall of 2008 was responsible for— " Martin's brows furrow, flipping thorugh some of his documentation before looking back up to Minea, then over to the door anxiously before leaning forward and laying down his pen, cradling his latte between his palms.
"Facts. What you know, who you heard it from, where they heard it from. Give me names, dates, places, something to investigate." Like a fish to a hook, Minea has reeled in one somewhat surly Brit.
"Caravaggio."
"One Teodoro Laudani. Member, possibly former member, of Phoenix. They have dug up quite the stockpile of information on the company, and it's earlier days. They're in contact with another former member of the Company, Hana Gitleman, who they have a tendency to call wireless. I'd lay bets that she's divulged quite a bit. But, cross my heart and hope to die, Laudani has never steered me wrong and he's who I go to to pull miracles out of my ass on demand from my bosses and their bosses."
Names are scribbled down in a frenzy of ink on paper as Martin's brows furrow, pausing at Wireless. He looks up, "The Israeli?" Jerking his attention back down, Martin begins to thumb through the documents he has on hand and pull one out. "It says here she attacked the Bronx facility in an attempt to secure the body of a young woman being held in Company care…" Martin's head tilts to the side, "that seems askew from her psyche profile. Exactly how well doy ou know Hana Gitelman?" There's a look back up towards Minea, Martin's hands folding, pen balanced over his thumbs.
One hand is up, forefinger stroking her lower lip. "Wireless?" Minea glances to Denton. "Nickname for Phoenix technopath," in case he didn't know. "She was the other one that I was telling you about. Only other one I know and… " It maybe makes sense? Mallory is the brother of someone who is in contact with Phoenix.
I want you to relinquish Mallory Allistair's body. It doesn't get any simpler than that.
"She was coming to fetch another technopath, who had been bodily possessed by yet another technopath. She didn't trust us to do as Agent Denton and I had promised and proceeded to infiltrate the building with the use of her ability. We had a scuffle in the halls in which she got the upper hand — "
Minea says, "Hana Gitleman. Codenamed Wireless. Tell that to the 'path." The lights go off and so does Len's computer and that raises her brows. "God, she's a bitch."
"Tell them to shut down the main line to the outside. It's the best we can do for now. Pull the plug if they have to until this is resolved." And all in all, there sits Len — a big grin on his face as he can't help but chuckle and turn to Minea. "We're having fun now, aren't we?" He puts his hands behind his head and leans further back in his chair with his feet up on his desk.
"Shut down all lines, she's a former Company agent and a technopath. Pull the fucking plug, I don't care if it pisses off your boss. She's been in the system the last fifteen minutes if not more." The phone is plunked down, and Minea glances to her blackberry again. "Denton, what if she makes a run for Allistair? It's not like the building right now is at its most secure after we just had a fucking breakout."
"You better go stop her. She's already in the system, she's gotta be close." Len stands and picks up his coffee mug. Apparently, he needs a refill. He strolls out of the office and over to the coffeemaker and pours some more for himself and takes a drink. Sure enough, all computers lose outside connectivity as the main router out is unplugged. It doesn't take long for the phones to start ringing.
The only light in the room comes through the window; the hallway is darker, at least until emergency lighting kicks on, slightly belated.
She wants to scream that she was injured and that's why, but refrains. "She ascertained that the technopath was no longer occupying the alistair girl's body and helped to reconnect her with her own body proper and left with her. To preserve the dignity of the company, seeing as it had already been compromised by other individuals, we didn't try to stop her. We figured that our lives and the lives of others within the building were a bit more important than two technopaths"
"Alistair." There's a tip of Martin's head as he looks over some paperwork. "Mallory and Simon, both admitted to the Company and tracked bi radio isotopes." There's a subtle cast of Martin's head into another nod, "Fascinating connection to Gitelman." Rubbing the back of his pen against the stubble of his chin, the Brit shifts from side to side in his chair.
Slow, heavy breathing comes from Simon, who is slumped in the corner of his cell, knees pulled up tight against his chest. He doesn't know what kind of place he's ended up, but it scares him. There are so many thoughts running through his hard it makes it hard to concentrate on any one in particular. That's the case up until Minea walks in and becomes a lightning rod for all his fear and anger. He glares daggers at and rises to full height. Not exactly imposing, but it makes him feel more comfortable, at least.
"How the hell do you think I'm doing?" Simon says. His hands are balled into fists at his side, clenched tight. "If you hurt my sister, I swear you'll be sorry." He obviously doesn't believe that they're taking good care of her.
"Let's get back to the topic of Teodoro Laudani. He's listed as a known associate of the organization Phoenix, possibly related to a series of cop killings in the city, and a large question mark next to his name as an Evolved or not, given family history." His eyes upturn towards Minea, brows furrowed, "Tell me, what do you know about Teodoro Laudani, and where he might have come into this information about the bomb? How did the two of you meet?"
"I'm the kind of guy who may not agree with the sin, but I might still take the sinner out to lunch, if that makes sense.
"That, is a long story" God is it ever, "I met him previous to employment with the company through my now deceased partner. The assignment to gain information on the various factions that were hunkering down in the city. Laudani was Einliter's contact. His source of information. He was a teacher, I believe. Italian in origin, and last I knew, he was not evolved. There's something, supposedly a ten year old version of him from the future, currently occupying his brain matter and body"
There's a man in the dingy hallway where there probably shouldn't be one. He's young, not yet thirty, a snarl of off-blond hair and blue eyes, clad in a jacket over a hoodie, both conspicuously empty of snow. It isn't readily in evidence how Teo got here. Between teleporters and a healthy public transit system, few things lie entirely outside the realm of possibility. "You know Chris?" He looks up at the woman entering. His eyes had been on the floor, a phone in his hand, passing for nobody; somebody waiting; a civilian. He is all of those things.
She's thinking now. "His information, likely tied to Wireless as well and from sources that I don't know. They have pretty surprising resources the little baby terrorists. Like I said, most of my miracles that I've pulled out of my ass have come from him and his bandy of merry vigilantes."
"He requested Einliter's and my expertise for the incidents of January 28th. After it was over, I cut ties, but on occasion either had to toss him back a stray idiot or two, that one of his associates sent to take a run at me, or I contacted him for information, or vice versa. The latest had been to deal with one Samantha Tanner and to bring her down."
"A teacher…" Martin nods his head, looking at the file in front of him, "public record states at th' Washington Irving High School, which was severely damaged in'a rocket attack as part've a false-flag attemp' t'frame PARIAH by th'terrorist organization called Vanguard." Everything Minea is saying lines up which makes him tilts his head to the side some, looking up at her with that mixture of puppy-dog confusion and peregrine falcon scrutiny. When his eyes focus back down on the documents, he lets the stack fall and scribbles a note.
"And Laudani's connection to Phoenix," Martin hesitates on bringing up that topic, chewing at his lower lip as he gives Minea a look — he knows something she doesn't. "Why don't you tell me how you first heard about Phoenix, and what you think the Company's handling of them as a rebellious organization has felt like in your own personal and professional experience."
Christian shakes his head softly. "If we cant get to them, neither can they. My contact inside Phoenix is a super hacker, and I think she'd help if I explained the situation. Either way, he's in imminent danger of being shot. EVen if they dont buy the body, they wont be able to find the him. Take Felix's badge, while your at it. We done here?"
Minea doesn't know about Laudani's brother and his link in that fashion. There are some things she doesn't know. "I heard about Phoenix through my travel orders and re-assignment from South America to New York. I was to assist Special Agent Powell, also known as Einliter, in securing intel on the various factions and to provide necessary documentation if he needed it. I didn't much know beyond that, about them since they weren't much the topic of discussion when you're dealing with drug lords and geurilla's and such." Baby terrorists don't pop up on the radar.
"The Company has gone underground, dissolved Primatech and vanished. I've no illusion they just got souls and quit, they're out there somewhere waiting to make moves."
"Their handling… I think they're underestimating their resourcefulness. Not in that, the company can use them, but more that they can be a thorn, even more than they possibly are, in the company side. If this company ever intends to eventually have a public face beyond the guise of Homeland, then they'll need to contend with that group and the image that they are putting forth of being a clandestine agencyt hat only darkholes evolved's, regardless of their tier level."
"That I was tracked and hunted," there's no small expression of dislike and distaste at that, "by them only prooves that the fall of Primatech has done shit to stop them."
Scribbling out a few lines of writing that would make a doctor think it was sloppy, Martin waggles the pen up and down with a click-ticking tap against the table, eyeing his now empty latte before glancing back at Minea. "Moving forward a little to something inside your area of experience, there was recently an attack on the Company's Bronx holdings, which resulted in the dropping of the Primatech company facade and the destruction of one of our oldest standing facilities left in New York City."
He looks around the cold, concrete surroundings of their new appointments. "As an active agent during that time, how do you think the Company handled security threats to the agents in the field and to the building itself, and are you aware of any covert attempts to cover up casualties caused by the destruction of the building resulting from the attack?"
Actually, Minea doesn't know jack and there's a blank look on her face. "I'm afraid Agent Crowley that that occured while I was apparently enjoying the hospitality of Phoneix. I only know that we have moved to Fort Hero and there was an unanticipated destruction of the Bronx facility" That would be mind wipe number 2…. "I'm sure, that they had a reason for detonating, and that those who perished in the attack, their families were taken care of, as they should be"
One disappointed sound rumbles thorugh Crowley's throat as he makes a check mark in a small box next to some text on the form he's looking at. "I think tha' brings us down t'the final question, which ultimately is also th' most tryin'." His hands fold together, shoulders rising in a bear with me sort've shrug. "Do you know of anyone currently working within the Company who is operating covertly to subvert the Company's objectives, or utilize the Company's resources inappropriately, or in a way that may endanger the general populace?"
"What the fuck Lu! What the fuck are you doing….. Shit. Sawyer, what is he doing?" Minea's not happy. She's not happy at all. "Fucking loose canon is what you are Lu!" God Damnit she was gonna tell Len this.
"You're right, that is a tough question…" and one that will ultimately need to be ruminated on. One hand, more like her forefinger, comes up to stroke at her lower lip. "Not currently. In the past, Roger Goodman obviously. BUt he's no longer a threat. He would have said me, but.. I proved him wrong, and a disappointment apparently since he had hoped I would compromise the company and didn't." Crap, she'd been busy working, not paying attention to her co-workers.
"I think Agent Lu needs to be looked into. Not because he's doing anything of that sort, but because how a guy like that manages to pass psych tests and yet still walk around, shooting arrows and bullets at my face plastered to targets while I was gone and take glee from it. In fact, takes glee from wading into the nimbus of a woman going super nova.." She shakes her head.
"Samantha Tanner." Martin's voice takes on a curious tone, "she's an interesting case," his pen taps clickity-click on the button at the back that extends the writing end repeatedly. "Agent Lu, you say. Well, I'll just have to put him on my list, doa little sniffing around, and see what turns up." When Martin turns his attention back to Minea from his forms, there's a flash of an insincere smile, and he looks towards the door, then back.
"That was relatively painless, wasn't it?" Keeping his accent in check, Martin's brows raise and his lips creep up into a hesitant smile. "Oh and— one last thing— " there's a tap of the end of his pen against his chin, "before you go." His eyes wander down to the paper, then back up to Minea.
"How would you describe your relationship with Agent Denton?"
"This was not. This was sloppy and greedy and you got folks killed for no reason. This isn't Danko's fault. This is your fault. You're damn right you fucked this up."
"I'll get back to you on how painless it is a few weeks from now, if I remember at all what I said" There's a wink offered to the Company Interal affairs agent. She's been through it twice. She's earned the right to joke about it. Mindwipes that is. But there's always one more question, so she hasn't budged from her seat save to draw one leg up, ankle resting on knee and leg at right angles to the other.
"Christ Denton" Her tongue darts out to lick her lips and touch the lip of the beer bottle and take a swig. "I did promise did't I" She might regret that promise. But she pushes away from the bar, dragging the dos equis with her. Jeans, white cotton shirt, jeans belt and boots, hair loose. She looks like, random woman instead of secret clandestine agent du jour.
"My relationship with Agent Denton is how it should be. Praise when i've done right, encouragement to improve and be a better company agent, newspaper to the nose when i've done wrong."
Len leads the way, grinning at his small victory. "Yes, you did promise. Besides.." he says as he reaches for the two microphones and offers one to her. The strains of a familiar song begins to play as he continues. "I can't be Kenny Rogers without a Dolly Parton." That song? "Islands in the Stream."
"He's gone to bat for me, when others might not have. He's a damned fine agent and he rightly should have taken my Badge away from me this morning. But he didn't and I respect him for that. He backs us up""
There's a quick arches of both of Martin's brows as he scribbles something down when Minea says should have taken my badge, head nodding as if in agreement. "Agent Denton is indeed a fine agent," there's a look up from the paperwork, then a flick of his eyes to the door. "You can show yourself out, I've got some forms to fill out. Thank you for your cooperation, Agent Dahl, it's been rather refreshing to have an agent so liberal with information and— "
The hesitation comes when he looks back over his notes. "I'll be sure to follow up on some of these leads." His smile grows slowly, lips spread wide as his head quirks to the side. "Thank you for your time and— good luck."
There's a cluck of her tongue as Minea rises from her seat, foot thumping down to the ground. "Here's to hoping I remember you Agent Crowley" Forefinger and middle finger bounce off her head in a lazy salute and, with that, she's out the door, off to find one Felix Ivanov.