Participants:
with an appearance by…
| Scene Title | Haven't Failed Yet |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The hounds are sent out after the missing Dr. Knutson. |
| Date | November 10, 2008 |
Primatech Research: Sabra's Office
Late evening, it is, well after most people — even most Company employees — have clocked in for the day, hung up their coats and taken off their shoes to settle in whatever particular space they call home. But there are those whose home and work aren't very well separated anymore — if they ever were in the first place. One such person, looking old and worn despite the neatness of her suit, silver hair tousled by frequent running-through of fingers, stands before the windows of her office, a closed file folder held thoughtlessly in one hand. A cup of tea sitting on the desk is gradually cooling, to the considerable disapproval of the aide who looks on — less because the drink itself is growing cold, and more because its neglect is an accurate barometer of Sabra's current mood. Ashton, however, remains where he is at the side of the room, quietly making inroads on the inevitable paperwork.
The door opens and a shadow enters. Or a man that most easily embodies a shadow with actually appearing as a shadow. The tall, dark skinned man slinks into the room with as much noise as a television on mute. The man the Company has come to call The Haitian slips in and shifts along the wall, close to the door. His hands slide into his pockets of his freshly pressed slacks as he goes to lean against the wall.
The man is dressed sleekly, a dark suit over a light purple collared shirt. No tie, today, and his everpresent necklace. Dark eyes move to Sabra as he waits for her to initiate greetings. She had called upon him, there would be no reason for him to announce himself. He glances to Ashton for the briefest of moments.
Bryan Buckley has also been summoned, but while the Haitian enters like a lamb, the other man storms through the door like a lion. His footfalls are heavy, his breathing deep and steadied through much control, and his jaw and fists are held tight. He can only hope the summons are about his own concerns, but one never knows. Dressed in an ivory turtleneck sweater under a caramel colored suede jacket and dark jeans, Bryan folds his arms across his chest in a subtle effort to contain himself.
It's quite uncharacteristic of Bryan to take control of such a meeting, bypassing the pleasantries and protocol, but today is not a characteristic day. He settles his sharp gaze on the Haitian, and while it softens slightly, the stress-induced edge is still present. "I need your help," he states firmly, leaving it at that before he looks across the room to Sabra. "Do we know where she is? Have we checked the isotope data?" Is she even tagged?
Sabra turns at the Haitian's entrance and inclines her head to the man, but barely begins to speak before Bryan charges in. Her usual smile is not in evidence today, and the blue gaze that meets Buckley's is solemn and weary. "She's still in New York," the director replies. Of course she's tagged. It's Odessa. "For what that's worth." Her gaze shifts to include both of the agents. "That's why I called you both here."
The Haitian regards Bryan from a reserved position; his storming does not make much of an impression on the other Agent. He watches the man in a silent respectfulness until the man asks for help. With the given situation, his knowledge of Bryan and his ability, it does not make the scenario difficult to figure out. Invisible to the world, the Haitian reaches out through dimensions unknown to man and clasps his grasp on Bryan's mind, effectively blocking the man's Evolved ability. The Agent then looks to Sabra, it figures that that would be the reason for their summoning. The Haitian does not leave his position from leaning on the wall, he simply waits for the other two to continue the conversation.
But New York is a big place. Look how long it took them to bring Elle back in. Bryan sighs, then begins to pace a small section of the room. "So what do you propose we do? Go door to door? She's not on the grid." No bank accounts, no cell phone, no way of finding a trail.
"I don't know," Sabra admits, stepping closer and setting the folder down on her desk. "But I… suspect she wasn't abducted, no matter how it looks. If she walked out of here… there is a trail. Even for Odessa." Perhaps especially for Odessa. "You might start with the closed-circuit and traffic cameras on surrounding blocks. She's only been gone about six hours."
Traffic cameras. Basically a wilde goose chase. Though he will not offer that perspective to the woman. If she asks that he looks through traffic cameras for one woman, he will look through every traffic camera he can find. Even should it all come to nothing. Though there may be a better approach to this. Staying in his semi-lounging position, the Haitian does something he very rarely does. "Forgive my ignorance, what all do we know of Odessa? Where would she want to go?" His voice deep, and thickly accented.
"Anywhere," is Bryan's answer to the closest thing he has to a school-room chum. He sighs, looking in the direction of the office's floor-to-ceiling bookcase as if it had some hidden answer. "She's fascinated with the world, having been out of it for so long." Is there resentment in those words? If Odessa had been allowed to be halfway normal, would this have even happened? "But…maybe places like Central Park. Or Coney Island."
It's no more than a suggestion; if the agents have better ideas, Sabra certainly wouldn't protest. Tracking is part of their job, after all, not hers. She nods to Bryan at his words; if the resentment is noticed, and it probably is, the elderly woman doesn't consider this an appropriate time for addressing such. Probably no time ever is. "If she's just out being a tourist, then that's fine." She rubs at her eyes, voice weary. "Though if she had asked…" A beat later, Sabra shakes her head, letting her hand fall just as the unfinished sentence did. "There's been some… indication that she is… fascinated with Adam Monroe. And he is now loose." She offers the two men a wan smile. "Forgive me my suspicions, but it is not a possibility to rule out without due consideration."
The Haitian glances to Bryan for a moment, then back to Sabra. A nod is dipped to her statements. With that the man shoves off from his perch on the wall. His hands remain loosely in his pockets and every movement is fluid and smoothe. He takes a step forward to join Bryan at his side. His dark eyes survey his partner. They will discuss tactics and how to track the woman together, no need to waste Sabra's time with his own musings as to how she should be captured.
"There is always the Walker system," Bryan suggests in that sort of 'I know the likelihood of using Molly for any reason is slim' sort of tone. It's a snowball's chance in Hell. Shaking his head, Bryan looks to the Haitian, then back to Sabra. "We'll find her," he assures the older woman. "We haven't failed you yet, have we, Sabra?" This last is said with a bit of a smug smirk on Bryan's part.
Even Sabra chuckles briefly at Bryan's remark. "If you can convince Parkman…" She looks over at the venomous Evolved, expression conveying better than words just how much she wishes she had that level of pull. But she doesn't. "No, Bryan," the director replies, a pale ghost of her normal smile lightening her expression. Her gaze shifts to include the Haitian. "You haven't."
From the folder, Sabra removes a single piece of paper, holding it out to the duo. The information on it is written in a neat and precise script. "Just… in case. You're not to speak of what's on this page to anyone." Including one another, by implication — but given this particular pair, that's not likely to pose any issue.
Stepping forward The Haitian grasps the paper cleanly from his superior. Reading it over with a sweep of his eyes the Agent takes a moment to read everything on the paper. Once it is read, it will keep. Memories are not a problem for him. Every word on the paper will remain in his mind. The paper is then smoothly passed to the other Agent.
Bryan walks with the Haitian toward Sabra, but he waits his turn for the paper. He reads it silently when it is passed to him, and while his memory is not as keen as his fellow's, it is sharp enough to remember the contents of that single sheet. Wordlessly, he passes it back to Sabra and nods.
"You don't have to worry about a thing," he finally states in that cold, business-like manner that defines Bryan's approach to his work.
Accepting the page back, Sabra inclines her head to Bryan. "Thank you," she replies solemnly. A second nod includes the Haitian in that expression of gratitude, and declares the close of this meeting.
The director waits for the agents to depart the room, for the door to shut behind them, before turning back to the window. Ashton, in his eternal silence, steps up beside Sabra, extending a hand. The lighter he holds is sparked into life, and the two old friends watch together as a piece of paper burns.
 November 10th: Guilt |
 November 10th: Midnight Oil |