Participants:
| Scene Title | It's Classified |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A lead is pursued, it doesn't seem to go anywhere necessarily. |
| Date | January 17, 2011 |
Textile Factory 17 — Conference Room
The highest floor of the Tower, this spacious room is dominated at its center by a circular black-topped table surrounded by thirteen chairs. Curving bookshelves help conceal portions of the old brick walls, while larger windows than on the lower floor let in more light from outside and give a stunning view of Brooklyn and Queens. Opposite of the wall lined with shelves, an arrangement of a large central LCD screen flanked by two smaller displays on either side is directly networked to the operations center below, for purposes of video conferencing or mission briefings.
The chill in the air is something this version of Sterling Boyce has always valued. In fact he treasures it, and has since his first mission. The weather had permitted him much grace in his dealings back then. The cold was a blessing. In many ways, he takes such chilly days as good omens.
Sensibilities, questions, and derivations drove Jack Wright's mind to the forefront which his colleague in the car hadn't objected to. In fact, the agent on the other side of Boyce's headset was all to pleased to have the most professional of the crew out and about, if only for the little bit of hero worship.
Boyce steps along the conference room, staring quite randomly at the view. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, and unlike some visitors, isn't exactly taken aback by the New York skyline, but there is mild intrigue as he whistles quietly to himself. So much had changed in so short a time.
His hands comfortably rest in the depth of his black trench coat pockets as slow shuffled paces pace about the conference room. He'd been instructed to wait here.
There's a certain air, a movement about him that conveys that professionalism his colleagues appreciate: a trained pride, a proven record, a keen eye. And an unusual wisdom behind his eyes, one far beyond his years. Yet even in his stance he's not exactly assuming. There's something confident in the way his weight shuffles from one foot to the other.
His posture is good enough. That of a trained agent. Not so prim and proper to convey some hidden cultured self, but not so lax that he doesn't seem alert. If anything he seems more alert. His blue eyes discerningly glance down through the window, seeking out the car should anything go wrong on is end.
The notion makes him smirk. The disembodied voice in his head, conveyed through an earpiece rather than his own version of the crazy-crazies buzzes through his ear, "She there yet?"
"Soon enough," he murmurs back before twisting away from the window to discourage any further conversation. Colleagues are just that: colleagues. Not friends. Idle chatter encourages friendship. Jack Wright doesn't.
The conference room doubles as Elisabeth Harrison's office space. Because there's no such animal in this building and there's a metric crap-ton of paperwork involved. The blonde in question was out on the training field when this agent arrived. The tech in the operations center contacted her immediately, but Elisabeth's not about to come into her office in Horizon armor. So she took the time to disengage from the exoskeleton and armor before coming up.
As she walks into her office, her cool blue eyes are assessing. The black-on-black combat pants, boots, and long-sleeved pullover have a severe military look to them, but it suits the woman. Her hair is pinned tidily back from her face and she looks….. quite competent. "Agent," she greets calmly, stepping forward and holding out her hand. Not to shake his hand — not yet. No, this is to silently request his identification. She likes to know exactly to whom she speaks.
His eyebrows tick upwards at the greeting. Easily he hands her his identification. Sterling Boyce, registered non-evolved, DHS. His lips press together into a neutral expression as he peeks about the room again, as if he hasn't been made to wait in here for the last while. "Quite the building you have," he observes. Of course, he's not difficult to impress; the man doesn't get out much.
"Ms Harrison, I recognize that this meeting is somewhat unorthodox," he pauses and hums quietly before shaking his head. "But DHS is investigating the death of a Kain Zarek." There's a distinct pause as he swallows hard, "Are you familiar with Mister Zarek?"
DHS? Jesus fucking Christ, as if Elisabeth doesn't have enough on her plate. She studies his identification closely. "Agent Boyce, a pleasure," she responds easily. "Please excuse the mess — I've had training runs all day today. It's a nice place," she admits, glancing around the conference room. And she offers a hint of a grin. "Biggest office I've ever had all to myself."
And then they're down to the nitty-gritty even as she hands him his credentials back. Tilting her head, Elisabeth looks as if she's thinking about the query. "I'm familiar with the name, of course. Saw the reports in the paper." Her gaze zeroes in on him neutrally. "How can I help you?"
"Must be nice to live the high life," Boyce quips with a semi-ironic smirk, not quite happy has a cubicle. And plastic dinosaur toys. That Carter plays with. On his desk. Much to Jack's chagrin.
There's another smirk, this one easier than before. "That's not what I meant," he counters as he twists towards the window, silent acknowledgement of his ever-present babysitter. There's another tick of the smile while he moves his hands to his sides. "It's not just about the reports. Look, I've been told you're more than familiar with Zarek." Leading questions only lead to bad work. Jack knows this. "We got your name from a Richard Cardinal regarding his recent death. If you aren't familiar with Zarek or had direct dealings with him and his connections then— "
"Oh, yeah. I love the high life… paperwork to the sky and loads of requisitions forms. Lots of fun," Elisabeth informs him drily. She moves to perch sideways on the edge of the table, one foot dangling. Resting her elbow on her thigh, she purses her lips and smiles faintly. "Agent… ask me what you need to know. I'm an audiokinetic not a telepath." she asks him. And it might occur to him that the woman spent more than a decade as a cop, the last couple as a detective. She doesn't know what exactly he wants for information yet.
Leading questions are failed. Completely failed. He sighs heavily while he twists away from the window again, too aware that he's being watched. "Zarek's connections to John Logan— I want to know what you know about Zarek's connections and relationship to Logan." He pauses. "I want to know if Zarek had a problem with Linderman. And I want to know if you," he points at her now, "know anything about any of this. Anything you can tell me could be helpful."
"Ah," Elisabeth replies with a nod. "Well, let's see…. I know that both men, Logan and Zarek, worked for Linderman's organization. And I'm aware that near the time of his death, Kain Zarek had approached Richard Cardinal about protecting him because he claimed he was gathering proof that Linderman himself was crooked. An investigation, of course, that pretty much is in the toilet with the death of Zarek, from what I gather." Elisabeth pauses. "I know that Cardinal believes it's possible that Logan found out what was going on and took care of Linderman's possible leak. Though that's conjecture on all our parts. Buuuuuut since I know that John Logan is a piece of shit who ran an illegal underground fight club out on Staten Island a couple of years ago and isn't above torture and other reprehensible activities that the DA refused to prosecute because they happened out on No Man's Land, it wouldn't exactly surprise me to find out that he was also into wetwork for Linderman."
Boyce hmmmms quietly as does the other voice on the end of his ear transmitter, even if Elisabeth can't see it, she can nearly catch its effects across the man's face, an irritable cringe of is face, crinkle of his brow, and straightening of his lips. Yeah, he's annoyed, but not by Elisabeth.
"Good. That's exactly what I was looking for." His hands shove back into his pockets as he shifts his weight again. "Did you know Zarek? Is there any credence to his story? Did you believe him or did you hear it all second hand?"
There's a brief, faint narrowing of her blue eyes on him. And she did warn him what she was. Now she eavesdrops, wondering why a DHS agent standing in her office needs an earbud. Really, boys? Elisabeth tilts her head. "I believe I met Mr. Zarek a couple of times, maybe, in passing. Social situations. But I'm not even sure if I ever spoke to the man. What I know is entirely secondhand about Zarek himself. As to the credibility of his intel…."
Elisabeth smiles faintly, slyly. "Agent Boyce, you do realize that accusing a man as powerful as Linderman without ironclad proof is tantamount to professional suicide, yes? The man is outwardly the biggest philanthropist in town. That said, of course, the NYPD has heard rumors for years about criminal activities. Nothing ever stuck. Did Zarek have proof?" She shrugs eloquently. "We'll never know that, likely. Is it plausible? Hell yes. From what I understand, he was Linderman's right-hand man. Or one of them anyway."
There's a distinct tick of Boyce's eyebrows again. "So all of your information about Zarek was through Cardinal then?" The tone isn't particularly revealing, giving no hint as to Jack's current thoughts or position. "And I'm just looking for the facts, ma'am. Nothing but the facts. Conjecture is intriguing but without evidence, altogether empty."
He shrugs slightly, "If he was in bed with Linderman, I imagine he had access to information, and, assuming that he was trying to take down Linderman, there is certainly motivation for his death. But currently all I have is conjecture. Nothing more."
He clears his throat again, "John Logan. What can you tell me about John Logan aside from his underground fight club?"
She watches him and gives no indication of the subtle use of her abilities to carry any squawking from his earbud to her own ear. Elisabeth gives the impression of being entirely attentive to the conversation before her while she absently monitors. Is the man a rookie? Perhaps, based on the kind of questions he's asking. "About Zarek? Yes, pretty much all the information I have came from Richard Cardinal. He and I have been friends for some time," she says, well aware that if he's got clearance enough he already knows that — and if he doesn't, it's not exactly a secret. Not even close.
"John Logan is a slippery one. He was hauled in on charges a couple of years ago while I was still on the force and he was out on bail almost before the ink on his fingerprint card was dry. He currently, if I remember correctly, either owns or operates or possibly both the Corinthian as well as the Burlesque establishment. Aside from the underground fight club, as I understand it he's known as a bookie?" That last is definitely a question. "It's been a while — I've been out of circulation on that front for over a year, so I may be misremembering. But I seem to recall aside from the kidnapping charge that neither we nor the Feds could make stick, he was primarily just a goon for the Linderman group."
"Goon," Boyce repeats with a small nod. "Got it." His lips purse together slightly as the voice in his ear instructs him to wrap it up, his time is coming to a close. With a quiet sigh, Boyce reaches into his jacket pocket and extracts a card which he holds out for her. "Ma'am if you think of any other information, anything at all that could help us in our investigation, please be in touch. This has been… very helpful." He manages a strained smile.
Elisabeth tilts her head and slides off the table. "I wish I could be more specific help. Believe me, Agent Boyce… if I had something in my hands that would nail John Logan for anything at all, I'd give it to you in a heartbeat. He's as crooked as they come." She is sincerely regretful, and as she reaches out to take the card she eyes him. "Out of curiosity… why is this even Homeland Security's purview? Seemed like a straight up murder investigation from what I saw in the paper. Seems… out of your jurisdiction."
By the time Elisabeth asks the question, Boyce is already half way to the door. He glances over his shoulder and issues Elisabeth a smug smirk. There's a short moment and, as per his usual form, he answers with as few words as possible. "Classified." That said, he's stepping out the hall and presses his fingers to his ear, "Make a note to get Grayer— " the name is said with a certain disgust, "— do some checking on John Logan when we get back. Assuming he's back."
"Yeah…. classified my ass," Elisabeth murmurs, thoughtfully tapping the card on her fingertips. Absently reaching up to dab at the blood that starts to trickle from her nose, she heads back around toward her chair to muse about the situation briefly and then get started on her paperwork, filing the name Grayer into the back of her head.