Tiresome Business


carrie_icon.gif corbin_icon.gif sabra_icon.gif

Scene Title Tiresome Business
Synopsis Sabra calls Carrie and Corbin in to have a little chat about the sanctity of classified information.
Date September 28, 2009

Fort Hero: Sabra's Office

The subterranean office which Sabra now calls home isn't what her old one was — but there are elements of similarity. Similarity in the bookshelves on the walls, in the pieces of art that provide color and otherwise soften drab-painted concrete walls. The rug, reds and golds and bits of green fringed in ivory, still sprawls over most of the floorspace, beneath an oaken desk that might as well be the twin to the one lost with the Bronx Facility. Plants grace the corners of the room, leaves turned towards the lights; tall, vining things with occasional hints of blossom that don't seem to mind the absence of windows overmuch.

The woman herself is ensconced behind the desk, as she often is; behind the screen of a computer, although with clear line of sight to the door. Ashton is at his own work at the side table, paying more actual attention to the open entryway than Sabra does. It is his job — that, and keeping tabs on Sabra's calendar, by which an appointment is due quite soon.

Actually dressed nice, in a maroon blouse and black pressed pants, black hair allowed to hang free. Carrie arrives, knocking lightly on the door frame. "Carrie Castillo here as requested." Considering she's never really met the woman face to face, Carrie is cautious and a touch curious.

Not far behind the tall woman a second person enters. Corbin Ayers offers Ashton a familiar smile before he regards the woman they've actually come to see. She gets a nod, more than a smile, though the lightheartedness that usually surrounds him remains. More or less well-dressed, he's only missing a tie to truly make what he wears a suit. The beard might give a scruffyness to him, but it's kept close, so it doesn't get too ragged. "And me too," he says, rather than giving a formal declaration of himself. "Hey, Castillo," he adds, nodding toward the other person called.

Informality usually suits meetings with Sabra well enough; she's more interested in the fact of deference than its appearance. The elderly woman lifts blue eyes from the matter at hand to the one that's just walked in her door, greeting the agents with a pleasant but small smile. Informality is not, apparently, in her cards today. Although Ashton echoes Corbin's smile in sincere kind, defusing the potential ominous connotation of that lack.

The pair are gestured to the chairs on their side of the desk. "Please, be seated." Sabra waits as they sort themselves into the chairs and full attention is restored to her. Age-wrinkled hands are folded neatly on the desk surface, a slight tilt to the woman's head. "We've received a notice from our counterparts in Homeland Security," she remarks, where we translates to Company upper management as a whole. "It pertains to the Sandman investigation." Hence, this.

The dark haired woman, gives Corbin a small lift of her hand in greeting, but she doesn't exactly say anything, just adding a small smile. She moves to sit as instructed and gives a small nod to Sabra. She is definitely curious now, a black brows arching slightly waiting to hear what was said.

Finding his seat, Corbin slouches a bit once he's settled, but as the mention of Homeland Security and Sandman get said, he does sit up, looking more intent. Eyebrows raise as he glances toward Carrie for a moment, before settling his eyes back on Sabra. Like the woman with him, he's curious, and remains silent.

Blue eyes bright despite the age apparent in the face they occupy, Sabra looks to Carrie, then to Corbin; and then she continues. "Apparently the NYPD has come into classified information without having obtained appropriate clearance, or indeed any instruction on how to proceed — or not — with said information." Although her voice pauses briefly, Sabra's upraised hand leaves no room for interruptions.

"Understand that I am neither pointing fingers nor asking questions, and your Homeland Security counterparts are being given the same reminder. It's true that some would rather find the leak and contain it, but I believe that will benefit no one, and in the end my opinion prevailed." Her hand returns, joining the other on the desk surface, Sabra regarding both agents levelly. "We have access to a great deal of information that the general populace does not. That information is sequestered for a reason — frequently more than one. Treat it with the according respect." Finally, the old lady smiles, a genial crinkle of expression. "Which is not to say don't give it out when you have to — but be careful about how, and when, and to whom. Preferably also with permission."

Carrie's jaw clenches at the woman starts talking, her expression neutral. She gives a little nods at various points, but for the most part she doesn't say anything. There isn't anything for her to say. She might have felt justified at the time, doesn't mean it matters. So she just nods.

With no fingers being pointed around, Corbin keeps his eyes on the older woman and nods a few times, but there's a mild lowering of his eyebrows the more she goes on. He worked in the archives for years, he knows more than most why certain information is kept under lock and key. At least he avoids casting a noticable glance at the woman in the room with him.

The smile remains as her captive audience listens in silence. "Homeland Security has designated a new liaison with the NYPD, an Agent Naomi Mitchell. All communications to and cooperation with the department are to include her, if not go through her, henceforth." And the smile fades, replaced by something faintly wry. "Note that she is not one of our own," Sabra points out. "Which is unfortunate, but not negotiable." She did try. Abruptly, the elderly lady smiles again, pleasantly amiable. "And that concludes this tiresome business. I'm quite certain you have better things to be doing; by all means, go do them."

"Yes, Ma'am," Carrie offers, climbing to her feet. The agent's face is nearly unreadable, except for the fact she's thoughtful. Obviously, events are replaying in her head. She gives the older woman a nod, before turning to leave, pausing long enough to murmur, "Ayers" in farewell.

"Of course, Ma'am," Corbin echoes, also standing. There's no events playing in his own head, but now he does glance toward the woman with him as she walks away. The pause to say his last name isn't very long, just long enough to say a "See you later." Once she's a few steps away he says, "Guess I'm not asking her if she wants to go get dinner sometime today. Thanks for the info, boss." And then Ashton gets another smile and half-wave, before he too heads out.

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