Author: Sirius
Email: [email protected]
Disclaimer: For rating and disclaimer, see Part I
Author's Note: Yes! My muses have returned from the International Muse Convention!!! The Sirius One does the dance of joy.
Without further ado, I present… Part III:
One by one, the team members filtered by Charlie's desk, most with a nod to a wary Ron Butterfield and an edgy Wesley Davis, who had left Service forensics specialists in charge of the crime scene at the club. The first two team members to walk through the outer office door – forty-five minutes after the President had retired to the Residence – comprised the escort whose primary mission had been to deliver Zoey safely to her parents. The two had been told by agents in the Residence to see Charlie prior to leaving, and had been slightly unnerved by the smile shared between the two… the smile that almost stated that they had planned to see Charlie even if the agents had `recommended' otherwise.
Ron silently assessed the first two to walk up to Charlie's desk. The man – 6'4" tall, roughly 240 pounds of muscle, and African-American – did indeed look like the quintessential Marine – large and intimidating. He moved with an ease that betrayed years of training, and Ron had no doubt that the man could be dangerous when he wished.
The woman to his side, though, would have given Ron the opposite impression had she not been dressed as she was. In form and muscle tone she was similar to the young DEA agent who had been in the Oval earlier. The agent had been shorter though – about 5'6" – and the new woman topped her by a good two or three inches. Had he seen her anywhere else, wearing anything else, Ron most likely would not have classed her as a security risk. That, in his mind, moved her further up on the threat scale than the taller man beside her. Both nodded to him, but focused on Charlie.
"K, Charlie," the man said, "we were told to see you, and here we are."
"The question," the woman continued, "is what weren't we told?"
Charlie had stood when they entered the room, and now stood in the space between Butterfield and these two members of the elusive team. Ron noted with interest Charlie's seemingly default position of mediator, and realized that he was the middleman here simply because he was apparently the one person in this building trusted by both parties. Ron knew that Charlie would never do anything to harm Zoey, that he hadn't trusted Jean-Paul, and that his sense of honor – of right and wrong – was very similar to Bartlet's. Much as he disliked the Frenchman, Charlie wasn't one to ever set him up.
He trusted these people… so Ron would give them a chance – a small one, but it was better than they would have had without Charlie's presence. Granted, they'd apparently rescued Zoey… but why were they there in the first place?
"Ron," Charlie said, "I'd like to introduce you to Kyle Brandt and Alia Reshon, former members of Prodigy I."
"Prodigy?"
"Our Team Leader will explain further, Agent Butterfield." Having seen Brandt's movements and having some idea of his skills, Ron had not expected the voice that emerged from the man's mouth. It was quiet, polite but resolute… seemingly designed to set listeners at ease, despite the man's size. Ron suspected that it was cultivated precisely for that reason.
The uneasy silence lasted for more than a few seconds before Charlie spoke again. "Alia, Kyle, why don't you take advantage of the locker rooms and clean up a bit before the meeting. You've got a couple hours, but for Ron's peace of mind, don't leave the building. Call it… twenty minutes, then meet back here and we'll all head to the Mess." Brandt and Reshon nodded, seemingly at ease with the almost-command from the President's Aide. That fact alone was almost enough to make Ron snap, tense as he already was. He would give his right arm to figure out what the hell was going on here.
Yet, as the two left the room, shadowed by another agent, Ron wondered why it was that Charlie didn't realize they were looking to him for orders. Whatever position he was in with the group, whatever power he held… he didn't know it.
They had been given twenty minutes; both were clean and standing by Charlie's desk in ten, the small black backpacks more visible now than they had been against the previously all-black attire. These two certainly don't waste any time, Ron thought. I wonder if they're examples of the rest of the team or if this particular trait is restricted to them. Had Ron been anyone else, he would have been pacing by now, irritation more than evident in his every step. As it was, his face firmly set in an impassive mask, he merely gestured them all to move out.
He couldn't help but notice that the two looked to Charlie to confirm the order.
By three a.m., the third member of the team had joined them. Agent de Valle called him `Targeter,' Ron remembered, making a mental to run a check on the code name as well as everything else. Targeter was a slim Hispanic man who stood roughly 5'10" and seemed to see everything around him. Butterfield knew there had to be a reason for the name other than that abnormally high level of sensitivity to his surroundings. He still had his doubts as to whether these people could be trusted… but they had rescued Bookbag. Shaking his head just slightly, the agent turned to watch the group again.
An hour later, a tired DEA agent made her way back into the West Wing, having already fought off more than her fair share of reporters for the night. She met up with the rest near Charlie's desk, where they had returned after growing tired of sitting in the Mess. Cori dearly wished the upcoming talk could be postponed, but orders were orders and the only way they'd get out of this was if the President was asleep.
Ron's thinking on the timing of this discussion ran along the same lines. He would have loved to get some shut-eye, but finding out what was going on took priority. More importantly, however, Bartlet wasn't asleep. Ron knew it. Charlie knew it. The team members probably knew it. All of them knew there was no chance of putting this meeting off until tomorrow – or at least until they'd slept, as it was already tomorrow.
Ron knew they would have to discuss security issues… and the Press. CJ had briefed the Press Corps on Zoey's safe return shortly after Brandt and Reshon had walked the First Daughter to the doors of the Residence, and the Press Secretary was now asleep on the couch in her office. Ron wouldn't have been surprised to find Concannon sacked out in her chair. He knew that none of the Senior Staff had gone home, though he would have had to take a moment and check with his people to see exactly where they were in the building.
Much as he would have liked to, Ron did not move to rub his eyes, did not allow any motion that might indicate he was not quite at his best. The tired agent took a good look at the people around him, wondering for yet another time that night exactly how old these people were… and noticing that there were only three members of the actual retrieval team present. Where was their team leader?
At 4:30, Bartlet made his way down to the Oval Office and sent Charlie to rouse the Senior Staff; he knew as well as Ron that none of them had gone home. It would not have occurred to any of them to leave in the middle of this, save for Toby's visits to the twins – perfectly understandable and acceptable, especially given the circumstances.
When Charlie returned, Senior Staff in tow, the President had already ushered the team into the Oval. Seeing the group patiently waiting – except for Josh, who was bouncing – Bartlet motioned for them to enter, his gesture clearly including those members of the group who were not Senior Staff. To say that Danny was shocked would have been something of an understatement.
The President looked over the group of people before him, eyes focusing in turn on select individuals. "Josh," he said, "either cut back on the caffeine or find a way to work off the energy. I don't think people are allowed to bounce in the Oval Office." The Deputy Chief of Staff might have been worried… if Bartlet hadn't been grinning. Donna, standing beside him, unobtrusively put a hand on his arm and he stilled instantly. Margaret didn't see it, Danny was paying more attention to the President, and Ron wouldn't say anything.
"Charlie." This time, when Bartlet spoke, Charlie stiffened slightly. This was going to be hell to explain. "Introduce me to these ladies and gentlemen please." The aide could hear the impatience, gratitude, exhaustion and slight sarcasm mixed in his voice. He hated being out of the loop on things like this and Charlie knew it.
"Sir, on the far right is Tomás Galindez, next to him is Alia Reshon, followed by Kyle Brandt… and you've already met Agent de Valle. They were, at one point in time, four members of a covert team with the CIA, Team One in the CIA's Project Prodigy." Charlie was visibly uneasy at this point. He didn't want to explain this, didn't want to reveal how much he knew about it and the secrets he'd had to keep because of it.
"I thought there were four people on the retrieval team, Charlie."
"There are, sir. I'm having a little difficulty locating the Team Leader. TL's not at home, not at the apartment, and not carrying the cell phone or the pager, which isn't that surprising. I even tried the jet and the Coral Sea. Wait a minute… it has to be getting late. I should have checked this first." By this point, everyone in the room was confused, and could simply watch as Charlie pulled out his cell phone and dialed a local number.
"Dave," he said, "has my sister dropped in tonight?"
Most didn't hear all of what he said after that, focusing on the first few words of that sentence. After Charlie hung up the phone, Bartlet was the first to speak. "When you say sister, you're not talking about Deena, are you?"
TBC…