Dedicated to Xandrabelle for finding a blackmail method.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Robert Rodriguez and assorted. And this is all Sands' fault.
BACK IN THE FOLD
by Beth ([email protected])
The lobby comes first: soft murmurs of people coming and going. Not too loud, not too clear, because this is Langley and need-to-know is the first thing they teach you in CIA school. Then the sounds grow even softer, and he knows the reason. Between just-nice-enough suits his pure black must stand out like a crow among pigeons. A wolf among sheep...
The wraparound sunglasses and pale skin probably aren't helping, either.
He walks across white and black granite to the first checkpoint. A hand - a guard - reaches out to stop him even though his pass is in his hand.
"Sir, you'll have to take off your glasses. We need to compare you to the photo. Sorry, that's the rules."
He smiles and steps to the side, turning towards the guard's voice. "Carson, is it? Good to see you. And of course." He reaches to his shades.
John Carson is a veteran. He has seen men walk into this building he knows he can't talk about, even though the war they were fighting is long over. He has seen fellow agents gunned down. Now he leans against the wall and takes deep, deep breaths.
The man in black smiles and walks on.
Upstairs, the anteroom of the office of the Deputy Director of Operations is filled with people. Heads turn as he enters.
"The man taking visitors yet?" he asks no-one in particular.
"Not yet." This voice is familiar. Female, Lancôme perfume, jangling earrings. "Didn't they ship you off to Mexico?" Ah, yes.
"They did. Weren't you in London?"
"I was. The thing with Kelly's suicide and the WMDs. I kind of lost my temper in public when it blew up. They might send me to Mexico next."
"Next time, Davis, just shoot everyone," he advises her with a winning smile.
"Don't you have a trademark on that?"
Her laugh is cut short when the inner door opens. The room is silent. Footsteps approach him.
"You're early," the DDO says. "We wanted to send someone to get you."
"I managed."
They walk into the inner office and the voices in the anteroom start up again just before the door closes.
"My condolences about what happened." The DDO's voice is uneasy, stumbling. Like a blind man walking through an unknown room. "I hope you've recovered now."
"No, I haven't." It's like a porcelain mask crumbling to dust. Beneath it the agent's face is animated, twisted by anger and hate. "I've still got no fucking eyes."
A rustle of paper and a change of subject. "There are still some unclear issues about the Culiacan matter-"
A quiet, exasperated sigh. "I found out about Barillo's plan. My agents saved the president, killed Barillo and Marquez, stopped the coup. I was missing a vital piece of information, but I corrected that mistake." Two fingers of a leather glove point between the DDO's eyes. "Despite you hanging me out to dry."
"That was not-"
"The fuck it was! There is unprofessional behavior here and sure as fuck it's not mine. Your station chief cut my line. Now you have all you wanted, and me? You want me to run the refreshments stand on the ground floor?"
A sound halfway between a growl and a chuckle from the man on the other side of the desk, and the agent knows he's managed it again.
"You'd poison half the agency inside three days."
"Point." His body sprawls back in the chair, the manic intensity once more behind a porcelain mask. "So?"
"So we have matters to discuss. You might not be aware of it, but the war on terror is losing its charm here. It's too much of politics now, and even finding the data is dangerous."
"Yeah, yeah, Valerie Plame. I've been across the border, not under a rock."
"The word of the day is normalization. Middle East stays big, but we need to get our own backyard in order. NAFTA's our answer to Europe, so we need to treat it as a vital interest. And Culiacan drove home just how precarious the Mexico situation is."
An amused snort. "Precarious? Please. That's like saying Saddam's a bit eccentric. Mexico's a fucking time bomb, and it's labeled in Spanish to boot. The whole country's dancing to a different beat. Things are done differently."
"And you know it intimately."
A pause - no sound, no breath. Then, "What's the deal?"
"An autonomous unit. Black ops. Highest-level liaison - me and the Mexican president, not even their Interior Ministry. I square it with the Senate committee and they don't even hear your name. Your pick of currently unassigned agents. One task."
Breathing, slow and deep. "Bring balance to the country."
"Do you like the job description?"
"Do I ever. Don't you have, like, regulations against employing blind agents?"
"Equal opportunity. And you impressed the right people, Agent Sands. You're still effective. You proved it."
Long hair brushes his face as he shakes his head. "The right people? Fucking Texas cowboy, gotta vote for him the next time. When do I start?"
"There's a group of unassigned agents I want you to meet. You'll also have to take on some locals - their president apparently had some suggestions. And it's a codename operation, so pick a word."
"Team Scorpion. Carmen Davis as my second in command. And tell El Presidente I'll be happy to take on the music."
A thousand things to do and questions to answer. But now, behind too-dark glasses, behind empty holes, he hears the sounds of guitars and gunfire. He can taste the dust and feel the weight of guns at his side.
He makes a note to ask the Mariachi if there's any songs about Culiacan yet. The ballad of the blind gunman? He can live with that.
He can live.
~FINIS?~
Note to the poor souls who have the luck of not being International Relations majors:
Langley - CIA headquarters.
DDO - Deputy Director of Operations. Head of the Operations department and generally the highest position a career field agent can aspire to.
"the thing with Kelly's suicide" -
Valerie Plame - Valerie Plame worked undercover as a CIA operative and an ambassador's wife. Her name and true occupation was leaked to the press this summer, supposedly in retaliation for her husband's debunking the news of Iraq buying uranium in Niger. Needless to say, the CIA is not amused.