Under Suspicion
Protocol at the Sunshine building had the security guard, who was a WitSec agent call up to the top floor to alert her assigned inspectors that she was on her way up. An agent in the elevator, disguised as a building employee but who was also a WitSec agent would escort her to the top and leave her to walk the few feet from the elevator to the glass doors where she was buzzed in by the agent closest to the door. Since Marshall was promoted and Mary took over the specifics of her case, Liz had spent more time with the fiery blonde. She liked Mary's way of looking at the world and appreciated the quiet frustration with which she handled everything. Once, she'd been a lot like that, blowing through life without too much care for how other people thought of her. Her self-perception hadn’t changed much, only the way she expressed it. Now, instead of taking on personal vendettas through the use of Federal funds (which, yes, had been expressly against the law despite being sanctioned at the same time) she turned her singularly focused attentions to children and horses. In the end, her hope was that the next generation of girls wouldn’t have to fight and kick and scratch the way she and Mary had.
But, instead of Mary meeting her at the door, it was Marshall, who wore that expression she’d come to think of as “I should have been an actor.” He hated specific politics of the job but she knew he’d never leave because he was as devoted to the witnesses as he was the idea of patriotism and devotion to a God known as America. Still, he looked tired and she knew she was a part of that exhaustion.
“I get the boss today, hmm?” Liz adjusted her purse on her shoulder as she looked up at him. In another lifetime, they might have worked well together and she enjoyed their quiet lunches at her kitchen table. They happened more now that he was a supervisor and didn’t have to justify time with a witness. Yet another missed connection for her - a man who would never betray his fiancé, let alone his code as an inspector.
“Someone has to referee in there,” he quipped. Liz rolled her eyes and looked through the office into the conference room. Behind the glass walls were the Assistant US Attorney in charge of her case and two suits she could conclude were investigators of some kind. “Just go easy on them, Liz. It isn’t like they know anything about dealing with someone like you.”
“What you’re saying is that you don’t want me to embarrass you. I’m supposed to be a well-behaved witness.”
“What I’m saying is show them the woman who used to be a Federal Director. And remember there are glass walls so you kill them in a messy fashion.”
The levity made her smile and released just a hint of her nerves, but not many. In the last few weeks she’d been nearly killed, almost relocated, and reminded that even her sister wasn’t a legal ally. “All right.” With a nod, she told Marshall she was ready to head in. But once the door closed behind them, her shoulders tightened and the hair on the back of her neck stood up on end. This wasn’t going to end well. “Gentlemen,” she said, looking around. She knew Donald. He was a perfectly capable attorney and she knew Heather had assigned him because he was better than the rest, but her heart wouldn’t stop racing. She had a feeling he didn’t like her.
“Ms. Jackson,” Donald replied. “These are Special Agents Mackelroy and Hoover.”
Liz smirked. “Special Agent Hoover? You’ve probably heard all the jokes.” When he didn’t reply she rolled her eyes. Yeah, they were going to be fun. She took a seat and looked at Donald. “Marshall tells me that for some reason, the FBI thinks I had something to do with Agent Kort’s death.”
“Actually,” Mackelroy was speaking, “yes. We think you did.”
“Hmmm.” Liz rolled her eyes at him and leaned back in her chair. “You think that I, back here in Albuquerque, somehow used my telekinetic powers to convince the Director of NCIS to take down an agent in self-defense? Wow! I’m better than I thought.” Yes, the sarcasm was flowing. It kept her from killing them.
“We are fully aware of your relationship with the director.”
“The National Enquirer is probably aware of it and just don’t think she’s worth causing a scandal over because it isn’t like it’s as impotent - I’m sorry, important - an agency as the FBI.” She heard Marshall snicker and used that to calm down a bit. With every breath she was one step closer to exploding.
“You are breaking about seven statutes of your MOU being involved with her,” Donald spoke up. “Have you given thought to how that might be a reason for the increased security issues over the past few months?”
“Of course,” Liz looked at the lawyer and for a moment imagined strangling him with his ugly tie. “And then I spoke with Marshall, who informed me that from all the intelligence they had, my relationship with her had nothing to do with what was happening. There is a leak inside the Marshals and that leak is feeding information to a leak in the FBI who is in turn feeding it elsewhere. I didn’t try to take down some Podunk little nothing of a gun running operation. These guys have had their hands dirty since Vietnam.” Breathe, she reminded herself, breathe.
“What about the connection to what happened in France? Your history with Trent Kort makes it conceivable that you tried to concoct something to get your lover to take him down.” Hoover had bad breath.
“First off, as far as I understand,” Liz rubbed her eyes a bit, “the Director has her own history with the agent in question and there is no evidence at all that links me to his death. He attacked her, he was shot in self-defense. By a heavily pregnant woman no less. End of story.” The tension was building and Liz wanted to kill one of them. Any of them would do. No, she’d spare Marshall.
“Maybe you were tired of waiting around.” Hoover was speaking again. “After all, the men you wanted to take down are now all in positions of power or dead. Maybe you’re just tired of it and you convinced your cheating lover to help you out.”
She was tired but Hoover’s smarmy tone snapped her to attention and Liz exploded. All the decorum over the past few months fell aside, already in tatters, and she turned on the agents, advancing through the haze of red that clouded her vision. "So why the hell did I do this? Why did I put myself here? Why did I go through all that trouble? Why did I bother risking my damned life and getting out of the way. I ran a god dammed federal agency and I was a better shot than all of those nimrods combined. Instead of taking down the agency that I devoted my life to, I let you assholes convince me that this was the smart thing to do. I listened to all your arguments - that taking down NCIS would hurt the government in this unstable time, especially with an election hanging in the balance. The way you talk, I could have just killed them all.
“I walked the line you requested, I turned over all the information I had about gun running within the organization, corruption in the CIA, and the drug trade with Russia and Afghanistan. I accepted any slaps on the wrists that you guys gave me for my involvement in following orders from the man who is now the secretary of the god dammed Navy. I had accepted that time was passing on this case and that I had to settle for a life of seclusion here in Albuquerque. I had accepted that I would never see the men who subjected me to absolute torture would be tried and convicted in a court of law. I swallowed the knowledge that they would get away with murder, rape, and god knows what else all in the name of the government I served devotedly! I accepted all of that because I'd done my part. And, when I was whisked out of my home and then still attacked in one of your so called safe houses, I didn't press charges even though I knew who had hurt me. I did what you asked. Again. You promised me it would be taken care of. And when Trent Kort went after someone I care about and she got rid of him, she took care of the problem, it was done. I was told it was finished. For the first time in years, I slept through the night! Now, now you are sitting here telling me that not only is it not done but that you think I somehow conspired with her to shoot him down? You want to point fingers at me? God, I should have killed him years ago. I had multiple chances. You're all full of shit, you know that?" She stormed back over to a corner to try and catch her breath.
"Liz ..." Marshall stood and walked over to her. She stared at him and shook her head, responding to a question she hadn’t asked. He flinched, visibly, and stepped away.
"No." She kept her tone controlled. "No, you aren't going to talk me down. I'm not going to be petted and treated like I'm some peon who saw something wrong." She stared at the attorney. "You take this back to your bosses and to my sister - if I could have killed Trent Kort the night he attacked me, I would have. I know there are things that he did to me that I don't remember. I can show you the scars on my body that came from a time when I was drugged and used against my will, all for this case. All to infiltrate a gun selling operation that used women like toilet paper. I knew my risks and I was willing to seduce and sleep with suspects to get what I needed. I did not sign up for torture. If I could have cut off Leon Vance's balls, I would have. Instead, I swallowed the clear political advantage NCIS had. How amazing we looked. How colorful. A female director and a black assistant director. We made the CIA and the FBI look like pasty, white, members of a men only organization. And, with Vance on the other side of the country and Jarvis serving overseas, I could do my job."
"Did your job include hunting down Rene Benoit?"
"I took my reprimand for those actions and I did not kill him."
"Yet, Trent Kort and the CIA covered for you."
"They covered for me because Rene Benoit was their prized acquisition and they didn't want to look stupid."
"So why did they need to cover for you?"
"Because I never told them who did kill him and I won't tell you either." The anger faded as suddenly as it exploded - a trait she'd always possessed - but her lingering anger smoldered down into passive aggression and she crossed her arms and stared at the men in the room. "I didn't have anything to do with Trent Kort's death and honestly, I wish he wasn't dead because the stress of how it went down caused possibly irreparable damage to my relationships. Worse, if there is evidence that people have that I am not aware of, evidence related to me, I deserve to know what it is instead of being questioned about something I had no hand in. You know my record. I wouldn't have plotted to have Trent Kort killed. I'd have done it myself." The reality of her words settled over the men in the room and Liz waited for their response. She was livid. "You idiots have had four years to put a case together. Instead, you've put the very men into power."
She repeated her earlier point. "So, when you're done sitting in this circle jerk and congratulating yourselves on how you haven't brought down a terrorist hunting federal agency during a shaky election cycle - once again, I might add - and have instead come up with a way to keep female agents safe all while bringing down a gun running and drug producing cell that is being funded by our own tax payer dollars, you can come talk to me. Until then, remember this. I can still go public. I have journal entries. I have evidence that you have on file. I can go public and one look at my face will set the world on fire. I'll step in front of the bullet that is aimed at me if I have to. I did what I did to save my own ass, but if I'm still going to get my ass handed to me while under your so-called protection, I am happy to break this story, to make everything known, to take the criticism and the rumors and everything else that comes with it. I don't need your bullshit. Last I checked, I still hold the cards. I have still not testified. I can take down your whole scheme with one call to an old friend. Am I clear?"
Silence, even from Marshall, and Liz took that as her cue to get out. She couldn’t stay trapped in the room for another minute. She wasn’t about to get treated like a second class citizen, held without any access to the evidence that would either help her case or make it worse. If they had an actual paper trail, they could present it.
“When you’re ready to actually give me something real, I’ll listen to you. But this posturing, this asking questions, it sounds like you’re all in Jarvis’ and Vance’s pockets. I don’t need that. I gave up everything and if this is how your organizations are running, then I’m moving. Come at me with something real. Come at me with photographs and phone calls and a plot, and I’ll defend myself. Until then, you are all, every last one of you, full of shit and you are just trying to keep me quiet. Guess what, I’m tired of it.”
Liz grabbed her purse and stormed out, barely waiting to be buzzed free of the glass prison.
But, instead of Mary meeting her at the door, it was Marshall, who wore that expression she’d come to think of as “I should have been an actor.” He hated specific politics of the job but she knew he’d never leave because he was as devoted to the witnesses as he was the idea of patriotism and devotion to a God known as America. Still, he looked tired and she knew she was a part of that exhaustion.
“I get the boss today, hmm?” Liz adjusted her purse on her shoulder as she looked up at him. In another lifetime, they might have worked well together and she enjoyed their quiet lunches at her kitchen table. They happened more now that he was a supervisor and didn’t have to justify time with a witness. Yet another missed connection for her - a man who would never betray his fiancé, let alone his code as an inspector.
“Someone has to referee in there,” he quipped. Liz rolled her eyes and looked through the office into the conference room. Behind the glass walls were the Assistant US Attorney in charge of her case and two suits she could conclude were investigators of some kind. “Just go easy on them, Liz. It isn’t like they know anything about dealing with someone like you.”
“What you’re saying is that you don’t want me to embarrass you. I’m supposed to be a well-behaved witness.”
“What I’m saying is show them the woman who used to be a Federal Director. And remember there are glass walls so you kill them in a messy fashion.”
The levity made her smile and released just a hint of her nerves, but not many. In the last few weeks she’d been nearly killed, almost relocated, and reminded that even her sister wasn’t a legal ally. “All right.” With a nod, she told Marshall she was ready to head in. But once the door closed behind them, her shoulders tightened and the hair on the back of her neck stood up on end. This wasn’t going to end well. “Gentlemen,” she said, looking around. She knew Donald. He was a perfectly capable attorney and she knew Heather had assigned him because he was better than the rest, but her heart wouldn’t stop racing. She had a feeling he didn’t like her.
“Ms. Jackson,” Donald replied. “These are Special Agents Mackelroy and Hoover.”
Liz smirked. “Special Agent Hoover? You’ve probably heard all the jokes.” When he didn’t reply she rolled her eyes. Yeah, they were going to be fun. She took a seat and looked at Donald. “Marshall tells me that for some reason, the FBI thinks I had something to do with Agent Kort’s death.”
“Actually,” Mackelroy was speaking, “yes. We think you did.”
“Hmmm.” Liz rolled her eyes at him and leaned back in her chair. “You think that I, back here in Albuquerque, somehow used my telekinetic powers to convince the Director of NCIS to take down an agent in self-defense? Wow! I’m better than I thought.” Yes, the sarcasm was flowing. It kept her from killing them.
“We are fully aware of your relationship with the director.”
“The National Enquirer is probably aware of it and just don’t think she’s worth causing a scandal over because it isn’t like it’s as impotent - I’m sorry, important - an agency as the FBI.” She heard Marshall snicker and used that to calm down a bit. With every breath she was one step closer to exploding.
“You are breaking about seven statutes of your MOU being involved with her,” Donald spoke up. “Have you given thought to how that might be a reason for the increased security issues over the past few months?”
“Of course,” Liz looked at the lawyer and for a moment imagined strangling him with his ugly tie. “And then I spoke with Marshall, who informed me that from all the intelligence they had, my relationship with her had nothing to do with what was happening. There is a leak inside the Marshals and that leak is feeding information to a leak in the FBI who is in turn feeding it elsewhere. I didn’t try to take down some Podunk little nothing of a gun running operation. These guys have had their hands dirty since Vietnam.” Breathe, she reminded herself, breathe.
“What about the connection to what happened in France? Your history with Trent Kort makes it conceivable that you tried to concoct something to get your lover to take him down.” Hoover had bad breath.
“First off, as far as I understand,” Liz rubbed her eyes a bit, “the Director has her own history with the agent in question and there is no evidence at all that links me to his death. He attacked her, he was shot in self-defense. By a heavily pregnant woman no less. End of story.” The tension was building and Liz wanted to kill one of them. Any of them would do. No, she’d spare Marshall.
“Maybe you were tired of waiting around.” Hoover was speaking again. “After all, the men you wanted to take down are now all in positions of power or dead. Maybe you’re just tired of it and you convinced your cheating lover to help you out.”
She was tired but Hoover’s smarmy tone snapped her to attention and Liz exploded. All the decorum over the past few months fell aside, already in tatters, and she turned on the agents, advancing through the haze of red that clouded her vision. "So why the hell did I do this? Why did I put myself here? Why did I go through all that trouble? Why did I bother risking my damned life and getting out of the way. I ran a god dammed federal agency and I was a better shot than all of those nimrods combined. Instead of taking down the agency that I devoted my life to, I let you assholes convince me that this was the smart thing to do. I listened to all your arguments - that taking down NCIS would hurt the government in this unstable time, especially with an election hanging in the balance. The way you talk, I could have just killed them all.
“I walked the line you requested, I turned over all the information I had about gun running within the organization, corruption in the CIA, and the drug trade with Russia and Afghanistan. I accepted any slaps on the wrists that you guys gave me for my involvement in following orders from the man who is now the secretary of the god dammed Navy. I had accepted that time was passing on this case and that I had to settle for a life of seclusion here in Albuquerque. I had accepted that I would never see the men who subjected me to absolute torture would be tried and convicted in a court of law. I swallowed the knowledge that they would get away with murder, rape, and god knows what else all in the name of the government I served devotedly! I accepted all of that because I'd done my part. And, when I was whisked out of my home and then still attacked in one of your so called safe houses, I didn't press charges even though I knew who had hurt me. I did what you asked. Again. You promised me it would be taken care of. And when Trent Kort went after someone I care about and she got rid of him, she took care of the problem, it was done. I was told it was finished. For the first time in years, I slept through the night! Now, now you are sitting here telling me that not only is it not done but that you think I somehow conspired with her to shoot him down? You want to point fingers at me? God, I should have killed him years ago. I had multiple chances. You're all full of shit, you know that?" She stormed back over to a corner to try and catch her breath.
"Liz ..." Marshall stood and walked over to her. She stared at him and shook her head, responding to a question she hadn’t asked. He flinched, visibly, and stepped away.
"No." She kept her tone controlled. "No, you aren't going to talk me down. I'm not going to be petted and treated like I'm some peon who saw something wrong." She stared at the attorney. "You take this back to your bosses and to my sister - if I could have killed Trent Kort the night he attacked me, I would have. I know there are things that he did to me that I don't remember. I can show you the scars on my body that came from a time when I was drugged and used against my will, all for this case. All to infiltrate a gun selling operation that used women like toilet paper. I knew my risks and I was willing to seduce and sleep with suspects to get what I needed. I did not sign up for torture. If I could have cut off Leon Vance's balls, I would have. Instead, I swallowed the clear political advantage NCIS had. How amazing we looked. How colorful. A female director and a black assistant director. We made the CIA and the FBI look like pasty, white, members of a men only organization. And, with Vance on the other side of the country and Jarvis serving overseas, I could do my job."
"Did your job include hunting down Rene Benoit?"
"I took my reprimand for those actions and I did not kill him."
"Yet, Trent Kort and the CIA covered for you."
"They covered for me because Rene Benoit was their prized acquisition and they didn't want to look stupid."
"So why did they need to cover for you?"
"Because I never told them who did kill him and I won't tell you either." The anger faded as suddenly as it exploded - a trait she'd always possessed - but her lingering anger smoldered down into passive aggression and she crossed her arms and stared at the men in the room. "I didn't have anything to do with Trent Kort's death and honestly, I wish he wasn't dead because the stress of how it went down caused possibly irreparable damage to my relationships. Worse, if there is evidence that people have that I am not aware of, evidence related to me, I deserve to know what it is instead of being questioned about something I had no hand in. You know my record. I wouldn't have plotted to have Trent Kort killed. I'd have done it myself." The reality of her words settled over the men in the room and Liz waited for their response. She was livid. "You idiots have had four years to put a case together. Instead, you've put the very men into power."
She repeated her earlier point. "So, when you're done sitting in this circle jerk and congratulating yourselves on how you haven't brought down a terrorist hunting federal agency during a shaky election cycle - once again, I might add - and have instead come up with a way to keep female agents safe all while bringing down a gun running and drug producing cell that is being funded by our own tax payer dollars, you can come talk to me. Until then, remember this. I can still go public. I have journal entries. I have evidence that you have on file. I can go public and one look at my face will set the world on fire. I'll step in front of the bullet that is aimed at me if I have to. I did what I did to save my own ass, but if I'm still going to get my ass handed to me while under your so-called protection, I am happy to break this story, to make everything known, to take the criticism and the rumors and everything else that comes with it. I don't need your bullshit. Last I checked, I still hold the cards. I have still not testified. I can take down your whole scheme with one call to an old friend. Am I clear?"
Silence, even from Marshall, and Liz took that as her cue to get out. She couldn’t stay trapped in the room for another minute. She wasn’t about to get treated like a second class citizen, held without any access to the evidence that would either help her case or make it worse. If they had an actual paper trail, they could present it.
“When you’re ready to actually give me something real, I’ll listen to you. But this posturing, this asking questions, it sounds like you’re all in Jarvis’ and Vance’s pockets. I don’t need that. I gave up everything and if this is how your organizations are running, then I’m moving. Come at me with something real. Come at me with photographs and phone calls and a plot, and I’ll defend myself. Until then, you are all, every last one of you, full of shit and you are just trying to keep me quiet. Guess what, I’m tired of it.”
Liz grabbed her purse and stormed out, barely waiting to be buzzed free of the glass prison.