Operation Primetime: Chasing Secrets
Location Undisclosed
Stoke Newington, North London
11:30 A.M. local time
They seemed to keep their distance from each other. Adam Carter was unsurprisingly left all to himself as Michael kept near Lex and the computer that was his only link to what was going on with his wife. He tried to remind himself that this was what he had accepted when he had married her and then taken the job at CTU; this was what had been a given. But when the magnitude was this great ... It still bothered him. Jimmy McCarron was some distance off, close enough to hear, far enough back to keep his thoughts and space private. He was as in this as Michael was, he just chose not to show it. Being in love - and they couldn't even say 'with a woman like her,' because there was no one like her - took its toll when death stared you in the face.
All of them were silent, lurking, waiting for words that would make clear what this was all for. It didn't take long.
"You honestly don't remember me, do you?"
"What the fuck?" McCarron said it first, but they were all there, pouncing on the sentence, bristling with confusion and fear. "She swore she didn't know him," Michael pointed out again, "and I believe her." The homicide detective didn't look away from the screen, but concurred. "She had no reason to lie. And she wouldn't lie about somebody's life."
“Not unless you’re referring to that phone call you made to me three and a half hours ago ... But you’re about to provide clarification on the issue."
Michael nodded. "Good. She knows she's got to draw it out of him. She's got to," and he didn't even try to hide the anxiety in his voice. It would be useless. This was his wife they were talking about. The woman whose life he had destroyed, whom he had given up everything for, just so they could be together. He would not fail her now.
“December, 2003. You were here on personal business, staying at the Knightsbridge. We met in the lobby that Friday evening, had a drink at the bar. Stop me if any of this is familiar to you.”
They could hear her hesitate, but Michael looked at Tom and Tom looked into Michael and they both knew. December of 2003 had been when their precious little arrangement of distance and space had come crashing down. Tom had been framed by Herman Joyce and come looking for Brittany's help; she had given it and gone looking for Michael's. After that, they'd all been caught up in each other all over again. Tom gave the succinct, non-personal version: "She was in London trying to help me after Joyce."
Michael finished it: "And she asked me to help her. Friday ... that was the day we realized things were going to go longer than we thought."
"I know. I got the call from Agent Bennett that evening." Tom nodded. "So he meets her randomly in a hotel and decides to take out her direct supervisor? It doesn't make sense. She doesn't drink, so she couldn't have been drunk, and she's not stupid enough to disclose sensitive information to a complete stranger," he continued, answering Adam's unspoken question.
"She's got to keep him talking."
"Jesus fucking Christ. That was you. I can't believe that was you."
"Guilty as charged. Though in retrospect, I don’t suppose you’d remember. You’ve been quite busy since we spoke. I was impressed with how well you’ve been getting on."
The statement was enough to rile the men in the room who'd let her into their hearts and minds. Lex's fingers gripped the mouse, and the monitor reflected the immense dispassion on his face. Michael's hands clenched, fingernails digging into his palms. Tom just stared, knowing exactly what it all meant. McCarron looked like he wanted to go in there and beat the daylights out of Lindsay, fuck the rest of it. Michael caught his eye but didn't dare touch him. No, tensions were running high. He could hear them in Brittany's shocked reply.
"What? What do you know about what I’ve been doing the last few years? And what does that - or some chance fifteen minute meeting in December - have to do with your decision to put a bullet in my former liaison agent’s brain?”
"I thought it was the least I could do for you. You did say he had been spying on you. You said that you wanted him dead. That I could do.”
"What the hell...?"
Everyone in the room waited through the pregnant pause. Michael's knees gave and he grabbed for a chair, putting his head in his hands for a moment. When he glanced up, they were glassy with emotion. He knew exactly where Brittany would go with this. And from Tom's glance down and McCarron's long exhalation, they knew, too. They couldn't stop her from feeling it.
"Oh, my God. I didn't mean ... He didn't need to be killed."
Are you sure? I’ve looked inside his past. I know all his secrets. There wasn’t really any redemptive value there, in the end. There are things you still don’t know about him."
"I don't want to be anyone's executioner."
Adam shook his head, spoke into his earpiece. "Fiona, get ready to get her out of there. I don't care what you have to do. I want this finished."
"Don't." Tom held up a hand. "She wouldn't leave now if you dragged her out. She needs to know. She needs to work through this herself."
Carter respected his predecessor's judgment. "Just keep an eye on her, Fiona."
"You've been one before. With justification, of course. It’s all justified, for the both of us. I didn’t do this for some romantic notion of saving you, Brittany. I did it because you earned the liberation and he deserved to die.”
"Son of a bitch," McCarron swore. He spoke for all of them. They knew now that their leader was going to implode, was imploding, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. More importantly, they were going to end up watching a woman they cared about rip herself apart. The only woman who could make this all end. They didn't want to see her face when she returned to them. But they'd face her as best they could, and try to keep her from destroying herself.
Stoke Newington, North London
11:30 A.M. local time
They seemed to keep their distance from each other. Adam Carter was unsurprisingly left all to himself as Michael kept near Lex and the computer that was his only link to what was going on with his wife. He tried to remind himself that this was what he had accepted when he had married her and then taken the job at CTU; this was what had been a given. But when the magnitude was this great ... It still bothered him. Jimmy McCarron was some distance off, close enough to hear, far enough back to keep his thoughts and space private. He was as in this as Michael was, he just chose not to show it. Being in love - and they couldn't even say 'with a woman like her,' because there was no one like her - took its toll when death stared you in the face.
All of them were silent, lurking, waiting for words that would make clear what this was all for. It didn't take long.
"You honestly don't remember me, do you?"
"What the fuck?" McCarron said it first, but they were all there, pouncing on the sentence, bristling with confusion and fear. "She swore she didn't know him," Michael pointed out again, "and I believe her." The homicide detective didn't look away from the screen, but concurred. "She had no reason to lie. And she wouldn't lie about somebody's life."
“Not unless you’re referring to that phone call you made to me three and a half hours ago ... But you’re about to provide clarification on the issue."
Michael nodded. "Good. She knows she's got to draw it out of him. She's got to," and he didn't even try to hide the anxiety in his voice. It would be useless. This was his wife they were talking about. The woman whose life he had destroyed, whom he had given up everything for, just so they could be together. He would not fail her now.
“December, 2003. You were here on personal business, staying at the Knightsbridge. We met in the lobby that Friday evening, had a drink at the bar. Stop me if any of this is familiar to you.”
They could hear her hesitate, but Michael looked at Tom and Tom looked into Michael and they both knew. December of 2003 had been when their precious little arrangement of distance and space had come crashing down. Tom had been framed by Herman Joyce and come looking for Brittany's help; she had given it and gone looking for Michael's. After that, they'd all been caught up in each other all over again. Tom gave the succinct, non-personal version: "She was in London trying to help me after Joyce."
Michael finished it: "And she asked me to help her. Friday ... that was the day we realized things were going to go longer than we thought."
"I know. I got the call from Agent Bennett that evening." Tom nodded. "So he meets her randomly in a hotel and decides to take out her direct supervisor? It doesn't make sense. She doesn't drink, so she couldn't have been drunk, and she's not stupid enough to disclose sensitive information to a complete stranger," he continued, answering Adam's unspoken question.
"She's got to keep him talking."
"Jesus fucking Christ. That was you. I can't believe that was you."
"Guilty as charged. Though in retrospect, I don’t suppose you’d remember. You’ve been quite busy since we spoke. I was impressed with how well you’ve been getting on."
The statement was enough to rile the men in the room who'd let her into their hearts and minds. Lex's fingers gripped the mouse, and the monitor reflected the immense dispassion on his face. Michael's hands clenched, fingernails digging into his palms. Tom just stared, knowing exactly what it all meant. McCarron looked like he wanted to go in there and beat the daylights out of Lindsay, fuck the rest of it. Michael caught his eye but didn't dare touch him. No, tensions were running high. He could hear them in Brittany's shocked reply.
"What? What do you know about what I’ve been doing the last few years? And what does that - or some chance fifteen minute meeting in December - have to do with your decision to put a bullet in my former liaison agent’s brain?”
"I thought it was the least I could do for you. You did say he had been spying on you. You said that you wanted him dead. That I could do.”
"What the hell...?"
Everyone in the room waited through the pregnant pause. Michael's knees gave and he grabbed for a chair, putting his head in his hands for a moment. When he glanced up, they were glassy with emotion. He knew exactly where Brittany would go with this. And from Tom's glance down and McCarron's long exhalation, they knew, too. They couldn't stop her from feeling it.
"Oh, my God. I didn't mean ... He didn't need to be killed."
Are you sure? I’ve looked inside his past. I know all his secrets. There wasn’t really any redemptive value there, in the end. There are things you still don’t know about him."
"I don't want to be anyone's executioner."
Adam shook his head, spoke into his earpiece. "Fiona, get ready to get her out of there. I don't care what you have to do. I want this finished."
"Don't." Tom held up a hand. "She wouldn't leave now if you dragged her out. She needs to know. She needs to work through this herself."
Carter respected his predecessor's judgment. "Just keep an eye on her, Fiona."
"You've been one before. With justification, of course. It’s all justified, for the both of us. I didn’t do this for some romantic notion of saving you, Brittany. I did it because you earned the liberation and he deserved to die.”
"Son of a bitch," McCarron swore. He spoke for all of them. They knew now that their leader was going to implode, was imploding, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. More importantly, they were going to end up watching a woman they cared about rip herself apart. The only woman who could make this all end. They didn't want to see her face when she returned to them. But they'd face her as best they could, and try to keep her from destroying herself.