Work Text:
Jane was about to call it a night – an early night, for the first time in a month – when her computer pinged, and she swivelled her chair back around, taking note of the time: 2112.
Great, no early night. Spoke too soon.
She rubbed her eyes, looking out at the empty bullpen – everyone, rightfully so, was home, resting and recuperating after the chaos and calamity that their most recent case had resulted in.
She’d told everyone to take the day off tomorrow.
Now if only I, too, could have the day off.
Sighing, she clicked on the notification, a little surprised to see what CI it was from. It had been over two years since she last heard from them (well, this part wasn’t too surprising), but she had heard that this CI had changed their business, if she could call it that, and now was in the fine art business, not so much the things that the Hawaii office would deal with.
Were they back in the game?
The subject line was blank, the body of the email containing just a single sentence, ‘All the best for Janey,’ (a clear message that they hadn’t sent this message under coercion), and a link to an encrypted site, followed by a password.
She hesitated for just a second before clicking forward and entering the password.
The screen blacked out for a minute before filling with a sleek, minimalist interface, something reminiscent of a high-end luxury shopping site.
The banner caught her attention: The Gilded Cage: Winter Auction commences in 7 Days.
Jane scrolled, not too surprised by the merchandise being offered initially – an experimental drone prototype there, conflict diamonds here, several canisters of bioweapons scattered all throughout.
Intriguing, but her CI knew she could have kicked this through her current handlers in the FBI, who were impressed by her connections in the fine art world.
So why send it to me?
What was here that would warrant sending it to the SAC?
She carried on scrolling, eyes glazing over, and she was half tempted to email her CI back and ask for her to be a little more specific – not that what was being advertised was something she’d ignored, she’d already passed on the info through appropriate channels – when she got to when she got to a section titled ‘Specialised Assets.’
She expected what in her line of work was the usual. Hackers, defecting scientists, disavowed spooks.
That’s what the initial bunch looked like.
But then she scrolled even further down, freezing when one individual looked a little too familiar for her liking.
She clicked on the thumbnail, her breath leaving her lungs so quickly, it was as though someone had switched on the fire suppression system, and the oxygen in the room had escaped.
It was him.
Lot 14: Deputy Chief of Staff, Pacific Fleet. Startling Bid: $50 Million.
Jane stared at the photo some more, especially the eyes.
The eyes never lied.
It was him.
It was Joe.
He had been missing for over four months now. A plane carrying him and a handful of other high-ranking naval officers (the irony, yes, of navy officers using a plane) had gone down over the Sea of Japan, no wreckage found, no survivors either.
The Navy had declared him MIA and, later, presumed dead. Jane had gotten clearance to leave for the first month of his disappearance and had worked from an aircraft carrier off the coast of Japan, but she found nothing.
Yet hope remained, and she had carved out as much free time going through all the favours she had, trying to locate him.
Everyone told her he was dead.
Except he wasn’t.
He was alive, but in trouble.
The Joe in the photo was a shadow of the man she knew. His head had been shaved, his cheekbones now sharp enough to cut skin, disappearing into a rough, unkempt beard. A dark, purple bruise was clear across his left temple, and his lip was split. Dried blood mingled underneath his nose, which looked badly fixed.
The newspaper he was holding in his hands was dated two days ago.
She looked back into his eyes, eyes that she only ever saw reflecting confidence and intelligence. Now, he looked exhausted, and haunted, but even somewhere beneath all that, a flicker of defiance.
He hasn’t given up just yet.
And neither should you have, her guilt spoke.
“I can help now,” she said aloud to nobody in particular, her eyes darting to the countdown at the website: 6 Days, 22 Hours, 59 Minutes.
A week until Joe was thrown to the highest bidder – a foreign power, a terrorist cell, a cartel that simply wanted the information he was privy to in his position. And if that happened, he’d become even harder to find.
A wave of nausea washed over Tennant at that thought, but she quickly pushed that down.
She was not going to let that happen.
She reached for her phone, dialling the number without even looking at the hour, hoping that, nonetheless, the Director would pick up.
It rang twice before a deep voice answered, and Jane felt guilty for evidently waking up the Director. If there was anyone who was sleeping less than her, it was surely Vance.
“This is Vance.”
“Director,” Jane said, still looking at the photo on her screen, “I need your authorisation for a task force, Sir.”
“Must be quite serious if you’re calling at this hour. It’s 3 in the morning in DC. What is this about, Agent Tennant?”
“I found him, Leon,” Jane told him, “I found Captain Milius.”
There was silence on the line – the Navy had already held a memorial for the Captain and the fallen officers.
“Elaborate,” Vance asked, curious.
“A CI reached out to me, sent me a link, and it’s an online auction, Leon, for a lot of things, including assets. The auction ends in a week, and I noted some other missing members from the same flight on there, too.”
“Tennant, send the link to me, I will be in the office in less than five hours so we can do this properly.”
“Sending it now, but Director.”
“Yes, Tennant.”
“I’m involved in whatever you decide, and with all due respect, I’m not asking for permission.”
“You never were one to, Jane. Go, get some sleep, Agent. I will call you in a couple of hours.”
He ended the call, and Jane took one last look at the photo, before switching off the monitor and heading home, knowing sleep would not take her into its embrace.