Ingrams & Assoc 6: Downfall Ch. 03

"I'll be fine," replied April, doing her best to put Lindsey at her ease.

"We made you this. Horlicks. From England. Chris said he picked up a taste for it. It's supposed to be good for sleeping."

"That's very kind of you, Lindsey," replied April, gesturing for Lindsey to put it down. "Here, sit with me. Talk to me. Beatrice scares me a little."

It was a good opening line. Get her physically comfortable, admit something personal and something she could probably relate to. Make her want to confide.

Lindsey nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, she does that. Heart of gold inside though. Just, very protective. Of us. Chris. All of us. With what she's been through..."

April just looked at her quizzically. Lindsey wanted to talk and she absolutely wanted to listen!

"I don't know that I should be telling you this..." whispered Lindsey, conspiratorially, leaning in as she sat down.

"Then don't," said a stern voice from the door way. Chris Morgan stood, looking down at Lindsey.

Lindsey just stood, cast her eyes down and scurried around Morgan, leaving the room.

"You need rest," said Morgan. "Drink your Horlicks."

April smiled at him, genuinely pleased to see him, even if he had just scuttled a good interrogation prospect. She patted the bed and as Morgan sat down, took a sip of the drink. It was milky, sweet, and had a very slight almond taste. She'd never had it in her time in the UK but had heard of its sleep bringing properties.

"Very nice," she said, forcing herself to pay attention. All she really wanted to do was have him put his arms around her and let her drift off in his arms.

"Look, April, I know you have a lot of questions. To be honest, so do I. But tomorrow is another day, and we'll have time to go over things, and work out what happens next, okay?"

He still hadn't sat down, and April yawned again. Boy, she was tired. So hard to keep her eyes open. So very tired. She had no idea she was that tired...

Her last waking thought was of the hot drink, and how it tasted of almonds, and how that reminded her of something.

* * * * *

April woke in the morning, to sunlight slitted across the bed where she lay, from where the window blinds hadn't been closed completely. She awoke suddenly, with complete awareness, not something that happened to her very often, if at all.

She knew where she was, and recalled the events of the past day clearly. She even remembered she'd been drugged. There was no way she'd have crashed in quite that way, and the almond taste was reminiscent of various sleep-inducing drugs.

They'd drugged her! She was instantly rigid with a flush of anger, but careful not to show it. She stayed put, straining to hear if there was any conversation in the next room she might overhear. Why would they drug her? Oh, so they could talk about her, of course. Obviously.

She also wanted time to think. What to do next? She needed to contact her people, - explain what had happened. Get some people out watching her and the rest of this group. She'd want to stay with Chris for the time being, but she needed backup. People who could extract her if need be. Their modus operandi denoted that active agents always had a way out. They weren't the CIA, and no one was meant to be in place too long. Their covers weren't good enough for that. They were therapists, not secret agents, even though sometimes April felt she could play one on TV without too much trouble.

* * * * *

Thinking furiously, she lay there, thinking about her next move, how to present herself, the story to tell, the emotions to try and induce, when a voice spoke.

"I can tell you're awake. Your breathing changes. Well done on not reacting though."

'Shit,' thought April. That opened up a bunch of avenues of conversation she didn't particularly want to go down right now. Like, why would she be doing that? And how had she mastered that art?

"Come on, time to get up," Chris Morgan's voice commanded, brooking no argument. "I think there's quite a lot to talk about."

April smiled ruefully to herself. She'd quite like waking up to that voice under other circumstances. Well, one last try.

She rolled over slowly, and just managed to find herself in a sultry pose, her body splayed out, some of it under covers and some not, with her hair framing her face, covering half of it.

"Nothing you see you'd like more, sailor?" she asked, giving him her best flirtatious half smile. An offering, one she didn't make to many people.

Chris Morgan was sitting on the chair by the bed, one leg up on the other knee, a can of diet coke in his hand, smiling back at her but without a trace indulgence in it.

"Any other time, April, you know I would. Time to get up. Time to answer some questions. Don't take long, I am having trouble holding the hordes back as it is."

He got up and took one long approving look at her, and then walked out.

April groaned. This was going to be hard, her on the balls of her feet, so to speak, trying to work out what to tell them or not.

Then, as she was climbing out of the bed, she considered. Why not just tell them the truth? She wasn't in the middle of this, - whatever 'this' was, exactly, - by choice. She was hired for a job, one that was a little unsavory when sitting in a room being interrogated by the target, but a job none the less. The events of the previous day couldn't have been targeted at them, regardless of the coincidence of them being there, no matter what Morgan's paranoia told him.

She didn't judge him as really dangerous, at least not to her. She just didn't get that vibe from him, and she was a very good judge of character. In her line of work, you had to be.

"Fine. Let's see what the day holds, and if nothing else, the truth will out," she decided.

There were new jeans and underwear, - all of which fit exactly, she noticed, - and her boots where cleaned, as well as the jacket she'd been bought. Of her explosion damaged clothes, there was no sign.

At least she felt better. She may have been drugged, but at least she'd got the rest she needed, - none of the shakiness and cold of the night before, from shock. Her body and mind had had time to process and she was, once again, a full field agent from Ingrams and Associates with full control of her faculties.

She used the bathroom, then walked out into the main room. It was already set for an interrogation, she noted. Chair in the middle of the floor, and no matter how casual everyone else tried to appear, they were formed in a semi-circle around it, with Chris the only one standing, arms folded, behind Beatrice, who was seated with the chair back facing forward, her legs astride it, arms laid along the back, staring at her.

She looked at everyone, one after another, a sardonic eyebrow raised, and with a heavy theatrical sigh, she sat in the chair.

"No light in my eyes?" she asked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. "I mean, you let me sleep, isn't that against the rules of a good interrogation? Is there a bucket ready for water boarding?"

No one laughed, although Lindsey did hide a smile.

No one spoke for a moment, and then Chris said, "As I'm sure you can imagine, we've been up half the night, talking about you."

April put a hand to her chest, making a 'little ole me?' expression, and Chris's face hardened.

"Let's not waste time here, April. I don't think either one of us has much to burn. One third wants to let you go. One third wants to take you in a car and drop you as far away from us as possible, and the other third wants to, as you say, water board you for information, and then bury you in a shallow grave somewhere. They believe you were the reason someone tried to kill us, - me, - yesterday."

There was silence for a moment, before April said softly, "Which third are you?"

"That depends on you."

April glanced at Beatrice. No doubt which third she was in. She'd probably want to dig the grave personally, thought April.

"So, let's start with who you are?" said Morgan, stepping forward, so he was in front of Beatrice.

"I'm April Carlisle," April protested, calmly, "nothing more, nothing less."

"Good answer. Gives nothing away," said Morgan, grimly.

"Okay, fine, that's the way you want it. Lindsey, what do we know?"

"April Carlisle. It's her alright. We found kids pictures of her. Dad was some hotshot Indiana Jones type, mom in a love triangle with her uncle, left him for her Dad. She was raised in the Phoenix Arizona area, went to college there, obviously training for some law enforcement type job, with a heavy on psychology. Then she graduates, does some post grad courses, renames herself in honor of dear old Uncle," she paused, and then stared at April, as if trying to will the back story of that event out of her, "and... Vanishes off the face of the earth. Nothing more. For years. And yet here she is."

Normally Ingrams would have prepared a much deeper cover for April, but for this job, given its nature, - find and forget, - they hadn't bothered. What was interesting is that April knew they'd scrubbed all traces of her from the time of employment onward, but she was less aware that they'd left the rest of her details alone.

"Let's talk about what happened yesterday, April. I would love to hear what you think about it?"

"Chris, what is going on here? We are in the middle of a bombing, you drag me away from helping, make me change clothes, then take me here, and I think you drugged me last night!" April figured the indignant last part of the statement would help. It was true, after all.

"April, do you feel like we were targeted?" it was a question delivered in an innocuous fashion, like he was asking if she'd seen a TV show the night before.

April noticed he was slowly pacing up and down, moving to various parts of the room and looking closely at whatever there was to see. Currently he was standing in front of the window, blinds open, staring out over the city, and then back to her.

It was a good question, and one that April herself was grappling with. They were in the middle of it, the bag had been left close to them, and the person who left it was looking right at them when they left. Chris clearly thought it was personal, aimed at him; the precautions he'd insisted on made that obvious. The implication here was clear; she'd led him into the trap. And she thought she had recognized the person, too.

But was it aimed at him? Was it just a colossal piece of bad luck? And if it wasn't, had she led them to him? That would imply that either Ingrams had been penetrated by someone, or... the client had been lying through their teeth, or at best, had other aims in mind when trying to find Captain Morgan. These were questions enough to ask, without his team assuming she was to blame.

She settled for shrugging. "I don't know. I saw the guy who dropped the bag, same as you. I have no idea why anyone would want to kill you. Or me, for that matter."

Again, a true statement, if vastly incomplete. Burning a few buildings was not a crime worthy of killing innocent people over. Although, something was tugging at her mind, right at the very back. Something she should know. Something she could remember. She just... couldn't. And it's not like there weren't other things to worry about right then.

Chris sighed, and turned away from the window, glancing at her.

"Chris..." hissed Beatrice, her face an unattractive red.

"So, it's like that, is it April?"

"Like what?"

"You going to protest you are little old April Carlisle, and this has nothing to do with you then? You are going to persist with that?"

"I don't know what you mean." April was thinking at breakneck speed. This clearly wasn't going to end well.

"So, April Burrows, and now Carlisle, where have you been for the last several years? Because I'm sure you know what it looks like?"

April debated handing out some story about being a CIA agent. It might make them a bit more manageable if they thought it. And then Morgan destroyed that option.

"And let's not hear any crap about being a secret agent. You are trained alright, but you are no field agent."

"How do you know that?" challenged Beatrice, craning her head to look up him.

"She displays almost no trade craft. Oh, she's damn perceptive and able to make herself what you want most, but she doesn't know when she's being followed, nor is she doing simple stuff, like sitting with her back to a wall, so she can see everything else going on, and people approaching. She finds the exit on entry to a place alright, but all the rest is missing. If she's an agency field agent, then they are doing a damn sloppy job of training these days. And we all know they aren't," replied Morgan, flatly.

"So, April. What's it to be?"

Time for the truth then. Morgan was distressingly close to it anyway. But first, time to control the room a bit. She wasn't a CIA agent, but she was a full field agent and was a damn good one. Time to remind herself, if nothing else.

"Well, let's see," she said, reclining back in the chair a bit, and giving a dazzling smile to everyone.

"Yes, I'm an agent. No great yucks for figuring that out, Chris. Not of any agency you've ever heard of though. A private one, in fact. Sort of like Pinkertons, but... not. And I found you, when no one else could, so less of the 'sloppy training', thank you very much. But I'm not here to hurt anyone, or take anyone in, or anything like that. I wouldn't know how anyway. Can I have some of that?"

She nodded at a bottle water on the table. With bad graces, Beatrice got up and brought it to her, throwing it the last distance.

"Thanks," April said, taking a swig. "Where was I? Oh yes. So, I'm part of a group that... helps people. We are therapists. Not secret agents. Our brief is to..."

"The mind fuckers!" interjected Morgan, abruptly. "You are part of that outfit in DC. The PhD hookers!" He was excited.

April was not impressed. "Yes, we've been called that, I know. I suppose from the outside it could look that way."

Beatrice was looking up at Morgan. "You got caught by a clever whore? Seriously?"

Morgan looked down at her, and said, "Yeah, well, we all have needs. She was at least more enterprising than that lot from the CIA."

Beatrice shrugged.

"So this whole thing? The whole convention, that was a set up?"

April just looked smug.

"Wow. Let me guess, you have a file on me?"

"This thick," replied April holding up her thumb and forefinger.

"None of those days was real then."

This time April was silent. There was nothing she could say.

"Well, April, you are very good at your job. I bought it." The bitterness in his response was obvious to everyone in the room, and there was silence for a moment.

April looked away and muttered, "I'm sorry. It's the job."

"So, let's talk about that job, since that job almost got us both killed."

"Look, I didn't lead you into any trap. That much you can take to the bank. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I was as much in danger as you were, if they were after you. Hell, for all I know, they may have been after me. It's not like my life is drama free," she said, bitterly, thinking about the events in the months prior.

"Who's the client, April?" demand Beatrice, suddenly.

"I don't know. Someone willing to spend money, that's all I know. The boss deals with them. We just get the assignments."

"They must have spent a lot for this?" said Chris. "Didn't that make you the least bit suspicious?"

"Why would it?" parried April, right back. "Ingrams and Associates is expensive. Our services don't come cheap. We may be whores in your eyes, but we are damn good whores, and we charge a lot."

She paused and took another drink.

"Look, all I know is that the client wanted you found. If we could help, then great. Figure out why you were destroying their property, then terrific. The fact is, everyone has tried to find you, they had nothing to lose by asking us. The show, the conference, the whole thing was just an idea to get you to break cover. And it worked."

"Yes, it did. And it almost got us both killed. Worth it, was it?"

Beatrice made a snorting sound, and the two men standing took a deep breath, releasing it after a moment.

"I didn't know that was going to happen. If that was aimed at you, then like I said, I would have been killed too. If it was."

"Oh it was. No doubt. Classic Baader-Meinhof bombing technique, down to a T. Your classic false flag event. If it gets us, great, but either way, it looks like some of the local homegrown thugs are active again, not that a large faceless corporation just set off a bomb downtown to take out a thorn in their side."

He walked the room, almost talking to himself.

"It's not like it's the first time they've tried to get to us. Me."

April arched an eyebrow at him, careful not to make it judgmental.

"Two other attempts, so far. One with two good time girls in Berlin, and once when they lay in wait for us at the London Mansion."

"What mansion? What are you talking about?" asked April. She was close to a breakthrough here, she could feel it.

"What is this all about, Chris? I don't understand. You are a client to me, but there's more going on here that I don't know about?"

She asked the question in the best way she knew how. Vulnerable inquiry. And it had the additional added benefit of being true. There was obviously way more to this whole situation than she'd been told. If what he intimated was true, then Ingrams had been used, because she was as sure as she could be that Jessica would never put her in harm's way voluntarily. And if that were true, Jessica needed to know, as soon as possible.

Chris stopped walking and just stared at her, obviously making some internal decision.

"Chris," Beatrice said, quietly, "for all we know, she's one of them. Sent here to do us all in." For the first time, April noticed a very slight Irish lilt to her speaking voice.

Chris stared for a little longer, then sighed, and grabbed a chair, straddling it as he sat down.

"No, she's right, Bea. She'd have been killed too. She had no clue it was coming. And even if she is one of them, I suspect the realization that they'd kill her too would be enough to get her pissed enough to talk to us. No, I think she is what she says she is. A clever agent from this Ingrams, with money to burn and no worries about success. If they did succeed, then great, and if not, well, no one else has either. Worth a shot, right? I'm inclined to believe her."

"Is that the little head thinking, or the big one?" challenged Beatrice. The two men stifled a smile, whereas Lindsey tittered.

Chris wasn't angry at her statement. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I got suckered by a pretty face. You know how long it's been, Bea? Cut me some slack."

Beatrice snorted and looked away. April caught the look, - there was unrequited feelings here, and Morgan was entirely unaware of it. Nothing she could use right now, but useful information anyway.

"Look, in the event that I did lead 'them', whoever 'they' are, to you, I'm sorry. That was not what I was trying to do. I honestly just wanted to see if I could help. At the very least, we need to get the cops involved. If these people are after you, they just killed innocent people. We can't let that go, no matter how much you want to stay under the radar. You need to tell me what you think is going on, so I can get to my people and we can resolve this. Get the right authorities on this."

April spoke authoritatively, as though she would brook no argument. There was enough dissension in the air that she might even pull it off.

No such luck. Chris laughed hoarsely. "Does that work at all? Good effort there, April, but my team isn't about to take instructions from you."