It was a standard office room with a standard desk and rolling chair, a standard pen and pencil set with standard desk calendar on the standard desk surface. In two standard upholstered chairs one facing the desk and one behind, sat two nearly identical copies of the same man in a careful standard grey suit. Even their faces were too similar to recall which had smiled or frowned first. Their hair, cut in the same manner, was the only difference. One had grey hair and the other brown.
The forgettable man behind the desk spoke first. He was a little more memorable, with silver hair and creased eyes that shone with intelligence. "You found AL-X."
The second man sitting in a worn upholstered chair piped up. "No, Mr. Barnett, Brockner found Alex and we're following Brockner. Let's hope he reactivates the locator in her chest."
The man behind the desk narrowed his gaze. "Grange, you'll either be six feet under or promoted before too long," he said.
Grange smiled politely but did not waver. "Let's hope it's the latter, sir," he replied confidently.
Barnett's shoulders slumped as he exhaled a heavy sigh. "I won't bother to ask how you found out," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. He picked up his pen and started tapping it on the desk. "Do you know why the North Koreans or Chinese or Middle Eastern terrorists don't have her yet?"
Grange shifted uneasily in his chair before responding. "Not enough money—"
Barnett cut him off. "The Koreans have already paid quite a bit and might be out of cash. That doesn't explain the Chinese. They have bottomless pockets." His brow furrowed, and he scribbled on a piece of paper.
Grange paced the room, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Governments are in disarray and those who funded us may no longer be in power," he said with a sigh. "Brockner has been unable to get in touch with them-- or maybe he's just trying to double cross us." He paused for a moment and turned to face Barnett. "Middle Eastern terrorists are notoriously unpredictable-- you can't always predict their next move, no matter how much experience you have."
Barnett folded his arms. "True, but it would still be useful if you could at least make an educated guess-- you are supposed to be one of the best after all."
Grange nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing in agreement. "Yes, sir," he said, though the address was more than a sign of respect—it spoke of deference for the imposing figure that was Agent Barnett. The older man smiled a tight-lipped smirk and clapped Grange on the shoulder, as if aware of the unspoken power dynamic between them. "Oh, stop with the 'sir' bit," he said gruffly. "You know what you must do. I want her whole. The rest of the agency isn't fussy about the number of pieces she comes back in. Good thing you're a slick one. They agreed to let you try first."
Grange swallowed hard and courage ignited in his chest. "I'd like to see her whole, too," he said.
Barnett leaned forward in his chair, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "I suppose there's no harm in having a little personal interest as long as it helps you accomplish your goals. Good luck."
Grange nodded and smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching just enough to show his appreciation. He moved towards the door, but paused at the threshold. "Suppose I loosely define 'getting her back'," he said, not quite looking Barnett in the eye.
"How loose?" Barnett asked cautiously, furrowing his brow.
"We'll see," Grange replied with a shrug and half-smile.
"Grange, I'm trusting you on this," Barnett warned.
"I'll do what's best. My record speaks for that," Grange responded.
The two men locked eyes for a moment longer before Grange turned and left, leaving a cloud of concern lingering behind him.
***
A/N Dedicated to