Phones rang, those who answered them speaking in quiet voices. Perhaps they hastily scrawled a few notes down, or shuffled around their drawers around looking for a specific file or two. It was all the usual commotion of a busy office and the CIA headquarters were no exception to this rule--in fact, they were quite the opposite of an exception, especially today.
A lady with chestnut hair anxiously tapped on the desk as the phone rang. Although it had been a long time since, you could tell that she was once beautiful. Vibrant hair was replaced with a much duller shade that had begun to fade to gray; deep lines contoured her face, while age blemished skin sagged downward, having lost its will to withstand the force of gravity. A look of annoyance had overtook her face(which did not help matters in the least) as the phone reached it's seventh ring, but it was quickly stifled when a voice crackled through the receiver.
"Allo, oui madame?" The voice of a man who sounded to be in his mid to late twenties brought that grimace right back to her face.
"Knock it off, jackass. You've been in Paris for less than a month. Your INTERPOL handler contacted me earlier in the week and said you've finished your investigation about those terror incidents. Why haven't you sent me a copy of your report?" The woman scoffed quietly to herself.
"I'm actually faxing it over right now Adrienne," the man spoke more seriously this time, "Give me a break, or did you forget I'm in the hospital?" And sure enough, just as he spoke, the fax machine roared to life, spitting out a few pages of documents, as to which the woman snatched up eagerly.
"No I didn't, trust me on that one. But we both know its nothing major." She spoke in a stern voice. "Don't play games with me, Fletcher. I've also told you not to call me that. Do you have no semblance of professionalism?" Irritated, she angrily thumbed through the documents she had just received, licking her thumb to attain a better grasp on them. "What the hell is this, exactly? A page and a half of written word and a few photos of a sandbox?"
"Sorry boss, Miss Perry it is then. It's hard to believe a real charmer like you has never been married before." Adrienne Perry's eyebrows furrowed at that remark. "But uh, it's not sand. It's dust."
"And...?"
"Well, did you even read the report?"
"I'll scrutinize your craftsmanship later. Just give me the rundown."
"Uh... like I said, it's dust. But it's not just any dust. When they analyzed it in the labs here they were able to determine that it's bone dust." The man, Fletcher paused for a brief moment, giving his boss the courtesy to comprehend what he had just said. "It's fairly recent by their standards and they're almost positive it belongs to the suspect. How that's possible we don't exactly know, but the Minister of the Interior himself said that France would no longer be needing international assistance on this matter--he personally assured me, however, that they'd send us the results of the DNA testing and keep us up to date on their investigation seeing as how we, in his words "dedicated so many resources to it."
The woman slammed her hand down on the desk angrily. "Two of my agents lose their lives and a third is put in the hospital helping out that ass backward country and that arrogant son of a bitch has the nerve to cut us off from the investigation? And call them 'resources?' The nerve of it all! He had better stick to his word or I'll shove my heel so far up his--"
"Yeah boss, we all know how threatening you can be when you have one of your moods. While he might be the exception, the agents I worked with regard both Collins and Robinson as heroes and they're pretty keen on making sure that is known." He clicked his tongue while thinking of the words next to come. "Oh, and uh, I figured since I was won't be discharged from the hospital until sometime tomorrow--which means I'll wont make my flight--if I could just stay the whole rest of the week here? I mean, if the Minister of the Interior didn't cut the investigation short I'd be here for another three."
"Yeah, alright Fletcher. I'm sure that's not the only reason. I've heard about your little petite amie, and all I have to say is go get it tiger. You've earned a vacation anyway." Fletcher, whose first name was Lawrence had a look of shock on his face.
"What's gotten into you over the course of our phone call? Your boyfriend stop by?" he teased, "It's not like you to be so nice."
"Why you're right, I need you to come back imm--" but before she could finish her sentence the phone had clicked off. For the first time in possibly ever, a smile came across her lips, disappearing even quicker than it had appeared.
