by TheTimeTrust and Captain Sammitch
The Fish Factory, La Perdita:
Kit Piper was curled up in a ball of pain next to his desk in his improvised office. He'd lost everything, absolutely everything. And as soon as the guys learned what he had done with their money, he'd soon be put in jail or worse. What was he going to do?
The communications screen beeped. It had been beeping at regular intervals for half an hour now, the telephone also ringing endlessly. Kit knew who it must be: Dr. Henry Quantos, who must have noticed what he'd done. Kit had sent Shirley Francis off for the day to do some much-needed shopping in Puerta Mibela, and nobody was around to answer the telephone in the office. Kit wasn't about to answer it himself -- he had no idea what he was going to say if he did.
MBL Consulting Complex, the thirteenth floor:
Grissom's phone rang. Looking at it, he recognized the number: Dr. Quantos, calling from Canada.
"Hullo, Doc!" Grissom said. "How're things in wild northlands of Canada? Snow much?"
"Actually, no," Henry Quantos answered. "It rarely snows here in the greater Vancouver area, and this winter has been very mild and sometimes warm. We've gotten a lot of rain, but no snow at all. The local ski mountains haven't been having very good business at all, I'm afraid. Vancouver's mild winter weather might score a point against her for hosting the Winter Olympics in 2010."
"Ah..." Grissom replied, not knowing how to respond to the answer of a question he hadn't asked. "So... how can I help you?"
"Sorry," Quantos replied, laughing. "So many people seem to hold the misconception that Canada only has one climate zone from the east coast to the west coast, as if there wouldn't be any variations in a country as large as mine. Sometimes I get a little bit defensive when people assume we're all living in igloos up here or something. Anyways, to get back to the point, I've been trying to get ahold of Kit. Have you seen him around, by any chance?"
"No, no, not since this morning, at least," Grissom said. "Though he did seem a bit under the weather. Anything the matter?"
"Well... well, yes, there is. Something with the MBL's funds."
"Oh, right, right... Kit mentioned something about the company losing control of, uh... BountyLand Foods, was it?"
"Right," replied Dr. Quantos. "That may be part of it... but... Ah, but I should speak with Kit personally about it. Must be some kind of a mistake with the numbers or something. Only problem is, I haven't been able to reach Kit all afternoon. He's probably just out on a business lunch or something, but his cellphone doesn't seem to be on, either. Uh... if you have a moment to spare, could you get in touch with him for me? I really need to speak with him. It's very urgent."
"Will do, Doc," said Grissom. "Anything else?"
"No, that should be everything... thanks, Grissom," replied Henry. "Talk to you later."
"Right, then. 'Bye."
Charley walked up to Grissom. "So what's up?" she asked him, wiping grease from her fingers.
"Oh, that was Dr. Quantos. Looks like he's trying to get in touch with Kit, but he hasn't had any luck so far."
"Anything I can do?"
"Uhhh... yes, yes," Grissom said as he pondered the situation. "Would you mind finishing up the work here with the security sensors? Doc said his business with Kit was urgent. I should probably go find him."
"No problem," replied Charley. "You can look over my work later, I guess."
"Thanks, Charley. You're a dear."
La Perdita International Airport, several hours ago:
Kit Piper sat nervously with the briefcase full of money. He had tried standing for a while, but his knees were shaking too much, and people were beginning to give him strange looks. It was important that he made this meeting, though. His daughters' lives depended on it.
"You Piper?" a voice said from behind him.
Kit jumped up from his seat, startled. He turned and looked at the man. He was a dark-haired man with a scar on his jaw and had a strangely shaped boxer's nose that had obviously been broken at least once in the past. He wore a black trench coat and looked very out of place on a tropical Caribbean island in his suit.
"Y-yes," Kit replied.
"Gambini sent me. I'm here about the money."
"A-are my daughters here? Where are they? I need to see them!"
"Hold on, guy," the man said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "Not here. Not now. Follow me." He turned and began walking through the corridor of the airport.
Kit looked around himself nervously. There were few people in this wing of the airport at the moment, though the waiting area would soon be flooded with people from the next flight arriving at any moment. Nobody paid them much attention.
The man kept on walking until they reached the door that was marked personnel only. The man pushed the door open and motioned Kit to follow him. As soon as they were in the room, the man locked the door.
"Nobody will be interruptin' us now," he said. "I have some friends here to make sure o' that."
"Where are my daughters?" Kit asked him again.
"Hold it, Piper," he said. "You'll see your daughters again. But I gotta see the money first. Mr. Gambini's been burned before by deals like this."
"O-of course," said Kit. He began opening up his briefcase. "Here it is," he said, going on to describe the precise amount of money contained within it. "It took some doing, but I managed to obtain thirty percent of what MBL Consulting is worth. Just as long as I get my daughters back."
The man whistled as he looked at the money. "Nice," he said grinning. "Mr. Gambini will be very pleased. He had no idea you were rolling around in this much dough."
"Then we have a deal?" Kit asked him. "You'll give me my daughters back in exchange for this money?"
"Sure, sure," the man said, smiling.
"Where are they? Are they here? I want to see them!"
"You'll see 'em soon enough, pal," the man said. "But first you're gonna have to hand over the money."
Kit wasn't too sure about this. He said, "How do I know I'll get my daughters back if I give you the money?"
"Hey, Mr. Gambini made a deal with you in good faith," the man replied. "You give us the money -- thirty percent of what MBL Consulting's worth, and you'll see your daughters again. But you have to give us the money first. That's the way these kinda deals go."
"Fine," Kit said, reluctantly handing him the briefcase. "Now I want to see my daughters."
The man opened up the briefcase again and flipped through the bills, ensuring that they were all real. "Don't worry, my man. They're safe. And they'll continue to be safe as long as you continue to play ball."
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"Mr. Gambini doesn't like being lied to, you fat fuck," the man said, his voice rising in an angry tone.
Kit was taken aback for a moment.
"Yeah, you heard me. You've been holdin' out on us, haven't you, Mr. Kit Piper of New Orleans? You've been rollin' in dough like this for months, and you still haven't been able to pay your gambling debts? Mr. Gambini's not happy with you. Not at all. But he's willin' to give you the benefit of the doubt. See, he's been lookin' into your little company here, and Mr. Gambini likes the operation you've got goin'. You make Mr. Gambini a silent partner, and he might consider lettin' you see your daughters again."
Kit didn't know what to say. "Wh -- but... but that wasn't part of the deal! Y-you said... I give you thirty percent of MBL's holdings, and I get my daughters back. I've given you everything I could!"
"Yer a lousy liar, old man. Just be glad Mr. Gambini's willing to give you a break." He walked over to the door and opened it. "I'll be in touch with you again soon. Nice doin' business with ya." He shut the door.
"NO!" Kit shouted, moving to the door. He tried to open it up again, but it was stuck. He started pounding on the door.
"Pipe down in there," a strange voice said to him through the door.
Kit stopped and began to realize how he'd been had. After five minutes he was let out again, but by that time Gambini's man was long gone. And his hopes of getting his daughters back safely went away with him.
MBL Consulting Complex, now:
Grissom Montag was upstairs working on the security sensors on all the doors with Charley Montoya, and Phil Smith decided it was time to get a breath of fresh air. He made his way through the motor pool and out onto the loading dock. The setting sun glittered over the ocean, and Phil paused to take it in.
"Pretty sight, isn't it?"
Phil turned to see Leslie Kline walking up to him. He smiled. "Hey."
"Hey." Leslie looked down. "I'm sorry that I got angry at you earlier. I guess I was just frustrated that things between us didn't work out."
"I understand," Phil said. "Not many people would have reacted differently in your shoes. And I'm sorry things are... complicated."
There was a long moment of silence.
"I came by here to say goodbye," Leslie finally admitted.
Phil raised an eyebrow. "Any particular reason?"
"I have reason to believe that the GRU is after me," Leslie said, "and I've been offered protection by another agency."
Phil frowned. "Another agency? You're not safe with us?"
Leslie sighed. "It's not... it's not that. It's just that..." She thought a moment. "It's just that I... I need a change. I need to get out of here. I can't stay here forever. And these people have offered me work, and their offer is really good." She looked at him. "You've been great, despite our occasional disputes. But now I need to go. I'm sorry."
Phil finally nodded. "It's your life, Leslie. I can't tell you what to do, and I honestly don't know what's best for you. I would like you to stay here, but if you think this is better for you, then I would encourage you to take that chance."
Leslie looked at the ground. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"Will I hear from you again?" Phil asked.
"Without a doubt." Leslie handed Phil a small slip of paper. "This is my secure-mail address. I'm sure you can crack the encryption protocols." She hesitated a moment, then hugged Phil gently. "Thanks for everything," she said.
Phil smiled. "You're welcome. And thank you for not handing me over to the Russians."
Leslie laughed. "I do what I can."
She turned to leave. "Who's that?"
"Who's who?" Phil asked. Leslie pointed at a cluster of men in black suits getting out of a black Lincoln parked across the street. Phil froze. He turned to Leslie. "Get inside."
Leslie looked at him. "What? Why?"
"Get inside the building!" Phil ordered. "Now!"
Leslie obeyed and hurried across the loading dock as Phil stood there, looking at the taller man leading the mysterious figures toward him. Agent Fisher. We meet again.
Phil turned and followed Leslie inside the building. This was going to be trouble.