2010-06-25: The Lost Triangle



Special Guest Stars:


Date: June 25th, 2010


Detective Powers is introduced to Agent Wright's boss.

"The Lost Triangle"

FBI Headquarters - New York

FBI headquarters is all hustle and bustle today. It's clear who does and doesn't belong here. Sam Wright obviously does. His colleagues make eye contact and say random greetings as he guides his visitor through the twisty halls and rows of cubicles. "Look Powers, just remember when you meet him that he's a total asshole. I don't know why 'e wants ta talk to ya, just know he's not the kind of guy ya trifle with."

The Agent purses his lips irritably as he opens a door and leads the way up a flight of stairs. "Thomas J. Mason is an SOB and he knows it. Been director of our unit for only a few months. He wasn't happy 'bout yer interference— "

Sam just shakes his head before opening another door and turning down a hallway and then into a kind of meeting room before sitting down at the table, assuming the seat closest to the door. Insolently, he crosses his arms over his chest and outright frowns. It's not a good day for him.

"Powers" has been quite stoic throughout this trip. A quiet, watchful presence, she hasn't given Sam much of an answer to his various comments on her purpose here, whatever it is, or on Thomas J. Mason, and she's silent again now. The shine of a shield hooked on her belt — above jeans, below the edges of a grey pinstriped waistcoat and white blouse — along with her cell phone, mimics some of the FBI agents', but doesn't match them: hers is decidedly that of an NYPD detective. That, and her unfamiliar face around these parts, certainly mark her as out of place. Her calm and confident strides, on the other hand, could make it seem like this is her fiftieth visit to the offices, and not the second in her life.

This visit is not like the first. Patient and composed in contrast of Sam's insolence, Maggie calmly takes a seat a few down, leaving spaces of distance between herself and the agent. "Well," she says much belatedly. "I guess you and him have something in common." She looks to Sam, brows lifted — why be so ruffled, huh?

"I don't care what your excuses are. When I tell you to do something you do it. No questions asked. Got it?"

That's the voice coming down the hall.

"Ben.. Hey.. Go with him and make sure he doesn't jack everything up. Again. We need this and we need it done right."

A tall man with dark hair and brooding eyebrows steps across the threshold of the room and doesn't even acknowledge the two inside. Turning his back on them, he pulls off his suit to reveal a very toned frame underneath. His white button down shirt is a little worn, not something you'd expect a director to be wearing.

The jacket is tossed toward a chair in the corner before he actually turns and glances at Sam, then at Maggie, then back to Sam. "Good to see someone can handle a simple order around here."

Sam's lips twitch into a tight lipped disgenuine smile. He stands as the man enters. "Detective Maggie Powers, this is Director Thomas Mason." He swallows as he sits down and returns his arms to his chest.

As he sits, however, he manages another smile, this one more genuine, "Havin' trouble keepin' the natives in line, boss?" His eyes twinkle with a mischief that Maggie should be all too familiar with— that same twinkle he had when she used to talk to Walsh-the-murderer (not to be confused with Walsh-his-partner). He clucks his tongue before sitting at attention and silencing, he's ready to handle whatever Mason is going to throw at them.

Vague annoyance to Sam only begins to surface to Maggie's features before it's gone with a blink; eyes close to Sam, eyes open on Mason. "Director," she more or less greets, pleasant, if neutral. Her gaze is more discerning, the variety that misses nothing and aims to figure out why she's here before she's told. After a studying pause, a long hand is held out up toward Mason. "Detective Maggie Powers," she agrees, rather than states, repeating Sam. Of course she knows Mason knows who she is, why else is she here. It's courtesy. And you can tell a lot about a person by their grip. And the way they talk on the phone in the hall.

Maybe it's because she can hear the mischief in Sam's voice — hear, because she's not looking at him — but while focused on the Director, the detective's lips just barely inch up as if she's amused about something. It doesn't touch her more critical gaze — or her voice. "I hear this is about my involvement in one of your cases?"

"Only the natives on your side of the line, Wright. The others are all on the same page," Mason says in lieu of greeting. Turning toward Maggie, he first looks at her hand, then her face, then focuses on her eyes as he reaches out and grips into the offered shake. At first it's firm, somewhat friendly, then it tightens just slightly, as though in challenge.

"Yes detective, you've managed to invade my side of the island." Mason's matter of fact tone of voice isn't quite as neutral as Maggie's, in fact, there's a hint of annoyance in there. "You're brought in because I need to decide what to do with you."

"Well sir, we all do the best we can. No better, no worse." Sam's eyebrows raise as he glances from Mason to Maggie and then back again. He's intrigued to say the least. "Like I said before, sir," the word is said with disdain; while Mason may be in charge, Sam doesn't have to like it, "it's important to keep information tight on this one because— " he side glances Maggie and then changes his thought slightly, " — for obvious reasons, sir. You know what has happened and what could happen." Pointedly he stares at his superior. Hard. Steely. Angry, perhaps.

The detective's grip is the same all the way through the handshake: firm, warm; but only physically. In this instance, there's not much friendliness to be found, but nor is there the opposite. "You need to decide," she repeats Mason neutrally. Maggie's eyes shift to Sam, briefly studying his reactions, noting his change of track, before her focus returns to the superior FBI man. "Does that mean you haven't decided yet?" she asks, minus any challenging tone. It's just a plain question.

"It wasn't my intent to interfere," Maggie goes on, becoming less objective now and slightly more invested; she's adamant, "But I can't unlearn what I know and I have no intent to change my tactics as I'm doing my job. And if my job crosses yours…"

"…Then we have a problem," Mason interjects, cutting Maggie off at the pass. He releases her hand with one last jerk and swings it onto his hip. His eyes never leave the blonde woman in the room for a moment as he runs his tongue over his teeth, the suction creating an annoying little sound. "And since your job already crossed over, we have to decide if you're going to go dirty like a few other members of your force, or if you're going to stay on this side."

Flitting his dark eyes over to Sam, he nods his head upward once in a rather commanding gesture. "Wright, you've worked with her in the past. Fiance too, right?" The man either does his homework or listens to water cooler gossip. Maybe a bit of both. "How do you feel about working together again? In a little closer capacity?"

Jaw tightening and fists clenching, Sam manages to keep that smile on his lips but it's becoming more and more strained by the second. "Are you kiddin' me boss?! You already brought in half of the department! My asset is already screwed! You can'— she doesn'— there's no— " Dumbfounded he stares at Maggie and then Mason and back again. "You're kiddin' right… is my case some cosmic joke to you?"

Eyebrows furrowing, he claps both hands on the table with impatience and an air of impertinence. "A man's life hangs in the balance and you want to bring more people in?! That's just bad undercover work." Evidently Sam doesn't care about telling his boss he thinks the man is wrong…

There is a faint twitch of the detective's mouth, a tensing of muscles at Mason's words and his suggestion — if it's a suggestion at all. Before she can rightly respond to the Director, however, she finds herself sitting forward all of a sudden, her attention lashing away from Mason to pin on Sam with rather fierce concern. Her brows knit closer, suspicious. "What do you mean he's screwed?" Not terminology common of Maggie except in repeating someone else.

distracted by her prior concerns — the asset — but professionally pressing on, Maggie replies to Mason. "With all due respect, Director… I'm not— " Dirty? "I stay on this side of the fence," she chooses firmly. "We've worked together before," she concedes with a glance to Sam. "For the department." The police department, that is. Not well, granted. As for how Maggie feels about working with her ex-fiance… this is no therapy session. Then again, her answer might be the same if it were. Ambiguously, she states only: "And I have no problems working alongside the FBI."

Sam's tirade seems to do the trick in agitating the bossman. Shooting a glare in the fairer man's direction he gives him a rather appeasing smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe I wouldn't have to bring in people if you could just get the job done. You think this is a parade for me? I'm a little clown having a good time? Want to call me Dr. Giggles?"

Mason doesn't actually wait for a response on that one, he immediately shifts his gaze to Maggie and nods toward her. "You're going to report directly to me, we're going to meet every week so I know where you're at."

"But sir, she doesn't even have clearance for this! She doesn't know what's happening; she's on the outside on purpose— we are tryin' to keep the asset safe— " This is more than a pissing contest. Sam's tone, his mannerisms, and his very aura, all reflect an unusual tension, angry and perhaps protective. "We need to freakin' keep things together here— without bringin' 'arm to any of our assets!"

Sam slides his chair away from the table and stands from the table in one fluid movement. He growls as he crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. "You can't just keep bringin' people in 'ere. Ya can't! It's not fair to— " Laurie. The man risking it all. Running a hand through his hair, his expression transforms into an all out scowl.

In the middle of the ongoing battle, Maggie looks from one man to the other with assessing eyes. The tension that had begun to build in the detective herself is well-controlled, especially when she looks frankly to the agent. "Fair. To who, Sam?" she asks, every word still pointed and slow as she goes on, and gaining in authority she doesn't strictly have here. "What exactly do you think I'd do put your asset in jeopardy?" Without pause, she shifts to the director. "Agent Wright is … well, he's right; maybe I don't know every detail. If you want me to report to you… then this is where you tell me what's happening."

"So we'll get her clearance, listen, I know you've got your reasons but a lot of good agents and cops have been flipping when they've been working on their own." He eyes Sam carefully the entire time he speaks, even narrowing them a little toward the end. "You're close to Detective Powers, between the two of you, I'm sure that one of you would know if the other's been compromised."

Running a hand through the short stubble on his head, he lets loose a long exhasperated sigh and clenches his jaw. "Fill her in, this is a done deal."

"It's not just you, Detective," Sam virtually hisses. "Everybody and their dog is gettin' in on this case! A shameful fact when dirty cops abound all over this thing— e'vry time we git close to an answer— POW. Dirty cop. Dirty agent. Tampered evidence. Blah, blah, blah." Hands are now tossed into the air someone irritably. "We never git anywhere. Ever. It's two steps forward, three back. That's the reality of this case. That's why I took the gig at the NYPD." With a sigh he looks at the Director again while pacing.

"It's not a simple case. The Takahashis are essentially untouchable. All evidence to charge them of anything is only vaguely affiliated with them. The Irish folks and king pin, as we call 'im, well they're more about the money. All 'bout the money, but there's an odd devotion. Same with the doubles that have crossed to the other side…"

Of all of the information and frustrations Agent Wright reveals … nothing appears to take Detective Powers by surprise.

Not even a little bit.

What she does is stand up, her chair nudging back softly, the move upward aided by a few long fingers pressing against the table. "Then," Maggie begins, pausing — though not out of any apparent hesitation — before she continues, angling slightly toward the pacing Sam, "It sounds like, if I don't go anywhere near the king pin, we won't have a problem." She steps around her chair. "Director Mason. What are you looking for my role in this to be with Agent Wright?"

"I want all the names of the people on your end that are in this. I want you to give him the inside scoop. If you notice even a hair out of place on anyone. I want to know. You're going to be my eyes and ears. Look but don't touch." Turning to Sam, he raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair as he folds his arms across his chest. "Keep her away from the Irish, get her working on the Takahashi angle. I want this thing broken, I want it finished yesterday. I'm sick of losing good men and women to these scumbags."

Slowly, he swirls his chair until his back is to them and he looks up at the ceiling. "Wright, if you have anything to say, you'd better let it out now because as soon as we leave this room… It's a done deal." As if it isn't already.

"Eff this whole thing," Sam growls as he kicks the chair he'd just stood up from. His eyebrows furrow as his gaze turns to the door. "Done deal of not this is one of yer stupider ideas, Sir." That said, with heavy booted steps, Sam disappears down the hall, unhappy that his case is now under the watch of all of his colleagues.

A nod from Maggie follows Mason's orders, distinctly supportive rather that subservient. While there's a quick tensing of muscles as Sam kicks the chair and storms off, she soon ignores the agent's exit in favour of regarding Mason as if Sam's tantrum had never happened. "He'll get over it." There's a pause, a subtle suggestion of a shrug, and a small smile. "Maybe."

She moves around he chair and tucks it in, preparing to leave. "I have a few leads from Takahashi cases that I couldn't follow because it wasn't Homicide. I can start there." She takes the initiative to move to the door next. Done deal — but she turns around to add, "For the record — I agree with you. If I can help make a difference in this, I will absolutely do my best."


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