Fallout - Chapter 21 "Betrayal"
Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit / 18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.9k Chapter Tags: Plot twist, mission planning, references to illness, references to death, Jack's grief, double crossing agents (but WHO?)...
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<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 20 "An Affinity for Blue")
With The Golden Circle mission now seemingly alive again, the team sets to making a plan to put it all behind you once and for all. But the mysterious actions of one particular agent leaves you questioning everything...
A/N: When I tell you I've had this plot twist planned for over a year, I'm not joking. I'm so happy to finally be at this point sharing the story with you all. Feedback is very welcome for this chapter!
All you seemed to do nowadays was wait. Wait to see if anything would happen between you and Jack; wait for a mission to land on your desk; wait for test results. Or , in today’s case, wait to see if your victim from last night would live.
There were some promising signs, but as you left him in the care of Ginger and her team last night there was no way of telling if you had got him in early enough. All you could do was process his personal belongings, run his fingerprints and face through the Statesman databases, and see if you couldn’t start finding some answers.
Nothing sobered you up quite like something relating to The Golden Circle. This was as much your obsession now as it was Jack’s, and since the early hours of the morning the two of you had worked on finding anything to do with your victim, just in case he never pulled through.
Fortunately for your sanity, there were at least leads to go through this time. Not like with the brick wall that you got looking into CVD Limited, which had given you more headaches than you cared to mention. But by morning you and Jack had a solid case file built up, and were ready for the morning briefing.
Catching a couple hours of sleep in your studio, you gave yourself enough time to get a quick shower and change clothes before you were back in the bottleneck boardroom, your arms clutching brown files and your laptop, ready to present your findings to the room. You paused for a moment before entering, composing yourself outside the door, taking some deep breaths in and out. You wondered how long you’d be standing there had a familiar drawl not pulled you back into your body.
“You ready, sugar?” Jack asked, approaching you from the end of the corridor. Jumping slightly, you turned your head and flashed him a faint smile.
“As I’ll ever be. Are you?” you asked. Jack caught up to you, nodding slowly, as if he was deep in thought.
“Like you say; as I’ll ever be,” he chuckled to himself faintly, before pressing a hand out onto the large oak door, “Shall we?” he asked.
And with one push, you stepped inside.
Everyone was waiting, eagerly awaiting your findings. Most of the agents present had been out last night with you yesterday, and had been too intoxicated from the celebrations to have been of any use. There were enough agents at Statesman that you had an A and B team for scenarios like this, so you never had to worry about not having someone on standby if something came across your desk, come day or night.
But The Golden Circle was a closed case being breathed life into, and Champ had decided it would be better if only those who had already been involved were privy to this mission. On the discovery of your victim last night he’d sent everyone home packing, with strict orders to “sober up by 9am or risk not having a job”. It was only you and Jack who chose to stay up until the early hours working, fuelled by the recent discoveries.
That did now put you in the unadmirable position of briefing everyone on your findings - the part of your job you really did despise. Any day you’d sooner be out there doing real work, or building supporting case files in private for someone else's mission. It came with the territory of being a senior agent, so you grinned and bore it when needed - but it didn’t make it any less painful.
“Good morning, everyone,” you began, setting down your files on the table. You’d made hard copies for everyone in the room, and while you set to work syncing your laptop up with the main projection screen Jack handed them out. You, Jack, Tequila, Astrid, Eve, Champ, Ginger, and her assistant Schmidt who you’d trained with four years ago. These were the need-to-know agents involved.
Astrid’s involvement seemed bizarre at first when Champ mentioned it, her not having too much to do with the case, but you figured she’d have found out enough through Tequila at this point that there was probably no harm in having an extra pair of eyes looking into it. You knew they were trustworthy, at least.
“Agent Whiskey, if I may, while you set up?” Schmidt spoke, standing from his seat. You glanced up at him, watching how he nervously clamoured at his tablet.
“Of course, Agent Port. The floor is yours,” you said. You’d known him long enough that you trusted that if he ever spoke out of term, it was for a good reason.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve just had word through from our lab techs,” you looked over at Ginger who was now practically on the edge of her seat, trying to look at his tablet.
“He’s woken up. He’s alive.”
If a room could breathe a sigh of relief, the walls included, you could have sworn that it just happened. After losing so much to this case, the small wins were more valuable than anything else. You looked down at your laptop, your presentation on your victim now lighting up in front of you. You stared at the picture of the man downstairs in the labs, and smiled faintly to yourself. After so long, this might finally be the case you got a break in.
“Ma’am,” Jack sidled up next to you before you began speaking, coming seemingly out of nowhere.
“Yes, Seltzer?”.
“Given I know the facts of who this man is, would it be more useful for me to head downstairs and question the man? See if we can’t get anything else out of him?” Jack asked.
You nodded to yourself, turning to look at Jack and smiling softly at him. You’d never quite get used to how a man who had suffered so much, and had suffered so many tragedies, could have eyes so gentle staring back at you. The warm brown, whiskey in colour, no longer had that anger or pain laced within them. All that was in their wake was a softness, and a yearning desire to do some good in this world.
“Good idea, Seltzer,” you said, clearing your throat. Jack nodded his head at you before stepping back, excusing himself from the room. Taking a deep exhale, you turned your attention back to the remainder of the room, and proceeded.
Your victim was named Nathan Wellaby. He was forty, lived about 4 miles from the distillery, and from what you could tell he’d been here his entire adult life. But during his childhood it looked like he moved around a lot, being passed from one foster home to another, never settling anywhere for longer than six months. Behavioural issues were to blame, but unfortunately there wasn't enough well documented evidence to actually pinpoint to the main issue.
The system failed him, and he had an extensive criminal record relating to drugs. It started when he was just fourteen, spending a few months in juvenile detention after being found possessing marajuana - with that being his third warning, it landed him his first of many sentences.
Each conviction got more severe, and by age twenty-six he was sentenced to twelve years for distributing cocaine in large quantities. He got released after ten years on grounds of “good behaviour”, and had since been laying low - from a standard law enforcement side of things, anyway.
The one part about working for Statesman that you’d never get tired of was the level of surveillance that you had access to. Sure, in the eyes of the law Nathan hadn’t done anything nefarious for the four years he’d been out of prison. Being on parole for two of them, and therefore giving the cops the right to search him without warrants anytime they so pleased, he never got caught with anything. He was careful, and so far as his criminal record was concerned he wasn’t in any trouble nowadays.
But you all had access to tech that the general population, much less an underfunded law enforcement agency, wouldn’t see for decades. Private investment and working under the radar gave you all the leg up that you needed to stay ahead of national threats; but it was also good for keeping tabs on unsuspecting criminals…
Following surveillance, scanning his cellphone messages, emails, and call logs, you were able to build a case that Wellaby was now firmly back in the operations side of things again, but this time from the manufacturing point of view. He worked abroad for some production, and appeared to meet with the same select men and women every time he did a deal.
Your facial recognition scanners didn’t pick up on any of his assailants, but with any luck Jack would be able to get some names from him downstairs. Showing everyone in the room the security footage of neighbouring cameras around his home and last night’s bar, it looked as if he had been double crossed somewhere, and was now suffering the consequences. Clearly the supply he chose to get high from last night had been tampered with without his knowledge, and now he was downstairs paying the price.
Tracing backwards didn’t give you too much, especially as Wellaby did some dealings abroad. You had access to their systems in other countries, but not to the extent that you did here in the States. Still, it was enough that you were able to surmise a few details, even without Nathan’s confirmation.
“We fear that this is actually a much larger operation, and we may have by sheer dumb luck stumbled upon a lynch pin in the organisation. Tracking his flights, Wellaby frequents two significant places outside of the US. It seems like he has connections within this organisation that take it worldwide, just like we saw with Poppy Adams. But he frequents Colombia at least once every six-months, as well as Spain; two places key to targeting two major markets - the Americas and Europe”.
“Without meaning to sound like a cynic, but is there no way that he’s just frequenting these places for leisure?” Tequila asked.
“We wondered the same. But doing some digging, he never stays anywhere particularly tourist-y, and we have his cellphone pinged at a nearby tower to industrial estates,” your laptop changed the main display image to one of the estates; run down, off beaten track roads, and with a slew of police reports from officers who either refuse to go near the place due to reputation, or reports of officers who have died there.
“My guess is that if we’re wanting to crack this, these are the locations we need to be infiltrating,” you said. “Problem is, this is all we have right now. There is no concrete evidence of any narcotics being shipped from these places, nor made here. Sure we can see that something is coming in and out on their trucks from CCTV cameras on the nearest roads, but even then they’re four miles away from the estate buildings. There would be ample time for them to either fill or empty these trucks within that area. Also, everything is so carefully packed and hidden in the trucks that even a sympathetic jury would laugh in our faces if we claimed that this was a drug smuggling operation. It’s purely speculative.”
“We gotta get boots on the ground then,” Tequila said, and you nodded in agreement.
“Fingers crossed if Jack can get some information from him, we could have the US location pinned down and ready to search as soon as possible. We have a rough idea, but as we’re mainly relying on cellphone pings we have no concrete locations. I refuse to send any one of us into these places until we’ve done significant canvassing and know exactly what we’re getting ourselves in for”.
Astrid cleared her throat from across the table, and timidly raised her hand. You nodded over at her, granting her the floor to speak.
“If it's of any use, I’ve got contacts over in Spain from my time in the Secret Service. I’ll follow up and see if they know anything, try and get some leads over there,” Astrid said. Champ nodded, approving her mission.
“A smart idea. Do you need Tequila with ya’ on this one?” he asked. Astrid shook her head, and Tequila furrowed his brow.
“Might create too much of a presence if we go together,” she turned to Tequila, “Not many denim-glad cowboys out in Spain,” she chuckled, lessening his worry. “I know the area well, and my contacts will help keep me safe. I’ll report in regularly, okay?”.
“Promise?” Tequila whispered. That wasn’t Agent Tequila, Astrid’s field partner, talking. That was love-struck Jefferson, worried about his girl getting in harm's way. You smiled faintly as you looked over at the two of them, somewhat jealous that you and Jack had still not crossed that line - not publicly, anyway.
“I promise,” Astrid reassured him, clasping his hand hard, never breaking her eye contact.
“All right, then it’s settled. Astrid, I’ll get you the jet sorted and anything else you might need,” Champ smiled at her.
“Thank you, sir, but if it’s alright with you I’d rather fly commercial. The airfield I’d be landing in isn’t large, so anything other than a commercial flight would instantly raise the alarm. If these guys are regrouping like we see here, it wouldn’t surprise me if they were keeping an eye out for anyone like us intervening,” Astrid explained. Champ nodded, pondering for a moment, before delivering his signature warm smile.
“Permission granted. But you’re not payin’,” he chuckled. Typical Champ.
“Oh I know better than to do that when you’re around, sir,” she humoured him, and the whole room fell into a comfortable chuckle.
“Brilliant. Let’s get you out on the next flight Astrid; recon with us as often as you can, yeah?” you said.
“Yes, ma’am,” she smiled.
Making a few notes for yourself, you turned your attention to Eve. She’d been with Statesman long enough that she’d built up quite the rapport of confidential informants she could potentially lean on in the right places and see if there was anything afoot you could learn.
“Eve,” you began, “have you still got links to Colombia from your time undercover?”. She’d been there two years on and off. You’d learned that she was there to do reconnaissance work in the years that followed Jack, then Javier’s, departure from Medellín. She’d worked closely with law enforcement on many cases similar to what Jack had been behind, with many copycats following in the wake of Castellano’s death.
“Yes. Would you like me to reach out, see if we can get any surveillance work done?” she asked.
“If we can, that would be great. How much do you trust the cops down there these days to help us if shit goes sideways?” you asked. She shrugged.
“Enough. Some are still corrupt, but I know my guys, and they're a solid crew. They'd mobilise if I asked,” she smiled, then pulled out her phone, “Let me get onto them now.”
“Excellent,” you nodded, “keep me looped into that please.”
Eve nodded at you as she rose from her seat, her phone already ringing out to one of her contacts. It filled you with a sense of pride that everyone was so eager to mobilise at your command, and for a brief moment you allowed yourself to relish in your position. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about what it would be like to run this place one day, and to call the shots just how Champ did now. While that may be a lifetime away, and a lot of work to achieve, it didn’t hurt to imagine…
Before you could debate wandering down daydream avenue any further, the doors to the conference room opened up. Jack stepped in, a tight smile adorning his face, frustration evident.
“Everything alright?” you asked. Jack shrugged, taking his seat.
“Ain’t sure. Nathan is still too dazed from the meds to properly think straight. All he remembers about the night he got drugged was that he knows something happened that night which would make him liable to be criminally convicted, so he isn’t speaking. He wants to make a plea deal, Champ,” Jack said.
“I’m listening,” Champ raised his eyebrows, leaning forward on his arms against the table.
“Like I said, I couldn’t get much out of him, let alone any specific demands. But it seems to me like it wouldn’t be impossible to offer him immunity from criminal charges in exchange for the locations of all the places we need to attack,” Jack explained. Champ nodded, mulling the idea over, fiddling with one of his iconic cigars between his fingers as he pondered.
“Do you feel confident in getting that negotiation from him, successfully?” he asked. Jack nodded.
“Once he’s up and about, absolutely. But it looks like it’ll take a few days,” Jack said.
“If your synthesised antidote is anything like the one I got a few years back,” Tequila began, looking over at Ginger, “then the kid’ll be exhausted and nauseous for about a month. Even with all the medical tech in the world that you threw at me, I felt like shit for a long while”.
Ginger nodded, making some notes on her own tablet now.
“Yeah, you were properly out of it. Fortunately we’ve had enough time to refine the antidote and study its effects, so I may be able to expedite the process of his recovery, bring it down by a week or two. Leave it with myself and Agent Port, and we’ll keep you notified as to his condition,” she said.
“Alright, this is coming together nicely,” Champ said, smiling to himself, “I think we’ve all got our roles sorted. Whiskey, Seltzer,” Champ looked over at you both, “While we wait for Mr. Wellaby to recover from his symptoms, I need you to build the most solid case we can with the information we’ve got. Dig into every part of this guy’s life, and explore any connections he had. I know you made a damn good start last night, but now we know he’s alive we have a little more time on our side to get this case air tight. Him revealing the locations should only be the cherry on top of a cake, and not the whole batter. Understood?”.
Champ and his fucking metaphors.
“Yes, sir,” you and Jack said in unison.
“Good. Alright everyone, let’s keep this to the ground as much as we can. Reach out to whoever we can, and if you need any resources come straight to me - we’ve got a shot to get this damn case behind us once and for all. Let’s not fuck that up,” Champ said, ending his sentiment by looking over at Jack. You didn’t miss the small sting of red in Jack’s eyes, the soft brimming of tears at Champ’s words.
For so many reasons, this case needed to be dead and buried. If nothing else, for Jack’s peace of mind.
*****************************************************************
Two weeks later
That morning in the boardroom propelled you all into your own offices, assigned to nothing else other than this case. Champ had made it perfectly clear that the biggest priority was getting this case over and done with as soon as possible, so any further missions that came through the organisation were now all being handled by other team members. For your core group, you were all living and breathing this case until it was over.
You and Jack had barely left each other’s side as you worked away - once you had time on your side to actually delve deeper into Nathan’s life, cracks started to show. Things that would never be flagged by law enforcement due to the sheer amount of time you’d both spent looking into his life, reared their ugly heads on your computer screens. The case against Nathan and his cohort of accomplices was building faster by the day, and would be enough to lock him away for the rest of his life.
It took time, but gradually you found the trail you’d been looking for. Evidence of him not only distributing drugs, but making them as well. Ingredients to make cocaine and meth started cropping up in his payment history, but buried under layers of encrypted files and needing to actually spend time combing through CCTV and call logs to find concrete evidence of purchase. It was almost painful the level of observation that each detail required just to be certain, but if it meant putting this whole operation to bed you’d do it time and time again.
Nathan still hadn’t recovered enough to be fully interrogated, but with Ginger and Schmidt’s help he was beginning to turn a corner. Tomorrow could potentially be the first day you got anything out of him, so you were both working tirelessly to make sure that all your questions could get answered, and hopefully it would begin putting some pieces together.
One major piece you needed to put in place was the resurgence of the company CVD limited. It appeared that Nathan was either part of the company, or worked with them to some extent, dating back to 2019. It was the earliest record you had of the organisation, but there was nothing that put Wellaby in the position to be founder of the company, so that got written off almost immediately. The initialism of CVD also had no correlation to anything he was dealing with, or any of his accomplices.
But still, it was the first mention of the mystery company since it disappeared off your records and, seemingly, the face of the earth a few months ago. The fact you had anything to go off was a miracle. All you could ascertain was that the company acted as a front for a major operation, and the more digging you did the more it appeared like whoever was behind this company was behind everything.
Unfortunately, the one thing you still lacked was anything pointing you in the direction of who ran the entire circus. Eve had returned from Colombia yesterday, and while her team had heard whispers of another major tampered drug operation starting back up, it seems nobody had any real leads to go by. She left feeling defeated, but at least had given the team a heads up of what to look out for. A clinic she worked closely with was also given a small batch of Ginger’s synthesised antidotes in case things started going south before she could return and mobilise a group of agents to help with any potential infections.
As for Astrid, she’d set off for Spain that same afternoon. You'd all been assigned your tasks, and with instruction to keep Tequila in the loop with everything, Astrid set off. Being at a slight loose end, Tequila committed himself to continuing to train new recruits in the background of everything, and would notify you of any major updates. Which, granted, hadn’t happened yet, but you figured there was a good reason.
Your answer would come soon enough.
“Fucking hell, my head is gonna explode,” Jack muttered to himself across from you. In spite of having his own office, he’d been camped out in your office for the last few weeks, as determined as you to make headway. You chuckled as you watched him peel himself away from his computer screen, sliding his hands down over his face in mild despair. To be fair, you hadn’t really moved for hours. His reaction was not totally unjustified.
“I second that,” you shut down your laptop screen for a moment, then looked at your watch, “Shall we call it a night? We’ve been at it since seven o’clock this morning, and it’s now half past nine at night.”
“Sounds good to me. Fancy a beer?” Jack said, you both standing up now.
“Something stronger, maybe,” you chuckled.
“I won’t say no to that,” Jack grinned, and the two of you now set to putting jackets and shoes on. To say you’d been getting yourselves comfortable as you worked on this case was an understatement…
“Hey, Jack?” you said, timidly.
“What’s up, sugar?”.
“How are you doing? Genuinely. I know we haven’t really stopped to discuss everything that’s going on right now, we’ve been so busy. I just want to check in with you,” you asked.
Jack smiled softly, closing the gap between you as he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, his hand slipping onto your waist to anchor himself to your body. You smiled at the contact, his warmth sending a shiver through your spine.
“Ain’t you sweet. That is why I call you sugar,” he teased.
“Shut up, you. I’m serious!” you insisted; Jack nodded.
“I know you are, and it is very sweet of you to ask. But honestly, I think I’m alright. This case has haunted me for so long that now we stand a chance at getting it all behind us, it’s just making me more determined than ever to do just that.”
“Good,” you smiled, “Would you tell me if you ever weren’t doing okay?”.
“Of course,” he said, no hesitation in his voice, “We’re not just partners on the job, we’re friends. I trust you with my life, London.”
You smiled up at him, relief washing over you. Jack had in the past bottled things up so well that nobody had noticed; it was reassuring to hear that he now felt like he didn’t have to do that anymore.
“And I, you.”
Jack smiled before pulling away, and the two of you fell into step as you headed towards the door. The thought of having a neat whiskey right now almost put a spring in your step - you’d worked so hard these last two weeks, you felt it was the very least you deserved. The case you had against Nathan was solid; you could afford one night where your judgement wasn’t 100%.
Unfortunately for your plans, it didn’t seem like they were about to go ahead. Neither you nor Jack even made it to the door when you found it opening before you both, and Tequila stepped in a little sheepishly. You furrowed your brow, concern imminent.
“Hey,” Tequila said, “I don’t suppose you two have a moment? I’m worried.”
“Hey,” you smiled faintly, folding your arms. “What’s up?” you asked.
“It’s Astrid,” he began, eyes wide and lace with concern, “She was meant to check in with me yesterday at noon, but I heard nothing. I didn’t think much of it, as I know it can be hard to get a safe line of communication when out in the field, so I left it. But then I’ve heard nothing today, either…this isn’t like her,” he explained.
Tequila was right. While you and Astrid were not as close as you once were as new recruits, you knew Tequila well enough to trust his judgement. He’d spent near enough every day for the last four years working and living with Astrid, the pair of them falling in love in the process. Much to Champ’s disapproval…
“How long since she went, again?” Jack asked.
“Thirteen days, give or take a few hours. We agreed she’d check in every four days irrespective of what she found out, but if possible she’d check in sooner if she found something to help our case. But…there’s been nothing for eight days now.”
“So she’s missed two check-ins?” you said, your voice a little louder than you anticipated, angry at Tequila that he hadn’t brought this up sooner.
But sure enough, your anger dissipated quickly. Astrid was a good agent, and Tequila being her partner in not only the field but in life made him more than the expert on judging if she was likely in danger. She could hold her own, and you apologised to Tequila for how fast you were to jump on his case.
“That’s correct, yes. And normally I wouldn’t sound the alarm bells, but something feels off about everything,” he explained. Jack turned on his heels and headed over to your desktop PC.
“Well, there’s some sure fire ways to rule out foul play,” he said, looking up at Tequila as he logged into the system, “Let’s start simple. What’s her flight information?”.
“Uh-,” Tequila grabbed his phone and started typing, seemingly searching for the data. As she had mentioned in the meeting two weeks ago, Astrid had insisted on flying commercial for the sake of not breaking her cover. While it might have been smart, it did mean that out of the gate there was nowhere near the level of tracking available that you would have normally liked if you were sending someone undercover - even if they did know the location and the people that they would be surrounded by.
“Flight 459a, leaving the airfield at 17:43pm,” he said. Jack nodded without looking up as he began typing the information into the system.
His eyes scanned the ‘back office’ system he was on for the airline, the one way that you could have access to domestic flight logs without these companies batting an eye. They didn’t see it as “tracking”, weirdly enough. He scrolled down the page, searching through the list of all crew and passengers on board. He searched her real name, plus all her pseudonyms that she would often go by when out in the field…
But there was nothing.
“She…she never boarded the flight,” Jack said, his brow furrowed as he searched the system again.
“W-what?” Tequila said, heading over to the computer. You found yourself following him. “Have you checked her alias’?” he asked, and Jack nodded.
“All of them. Look,” he pointed to the screen, showing his searches, “Unless there’s a new name she’s using that I don’t know about, she never got on that flight.”
“Did you ever track her flight info?” you asked him. He looked up, almost as white as a ghost, and shook his head.
“No, I- I didn’t think I needed to,” he said.
Something was wrong. And whether that was Astrid being in trouble, or if there was something fouler at play here, it was clear that Tequila had been so blinded by love that he chose to totally disobey protocol.
“Tequila-” you began, ready to scold him.
“I know, I know; it’s wrong. I really shouldn't have overlooked such a crucial detail. But she did some check-ins with me, and what reason would Astrid have to lie to me? Even if things were going wrong, and for some reason she couldn’t give me the full details of what was going on, there is no reason that she would have lied to me about it all”.
“Whatever is going on, I’m sure there is a logical explanation for why she would have lied about it all or, at least, concealed some of the truth from you. Maybe she is still out there, but got there through different means?” Jack asked.
But you had a sinking feeling in your stomach that didn’t quite match with Jack’s optimism that this would all be some big misunderstanding. What you couldn’t fathom is what on earth Astrid’s connection to everything would even be, and what she would gain by double crossing the team.
Almost on cue to the three of you frantically looking for answers, Ginger and Schmidt entered the room without any warning. All three of you jumped slightly as the heavy door flew open, and in hurried the two agents.
“Agents…I- I’m sorry, but there’s something you need to see,” Ginger said.
“Ginger? What is it?” you asked. She nervously bit her lip before turning to Schmidt, who just gave her a curt nod in response.
“We have a lead. But it- it’s not a good one,” she said.
“What is it?” Tequila asked.
Schmidt cast his tablet screen to your computer, and the three of you looked on at the file that had been brought up. You furrowed your brow as you looked at the unfamiliar jumble of words in a language you didn’t comprehend, before looking back up at Schmidt for answers.
“We did some digging into one of Nathan Wellaby’s accomplices. He’s still not totally in the land of the living, but after a thorough search of his home we found a portable hard drive filled with documents that I’d hazard none of us would have ever found otherwise. Many different kinds of things cropped up, but most notably we found this purchase order, as well as a series of other ones similar. It looks like whoever was running the organisation was sourcing their ingredients from all over the world so as not to create much suspicion,” Schmidt explained.
“To be expected,” you interjected, having found similar evidence so far in your own research.
“Okay, and for those of us in the room who don’t speak multiple languages, what does the document say?” Tequila asked.
“It’s in Spanish…,” Jack muttered. You turned your head towards him and saw his eyes frantically scanning the document, knowing he could read it perfectly, given his true identity.
“Correct, Jack. We’ve translated the document,” the screen flickered in front of you and suddenly an English translation was in front of your eyes, “and it is as we expected. A declaration signed by who we believe to be heading up the organisation.”
Tequila scrolled down the page, reading through everything, before he reached the very end. Very faintly in the bottom corner was a signature confirming the delivery of the aforementioned shipment. You squinted slightly as you leant in further to try and read the screen, the signature faint as it must have been done in pencil before being scanned onto the hard drive.
But your heart thudded in your chest as you looked at it. That horrible gut feeling that began brewing since Tequila set foot in this room was only getting worse, and bile threatened to rise up your throat at the implications that you could for a second be right about this…
“That signature…I know it,” you said.
“We all know it,” Ginger said, before the screen changed again. A picture of Astrid’s driver’s license came into view, which had been signed on the back to confirm her identity.
It was an exact match.
“It’s Astrid’s. That company you found, Whiskey, the CVD Limited - it’s hers”.
Tequila stepped away from the screen almost as fast as if he burned himself on it. You could see his face was still pale in parts, but now a redness of anger was replacing the gaunt expression, his eyes filling with tears almost instantly.
Statesman had been double crossed.
“This must be a set up, she would never do something like this!” he yelled.
“We thought so too, Tex! Believe us, that was our first thought. So…we did some searching of her place,” Ginger said.
“Did you find anything?” you asked apprehensively.
Ginger sighed, before moving to cast a new document to the screen. You all leaned in to look at it, before looking back up at Ginger. Her eyes were now also threatening to spill tears down her cheeks, and for a brief moment you wondered how she must have felt when Jack double crossed her last time.
“Unfortunately, yes”.
The screen now showed a picture of Astrid, albeit when she was much younger, with Poppy Adams. Looking at the screen was almost haunting, with both the women smiling in the photo, like their actions hadn’t ruined the lives of thousands of people. Whatever Astrid’s true involvement, it couldn’t exactly be argued that she was innocent anymore.
“Maybe that’s a coincidence,” Tequila said frantically, “Perhaps she didn’t know what Poppy was doing…”.
He was clutching at straws, and we all knew it. For as heartbreaking as it was to deliver the news, Ginger kept laying on the facts thick. It’s what he needed.
“There’s more. Look at these documents I found. Buried under several layers of encryption, is a document stored by the Spanish Bureau. Take a look.”
Ginger pulled up the file, which was linked to the Spanish name change registry. You weren’t as familiar with their process as you were in the States or England, but it was no shock to see a registry keeping tabs of all name changes.
“It’s Astrid, look,” she pointed to the document, “New name, Astrid Moreno Rivera. That’s what we know her as. But her previous name is listed as Asteria Adán”.
“Adán, as in…Adams?” you asked.
“Yes, that’s the direct English translation,” Jack confirmed. “When did she change it?”.
“Says here, 2004. But there’s one more before it…,” Ginger said. Her hands shook slightly on her tablet, and you suddenly found yourself sharing her level of anxiety. These revelations didn’t seem to stop - you questioned what else Earth-shattering was about to come. If it made Ginger apprehensive for even a moment, you knew it was nothing good.
“She’s changed her name twice?” Tequila asked.
“Yes. The change to Adán as a surname looks like it was to pay homage to Poppy. The more digging we did into Astrid’s life now that we knew where to look, the more it looked like she became a motherly figure to Astrid, in light of her father no longer being around and her never having anything to do with her own mother.”
“What was her previous name?” Jack asked, a hunch forming.
“Here,” Ginger opened up a second document.
“New name, Asteria Adán. Old name…Asteria Castellano-Verga-Daniels”.
“Cast- Daniels?” Jack whispered, his blood going cold, his suspicions being confirmed.
CVD - Castellano-Verga Daniels.
“Castellano Verga?” you whispered back to him, confirming what you feared you knew. Jack nodded at you.
“Jack, are you okay?” Ginger asked.
“Continue, Ginger,” he said, flatly. She inhaled sharply, as if preparing herself.
“We did one final layer of digging into Astrid. Once the firewall was down on the Bureau, it all came out of the woodwork. Her name change, hidden identity, everything. She never even worked for the secret service. That’s why she’s gone M.I.A., Tequila. She’s likely on the run, and has had a thirteen day lead on us. I’m sorry…”.
Tears fell from Ginger’s eyes now, but she didn’t stop to acknowledge it. She didn’t even wipe them.
“What was the final layer of information you found?” Tequila asked, his blood now as cold as Jack’s, their fury mirroring one another. It was frightening to witness, to be honest.
“Her parentage. Her father was a man known as Pierre Castellano Verga. Jack, I believe you are familiar with him?”. He nodded.
“Yes. One of my first undercover missions with Statesman, way back in 2002, I was tasked with bringing this man down. He was one of the main criminals who had taken over after Pablo Escobar died in the nineties. It took me two years and a lot of shit to go through, but he died in 2004 by my hand.”
“So it seems that his death left Astrid an orphan at age 16. Her mother had already died,” Schmidt said.
“Who was she?” Jack asked. He swallowed hard, hoping to believe that coincidences were real, and the double barrelled surname was just some weird fluke. It couldn’t be her, surely-
“Daniella Daniels.”
The name ricocheted around Jack’s head and he screwed his eyes up for a moment to try and pretend this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be his sister, she was still alive, he’d been telling himself that for years.
But when he opened his eyes, Ginger had found an ID for Daniella and displayed it on the screen. Not only was this woman the spitting image of the sister he remembered, but the birthday was exactly the same; August 11th, 1969.
Jack slumped in the closest chair, his eyes instantly filling with tears. Ginger looked over at Jack, her heart shattering as she put the pieces together. Nobody here except you knew anything extensive about Jack’s family, except for Tequila who knew about his dad. But it wouldn’t take long for everyone else to work it out - the same surname, the similar ages, the same dark brown hair and tanned skin.
“Jack?” Tequila queried, the puzzle not yet solved in his head.
“How did she die, Ginger?” was all Jack asked. If his illusion of his sister still being out there was about to be shattered, he wanted every scrap of information there was.
“In childbirth, 1993. Neither Daniella or her son survived. Jack, I’m so sorry,” Ginger said. You rested a hand on Jack’s shoulder, caressing him softly in comfort. All he could do was hold your hand with his own, comfort himself with the feeling of you near him - he didn’t care who was looking.
“1993?” he repeated. Ginger nodded. “That’s the year she-,” his voice cracked, “Oh, fuck,” he let out an exacerbated sob, half laughing, half crying.
“What was 1993?” Schmidt asked.
“1993 was the worst year of my life. It was when my wife died and now, apparently, my sister.”
Jack rose to his feet, pacing the room and covering his face with his hands. His Stetson had gone, left by the table as he rubbed his hands through his hair, tugging in places like a stim to try and calm himself down. He was withholding a storm of emotion, one you would likely see once everyone left the room.
“Astrid wants to take us down, and it’s all my fault. I killed her father…and she’s my niece”.
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