Chapter 2.2 — To Belong

Tuesday, July 31, 2002

As is often the case with these things, weeks of legwork eventually boil down to someone having the right source. In this case, it is Jack Bristow.

Weiss is waiting outside Vaughn's office with this news when he arrives. Standing there, a little shifty and uncomfortable, but this is the state of things between them.

"I just talked to Kretchmer. Jack Bristow got some intel that Derevko moved her work on the Circumference to a site in Russia. Somewhere outside St. Petersburg," he says, tentatively following Vaughn in when he opens the door. "Have you seen Watkins?"

"No." Vaughn's response is partially true. He has not seen Watkins in this building, or under the pretense of work, yet today. He does, however, know she intended to leave his apartment about five minutes after him, to avoid the suspicion of a simultaneous arrival.

"We're still trying to narrow it down to a more specific location. Kretchmer wants her to look at some aerials. Do you know if she spent any time in St. Petersburg?"

"No, I don't." Seven months, and she said it was beautiful.

"Well, tell her if you see her."

"See who?" She barges in again, acknowledging him only with a furtive flick of her eyes. "Morning, Agent Weiss. Agent Vaughn."

"You," Weiss says. "Kretchmer's looking for you — "

"— to give me these — " she holds up a stack of manila envelopes " — I talked to him already. Although I'm pretty sure we're going to need more to go on. I can't pinpoint a location out of thin air. I'll be in op-tech if anyone needs me," she adds, with a pointed glance at Vaughn.

Meet me in the op-tech room, then. He wonders if Weiss catches it, if he notices the new differences between their interactions — the ones they have tried to keep subtle. If Weiss sees that he tenses when she calls him "Michael," before he remembers she called him that before everything changed. There was a time when Weiss would have guessed, when Vaughn would have told him, but that has changed as well.

They both exit his office silently.

———

She has cleared one of the op-tech tables and covered it with large, glossy satellite images when he enters the room, twenty minutes later. Picking carefully through the mess, which seems worse today. More people in the room to crowd it, as well, although the pace here is studious, deliberate — unlike the rest of the building. None of the men are cliché enough for things like pocket protectors, but they also don't look like the suits elsewhere.

It is here that she stands out, where she should fit in. Wary, attractive, graceful, self-aware. Like they had placed a tiger in the same room with a bunch of kittens and expected them to get along because of some common ancestry.

He corrects himself. She belongs wherever she wants to belong. She belongs with you.

"Hey," she says, as he finally clears the last lump of wires between them. "Analysis kindly narrowed it down to about fifty possible sites for me. I don't even know why Kretchmer bothered with the request," she says. "It looks like they spent all of five minutes on it."

"Did you need something from me?"

"I could use another set of eyes, if you're not busy." He was afraid of this. She is smooth in working with him, being around him here, and usually the one to initiate a project together. Vaughn can maintain the proper appearances, but it is more of an effort for him — maintaining focus when she is close. This does not stop him from grabbing a worn gray-cloth chair and rolling it to a spot beside hers.

"I don't think we're going to be able to come up with anything without something more specific from Jack Bristow," she says as he sits. "And it's not like this is a real forte for either of us. But I guess you never know."

Logic, her forte, and she suggests they start with the obvious — places that have not seen enough traffic, buildings that are too small. They sit silently, picking through the images, and he forces himself to focus on them — not that she is near. The task is fairly simple, moving in close to check each image for signs of activity in each, sliding most of them, after careful study, to their impromptu "No" pile. They are pleased, when the initial elimination is done, to discover that this pile encompasses most of the images.

Six left, and now they pick at them — leaning, reaching, pointing — making a case for each. And eventually, there is one, the one they have been gravitating toward, even while arguing for the others. A tricky commitment, to make this the one, but neither can find fault with it.

"About 20 miles out of the city. That would make sense," she says. "You would want it close enough for transportation, men, supplies. Far enough away to keep everything quiet."

"And the building is large enough to hold a model." he says. "We can pull old images to cross-check. The activity should have picked up after the other model was destroyed."

"That's possible," she says. "But it could also be a mirror site, so that wouldn't rule it out even if there was substantial traffic before. I think this is it, Michael."

"Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure. It could be one of the other ones. It could be something that's not even in this pile." She swings her arm over the other images. "There could be no model outside St. Petersburg. But this one does stand out. It's worth sending a team in to scope it out."

He smiles at her, thinks they work well together. She does belong with you.

"Then let's do it."

———

A quick check of older imagery finds that activity at the site spiked shortly after Sydney Bristow destroyed the Circumference model in Taipei, further support for their choice. And so Vaughn and Watkins run the location past Kretchmer, who gives them a gruff "good work," and agrees that they should request a team.

Few people in the Agency's L.A. headquarters have Bill Devlin's ear. Kretchmer is one, Jack Bristow another, and up until recently, this has helped the SD-6 team stay rich in resources. They have deferred to the nuke, outwardly understanding — although often grumbling amongst themselves — and have not requested any major operations in the last few months.

They deserved one, Vaughn thought, as did Kretchmer and Watkins. Which is why he is surprised when Devlin calls him into his office an hour after they make the request.

"Kretchmer is out of the office," Devlin says. "Have a seat." Which he knows is never good, but Vaughn sits anyway. "I'm sorry, but we just can't spare the manpower for a team right now."

Vaughn takes a moment to let this sit, formulate his argument. "Sir, I understand the weight of...current situations, and that everything is tight. But we have been patient, and careful not to make extraneous requests, and I would encourage you to reconsider — "

" — Agent Vaughn, we think the nuke may have crossed over onto American soil. I would have approved a team otherwise." And your argument is now completely moot.

But he recalls hearing that rumor — the nuke in the country — about a week ago, and that it proved to be false later. Feels somewhat guilty about it, but he makes one last attempt.

"I know that all this Rambaldi stuff might be nonsense, sir, but it was a pretty big priority for us and a lot of other people not too long ago. And on the off chance that this Circumference really is destructive, that Rambaldi was onto something, I think we need to at least minimally investigate this."

Devlin gives him a long pause before speaking again. You know, just once, you could say something that isn't going to put your job in danger.

"I'll authorize an operation, Agent Vaughn, but I can't give you any men. You're on your own there."

———

"So what did Kretchmer say?" Watkins asks him. They are in his office with the door shut, but the talk today is all business.

"He was none too happy. He's going to talk to Jack, have him leak it back to SD-6 in the hopes that they send Sydney and Dixon after it."

"That's a little risky, isn't it?"

"We don't have a whole lot of other choices, Chris."

"I know." She shakes her head, and releases a little exasperation. "We're still going to need more people, especially since we're going in nearly blind. I'd love some intel beyond sat images, but just looking at this I'd want at least three teams of two."

She stops for a moment, looks at him to check comprehension. "Based on the traffic patterns, I think you've got entrances on the north and east sides, so we need a team on each."

"Not a whole lot of guards."

"No," she says. "They probably want to keep it quiet. But we should keep some people on the perimeter, especially the access road. I'm assuming we have Bristow and Dixon. Without them, I don't think we're going to be able to go with this. Then there's you, and me — "

Me is not something he has thought about, until now. " — are you sure you're ready, Chris?"

"I'm ready, Michael. I wouldn't have included myself if I wasn't. And you're going to need me."

She's right, he realizes. They will need her for experience, for her fluency in the language, for her skill in accessing anything computerized they may encounter. He still does not want her to go. Doesn't want to go himself. You want her here, home, safe. With you. Not out there where she can get a taste of what she used to be.

"So," she says, and he knows the subject is closed. "We need two more."

"You won't have to ask McClure twice. He'll see this as his ticket out there."

Something passes through her eyes briefly, and he wonders if she's ever wanted to pull McClure aside. Tell him he shouldn't be so eager. "One more, then. Weiss?"

Of course it comes down to Weiss. "I don't know, Chris. I really don't know."

———

Kretchmer is ten minutes late to their meeting that afternoon, following his own attempt to convince Devlin of their need for a proper team. He enters the small conference room quietly, and shakes his head at Vaughn, who has been detailing the situation to the rest of the group.

"Okay, then," Vaughn says, as Kretchmer takes his usual seat. "If we're going to do this, it's just us. We already have Agents Bristow, Dixon, Watkins and myself. We'll need at least two more people in on the op."

McClure, as expected, is quick to speak. "I'm in," he says, fighting a grin, tone cocky, and it reminds Vaughn of old Chris. "Whatever you need."

Five was easy. The hard part is six. He briefly catches Kretchmer's eyes, and understands — hadn't really considered him an option. Maybe long ago. No kids, but Kretchmer does have a wife. Not too far away from his pension and a less-worried wife. Too much to risk. But you have something to risk now, too.

Robertson speaks next. An option, but one Vaughn knows Watkins would rather not have to deal with. "Are you all crazy? Half of you don't have any field experience — " Vaughn does, but it is not enough to interject " — and she's not ready to go back out." He glares at Watkins from across the table.

Vaughn is seated next to her, and can't see the look in her eyes. But he can guess the expression from the tone of her voice. "I've been cleared medically. I'm ready."

"Like you were ready for that last op, Watkins?"

She tenses slightly beside him with this. "Nobody was ready for what happened there." She pauses. "Devlin cleared this. If you don't like it — if you want to sit on your ass while we try to make some progress, fine. But let us plan the operation."

A lengthy silence follows her statement. We still need six. And they are back to the original option, Weiss, who has been quiet — contemplative, Vaughn hopes — through all of this. He says no, you stay here. She stays here. But this is important. It's the right thing to do. He forces himself to look across the table, catch Weiss with his eyes. Maybe there's no hope, but just give me this one. Please.

"I'll do it."