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The Manager listened to Traxler and Mitchum's story in silence, asking no questions, his expression remaining inscrutable throughout the retelling. He saw no need to ask questions for two reasons: one, the story was fairly straightforward, and two, his office was packed with recording devices. If he ever wanted to revisit a specific conversation, he had them all on file in a massive audio database.
That was one advantage modern technology had over ink and paper, and he wasn't too proud to use it.
"Well," he said once the men concluded their report, "we really stepped in it, didn't we?"
"Sir?" Mitchum asked. He had rarely heard The Manager speak in such a cavalier fashion.
"There's no sense sugar coating it, Mitchum," The Manager said. "That gamble with the Cruciform Knights blew up in our faces and the wolves got away, presumably unscathed. We have to assume they know we're behind what happened, whether they can prove it or not."
"It's possible that just the Knights showing up at the bar was enough to spook them into running," Traxler suggested. He made a face as he spoke, as if the words themselves tasted bad as he said them.
"That's an uncommonly optimistic assessment, Jacob," The Manager said. "Based on your interaction with these creatures, do you really believe that to be true?"
Traxler considered for a moment, then shook his head slowly. "No, I don't. Not really."
The Manager nodded once, firmly. "Then don't waste our time with it." There was no rebuke in his tone, but Traxler flinched as if the other man had yelled at him.
Mitchum reacted not at all to the exchange between the other two. He'd been ruminating on the events of the previous night, running through them over and over, trying to determine what he might have been able to do differently to get a better outcome. He could have stopped on the street the moment they saw the gunshots inside the bar, but if it had turned into a firefight, things could have ended even worse.
"Has anyone been in contact with Father Brown yet?" The Manager asked, changing the subject with no regard to Traxler's reaction.
"No," Traxler said, his tone glum. He had a sinking suspicion that it would fall to him. It seemed like almost a punishment detail and after the fiasco of the previous night, he supposed he deserved it. That didn't mean he was excited about it.
"I want him debriefed. We need to know exactly what happened," The Manager said.
"I know," Traxler replied. "I'll do it." If he was going to be stuck doing it one way or the other, he may as well get the credit for volunteering.
The Manager nodded. "Good. Now, as we're in somewhat uncharted territory here, I'd sure love to know what we're going to do about it." He'd been going through The Agency's archives and could not for the life of him find evidence of a pack this large taking root in the city. For all of The Agency's vast resources and broad legal permissions, it was suited best for wolf packs of a more traditional size, or single lycan travelers who could be individually taken out. This large group of wolves was proving to be an intractable problem, and he didn't know how much longer the city could bear having them within its limits.
In fact, he didn't even know what, specifically, would mark the point of no return, or whether any of them would know once they'd passed it. However, his gut told him that having such a large population of werewolves would only serve to hasten the process. Which only made it that much more urgent that they deal with this situation as expeditiously as possible.
And he was all out of ideas.
"What if," Mitchum said, raising his head like someone emerging from a daydream, "we went and just talked to them?"
"What do you mean? Talk to the wolves?"
Mitchum nodded. "Yes."
"And tell them what, exactly?" The Manager thought he knew where this was going, but he liked it not at all. Traxler stared at him.
"The truth," Mitchum shrugged.
"The truth," The Manager repeated. What was that old saying – the truth will set you free? He didn't think that would necessarily be the case here. Plus, there was the small, annoying fact that what Mitchum and Traxler thought to be "the truth" was not actually the whole story. Oh, that bit about keeping Congress safe from lycan attacks was true enough, after a fashion. If that was all it was, they wouldn't need all the layers of obfuscation. Mitchum might be trustworthy enough, but the jury was still out on Traxler. Besides, there was another old saying, and this one The Manager believed very strongly: three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.
Still, it was an idea.
The Manager sat in silence for three full minutes, thinking. Neither of the other two men dared speak. Traxler shot Mitchum a quick side-eye glance, but the other man simply gave a small shake of his head, waiting for the other man to talk first.
"I think," The Manager said finally, "that 'just talk to them' might not be a bad course of action after all." He spoke each word carefully, as if evaluating each one before he said it aloud.
Mitchum knew that tone – there was a plan forming, but it hadn't fully solidified in the other man's mind yet. He wasn't worried, though; sometimes the best plans left a little room for improvisation. He also recognized something else, too. "But... we're not going to tell them the truth, are we?"
"Well," The Manager said. "Not exactly."
"May I ask why?" Mitchum's tone was the very soul of deference and decorum. He was fully prepared to drop the line of questioning in a second if need be. However, he'd been with The Agency long enough and had built up enough political capital that he felt he could at least ask the question.
Something flashed in The Manager's eyes, but it was gone before Mitchum could identify it. He thought it might have been surprise – or maybe approval? Whatever it was, the other man once again lapsed into a deep, contemplative silence. He regarded Mitchum intently, and Mitchum gave himself credit for not flinching under that scrutiny. Beside him, Traxler adjusted his weight slightly, showing enough discomfort for the both of them.
"Yes. Yes you may." The Manager made a dismissive gesture to Traxler. "You may go, Jacob. I want your report on Father Brown's perspective on last night's debacle by zero eight hundred tomorrow morning. Mitchum and I have some catching up to do." Traxler left, looking defeated. Likely, he was hoping to have a little more time before having to deal with that religious lunatic again. He shot Mitchum a questioning look before he departed, but he was sure that his partner would fill him in on anything important that he missed.
After the door closed, The Manager opened his laptop, keying in the command that paused all recording devices. After that was done, he closed the computer and turned his full attention to the man sitting across from him.
"Now," he began, "about the truth..."