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"Hello. This is Louisianna Mason, and I have an urgent message for Agent Traxler. We are currently missing one of our dogs, and we think he may know something about it. This is unacceptable and he needs to contact us immediately."
The recording ended with a click, and The Manager looked up from his computer. Mitchum and Traxler were seated across from him in his office. "Has the call been authenticated?" he asked mildly. The two men had been leaning forward to listen to the recording, and now straightened in their chairs before responding.
Traxler nodded. "It has. It was placed by a cell phone whose number is associated with an account owned by Geoff Cooper." As it turned out, the "anonymous" tip line was anything but, though the rank-and-file DHS agents didn't have clearance to access the enhanced telemetry. Most didn't even know it existed.
"And when was it placed?"
Mitchum checked his watch. "About... nine hours ago. One of the analysts flagged it when he looked up Traxler's name in the departmental directory and realized he actually worked there." Despite the fact that he actually did the right thing, the contents of the message meant that the analyst probably just bought himself a transfer to the Anchorage field office. Such is life.
The Manager pursed his lips. "Hmm." He turned his gaze to Traxler, studying the other man with slightly narrowed eyes. "So tell me, Agent Traxler. What exactly do you know about Ms. Mason's missing dog?"
Traxler hoped he didn't look as surprised as he felt. He had given The Agency years of loyal service, and the suggestion that he might be holding something back was galling. He bit back his initial response, taking a moment to collect himself. Even so, his tone had more heat than he would have liked. "I don't know anything!" he exclaimed.
Silence hung heavily in the office for the span of several seconds – just long enough for Traxler to feel uncomfortable. Finally, The Manager spoke again. "Very well, Jacob. You tell me you don't, and I believe you. It is understandable that the wolves would use your name, as it is the only one they know. But given the compartmentalized nature of our work, I thought it best to hear it from you directly." He spoke next to Mitchum. "Do you have any theories?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." Mitchum didn't elaborate, not because he didn't believe in the theory, but because he didn't like what it meant for his partner.
The Manager gestured for him to continue, leaning back into his chair and steepling his fingers. He betrayed no impatience or irritation with Mitchum's taciturn approach.
Mitchum sighed softly, aware that Traxler's attention was on him as well. "I think Father Brown piggybacked on our visit and made a play of his own." The moment the preacher's name passed his lips, Traxler spat an expletive, standing suddenly and taking three quick steps away from the desk before turning back. His hand was clamped over his mouth as if to prevent himself from saying what he really wanted to. The Manager tolerated the outburst silently, giving almost no reaction.
Mitchum waited for The Manager to give any indication that he should stop speaking, and receiving none, continued. "He may not have known exactly why we were interested in the wolves, and I doubt he would care much if he did. He probably guessed we knew more about them than we let on, and either tailed one of us or planted a tracker in Traxler's car. You said he was former SAS, right? He probably knows more tricks than you'd guess from looking at him." Because their focus was lycanthropes and not international spies, counterintelligence was not high on The Agency's radar; most werewolves were just trying to live their lives, not protect state secrets. Even if he, Mitchum, might have thought to sweep his vehicle after meeting with the good Father, he couldn't fault Traxler for potentially missing it.
He wasn't sure The Manager would be as forgiving, though.
The silence this time was longer and intensely uncomfortable. After a full minute, Traxler took his seat again, slumping a little and looking defeated.
Another minute went by before The Manager spoke. "That is a very intriguing theory, Agent Mitchum, and one that certainly is supported by the facts we have at hand. What say you, Agent Traxler?"
Traxler opened his mouth to speak, but no sounds came out at first. Any thoughts to offer up a defense of himself or a competing theory died unuttered. "It's entirely possible, sir. I will admit I wasn't fully paying attention to him while we were in the car, and it's been a while since I swept it for bugs and trackers. If it turns out I fucked this one up, I take full responsibility and I'll do what I can to make it right."
At that, The Manager's mouth quirked. "Remember that you said that." Without further explanation, he picked up his desk phone and dialed a number. It was answered after one ring. "Ms. Mason, I presume? No, this is his supervisor. No– no, you don't need to know my name. Yes, he's right here." His gaze flicked briefly to Traxler. "No, you may not speak to him. Tell me briefly what happen– No– no– well hello there Mr. Cooper. As I already told your partner, I am Agent Traxler's... well think of me as his boss. He claims he doesn't know anything about your lost dog, and I'm inclined to believe–" His voice had been smooth and placating, but with a slight huff of exhaled air, he spoke next with a sharper tone. "This will go a lot faster if you let me get a word in edgewise. I have all the time in the world to listen to you berate me, do you think your missing friend has that luxury?"
While their supervisor wrangled a pair of werewolves over the phone, Mitchum and Traxler exchanged a look. Traxler was not at all relieved to see the surprise and confusion in his partner's expression. If this was something not even Mitchum had seen before, who knew what kind of play The Manager was running? Traxler leaned forward again, as though doing so would allow him to hear better what was being said on the other side. The Manager caught notice and waved him back with a frown before his attention returned to the conversation.
The Manager's last words seemed to have mollified Cooper, allowing him to speak uninterrupted. "I say this to you knowing full well you won't believe me, but neither me nor anyone in my command has anything to do with your, ah, 'missing dog' issue. However, we might know who does, and we're willing to help." Whatever Cooper had to say to that elicited a chuckle. "Oh we'd not be doing it out of the goodness of our hearts. I'm aware of the offer that my agents have given you regarding the sale of your property. Give me your word you'll agree to it, and I will send Traxler to you to help in the matter of your dog."
At his last words, The Manager raised his eyes to Traxler, who was shaking his head in silent refusal. Mitchum watched the byplay curiously, though he could see the merit in this plan. There was a certain cold math to it: Traxler needed to pay for his mistake (assuming this mess was his mistake). If he happened to die in the effort, it closed a potential gap in The Agency's security. On the other hand, if he acquitted himself well, he'd come out on the other side a stronger and wiser asset.
The Manager gestured viciously for Traxler to cut it out before speaking again. "This should go without saying, I expect you to not immediately attack my agent for whatever wrongs you believe may have been perpetrated against you. We are in no way obligated to help you in this matter, but I believe doing so will lead to the best possible outcome for all sides. Yes. Yes. He'll be there within the hour."
The moment the line went dead, Traxler exploded to his feet, apoplectic. "If you think I'm going to actually help them–" he began.
"Oh, I don't think. I know," The Manager cut him off smoothly.
"So what, I maybe fuck up once and suddenly the whole mission of The Agency gets tossed in the shitter to what? Teach me some kind of lesson?"
Mitchum had to keep himself from wincing at the other man's outburst. Traxler had good instincts but he sometimes let his passion get in the way of his decorum. Sooner or later he was going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person. He hoped for his partner's sake that wasn't here, and now.
The Manager's tone carried an air of forced patience. "Our charter is as it always was: to keep werewolves out of Washington, D.C. by any means necessary. If Geoff Cooper told me that he'd leave town if you slept with every wolf in his pack, you'd be on your way over there right now with a box of condoms. Be thankful I'm sending you with a gun instead. You are to help them in the matter of Father Brown and their missing wolf, and you will give nothing short of your fullest effort in the attempt. Those are your orders. Do I make myself crystal clear?"
This time it was Traxler's turn to let the air fill with silence. Mitchum watched his partner work through the tongue lashing, with looks of disgust, outrage, and resignation flashing quickly across his face. He could see the muscles working as he ground his teeth, and for a moment he thought Traxler might outright refuse the order. That would be a shame, especially given the fact that The Agency didn’t have a retirement plan to speak of. He slowly eased his hand toward his gun just in case.
When Traxler spoke, his tone was petulant. "Can you please explain to me just what the point of our mission is, sir? If I'm going to stick my neck out for these... these people, I think I deserve to know what exactly it is I'm doing it for."
It was Mitchum's turn to be surprised by The Manager's words. "Once Cooper and his pack are safely out of town, I will tell you everything that I know."
Traxler, too, was apparently expecting more resistance. His brows shot up, then back down as his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How uncommonly generous of you."
The Manager shrugged. "These are uncharted waters, gentlemen. The Cooper pack is the largest in The Agency's records. They've also been here longer than any other we have dealt with. I know. I've checked. We are fast losing the luxury of time, and I'm prepared to make a lot of concessions I might not otherwise."
"So... you'll really tell me? Just like that?" Traxler still couldn't believe the sudden change. He glanced at Mitchum, whose expression gave away little.
"Well, not 'just like that' – you still need to see the mission through. But complete it to my satisfaction, and yes. I really will tell you everything I am able to about The Agency." He made a dismissive gesture. "I meant what I said about the missing wolf. Whoever it is, they likely have even less time than we do, and I don't expect Cooper to be as agreeable if they wind up dead while we dither away. You are free to utilize whatever Agency resources you deem fit." With that he turned to his computer, seemingly ignoring the other two men.
Traxler wanted to continue the conversation, to get more assurances that his curiosity would be satisfied, but he recognized that he'd already tested The Manager's patience far more than he ever had before. It was probably best not to press his luck. He gave Mitchum a pat on the shoulder before he turned and strode out of the office.
Mitchum called after his partner as the other man walked out. "If you need backup, give me a shout." He'd noted that The Manager had not given him any specific instructions regarding his own involvement in things, but he also was not explicitly excluded. Traxler gave a noncommittal grunt without looking back; The Manager gave no sign he'd heard anything at all. After the door closed, Mitchum gave a silent ten-count before speaking again. "Are you really going to tell him everything?"
"I don't lie to my own people, Charles. You know that." The Manager spoke without looking up from his monitor.
Mitchum shifted his weight slightly. The fact that the other man had used his first name indicated that they were speaking unofficially now. Off the record. "You'll forgive me if I feel a little insulted. I've been part of The Agency for twice as long as he has, and you only just now started bringing me into the loop."
"I can't control how you feel about that," the other man said, still not looking up. "But for what it's worth, I understand. I meant what I said though: unprecedented times call for unprecedented actions. If it makes you feel better, I intend for you to be in the room when I tell him."
That didn't really make him feel better. He frowned as a new thought struck him. "Are the both of us going to be leaving that room, after you tell him?"
At that, The Manager looked up, favoring him with a wholly unpleasant smile. "That's an excellent and very astute question, Charles." With that, he turned back to the computer, fingers flying across the keyboard as he worked. It always amazed Mitchum how fluent the man actually was with technology, for someone who presented himself as practically a Luddite. He wasn't sure how many people in the office knew that The Manager even had a computer, let alone was so proficient in its use.
Neither man had much else to say after that. Mitchum took the prolonged quiet as a tacit dismissal and excused himself. For all Traxler's impetuousness, he was a good agent, and he was confident the younger man would be able to assist the wolves. Even so, he probably should try to get some rest in case his partner needed backup. It was going to be a long night.