Incursion: The Rift - Episode Twenty-One
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Trask was glad he had obtained a photograph of the Interpol agent before he got to the airport. He would have really hated standing at the arrivals gate holding a stupid sign like some lackey. He stood beside a pillar, well away from the security doors, better to see than be seen. When Geneviève Fausette arrived he recognized her immediately, but made no indication, letting her wait.
Her photo didn't do her justice. Tall and lean, Fausette exuded confidence, even in the unfamiliar and usually disconcerting environment of a foreign airport.
Trask was going to enjoy breaking her. Of course, that would have to wait. After his less than stellar performance apprehending the Strand brothers, he couldn't risk any screw-ups, or this reflection might be his last.
He waited until she was just starting to show signs of impatience and then he stepped forward. "Ms. Fausette?" Trask asked in a breathless voice.
"Mister Trask," Fausette responded. She scanned him quickly, sizing him up. Professional, Trask thought. He'd have to be careful.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. Traffic at this time is its usual bitch." He shook her hand, pleased with her unapologetic grip. She didn't pretend to be weaker than she was. Nor had she flinched at his less-than-polite language.
"Not at all," Fausette replied, starting for the exit. "Shall we proceed?"
"Do we need to pick up your luggage?" Trask asked, falling into step beside her.
Fausette shook her head and hoisted the gray duffle bag in her hand. "Just carry-on. I came on the first available flight once I received your message."
"Do you already have a hotel?" Trask asked as he led the way to his car in the hourly lot.
"Not yet."
"I've got a rented office in Arlington. We can get you a room nearby."
"A rented office?" Fausette asked, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "We're not going to the Washington field office?"
Trask paused. "This operation is strictly off the books. Given the nature of what we may be dealing with, it was felt extraordinary measures were called for to keep it from becoming public knowledge. The last thing we need is some civil rights group using the Freedom of Information Act to get wind of what's really going on."
"Understood," Fausette nodded.
"Interpol, too, is keeping this investigation secret. In fact, I'm surprised you knew to contact us about this newspaper posting."
"Six months ago your office queried FBI databases, IAFIS, CODIS, and even Sentinel, for any bulletins related to Carter McAllister."
"And found nothing, which in itself was rather suspicious."
Trask shrugged. "The databases were all wiped. In hindsight we should have left something innocuous."
They reached Trask's car, a nondescript rental. Trask placed Fausette's bag in the trunk, then unlocked the doors and they got in. Trask maneuvered out of the parking lot and onto the Dulles Access Road.
"So there was information on McAllister?" Fausette asked.
"Yes, although, not as much as we would have liked."
"And yet you've waited until now to contact us."
Fausette's tone was accusatory and Trask let her think he had been properly chastised. "For which I must apologize. We should have contacted Interpol sooner. If we had, perhaps both our investigations would be further along."
"And now you need our help", Fausette said, smug.
Trask smiled. "Perhaps we can still help each other."
"I don't wish to get your hopes up," Fausette said, not quite as smug, "but we have been unable to locate or even identify Carter McAllister."
"Nor have we," Trask admitted. "But we have managed to identify some of his friends."