Operation: A Roving Commission: Rerouting
Mar. 10th, 2012 07:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsTerry makes a call to one of her old Interpol contacts regarding the number they found.
It was 8:30 at night, but Luis Tardio was used to working late. Like many of his countrymen, he habitually worked until 9 or 10 before shaking himself free for a meal and to meet friends. Unfortunately, these days, more and more of those late nights were turning into early mornings, with friends replaced by files and computer dossiars. He ignored his cell phone the first time it buzzed, carefully cataloguing images from a bombing that he believed involved the Brotherhood. An annoyed glance over at the number the second time made him pause, and he thumbed accept on the overseas call.
"Si?"
"Luis.... Is that anyway to greet me?" Terry chided lightly, squirming in her seat on her side of the line. "Where's my professions of undying devotion? Instead you are ducking m'calls?" Hardly waiting to hear his response, she continued, "And it's such a simple thing I am calling you for. I need you run a number for me."
"Theresa. I thought you were concerning yourself with kidnappers and bank robbers in the United States these days." He switched over to English; liquid and accented. "What's the number for? In case someone asks questions and I need to lie for you once again."
"Kidnapping and bank robbing," Terry answered brightly, then dropped her voice into more serious notes to add, "Well. At least the first part. It's the only connection we have between a string of disappearances." She rattled off the number, then summed it up with, "Name your price, Luis. I will owe you."
"I told you before - never make an offer like that." He said with a low chuckle as he keyed in the numbers. The system started to aggregate data, chewing through dozens of databases that were linked via the multinational cluster of police agencies. "How has the return to America been?"
"I don't make offers I would not be willing to follow through on," Terry lied with obvious and cheerful tease over the sounds of the keys clacking. The humor drained away at his question and she tipped her head forward to rub her forehead. "Not everything I was hoping it to be, to be honest, Luis."
"It never is, Theresa. But you can't lose faith so soon." He paused, sympathic to her struggles. In truth, she'd always reminded him a little of his own rookie days, when the shine wasn't yet off your idealism and the cynical compromises of day to day law enforcement were still unknown. "Ah, here we are. It's a Symkarian telephone registry - mostly used to route calls anonymously to international numbers. I hate these things."
He paused. "Now that's interesting."
Terry lifted her head and peered down at the telephone, as if she could see what he did through the connection. "Do not be keeping me in suspense," she urged, reaching across the desk to grab a spare scrap of paper and a pen.
"Number showed up on an active investigation. Our Eastern European brethren have been working on building a case on Christu Bulat. Real piece of work; Romanian pimp, sex trafficker. Procures girls for underground clubs and brothels."
Terry made a small noise of disgust. "Figures. Any other interesting connections? ...just send me along everything associated with it, will you?"
"Can't send you much, Theresa. Ongoing case and I'm not a part of it. But I'll see if I can get some names. Looks like Bulat has used the number three times since they started the investigation, but for less than thirty seconds each time. Must be a voice recorded drop or something." He began to cut and paste quickly into his email. "This one is smart. Brutal, but cunning. Be careful."
"Afraid I might not be around to harass you, mate o' mine?" Terry teased, voice light and thin with concern as her thoughts sped ahead to how the new information might fit into their own case. "Thanks for the help. I do owe you."
"Si, you do." He said warmly. "Stay safe, Theresa."
"Be wide," Terry countered, thumbing the phone off and putting it down. She moved her hand from phone to mouse, clicking refresh on her email until Luis' information arrived in her inbox. She printed it off, filed the message, then took the information to the rest of the team.
It was 8:30 at night, but Luis Tardio was used to working late. Like many of his countrymen, he habitually worked until 9 or 10 before shaking himself free for a meal and to meet friends. Unfortunately, these days, more and more of those late nights were turning into early mornings, with friends replaced by files and computer dossiars. He ignored his cell phone the first time it buzzed, carefully cataloguing images from a bombing that he believed involved the Brotherhood. An annoyed glance over at the number the second time made him pause, and he thumbed accept on the overseas call.
"Si?"
"Luis.... Is that anyway to greet me?" Terry chided lightly, squirming in her seat on her side of the line. "Where's my professions of undying devotion? Instead you are ducking m'calls?" Hardly waiting to hear his response, she continued, "And it's such a simple thing I am calling you for. I need you run a number for me."
"Theresa. I thought you were concerning yourself with kidnappers and bank robbers in the United States these days." He switched over to English; liquid and accented. "What's the number for? In case someone asks questions and I need to lie for you once again."
"Kidnapping and bank robbing," Terry answered brightly, then dropped her voice into more serious notes to add, "Well. At least the first part. It's the only connection we have between a string of disappearances." She rattled off the number, then summed it up with, "Name your price, Luis. I will owe you."
"I told you before - never make an offer like that." He said with a low chuckle as he keyed in the numbers. The system started to aggregate data, chewing through dozens of databases that were linked via the multinational cluster of police agencies. "How has the return to America been?"
"I don't make offers I would not be willing to follow through on," Terry lied with obvious and cheerful tease over the sounds of the keys clacking. The humor drained away at his question and she tipped her head forward to rub her forehead. "Not everything I was hoping it to be, to be honest, Luis."
"It never is, Theresa. But you can't lose faith so soon." He paused, sympathic to her struggles. In truth, she'd always reminded him a little of his own rookie days, when the shine wasn't yet off your idealism and the cynical compromises of day to day law enforcement were still unknown. "Ah, here we are. It's a Symkarian telephone registry - mostly used to route calls anonymously to international numbers. I hate these things."
He paused. "Now that's interesting."
Terry lifted her head and peered down at the telephone, as if she could see what he did through the connection. "Do not be keeping me in suspense," she urged, reaching across the desk to grab a spare scrap of paper and a pen.
"Number showed up on an active investigation. Our Eastern European brethren have been working on building a case on Christu Bulat. Real piece of work; Romanian pimp, sex trafficker. Procures girls for underground clubs and brothels."
Terry made a small noise of disgust. "Figures. Any other interesting connections? ...just send me along everything associated with it, will you?"
"Can't send you much, Theresa. Ongoing case and I'm not a part of it. But I'll see if I can get some names. Looks like Bulat has used the number three times since they started the investigation, but for less than thirty seconds each time. Must be a voice recorded drop or something." He began to cut and paste quickly into his email. "This one is smart. Brutal, but cunning. Be careful."
"Afraid I might not be around to harass you, mate o' mine?" Terry teased, voice light and thin with concern as her thoughts sped ahead to how the new information might fit into their own case. "Thanks for the help. I do owe you."
"Si, you do." He said warmly. "Stay safe, Theresa."
"Be wide," Terry countered, thumbing the phone off and putting it down. She moved her hand from phone to mouse, clicking refresh on her email until Luis' information arrived in her inbox. She printed it off, filed the message, then took the information to the rest of the team.
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