Breached. *editing*

II. Sedona Pope

 The counter-terrorism department sat tense. The Director of the FBI had been called in for a meeting with the National Security Council earlier this morning and now Hamilton Baldwin, chief of the FBI's CTD was in a crisis meeting with the director. CNN played at low volume on the screen above our heads, but even as we all typed away at our computers I knew everyone was thinking about it. I sorted through and cataloged some of the files wired over by the MI6 on my laptop, but my mind was stuck on the NSC meeting: anything big enough of a deal for the National Security Council to meet about it meant a severe, high-profile terror threat was looming.

"I think I found the briefing," came a soft voice from one of my office mates behind me.

I heard the volume of the television behind me increase behind me, and I swiveled around in my chair to look up at it.

"Breaking news from the American embassy in Paris." The blonde anchor looked somber as spoke into the camera. "Forty-three year old US ambassador to France, Mr. Lewis Davenport, passed away today whilst leaving the embassy to attend a meeting for a charity raising money to improve affordable housing conditions in France."

Next to the anchor appeared a photo of the late ambassador, a barely middle-aged man with slightly grayed brown hair and a bright smile. "Reports say the ambassador dropped dead just before getting into his car. Emergency medical technicians arrived on the scene only moments later, but to no avail. The cause of death remains undetermined," she continued. "We'll continue to update as we receive more information, and our hearts go out to the Davenport family in this difficult time."

It was as the newscaster shifted to another story that Hamilton Baldwin burst into the room. His eyes flicked up to meet the television screen as someone quickly muted it, and he sighed as he stood in front of his ten main field agents, each of us held at rapt attention.

He looked grim as he admitted slowly, "I can't tell you much more than the news knows." There was a collective furrowing of brows and frowns because usually the FBI did; we usually knew a lot more. "We didn't have any intelligence to suggest this attack, and we don't know who perpetrated it. Lewis Davenport, as you know, was the American Ambassador to France. Died this morning, with no personal or family history of fatal health conditions. Still very young. While it is possible that he died of illness or natural causes, the FBI will be investigating it, by order of the NSC, as a case of foul play with a high potential of terror-related motivations."

"Is Paris investigating it themselves?" An agent from the far side of the room, Beck, asked.

Baldwin shook his head. "Unfortunately we don't have enough information to indefinitely rule out our agents stationed at the embassy. They're staying at the embassy though, to ensure that everything is going smoothly at this time of chaos."

Beck nodded in affirmation of Baldwin's answer.

"You will find your official briefings in your inboxes, but it essentially encompasses files of the ambassador and some of the staff of the embassy. We don't have much else to go on until we look into the case ourselves," Baldwin said. "Pope and Mulder, if I could see you in my office."

Mulder, the genius technician jokingly nicknamed after the FBI agent from X-Files, rose up from his desk across the room, lifting up his laptop and taking it with him. I got up in a similar fashion, following Mulder into Baldwin's office that branched off from the main hub.

"I'm sure you gathered you're headed to France," Baldwin said as soon as the door had closed behind us.

I nodded.

"Flight leaves at eleven," Baldwin said. "Dulles Airport."

"Yes, sir," Mulder replied.

"I expect you to get me a cause of death, and, if not natural, find the organization that is behind this." Baldwin stared at both of us for a moment with his steely gray eyes. "Make this an isolated incident."