[MOREAU]
"You didn't have the authority— and you knew he didn't have the authority! You're the one who gave me lead on this case, sir."
"Winston, I know you're frustrated because of what happened, but this is hardly an appropriate rea—"
"I haven't even begun to get inappropriate, Tyler, and I doubt you actually want me—"
"Boys!" Genevieve Moreau's French accent seemed sharper in the exclamation. All three men looked to her with varying degrees of surprise and confusion. She was seated in front of Director Irvine's desk. Assistant Director Tyler and Special Agent Winston were both standing only a couple of feet away from her, both having refused to sit, though both faced the director.
Moreau waited until she was certain that she had the complete attention of each of the men before she spoke. "Director," she began, focused on Irvine, "I believe that Winston's outrage is justified. Assistant Director Tyler may have had a level of awareness because of the situation as it occurred in the field and with the mafia, but he had not been briefed on the entirety of Operation Obdurate." She recrossed her legs and smoothed out her skirt. "It was unfortunate he did not know more of Destin's history." Her next pause was pensive and accompanied by a slight head tilt. "Perhaps then we would not be back to chasing her."
An entire night had passed since Max Destin's escape. Winston had refused to sleep and instead spent much of it searching the city and the surrounding area for Destin, in addition to riding other agents and police officers in other cities about finding her. Moreau had been just as put off by the director's refusal to meet with them until now as Winston had been, but hers was a silent frustration. The way Americans worked in the face of what was, truth be told, a crisis of sorts, baffled her.
Unlike Winston, she had actually slept that night. Which meant at least one of them was refreshed and capable of behaving professionally.
That one of them was not Winston, though at this point Moreau had a hard time faulting him for his annoyance. Having now seen Max Destin in action — albeit through one-way glass — she felt she understood a little better. Destin was, in a manner, Winston's white whale.
The fascinating thing was that, to Moreau, it appeared Destin wanted Winston to keep chasing her. That, she could not understand.
Not yet, at least.
Director Irvine shifted in visible discomfort at Moreau's final statement. He glanced over to where the other two men stood. Nothing else about his exterior betrayed his unease, but Moreau noticed it all the same. "Tyler approached me with a sense of urgency, and given the circumstances under which Destin was found, I thought his advice was warranted." It was his turn to pause, and when he did, he risked a glance at Moreau. "I can now see that I might have been mistaken."
Moreau smiled graciously and pretended not to see Winston shooting Tyler a haughty glare.
"I recognize," Irvine continued before anyone else could speak, "that I gave you lead on Obdurate, Winston. And as such, I am sending you to find Destin." He cleared his throat. "Again. Her involvement in the issue with ... what was his name, Ironblade?"
"Ironclad, sir." While his words were respectful, Tyler grumbled them.
"Sure, Ironclad, whatever," Irvine shrugged. "Her involvement with Ironclad and Doctor van Roma means that we now have an even greater interest in her case. She's interacted with us before, but I can't seem to recall a time where she blatantly intervened to the point of saving the life of one of ours."
Moreau could see in her periphery when Winston shifted his weight and stance slightly.
"Now, I did have Doctor van Roma debriefed," Irvine turned his seat more toward the men, "and she has made it very clear that she has no knowledge about her rescuer. She doesn't know Destin, and she doesn't know whoever may have helped Destin before we got to the scene. She says she can't remember if anyone helped Destin take out Ironclad, which is no doubt due to shock from the entire experience."
"There are eyewitnesses that describe a few people fleeing the scene," Winston offered. "The only man that they could agree on for a description fits the profile of Zima."
Irvine grimaced. "And we all know where that leaves us."
Nowhere, Moreau knew was the unspoken answer. Because the Americans refused to risk their peace with Russia over an individual — no matter how interactive that individual seemed to be.
"I have no reason to disbelieve van Roma," Irvine continued. "Unfortunately, that leaves us in the dark as to Destin's intentions. With the exception of the information which she imparted to you, Winston."
There was a knock on the door then, followed by its immediate opening. Blackwood took a single step into the office and focused on Director Irvine. "Sir, I'm sorry, I'm— uh, I'm afraid that there's a ... a message for Agent Winston."
Winston and Moreau exchanged a look. Moreau's brows arched. Winston's eyes glazed over as he seemed to try to keep his now habitual frustration from surfacing.
"A message?" Irvine repeated before he frowned at Blackwood.
"Um, yes? Sort of." Blackwood hurried into the office and extended a photograph to Winston.
Moreau rose to her feet in order to join Winston in receiving the "message," and inserted herself gracefully between he and Tyler. She was purposeful in how she angled her head; in the process she prevented Tyler from getting a good look at the picture.
It was a remarkably clear shot of a lithe young woman with short, nearly black hair, and a devious smirk on her lips. She was casually facing a street camera head on, leaving no doubt as to her identity. If there had been any doubt of that, even with how clear the picture was, the paper with writing on it left no room for questions. She held the paper low, in front of her chest, guaranteeing her face and the message could both be seen.
It read, CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, WINSTON.
Behind her was a car, and though the windows were tinted, there was an arm reaching out toward her, clearly gesturing for her to get inside. Moreau was pleasantly surprised to find that the license plate of the car was visible in the shot, though she found herself simultaneously suspicious.
"Blackwood," Winston said without looking up, "run license plate number hotel-lima-charlie-eight-four-nine-seven through the system. Find out who owns the car, and where it is. Now."
"Yes, sir," Blackwood nodded before he turned and hurried out of the room.
Moreau looked up at Winston and searched his face. His expression was unreadable. She frowned, but he spoke before she could. "She wants us to follow her," he said lowly, so that only she could hear.
"Oui," Moreau agreed. "It would seem so."
"Sir," Winston said as he looked up at Irvine, "I need to follow this lead."
"Of course," Irvine nodded and waved a hand to dismiss them. "Do what you have to do, Agent."
Winston turned and left the room without another word, leaving Moreau to follow after him. He still held the picture in his hand. Once they were in the hall he thrust it into Moreau's hands and said, "We're going to France."
"We ... I am sorry, we are what? What about the license plate?"
"We're going to France," Winston repeated with a nod of affirmation. Moreau had a feeling it was more for himself than for her. "I don't need to know anything about the car. I said that for the sake of Tyler. I'll fill the director in once we're on our way. Read the sign she's holding."
"Catch me if you can," Moreau read aloud. She still didn't understand. "She is taunting you, is she not?"
"Partially," Winston agreed. "But not entirely." He glanced over at her. "It's a movie reference. Catch Me If You Can — it had Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks in it. Pretty okay movie, all things considered. DiCaprio's the criminal, and at some point he flees to Europe. Hanks catches him in France."
Moreau was still baffled. "Why would she want you to follow her? Does she wish to be arrested?"
"I'm sure she thinks she'll be able to walk away scot-free. She's too overconfident to think this could be her downfall," Winston said. "But after the conversation we had about de Loughrey ... I don't think she told me everything she wanted to."
"But why would she want to help you?"
Winston shrugged. "I don't know. But we're going to find out." Winston looked over at Moreau. "And we're finally going to arrest Max Destin."
