The day after visiting the police chief, Carter received a 'Top Priority' mail in her inbox, 'Confidential -- Your Eyes Only'. She ripped the top seal and read the curt contents.
It was orders from Starfleet. 'Cease and desist from any further investigation into the disappearance of Lieutenant Samantha Beckett.' Period. No explanation.
Intolerable! And unconscionable. Someone high up must have gotten wind of their investigations. Damn Commissioner Gordon -- he'd ratted them out!
No, that wasn't fair. Gordon was just doing his job.
She showed the email to the rest of her team, against orders.
"How can they do this to us?" exclaimed Alex, the youngest Banshee member. "We're all on the same side, aren't we?" She was still naïve about such things.
Jo remained silent. She was close friends with Sam, but had nothing constructive to add. Her specialty was science, but so far there was nothing concrete for her to analyze and quantify.
Max was silent too, although she understood the situation better. She scowled darkly. Something had happened that Starfleet was aware of, but that it was not ready to admit knowledge of. And their friend and wingmate was suffering because of it.
"The question is," said Carter, "what are we going to do about it?"
The four remaining Banshees stared at her, not knowing what to say. They were unanimous in their desire to do something, but what?
"We can't just leave Sam out there," said Alex. "Even if..." She left the morbid thought unspoken. Instead, she opted for the more positive. "There's got to be some clue as to where she is."
"I don't think we can rely on Starfleet Intel or the police," said Max. "They have their own agendas, and if they notice us snooping around now they'll probably hang us all from the yardarm for treason or something. We're on our own."
Carter silently agreed with that assessment. But they were a combat fighter squadron -- they had no experience in undercover work, except for Sam, who was missing. Who in the world could they turn to?
They needed time to think.
The El Taco Restaurant had always provided comfort and solace when the Banshees needed it. It did so now. The four remaining wing members sat hunched around their usual table, half-buried in a pile of Mucho-Macho-Hasperat-Burrito wrappers and empty schplict cartons. They were trying to come up with a plan to find Sam, but were still waiting for that brilliant brainstorm to reveal itself.
Jo dropped the half-eaten remains of her breakfast burrito onto the table top, full, and looking a little green around the gills.
The ruggedly handsome El Taco manager guy walked up to the table with a plastic, orange tray in his hands and greeted the Banshees as usual.
Carter had been semi-dreading for this moment. Sam and the ruggedly handsome manager, who went by the name Rick, were something of an item. Whenever within eye-shot of one another they flirted relentlessly, unusual in the light of Sam's neurotically withdrawn personality, but for some reason she made an exception in his case. Now she'd have to break the news to him that the object of his desire had fallen off the face of the universe.
Rick surprised her however, by sitting down next to her at the table. "I understand that Lieutenant Beckett has been kidnapped," he said without preamble. He began gathering up discarded burrito wrappers, placing them in a neat pile on his orange tray, as if he had merely just commented on the weather instead of revealing he knew information about a subject that was supposedly classified.
"Kidnapped?" asked Max, ever suspicious. "Who said anything about a kidnapping? All we know is that she's missing. --And how do you know about it anyway?" she finished. Her dark eyes had acquired a hard, dangerous glint; it was clear what would be the fate of anyone who toyed with her at this point.
Rick was unconcerned by Max's threat however -- which, in Carter's opinion, was a sure way of getting himself killed -- in answer he just shrugged noncommittally and continued cleaning up the wrapper mess. "You'd be surprised what you hear customers talk about in a place like this," he commented offhand.
"What have you heard?" asked Carter, suddenly very interested in what this man had to say. She remembered back to years ago, before the War -- to the first time she'd come in this restaurant and met the manager. Even then, something in the back of her mind told her that there was more to him than met the eye. Now she was more sure of that than ever.
"Very little, to be honest," he admitted with a frown. "Which in itself is pretty significant." He didn't care to explain that statement any further, which only served to heighten the mystery surrounding him. "Still, I might be able to help..." He looked at Carter, trying to determine if he should continue.
Alex interrupted though. "How can you help us?" she exclaimed loudly. "No offense, mister, but you're just a fast-food manager!"
Rick glanced briefly at her, but quickly turned his gaze back to Carter. Pulling a rag out of his back pocket, he returned to his perfunctory cleaning, but never broke eye contact with the Banshee leader. A self-deprecating smile appeared on his lips and he answered Alex's question. "I know certain people."
"What? Who?" demanded Jo.
Instead of replying though, Rick stood up and stuffed the rag back in his back pocket. He gathered the orange, crumpled-wrapper-laden tray. "There, all clean now. Enjoy the rest of your day, ladies," he said brightly, all traces of cloak-and-dagger evaporated. He stuffed the trash, tray and all, in the recycler slot near the door and headed back into the kitchen, leaving the four women wondering what that had been all about.
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