| Over a Cup of Coffee |
| Summary: | Kincaid makes a major breakthrough in the goings-on behind the trial of Admiral Michael Abbot. |
| Date: | 13 Apr 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | _trial logs. |
| Players: |
        |
| Security Hub - Deck 6 - Battlestar Cerberus |
|---|
| More than just an office for the Marines and their XO, this room has remote surveillance views of the Brigs as well as a state of the art communications center built into the far bulkhead. A locked and heavily armored door to the aft leads into another room, the white lettering on it reading 'ARMORY.' There are a few desks scattered around the room for getting necessary paperwork done and the Commandant's picture hangs on the wall next to one of the President. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #411 |
Security Hub, 13 April, 2100 hours. Although the recent unpleasantness from Areion may have passed, the Security Hub has been bustling with Marines coming in and out on guard duty, former sentries catching up on their backlogged paperwork, and the usual bustle that comes with an active Marine detachment. A pot of coffee is brewing on the common machine, and Danny Kincaid is seated at his desk with a stack of files on it.
"Dammit." He's speaking to no one in particular. The air, perhaps. "I've reviewed every damn Marine on the security detail. Interviewed the suspicious ones …" His voice trails off.
Even if it's only once a month that each person gets it, there's always some kind of NCO duty to be performed. Tonight, Decumius is it, the responsible for running the mundane of the hub. He sits at one of the chairs of the surveillance desk, his rifle held in the gun rack to his rear and his helmet on the table in front of him. He is busily jotting down some kinda notes. "Interview 'em again? People sometimes slip up, no?"
Sawyer has literally been hiding since she was released from the Areion. Having made sure her staff was allowed access to the News Room, she herself has begged out of work and been tucked away. She still looks a little rough around the edges, though at least she's gotten dressed today and combed her hair and come to the Security Hub at the behest of one Daniel Kincaid. "Lance Corporal." She says quietly when she approaches his desk.
Lunair is the quiet, clean Marine. She could give secret service agents a run for their money for how well she blends in with the wall paper - despite the freaky purple eyes. She looks sympathetic to those looking a bit roughed up, but soon finds a place in the office and pauses.
For the half-dozenth time in the last few days, Madilyn is seen about the SecHub. This time, however, it's not to review specific footage of Areion marines or confer with the MaA, but rather at the request of Kincaid. She doesn't seem interested in all the salutes from the others, and doesn't give them a chance to do so by waving her hands to keep them in their seats as she scoots in through the hatch.
Kincaid gets to his feet when Sawyer enters. "Hey, Averies. How are you doing?" Despite his ruminating agitation, he still musters a smile for the formerly-kidnapped reporter. "I just —" He looks exasperated, speaking now to Decumius, who has joined the conversation, Sawyer, and perhaps Madilyn who has just entered. "Somehow, someone found out that Vandenberg was leaning to vote not guilty. But none of the jurors raised red flags and all of the security teams checked out. They checked for bugs at the start of every day." He's starting to pace now.
As people begin to gather in the SecHub, the hatchway leading into the S2's office pops open, allowing Corrath to make his way out. Taking a moment to close the door behind him, he then shifts enough to angle off to one side, picking a spot against the wall to remain at and chosing to simply listen for the time being.
Decumius seems to watch the entrance of people, people who are somewhat high up on the tree, with curious interest. His eyes flit to the reporter, to the officers, and then to Kincaid. He looks over to Nataly, who's on duty with him, points at his eyes and then nods over to the commotion. Not that there isn't a job to do. Decumius tries to watch that at the same time, too. He shrugs at Kincaid. "Can't be avoided, sometimes."
Nataly follows Dec's gesture and nods, while keeping her eyes on everything else she is supposed to be watching. She hasn't been assigned any stairs to run yet, today. She means to keep that up, if she can.
As one of said jurors, Lunair hesitates in her step. She looks over as an office pops open. There's a polite nod at Corrath, but Lunair keeps her distant, polite expression. Might've been better suited to watching an old battleground or serving tea. Hard to say. She furrows her brows, and looks thoughtful. "Hm." She grunts softly.
Sawyer assumes the question to her well-being is rhetorical, because her physical appearance is answer enough. The shadows beneath her eyes are testament to that. "It could have been as simple as body language in the courtroom." She chimes in, settling in a lean on the edge of Kincaid's desk, offering the Major a polite nod when she enters. Looking uncomfortable about being here is akin to guilt and Sawyer seems to have none. "Or alternatively, they might have checked the juror room for bugs, but what about the Head they were allowed to use? Girls make small talk when they pee, that's why we go in packs."
Kincaid shakes his head. He grabs a coffee mug off of his desk and then begins to walk over towards the communal coffee pot. "Maybe," he's telling Sawyer, as if that's an idea. "But they swept the whole area in there. And I don't think any of them are lying about what they did." The frustration is clear in his voice. "Anyone want a cup of coffee?"
Returning Lunair's polite nod with one of his own, Corrath then shifts his attention to Sawyer and then over to Kincaid. There's the faintest cluck of his tongue, followed by, "What are the chances that it could have been deposited in an area after it had already been swept and was cleared?"
"The thing about operating secretly is that you don't want to raise red flags. Squeaky-clean jurors are the perfect targets for getting the information you want. Code messages sent out through anything from meal orders during deliberation, and yes, body language. If Triad players can pick up on tells, why couldn't a juror?" And there goes Madilyn's inspired little tidbit, her ideas as to sources of the potential leak.
Realizing that he is both out of his element and out of touch with anything related to these current events, Decumius declares silently to himself that discretion is the better part of valor and simply keeps his mouth shut. He may be a great scout, but his investigation skills leave a lot to be desired. The Corporal continues to listen, though, attentively.
Sawyer merely lifts a hand, declining the offer of coffee, caffeine the last thing it looks as if she needs. "I once heard about a trial that was thrown out because the judge found out that a juror would order mustard on his sandwich one day if the swing was toward guilty, or mayo on it the next if they were leaning towards innocent." Sawyer seems to concur with Madilyn, albeit distracted as she searches Kincaid's desk for his cigarettes.
Kincaid takes the coffee pot off of the burner and holds it over the side of the counter so that he can pour his cup. And then? And then the next sound in the Security Hub is the CLANG of the carafe hitting the floor, coffee spilling everywhere. At least it didn't break; it's one of the last coffee pots in the universe.
"That's it!" Kincaid shouts. He points at Corrath. "The coffee. The coffee. Corporal!" He's shouting at Decumius now. "Get Private Lopez down here right now. Wherever she is; find her, get her here. Now. Roust her out of bed if you have to." His eyes are wild; he's a man on the trail.
Lunair quirks a brow at the conversation. She hasn't admitted to or denied being a juror. She seems cautiously curious though, out of habit, she eyes the coffee pot. Is it nice and full. "I'm fine, but thank you for offering." She smiles faintly, more polite than anything else. She winces though, as the coffee pot clangs. "Um." She quirks a brow.
Nataly frowns, then scribbles on a note. It says, "I'm the recruit. Do I get the coffee?" She then pushes the note to Decimus.
Sawyer cringes visibly at the sudden increase of volume in the room, forcing her muscles to uncoil one by one and ease her shoulders down from where they've bunched at her ears. "What about the coffee, Danny?"
Eyes flit to the coffee pot as it's dropped, causing Corrath's right brow to lift upwards as his eyes follow a moment later, "Careful, Lance. Gunny will get mighty angry if you destroy our coffee pots." It is, after all, their second life blood. "I take it, by your reaction, that you've had some form of an epiphany?"
Decumius shakes his head at Nataly. "Nope. But you do get to come with me and look for Lopez, Recruit." He rouses himself from his seat, nodding at Kincaid. No whining, no words about this that or the other. After he's grabbed his helmet and rifle he's off to find said Private, leaving a bewildered, nose picking Lance Corporal Svenson to man the duty desk alone.
At the breakthrough of Kincaid's, Madilyn can only quirk a brow. "One cream or two, in this case?" Like the others she too is left to wonder what the coffee could possibly reveal about a juror's confidential and secret vote being revealed.
Nataly nods and follows Dec at his instructions. It's what she does.
"Lopez said that on the first day of the deliberations, when the first vote was taken, the panel went through a ton of coffee. Someone had to bring the coffee. There's no pot in the jury room." Kincaid is talking now, quickly. "They said they swept the room at the beginning of every day, but did they check the coffee and snacks coming in?" He looks at each person, as if they MUST realize how big this is.
Lunair pauses at that. She did drink a lot of coffee and … oh dear. She furrows her brows. She stays quiet for her part. "Interesting." She'll move to help clean up a bit. "You have a sharp mind," She smiles again, faintly.
Now fully having given up her pursuit of a cigarette to steal, Sawyer smiles softly in Kincaid's direction, "The coffee." As if to say, 'well done'.
"Logical conclusion, Lance Corporal. I would have -hoped- that anything being brought into the room would have checked, but I can see how food stuffs could be overlooked." Not that they should have been and as such, the folder is opened and a pen withdrawn, but only so that Corrath can make a couple of notations.
"Rather than the coffee, I'd imagine that someone hid a bug in a donut, or something similar. Let it sit all day - conveniently untouched - and then innocently thrown out at the end of the day? Nothing out of the ordinary there, I'll admit. Which means someone on the outside had to be putting some pretty damn special filling inside those things, everyday, and was likely going through the frakkin' trash to pull the damn bug out, if they didn't use a new one everyday," Madilyn muses, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning against a bulkhead.
A few minutes later and noticeably sweaty, Decumius enters the room with Lopez in tow. Not only is she sweaty, she's also looking like she just rolled out of bed into her tan coverall. Knowing the Corporal, he probably sprinted everywhere for Nataly's benefit. He returns to his desk, pointing towards Kincaid.
"Or it was stuck to the bottom of the carafe. Or the inside of the handle." Sawyer supplies various additional possibilities but falls silent as the marine that left returns with the person of interest in all of this. The expression on her face smooths back out to that subtle frown that leaves little comas at the side of her mouth, watching Lopez with uncertain eyes.
Nataly is remarkably cheerful, given the sprint Dec must have set. Not only did she keep up better than she would have before training, it wasn't HER who was yanked out of the rack when any sane person would have been sleeping. And that's not nothing.
"Uhm. Someone help me try to track down who was assigned to take things down to the jury room that day from Support. Uh. Lieutenant?" Kincaid seems to be talking to O'Hare. "And maybe you, Lieutenant Lunair? You should be able to recall who was bustling in and out. Make some calls?"
And then Lopez is here. "Private!" barks the Lance Corporal, confronting her right near the Security Hub door. "The coffee. The snacks that came in to the jury room on the first day of Abbot's trial. Did you check them?"
Lopez just blinks: "What?"
Lunair glances to the private now. She is a good audience, like she just might be more at home in an opera viewing. She looks between those assembled. Hmmm.
Sawyer fidgets when she's nervous, a bad habit that shines through when she's not on her guard or entirely on her game. Being exhausted is one of those times, and so as Kincaid leans on Lopez, Sawyer toys with a lock of hair that's curling towards her shoulder.
From here, things begin to pull together: Kincaid is able to pull out of Lopez, after some hemming and hawing on her part, that the Marines did not in fact check the trays of snacks and coffees going into the jury room on that fateful day of deliberations, when Vandenberg announced to her fellow jurors that she was leaning towards a 'not guilty' vote. And Corrath is able to dig up the name of the supply enlisted on food duty that day, easily: A Specialist Garvey Serrin. Serrin, of course, is hauled down to the Interrogation Room right away, another form of late-night raiding on Cerberus. If Serrin is over twenty or shaves, he sure doesn't look it. But when Kincaid emerges from the interrogation room after his first round of questioning, he's significantly less cheery than he was before.
"Damn guy won't talk to me. Says I'm just some cop, the same rank as he is." He takes Serrin's personnel file and holds it out to Corrath. "You want to take a team and give it a go, sir?"
<OOC> Kincaid says, "SPC Garvey Serrin: http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2533331456/nm0834960"
Decumius doesn't seem that interested by the proceedings, or perhaps he just hides it quite well. He fidgets with his notepad, flipping through pages, and then deigns it better to focus more on the security screens.
Sawyer migrated around to sit at Danny's desk during the interlude, attempting to fly under the radar as being a civilian in a Security Hub. Eventually, however, she had to opt for leaving a scrawled note on his desk and slipping out as things begin to get rather heated and progress towards shit officially hitting the fan.
Corrath had remained in the SecHub, more interested to hear what was found out from the individual and when Kincaid comes back out of the Interrogation Room, only to report that Serrin wouldn't give up anything, the S2 can't help but sigh. Shrugging off from the wall, there's a quick nod of his head, followed by a simple, "Ya, I'll take a go at it, Lance. If he doesn't feel like talking, I'll see about giving him some .. incentive." Then, he's off, making his way over towards the Interrogation Room.
If there's one thing Lunair's good at, it's … blending in. She smiles politely at Sawyer and waves. Perhaps she seems to understand. "Be well," She offers quietly. For now, she simply buzzes about, tending to her work and doing her best to look like she's totally not listening in.
Serrin — well. Serrin looks pretty smug. After all, he shut down that cop Kincaid pretty effectively. And what is Kincaid, anyhow? Just some traffic cop who's going to come in here and try to intimidate him? When the door to the interrogation room opens up again, Serrin smirks. "What? You back to rattle your saber some more, Lance? I told you, I don't know —"
But when he realizes it's not Kincaid, but someone well above him, his face falls into a perfect 'oh, shit' expression. "Uh. Sir!" He's on his feet. Right away.
If there's one thing that Corrath hates, it's having to go into an Interrogation Room, after one of this MP's has already been in there. As such, when he moves through the hatchway and into the room, he's taking a moment to close the door so that he can move towards the table, settling his folder on top of it. Serrin isn't even given a glance, at least, not immediately. It's not until the man's jumped to his feet and stood there that the S2 bothers to cast a look in his direction. "Specialist. I normally give people three strikes when questioning them, but you've burned two of them with your attitude towards Lance Corporal Kincaid." Now, the S2 moves around to the opposite side of the table so that he can settle his fists against the metal and then lean his weight into them. "I'm not going to frak around. You've got one chance to come clean and only one chance. I would .. suggest, that you not blow it."
Well, there are the suspects that are hard to crack. There are the liars, the stone-silent ones, the arrogant ones, the blusters. And then there are kids like Serrin: "Sir! I didn't mean for any trouble to come of it! I did it for the Fleet! He was a Cylon, sir!" The 'he' must be Abbot there, though it's not explicitly said.
"There was this guy. He was one of Commander Laughlin's yeomen! He showed ID and everything! And he just said that all I had to do was take this little thing. Little circle thing." He holds out his thumb and forefinger to show just how small he means. "And all I had to do was put it on the bottom of the tray with the donuts, and that I would be doing something good for the human race, for the Fleet, making everything safer for everyone. So, I, I …" His voice trails off.
Yep. And then there are the folks like Garvey Serrin who just fold like a house of cards.
As the House of Cards that is Serrin begin to fold and fall, Corrath simply gives a slight shake of his head once the young man has finished speaking. "What you should have done, Specialist, was your job and brought this to the attention of the MP's." Moving back around, he's claiming his folder, only to deposit it beneath his left arm. "Get comfortable, Specialist. I'll have someone come deal with you, shortly." With that said, the S2 is moving back to the hatchway, opening it up and then moving back out into the SecHub.
"That certainly was quick," Madilyn comments of the 'interrogation.' So quick, in fact, that she's hardly budged from her position there against the bulkhead, and still has her arms crossed over her chest. When Corrath exits, she stands up and straightens, curious to learn what song the canary sang.
Serrin manages to get out, before Corrath leaves: "I didn't get a name. But. But. He had bond hair, blue eyes. Really tall." And then he slumps into his chair; what will become of him?
Needless to say, Kincaid has been listening to the audio of the interrogation from the feed he has that leads into the Security Hub, an earbud in his ear. When Corrath returns, he could make some witty bon mot like, "Wish they were all that easy," but he doesn't. "Lunair. Run to Personnel and tell them I need a facebook of all Praetorian personnel, especially all of those assigned to the Ex-Oh department" where yeomen are posted. "We'll figure out who the frak he's talking about soon enough." He'll let Corrath explain what Serrin gave up.
Once he's into the SecHub proper, Corrath seems about to say something, only to stop as Serrin offers a final set of parting words which cause the S2 to draw a smirk to his lips. "Well, that cancels the need of sending someone going in to get a description." Shuffling over to one of the desks, the folder is once more removed from beneath his arm and settled on the desk before he's looking towards Madilyn, "Seems like the Specialist was approached by a Yeoman of Laughlin's and asked to put a bug on the bottom of the donut tray. Told to do so under the auspice of serving the human race and helping to make it safer." Pause. "I'm thinking the Lance should contact the Praetorian's MP department and ask to speak with this Yeoman, once we've put a name to a description."
Lunair is in the office, likely helping with Administrative tasks. She quirks a brow, if no one shoos her off. She's at least, bothered to clean and refill the coffee. "Apologies." She murmurs. She looks lost in thought.
"Laughlin, you say? Not a peep from the man this whole time, except when he's called on to do his job, and I'm hearing his name over and over again regarding involvement in both Areion and Kepner's antics. Now this." Madilyn's posture changes now, as she considers another fleet commander's role in all of this. "That's an eerily similar train of thought that Areion's officers seem to share. And I thought we were in it for the species, but they're taking it to another level…" she ponders, rubbing her chin with her palm.
Lunair was quietly waiting and tending to various tasks - cleaning, refilling coffee. She's remarkable at just /being/ there. Possibly a superspy? She pauses as she's called. She looks amused, in her distant, proper way. She nods. "Aye aye. I'd be glad to help." She turns then, and will start - though she stops to consider something. "It seems the deepest rivers run most silent and dark," There's a soft sigh. She returns after a long moment, with the aforementioned Personnel book. "This one should have what you need." She grunts and hefts it. She offers it over to Kincaid. "I don't know. There's helping and then there's slitting your own throat to keep someone from killing you," She points out quietly. Dark wisdom, that.
Madilyn's the one who spots the face in the book first. It's not all that hard to find, really, but she's just that much faster than the rest of them. It's a certain unassuming looking, but plainly handsome Petty Officer Second Class, Red Parry's counterpart on the Praetorian. And once the name is in hand, Kincaid flicks his eyes over at Madilyn, expectantly. "Want to make the call?" he asks.
"Do I want to? No, not especially. I have a sinking suspicion that the only thing this will accomplish is tipping them off that we know what's going on. On the other hand, if we simply detain him, we're no better than those Areion punks." Gee Madilyn, tell them how you really feel, huh? There's a deep breath, and a heavy sigh. "I sure as frak hate tipping them off without knowing how far their involvement runs, but, I'm not playing at being Benoit, either." Finally, she steps to one of the wireless boxes, lifts the receiver, and has CIC route the call to Praetorian.
Lunair doesn't stick her nose far into MP business. She merely offers, "I am on shift as you need this evening." She's handed the book off. "This whole mess gives me a bad feeling." She after all, was one of the watched parties. "That said, I wish you luck and wisdom." It's an odd wish, but what can she do? There's concern. "I only wish I'd noticed." Is all she states, cryptic.
It only takes a few moments of explanation before the Marine CO over there is promising to bring this guy in — whoever, or whatever he is. But even when the machinery of the Colonial Fleet is in full panic mode, it still takes some time to detain an enlisted, interrogate him, and check out his story, whatever it might be.
And so it's a tense hour before the line Madilyn is using in the Security Hub buzzes again with an incoming call from Praetorian. All eyes swivel to her.
"Well, folks. Our friends on Praetorian were all-so-willing to help us out," Madilyn explains after hanging up the receiver. One arm rests on top of the wireless box as she processes the information and relays it back to those in the SecHub. "If their marine CO is caught up in this intrigue, I've got no read on it. They scrambled to find our petty officer. He was there in the frigate's naval offices during the period in question. Multiple enlisted are willing and able to confirm his alibi."
Before the next thing she says, Madilyn spins around to face the room completely. "He was there during the time in question, coordinating schedules with Petty Officer First Class Deidre Parry, Colonel Pewter's Yeoman, who ostensibly can corroborate the alibi as well."
There is a deathly silence in the Security Hub at that. Even the clatter of keyboards stops. Everyone knows what that means: Either Laughlin's yeoman was in two places at the same time or there were two Laughlin yeomans, making them able to be in two places at the same time. The silence is broken only by Danny Kincaid's sharp order: "I need facebooks of every person in the Fleet. We need to find a look-alike."
Whatever this is, one thing's for certain: Something is pretty darn creepy.