As they were an intelligence agency with worldwide interests, it wasn't entirely uncommon for agents to be ambushed by known or unknown forces - this time, they were just lucky that the agent in question had been on his way in, and therefore not stranded somewhere in the middle of Siberia without a phone. The call was duly answered, the Quinjet dispatched, and in very short order, the attacker got tucked in a nice secure cell and one of the on-call doctors stepped up to inspect Connor's various bruises and set the breaks.
It also meant that Maria actually got a briefing on the matter very shortly after the Quinjet landed back on the Helicarrier: verbal, but as she doubted she'd ever actually get a nice stack of papers for an official report, she'd take what she could get. It did mean she stared at the pilot as he got to the part about the monkey mask, wondering aloud if she'd had enough coffee for this yet. Assured she was indeed hearing things correctly, she still grabbed another cup before going down and taking a look at their prisoner. Questions got her a sullen stare.
Fortunately, there was more than one person to question on the matter, and the doctor should even be done by now. Maria headed up to the infirmary to intercept Connor Hawke before he could do what all agents did and disappear upon hearing she needed to speak to them.
He didn't look bad, really; she'd seen and had worse done to her. Until she glanced at his hand, and remembered that he was an archer. She covered the wince with a sip of coffee: broken fingers for an archer were probably equivalent to a sucking chest wound for the rest of humanity. "What's the prognosis on this?" she asked with a nod to his hand. "And who, exactly, is now sitting in a cell well below-decks, and why's he wearing a monkey mask?"