The Queue – Chapter 2

Summary: It's stage 2 and time to put the plan into action. What could possibly go wrong?

Thank you all so much for reviewing chapter one. I hope you enjoy this latest part.

The morning was turning in to a bright day with clear blue skies and a sunny disposition, despite the month. Peter undid the buttons on his tan-overcoat and tugged at the collar of the hooded sweater beneath it. The young man looked around him at the bustling traffic and hoards of people crowding on sidewalks and at crossings. He pulled out the folder from his backpack and scanned the contents. In total, five friends had been willingly roped in to helping at short notice and those few who were to start things off, were due to meet him any moment. The others had been briefed about when to show up and all six young men were keeping in frequent touch via their phones.

The spot Peter had chosen held many opportunities for innocent supposition and conjecture. It was a short distance from the centre of town, just outside a park. Inside the park were several ticket booths for the various outdoor shows and displays often performed in the large, open space. They weren't usually manned on Wednesdays, except on special occasions but there was always room for doubt in a suspicious person's mind. There were several people milling about the park already, though it was barely ten in the morning. They were mainly elderly couples, some dog-walkers and a few young couples, probably students who were either slacking off or on a free period.

It would have to begin subtly and he knew that patience would be paramount if the operation was to succeed. In truth, Peter expected perhaps, after an hour or so, that maybe five or six curious folk would stand, at least for a short while in the queue that he and two of his friends, Brad and Sam, would begin. Secretly, though he hoped for as many as twenty – maybe more.

At precisely 10.08 he moved in to position and the experiment began. As he waited outside the empty ticket booth Peter schooled his features into the sort of disinterested yet purposeful glaze one gets over their face when they are waiting for something. He could see he was getting a couple of curious stares from passers-by but no one had taken the bait yet: they swam close but scuttled away before the net could fall. Five minutes later, on cue, both Sam and Brad sauntered up, chatting happily with each other and joined on behind. And they waited. And waited.

10.17 – success! Or at least the first signs of it. If Peter hadn't been trying to act the part, he would have punched the air in victory. It was a young woman in her twenties. She wandered over to the line and then over to the billboards of the booth. She hovered, uncertainly for a moment and then, just like that, stepped on to the end. From that point on, it seemed to just take off. Next came an elderly couple, curious as to what the fuss was about. They didn't have anywhere else to be that morning so, Peter presumed, it was worth finding out if something was indeed, about to happen.

No one had, he noted, spoken to anyone else yet. Not one person attempted to use communication to clarify the situation: they looked, assessed and formed their own conclusions. Glancing back at the queue, Peter was thrilled by the result. He already had his five or six. He would he decided, hang on for twenty. It was unlikely but he was prepared to wait as long as he had to.

Occasionally, the planted members would sweeten the pot a little: place a call to someone, clearly beginning one-sided conversations along the lines of Peter's first 'phone call':

"No I'm in the queue. No, not yet – I'll let you know."

Not only did these phone calls generally liven up the atmosphere and generate more speculation, it also prompted others to call their friends.

"Yes," one gentleman was heard to say into his phone, "I'm in this line outside the park. No, I'm not exactly sure what it's for but there's a load of people in it."

Further along the line, a rather well-to-do looking lady with a tiny dog tucked into a large purse under her arm, spoke into her own phone: "Well, I'm not sure darling but there must be something going on – perhaps it's a celebrity. They do things like this you know, I've heard about them – they spread the word on the Internet and then these people all meet up at once."

But the beauty of it was that the further back people got from the front, the easier it was to maintain.

"Is this the queue for ice-creams?" a group of girls asked the young men in front.

"I don't know," one of then would answer. "I think it's for the toilets. I hope it is!"

Occasionally, Peter would mark his spot with his long coat and wander off round to the other side of the booth. He would then meander back whereupon, perfectly in character, Brad and Sam would strike up an objection.

"Hey! I was first here!" Peter would retort, enjoying every second of it.

10.45 and the final players – Simon, Tom and Garry – would, individually start to move in to position. When they phoned Peter to let him know their progress, he was silently staggered to learn the truth. Well, he had made it to twenty. From their estimates, there were over a hundred people and the queue was now snaking into the town.

This of course, attracted an entirely different cliental. Businessmen and women on coffee breaks looked in fascination at the endless line of people working their way past their offices. A few joined, thinking it was leading to the bagel shop or the coffee house up the street.

From inside his headquarters, Nathan peered out of his office door. The debate was due to begin in half an hour and he was still waiting for his assistant to come back with his cream-cheese bagel – light cream-cheese: a man in his position couldn't afford to be piling on the pounds on national TV. Eventually, the man burst in and, with the timid reverence of a sacrificial offering, placed the food on his boss' desk. "Thanks," Nathan muttered, not sure yet whether he was amused or disturbed by the thin sheen of perspiration covering the flustered man's brow. He folded his arms. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry about that," his assistant puffed. "There's some massive line outside in the street. I got caught up in it till I realised it wasn't for the shop." Nathan peered out of the window and indeed a line of people wove right down the sidewalk, heading in the direction of the park.

"Hmm," he remarked. "Must be something happening in the park today. Now, I need you to give these notes to Marcus – he'll know what to do with them." He handed the file over and then perched on the edge of his desk to take a bite out of his bagel being especially careful not to make a mess. Cheese-splattered shirt and tie was not the impression he wanted to make today.

"Alright ladies and gentleman, we're off-air." As soon as the assistant had called the short break a ripple of movement started, first behind the cameras as cups of water and coffee were brought to the speakers and soon afterwards in the audience as people shuffled to get comfortable and members of the press made phone calls to their offices.

Nathan stood from his chair. He'd been sitting for far too long and his legs were in dire need of stretching. The politician smiled to himself. So far, the debate had been going well. Though his opponents were equally well prepared he hadn't been tripped up or been left tongue-tied and speechless. In fact, he had carried himself very well. They had been on air, with breaks for commercials for over an hour now. A longer break was now scheduled for the regular update news bulletins.

After conferring on tactics and feedback reports with his team and exchanging the obligatory pleasantries with his fellow debaters, Nathan began to absently wander the press conference room. He found himself by some television monitors, currently showing the local news stations. "Mr. Petrelli," one of the camera assistants, a tall redheaded man, perhaps a few years older than his brother, greeted him, "you're all looking really good on screen." Nathan nodded, politely.

"Thank you," he said, always aware of the need to keep the little guy valued and happy. "Though I'm sure it's got more to do with your good camera angles and lighting than how much time I've spent at the gym, lately." The assistant laughed. Little jokes went a long way, Nathan reminded himself.

There seemed to be a commotion stirring amongst some audience members. A few men and women were talking sharply on their cell phones and a couple rose to hastily make a dash for the exit, stumbling over chairs as they did so. Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Was it something we said up there?" he wondered aloud, only half joking. His companion smiled and shook his head.

"No, sir. They're from the local papers. I imagine they've just dashed out to cover the local line story – it is right round the corner, after all." A look of recognition crossed Nathan's face.

"Oh right. Yes, I remember seeing that a while ago. Is it still going?"

The man nodded, enthusiastically. "You bet it is – stretches right round the block. There's quite the party atmosphere going on out there. It's like a carnival. It even made the local news."

And here he drew Nathan's attention to the news program on one of the monitors and turned up the volume. Nathan could see what he meant. There was an electric buzz surrounding the crowds. People had, naturally, taken advantage of the situation to make a quick buck – hotdog sellers were going down the line of people and ice cream trucks were trundling up and down, jingles blaring out from their speakers whilst doing the rounds. As the camera panned around, the news reporter pointed out the jugglers and entertainers as well as those who had simply turned on a stereo and displayed impressive dance moves.

"Yes, Trudy," the reporter, a man in his early thirties, announced, scenes of madness going on behind him, "it seems that all and sundry have taken to the streets. But no body seems to know why!" Various people interviewed were only too happy to give their differing accounts of why they were there. The only account Nathan actually believed was the last one - a stoned, long-haired, scruffy-looking teenager in a ripped jacket and low-hanging jeans:

"Who cares why it's here, man? It's gotta be here for a reason and right now, this is the place to be!" An enthusiastic, equally stoned cheer went up around him.

The reporter gave a knowing smirk to the camera. "So there you have it, Trudy. It's the new phenomenon!" Nathan's ears immediately pricked up. The new what? In the pit of his stomach, something didn't feel right.

"Funnily, enough, Trudy even those at the front of line don't seem to be any wiser." The camera shot now changed to show footage of the park. "The young men who were rumoured to have been first here seem to have vanished."

Inside the conference room, the bell rang. "OK, ladies and gentleman we'll be back on air in five minutes. If people could please return to their seats? Thank you."

Something in the politician's gut made him cling to the screen a moment longer. Just long enough to see what he thought looked like a very familiar overcoat and a very familiar figure cut across the background of the scene. For some reason, this person seemed very camera shy. It was only for a moment and he couldn't be certain. Nathan blinked, looked away for a moment then looked back to the monitor. If he had been there before, he was gone now.

"Nathan?" Turning, the elder Petrelli saw both of his rivals, Cynthia Strong and Walter Mannings, water cups in hand, glancing casually over his shoulder. Cynthia, a female councillor and his strongest opponent, placed a benign, somewhat condescending hand on his arm. "We really should be getting back to the desk, dear – they're asking for us." Then she seemed to take in what the closing report was addressing. She tutted, disapprovingly. "Such a dreadful nuisance," she remarked.

"Public hazard," her male companion agreed. Inwardly, Nathan winced then realised he should probably comment, too.

"Quite," he agreed, somewhat less enthusiastically.

"Most likely kids," she spat disdainfully and with an air of irrefutable knowledge. "I suppose they think it's funny." Walter nodded, sagely. Nathan smiled, weakly.

"I blame the parents, myself." Walter added.

"Well darling, I mean they have to take responsibility for their own. Honestly, do they have any idea the trouble their brood are causing on the streets of New York?" Cynthia added, waving an encompassing hand at the window and the street beyond it. "But people are just so afraid of saying 'No', these days."

"OK, I think we should be getting back to our positions," Nathan interrupted quickly ushering them all back to the desk but not before casting one last look towards the window.

As the warning bells sounded again and the cameras prepared to roll, Nathan's mind was divided. Even as his brain plotted and calculated the arguments and intricacies of political manoeuvrings and debates, there was a tiny fraction of his mind that was intent on plotting of an entirely different nature: namely the conversation he was going to have with a certain younger brother when he got home. Oh, he thought, and that was going to be a moment to be savoured.

Okay. More on its way soon but I would really like to know what you think! Suggestions for torturing Peter are always welcomed! Thank you!!!!