Chapter Three: Lie to the Press and Evade the Public

Jack Broder was having a bad day, lots of headaches. The weathered, gray-haired man surveyed his biggest headache. A group of glorified SWAT cops who were far more interested in catering to special interest groups than actually giving the scumbag about to be handed over to them what he deserved. "I just don't see the big deal," he told their leader, more than a little smug at the little…snafu they had to deal with.

In a serious, no-nonsense voice, Parker said, "Mr. Broder, from the time we get Mr. Wilkins into custody to the time we get him to that hospital, he's as exposed as he'll ever be."

"It's five minutes, tops."

The other cop in charge, Lake, Lane, or something like that, stepped in. "Five minutes is a long time to be walking through that crowd of people we have no legal ground to restrain, who want to kill this guy."

"And that's bad why again?" Broder demanded, as sarcastic as he could be.

Lane gave him a flat look and stepped away to give Parker more room. Parker shifted to face Broder head-on, still matter-of-fact. "Look, Mr. Broder, all kidding aside, my main concern is for my team and the job they have to do."

Broder was skeptical of that claim, even as he tilted his head down in acknowledgement of Parker's stated position. From the office door, arriving in a brisk whirlwind, a blonde woman held her open badge in one hand as she said, "Agent Delia Semple, Federal Customs Department Airport Attachment. Who's Sergeant Parker?" Her hair fell to her shoulders, her suit was a crisp navy blue, and she was a graceful picture of professionalism. She was a woman Broder very much admired and enjoyed working with.

Parker turned away from Broder as she entered and spoke, then extended a hand as he replied, "Right here. How are you?"

Semple did not take the offered hand, instead folding and tucking her badge away as she announced, "Sergeant Parker, I understand you have a problem, which means I have a problem."

"No argument there," Parker replied with a smile Broder could just see from his position.

With a brief return smile, Semple remarked, "Good start. Solutions?"

"We were just discussing those with Mr. Broder here," Parker rejoined, turning to include Broder in the discussion.

With a minor shrug, Broder informed them, "No matter where I move the crowd to, you still gotta go past 'em."

"He's not wrong," Semple observed, "Once you're through Customs, there's only one way to go."

Determined, Lane declared, "But not through that crowd. We take the prisoner directly from the airplane; we have a truck on the tarmac."

To Broder's surprise, Semple snapped, "Out of the question." He didn't say anything, but he was puzzled. Why was such a course out of the question? It did sound safer…for the cops, if not that scumbag.

Parker didn't seem to realize Semple's refusal was unusual, instead he was placating her. "Look, we understand; tarmac's international grounds, Federal jurisdiction. You need to hand him off on our turf; we get it."

One of the other cops, a military looking man, spoke up, "Boss, why don't we take him through Customs and then double back to a loading area and have a truck waiting there?"

Lane seemed to like the idea. "Our turf, take custody there, but we gotta keep that crowd preoccupied or they'll follow the truck."

Parker backed up the plan with, "I can give 'em a little press conference, a little distraction while you guys are getting Elvis out of the building."

Without a trace of alarm, Semple remarked, "So you want to take the prisoner along a non-vetted route, through an international area, where he's back under my jurisdiction, lie to the press, and evade the public?"

Broder was incredulous as Lane and Parker traded looks, nodding agreement.

"Pretty much," Parker admitted.

"Pretty much," Lane agreed.

"Let's make it work," Semple decided, again to Broder's shock. Wouldn't the truck on the tarmac have been a much better option? Semple dialed rapidly on her phone, putting it up to her ear. "This is Agent Semple. Superintendant MacLean, please. Then get him out of the meeting, how about? Thank you." In a brisk voice as she left, Semple continued, "Superintendant, slight change of plan. Absolutely necessary, I'm afraid."

Greg looked up at the arrival board, beyond grateful that he wasn't the one flying. Flying on a gryphon hadn't cured his fear of flying; if anything, he was more afraid of flying now and he was hoping no one noticed he was getting a little gray just being this close to an airplane.

To his right, Agent Semple observed, "Not a bad vacation for the guys who get to fly over, at least."

Greg couldn't quite hide his shudder at the idea. "Well," he replied, as nonchalant as he could manage, "If you like jumping over the ocean in a metal coffin, sure."

Agent Semple turned, looking and sounding amused, while Greg flicked his gaze in Ed's direction, noticing that his old friend was giving him a concerned look. "So there's something that you guys are actually afraid of."

Deciding to go with diversionary tactics, Greg told her, "Well, you know what? We all have our weak spots. Could be anything- flying, cats." As he said 'cats,' he cast a pointed look in Ed's direction.

"It was one cat; it was mean," Ed protested on cue.

Over his shoulder, Spike agreed solemnly, "I was there; it was mean."

With a tiny laugh, Agent Semple remarked, "Well, I'm with you. Try flying into Khartoum International. Everything feels like a cakewalk after that."

Greg hiked a brow in Agent Semple's direction. "Khartoum, hmm. Youthful backpacking?"

This time, Agent Semple laughed openly. "It was a year ago." As she spoke, her phone rang. While she reached for it, she continued, "Went through a rough time, needed to get away. Helped train local police there. It was a good experience." With that she took the call with a brisk, "Semple." After several seconds, she said, "Copy," and closed the phone. "They're coming off," she reported.

Parker shifted, turning to his team and calling, "All right, subject's approaching. Everybody up." His team shifted into ready positions, picking up their shields and moving to face the disembarkment tunnel.

Agent Semple and her people moved to the front, Agent Semple getting her badge out once again. From the tunnel came a man in a gray outfit, top and bottom, wearing a tan jacket and in handcuffs. Much like his photograph, he was shaggy, his black hair and beard long, full, and unkempt. He was whistling to himself as he was pushed along, not looking up at anyone. Even as his keepers stopped him in front of Agent Semple, he continued to whistle and never looked up at her.

"Peter Wilkins?" Agent Semple asked. When the man did not respond, she merely continued. "Peter Wilkins, I hereby take custody of you and will transport you through Customs, after which time you will be placed in the custody of the Strategic Response Unit and transferred to Ossington Mental Hospital."

The serial killer moved his head around, continuing to whistle to himself, offering no real response to the agent in front of him. With a barely hidden distaste, Agent Semple said, "Let's get this over with." Her staff took Wilkins from his airplane keepers and started down the airport corridor, with Team One in formation around and behind them.

Brian Wilkins frowned as a Muggleborn from another division poked her head into his office. "Yes?" he inquired. Sally was a perhaps not a friend, but she usually had very good information.

"You might want to get down to the airport, Wilkins," she said, her voice worried.

"That's Muggle territory," Brian pointed out.

"Your Muggles are there," Sally replied.

Brian sighed. "I'm aware; they do have jobs in the Muggle world, you know."

"Someone tipped off the victims' group – the ones killed by that Muggle Leslie Spit killer. They're at the airport right now, mucking up your Muggles' escort job."

Brian's eyes went wide with surprise and he rose, checking his wand and the phone Parker had given him only the day before. "They're in trouble?" he asked.

"Not sure," Sally admitted, "But they might be. My family's outraged; they say that monster might get off since he's crazy. Your Muggles will be right in the way if anyone tries to gut that…that animal."

Brian nodded, already ushering her out and locking up his office. "Now, now, Sally," he chided. "Don't insult the animals, they didn't do anything to deserve it."

Sally giggled, getting out of Brian's way. Brian hurried away, confused all over again. Why protect a monster?

Walter strode away from the co-worker he'd half choked, fury coursing within him. He wasn't going to be stopped, not this close to his goal. If Danny had just done as he'd asked, the choking wouldn't have been necessary. At least his glare had shut down Danny's taunts as he left. He mentally checked his gun again. This is for you, Julie…