Chpt. Seven: (Sine of Prey)
Nina Sharp looked like a woman in power. The way she dressed, the way she carried herself, and the way she spoke were all in the telling of how this was a woman that was not to be taken lightly. Whether this inspired fear or reverence was yet to be decided, but what ever the effect of her presence, she ran a tight, respected organization.
But she was a very solitary woman. The matters she dealt in demanded such a lifestyle, but, truthfully, she didn't know if it would have been what she would have chosen, had she known what she knew now.
Matters aside, she often stayed alone in her corner office, thinking of many things- perhaps regretting them- gazing out over the city. It was bright out, today, the distant cityscape a collage of blue shades in the mist of the bay.
Her desk phone gave a chime, and she looked up from watching the pigeons. Casually she turned from the expansive windows, striding over to have a quiet seat and press a button, "Who is it, Sheryl?" she asked her secretary.
"Philip Broyles, Miss Sharp."
Nina's eyebrows rose only a tiny, unnoticeable amount, a true, although subtle, sign of interest, "Put him through, if you would."
Nina suddenly cringed at her own words, and hissed a silent curse. Her discomfort was set aside as there was a soft beep through the speaker, and the deep voice of Philip Broyles questioned, "Sharp?"
"I'm here, Philip. What is it?"
"We've got him. Alexander. No sign of the boy, but we've got Alexander."
Nina sat up strait in her seat, her melancholy boredom gone, "Put him in Pins, Philip, don't take the risk of letting him loose again. I want him back here by tomorrow."
"I thought perhaps we could use him," Philip said, sounding even a bit hopeful, "to get the boy. If we put blood in the water, sharks will come. We could get them both, if we played it right."
"No, Philip," Nina said immediately, "You don't have the resources. Bring Alexander to me immediately." she was about to end the call, when Philip caught her ear.
"Nina."
She paused, her hand still over the desk console.
"Are you happy?"
Nina smiled slightly, giving a small sigh, "Yes, Philip. You've done well." She tapped a button on the console, finishing the call.
xXx
Meryl Haggard droned away softly on the speakers overhead in the small clothing outlet store, and Olivia waited. At last she stood from the chair across for the dressing rooms, striding over to strike the door of the small stall, "Come on, gorgeous- just hurry up, would you?" She called in.
"Uno momento, por favor!"
Olivia rolled her eyes with a small smile, returning to her seat across the way. Perhaps what made her the most pleased was that her suspicion- that he had slipped away and left her it the store- was not a reality.
The door creaked open, and she glanced up, "Whadda ya think, eh?" Peter grinned, emerging to hold his arms away from himself and give a small turn, "I'm hot, right?"
"Whatever you say," Olivia chuckled.
Peter frowned down at his new attire of jeans, hiking boots, and a dark blue flannel overshirt, "Come on, really- I don't look Canadian, do I?"
"No, you don't look Canadian. What do you have against the Canadians?"
"Really? The flannel doesn't give me the 'Paul Bunyan meets Tom Cruise' look?"
Olivia laughed, "Where did you get it in your head that you look anything like Tom Cruise?"
Peter looked perfectly reasonable as he buttoned down his shirt, leaving it open to expose his under tee, "Don't you see it? I'm ghetto-fabulous."
"Can we just go?" Olivia said, shaking her head to hide a grin as she got to her feet.
"We're not leaving until you say I'm ghetto-fabulous," Peter said, looking smug as he set to rolling up his sleeves to the elbow.
"Fine," Olivia approached him, leaning up to pat his collar flat, "You're ghetto-fabulous."
John smiled at her.
"Olivia?" Peter questioned as she stepped back, retracting her touch sharply, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Olivia said, rubbing an eye with her fingertips and swallowing dryly as she regained her senses, "yeah, sure. Sorry."
"I'm just going to grab my crap and we can get back on the road-" Peter paused, his eyes sweeping the store floor to rest on the glass double-doors. His eyes narrowed, and his nostils flared, as if he were searching for a scent, "The car. Now." he said, and took off at a run.
"Peter?!" Olivia said, scrambling to keep up with him. They left his tattered formals on the floor of the dressing room. Olivia burst out of the store and into the cold fog as the jeep roared to life, Peter giving her barely enough time to jump into the off driver's seat before slamming the vehicle into drive. The tires made a small squeak as they struggled to keep up with the speed that was demanded of them, bouncing them onto the pavement of the interstate, "Peter, what's going on?!" Olivia demanded.
"The van that passed by the store was a government vehicle, I recognize it," Peter said, shifting and running a red light, "Unmarked FBI, special unit.. We have to follow them."
"What? Why?"
"Because they have the bastard. I know they do. There's only one reason they would bring in the Pins. And if they've got him, I've got him."
"The Pins?" Olivia questioned, "What are the Pins?"
"The Pins are a specialized set of restraints," Peter answered, "You may or may not have seen them before. Harry Houdini couldn't get out of the Pins. And I would know, I've been in them- they're inescapable. But that doesn't matter; as soon as they get him into the Pins, he's mine."
"Wait- the government is after this guy?!" Olivia exclaimed.
"Everyone is after this guy," Peter snapped, "I've just got to make sure I'm the one that's there to kill him first!"
xXx
"Charlie, what is going on? Who were those men? Where are they taking Walter?" Astrid asked, watching the KEEP OUT sign fade away into the fog over the back seat.
"Feds, Astrid. After you said something about that guy, I went down and had a look at the roster with Luciano."
"Mr. Luciano?"
"Yeah. When I tried to look up the name 'Walter Bishop', nothing came up. And I mean nothing. Walter Bishop doesn't exist, Astrid. But it wasn't sooner than ten seconds later than I got done looking up the name when I got a call from the FBI."
"Agent Broyles," Astrid said, finally turning her sights to Charlie, as he drove.
Charlie nodded, "They said they'd been looking for a guy by the name Alexander Broo, or Bent, or something. Walter Bishop was one of his known aliases. Which brings me to my next mandate- what the hell did you think you were doing, going off alone like that?!" Charlie demanded, "What if that guy was a psycho that would have cut your head off?!"
"Charlie, they've got the wrong guy," Astrid said, ignoring his anger, "Dr. Bishop, he-"
"He took you as a hostage, Astrid! Thank god for those self-defense courses! You've got to be more careful! You've got a better head on your shoulders than that!"
"Charlie, just listen to me for a damn second!" Astrid snapped, agitated at his fatherly tone as they were both fairly close to the same age, "You know how I just know about people, right? I just know things about them that I can't explain?"
"Yeah? What about it?"
"They've got the wrong guy. Dr. Bishop… I don't know how to explain it, Charlie. He just isn't capable of doing something as horrible as what they let on-"
"And you're going to go off alone with him on a hunch?! Maybe I was wrong, and you are that stupid!"
"I introduced you and Sophie, didn't I?!" Astrid demanded, "And I told you, I told you, she was going to be your wife! And look at you two, now!"
"Sophie isn't an axe murderer!" Charlie cried.
"Neither is Walter!"
There was silence a few moments, and Charlie sighed, "I didn't want to tell you this. I didn't want to scare you. But Luciano's gone missing. I'm getting a search warrant for Bishop- or whatever the hell his name is- I'm going to search his hotel room tomorrow."
"What? Mr. Luciano…? Are you sure he isn't just in trouble for sneaking booze across the border again?"
"I called Customs, they haven't seen him. No one has."
"But that doesn't mean it has anything to do with Walter!" Astrid insisted, "You know how I am with these feelings, Charlie; they aren't wrong."
"Where do you want me to drop you off?" Charlie asked flatly, choosing to ground the conversation there as they rounded the corner onto the main boulevard of town.
"The truck stop. I've got a shopping list I need to take care of."
xXx
