Chapter Six: Fear, Loathing, and a Touch of Magic

Sam let his captor shove him forward in the dark maintenance area above the terminals. Unlike his captor, Sam had noticed when his new phone attached itself to his belt. Despite the notice-me-not charm, he knew it was there. Quality work like that wasn't cheap, especially from the goblins, which just made the young Squib-born wonder even more how the Boss had paid for phones for the entire team. Also made him wonder what other surprises might be in store for them once the rest of the improved gear was delivered.

"Okay, sit, sit," his captor ordered, shoving Sam to the fence that lined the walkway. "Right here- sit down." Sam, ever mindful of the gun aimed at him, sat awkwardly, doing his best to keep the other man from escalating. As Sam sat, his captor had moved across the hallway to a porthole sized grate, looking out at the empty terminal below. "Never seen it so empty before," the man muttered to himself, turning and sitting back against the wall.

"That's procedure," Sam informed him, "We cleared the whole area for you."

The man considered that for a moment, sucking in a breath. "How are the ribs?"

"My hearing's a little shot," Sam admitted.

"Was just a concussive grenade," the other informed him, "With your, uh…your body armor, there shouldn't be any real damage."

"I appreciate the planning that must have gone into that," Sam replied, trying to get a connection going. "You obviously don't want to hurt anyone except…"

The other cut him off. "Well, the plan has changed. Can't afford to be so considerate anymore." Despite the harsh words, the other man didn't appear to be ruthless, for he dropped his head into his hand with a heavy sigh.

Sam studied the other a moment, then, "Infantry?" When he received no response, he prodded, "Air Force?" With still no response, he offered a mostly sarcastic, "Come on, not Navy, please."

That finally prompted a response. The man looked up with another sigh, resigned to replying. "You?"

"Special Forces," Sam told him. You have no idea how special. He was proud of it now; proud to have been in his former unit, proud to be in his current unit. Amazing how two magical teenagers could change a person's perspective.

"That figures," the subject remarked, sarcasm reeking. "Jumps on a grenade. Tell all the ladies what a superhero you are?"

Bingo. "Yeah," Sam concluded. "Infantry- spend all your time whining about Special Forces." The subject actually snorted, amused by Sam's repartee.


"And no flags come up when his name matches one of Wilkins' victims?" an angry Sergeant Parker demanded of Mr. Broder.

With not a shred of actual, honest concern, Mr. Broder asked, "How is that supposed to come up in a clearance check?"

"Oh, I don't know," Parker said sarcastically, "It took Semple's guys thirty seconds on Google."

"Yeah," Mr. Broder grated, "Yeah, so I'm the bad guy." His voice turned indignant, it was as if he didn't even realize the danger Sam was in, or maybe he didn't care. "Meanwhile, these poor people…you won't even let them get a look at the scumbag who's off to get, what, ten years of Ping-Pong? They don't deserve that justice, at least? Who's the bad guy again? Huh?"

Parker's eyes flicked to Agent Semple; grateful she had shown up before he could deliver a verbal smack down on the arrogant Security Chief. The man might deserve it, but Sam was the priority right now. The two walked away from the Security Chief, Agent Semple reporting, "A member of the victim's group said they got an anonymous call this morning. A male voice said, 'If you want to see justice, come to the airport today.' Figure Volcek made the call?"

Parker's sense of unease flared up as she spoke. "Maybe…" he mused, "But then, how did he find out about the flight in the first place? How did he get his gun through employee security? And who knew about the alternate route? Us, you guys…and Mr. Security there," he finished, tilting his chin up at Mr. Broder.

Agent Semple considered a moment. "Let me have a talk with our Mr. Broder." Parker nodded and watched as she headed back toward Mr. Broder, his gut churning with that same sense of unease.


"So…" Sam began, feeling the other man out again, "Prisoner exchange…really?"

With a tiny snort, his captor replied, "Saw it work in the Sudan."

"You in SAFARI?"

"Yeah, it was part of UNMIS. The Sudanese army, they had a…bunch of rebels. They turned them over to us. Rebels handed over some of their soldiers. It all seemed pretty straightforward."

"This isn't Africa," Sam pointed out.

"You got that right," the other spat, "If this was Africa, nobody'd have a problem with what I have to do."

"You lose somebody you love, I'm not saying I don't get you," Sam tried.

"Get me? Buddy, don't even try to pretend, all right?"

Sam switched tactics, "What I'm saying is, from an operational standpoint, I'm not seeing the desired outcome being very likely, knowing our rules of engagement."

The other man was unconcerned. "Sudanese had rules, too. But when the wives and the children of your soldiers are crying at your door every night, the rules change. People can do things they…never would have expected." With that, he shifted back to the grate, ignoring his captive.


Wendy could hardly believe what the officer was telling her. "I don't understand how Walter could have done something like this," she cried. "I tried to help him. We…we tried to go to groups together, and he…he just…he couldn't do it. He just…he couldn't get past it."

The officer spoke with a surprisingly gentle tone, "There anything else you can tell me? Anything that might reach him?"

She didn't know, but she could offer what she'd felt. "It's just, you…you feel so alone. You feel like you're the…you're the only person that's going through this, and if he knew…if he knew that he wasn't alone…"

"Thank you, Wendy. We'll let him know that," the officer told her before hanging up.

On the other end of the line, Greg put the phone down and reached down to 'accidentally' key his radio. Behind him, Eddie picked up the cue and turned his own radio back on. "Ed, just spoke with Volcek's wife. You copy?"

"Copy that, boss," Ed ran with the ball, "What did she say?"

"He's a good guy," Greg declared, listening hard for Volcek…or Sam. "He's a loyal soldier. They had one daughter- Julie. She was fifteen when Wilkins killed her. There are some complicating factors, though. Volcek was on assignment when it happened. Julie was with her grandparents, his folks. They let her stay out past curfew. She never came home." Internally, he shuddered, imagining Alanna in Julie's place. "Walter hasn't spoken to them since then. Marriage…well, you know…you know the stats on that one. Parents of a murder victim. I mean, it's all pretty understandable, you know?"

Listening hard turned out to be a big mistake, because Volcek nearly blew Greg's hearing out when he said flatly, "Textbook loser, eh?"

Greg couldn't help his sharp flinch, a flinch Eddie didn't miss, and struggled to 'pull' his hearing back. "I'm not saying that, Walter," he replied, letting no hint of his own distress and problems come through.

"Why not? I've lived with it long enough," Walter remarked bitterly. "Almost done, though. You know what I want. You give it to me…you can have me. Shoot me- I don't care anymore."

"Yeah, but I care," Parker countered, still struggling to 'tone down' his hearing; Volcek sounded like he was screaming to the Sergeant. "I care about my guy. And I do care about what you're going through. But I especially care about ending this without any more pain. So, please, can you help me do that?"

"Sure," Walter replied, too fast to be real agreement. "Just…come and meet me. Gate 525. I'll have your guy; you have mine." A shout, rather than a scream, but still much too loud to Greg.

"Okay. But that's gonna take some time, Walter."

"Five minutes," Volcek declared, "Let's get this over with."

"Okay…" Greg switched his radio off, turning toward the already departing Ed. "Spike and Lewis?"

"Securing level 2," Eddie called back. "I'm going to meet them at Gate 526."

"Okay, you're Sierra One," Greg yelled.

"Copy that," drifted back, audible mostly because Greg's hearing was still too 'high'. He grimaced to himself, straining harder to 'pull' it back to a normal level as Agent Semple moved closer.

"Broder gave himself up," she reported. "Says he called in the tip to the group. Thinks he was being a righteous citizen. He swears up and down he had nothing to do with Walter. Just a bad coincidence."

Greg's unease surged up again, prompting his, "Yeah, uh-huh." His hearing, now much closer to 'normal', seemed to have finally decided to cooperate, though he had a sneaking suspicion that was a temporary victory at best.

"We're keeping on him," Agent Semple promised. She looked at his radio. "Nice bit of talk there. Sounds like you had him in the end."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how much when we show up with no Wilkins," Greg grumbled, his gut churning and starting to scream at him.


Brian surveyed the terminal, his eyes narrowing at the group of protesters and reporters present. Something was wrong, why were they still here? Surely the SRU was long gone with the serial killer. He couldn't think the name; it was far too close to home. With a mental headshake, he studied the terminal again, examining every official looking person. Yes, he decided, something was very wrong. Though he wasn't sure what he could do to help, he decided to stay, just in case his Muggles needed him.


In the terminal area, Ed Lane was parked behind a flight display board, rifle braced on his arm and the small 'shelf' at chest height. From his position he watched as Spike and Lou entered, the latter with a shield in one hand and his sidearm in the other and the former with his submachine gun up and ready. "I got eyes on both of them," Ed reported, "We're sticking to hand signals for now."

His Boss, who he was really starting to worry about now, replied, "Copy. If he shows up, I'll be there in five. Until then, if he makes any kind of move on Sam…"

"Copy that, Boss."

As Lou and Spike proceeded forward, their subject abruptly revealed himself from behind a pillar, Sam in one hand and the other down by his side. Sam was between the subject and his teammates, his expression frustrated and tense. "Okay," the subject called. "Okay…okay."

The two visible constables halted, their weapons coming up and focusing on the subject. "Boss, he's here," Ed hissed into his phone headset.

"Okay, I'm on my way," Greg replied, the background sounds backing that up. "You've got Scorpio if you need it."

Before Ed could acknowledge or plot anything else out, the subject called, "I'll bring my hand up very slowly, 'cause I'm sure you've got a sniper on me, and I want him…I want him to see this." The man's hand came up, a round object clenched tightly in his fist.

"What the heck is that?" Ed muttered involuntarily, then he stiffened. "Boss, we've got a big problem."

"What, you can't take the shot?"

Ed swallowed. "No, I can take the shot. But if I do, I kill Sam."