Harry was famous for hating Portkeys, but his first international Portkey tip to New York he would remember until his dying day. He couldn't remember how long that whirlwind was twisting and turning him around, but when it all finally ended, he landed on all four, hitting his head against a chair and passing out. When he was brought by a good five minutes later, lying flat on the floor, he flushed red from embarrassment and tried to stand up.
"Easy, kiddo," Bill smiled at him. "You've had a rough landing, that's all. Give it a few secs to settle down."
"I hate magic transport," Harry moaned, trying to shake the dizziness out of his head. "Honestly, it's a conspiracy against me. First time using the Floo, I end up in Knockturn Alley. My first Apparition, I splinch my scalp away. And now this."
Bill cracked a smile and reached out with his hand to pull his brother-in-law up. His grip was firm and manly; tight groups of muscles bulging on his forearm, and Harry was wondering how this strong hand was capable to handle all those feather-fine wand movements his job was requiring from time to time.
"Thanks bro," Harry stood somewhat groggily, leaning against a table for support. "Where are we?"
"In a hotel room in the Regency in New York, courtesy of the American Minister of Magic," Bill looked out of the huge window, down the street, admiring the hustle and bustle of the metropolis. Being an expert curse-breaker, he'd been to several Gringott's affiliates in several countries, but it was the first time he'd been properly abroad. "Come on, get dressed, lieutenant," he threw a small bag at Harry and started unzipping his.
"What's all this?" Harry rummaged in the bag, producing a grey overall made of some weird plastic material, a holster with the standard police sidearm and a London PD badge.
"Our cover is," Bill explained patiently, "that we are from the technical folks, you know, who try to fix fingerprints, blood-stains, and the like. You have done undercover ops, haven't you?"
"Kidding me?" Harry changed quickly, examining the small, but lethal .38 in his hand, silently admiring its black matte finish. During his Auror training he had to learn to operate Muggle weapons, but he still preferred his wand, even though it was a reassuring feeling that he could always fall back on other weapons, should it be necessary. Shaking his head, he replaced the gun into the holster and turned to his brother-in-law. "I'm an early starter, don't forget. I haven't had Dad's cloak for nothing, you know, and sneaking into the Slytherin common room, Polyjuiced, should also count for something."
"Ok, ok, kiddo, you convinced me," Bill laughed, clapping him on his shoulder. Adjusting his overall, he checked himself in the mirror. "I hear we'll get two young female agents to drive us around," he said as-a-matter-of-factly, while applying a few minor charms to get rid of the deep scars on his face.
"Does Fleur know?" Harry playfully winked at the older wizard and was surprised to see his face turn dark.
"Harry, with all respect, the very first person to accuse me of spousal infidelity will be the first one in three thousand years to experience the Egyptian neper-sef-teti ritual on himself. I love Fleur very dearly and I'd rather have my arms cut off than even think about of another woman."
"Cool down, lieutenant Waltman," Harry did some damage assessment. "It wasn't your fault that Monique tried to hit on you in front of Fleur."
"Partly it was," Bill admitted, checking his own gun and grabbing a small aluminium attaché-case. "I should have known that Veela are extremely susceptible to alcohol and give her apple juice instead. I should have Petrified her when she started groping me, but I didn't want to make a scene in front of my wide and four dozen birthday guests. I just took her outside and told her that I wouldn't tolerate this behaviour in my home. It wasn't my mistake that Fleur came after us and thought I was being too comfortable with her." Pocketing his wand and pulling up the flyer of his overall, he cast a sad glance at the bespectacled young man. "See, in a way she's like your wife. First curse, then think and apologize. The difference is that the fireball of a Veela can make more damage than Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex. One just has to be aware of which days one should be extra careful."
The phone rang and he hurried to the table to pick up the receiver. "Yes, Detective Waltman of the Scotland Yard speaking."
He attentively listened to the invisible speaker, then he nodded approvingly towards Harry. "You said five minutes, Lt. Mulcahy? Okay, we will be waiting for you downstairs in the lobby."
Bill emitted a short laugh and smiled into the receiver. "Don't worry about recognizing us, Lt. Mulcahy. You couldn't miss two people in those disgusting plastic overalls in a hotel lobby even during a solar eclipse with your eyes blindfolded. See you downstairs."
Replacing the phone, he made a brief gesture towards the door. "After you, Detective Porter. Although, I need to admit that Chief Auror Potter sounds much, much better."
The five minutes turned out fifteen, when the two detectives finally arrived at the hotel. Entering the lobby, one of them, a rather attractive redhead quickly scanned the few people lounging there or standing behind the reception desk, and her deep green eyes stopped at the sight of the two figures dressed into identical grey overalls. Christie made her way immediately towards them, Jackie one step behind, slightly panting.
"You must be our British guests, right?" the redhead smiles at the two agents, offering her right hand. "I'm Lt. Mulcahy and this is my partner Lt. Slocombe of the NYPD."
"How do you do, Lieutenant?" Harry gently shook her hand and turned towards her partner to repeat the gesture. "This is my partner, Detective William Waltman and I'm Detective James Porter, leading the investigation."
Christie measured the two agents with badly disguised interest. James seemed too young to have finished the academy, but on the other hand he must have been a good one once he'd been put in charge. Taking a closer look, she saw quite a few deep wrinkles around his emerald eyes and understood the young detective must have gone through things in his short life she most probably didn't even want to know. Bill, on the other hand, was a tad bit older, also a redhead, and a few inches higher than herself who, with her six foot one was not among the smallest.
"Guys, I suggest we go on first names if you don't mind," she flashed a perfect smile at her new partners. "I guess that will make life easier if we stick less to formalities. So you can call us Christie and Jackie."
"Done deal, Christie," Harry nodded approvingly. "Jackie," he friendly acknowledged the other girl, a blonde about his height and age, whose bluebell-colored eyes somewhat reminded him of Luna.
"Shall we go then?" Jackie spoke up in her melodic voice, her somewhat nasal accent giving away her New Hampshire origins. "Our car is outside and we can catch up on things during the drive." Bill muttered something incomprehensive under his nose.
"All right, lead the way, Jackie." He copied the girl's dialect so perfectly, that Jackie involuntarily shrugged and looked at the young man in surprise. "And you say you're British?"
"Just trying to blend in, you know," Bill winked at Harry. "It would do no good to the effectiveness of our communication if we forced you to decipher my Cockney and Jim's Midlands." He pronounced the last sentence in an exaggerated Cockney and the two girls pressed their hands on their ears, laughing in unison.
"You at the Scotland Yard are damn fast," Christie nodded approvingly, while Jackie started the V8 of the black Suburban and drove off with spinning wheels. "We just got a phone call an hour ago from Bernie, our Squad leader, that two of you would be coming over. Did you take the Space Shuttle or something?"
Bill and Harry exchanged a quick glance. A Portkey trip takes a minute at most and they wasted no time with arrangements after the meeting ended. Popping home for a change of clothes, picking up their disguises and kissing their wives and kids goodbye took less than fifteen minutes before the Portkey, made by the American Minister of Magic on the spot, took them in its whirlwind to the suite Ministry guests were usually occupying in the Regency. "Uhm, we came last night, actually," Bill answered after slight hesitation, "it's just that the communication channels between our Ministries don't always work as supposed." Mentally wiping his forehead, he let out a small sigh, seeing the two girls nodding profusely.
"Yeah, you can say that, Bill," Jackie looked back behind her shoulder, "even our Bureau is full of fucking bureaucrats. Can you imagine? I had to fill in seven forms and collect eleven signatures before I could have my defect Beretta replaced. It took me the best part of a month."
Harry tried to look sympathetic. You haven't seen Fudge, girls. "So, how's things here? Are you proceeding with your investigation?"
The two female agents looked as if they'd bitten into a giant lemon. "Don't even ask. It's THE prefect crime, although we learned at the Academy that it doesn't exist. We've seen the place gazillion times, combed out Camp David. Zero, zilch, nada, NOTHING. I don't know what you guys are expecting to find here, but we have all time of the world, so be our guests."
Harry rather comically scratched his nose. "It's very hush-hush, girls, but I can tell you that this fella here is the best man in England when it comes down to identifying partial fingerprints. We found quite a few at Downing Street and we hope to find at least something here that may help us tie all these cases together."
Christie emitted a frustrated sigh, shaking her gorgeous head. "Then you're way ahead of us. I'm afraid if we don't show at least some results here pretty soon, Bernie will bust our sorry asses out to the streets to chase stolen cars and bring in hookers to the precinct."
"That one, ladies, would be a rather unpleasant turn of events, would it?" Bill offered generously and the two girls giggled.
"Oh yes, the owners of aforementioned body parts would find it a highly irritating development, to say the least. I only hope Lee comes up with something any time soon," Christie rattled. "Come to think of it," she reached into her jacket for her cell phone, "I promised to call on her to see how things are advancing in the Big Apple."
The number was on speed dial and she raised the blue Motorola to her ears, removing a stray lock of fiery red hair from her eyes with her other hand, perfectly aware that the two guests were following her every movement with their eyes.
"Hey, Hobbit, what's up?" she lovingly greeted the third part of the Triplet. The news seemingly weren't the best; Harry saw her attractive features wrought into a frustrated grimace.
"So, you got, saw, heard nothing at the Mullah's place?" Apologetically looking at the guests, she covered the receiver with her finely manicured hand.
"Lee is our partner, the third part of the Siamese Triplet as people at the Bureau call us. She's over there in New York doing the same thing we're doing here, wasting our time on nothing."
"Hey Hobbit," she spoke up again, "We've got two attractive young men from the Old World here in the car with us. No," she laughed prettily, "no dates at such an early hour. They are from the Scotland Yard, you know, something like the CSI gurus, although these look like less nerdy and more alive, in my humble opinion." Casting a quick glance at the young men's hands, she sighed. "Both married, yes. And you, driving or being driven?" The revving of an engine was clearly audible to the other three through the tiny speaker.
Seemingly satisfied with the answer, she looked outside, checking their whereabouts. "Well, need to hang up, Hobbit. Catch up with you tonight. You take care of yourself, promise? Love you too." Folding the Motorola, she broke the call and pocketed her phone.
"She what, Tolkien's great-granddaughter?" Harry cast an incredulous look at Christine.
The redhead only smiled at his antics, amusedly clapping her knees. "No, sweetheart, she five foot one, way under par, hence the name. Honestly, I don't know how she managed to convince the Committee but don't underestimate her, she's a far better agent than either of us will ever be. Ain't it right, J?"
The blonde engaged "P" on the gearbox and switched off the engine that died with a last, muted roar. "Damn right, Chrissie. You got the looks, I got the brains, but Lee got the C.O.P. virus."
"Shut up, bitch," Christie lovingly chided her partner, switching over to the genuine Dublin accent her parents still spoke at home. "I will have you know that my brains are nothing less than them gorgeous tits you been shaking last Saturday at Ezprezzo's while dancing with that Italian god, thank you very much."
Their howling laughter shook the Suburban and the elderly lady walking her two Corgies past the car and frightened by the sudden noise quickly made her way as far away as possible from the dark van without a licence plate.