Disclaimer: I own nothing. Least of all this.
Author's Note: You have been warned.
2) RED HERRING
It turned out landing was the least of Harry's worries.
Getting on the ground wasn't too hard; just keep the wings level coming in, and when the wheels hit, let the stick move backwards. The real problem was what came after all that.
If the security at Jerusalem had been bad, the guards at Tel Aviv were downright terrifying. He'd only barely managed to slip through the net, and in the end he'd had to sneak aboard an outbound flight in the cargo hold. He'd wondered about the sudden increase in scrutiny, until he'd seen a news report on a docking gate telly. Apparently, there'd been a major explosion not long after he'd stopped the missiles. And he had a sinking feeling he knew precisely why.
He hoped Jason had made it out okay.
Thank goodness he'd had the foresight to shrink the Fokker before anyone had seen the bright red plane and put two and two together. It also solved the problem of what to do with the pilot; Harry had simply Confounded the attendant at the airport's bar into selling him some alcohol. After which, he'd stuffed the man's pockets with cash, and then dumped half the bottle down the pilot's throat. Now if anyone found him, they'd simply assume he'd sold his plane and gotten drunk on the proceedings. If he got tossed in the lockup, well, no great loss.
S'what the man got for trying to scam Harry Potter.
Gently spreading out, being extra careful not to lay on any of the packages labeled "Fragile" (not that the loaders had paid any attention to the word), he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
It was a very long flight to Monte Carlo, after all.
Bane wiped the blood from his hands as he strode from the room.
The operative would've been executed after his task was completed anyway; the League had no place for someone whose loyalty was to money. However, it appeared that in this case money had done its job well: the operative had not betrayed them. Faulty equipment was now the most likely answer; the failure of their plan was now no less than they deserved for expecting Russian materials to perform to specifications.
"Shall we dispose of the body, Lord Bane?"
"By all means," he replied. "Tell me; what more have we uncovered?"
The assistant began to wring his hands nervously. "Well sir...I'm afraid you're not going to like it."
"There is very little in this world I do. Pray continue."
"Well, you see sir...it appears our missiles were indeed halted midair. And also apparently, by magic."
"...How unfortunate. I had hoped the Justice League would be more recalcitrant to spreading their influence overseas."
"No known members of the Justice League were involved, sir."
"Indeed? A new player then."
"Sir...I'm afraid it's worse than that."
"...Go on."
"Sir, it appears that the person responsible for halting our attack...did so from the personal transportation of Talia al Ghul. And eyewitnesses confirm while at least one passenger was aboard the plane, neither occupant was female."
"...So. Not just a new player. A new enemy, as well. I want the pilot of that plane found; and answers obtained from him by any means necessary. If our leader was sold out, then we shall have our revenge."
"Sir, I believe there's another possibility. The pilot was never told who 'Talia' was; only to expect her. And...well sir, the eyewitnesses all agreed that the passenger aboard the plane was wearing…"
"Was wearing what."
"...A red helmet, sir."
Understanding. "Ah. Then it appears his resurrection from the Pit gifted young Jason Todd with more power than we knew. And he waited for the opportune moment to strike. Very clever of him. Worthy of a League member; far more so than that blasphemous guardian of his. Hunt the man in the red helmet; hound him to his grave. We shall still have our revenge. And if we are successful in Phase Two of young Jason's conditioning once we resurrect him once more...perhaps we will have our new leader, as well."
"It will be done, Lord Bane."
Surprisingly, the security at Monte Carlo was practically nonexistent.
In fact, he was able to arrange for a car, a hotel room, and a tour of the biggest casinos around, all from the airport lounge! And he didn't even have to take off his mask or show ID!
Well, that might've had something to do with his offered wad of cash, but it was Monte Carlo. That was how it was supposed to work here. At least, that's what Sirius had told him.
"Where to, sir?" his driver asked him.
"The biggest casino you know of." Harry said firmly. If Sirius was anywhere around, he would be there.
Or in jail. You never could tell with Sirius.
The driver shifted into drive and pulled out into traffic. "The Casino de Monte Carlo it is, then."
And for once, Harry allowed himself to lean back and enjoy the ride.
"Lord Bane, we have located the pilot."
"Where."
"Tel Aviv; he was arrested during the airport's lockdown after being found inebriated with a veritable mountain of cash in his pockets. He's claiming not to remember anything; not even how he got there from Jerusalem."
"Interesting. Arrange a flight. I shall deal with this myself."
"As you wish, Lord Bane."
Jason sighed as he watched the clock. Honestly, how long could one plane take? He knew for a fact Wayne Enterprises had private jets around the world; what was with the wait?
With another grumble, he settled back into his perch. Off the cameras, off the sightlines, and more importantly, with a perfect view of the tarmac.
He really, really, wanted out of this airport. He was getting sick and tired of stolen falafel.
Eight miles up, Bane got a call. "Sir, we've just checked the security camera footage at Tel Aviv. A five-foot-four male in a red helmet was spotted in various feeds...and then vanished. He only recently just popped back up again in Monaco, of all places. How he got from one place to the other, we're still working out. Our pilot's Fokker was also found...and then lost again. It disappeared quite suddenly from all cameras moments after landing. The pilot is, as you might have guessed, still claiming that he has no idea what's going on, and if his plane was involved in anything, it was after he sold it and therefore not his problem. Mossad agents have been dispatched to Tel Aviv to investigate, and the Monte Carlo authorities have been notified."
Bane brought his hands together in contemplation. "So...the boy was smart enough to erase any evidence of his physical involvement, but not to do the same for his own traces. Perhaps this red helmeted man is not the one we are looking for; a red herring. Nevertheless, reroute my flight to Monaco. And dispatch a team to deal with the pilot and the Mossad agents."
"As you wish, Lord Bane."
It wouldn't do for Mossad to find anything linking the pilot back to the League, after all.
As for Monaco, he knew what the police were like there. If young Jason was indeed in Monte Carlo, and had enough cash left over from his dealings with the pilot, there was not an officer around that would dare arrest him. That is, until the League offered a bigger bribe.
Yes, there was only one uncorrupt department in the entire Monaco government. And there was absolutely no way that She would ever become involved with this kind of affair.
Harry gawked at the various fixtures and furnishings. If this was what France was like, no wonder Fleur had sniffed at everything English. For Sirius, it might as well be paradise.
But sadly, there'd been no signs of Padfoot yet.
He'd asked around every single casino he could (even flashed a few stacks of bills), but no one had either seen or heard of a man named Black passing through recently.
At last, beaten and bushed, he'd been chauffeured back to the Casino de Monte Carlo and trudged his way up to his hotel room. Only to find his key wouldn't fit.
After checking to make sure no one was watching, he'd Alohorama'd the door, and walked in.
Only to find four penguins and two chimps squeezing into the most ridiculous getup he'd ever seen. And coming from a wizard, that was saying something.
"Ah." Was all he could say. "Not my room, then."
To his surprise, one of the penguins immediately did a full flip across the room, grabbed him by the collar, and looked him dead in the eye.
"You didn't see nothin'."
"Nope!" Whatever the talking (!) penguin said. "Nothing whatever!"
One of the other penguins eyed him warily. "Nothing whatever?"
He shook his head. "Nothing whatever!"
The penguin's flipped tightened its grip. "That's very important. Remember it."
"Right! Will do! Aye aye!"
Suddenly the penguin grinned. "I like your style, redhead. What's your room number?"
"420."
Every single animal in the room simultaneously went "Niiiiiiiiiiiiice!", and the three other penguins high-fived (oned?).
The penguin on his collar leaned and pointed with his free flipper. "Four doors down, same side. This is room 428."
"Right. Thank you."
"Not at all, soldier. Task force! Roll out!"
The room cleared in seconds as every animal exited within the most unflattering disguise Harry had ever seen. As in, every single animal was literally in the same disguise.
Harry stared after the retreating abomination; then shook his head and stumbled off. That settled it; he needed some sleep. And lots of it.
Actually, scratch that: room service first. Then sleep.
Jason clocked the team the minute they hit the tarmac.
They weren't exactly being subtle, even for the League. Maybe all their best men had been in that room when Ares got there? Then again, the League had never been one to put all their eggs in one basket. They'd probably kept their second-in-command well away from the base while...whatever happened, happened. Along with a bunch of qualified goons.
Which begged the question...why was he getting the dregs sent after him?
Oh, right. Ares. That's probably who the League's new boss was going after. In other words, not his problem. He'd handle the thugs (permanently) and then do his best to avoid the League's heavier-hitters in the future.
At least until they showed up in Gotham again.
There were only four of them; child's play (hah!). The first one went down to a broken neck from a seemingly miraculously-detached hanging gate sign; how he loved ceiling ducts. That got the other three jumpy. Jumpy enough to leave their downed friend behind before the medics arrived.
For number two, he waited until the last man in the group passed by a pillar before tripping him conveniently into a glass pane. Thing Two went down with a lacerated throat.
He had something special planned for number three; there was a conveyor belt for people running from the gates to the exit. He waited until the third guy was just about to step off...then flipped the safety off the machine.
The man's left foot was sucked down, the rest of his leg soon following. With a sickening snap of bone, the man disappeared entirely; leaving behind only a right leg sheared off at the pelvis.
The fourth one, by now more than slightly frantic, then did the stupidest thing possible: he drew his gun.
He died shortly after from a severe case of Israeli lead poisoning.
And after a hard day's work, Jason settled back into his perch to wait for his goddamn ride.
Fortunately, he didn't have to wait very much longer.
Un-fortunately, once he saw who'd come to pick him up, he realized just why it had taken so long.
"'Long time no tea'." The cold visage of one Bruce Wayne looked down into Jason's eyes. "You miraculously come back from the dead, in as middle of the Middle East you can get, and the first thing you say to Alfred after two years is, 'Long time no tea'."
"He'd never've believed it was me if I'd been polite, old man.
"...I'm still not sure I believe it." Came Bruce's hoarse reply. "And you're standing right here in front of me."
Dammit, he was crying again. "Missed you too, Bruce."
Two powerful arms swept him up in a hug, and for the very first time, he didn't offer so much as even a token protest.
"Welcome home, Jason."
"We're not home yet, Bruce."
"When you get to be my age, you little punk, you'll realize something very important: home is wherever your family is."
"In that case, home should be wherever Alfred's pouring the tea."
"I couldn't agree more. Let's go home, Jason."
It was one thing to pretend to the Israeli government that Monte Carlo's police department had no idea where their magical suspect was. It was another thing entirely to try and do the same to the League of Assassins.
Henri hadn't made it to Commissar de Policia without being willing to look the other way on the occasional bribe. Which was why he had at first overlooked the mysterious red-helmeted man's presence in his city. It had been a lot of money. The fact the man would apparently soon be moving on in search of someone named Black had also been a bonus.
But now the League was coming. Why, he still wasn't exactly sure. The Israelis were being even more tightlipped than normal. And good look getting anything out of the hulking monster rumored to be in charge of the Assassins.
The best he could do for the oddly dressed man now was make sure he was given a decent burial. He had his orders; lure in the man by saying the police had located his friend Black, and then escort him back to the station.
Where the League would be waiting.
He watched as the man skilfully navigated his way through the casino floor; obviously used to moving through crowds without being noticed. He did, however, draw attention to himself once by placing a bet on the roulette table. Strangely, he seemed to do so only to make eye-to-eye contact with the so-called 'King of Versailles' at the other end. The 'King' was a relatively new player in town, and won more than perhaps he should have, but most of his profits seemed to go right back into the local economy, so Henri was ignoring the problem.
The King placed a bet on Black Thirty-Seven. Hmmm; black. Perhaps the King knew something. He would question the man after the League had departed.
His current target nodded (seemingly in understanding of some hidden meaning), and responded with a bet on the Red Six.
Red was easy to understand. Perhaps the numbers were a form of code? Another question to save for later.
The roulette spun; bouncing once, twice, and finally landing on the number…
The glass roof of the building shattered.
And a hippo, giraffe, zebra, and lion landed on top of the table.
It was panda-monium; it was otter chaos; it was an albatross-ity; it was...a whole lot of other bad animal puns.
It did not escape Henri's notice that there were now six beings of interest all congregating together: the animals, the King of Versailles...and the man in the mask.
Oh.
Oh no.
She would have to be brought in.
Huffing after the party in hot pursuit, he pulled out his phone...and made the call.
Harry glanced around at the assorted animals. "You guys need a ride out of here?"
"We've got it covered, red head." replied the head penguin.
"You know this guy?" asked the lion.
"Naturally. Smart fellow; knows when to keep his mouth shut. You'd best clear out now, soldier; don't want you getting mixed up in anything."
Under his mask, Harry smiled. "I appreciate the gesture. Sorry about your winnings."
"Quite alright soldier; we've already made more than enough bank in this joint. Now get moving!"
"Aye aye sir!"
For once, Harry Potter was able to walk away from trouble. And for once, his luck would hold.
Bane had dispatched his men to follow the Commissar. He trusted no one who worked for money; if young Jason offered enough, it was entirely conceivable the police would let him slip through their fingers.
Which was why, when the entire casino erupted into chaos, his men were already waiting outside for the man in the red helmet to make his escape.
The two on the front entrance died horrible deaths when a heavily armored van came out of literally nowhere and crashed through both them and the door. By the time the rest of the team got there, the vehicle was already burning rubber down the road.
"After them!" yelled the team leader. "The master will have our heads if we fail!"
They tried. Oh lord, how they tried. But to no avail.
The first thing that went wrong was the sudden appearance of Animal Control (for some unknown reason).
The resulting crash took out half of their teams apiece.
The second thing that happened was the flood of fish. And then, the absolutely insane cornering. In fact, by the time they got to the tunnel, the only ones left in pursuit were him...and the Animal Control Captain.
He watched in awe as she finagled her way aboard the van; and then in horror as he realized just where her now abandoned speeder was going.
The very last thing he saw was a license plate filling his vision.
Harry fell back on familiar transportation and bought a train ticket out of town. If Sirius wasn't in Monaco, the next place he was most likely to head was straight home.
Well, either that or the French Riviera, but if the old mutt was there, he'd be in no hurry to leave.
Surprisingly, it turned out his helmet had another handy ability: an interpretation device hooked into speakers next to his ears. He still couldn't speak French, but he could at least understand it.
While a bit scared of accidentally breaking the thing, after his latest discovery he'd decided to go looking for the battery compartment at least. Wouldn't do to have it die on him at an inconvenient time. True, he'd managed to get his glasses clean in Monte Carlo, but he vastly preferred the helmet.
In the end, he'd found the battery attached to the inside of the mask, directly behind his head. Only, it didn't appear to be much of a battery. If anything, it looked like a clockwork Muggle watch; one of those self-winding ones that did so whenever it was jostled. And considering Harry did quite a bit of jostling, he doubted very much he was ever going to run out of power.
One less thing to worry about.
He also figured out he could disconnect just the lenses and the battery in one pair of goggles that wrapped around his head; but the end result looked like a bug, and he really liked the custom speakers. He would've preferred a different color (one that didn't stand out so much), but it seemed not even a Color-Changing Charm would stick permanently to whatever the helmet was made out of. Red it was, at least for the moment.
As he passed through the French countryside, he pulled out an English-to-French dictionary and began to study. Not much mind you; just enough to ask things like "One ticket, please". Things that might help him get back to England...and Sirius...faster.
Bane's men had failed.
If they had lived, they would have been punished severely.
Then again, who could have predicted that young Jason would work his way into the good graces of a seemingly very powerful individual in no time at all? For that was what this 'King of Versailles' clearly was; a criminal beyond Bane's knowledge. And that was very troubling.
Perhaps the 'King' had noticed young Jason's power and taken the boy under his wing; the Kin himself seemed to possess some form of control over animals. And speaking of control over animals…
She was now on the case.
The King, his servants, and no doubt Jason himself had escaped aboard a ramshackle contraption that somehow managed to fly. Captain Dubois was now in hot pursuit aboard a helicopter; he could not afford to have her reach them first.
The escapees' vehicle seemed to have a very low top speed; at least, from what Bane could gather from the spotty security footage. Perhaps going over ground would be better; yes. After all, even when in pursuit of a criminal, unless said criminal was breaking the airspeed limit, the French police could not break it either. Typical French.
It would be ridiculously easy to catch up in a suitable ground vehicle.
One was procured, and Bane and the rest of his men sped away into the night.
The two Mossad agents viewed the bodies on the slabs.
"Any ID?"
The coroner nodded. "All four came back positive; various members of government agencies that were thought missing, presumed dead."
One of the agents raised an eyebrow in the direction of the other. "Defectors who faked their demise?"
"Or an undercover multinational task force that was strictly off-the-books." the other countered.
"Doubtful." Interjected the coroner. "None of these men were what I'd call experts; certainly not good enough to handle such an assignment. I believe the first option to be much more plausible."
"Any explanation for how they died?"
"A series of very unfortunate events."
"We are being serious, Coroner."
"So was I, Agent David. Each and every one of these men was brought down by an unfortunate accident; the first, a falling sign. The second, a stumble. The third, a conveyor belt track. And the fourth...well, the fourth you know about."
Agent David frowned. "It seems too improbable. A man positively identified as the owner of the plane that somehow halted two missiles midair is arrested, and less than twenty-four hours later a team of former assassins is found dead in Tel Aviv airport. Perhaps our pilot's mysterious passenger is still looking out for him?"
"I thought we had pinged him in Monte Carlo." countered David's partner.
"The man obviously has some form of unexplained power; it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to think it can cover being in multiple places as once as well as stopping flying objects."
"True; but it would be impossible to prove. Much like everything else we suspect him of."
"Oh?" the coroner's eyes lit up. "Like what?"
"Over fifty counts of murder to start with. We found the bodies in an underground compound; one only accessible from the building our suspect landed the missiles on. Of course, it also just so happened that the entire compound was the source of the later explosion reported."
The coroner gasped. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Fortunately, no; we had evacuated the area to deal with the missiles."
David's partner nodded her head. "And that's why I still think the man is no enemy of Mossad; he must have been unable to halt the explosion, and so ensured there would be no civilians in the area."
"Or perhaps he allowed the explosion to go off to try and cover his tracks. You forget, we're still digging the bodies out." replied David.
"Amongst other things." retorted the partner. "For all we know, that pool we found was part of a plan to poison Jerusalem, and our suspect decided time was of the essence."
"So you admit he more than likely did kill those people then? To stop their plan?"
"I admit nothing. All I know is, this guy might not be as bad as you seem to want him to be."
David sighed. "You're right. But it's out of our hands now; whatever was in that pool, only the head of Mossad knows now. But apparently, it was enough to contact the Justice League. And once we report what happened here, we'll be off the case for good. The Justice League has international sway; Mossad does not. And besides...if our suspect does indeed possess some kind of power, better to let the actual magicians deal with him."
"I suppose you're right. Thank you, Coroner."
"Not at all. Give my love to your father."
"We will." The agents answered in unison.
"Kowalski, status report!"
"Well, the good news is: this song is almost over."
"Well that's music to my ears. And the bad news?"
"The gear assembly is badly damaged, sir. It's only a matter of time before…"
If Bane had happened to look up during his drive, he would have noticed a plummeting hunk of metal headed straight for his car.
Fortunately for everyone involved (including the author), he did not.
Skipper remarked on how much softer the landing had been than he expected, and then congratulated Kowlaski on his accuracy.
In a higher plane of existence, Death made much the same remark to Destiny.