A shadow among shadows, the spider ghost slipped up the side of the building, up to the prominent dome over the exhibition area. He was sure he was right. Just a matter of proving it.
He moved, liquid and graceful, even after a long night of cross-town swinging checking out a remote location. He stealthed around to the roof access hatch. Under his black mesh, he smiled. Military grade trip-mine, gas grenade style. He reached around its wire trigger and checked the door. Not locked, which was a nice break for him. He slid the door open while still clinging to the ceiling, then he opened it just enough to slip through and shut it behind himself, scuttling up the ceiling.
From below, the exhibition hall had a flat ceiling. So he knew there was a room up here. A room no one would think to check.
Currently a room full of crated boxes of books, with a table in the middle of the room covered by Charles Xavier's personal notes being examined and cross referenced by four professionals.
Sleeping in a chair at the end of the table was an attractive blonde. Her feet were up on the table, and a silvered pistol was on the table by her ankles. The spider ghost saw the blade in her belt, recognized it. He had guessed correctly. He took the note he had prepared, slid to the floor, and crept up to her. Ever so gently, not daring to breathe, he put the note in her lap, not so much as a touch to rouse her. Then he was up the ceiling, through the trapped and guarded door, gone into the night grinning like a madman.
The plan was in motion.
xXx
"What?" Gwen said, her jaw dropping.
"I said," Peter said, "the three of us need to go to the police station today, to turn ourselves in for protective custody."
"But why?" John asked, his brow furrowed. They were seated around the remains of breakfast; today Peter had driven himself over.
"It is especially vital for you, Captain, that you be under constant guard with someone watching you all day. We can be released about 4, so we can get home in time for supper. Detective Brilhart has promised me cooperation, so he'll be okay with our request. He has to be."
"This is a strange move," John mused, watching Peter. "What's your plan?"
"That's it, sir," Peter said. "The police must be absolutely sure we're under lock and key so if the imposter tries anything by impersonating any of the three of us…"
"Airtight alibi," John mused, his eyes lighting up. "And you have a way to encourage the imposters to show themselves?"
"Perhaps," Peter said, his eyes merry. "Perhaps."
xXx
The retired police captain relaxed in his twelve foot by twelve foot room. On the security camera, they could see but not hear him chatting with the wary guard.
Peter and Brilhart stood shoulder to shoulder watching the camera feed. Brilhart looked up at Peter. "Let's get back to my office," he muttered. Peter nodded, and they left.
"I don't know what your game is," Brilhart growled, "but this is a damned weird request."
Peter shrugged. "I'm testing a theory. Did you know I'm a science major?"
"Shoulda guessed," Brilhart muttered. "You trying to intern for a forensics job on the force with this stunt?"
"No," Peter said, smiling and shaking his head. "I want a job with some money in it, some prestige, where I don't have to go racing off to pick over dead people at three in the morning."
"Imagine that," Brilhart said, a smile threatening his stern demeanor. "Ambition."
They stepped into his office. "You get your own, huh," Peter said, looking around. "Swanky."
"Have a seat and amuse yourself quietly until Officer Percy gets here," Brilhart said. "He gets to be your babysitter today."
"Right," Peter shrugged. "Fine."
xXx
Peter and Gwen sat back from the table as Percy took the pizza box out of the room and down the hall. "This is quality care," Peter said. "Ordering in is a good plan."
"Peter, I'm scared," Gwen said in a small voice. "I really don't know why anyone would target dad."
"They didn't," Peter said. "He was the door. He was the tool. The target was one of the exhibits. Some people and organizations, they don't care who gets hurt as long as they get what they want. Right now they think that your dad serves them better as a live red herring than as a dead clue to who committed the crime. They didn't even bother with a good frame, just a few sloppy gestures to throw the police off long enough for them to get away."
"Are they going to get away?" Gwen asked.
Peter chuckled uneasily. "No, they aren't," he said.
"The police will get them?" she asked, a peculiar question in her voice as she looked him right in the eye.
Peter opened his mouth, then shut it, then shifted position. "Yeah," he said. "Probably."
She put her head on his shoulder, and for just a moment he would have given anything to read her eyes.
Then Officer Percy was back. Peter looked at the clock. "Figure we'll leave at four," he said.
xXx
The Stacy's, Peter, and Brilhart stood on the steps of the police station.
"Good luck to you," Brilhart said. He shook his head. "Sure you don't want to stay the night?"
"Shouldn't be necessary," Peter said. "Hey, do me a couple more favors, huh?"
"You are running low on favors, civilian," Brilhart growled.
"These are for your own good," Peter said. "Check with Agent Farley of the F.B.I. and ask to look at surveillance tapes of Gorozani's Eatery between ten and two today."
"What? That's a known mob hangout."
"Yeah," Peter said, "under constant independent federal observation. See if you can get anything useful to your case. Trust me on this one."
"God I hate the feds," Brilhart said, shaking his head. "Okay, you have me curious. I'll check it out. What's the other favor?"
"Send a forensics team up to the dome of the museum. The janitor should know how to get you up there. Shouldn't be any boobytraps, but keep your eyes open."
"What am I looking for up there?" Brilhart said.
Peter smiled, turned, and headed down the steps.
"Parker, what am I looking for up there?" Brilhart barked.
"A library," Peter said over his shoulder.
xXx
The phone rang, and then it jumped off the table and smacked against the wall. Where it stuck. It rang again.
Peter's face popped up off the bed, looking along his wrist's line of fire. Phone. Daytime. He blinked, becoming conscious, and then swore.
He hopped out of bed and pried the phone off the wall, taking a bit of plaster. Note to self. Get backboard for phone. He dragged the handset off the base, trailing sticky strands of web. "Morning," he said.
"Okay, Parker, enough games. You're going to come down to the station right now. You've got some explaining to do. If you aren't here in thirty minutes I'm sending a black and white after you."
"Easy, easy," Peter said with a grin. "You see the tapes? Are they date and time stamped by a federal agency?"
"Now, Parker!"