"Sir…Special Agent Simon Nigel-Nickerson is here to see you."
Kojo Bungawunga leaned back in his plush leather chair and looked up at his secretary, his lined face tense. "Thank you. Send him in." Bungawunga swivelled to face the others sitting at the large round conference table in his spacious office. The mid-morning sunshine gave the room a warm, summery feel, even though it was late September. "Nigel-Nickerson is one of our top Special Agents, gentlemen, ladies, and I feel that he may well be the choice to head up this task force."
"For the United States, yes," replied McKenna, the Canadian Director of Magical Peoples.
"For North America, Fred," Bungawunga said. "Degrace is an excellent officer, yes, but the fact remains that she is a Homicide Detective. Lieutenant. Not even a captain. And we've discussed the personal issues -- I mean, she's suspended from duty, for Merlin's sake! And Nigel-Nickerson…"
"…has worked with Ms. Degrace on several occasions, and has absolutely no objection to sharing command with her. She is more than capable. And besides, I happen to have personal issues of my own. Got a problem with that?" A clipped, nasal voice rolled out. Every head in the room swung around to take in the tall, thin man who had walked in.
He looked and dressed like a homeless person, his chin-length blonde hair and thick sideburns unkempt and streaked with grey, even though he could not be more than forty-five. His angular face was all cheekbone and chin, and his dark blue eyes were piercing, very intent. There was no trace of humour about his grim mouth, yet there was a palpable sense of great power and intellect. Albus Dumbledore, studying him, thought that Nigel-Nickerson looked to be capable of working up a sneer to rival Severus Snape. And as far as Dumbledore was concerned, that was saying something.
"Simon. Please, sit down." Despite Nigel-Nickerson's abruptness towards him, Bungawunga gave him a warm smile. Clearly, he didn't take the special agent's attitude personally.
"Thank you, sir. I'll stand, for the moment." Nigel-Nickerson nodded, and moved his lean frame over by the open window. He then lit up a cigarette, taking care to direct the smoke out towards the open air. While he took a long drag off his smoke, his hawk-like eyes swept the room, lighting on each person in turn and subjecting them to an intense scrutiny.
"Suit yourself, Simon. I'll make introductions." Bungawunga went round the table, indicating each with a casual wave. " You already know Fred McKenna, from Canada. Carmelina Fury, European Union. Davidos Raimana, South American Alliance. Albus Dumbledore, Britain. Lila Hamuakealakani, Pacific-Asian Conglomerate, and Nikoscha Kaswandali, African Empire. Ladies and gentlemen, Special Agent Simon Nigel-Nickerson, of the American Magical Bureau of Investigation."
Murmured greetings and nods followed the introductions. After a moment, Bungawunga continued. "Simon. You've been following the British situation, with the terrorist Voldemort, I understand."
Nigel-Nickerson exhaled a stream of smoke through his nose. "Quite closely. They've got a hell of a situation on their hands."
"Correct. We have voted to assemble a task force to deal with this threat. I recommend you to head up the force, with Ms. Degrace reporting to you."
Nigel-Nickerson stared at them for a long moment. In the harsh morning light, several scars could be seen on the side of his neck, as fine as spider webs. There was a deep crease between his eyebrows, and deep lines on either side of his mouth. The angle of the sunlight turned his blue gaze even more intense, as though one was peering deep into the ocean. There was silence, and he inhaled another long drag off his cigarette. Smoke curled delicately upwards, and towards the open breeze.
"Who else is on the force?"
"Every government is contributing troops. Mostly Magical Law Enforcement, but there are plenty of willing volunteers who will be trained in combat by the Law Troops."
"What kind of numbers are we looking at?"
Fred McKenna spoke up. "Over ten thousand from Canada."
"Britain and European Union combined, almost ten thousand." Carmelina Fury, her beautiful dark eyes flashing with pride, spoke the words proudly. Beside her, Albus Dumbledore nodded his agreement.
"Another twenty thousand minimum from the rest of the world," Bungawunga said, then added, "And so far…over eighty-thousand troops have volunteered, from the United States."
Nigel-Nickerson straightened. "Well over one hundred thousand troops, to take down Voldemort?"
"No." Dumbledore spoke. Nigel-Nickerson studied the legendary wizard with keen curiosity. "It is the job of those troops to clear the path for one wizard to take down Voldemort."
"Harry Potter," said Nigel-Nickerson, softly. "The Chosen One."
"Indeed," said Dumbledore.
"All right," said the Special Agent, stubbing out his cigarette. He strode over to the table, and swung into a seat beside Bungawunga. "Sounds like fun. I'll play that game." His lean face broke into a smile. "And you want me to command…"
"Along with Lucie Degrace. She deserves more than to be your subordinate." said McKenna, with a defiant glance.
"Agreed," said Nigel-Nickerson. "She's a tactical genius. People follow her lead, too. She commands trust. Best head I know. Best damn cop, active or inactive." He threw a piercing glance at McKenna, who nodded in agreement.
Dumbledore smiled. "She takes after her great-great-great-grand-uncle."
Nigel-Nickerson looked at him.
"Myself," added Dumbledore.
"I knew that." Nigel-Nickerson grinned. "But you're wrong, old man. Lucie's been getting her head clear and back on her feet. When she gets back into the swing of things, you won't see her for dust. You'll wish you took after her, instead. Trust me, she'll leave us all behind. When she's on her game, I couldn't keep up with her to save my life." The grin transformed his severe face, giving him a touch of warmth and humour. "God knows, she's saved my life more than a few times. So it's just the two of us?"
"And Commander Severus Snape. Of the European Union/British Alliance." Dumbledore's voice was firm.
The room went silent.
"Snape," said Nigel-Nickerson, almost reverently. His eyes gleamed. "The great spy. Brilliant." He shook his head. "The man is a legend. A real hero." He leaned forward, as though eager to be off. "It'll be an honour to serve in this capacity. What a team we're going to make! Thank you." He stood, and looked at Bungawunga. "As co-commander of this operation, sir, I'd recommend that we deploy American and Canadian troops to the rest of our alliances immediately, so that we may begin training."
"Certainly, Simon. Plans have already been drawn up."
"Excellent."
"And now," said Dumbledore, rising. "May I suggest that we re-locate to our British Headquarters? Ms. Degrace arrived last night, on my request. We have much to talk about."
"Indeed." Nigel-Nickerson bowed to the assembled Directors. "Your servant. Mr. Dumbledore, shall we?" He snapped to attention.
Dumbledore smiled at him, and withdrew a small, battered silver object from the pocket of his smartly-cut Muggle suit of purple silk, pinstriped. He held it out to Nigel-Nickerson. "We shall. Goodday, ladies and gentleman. I shall speak with you all on the morrow."
With a smile and a nod, Dumbledore moved into position. Nigel-Nickerson reached out a thin, rough-looking hand and touched the Portkey. Instantly, they felt the irresistible pull, and were carried away through a rushing wind of space and time.