Darien swung the office door open while bickering amicably with Bobby over their New Year's resolutions. To be more specific; whether or not there was any real value in making them, as the likelihood they would be kept was very slim indeed given their rather hectic lives. Darien pointed out that if the resolutions were easy, like never smoking for an avowed non-smoker, they'd be fulfilled more often. To which Bobby argued that would make the resolutions pointless, because they were supposed to challenge a person to change, preferably for the better.
Since Bobby's intent would have been obvious to a blind man, Darien had simply shot back with, "so I should resolve to start smoking, then?" which both frustrated and amused the smaller man. Darien had come to the conclusion that telling Bobby that' he'd resolved to get Arnaud in the most permanent way possible would have gone over as well as a bomb in a Russian school.
It was looking like that resolution might well be one he'd achieve, thanks to the information Fallon had paid him with, plus some legwork he'd done on his own time. He might be a total dork when it came to computers, but even he could figure out the search function for a database. So, it was with thoughts of attaining a lofty personal goal that he walked into the room to be greeted by the one person he knew to have succeeded in the near-impossible.
"Alex, how's James doing?"
She gave him a beautiful smile, motherhood was treating her well and had mellowed her more than a bit. Did it make her any less of an kick-ass agent? Hell no. If anything, she was better; less abrasive and easier to work with. "He's just fine. At daycare. Probably trying to eat the crayons again."
Darien made a face. "Multi-colored poop is scary." That incident had convinced him that diaper-duty was something he was not cut out for.
"Won't be a concern for much longer. It looks like he'll be potty-trained in record time," Alex informed them, both pride and concern coloring her words.
Bobby shrugged. "So, he's smart just like his mom."
That helped, you could read the thanks in her eyes and she dimpled at him. "Of course. He'll make a great agent one day."
"That he will," the Official agreed, and all eyes turned to him. "Sit. We have work to do." As the boys did he continued, "We have a problem."
"When don't we," Hobbes snarked, leaning back in his chair looking relaxed and unconcerned.
The Official managed a dry chuckle. "True. Very true. It appears a... friend of ours has gone missing."
That got Darien's attention. Was it Kate? Could Jessica have fallen prey to some sexual deviant? Or maybe Adam, stolen from the desert facility that was his current home?
"Eberts," the Official barked.
Albert snapped to attention. "Huiclov de Fehrn has vanished from prison."
Darien and bobby exchanged a glance and together said, "Arnaud."
Eberts nodded. "So we think, but he was never seen..."
Darien snorted. "We know why that is. He's playing with Quicksilver glands again." He wanted to say more, wanted to tell them that he'd known about this, knew that Arnie was gonna try to break his bro out of prison. Trouble was he hadn't believed the info, knowing, as he did, that Huiclov felt far safer in an eight by eight cell than playing terrorist with his psychotic younger brother. Darien shifted in his seat, irritated that he'd let the opportunity to catch the bastard slip by. Next time... next time he'd trust the intel, especially since he'd just had it proven to him once again that Fallon and her people knew what the hell they were doing.
"Is there any chance this could be Chrysalis?" Alex raised a hand to forestall the obvious retorts. "It wouldn't be too difficult to figure out Huiclov is being watched by the Agency and why. He could be nothing more than convenient bait to draw Fawkes out into the open." She cocked her head. "I'm not the only one to have been taken off their Christmas card list." She turned to Darien. "Am I right?"
She was, but knowing what he did he was still forced to disagree. "Yeah. But I don't think this is them. They've been avoiding us since you gave Stark a good ol' smackdown."
Alex grinned at Darien's phrasing. "All right, but I suggest we don't limit ourselves to the one angle, as a precaution."
"Of course, Ms. Monroe," Eberts said, "but statistically, Monsieur De Fehrn is the most likely culprit."
"We know where he's at?" Hobbes asked, getting things back on track.
The Official shook his head. "The last confirmed sighting of him was in Geneva, six months ago."
"Which means he could be anywhere," Hobbes groused.
"Or anyone," Darien pointed out, and watch as everyone frowned.
"Shit, Fawkes is right. Ain't no way he's forgotten how to make those masks of his." Hobbes looked about as unhappy as a little boy just told his puppy had died, complete with all the gory descriptive details. Justifiably. How were they supposed to find a changeling? "How're we supposed to track his movements?"
"Well, it's not like he's suddenly gone all altruistic. He has a certain... style, shall we say. Maybe we can track his movements that way," Alex suggested.
"Follow the results instead of the man," Eberts mused aloud. "I can try. Search for activities that fit his pattern."
"You do that. In the meantime, I want you three to go to the prison and find out exactly what happened." The Official got to his feet. "Warden Richards is waiting for your arrival."
Bobby hopped to his feet. "On it, Chief."
Darien wasn't so sanguine about their little field trip. The Warden might not be quite so thrilled to see him, since he'd been the one to break Huiclov out once before. Darien hadn't known who he was at the time, thinking Huiclov was his brother "Johnny," but still... "Uh, it might be better if I sit this one out."
Alex smacked him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Fawkes, I'm sure Richards has bigger concerns than you about now."
"Yeah, losing a prisoner, not once, but twice don't look good on his record," Bobby consoled. "'Sides there was extenuatin' circumstances."
Darien snorted and flowed upright. "'Extenuatin'. That's an understatement if ever I heard one."
"Move it," the Official barked. "Find Arnaud before he causes more trouble."
Darien tipped an invisible hat. "You got it, pardner."
-----
The three of them rode in Golda to Almas Perdidas, a medium-security prison that had been built on the site of an infamous Mexican prison of the same name that was shut down in the late 1800s due to the excessively high mortality rate of the inmates. Alex sat on the jump seat between the two men as she usually did when forced to ride in the van. The conversation was, surprisingly, all business instead of Alex's adventures in motherhood. Though in truth, Bobby would be just as likely to bring up the topic of James as Darien. The kid could be quite adorable when he wanted to be, but you could see the glint of potential hellion in those baby blue eyes. Alex was going to be in for a wild ride in a few years.
The prison was easily visible for miles, looking like it had dropped right out of the sky and onto the barren desert. There was no cover as far as the eye could see, just the mountains in the distance to the east and the city of San Diego to the northwest. There was nothing but sand and scrub and the occasional vulture circling overhead. Even now, in January, the three story building was swallowed up by heat haze, the walls shimmering and twisting into bizarre shapes.
They were, with the exception of the odd dead animal, the only ones on the road, a stretch of two-lane blacktop that ended at the prison. It was the only way in or out that didn't require wings or a four-wheel drive vehicle. Escapees, and there had been a few over the years, rarely made it far before the desert conditions took their toll. One, according to the story, was found a couple years after he'd broken out, lying in the lee of a taller than average rock, mummified. It was believed that he'd lain down to rest and never woken up.
That tale circulating among the inmate population was effective in discouraging all but the most determined.
And the desert was only one of a dozen hurdles to get past in an escape attempt. No one... no one had just walked out. Yet, by all accounts, that's exactly what Huiclov had done.
"So, Fawkes, a homecoming of a sort isn't this?"
Bobby tried to cover a snort of laughter with a cough and Darien leaned forward to glare around Alex at him. Good thing he knew her so well, or he'd think her question was more than apropos ribbing.
"Can't say I've had the pleasure. Visited here a couple of times, but that was it." Darien settled back into the seat and watched the yellow lines going whipping by. "Last time I was inside was the Javier case."
"Oh yes, I remember. You broke out then, too." You could hear the ear-to-ear grin Alex was wearing.
"All in good cause," Bobby chimed in with, finally getting around to backing up his partner.
"I know. But it does prove that Quicksilver could have been involved with this escape as well," she pointed out. "It definitely gives one a bit of an advantage."
"'A bit'?" Hobbes repeated, the tone as dry as the dust blowing outside.
Darien, however, smiled. "Just the way I like it." Even with the Quicksilver it hadn't been easy to break out with Dante. So many things had to fall into place at just the right moment for that escape to go right.
"Trouble is, it gives the bad guys the same advantage." Bobby pulled into a parking spot and put Golda into park. They climbed out and headed to the concrete block and LEXAN guard shack that was the only way in or out. Darien remembered it well from his last visit here, hustling Huiclov out with "Kevin" bitching and moaning the entire time. Yet another occasion Arnaud had slipped through Darien's fingers.
He could still recall the sudden rushing return of his memory, remember closing his hands about Arnaud's scrawny little neck, and then the pain. Brilliant and mind-searing. the toxin in his system finally taking a firm hold and sending him to the ground to twist and writhe as seizures ripped through his body.
The sting of the needle had been insignificant in comparison even as it sent him into blessed unconsciousness.
Darien shook his head, tossing the memory off the way a dog shakes water off its fur. They shattered and landed with a soft patter in far-flung corners of his mind to hopefully evaporate and never again be recalled.
Oh, if only.
He pulled out his badge when prompted and trailed after Alex as they passed through the double gates, their escort, the warden's assistant, waiting for them on the inside.
The walk was an uncomfortable one; Darien failing to join in the conversation with anything more than vague sounds that seemed to be accepted as appropriate. The place was every prison movie or TV show cliché come to life. The work crews, the obvious gangs, the cat-calls (most aimed at Alex, but some not), the stench of deodorizer that failed to cover deeper, darker smells that had become imbedded in the very walls over time.
His last time in prison had been kind of fun, being undercover and all, but the fears had still been there. Especially when Luthor and Russell had discovered he was back inside. Darien had been able to handle those clowns, though who knew what could have happened had he been cornered in the shower that day. He never, ever, ever, wanted to be incarcerated again. Not even for work. Bobby could go inside and play bad-ass if he wanted, Darien would decline and such invitation no matter how forcefully demanded. That part of his life was quite over and he never intended to look back.
They were ushered into a nondescript office, complete with chairs for all and a TV/VCR combo on a rolling cart. There was a stack of VHS tapes sitting atop a much-abused desk and a sign on the wall that proclaimed 'Big Brother is watching you' with an arrow pointing at the caged video camera mounted in the corner of the room. The red light was on, confirming that it was recording their every word and deed.
Their escort, Mr. Tripp, waved for them to sit then walked over to the AV equipment. "Warden Richards is in a meeting, but will be here as soon as he can. Until then feel free to view the security tapes." He slid the first of them into the machine and handed Alex the remote. "All have been cued to one hour prior to the time we believe Mr. De Fehrn escaped."
"Where'd you lose him?" Bobby asked as the TV blinked on.
"Our last confirmed sighting was in the exercise yard. He missed roll call directly after," Tripp explained matter-of-factly.
"We'll need a list of all personnel on duty at that time." Alex paused the video. "Especially those who had contact directly with Mr. De Fehrn."
"Of course. They will be available to be interviewed if you wish." Tripp was pushing the cooperation button damn hard. Losing Huiclov wasn't that big of a deal when it came right down to it, the guy was a total marshmallow in the inside, but missing Arnaud walking in and out of the prison... that was an embarrassment of major proportions.
"We'll also need a list of Huiclov's visitors for the last six months," Darien said, knowing how Arnaud had used a middleman in the past.
Tripp nodded. "Sure, but it's a short list. Mainly just his new lawyer, Murphy Pomerance."
Bobby jumped on that. "New lawyer? Any chance he was here the day Huiclov went AWOL?"
Tripp blinked and paled slightly. "I'll have to check, but I believe so. That morning, in fact."
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "And the chance that's a coincidence is...?"
"Nonexistent," Alex asserted. "Mr. Tripp, please get us those files and let Warden Richards know we'll speak to him whenever he's ready."
Tripp gave a sharp nod and fled the room, clearly shaken by the possibility that they'd let Huiclov's accomplice walk right in the door.
-----
It didn't take long thanks to the eagle-eyes of Fawkes to confirm that someone invisible had assisted with Huiclov's escape. Not that they had something so obvious as Huiclov turning silver and vanishing form sight, but they did have doors magically opening and closing on their own, guards becoming suddenly distracted and lured away from their posts and buttons on consoles depressing by themselves were dead giveaways.
Tripp came back with the files and sign-in book for the day in question, which confirmed that Huiclov's "lawyer" had visited him just an hour prior to his disappearance. Thing was, while the sheet showed he had signed out the signature was different. It was close, but both Monroe and Fawkes agreed that it was probably a forgery.
From Mr. Tripp they requested the video of the visitor's room, which had clearly been prepared for since he was back with the tape in mere minutes. This time, however, he remained in the room to watch with them.
The lawyer, Pomerance, looked nothing like Arnaud, but that meant nothing given he'd pulled off being Eberts damn near perfectly. It was some of the mannerisms, plus Huiclov's responses, that signaled something was off.
Mr. Tripp picked up on their reactions and left to bring Officer Coletti in for them to question. Not offer, just bring him, which was a sure sign Tripp suspected collusion between the "lawyer" and the prison guard.
It took less than 15 minutes for the tag-team of Hobbes and Monroe to break the man, but by then the 250 pound mountain of muscle had been on the verge of tears, what with Bobby and Alex playing their version of bad cop/worse cop. Darien tossed in the occasional remark that did little more than make Coletti sweat even harder.
In the end, he admitted to doing nothing more than accepting $2000 in exchange for adding Pomerance's name to the sign out sheet, should he forget to do so. It wasn't too surprising the guard could be bought, Hobbes was well aware that a couple hundred in the right pocket could get a private and unmonitored meeting with an inmate. At one time, it was how Arnaud arranged his visits with his brother. Posing as a lawyer would make it even easier.
Warden Richards entered the room as Mr. Tripp led Coletti away, ostensibly under arrest. The man had bought himself a shitload of trouble with that two grand. Money that probably wouldn't be nearly enough to get him bail, come his arraignment. And if the lowlifes he got to share a holding cell with were to get wind of his soon-to-be former profession... the man wouldn't stand a chance.
Hobbes pushed away from the desk he'd been leaning against and frowned. Richards looked way too calm considering what one of his men had just admitted to.
"So it was his lawyer." There wasn't even a hint of a question in Richards' voice.
Fawkes snorted. "Right. His 'lawyer'," he snarked, complete with air quotes.
Richards turned to face Fawkes and smiled. He looked amazingly like viper trying to mesmerize its prey. "Ah, Mr. Fawkes, always a comedian. I've heard all about you from Warden Kennedy. You remember him, don't you? Your stay in Soledad, wasn't it?"
Hobbes was impressed when, instead of blanching or flinching, Darien thoughtfully tapped his chin. "Kennedy... Kennedy... oh, I remember now. Dear old Walter, give him my best, would you." He got to his feet and looked down at Richards. "And if you get a chance, ask him how he liked the humidor." He turned to Monroe. "The things you learn while inside... It's just amazing." The snark just oozed off the words and the smile plastered on his face was patently fake, but it worked. Richards effort to 'put Darien in his place' was easily deflected and his own blow struck home.
Richards grit his teeth and leveled a steely glare at the ex-con, but before he could formulate a response Alex smoothly stepped between the two men.
"Warden Richards, Agent Fawkes' past indiscretions are indeed a matter of public record, and part of why he is on this particular case."
The tactic was at least partially effective, as it drew Richards' attention away from Fawkes and to the buxom Monroe. Damn, the woman could sweet talk a rabid coyote. Of course, that would be right before she shot it.
"It takes a con to find a con?" Richards asked in disbelief.
"Something like that," Hobbes said. "We're gonna need copies of these tapes and files, and any records, video, or whatever of the vehicle Pomerance drove. You do have surveillance of the parking lot, don't you?"
Richards smiled, though it looked painful. "Of course. I'll have it ready for you within an hour."
"Good enough. We'll wait right here." Hobbes made it plain it was a dismissal, and though Richards obviously wanted to argue the matter, but after a few seconds of trying to formulate a response, he realized they were ignoring him and left.
Fawkes cocked his head, hands stuffed into his back pockets. "Well, that was fun," his tone clearly indicating the opposite.
Alex turned to him, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "A trip down memory lane you don't care for?"
"Ever been to prison, Alex? It ain't no Club Med, that's for sure," Fawkes snarked, the tension in his shoulders obvious to Hobbes.
She just shrugged. "You are a thief and an ex-con. I didn't make that happen."
Hobbes decided it was time to toss in his two cents. "Was a thief, Monroe. Was. Fawkes, here, has turned his life..."
"Oh, no. I am a thief."
"... around." Hobbes whipped about to stare at Fawkes. "What? Waddaya mean you are a thief?"
Fawkes plastered a look of hurt innocence on his face. "Just like Alex said - 'it takes a con to find a con' or a thief to catch a thief."
"That is not what I meant," Monroe argued, one heel coming down with a sharp crack to emphasize her point.
"Then what did you mean?" Fawkes gave her a searching look, clearly wanting an honest answer.
She didn't hesitate. "Yes, you are a thief and there was a time I didn't trust you for that reason alone. But it's not all you are. You are a bit more complicated than that."
Fawkes pondered her words, but Hobbes was wondering if he'd forgotten his meds or if the conversation had really gotten that confusing. "Is this some weird Shrek reference?"
"Shrek?" Now it was Monroe who sounded confused, while Fawkes burst out in laughter.
"Onion or parfait?" Darien got out around a bout of snickers.
Alex rolled her eyes. "Layers. Okay, got it."
"Yeah, layers. Is that why you got in Richards' face? 'Cause Fawkes here is more than a petty larcenist?" He didn't always understand Monroe's motivations; she was off in a realm of her own most of the time.
She smiled slightly. "He's our thief. We get to push his buttons. Not jerks like Richards."
"Awww, I didn't know you cared." Fawkes shook his head, still amused.
"So he's our thief now. Not too long ago you woulda..."
Alex interrupted Hobbes' admonishment. "You're right. I would have, and did assume the worst about him." She spread her hands. "I know better now."
"Just like you, Hobbes." Darien was wearing this smug, righteous look.
Hobbes snorted, not denying the truth. Once upon a time he'd been little more than a glorified babysitter for Fawkes, but in the end he too had come around and discovered that, though a thief through and through, Darien Fawkes was also a good man. "All right, smartass, we're agreed ; you're a thief, but you're also a federal agent, which means you got a job to do."
Darien came to attention and saluted sharply. "Sir, yes, sir. Shall I drop and give you 20, sir?"
"Twenty what?" Alex commented, with a smile threatening to break free.
Hobbes wagged a finger in her face, trying to look fierce, but was pretty certain he failed as she chuckled softly. "You are no help, Monroe."
She did a perfect imitation of Fawkes' patented look of put-upon innocence and Hobbes gave the whole thing up as a bad job. Least till he saw the look on Darien's face. It was study in deadly seriousness. This... banter was nothing but a distraction, something to ease the building tension of the situation. A tool, if you would, to keep the stress and the worry at bay. It was also pure Fawkes.
The Freak had to be involved in this; no one else who knew about Quicksilver made any sense. So there was no chance that Fawkes would not take this seriously. He still had some revenge issues to take out on the Swiss Miss Mother's ass. So, Hobbes' words, while seemingly out of left field, made perfect sense to their target audience, "You'll get your chance."
Darien gave him an unreadable look. "Yeah, I will."