Breaking Dawn
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own Danny Phantom.
Chapter 18: Quickening
Amity Park Police Department Headquarters
Danny's eyes were hooded with exhaustion as he stood impassively behind the thick panel that separated the small room, filled with recording devices and surveillance cameras, from the interrogation cell next door. The purpose of this was that anyone monitoring the proceedings could clearly see and hear all the went on in the course of the suspect's grilling without being observed themselves, and now the bulletproof panes served their purpose well as the rubber tires of a squeaky wheelchair came to a stop beside him.
Sam Manson, her battered condition notwithstanding, had obstinately refused to be poked and prodded by Dr. Dourman's staff upon regaining consciousness shortly before daybreak. The good doctor, exasperated by the girl's stubbornness, had finally relented and discharged her from his care, whereupon Sam had immediately taken a cab to the police station to meet up with Danny and Tucker.
"So, are they the ones who attacked m-ooomph!"
Sam's inquiry was abruptly cut off as Danny, his features alight with joy, turned around and promptly pressed his lips to hers in a good, firm kiss. Sam, his Sam, was exactly the medicine he needed in the wake of what had…almost…happened, and he felt a flutter of excitement in his heart as she snaked her arms around his waist. Danny pulled Sam clear from her mobile seat as he pulled her close to him gently, seeming to fear the Sam would break like a fragile treasure if he touched her too hard, and for just a moment, all other things were forgotten.
Sam giggled in a girlish manner thoroughly unsuited for someone such as she, and she snuggled up against his chest lovingly as Danny's heart thudded against her own.
"Sam… Danny murmured simply, as though this were explanation enough. "I thought…"
"I don't die that easily, dummy," Sam grinned back. "It takes more than a pipe and a crowbar to hurt me."
"Don't I know it," Danny breathed, gazing at her with affection. "How long have you been up?"
"Not long. An hour or so. Brody called and told me you'd be here," Sam replied, her tone growing serious. "He also told me what happened, Danny."
Thwack!
Danny yelped with surprise as Sam suddenly and quite without warning slugged him in the arm. "OW! What was that for?"
"That was for being a testosterone-filled idiot," Sam replied. "Don't you ever scare me like that again! I was afraid you'd gone and done something really horrible, and if that'd been the case, Brody wouldn't have been able to bail you out like he did last time! What on Earth were you thinking?"
"I…I wasn't," Danny admitted, his eyes downcast and his face forlorn. "I'm so sorry, Sam. Please forgive me…"
She put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Don't worry. I already have."
"So do you want me to fill you two in, or should I come back?"
The voice of one Agent Brody caused the two lovers to jump apart like startled rabbits, and Danny felt his face heat up as the venerable cop grinned knowingly at him.
"How long have you been standing there?" Danny demanded.
"Long enough to know that you're hopelessly in love," Brody smirked back as he downed the remainder of his Folgers. "No shame in that, though, let me tell ya."
"From cop to voyeur," Sam retorted. "You must be so proud."
"Hey, I've been in here this whole time working the audio settings," Brody said defensively. "You guys are the ones who came in and started to go Shakespeare all over the damn place."
"You've been sitting right there? How come we never saw you?"
"An old dog knows a lot of tricks," Brody tapped his nose secretively.
"Are those the people that attacked me?" Sam asked, nodding toward the prisoners.
"'Course they are," Brody spat. "We've got Sims in another holding cell, too, but we'll get to him in a bit. All four of these dipwads have agreed to tell us what they know about the Society's inner workings in exchange for a reduced sentence. Personally, I'd be happy to utter the word 'terrorist' and have 'em all shipped off to Gitmo for a few decades, but we need the intel that they've promised us. We haven't been able to touch the Society: they kidnapped me and got off clean, they almost destroyed Fenton's home and got off clean, and I swear to God that there's no way in Hell that they're slipping through our fingers this time around! There has to be something that we can trace back to that bastard Skryme; if we can prove he's been running this show, then the Society will fold like my second ex-wife at poker night."
"Shouldn't you two be at school, anyway?" Brody added, glancing at them again.
"Mom and Dad already called me in sick," Danny shrugged. "And to be honest, I'd like it if I could put school on the back burner until this thing with the Society is over."
"I just got out of the freaking hospital," Sam grinned. "Even the evil secretaries in Casper High's attendance office wouldn't make me go after something like that."
Brody didn't miss the loving look that passed between the two. It's good that they have some time to be together after all that's happened, he thought. It's nice to see young folks in love; makes me remember that this country isn't completely going to hell in a handbasket. Aloud he said, "What about your other friend, what's-his-name?"
"Tucker didn't have an excuse," Danny sniggered. "He's already on the bus by now."
"And he'll be sorry he missed this," Sam added with an evil grin.
Apparently, Brody decided, the fact had been lost upon Sam that she, Tucker and Jazz had been detained in a cell very much like this one less than a month ago. The memory of that entire fiasco still made Brody very uncomfortable, and even now, as one of Danny's inner circle, he found it hard to forgive himself for the hell he'd made Danny and his loved ones go through.
Best not to dwell on that, he told himself firmly. You've got a job to do, buster.
Then, with several thick files in hand, Agent Thomas Brody exited the small station and headed for the interrogation room next door with a wolfish grin on his face.
The pleasure of squeezing criminals like grape clusters in a wine-press always tended to brighten his day.
Moments later…
The three men who had nearly taken Sam's life jumped as one when Agent Brody entered their midst like a shark among tuna. But once their initial shock had subsided, they found themselves confused: they had expected the cop to come storming in with a wrathful expression and a voice to match, but instead they beheld Brody with a rather benign, harmless grin on his face.
The Agent's outward show of affability was far more chilling than any threatening pretense he could have conjured, and Brody knew it.
His eyes never left those of the attackers as Brody slid into his seat, and he made a great show removing a plastic-wrapped honey-bun from his lapel pocket before proceeding to eat with relish. He knew that the three prisoners had not eaten since the previous evening, and thus the sight of food, and the prospect of more, would serve to loosen their tongues. It was an old interrogator's trick, and one that had worked many times in the past.
"Door number one," he said, taking a moment to lick frosting off his fingertips, "all of you go to prison for a very long time."
The prisoners' faces drained of color.
"I can see that that idea doesn't appeal to you," Brody continued. "Door number two: you tell me everything you know about the Society of Light, and you still might go to prison for a very long time. But it couldn't hurt your chances."
"The Light's justice knows no earthly limitations," one of them replied stonily.
"Keep telling yourself that while you're meeting your cellmate," Brody snorted, apparently unconcerned as he motioned several officers into the room. "Take him away, fellas. He had his chance."
The sliding lock of the handcuffs made a ratcheting sound as they were slapped on the man's wrists, and he was ushered out of the detainment cell before his companions' startled eyes. The whole thing happened in the blink of an eye amidst the rustling of cloth, and Brody's benevolent smile reasserted itself as he tapped a finger casually against his chin.
"Now, where were we…? Ah, yes, I remember now: I was about a walrus snort away from making your join your buddy in a federal prison. Of course, that may not be necessary if the two of you suddenly find your tongues and start talking…now."
The second man, now thoroughly afraid of Brody, summoned up the courage to speak. "W-what would you like to know?"
"Everything," Brody purred, leaning so close that their noses were almost touching. "Where are they meeting? Who holds the membership roster? What are they planning next? And who is leading them?"
"No one knows who Leader really is," the terrified prisoner stuttered. "H-he contacts us, not the other way around! We don't even have his number!"
"Can the calls be traced?"
"I dunno. Maybe you could put a tap on the line and see what you get," the man shrugged. "But to do that you'd have to infiltrate another base, and we've beefed up security. And even if you get the tap working, I doubt it'll lead you anywhere."
"Let me decide that. You worry about saving your sorry hide. Where is the base, dirtbag? I know you have at least a handful!"
"Let me see…There's one on 81st, one on Elm and Parker Lane, and one in the vacant warehouse across the street from Mel's Fish 'N' Fry."
"I always hated their catfish," Brody muttered. "Which one does 'Leader' contact the most frequently?"
"That would be the one on Elm and Parker. All the higher-ups hold meetings there once a week."
"What time?"
"Seven o'clock. On the dot."
"Is there a window of opportunity that I can use to get my man inside?"
"Well…not really," the second detainee spoke up. "We have new security equipment ever since you busted out a while back. Almost every inch of the place is covered with thermal imaging, motion sensors, and pressure pads. You'd have to be a spy or something to get in unseen; the place is a fortress now."
Looks like Foley's gonna come in handy again, Brody admitted silently. "Are the cameras ever left unattended?"
"We have people there around the clock in shifts, but…."
"But?" Brody growled, urging him to continue.
"Well, each shift changes every hour, on the hour. And there's about five or ten minutes in between the two where the guys on duty are punching out and the guys replacing them are signing in, so no one's in the security room then. You could use that…I guess."
"When do all of your so-called 'higher-ups' have their little group therapy sessions?" Brody asked.
"Fridays, usually, but it's subject to change. There's only one copy of the entire membership roster in existence, and if Leader doesn't have it, it'll be in the safe under the big table. It's kept there at all times, except during executive meetings."
"What kind of safe? Another piece of hi-tech junk?"
"Actually, no," the informant smirked. "No money left in the budget, I guess. I told them that they should do something about that..."
"Get on with it!"
"Okay, okay! It's an old thing, with a knob dial and several tumblers. You could probably crack it if your inside guy knew what he was doing. But why do you need that? The Society isn't illegal; you can't arrest people just for being in it!"
"The Society is wanted for questioning in connection with the attack on Mr. Fenton's home," Brody sneered back. "And since none of you have turned yourselves in, that makes you fugitives in the eyes of the law. Hence, arrest on sight. How do you know all of this, anyway?"
"I'm the guy they hired to install it, before I joined," the prisoner shrugged. "Most of it is tech from the security company I work, I mean, worked at."
His profile checks out , then, Brody nodded, glancing at a file unnecessarily. "I think we're done here," he said, his brain already buzzing with the information he'd acquired. "You've both been very helpful, and I'm sure the judge will take that into consideration when deciding how long he's gonna put you two in the slammer."
"Just one question," the first detainee halted Brody as he turned to leave. "What are you going to do with the roster once you have it?"
The agent paused in the act of swinging the door open, and in lieu of a verbal answer, Brody held his empty Styrofoam cup aloft…and crushed it.
A/N: OOH, now it's ON! I sense a 'Mission Impossible' kind of thing on the horizon! But will Brody's plan work? Will he and Danny FINALLY be able to bring down Skryme? And will our hero ever be able to get back to his life? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! I want to hear what YOU, the reader, have to say! ^^
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque