20.

Indulgent Cameo – Serving the Warrant – Prison Break – Not Quite Kosher – Fast Car

London

Richard Alpert snuck a glance now and again at the man seated next to him inside the long, black sedan. He was pale; a shade of near-marble agelessness and inscrutability Richard had never seen before. Pale blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a dead black suit completed the look. He looked like an undertaker, which would have made far more sense than his actual apparent role.

The man – Richard knew him only as 'Agent' – was introduced to him at the police station as representing INTERPOL. Richard had struggled with finding a tactful way to call bullshit on that. INTERPOL was a liaison agency that never went into the field itself. It worked with police networks around the world in extreme cases of inter-country crime, such as terrorism or fled fugitives. In the end, he didn't have to.

"I am strictly a field liaison in certain... special matters," the man had explained in a rich, old-fashioned Southern accent. "They permit me a few quirks in exchange for my expertise, which is much the same as the last agency I associated with. Until my departure. Meanwhile, I assure you that London's finest are the point guard in this officially, while I am present by request of the Hanso Foundation to give you a certain amount of assistance." All right, then. Richard went with it, off guard and slightly puzzled.

Now the vehicle they were in approached the Paik Bioscience facility; four police vehicles and a wagon bringing up the rear. Sirens were off, with a thin paper copy of the bioterrorism warrant resting on the agent's knee. It was not the only warrant available. In the man's hand was a police radio.

The lot of the building was only lightly filled; many away on lunch at the chosen hour of arrival. The agent's head tilted slightly, noting the fine Benz that sat in the CEO's parking spot. He nodded, very slightly, and slid out of the sedan as it came to a stop, beckoning Richard to follow.

Two clean-suited detectives flanked the agent, then pulled ahead, firmer copies of the full suite of warrants in hand as they swept into the lobby. A handful of employees stopped to stare, unsure of what to do. Behind Richard's group, another team of men hustled into the building and down a hallway on some direct mission. Richard was left with no clues; the agent idled in the middle of the room, flicking a look of distaste at the lobby's decoration. "Cheap," he murmured.

The two detectives held a quick conference with the startled woman manning the lobby counter, then nodded back to the agent and headed towards a hallway marked with the sign for a stairwell.

"Shouldn't they take the elevator if they're trying to grab Flood before he runs?"

"Mm. No." A light smirk. "That's only in the poorer action films. In truth, were he to give any semblance of innocence, he would have called down to inform us he was on his way to protest this intrusion. Rather, Mr. Alpert, he is presently fumbling with his computer, attempting to activate a hard wipe of its contents."

The radio crackled in his hand. "Going."

An electric whine could be heard in the distance. A second later, the lobby went dark, followed by the activation of the emergency lights. Distantly, fire alarms meant to chirp their activity in a power outage began their work.

"Which is how you stop that."

Richard looked at the man, growing unnerved. "What the hell was your last job?"

"Interesting."

The agent gestured towards the stairwell hallway when the lights came back on a few minutes later. "If you'll follow me, we'll visit the security room one level down to begin our search for your friend. I do love the internet, incidentally. A little work, and I do mean little, and blueprints for everything are right in your hands." He sounded nostalgic. "I remember having to bribe someone at the various public works offices."

. . .

The agent led them both exactly to the security room without a single detour, swinging the door open. Two men sat inside of it, swiveling around to regard the intruders. The panel of camera views flickered beyond them, most of them showing the standard views of cafeterias and hallways. A handful of them were off. Some of the panel looked newer than the rest.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I note some of your cameras are inactive. May I know what they should show?"

Long silence. One man spoke up. "They're not working."

"Fascinating; an answer to the question I didn't ask. Could I please ask you to go upstairs and discuss your duties with the London police?" The agent smiled, wide and toothily. An albino shark. They began to leave, hesitant. One of them glanced back to the console. "Wonderful, thank you. Oh, wait. Do hold just a moment, one of you."

Richard stepped past the agent, whose hand was firmly placed on the arm of the guard that spoke. "We had one of these at my last job." He glanced down at the panel, looking for the switches for one of the newer cameras. "Odd, looks like this one's set to route the view to another display as well." He shrugged, then activated it. It showed the image of a familiar, extremely crabby looking man. He turned around to look at the agent and the guard. "So where's the room?"

The agent looked down into the face of the guard. "Please do answer the question as asked." He smiled again. The guard recoiled, then mumbled an answer. "Wonderful. Upstairs with you." The agent beckoned to Richard. "Down another floor, then."

. . .

The door to Desmond's makeshift cell was certainly locked when they arrived. The agent fiddled with it a moment, and the door opened anyway under his hands. The door swung inward, and the two men were framed in the doorway.

Within, Desmond stood ready, plastic chair in hand. "You!" he blurted at Richard. Richard instinctively ducked back behind the door. "What in bloody hell is going on?"

The agent was silent. He seemed to stare at nothing, his eyes going either through or past the prisoner. Richard shook his head. "Sometimes, I don't even know."

"Where's Penny? And my son?" The voice shook with rage.

"That I do know. Desmond, they're being taken to the island as coin for their passage." Desmond half lunged. Richard put up a hand. "They're okay. Mittelwerk knows that their safety is what's going to get him there. There is no possible way Hurley will allow them to be hurt."

"Hurley's not the only one in charge!" The words were spat at him. The implication of Ben was clear.

Richard licked his lips and shook his head. "Yes, he is."

"You're damned sure of that?" The knuckles clenched around the chair were white.

Am I? He wasn't at all sure, but it was the only safe answer. "Yes." He put all his sincerity into it, and a prayer that he was telling the truth.

Desmond put the chair down, his face still in a morphing rictus of emotion. "Fine, then. What's with this chap? Do I press charges now or what?"

The agent's eyes focused sharply on the Scotsman. "Above, they hold warrants for an international fugitive, allegations of bioterrorism, weapons smuggling, and a little more than that. There is nothing about taking hostages. Nothing about a prisoner. Nothing about... any other topic under discussion at this moment." He inclined his head politely. "I am perfectly willing to assist you in placing a complaint about your circumstances, but I do mention that the process is a long, drawn out one. Many hours of debriefing, taped interviews, lineups, suchlike. I am under the impression you have... other places you'd like to be."

The radio crackled again. "Bringing Flood down."

"Ah, yes." The agent pressed to talk. "Please allow me a brief moment with him on the lobby floor, in one of those little side offices. As a courtesy."

"Yessir. We'll have him for you."

The agent turned back to Richard and Desmond. "About that complaint?"

"Pass. You, Alpert." Desmond pointed into Richard's chest.

"Hanso's willing to put us on a ship. We can personally go make sure we get your wife and son back. It's all arranged, I've been on a phone constantly for the last several hours."

"Fine."

The agent interjected. "I was informed there's a small piece of information that you yet need before you depart. Shall we?" He jutted a thumb upstairs.

. . .

Bill Flood's face was drawn tight, cast in a shade of sickly pale marred by a flush along his ears. Two detectives gave the trio a brief nod and closed the door behind them, leaving them alone with the ersatz biotech CEO. Flood's gaze glimmered between the three. "I have nothing to say."

"All right." The agent shrugged. "Mr. Alpert, if you'll come with me for a moment, I'd like to contact Hanso. I'm sure we can leave Mr. Hume here with absolutely no problems whatsoever."

Desmond's face perked up while Flood's fell further. "You can't do that!"

The agent went to the door and raised a hand to knock for the two detectives to let them out. He seemed to not have heard.

"Wait! You piece of shit, he'll fucking attack me!"

"And why would the gentleman do that?" came the drawl.

"I- This isn't legal!" came the wail. "I'll sue if he so much as touches me!"

The agent turned around. "As you should. I advise you however that a legal suit against myself or a private individual has the tendency to become a very messy, very public affair these days. Information leaks. Lives get ruined, irreparable in the aftermath." Another shrug. "But it is most certainly your right to do so."

"This is not fair!"

"No, it isn't. Once in a grand while, the argument is that it might be just."

Richard mumbled under his breath. "You're starting to remind me of someone I know."

"What's that?" The agent turned his head slightly.

"I said your professional ethics stink."

"Yes. They do. It's a very bad habit, but I have been quite unsuccessful in breaking it." He snapped his fingers at Flood. "This is all quite drawn out. They need information. You can provide it. Do so, and all you have to worry about is this sad little company matter of which you're not even the top creature. That's a very viable position for you. Call this a touch of songbird practice." He nodded to Alpert.

"When did Mittelwerk leave, what was his heading, and where are your projections for following?"

Flood hesitated for another minute, then rattled off the information.

. . .

Desmond and Richard left the building together, a pair of car keys in hand to take them to the port where Hanso's people were preparing to cast off. Before dropping heavily into the passenger seat, Desmond gave Richard a long, wry look. "Y'know, I wish I coulda hit the son of a bitch anyway."

"If we get to the island fast enough, maybe we can still find you someone to hit."

"Maybe so, brother. Maybe so. What's the speed limit 'round here?"

"I don't care." Richard started the car and peeled out.