The secure comm link that Sara and her sister, and all their cousins from Nighthawk Security Services, were using to keep in touch had been quiet for the past hour. Even before that it had been incidental chatter, nothing to get Sara's heart rate up. Not that there was a lot that could do that, not after all Sara Lance and seen and done in her lifetime. Her series of lifetimes if one wanted to be technical, which Sara didn't.

"We may have a problem," Said a woman's voice. Sara thought it was the voice of the Nighthawk agent named Sharon, who Sara was considering as an excellent alternative to Annelie Bodin if Ms. Bodin proved to be unavailable, and if Sharon was in the mood for some girl-on-girl action.

"What problem," Said a man's voice, a voice that Sara recognized as the AIC from Nighthawk, who Sara had to admit was also an excellent alternative.

"Those twelve uniformed officers from the CPD."

"What about them?"

"There are fourteen."

what the fuck did she just say?, Sara thought.

"Say again," Sara said as she was pulling into a parking space two spaces away from her sister's SUV, "there are fourteen uniformed officers instead of twelve?"

"Affirmative."

"Confirm that asap," the man's voice said, "primary team prep for exfil."

The primary team was still Laurel, though Sara was two minutes late and it should have been her, the two men from Nighthawk, and the woman named Trish.

"Laurel, stay on station," Sara said as she hurried out of her rental and began to jog towards the collection of trailers and equipment at the other end of the pier.

"Confirmed. Fourteen uniformed CPD officers."

"All units, we have a potential AOP. Primary team, evacuate principal immediately," the man, who Sara finally remembered was named Simon, said.

It was only a few seconds after that when four people dressed in hats and t-shirts adorned with studio logos, or images or logos from one of Annelie's previous movies, appeared from the tent that Sara was approaching.

"Where's Sharon," Sara asked the group as they hustled by.

"Near the end of the pier," Trish said, "She's alone."

"I'm not alone," Sharon said on comms, "I've got a dozen cops as backup, but we can't risk any comm traffic alerting them in case those extra assholes are monitoring their communications."

"I'll find you," Sara replied, "don't spook anybody until I do."

"I'm getting her in the car, and then I'm coming back," Trish said.

"Copy," Sharon said.

"Copy," Sara added, "any way we can safely notify the CPD?"

"I'll call the Commissioner from the car," Simon said, "once we're out of here. I'm not risking talking to anyone else."

"OK," Sara said to the receding group through her comm, "Sharon, I'm heading your way."

"Don't call me Sharon when you find me. They may still think I'm Annelie. A lot of people have been making that mistake."

that could work for us, Sara thought as she continued to jog towards the far end of the pier.


Laurel had unlocked her SUV while they were still on approach, so there was no delay when Michael opened the rear door on the drivers side and shoved Annelie in while Simon was climbing in on the passenger's side. The actress was wedged between the two muscular men as her anxious face turned to look at Trish, who looked back before closing the door and thumping on the roof.

"GO!"

Trish had just enough room to get out of the way as Laurel backed out of the parking space before gunning the engine, heading towards Lakeshore Drive, but not at such a frenetic pace that the two mystery guests on the pier would take note.

"I'm heading your way," Trish said as she began to jog back down the pier, retracing the route that Sara had taken until she reached the tent before slowing to a walk, her compact 9mm weapon held snugly against her hip by her hybrid thumb break holster.

"Copy," Sara said.

"This is Simon Heller from Nighthawk Security reporting a possible attack on principal at Navy Pier. I need to speak to the Commissioner immediately," Simon's voice echoed in Trish's ear, the three comm units in the SUV picking up his voice and broadcasting it to everyone on their secure network with slightly different audio delays. His voice was clear, but not the voice of whoever he was speaking with. Trish could tell from the engine noise and the sound of car horns that Laurel had not waited long before giving the Porsche it's head, and that the other drivers on Lakeshore Drive were not happy with her aggressive driving style.

"Move the fuck over!" also came clearly through the comm as Laurel gave voice to her frustration.

"Commissioner we have fourteen uniforms at the pier. Yes. Fourteen. No, we're on route to a secure location. Yes, three."

He's on his cell with the Commissioner, Trish realized just as she caught sight of Sharon and the man from earlier standing by the Bob Newhart statue and couch.

As interested as Trish was in Simon's phone conversation, she, Sara and Sharon needed to focus.

"Sara, Sharon, switch to channel B."

"Copy," came from two voices just before Trish switched her own encrypted link to the alternate channel.

It had not taken long for Trish's heart rate and breathing to return to almost normal, and her oversized "Chill of Winter" t-shirt hid the sweat that had not yet started to dry in the humid air. A quick scan of the area was all she needed to spot Sara, her tight white top almost glowing as it reflected the bright morning sunlight. Sara was keeping her distance from Sharon as she took up a position closer to the end of the pier, almost at the center point between the railings north and south. Trish could see her head turn slowly as she also scanned the pier, though her eyes were hidden behind a pair or Ray Bans.

Trish muted her comm when she got within speaking distance to Sharon so they wouldn't have to deal with the feedback of two comms picking up the same voice.

And it was clear that the man standing with Sharon knew something was up.

"You OK?" Trish asked him.

"No, I'm scared shitless."

Trish had to admit that he certainly looked scared shitless. His eyes were wide and he had soaked through his shirt, and the sun wasn't the reason.

"Just relax. Take a breath," Trish said, "What's your name?"

"P-p-paul," he said as he stuttered before wiping his face, "my name's Paul."

"Relax, Paul," Sharon said quietly and calmly, "nothing's gonna happen to you, but you need to calm the fuck down, or you're gonna draw attention to us."

"I'm not cut out for this. I'm gonna lose it."

"No, you're gonna be fine. Here, sit next to Bob for a minute," Sharon said before indicating the bronze figure that had help make the Chicago skyline famous. She sat next to him.

"Let's pretend to be looking at the schedule," she said as she held the one inch thick document open between them.

"Is he gonna be OK?" Sara asked.

"Don't know," Trish answered.

"Yes," Sharon said confidently, "He just needs to remember to call me Annelie from now on. Everyone will buy it if you do, Paul. First rule of acting, right? Be the part."

The terrified man took several long, slow breaths before looking at the two calm faces that looked back.

It had been Trish's experience, and Sharon's and Sara's as well if anyone were to ask, that calmness was just as contagious as fear, and that courage could be - not given, exactly, but at least borrowed. So neither Sharon nor Trish were surprised when Paul's face made the same transformation as Annelie's had made two days before in the hangar on Long Island.

"Right," he said as he got his breathing under control, "be the part."

"Great," Sara said, "what now?"

"Now we go fishing, and we use Annelie here as bait."


Trish would have said that they were still safely inside the police perimeter, but her own count of uniforms confirmed that there were two more uniforms than there should have been, and she still had not heard from Simon or anyone else whether it was just a screw up, or an actual threat; and until she did hear she had no idea whether they were safe, and if they weren't she didn't want to start anything that could end with bullets flying.

Trish hung back like any good minion would while Sharon and Paul walked slowly around the end of the pier. One of them would occasionally extend an arm and point a finger as something out on Lake Michigan, but Trish could hear clearly through her comm that Sharon was telling him about her adventure driving around Manhattan in Annelie's limo. Sara had begun a slow tour of the police line that was supposed to insure their safety while Trish intercepted anyone from the crew that tried to approach Sharon and Paul who, it turned out, was an assistant director for Annelie's latest movie.

"She's in consultation with Paul, and they don't want to be disturbed," was her standard line, which she had used three times already.

"They all seem legit so far," Sara said eventually, her inspection of the line almost finished.

"Nothing out of place? No one acting hinky."

"Nope. Most of them seem more interested in getting into my pants than anything else. Even the women. It's weird."

"Wearing that top and those pants? Not weird at all," Trish said, which got a smile from Sharon.

"Hey, do you have plans for tonight?" Sara asked playfully.

"Besides keeping Annelie from getting kidnapped? Not really, what did you have in mind?"

"Nothing I'm going to share on comms."

"Killjoy," Sharon said.

The next words out of Sara Lance's mouth were totally devoid of mirth.

"Those two uniforms on the south side of the auditorium are hanging back and, unlike all their buddies, having sex with me doesn't seem to be foremost in their minds."

The Navy Pier Auditorium was square on three sides, the fourth side, the side facing the end of the pier, was curved and had large windows on the second floor that provided a beautiful view of the Lake, and a covered walkway at ground level supported at regular intervals by wide pillars. In the gaps between those pillars was where most of the uniformed CPD officers were currently positioned. The space between the buildings north wall and the north edge of the pier had two officers, just like the gap between the buildings south wall and the south edge of the pier. Trish made a show of boredom, a minion to a super star waiting to react to the beckon call of her master. She made a slow half turn as she pretended to look down at her phone, making sure not to make eye contact with the two men who were directly behind her, Sharon and Paul.

"Don't spook them," Sharon said, her face still turned towards the monstrous lake.

"No shit," Sara answered as she changed direction before pretending to answer her phone.

"They're farther back, no question," Trish said.

"It's those fucking pillars," Sara said, "They're using that last one to hide from the uniforms at that end."

"And the CPD can't get a good count of their men, either," Trish said, "They can see their nearest neighbors, but everyone else is hidden from their view."

"It's gotta be them," Sharon said.

"There's nothing between them and the parking lot," Sara said, "They'll have a head start, and they have to have a getaway plan. It's a shooting gallery if they throw shots at anybody chasing them."

"So we make sure they don't throw shots," Trish said.

"What do you have in mind?" Sara asked as Sharon glanced towards Trish.

"Funny you should ask."


The main points of Trish's plan, if it could be called that, had been settled, and everyone knew what was required of them, even Paul who, once his initial terror had been overcome, seemed to be enjoying his acting debut.

"Just keep it simple," Trish said, "then keep on walking. We'll handle whatever comes next. It could still be a mix up, and they just can't count to twelve."

"It's the CPD, that's not out of the realm of possibility," Sharon said.

Trish laughed along with the other two, but she had spent enough time with James Gordon to know that there was not fucking way this was a mix up.

"Sara, you in position?" Trish asked.

"I will be. You can start. I'll be there before you are."

"OK, we're moving."

Trish looked at Paul and nodded, then stood next to Sharon as if they were talking but kept an eye on him as he snapped closed the binder that held the shooting schedule and began walking back towards the craft services tent, pausing for a moment as he passed the two probably fake officers.

"Ms. Bodin wants to go back to her trailer. Can you escort her, and let the rest of the detail know?"

"Sure thing," the taller of the two said with a nod.

"Thanks," Paul said as he kept walking.

"That's our cue," Trish said.

"I still look OK?"

You look a lot more than OK, Trish thought.

"You're good," Trish said as they began walking, "Not like they know you well. And the camera always adds ten pounds."

"Are you saying I look fat?"

"Oh, for fuck sake," Trish said in an exasperated voice.

"Fucking bitch," Sharon said loud enough for the two uniforms to hear before adding, "I want my fucking trailer!"

Trish made sure to make eye contact with one of the officers as she shook her head slightly and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ms. Bodin."

The two men fell in with the two women as they continued on a path that would take them back to Annelie's trailer. If Sara was on station Trish knew she would be staying a bit ahead of them, on their right but hidden by the equipment and trailers once she had cleared the north side of the auditorium.

They were close to the trailer when the two men sprung their trap.

"Ms. Bodin, we have a security alert. We need to get you out of here immediately," The taller man said.

"What's happening?" Trish asked.

"We'll explain on the way. We have to move," the man said as he placed his right hand on Sharon's back , and grabbed her left bicep with his left hand.

There was a lot that could be hidden, or camouflaged with makeup, but the size and hardness of Sharon's bicep was not one of them. It took the man a second before it dawned on him, before his eyes went to the arm in question before fixing on the face of the woman he was holding.

Fuck, and we were so close, Trish thought just as Sharon's left arm wrapped behind the man's head and pulled his face down into her rising knee.

Trish's reaction was immediate as she leaned her body forward slightly only to push off of her left foot and drive her right elbow backwards into the chest of the second man who had been walking behind her. The strike landed on target, but the tactical vest he was wearing dulled the affect. But that affect gave Trish Walker the additional second she needed to deliver a straight palm strike under his nose with her left hand before using her legs to propel herself straight up as her torso rotated to provide the torque she needed to land a spinning kick with her right foot, which found its mark on the right side of the man's head.

Sharon had delivered a second knee to her opponents face but was not able to deliver the intended third as the man's right hand gripped the back of her shirt and pulled hard. His left hand, that he was using to grip Sharon's left wrist where it lay over his left shoulder, worked as a pivot point as his pull spun her around behind and away from him, ripping her shirt, exposing the athletic bra underneath and sending all the buttons from the shirt in different directions.

Trish's opponent had gotten his right hand up just in time to dull her kick, but his bell had clearly been rung, and that gave Trish time to take three running strides before leaving the ground and bringing her right knee up and landing it squarely on the man's chest before it traveled up to catch him under the chin. Trish's lower body had stopped but her momentum kept her upper body moving over the falling man, forcing her to extend both arms straight out to stop her face from hitting the concrete. It was reflex, once her hands touched down, that sent her into pair of back handsprings, ending with a twist that kept her facing the man who still seemed to have some fight left in him.

you're no daisy, she thought as the man rolled to his left and into a crouch.

Sharon's left wrist had still been in the man's grip as her body spun around, but she had just enough time to roll her wrist around and reverse their positions so it was her hand gripping him as her arm reached its limit. It was his hard tug on her shirt that had given her the momentum she needed as she flexed every muscle in her arm and shoulder and pulled him around with her before her feet finally touch down and she could use the strength of her legs to continue their spin and fling him into the side railing, her shirt still in his grip. He was easily fifty pounds heavier than she was, and while he hit the railing hard he recovered faster than Sharon had expected. She was still massaging her shoulder when the man reached his right hand down to his threat level three holster.

Shit

But he was either not familiar with that type holster, or one of the release mechanisms had gotten damage in the fight, because after a couple of attempts to release the hood that was covering his weapon he gave up and drew a thin shiny steel knife from a boot sheath that she hadn't noticed.

Now it's a fucking party, Sharon thought as a narrow smile formed on her face.