"We're assuming that he got nabbed on his way home from work," Jessica had told her before her feet left the upper most surface of the building she was standing on at the time. It was her usual stop over point in NYC when something brought her from her home in San Diego to the northern east coast. It had the advantage of being easy to spot from the air due to its shape, and Kara need only approach the tip of Roosevelt Island and make a left turn to find it. At one point, when it was still the Pan Am Building, it had a helipad centered right about where her feet had last touched, but an incident in 1977 put an end to any aircraft landing on buildings in New York City (at least officially; Kara could think of at least three buildings that had rotary wing aircraft parked atop them while Jessica's voice was playing from her phone).

"So you want me to trace his route from work to home and look for any buildings with SUVs inside?" Kara asked.

"Buildings that don't get a lot of traffic, and maybe aren't normally used to store cars. He's been missing since Labor Day. If his SUV had been easy to spot they'd have found it already."

"If they were looking for it, but I get where you're going."

Misty and Jess had discussed the few details that Kara had shared, but they were none the wiser as to exactly how she was going to do what she proposed.

"So you're going to fly over the route and scan any building that might be hiding his car?"

"Yes. From about one thousand feet to start off, then lower if I see something that looks promising."

Scanning with what? Misty was mouthing to Jessica, but Jess negated that question with a shake of her head.

"How many passes will you make?"

"At that altitude I can only see about a quarter mile effectively, so if you want a mile on either side of the highway that's eight passes. But at the rate I'll be flying it'll only take about ten minutes each initial pass."

Flying what? Misty had mouthed, only to receive the same silent no from Jess.

"And you can find the markers OK?"

"Assuming they don't float off before I get there, absolutely. Otherwise, I'll let you know."

"Got it. How long until you reach the first marker?"

"Five minutes, if you don't mind a sonic boom, but more like fifteen minutes so we don't startle the locals."

What the fuck? Misty mouthed.

"How close are you? You live in New Jersey?"

"No, I live in southern California. But I'm in New York City at the moment, and that's where I'll start from."

Misty's hands went up into the air as her silent lips mouthed, What the fuck? again.

"OK, I have a literal shitload of questions, but right now let's focus in finding this guy's ride."

"Good idea. I'm on the way. I won't be able to use my phone while I'm in the air, but I'll let you know if I find anything interesting."

"Got it. We'll be waiting for your call."

Jess ended the call and the two women looked at each other across the table in the small coffee shop inside the supermarket closest to dead guy number 2's house. They had bought every helium filled balloon in four separate stores, and a length of high strength nylon string from the hardware section of the store they currently sat in, the result of all those purchases being thirty balloons floating about two hundred feet above dgn2's workplace and twenty-nine tied to the overstuffed mailbox in his front yard. It was the best they could do on short notice, but Jess figured that anyone who could scan the inside of buildings from an altitude of one-thousand feet should be able to find a small cloud of Mylar balloons on a sunny Saturday morning.

"Think it'll work?" Misty asked.

"I've done stupider shit than this," Jessica replied.

"You didn't answer my question."

"How about that?"

"You ever use the dumb blonde routine?" Trish asked Laurel, her lips barely moving to speak the words. She knew that Laurel, and her sister Sara when she was in town, worked for a high end security service, at least part time, but nothing besides that. She had no idea whether clandestine operations were part of their repertoire. The slight shake of Laurel's head was all the answer she could give before the men stopped, each taking up position at the two front doors.

Too far back, Laurel thought as she glanced at the man standing just clear of the door, preventing her from using it as a weapon.

Trish was thinking the same thing as she put her plan into action.

"Is this about all the parking tickets?" she asked innocently.

The man outside her door cracked a smile and looked at his buddy.

That's it, asshole, Trish thought, get the idea.

"Were we driving too fast?"

The man's comment to his partner was preceded by a shake of his head.

"You fucking believe this airhead is the fucking state's attorney?"

So that's what this is, Laurel thought, they were waiting for the car. They think she's Kristen.

They had pulled into the underground garage before Laurel had traded Kristen Wolf's car with her own. No one watching from outside would have any way to know that it wasn't Kristen riding shotgun in her own car.

"Get out of the fucking car, or we'll break the windows and drag you out over the broken glass," the man standing next to Trish ordered.

Trish started to take deep breaths as if she was hyperventilating before responding. "OK! OK, just don't hurt us!"

"Out! Now!"

Trish looked at Laurel and nodded slightly. The two front doors opened at the same time, slowly at first and then much quicker as each man grabbed the door and jerked it open the rest of the way.

Trish raised her hands over her head even though neither man was brandishing a weapon. The man pointed towards the van, a silent order for her to move in that direction. She had been expecting the shove in her back, and when it finally came she used the extra momentum to hop forward and plant her left foot before delivering a straight kick backward with her right. If the man had not been walking in the direction of the kick he might had born it better, but Trish's kick caught him under his right side rib cage where it joined his sternum, and the sound of cracking bone and rending cartilage was clear even to those without enhanced senses. The sound that escaped his lips was a combination of expelling air and someone starting to say the name Bob but only getting out the first part, so it sounded more like Ba. Trish's right foot was still behind her and elevated when she whipped it forward as she bent her left knee and pivoted on her left foot. The leg sweep was completed a moment later when her right foot completed it's 360 degree path and took the man's left foot out from under him. He was a big guy, and he went down hard, but his head was saved by the fact that he was still doubled over forward from the initial kick, and so his head did not shatter on the asphalt.

The man who had taken charge of Laurel (whose name might have been Bob, but who knows?) stood stunned for the two seconds it had taken for Trish to incapacitate his partner. Laurel had also been stunned by what she witnessed, but only for one second; and that extra second was all she needed. She had taken her cue from Trish, so her hands were also raised, saving her precious time to bring them into position as she pivoted hard on, and then drove forcefully off of, her right foot and shoulder, delivering a right handed palm strike up under the man's nose. She knew that is brain was instantly flooded with pain, and that his sight would be affected for at least a few more seconds. Her knee strike to his testicles brought him down almost to his own knees before Laurel's spinning kick found the side of his head and he toppled over before laying motionless.

Both women turned their attention to the trailing vehicle, but only to watch as it backed away quickly before performing a bootlegger 180 and speeding off.

"What the fuck was that?" Laurel asked as Trish put her phone to her ear.

"Where are you? We have a situation," Trish said to whoever was on the other end of the call.

The only thing that save John Dorazio from death was that the trigger man had drawn his weapon too soon. That, and John's pride.

I'm not dying next to a fucking sex shop, he thought as he made his split second decision. If he had taken one more step he would have been dead. If the masked man in the passenger seat had waited a second longer, of if they had simply driven at a normal speed, John would have had no warning that he was about to meet his maker. His mind pictured the event, as the world around him seemed to play out in slow motion.

Here's your coffee and bagel, big guy, he would say to God.

It was more instinct than anything else that caused him to throw himself backward, and he landed hard, but his reentry was cushioned by a sizable ass, which came to rest at the best possible location. John curled himself up into as tight a ball as possible and pressed his lower back firmly into the steel tire rim of the vehicle that had a moment earlier been to his left and was now behind him as a hail of bullets began to shatter glass and deform metal. The shooter's velocity, his low firing angle (another thing that saved John's life; if he'd been firing from a pickup truck the top of John's head would be missing), and the V8 engine of the 2014 Cadillac SRX that was shielding Captain Dorazio's large frame, added to his quick reaction, meant that God would have to wait a bit longer for his breakfast to be delivered. The shooters continued on their way, their speed increasing, as the sound of their roaring engine diminished.

John waited in the relative silence that followed what sounded like fifty rounds being fired, but in fact was a much more mundane sixteen. He would discover this small detail later, when the crime scene investigators tagged every piece of evidence they could find. Almost every piece, that is. When Captain John Dorazio regained full use of his senses, he looked down and realized that he was still holding his coffee and bagel, both of which had come out of their early morning ordeal without a scratch.

Huh, John thought as he shook bits of laminated safety glass from his Italian Herbs and Cheese bagel before biting off another chunk and washing it down with a mouthful of still hot coffee.

Christ she's strong, Laurel had thought as she watched the woman who was the spitting image of her sister Sara manhandle both men into the cargo area of the van.

"She's safe. We have her," Bel Luna said as Laurel used her free hand to help Trish load the second bound man into their own (probably stolen) van. They had learned of the attack on the lead detective from the task force when Trish called Beth, and Laurel had wasted no time calling in the code that meant Kristen Wolf's life was in danger.

The day after a secret meeting about CPD corruption, and two of the people from the meeting get attacked.

No fucking way it was a coincidence, and there were still some prominent people from that meeting to warn. Beth said that she and Kate would warm the commissioner. Anyone else from the meeting, those that did not hold some official position, were secondary targets, but still needed to be informed.

"Good. The second car was missing its front tag. Anyway it was probably stolen. But they were waiting for us to leave the garage. See if they popped up on any cameras in the area."

"We should get the CPD to do that, shouldn't we?"

Laurel took a moment to collect her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and, if Bel Luna had the experience to notice, deadly. Whoever was behind this, if Laurel Lance got her hands on them, was going to die screaming.

"Listen to me very carefully. The CPD is involved. They can't get wind of this. Not from us. The guys in the second car probably already called it in. They know their plan is blown to shit. We can't trust anyone. Not yet. Not till we know what they're going to do next."

There was silence from the other end of the call, and during that time Laurel knew what was going through her colleague's mind.

"I know. It's a lot," Laurel continued. "Don't let anyone near her that's not ours. I don't give a fuck what uniform they're wearing. Don't talk about this with anyone. Make sure everybody understands."

She could hear his breathing was uneven when he finally spoke. "Got it. What about the two guys you have?"

"Don't ask. If anyone asks you, you don't know anything. Got it?"

"I got it. It also happens to be the truth."

"Stay safe, all of you," Laurel said before ending the call.

Laurel turned and looked at Trish.

"What?" Trish asked after the silence reached ten seconds.

"Nothing. Nice to see you in action in person is all."

"That?" Trish asked. "That took five seconds. We got lucky those guys in the second car hung back, and that nobody threw shots."

"In my experience, there's no such thing as luck," Laurel said in a passable English accent, which drew a smile from Trish.

"Thank you Obi-Wan Kenobi. What now?"

"I'm not handing these guys over to anybody just yet," Laurel said in a voice that did not bode well for the two unconscious men, "not until we've had a little chat."

"Fine by me," Trish said. "Know an abandoned warehouse someplace?"

"Plenty, but I need time to think first," Laurel said as her phone rang again.

"Bel?" Laurel asked the man she'd just talked to only a few minutes earlier.

"Someone just tried to kill John Dorazio."

"He does not leave your sight, capish?" Kate Kane asked Victor Fanucci in a voice that only allowed one correct answer.

"Capish," the large man said, "We're calling everyone in, on shift and off. We'll have enough bodies to fight off a small army."

"Good," Kate said before directing her next statement to her father. "You should let you-know-who in DC know that the gloves just came off. He needs to watch his back."

"He knows. He warned me yesterday. Torfim al ha'atzim, he said."

Kate was the only other person in the room that knew what that meant.

"Someone should still tell him that things just got turned up to eleven."

"It doesn't make sense," Jacob said, "the information was out. We know who the dead men are. What's the point of going after anyone now?"

Beth and Kate looked at each other for a few seconds. It was Kate who spoke first.

"There are some things that you don't know."

Jacob was used to being the one with all the information, and his face bore a vaguely confused expression as it looked at each of his daughters in turn. "What things?"

"Beth had a job last summer. It involved a warehouse in Manhattan," Kate began to explain.

James Gordon recognized most of the men who were now guarding him, and the home that he and Barb had built many years ago for their small family. All of them had been picked by the commissioner himself earlier in the year to protect the world's most famous actress. That had been a crucial piece of foresight as it turned out, because two of the men who had been hired to kidnap her (or worse) had been dressed as cops.

But those were fake cops, he thought as he sat in his study and stared at the high resolution print of the Chicago skyline at night, these cops are the real thing, and not above killing their own.

At least that was the theory he was going on at the moment. Two of his officers had escaped death by the grace of God, aided by the quick action of his (James', but also God's) daughter. He'd be surprised if he was wrong, if it didn't involve crooked cops; and he sincerely hoped, and wished, that he was mistaken, but he knew in his heart that he wasn't, and that he was going to have to cut out this cancer and hope to the aforementioned God that there was enough healthy tissue left afterward to allow the rest of the CPD to continue to draw breath.

The phone on his desk brought his thoughts back to the hear and now.

"Gordon," he said tersely as he placed the phone to his ear.

"You're alive at least," Kristen Wolf's voice said, "so that's one point for our side."

"Despite all the times you wished otherwise?" Jim asked playfully.

"Yeah, despite that. What's the count so far?" Kristen asked.

"So far, only you, John, and his lead investigator."

"Anyone still in the wind, who might be a target?"

"Everyone else has been warned to seek shelter immediately," James Gordon said. He wasn't taking a chance that someone was listening, and he wasn't going to mention any names. He wasn't sure Kristen was thinking the same thing but he hoped she was.

We should really set up code words for shit like this, he thought.

"No names, Ms. Wolf. Eyes and ears, and we don't know where."

So he does know, Kristen thought as he echoed her own fears back at her, good.

"Read my mind, Commissioner. Keep in touch."

"Will do," he replied before he ended the call.

somehow.