Participants:
| Scene Title | I Will See Him |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Following the raid to capture Liette, Desmond Harper makes a call to the Institute. |
| Date | April 14, 2010 |
On the outskirts of the worst of the ruins that were once Midtown Manhattan, barricades have long since been standing. Twenty foot high concrete slabs that block off the ruins from vehicle traffic manned by National Guardsmen at these outposts. Somehow groups like the Ferrymen still manage to infiltrate the ruins, and there is not enough police and law enforcement to go around to keep the cracks in the wall secure. At the southern checkpoint, amidst a flood of flashing red lights, a single white armored van rests parked beside a snowbank taller than its roof.
Yellow safety lights flash past and the beep of a bulldozer backing up creates a noisy chime as it rumbles around, trying to open up more space for vehicles amidst all of the fallen snow. "No, no I want you to do another check and then call me back once you get your heads out of your asses! If these sons of bitches want to start taking the God damned kid gloves off than so help me— if they want a war that's what they're going to get!" The growling voice of Desmond Harper screams out from behind the van as he presses a finger to the button on the side of his headset ending the call.
Turning the corner of the van, there's two men in white hazmat suits checking information from a palm mobile device. «Sir,» one of them addressed Desmond, looking over his shoulder with a hiss-click of breath from his respirator. «Air traffic control didn't pick up the bogey that took off from the extraction site. No radar profile at all, Sir.» Desmond nods his head once, lifting a hand up to rake his fingers back through his hair, frustratedly breathing out a sigh.
«We've rounded up everyone on site along with several hundred rounds of ammunition and weapons, they must have been sitting on a munitions store. Reports from the extraction team indicate that the helicopter was inbound prior to our team getting within visual range. Someone had to have tipped them off, Sir. As far as casualties go we're— » Desmond waves a hand at the retriever when he begins speaking about casualty reports, brows furrowed and shoulders squared, head shaking slowly from side to side.
"That's enough. Get— somewhere else." At Harper's dismissal, the two Institute retrievers depart from the van, masked heads shaking. Desmond is left to consider the ramifications of technopathic aid in masking the profile of the helicopter, and when he reaches into his greatcoat's pocket to retrieve his mobile, the first number he pages to in his contact's list is the last one he wanted to call with bad news tonight.
When he presses the call button, the light on his headset glows blue, and Desmond's black leather loafers scuff against the icy ground, cold wind stinging his cheek and nose red. When someone on the other end picks up, Harper's throat tightens just a little, perhaps out of the reflexive feeling of imagining the man on the other end strangling the life out of him.
"Ah, yes, hello Sir." Humility is not becoming of this Institute agent. "No I— I'm sorry, Sir. It seems we've run into a security breach, the targets holding Liette captive were given advance warning of our operation. They had an extraction waiting on the roof when we arrived, likely technopathic assistance in— " Harper winces, head moving reflexively to one side as if it would get him away from the shouting coming in through his earpiece.
"N— No, Sir. No we don't have any leads on her current location. We lucked out on them choosing Midtown to contain her this— " Once again Harper wince, nods and grimaces painfully. "Y— Yes I know, Sir. I'm well aware. We're doing another sweep of the area just to— " One hand comes up to cover Harper's face as the tinny sound of cursing in French hits his ear.
That gloved hand slowly swipes down Harper's face, hanging at his mouth where it scrubs back and forth. "There is one thing you should be aware of though, Sir. We've recovered Doctor Brennan, the man that had been with Liette during much of her time. He's being processed right now, we'll have him moved within the hour to the facility on Staten Island." Glancing skyward, Harper watches the snow falling, brows furrowed in the moment before something ridiculous hits his ears.
"You— what?" The disbelief in Desmond's tone is hard to miss, "Sir, I— I have to advise against that fully, it's not safe down here. Not with— " maybe it was a setup, maybe it wasn't, but Desmond seems to lead himself right into a verbal trap with the Frenchman on the other end of the phone. Harper knows it, and as he slouches forward, a hand against his brow and back leaning up against the side of the van, the sigh he gives tells the man on the other end he's not going to fight it.
"Fine, I'll… I'll have him transferred up north instead then. We'll get him in one of the vans and send him up tonight, he should be there by tomorrow afternoon." Gloved fingers rubbing at his temple, Harper's eyes cast askance towards the bulldozer rumbling past as it scrapes ice and snow off from the street. Plugging one finger in his opposite ear and using the other hand to cover his ear piece, Harper slouches away from the van and tries to maneuver from the noise.
"I think this is a bad idea though, Sir. The security risk of bringing him in, hes better served off as a bargaining chip to get Liette back. I— " Whatever Harper was going to continue protesting, he just nods his head once and breathes out a frustrated sigh. "Whatever you want, Sir. He's yours. I have to call ahead and… get things in order." Nodding once, as if the man on the other end can see him, Harper tries his best to steel himself for the call to come. "Of course, Sir. I'll see you tomorrow."
Disconnecting from the call with a tap to his earpiece, Desmond looks down at his mobile, then dials out a number from memory. As it connects, there's a prolonged silence on the other end, and Desmond's eyes wander back towards the concrete barricade that leads into the trackless wastes of Midtown's burned heart. When a voice answers on the other end, Harper's back tenses slightly and his posture stiffens.
"Doctor Broome, it's Harper." More reserved, almost fearful, Desmond looks squarely down at his feet, as if he can feel Broome's eyes on him from here. "Things are escalating faster than we anticipated, but we have Doctor Brennan…" there's a moment's pause on Harper's end, and a slow nod. "Yes, Luis wants to see him in the morning, he'll be headed your way."
Nodding to the deep voice on the other end of the phone, Harper's eyes go distant for just a moment, and the agent's throat tightens in a swallow. "Very well, Doctor Broome. I'll be sure to see you before having words with Doctor Brennan…" Once more does Harper give pause, brows tensed and head nodding slowly as he considers the lightless depths of Midtown.
"I agree entirely, Doctor…" Harper's eyes close slowly, head shaking from side to side as he leans his shoulder up against the side of the van. "When I find out who did this, there won't be enough of them left to fill a cigarette pack."