Participants:
| Scene Title | A Credible Threat |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The ingenue reporter seeks out the bitter agent in regards to an assassination attempt that may or may not happen. |
| Date | June 15, 2010 |
Felix Ivanov's Office
Being a hero gets you lauded. It gets you medals. But it does not get you the corner office. His does have a window, at least, albeit a rather little one. The whole set up, overall, is barely more than a closet. But at least he isn't forced to roam, graze, and moo in the cubicle farm with the nominally free range Agentry. In this little snuggery is a very tired, very thin, very sad-looking Fed. The fact of the matter is….it's been a terrible almost-two-years, and it shows, now. He's gaunt, sunken-eyed, and weary - his hair's grizzled now, as is the neat goatee he sports. And despite the shoulder rig of glossy leather and its attendant pistol, he looks more like an accountant wishing for retirement than a decorated servant of the Federal government. He's in his office, now, paging through some interminable report.
Having a press badge helps get her out of a crowded waiting area where people must be screened, since God knows no one wants a crazy person with a beretta and a vendetta past the counter to take out his vengeance on the elite law enforcement officers that make up the FBI. Once she asks to see Felix Ivanov, Maddie is waved down the hall toward his office. She herself is looking much worse than the last time he saw her, with one arm in a sling, a cut in the corner of her mouth and a noticeable limp, though what's wrong with her leg isn't apparent — no cast or bandage marrs the view of her legs in the pencil skirt she wears. Just a bruise, likely, that makes it difficult to walk. It doesn't keep her from wearing heels.
"Detective Ivanov?" she murmurs, her Australian accent probably reminding her more than her face that he's met her before. "Do you have a moment?"
"Agent," he corrects, absently, looking up. And then frowning. "Sit down," he says, rising to pull out his only other chair for her. Hey, take your tiny courtesies where you can get them, right? "I do. We've met before, and I'm ashamed to say I don't rememember you name."
"That's quite all right. You probably thought I was as imaginary as Rainbow Brite or a leprechaun, or something, if I recall, and forgot it promptly as a sign of delusion," she quips, smiling as she sits with a slight wince. "Maddie Hart. New York Times. We met at that diner in … SoHo? Or maybe Chelsea. I'm still learning my geography, you see." She lets the pleasantries take place before diving into what she's come to see him about.
"The Owl," he says, with a faint, fond smile. "I do recall now. What can I do for you, Miss Hart?" He runs an eye over her. "And what happened to you?
"Thursday happened," she says succinctly. "I had the bad foresight to be walking in a shopping mall when the blackouts occurred. Aside from me falling down, I also apparently got ran into by a mall cop on a Segway." She holds up a hand. "I know, it sounds ludicrous, but there's video cameras an everything. You can laugh. I won't be offended." It does sound like the punchline to a bad joke. "Anyway, it's actually what I saw that I wanted to talk to you about… do you … I know they aren't sure if they were precognitive visions or perhaps hallucinations. Do you have an opinion — off the record of course." She pauses, eyes dropping. "This is all off the record."
"From what I've heard….I think it was some kind of massive precognitve incident." Fel does not like that idea, Sam I am. He's polishing his glasses on his tie, in that way he has when he's thinking. "I don't know how set in stone they are."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Maddie says with a nod, much more solemn than just a moment ago. She is not as bright-eyed and innocent as she seemed upon arriving in the city — the winter's taken its toll on her. "I … I don't know how many people saw similar situations, so this might be redundant information, and I'm sorry, if so, for wasting your time. I also have a request for a meeting with someone at the state department, but…" she waves a hand dismissively. Who knows when they get around to answering such things. "The problem is, I was at a press conference, and… and someone was trying to assassinate Nathan Petrelli. He was nearby me… somehow in the area reserved for the press."
It may be the merest voodoo, divination, tarot cards and palmreading. But…..this is the world of the Evolved, and such things can no longer be dismissed. "What did you see?" he asks, quietly, glasses still enveloped in the faded silk twill of his tie. "Someone pretending to be a reporter?"
Her aqua eyes look up and to the left, trying to remember the vision in its entirety though it's not like she'd forget it. She gives a shake of her head. "I didn't see much of him — not until it was too late. I was watching the podium. I was probably 100 feet away. It was in DC. Suddenly there was movement, and I looked and there was a guy moving toward the podium — he didn't say anything, but he had a gun, and we all ran or got down — I was ducking, and I heard the shot. The last I saw was him pointing it at the president, but I didn't see if it made contact or not," Maddie murmurs, her voice low and grave. "There's something familiar about the bloke, but I can't place it. Not big — not much taller'n me, probably, older, balding. Sorta gaunt looking."
Fel's expression is so nonplussed it should be comical. That little litany of description has him setting aside his glasses so very gently, as if they were volatile and might explode. And then he leans in for a rapid flurry of keystrokes, and then turns his monitor around. There's Emile Danko, in all his glory. "This man?" he says. It's barely a breath, the beseeching expression a child might use on Santa. I've been so very good this year, you see….
Maddie's lips part and her eyes narrow — though the vision has not happened, the traumatic experience feels real to her, along with the pain caused by the aftermath of the blackout. The calm and pragmatic business face is exchanged for one that looks more like that of a frightened little girl for a moment before she clears her throat and nods twice. "That's him… should I — I should know him, shouldn't I? It's hard to find a face without a name in the databases, you know? I've been looking stuff up on my free time, but didn't get any hits. Who is he?"
"He's a terrorist," Felix says, softly. "The FBI's very fond of slapping that label on people, these last years. But he is. Anti-Evo. He kidnapped me, tortured me for a while….they very nearly executed me in public, to make a point. Trying to assassinate the President….not at all beyond him."
The fear in Maddie's eyes turns to shock and then sympathy. She shakes her head as her brows furrow. "Oh, my God. I'm so sorry, Agent Ivanov," she murmurs, staring at him for a moment. It's clear that she hasn't been through anything so traumatic — the vision of an attempted assassination, where she didn't even see the blood or gore if there were any, is enough to send her shaking. Polar bears and Segway collisions are the worst she's seen yet in this city.
"I… so … what do I do, is this enough of a warning, on my part? Do I write a report, or should I still try to speak with someone on the president's team — I would guess that it'd be pretty stupid of this Danko to continue to try to do this on the day they think these visions point to — but that doesn't mean he won't bump it up to an earlier date. Or a later one, for that matter."
"It's a credible threat, considering," Felix says, matter of fact. "I'll pass it on up the chain."
Maddie nods, and reaches her left hand across to him to shake, since her right is in the sling. "Thank you for your time, Agent. I wanted to tell someone that I knew would follow up on it, and someone who actually believed the visions were precognitive, not just daydreams or something of that kind, y'know?" She rises to go.
"If it were just you, that'd be one thing. But…those visions were widespread,' Fel says, as he shakes her hand, carefully.
"I agree. There were details I don't think I would have come up with if it were from my own mind," Maddie murmurs. "Thank you again." She smiles, though there's something sad, something sympathetic in the way she looks at him, before she turns to go. "Have a good day, Agent," she adds — even if she just added on to his workload.
