Picking Up A Loyal Agent


henry_icon.gif ryans2_icon.gif

Scene Title Picking Up A Loyal Agent
Synopsis Ryans meets Henry and gets the poor man to Gun Hill.
Date September 14, 2010

Central Park - Belvedere Castle

The news had been rather busy with the betrayal of the Company on every news station. As time had moved on, so did the media, only blips here and there when there were sightings of Agents. These Ryans took a keen interest in.

One sighting in particular caught his eye, that was the pursuit of Henry Webb. As soon as he knew the young man was out there, the former assistant director had contacted Rebel. It was a simple request. Find Henry's phone and text him a message to meet him in Central Park.

Belvedere Castle seemed as good of a place as any, Benjamin Ryans stands at the edge of one of the walls, looking over the park. There is no suit, he blends in mostly, except for that ever present look of nuetrality that gives him more of a look of authority then anything. A ball cap is pulled low over his blue eyes, his hands tucked into the pockets of the blue jeans he was wearing a white polo shirt.

Benjamin waits patiently there for one of his agents to come back to him.

It has been a long, long week. And Henry is in bad shape. He's got a worn Stanford hoodie on, despite the warmth of the fall evening. It doesn't do much to disguise the lump of bandaging beneath it. He's got the pale, tight-lipped look of a man who's been suffering for a while. He comes scuffing up, without his usual barely restrained bounce, blue eyes fixed on Ryans. He doesn't speak, just looks his old senior in the face. It could be a trap. But at that moment, Henry's too tired to run to care.

The scuff of feet has Ryans turning, his boots scraping on the cement, settling that hawkish gaze on Henry. The mask fades a little, to be replaced with concern, which bleeds into the old man's voice. "Webb, you look like hell, son."

Hands come out of his pockets to show them, palm out to the younger man. "I'm glad to see your okay, I was worried about you." It's honest words from the ex-team leader. Ryans studies Henry, brows furrowing under the bill of the cap. "Lets get you to someplace safe. There is a room waiting for you with the Ferrymen. Bennet has given us room and protection."

"I'm not okay," Henry says, with an unusual lack of either cheerfulness or deference. "Sir," he adds, after a moment. "It's been a long road here, and I got winged. Funny thing was, it was railroad bulls and ATF guys who got me, not even the Feds. They didn't know who they were after. I hopped a train from Chicago to get here…." And then he smiles, and it's a pained look still. "But that's good news. Very good news."

"I did a lot of laying ground work before the fall." Ryans says as explanation, taking a step towards the man, a hand rests on the smaller man's shoulder, maybe more to steady him. "To make sure we had a place to go. Sadly, I couldn't tell anyone."

He looks away from Henry out into the park. "Are you able to keep walking a bit longer? How bad off are you?" The words softly spoken as he looks back, brows lifting slightly, curious. "My youngest is running the clinic where we are, just gotta get you there and you can finally rest and have her look you over."

"I can walk, sir. Got this far. I think the wound's infected. I haven't been able to stitch it up as it needs to be. Just bandages," Henry says, looking up. "And…wonderful. Lead on, sir." He does seem to be telling the truth - he's got his shoulders squared, head up, and for all his pallor, doesn't have the wobbling tread of a man on his last legs.

A gentle smile, crinkles the corners of his eyes, "We'll get you fixed up." the hand slides away as he turns to start the journey, it will be tough, but Ryans will make sure the pace will accommodate the wounded man, staying near in case he needs a hand to keep on his feet.

It's be a slow journey, but when they arrive at Gun Hill and Henry is eased down on one of the cots for Delia Ryans to fuss over, he'll finally know he'll have a chance to rest and recoup.

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