Protector's goodbye to an old friend
Shawn closes the front door behind him, and collapses onto the couch. The day began at 3 that morning, when he’d been called as backup to a crime scene where the Bureau believed there to be several kidnap victims. A bunch of Vietnamese gang members decided to shoot one another over several bags of heroin, the upshot being that three men and two women were dead – all but one innocent bystanders. When the FBI arrived, a five hour stand off followed, which was finally resolved with no other fatalities. The Bureau office was thrilled, however, since one of the detainees had managed to yield the name of their supplier in Hong Kong, and now every agency and their dog were getting into the act – and Shawn was chosen as liaison to the DEA, and got to brief them for four hours on a case that he only had peripheral involvement in, and from someone else’s notes to boot.
Shawn yawns and glances at the paper he hadn’t had time to read today – Tyler McBain, PRIMUS researcher, is still on the run apparently, along with $2 million in parts he took with him from MRC. Protector’s investigation with Helena Amory had yielded a little – she later revealed that psychological tests administered to him in the hospital showed a borderline personality -- and PRIMUS was furiously hunting him down, though with little luck so far. Su Sag Electronics in Chinatown had been shut down, but no trace of the missing PRIMUS equipment had been recovered, to Kestler’s chagrin. Yawning again, Shawn glances at his watch before closing his eyes and settling back into the couch. Almost 1 a.m. – hey, that’s 22 hours straight. What a day, he thinks, drifting off to sleep.
The alarm sounds shrilly, and Protector stretches across the bed to turn it off. Doing so, he rolls back over, but the alarm sounds again. Confused, he sits up. Ah, the phone, he realizes, and picks it up, glancing at the clock as he does so. 2:54 in the morning. Who the heck is calling at 2:54 in the morning? And how did I get into bed?
"Shawn, I’m terribly sorry to wake you," a woman’s soft voice says over the line in answer to his curt greeting. Even through sleep shock, Shawn recognizes Mary Colt’s girlish voice.
"Mary," Shawn shakes his head and wakes up in a hurry. "What's wrong?"
"It’s Larry…he’s dead, Shawn. Shot to death on his doorstep two hours ago…"
Cold shards knifed through Shawn's chest, ripping his breath away. Larry was a vital, vibrant, human being. People like him didn't just die. God knows I've seen enough people try to kill Dr. Dimension over the years, he thought, but nobody ever could. Larry had been one of his closest friends in some of his most difficult times.
Drawing a slow breath, Shawn finds the strength to ask, "What... what happened?"
"The police found a VIPER pistol on the premises – dumped into nearby bushes. But this is so unusual," her voice cracks. "For starters, VIPER isn’t even very active in Washington. And why Larry? He’s not even for gun control. It’s like it was an execution."
Shawn's head spun as he delved into his own memory looking for a reason as well. Could it have anything to do with him? Larry had recently spoken with FBI director Louis Freeh about him, but Louis and Larry had been friends before. Unbidden, the sound of a woman’s cold laughter reverberated in his head, remnants of a nightmare he’d had days before. Something was eluding him; her face was just out of reach. His excruciatingly tired mind reached for the image, stretching, trying to get hold of it, but just as he almost had it, Mary continued, snapping his attention back to the present. The thought flittered away into the back of his mind, forgotten, perhaps tragically.
"I’m going to be flying out for the funeral later in the day, Shawn. Should I book a flight for you as well?"
"Of course," he answered instantly. "I'll be with you. Are you all right? Do you want me to come over, Mare?"
"No, no..." she says, distractedly, her voice wavering. Shawn hears the click of a computer keyboard in the background. "We're booked for the 7:15 am flight from SFO to Dulles on American Airlines, flight 231. Couldn't get first class at this late date, unfortunately," she says. "Catch you at the airport."
"All right," he agrees, setting the phone down slowly. He then picks it back up and punches an office number in from memory. After the voice mail greeting plays he leaves a quick message. "Greta, Shawn. A good friend of mine was murdered in DC last night and I'm going with another friend right away to look into it and attend the funeral. I'll send the Form 112 for the leave from the DC office today. If anyone has a problem with it, do your best but don't stick your neck out, OK? I know it’s sudden, but I have to go do this. I'm Sorry. Take care of yourself and I'll see you in a few days. Oh, you can still reach my cell in an emergency. Bye."
The police barricade extends through the entire block of Senator Green’s Georgetown neighborhood. Yellow tape restricts the media, who are everywhere. Parking as close as he can, Shawn steps out of the rental car, Mary only a step behind. A photographer is hanging, upside down, from a tree in order to get a view of the body, covered with a sheet in front of the townhouse.
"Vultures," thinks Shawn, an irritated grimace crossing his face.
PRIMUS is here; there are several Dodge Avengers mixed with the police. Shawn spots the Golden Avenger about fifty feet away, close to the place where Larry’s body rests, speaking quietly with a handsome woman dressed in a Silver Avenger’s uniform and two uniformed police officers.
Mary pushes through the crowd, and gracefully ducks under the yellow crime scene tape. The police officer charged with maintaining the crime scene stops her, calling, "Ma’am, you’ll have to stay behind the yellow tape…"
Mary turns and gives him a withering stare. The cop blinks, once, twice, then turns back to what he was doing. An odd expression crosses Mary’s face, then she too turns back to what she was doing, and strides forward, her heels clicking on the concrete sidewalk.
Bringing up behind her, Shawn can't help but think of the overly enthusiastic teenage girl Mary had been when he met her in 1942. Now she walks in front of him like a granite wall, sweeping people aside with her presence. And Larry - Doctor Dimension - the most powerful one among them, who had torn apart tank columns and turned Japanese artillery shells back at their own guns - now Larry was dead. How things had changed.
Mary reaches Larry’s body, seemingly unnoticed by any of the milling police officers and agents. The Golden Avenger notices, however, and excuses himself from the people he was talking to.
"Mary, Mary," he says, reaching her side quickly. "I’m so sorry…"
She smiles weakly at him, but takes his arm. "DJ, what happened?"
The Golden Avenger frowns and glances down at the body. "Here, let’s go inside. It’s really too chilly for you to stand around out here."
"Quit patronizing me, DJ, or I’ll make you do the funky chicken in front of the press," she says, her voice cracking. "What happened?"
"I’m not patronizing you, Mary, my toes are cold – I’ve been standing here since six this morning. I’d like to go inside," he responds. "Also, we have reason to believe that whoever did this is after all surviving Forces of Liberty members—" with this he glances at Shawn before looking back down at Mary "-- so it’s your safety I have in mind. Please, let’s go inside." The concerned look he gives her is one reserved for an aunt, or a friend; Shawn remembers the picture Mary had on her mantle in San Ramon, of her standing with the twelve original Avengers at the PRIMUS Academy, from back in 1984 – she had worked as an instructor there for five years before returning to California.
After giving him a momentary stern look, Mary walks up the steps, into the foyer of Larry Green’s townhouse. "I haven’t been here in ages," she whispers to herself.
To Shawn he says, "Agent Crawford, as I’m sure you know, this concerns you equally. If you’d like to step inside…" He follows the FBI agent in the house, and closes the front door.
Once seated on the overstuffed sofa in the parlor, Mary looks like she’s fighting to keep back tears. The Golden Avenger takes her tiny hand in his before beginning. "Before I get into the details of Senator Greene’s murder, can either of you think of anyone who might want to hurt him? Anyone from your past?"
Mary shakes her head. "No," she whispers. "It’s been too long, and most of the people who would have cause to hate us are dead, or too old to do anything about it. It’s not like Larry’s identity – or mine – was any big secret, however."
"Agent Crawford?" he asks in turn.
Shawn furrows his brow and rubs the bridge of his nose to push the headache down. "Who could possibly still be around personally?" he says and realizes the irony of that statement coming from him. "But the causes are still healthy... Nazis? Seems like they'd want to publicize their involvement if it was a revenge thing, though."
"This is what we’ve been able to reconstruct from speaking with several neighbors," the Golden Avenger continues, still holding Mary’s hand. "Senator Greene received a phone call from the pay phone at the 76 station two blocks away." Turning to Shawn he says, "No fingerprints, unfortunately." Continuing, he explains, "We believe that the Senator knew who he was going to be receiving, for when he opened the door, three minutes later he said, ‘Dear God, it really is you. In the flesh!’ Following this – and this is all according to the elderly woman who lives next door, and who was awakened by the phone call -- there was a series of shots. The neighbor – a Mrs. Kimbel – says that the murderer then laughed over the body for about a minute before fleeing into the night. It was she who called police, and they arrived several minutes later. Senator Greene was pronounced dead soon after."
The Golden Avenger glances down at his portable computer, and runs his free hand through his hair while he scans the data. "The description she gave of the murderer was of a tall man, though she stated the laugh sounded very like a woman’s." Shawn wracks his brain trying to think of anyone from the FoL's rogue's gallery who fit that description.
"Also, while we found a VIPER pistol at the scene, this doesn’t sound like the MO of any VIPER villain that we know of. And there hasn’t been any VIPER activity in D.C. for a long time – their nest here has never been able to rebuild."
Shawn considered a moment. VIPER agents aren't in the habit of throwing their weapons away for no reason, and from the neighbor's description it doesn't sound like the assassin hurried away from the scene. If he had time to gloat and laugh, he didn't need to ditch the murder weapon in the bushes.
Something the Golden Avenger said finally sinks in enough for Shawn to notice it. "Exactly why do you believe the assassin is after the rest of the FoL?" The natural implication alarmed him. "Who else has been attacked?"
The Golden Avenger glances at Mary, then looks Shawn straight in the eye. "Recently, Mary mentioned to me that she’d been having nightmares, of someone from the past, though she could never see their face or mentally sense who they were. But she always woke up to the sound of a woman’s laughter. Larry Greene and my father have been friends for decades, and he was at Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house. He looked tired, and I jokingly asked him about nightmares. He seemed surprised at my guess, then said, ‘Yes,’ then proceeded to related to me the exact same dream that Mary had."
And the exact same dream that Shawn had, though another flash returns to him now – running through the fog and being very, very cold.