Taylor Hebert: PRT Operative
Part One: Brand New Day
[A/N: This chapter commissioned by @GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Hebert Household
Taylor
"It's been three days."
Greg said it, but I'd been thinking it, so I couldn't exactly snap at him.
"Yeah, I know." I put down the book I'd been trying to read for the last thirty minutes, without getting past the first two lines. This was kind of scary; I
liked reading. "We didn't imagine the whole thing, did we? That all happened, right?"
He raised one finger, and a globule of liquid black metal flowed out of his sleeve and spun on the tip of his finger. "Well, unless we both imagined the same thing, and I'm imagining this right now, I'd go with 'yeah'." A moment later, it flowed back out of sight again.
I sighed. "Okay, so it happened. Then what's going on? Why hasn't she contacted us?" At first I'd thought being a secret undercover cape for the PRT would be cool and exciting, but the lack of anything at all going on was paradoxically making me jumpy.
Greg's face expressed the same sentiment as his spread hands. "No idea. She wouldn't have just forgotten about us, would she?"
I snorted indelicately. "We uncovered and mopped up the Empire Eighty-Eight in a day." Well, the Protectorate and PRT
had had a hand in that, but not a huge one. "Nobody's gonna forget that in a hurry."
"Especially not Kaiser." Greg chuckled. "The look on his face when Armsmaster was putting the cuffs on him was
amazing. And to think I wanted to grow up to be Max Anders."
"Yeah." I leaned back in my chair. "I think I wanted to grow up to be Ms Harcourt. Say '
do this', and people would jump to do it." Willingness to work with Nazis aside, her command tone had been impressive.
"That woman was legit scary." Greg shook his head. "And not in a good way. I can't believe she was willing to kill Tracey just to protect Medhall, even knowing she was working for Nazis."
"Yeah, well, she's going down too. The footage of her attacking Tracey put the nails in that coffin." I got up from the table where we'd been pretending to study. "Want some juice?"
"That'd be nice, thanks." Greg reached out and briefly grabbed my hand on the way past. "If I was gonna get powers and be a cape, I'm glad it was with you."
I grinned mischievously over my shoulder at him. "Me too. Even if Brian is majorly good looking."
"And I'm not?" He clutched his chest in the general region of his heart. "Agh! A fatal wound!"
"Dork." I rolled my eyes as I poured his glass of juice. "Brian might have muscles on muscles, but he doesn't have what we've got. He never loaned me his phone on a bus when I was stressing out about calling Tracey. He never crash-tackled a psychotic bitch in the certain knowledge that he'd lose, just to save me from two more bitches.
You were willing, on zero explanation, to come sneak me out of Medhall through the walls.
And you took down Shadow Stalker, something he was never able to do."
"Oh. Wow." He blinked a couple of times as he accepted the glass from me. "Damn, you're making me sound like some kind of action hero, even before I got powers. Keep talking that way, and I won't be able to fit my head out the door to go home."
"You were pretty damn impressive
after you got powers, too," I reminded him, turning back to the bench to pour my own glass. "Just saying."
He saluted me with his glass. "Says the girl who figured out who the Empire was.
And figured out the plan to get back in and save Brian's folks."
"That first bit was Tracey. I just—" The phone on the wall rang. I froze, then carefully put the juice bottle down. "Shit, is that her?"
"Either that or it's your dad calling to say he'll be working late." Greg made a
go-on motion. "Well, it's your phone. You answer it."
"Yeah. Yeah." Leaving the juice bottle on the bench, I ducked across the kitchen to where the phone was. "Hello, Hebert residence, Taylor speaking."
"Good afternoon, Miss Hebert." Director Piggot's voice was unmistakeable.
"Am I correct in assuming that Mr Veder is there as well?"
"Uh, yeah, he is." I glanced involuntarily at Greg. "So, is this … are we …" I trailed off, unsure of the exact wording.
"I have a task for you, yes. An unmarked car will be outside your house in precisely five minutes. You and Mr Veder will get in this car. The security password is 'bratwurst'. Another vehicle has been dispatched to fetch Ms Grimshaw. Do you have any questions?"
"N-no, ma'am. Five minutes. Password is 'bratwurst'. Got it."
"Good. Four minutes fifty seconds." The call ended. Director Piggot, it seemed, was not big on extended goodbyes.
By now, Greg was on his feet. "So, what'd she say? Are we on? Say we're on."
I went back over to the bench and finished pouring myself the glass of juice. "We're being picked up. We've got four and a half minutes to be outside."
"Awesome!" He checked his watch, then closed the book he'd been staring at the same page of for the last three-quarters of an hour and stuffed it in his backpack. "Should I leave my bag here, or take it with?"
I shrugged. "Leave it here, I guess. Even if they drop you off at yours, you can come over tomorrow and pick it up." I put the cap back on the juice bottle and returned the bottle to the fridge. Then I started on the glass, drinking it down as fast as I could without spilling or choking.
"Okay, um, what if your dad comes home and we're not back?"
I hated that he was right. "Yeah, good point." I finished the juice, put it in the sink to rinse, then grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a note:
Going out for a while with Greg. I'll call and let you know if we're going to be out late. Taylor.
"That'll do," I decided, dropping the pen on top. "Let me just grab my sneakers and we can go."
Greg checked his watch again. "Two minutes. Might want to put your sneakers on in the car."
"True." I headed through the living room into the entrance hall, flicked a shadow-blot to the top of the stairs, and teleported up there. Another shadow-flick got me to the end of the corridor, to where my room was. My sneakers were right where I'd left them, so I grabbed them and repeated the process to get back down to Greg.
"Damn," he said admiringly. "That took fifteen seconds, tops."
I grinned, soaking up the praise as was my due. "It's all in the wrist."
We headed outside and I made sure the front door was locked, then I sat down on the steps and started putting my sneakers on. Just as I was doing the laces up, a car came rolling along the street. It wasn't sleek and black with heavily tinted windows (which would absolutely have drawn unwelcome attention) but it
was about as anonymous as a car could get; a neutral brown in colour, there were no stickers, dents, scratches or other identifying marks on it. Walk past it on the street and you'd never even remember it was there.
I nodded toward the car as I stood up. "Bet you ten bucks that's our ride."
"No bet." Greg followed me down the path. "I was gonna say exactly the same thing."
The car came to a stop at the curb and the passenger side window lowered itself. Strolling over, I leaned down to look inside. "Hi. Can I help you?"
"Sure." The driver held up a PRT badge. "Password 'bratwurst'. I'm Lieutenant Forrester. Let's go."
"Excellent." I got in the front, while Greg climbed into the back seat. Barely had I closed the door and put my seatbelt on than Forrester started the car moving again. "Is there anything you can tell us about what the Director wants us for?"
Eyes still on the road, he shook his head. "Sorry, kid. I don't even know who you are. Operational security. Understood?"
"Ah. Yeah. Totally." It made sense once he said it, and I could've kicked myself for not seeing it sooner.
"Wait, 'bratwurst'?" That was Greg in the back seat. "Is that the Director telling us that we're brats and we're the worst?"
I waited for Lieutenant Forrester to deny it, but he merely looked thoughtful. "You know, I'm not even going to get into that one. The Director has reasons for everything she does."
Now,
that I could believe.
<><>
Greg
The PRT undercover garage was familiar to Greg, but this time around things felt much more relaxed as he and Taylor got out of the car and looked around. Not bothering to wait for the PRT lieutenant, Taylor caught Greg's eye and headed for the elevator. He followed along, of course; his personal policy of '
when in doubt, let Taylor take the lead' had served him well more than once.
Just as they got there, the roller-door rumbled upward and a second car entered the parking garage. To Greg's discerning eye, it looked just as carefully anonymous as the one that had conveyed them there, and he waited to see if his suspicions were correct. Beside him, Taylor had a slight smile lurking in the corner of her mouth, which said to him that she'd had the same idea.
They were proven correct when the car door opened and Tracey got out. "Taylor! Greg!" The pleasure in her voice was evident as she started in their direction. "It's good to see you again!"
"You too." Taylor met her midway with a rib-squeezing hug. "Did the Director say anything more than to come in?"
"Nope. You too?" Released from the hug, Tracey gave Greg a smile and a side-hug. "Sounds about right."
"It does," agreed Greg, returning the gesture. Tracey had been nice to Taylor from day one, long before they'd figured out what Medhall really was, and he held her in just as much regard as Taylor did. "What say we go up and find out what that is?"
Taylor grinned. "Sounds like a plan."
<><>
Taylor
As we stepped into the elevator, Lieutenant Forrester handed out visitor tags. He also gave Tracey a high-vis vest. "For you, ma'am."
Greg and I glanced at each other in confusion; the visitor tags were one thing, but the vest didn't seem to belong. "Uh, what's that for?" I asked.
"Teacher's aide." Lieutenant Forrester hit a button on the panel, then keyed his radio. "Bratwurst, coming up."
Teacher's aide? The look of puzzlement was shared between all three of us this time, but Tracey put the vest on anyway. As Greg and I already had, she slung the visitor tag around her neck.
The elevator opened onto a hallway as a line of chattering kids strung past, all wearing visitor tags, and accompanied by a couple of adults in the same high-vis vests.
Oh, I realised as the penny dropped with a deafening clang.
Protective camouflage. I stepped out of the elevator and merged with the group, with Greg following (of course) and Tracey bringing up the rear. Lieutenant Forrester emerged last and moved up past us as though he had someplace important to go.
The tour group seemed to utterly ignore the fact that two new kids and a teacher's aide had joined the herd; they wouldn't so much as meet our eyes. In fact, even the chatter seemed entirely artificial and meaningless when I actually paid attention to it. There was a red-headed kid in the middle saying, "blah blah blah" over and over, while apparently nodding in agreement with the guy next to him.
Lieutenant Forrester headed up to a door marked 'Conference Room C' and opened it. Casually, he stepped inside, leaving the door open. Tracey met my eyes as well as Greg's; we both nodded in silent agreement. As the 'tour group' passed by the door, we drifted to the back then stepped inside.
Inside the room were Director Piggot and Armsmaster; at Piggot's gesture, Forrester left once more, closing the door behind him. Greg, Tracey and I moved forward by unspoken agreement, pulling out chairs to sit down. "Interesting charade out there," Tracey observed. "Are you so sure you've still got moles?"
"I don't know that we haven't." The Director had lost none of her dour intensity. "Which means I have to assume that some are still active."
"And thus, the pretend tour group." I nodded. "I'm guessing those were the Wards."
Greg straightened a little in his chair. "The Wards? I thought that was a real tour group."
I ticked points off on my fingers. "They never paid us any attention. That one kid was literally just saying 'blah blah blah'. And Lieutenant Forrester called ahead before we went up in the elevator. Pretend tour group. Where can you find a bunch of teenagers in this building who can be guaranteed to follow orders? The Wards. QED."
Director Piggot's lips tightened fractionally. "The PRT would prefer you kept that knowledge to yourself."
"Sure." I laced my fingers together. "So, if it's not to find the rest of the moles, what do you need us for?" I knew this had to be the case, because she would've called just me in if it was about any more moles in the building.
"Coil." She said the name bluntly. "He had people inside this building until you unearthed enough of them that we were able to find the rest, and we uncovered his true identity as well."
The set of her jaw and the glint in her eye gave me the hint, and I followed it up. "He was one of yours, I'm guessing. The one you were talking about, just before we went up onto the roof? Calvert?"
"Yes." The admission clearly pained her. "Not totally surprising; the man had about as chequered a career as anyone could have and not wind up in Leavenworth. He had the good fortune to be off sick that day. Raiding his home got us nothing except a lot of questions."
"And you want us to find him." Tracey wasn't saying it as a question. "He still poses a problem to you, and you need him located."
Piggot slowly nodded. "You'll have access to all the files we had on him, many of which we suspect have been altered after the fact. He also did a little damage before we shut him out for good, so you're going to have to piece some of it together, then determine what's viable and what's been made up out of whole cloth."
Greg cleared his throat. "This is probably a stupid question and I'm almost certainly going to wish I hadn't asked it, but why the focus on him now that he's been outed?"
Before the Director could answer, Tracey did it for her. "Because of what he knows. Not the day-to-day passwords and such—I'm pretty sure those were changed within the hour—but his familiarity with the deeper institutional procedures and information that outsiders just don't get access to. Plus, he's probably got dirt on a lot of PRT personnel that he hasn't used yet. Given enough time, he'd probably rebuild his mole network and go straight back to what he was doing before."
"Ms Grimshaw is correct." Director Piggot's expression suggested that she'd just bitten into a lemon. "We're on a time crunch right now. We need to find him and bring him down before he insinuates his tentacles back into our system."
I leaned back in my chair. "Well, if that's the case, we're going to need to bring Tattletale in on this." Under the table, I took Greg's hand and squeezed it. The answer to his question might have been obvious to
us, but it had still needed to be asked.
The Director's hypothetical lemon appeared to become extra tangy all of a sudden. "I'd really rather you didn't."
"And I'd really rather we did." I faced up to her without blinking. "I'm good at seeing patterns in what's there. Tattletale is good at piecing together what's not there. If anyone can help us get an insight on Coil, it's her."
Armsmaster, silent up until now, stirred from his place by the wall. "Ma'am, while Tattletale can be irritating, and possibly poses a security risk, she's very good at what she does, and is still less of a security risk than Calvert himself."
She shot him a side-glance—
Et tu, Bruté?—then looked back at me. "Fine. Bring her in."
"Yes, ma'am."
<><>
Undersiders Base
Grue
Brian gave Lisa a dubious look. "How can you be so certain they'll call on us today?"
Her grin was a masterpiece of smugness personified. "Because they're the good guys and we're the bad guys. First day, they would've been all '
we don't need them, they're villains'. Second day, it would've been '
figure out a way that we can do this without them'. And on the third day, '
okay, fine, but don't let them know how much we need them'."
"Okay, I'll bite." Alec didn't look up from the widescreen TV as he blew away his opponents with electronic rifle fire. "How do you even know they're going to need us?"
Lisa never hesitated. "Because we've already worked for them, and every problem looks like a nail when all you've got is a hammer. Before you ask, '
but what if they don't have any problems?', they'll have a problem because the PRT
always has problems. And the very moment one crops up that Piggot's in-house team can't cover, that's when she'll start thinking about the
amazingly versatile group that cleaned up the Empire for her. Even if she's unwilling to admit it to herself."
Brian frowned. Her logic
sounded good, but she'd talked herself down more than one rabbit-hole before. "I dunno. Piggot did
not like having us there. Personally, I think she'd need a gun to her head before—"
Lisa's phone rang. The look she gave Brian as she swiped to answer made her previous smugness look downright humble and self-effacing by comparison. With the tap of her finger, she put the phone on speaker.
"Hello, Tattletale speaking."
"Hi, Tats. It's Taylor here." The voice was both familiar and cheerful.
"Oh, hi, Taylor." Lisa put on an artificially bright tone. "How are you doing today?"
Now Taylor sounded amused. "
Just fine, how about you?"
"We're all fine, even Brian." She ignored his indignant
Hey! "So how can I help you today?"
Taylor sighed.
"I'm at the PRT and we kinda need a hand here."
The look Lisa gave Brian could've launched a rocket to the moon, powered by sheer
told-you-so energy
. "Oh, you
do? Really? The PRT?"
"Yes, the PRT." Taylor paused.
"What's up? Why are you repeating what I'm saying?"
"Because
someone didn't believe the PRT was going to call us today." Lisa was enjoying this far too much.
"
Wow, this is the first time I've ever heard someone roll their eyes before. And it's not really the PRT. I'm the one who insisted on calling you in. So, do me a favour and don't make me or Director Piggot regret this."
As Lisa's shoulders slumped a little, she steadfastly avoided Brian's eyes. "Ah, okay. So, what's the deal?"
"
It's about what you probably expect. Director Piggot has given me a problem and I'm thinking you're the best person to help me unravel it."
Lisa brightened. "Well, of
course I am. What's the problem?"
"
Ah, sorry, the Director just gave me a note saying, 'no details, opsec'. I guess that means you have to come in before we tell you anything about the situation."
"She does realise that I could probably solve it over the phone if I had enough details, right?" Lisa had regained some of her poise and all her self-confidence.
"
As far as I can tell, she doesn't give a damn. She wants everyone who's working on this to be directly under her eye."
"Plus, she doesn't trust me." Now, Lisa sounded amused.
"
I'd like to say that you're wrong, but we both know I'd be lying." So did Taylor.
"Well, at least we're all on the same page. So, how are we gonna do this?"
"
Okay, the Director just handed me another note. You can be masked but not in costume. Give us a location near to you, and we'll have a car there in thirty minutes. You will hand over all phones and other electronics as soon as you get in the car. I'll be in the car to make sure everyone plays nice. Sound okay?"
Lisa grinned. "I'm guessing that last bit was you, not the Director. And she's not thrilled about it."
"
Wow, it's almost like you've got the power to figure out stuff from minimal cues or something." Taylor's sarcastic drawl should've left scorch marks on the phone. "
So where do we pick you up from?"
Lisa's lips pursed for a moment. "Corner of Parker and Brock. Opposite the convenience store." It was a couple of blocks from the hideout: close enough to be walked easily, far enough that she couldn't be backtracked.
"
Okay, got it. See you soon."
"See you soon." Lisa ended the call, then raised her eyes in Brian's general direction. "So, are you going to say it, or do I have to force it out of you?"
"Force what out of me?" He met her gaze, stare for stare. "You were
wrong. They didn't waffle for three days before asking you. Taylor called you as soon as they brought her in on it."
"But they still called on us after three days." Lisa's air of superiority could've bounced bullets right then. "Doesn't matter how or why. Three days. I was correct."
"Just give up now." Alec still hadn't looked around from his game. "You know she'll never admit it."
As much as Brian hated to admit that he was right, Lisa had that set to her jaw that told him she'd argue the point until Doomsday and forever afterward. "Fine, whatever you need to make yourself feel better. Now, you'd better get going. I doubt they'll wait too long for you if you're late."
She gave him that same irritating smile as she picked up her domino mask from the coffee table. "Well, they already waited three days. Mwahahaha." And then she was out the door.
Gritting his teeth, Brian debated banging his head against the wall a few times. At least it would be less painful than arguing with Lisa. "Is it just me, or has working for the PRT made her even more of a pain in the ass than normal?"
Alec shrugged. "I can't see the problem. Now
they've got to spend hours dealing with her."
Brian considered that.
Yeah. Good point.
<><>
PRT Building ENE
Greg
It was quiet in the conference room. Director Piggot had left shortly after Taylor had, citing a need for her presence elsewhere. Armsmaster remained, still standing against the wall.
"Uh, hey, you know it's okay to sit." Greg motioned to one of the chairs. "We won't tell anyone."
"I appreciate the offer, but those chairs aren't rated for my armour." Armsmaster smiled briefly. "Thanks for the consideration, though."
"Allow me." Greg grinned as he let the metal he'd been wearing flow out of his sleeve and onto the chair. Wrapping around the legs and plastic seat, it turned the mundane piece of furniture into a stylish (and extremely sturdy) work of art. "Voila; one Armsmaster-rated chair."
Tracey stared at him. "Wait, you were carrying that with you all this time?"
"Well, yeah." Greg shrugged. "To me it's as light as foam padding. I'm never gonna be caught without the ability to make basic armour if I can help it." He turned to Armsmaster. "Go on, try it out."
"Hm. Very well." The armoured hero lowered himself onto the chair, which didn't so much as creak. "I knew your darksteel was strong, but I'm impressed. Thank you. I
can lock my leg joints to stand for a long period of time, but sitting is more comfortable."
"Can I ask you a question about Director Piggot?" Tracey leaned back in her chair with her fingers laced in front of her.
Armsmaster paused for a moment before responding. "You can ask. I might not answer."
Tracey nodded. "That's fair. It's just that when she was talking about this Calvert guy, it sounded like it was about more than just a PRT officer betraying his oath. Like it was personal between the two of them."
Greg frowned. "Yeah. She said he had a really chequered career, whatever that means."
"Ah." The Protectorate hero hesitated for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "This is all in the files you'll be looking at, so I don't see the harm in telling you ahead of time. Commander Calvert was one of the two survivors of Ellisburg. The Nilbog event. He was a lieutenant at the time."
"Whoa," breathed Greg as dots connected inside his head. "I remember Mr Gladly covering that in World Affairs. He was
there?"
Tracey tilted her head slightly. "And not only him. You said there were two survivors. Would the other one have been Director Piggot?"
Armsmaster nodded. "It's a matter of public record. However, while the Director fought to the last, Calvert shot his captain in the back so he could get up the ladder onto the helicopter faster. In the aftermath, he was dismissed from the PRT, but because they decided there were extenuating circumstances, he wasn't legally banned from having anything to do with the service again. He became an analyst contracting to the PRT, then managed to slide his way back in as a strike squad commander."
"And at the same time, he was doing the supervillain thing." Greg shook his head in wonder. "Gotta say, the man seems like a real dick."
The door opened and Director Piggot entered, carrying three folded laptops and a stack of folders. "I'm going to assume you're referring to Commander Calvert. I never liked him, and I never trusted him. But there's many people I don't like
or trust that I still have to work with, so that wasn't actually a factor in my treatment of him." She nodded to Armsmaster, who had risen as she entered. "Lieutenant Forrester just got back with Tattletale and Miss Hebert." A moment later, she paused and looked more closely at his chair. "… ah. Mr Veder's work?"
"Yes, actually." He lowered himself into the chair again. "It's a useful field test, and there aren't many chairs in this building rated for my armour."
"I see." The Director placed her burden on the table, then sat down. "I'll brief you all in a moment, when Miss Hebert and Tattletale get here."
Greg nodded. "So, just making sure that we're all on the same page, as soon as we locate Coil, we're going after him, yeah?" He was pretty sure that was the case, but it was always a good idea to make sure.
Also, it was so
weird to say that sort of thing in total seriousness.
Director Piggot looked around. "Yes—"
The door opened and Tattletale (wearing a visitor badge to go with her mask) burst in dramatically. "Never fear, the answer to your problems is here!"
Taylor followed her in, grinning. "Hey, all. Yes, she's been like this the whole way over. Now she's your problem."
The Director didn't quite roll her eyes, but Greg suspected that it was a close-run thing. "Thank you
so much. Sit down, Tattletale."
"Sure thing." Tattletale grabbed a chair, spun it around, and sat down with her arms crossed over the back. "So, what's got everyone's undergarments in such a knot that you had to pull me in on it? Is the Director's morning Sudoku giving problems?"
"No." The Director stood and handed Taylor, Tracey and Tattletale a folder and laptop each. Greg didn't mind being excluded from the immediate selection; he worked better as a sounding-board for Taylor, anyway. "The other day, after you teleported to the Medhall building, we followed up on the clues Taylor had unearthed. Among other things, we discovered Coil's secret identity. Specifically: Thomas Calvert, a PRT strike squad commander."
It was clear to Greg that Tattletale was trying to hide her reaction, but even her domino mask couldn't conceal the widening of her eyes, much less the sudden tension in her posture. Her voice, when she spoke, was filled with apparent nonchalance. "Okay, so you figured this out. That's cool. What do you want us to do about it?"
"For shame, Tattletale." Director Piggot's voice was slightly drier than Death Valley at noon during high summer. "You're supposed to be the one with all the answers. I need him located and captured, before he can make use of his inside knowledge to cause more problems for us."
"… right." Tattletale's eyes flicked around each member of the group before returning to the Director. "He's got a rep for being slippery as hell. Did you have any leads on what his powers might be?"
<><>
Taylor
"Powers?" Tracey leaned forward intently. "This is the first I've ever heard of him having powers. What have
you heard?"
I wasn't sure what she'd seen, but I was pretty sure the Director had picked up on Tattletale's change in attitude, just as I had. With all of us paying her more attention that she'd probably bargained for, Tattletale seemed to wilt a little. "Uh … maybe reality alteration? Also, he's apparently got an underground base, like an Endbringer shelter, and he's got a bunch of mercenaries working for him."
"I'm impressed." Director Piggot didn't
sound impressed, but her sarcasm didn't seem to be the 'facetious' type. Tattletale flinched, indicating that she'd noticed it too. "Your power is no doubt supplying you with all sorts of details now, that you didn't know before. I'm assuming you didn't know them before, because if you had, the
reasonable thing to do would be to fill us in as soon as you learned we were going after him."
"Okay, okay, okay." Tattletale held up her hands in surrender. "You got me. I work for him. Or rather—"
The Director's voice could have shaved steel. "Armsmaster, place Tattletale under arrest immediately."
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute." Tracey held her hands up in protest. Greg and I echoed her words.
Director Piggot stared at us; I got the impression that if it had been just one of us, she would've ignored the reaction, but as it was, she stopped. "What? She's literally in his pay. The man we're seeking to bring down."
"But she didn't even know about that until we brought her in here." Tracey spoke urgently: I knew that every word counted. "Can you just hear her out? Please?"
The Director gave Tracey a hard look, then favoured Tattletale with one that should've given her a medium sunburn. "Talk fast."
Tattletale took a quick breath. "The Undersiders
currently work for Coil. But I'm totally willing to pull that ripcord if we can be certain of grabbing him and shoving him into the deepest, darkest hole you've got access to."
Tracey shared a quick glance with me, then spoke up. "Director Piggot, that kind of attitude change is something I'm really familiar with. I'm willing to bet it's not because she discovered in the last thirty seconds that Coil's equivalent to Kaiser. There's something else going on."
That was my cue to jump in. "What'd he do? To you, I mean. I could assume you were loyal to him, but the moment Director Piggot called you on it, you pivoted straight to '
he can die in a fire'. That means he had some kind of hold over you. So, what did he do?"
Tattletale searched my face, then glanced at the Director, who paused for a long moment then gestured back at me. "Answer the question."
Tattletale's shoulders sagged slightly. "He more or less put a gun to my head. Made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Then he proved he can spoof my power. Sometimes I
know he's about to pull a gun and shoot me, and he doesn't. I can't plan a way around him, because he always knows what I'm about to do, and I never know what he's about to do."
There was an immense amount of subtext behind what she was saying. With her pride, she hated being someone else's catspaw, so she hammed it up hard while in costume to give the impression it was all her own idea. Her pride also factored into her pure hatred of Coil; she liked to be seen as the smartest person in the room, and she
knew she was smarter than him, but his power could outmanoeuvre hers all day long. Finally, she was still scared of him, but his loss of the Calvert identity had weakened his position, so she was betting on us being able to bring him down for good before he had someone put a bullet in the back of her head.
At least, with his moles gone for the moment, she was safe inside the PRT building.
Director Piggot gave her a hard glance. "I'd have more sympathy for you if you hadn't already chosen to be a villain before he ever coerced you into his service. Now, that information you were holding out on us before. How many mercenaries, where is his base, and what's the easiest way to get in?"
"Please," I added. "You did say you'd help us."
"And this
is your best chance of getting out from under his thumb," agreed Greg.
She wrinkled her nose. "If it was just Director Hardass there, I'd tell her to shove it and take my chances. But you make some good points, and you did say please. So, at the last count he had fifty mercs with laser undermounts for their rifles, and I can give you map coordinates and make a good effort at sketching out a floor plan. I'll even give you the pass codes for each of the entrances, or at least the ones I've been given. No guarantee that they haven't been updated since."
"Just a quick question." That was Tracey. "How are the rest of the Undersiders going to react to you turning against Coil?"
Tattletale grinned. "They honestly won't care, so long as you don't actually tell them that he's our real boss. I've been the go-between all this time, but Grue's the leader. That way, when he's talking to other groups, he can't accidentally let slip who's really paying our bills. He never could lie worth a damn."
I shook my head. "Huh. So we didn't even need all these files and laptops and stuff. All we had to do was call you in and ask a few questions."
"Hardly." Tattletale snorted. "I knew where his base was, and information about it. His name and cover were new to me, but if he was moonlighting as a PRT strike squad commander, he had the pretence of a normal life. That means a house of record. Which you've already raided, yeah?"
The Director nodded curtly. "We have. Go on."
"From the general air of pissiness when you're talking about it, you got nothing. It was clean as Scion's bodysuit. Barely any furniture, bed slept in maybe once a week. So what you raided was a decoy house, which means he's got a
second one."
"That doesn't necessarily follow," objected Armsmaster. "He could be living out of his base."
"Could be, but I doubt it." Tracey's tone was thoughtful. "I've seen pictures of Coil in the Medhall induction document. Head to toe morph suit. That, and the fact that he's maintained a supervillain career for the last few years while also holding down a job as a PRT strike squad commander, tells me that he's somewhat paranoid and
extremely detail-oriented. There's no way in hell he'd give the rank and file a look at his face—mercenaries are at least as greedy as the rest of us, by definition—so he wouldn't drive his car there, or walk in unmasked. Tattletale, where is this base, anyway?"
"Downtown, under a half-constructed office building." Tattletale didn't seem inclined to interrupt Tracey when she was on a roll.
Tracey nodded, as though this had been what she expected. "For want of a convenient volcano to build it into, right. Basically, a hop, skip and a jump from here. His decoy house is in the suburbs, and I would bet my non-existent employment chances that his gas mileage reflects driving out there and back every day. As Tattletale said, what we're looking for is a second house, one that's very much lived in."
"Exactly." Tattletale gave her a round of light golf applause. "And the clues to where it is are hopefully somewhere inside that pile of information you just handed us. So, shall we get to work?"
I shrugged. "Well,
I'm convinced." Handing the folder off to Greg, I opened the laptop and started looking over my options.
<><>
Greg
"… and pages thirteen through seventeen are also made-up crap." Lisa shook her head. "Honestly, did
nobody audit Calvert's access to your system? He was flat-out making blatant changes to your records about him, and inserting sheer bullshit wherever he felt like it."
As Greg went through Taylor's and Tracey's folders to remove the offending material, he noted that Armsmaster looked distinctly uncomfortable. Director Piggot had departed once more to carry out her duties as Director, leaving him holding the bag. There was a feeling of camaraderie—they were all very much on the same side—but Lisa's scornful assessment of PRT security procedures had Greg feeling somewhat embarrassed on his behalf.
"It's not really their fault." He felt his experiences at Medhall gave him some insight into the matter. "Sure, he ran rampant through the system once he was in, but he was legitimately given the position of a strike squad commander. It's not like he faked his credentials. That bit's on whoever let him back in, not on Director Piggot."
"Greg's right." Taylor raised her head from the laptop she was currently combing through. "Once you've got the clearance, you're assumed by definition to deserve the clearance. Even when you've got the best of intentions, having to stop every five minutes to get permission from above to do anything of note would drastically impact efficiency and make it impossible to get anything done in a viable timeframe. Basically, at some point you have to trust your people not to be bad actors. And talking about bad actors, I think I've found something."
"Well, that's more than I have." Tracey looked across at her. "Share, please."
"Incoming." Taylor clicked the menu option that shared her screen across the other two laptops (and, Greg had learned, with Armsmaster's HUD), then used her mouse to highlight a line. "See that? That payment shows up several times, over a series of weeks. Always the exact same amount to that contractor, except for the very last one. I tried to chase down the contractor, but they don't exist. There's no hint as to the service they actually supply. And the total amount paid would about cover the cost of a house."
Lisa frowned. "It
could be something, or it might just be standard military contractor bullshit."
Taylor made one more mouse click. "Have a look at the invoice numbers. They're sequential. Separated by weeks."
Tracey shook her head as she smiled. "Haha, yeah. That's a thing he does, isn't it?" Reaching across, she gave Taylor a high-five. "You go, girl."
Staring at the numbers, Lisa facepalmed. "And I was looking straight at it. Goddamn it."
Greg could feel the answer to the problem tickling his brain. "I know there's a way to find his house from that, but I just can't add it up."
"I can." Armsmaster was now sitting up, his gauntlets making typing motions in the air. "Accessing house sales in Brockton Bay over that period, cross-referencing with the total price … three houses, one of which is too close to Downtown, and one which has had numerous noise complaints of dogs barking in the yard morning and night. The third is the correct distance away, and has had no disturbances. It's also within line of sight of the decoy house."
Taylor and Tracey glanced at each other, and Taylor spoke first. "He wouldn't draw attention to himself. No barking dogs."
Tattletale nodded. "No, he's very much a '
security by obscurity' sort of personality. He's in the quiet house, for sure. And the line of sight would let him see if someone was raiding the premises."
"I concur." Armsmaster smiled. "A search of DMV records just got me his fake ID. The photo is literally Calvert with a moustache and a beard."
"Excellent." Taylor stood up and stretched. "So, let's go gather the troops and hit the house. If he's there, we've got him. If not, he'll be in his base."
Armsmaster's satisfied smile morphed into a frown. "Why the house first? Hitting it will almost certainly alert him, and put his base on alert. If you're going to hit a fortified location, it's best if they don't know you're coming."
Tracey nodded. "Also, if we hit the house and he's not there, what's stopping him from leaving the base before we can get there, and going on the offensive with his mercenaries?"
Taylor raised her eyebrows. "There's a quote I read once: '
if the enemy has an impregnable stronghold, see he stays there'. If he
wants to lock himself away in an underground concrete bunker, then who are we to argue?"
Greg grinned. Taylor had the
best plans.
End of Part One
fortune,
