+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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**picture: Akron Police HQ
Hank went about in his white coat, muttering things like, "Eight men, average size, about two-hundred pounds each..." while he started the centrifuge, filled an hypodermic from a sealed tube, added a tiny pinch of powder to a mysterious mix in a flask.
Gillian waited at the door.
When he paused, she tried to speak but he cut her off. "In a while, Reg. No focus left to answer your questions."
She huffed out of the police lab. Ron worked in the interrogation room. Kurt helped him weld something. What was he doing here if she'd told him to--
"Al's watching the house," said Kurt when she walked in.
Oh, well, now they were all telepaths.
Detective Moore found her on her way to the squad rom, to check on Aldana.
"Agent Gillian, sorry to bother you. I've tried to explain your plan to Chief Fine and..."
"Don't worry, I'll do it." Yeah, we're all telepaths today.
Moore didn't hide her relief. "Thanks."
Gillian had already noticed Moore was the only female detective in the whole station. The other three women were uniforms, running paperwork or administrative errands inside the station. She'd also noticed there was only another African American officer among the staff, and he was a beat cop. Which gave her some idea about what kind of man Chief Fine was. He liked them all white and boys. And she didn't like that. At all.
Moore led her to the Chief's office and knocked on the door. The Chief of Akron police was behind his large, heavy desk, on the phone, and he hardly looked up at them when they came in. He didn't hurry to hang up, but he did signal Moore to fix him a coffee.
While waiting for him to be as kind as to pay her any attention, Gillian couldn't help to think the man reminded her of her father. Slim, firm cheekbones, pointy chin, blue eyes under white eyebrows. She tried to ignore the resemblance, because it added to his staff policy and made it even harder to meet him with an open mind.
When he finally ended his call and faced Gillian, he didn't wait for any introduction—like he didn't thank Moore for the coffee in his hand. He just said in a raspy, demanding voice, "Moore tells me you mean to gas these men? Why not just arrest them?"
Gillian breathed deep to fight the growing feeling of déjà vu. It was so much like any meeting with her father or Cook while she was still in the force. Two minutes and she already hated everything about the man.
"Have you read the file on them?" she asked, omitting the 'sir' on purpose.
Chief Fine arched his eyebrows—why would I? I'm the boss here. I'm way above reading files.
"You should," she replied to the tacit comment. "These man are war vets, heavily armed and prone to violence. Only three weeks ago, in Maine, they killed ten law enforcement officers, and injured twenty more."
"And you think they'd try something like that again? Here?"
Gillian heard the line under the words 'try' and 'here'. This is my town, girl. Who would even dare to defy me? And it was so evident he was ready to dismiss the warning because it came from a woman.
"Yes. They're violent, they're hostile and they're armed. We cannot risk a shooting in such a populated area."
"So you're going for the delivery-boy ruse."
Gillian accepted the coffee Moore offered her only to keep from punching the man's lights out. But she did trade a sympathy glance with the other woman.
"You may say. We're tampering a pizza box to hide a small device, which will release a stunning gas when open." And we should try it on you first. Adding a little poison to the mix.
"That's it? That's your plan to take down these violent, hostile, armed, dangerous federal fugitives?"
Her fists clenched against her will. Her mind tricked her for a heartbeat, showing her father's face behind the desk. She managed to held the man's eyes without a blink.
"Yes."
Before the man could continue his lousy display of dismissive sarcasm, the phone on his desk rang. He picked up and his face darkened. He looked up at Gillian when he hung up, only a moment later this time.
"People are gathering at Grace Park, with candles and signs."
Gillian checked the time. "New York's demonstration is starting now. It's being replicated all over the country."
The Chief's face gave away he didn't know what she was talking about. And he didn't care, either.
"Moore, take four men and go keep things calm."
Gillian raised her hand a little to stop the other woman and faced Chief Fine, fed-serious, enjoying to copy Brock's flat tone.
"Detective Moore is the primary on the fugitives case and I need her for our procedure."
Oh, yes, that was such a King's scowl whenever someone dared to object his will. This time she had to fight back a smirk of pure pleasure.
"Tonight? Can't it wait?"
"No, it can't."
Chief Fine snorted under his breath as he picked up his phone again. Gillian waited until he started barking orders, then she turned to Moore and motioned for them to leave. Because she was just about to laugh in the man's face.
