The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 132: Rubberneckin’

Cornelius picked up on the first ring.

“Status?” he demanded tersely.

“Dunkirk’s stuck in place,” Dan replied. “Perfect time for the boys in blue to sweep in and snatch him up, evidence in hand.” A pause, then, “So… where are we on that?”

Cornelius’ grimace was an audible thing.

“Stalled,” the older man admitted. “Things aren’t going well with Galeforce. You watching the news?”

“I’m watching Dunkirk,” Dan said. The fed was currently kicking his car’s shattered hubcap, screaming in visceral rage. “We’re pretty far from the action. I can’t even hear the sirens.”

“That might change soon,” Cornelius revealed. “There’s talk about setting off the villain alarms, but we don’t want people to panic.”

“It’s that bad?” Dan asked. He wondered who the bigger problem was: Galeforce, or the people he was fighting?

Cornelius answered his thoughts without needing to be asked. “We don’t know who Galeforce is fighting. We’ve never seen nor heard of him, and he doesn’t show up on any database that I have access to. Definitely not a local. We’re guessing he’s an unregistered mutate, but he’s powerful. It doesn’t help that Galeforce was in no way prepared for this kind of fight. He’s panicking. The collateral damage is already immense. I’ve got police setting up blockades, evacuating the neighboring blocks and shopping centers, running traffic control, it’s an all-hands-on-deck situation, Dan. I’m honestly surprised you haven’t gotten a text; the city’s crisis volunteers are being activated.”

This was not the news Dan was hoping to hear. “So you’re telling me you don’t have anybody free? None at all?”

There was a long pause. “I can probably spare a patrol car. Two cops. That’s far from protocol for taking in someone as dangerous as Dunkirk, especially given that we know he’s armed.”

And Dan couldn’t pre-emptively disarm him, because the entire point was to catch the fed with stolen Genius-tech.

“You really think Dunkirk would start something?” The fed had a temper, granted, but he was a political animal at heart. Getting into a scuffle with the local PD would be a career-ending mistake, no matter how highly placed his friends were.

“I think he’ll know he’s been made the instant he sees flashing lights,” Cornelius replied. “At that point, it’s a toss-up between surrender and violent retribution. Maybe he plays ignorant and claims some sort of fraud on our part, or maybe he loses his cool and tries out that pain gun on my people. It’s not a risk I’m eager to take.”

There was a break, as they both considered their options.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Dan said slowly, “but I think you’ll need at least one more car.”

He could hear the tapping of a keyboard before Cornelius replied,” I don’t know that there’s more available.”

“No— I mean for something else,” Dan quickly corrected himself. “I’m think you need to send a bomb squad to the rent-a-locker on the corner of Caldwell and Main.”

There was a long pause, followed by a longer sigh. “Why?”

“Dunkirk left a duffel bag in there,” Dan explained. “It was full of electronics and some other stuff I couldn’t identify. I ripped out what I think was a triggering mechanism, but I didn’t want to compromise the evidence any more than I had to.”

“And why do you think it’s a bomb? Meaning no offense, Dan, but you aren’t really qualified to make that kind of judgement.”

“It was a sealed case filled with some kind of liquid, and wired up to what felt like a circuit board. Bomb is just the first thing my brian went to. I could be wrong. I don’t know. I neutralized it as best I could, but you should probably get someone over there to take a look, just in case.”

Cornelius quietly swore, and Dan heard a keyboard clicking again.

“I’ll have the place evacuated,” the officer promised. “It’s all I can do right now.”

Shit. Things must be really bad. The APD was still rebuilding its SPEAR Teams in the aftermath of Coldeyes. They couldn’t project the kind of force needed to quickly bring down a Natural like Galeforce, to say nothing of whoever he was fighting. The standard SPEAR playbook called for precise, overwhelming violence but that just wasn’t an option right now. They didn’t have the manpower, the training, or the equipment necessary for that kind of operation.

“Gregoir in the mix?” Dan asked.

“He’s en route,” Cornelius confirmed. “Listen, I’m tasking a unit to Dunkirk’s tracker. You did manage to plant it on him, correct?”

“In his car,” Dan corrected.

“And he’s immobile?”

“I slashed his tires,” Dan confirmed with a grin. “He ain’t going anywhere soon, but I’ll keep an eye out, just in case.”

“Keep your distance,” Cornelius advised. “I’m advising my officers that their target is armed and dangerous.”

“He’s stuck on top of a crowded highway, Cornelius,” Dan said. “Please don’t send cops with itchy trigger fingers. That would end poorly.”

“I’m taking no chances,” came the reply. On that final note, Cornelius ended the call.

Dan scowled, but couldn’t fault the decision. It probably wouldn’t come to anything. He peered down at Dunkirk, who had finally finished his tantrum, and was attempting to change his flat. The man either hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care, that he was still hemmed in on all sides by spiteful civilians and their vehicles.

Dunkirk was obviously not an experienced mechanic. It took him several minutes to locate the tire jack that came with his vehicle, and another several to set it up. Dan’s heart briefly seized when Dunkirk went to his trunk to retrieve his spare, but the fed was in such a foul mood that he didn’t notice the tiny tracker Dan had stuffed into the corner. Dunkirk had only just started to pump his tire jack when he paused and reached into his jacket. It withdrew, holding his phone. Dunkirk stared down at the screen, his body still, for several long seconds.

His movement resumed in a rush of motion. Dunkirk dashed towards his driver’s door, and rooted around inside the car. He emerged with a backpack that he slung across his back. Moving quickly, Dunkirk skirted past his car and made his way towards the truck still parked in front of him. He reached into his pocket—Every muscle in Dan’s body tensed, as he prepared to intercede—and emerged with one of those leather ID holders that only government officials ever seemed to use. He stepped to the window of the truck and slapped his identification against it.

Dunkirk probably imagined it at some sort of power move. It was a lot less impressive from Dan’s perspective. The truck was lifted, so Dunkirk could barely reach the window. He wasn’t a small man, but he looked like a child beside the gargantuan vehicle. His arm was extended high over his head, stretching out and up and still barely making contact. The driver must have been likewise unimpressed, because Dunkirk’s fancy ID bought him exactly zero goodwill.

Maybe in a different city, or at a different time, Dunkirk might have earned at least a civil conversation. Not here, not now. This was Austin, not two months since the UT Massacre. Feds were not loved here. That badge was a target, not an asset. Dunkirk didn’t even seem to realize it. The man insistently knocked his leather carrier against the window, as if maybe the driver hadn’t noticed the first time.

It didn’t work.

Dan could hear sirens now, distant but growing closer. Dunkirk must have heard them too, because he began to panic. He started screaming at the truck driver, banging on the window with his fancy badge. When that failed to do anything, he sprinted out in front of the vehicle and started screaming at the closest car.

“Federal agent!” Dan could hear Dunkirk’s voice through his spy-stone, even though his door was on a street lamp fifty yards away. “Get out of the car! Get out of the car!”

Lights were visible now, the distinctive red and blue flashes that heralded the law. Dunkirk swore, pulled hard on the handle of the nearest vehicle, then spun away and sprinted back to his own car. He passed behind the truck, shucking his backpack with panicked haste. Dan watched him quickly remove a small, wrapped bundle from the backpack and stuff it into the nook behind the truck’s rear bumper. The motion was so smooth that Dan almost didn’t register it. Dunkirk barely paused his stride. The fed ended up back inside his car, door shut and windows up, red in the face but otherwise perfectly natural.

Dan pulled out his phone and texted Cornelius, “Someone warned him. He hid the weapon in the truck in front of him.”

The APD arrived on the opposite side of the highway. Just the one car, as Cornelius promised. They pulled onto the shoulder and exited, weapons drawn. One officer crossed the barrier between lanes, and made straight for Dunkirk’s car. He knocked politely on the fed’s window, while his partner covered him from beside the cruiser.

Dunkirk rolled down the window and, in a move that was becoming his signature, flashed his badge. At least the results were consistent. The officer cared about Dunkirk’s status about as much as the civilians had. He coaxed the fed out of his car, and Dunkirk eventually allowed himself to be handcuffed. Dan imagined the man was making all kinds of threats, but like Dan had expected, the fed wasn’t about to throw down with these cops on a crowded, public highway. And it’s not like there was anywhere he could flee.

The traffic jam hemming Dunkirk in had grown even worse, as police presence drew attention and rubbernecking took over. They watched as Dunkirk was seated against the median, and his car was searched. Dan’s heels bounced in nervous anticipation. They were going to come up empty, but the act had to be played out before they could move on to the truck.

He wasn’t sure how they were going to justify the search but—

One of the rubberneckers had their window down. They were shouting something to the cops, and waving their cell phone. Dan frowned, and reoriented his portal. It popped up in the wheel-well of the truck. Voices were immediately audible.

“-asshole hid something under that truck, officer. I got his ass on camera, too!”

Someone else chimed in from a different car, shouting, “Yeah! I saw him hide it! Some drugs or something. He pulled it out of his backpack and stuffed it under the bumper!”

Oh. Well, that works too.

Dan grinned, as Dunkirk’s face paled.