(no subject)
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Coronach/Scobey Border Station Airport
Coronach, Saskatchewan
The problem with the Mounties' reputation for always getting their man, thought Constable Barnhardt, was that it was a world-wide reputation that even foreign powers relied on. Months ago, the Americans had notified them of an escaped fugitive heading for the border from one of their federal prisons. He'd been spotted twice, and both times fled the vicinity before the Canadian border patrol could do anything about him, but three days ago Walter Peck made the fatal mistake of crossing into Canada and threatening several citizens in the process. The man had no knack for subtlety at all. They'd caught him a day and a half later.
The extradition request had been filed yesterday. Constable Barnhardt was pretty sure these things were supposed to take longer, but she had her orders this morning: bring Peck to the border station airport just north of Scobey, Montana, and turn him over to the Americans who would be arriving shortly. "You all right back there?" she called, looking up into her car's rear view mirror.
The man was too pale to be healthy, his formerly neat (if prison-short) red hair spatched and speckled here and there with odd clumps of grey or white, and his eyes a little too wide and wild for Barnhardt's liking. Peck just glared back at the Mountie and said nothing.
"Fine, be that way," Constable Barnhardt murmured. She didn't especially care. The man was an ass.
It was still quiet in the car when she noticed the sedan making its way up towards the airport runway. She didn't really blame them. The winds were too high today for a plane to take off safely. The car pulled to a stop on the Coronach side and two men got out. A few badges and filled-out forms later, and the men were waved on through. "That's your ride," said Constable Barnhardt. "Out of the car, Peck."
She chose to ignore the man's muttering as she got out herself. "Afternoon, gentlemen," she called. "Papers and identification, please."
"Agent Daniels," said the first one. extending his FBI credentials with the bored air of someone who has done a thing a thousand times before. "Agent Mirren," said the other, and held up-
"What the hell kind of identification is that?"
"National Paranormal Activity Survey," said Mirren. "Mr. Peck constitutes an extraordinary flight risk based on his prior behavior in the States. We've had to take some extra precautions beyond the ones normally employed by the FBI."
"You mean like only sending two people for a fugitive your extradition request describes as extremely dangerous?"
"Constable," said Daniels, "Mr. Peck's inherent risk has little to do with the common definition of the term. I don't know if you've noticed, but we've got an ongoing arcane situation south of the border. Agent Mirren is one of our best men for dealing with exactly that sort of risk."
Barnhardt eyed the two Americans, then shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "If it were me-"
"Well, it wasn't you," said Daniels. "All the paperwork is in order. Can we have our prisoner, please?"
"Your funeral," said Barnhardt with a shrug. "Come on, Peck, move it."
She watched the Americans bundle him into the car, Mirren pausing to draw a number of peculiar signs on the doors and windows in some sort of faintly glowing substance, and watched them drive off with Peck in the back seat. With a sigh she turned back to her own car to start work on her report to her superiors.
Five minutes later the sky over Scobey, Montana lit up with eldritch fire.
Coronach/Scobey Border Station Airport
Coronach, Saskatchewan
The problem with the Mounties' reputation for always getting their man, thought Constable Barnhardt, was that it was a world-wide reputation that even foreign powers relied on. Months ago, the Americans had notified them of an escaped fugitive heading for the border from one of their federal prisons. He'd been spotted twice, and both times fled the vicinity before the Canadian border patrol could do anything about him, but three days ago Walter Peck made the fatal mistake of crossing into Canada and threatening several citizens in the process. The man had no knack for subtlety at all. They'd caught him a day and a half later.
The extradition request had been filed yesterday. Constable Barnhardt was pretty sure these things were supposed to take longer, but she had her orders this morning: bring Peck to the border station airport just north of Scobey, Montana, and turn him over to the Americans who would be arriving shortly. "You all right back there?" she called, looking up into her car's rear view mirror.
The man was too pale to be healthy, his formerly neat (if prison-short) red hair spatched and speckled here and there with odd clumps of grey or white, and his eyes a little too wide and wild for Barnhardt's liking. Peck just glared back at the Mountie and said nothing.
"Fine, be that way," Constable Barnhardt murmured. She didn't especially care. The man was an ass.
It was still quiet in the car when she noticed the sedan making its way up towards the airport runway. She didn't really blame them. The winds were too high today for a plane to take off safely. The car pulled to a stop on the Coronach side and two men got out. A few badges and filled-out forms later, and the men were waved on through. "That's your ride," said Constable Barnhardt. "Out of the car, Peck."
She chose to ignore the man's muttering as she got out herself. "Afternoon, gentlemen," she called. "Papers and identification, please."
"Agent Daniels," said the first one. extending his FBI credentials with the bored air of someone who has done a thing a thousand times before. "Agent Mirren," said the other, and held up-
"What the hell kind of identification is that?"
"National Paranormal Activity Survey," said Mirren. "Mr. Peck constitutes an extraordinary flight risk based on his prior behavior in the States. We've had to take some extra precautions beyond the ones normally employed by the FBI."
"You mean like only sending two people for a fugitive your extradition request describes as extremely dangerous?"
"Constable," said Daniels, "Mr. Peck's inherent risk has little to do with the common definition of the term. I don't know if you've noticed, but we've got an ongoing arcane situation south of the border. Agent Mirren is one of our best men for dealing with exactly that sort of risk."
Barnhardt eyed the two Americans, then shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "If it were me-"
"Well, it wasn't you," said Daniels. "All the paperwork is in order. Can we have our prisoner, please?"
"Your funeral," said Barnhardt with a shrug. "Come on, Peck, move it."
She watched the Americans bundle him into the car, Mirren pausing to draw a number of peculiar signs on the doors and windows in some sort of faintly glowing substance, and watched them drive off with Peck in the back seat. With a sigh she turned back to her own car to start work on her report to her superiors.
Five minutes later the sky over Scobey, Montana lit up with eldritch fire.