More plainclothes policemen began to arrive, most on foot from the parking lots, and the camera jumped from one to the other, going back to the two who had arrived in such spectacular fashion as they met for mere seconds in the center of the courtyard with a few other policemen and then hurried to the aquarium entrance. The footage remained on the front door for a moment before it was kicked open and an off-duty came out carrying a child under each arm.
“With the help of the officers, the evacuation finished quickly. We are told that the news spread through word of mouth and police radios, though officers are not required to leave their radios on if they are not on call.”
“The bomb squad arrived as the evacuation finished and, after searching the building, declared it a false alarm. Despite this, parents and officers are angry that such a threat was made.” The camera zoomed in on two men—the motorcycle rider and the parkour runner— as they exited the aquarium, looking distinctly displeased. The runner started to shrug into his jacket hed shed earlier, but the rider stopped him long enough to reach out and fix a twisted strap on his shoulder holster.
The video quick-changed to the camera and reporter converging on that man whod run onto the scene: he wore a brown leather jacket, Converse sneakers, and a deep frown on his heart-shaped face, along with more than a five oclock shadow.
“Excuse me, sir! WBAL 11 TV. Did you run here, sir? How far did you come?” The man looked like he was going to move to avoid the camera, putting his shoulder toward it and giving the lens a wary look. Then he looked to his companion, whose dark hair was still mussed from the motorcycle helmet hed discarded. They shared a shrug.
“Can you tell us what agency you work for and why youre here?” the reporter persisted from off-screen, the microphone shoved toward him.
The runner sighed heavily and met the reporters eyes. He was still out of breath when he spoke. “Im a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. My partner and I heard the call over the radio and came to help.” His words had finality to them, as if that was all he was going to say. He started to turn away.
“Is this threat linked to the others? What does Baltimore law enforcement intend to do about these continuing threats?” the reporter asked hurriedly.
The man stopped at the last question, his head down, and the camera was briefly filled with his broad shoulders squaring and the face of his partner, who was looking at the reporter over one shoulder with narrowed eyes.
Then the agent turned and looked the reporter up and down before turning his eyes directly into the camera. “Baltimore law enforcement is going to kick this threat in the ass,” he answered heatedly, his oddly colored eyes flashing angrily. He pointed one long finger at the camera, as if speaking directly to the bombers who had set Baltimore on its ear. “Were coming for you.”
A nearby parent cheered, and several other parents, aquarium staff, and officers broke into spontaneous applause as the mans partner, who was failing to conceal a smile, steered him away with a hand on one shoulder.
Video cut to the Baltimore police chief. “Of course well consider this threat as seriously—if not more so—than any others,” he said firmly. “Baltimores children are our greatest treasure, and well be working closely with the FBI to find the perpetrator of this heinous hoax.”
“„HEINOUS hoax? Who talks like that?” Special Agent Scott Alston complained.
“Always attempt to avoid alliteration,” Ty said with a straight face. Alston barked a laugh.
“You shut up,” McCoy snapped as he pointed a finger at Ty. The entire department was gathered in one of the auditorium-like lecture halls on the main floor of the field office late Saturday morning. People had still been filtering in as McCoy watched the tape of the news story from that morning again. He pulled at his hair as Ty appeared on camera, and Ty sank lower into his chair, hiding his face behind his hand and trying to make himself smaller. He knew he was in deep shit this time. But he would say it again if presented with the opportunity.
“And you, Garrett! You were right there! You should have known better than to let Grady talk to a reporter!” McCoy added from where he stood on the small stage, clearly working up an angry head of steam.
Ty heard Zane draw in a breath, but nothing else. He turned his chin to see Zane sitting still, staring at McCoy, his lips pressed flat. Ty knew that meant his partner really wanted to say something but was stopping himself. Ty would have liked to have heard it. It wasnt often Zane let his temper loose.
To Tys surprise, it wasnt Zane who finally spoke. It wasnt even someone on his immediate team. A voice in the back piped in. “Sir, all due respect, but it was about time someone said it.”
A rumbling of agreement passed around the lecture hall. “Weve been getting nothing but shit from the press and people out there since the fall,” Special Agent Fred Perrimore added, his deep voice easily carrying through the room. “Then today I drive in, and nobody threw water balloons at my car. Theyre still yelling that we should be doing something, but its an improvement.”
McCoy began to rub at the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed. Ty cleared his throat and sat straighter. He tended to think people needed someone to kick a little politically incorrect ass, and do it loudly, but he wasnt paid the big bucks to make those decisions. He was paid to kick ass quietly. “Im sorry, Mac,” he offered. “I shouldnt have said it, but… it cant make things any worse.”
“It can make you a target, Grady!” McCoy shouted, obviously at the end of his rope. Zane finally spoke up. “No more than the rest of us,” he said evenly. “If theyd known his name, they would have splashed it all over the broadcast.”
“Do you have any idea how many calls weve fielded asking who the two FBI agents at the aquarium were? It wont be hard to find out who you are, and they will eventually. For right now theyre calling you „the Rider and him „the Runner.”
“Original,” Alston observed sarcastically with a glance at Ty. “Catchy,” Ty responded with a nod.
“Thought that reporter was gonna pass clean out when you rode up on that hog, Garrett. Good one,” Perrimore said with a light punch to Zanes bicep. “Must do you good with the ladies.”
Zane just rolled his eyes as he sighed and shook his head. Ty smiled at him before he could stop himself. That Perrimore didnt know the Honda Valkyrie wasnt a Harley probably irritated Zane more than the fact he thought Zane used it to pick up girls.