Archive of Our Own

She had barely put her bag and coat down when there was a severe knock on the office firm's front door. Mel had yelled out a tinkling "Got it!" before Reenie could ask. Wary that someone was here so early, Reenie went to greet the possible client with her young assistant--if only to shoo the person away when Mel was too polite to notice they were wasting their time by just showing up without an appointment.

Except when Mel pulled the door open with her usual enthusiasm, there wasn't their regular homeless guy looking for spare change or a kid with more ego than sense thinking he could hire a lawyer to scare his friends in "the prank of the century, man!" Instead, an African-American man built like he played linebacker in both high school and college stood there like a statue. His sunglasses hid his eyes and he was dressed in a finely pressed suit and trench coat, but his most telling feature was the spiraling cord of an earpiece in his left ear.

He clasped his hands in front of him, "Is this the law office of Greene and Associates?" he asked.

"Yes," Reenie replied, seeing Mel was too stunned by the man's presence to speak. "Can I help you?"

"Yes. You can get me in contact with the rewardist Colter Shaw."

And that was the moment Reenie realized her day was dead.

Randy, lurking in the back because he knew a Fed-type when he saw it, was suddenly very interested. "He's not available for just anyone who waltzes in here," he stated, overprotective.

A hint of an eyebrow flashed above the man's sunglasses. "I understand, but our usual avenues of contact have failed. We've gathered that the office of Greene and Associates works closely with him, so we have come here as a last resort."

"Who's 'we?'" Randy demanded the same time Reenie asked, "Is this in regards to a missing persons case?"

Barely-seen eye movement fluttered between the two speakers, before settling on Reenie. "Yes. It is."

Reenie crossed her arms, "Don't you have your own resources for that kind of thing?" She gave a quick once over along his professional and very government looking attire.

"Not anything that has the success rate that Mr. Shaw has."

Randy and Mel were surprised by the frank honesty. Reenie was more concerned that he not only seemed to already know Colter's name and appropriate job title, but his work history too. What agency was this guy with? She knew enough about Colter's family history to suspect that Colter would not be too happy being on any government agency's watch, let alone one that had the means of getting to those around him but not the rewardist himself. "I'm going to need to see some ID," she finally settled on.

The man's demeanor hardened. Not out of defiance, she realized quickly, but impatience. "We're on a clock, ma'am. I'll get that ID if you call Mr. Shaw. Now."

Randy made a motion behind her, hand under his chin in a repetitive "cut this off now" motion. Reenie ignored him as she pulled her cell from her back pocket. "Or," she replied, "I can contact my friend in the FBI and get your entire personnel file in my inbox before your military goons storm this place to take us."

The threat didn't appear to phase him. He breathed a long sigh through his nostrils. "That's not necessary."

Reenie nodded, feeling rather sure of herself, "So, if you would be so kind as to--"

"Because your friend won't find me in a FBI database," he continued like Reenie hadn't said anything. "Or any database. Before this goes on any longer, please call Mr. Shaw, Ms. Greene."

"You can't come in here demanding these things!" Randy protested. He came around his desk, his indignation overriding his careful nature. A hacker always knew better than to go messing around with law enforcement or government types. Or the combination of the two if this man's stature had anything to go by. He realized his mistake a second too late when the man turned in his direction. He faltered, "Right, Reenie?"

"Sorry to say," Reenie responded, not sounding sorry at all, "but unless you have a warrant or court order, we don't have to do anything you say on our private property. We've done nothing illegal."

The man swallowed. It wasn't a big gesture, but having spent as much time with Colter Shaw as Reenie had, she has learned to read between the lines in people's smallest reactions. She reminded herself that a person was missing in all this. "But," she drawled slowly. She acknowledged Randy shaking his head, but ignored him again. "If this is an emergency, we can provide what little help we can."

That seemed to remind Randy as well what the real reason was for their stranger's visit. He wasn't hear to measure dick sizes or lord over them some government superiority. A person was missing. Colter--and by extension, the people he worked with--found missing people for a living. Reenie unlocked her phone and held down the '1' on the electronic number pad. She brought the device up to her ear.

Two rings. A click, the shuffle of clothes. Colter Shaw's baritone sounded over the miles, slightly out of breath, "Hey, Reenie. Whatcha got?"

Colter dropped his wet towel on the dining table's bench seat. He held up the book he was reading a little higher, its contents more appealing to him than dealing with anything else. The steam from his shower was still clinging to the faucet as he turned on the tap and filled a glass. Drinking deeply, he set it aside and headed outside, leaving the door open behind him.

Still reading, he sunk down into the lawnchair just outside. The fire he'd stoked last night had long since gone out and been doused with water. He had just finished cleaning up after his morning run and was now more invested in some of the books he'd found in his father's old boxes. Most of it was scientific gibberish he didn't understand--the rest in code. But one had old journal entries from their family's time moving to the Compound and he'd been hoping it would prove insightful.

So far it has been mostly agriculture maintenance, but, well...

Restless, he didn't stay in his seat for long. He got up to wander around the trailer. He'd wrapped up a job early yesterday. With Maine's weather being as nice at it was this time of year--foggy but not too cold--he'd decided to hang around for a day or two. Stock up on supplies, go over more of his father's stuff. His truck had needed an oil change which he'd dutifully handled. He would call Teddi later to see about any potential jobs, then map out the best course to wherever it led.

It was on his third lap around the Airstream that he heard it: his phone buzzing violently on the counter inside the trailer. He snapped the book shut (he really wasn't getting a lot out of it anyway) and jogged the rest of the way before mounting the steps. He grabbed the device, swiping the answer button with barely a glance at the caller ID. He held it up.

"Hey, Reenie, Whatcha got?"

There were only ever two reasons why Reenie Green would call him. One, he'd been cleared of some possible legal trouble he'd gotten into on a previous job. Or, two, she had a current job that needed his immediate attention. Nowadays, Reenie wasn't big on any other kind of call--much to his ever growing disappointment.

"There's a fella here to see you."

Colter paused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Gentleman, in a black suit. Needs some help with a missing person. Was told you worked fast."

A rolodex of past clients, gangsters he'd tussled with, and law enforcement agents that hadn't liked him a whole lot filtered through Colter's memory. Who would possibly need to go through Reenie to get to him? He immediately settled on organized crime, except that most of the guys he'd dealt with in the past had moved on to more...permanent retirements. "Is there a name?" he asked, already moving to collect the detrus outside and get packed up to leave.

Reenie paused on the other end of the line. When she next spoke her voice was further from the speaker, "He wants a name."

A quiet rumble of a voice reached Colter through the distance, but he couldn't make out what it said. "You got a last name, 'Carl?'" Reenie asked, clearly unimpressed with whoever had invaded her office space. Silence. Reenie sighed. "Carl," she spoke into the phone properly.

He went back again, filtering out anyone who was named 'Carl' or had close ties to a Carl. He came up empty. "Is there anything more you can get from him?"

"Not over the phone," she replied after exchanging another series of words with the strange Carl. "You'll need to come to Denver. Where are you?"

Colter sighed, squeezing his eyes shut in discomfort. "Maine."

"I'll let Carl know."

"Reenie--" but she hung up before he could say much else. Frustrated, and more than a little worried, Colter sent her a text. Keep me posted. Please.

Randy will, she responded, seconds later.

He pulled a face. Fine.

Going over his mental map, Colter plotted out the fastest route to Colorado as he finished packing up the Airstream, disengaging the utilities hook-ups, and lashing the trailer to his truck. Factoring in rest stops and maybe a nap or two (he could just push through...), it would take him about a day and half to get to the office. Hopefully Carl had somewhere comfortable to stay that wasn't Reenie's waiting room.

Sleep-deprived and running on way too much coffee, Colter Shaw mounted the stairs leading up to Reenie's top floor offices. She had a small corner of the fifth floor to herself: her own office, a consultation room, Mel and Randy's shared work space and a smaller room across the hall that had been affectionately dubbed 'the War Room.' Colter had not been back since before Velma left and Reenie had painted the place.

The door to the main office was open and Colter peeked around to an empty room. He leaned back into the hall, twisting on his heel to check he hadn't missed something, before gently shoving the door open with the back of one finger. He used the same hand to knock gently. "Hello?"

He glanced over the small kitchenette, Randy's desk laden with monitors, and a smaller desk close to the window that was clearly for the new law assistant Mel--who he had never officially met before. Reenie had rattled off enough about the young woman though for him to guess the small bonsai tree was hers. Nothing looked terribly out of place: no broken items, no scattered things on the furniture or floor. There wasn't even a note left on the little kitchen island to indicate where anyone was.

Colter reached for his phone, holding '1' on speed dial. A selfie Reenie had taken some months ago overtook the generic dial screen. 'Calling' tapped out with three bouncing dots. He held it to his ear as he made his way to Reenie's office. Like the main room, her glass door was ajar; inside was untouched and clean. The call rang.

"Colter Shaw."

There are very, very few times when Colter was taken by surprise. Most instances only occured when he was focused on other things--like the possible disappearance of the few people he relied on. He spun quickly to the face the front door, dropping his phone to better grab the gun at the small of his back, only to remember he hadn't brought it along with him. He froze, with his hands suspended behind him while Reenie's voicemail kicked in from the floor.

A man just an inch taller than Colter stood in the doorway. He wore a black trenchcoat over a crisp suit. A looping cord extended from his left ear, tucked discretely along his neck to disappear past his collar. His face could have been carved from marble for all the expression it showed. Colter couldn't get much else from him--except that he was clearly ex-military turned private security. Government-issued everything.

Colter breathed a self-depricating laugh. "You have me at a disadvantage," he stated plainly.

"Carl," the man responded. The mystery visitor then.

Tucking his fingers into where he'd normally put his gun, just so that they weren't just hanging around out there, Colter shifted his weight to something more balanced and ready. "Where are Reenie and the others?" he demanded more than asked.

Carl also adjusted his stance, but brought his hands in front of himself, folding them with a precision that screamed the man had his routines and habits that he very rarely strayed from. "They've been relocated."

"Your speaking in code and half-sentences will only get us so far," Colter said. The rewardist was not one for secrets so Carl's cryptic government talk was wearing him thin. There was only so much even a man as patient as Colter would take. "I'm here. What do you want."

Extending an arm to the hallway, Carl took a step back. Just enough room for Colter to squeeze past after picking up his forgotten phone. He hit 'end' on the call having belatedly realized that Reenie's voicemail had recorded everything. He hoped it was more reassuring than concerning when she heard it. "Where are we going?"

"That's not important right now," Carl said. He followed swiftly behind Colter. For all his frustrations, he at least had the decency to close the office door when he stepped out. Colter hoped Randy had installed those autolocks like he'd said he would. "What's important is that your friends are safe. And you are going to help mine."

Colter did a double-take coming down the stairs. It was a clear slip of the tongue; the mysterious Carl No-name didn't have friends. Or he shouldn't--not with whatever he did for work. But the emotion in that last sentence gave him away. Whoever was missing, Carl knew them personally and he was very invested in their safe return.

"And my friends are where, exactly?" Colter asked, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. He wasn't going to take a step further until he was reassured of their safety. Randy's texts throughout last night's drive and that morning hadn't triggered any alarms for him. Certainly not anything that would have prepared him for the empty office he'd found.

"They're being debriefed," Carl replied. He stopped on the steps above him so he was even taller. "They'll be released later today."

Colter turned to face the other man. He kept his hands visible just in case. "And why would that be necessary?"

Carl didn't speak.

Raising his arms a little higher, indicating surrender, he huffed his frustration, "I'm just trying to get a full picture, man."

Finally seeming to understand that Colter was actually on his side and not being purposefully obstructive, Carl relaxed a little. The slump of his shoulders was unpracticed, like he had been holding himself up for way too long. Colter speculated how long this friend had been missing. "I can explain more in the car."

Colter nodded, satisfied with that for the moment. "Now we're getting somewhere." The smallest of smiles twitched at the edge of Carl's mouth. He stepped down and led Colter out of the building instead of continuing to shadow him. A black, government-typical SUV was parked on the curb outside. "Saw me come in?" Colter asked. He knew for sure it hadn't been there when he went in.

With a shrug, Carl opened the back door. Doing as he was told, Colter slid into the back, across the bench to stop behind the front passenger seat. Carl followed him. There was an equally non-descript man at the wheel who turned the engine over the moment Carl closed the door. Colter leaned back in his seat and dug out a small notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket.

Clicking the attached pen, he twisted to better see Carl. "So, what can you tell me?"

Carl didn't speak right away. His only tell was the twitching of his index finger against the palm of his opposite hand. Colter didn't try to encourage him to talk or ask any probing questions. Instead he let the silence speak for itself. Until Carl took the first step, there wasn't anything more that needed said. When they'd pulled onto the highway, Carl sighed the most world-weary sigh Colter had ever heard.

"His name is Dr. Ryland Grace. He's been missing for almost two days."

There was something digging into the small of his back.

Not sharp, but something blunt and rounded. Grunting, he tried to contort his arm behind his back to reach it, but something pulled at his wrist and caused his other arm to follow. Now more confused than uncomfortable, he next attempted opening his eyes to see what in the name of science was going on.

Except that opening his eyes was like trying to separate a folded piece of duct tape, the two sides fighting against him no matter what angle he would go at it with. Something close to a whimper slipped past his lips as he rocked his head side to side, trying to convince his body to cooperate with him. He had never felt so weighed down in his life.

"Whass-ah?" he slurred. His lips, hands, and feet felt seperate from his own body. "'Lo?"

"He's waking up," a voice to his right mumbled. He didn't recognize it, but he'd been on the carrier for close to three months now and would still consult the manifest if he wanted to talk to anyone that wasn't another scientist or directly under his care. Whoever the speaker was could be any number of people who kept the monsterous ship afloat.

Did he pass out? He hoped not. That had never happened before; but, then again, he had never been under as much pressure as he was now. A lot was riding on this project and somehow, some way, Ryland Grace had made himself a big part of it. If he did pass out, he hoped they hadn't alerted Stratt. She had enough on her docket, agenda, and plate than to have to come check up on him. He probably just skipped one too many meals. He'd been fine with a ramen bowl and some Gatorade, surely. He tried to communicate that, but only succeeded in hissing a soft "'Ssssssall gooooo...."

"Give him another," a second voice commanded. They were sharper in their tone than the first, male, and with a distinctly American accent--Wisconsin? Indiana? Ryland couldn't tell; he was a scientist not a phonologist. He tilted his head in the voice's direction, brows scrunching.

"The-there's..." he stuttered, twisting in his seat to indicate whatever was behind him and making itself known once more. His own momentum wasn't enough to even sit upright, but he still managed it; only for him to realize that whatever he was currently in was moving and had turned a corner at the same time he'd moved. He flopped forward over his lap with a strangled moan.

Why did everything hurt?

"Do it now!" the second voice shouted.

There was a pinch in the meat of his thigh. Ryland twitched away from it, but it didn't stop whoever had stabbed him. A needle? What was happening?

He didn't have time for an answer. Before his next protest, he slipped back into a black as endless as space.