2012-12-06 Serendipity

Outside of Washington, D.C., up the Atlantic seaboard, one of the many fenced communities that's sprung up nationwide is particularly devoted to its security. An addiction recovery center runs quietly out of one corner, with private condominiums-- many belonging to high rollers of one conglomerate or another-- almost as far as the eye can see, coming over the ridge into the coastal cul-de-sac. The development itself has well-funded private security, checkpoints and patrolling guards checkering the landscape as they walk the walls and streets covering the ins and outs rather thoroughly. Of course, any number of the residential developments have security of their own, as well.
It's difficult to get into; difficult to even find Castroneves when he's not at an appearance, shuttled and shuttered away under heavy guard on the shores of the Atlantic. It is not, however, bat-proof-- not much is. The Dark Knight spends an evening surveilling and gathering information on his target beach-house from out to sea, pinpointing Castroneves' location and tracking possible approaches through backdoor transmissions from satellites far, far overhead. Just because he could get in, however, doesn't mean the Caped Crusader needs to-- or that it would be for the best, if the suspicions about the Senator's family are true.
Instead, in the wee hours of night, eons into a peaceful watch, a near-silent drone scarcely larger than a mobile phone whips from that hidden submersible out at sea, over the wall and the watchful eyes of the trained security, and straight to Castroneves' darkened window. They at least let him sleep alone. A small projector on the drone aligns and illuminates a stylized bat-symbol on the far wall as the automated aircraft bumps lightly against the glass.
The Senator's home is large, lavish and terrifying; he may sleep alone, but he certainly doesn't live that way--even if his guards are little more relaxed during the evening hours. He spends most nights awake, wrestling in the darkness with vivid images of what might happen to his family when his 'benefactors' have finally had enough of the dangerous game they've played with the nations ideals.
As for himself, he's less worried: he's all but resigned himself to the likelihood that he's already spoken to, or been driven by, or perhaps even eaten with the man or woman who will eventually put a bullet in his skull--and that's if he's /lucky/.
When light suddenly shines in from outside, he groans and rolls over to sit up and stare at the strange symbol on his wall for a confused moment before turning towards the knocking at the window.
Heart pounding, he slides from bed and hurries to let the curious object inside before someone sees - or hears - whatever it is."
It's a net the Dark Knight almost has to admire-- every outside line this man has is tapped, it's near impossible to reach out. Acting in any manner not perfectly in accord with the dictations of his handlers? Well, the Bat has to assume the Senator most wants to inform him just that behavior would quickly result in the deaths of his hostage family. So while it's not like he can just call, that's precisely what Batman does. The flying drone is little more than a carbon-fiber and abs shell with propellers and adaptive airfoils, in this case cradling what appears to be a cellphone with only a single button.
As Castroneves opens his window, the little drone darts in and hovers a moment before dropping smoothly, quietly to the floor and rolling to present its payload; a central, red light strobes subtly yet intently silently indicating an incoming transmission. Answering the device is a reflexive instinct for anyone who's carried a flip phone or used a cordless, and assuming the Senator does, the voice on the other end is calm and even, focused. "Senator?"
It's a rhetorical question, "We don't have a lot of time; I've encrypted this conversation outside the frequency range of their hardware.." not to mention keeping it ultra short-range and point to point. The Batman is scarcely outside the perimeter, but that scarce different avoids a lot of antagonistic persons. "but I can't promise they won't decide to run an acoustic sweep." They've done it before; someone wants this man locked /down/. "I know you're in trouble. I know your guards aren't your guards. Do you know if your family is still alive?"
"I receive a call from them every day," the Senator quietly offers once he's swallowed the lump in his throat. The device is held firmly against his ear like the lifeline it is; accepting - and trusting - its presence is easy enough, as even with the measures his tormentors have taken thus far, going to the trouble of rigging up a high tech droid with a weird phone just as some sort of bizarre sting operation would stretch the bounds of reason.
Even more than a guardian angel who identifies himself with a stylized bat
"Two minutes, exactly, every time. Sometimes it's early, sometimes late; I suppose they'd rather I not get complacent." A small, hollow chuckle briefly follows this observation, and then he just chews on his bottom lip, squeezes his eyes shut and waits to hear what the Bat-Man means to do about his plight.
It's certainly not implausible that the masterminds behind controlling a US Senator-- perhaps several-- would take steps to assure that their assets are secure.. truly loyal. More likely, however, is that the personal cataclysm threatened by the round aimed at Castroneves' head is enough to keep him compliant; until he's executed for being in too deep. Someone as competent as Batman has learned the Senator to be no doubt has considered that inevitability. "We have a very narrow window of opportunity to keep you and your family alive, and fix this -before- the vote on Registration."
The Dark Knight informs, rather than discusses-- straightforward in his urgency. "Listen very carefully. When we finish this conversation take the receiver to your sink. It will easily split open around the central diode." A pip about the size of a button. "This is a tracking beacon. When they next move you back to Washington, squeeze it tightly in your hand."
As he mentioned, there's a very narrow window to get them all out alive. "We'll coordinate an attempt to free your family with your own extraction, Senator. You just need to keep up your poker face a little longer-- and tell me everything you've observed about the operatives holding you." There's always a catch; but the Batman's only begun his hunt, he fears..
After pulling the phone away to squint at it for a moment, the Senator - somewhere between deeply relieved and incredulous - walks away from the window to settle onto the edge of his bed. "There's a garage beneath this whole community," he quietly begins, rubbing his face with his empty hand. From triumph, to tragedy, to spy-thriller, the Senator's life has been on a trajectory that he can only pray will leave he and his loved ones at peace, if not safe and sound when this ordeal is over.
"Technically, if you were to call it a hangar, you wouldn't be wrong; /all/ of the places they've shuffled me between have had one like it. It's--it's the only way that they can service the motorcade correctly." Castrovenes swallows back another lump as he thinks back to his first few days, when the guards a little more lax, and he could wander his 'home' more or less undisturbed at night; he remembers walking down the long flights of stairs his handlers led him along when he initially arrived in what he assumed was merely a cavernous private parking area for the community's affluent residents.
And he remembers the way his heart pounded as he turned and fled, after catching a glimpse of the enormous, mechanical monstrosity being serviced by a swarm of engineers, right where his limo had initially dropped him off.
"The guards are all mercenaries, but you know that - very well trained, very well armed--and mostly here to keep an eye on me, specifically. To keep /me/ under control; I--don't think they'll be your problem," the Senator continues after a few seconds as that dire, familiar rhythm begins pounding in his chest. "The motorcade itself is its own defense: it's a /weapon/. A--I don't really--the different vehicles, they--" The Senator pinches the bridge of his nose as he hesitates momentarily, trying to force himself not to dwell too deeply on the sheer impossibility of what he's trying to describe.
"I--beleive that they're designed to form a-composite vehicle." Beat. "A--robot, or perhaps a tank of some kind," he self-adjusts in a quieter voice. "I only saw it once, you understand. I... didn't want to linger."
"Wait until the motorcade leaves the facility, then trigger the beacon." The Bat emphasizes and clarifies the part of the plan that remains pertinent to the Senator himself, first and foremost; it's not that he doesn't hear the disturbing information, it's that none of it is out of the realm of expectation, and the plan is on as first intended. From the sound of it, nothing Castroneves can tell him about the vehicles and weaponry in use will be of use-- or at least, not more easily and securely gleaned from tracking satellites and the Oracle once the Senator is in motion.
Batman offers only terse explanation or reassurance, "I'm already in touch with forces that can be trusted, and should possess the means to extract your wife and children." he doesn't add 'from an even more depressing set of safeguards'. "We're going to bring these people to justice. When the motorcade is stopped, keep your head down; take the first opportunity to get clear that one of my team provides you. The less you know the better." Beat. More good news.
"When you've taken the beacon and deposited the shell in the sink, stand back." The Dark Knight picks up the final piece of his earlier instructions. "It will self-immolate. The remains should be washed thoroughly down the drain." It's about this time that the vacant micro-drone launches into a midair hover, then horizontally back out the window, straight for the edge of the perimeter. It gives a new meaning to ghost ops.
Nodding in the darkness, the Senator commits those instructions to memory, head buried in his hand the whole time. After so much time spent awaiting - dreading - what he was sure to be a dark and inevitable end, salvation has come on a sleek, black steed; he can scarcely believe it, even as he begins preparing to do his part to be saved.
"Whoever you are," he whispers as the drone slips into the night, "thank you." A few quick seconds are taken to wipe away the tears welling in the corners of his eyes before he stands to make his way to the bathroom. As soon as the call is over, he will dutifully break the device open to extract the beacon within, take a step back, and wait until he can wash the remnants away.
More than just thorough, the Senator will stand over the sink for a good half an hour, watching the water spiral down the drain well after the last visible traces of the device are gone.
The answer comes quietly, no acknowledgement of the thanks, just the murmured intonation: "I'm Batman." It comes instants before the connection is severed, and isn't at all what Castroneves might want to know; or be expecting to hear. While the Senator's role in his own rescue is vital, the Dark Knight has a lot of work to do before he's finished with his own part. It's going to be a long night for them both.
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