2013-02-02 Three Shields

-Beep beep! Beep beep! Beep beep! Beep beep!-
Commissioner Gordon may have a computer, a smartphone, the decent technological resources of GCPD and the beyond decent technological resources (albeit unbeknownst to him) of the Oracle at his beck and call, but he still wears a wristwatch, and still sets its alarm.
"Damn!"
Lowering his wrist, Gordon quickly rummages around the absolute mess of papers on his desk, trying to put together everything he needs into an old, busted and worn manilla folder. Half-finished cup of coffee in hand, he goes rushing out of his office and into the bullpen, scouring the busy room for that officer he'd encountered some time ago.
He needs to contact SHIELD, and she's his only way to do it.
Not finding the officer, Jim sighs and sets the folder and cup down on a random beat officer's desk. "Hey, Bill," he offers. "Mind if I use your desk for a moment?"
He's already got his phone out and is working through sending a message to the undercover SHIELD agent before the officer replies.
"Uh, sure, boss, whatever you say."
Of course the contact wasn't always there at the GCPD HQ; familiarity was one thing for a spy in deep cover to treasure, but if she was around too much, word would begin to circle around; in this case, better to be a background fixture. Someone who'd you'd seen before, but you couldn't quite place where. And, lucky for Gordon, her phone number (or at least a listed one) was in GCPD records. It would reach a voice mail, a personal one, complete with a dog barking in the background- a touch of home life that was meant to subetly throw off tracks.
Spys are complicated people, of course, so it's not as simple as leaving a phone message. But that would get the green-looking Rookie to show up at Bill's desk 15 minutes later. "Ahh... Sorry, Commissioner. I just got your message... you wanted to see me? Is... it isn't anything serious, is it?"
Sell your cover. Sell it so hard that even you beleive it.
"Ah, Officer Moore." Gordon offers a fatherly smile toward the young officer, while scooting his chair around a bit so that she has plenty of room to hunker down at the desk. "I wanted you to take a look at some of these patrol reports."
Of course, when the Commissioner opens the beat up manilla folder, it does not contain patrol reports. Instead, there are a number of paper files inside, each one documenting the impossibly fantastic nature of those who now occupy the GCPD's holding cells, down in the basement levels.
The prisoners are clearly not human. Not mutants, not metas, as far as the profiles could tell. No, in fact, they are listed as 'unknowns', suspected of being, of all things, extra-terrestrials.
Gordon watches Officer Moore closely from behind his spectacles.
Officer Moore returns the fatherly smile with one of those reflexive, nervous ones that someone at the bottom of the totem poll uses to address somene at the top. She swallows slightly and moves to lean foreward over the desk, taking a look at the 'reports that are brought out, brow furrowed in concentration, and (seeming) confusion. "Ahhhh..." She says, flipping through the papers, back and fourth. "Sir... I... I don't really know how to talk about things... well, like these. But, I do... I mean, I know one of the SWAT officers I met at Finnagan's a while back, he might be better for this? I've got his number, I could call him..."
Gordon provides Officer Moore with a slow nod and a warm smile. "I like the way you think," he says, and quickly closes the folder before any other wandering eyes might see what's inside of it. The information, naturally, was being kept limited. Only he, Detective Benson, and a small handful of others at the top of the food chain had seen it, and even fewer knew anything about just who was being kept in detainment downstairs. "Have him meet me in the motor pool, would you?"
With that, Gordon stands. Coffee in hand and folder tucked safely under one arm, he makes for the elevator and, eventually, the motor pool. It's a remarkably quiet place, save when officers come and go for shift change, which isn't for another four hours.
It certainly would have spoken to the magical nature of spycraft if Geiger was waiting for Gordon downstairs, and certainly the spy would have prefered it that way. But, in these cases, things took time. Time to suit up, provide the right transportation, and ID, time to plan the correct contingencies should this prove to be an ill-thought out bust. And, in this case, time to pick up someone who would probably want to see those files as well.
Gordon might wait 20 minutes to one half hour, but after that time, a black sedan with New Jersey plates drives into the motor pool after showing the correct ID. The first figure steps out in the same clothing Gordon saw him in before, minus any large weapons. GCPD SWAT, standard issue BDUs, a service pistol in a thigh holster, balaclava over his head. He would walk over to Gordon and let his companion for the day follow him. "Commissioner." He says, simply.
A rather stern-eyed expression seems eternally planted on Natasha's face. It's been more or less there all day, and Mr. Kavanagh has undoubtably noticed. She doesn't really have a legitimate excuse for her dour, guarded demeanor--though she can certainly hide behind the fact that she's The Black Widow and she can damn well be as gaurded as she likes. In truth, Widow's day so far as been awkward and uneasy at best. Happy to have (so far) not had her daily dose of criminal interceptions and action-packed rescues that've been disturbingly common as of late, her justifications for the stand-offish attitude are mundane at best: a sea of drivers hitting their horns, toe-stubbing, the two coffee shops near her hotel both being closed (this is surely a conspiracy. She should've stayed on Argus last night), her Widow's Bite computer acting glitchy.
The agreement on the opportunity to visit Gotham City, extended by Agent Geiger, was more of a mixed blessing, for Natasha. She had her own personal reasons for the visit, and she was curious to poke her head into a town reknowned for its unrelenting film and crime. The trip along the roadways triggered a withdrawn, introspective side to Natasha--the archetecture of Gotham reminding her of parts of Stalingrad.
Accompanying Agent Geiger from his S.H.I.E.L.D. station, she kept only two or three paces behind him at all times, but offered very little in the way of conversation. She regretted not being more expressive--she repected the Agents no-nonsense, pragmatic approach to things. If meeting with Commissioner Gordon was bait to get her move invested in the dubious affairs of Gotham, it was worthy bait. He was certainly going to be a proper tour guide to this mired land. Along the ride, she mused herself with the idea of visiting a police presinct building... just the idea seemed so congested... like a small apartment. It seemed silly, staged. Had life with S.H.I.E.L.D. truly jaded her into thinking local operations were piddly? She chalked it up to the arrogance that comes with seeing certain forms of pure evil in the face. She tried to shake off her dead-eyed, observational, distanced posture as she slipped out of the car behind Geiger. Meeting Gordon's gaze, Natasha presented her best, warmest smile she could muster, extending her hand in an uncharacteristic, lady-like, dainty handshake offer. "Agent Romanov," she said, somehow both sweetly and terse, standing protectively behind Agent Geiger, as if she were a bodygaurd.
One of the benefits of being the man in charge? One can smoke a cigarette in the motor pool.
Or two or three.
Gordon is glaring at his wristwatch when the sedan rolls in. Noticing it, the Commissioner lowers his wrist and drops the cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with the heel of a well-cared for old shoe. With the collar of his trench coat flipped up and the brim of his hat worn low, both to fend off the biting wind that occasionally manages to sneak into the garage, he is the silhouette of a classic era, the visage of a gumshoe in a modern time.
Beneath bushy eyebrows, Gordon watches with a pensive expression as the sedan rolls in, comes to a stop, and dispatches its occupants.
To Geiger, the Commissioner offers a silent bow of his head in greeting. He tactfully bites back any snide remarks about how long it took them to get there, and instead diverts his attention upon Agent Romanov. An inspection to the fiery-haired woman is granted, and it lingers for a few moments throughout their exchange in handshakes and greetings, as if he were casting judgement. However, Gordon is not one to judge on appearance alone, and this outward expression is essentially a shield of his own. The lady-like demeanor is noted and summarily disbelieved, as is the almost sweet tone she uses.
"Jim Gordon," he answers succinctly. A spare glance is given to the left and the right with his eyes only, denoting the blessing that they seem to be alone in the motor pool, with no other sounds save for the idling of the sedan and the movement their bodies make against clothes and throats. He gestures toward the car upon settling his eyes back upon the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.
Seems the Commissioner is fairly interested in maintaining privacy. That folder remains safely, no, -guardedly- tucked beneath his other arm.
Natasha would do well not to mention that 'quaint' feeling that affected her upon thinking of the local operations around Gotham... There were well-practiced lectures on the important of operations in the Gotham area, with it's organized crime begating aid to terrorist organizations and the odd 'national liberation' group. Lectures that so far hadn't gotten Geiger the agents or resources he really wanted. Hence such a working relationship with the local badges.
At the nod towards the sedan by Gordon, Geiger raises an eyebrow, before shurgging and moving toward the car. "I wouldn't have come here with just myself and Agent Romanov if I wasn't confident we'd be safe, Commissioner." He nevertheless opens the front and back doors on the drivers side, inviting him in. "My people tell me that file seems to be an odd one, certainly, but nothing like HYDRA agents secretly infiltrating muncipal organizations." He pauses. "That was a joke."
With only a trace of the particular task and had--she didn't seem particularly interested in the topic of the day, the very focused purpose of the conversation that was about to take place. Natasha casually took this exchange as a lackadaisical info swap, perhaps. Or a maybe a tourist trip. While not fond of such things, she considered it dipping her foot in the pool, so to speak. Besides, there'd likely not be any great surprises declared, she figured... she'd been wrong before, but at least she'd managed to catch up on S.H.I.E.L.D's most pressing issues of the day since her return.
She was happy to get back into the car, and was glad to see this was the direction Agent Geiger had planned. Controlled interactions were something she liked, particularly when discussing sensitive information. She waited for Jim to get in, and would get in after.
"Confidence is fleeting," answers Gordon while he approaches the vehicle. Once he's settled inside the vehicle, he provides a nod of thanks to Agent Romanov for her courtesy before clarifying his remark. "One never knows what eyes and ears are lurking, even in broad daylight." He glances Geiger's way and adds, pointedly, "Even under the watchful eyes of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."
It's not that Gordon doesn't believe or trust Agent Geiger. Rather, it's the fact that he's seen how Gotham works, and he doesn't trust -any- situation to not be without its hiccups. The Batman could be lurking in the rafters, or the Joker could come crashing through the gate in a stolen petrol tanker at any moment.
Or some poor beat cop could come through the area and have to be silenced by government organizations far more powerful than the GCPD.
With a quiet sigh, Gordon opens the file and offers it first to Agent Romanov. "These files document what we know about a string of..." Beat. ".../people/... who have been arrested and detained in our holding cells."
Martin Kavanagh moves to sit in the drivers set as the two others enter the cars, closing the doors and then holding down the AC and Cruise Control button for three seconds, as a barely perceptable whine fills the car. "It's fine. It's only a mild inconvience, and I respect your paranoia." Martin says, looking slightly annoyed as he has to crane his head to view the files that are being shown off. Granted, these sorts of plans were only effective for mundane things. As good as Geiger is, he's not expecting the Batman.
"Hmm... you're right. Those are some rather odd people. I assume they've been mostly silent in providing information in interrogation? Or do you simply not want to risk escorting them from a cell to a room.
Natasha listens with a dedicated ear, while leafing through the police folder. "Mmhm," she almost silently purrs, mostly to herself. "Anything like this ever pop up in your tank before?" she queries, shifting her gaze between Jim and the widow outside. An eerie feeling washes over her... she hates feeling like this. Watched, but no signals. 'Damn intuition,' she muses, remembering her week-long vacation only lasted a day.
"I -haven't- interrogated them," answers Gordon. "None of my officers are trained for this, and frankly, neither am I." The Commissioner takes a very deep breath. Maniacs and masked crusaders were one thing. He absolutely -hates- dealing with mutants and metas, not because of any prejudice or dislike, for he believed that everyone has their rightful place to freedom in this world. He doesn't like dealing with them in a police setting. How does one uphold the law when his target is impervious to bullets, or could read his mind?
"Not on my watch," he offers back toward Natasha, softening slightly. "There was an incident, a few years ago, while I was still on the force in Chicago. I don't know any details about it, the whole case was locked up by some special detachment of the FBI out of Boston. Some of the boys in blue talk about it, but they won't give me any details. They're not -supposed- to." He mutters under his breath, "Damned Feds."
Diverting his attention toward Geiger in the front seat again, Jim perks an eyebrow. "I figured you folks might have some experience with this sort of thing." He taps his finger against the files twice. "If anything, word of this is going to get out, one way or another, especially if I keep holding them here. That happens, we're going to have a -lot- of interested parties involved, and I can promise you some of them won't be the nice sort."
Martin Kavanagh looks at the files for a bit longer, and then lets out a sigh. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Commissioner, because my aura of mystery shouldn't get in the way of competence. I haven't dealt with anything like this in the past, either. I should say I have some sort of general training for the odd situation, but I'll have to make some calls to the brass in a situation like this; see if they might be able to liase with some of the other Metahuman vigilante groups." Another few flips. "But I'd like to keep this underwraps, until then. The last thing any of us need is some whackjobs from the flyover busing it up to the East Coast and camping out all over Neville looking for a glimpse. Or worst."
Another pause. "How'd you catch these folks, anyway? Catch them in the act? Anything recovered with them, in terms of equipment, documents...?"
Natasha keeps a stern eye held on Martin for a good ten seconds, from above the contents of the police folder. He probably knows that Widow's dealt with aliens on a few occassions... is that why she was brought here? At once, her thoughts illogically turn to the Skrulls--her least favorite. Maybe it was a personal pet peeve--that others were so superiorly gifted at disguise over her.
Natasha suddenly feels as if she needs to speak, as soon as Gordon is done answering Agent Geiger, she barks in, "Usually the appearance of several is a bad sign. The isolated are escapees, explorers, sneaky contacts. Groups bring organization."
"Oh, good," answers Gordon, and not without a fair share of sarcasm. "At least I'm not the only one who feels like a fish out of water here. Listen, I've got my best boys keeping watch on the detainees, but I'd like to avoid bringing any other feds in on this one. Not just yet. FBI's just... got too many holes, despite what they'd like to say. And the NSA would have a conniption fit over this whole mess."
. o O (And you're going to lose your job if this gets blown open, Jim.)
"You're reading my mind, Agent Romanov." With a frown, the Commissioner looks back at Natasha. "Look through those notes. Hell, you can keep them, I've got copies upstairs. Everything I know is in there." Seems he just doesn't like talking about things that are out of his league. A bit of a sore spot for the old Commish. "Any chance you could spare some extra muscle to make sure nothing leaks?" His attention shifts toward Geiger next. "I can write off having SWAT monitor the holding cells. Not exactly a fun job, I know, but they've got some damned good coffee down there."
If there was a thing that Geiger would guess, it's that Widow has much more experiance in a situation like this than he had. Granted, there were probably some experts in some think tank somewhere that might know more about this than Widow would... but they're not the ones that were lookingt o come to Gotham, were they?
Geiger gives a brief nod after Natasha speaks. "I don't like it either, and we can only hope the organization is small. Or otherwise underestimating us. If you're talking about us, Commissioner, we're not Feds. The have their jurisdiction and we have ours... ours just happens to be bigger. I can see if the nationals can be kept out of the loop as long as I can, but we'll have to tell them sooner or later, esspecially if this is a larger operation than we'd like.
He reviews the documents one more time, before handing the files back. "You give me the files, I can forge together a 'SWAT team' to sent down there, keep a watch on them, at the very least... not much more than a handful of people, however. I don't have limitless resources at this station. If this does go open, though... you may want to say you're working with us to handle this."
"I'm sure that SHIELD can provide, at the very least, a boost to your cell's containment. But they should be relocated..." she concludes, while still holding a vague tone of uncertainty, "Not really my field."
Pressing her index finger down on some piece of information, not visible to either men, she seems to be focusing on something in the file, albeit just a moment. "Do you mind if I ask you a loosely related question, Gordon? I've read about threats around... hell, I've had to deal with some of these myself. They typically prefer a more subversive strategy over a full-out assault--there's literally dozens of intricate case studies of metas like Metropolis' Super-Man beating back obvious assaults..." she brushes her hair, showing just a inkling of the nervousness she feels. She hopes nobody noticed. "Here's what I want to know--how ripe, truly, is this city for an armada of unknown powers? What... you've got the Bat-vigilante and a his numerous followers... and you've got untold corrupted criminals. Is this city not the perfect storm... would not the ensuing chaos of a masterminded attack be the worst case scenario?"
Widow pauses, realizing that her words were, while probably true, unnecessarily dramatic. She probably shouldn't be rattling Gordon's cage like this.
"I know," confirms Gordon, while shooting Geiger a bit of a smile. "Why do you think I called -you- guys?" He folds up the files into a particular order and offers the manilla folder to Geiger. "Here you are. I'll make sure everything is cleared down below, and -thank- you for what ever help you can give. Believe me, I sure as hell am not getting it from the Mayor, or the State budget committee."
Clearly, Gordon is biting down some derisive language reserved for those politicians who keep pulling his funding. Economic crisis, indeed. Perhaps he should make them come down to GCPD HQ and handle the next round of layoffs.
The shifting of subject matter draws Gordon's attention more heavily upon Agent Romanov. It does rattle his cage, visually, what with his chest rising and falling in a deep sigh and his fingers briefly fidgeting. No, of course, they won't let him smoke in a nice car. He's not Director Fury.
"The political landscape is one thing. The Mayor and most of city council are pushing me to arrest all vigilantes, no matter which side they're on. They just don't see the bigger picture. Too caught up in their own little world. To be fully honest with you, I feel something like that may be coming." There is a long pause, and he considers boring them with all of the ugly details, but chooses, perhaps, to let that rest for another day. "Got a good nose for these sort of things. If it happens, I can tell you that without some extra help, Gotham's not ready. My force isn't ready, the Staties aren't ready, and the National Guard posted here are little more than cadets with baby teeth."
Although on some level, Natasha already knew the details of Commissioner Gordon's cold truth, his difficult situation, hearing him say it so bluntly hit her in a more tangible way, as it sunk in. It's the difference between reading a political news bulliten, or reading a classified report's factual listings--being closer to the ground is always a different experience. Of course it was.
"Then, sir..." she began, realizing for the first time since she's been back, that she was not called to any particular mission or responsibilty. Simply On-Call. And that she had the room, and the weight, to champion a SHIELD-worthy cause. "... we're going to have to make you ready. Because even if this isn't the circumstance that will put you in the cross-heirs--this place is all too ready for someone who will. You've got lunatics coming out of the woodwork, don't you? More than you can collect." Turning the video display of her Widow's bite, it shows a slideshow of photos of various notorious criminals being brought into Arkham. Her display cuts-out, however, with static. She slips it away, pretending that she did that on purpose. Gotta get that fixed!
Of course, Agent Romanov had other reasons for the sudden interest in Gotham affairs, but was going to be her little secret. For now.
Martin Kavanagh takes the folder from Gordon when he offers it, before sliding a thumbprint over part of the radio. There's a th-THUNK from below the driver's seat, and Gegier reaches down there with some effort to store the folder, before bringing a boot down to press something close with another thunk of a heavy lock. These cars had some extras, it seemed. "I'll give you what help I can, Gordon, but I'm not exactly the highest priority for the brass to bring down resources."
Another pause. "I can run some interference in the Vigilante hunting area, at least. Some communiques, some memos that current efforts would be a 'waste of badly needed resources for GWOT' or whatever the buzzword is now adays. I've got some... Friends in the reservese. It isn't the ARNG for New Jersey, but..."
He shurgs helplessly. "I'm afraid, Gordon, that if this goes major, we're going to be reliant on a lot of those vigilantes that your superiors want locked up. And I'd like to be ready for that. I'd like to meet your dark friend."
Eyeing the series of criminals brings a dark frown to the Commissioner's face. The Joker, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, the list keeps on going. However, these weren't mutants who could walk through walls, bend metal or wring fire from the skies. They weren't demigods from other worlds or diabolical masterminds of terror with superhuman resources. "Cops like me aren't used to this kind of..." He bites back the vulgarity and proceeds with, "... situations. We're going to need all the help we can get, I'm afraid."
Permission granted, Agent Romanov.
Gordon's voice then gets thrown toward Agent Geiger in the front seat. "There is a good chance I can make that happen," he offers. "But if he meets you, it'll be on his terms. Not yours. Not mine. I can only wave the flag."
Martin Kavanagh looks over to Nastasha, the grimace only seen slightly on his face. The fact that he was here in a mask with colored contacts and a modulated voice showed that his methods may differ from the local police Department. He didn't arrest people, after all, and eventually the cops would have to start looking for someone when they found a dockyard with missing weapons crates and dead mobsters lined up on the shore. And he didn't want to be too easy to find for Gordon when that happened.
Of course, he probably didn't know what plans he had for the DA, either... But Batman... Batman was the wildcard.
"I know that much. I read my briefs, looks at my intelligence... Granted, I'm still not even sure who he is, who he works for, or what sort of backing he has. But I think it's pretty clear that, if he isn't some urban legend or hoax from a group of students in Chelsea, that this is his city, not mine. Wave that flag, Commissioner. And I'll try to prepare."
"If you do arrange a meeting, I want in. The rumors, and his reputation, have spread to cities around the country... and SHIELD wants to assess his tech, and his values." She pauses. "Standard profiling. New York has a few dozen vigilantes we've needed a lock on." She shifts subjects, suddenly. "Jim, we'll be in contact. You need more weapons, that's first order of business. I'll talk to Fury."
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