After their failure to capture Justin at the hospital, Nevio Roone's rage knew no bounds. He practically tore up his own office in his fury. Donahue managed to escape most of the rampage, hiding out in his own office down the hall from Roone's.

Once Roone calmed down enough to speak in coherent sentences, Donahue risked knocking on his door.

When Roone yelled, “It better be important!” Donahue opened the door and said, before Roone could utter a word, “I know how we can get him.”

Roone froze. He cocked his head slowly and muttered, “How do you plan to do it?”

“Well, it's pretty obvious, really. We have to infiltrate this outfit that grabbed his daughter. I've been doing some checking on them. They call themselves the Agorist Underground, a bunch of do-gooders trying to start a revolution or something like that. They even put out a video report on the 'net bragging how they got away with the snatch.”

“Never heard of them. So where do we find them?”

“We don't know how or where yet, but I think I know who might know. Obviously, the FBI will try to reunite the daughter with the father. They already have the father, and they've given us no indication that they plan to arrest him. That means they plan to release him at some point. All we have to do is stake him out. When they try to move him, we follow. Eventually, he'll lead us to this AU outfit.”

Roone nodded, abnormally quiet for the moment. “That's a good angle. How much help do you want?”

“Just give me Porter for now. We get along, and he follows orders. It's probably better if we don't have a big presence outside FBI headquarters, anyway. When I'm ready for more troops, I'll call.”

“That's where they took Knight?”

“According to my sources.”

“OK, get on him. And don't lose him this time!”

“Right,” Donahue said as he wheeled and strode out of the office.

An hour later, Donahue picked their spot carefully outside 26 Federal Plaza. Available parking eluded them at first, but they eventually managed to grab a spot in a relatively obscure position that gave them a clear view of the building's entrance.

“I guess we'll be here awhile,” Porter observed as he watched the drive and the entrance to the headquarters through a pair of spyglasses.

“Yeah, maybe,” Donahue said. “I brought some coffee. Want some?”

“Depends! How does it compare to that muck you gave me over at the hospital?”

“Something wrong with my coffee?”

Porter sighed, rolled his eyes, and said, “OK, give me a cup.”

Donahue handed him a cup and mumbled with his mouth full, “Have a donut,” pointing with his elbow at the box on the seat between them. Porter opened it carefully and looked. Powdered jellies; at least Donahue had better taste in donuts than he did in coffee, although Porter did frown for a moment while looking at his own well-expanded waistline. What the hell, he could always put in some extra time at the gym.

Three cups and four donuts later, the day warmed considerably. Good thing, because the October air carried a definite chill in it. They couldn't watch properly with the windows up; long years of experience taught them that keeping windows open could mean the difference between life or death.

Porter eyed his partner for a moment before asking, “So how did you end up at Hanover-Rush? You strike me more as a military guy.”

Donahue harrumphed. “Yeah, I was. Born and bred.”

“Army brat?”

“My father was a Marine, but yeah, I ended up in the Army after graduating from the Point after Green Shores Military Academy.”

“Officer, huh? Did you see any action when you graduated?”

“I was in the Gulf War, the first one, when we liberated Kuwait. First lieutenant.”

Porter raised his eyebrows. “One of our finest hours.”

“You bet your ass,” Donahue agreed but added nothing more.

“So what did you do when you got out?”

Donahue shrugged. “Joined the CIA.”

Porter's eyes widened. “Field ops?”

He nodded again.

“So what did you do? Infiltrate the 'rabs? Track down yellow cake or something? I suppose you were some sort of American version of James Bond?” Porter‘s smirk faded away under the glare Donahue gave him.

“Something like that.”

“So why didn't you stay?”

Donahue remained silent for a long moment. “My father was a bastard and an alcoholic. He beat me almost every day when I wasn't away at military school. It wasn't so bad. Actually, he taught me a valuable lesson. Darwin had it right. Life is about survival of the fittest, and the bastard made damn sure I got fit. In this life, you either rule or you get ruled...nothing in between. I decided then I'd rather be a ruler.”

“It's a dangerous world.”

“Damn straight. I found out just how dangerous in intelligence work.”

“Where did they assign you?”

“Saudi Arabia. That's when I learned about the plot.”

“What plot?”

Donahue turned to him and looked him over carefully. “Are you a patriot Porter?”

“Of course!”

Donahue scowled while he decided what to do. Finally, he made up his mind.

“It was early 2001. Anti-American activity was on the rise. You wouldn't believe the shit we discovered. We, all of us, filed report after report, but the bastards kept ignoring us.”

“What bastards?” Porter interrupted him to ask.

“Langley.”

Now Porter stared at him wide-eyed.

“You mean you reported all that chatter they talked about getting before 9/11!”

Donahue nodded. “But they wouldn't do anything! We knew something was up. We had a pretty good idea it would involve aircraft, that something would happen on U.S. soil. But getting people in power to listen! Well, let's just say I pissed a few people off.”

“When did you leave?”

“The company? After 9/11.”

“Why?”

Donahue shrugged. “I guess I pushed back too often. They dumped me in early 2002.”

Porter digested all this in admiration.

“So what did you do next?”

“Well, they tried to pull me from Saudi Arabia, but I told them to shove it. If they didn't want me working for them, I said fine, screw them! But I wasn't going to leave the country, company or no company. I still saw too much work that needed doing. Then I met a man with red hair and a foul disposition who said he represented the Committee for International Consolidation.”

“Roone?” Porter asked, his attention more narrowly focused on his partner now.

Donahue nodded again. “He was my best source in the field when I worked for the company. I got more information from him than from anyone else I knew. All of my best contacts in Al-Qaeda and the other terrorist networks came from Roone. Best of all, his tips always panned out. I sometimes wondered where he got such good information. He never told me. He'd just say, 'The CIC knows more than the CIA.'”

Donahue sniffed the air frowning. “Did you just float a serious air biscuit?”

Porter stiffened in his seat. “Yeah, run while you still can.”

“...Geez Porter!” Donahue tried to wave the stench away from him, and he quickly lit up a cigarette. Porter concentrated on his log book.

The Federal Plaza building received a fair amount of traffic, and they found themselves hard-pressed to keep up with logging it all. Porter ended up with most of the written work, but he kept at it.

“Did you notice the van?”

Donahue nodded: “Unmarked, immaculate condition. Kinda unusual for the city.”

“Couldn't see the driver for the tinted windows, either.”

“Uh huh. Keep an eye on it.”

The van parked right outside the main door, and the passenger, a large African-American male, went inside. A while later, he emerged with Justin Knight and the female FBI agent! Donahue started the car.