Volume 2: Chapter 205 — Subway Blitz

Gaining access to the Metro cameras wasn't quite as easy as Dan had hoped. Carver's influence as an FBI agent wasn't unlimited, and as she was not officially working on the D.C. vigilante, pulling footage from the transit authority proved to be a pain in the ass. Most of the problem was petty obstructionism. It was difficult for Dan to identify precisely what was happening behind the scenes, but based on Carver's mostly-incoherent ranting, the transit authority director was a greedy asshole demanding extravagant favors to do his job.

"We're going for option A," Carver declared, slamming her phone's headset into its receiver. She paused, lifted it up, and slammed it again for good measure.

"Option A?" Dan repeated. He was under the impression that option A had just failed.

"A, for asshole," Carver confirmed, slamming her headset into its receiver one last time. "If the director doesn't play ball, we slide down the totem pole until we find someone who does. There's always at least one peon who sees an FBI badge and jumps to attention. The bosses never need to find out."

"Making us the proverbial asshole," Dan extrapolated. Bypassing the chain of command in such a blatant way would win them no friends, and carried other dangers besides. "Is that even allowed?"

"Sure," Carver shrugged, scooting out of her seat. She stood, scooping up her badge and keys, and strapping on her firearm. "No law against it. Protocol discourages doing this kind of thing, but it's more of a guideline, anyway. Won't make the transit director any friendlier toward me, though. Next time I need something from him I better have a warrant." This last bit was said more musingly, as if she was setting a reminder more than explaining the consequences.

She stepped out of her office, heading outside to the unmarked car that served as her transport. Dan took the passenger seat, buckling himself in before asking, "This gonna cause problems for you down the line?" Because there were other options; he was pretty sure he could sneak into whatever security center the Metro might have, not that he was going to mention that out loud.

But Carver shrugged, apparently unconcerned. She explained, "Fifteen years in the FBI, and this is the first time I've needed anything from the Metro. I figure I can make it at least another fifteen before I need to worry about blowback."

They drove off towards D.C. proper, making plans on how to terrorize some poor, unsuspecting supervisor. They were both operating under the assumption that the transit director wouldn't think to warn his subordinates about a possible FBI request. It was unlikely the man ever had much contact with the feds, to say nothing of predicting such a bold course of action. He was probably sitting pretty, expecting a call back from Carver where she would accede to all of his demands. If they were right, there was an opportunity to blitz their way past the usual procedures through the sheer weight of authority.

The specific Metro line they were visiting was the assumed starting point of the vigilante's path. Dan figured there was a better chance of catching the vigilante disembarking before they had the opportunity or need to ditch the enormous jacket they'd used as a costume. The thing was so big and bulky, that he doubted it would fit even in a large backpack. Everything was conjecture, of course, but Dan felt pretty good about his chances. He guessed the vigilante was a young teen who used the rail to get around, and planned their little outings based on the availability of transport, both to and from. Dan's theory, with Carver tentatively concurring, was that the vigilante would have traveled to this station from another one, disembarked to go on patrol, and then re-boarded the rail further down the line. They just had to prove it.

There were cameras all over the station, but only his observation training with Cornelius allowed Dan to spot the tiny little things. He made a mental layout of the coverage before sending out his veil to confirm. This particular station was underground, though the rail line tended to vacillate between above and below the surface. It was more cramped down here and easier to get lost in a crowd, but the time factor worked against the vigilante. Their patrol was late at night, well past rush hour, and there would be few people in the station. It made Dan and Carver's job significantly easier, but they still had to get access to the cameras.

Carver led the way into the tunnel, walking with the kind of confidence only real authority could bring to bear. She wasn't dressed like a fed, but her gun and badge sat prominently on her hip. People made way, parting like the Red Sea before Moses, and Dan followed in her wake. Sheer confidence carried them forward, and nobody thought to question the odd pair as they ventured through the crowd. They made their way towards the security desk, a small, sealed glass room with a single guard watching wide-eyed as they approached. Carver unsnapped her badge as they came within arms-length, and she rapped it hard against the glass.

"I need to see your surveillance footage," she said without preamble, all force and authority. "There's strong evidence one or more vigilantes have been using this particular rail as a hub for their illegal activities." It was a patently outrageous summary of events. Newsflash, kids, The feds can lie to you.

The security officer apparently never got that memo. He blanched, spray-tanned skin losing all of its color, and flipped a switch on his terminal. There was a loud buzzing sound, and the door to the booth was unlocked. The man stammered, "Y-you better come inside, then," and Carver smiled in triumph.

The station cameras weren't great, despite Dimension A having a slightly higher level of overall technology. No matter the universe, government work went to the lowest bidder. The entire system was honestly just outdated, but Carver managed to turn this inconvenience into an advantage. She roped the increasingly flustered security guard into helping them sort through the footage, never letting him out of sight, nor allowing him enough time to call a supervisor about the two feds who'd just commandeered his surveillance room. It was a tedious system, and Dan was genuinely thankful he didn't have to mess with it. The guard—his name tag said 'Fred'—was sweating profusely by the time he managed to pull footage for the appropriate day. The exact time, even just the hour, took even longer to narrow down.

It was impossible to know how fast or how meandering the vigilante's route had been. Had they moved at top speed the entire time? Had they traveled by rooftop only, or had they occasionally dropped to ground level? What was the maximum range on their hair's extension? How strong was it, and how much weight could it bear? No answers yet, but the travel time could prove enlightening. To be safe, they pulled back three full hours from the mugging incident. Carver ball-parked that number as the time it took to walk, without any particular hurry, from the station to the alley where the vigilante had ended up.

It was like a stakeout, except worse. They sat together in that tiny, stuffy room for a full hour, watching at 1.25x speed as hundreds of passengers zipped in and out of the Metro. There were twenty different cameras sprinkled across the transit center, and twenty different angles to watch. Dan focused mainly on the stairs leading in and out of the underground space, unwilling to trust his eyes' ability to track every passenger as they offloaded from the rail. He reasoned the vigilante must take the stairs out, as they wouldn't risk, drawing further attention to themselves by doing something stupid like using the fire exit. 

It was still frustratingly tedious. After the first hour, his eyes were aching. His shoulders were stiff from being squeezed into too tight a space, and he was starting to sweat. Fred the security guard had not calmed in the slightest, and he now had large sweat stains running down the sides of his shirt. Nevertheless, he dutifully (read: in a blind panic) waited for orders from Carver, never leaving the room. The fed herself looked perfectly composed, likely already well-versed in tedium.

Patience paid off after the second hour when, a mere thirty minutes before the mugging incident, a woman in a familiar hooded jacket stepped off the Metro rail and made her way up the stairs. The hood was pulled down, revealing a moderately pixelated face with vaguely Asian features. Her long black hair was pulled up into a tight bun, and she wore a backpack that slightly altered the shape of her jacket, but it was unquestionably the D.C. vigilante they'd seen on the cell phone video.

"Pause it," Dan said, pointing her out on the screen. The camera caught her halfway up the stairs, one leg extended towards the next step. Her shoes, Dan noted, were a pair of black sneakers. The previous video had failed to capture that detail, with her exact footwear being lost somewhere between the grainy quality and the almost trench coat she was wearing.

"She's a kid," Carver summarized with a scowl, and though the camera quality was poor, it was obvious she was right. The girl couldn't yet be out of high school. If she was even a senior, Dan would eat his shoes. Still, they had a face, poor quality though it may be. Now came the difficult part: tracking down where she'd come from, and where she was going, after.