Familiar Faces

"I can't believe this!" Stanfield whined. "The exclusive of the year, and..."

"Shut up!" the other three growled, almost in unison.

"I can't let you leave, Smith," Patterson said. "I came to solve a mystery, and I have to get to the bottom of this." He looked at Phil. "Here you are, alive and kicking, while just about everyone in America is convinced you've been dead for a year and a half. I've finally got a chance to find out what happened to the Colombians, and how you escaped from the Hudson, and what happened to Gabriela Riviera, and..."

"That case was closed," Agent Fisher replied slyly. "As a matter of fact, most of your casework, as I recall, mysteriously vanished shortly after that decision was made... probably part of the reason you were transferred to New Orleans." He shook his head. "No, I think the mystery is pretty much solved." He looked over his shoulder. "I know your partner's been taking photos of us for the past two minutes, and you've probably got a video camera rolling..."

Stanfield's eyes widened. "Pictures? Film???" He turned to the detective. "Is there any chance you can share your negatives with the Informant?"

Phil turned to the tabloid hack and punched him. In the face.

"Thank you," Fisher said as Stanfield slumped to the ground. "As I was saying, detective, you've got pretty strong evidence that Phil Smith is alive and well. But to be perfectly honest, I think it would be in your best interest if you didn't pursue this any further." He adjusted his dark sunglasses. "There are... higher levels of law enforcement involved now, and there is another matter, one of great importance, where Mister Smith here might be able to render us valuable assistance." He turned and glanced at Phil. "In which case, any debt he might owe to society would be paid in full, and we would have no further need of him." He looked down. "To answer one of your questions, Detective, Gabriela Riviera is dead." Fisher paused. "One of my men committed... a serious error in judgment and shot her. For which he was later punished."

He shook his head. "You won't find Gabriela Riviera alive," he confirmed, confident that not even Phil knew the whole truth. "Go home to your family, Detective."

"They're here with me," Patterson retorted, "and I'm not leaving this island until I talk to you!" He pointed at Phil as he left.

"Well," Agent Fisher said as he turned, "that's taken care of..."

He spun back around as Phil connected with a vicious right hook. Before the MAW man could react, Phil had swept his legs from under him, vaulted over his head in a gravity-defying martial-arts move, and flipped Fisher over his shoulder to the ground.

Fisher shook the stars from his field of vision just in time to glimpse the business end of a Browning .44 Hi-Power.

"In case you're forgetting, Agent," Phil sneered, "we've got unfinished business."

Fisher sighed. "I figured this would happen," he lamented. "You're so predictable now, you know that?" He chuckled. "So one-dimensional. You still can't get over the fact that she's gone, and you insist on blaming me for your mistakes."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Fisher nodded. "It's true. You know full well that I didn't pull the trigger when Gabriela was killed. I didn't even order it. Neither of you was to be harmed. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding. I had a proposition for you then, and I have one for you this time as well."

"I know you, Fisher," Phil insisted. "You've got your own little agenda here, and the only interest you've ever had in me was trying to co-opt me so you could build up your own metahuman army and hunt down any metas that didn't fall in step with you."

Fisher laughed. "How did you ever track down those Colombians? For that matter, how the hell did you get away from that manhunt?" He shook his head. "My role is to prevent just such a thing from happening!" He paused. "But apparently it has. Which is what brings me here."

"If this is about Vanguard," Phil said coldly, keeping the gun pointed at Fisher, "we're gonna have a problem..."

"Put it away, Phil," Fisher said flatly, rising to his feet. "You couldn't bring yourself to shoot me before, and I know you won't now." He dusted himself off. "It's not about your friends on this island. There's a much bigger game afoot here. Although it involves you to some extent, there's a much more serious problem that I need your help to deal with."

Phil slowly lowered the gun. "What problem might that be?"

Fisher smiled. "Strikeforce."

Phil's eyebrows went up as he holstered the gun. "I'm listening."