Steady on, Montag... the Sandcrawler said, standing as perfectly still as he possibly could. You've kept this up for longer than fifteen minutes before during that Mecca theft a few years back. Now, granted, you've been out of practice for a long while, but you should be able to keep this up for a bit longer anyway.
Grissom Montag was in a pickle, to be certain. He'd been in pickles before, mind you, but - for some reason - his mind always seemed to gravitate toward the pickle he was currently in. Odd thing, that.
He wouldn't feel so bad about moving if he knew exactly where the shooter was. If he could guess the trajectory of the bullet, he would feasibly be able to teleport the bullet out of harms way with little to know effort. This killer was smart, though. He knew a thing or two about how Grissom's powers worked... and that was how Grissom had come to be in this pretty little pickle in the first place.
Of course, there was always the possibility that the man was bluffing - that he had no sniper rifle and wasn't really in an adjacent building watching him. Of course, that was an awfully big gamble and, after seeing what had happened to Cavalli and the Chamberlain family... and hearing what had happened with Sigfried and Merlin... well, Montag knew this wasn't the kind of gamble that he could come out on top of.
No... this situation would take cunning and ingenuity. But, fortunately for him, that was the kind of thing that the Sandcrawler did well.
Keep 'im busy, Montag, Grissom thought. Keep 'im talking...
"I take it Brianna's okay," Grissom said, said into his cellphone, trying to keep the man on the other line occupied while he was able to work something out.
"Of course she is, Mr. Montag," came the voice on the other end. "It was all a part of what I like to call 'a clever ruse'..."
"You seem to have planned all this out to the letter, eh?" Grissom asked.
"Oh, indeed," the killer said, "This is not an endeavour one can just waltz into unprepared for. No... this sort of thing is quite an undertaking..."
"I should say so," Grissom said, attempting to concentrate on something in his pocket... without looking like he was attempting to concentrate on something in his pocket. "So, what's with all the classic rock stuff, eh? David Bowie, the Doors, Queen, Pink Floyd... John Lennon. Pretty big fan, I should think, yeah?"
A menacing chuckle sounded from the other end of the line. "You mean you haven't figured that out yet, Mr. Montag?" the killer laughed. "How disappointing. Although, to be frank, I'm amazed you've figured out that much already..."
"Why go through all the trouble of leaving clues if you don't want anyone to figure this out?" Montag said, finally pinpointing exactly what it was he was looking for. "I mean, you're like the goddamn Riddler... only a tad more subtle."
"And much more mysterious, apparently." Grissom could almost hear the man on the other line sneering at him. "This is not a compulsion, Mr. Montag, if that's what you mean. Quite the opposite. This is recreation for me, sir."
"That's kinda sick, mate," Grissom said, 'porting his desired tool into its proper position.
"You have no idea, Mr. Montag," the killer retorted. "You have no idea..."
"No," Grissom said, still holding steady. "But I'm sure I'll find out soon..."
"Oh, really? And how do you propose to do that?"
A slow smirk slid across Grissom Montag's face as his left foot hovered about an inch above the ground... right above Doc Paragon's subspatial inducer.
"Well," Montag said slyly, "one good thing definitely came out of your little ruse, mate."
"And what might that be?"
"I figured out how to work Vanguard Europe's subspatial inducer..."
As soon as these words left his mouth, his foot lowered, depressing the transport button on the inducer. A loud gunshot sounded as the scenery atop the building faded...
...and rematerialized as the refreshing, wholesome landscape of a suburban neighborhood in New England.
Grissom's smile widened as he lifted his foot and looked at the subspatial inducer underneath it. "You, my little beauty," he said, leaning down to pick the gadget up, "are never leaving my side again!"
Slipping the device into his pocket, he made his way for the door of the Chamberlain household.
