Doors

[Encrypted recording left for Bo Davis/Dick Grayson]
[The sharp whine of feedback.] Davis, I don't know when the fuck you're going to get back here. I appreciate that you're off being insane in Gotham, but we could use your handsome ass on this side. I got the agency to back off about you and Corvus being MIA, but they're sending us someone new, and I think he's a casualty from December. His name is Reed, Gabe Reed. Old dog, so you might know him.

I guess now is as good time as any to tell you I'm off my feet. Things went south in Bangladesh. Our FBI hacker got made, and he broke under torture. I got out under some firepower, but not until a week later. I wasn't the only one he narked, so shit is still tense out there. We're blaming them, and they're blaming us. Bottom line, I'm on ear duty until I can get around again. But we all know that's bullshit. Corvus is taking over my live cases, and I don't know if he's got it in him, so let's cross our fingers.

Our new FBI investigations contact is a bastard named Walter Moore. We go way back. Bad blood with McKendrick, but I haven't checked in with Baird recently to see how deep the animosity goes with the Feds. Also, keep Henry out of this shit, or I'm going to feed you my fist.

In summation, get your ass back here, legs. Now.

Main, out. [Click.]

[Added.]
[Locked to Jack C]
Corvus. You have a date in eighteen hours.

[Public]
italics=french
Papa, please if you are well, give me some sign. I miss you dearly. [...] Has anyone else here found themselves missing their loved ones?

[Locked: Anon!Fantine/Cosette]
Anonyme, you spoke with the Inspecteur, oui?

[As, simply, Javert. In crisp, black ink.]

Quelle folie ce que c'est? Words, not my own, appearing on the page before me. The ramblings of a madman, my fellow inspecteurs would say, yet my eyes do not deceive me. A door, between two worlds, and a key to allow passage-- it defies all logic, all explanation, mais il est vrai.

[A pause, the pooling of ink.]

I find it unacceptable that my time is limited by a man who cares little for the law, though he claims to serve it.

[Public]
italics indicate French
Papa has gone missing and I do not know why or to where he has gone. It is still home as I remember, Paris and our apartment, but Papa is gone and he is never gone for long. I would very much like to go out instead of watching through my window, but I know Papa would be very angry if I did without him. I wonder when he will return. We must talk, for I am unsure of what this key and Mademoiselle Charlotte mean. He would not send me away. I am confident in that, at least.

[Locked to Dylan M]
Your hackers leave a lot to be desired, FBI.

[Locked to Laura D]
[A link to a Willows floorplan.] I'll take downstairs, you get upstairs? Guests and overnights stick to each of our floors and that private staircase?

[Comm to Corvus]
[Beep. Beep. Beep. Until he patches her in.]

[Email to Walter M@FBI]
Moore,

It gives me absolutely no pleasure to inform you that your name just crossed by desk as my new FBI liaison for cross-organizational investigations. Who'd you screw over to get that job?

Main

[Call to Jimmy's]
[Ring.]

The women wear much less on your big screens in the desert. Shameless really. Beautiful, like poured milk, but shameless.

[Obliviously, from New York.]

[Locked to Helena W]
Hey, kid, she's gone.

[Locked to Laura D]
Hey, Daniels. Still living in a hotel?

[Locked to Jack C]
Catch me up.

[Locked to Dick G]
[After her comm pings to Bo go unanswered.] Can I borrow my ex-handler for a minute?

[After talking to everyone else.]
[Locked to Luke H]
Hey, kid.