"I know that," he snaps back, and then, catching himself, takes a deep, slow breath.

And then slams his folder shut.

"I'm going to 'wave him. I don't - we're not going to get anywhere trying to get the Feds to tell us anything, and we don't have t- River'll..."

He slides his sunglasses down, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I'll wave him, we'll find out where they're keeping them - I can get there faster'n just about anyone, and I'll go in and pull them out myself."

Resolved, he slides the folder back into his case and heads back towards the Cortex hub he's appropriated for the past four hours, waving a hand in the direction of the newsfeed en route, hoping to skip past to the next one.

(He never could stand red-carpet reporters, and Wanda Chen isn't going to tell them anything useful.)





Nothing happens.