“Because we have excellent reason to believe your daughter never left TT-86 through the Denver Gate at all. I’d rather not say more until we’ve spoken in private.” Kit glanced toward shocked Time Tours employees. “Could someone notify Ronisha Azzan we need a meeting with her? Thanks. No, I’m sorry, there will be no further comments at this time.”
He waded against the tide of shouting newsies and shaken tourists, heading for the aerie, then decided he didn’t want to risk the kind of fireworks that would explode if he took the entire search team with him. So he shoved his way through the chaos in Frontier Town and muttered, “Paula, get out of here. Kaederman, go with Skeeter to Connie Logan’s. Start outfitting for the Britannia.”
“Right, boss!”
“You got it, Kit.”
Skeeter peeled off so fast, news crews were left stammering in the vacuum. Paula took advantage of their surprise to haul Sid Kaederman away in his wake.
“What’s going on?” Caddrick demanded.
“I’ll brief you at the station manager’s office,” Kit growled.
“But—”
Kit left him standing in the midst of an unholy, shrieking mob of newsies. The senator, trailing reporters like a school of noisy fish, caught up and stalked along in thin-lipped silence. At the aerie’s elevator access, Kit threw a body check to hold out the crowd on their heels and mashed the button for the top floor. The elevator rose swiftly toward uncertain sanctuary. When the doors slid open, Kit discovered just how uncertain that sanctuary was. Along one glass wall, lined up like so many gargoyles, sat three stone-faced men and women from the Inter-Temporal Court of the Hague, their uniforms glittering with brass officialdom. Like it or not, I.T.CH.’s grand inquisitors had arrived.