The Situation Pit is abuzz with activity. A huge map of the waterfront has
been unravelled, phones constantly ringing, officers, plainclothes and
uniformed constantly coming and going. A FBI contingent has set up a stake
on a nearby cluster of desks, and a very unhappy guy in a Coast Guard
uniform is being grilled by a chain-smoking detective. Grant is off to the
side in back, arguing on the phone with someone and pitching cards. They
flutter across to the feet of someone across the way, who is also arguing
on the phone and pitching the cards Grant is pitching to him back to
Grant.

A worn, ragged-looking man dressed in thick winter clothing is led into
the Situation Pit by a uniformed police officer. The officer makes his way
over towards Grant, calling out as soon as he gets close enough to be
heard over the background noise. "Sir?  Got a guy from SHIELD here to see
you," the officer nearly shouts. "Something about a shipment of documents
for you?" 

Grant nods and says "Just a minute, pal." into the phone, puts down the
cards, covers the receiver and calls out. "Just stick the boxes in the old
interrogation room and lock it. We've still only got the one key, right?
That'll do until the boys downtown come to catalog em."

The worn man's eyes widen. His tongue stirs, but falls still again on the
verge of speaking. Shoulders slumped, his feet barely seem to leave the
ground as he trudges back towards the entrance. 

Grant goes back to his phone. After a moment he hangs up and drifts
towards the door to see the shipment firsthand. 

A large vehicle about the size of a rental Ryder moving truck rests
outside, the engine still running. A second man in winter clothes drags
out a cage about four feet in all dimensions, lowering it to the gorund on
a mini-elevator mounted on the back of the truck. Looking closer, inside
the cage is what appears to be a very irate monkey jumping around,
smashing at a typewriter also in the cage with him. The first man arrives
downstairs soon after, and slaps a hand to his face. He then points to the
cage and back to the truck, his lips partially obscured by Grant's viewing
angle and distance. Something about "medical center", "secretarial pool",
and "papers." 

Grant looks somewhat bored. He walks over to the truck and asks the
officer helping out: "What's going on, Weeks?" 

The officer shrugs, "Don't rightly know myself, sir. They started
unloading those monkeys, then the first guy said those monkeys were
supposed to go to the medical centers and their typewriters back to a
secretarial pool in Albany. Said we're supposed to get the papers. Guess
those are them now.." The officer nods towards a large, armored,
fire-proof box that the two SHIELD men struggle to slide down towards the
ramp. The box is about four feet long, two feet wide, and perhaps three
feet deep. 

Grant nods. "I was gonna say. I don't think the DA would be too happy with
monkeys. Or maybe he could use a pet." he muses. "So these are the papers?
I guess that locker's secure. I was wondering why you guys were delivering
here instead of up to the city building."

The two men position the first box on the ramp, and start lowering it to
street level. The first man says, "We were told to deliver them directly
to Grant Sutton, and no-one else." He turns to his partner, "Go get the
other boxes ready, would you? I wanna be out of here before these monkeys
start slinging..stuff.." 

Grant huhs. "Weird. Okey, yeah, I'm authorized to take it, I guess. Just
throw it in the interrogation room and make sure I get the key or the
combo or whatever, okay, Weeks?" 

The first man speaks up, "You're Detective Sutton? You're supposed to keep
an eye on this stuff while we unload it, then sign for it all." 

Grant sighs. "Look, I got a lot of stuff to do." He seems about to argue,
then says "Oh, what the hell, they give us cell phones for a reason, I
guess." He relaxes up against a corner of the building and lights a
cigarette, punching numbers into his cellphone.

One box comes off the truck, followed by another, and then another. After
a half-hour, a total of six boxes stuffed full of documents are unloaded
in front of the building. The man hops down, holding a clipboard. "If
you'll sign here, sir, I'll give you the keys and unlocking codes."

Grant signs 'Grant Sutton as authorized agent for New York District
Attorney's office'. "Thanks." he says. 

The man nods, handing over six keys. "Okay, now listen close. The
unlocking code is something you have to type into that itty-bitty keypad.
You'll probably want to use a pen or something, those damn buttons are too
small. The code is 19583758436633169783.  Got it?"

Grant has a notepad out already, since he was taking notes off the phone.
"Uh huh. 19 58 37 48 43 66 33 16 97 83. Is that right?" 

The man sighs and shakes his head. "No, it was 19583758436633169783. Got
it?" 

Grant doublechecks it. "Got it." he says, correcting his mistake and
closing the notebook. "I'll give this to the boys downtown and they'll
contact you to return it when it's all over. Thanks." He indicates Weeks. 
"Go get some fellows to lug this stuff in and tell Agent Chung he owes me
five bucks." 

Several monkeys start to rattle their cages as the second man lowers the
door down, hooting angrily. A typewriter ribbon comes flying out the door,
bouncing off a police car parked behind the truck. The man gets the door
shut and locked, tracing nervous glances with his partner. "Let's get them
back before they pick the locks again," he says, and both hurry to get the
truck moving. 

Grant grins. "See ya." he says. Then to the departing Weeks: "What is
this, a Twin Peaks episode?" Weeks says "Huh?" and Grant says "Never
mind." 

Morden pages: There you go. An initial review of the data will take the
team a few days, at least. Inside they'll find ALL the references to the
keywords 'Sena', 'Lilith', 'Calamity', and 'Aura Walker' that SHIELD's
databases could churn up. This includes historical accounts dating back
into B.C. as every use of the word 'calamity' is spit out. Large sections
of text are redacted to "protect the integrity of SHIELD methods and
personnel, or other national security interests" according to an included
memo.  A number of photos are also included, but more than half have been
'redacted' so that they're simply black pieces of developed film. Even the
explaining text on the back of such pieces of film has been rendered
unreadable. 

Long distance to Morden: Grant nods. "Any information on the Antarctica
trip?" 

Morden pages: Antarctica's listed in one of the indexes, but that
section's also been redacted out. 

Long distance to Morden: Grant nods. "Okey."