[The sound of Mello taking a swig of something sends a half-dozen possibilities bouncing around Near's brain. He can't be sure of Mello's inebriant of choice, but Mello wouldn't waste his time on some weak, watery bullshit when he's looking to dull the pain. A hard liquor, then. Harder than most. Expensive, too, because Mello has got a flair for the dramatic. Mello wouldn't be eager to die without being a little pampered in the process. Probably a tidy wine cellar he's got going for him, and one that can function as a panic room in a pinch. Which won't make it any easier to get at him, of course. But the temperature required to store spirits properly could be a potential clue for his team. Tunnels are cool and damp places all on their own, but they're not often temperature-controlled. So, just hypothetically, Near's team is looking for a hidden room with real weight, a real presence to it: a change in incline and ambient air temperature.

There's a much fainter sound of Near slapping a notepad on the desk. He's writing instructions to his team, and now he's holding up the notepad so they can read it.

In the meantime, he says,] I wouldn't mind, if you did. If that's what you're doing. It's not as though I'm expecting you to play nice. I don't have any expectations for how this is going to go down. [He might as well speak plainly and acknowledge the obvious: yeah, if he gets his hands on Mello, Mello's future is going to take shape in a safe house with robust, around-the-clock medical attention. A very secure safe house, at that. No security flaws.] But if you did call me, and you did want me to come and pick you up, I would do that for you. I hope you know that. Mello, I hope you know that it's well within my power to make the pain go away. So, please...