Ross had thought his headache couldn't get any worse after the frustrating half-hour or so that he'd just spent questioning that asshole, Helmut Zemo, but apparently he'd been wrong.

"Who did you say is here?" He stares at the junior agent. "Where is he?"

"Meeting with Tony Stark, sir," the agent reports. "In the north conference room."

"Just Tony Stark?" He can feel his headache getting worse by the second now. "Where are the rest of them?"

"Yes sir," the agent replies. "Agents Riley and Carter escorted Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson, and Sergeant Barnes back to the Center residences."

This is a clusterfuck of epic proportions, but it's not an utter disaster yet. He hopes. "Get security on the line and remind them that they're supposed to let me know directly when 'distinguished guests' arrive, and I don't care if it's the President himself. I want the names of whoever's on door duty today."

Ross turns away, already stabbing at Carter's number on his mobile.