THREE

Victor Morgan ordered another scotch and stared into the honey colored liquid as it was placed before him. He had arrived back in Manhattan after a gruelling Q&A with the FBI. Since he was one of the first on the scene, and he had a connection to one of the passengers, who was in fact a criminal, there was a common thread of thought that placed Morgan as central to the investigation. It wasn't until Celia Reece intervened and assured the FBI agents present that Morgan had already been thoroughly questioned, they let him go.

Celia had promised to call him if anything on his informant turned up, but he was not hopeful. Most of the recovered bodies were burned beyond recognition or had been disintegrated by the intense heat of the blast. The investigators were having a tough time of it already as they tried to sift through the wreckage and identify which bodies belonged to the passenger list and which belong to the every growing list of civilian casualties. Morgan sat at Harry's Bar and sipped his drink and watched the TV above him, which was switched to a cable news channel. It had been three days since the crash and still the media were playing to the nation's grief and sorrow, as well as the bubbling anger that seemed to seep into every editorial, every newscast, and every interview with the man on the street. War was inevitable, it seemed, and Victor Morgan, having been one of the first at the scene after flight 703 went down, had been witness to seeds of war being sewn.

Morgan gulped down the rest of the drink and ordered another from the bartender, who looked at him with a mixture of apprehension and pity, but poured him another glass anyway. Morgan swirled the two and a half inches of liquid in his glass and looked up as he heard the wooden stool behind him scrape back and a man sat down. Morgan lifted his glass to his new companion, and listened to the gruff voice order whatever Morgan was having. Morgan did not look at the man and sipped his drink. The bartender placed an empty glass on the bar and poured another scotch.

"How did you know I was here, Logan?" Morgan asked.

"I could smell you." Logan no more than wet his lips with the drink before him, and looked at Morgan. Logan was what they call ruggedly handsome, with a long face and a blunt nose, thick black hair and huge sideburns. His piercing blue eyes fixed Morgan with a look of concern. "Heard you've had a pretty bad week."

"Have you now?"

Logan nodded and looked up at the TV, then back at Morgan. "I thought you might like some company while you sit here and get drunk."

"You're welcome to get drunk with me."

"It's what I do best."

Morgan laughed softly and patted Logan on the back. The pair had become drinking buddies after their first meeting at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Morgan had been investigating the disappearance of a young man tied to the Friend of Humanity, and his investigation had led him to Xavier's. When he arrived, the Friends of Humanity had preceded him, and the mansion that housed the school was on fire and the students and staff was under attack. Logan and Morgan had crashed into one another, having arrived at roughly the same time, and it was their presence that ultimately turned the tide. They fought off the remaining Friends of Humanity foot soldiers until the arrival of Xavier, Hank McCoy and Magneto.

Xavier had helped Magneto escape from his plastic prison, and when Magneto arrived, the leader of the Friends of Humanity, Graydon Creed, had taken the X-Man Storm hostage and escaped in a helicopter. Magneto did not react well to this, and killed creed without blinking an eye. It occurred to Morgan that he should have arrested Magneto then and there and escorted him back to his plastic prison, but Magneto had done a good deed, and in truth, Morgan could have very well suffered the same fate as Creed if he had attempted an arrest anyway.

A chance meeting at Harry's bar, not far from Xavier's school in Westchester, had begun a friendship based on long winded talks about battles fought, won and lost, and drinking to excess on the way to forgetting those battles. Logan and Morgan were two very different men but cut from the same cloth, and while neither would admit it to the other's face, they admired each other greatly. Morgan doubted that Logan's appearance at Harry's on this night was co-incidence. After all, Logan had access to the most powerful telepath on the planet.

"So, what do you make of all this?" Morgan raised his glass to the television screen, which was showing an aerial image of the crash zone.

Logan drew a breath and cocked an eyebrow. "I think that war has been waged over less."

Morgan nodded his agreement. "I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do come Monday. On board that plane was an informant who was going to blow a case wide open for me. I could feel I was on the right track with this guy. And now he's gone. Blown to smithereens for all I know."

"That was the attempt to blow up one of the federal buildings downtown, right?

Morgan nodded. The bombing had been foiled due to a tip off they received just one hour before the bomb was timed to go off. The bombing seemed to specifically target the department of immigration, but to date no one had come forth and claimed responsibility for it. That was the problem with these terrorist groups, Morgan thought ruefully. They only want to claim responsibility if the bombing is successful. Morgan had suspected the Aryan Brotherhood was behind this particular unsuccessful attempt. The Aryan Brotherhood was born from the ashes of the Friends of Humanity, with many party faithful jumping ships after Creed's death a year ago. Their hatred had to find an outlet, so the racist Aryan brotherhood was adopted by most of them. The Aryan Brotherhood consisted of mostly white guys, mostly unemployed, and harbored a grudge against everything that deviated from their skin Colour and backgrounds. Morgan's informant was not a part of the group, but had business links to one of the Aryan Brotherhood's front companies. The guys in San Fran held his informant mostly on white-collar stuff, and coming from old money, had his lawyers broker a deal. San Fran flew him out after accepting the deal, and agreed to place the informant in witness protection after giving Morgan what information he had.

"I thought the case was going somewhere finally, but it all went up in smoke, literally." Morgan made a gesture that illustrated the futility of thinking about it too much. Morgan was rarely a man to give up, but at this point, giving up was all he could do to save himself from the distraction of failure. He would chew over every detail in his mind, this much was true, but he would do so only in the background of his other thoughts. It would be stored in a place that Morgan reserved for his failures, and he would allow the ghosts of the victims of flight 703 pick at him, beseeching him to find the answers, bring those responsible to justice.

"It wasn't your fault," Logan said slowly, reaching into his pocket and slapping another twenty down. The bartender caught his eye and put two more glasses in front of them. Morgan noticed the way the man's hand shook when he poured the drinks, and the way he eyed Logan like a wild animal that might chew his arm off. "The crash, the loss of life, the impending war…All of it would still have happened if you hadn't been there. It would have gone exactly like it is now, and there would still be nothing anyone can do to stop it. So stop beating yourself up about it."

Morgan was about to take a sip of his drink and paused, the glass barely touching his lips, and looked at Logan. "How do you know that's what I was thinking?"

"Because," Logan said before gulping his drink down in a quick, savage motion. He winced and cleared his throat before continuing. "I'd be thinking the same thing."

Logan stumbled up the stairs and fumbled with his keys as he leaned against the huge ornate doors that allowed entry to the mansion. He was aware that lights were on inside, and he consulted his watch to confirm it was two in the morning. He frowned in the semi darkness and found the right key, but as he lunged for the door, it opened from the inside and Ororo had to catch him before he fell to the ground. "What time do you call this, Logan?" She said with a smile in her voice.

"I call it too late for all the lights to be on…" He stood up with her help and they walked into the huge common room to find Charles Xavier, Jean Grey and Hank McCoy in deep conversation. They all looked up as Ororo announced the wanderer had returned.

"I'll make you a coffee," Ororo said as she helped him tale a seat. "Trust me; you're going to need it."

Logan frowned in her direction, but she had already disappeared down the hall. He turned to look at Xavier, who was stroking his chin and giving Hank a deep, questioning look. Jean was perched on the couch nearest Xavier, and Logan had been dumped into the seat next to Hank on the deep plush couch opposite them. "What's going on?" He demanded. His drunken state was already beginning to recede.

"We have been offered a mission," Xavier said quietly. "A highly unusual one at that."

Jean sat forward and expanded upon Xavier's words. "Hank arrived by chopper shortly after midnight, with a companion and a proposal from the President. We have been asked to covertly enter Genosha and bring back the Mutant Liberation Front to face justice for their crime against the US. The president has asked that if we do not bring all members of the MLF back, then we are to capture its leader, Fabian Cortez. What the President has implied is that our interception of the MLF may avert all out war in Genosha."

Logan looked to Xavier. "Sounds like a set up."

Xavier shook his head. "At first, I thought the same thing, Logan, but one must understand the logic behind such an offer. I believe the President genuinely wants to avert a war, and by engaging us on this mission, he may be able to have the reason he needs."

"And he doesn't get his own hands dirty."

Xavier inclined his head. "Nevertheless, his proposal is a politically risky one. If we fail, then he will have no choice but to proceed to invade Genosha. As you know, General Greenblatt has organized some troops to be flown to Genosha's borders just in case. If we accept this mission, we will have two weeks to locate the MLF and get out of the country. This will not be an easy task."

Ororo returned with Logan's coffee, and perched on the edge of the couch next to him. "Can we not use Cerebro to detect their whereabouts?"

Xavier sighed. "Unfortunately not. Cerebro can only be utilized one of two ways: First, to detect the unique brain waves of mutants all over the planet. Its secondary use is to track human beings. Mutates are a different species yet again. I have been able to only detect the faintest readings on the mutates of Genosha, mainly because of the genetic similarities between mutates and mutants. The Genoshians not only tampered with their powers, but also performed operations to insert mind controlling devices into their brains."

Ororo nodded her understanding. "So, we go into Genosha blind. Do you think that's wise, Charles?"

Xavier shook his head. "Hank and I are going to try modifying Cerebro to pinpoint the mutates' particular brain patterns. But such a thing will not be easy and it may take up too much time."

Logan could not believe what he was hearing. That the President would make an offer to the X-Men after what had happened last year, with the school being investigated and then attacked by Graydon Creed, Logan would have thought they were the last place he would turn to. He took a sip of Ororo's coffee and considered what was being proposed. Getting to Genosha would be a cinch in the Blackbird, and evading capture would be difficult but not impossible, but finding the MLF, who hid in the system of caves on the outskirts of Humluk city, the capital of Genosha, and never stayed anywhere longer than twenty four hours? Now, even for an experienced tracker like him that would pose a problem. He expressed this to Xavier in not so many words.

"I understand your apprehension, Logan, I really do. But think about it. We are the only force on earth equipped with what is needed to match the MLF. It may not be an easy fight, but I believe we should seize this opportunity. The world does not need another war, Logan."

Logan nodded and sipped his coffee in silence. Hank leaned his elbows on his knees and fixed Xavier with a look of gratitude and hope. "I'll tell him we'll do it," He said. He stood up and excused himself. Xavier looked at Jean for some confirmation that he had made the right decision, and instead he only found his own uncertainty mirrored in her face.

"Where's Cyclops?" Logan asked. He had only been vaguely aware that Cyclops was not in attendance, as he was with every meeting the group ever had.

"He's outside, talking to someone."

"Who?"

"His brother Alex."

Logan saw something glimmer in here eyes then. Although Cyclops and Jean had been apart since Creed's invasion, they had remained close. Logan saw that something lingered there. He fought the desire to hug her, because he wasn't sure if it was his comfort she wanted. Logan realized that while he was closer to obtaining her love than he ever had before, the process was excruciatingly slow and painful. The problem was there weren't many places for her to hide from her ex-fiancé. So much had happened since Creed's attack and Logan wasn't sure where he stood with Jean anymore. She could be at once tender and distant with him, and she still refused to share his bed as she did with Cyclops.

Ororo sighed. "It is late, and we've all got a lot to think over," she said quietly. "I think Scott and Alex have a lot to talk about. We should all retire and leave them to it."

Alex Summers was a more striking figure than his brother. He was taller, and while he did not posses the same defined musculature of his brother, he was possessed of a lithe, graceful frame that played down the power in his limbs. He stood stock still, displaying the rigid military training that had shaped his young life, and watched as his older brother tried to grapple with the knowledge that he was alive. They had never been particularly close, and their first meeting in ten years was not an emotional one. The two men actually sized each other up before Scott launched into an interrogation, asking why, how, who, when?

Alex had waited for his brother to calm down before offering to take their conversation outside so that doctor McCoy could explain things to the others. They stood out on the second floor balcony now, the air turning chill and promising the rain, and with it another bitter New York winter. "They took me to the orphanage when they found me," Alex said softly, not knowing how to fill the gaps of a ten year disappearance. "Mom and Dad were killed instantly, but I survived the plane crash and my unconscious body floated out to sea and washed up on a beach in California. When I came to, they informed me that I was the only survivor. Since Mom and Dad kept your whereabouts secret from me, I couldn't tell them who you were, or where you were. In the end they put me in a foster home. I was raised by Colonel Robert Jacobs and his wife, Katherine. They desperately wanted a son, and they desperately wanted him to follow in the great colonel's footsteps and become a Marine. In time, I forgot that I even had a brother still alive out there, somewhere, and it wasn't until recently that I started to search for you again."

"But they told me no one survived—"

"They found the wreck but no bodies. It's common in light plane crashes, especially over the sea. They assumed all on board had perished and no one thought to search the hospital records in California In the end, when the Californian authorities couldn't find next of kin for me, I was turned over as a ward of the state."

Scott nodded. He understood, but he didn't think he could comprehend the enormity of what Alex was saying. If only he had known, if only he could have told the authorities that Alex was alive, then they could have sent him to Xavier's, and then he would at least be with one of his family. "I'm sorry, Alex. I wish I'd known."

"How could you have?" Alex smiled then, and Scott could see himself in that smile. They shared many attributes but Alex was bestowed with their mother's beauty. Their father was a handsome man, and Scott looked almost exactly like him.

"I've been assigned to act as an unofficial liaison between the X-men and the President. The President felt that it would be advantageous to the mission to have someone with you who knows the Genoshian landscape well and extensive combat experience. I was selected out of a group of twenty men for the assignment, but I did not know at the time that it would lead me here."

This time Scott smiled. "How could you have?"

Alex laughed softly and leaned against the railing. "Xavier has got a nice set up here. Huge grounds, high tech security systems and state of the art equipment." He turned to look at his brother. All he could see in the darkness was his visor glowing red. "But are the X-Men ready for Genosha?"

"We've been trained for all situations. We've fought against many opponents," Scott replied.

"Training's all well and good, but once we get there, on the ground, nobody knows what to expect. Most of these mutates are far more dangerous than any mutant, and we have no idea what they are capable of."

Scott nodded. "Understood."

Alex walked back towards the French doors that led back to the mansion, and paused to place a hand on Scott's shoulder. "It's good to see you again, big brother."