Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution, and I am not making any money from writing this story.
Author's Note: This is the third and final installment of Pietro Maximoff and Excalibur, so I hope you enjoy it. I actually know very little about the Louvre security system and I am sure it is much better than it is portrayed in this story.
Tommorrow Never Dies
When you were rich it paid to be careful, and Warren Worthington was a very rich man.
He was driven to work in the morning in a custom-built Mercedes with bulletproof windows and reinforced steel doors. His driver was an inconspicuous looking man in a black suit, who in truth was an ex-Mafia member, armed with a Beretta sub-compact semi-automatic pistol, which he was extremely proficient with. When his car stopped outside Worthington Industries on New York's Fifth Avenue he had merely three steps to walk up before he got to the door, and close circuit television cameras covered every inch of the way. A doorman opened the door for him; he was armed with the same weapon as Warren's driver, as was the receptionist in the foyer.
Warren Worthington was the head of Worthington Industries, the seventh richest man in the world and he was well known as a self-made millionaire playboy. Warren knew that his success had made him a visible target to any number of people - kidnappers, terrorists… there were plenty of desperate people out there.
What the public didn't know however, was how Warren had made his millions. After graduating from college, Warren had spent the next decade or so as the head of the criminal empire known as Hydra. Warren had been the founder of the organisation and it had engaged in all kinds of illegal practices - from drug smuggling to contract killings. Eventually Warren had transferred his resources into legitimate enterprises and many of the members of Hydra had given up their lives of crime and followed Warren. Most of his staff were ex-criminals and the majority were from Hydra.
And so it was that Warren knew one of the most important rules about security - routine is deadly. Get set into a routine and your enemy knows where you are going and when you are going to be there. Warren had taken many precautions to ensure that he didn't end up getting into a routine - he often changed his schedule, worked from home or visited a foreign country to check how Worthington Industries was faring their. He had ensured that he didn't have a favourite restaurant or a specific night that he went to the theatre or the cinema. He had too much experience of how the criminal mind worked to allow himself to slip into a routine.
Today, Warren was only stopping in at the office - he was going to work at home for the rest of the day, then he had an important meeting in London with some of the shareholders in Worthington Industries. He nodded at the receptionist, then began to climb the long flight of stairs up to the fifteenth floor. Most people would have taken the lift but Warren knew that it was relatively easy to sabotage a lift and make it seem like an accident. Besides, the exercise would do him good.
Taking a sheaf of papers from the secretary on the fifteenth floor, Warren pulled out his cell phone and dialled a number. "Hello, Mr Chalmers? It's Warren Worthington, I've got the plans for the Jag with me and I was hoping to fax them through to you in about fifteen minutes. Right. That's fine. I'll speak to you later." Warren descended to the entrance and got back into his car, which drove off. Warren didn't bother to glance out of the tinted windows; he was too engrossed with the papers he was reading. It was only when the car stopped that Warren looked up.
He lived in a luxurious and incredibly expensive New York penthouse, staffed by the most loyal ex-Hydra agents. As he walked through the door his chief of security, Elisabeth Braddock, greeted him. "Good morning, sir. While you were out we had a call from Mr Chalmers." Elisabeth was English, she had been a contract killer in Hydra and she now used her knowledge to ensure the safety of her employer.
"Thank you Betsy, I've spoken to Mr Chalmers already and I'm going to fax the information he wants to him when I get to my office." Warren and Betsy walked over to the lift that would take Warren up to his office on the top floor. As Warren pushed the button for the lift, Betsy spoke into the headset she wore, communicating with the other security men who were stationed at very points around the building.
"It's all clear sir." The two entered the lift, where Warren pressed his palm against a small glass panel. A sensor read his fingerprints, and at the same time another sensor scanned his retina. Upon verifying both of them the lift activated and rose to the top floor without stopping.
Warren's private office was a huge room that occupied most of the top floor and the walls were covered in several of the world's rarest paintings and sculptures. One wall was a floor-to-ceiling window, the glass was bulletproof of course, that offered a spectacular view over New York. There was also a large bookshelf, which contained an odd mixture of modern novels and ancient books on eastern philosophy.
As soon as Warren stepped out of the lift he could tell something was wrong. So could Betsy apparently, because she drew her Beretta from its concealed holster and raised it to her shoulder, moving to stand in front of Warren. A sudden movement to their right caused them both to turn in that direction and as Warren watched he saw, to his amazement, what appeared to be a shadow detach itself from the wall and leap at them. Betsy snapped off one shot before the shadow collided with her and took her down. The shadow stabbed a syringe into Betsy's neck and she ceased her struggling. Warren took a step back, pulling out his own pistol, as the shadow stood up.
"You sure do have a tough security system," the shadow said gruffly. Warren was so startled to hear that voice that he almost dropped his gun.
"I thought you were dead," he said in amazement.
"So do a lot of other people," the shadow pulled off a voluminous black cloak to reveal a short man with thick dark hair, an unshaven chin and very dark, almost black, hooded eyes.
"Are you here to kill me, Logan?" Warren asked, surprised at how calm he sounded.
"Hardly," the Wolverine said. "I need your help." He dropped something at Warren's feet and Warren slowly bent down to pick it up, never once taking his eyes off Logan. Taking a look at what Logan had given him, Warren frowned.
"Surely you know what this is?" he asked Logan.
"Yeah, I know what it is. What I want to know is why I found it on a bunch of soldiers who tried to kill me."
Warren took another look at what Logan had handed him. It was an insignia, cut from a uniform, with nine emerald serpent heads on a black background. It was the symbol of Hydra.
If the security at the Louvre art museum in had been anything like as tight as it was around Warren Worthington's penthouse and office, then the disaster might have been averted. There were security guards, after all the Louvre did house some of the world's most famous art works and it would be a major embarrassment to the French government if something was stolen from the Louvre. However, the surveillance system was getting quite old and hadn't been upgraded for sometime.
Laurent Duabarre had just finished his shift and was looking forward to getting home. Working at the Louvre wasn't quite as exciting as he'd first hoped it might be, but it did pay the bills. He was just leaving when he spotted something odd. There appeared to be someone standing in one of the hallways that had been closed for redecorating. Sighing in frustration, Laurent walked towards the person hoping it wouldn't be a British tourist. He really didn't want to get into a long argument.
"Excusez moi, monsieur." The man didn't make a move. "Excuse me, sir!" Laurent repeated in a firmer tone, wondering if the man didn't speak French. The figure turned around this time and it took Laurent's brain several seconds to realise that the man was holding a pistol fitted with a silencer. Unfortunately by the time he had realised this he was dead.
The man caught the security guard before he hit the floor and quickly dragged him out of sight. As he did so he pulled what looked like a television remote out of his pocket and pressed a button. The loop he had set to play on the security camera would now stop, allowing the security guards to see what was actually happening in the corridor. Unfortunately, it was too late for them.
Several seconds later a man wearing a security guard's uniform walked down the off limits hallway. No one thought to ask him where he was going and so it was that he was able to get to the most modern art gallery without interruption. Once there he walked through the gallery, until he accidentally tripped over a tourist's foot and stumbled into the wall. Apologising profusely in fluent French he continued on his way, no one realising that when he had hit the wall he had attached a small explosive device. He placed three more explosive devices around the gallery before leaving.
As the security guard left the building he passed a tall man in an expensive but anonymous black suit, carrying a briefcase. The man nodded in greeting to the security guard before heading to the largest gallery in the Louvre. There he put his briefcase down next to him as he gazed up at a painting by a fourteenth century artist. Exactly sixty seconds later he was out of the Louvre.
When the detonator was pressed one of the security guards had noticed the briefcase and was just about to alert his superiors. At that point however an explosive device went off, which had so much power that it tore through the museum, igniting the explosives in the modern gallery as well. Tourists in the square around the Louvre screamed in terror as they watched the massive explosion tear through the famous art gallery. Countless hundreds of people, tourists, security guards and other employees at the museum were killed in the blast, and the debris from the blast injured hundreds who were in the vicinity.
In a metallic chamber many thousands of miles away from Paris, a group of people were clustered around a television monitor. On it they could see a slightly hazy image of the Louvre and the devastation caused by the explosion.
"It seems that Gemini has been a success."
"This is only a preliminary test, do not get too overconfident yet. All this will do is grab the world's attention. I want a full medical and physical assessment when Gemini returns, understood."
"Of course madam director, though I really don't see the point. Gemini…"
"Is still in the final stages of testing. If something is wrong we need to find it out now, rather than when we begin our operation. Is that clear?"
"Yes madam director."
Author's Note: This is the third and final installment of Pietro Maximoff and Excalibur, so I hope you enjoy it. I actually know very little about the Louvre security system and I am sure it is much better than it is portrayed in this story.
When you were rich it paid to be careful, and Warren Worthington was a very rich man.
He was driven to work in the morning in a custom-built Mercedes with bulletproof windows and reinforced steel doors. His driver was an inconspicuous looking man in a black suit, who in truth was an ex-Mafia member, armed with a Beretta sub-compact semi-automatic pistol, which he was extremely proficient with. When his car stopped outside Worthington Industries on New York's Fifth Avenue he had merely three steps to walk up before he got to the door, and close circuit television cameras covered every inch of the way. A doorman opened the door for him; he was armed with the same weapon as Warren's driver, as was the receptionist in the foyer.
Warren Worthington was the head of Worthington Industries, the seventh richest man in the world and he was well known as a self-made millionaire playboy. Warren knew that his success had made him a visible target to any number of people - kidnappers, terrorists… there were plenty of desperate people out there.
What the public didn't know however, was how Warren had made his millions. After graduating from college, Warren had spent the next decade or so as the head of the criminal empire known as Hydra. Warren had been the founder of the organisation and it had engaged in all kinds of illegal practices - from drug smuggling to contract killings. Eventually Warren had transferred his resources into legitimate enterprises and many of the members of Hydra had given up their lives of crime and followed Warren. Most of his staff were ex-criminals and the majority were from Hydra.
And so it was that Warren knew one of the most important rules about security - routine is deadly. Get set into a routine and your enemy knows where you are going and when you are going to be there. Warren had taken many precautions to ensure that he didn't end up getting into a routine - he often changed his schedule, worked from home or visited a foreign country to check how Worthington Industries was faring their. He had ensured that he didn't have a favourite restaurant or a specific night that he went to the theatre or the cinema. He had too much experience of how the criminal mind worked to allow himself to slip into a routine.
Today, Warren was only stopping in at the office - he was going to work at home for the rest of the day, then he had an important meeting in London with some of the shareholders in Worthington Industries. He nodded at the receptionist, then began to climb the long flight of stairs up to the fifteenth floor. Most people would have taken the lift but Warren knew that it was relatively easy to sabotage a lift and make it seem like an accident. Besides, the exercise would do him good.
Taking a sheaf of papers from the secretary on the fifteenth floor, Warren pulled out his cell phone and dialled a number. "Hello, Mr Chalmers? It's Warren Worthington, I've got the plans for the Jag with me and I was hoping to fax them through to you in about fifteen minutes. Right. That's fine. I'll speak to you later." Warren descended to the entrance and got back into his car, which drove off. Warren didn't bother to glance out of the tinted windows; he was too engrossed with the papers he was reading. It was only when the car stopped that Warren looked up.
He lived in a luxurious and incredibly expensive New York penthouse, staffed by the most loyal ex-Hydra agents. As he walked through the door his chief of security, Elisabeth Braddock, greeted him. "Good morning, sir. While you were out we had a call from Mr Chalmers." Elisabeth was English, she had been a contract killer in Hydra and she now used her knowledge to ensure the safety of her employer.
"Thank you Betsy, I've spoken to Mr Chalmers already and I'm going to fax the information he wants to him when I get to my office." Warren and Betsy walked over to the lift that would take Warren up to his office on the top floor. As Warren pushed the button for the lift, Betsy spoke into the headset she wore, communicating with the other security men who were stationed at very points around the building.
"It's all clear sir." The two entered the lift, where Warren pressed his palm against a small glass panel. A sensor read his fingerprints, and at the same time another sensor scanned his retina. Upon verifying both of them the lift activated and rose to the top floor without stopping.
Warren's private office was a huge room that occupied most of the top floor and the walls were covered in several of the world's rarest paintings and sculptures. One wall was a floor-to-ceiling window, the glass was bulletproof of course, that offered a spectacular view over New York. There was also a large bookshelf, which contained an odd mixture of modern novels and ancient books on eastern philosophy.
As soon as Warren stepped out of the lift he could tell something was wrong. So could Betsy apparently, because she drew her Beretta from its concealed holster and raised it to her shoulder, moving to stand in front of Warren. A sudden movement to their right caused them both to turn in that direction and as Warren watched he saw, to his amazement, what appeared to be a shadow detach itself from the wall and leap at them. Betsy snapped off one shot before the shadow collided with her and took her down. The shadow stabbed a syringe into Betsy's neck and she ceased her struggling. Warren took a step back, pulling out his own pistol, as the shadow stood up.
"You sure do have a tough security system," the shadow said gruffly. Warren was so startled to hear that voice that he almost dropped his gun.
"I thought you were dead," he said in amazement.
"So do a lot of other people," the shadow pulled off a voluminous black cloak to reveal a short man with thick dark hair, an unshaven chin and very dark, almost black, hooded eyes.
"Are you here to kill me, Logan?" Warren asked, surprised at how calm he sounded.
"Hardly," the Wolverine said. "I need your help." He dropped something at Warren's feet and Warren slowly bent down to pick it up, never once taking his eyes off Logan. Taking a look at what Logan had given him, Warren frowned.
"Surely you know what this is?" he asked Logan.
"Yeah, I know what it is. What I want to know is why I found it on a bunch of soldiers who tried to kill me."
Warren took another look at what Logan had handed him. It was an insignia, cut from a uniform, with nine emerald serpent heads on a black background. It was the symbol of Hydra.
If the security at the Louvre art museum in had been anything like as tight as it was around Warren Worthington's penthouse and office, then the disaster might have been averted. There were security guards, after all the Louvre did house some of the world's most famous art works and it would be a major embarrassment to the French government if something was stolen from the Louvre. However, the surveillance system was getting quite old and hadn't been upgraded for sometime.
Laurent Duabarre had just finished his shift and was looking forward to getting home. Working at the Louvre wasn't quite as exciting as he'd first hoped it might be, but it did pay the bills. He was just leaving when he spotted something odd. There appeared to be someone standing in one of the hallways that had been closed for redecorating. Sighing in frustration, Laurent walked towards the person hoping it wouldn't be a British tourist. He really didn't want to get into a long argument.
"Excusez moi, monsieur." The man didn't make a move. "Excuse me, sir!" Laurent repeated in a firmer tone, wondering if the man didn't speak French. The figure turned around this time and it took Laurent's brain several seconds to realise that the man was holding a pistol fitted with a silencer. Unfortunately by the time he had realised this he was dead.
The man caught the security guard before he hit the floor and quickly dragged him out of sight. As he did so he pulled what looked like a television remote out of his pocket and pressed a button. The loop he had set to play on the security camera would now stop, allowing the security guards to see what was actually happening in the corridor. Unfortunately, it was too late for them.
Several seconds later a man wearing a security guard's uniform walked down the off limits hallway. No one thought to ask him where he was going and so it was that he was able to get to the most modern art gallery without interruption. Once there he walked through the gallery, until he accidentally tripped over a tourist's foot and stumbled into the wall. Apologising profusely in fluent French he continued on his way, no one realising that when he had hit the wall he had attached a small explosive device. He placed three more explosive devices around the gallery before leaving.
As the security guard left the building he passed a tall man in an expensive but anonymous black suit, carrying a briefcase. The man nodded in greeting to the security guard before heading to the largest gallery in the Louvre. There he put his briefcase down next to him as he gazed up at a painting by a fourteenth century artist. Exactly sixty seconds later he was out of the Louvre.
When the detonator was pressed one of the security guards had noticed the briefcase and was just about to alert his superiors. At that point however an explosive device went off, which had so much power that it tore through the museum, igniting the explosives in the modern gallery as well. Tourists in the square around the Louvre screamed in terror as they watched the massive explosion tear through the famous art gallery. Countless hundreds of people, tourists, security guards and other employees at the museum were killed in the blast, and the debris from the blast injured hundreds who were in the vicinity.
In a metallic chamber many thousands of miles away from Paris, a group of people were clustered around a television monitor. On it they could see a slightly hazy image of the Louvre and the devastation caused by the explosion.
"It seems that Gemini has been a success."
"This is only a preliminary test, do not get too overconfident yet. All this will do is grab the world's attention. I want a full medical and physical assessment when Gemini returns, understood."
"Of course madam director, though I really don't see the point. Gemini…"
"Is still in the final stages of testing. If something is wrong we need to find it out now, rather than when we begin our operation. Is that clear?"
"Yes madam director."