April 3, 2002

"I hate flyin," the short hairy man muttered as he stared through the small porthole at the clouds far below. "Leastaways in this flyin can I can smoke." He tugged out a cigar, bit off the end, and fished his lighter out of his pocket. "You ever been to Russia, Stark?" he asked around the bobbling cigar as he cupped his hand over the flame and lit up.

"A few times," the man in the complicated metal chair shrugged. "Business." He tapped a few buttons and checked the readings on the screen he faced.

"How's the diagnostic?" Logan asked.

"Good as can be expected," Stark said. His normally slick hair was dull, his face lined with weariness and pain. He seemed older than his years, and his shoulders were not as straight as they had been.

The door at the front of the compartment opened; a slender and attractive woman stepped in. "Well, gentlemen, we have two hours before we touch down. Let's go over it again, then I promise to leave you alone."

"Go on," Stark said, his voice odd as he adjusted a setting. His eyes were a bit glazed.

She looked at him for a long moment. "Right," she said, shaking her head to clear it. "Okay. We're headed to Kirov, where you purchased the nuclear power plant formerly owned by the state but now available for privatization. We should land about two in the afternoon local time. Your emissary, Tam Lawson, has arranged for a meeting where you can get acquainted with the sellers and sign some paperwork. We plan to meet them at four, then have dinner, socialize, and sleep it off in the hotel. Next morning you take a tour of the facility at eight, and we're airborne headed home departing at noon." She sighed and tugged her glasses off. "And I wish you'd land this bird, refuel, and head home right now."

"You already briefed us on the danger, I am aware and I have taken precautions," Stark said.

"I am still concerned, and about more than the threat of the mob." Her eyes settled on him directly.

He met her eyes, more alert. "Thank you," he said. She was dismissed. She gritted her teeth for just a moment, then nodded to him and returned to the cockpit.

"Be right back," Logan muttered, and he followed her.

Stark sighed, looked at the screens, and tweaked a few more settings.

xXx

Logan made sure the door was shut. "Don't let him get to you, he's just crazy and maybe a little suicidal," Logan said with his best grin.

"Who says he's getting to me?" Potts snapped.

"Have it yer way," Logan shrugged.

She sighed. "He won't hear any more of the threat, so you've got to listen."

"I'm all ears," he said, settling down on the bench seat behind the pilot. She sat next to him, very close, her eyes earnest.

"Wilson Fisk, of Fisk Enterprises, was behind some local guerrillas that attacked and bombed a plant in Brazil. I also have reason to believe he's behind the class action suit in Canada, and if our reports hold true to form he's working something malicious out in the Congo, where we have a significant coal operation. Fisk is trying to move in on Stark International, and I am worried about Russia. With the number of gun slinging mobsters in Russia after the fall of Communism, it would be easy for Fisk to arrange for an attack that couldn't be traced back to him. Why won't Stark listen to me? If Fisk is going to take a shot at him, there's no better place than Kirov."

Logan patted her hand awkwardly. "Don't worry about it any more," he said. "Stark didn't bring me along for my acute business sense. I'll take care of him."

"Yeah?" she shot back. "Who will take care of you?"

"Stark," Logan said, his tone final. "He has so far. Don't worry. It's beyond worry now anyway. Trust me to take care of him. For better or for worse, we'll get through this."

"Good luck, hotshot," she said, her tone subdued.

He grinned as he rose to his feet. "I'm all about luck." He winked at her, and headed back into Stark's compartment.

"So whaddya know?" Logan said, walking up to Stark's array.

"So far so good," Stark said in a strained voice. "This girdle accomplishes same thing traction does. If all goes well, I'll heal this broken spine with just minor nerve damage."

Logan looked at the blinking screens with their readouts and their outpouring of data. "I can't make any sense of all that," he said, gesturing, "but wouldn't you be better off taking six months off to heal up right?"

"Logan?" Stark said.

"Yeah boss."

"Didn't ask for your opinion. Don't care for it," he said lightly. "Please sit down and shut up."

Logan squinted at him. "Not sure why I bother talking to you," he said, and he sat down and took a deep drag on his cigar. He just couldn't let it go. "You want to die, Stark?" he asked. "That what this is all about?"

Stark tapped a command into his keyboard, then turned the chair. "Maybe you weren't listening."

"You gonna fire me?" Logan said with a lopsided grin. "Sure as hell can't kick my ass. Why didn't you bring the armor, Stark? You know this is gonna get dicey."

"You forget yourself. As my employee—"

"No no no," Logan said with a gesture. "You aint pullin rank on me. You hired me to help you, and I mean to. But I'm not gonna sit still while you spank me with your ego. Now I asked you a question. You want to die?"

Stark stared at him for a long moment. "I was hasty to hire you," he said finally. "I see that now. And to answer your forward and inappropriate question, I honestly don't know. We are going to Kirov," he said, turning his chair back around, "to let Fate do what Fate does whether we like it or not."

Logan had more to say, but he bit it back and chewed his cigar instead.

xXx

"Cripes," Logan muttered. "Wind's still got teeth in April."

Stark, Logan, and Potts headed across the thin crust of snow on the airfield towards the small knot of men in dark coats that waited for them by the fence.

"Did they give you trouble at customs?" asked a thin man with large spectacles and a tight mouth.

"No," Stark smiled, smooth as silk. "A glance at our bags was sufficient. Did you expect trouble?"

The thin man hesitated, then tried to smile. "No, no, of course not. Welcome to Kirov, Mr. Stark."

"Thank you, Mr. Lawson," Stark said. "Let's get out of this wind."

"Of course," Mr. Lawson nodded. "I've been here long enough to forget how shocking it is. What, springtime in the States?"

"Yes," Stark said shortly. They split up, piling into three cars. The caravan wound its way through the cramped streets toward the grim face of the hotel.

Lawson turned from where he sat in the front seat, and he smiled at Logan and Stark. "We'll go ahead and check you in, get your luggage arranged, then we'll go to the restaurant. Okay?"

"Fine," Stark said, his eyes unfocused. Logan's expression darkened, and he looked out at the run-down city. "They got real small cars here," he muttered to himself. Lawson suppressed a smile.

A short time later they pulled up in front of a restaurant and piled out. They were immediately seated. The air was hazy with smoke, and voices were low and hushed through the restaurant.

"Nice eatery," Logan said, looking around. He spotted another well-dressed group entering the restaurant.

"Ah, Mr. Krymanski," Lawson said, moving to greet the newcomers. "Glad you could make it."

"Yes, we speak English tonight," the thin man said. He peered at the Americans from under bushy eyebrows. A nasty scar marked the side of his face. He sat at the table, and his people sat as well. Fourteen were now gathered at the long table.

"You understand, Mister Stark, that privatization is a new idea for us even after all these years," the tall man said in his slow, heavily marked speech. He seemed to taste the words, roll them in his mouth before reluctantly releasing them. "The idea of turning a source of State power over to an American company is unsettling."

Stark smiled. "My company is not American, Mr. Krymanski," he said. "It's international. I don't let patriotism get in the way of good business."

"Mm, those are reassuring words," Mr. Krymanski said. "We'll see how it plays out. What caught your interest in the Kirov plant?"

"Public service," Stark shrugged. "Your plant was due for an overhaul five years ago, and you're red-lining safety limits in multiple areas. You can't afford to repair it, and the people shouldn't have to go without power. If the plant melts down, well," he said, his smile dangerously wide, "the world can't afford another Chernobyl."

"And, of course, profit," Krymanski said, his eyes gleaming.

"I don't see the necessity of dividing the two motives," Stark replied, meeting his gaze. "If it's good for you and it's good for me, then why bicker over the details?"

"I wish you the best of luck," Krymanski said. "The very best."

They got down to brass tacks.

xXx

"Nasty cold broccoli soup," Logan grumbled. "That coffee had motor oil in it, I swear. Those stupid itty bitty cups they serve it in—"

Stark sighed. "Logan? At least until we get back to the hotel?"

Logan lapsed into silence and watched the streets roll by outside the window.

Stark breathed deep and ran his hands through his shimmering hair. "Back to the hotel, then tomorrow tour the facility, then back to the States. So far so good."

Logan played with his lighter.

A few minutes later, they rolled down a ramp to the hotel's parking garage. Logan's eyes narrowed.

Stark gasped as Logan's hard hand snatched his coat and tugged him; Logan was tumbling out of the car! Stark breathed out as he hit the pavement and rolled—

tunk Hwissss

The car suddenly lit up, an explosion tearing it to pieces and scattering flame and shrapnel over Logan as he dove to cover Stark. The shock wave shoved him over, still gripping Stark, and Logan rolled to his feet. In his grip, Stark was amazed at the small man's raw strength as Logan slung him up and around behind a pillar.

"Light anti-tank weapon," Logan muttered to Stark. "How exceedin unkind. Stay put." He bounded into the shadows, leaving Stark behind the pillar. Stark looked around his cover to see the flaming wreckage of the car; he had never learned the driver's name. For a moment, he was grateful that Potts and Lawson were wrapping up the details with Krymanski, and not burning corpses in the destroyed car.

Stark heard a clatter as the empty missile tube was tossed aside. Someone was coming from the bottom of the ramp, from the lower level. His would-be assassin. Tremendous time for Logan to leave. He moved around the pillar to face the incoming attacker.

The man walking towards him was over six feet tall, built like a weight lifter under his parka and snow pants. A ski mask hid his features. In his hands he held an AK-47. He chambered a round with a single slick movement and brought the weapon to bear while striding towards Stark.

Stark spun back around the pillar as the assault rifle opened up, chopping chunks of aged concrete off and snapping against rebar, chipping Stark's cover away as the shooter inexorably approached.

Snikt.

The rifle abruptly stopped with a screech of violated metal as it was sheared in two. Stark stepped around the other side of the pillar to watch.

Logan's claws slid back up into his arms. "Look, Ruskie, I don't want to kill you. Who do you work for?"

The big man lunged at him, but Logan twirled out of the way and smashed a punch into the side of his head. The man clanged against the wall and shoved away from it. Logan shook his fist.

"Oh, we got body armor. Neat," he said, grinning. "Let's dance." His razor-sharp claws distended.

The big man hopped to the side and lashed out, but Logan ducked and angled his claws to catch his attacker's wrist and forearm. The large man grunted, a peculiar metallicized sound, and jerked away. The parka hung from that arm in shreds, and Logan narrowed his eyes.

"Hey," he said.

The huge man's backhand caught him in that distracted moment; with a loud clang, the metallic hand caught Logan's metallic skull and flung him back, sailing through the air with the trajectory of a missile. Logan smacked into the concrete wall, crushing a crater in it but rebounding with the force of the blow. He thudded to the ground in a shower of concrete chunks, unable to gasp, deeply disoriented.

"Flamin… robot…" he gasped, blood freely flowing from his face.

His attacker slowly turned to face Stark, who looked him over fearlessly. Their eyes met.

"You don't want to kill me," Stark said confidently, quietly, almost hypnotically. "If you did you would have by now."

For a moment, there was uncertainty in the posture of his attacker. Stark smiled and closed in.

"We all have problems, friend. Maybe I can help you with yours." He fished out a cigarette and took his eyes from his assailant to light it. His hands did not shake. He squinted at the motionless Russian. "You're no robot. What's your name?"

Logan managed to regain his feet, and he walked a weaving path back towards his employer.

"Come on," Stark said, soothing. "Let's go to my room and talk about this."

"I… have failed," the huge man said, his voice an echoing metallic whisper.

"Not yet," Stark disagreed. "You could still kill me. Let's go talk this through."

"What?" Logan winced. "You gonna parlay voo after he plays handball with my skull? Stark, I got this." He squared off.

"Stand down, Logan," Stark said. "I want to hear what our friend here has to say."

Logan stared at him, speechless, then at the towering assailant who stood unmoving before Stark. He shrugged. "Yer the boss," he muttered.

The three of them moved towards the elevator.

xXx

In a flurry of activity, Logan locked the doors, shuttered the windows, and placed the scrambler on the table. He turned the scrambler on to fry any electronic listening devices or cameras. Stark seated himself in one of the comfortable chairs, Logan stood beside him, and the hulking attacker sat on the couch.

"This is… most confusing," the big Russian said, his strange voice echoing itself slightly. He slowly pulled the ski mask off and looked at them, taking in their reaction.

Logan gasped, his eyes wide; Stark just nodded. "Tell us your story," he said.

The young man sighed, a metallic whistle, and looked at the floor. His face was a perfectly lifelike steel mask, as mobile as flesh, and his hair seemed to be a solid mass of black steel. He did not blink, and his eyes had no pupils or irises; the young man appeared to be made of steel.

"It no longer matters," he said, "even now it is too late for any of us to escape. What is the danger, then, of me revealing myself to you? My name is Piotr Nikolaevitch Rasputin. I came here to kill you to protect my country."

"Melodramatic cuss, aint he," Logan muttered. "What kinda armor is that?"

"It is my flesh, disrespectful oaf," Rasputin said.

"Former KGB?" asked Stark.

"Yes," Rasputin said, bowing his head. "Yes. Formerly."

"So you are forced to do this deed because you're infected with Tymaz Nine, right?" Stark smiled.

Speechless, the man of steel stared at Stark, his mouth hanging open. Logan noted his teeth and tongue were steel too.

"How… What…"

"What if I told you I had the countermeasure for Tymaz Nine?" Stark said.

"Do you have it… here?" Rasputin asked. "Where you could reach it in less than thirteen hours?"

"I don't make it a practice to carry any with me," Stark said slowly. He looked at his bodyguard. "Logan?"

Logan stood with his mouth shut in a firm line, his arms crossed over his chest, not saying a word.

"Logan?"

"Maybe I got some, maybe I don't. I got some luggage on the plane. If I got some, it's there." He looked away. "You can fly home in thirteen hours and get yer own."

"But we cannot leave yet," Rasputin said earnestly. "It is not possible. Disaster looms, and of all the world perhaps only we three have the power to try to stop it."

"Can't take much more a this," Logan gritted out.

"Why the thirteen hour deadline?" Stark asked.

"After thirteen hours I will no longer be able to hold my metallic form," Rasputin said. "I will become flesh once again, and when that happens, Tymaz Nine will grip my lungs and my heart, and squeeze the life from me. This was my chance to redeem myself."

"Whose idea was it to kill me?" Stark asked absently.

Rasputin hesitated. "Mine," he said.

"Really?" Stark blinked, raising his eyebrow as a smile threatened.

"Yes," Rasputin nodded. "My employer agreed with me that killing you would send the message we need to send without harming the motherland. However, should I fail… He will continue on with the original plan. To demonstrate to the West that they are not welcome here. To show America that it is too dangerous for them to interfere. To block our country from all those who would take advantage of Russia's temporary weakness."

"Spit it out already," Logan growled. "What's the original plan?"

Rasputin stared at him. It was unsettling; Logan knew Rasputin was looking him in the eye, but the Russian's eye had no pupil, no iris; it was smooth as steel.

"The original plan," he said slowly, "was to turn your new power plant into a bomb."

There was a moment of silence.

"When?" Stark asked.

"Tomorrow during the morning shift sometime," Rasputin replied. "They may move up the timeline, for by now they know I have failed." His voice quivered.

"Criminitly," Logan muttered. "At least you picked the right people to fail on. We can stop this plot. We have to. You in?"

"Of course, comrade," Rasputin said earnestly. "I must atone for my part in this evil. The lives of thousands of innocents are at stake!"

"We gotta stop this, right Stark?"

Stark looked up at him, distracted. "Hm? Yes, of course we do, Logan. How far is the plant from here?"

"About ten klicks," the Russian said. "An easy jog."

"We'll be taking a car," Stark murmured. "Who are we up against?"

"That is another story." Rasputin took a long, whistling, metallic breath. "The one who leads them, who can give me the countermeasure for my… condition… his name is Dimitri Bukharin. He is a bad man. When he was in the KGB, he used the power of the State to further his own ends. Now that the state is weak, he is using his power over those too weak to protect themselves. He has built himself a small army, funded by the misery of the masses. He is scum, comrades, and dangerous. He will lead a small army to destroy this plant by whatever means necessary."

"What was their original timeline?" Stark asked.

Rasputin looked him square in the eye. "Dawn."

Stark glanced at his watch. "Okay. You're the native, how much time does that give us?"

"About seven hours," Rasputin said.

"Right," Stark nodded. "Rasputin, get out there and round us up some plainclothes; I think we'll be conspicuous wearing this."

"I think you'll be conspicuous wearing almost anything," Rasputin said doubtfully.

"Then your task is difficult but rewarding. We don't have a lot of time." The Russian nodded, stood, and headed for the door. He glanced both ways before strolling into the hallway, hood on his parka up, steel glinting under the fringe.

"Wanted to ditch him so I could follow him to his contacts, right?" Logan said with a grin.

"Not at all," Stark replied. "Get back to the plane. If you have some Tymaz Nine countermeasure, get it. If not, we'll just have to wrap this up and get back to the States as fast as we can."

"You trust the Ruskie?" Logan asked, squinting at Stark.

"I don't think it matters if we trust him or not," Stark said. "This will play out the way it was meant to. The only thing we can do is try to stop that plant from going up."

"Can't let you go, Stark," Logan said, shaking his head. "Without your armor, you'd be in unacceptable danger. Fer cryin out loud, it's gonna be three against a small army out there, and all it takes is one ricochet and you're Stark Soup."

"Listen," Stark said through his teeth. "I'm tired of your constant bickering. I am in control here. This is my plant they're trying to blow up, Logan. While I'm here to say something about it, those filthy thugs are not going to turn my property into a weapon. You got that? You hear that through your metal skull? Now go to the airplane and get the drug." His eyes were cold.

"What about Potts and Lawson and your people?"

"Lawson's on his own; he's lived this long," Stark said. "Potts, though. I'll check on her while you're at the plane."

Logan stared at him for a few seconds. "I hope," he said slowly, "you enjoyed me workin for you. It seems I was too hasty when I signed on."

"You still here?" Stark asked in a soft, lethal voice.

Logan left.