Disclaimer: I don't own the Fantastic Four—Marvel Comics, Stan Lee, 20th Century Fox, and probably a bunch of other people do. However, if the aforementioned parties feel like loaning out the guys, put me at the top of the borrower's list. Also, I'm not making a penny off of this. I am banned from reading other F4 fan fictions until this is finished, so any similarities to other stories are entirely coincidental. Typos are mine. If you haven't done so, you really need to read 'Oxygen' before this story.

12

"Ambassador? My apologies, but there's a matter requiring your immediate attention."

All eyes in the room turned to the young man standing---quite meek beneath the sudden scrutiny---in the doorway of the office that served Latveria's Ambassador on the rare occasions when he was in his home country. Brescia had been Gorshen's personal secretary for six years. He recognized the representatives from China, Africa, and France and a few of the other dignitaries who were in conference with Gorshen. He would not disrupt such a gathering if it weren't supremely important. Fortunately, the Ambassador knew as much.

Trusting in his assistant's judgment, Gorshen made his apologies to his fellow diplomats and ducked from the office. Brescia directed him to a conference room, where a phone line blinked for his attention. "These meetings can grow tiresome, but we still must be hospitable." It was as close as the Ambassador would come to rebuking the interruption. "What was so urgent, Brescia, that it couldn't wait?"

"I was only told to bring you this…" His assistant handed him a folder as Gorshen settled into a chair. "…and to tell you that General Penscik from our embassy in the United States is holding for you." Brescia gave the Ambassador the required courtesy bow and moved to wait by the door, a discreet distance from the table.

As Brescia watched, the printed message and photos caused the normally imperturbable diplomat to turn quite pale. Gorshen's face remained impassive, but he pulled a pipe from his coat pocket and put it to his lips. He had given up smoking several years ago, but still fidgeted with his old pipe when he was nervous or mulling a particularly daunting problem. Whatever was going on was very bad, the aide knew, if it gave the Ambassador that much cause for concern.

Before he picked up the phone to speak to the general, Gorshen instructed: "Brescia---you'll need to reschedule our guests, and have my personal transportation standing by. I'd prefer to travel by helicopter this time."

A few hours later, the field that served as landing pad for the embassy was abuzz with activity. The Ambassador preferred to travel by helicopter whenever possible, a habit born during Latveria's unstable transitional days of decades past when motorcades shuttling officials were a favorite target of Kubeka's renegade guerrillas and other militias. Today, the urgency of the situation justified air travel. The sooner Gorshen put distance between himself and whatever foe—Victor Von Doom or American 'superheroes'---sought his life, the better. He did not know this 'Rugel Tollen', and knew Von Doom only by his impressive reputation, but lack of acquaintance was no guarantee that the men weren't targeting him for their own personal agendas.

Gorshen had been planning a trip to France anyway, so he decided to simply depart a few days early and leave it to security in Latveria to track down any would-be assassins. Prudence had kept him alive. It helped him bury regrettable pieces of his past where they couldn't be found (until now). It helped him carve out a place for himself when Latveria's democracy was still new. It served him well in his diplomatic duties. He didn't plan to stop erring on the side of sensibility after all these years.

With only cursory nods of acknowledgement, he swept past the crews who were preparing his helicopter for flight. He saw police and armed forces sweeping the grounds and surrounding areas for signs of any intruders and knew the nearby buildings were being cleared. It gave him no sense of safety. Gorshen was more concerned with getting airborne as quickly as possible.

Gorshen recognized the pilot---Captain Rogan, Latverian Air Force, trained in Great Britain---who was giving the aircraft a visual inspection. Mechanics and ground crew handed him charts, while another man in uniform passed along the paperwork and Rogan's orders. The latter offered the pilot a handshake for good-luck and wished him God speed.

Rogan climbed into his seat to find his diplomat passenger already settled into the rear of the helicopter, eager to be leaving. "Good evening, Ambassador," he greeted.

Gorshen managed a distracted, "Good evening, Captain."

The Ambassador was a bit green around the gills, Rogan noticed. He didn't blame the guy---he definitely wouldn't want a death threat from Von Doom if half the stories he had heard were true. The pilot smiled a bit as he donned his headset and ran through the pre-flight checks, working as quickly as he could without compromising safety. "Don't worry, sir, we'll have you out of here soon."

Rogan tapped his earphones, noticing that his communications were unusually garbled by static and interference…and the lights on the console were blinking when they shouldn't be. He cursed. A garbled headset had its upside---Rogan wouldn't have to listen to the Ambassador's long-winded anecdotes and speeches. However, the pilot would not fly if everything on his ship wasn't in perfect working order. If the equipment was on the fritz, the Ambassador was likely going to blow his top. The erratic blinking of the lights was more worrisome. He was going to have to have the mechanics take another look, whether Gorshen was happy about the delay or not…

Then his earphones emitted an ear-piercing screech of static. At the same instant, the cockpit lights flared to blinding luminescence. Rogan cursed again, unprepared for the double assault. When the light abated, he tried to rub away the spots that now danced in his vision.

"Something wrong, Captain?" Gorshen asked from the rear of the helicopter, unable to see what was happening up front.

The pilot blinked. He'd been about to do something important, but what? Rogan tried to recall, but static over his headset made it difficult to think clearly. The noise was almost like a voice in his ears. His eyes were drawn to the dance of lights on his controls. Their pattern had a calming effect, almost hypnotic. What…oh, yes, the Ambassador. He was supposed to deliver the Ambassador…

"Nothing, sir. We'll take off in just a moment," Rogan promised. He never noticed the small box tucked beneath his seat, the box that orchestrated the whisper of the white noise in his ears or the dance of the lights in front of his eyes.

Unnoticed in the commotion, hidden beneath the baggy coveralls and helmet of the flight maintenance crew, and unchallenged thanks to his identification (thoughtfully provided by the Ambassador himself months ago so that his messenger could freely travel between Gorshen and Mufale), Rugel Tollen watched the helicopter life into the sky. The first of the tasks appointed to him had been completed, but he felt no pleasure or pride---no emotions at all, in fact. He'd finish his duties with robotic efficiency, never questioning his orders, and without regard for his own life. He was expendable as long as Doctor Doom's purposes were accomplished.

Tollen would remain hidden for a while longer. Gorshen must be kept running like a cowardly dog from the threat to his life, at least for now. Thirty minutes were needed, thirty cycles of the program being fed through the headset and panel lights, before the pilot would be well under the command of Doom. When the amount of time desired by Doom had passed, Tollen would reveal his presence and allow the embassy's security to neutralize the threat to their Ambassador. By that time, the plans Doom had set in motion would be unstoppable.

Flying usually calmed his nerves, but nothing was helping soothe the agitation Johnny Storm was feeling. He'd moved to the co-pilot's seat, needing a break from Sue's hovering and Reed's watchful eye. It was impossible to collect his thoughts with one of them asking how he was feeling every two minutes and maintaining a vigil like he might freak out and attack them again at any second. He knew they meant well, but the non-stop babysitting was starting to make him feel like a lab rat. Johnny wasn't feeling any more sure of himself at the moment than they were. Truth was, he didn't know if he might wig out on them either. It was unsettling for him to think that he might not be able to trust his own mind right now.

Luckily, when he head for the front of the plane, they took the hint and let him have his space (though he could still feel their eyes on the back of his head, he ignored it). Johnny hoped checking out the completed plane might settle his nerves, but nothing was easing his mind---and the flashing lights of the control panel reminded him too much of the strobes in that playpen Doom and Sater had locked him in.

Reed had set the plane's radar to patch into Latveria's scant satellite network. Johnny didn't want to know how the mega-genius had managed that hack. A small screen in front of Johnny displayed several blips: Two were military jets. The other was the transport carrying Ambassador Gorshen to safety. The Warbird's computer was monitoring the flight for the first sign of trouble.

Lost in his own musings, absently watching the computer track the blips, Johnny nearly jumped out of his skin when Ben came up behind him and bragged about the Warbird: "Pretty slick, ain't she? If you're good, maybe Daddy will let you drive on the way home." He gave the younger man a grin of pure evil. The Thing had been waiting months to use Johnny's own words on the kid.

"Slick? Are you nuts? These controls aren't even close to the specs we made, she flies like a drunk elephant with a Brinks truck on its back, and I don't know what the hell this is…" He popped open a compartment beside the co-pilot's seat and glared at the tangle of wires and fuses jumbled beneath. "…Yeah, that's an in-flight accident waiting to happen."

"It's called design improvement, Matchstick."

"You wanna improve something, start with that mug of yours," Johnny groused. The truth was, considering the rush job Ben must have done to finish her, the Warbird was a beautiful lady. Of course, after they returned to the Baxter Building and Johnny got to show Ben what real 'design improvement' was, she'd be a knockout. She'd separate into four smaller vehicles, just like the original designs had called for. She might even get a new name to go with her improvements, something that didn't call to mind a Klingon space ship from Star Trek. "And I notice the only seat big enough for you is the pilot's chair. That's convenient. I suppose I could just strap you to the nose cone and try out the big chair for myself."

Ben gleefully made a show of settling into the oversized seat of honor in question, enjoying the younger man's petulant glare. Ben was willing to bicker all the way to Latveria and back if it kept Johnny from having too much time to think or to start moping or, worse of all, to start second-guessing himself.

"If you touched my bikes while I was gone, I swear I'll find an industrial-sized rock crusher and drop you in it," Johnny threatened.

"Someone's got a bug up his butt. Not getting' antsy are ya?" Ben tried to make it sound like an off the cuff question, but his underlying concern was still apparent.

All bravado, Johnny snapped his fingers. Instantly, fire covered his hands up to the cuff of his blue uniform. "Nope. I've got me a nice long list of things that Doom and I are going to chat about when I see him," he answered. And when we're done talking, maybe I'll lock Doom in that metal box of his. Or maybe I'll just drop it on him…

Ben snorted at that, "Anythin' that Tin Man has to say about anythin' is a festerin' heap of garbage of the mouth."

Well, that was succinctly put. Ben always did have a way of cutting through the b.s. right to the point. "You're a real poet, Pebbles, know that?" Johnny grinned.

There was something important that Johnny needed to bring up, something that he needed to resolve before they crossed swords with Doom again. He just didn't know how to broach the subject. He knew Ben was the one to ask; Reed or Sue would hit the roof if Johnny mentioned it to them---or they might decide to leave him behind when they took on Doom. If any of them would get where Johnny was coming from, it would be Ben.

Johnny glanced over his shoulder to check that the rest of the family was out of earshot before he spoke up: "I know Reed's not if sure he got all of Doc Sater's commands out of my head yet."

Ben didn't confirm or deny it. He simply watched the controls with exaggerated concentration and waited to hear what the younger man had to say.

"If he didn't, then I don't want you to let Doom use me to hurt anyone else, especially not you guys," Johnny finished.

Ben understood what the kid was asking. Having mulled this subject for over a week, he knew if their situations were reversed, he'd be sitting here asking the same thing from the rest of them. They could stop Johnny front hurting bystanders, even if it was only by the skin of their teeth. But, after facing that situation again and again this week, Ben knew none of them could willingly, deliberately hurt one of their own family.

"Not gonna happen," Ben grunted. The kid looked a bit dismayed by the answer, so the Thing hurriedly clarified: "I mean, Vic couldn't turn ya into Mini-D with Doc Sater's entire bag of tricks to work with, and he ain't gonna do it now…"

"They've got Rugel Tollen!" Reed broke in on their conversation. For a man delivering good news, Reed sure didn't sound happy, they noticed.

He reached past Ben and Johnny to patch the Latverian military frequencies through to the cockpit. Johnny had to fight the impulse to cover his ears when static briefly popped over the speakers. Luckily, Reed hadn't seen him wince.

"Embassy security caught him breaking into Gorshen's office. They shot him. He didn't even try to fight." Reed frowned. Tollen would have been a witness who could have corroborated what happened to Johnny. Doom had silenced him via hypnotically commanded suicide and they all knew it. He'd been ordered to die before capture, just as Baraga had been ordered to suicide bomb that mansion…just as Johnny would have been ordered to die powering more of Doom's thermal cells if they hadn't interrupted the task and saved him. The only reason Doom would sacrifice Tollen before Gorshen was dead was if someone else was the real assassin. The embassy might believe the threat was neutralized, but Reed didn't believe it for an instant.

Ben checked the radar. Over the speaker, their pal Penscik could be heard relaying the 'good news' to Gorshen's flight. There was no response from the helicopter's pilot or the Ambassador. The pilots of the escort jets requested confirmation from Gorshen's flight.

Seconds later, the sounds of something exploding roared over the speakers and the two escort jets disappeared from the radar. I was afraid of that, Reed slammed his fist against the console. He called up the sensor readings. "Surface to air missiles. They weren't a thermal cell explosion," he said, and the Human Torch breathed a sigh of some relief…but only some.

The helicopter changed course, heading for the mountains. "Either that flyboy's got no sense of direction…" Ben said.

Johnny finished the thought: "…Or Doom got to him."

When repeated calls for the pilot to stop and turn back went unanswered, Penscik could be heard requesting more military jets to intercept the helicopter.

"I know we're number one on Latveria's Most Wanted list, but we're closer and we can get to that chopper faster than those jets," Thing suggested.

"Faster?" Johnny raised an eyebrow.

Ben smirked. "Design improvements." He turned to their leader. "Whad'dya want to do, Reed?"

"Why have we changed course?"

Gorshen's questions seemed to fall on deaf ears. His pilot, normally so reliable that he'd become one of a few whom the Ambassador trusted with his life, sat like a statue. The Ambassador had been informed by mobile phone that the man who'd threatened his life had been neutralized. Captain Rogan would have been informed as well. As a precaution, in case the would-be assassin had not been acting alone (for there were some rumors that Doom had arranged the service of one of those American, what did they call themselves, 'superheroes', who might have been behind the destruction of the Arvizu post in Chendryn), the two military crafts escorting Gorshen would stay with him as far as the Latverian border.

The Ambassador already knew that Rugel Tollen would not be the only one coming after him, not if it was true that Victor Von Doom had dispatched the killer. What 'Doctor' Doom wanted with him, Gorshen did not know. How Doom had coerced Mufale's men to turn against him, Gorshen did not know. Gorshen knew who had occupied the Arvizu manor. If such information had been uncovered, then Doom also knew of Gorshen's unfortunate association with the remnants of General Kubeka's regime. In the space of a few hours, the Ambassador's world had collapsed around him and his lifelong aspirations had come to naught.

This had always been a possible scenario lurking in the back of his mind. Extricating himself from Kubeka's network after the change of government, however, had been impossible. Anyone remotely associated with the former regime had been jailed or executed. Gorshen's minor place among Kubeka's soldiers, his part in their crimes, would have been enough to condemn him. Kubeka, and Mufale after him, had blackmailed the Ambassador into serving their needs in exchange for keeping his secrets for him. Treason was treason, and the fact that he had been blackmailed might commute his sentence from death to life in prison, but neither outcome was palatable to Gorshen. He accepted in his heart that, once he was safely on French soil, he would need to disappear and never return to his homeland.

If he ever reached French soil, for as soon as the embassy had notified Gorshen that the threat was over, the helicopter had changed its course. They were heading for the mountains, almost the opposite direction from their original destination. Gorshen pulled on a headset when Rogan ignored his questions and barked at the pilot: "Where the devil are you going! I demand that you---"

There was a streak of light outside the helicopter. Gorshen saw it from the corner of his eye, and just as he turned to the window, the military jets escorting his helicopter exploded into balls of fire. The shock he felt witnessing the sight was made the worse knowing that his own aircraft would most likely perish within a few seconds in the same terrible manner.

That was the moment when a new voice crackled over the headset. "Temper, temper, Ambassador. A man who can hardly serve as a diplomat without learning to master his rage."

Gorshen didn't ask who was speaking or how he'd patched into their communicators. He didn't have to. So, the American had been telling the truth about who was hunting me. "Doctor Von Doom?"

"Just Doctor Doom now, Ambassador. 'Doctor Von Doom' was my father. He died on the slopes of the Chendryn mountains…the ones you should be able to see outside your window right now," Doom said cordially as if he were a tour guide and not waiting to murder the man in the helicopter.

If Rogan was hearing this, he didn't react. Gorshen realized then that Tollen had merely been a diversion from the real threat, the real assassin. Rogan had always been so loyal. How had Doom gotten to him?

"You knew my father, Ambassador," Doom continued. "You served the man who ordered his death…and you still protect the men who served with you back then."

That provided Gorshen with the answer to why Doom wanted him dead. Gorshen, in his past life as Colonel Gorceac, had seen many people in Chendryn killed…a shameful number by his own hands. He could not recall many names or faces, having deliberately blocked that part of his life from his memory. He dared not say so to the madman holding Gorshen's life in his hands.

"Before you waste what time you have with denials, your friends have already explained your detestable arrangement with Mufale and his militia in great detail. The reason we're having this conversation privately is that public indictment of you would embarrass Latveria's government and stain the reputation of our country in the eyes of the world," Doom explained. He dispensed with cordiality and his tone became like ice when he added: "And because a trial would never end with justice for the genocide which you and your comrades unleashed upon our people."

It was a feeble hope, but Gorshen offered: "Name your price."

Instead, Doom pronounced sentence on him: "Blood is only repaid in blood, Ambassador. Captain, if you would be so kind, show Mr. Gorceac to the door."

"Can't you fly any faster?"

"You're not exactly light as a feather, Pebbles."

The two superheroes couldn't travel incognito---a human fireball and a human boulder---even in the daylight. By night, the trail of fire that Johnny left in his wake as he glided through the air was like a giant arrow pointing them out to whoever was lurking in the forest below. The rockets that had taken out Gorshen's escorts had been fired from these hills, from somewhere among those trees. If Johnny were to wager, he'd guess that some of those guerrillas who'd disappeared from the mansion before Latverian security could round them up were now (unwillingly) under Doom's command, courtesy of Sater's program.

This meant that Johnny and Ben had to watch out for the good guys (Latverian armed forces who still might try to shoot them out of the sky) along with Mufale's old buddies.

And it should be real easy to dodge missiles and rockets while I'm carrying a human boulder, the Human Torch thought. Ben's bulk as he hung in Johnny's grasp was creating a nice drag that slowed the Human Torch a bit and hampered his maneuverability. On the other hand, Johnny imagined the Thing would get real hacked off if he tried any fancy aerobatics and lost his grip on Ben. Johnny tried to make up for the loss of maneuverability by flying close to the tree line, trying to present as small a visible target a possible to any unfriendly folks in the area.

No such luck. Before Johnny and Ben were half way to Doom's lair, they heard the crack of gunshots. Bullets whizzed through the air around them, close enough for Johnny to see some passing through his flames. "Whoah!" he shouted.

Ben wouldn't have minded giving whoever was taking pot shots at them a fight, but time was too critical. They didn't know if that for sure if that third thermal cell or space rock or whatever Doom called it had absorbed any of Johnny's powers, but they couldn't take the chance.

That danger was one reason Reed had sent Johnny and Ben to Doom's palace while he and Sue went to help that Latverian diplomat. There was also the possibility that the Latverian army would shoot Johnny on sight, convinced as they were that he'd been behind that attack on the mansion. Since the armed forces would be charging to Gorshen's rescue, Ben and Johnny also suspected that Reed had probably wanted to put distance between them and the Human Torch until he got this mess straightened out. Sue could hide herself if she had to.

If Reed was afraid that some undiscovered post-hypnotic command might make Johnny go off on the Ambassador, he wasn't about to say so. Johnny hoped that wasn't one of Reed's reasons. It was bad enough that he doubted himself right now; he needed his family to believe in him…

The Human Torch dropped closer to the ground, as close as he could get without igniting a forest fire (not that there was too much danger of that with the snow packed deep on the mountain). He wasn't about to toss off any fireballs, in case it was the good guys mistakenly shooting at him. He was in plenty of hot water with the Latverian government as it was. They were so low that a few treetops slapped at the dangling Ben.

"Hey!" he yelped. "Watch the trees!"

"Nag, nag, nag," Johnny joked back.

"Captain, if you would be so kind, show Mr. Gorceac to the door."

Rogan swiftly unfastened his harness. The Ambassador knew he would be dead within a few seconds, and his mind scrambled for a plan to save his own life. If he overpowered the pilot (as Rogan was a trained soldier, that was unlikely), Gorshen did not know how to fly the helicopter. However, he would prefer trying to wrestle the aircraft to the ground than face the death Doom had set in motion for him at Rogan's hands.

Gorshen had not traveled unprepared for problems. Diplomats never carried weapons, but when the Ambassador learned he was target and by whom and why, he had privately decided that it was better to take his safety into his own hands. He was glad that he'd made that choice now, as his hands slipped into the briefcase on his lap and his fingers curled around the small pistol hidden inside.

Rogan climbed from the cockpit into the cabin just as Gorshen pulled the weapon from his briefcase. The fight was over before it began; Rogan tore the gun from the Ambassador's grasp before Gorshen squeezed off a single shot. The pilot slid the doors open and pitched the weapon out of the aircraft.

The diplomat kicked and punched at the soldier. What blows he landed were weak and ineffective, nothing more than a moment's delay in the soldier's task. Rogan worked around the strikes and removed Gorshen's safety harness. Gorshen swung the briefcase. It caught the pilot beneath his jaw, sending him reeling. He lunged at the soldier, trying to shove Rogan out the door first. Again, the soldier was too strong. Rogan got his arms around the Ambassador's throat in a chokehold and began tugging him violently towards the open door.

Gorshen saw the mountain slope and the treetops very far below the helicopter. He dug in his heels, grasped wildly for any handhold, and tried to survive for a few more seconds while knowing that a rescue was never coming. Then, Rogan finally shoved him through the open hatch…

…and the air became a solid, shimmering wall, a barrier which Gorshen bounced off. He fell back into the craft, landing on his back almost atop the equally surprised pilot. They both heard Doom curse over the headset. Doom snapped orders at the pilot. Gorshen paid their exchange no mind. He was too preoccupied with trying to fathom the miracle that had just saved his life. He crawled to the open hatch and peered out.

An aircraft---clearly not Latverian Armed Forces---was flanking the helicopter.

Before Gorshen could wonder who was on board or what they had to do with the phenomenon, the helicopter pitched violently, its engines screaming. The Ambassador was again thrown to the floor as the craft went into a rapid descent…diving right for the mountain slope.

The invisible force that had prevented Gorshen's fatal fall now solidified around him. It materialized beneath his feet. It wrenched the pilot away from the controls and tossed him to his knees beside Gorshen. It filled the compartment and wrapped around both men like a bubble. Then it swiftly lifted them out the door and into the sky.

Gorshen screamed as the translucent force held him and Rogan aloft, in defiance of gravity, with a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the countryside. Nearby, the helicopter plunged into the hillside and exploded. Gorshen still shrieked in terror and helplessness as the airplane also descended towards the hillside and the 'bubble' carrying the struggling Rogan and the Ambassador followed the plane down. The plane made a vertical landing in an open clearing, its engines melting the snow.

After the Warbird touched down, Sue kept her place in the co-pilot's seat, concentrating on maintaining the shield around the Ambassador and his pilot. Reed moved to climb out the cargo doors. Once outside, he stretched himself like a net and caught the duo when Sue released her shield.

Once free, Rogan immediately drew his own pistol from his belt and aimed it at Gorshen's head. Reed snatched the weapon away, his suspicions that the pilot was another of Doom's assassins thus confirmed.

Sue saw the fight from the cockpit and scooped up Rogan with her shield. She knew just what to do with him. As she used her powers to lug the pilot into the waiting titanium box in the cargo bay, blips on the radar caught her eye. She shouted to Reed: "There are about a half-dozen military aircraft on the way here!"

The Ambassador had finally stopped yelling, but his wide eyes regarded the Americans in the strange blue uniforms with fear and suspicion (the 'Fantastic Four', wasn't that what they called themselves?). Reed hoped the man spoke English. There were a lot of things he and the Ambassador needed to resolve in the very brief time before half of Latveria's armed forces showed up.

Gorshen was not a fool. He didn't think the Americans had saved his life only to murder him now…but the rumors about the man of flame and the invisible girl gave him cause to wonder what other intentions they might have. He very much wanted to flee, to escape before anyone had time to mention his past to the soldiers about to join them, but the Americans would no doubt prevent him.

"Do you speak English?" the American man with the dark hair and graying temples asked.

"I do," Gorshen acknowledged. Talking was good. If he could talk, he could usually bargain his way out of any bad situation.

Reed grabbed him by the collar and gave him a shove in the direction of the downed helicopter. "Then we need to do some negotiating, 'Ambassador'."