Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.
9. Business Dinner
"Mademoiselle Chantal Moreau," the waiter announced as Mystique entered the restaurant's private room.
The four men in the room were standing by the window, sipping their appetisers. Vincent Gautier motioned towards a small table and offered her a drink.
"I do not drink before business," Chantal said softly, even if Mystique would have welcomed a drink. Nevertheless, her alias was a beautiful young woman who dressed conservatively and spoke in a low determined voice, eyes usually downcast, and Mystique knew how to remain in character despite any personal desires of the moment.
The men must have been talking about the missing operative, the one Hyde and his team had spirited away, but naturally they wandered towards the table. Owen Nills was so anxious he had developed a new nervous tick, his right hand fingers drumming against the table. Mystique could have laughed at the runt. Instead, she let Chantal's blue eyes go through every man: Vincent on her right, face tense but composed; the sweating Owen sitting next to a muscular soldier who barely fit in the suit he was wearing and was obviously Owen's new bodyguard; Roland Moulin, a grim slim blonde in his late fifties; and a tall mousy haired man she hadn't met before.
"What happened to Monsieur Picard," she frowned lightly at the glass as one of Roland's men filled it water.
Her periphereal vision could clearly take in the way the men glanced at eachother.
"He was required elsewhere," Moulin smiled tersely and picked his own glass of wine.
Chantal Moreau lifted her head slowly and looked intensely into the Frenchman's blue eyes.
"If you ask Monsieur Gautier," she gestured towards Vincent, on her right, "he will tell you that I am resourceful and that I maintain myself well informed."
There, she had made her stand. Now she once more downcast her eyes and picked her glass of water, sipping softly. No one corrected the previous statement, though. It always annoyed her, how paternalistic businessmen were when she presented herself in the guise of women.
"I know Monsieur Picard is missing," she returned the glass to the table without looking at anyone. "I wish to know if that disappearance will affect our business in any way."
She glanced up at the man for a moment, to make sure he understood she was not to be rebuffed.
"It won't."
"Who has taken him?"
Roland's men, fulfilling their roles as the waiters for the evening, were now serving the starters. She could feel the delicate aroma of balsamic vinegar over the artistic crab salad.
"We are still investigating."
Liar. Mystique was well aware that all the operatives had a chip inserted that allowed their movements to be monitored. There were a lot of places that were rigged so as to interrupt devices from giving away their location, but unless Hyde knew about the chip, Roland would have been able to follow the missing operative all the way until the signal disappeared. Then again, if Hyde (and his supposed team) knew about it, he would have neutralised it. Or, if that team was who she suspected they could be, maybe they had the means to block the signal from the get go. Still... She had been furious when the man, Picard, had disappeared. She had expected a body to show up the following morning but, obviously, she had confused Creed's habits with Hyde's. It was extremely rare for Sabretooth to take a job that didn't include as quick a kill as possible.
"Someone has dropped me a word," she almost whispered, looking at the starter. "Picard may have been compromised."
There was a moment of silence as everyone picked their forks to taste the delicacy. Assuming the man had not yet been killed, he would be shortly; and if Hyde was after intel, she'd know about it soon enough. Mystique had spent the entire day going over the possibilities. She'd been such a damn fool! As exciting as the man might be, she was old enough, and had been through enough, to know better. But she liked the thrill of playing with fire, didn't she? And dear old Vic' had always been a very alluring type of fire. Hyde didn't seem as explosive, which was definitely an improvement, and then he had the added pleasure of a mystery to unravel. Oh well, she was old enough, and had been through enough, to know how to turn silly mistakes to her advantage.
"Will it be inconvenient if I ask about the situation of my order?"
The tall man cleared his throat. "Not in the least, mademoiselle."
His French seemed fluent but he had a clear American accent. She allowed herself to look him straight in the eye.
"Monsieur..."
"Samuel Greer," she nodded and returned her attention to the plate. "We have already positioned our assets and the merchandise you require has been assessed and evaluated."
That was what she had paid for so far. They wouldn't take another action until she paid the fees for it.
"And what value have you come to?"
She finished her starter and interlaced her fingers.
"Two hundred thousand."
Well, having in mind the difficulty of the target, it was definitely not unreasonable. She nodded as the men started collecting the now empty starter plates.
"Monsieur Gautier has already created an account for you to bid on some token items," Owen Nills explained. "You will pay the whole amount over a period of three weeks. The instalments will vary between a few hundreds and a few thousands."
That was a new system. Picard's disappearance must have gotten them nervous enough if they were tightening their security measures. Chantal waited for the main course to be brought to the table before awarding Owen Nills and Samuel Greer a small smile of acquiescense.
"And where are we on the Gulo Operation?" Going nowhere, as she well knew.
"We will probably resume our attempts in a month," Roland offered.
That would simply not do. Mystique looked up to meet Roland's blue eyes.
"What if I tell you I may have a way to lure him here, to Paris?"
Owen Nills fidgeted nervously.
"When?"
"It could be next week, it could be next month." Or it could be tomorrow, if Mystique's suspicions were right and Roland didn't wait any longer to sever any ties to the missing operative. "But the excuse to get him here will have nothing to do with hate crimes or the like. I expect he may even be in an unsuspecting frame of mind." All the men exchanged glances. "I will need the appropriate weaponry, though."
"Obviously," Roland muttered.
Perfect. Since it was time to change the topic again, Chantal got up and reached for her handbag.
"Monsieur Greer, I have brought something with me that will help you bring my merchandise safely to my side."
The man pushed the chair back, in order to see her actions. She took two small wrist watches from the bag under his intent gaze and held them out to him.
"Image inducers. They have already been programmed and I suggest that you, very literally, use a couple of black couriers."
She said it with a straight face and, once he picked the two devices, she returned to her seat.
"We haven't yet discussed the delivery address."
No, they hadn't. She considered several possibilities thoughtfully. A sudden memory had Mystique laughing inwardly while Chantal maintained her contemplative expression.
"Spain sounds like an agreeable place."
Logan walked down to the detention area. Now that the little girl had calmed down and Scott had managed to lock Creed in a much needed Danger Room session in order to kick off some steam, Logan was feeling edgy. He had joined Scott, watching over Creed's session, but it had only made him itch harder. He might be just reacting to the tension in the place, but Logan figured that interviewing their guest might help him blow some steam himself.
Emma hadn't managed to get much intel from the man because he hadn't known much in the first place. He had not known anything about kidnapping former mutants and he didn't know any details about the fidgety American, Owen Nils, he had been ordered to keep safe. Creed could have picked a better target. Owen Nils, for example.
Just as he was getting to the detention area, his cell phone started ringing. Bishop.
"Hey, Logan. Is something going on? Neither Cyclops nor Frost answered my calls."
Logan smirked. "Emma spent the whole day goin' over Picard's mind. He had a lot o' trainin' 'gainst telepaths an' she's gone down with a hell of a headache. She won't be alive fer the world 'fore tomorrow. As fer Scotty, he's got his hands full with Creed."
"Oh?"
Hesitating slightly, he ended up admitting that the guy had reacted badly to the news.
"He sure didn't seem bothered on the jet."
"Yeah, well, it turned out the woman has a history o' miscarriages 'cause of a blood condition, so he just figured it was more o' the same. When he realised her blood condition had had nuthin' t'do with it this time, and that she had lost his would-be son 'cause o' physical and emotional stress, Blue's words, he almost flipped. Then the kid started sayin' we had said her Mamma was a coward and he really did flip."
"That's starting to sound like a soap."
Starting? It felt like being knee deep in one. Logan looked at the screen next to the detention room door. Picard was lying on the cot, eyes open.
"Ya want me ta tell Scott somethin'?"
"Yes. Mystique has just come out from some sort of dinner meeting. Owen Nils and Vincent Gautier were part of it, as well as some other men we haven't yet been able to identify."
Right. Logan growled lightly under his breath. This whole soap opera, as Bishop had put it, had come at the worst time.
"Look, I don't think Creed'll be in the right frame o' mind t'go back t'Paris any time soon. The girl's a bit messed up and Isabel hasn't come to yet. Just try t' identify everyone connected t'Gautier an' then send us files on 'em."
"Will do," Bishop grunted. "What about..."
What the f... Logan stopped listening to Bishop the moment he saw Picard's face distort in pain. He darted into the room but there was nothing he could do: it looked as if a telepath was frying the guy's brains, with blood oozing from the man's nose and ears.
Logan pushed an intercom and shouted for Hank to come down, now! Nevertheless, he knew there was nothing to be done. Picard was dead. But how?
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