Title: Power Behind the Throne Part 5

Author: Ethiercn

Rating: MA

Disclaimer: Marvel owns them; I'm just playing around.

As Vance drove the car up the road, the ramifications of his hasty plan came home, but with that new fear came the strange assurance that this plan was the right thing to do. Suddenly, he pulled over to the shoulder and got the suitcase out of the car. He rummaged though it. There, he had seen it. He took out the hair dye, and darkened his hair. Maybe, he thought darkly, this guardsman was also hiding something. He hoped that Nova and Nita could get some information.

He got back in the car and drove up to the mansion. The road straightened out and led to a gatehouse where a cliché guard lounged. Vance stopped and handed his papers to the guard. The man studied the papers and then looked towards Vance, who forced himself to stay relaxed. "You want to see Thomas Chase when you reach the house," the guard said as he handed back the papers before waving Vance though the gates. Vance nodded. His shoulders slumped in relief as he drove up the drive, taking note of the placement of the cameras. The drive led to a mansion with a pool and a carriage house. Vance parked the car, got out, and looked around. A man came out of the house and circled around the pool heading towards Vance. "You," he shouted, "You're the new man, aren't you? Ralph Iston?"

"It's Ralph Linton, sir," Vance corrected wondering if the mispronunciation had been a test. He hoped there wasn't a secret handshake.

The man nodded, "I'm Thomas Chase. Master Shaw's lieutenant." He shook Vance's head. "This way."

As Vance wondered if Thomas Chase was related to Angel's Randall, the man in question led him to the garage and then up a flight of stairs to an apartment that also housed an office. "These are my quarters," Chase said taking a seat behind the functional but highly unstable desk in the front room and gesturing for Vance to sit down in the opposing chair. Chase leaned back in his chair and studied the papers to a far greater degree than the guard at the gate had down.

"Everything seems to be in order, "Thomas frowned slightly though. "Any reason for the glasses?"

"My eyes are sensitive to light, sir" Vance replied. He wanted to wear the glasses as much as possible, anything to make him look other than he was; however, he took them off. Wearing them too much might make Thomas overly suspicious.

Thomas now gave Vance his full attention, and the Warrior worried that he had been recognized. "This problem" Thomas asked, "Is not going to interfere with your duties?"

"No, sir. It's nothing like that. Mostly just outside light."

"Humph," Thomas turned back to the papers. In truth, given Master Shaw's fall from power, there were so few people they could use that at this point they would take just about anything. "You will have to wear your mask anytime you leave your barracks, unless Master Shaw or I tell you otherwise. We are housing a reluctant guest of interest to Master Shaw. While she is to be treated with respect, we do not want her to leave the grounds unattended or use any phone. We prefer that she sees the guardsmen as faceless, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. Who is she?" Vance couldn't resist asking.

"You would know her as Firestar," Thomas replied. "Is anything wrong?"

Mentally cursing himself, Vance shook his head, "It's just that everyone's heard about what she did to the White Queen."

Thomas let out a harsh bark of laughter. "You're working for the ousted head of the Hellfire club who's engaged in a power struggle, and you're worried about a girl?"

"The rumor sir. . ."

"Is true. But we have her controlled. She disobeys; we kill her father and the families of her friends. We monitor them, you see. Should she try to gain access to the cameras, stop her and inform myself or Master Shaw. Make sure that any news she sees does not contain information about the Warriors. We have told her that Justice is dead and do not want her to discover otherwise. You will be required to train with her, for Master Shaw is going to need all of us to regain control. Is this a problem?" He stared at Vance.

"No, sir. Everything is clear sir."

"Good. I'll show you where you bunk."

Evening

Angelica sat at the end of the dinning room table and watched Shaw cut his steak. His hands shook more today, she noted, far more than yesterday. Once again, she wondered what illness gripped him. There were no books in his library that had been able to help her. She noticed, as well, that on days when Shaw was sicker, Thomas was grouchier.

"According to Thomas, you are progressing quite well," Shaw said suddenly, breaking the standard and uncomfortable silence that usually reigned over dinner.

Angel glanced at Thomas. "It would be easier if I knew what you wanted me to do," Angel pushed the food around her plate. It always tasted of ash, but if she didn't eat, there would be threats. Even now she could feel Thomas's angry eyes on her. She took a bite of food.

"You'll know soon. Perhaps next week."

Angel looked up from her plate. "And after that?"

Shaw frowned, "We'll see, daughter."

The word didn't sound right coming from him. Angel put down her fork. "You got the tests back?"

Shaw picked up a glass, nodded, "I still have enough money to rush things along." He took a slip of his drink. Not alcohol, Angel thought, for there was never any sign of wine bottles or decanters at this table. Once, she had been able to get a sniff of it and couldn't place the smell. "The tests confirm what I believed. You are in fact my daughter." Shaw continued.

She felt Thomas's eyes on her, could feel his smirk. The news at first put a pit of cold in her stomach, but that swiftly melted to be replaced as anger. He thought that would change things? Nothing changed, and Shaw had to be lying. She sensed though that Shaw was waiting for something, anything. "I watched that show on Rembrandt's Night Watch," she said, referring to the DVD Shaw had given her a few days ago.

Now Shaw gave her his full attention, "And what did you think daughter?"

She couldn't stop the wince that the last word caused, "That I would've liked to know a bit more about the young girl in the painting, like why she has a chicken. I liked the whole thing about rolling it during World War Two."

Shaw looked like a master whose pet dog had performed a trick. He then quizzed her, not only about the program and the painting, but about art history in general and her views on current theory. Sometimes, she noticed a slight nod when she made a point or countered a point he made. She hoped that he thought this was some form of bonding, maybe than she could get a little more freedom. "Perhaps, "he said finally, "We'll go to Amsterdam and see it."

It was the way he said; as if he were giving her a reward for a job well done that irked her. Surely, he didn't fully buy the act, but she kept quiet. If they were to travel, her chances of contacting someone multiplied.

Suddenly, Shaw let out a large fit of coughing. He reached out a shaky hand for his glass, but knocked the elegant goblet over. Shaw doubled over in his chair, shaking violently as he coughed. Thomas quickly rose and went to the sideboard, where he opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle. He righted the glass and poured some of the contents into it. He knelt beside Shaw and gently pressed the glass to Shaw's lips. He gestured for Angel to leave.

Lost in thought, Angelica hurried out of the room and stumbled into a guardsman. The man grasped her arms to steady her. She looked up at him. She thought the eyes widened behind the mask. He squeezed her arms gently before he tried to pull her closer.

What was with everyone, she thought angrily as she yanked her arms from his grasp, pushed past him and hurried off, strangely shaken by the encounter.

Shaking, Vance turned to watch her go. He had never seen anyone look so alone

Next Day

"That's it," Thomas shouted. "Firestar and Team A you can hit the showers. Team B, you need more practice." Distracted by worries about Shaw, Thomas turned and began to go over Team B's additional exercise.

Angelica watched as the other men walked out of the practice room. No one was watching her at the moment. As she left, she stood next to the computer and behind a few guardsmen. She quickly entered a code, followed by a program sequence and a timer as she once seen Thomas do. Hopefully that would keep them distracted long enough for her to enter the barracks.

Angelica stepped out the house and looked around. No one was around. She made her way quickly over to the barracks where the guardsmen slept. She circled the building, making sure there was a second door. She flashed the keypad lock, temporary scrambling it long enough for her to get inside. The first room was a common room with a huge flat scan TV, fridge, coaches, chairs, and a computer, but no land line phone. She turned on the computer and frowned when it asked her for a username and password. She tried the code she had used on the practice room computer. It didn't work. "Damn," she whispered and entered the bunk room

Bunks with lockers on the side made up the entire room. She opened first locker, quickly shuddering at the pin up that greeted her. She didn't know what she was looking for, and then, the next locker had a cell. She stared at the small phone. Excited and hopeful, she picked it up and then stopped. What if the user discovered the call? What of he connect it to her? If he did, what would Thomas and Shaw do to her father and the others? Could she risk it? She dithered.

The keypad to the front door sounded.

She cursed. Put the phone back in the locker, closed it quickly. Then hurried to the back door. Stupid she told herself.

Vance entered the dorm and walked to his locker. He had forgotten his cell phone, something that he should not have done, but discovering Angel here, and seeing her this morning without being able to say anything, to watch her struggle and look so alone, had thrown him. He opened his locker and frowned. His phone had been moved. He turned and looked out the window, and saw Angel go back into the house.

He smiled, perhaps Jack hadn't deserved the chewing out he received for the fault programing of the practice room computer.