Title: Power Behind the Throne Part 08
Author: Ethiercn
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Angel stared out of the limo's tinted window. Too dark to see much of anything, it was still a better option than staring at the two men. Thomas sat opposite her and Shaw, staring at the road behind them when he lacked in-coming information to focus on. Sometimes his leg absently brushed against hers, but unlike earlier in the evening, the contact lacked any suggestiveness. Shaw stared out the window, his fingers drumming lightly on the car door. After all the surprises of the day, she felt tired and drained. She closed her eyes for a second.
"How did they know where we were?" Shaw asked suddenly turning to Thomas.
Angel jerked slightly, the sound of the voice drawing her back from the step before sleep.
Thomas closed his Blackberry and slid it into his pocket. "Someone let something slip. My money is on the Black Queen." He opened his jacket and took a sip from his bottle of water.
"Our men?" Shaw persisted.
"Vetted as much as possible. The only questionable one might be Ralph," Thomas replied, and Angel hoped she hadn't tensed at the mention of Vance's alias. "But I don't think that is likely," Thomas continued. "It would've been wiser to take us out en route. If Ralph is behind it, we weren't the target."
Shaw nodded, "Do you think it was Shinobi?"
"Doubtful," Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. "Gamesmaster himself, maybe. But not Shinobi himself. Someone else would be my best guess."
Shaw grunted.
"Why?" Angel asked when both men seemed to stop talking. She drew a look from Shaw and cocked eyebrow from Thomas who loosened his tie and stretched out his legs. "I mean, why all this," she continued, "The Hellfire Club stared as a gentleman's club, didn't it?"
Shaw actually chuckled. "Wikipedia?"
"No. Professor MacHenry."
Shaw looked thoughtful for a moment. "He is correct, at least for the start of the club."
"That's why women are struck wearing underwear," Angel muttered. The corset felt more restricting by the hour. Thomas laughed, and Shaw allowed himself a smile.
"He also must have told you that the founders were men of means," Shaw looked at her, and she nodded. "Eventually, the men realized that the purpose of the club should be power, at least in the inner most circle. So the men started to use their influence to first expand their personal wealth and then to safeguard such wealth, to control the ruling power. Finally, members of the inner circle became almost solely mutants."
"So it's a version of what Magneto wants?" Angel asked.
Shaw shook his head and leaned closer. "Magneto has a cause, one he believes to b altruistic. We're more honest. For us, mutant powers are a means to an end, nothing more. They make controlling real power easier. A subtle word here or there can influence events in ways."
"This whole thing is because you want to be a kitchen cabinet?" Angel asked.
"See Thomas, some people her age do pay attention in class," Shaw looked back at her. "Not quite. Humans, mutants, animals. It's all the same. It's all about power. That is what life is, the gaining, wielding, and keeping of power. It is better, far better, to wield power out of sight, out of the news. Makes you less of a target, as you must know considering how often your power has made you and your father targets." Shaw didn't even look guilty, just as if he were imparting an important lesson. "It's about being in control."
"In control?" Angel asked and then bit back the comment about his son that was on the tip of her tongue. If that was how he saw the world she was sorry for him.
"It's the only game that matters. I play to win. I'll teach you like I've taught Thomas."
While Thomas smiled at her, Angel looked at her window. At least, now she had a better judge of the worthlessness of Shaw's promises. A touch on her hand drew her attention away from the lack of scenery. Studying her, Thomas had leaned forward in his seat and taken her hand, "Should I help you out of your clothes and deliver the promised tutorial?" His eyes traveled the length of her body as she flushed, yanked her hand from his grasp, and angrily shook her head.
"It's coming up," Speedball announced to the Warriors from his position in front of the computer's console. He looked over his shoulder and saw the huge form of Rage blocked out the view for the rest of his teammates. The bouncing wonder punched a few keys, and Firestar's sketches and other information that Justice had sent blinked up on the additional screens. "The files seem okay."
"I hadn't realized that Firestar was this talented," Thrash murmured in a voice that hinted at plans for the future as he studied the sketches.
"Or that devious," Nova added in reference to her hiding place.
"She got a scholarship," Justice rebuked. "She's quiet. Not stupid."
"How's she doing?" Nita asked, her eyes flashing over the information on the screen.
"Hanging in there," Justice paused, and the others could hear the background noise of the distant cyber café. "Shaw says he's her father."
Nova whistled, "Is it true?"
"She's adopted, right?" Nita asked.
"And that's why you guys need to find out. 'Star doesn't believe it, but we need to know for sure."
"We haven't found too much yet," Nita said. "Just birth dates for Chase, general education background. He went to Harvard, has a business degree. But it's only been a day."
"We'll see what we can find out about these men in the sketches, but it will take time,"
Thrash added.
Nova glared at him. "We haven't found the goon squads yet either," his tone saying that this was the more important piece of information.
"You need to. Soon," Justice demanded. "Chase pays too much attention to Angel. He's too touchy. He's always there."
"I understand," Thrash said and ignored Nova's snort. "But's not like we can just press a button. . ."
"Shaw hit Angel," Justice interrupted. His voice tense. "I'm not sure I can watch . . .I don't think I can. . ." he paused. "I don't want Angel to be in a situation where she has to take a beating or worse simply to protect us."
"It wouldn't come to that," Thrash began.
"It might," Nita interrupted. "And Firestar . . ." she shook her head. "I'm not going to let this happen to the rest of you again. The Sub-Marnier declared before flying off.
"Be safe, Supertights," Nova called as he followed Nita out of the skylight.
"I don't understand," Bart Jones tried to keep his temper in check as he looked at Professor Charles Xavier. "Why can't you help?"
"From what I understand, your daughter's teammates are looking for her," Xavier began from his position behind his desk.
"They say they're looking for her," Bart countered, shifting restlessly in his leather seat. He looked across the desk at the other man. He found it hard to meet the Professor's penetrating stare. "But they got her into this mess."
"Perhaps that is true," Xavier began again. "But I'm not sure what you expect me to do."
Bart frowned," You're a mutant expert. There must be some way to find her. When Angel first discovered she was a mutant, Emma Frost appeared so quickly. She had to know some how." He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.
Xavier hid his surprise at Bart Jones' guess about Cerebro. That hadn't gotten out, he hoped. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jones, but it's not that simple. In situations like this, it's best to let the team handle it. They have resources."
"You mean you won't help," Bart interrupted his clutching at the arms of the chair. "If she's not one your own special mutants than she doesn't matter."
"Mr. Jones, I know you're upset, but I've met your daughter and she's more than capable of handling yourself." Xavier replied, letting the outburst pass.
Bart narrowed his eyes. "Met her? When?"
"When she was at the Hellfire Academy," Xavier didn't go into details.
"So you knew Frost and just let Frost . . ." Bart sputtered in confusion. What was this, some elite club?
"Mutants run in small circles, too small sometimes," Xavier shook his head. "I can tell you that Frost is not behind this, at least. She is indisposed at the moment." In a coma, in the mansion's sub-basement, Xavier added mentally. "Mutant lives aren't always peaceful; the best thing is to let her friends handle it."
"I know that Professor," Bart rose. "I knew from the minute Angel discovered her powers her life wasn't going to be easy. But her team didn't protect her they should have. It seems to me that if you want peace for mutants, you should help more of them."
Professor Xavier sighed. "I'll see if I discover anything, Mr. Jones," he said as he wheeled himself out from behind his desk. "And let you know." He offered Mr. Jones his hand.
With a nod, Bart shook Xavier's offered hand and left.
Xavier watched Bart Jones get into his car and then left the bay window heading for the sub-basements. While he wasn't about to admit the existence of Cerebro to Mr. Jones, he didn't intend to let this bit of news go without checking up on it. Time to find out what happened to the rest of the old Hellfire club. "Warren," he called mentally. "I need to see you and Hank."
Bart Jones slammed the car door and clutched angrily at the steering wheel. He wanted to pound the damn thing, but he didn't want to give Xavier the satisfaction. Asshole, he thought. If Angel had been one of those X-Factor mutants, he would've helped. Bart yanked on his seat belt, started the car, and took off down the drive. He turned at the gate and head back to the expressway. Now what, he questioned. Maybe the Avengers could do something. Didn't they avenge? Maybe Spider-Man. Angel, Firestar, had worked with him, according to the news.
Suddenly, the car skidded. He corrected it quickly. It couldn't have been ice, he thought as he slowed down. Too warm for it. If not the Avengers, than maybe X-Factor. He was a tax payer. The government worked for him, stupid money hungry politicians. He saw the sign for his turn, flicked the turn signal, and eased up on the gas.
Or that's what he intended to do.
Instead, his foot slammed down hard on the gas. "What?" he shouted as he tried to stop the car, but his feet refused to obey him. He couldn't even turn the wheel. Is this a stroke, he wondered as the rest of him panicked. His hands wanted to turn the wheel, to send the car careening off the road. "NO!" he shouted, regaining, somehow, control of his hands and corrected the course of the car.
"Damn!" he heard someone curse inside his head. He felt a sharp pain in his chest.
The last thing he saw was the huge sheet of ice, an impossible sheet of ice, ahead of him. The car skidded one last time, went off the road, and slammed into a tree.