No I in Team

"We are delighted with all who love, as we do, danger, war, and adventures, who refuse to compromise, to be captured, reconciled, and castrated; we count ourselves among conquerors; we think about the necessity for new orders, also for a new slavery – for every strengthening and enhancement of the human type also involves a new kind of enslavement." —Friedrich Nietzsche.

4. From Verona with Love

Location: Bunker Five

02:30 HRS…ish

James was woken by the quiet sound of a door clicking closed. He sat up in bed and sniffed the air, but his bedroom door was an effective barrier, allowing little or no scent to pass. Pushing off his military regulation blanket, he stepped silently on the balls of his feet across the cold floor, ignoring the cool air which chilled his skin to goosebumps.

There were no locks on the bedroom doors, by simple virtue of the fact that most of the mutants would find locked doors little to no obstacle if they decided they wanted to leave their rooms. The corridor was full of myriad smells, but the strongest of them was Bradley. Sure enough, when James glanced down the corridor to the security door which led out of the building, he saw that it was unlocked and ajar.

He moved silently once more, his bare feet cushioning his every step so that not even Victor would have heard him. He passed through the security door, and down another corridor, until he reached a crossroads of sorts; the corridor continued straight ahead, to the grounds of the compound, whilst a flight of concrete steps doubled back on itself, leading to the roof. It was the upper route Bradley had taken, and James followed the young man's scent up the stairs.

The access door to the roof was also unlocked. James knew he oughta be angry that Bradley was out of bed after lights-out, but the fact that he was unlocking security doors was indication that he was recovering well from his actions earlier that afternoon. Or was it yesterday afternoon, now?

When he stepped onto the roof a gust of wind whipped at his hair, chilling his skin further, and he narrowed his eyes against it. He followed Bradley's scent around a few skylight windows, and found the young man sheltering behind a large, covered air-duct, his elbows leaning against the roof-wall, his gaze turned upwards to the clear, starry sky.

"Whatcha doing, Bradley?" James asked, joining the other mutant at the wall.

"I like to come up here sometimes, and look at the stars," Bradley said, not shifting his gaze from those distant, twinkling lights. "When I was a kid, I used to dream of travelling amongst them. Like on Star Trek, y'know? Do you think that's a bit… stupid?"

"Dreams are never stupid. Don't let anybody tell you they are."

"Do you have dreams?"

"I used to," James admitted. He, too, had once been young and idealistic.

"But not anymore? Why did you stop having them?"

"I saw too much." He took a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts. This conversation was starting to take on a philosophical slant, and he wasn't all that good at philosophy. "It was never going to be easy for people like us to fit in and live small, uncomplicated lives. What we are… it separates us, in some ways, from humanity. For a long time, I thought I could have dreams, and I even pursued some of them. I only wanted little things; peace, happiness, a family to care for. I found myself a good woman, tried the whole 'settling down' thing."

"It didn't work out?"

"For a while, it did. But then I had to watch as everyone around me aged, or got sick, and one by one, they died. After thirty years, the woman I loved began to resent me for my youth. I could see that just being near me was causing her jealousy to consume her from within, turning her into something she was not."

"What'd you do?"

James smiled to himself, but it was a bitter smile, devoid of humour. "I ran away. Oh, I didn't do it obviously. But when fighting broke out in Europe, I answered the call to war. Claimed it was my duty to fight. I caught up with Victor, and we spent two years in the trenches of World War One. And after the fighting was done, I didn't go home. Stayed in France for some twenty years, only returning to Canada when I was certain my wife was either dead or too old to remember my face. At the time, I told myself I was doing the sensible thing, but looking back, I can see my cowardice for what it was."

"I never thought I'd hear you, of all people, admit to being a coward."

"Well, that was a long time ago. I've learnt from my mistakes since then. My point is, everybody deserves to have dreams. Just because I don't have them anymore, doesn't mean you shouldn't either. We're both mutants, but we're not the same. You don't have to suffer the curse of immortality, of watching people you care about get hurt and get sick and die. Your dreams, be they of a woman, or a simple life, or of travelling amongst the stars, are yours, and you shouldn't give up on them easily."

Bradley nodded, and rubbed his hands together, finally turning away from the stars to address James directly.

"That exercise we did earlier… is that what it's really like, on a battlefield?"

"No, it's worse."

"When I heard that first grenade explode, everything suddenly became… real. And then it hit me. I could die. For all of Stryker's talk about serving my country, I'm going to be putting my life on the line every time I step out of Bunker Five's doors. Until now, I hadn't realised what that would be like. And now I feel like a coward, for being afraid."

"Do you even know what bravery is?" James asked. This conversation, he realised, was long overdue. It wasn't a conversation that the others needed, because time and experience had taught them all they needed to know, but Bradley didn't have that benefit. The young man had been here three months, and today—or yesterday, whatever—was the first time he'd actually gained an inkling of how dangerous his life would soon become.

"Sure. Bravery is not being afraid."

"No. Bravery is carrying out your orders, doing what needs to be done, even though you are afraid. Why do you think Zero left the trench and went on an offensive? Why do you think Wade stood his ground and defended that breach against two dozen gunmen? They have so much confidence in themselves, in their own abilities, that they've lost their fear. Zero knew he could clear out that compound without breaking a sweat, just as Wade knew he could deflect every bullet shot at him. For them, there was only the physical challenge. Just as you can't have the light without darkness, you can't have bravery without fear. Today, Bradley, you were the bravest man of us all. You proved that, when you went up against your own fears, and won."

"I'm not sure the others would agree with your assessment," Bradley said, but he smelled pleased, and proud.

"What they think doesn't matter to me, and it shouldn't matter to you. If you're lucky, you'll always keep some amount of fear, so that you can always be a brave man. If you ask me, brave men is one thing this world is lacking."

"Thanks, Logan," the young mutant said. "I appreciate the pep talk."

"Don't mention it, k— Bradley." He was going to say 'kid,' but he changed his mind at the last minute. His conversation with Bradley had shown him that the youngest member of Team X wasn't a kid. Not anymore. Not after today. James just hoped that Bradley wouldn't grow up too fast. He knew, better than most, how time could run away with a man if he took his eye off it for even an instant.

o - o - o - o - o

Location: The Middle of the Atlantic Ocean

32,000ft above sea level

16:50 HRS

The airplane dipped, and James' stomach dipped with it. He wasn't afraid of flying—it was just something his stomach didn't agree with. Helicopters weren't so bad, because they didn't fly so fast, and they usually flew low enough that James knew he could jump out without breaking too many bones if he needed an exit route. But planes… they flew too fast and too high, and were at the mercy of the winds, and engine failure, and stray pigeons. No, he didn't fear planes… he just had a healthy respect for them.

One of the air hostesses opened the door to their private, first-class compartment, and gave them a cheerful smile. "Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?"

James would have killed for a beer right then, or even some whisky to help calm his nerves, but he had a mission, so alcohol was out. Stryker replied for the whole team.

"No thank you, ma'am. And if you don't mind, we'd like to be left alone for the remainder of the journey. My team have a big game soon, and I don't want them getting distracted."

"Of course," the hostess replied. If she was offended by Stryker's words, she didn't show it. A true professional. "Good luck with your game, sir."

Game. James snorted. That was their 'cover.' Ordinarily, black-ops missions would see a team parachuting into hostile territory—insertion, they called it—or landing on some out-of-the-way strip. But, as Stryker had pointed out, Milan was hardly some minor back-water; there were no quiet strips near the city, and men parachuting into the middle of a metropolis would look far too suspicious. Besides, Bertelli and his men were probably on edge after their near-miss, and would be on the look-out for any suspicious air activity. By pretending to be a Canadian soccer team travelling to Italy under the guise of competing against European teams, Stryker hoped to fly under the mob's radar—literally.

As soon as the hostess was gone and the door securely closed, Stryker called for attention as he produced a map from his carry-all and taped it to the cabin door.

"As you have already been informed by Logan," Stryker began, "we've been given the task of infiltrating the Italian Mafia, finding incriminating evidence, and extracting a man named Stefano Bertelli for extradition back to the US. Now, at approximately o'five thirty hours tomorrow we'll be landing at the airport in Verona, and, using the false identities provided by the CIA, we'll check into the Metro Hotel. From there we'll take a bus to a designated safe-house in Bergamo, on the outskirts of Milan, and await further instructions."

"Further instructions?" asked Wraith.

"There are a half-dozen or more places where Bertelli could be holed up, and we don't have the time or resources to hit every one. Before we can move, we need to know where to strike. Fortunately, we're not the only ones looking to bring Bertelli to justice. As soon as he fled America, we sent a message to the British Secret Intelligent Service. They've got an operative in Milan who's been working to infiltrate the Mafia for months. Once the SIS operative has located Bertelli, we'll swoop in and pick him up. The operative will arrange transport for us to Bologna, where a plane will be waiting to bring us home."

"As easy as that," Bradley said with a quick nervous smile.

"As long as we follow the plan, it will be as easy as that."

Logan gave Bradley a reassuring nod. Plans were all well and good, and he hoped to hell that this one went as smoothly as Stryker implied, but he knew that could change with only a moment's notice. Plans were like that. The more intricate you made them, the more things could go wrong. He just hoped that Stryker's plan wasn't any more complicated than it needed to be.

o - o - o - o - o

Location: Military Safe-house, Bergamo

Repubblica Italiana

14:00 HRS

The safe-house in Bergamo was a decent-sized manor up in the hills, obscured from the view of the sprawling, red-tiled town by a stand of trees lining the road to the driveway. There was some tension in the air, which tickled James' nose, but it had yet to reach boiling point. For the moment, everybody was keeping their wits about them. Well, most people were keeping their wits about them. Wade was up on the roof frying himself beneath the baking sun. He claimed he wanted to sunbathe, but in fact he was simply sulking because he hadn't been able to check his katanas onto the plane whilst they were State-side. Stryker wouldn't even hear of him making the attempt, and had ordered all weapons to be left behind. He wanted nothing to raise suspicions as they passed through customs, and two katanas would definitely have raised a few eyebrows.

James, of course, had his own natural weapons that he hadn't been able to leave behind, and it was the same for Victor. He knew that some of the men, especially Maverick, felt naked without a gun in their hands, but Stryker had assured them that would be rectified as soon as they had a target.

"What if something's gone wrong?" Bradley said. He was sitting in the airy living room of the manor, playing a game of poker along with Maverick, Wraith and Dukes. Victor was in the kitchen, raiding the fridge for anything that had meat, and James had planted himself beside the window so he could look out over the beautiful vista. Stryker, he suspected, was in the communications room downstairs, plotting and scheming with whomever he as able to contact.

"Nothing will go wrong," Maverick said absently. He was looking at his cards with an expression of intense concentration. From where he was standing, James could see the sharp-shooter had a good hand.

"But what if the SIS agent gets captured, or killed, and we don't know where to find Bertelli?"

"Then Stryker will think of something else," said Dukes. Curious about the big man's hand, James walked around the table. A ten-high straight. Even better than what Maverick had.

"Maybe we'll get time to do a little sight-seeing," Wraith added. "I've never been to Italy before." James noticed the black man held a royal flush. Damn, how had he managed that?

Victor appeared with a ham sandwich in his hands. Dukes eyed it with open envy, but didn't leave his place at the table. He probably thought he could win this hand. Poor fool.

Bradley sighed, and James walked around the table to glance at the young mutant's hand. He held only a pair of jacks.

"Just how much are you playing for?" James asked. There was a pile of money in the middle of the table.

"Ante's twenty bucks, and the pot's up to two-sixty," Wraith said calmly.

"You should fold," James told Bradley.

"Hey, you can't tell him to do that!" objected Wraith.

"I can tell him whatever the hell I want. No point him losing more money than he already has."

"In that case, I fold," Bradley said, tossing his cards face-down on the table.

Victor gave a throaty chuckle. "Looks like someone forgot his suntan lotion."

James glanced up and saw Wade come back in from outside, looking considerably pinker than he had before. In one hand he carried a small Italian phrasebook.

"Where'd you get that?" Bradley asked.

"A kid was selling them outside the airport. Figured I should at least learn the language whilst I'm local. Here," Wade said, handing the book over. "Keep it if you like, I'm done with it."

"You learnt Italian in three hours?" James said. Wade really had been out in the sun for too long if he thought that one was going to fly.

Wade shrugged. "Sì, l'ho fatto. E mi piacerebbe offrire a insegnare, ma avete il cervello di un bue e vorrei probabile morire di vecchiaia mentre l'insegnamento di 'destra' da 'sinistra.'"

"Huh," said Wraith, momentarily forgetting his winning poker hand.

"How do you say 'make me a sandwich'?" asked Dukes.

"I'm not telling you that, but I will tell you the appropriate response," Wade said, flipping two fingers up at the larger man.

Further sandwich demands were cut short as Stryker climbed up the stairs from the basement. It was strange to see him out of uniform, but James hadn't forgotten for even one moment who was the superior officer on this mission. James might be Captain of the team, but the team itself belonged to Stryker. And, by extension, the US government.

"Any word on the SIS operative, sir?" Maverick asked. He folded his hand down, taking himself out of the game, and Wraith groaned at the loss of yet another opponent.

"Not yet," Stryker replied, "but I'm not concerned. I was told that contact would not be immediate. We'll just sit tight until we hear from him."

"How much do you actually know about this operative?" James asked. He wasn't as quick to trust outsiders as Stryker was. In some ways, he was still getting to know his own team. The last thing he wanted was a loose cannon thrown into the mix.

"Only his SIS code-name: Talon. But I'm assured he's the best man to help us achieve this mission. Anyway, I can see you're in the middle of a game. Don't let me stop you. I'd recommend, though, you take it in turns getting some shut-eye whilst you can. Talon could contact us at any moment, and you might not get another chance to rest."

Stryker disappeared back to the communications room, and Victor rolled his eyes.

"Sleep? Who ever heard of sleeping in the middle of the day, in ninety-degree heat?" he scoffed.

"Here in Italy it's called a riposo," said Wade. "Though in Spain, they call it a siesta. Either way, it sounds like a good idea to me. Wake me when it's show-time." He disappeared up the stairs to the second floor, where the windows were open in the bedrooms to allow a cooler breeze to blow through.

"You should get some rest too, Bradley," said James. "Chances are we're going to need your powers soon."

"Alright. But you'll wake me if anything interesting happens, right?"

"Of course."

Dukes sniffed, and scratched his head. "Think I'll get a couple of hours of sleep too."

"Wait, we've still got a round to finish!" Wraith objected.

"Nah, I fold."

"Aww, man! Thanks a lot, Logan," grumbled Wraith. He threw his cards face down on the table, and didn't even bother to look at the pile of money. James smiled, and returned to his study of the hazy Italian vista.

The afternoon passed. The temperature began to cool, mirroring the sky which began to darken. Dukes woke up, and in a charitable moment, offered to cook dinner for everyone in the manor's spacious kitchen. Not long after, Bradley and Wade were woken by the smell of spaghetti bolognaise—what else should a man cook in Italy? Dukes had said—cooking over a hot stove. Stryker joined the team for dinner, then retreated back down to the basement.

A nearby church bell began to toll, marking the tenth hour of the night. James was about to suggest that some of the other team-members get a few hours of shut-eye, when his sensitive ears picked up the sound of an approaching vehicle. Glancing at Victor, he knew his brother had heard it too; the man's head was cocked as he listened to the noise. It was a large vehicle, some sort of truck, James decided, and the engine sounded smooth as it was driven. A well-maintained truck was a commodity in Italy; the drivers here were lunatics who had no concept of the rules of the road. The moped riders were the worst. Suicidal, the lot of them.

"If could be nothing," James said quietly to Victor.

"Since when is it ever 'nothing,' with us?" his brother countered.

James nodded, and addressed the rest of the team. "There's a truck coming. Might be our guy, might not. Could just be some poor lost driver taken a wrong turn out of Bergamo. But until we know for sure, let's have everyone take a defensive position."

The manor turned into a blur of activity as everyone scrambled for a better place. James himself stood in the alcove behind the front door. Victor took a place under the stairs, and Bradley pressed himself in there too. Maverick and Wade crouched behind one of the sofas, whilst Dukes stepped behind the kitchen wall. Wraith teleported himself to the balcony at the top of the stairs. And then everyone held their breath.

The sound of the engine stopped. James heard the truck door open, heard someone drop down from the cabin, and then the door was slammed closed. Footsteps approached the manor. Light footsteps, like somebody stepping softly, tiptoeing to be quiet. Perhaps an SIS agent, or perhaps a mob goon hoping to surprise his would-be attackers.

Somebody rapped loudly on the front door, and James' heart almost jumped out of his chest. He could feel the adrenaline working its way through his body, preparing himself for the worst possible outcome. If this was to be an assassination attempt, then he would bear the brunt of it. His men would not be harmed by whoever was out there.

He stepped forward and pulled the door open, bunching up his fist and preparing to unsheathe his claws should the need arise. But it wasn't a gun-toting Mafia crone he found himself facing; it was a woman. Clad in a skin-tight black suit, with black gloves covering her hands and sturdy black boots which were fastened tight around her lower legs, she stood at her ease, her scent speaking of amusement and confidence. Her eyes were a shade of forest-green he'd never encountered on a person before, and her long dark brown hair was tied back behind her head, allowing gentle, wavy locks to cascade down past her shoulders. Her face was an oval, almost elfin shape, her features fine and delicate. Her pale skin made her appear sculpted from porcelain, and one dark eyebrow quirked up in a questioning way as he stood there looking at her and feeling like an idiot for staring.

"Major Stryker?" she asked, a cultured English accent twisting her words into an almost-song.

"Er, no. Logan." Next to her, he felt like a clumsy oaf. His words sounded completely inelegant, completely inadequate.

"Ahh, I see. Well, I am Talon. I believe Major Stryker's expecting me."

In the room behind him, Logan heard the rest of the team move out into the open.

"Are you going to invite me in, or are we going to discuss our business out here, for all and sundry to hear?" she asked, still smelling of that same aloof amusement.

"How do we know you're really Talon?" Wraith asked. "Do you have any ID?"

"Oh yes, of course. Let me just go back to the lorry and I'll get my purse, where I keep my ID which states I'm a member of my government's intelligence service, and that I'm here to spy on the Italian people. I'll just be a moment."

"ID won't be necessary," James said, opening the door wider to allow her to step inside. "If you say you're Talon, then you're Talon." Besides, if she wasn't Talon, Stryker would probably know. James turned to Bradley. "Go and fetch Stryker."

Bradley nodded and made for the lower staircase. As he did, Wade stepped forward and opened his mouth.

"No," Talon said immediately, treating the former mercenary to a cool-eyed glance. "But you're going to want to go and get my bags from the back of the lorry for me. Run along, love," she said, making a shooing gesture towards her parked truck. Wade only hesitated a moment, then left, and Talon eyed up the rest of the team. Her gaze settled on Dukes. "Be a dear and go and help him, will you? He won't be able to carry them all on his own. A lady's got to have her bags, you know."

Dukes nodded and followed Wade out into the night. James heard the sound of a truck being unloaded, but Bradley returned with Stryker, and he turned his attention back to the room.

"Major Stryker," Talon said, stepping forward once she'd spotted the older man. "Talon, MI6."

"MI6?" asked Maverick.

"Military Intelligence, Section Six. Our name for the SIS."

"Welcome to our safe-house, operative," Stryker said, offering the woman his hand. He looked her up and down, assessing her candidly. "I must admit, I was expecting somebody a little more…"

"Male?" she suggested, shaking his hand. "Yes, I suppose you were. Military and espionage roles have traditionally fallen into the male employment category. I'm sure you'll be more than satisfied with my service, however."

"I'm sure I will," Stryker smiled. James suspected he was going to try to be charming with the woman. "Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink? I know you've undoubtedly been working hard over the past few days, to ensure the success of our joint operation."

"Thank you, but I don't require anything at the moment."

"Very well. Should we begin?"

"In just a moment. I sent two of your boys to unload my lorry. There are items in my bags that I need."

"Ahh, of course."

James watched the whole exchange, trying to decide how this 'Talon' would fit into Stryker's plans… how she would fit in with the rest of Team X on this mission. Now, both she and Stryker smelled cautious, like two dogs circling each other, unsure of each others' intentions. When Wade and Dukes returned with Talon's bags—five large black carryalls—the woman led them to the living room, and stood behind the same coffee table the men had been playing poker on hours earlier. Team X took seats around the room, some on the sofas, some on dining chairs, whilst Stryker himself stood off to one side, as if unwilling to relinquish the floor entirely to the stranger.

"First of all," Talon said, removing her gloves and dropping them onto the table, "I'm going to be blunt with you. I have been working here for months, carefully planning my every move, spending every waking hour dedicated to my mission. Everything I have put into motion is still very… sensitive, and I'm not going to have my plans ruined by a bunch of gun-toting cowboys."

"Actually, I'm Canadian," Wade said.

"Good for you, dear." Talon stepped back, glancing at everybody in turn, including Stryker. "Now, I have all the intel you need to not only extract Bertelli, but to pin enough evidence on him to lock him away for the rest of his life. I'm not just talking about smuggling weapons. That's just the tip of the iceberg. Blackmail, fraud, murder… Stefano Bertelli is a nasty piece of work. If we're going to do this, then we're going to do it my way. We'll be following my plan, and I'll be the one calling the shots. What you do with Bertelli once you've extracted him is your business and I'd rather not know about it, but until that moment, this is still my mission. Understood?"

"If your plan is sound, I have no problem with that," Stryker said, but he didn't smell pleased about it.

"Good." Talon opened one of her carry-alls up, and brought out several rolled up papers. The first one she unrolled showed the schematics of a building; a tall tower-block, by the looks of it. And indeed, she unclipped a photograph from the back of the map, and held it up for the team to see. "This is the Corona Building. It's owned by an engineering company… but that's just a front for the Mafia's operations. This is one of their headquarters, under direct control of Stefano Bertelli."

"Is that where we'll find him?" Stryker asked.

"No. But more on that later." She passed the photo around, and lay the schematic diagram on the table. "The evidence you need to convict Bertelli is contained in a computer, on the top floor of the Corona Building." She tapped the map with her fingers. "Given enough time, I could probably hack it and download the information to a portable hard-drive, but to be honest, machines are not my forte, and I'm not that good. I suggest you send your man Bradley in there, to hack into the mainframe. I can provide you with a security pass-code for one of our intelligence satellites, which you can use to piggy-back the information off, and send it to your own people in America. Faster than downloading to a portable hard-drive, and less risk of losing the data if we're caught."

"Wait a minute," James said, sitting up straighter in his chair, "nobody told you Bradley's name."

Talon smiled. "I'm very good at my job, Captain."

"What about Bertelli?" Stryker asked. He didn't seem concerned that Talon had information she shouldn't know. How the hell had the woman discovered Bradley's name, and known that he'd be able to hack a computer? Were there British spies somewhere, with files on each member of Team X? Had the US government given this woman information about every single one of them, in exchange for her help?

"Bertelli didn't return to the Corona Building when he reached Milan," Talon continued. She pulled another rolled-up map from her bag. "He went straight to one of his safe-houses on the outskirts of Milan. A place called Trezzano sul Naviglio, in eastern Lombardy. Out in what I believe you might call 'the sticks.' Bertelli's wife and three children are there, along with a dozen armed body-guards.

"Now, if we're going to be successful, we're going to need to run a two-pronged attack. One team to hit the Corona Building, the second to move in and capture Bertelli. These manoeuvres will need to be carefully timed to coincide with each other, so there's little chance of one group being tipped off by the other. As I already mentioned, I suspect you'll need to send Mr Bradley to extract the relevant information from the Corona Building, but you should send at least three other men to back him up, as the building is very heavily guarded. I myself will be with the team that captures Bertelli."

"Don't you think it would be better for you to go with Bradley?" Stryker asked. "By the sounds of it, you know the layout of the building well."

"No," Talon said immediately. She suddenly smelled of stubborn determination. And, for some reason, of violence. "I told you that Bertelli is a nasty piece of work, and I meant it. He doesn't have his family holed up with him because he fears for their safety, but because he will happily use his wife and children as bullet-shields for himself. My main concern at this point is to prevent any harm coming to Bertelli's family. If they were killed or injured, it could elicit global sympathy for Bertelli. The diplomatic fallout would be… problematic. Pick your teams wisely, Major, for if anything should happen to those innocent people, I will make sure the whole world knows that your government was behind such actions."

"I see."

"Good." She smiled again, green eyes sparkling in her face. "One more thing. There are two separate groups of security inside the Corona Building. One of the groups—the plain security guards—believe they work for the engineering company which owns the building. They have no idea they work for the Mafia, and many of them would be horrified if they found out. I would greatly appreciate it if your men could limit casualties to the security guards. I'm sure even cowboys can tell the difference between truncheon-carrying men in uniforms and gun-wielding mob members."

Damn, James thought. Talon asked for a lot. No casualties where Bertelli's family was concerned was probably do-able, but no casualties to the security guards? That was going to be far more difficult. Most of Team X had no problem with killing anybody who stood in their way, regardless of whether that person was perceived to be dangerous. Hell, Victor had killed or injured more than one unarmed man in the heat of the moment.

"Well, Logan," Stryker said, watching him with those steely grey eyes. "What do you think of the plan?"

"I think it could work," he replied. Indeed, it was a very thorough, well-thought-out plan. Talon had clearly done her homework, and judging from her steady and determined scent, she'd carried out this sort of operation more than once before.

"Then I'll leave it to you to decide the teams. You've been training the men hard these past two weeks, so I'm sure you'll know where they'll be best placed."

James nodded, thinking quick. "Bradley's team will consist of…" he wanted to say himself. He wanted to be there, to help Bradley, to give the boy the support he needed. But he didn't want to leave the extraction of Bertelli entirely to Talon. His men might not follow her instructions, and James wouldn't be able to live with himself if one of those kids was killed. "…Dukes and Victor," he finished. Hopefully, Dukes would be strong enough—and sensible enough—to keep Victor from killing too many people, and dependable enough to keep an eye on Bradley too.

"Your marksman should go with them as well," Talon suggested, gesturing at David North.

James frowned. He'd wanted Maverick on his team, to pick off the men guarding Bertelli. But Talon was giving him a very pointed look, her green eyes trying to convey more than she could say.

"Alright," he agreed. "And John, as well," he added as an afterthought. If the shit started to hit the fan, John could get Bradley—and anybody else—out of that building fast enough. It did leave his own team a little low on numbers, though.

"Good," Talon nodded in approval. "I wish you'd brought more men; infiltrating and holding that building whilst your electronics man uploads the data to satellite won't be easy. But I suppose we'll just have to make do with what we have. Major Stryker, we're going to need a reliable man with a cool head to drive the get-away lorry, and to handle comms and co-ordinate our attacks."

"That'll be my role, then," Stryker said. "I doubt I'll be as much use in a firefight as the rest of the team anyway."

Talon nodded.

"Uh, question," Wade said, holding one hand up in the air like a schoolboy. "How are we supposed to partake in a firefight without weapons?"

"Your government had some very odd requests," Talon said. She dumped one of the carry-alls onto the table and unzipped it, lifting out two curved long swords. She gave them to Wade, then withdrew a couple of pistols, tossing them to Maverick. "These three bags are full of weapons; a mixture of semi-automatics, pistols, knives… I even got my hands on nun-chucks, just in case any of you know how to use them. The fourth bag has your clothes."

"Clothes?" said Dukes, as if the concept was alien.

"We can't have you assaulting one of the mob's headquarters whilst looking like slack-jawed Yankee tourists, now can we?" Talon said, smelling amused again. "Gentlemen, I suggest you get changed, familiarise yourself with the layout of whichever place you'll be fighting in, and load up your weapons. The night isn't getting younger, and I'd rather not spend any more time than necessary in this bloody hot country."

Author's Note: Just in case you were wondering, it took Team X 24 hours to reach Italy as there were no direct flights to Verona. They had to change over in Gatwick, which added a several-hour delay, during which time Dukes managed to lock himself in one of the public toilets prompting a three-maintenance-man rescue operation, Bradley got separated from the group and wandered around lost for two hours before Logan finally tracked him down, and Wade single-handedly offended almost every female staff member in the airport, narrowly avoiding sparking a major diplomatic incident. But these aren't the things you come here to read about… right?