Levine felt the sweat under his skin, ready to break forth and ruin his cover. He walked through the hall, his hands in his pockets, trying to look as tired as he felt. If, by chance, anyone saw him, they'd just assume he was another exhausted agent walking through the halls.
If anyone recognized him, he could use his tiredness as an excuse. Just an old-timer, getting lost in the halls he used to know like the back of his hand. Pity him, he's not what he used to be. It was a pretty good strategy, and one he had the feeling would work, even if his pride would take a blow.
At the same time, in his head, he kept asking himself what the hell he thought he was doing. When it came down to it, Charles Xavier was probably less trustworthy than the CIA. Sure, they'd done some iffy things over time, but they'd always taken care of him.
They'd humiliated Moira, but Charles had humiliated her first. It hadn't looked good and, while he was angry that all her dependability had been swept under the rug, he knew they'd been frightened. It was an uncertain world they were living in now, they were all living in.
He took casual strides down the hallway. He knew there wasn't any surveillance right now or, at least, none that could catch him. He'd cut his teeth in stealth remembering the way the cameras moved. They hadn't changed since then.
It had been a game once, trying to avoid them and test his skills. However, he knew what a mistake would mean. He could see the headlines right now, the shame his family and friends would feel if he was caught.
So, again, why was he doing this? He thought of his friend, thought of the trouble she was in. He bit his cheek, praying that he was doing the right thing. Yes, the CIA might be more trustworthy, but there was likely a leak. Other agencies were tussling in, and politics were being played out. At least Charles had no other interest in the matter other than finding and saving Moira.
Levine saw the doorway and, as quietly and smoothly as he could, slipped inside. There was a keypad, but he'd already swiped a young bookkeeper's ID card earlier. The boy was young enough that, if he got back fast enough, he could make him think he'd temporarily misplaced it.
He slid it and entered. The cabinet files were lined up against the walls, and he began skimming them quickly. He knew how they were organized. Levine was glad that no one ever seemed to update anything.
Find anything?
You know I haven't, Levine thought irritably.
Yes, of course.
Levine rolled his eyes and found the files. He opened the drawer quickly and thumbed through it.
Do you know anything other than Scotland? he asked, Might make this go a little faster.
No.
Of course. Sonuvabitch.
The last part had been a mistake, and he wasn't sure if it made it through. He was still pretty new to how all of this worked. Charles was silent though, so it seemed like it had worked out somehow. He sighed and continued searching.
It was a few minutes and one paper cut later that he found the list he was looking for. There were three pages, each filled with a mixture of type and Moira's neat, but cramped, handwriting, from top to bottom.
Can you see all of this? Levine thought.
Yes. Run your eyes over it once more. I can tap into it again later in your mind and read it over then.
Levine did so with each page, barely looking at the words. He didn't know how much time he had.
Good. Yes. Now get out.
You don't have to tell me twice, Levine thought.
He put the file back, sloppily jostling the folders. As he did, something caught his eye on an adjoining file. It had handwriting on it, but it wasn't Moira's. At the same time, it was familiar.
Levine?
One second, thought Levine.
He pulled the file out. It took him a moment but, after a quick flip, he found the part where the agent had signed off for a requisition of parts. Levine felt himself slump slightly when he saw it. Agent Platt.
It had been a long time since he'd thought about the man who'd brought him and Moira to his compound. He'd heard that a teleporting mutant had broken in, dropping most of the people in the compound to their deaths. That had included Platt, a man Levine had quite liked.
He flipped through the sheet again. It soon became clear this wasn't part of Moira's research. The parts weren't wholly unfamiliar, but it was fairly routine. Platt had been much higher than Levine at the time, in charge of a whole slew of agents.
Still though, the more Levine looked over the list, the more he frowned. What was Platt building? Some sort of giant computer? It had a lot of the parts, especially given the year he was trying to build it in, but it was also odd. Why did he need zoning permission for a whole new building?
He flipped another page, and saw that he was building it for one of his scientists.
Don't you know a Hank McCoy? asked Levine, I mean, I know he was one of Platt's, one of your super teens, but I think Moira mentioned he teaches for you now or something.
He does. Levine, I think that's a requisition list for Cerebro.
He furrowed his brow, trying to remember what that was.
Is that that thing you used to find all those teens? he asked.
Yes. I have a newer model myself, more efficient, more practical, Charles thought, That said, it's a little odd that this list was put near Moira's research.
It's the filing system, Levine thought, starting to put the folders away, They're trying to keep all the information they have about mutants in the same place.
Charles's alarm came through so strongly that Levine sat bolt upright.
Jesus!
Levine, you need to take that out of there, Charles thought, They can't have that!
Why?
Because they know it's for mutants, thought Charles, They know that it finds them. I'm not letting the CIA have a way to find mutants whenever they want. Get that out of there!
Levine pinched the bridge of his nose.
Okay, calm the hell down.
The harshness came through without a filter, but Levine knew he needed to steamroll through.
You're not thinking about this clearly. Firstly, that's really, really risky. I might have already stayed too long, and getting rid of this will cause an investigation we can't afford. Not when it will draw resources away from finding Moira, and if it does conclude successfully, it's my ass, Levine thought, And Charles, they may know what this is for, but they sure as hell won't know how to put it together. McCoy was supposed to make Einstein look like a child putting together a paper airplane. I looked at this and saw computer parts. It's likely the only reason they knew what it was was because Hank worked with some people and told them.
Charles was silent for a few seconds and Levine put the files away. As he did, he saw a slip of paper. He picked it up and put it in, hesitating only a moment when he saw just what it was.
Sonuvabitch.
What?
Levine got up and pushed the file back in.
Someone copied the recquisition list, he thought, I saw the order for it.
I wasn't looking. Who?
Levine strode toward the door, gritting his teeth. He slipped out the door, trying to keep as focused as he could.
Stryker.
What?
Pretending to be casual felt even more difficult than it had for the past few minutes. A telepath was in his head, his stomach was roiling with rage, and he had to dodge the cameras all the way back to the office.
He requested a copy of the list, Levine thought, Not that he has the brains to put this together. I'd know if he had someone this damn smart on his team after all the time we've spent researching him. It's all military, and not military science. They're muscle, ex-mercenary types.
Levine, if he's requested a copy then it's something he's exploring, thought Charles, It's not something I want to rule out. He's done experiments though, experiments on mutants. How can he do that without any scientists on his team?
One second, Levine thought, This one passage has some tricky cameras, and I need to concentrate.
Blessed silence. He weaved through them and continued walking. He didn't stop as he got back into the main office. No one was there, since, as a glance at the clock showed, they still had ten minutes left of lunch.
He took out the boy's card and wiped his fingerprints off it. He put it in the boy's desk, hidden slightly under the papers. He'd told the rest he needed to catch up on his paperwork, and he walked over to his desk.
Immediately, he laid his head down on the desk and closed his eyes. He groped for a minute and picked up a pen, putting it to the paper and then letting his hand go limp. They could snicker at him for falling asleep at his desk all they wanted. As long as they saw him as harmless.
Okay, Levine thought, You still there?
Yes. Now, what did you mean?
His thought was urgent and Levine felt the urge to sigh again.
Look, he's had some partnerships over the years, thought Levine, The one with Trask lasted a really long time, but then Trask got into that crash a couple years ago and his company went under. It was pretty much going downhill after the whole D.C. fiasco. He's in good with a tech firm, but he can't give them CIA files. That would violate everything.
And you think he wouldn't? Charles demanded.
Levine hesitated.
He's a scumbag, he thought, So, yes, I can see that. I'm a little surprised they let him have a copy, even as an interagency loan, but apparently he can be persuasive, and it looks like this was before he decided to hold an agent against her will. But, again, you run into the same problem. It's not like a paint-by-numbers set.
I understand that, thought Charles, But what if he did have someone that smart?
You'd still need a telepath to run it though, right? That was why Platt couldn't get it to work, wasn't it? Levine thought.
And if he had that? Charles thought, He might be connected to someone who's at least using a teleporter and someone who has remarkably good aim.
Levine felt the pen twitch in his hands.
Then we might be in a lot of shit, he admitted.
The door opened and Martinique stepped inside. The child immediately pulled away, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. Martinique knelt in front of her and smiled. The girl bit her lip.
She knew that Essex was saving the girl. After they'd used their experiments to give the girl respect for them, he'd ordered pain would only be administered as a reminder, just something routine. She wasn't like Martinique or Regan, hadn't understood what joining Essex had meant. She'd just been filled with righteous indignation. Teens.
She was so pathetic that she could barely stand to look at her. However, just this once, she needed her. Essex could keep her for whatever it was he had planned with the girl in the future. She had only a vague idea what that was, but she wasn't going to bother with any of that right now.
"Hello," Martinique said, "I need you to do me a favor."
The girl looked at her, still fearful, still suspicious. Martinique wanted to slap her, just to remember who was in charge, but she could keep things civil. Widening her smile she got to her feet and held out her hand.
"You can be helped up, or you can be dragged," said Martinique, "Trust me, I'd go with the first if I were you."
The girl tentatively put her hand in Martinique's. She jerked her to her feet, and the girl's hair nearly got caught in the blinking collar around her throat. Her blue eyes widened, and Martinique could feel her tremble.
"Good girl Emma," said Martinique, "Good girl."