Las Vegas, Nevada. Atomic Nightclub. CIA Agents Virgil Levene and Moira McTaggart were staked out in front of the club, where they observed the comings and goings of, more often than not, just the general public, or as general a public as could afford to enter the club… That wasn't who they were looking for. Their mission was to spot Russian spies, foreign influences, and Communist sympathizers. Rumor had it the owner of the club, the reclusive and aristocratic Sebastian Shaw, had a secret group that met inside the casino, called the "Hellfire club" after historical Hellfire Clubs of the 1700s, notably attended by American scientist and founding father Benjamin Franklin. It was rumored that Shaw held raucous parties to curry favor with important political and business figures, and if those parties wound up being a cover for Un-American activities, Uncle Sam wanted to know about it.
So far that night, they'd counted three mafia bosses, the Italian ambassador to America, Sergio Fenoaltea, and the president of Lockheed, Dan Haughton. All five of them were grouped up near the swinging glass doors, chatting amicably, like they either didn't know, or more likely, didn't care who the others were, or what they did.
Levene lowered his binoculars and made a disgruntled sound.
"Looks like it's just another day at the office." He said. "Strip club's a strip club, no matter how unusual the clientele."
Moira kept her eyes glued to her pair, and continued to pan around until she caught sight of another important figure emerging from a red sports car.
"Is that Colonel Hendry?" She asked as she gestured to the balding red-haired tuxedo-clad man.
Levene raised an eyebrow, and pointed his binoculars in the man's direction.
"The NATO guy?" He asked.
Moira nodded. "Yeah." She replied as they both focused on the man.
"I'll be damned, yes it is." Levene said as Hendry made his way to the group out front, and the six men entered . "These guys can't all be commies, can they?"
Moira shrugged. "Like you said, maybe a strip club's just a strip club…" Moira trailed off as she spied a limo pulling up to the front door, and a number of bodacious babes dressed in incredibly tight, incredibly skimpy lingerie and dancer's outfits emerged from the vehicle's many doors. "But there's only one way to find out." She said as an idea popped into her head. I don't look too bad in tights myself. Moira set her binoculars down on the dashboard, and began to strip.
"Uh huh." Levene said, clearly distracted by the sight of the girls. "Woo! Hello, girls!" He said as he followed them with his binoculars. "Very nice." He commented as Moira finished stripping to her underwear. He turned to her as she dropped her shirt to the floorboards, and was immediately shocked by the sight. "What the hell are you doing?!" He asked in dismay.
"Using some equipment the CIA didn't give me." She replied, matter-of-factly. "Stay put."
Moira surreptitiously exited the car, filtered into the gaggle of gals, and attempted to blend in as well as she could, given how plain her undergarments were compared to the others. Luckily, nobody paid her any more (Or less) attention than they did the other girls. To the security at the door, she was just another hot broad in lingerie. They just waved the girls inside, where they filtered through the plush foyer, guided by the security at the door to an entryway where a generously-bosomed blonde woman in a glittery white skirt and bra, with thigh-high boots reaching from her feet to beneath her skirt, and a luscious fur cape on her back awaited them.
"Colonel Hendry?" The woman asked as the girls approached.
"Yes, ma'am." The balding man replied.
"I'm Emma Frost, Sebastian Shaw's associate." She said. "Mister Shaw is indisposed at the moment, but he's asked me to escort you at our party tonight. I trust you find our choice of entertainment enticing." She said with a gesture at the approaching collection of scantily-clad women.
Hendry shot a sly smile at the underdressed ladies, then back at Frost. "I certainly do. Please, lead the way." She extended a hand, he took it, and they linked arms as she led him and the others through the doors, down the stairs, past the chandeliers, onto the floor of the casino. There were tables for Blackjack, Craps, Roulette, Baccarat, Poker, Pool, just about any game one could imagine.
Moira panned her gaze around the club, taking in every detail she could, while attempting to remain inconspicuous. The guards were large, muscular men nearly three times her size, and if they got suspicious, she'd have a hard time escaping if they got in her way… So she had to be extra cautious.
The men she'd seen gathered outside, and a number of others who were already on the casino floor, were led into alcoves with rounded plush couches and large circular tables in the center, each by a different girl in lingerie. The girls each closed the curtains on the alcoves behind them once their group had filtered in. The only man who entered an alcove alone with one of the women was Hendry. Moira saw him and the woman who identified herself as Frost briefly before Frost slid the curtains shut.
Moira made her way down the steps as quickly as she could without raising suspicion, but her attire, figure, and slender, toned body attracted more attention than her path did, as she was beset by what seemed like dozens of interested customers, interested, perhaps, in procuring her services as a dancer, or otherwise.
"Hello, beautiful!" One man who was old enough to be her father cooed. "How are you?"
"Hey baby." Another one said as he attempted to sidle up to her smoothly. "You want to find ourselves a quiet place?"
Moira shot them an apologetic, but nevertheless, somewhat nervous smile as she deftly twisted her way through the crowd.
"I'm so sorry." She said over her shoulder. "I've been booked by Colonel Hendry!" She departed with a pout and a little wave.
While the statement bought her some distance, it did nothing to redirect the gazes of many interested parties, including one man who was wearing his sunglasses indoors, inexplicably.
Moira cut across the casino floor as quickly as she dared, until she was just outside of the circular alcove Frost had led Hendry into. Moira listened as carefully as she could over the din on the casino floor, but she couldn't hear even a single word, nary a single sound from the curtained alcove.
She pulled the curtains wide, prepared to make her excuses if she found Hendry and Frost inside, only to find the alcove empty. She peered around the table and rounded couch in disbelief, searching for any trace of the pair, but quickly disappeared inside the curtains, and pulled them shut behind her, much to the chagrin of her assembled onlookers who wanted a closer glance at her assets.
Elsewhere, a man adorned in a velvet tuxedo dropped a needle onto a spinning record inside a glass case, and music began to play over the speakers of the lavishly-adorned private bar as he stepped away with a phony grin plastered across his aging, but still youthful face. The man's hair was a nearly perfect brown, without a single sign of natural fading or dye, which went all but unnoticed to any but the most highly-trained of eyes. It was the same man who was in the photograph Erik Lensherr had seen at the bar in Argentina, the same man Dum Dum Dugan had "rescued" from Doctor Isabela Maru's laboratory in Auschwitz. The man who'd identified himself as Sebastian Shaw.
Shaw took a small sniff of his glass of whiskey as he descended the stairs into the octagonal conversation pit, several yards from the bar, where a hispanic man in a silk suit lounged on a stool, facing the pit.
"Are you sure we can't get you a refill, Bob?" Shaw asked.
Colonel Hendry shook his head. "No." He replied.
Shaw turned an involuntary grimace into a smaller grin than before.
"So, I hear you're blocking the proposal to position Jupiter missiles in Turkey." Shaw said as he strode over to the tan suede couch opposite the identical one Hendry was seated upon, next to Emma Frost across the pit. Shaw sat, crossed his legs, and threw one arm across the back of the empty couch as he took a swig from his glass. "I expect you'll reconsider."
Hendry shook his head. "We've had this conversation, Sebastian. There are people opposed to this who carry more clout than I do, and they don't share our perspective."
Shaw scoffed. "You're talking about Captain America and the Wonder Woman." he said dismissively.
Hendry nodded. "Rogers' friendship with Stark has garnered him an… Interesting perspective, as far as anyone can tell. One I feel may be a bit aggressive, but with whose goal, I ultimately agree with. If we put our nukes in Turkey, or anywhere that close to Russia, we're risking all-out war."
Shaw sighed, and lowered his glass to his knee.
"I don't ask for favors, Colonel." He said, allowing his face to slip into a cold smile. "I express my expectations…" Shaw allowed the words to linger in the air briefly before continuing. "So, let me say it again. I expect… You'll reconsider." Shaw spoke every word with the same weight as a doctor would deliver a grave diagnosis.
Hendry shook his head, and raised his coupe from the table. "At this time, the only thing I will reconsider is having another glass of this delicious champagne." He made to down the remaining sip of champagne in the glass as Shaw gestured to the man seated behind him. The man cupped his right hand, and the air in the room began to swirl, swirling so fast in the man's palm that the wind could be seen, until he'd kicked up an indoor tornado the size of a man. He released the wind at Hendry before the colonel could touch his lips to the goblet. The colonel glanced up in surprise, and dropped the glass as the tornado sent him flying from the pit into a nearby wall.
Hendry pulled himself to a seated position as Shaw and his compatriots surrounded him.
"What the hell did you put in my drink?" He demanded as he backed up into the wall.
Chardonnay grapes, yeast and liquor de tirage. The voice of Emma Frost sounded inside Hendry's head. There are no tricks being played here, Colonel.
Frost crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow as Hendry backed himself into a corner of the wall, and rubbed his forehead at the intrusion of the voice. Oh, you're thinking of running, hiding? She scoffed mentally. There's not a fortress in the world that can keep us out.
Moira McTaggart peered underneath the circular table, looking for any kind of switch, lever, or other hidden trigger that might allow egress from the intimate alcove. She found nothing, so she popped above the surface of the spiral-patterned table again, and studied it intently, until she found a seam between the ashtray in the center of the spiral and the table itself…
Hello. She thought. Ashtrays usually aren't attached to a table like that… Moira leaned forward, and seized the crystal structure in both hands. It was firmly fixed in place, and wouldn't move up, nor down, but when she turned it counter-clockwise, she felt a sharp CLICK! and the tray's resistance to being pressed down vanished. She pushed the tray into the table, and immediately felt herself and the circular seat turn with a smooth mechanical whirring sound. Moira's eyes shot wide open, and she clutched the leather seat beneath her to steady herself as the opening to the alcove circled away from the curtained entrance, and towards a new opening.
As the seat turned, the intimate glow of the club's alcove was overwhelmed by the bright light of the study beyond the secret door.
Quickly, Moira took what cover she could behind the edge of the doorway, and listened for any movement, or sign her actions had been noticed. As soon as she was sure nobody was approaching to investigate her surreptitious movements, she peered into the office. It was a fully-furnished affair, and while somewhat plain, far more opulent in its' appearance than its' status as a hidden office would suggest it might have been. The desk was made of fine hardwood, and there was a tall leather armchair behind the desk. On the desk were many papers and folders, and a pair of golden pens in a display holder. There was a sitting area with two leather couches, two side tables with fine lamps, a pair of suede sitting chairs, and filled bookcases covering every wall from ceiling to floor except the one behind the desk, which had a large painting mounted on the wood-paneled wall. There were many ornate lamps, several jade statues, and even a step-ladder for reaching the top shelves of the bookshelves.
Okay, but where did they go from here? Moira wondered as she tiptoed into the office, and crept behind the desk to poke at the documents atop the polished wood. There's not another secret entrance to a different secret room, is there?
Moira put the questions to the side as she poked through the documents, starting with a dark brown file-folder beneath the desk's reading lamp. It contained a military dossier and full psychological evaluation of President John F. Kennedy… The next one was of Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson, and the next of Secretary of State Dean Rusk… Every member of the Kennedy cabinet up to Adlai Stevenson II, the ambassador to the UN. And there were three more folders with the bold stamp of an eagle with its' wings spread wide inside a circle on the front. The first was labeled Rogers, Steven G. The second, Rogers, Diana P. The third, Fury, Nicholas J.
Shaw has profiles on the president, all of his men, and Fury's Howling Commandos? Moira wondered. What the hell is he planning?
Then, she found a sheaf of papers bound by brass fasteners, not held by a folder… And the cover was in Russian. A brief glance at the document showed Moira some very cryptic communications about a secret project… She saw the Russian word for "helmet," appear several times throughout.
"The helmet will be built to your exact specifications?" She translated from the Russian as quickly as she could. So he's working with the Russians on some form of headgear?
Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of something colliding with one of the bookcases. With a gasp, Moira dropped the document, and ducked behind the desk. When no other sounds followed, Moira quickly reorganized the papers on the desk into an approximation of their former state, and slinked towards the bookcase. As she approached, she saw that the case had shifted slightly… And there was a sliver of light between the two bookcases.
There's another secret entrance. She thought bluntly as she peered through the crack. Through the obscured passage, there was yet another ornate room. With what little visibility her vantage point afforded her, Moira could see Hendry sprawled on the ground, with the blonde woman who'd identified herself as Emma Frost standing above him. Beside her… Was a middle-aged man with reddish-brown hair in a fine tuxedo. He gave Frost a nod, and her skin, her hair, even her clothing transformed into a matrix of pure, clear crystal before Moira's, and Hendry's, very eyes.
"Magnificent, isn't she Bob?" The red-haired man asked rhetorically as he presented the woman as though she were a piece of fine art, and, even Moira had to admit, in the shocking crystal form, the woman might well have been. "Genetic mutation doesn't only produce armless children, hemophilia, and polydactyly. It's the key to the evolution of the human genome. The key to a superior future!"
He turned to Frost. "Where's Azazel?" He asked.
Frost pursed her lips, and a high-pitched ringing whistle sounded out from her mouth, like the sound of a glass harmonica, barely even audible to human ears.
In a flash of shadow, a man who resembled popular depictions of the devil himself (For he had a black suit over top of a red silk shirt with a red pocket square, pitch-black hair, jagged pointy eyebrows, a sharp goatee, and, last but not least, a pointed tail and blood red skin) appeared next to the red-haired man.
That has to be Shaw. She thought to herself. If he's the one giving the orders here, to this freakshow, tuxedo man has to be Shaw. Moira had never seen a picture of the man, and the CIA only had the barest of descriptions of him. As far as most people were concerned, Sebastian Shaw was a name on a piece of paper, claiming ownership over the club, its penthouse suite above them, and a number of expensive vehicles. Hardly anyone had seen him, and most didn't believe he was real… But it had to be him.
"Ah, perfect timing!" Shaw exclaimed. "We don't want the Colonel to be late for his meeting."
The red man, who had to be Azazel, extended a hand to Hendry.
"Take my hand." He commanded in a deep voice, tinged with a Caribbean accent.
Hendry appeared to hesitate, but took Azazel's hand, and in an instant, the two of them vanished in another flash of shadow.
Moira forced herself to step back from the bookshelf as she took a ragged breath. A man who looks like the devil just disappeared with one of the nation's most important men and I'm the only one who saw it! She thought as she quietly rushed back to the alcove and pushed the ashtray down once more, sending the seat circling back to its' original state. She burst through the curtains, out of the alcove, and made her way back out of the casino as quickly as she dared, much to the disappointment of her adoring onlookers.