6

It turned out Rags could teleport a jet, but not without passing out as soon as they all materialized. Still, Logan picked him up and plopped him on a couch - had he gained weight? - while Bobby and Piotr brought Brendan up to speed on what had happened. He brought them up to speed on what had happened to Scott, since Logan hadn’t mentioned it, and there was much shock and angst all around.

He got a bit yelled at again, but let it wash over him, not really even hearing their words. He picked up on the anger and the pain, and he felt bad about it, but what could he do about it now? He had a plan, at least for Rogue and Saddiq; Scott was on his own until Bob showed up, whenever that was and wherever he was. He’d called the Way Station earlier, in hopes that Bob could solve this problem for them, but according to a very testy (was she ever not?) Lia, he wasn’t there, and she hadn’t seen him for almost a month; she had no idea if he was back on Earth or not. (The worst part of that statement was the fact that it didn’t strike him as even slightly abnormal until he thought about it later on.)

He ordered some Chinese take out from a phone number stuck with a magnet to the fridge, and when it was delivered, the delivery guy gave him a funny look, probably aware that this was a mutant school. But he talked to him in Cantonese, and that made the guy feel much better, although the tip made him almost ecstatic. Not big tippers in upstate New York?

He ate his meal in Xavier’s office, waiting for Wing to call him back. He wasn’t making a move to go until Wing gave him the ETA for his crew; this mission wasn’t under way until then, because otherwise all these kids were just lambs to the slaughter. He wanted to give them a fighting chance, no matter how meager.

He was almost done with his Szechwan chicken when Brendan came in, giving him a look that could almost qualify as the “stink eye”. At least he waited until he closed the door to start in on him. “Maybe you can fool the others, but you can’t fool me. I know you’re … hey, are you actually using chopsticks?”

Logan glanced down at them, just to see if they could be mistaken for very long forks. No. "Yeah. It ain't rocket science, kid."

He scoffed. "The hell if it ain't. I tried to use 'em once, in this sushi place, and I got some seaweed stuck on the wall. I don't even know how that happened, as I wasn't near the wall." He paused, and then admitted, "I've digressed, haven't I?"

Logan shrugged. "You tell me."

"Oh, right. Okay, so what's your plan?"

"To finish my lunch. I haven't eaten since -"

"Don't be a smart ass with me," Brendan interrupted forcefully, and Logan was kind of impressed. He'd been doing a lot of growing up while he was gone, hadn't he? "You have a plan, and you're deliberately leaving us all out of it. Why?"

He chewed thoughtfully on a chunk of red pepper before deciding the best way to answer him. He could lie, but Brendan was pretty perceptive, so he'd probably catch him out. He'd already caught him out on the things he wasn't saying, which was more than Bobby or Piotr had done, and Kitty didn't know him well enough to judge. "Fifth amendment."

Brendan stared at him, his red eyes like rubies. "What?"

"It's the Fifth amendment, right? It's an American thing, so maybe I'm wrong, but that's the one where you decline to incriminate yourself, huh?"

He scowled at him, not at all impressed. "You really think I'm gonna accept that?"

"You're gonna have to. Look, I don't want to get you guys mixed up in this. If it all goes bugfuck, you can all blame me with a clear conscience."

Brendan stalked over to the desk, still giving him his most intimidating look short of demoning out on him. And while it was impressive and all (really), he was glad he was eating, because otherwise he would have found it hard not to laugh. "I'm not gonna accept that. Maybe they're kinda new at this, but I'm not, and I know you're up to something. Is this some kind of grand suicide squeeze on your part, is that it? You feel so bad about what happened you're gonna sacrifice yourself somehow to fix it?"

"I never sacrifice myself, just like I try not to volunteer for things. It only brings you trouble." He caught him glancing at the small forest of take out cartons on the desk, and asked, "You want somethin'?"

Although slightly sheepish at being caught, he never looked guilty. The kid had been around him and Bob too much. "Can I have the fortune cookie?"

"Sure, I don't like 'em." He grabbed the cellophane wrapped cookie and lobbed it up towards him. He caught it easily and tugged the wrapper off.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you haven't really answered my question."

"You're giving me too much credit. My plan is I really don't have one. If it was just the Organization, fine, but they're gonna sic Rogue and Saddiq on us, and that complicates matters immensely."

He noisily chewed the cookie, but it didn't stop him from responding between bites. "Piotr can take Saddiq. He's bigger, and metal."

"No he can't. Saddiq was trained from the age of five to be a Rajani palace guard. Do you know what that means? As a child, he was trained to take on adults. Being bigger or stronger than Saddiq doesn't matter at all, and his skin is just as impervious to harm as Piotr in full metal jacket. What you have their is a stalemate, until Saddiq kicks his ass - and he will, because he has been conditioned all his life to kill, while Piotr has not. Always bet on the man who will pull the trigger without hesitating; the one who blinks loses."

He considered that, and then his shoulders sunk as he nodded. He realized that that assessment, while cold blooded, was an accurate one. "You can take Saddiq. I mean - and no offense here - but you were trained as a killing machine too, right? And you have adamantium."

"Which is the only thing that cuts his skin. Right. But I'd have to kill him instantly to win the fight. You know what happened when the Org sent that assassin here. Saddiq took a near fatal injury - and he kept on fighting until the guy freaked and took off. Killing Saddiq is the only way to stop him, his training is too good, and I don't want to have to live with his death on my conscience. I'm not fighting him."

Brendan looked slightly lost, and Logan didn't blame him. "Who fights him, then?"

"No one. We do not engage Saddiq if we can at all avoid it. I'm hoping Bobby can freeze him, but we can't count on that, as the Organization might have a counter-agent."

"What about Rogue?"

"What about her? If you get within touching distance, you're gone. Again, Bobby could freeze her, but I expect she told them all about him. The only bright side is, if I'm guessing correctly, is that Xavier's powers are probably wearing off, so we don't have to worry about telepathic attacks. At least from her."

"What d'ya mean? I was told that time she almost absorbed you to death, she was like you for days."

"Different. If she took as much from Xavier as she took from me, he'd be dead. My guess is it was purely tactical - to take him out of the equation, and to get enough of his power to neutralize the school, but that was it. The Organization doesn't like telepaths unless they're under their complete control."

Brendan sank down in the chair before the desk, looking crestfallen, as if the enormity of what they were about to do had finally sunk in. "Logan ... we can't win. We can't even tie. Are we going there to get caught?"

He shook his head, shoving his food cartons aside. He was pretty much done anyways. "No, I'm not gonna allow that. But we might not be able to save them both. Not this time out, at least."

Brendan locked his gaze on him, penetrating and somehow plaintive. "Both? We can't even save ourselves. The scenario you've just painted is a total loss."

“Normally, yeah, but I haven’t told you everything.” The kid didn’t reply to that, he just stared at him expectantly. “I have friends dropping by, ones they never could prepare for, ones who - unlike us - play to kill. This will throw them badly off their game, and that’s what we have to exploit. As soon as you see an opening in their line, Bren, go for it.”

He continued to stare at him, but his eyes got bigger. “What?”

“We use their equipment against them. Our only chance to save ourselves and Rogue and Saddiq is to hijack their equipment. You’re a smart kid, you’re like the son I never had - I know if anyone can figure their shit out, it’s you.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “The son you never had?”

“I’m blowin’ sunshine up your skirt. Play along.”

“Oh, okay.”

“When the time comes, tell the others that’s what they have to do. Get control of the Organization’s equipment, and avoid my “friends”, who will not engage any of you, but might accidentally catch someone in their crossfire if they’re not careful.”

“Who are these friends? Helga? The Sisters?”

“No. They’ll probably shoot the first green thing they see after Mirror Lake, and I think everyone’s been exposed to the Sisters enough.”

“You mean you have.” He grinned knowingly. “They like you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Lucky me.”

“So who are these friends? Some kind of demon?”

“No. Let’s just say I did a favor for their boss, and this is how he’s paying me back. But you don’t want to know these guys, ever, and by not knowing who they are, I’m savin’ you all a world of trouble, and possibly from future subpoenas, so just leave it there, Bren. Walk away.”

“Subpoenas? Are you serious? Who the hell are these guys - mobsters?”

He dropped the chopsticks in the garbage can, and swept two of the empty containers in after them. “Why would I associate with mobsters?” He managed to say it with a straight face. It was frightening how good a liar he could be.

He scoffed mildly, throwing in the empty fortune cookie wrapper. “Well, you wouldn’t, I’m just sayin’ …”

“Kid, forget it, trust me. I’ve told you of all the plan that actually exists. It’s shitty, but let’s keep that between ourselves, ‘kay?”

He sighed, and glanced down at his fortune. It made him smirk, so Logan just had to ask, “What’s it say?”

“You’ll be going on a long journey.” He crumpled it up into a tiny ball and shot it into the garbage can.

“Uncanny.”

“It’s not a long journey, it just feels that way.” He got up to go, like Logan hoped he would, and he was gulping down the last of the overly sweet can of iced tea he found in the fridge when Brendan paused half way to the door, and turned to face him with a slightly puzzled look. “Wait. So we all charge the line when it falls, I get that. But what about Rogue and Saddiq? They aren’t going to play along.”

“Leave them to me.”

“I thought you just said you weren’t gonna fight them.”

“Right.”

The glare came back full force. “What the fuck are you planning? What are you gonna do?”

He had to give him something, or he wouldn’t let this go. The problem with forming even a minor attachment to Brendan was he was only intimidated by him up to a point; the point collapsed when he went into full stubborn mode. “I’m going to determine how far gone they are, how deep the Organization has sunk their claws into them, and act accordingly.”

“That’s no answer at all.”

“It’s all I can give you. You’ll just have to believe that I won’t hurt them unless I have to. They’re victims, not the enemy.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about,” Brendan replied, giving him a suspicious look. But Logan kept his expression blank and just shrugged, unable to give him what he wanted. Reassurance? Nope, he was fresh out.

There were no guarantees in any of this, and they weren’t going to know the real terrain of the battlefield until they got there. They would all be going in blind, deaf, and utterly senseless. All Logan really had to depend on was his own gut instincts, and the common knowledge that the Triad would, if they were following Wing’s orders to letter, blast everything that looked even remotely like a soldier. It sucked, but at least that last bit of information was comforting.

Wing called him back less than ten minutes after Brendan had left, and let him know that things were good to go. He took a deep breath, and felt oddly calm. This would be a disaster, and yet he was strangely good with it. It was, he knew, what some psychologist would probably coin as the acceptance of death, the moment just before you died, when you knew you were going to die, and felt oddly at peace with it. But just because you accepted it didn’t mean you were going down without a fight, and the organization were not going to win. Or, if somehow they did, they would pay very dearly for it.

He informed the others they were heading out, and he wanted them in uniforms, because they had bullet resistant material in them. That was true, but it was mainly so the Triad could identify them, although he didn’t say that, and it didn’t make him feel any less silly putting the damn thing on. He wasn’t good with uniforms of any kind. Just the concept alone was enough to make him cringe.

Brendan and Kitty didn’t have uniforms, so they had to make do with spare ones, but they found ones that more or less fit them. Kitty fit into Rogue’s, although it hung off her like she was a coat hanger, which was startling, because Rogue wasn’t big in any sense of the term; Kitty was just that slight.

Somehow he ended up as jet pilot, with Piotr as his co-pilot, and he remembered the last time they did this: Leonie. Shit, like he needed to remember that now. He felt an uncomfortable twinge in his gut, and a surge of anger, self-loathing, and self-pity that he managed to keep in check. But it was more emotional ammunition to use against the Organization. How dare they do such a thing to anyone ever, but especially a child.

(It was also a reminder that they had no qualms about killing kids if things weren’t going their way.)

They were in the air and headed towards Alkali Lake at top speed when Piotr asked quietly, in Russian, “You do have a plan, don’t you?”

So he finally noticed, did he? “We have to take over their equipment and use it against them,” he replied, also in Russian. “I have some friends coming to help. When they show up, the shock should cause a break in the line. We go for it; it’s the only chance we have.”

He looked a little confused. “Friends?”

“Don’t ask.”

“What about … the kids?”

He knew he meant Rogue and Saddiq, there was just no way to make their names unrecognizable to prying ears. “Leave them to me.”

“Hey, you know we know you’re talking about this,” Brendan interrupted. “Just ‘cause you’re talkin’ Russian doesn’t make it any less rude.”

“You’re still gonna have to live with it,” Logan replied acerbically.

Bobby sighed audibly. “This is so not fair.”

“I know -” Kitty began, very hesitantly. “ - a little Russian, but you guys were talking too fast.”

“You know Russian?” Brendan sounded impressed.

There was a slight shifting of leather, and he figured Kitty had shrugged, shifted uncomfortably in her seat, or both. “My grandmother, on my mother’s side, was a Russian Jew. She taught us kids a few words … but I don’t know enough to have a conversation. I can say hello, goodbye, good night, things like that.”

“Can you curse?” Logan asked.

“Well … not really …” The embarrassment was evident in her voice; he bet she was blushing. How adorable.

“Oh, come on? Not even a mild bastard or shithead? Asshole is universal.”

Kitty laughed, and Bobby said, with a smile in his voice, “You really aren’t like our other teachers.”

“God, I’d hope not.” And he really did, whenever he had a moment to think about it. You’d hope a teacher would have a little more sense, and a lot less desire to destroy.

7

The surprising ting was Weapon X didn’t show up sooner. First had been expecting him to impulsively scramble up here without a moment’s thought, since impulsivity was a particular downfall of his. So when it didn’t happen, he wondered if he was even around.

But when they picked up an impossibly fast moving object on radar, coming straight towards their location, he knew they had finally shown up. About damn time.

The jet landed beyond a hill and a stand of trees, so he had to wait for them to crest a rise. He gave a pair of night vision goggles to Saddiq, so he could tell him who they’d be facing. There was something instinctively creepy about the kid - no, they didn’t have to train him, but it was like he was a robot that had never even been bestowed with a rudimentary personality. It might have made him a good fighter, but it made him really poor company.

Weapon X was the first over the rise, sniffing the air and scanning the area, leaving himself deliberately open for sniper shots. It was a common technique of his, to try and draw fire, sparing his teammates. Just out of curiosity on what the kid would say, he asked, “Report.”

“Logan, codename Wolverine,” Saddiq dutifully reported, his voice a nearly inflectionless monotone. “Adamantium skeleton and claws, accelerated healing factor. Can be hurt, but not for long. Incredibly hard to kill. Has a broad but sketchy knowledge of a wide variety of fighting styles; he will not hesitate to hurt himself to also hurt an opponent. Pain and damage is little discouragement to him.”

That sounded like it was straight out of a general alert. “Weaknesses?”

“Emotional; it can be used to tempt him into a stupid move. His teammates are also a weakness, as he can be lured out to help them rather than complete his objective.”

“Excellent.” And it was; a truly first rate assessment (no pun intended). Slightly robotic or not, the kid was good. He was a natural Organization asset. He kept watching Wolverine, who squinted into the wind - clearly aware they were here somewhere (for a brief moment, it looked like he was staring straight at him) - and then a rather muscular but otherwise bland looking man came up behind him and said something. He couldn’t hear what was said from this distance, but Wolverine was clearly annoyed with him. “Report.”

“Piotr Rasputin, codename Colossus. His skin becomes organic steel.”

Well, that was a new one. “Weaknesses?”

“His eyes and internal organs don’t become steel. Little to no martial arts training; relies on his own physical strength to win most battles. His skin is as vulnerable to adamantium as mine.”

First chuckled. Adamantium was something they had no lack of, and as strong as he looked, he had someone much stronger on his team anyways. Titan would be thrilled to have someone she could beat to a pulp with at least some resistance.

Wolverine started leading the way down the hill, and his ragtag team started to follow, starting with Colossus. A tall, lean boy came after, followed by another boy, not as tall and a rather nauseating shade of blue-green, covered with small red spikes, and a very petit girl. That was it? No way. “Report.”

“Bobby Drake, codename Iceman. Capable of freezing all water; can project his freezing abilities. Upper limit of power is currently unknown.”

“Weaknesses?”

“Relies completely on his powers. No physical fighting training or skills, and no real battle experience.”

That was a perfect weakness. All they needed to do was avoid his powers and engage him physically. He’d be completely lost. “The others?”

“Brendan Chambers, codename Demon. In that form, he has above average strength and is difficult to kill. He has an eidetic memory as well, which allows him to remember every single fighting technique he’s ever been taught, and he’s half demon.”

“Pardon?”

Saddiq paused and had to consider a moment, which was odd for him. Did androids ever consider their words? “Non-mutant humanoid otherwise unspecified.”

“Ah. Weaknesses?”

“Wolverine.”

He didn’t know what to make of that statement either. “What?”

“He’s fond of Wolverine. If he’s under siege, he will probably break off to help him.”

Duncan laughed derisively from the back of the transport. “He’s a fag? And in love with Weapon X? Jesus. How desperate is the old man to bring a queer along?”

“He’s dangerous,” Saddiq replied crisply. “Dismiss him at your own peril.”

“He’s a NMHOU,” First reminded him, looking back at Duncan and giving him a cold glare. “They’re all to be considered dangerous. Is that understood?”

Duncan sagged in his seat, frowning petulantly and glancing down at the adamantium plated floor like a sullen child. “Yes sir.” Duncan Langois, codename Ballistic, was gifted with a great power - being able to shoot concussive blasts from his hands - that made him terribly useful in situations like this. But his personality left a lot to be desired, and it was that, along with a certain impetuousness that they were never able to rein in, that got him bounced out of the official Weapon X modification program. He was still a great weapon, but even he knew he’d never get into that upper echelon, which had made him bitter - and even more of a pain in the ass than before.

His frequent partner, Niemi Guerra, codename Titan, sat beside him, an unmoving mahogany sculpture with a Starbucks cup in her hand. Tall and basically lean, she never looked like much, unless you knew her powers allowed her to lift this transport up, with everyone in it, with one hand. Super strength alone was impressive, but the fact that she was a sociopath with no conscience at all was considered a great boon, at least in the field. Dealing with a person who didn’t give a shit about anyone or anything didn’t make her the most pleasant being to work with, though, which is why she was teamed up Duncan. He could be his wonderfully idiotic, assholic self, and she wouldn’t care; and if he fucked up, she could pound everyone into the ground like nails, and save them the problem of a potentially messy clean up. And Duncan was too self-involved to realize he should be scared of her.

“Continue,” First instructed Saddiq, returning his gaze to the bulletproof glass window of the transport. It had been hidden in a clutch of trees still standing by the waterline of the newly reborn and massive Alkali Lake, but still had a good view across the water, which had the only good landing spots for a jet.

“Kitty Pryde, no codename given. Becomes intangible.”

“Intangible?”

“It’s called phasing. When she phases, she can pass through any solid object, and they can pass through her, with no harm done.”

Another new one. “Huh. Weaknesses?”

“Plentiful. No field experience, when her power is in use she can cause no harm to anyone, has rudimentary fighting skills but little strength to back it up. “ Saddiq lowered his binoculars, and stared off into the distance, clearly lost in thought. “Bringing her along makes no sense. She adds nothing to the team, and can be seen as nothing but a liability.”

“She was my friend,” Rogue said/ She was leaning against the wall closest to Saddiq, arms crossed over her chest, looking bored. She had personality where Saddiq lacked, but it was a teenage personality, which meant it wasn’t always the most pleasant to deal with. “Maybe she insisted on comin’ along.”

“But she adds nothing to the team,” Saddiq argued. “Tactically, she’s a grievous error. Why would Wolverine make such an obvious mistake? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe the old man’s slipping,” Duncan suggested.

Saddiq shook his head. “His team is also far too small and inexperienced. Wolverine wouldn’t make a mistake this large and obvious. It doesn’t fit his profile.”

First had to agree with the kid there. Weapon X might have gone soft and crazy again, but the man was a born fighter; mindfucked or not, he was still good for the game. This was pathetic; even a terminal fuck up like Duncan wouldn’t do as badly as this. “He’s up to something. There must be another team. Keep scanning.”

“If Bob’s on the way, we’re all screwed,” Rogue pointed out, none too helpfully.

Suddenly Vernon, his scan tech, reported, “Sir, the radar just went off line.”

First turned back towards him, feeling a coldness grip his stomach. Here it was. “We’re being jammed?”

“Looks that way.”

“Are there mutants capable of jamming radar at that damn school of yours?” He asked Saddiq.

The boy had to think about it once more, and ended up shaking his head. “I’m not sure. Possibly.”

Damn it. “Deploy, and stick to the plan, but be ready for interruptions - there’s a second mutant team out there, probably flanking.”

“Yes sir,” Saddiq said, and put the binoculars aside before pulling open the door, letting in the cool night air. Saddiq went out first, followed by Rogue and Duncan, with a seemingly unconcerned Niemi the last person out.

He had to give Weapon X some credit, but there was no way in hell his plan - whatever it was - was going to work. He was probably just still too fucked in the head to realize he was doomed.

****

If he could put aside all the bad memories this place engendered, it was eerily beautiful.

It looked like a peaceful valley, with clusters of majestic pines and firs grouped around the fringes of a wide lake, which was as dark as onyx beneath the pale royal blue sky of early night. The stars were just starting to come out, the moon as bright as a spotlight in the sky, reducing what little open grounds there was to a sea of shadows. The mountain ridge was a saw toothed barrier on their far right, a deeper black against the sky. It would have been a beautiful meditation spot if not for the memories of mutilation and murder, and the fact that there was a ton of Organization people out there, using the darkness to their supposed advantage. But his eyes had adapted to the low light level, and he could see pretty clearly. It wasn’t vampire vision, but it was probably better than Human average.

“I thought there’d be snow,” Bobby commented quietly. He almost sounded disappointed.

“Oh yeah - Canada has snow three hundred and sixty five days a year,” Logan replied.

“You forgot to add eh,” Brendan prompted. “Where are the polar bears?”

Logan chuckled, and Bobby protested, “Oh, come on, I know it isn’t always snowing in Canada! It’s just this is the Rockies, right? Aren’t they always snowy, kinda?”

“In the higher elevations, yeah. We ain’t that high up.” There might have been no snow on the ground, but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t chilly; it was probably in the upper thirties, just warm enough that their breath didn’t turn into clouds of vapor, but that was about it. The ground crunched beneath their feet, but from debris and dead leaves, ground cover gone dry.

“Are they here?” Bobby whispered. “I don’t see anything.”

“Yeah, we’re being watched; they’re across the lake.” He was now starting to see furtive movements among the trees, people clinging to the shadows in spite of the presence of night. They knew him, they knew what his senses allowed, and they weren’t taking any chances.

“I think I can smell people,” Brendan agreed. “I mean, other than us.”

“Across the lake?” Piotr repeated. “How do we get to them? We’re sitting ducks over here.”

“Bobby, can you freeze it?” Logan wondered.

“The whole lake? No, I don’t think so; it’s way too much.”

“How about a path?”

Bobby thought about that a moment, studying the inky lake. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

“All the way through,” Logan told him. “Make it deep enough to sustain our weight and take a couple of bullets without dissolving completely.”

“Bullets?” Bobby repeated, sounding suddenly very wary. “They’re gonna shoot at us?”

Logan could hear it now, but doubted the others could. A distant noise, the sound of rotors slicing through the air, coming from the south-southwest. He couldn’t quite suppress the smile, but he tried to keep it from his voice. “Well, they’re gonna shoot at someone.”

A figure walked out of the darkness of the woods on the other side of the lake, a shape small and familiar, and Logan knew who it was before she spoke. “Hey there, Logan,” Rogue shouted. “This is your last chance, you know.”

They all paused, and he heard Bobby whisper a plaintive “Marie” under his breath, but Logan had been expecting something like this and didn’t let it phase him. The Organization played so dirty it actually gave low down dirty bastards a bad name. “Last chance for what?”

“Surrender to us, and we’ll let your little friends walk away unharmed. You ain’t gonna get a better deal.”

He smirked, shaking his head. Even if it were true - which he knew from experience it wasn’t - he’d never take it. “I don’t think so, darlin’.” He grabbed Bobby by the arm, and whispered in his ear, “Start the path now. Don’t get distracted.” He then shouted, out across the lake, “Where are the big guys, hon? Send ‘em out. I wanna talk to the bosses.”

He heard Rogue scoff, as Bobby knelt down beside the edge of the lake. “Nuh -uh, Logan. You know it doesn’t work like that. We’re callin’ the shots here.”

There was a doubling of the rotor noise, this time coming from the north-northwest - a classic pincer formation. An oldie, but a goodie. The others must have heard it now, because he saw people breaking formation, revealing their hiding position in the shadows as they looked towards the Southern quadrant of the sky, where the silhouette of a sleek black helicopter - without its running lights, almost invisible in the night - suddenly loomed up over the mountain line like a prehistoric vulture. He sensed the shock in the others behind him, but he didn’t look; he didn’t need to. He knew precisely who the party crashers were. “Are you sure you’re calling the shots?” He asked, now shouting even louder to be heard over the rotors. “’Cause I think you just lost control.”