2

He probably shouldn’t have been surprised, but Faith was pretty adapt at surfing the web, and she “knew some people” who had unconventional information sources. (This was Watcher aligned somehow, wasn’t it?) But he still had the most unconventional information source known to man - he called Marc.

Marc, Matt, and Sid were “somewhere between the asshole of Spain and the armpit of France”, according to Marc. (Logan assumed those were vague directions and not a comment on the people or the general smell, but how was he to know for sure?)  Still, he got on his laptop and found information on Emil Vogel that he shouldn’t have been able to find at all, which was typical for Marc.

Mystique didn’t seem to have been lying about him. He was a genetic engineer who'd worked for the Soviet government throughout the ‘80’s, and was considered unpleasant by even those who liked him, which was really saying something.  He had a mad on for mutants, often claiming they were the unfortunate result of German experiments in World War Two, which was a blatant lie, but it got him the funds to investigate ways to exterminate them.  Overlord blew up in his face - literally it seemed, as his lab had blown up; incendiary bomb with white phosphorus, which burned hotter than hell and sterilized every damn thing in his lab during vaporization (so whose bright idea had that been - his own, or Mystique’s?  Either way, good call on the phosphorus. Although considering how toxic WP was, Logan had a feeling he'd been the one to handle it). After that, Vogel got his ass slung into Siberia, and probably should have died, but somehow he survived until Gorbachev. Then he seemed to just drop off the face of the earth, at least as far as Marc’s data went, although he went on to say unsubstantiated reports put Vogel in Oslo, Bangkok, Sao Paolo (maybe the shapeshifter was on to something, there), and, rather inexplicably, Dallas, but he was never pinned down.  Marc said there was a better than even chance he’d had plastic surgery to alter his identity, perhaps a couple of times. “Find the guy whose skin is stretched so tight he can’t sit down and sneeze at the same time. That’ll be him,” he said cheerily. Marc had emailed him a couple of surveillance shots that were most likely Vogel, but the problem was they were so grainy and indistinct they weren’t much help.  But what could you expect from security cameras?

He wanted to tell Faith to stay out of it, but there was no way to do that.  She would kick his ass if he tried to baby her in any respect. This was his fault ultimately - if he just found meek women attractive, this wouldn’t be an issue.

Faith knew he was uncomfortable about letting her come along, so she attempted to change the subject by asking about the theme songs that Bob had picked for him, which suggested she had talked to Angel.  Reluctantly he told her, and they both decided that Muse’s “Stockholm Syndrome” was perhaps the best one for him. Faith decided she liked White Zombie’s “More Human Than Human” for herself, and started altering her ringtone accordingly. While she was doing that, he called the number Mystique had left him.

It rang five times before she picked up, and she didn’t even bother to say hi. “So you looked him up yourself?”

“I could have been room service.”

“But you weren’t,” she replied coolly. “Unless you’re offering.  In that case, I could really go for a cheeseburger.”

He scowled at the phone even though he knew she couldn’t see it.  He stared out at the lovely view of the city Faith had from her apartment, the one Tony paid for as part of her employment. Vancouver seemed to be laid out at his feet like a jeweled carpet reaching towards the glistening expanse of water, and he was reminded how pretty a city it was. He just wished he didn’t have such bad memories associated with it. “So... white phosphorus, huh?”

This turn of conversation didn’t surprise her.  But then again, what did?  Mystique didn’t seem to be the type of person who was ever surprised. Perhaps that was natural to being a shapeshifter - she didn’t just alter her appearance to fit the situation, she simply adapted to whatever was going on. She was the ultimate survivor, making the phrase “adopt, adapt, and move on” redundant. “Wily Pete,” she said, using what he recognized as a military nickname for it. “Good ol’ cold war. That shit was abundant in both Russian and American military bases. Toxic waste my ass - nobody gave that up. It had too many uses to be discarded. Who gave a shit if it was as harmful to its users as it was the enemy?”

“That was my job, wasn’t it?  Handling it.”

“It wasn’t like it was going to hurt you.”

True enough. “Do you even know where Vogel is?  I have sources who seem to believe that he’s had so much plastic surgery as to be unrecognizable.”

“Sources? You mean Scorpion, don’t you?”

He knew she’d probably said that to shock him, but he didn’t take the bait. “He gets around, doesn’t he?”

“He’s well known in mercenary circles. Bad-ass customer, from what I hear.  How the fuck did he ever get involved with the X-Men? ”

“He never joined.”

“No shit. I don’t see Xavier welcoming a man with the weapons stockpile of a South American dictatorship.”

“Storm doesn’t like him either.”

This made her chuckle warmly. “I bet she doesn’t, the fucking tight ass.  I’m surprised you’re still around.”

“Honestly?  Me too.  So do you know where this guy is or not?”

“I’m not discussing it over an unsecured line.”

“If there was a bug on the phone, I’d hear it.”

“Not if they were recording from the source.  There’d be no extraneous noise.”

“Yeah, well, we’re in Canada. You still hafta have a legal reason to listen in on someone else’s conversations here.”

“Perhaps. But I’m not taking any chances.”

“If this is some kinda trap -”

She sighed heavily. “Aren’t we beyond that?”

“Will we ever be beyond that?” he replied. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Actually it was only ten minutes away, but he wanted time to case the joint, just in case she had some surprises laying in wait.  Of course he didn’t trust her; he couldn’t.

“We? Don’t bring your plaything.”

“Don’t call her that.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, just to make sure Faith hadn’t overheard.

“Your sentimental streak is showing again, old man.”

“Giving a shit about someone else doesn’t make you sentimental.”

“In this business it does,” she replied coldly. “I don’t care how strong she is. Strength doesn’t equal fighting ability, and you of all people should know that.”

“I do. And she has excellent fighting ability. Trust me, hand-to-hand combat is a specialty. I’ve seen her kill someone with the leg of a chair.” Okay, it was a vampire, but Mystique didn’t need to know that.

There was a long moment of grudging silence. “That’s not that hard,” she said, but somewhat bitterly. “A third person might needlessly complicate things.”

“Faith won’t.”

“Not for me. But for you - she’ll be a distraction. You can’t fight and try and keep an eye out for her at the same time.”

“She can take care of herself.”

“Uh huh. Even if she can, it doesn’t work that way for you, not now.”

There was just something about the way she said that … “What d’ya mean not now?”

“When I first encountered you, you were a perfect weapon of mass destruction.  But then something started to happen to you.  You were erratic, became less dependable, and they began teaming you up with younger female partners.  Maybe that was the problem.  Estrogen makes you weak in the knees. Or maybe it was all the mindfucking, who knows?  But you started to … care. You were worrying about the greenies and about collateral damage more than you should have. Which I liked, because it made you easier to manipulate, but I can’t imagine the Organization was thrilled by these sudden spurts of conscience.”

“Collateral damage? You’re talking about civilians.”

“If they get in my way, they’re not civilians.”

If he wasn’t convinced he had to get involved in this before, he was now. “That’s bullshit. If I’m doin’ this, let’s get two things clear: Faith is part of the deal. She comes with me, or I don’t show up. And two, no civilians. No killing someone who isn’t actively trying to kill you. Do you understand? I’ll hang up now and forget I ever talked to you if you don’t agree.”

There was a long pause before she replied resentfully, “See how this sentimental streak fucks you up, old man?”

“Those are my terms. Take them or I walk.”

She snorted derisively. “And you would too, wouldn’t you?  Bullheaded fucker.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Fine,” she spat, like the word was poison. “But you’d better be on your game. No getting distracted because you don’t know where your fuck buddy is.”

He would have complained about that, except she was trying to get a rise out of him, and he refused to play that game. “I know how to fight, okay?  You wouldn’t be askin’ me if I didn’t.  We’ll be there soon.”  He hung up before she could give him any more shit.

“That sounded fun,” Faith said.

“It always is.” As he turned to face her, he wondered if there was a good way to tell her, and decided no, he’d just have to say it. “If Mystique ever attacks you, assume she’s trying to kill you and react accordingly. Don’t go soft on her like a normal human. She can alter her muscle density, she’s almost as strong as you. Beat the shit out of her. But stick to the extremities; she can shift her own internal organs to some degree to avoid damage, but she can't shift her neck and head that much. Okay?"

Faith gave him a scrutinizing look. "I'd accuse you of tryin' to scare me off, but after seein' this, well...I believe you."

She tossed him her iPhone, and he saw she'd been using the wireless internet on it, as a web page was displaying. It was basically a mugshot of Mystique in all her blue-skinned glory, with a list of her most recent crimes, which included killing fourteen people while breaking out of a maximum security prison.  (Fourteen seemed like an excessive number, even for her - clearly she'd been pissed off.)  She was now number one on the FBI's most wanted list.  "Think once we got this guy we should call and tip the Feds off about her?"   Faith wondered.

He considered it only a moment before shaking his head and handing her back her phone. "Absolutely not."

"You're not a rat."

"It's more than that. All we'll do is get a bunch of Feds killed. They won't be able to touch her; they'll just die horribly. I think she's killed enough of their people for now."

Faith glanced at the web page once more before shutting down the phone. "But they captured her before, right?  In her mutant form?"

"That was a ruse, a plan that she and Magneto put in to action to free some other captured mutants.  If she doesn't want to be held, she won't be held. Her power isn't the dangerous thing about her - she is.  She is, simply, lethal.  We should be thankful she doesn't have a more devastating power, or the world would be a smoking crater by now."

She eyed him skeptically, asking after a moment, "You're not scared of her, are you?"

He shook his head. "Not for me, no, 'cause at the end of the day I could just cut off her fucking head.  It's others I'm worried about. Everybody thinks Magneto is the dangerous one, but they're always wrong. Without her brains and her sociopathic hatred of everyone who isn't a mutant, he'd have never gotten anywhere."

She took that in with a nod, convinced but still a little wary of the whole deal. "Is she really blue and scaly?"

Oh boy, this was going to be fun.

****

The shapeshifter was staying at a very nice hotel, the Ashford, where the uniformed staff gave them dirty, suspicious looks the moment they stepped into the polished wood and plush velvet lobby.  He and Faith were both wearing jeans and leather jackets, with him wearing a flannel shirt over an olive t-shirt and Faith wearing a tight brown t-shirt advertising Molson on the front.  Okay, so they looked a little downscale and blue collar for this place, but fuck 'em - Faith worked as a bodyguard for the richest man in the city. One call to Tony and they would all be bowing obsequiously before them.

Mystique had a room on the fourteenth floor - actually the thirteenth, but the superstitious builders just went from twelve to fourteen. He bet it appealed to Mystique's twisted sense of whimsy.

She answered the door as an older, distinguished looking Indian man in a three piece suit, with elegantly swept back salt and pepper hair. After eyeing both of them, she said sarcastically, "Nice of you two to dress up." Just for fun, she'd thrown in a hint of a fairly accurate Punjabi accent.

As soon as they were inside and she'd shut the door, she morphed back into her actual self - blue skinned, scaly, slicked back red hair - and while Faith didn't visibly react, Logan, who still had a hand on her arm, felt her tense. It probably was pretty freaky to watch Mystique change for the first time. "You stand out a bit, don't you think?" she accused, in her usual deep and slightly strange voice. She was staring straight at him, having already dismissed Faith with the barest of glances.

"I always stand out, but remarkably no one seems to remember me," he replied, not at all bothered by her challenge. This was hardly the first time he'd dealt with her. "So what do you have on Vogel?"

She smirked in a deeply unfriendly way. "No foreplay, old man? You're usually so good at it."

Once again, he didn't take the bait. He felt proud of his own self-restraint, because, if Faith weren't here, he was pretty sure he would have decked her. "Aren't we on a time limit? Or is he not due in until December and you're just fucking around with us?"

The slur to her professionalism got her moving, as he thought it would. What Mystique had was basically circumstantial evidence: large glossy photos of men in dark coats (big enough to hide weapons) and sunglasses in large conglomerations, many sporting the tattoos that were the hallmark of the Russian mafia. (The Triad and the Yakuza also had telltale tattoos, although not all their operatives had them - as far as he knew, the Italian mafia was one of the few that didn't use it as an identifying system.) They were outside their usual spots in the city too, which was odd. She also had photos of a dark Escalade - with close-ups of the plates - that looked like it had some minor armor augmentation, made to look like a custom body job. Finally, there was a picture of a small man wearing a wide brimmed fedora style hat, but he was so swallowed up by bigger Russian mafiosos that not even a hint of his face was visible.

"So you have no fucking idea what he looks like," Logan pointed out, a bit disappointed.

She scowled at him. "We don't need to know what he looks like.  He's the guy in the crowd not packing hardware.  He's an easy hit."

"As long as this isn't a decoy."

Her odd black and yellow eyes studied him coldly, as if he’d just said something profoundly stupid. “Then we kill them all. One is bound to be the right one.”

Faith snorted derisively. “Uh, hate to burst your bubble Smurfette, but when the first dozen or so corpses turn up, I have a feeling not only will the Borscht Belters know about it, but so will the cops. You’ll be racing the clock as well as fighting steeper odds. It’d be a shitload easier if you could just confirm that the guy was the one you wanted before going all Quentin Tarantino on their asses.”

Mystique turned a nasty glare on her, her eyes narrowing and her upper lip curving up in a sneer. “Listen, bimbo -”

“Stop right there,” Logan interrupted, stepping between Mystique and Faith so they couldn’t have a staring contest. “She has a point. If the cops start coming after us -”

“We kill them. What’s hard about that?”

Faith made a noise of exasperation, and Logan knew exactly how she felt. “Do you know you’re on the FBI’s most wanted list?”

Mystique shrugged, unconcerned. “Who gives a fuck?  They can’t stop me.”

“But if they figure out you’re in Vancouver, this place will be flooded by Feds of all stripes. American, Canadian, and who knows, maybe even the X-Men on a civic duty run. All of this while trying to find the real Vogel, who just might rabbit the second he gets wind that some old friends are out to get him. If we’re too overt at the wrong time, we blow this. You’re the expert at deep cover infiltration - you should know that.”

The look she gave him could have stopped his heart if she had any telekinetic powers. In fact, he was half convinced she was going to take a swing at him, and he readied himself to block the blow, curling his fist and getting ready to pop his claws. Having Faith here would mean he’d have to go for the devastating injury right away, so Mystique couldn’t try and use her as a shield or leverage.

Maybe she saw that in his eyes; maybe she just knew it. Or just maybe she realized that for once, she was the one out of line. She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest tightly like she didn’t trust having her own hands free. He watched her muscles twitch in her jaw as she ground her teeth.

Logan suddenly realized the other element at play here - holy shit, this was personal.  Had Vogel done something to Mystique? Mystique was taking this all very personally, emotionally, which she never did.  It was making her slip, making her reckless in ways that she never was. What had Vogel done?  Conveniently she’d left that out of her story.  He was tempted to ask, but for some reason he thought he shouldn’t ask in front of Faith.

Had Vogel done something to him as well? Was that why she'd come to him - did she think he’d want revenge too?  What could Vogel have possibly done?

Then again, did he really want to know?

Mystique finally looked back at him, her anger submerged beneath her usual cold neutrality. “Wait a minute. You were in his lab. How’s your scent memory, old man?”

“Sense memory?” Faith repeated, hearing her wrong.

But Logan knew what she was getting at. “If I’ve smelled him before … I should be able to recognize him again. I won’t have a name to put to the scent - “This is Vogel” - but it will be familiar in an unnamable way.  Déjà vu.  They never were able to take away the imprinted memories of scent.”

Mystique smiled slowly, serenely, like a psychotic blue Buddha. “Then it’s up to you to find our man.”

Goddamn it. He should have known no good was ever going to come out of this conversation.