Marvel Classic Novels--X-Men

by Christopher Golden

  “I think we’re as alone as we’re going to get, Val,” Xavier said, looking around on Washington Street, around the corner from the PATH station and the media tent. They weren’t far from the military encampment here, and Xavier could see a pair of Jeeps stopped parallel to one another, though facing opposite directions. Their passengers seemed in the midst of a heated debate, and Xavier knew it would not be the last on that day.

  “Okay,” Val answered. “What the hell is going on? I thought you people were going to wait to hear from me?”

  “The team couldn’t afford to wait,” Xavier answered simply. “We didn’t want Magneto to have the luxury of getting completely entrenched in his new ‘sanctuary’ without some kind of opposition.”

  “So they’re taking the fight to him with no hope of winning,” she snapped. “Does that make sense, Charles?”

  “There is always hope,” he said. “They’ve come through worse spots that this. We both know that.”

  “So where’s the rest of the team?” she asked, sighing and glancing around in a pretense of distraction. “I didn’t see Cyclops, Gambit, Rogue— you know what I mean. Where are the others?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’m not even sure they’re alive.”

  The color drained from Valerie Cooper’s face.

  “If we’re lucky,” Xavier continued, “they’re about to reenter Earth’s atmosphere even now. But I haven’t been able to reach them using any method.”

  “We need help,” Val said softly, chewing her lip. “I got the President to approve my working with the X-Men on this, trying to get into the Alpha Sentinel with the override codes. But if I’ve got no X-Men …”

  Her voice trailed off, and Xavier saw that Val was looking beyond him. She scowled, closed her eyes a moment and shook her head. When she finally spoke, he already knew what she would say.

  “Here comes Gyrich,” Val said, and the despair and hatred in her voice could not have been more clear.

  “Ah, Professor Xavier,” Henry Peter Gyrich crowed as he approached, “how nice to see you. Come to make a case study, have you?”

  “As you well know, Mr. Gyrich,” Cooper snapped, “the Professor has been brought in as an expert consultant for the duration of this crisis.”

  “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten,” Gyrich sneered. “And what of the X-Men, Professor? How do they fare?”

  “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Gyrich,” Xavier said stiffly. “Regarding the X-Men, I’ve no idea. Though the television says they’re in Manhattan right now.”

  Gyrich tipped his head to one side and gave Xavier an odd smile. Charles was chilled to the bone. The problem with Gyrich was that he wasn’t evil, or even “bad” per se. He was not an enemy that could be openly combatted. Rather, he was a bigoted patriot who would do anything for his country’s benefit, even if his country did not specifically request it. Like Oliver North, he had his own ideas of what was good for America. But Gyrich also had some strong beliefs on the role that mutants did not play in the future of the nation.

  Gyrich was not a villain, but he was an extremely dangerous man, just the same.

  “So, what’s the story, Ms. Cooper?” Gyrich asked after an uncomfortable silence. “What’s your next move?”

  “My next move, Mr. Gyrich, is to get the override codes for the Alpha Sentinel from you.”

  “You mean you don’t already have them?” Gyrich asked, feigning astonishment with a caustic obviousness.

  “You know I don’t,” Val snapped. “Given your position as part of Operation: Wideawake, it is implicitly your duty to provide those codes to me. I’m sure the President and the Director will see it that way.”

  “You’re speaking out of school, Valerie,” Gyrich said coldly, his eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at her and Xavier.

  “Not at all, Henry,” she said snidely, and Xavier realized for the first time that, in her own way, Val Cooper might be just as desperate to win at any cost as Gyrich was.

  “Xavier has been cleared,” she continued. “You know that. Give me the goddamn codes.”

  “There’s no need for cursing,” Gyrich chided. “I simply don’t have the codes right now. I’ll have to get them for you.”

  “Mr. Gyrich,” Xavier interrupted, “I would caution you, at this juncture, not to impede Ms. Cooper’s plan. It is, in truth, the only sure way to resolve this situation, and even then not without massive risk.”

  “Are you threatening me, Xavier?” Gyrich asked, in a tone that made it clear he was not unused to being threatened.

  “Not at all,” Xavier answered. “For I have nothing to threaten you with. I am, very simply, advising you as I was asked to do by the President himself. And my advice is, play ball. If Magneto’s mutant empire succeeds due to your obfuscation and obstruction, I don’t have to tell you that your employers would be sorely vexed.”

  “Magneto will not succeed,” Gyrich said, anger rising up behind his steely smile. “I will make certain of that. In any case,” he continued, turning back to Val, “the X-Men are not here. Until they are here, your plan cannot go forward. Therefore, we have no choice but to proceed with Plan B, as it were.”

  “And what, exactly, is Plan B?” Xavier asked.

  “Sorry, Professor,” Gyrich said. “That’s classified to need-to-know. If Ms. Cooper’s plan is not going to be enacted, then the pair of you simply do not need to know.”

  “You’re making a terrible mistake, Mr. Gyrich,” Xavier said.

  “The X-Men will be here,” Val insisted. “You’ve got to give me more time.”

  “Your time is up, Cooper,” Gyrich said with a chuckle. “You and all your mutant sympathizing friends. Some of us actually want to stop Magneto. And the damned X-Men are probably signing up to be knights of his accursed round table right now.”

  Gyrich turned stiffly and began to walk away in an arrogant manner Xavier couldn’t help but think of as goosestepping.

  “Mr. Gyrich,” Xavier said, in a tone that made Gyrich hesitate, then turn to face them once more.

  “What is it, Professor?” Gyrich asked wearily. “I have a mission to put together.”

  “You’re trying to take down Magneto, among the most powerful individual beings on the face of this planet. In some ways, perhaps the most powerful,” Xavier said. “Maybe you’ve considered that. Maybe it doesn’t disturb you. It is even possible that you’ve truly prepared for it.

  “But don’t forget that the Acolytes are there as well, not to mention whatever new Acolytes have joined him since this whole charade began. Finally, you’ll have to contend with them.”

  Xavier pointed across the Hudson River to the sinister figure of a Sentinel that towered above the West Street entrance to the Holland Tunnel, outlined by its own running lights, eyes glowing red in the darkness. For a moment, he thought of Cerberus guarding the gates of hell. He pushed the thought away as he turned back toward Gyrich.

  “They’re not going to let you in,” Xavier said calmly.

  “We built them, Professor,” Gyrich responded. “Why don’t you let us worry about them, hmm?”

  Gyrich walked quickly away, his every step a testament to efficiency.

  “Perhaps he’s actually figured out a way to do this,” Xavier mused aloud, but beside him Val snorted derisively in response.

  “Not without billions in collateral damage and a lot of casualties,” she said. “The President won’t let the military go in full force, but a small strike force, specifically designed to assassinate Magneto? They’ll go for that.”

  “Do you think they actually believe it can be done?” Xavier asked, taken aback.

  “They think they can do anything,” Val responded. “They’re invulnerable, unstoppable. They’re the federal government, by God, and nobody tells them when to sit up or roll over.”

  “Fools,” Xavier said quietly.

  “Gyrich is right,” Val said, “nobody is going to listen when I protest. It’s going to be a massiv
e cluster fu—”

  “Val,” Xavier interrupted. “I could contact the X-Men in Manhattan, as you well know.”

  “Via telepathy,” Val said, nodding. “You could instruct them from there, at least to try to determine which is the Alpha Sentinel. But we’d still need those codes.”

  “True,” Xavier said. “Likewise, I don’t think it is in our best interests to pull them out of there right now. They’re on Magneto’s trail. If they can get close to him, engage him, then we still have a chance at this. Even Gyrich’s plan may work if the X-Men keep Magneto busy long enough.”

  “You contact the X-Men,” she decided. “If they run across the Alpha Sentinel, we need to know about it. In the meantime, I’ll try to get those codes from Gyrich. Of course, if we end up helping Gyrich, we can’t let him know we helped or he’ll have confirmation of his suspicions regarding your connection to the X-Men.”

  “Let’s do our best to avoid that,” Xavier said, in that instant making a decision that brought home to him how truly dire their situation was.

  “On the other hand,” he said gravely, “considering the stakes here, we may all have to make sacrifices if we expect to prevail.”

  * * *

  GYRICH was in his glory. Cooper had failed, plain and simple. Now it was his turn. There was no way his superiors would balk if he went forward now, with the X-Men unavailable. None of which meant that he had any intention of clearing his plan or getting authorization before moving ahead. He was the commander of this operation. He would take the fall if it went awry, and the credit if it succeeded.

  And it would succeed.

  It was very clear to Gyrich that the proper way to proceed was to first sanction Magneto. The Acolytes would not be a problem after that. Once opposition was eliminated, they would have to deal with the Sentinels. Without using mutants, which Gyrich was dead set against—after all, what was to stop them from commandeering the Sentinels for their own purposes?—the only way to take down the Sentinels might be through massive force. If they could be drawn out over the river, they might avoid some of the collateral damage. But it would be very messy, just the same.

  Which was fine with Gyrich. While he was not prepared to allow Magneto his little empire, he was more than happy to take advantage of the terror created by the incident. The lasting memory of it, particularly if there was a lot of damage, even a few casualties, would allow him to operate with far greater freedom in his anti-mutant efforts. When it was all over, Gyrich intended to have a long talk with Graydon Creed of the Friends of Humanity, who was sounding more and more like a politician, and a potential candidate for public office, every day.

  Gyrich hurried toward the entrance to the PATH station, where civilian evacuees were being shepherded quickly away by military personnel. The soldiers at the door saluted in deference to his position, but Gyrich did not return their gesture. He wasn’t a soldier, after all. He was the boss.

  He descended the down escalator into the depths of the station, barely noticing the stream of displaced New Yorkers on the up escalator. On the train platform, he was met by an army sergeant, who guided him down onto the tracks. They walked at a brisk clip, still parallel to the flood of humanity leaving their homes. Finally, they came to a doorway to one side of the tracks. A keycard unlocked the door, and Gyrich waited for the sergeant to move away before he opened it and entered.

  Inside was a much smaller tunnel, ten feet high and perhaps twenty across. It was an access and maintenance area that ran alongside the PATH train tunnel all the way into Manhattan.

  So much for getting past the Sentinels.

  “Attention!” a harsh voice growled, and the nineteen soldiers inside snapped to. Their commander, Major Skolnick, stood rigid as he saluted Gyrich.

  “Surgical ops unit one ready, sir,” Major Skolnick announced. “Our gear will be delivered within one hour, sir. At which time, Operation: Carthage will be a go!”

  “Excellent,” Gyrich responded, a smile of anticipation creeping across his face. He had named the mission for the most malicious military action in history. The Roman government had determined that their ancient enemies in the north of Africa, Carthage, had to be utterly eliminated. They ordered the city razed to the ground, the soil sown with salt so that nothing could ever grow there again. They had done this with a very simple directive: “Carthage must be destroyed.” It meant utter annihilation. Gyrich felt that same all-encompassing need for destruction as well.

  No matter what else happened, Magneto must be destroyed.

  SEVEN

  WORD had spread like a virus down Fifth Avenue that the X-Men had come, and the looters scurried into their holes like frightened rabbits. It reminded Bishop of his days, now far in the future, with the XSE. Their name, and his own reputation, had been enough to send criminals fleeing in mortal terror. Here and now, in a time long before he was ever born, he had become part of a team, an institution he had previously considered little more than legend.

  But the legend had a terrible ending. An ending where the legend died, where each and every member of the X-Men team was horribly slaughtered. Where the Sentinels ruled, at least for a time, and mutants became the hunted. His teammates knew of this; Bishop had told them. But he understood how difficult it was for them to really understand it, when they had not lived with the results of it.

  His every muscle was tensed, body humming with energy, as they made their way down Fifth Avenue, Storm flying above them. Professor Xavier had contacted them mentally several minutes earlier, and given them instructions regarding the Alpha Sentinel, and Bishop had paid close attention. He understood how vital it was to take Magneto out of the game as quickly as possible, but in his own mind, the Sentinels were the greater threat. Still, Magneto’s dream of domination might be exactly the thing that set events in motion leading to his disastrous future.

  In any case, the X-Men had their orders. Take Magneto down first. And Bishop was a dedicated soldier in the war for Xavier’s dream. He followed orders.

  “Bishop,” Wolverine growled low, appearing at his side. “You gotta calm down, bub. You’re running so hot I can smell it like burnt rubber. We’re gonna need you frosty when things get tight.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Wolverine,” Bishop said stiffly. “But I am fine. You do not need to worry about my performance.”

  “That’s only part of it, pal,” Wolverine responded. “The X-Men take care of our own. You’re wired like a junkie in sore need of a fix. Gettin’ crazy could get you killed.”

  “Thank you,” Bishop said calmly, meeting Wolverine’s eyes though he had to look down at the much shorter man. “Truly, thank you. But I will be fine.”

  “Okay, then, enough o’ this military march crap,” Wolverine said, raising his voice slightly to get the attention of the Beast and Iceman, who were just off to one side.

  Bishop thought it interesting that with Storm in the air, it was Wolverine who took charge rather than Hank McCoy. Then again, though McCoy was one of the most brilliant men of his time, that did not make him an exceptional warrior. Something that Wolverine undoubtedly was. In truth, Bishop did not think he had ever met another so perfectly suited for the art of war than the man they all knew only as Logan.

  “We’re like the Earp brothers at the OK Corral walkin’ down the street like this,” Wolverine said, and Bishop nodded. It had been bothering him all along that they were so vulnerable, walking along the middle of the street the way they had been.

  “Magneto probably knows we’re coming, but there’s no reason to let him know exactly when,” Wolverine continued. “For starters, let’s get off Fifth. We’ll head west two blocks, then south on Seventh to Times Square. Hank, Bobby, take the west side of the street. Me ’n Bishop will take the east side. And stick to the shadows when you can. The X-Men usually come in with a bang, but this situation calls for a little caution, a little stealth.”

  “As you suggest, Wolverine,” the Beast answered. “Bobby and I will continue to
track Magneto, but all readings still indicate a southerly direction.”

  They began to move west at 47th Street, sticking close to the buildings as Wolverine had suggested. It was going to be a bit slower going, which Bishop found cause for concern, but there was nothing to be done about it. There were only the five of them against Magneto, the Acolytes, the Sentinels, and whatever other mutants had been in New York at the time of the takeover. They had to err on the side of caution.

  Bishop knew they were only going to get one shot at this.

  * * *

  THE silent, muscle-bound Inuit man made his way north from Times Square, staying to the right on Seventh Avenue. Behind him, several kids, barely in their teens, raced across the neon-lit expanse of the huge intersection brandishing pistols with an abandon that he envied. No one told them what to do. If you got in their way, you were the enemy. When they shot someone, more often than not, that person would die, or at least fall down. Things were not always so cut and dried, the large man knew.

  But perhaps, with Magneto making his move at long last, things were about to attain a clarity they had not had previously. Perhaps there would be more to his life than obedience and death. Or, it was possible he would merely be trading one master for another, foregoing a life with direction for one with responsibility, as he had done for so long.

  His massive form was sheathed in black kevlar body armor, with a light raincoat covering that, as well as the quarrel which held a large supply of slayspears, his own personal weaponry. As projectiles, they would have been deadly on their own. But when charged with his potent, killing energy, and thrown with his extraordinarily accurate aim, they became far more effective. The man carried the burden of death heavily on his back.

  Half a block further ahead, he saw the blinking sign for a club that promised “Live Girls,” and knew he had reached his destination. Even as he stepped through the entrance, he could see the shattered mirrors that lined the walls of the strip club, the bare runway whose blinking lights flashed without purpose now that the “live girls” had gone.