Search and Rescue: The Trade

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Alex is let go - in Salem Center, which only manages to confuse him further. What he doesn't know yet is that he's been just a means to an end.


It was going to take him a while to get used to mundane days again, Scott reflected dryly as he stepped out of the electronics store. The school preferred to deal with the family-owned place downtown, rather than the chain store at the mall, and Mr. Davian was more than willing to give one of his long-term customers a respectable discount on a replacement large-screen TV. There had been no confessions, which irked Scott mildly, but he supposed things like this happened when the bulk of the staff was gone for the better part of two weeks. The kids got out of the habit of behaving.

He glanced at his watch, then shrugged to himself and decided that he didn't need to head back to the school just yet. There were a couple of other stops he could make, and he could probably use the time to unwind.

Behind Scott, another man followed at a respectable distance, slowly closing. Dressed in simple casual slacks and a polo shirt, he walked intently after Scott, looking to the outside observer just like another day shopper on the streets.

"Mr. Summers," he called out, loud enough for get Scott's attention, but not loud enough to carry across the street. "Scott Summers. I would like a moment of your time."

Scott paused, looking back with a frown as he heard his name called. The dark-haired, somewhat sharp-featured man coming up behind him was... familiar. Where from? Scott's frown deepened as he tried to put his finger on it and couldn't. "... do I know you?" he asked finally, dubiously.

"Major Daniel Lyman, Mr. Summers." The stranger introduced himself, but didn't offer a handshake, instead producing a small PDA from his pocket. "You might remember me from a few years ago, Alkali Lake? I worked with Colonel William Stryker. I need you to come with me, Mr. Summers."

Cliches aside, it was entirely possible for one's blood to run cold. As he had only one eye, it was impossible to leave one on Lyman while he looked for any 'company' the man might have, but Scott's gaze flickered back and forth rapidly anyway. Nothing. He focused on Lyman again. The man couldn't make much of a move on the middle of the street in broad daylight - could he?

"I don't think I'll be doing that," Scott said slowly. The man's expression was level and calm, absolutely serious. "It's been a few years since Alkali Lake, true, but you'll forgive me if I'm suspicious."

"I need information you have," Lyman said coldly, "and if you do not cooperate with me, I will have your brother Alex killed." He handed over the PDA, its small screen displaying a series of photographs -Alex unconscious in a chair, the morning's newspaper held in the camera's view.

Lyman let out a breath, glancing past Scott up the street. "I have a van waiting, Mr. Summers. Any communications devices you have - PDAs, cell phones, personal communicators, I am going to ask you to deposit them in that trash bin to your left and accompany me to our departure point. I trust you will realize that this is not a bluff, and that I am deadly serious, Mr. Summers."

How the hell... Scott, his hands very steady, handed back the PDA. If the photos were fakes, they were exceptionally well-done. Either way, he wasn't going to take the chance. "The cell phone and the com," he said, his voice low and tight as he took them out and dropped them in the trash bin. "That's all I have." Now that Lyman could be at least somewhat assured that he wasn't going to hit a panic button... "But if you want something from me, you're going to have to release him."

"Of course," Lyman agreed, tapping on his PDA's screen to send a message. As if on cue, a light blue minivan drove up, the door opening to reveal three serious-looking men inside. "Into the van, Mister Summers. I will have you brought to a location where you can see your brother safely released, and then you will accompany us. Cooperate, and I promise you that you will be released immediately afterwards for a touching family reunion. Are we clear, Mister Summers?"

"Perfectly," Scott said tightly, and got into the van without another word. Since Jean had returned to the mansion, he'd spent a lot of time regretting the broken link, and right now, he found himself doing it again - if for a very different reason.

---

"Got it." The man flipped his cell phone shut and looked down at Alex, sitting on the floor of the van. "It's all right," he said to his companion, who was holding one of the pen-things against Alex's arm. "Everything's set, we're letting him go. Hold still," he told Alex, crouching down to undo his restraints. "And don't be an idiot. You're walking out of here, down the alley, and back to your life."

Not saying anything, Alex just watched them move around him, still wondering what the hell was going on and where the hell they were.

"I'm going to walk you out to the end of the alley," the man said curtly. "We need to be seen to be letting you go."

Alex just nodded, rubbing his wrists out of reflex and getting the circulation back in his lower arms as he waited for them to open the van doors.

The doors opened - the driver, who'd gotten out and come around - and Alex found his arm seized very firmly by the former lost tourist, who steered him out of the van down the alley. "We're going to pause at the end of the alley for a minute," he said calmly. "Then I'm going to let you go and go back to the van. You keep walking for at least two blocks before you attempt to call anyone or do anything. There's a sniper on one of these rooftops."

Nodding again, Alex roughly pulled his arm out of the other's grip once they were out of the van, but still walked beside the other. The air was distinctly different and familiar, but still chillier then the climate he had come from and he wrapped his arms around his still bare torso. When they got to the mouth of the alley, Alex knew why he recognized the air. They were in New York, Salem Center to be precise. Was something going on at the mansion then?

"Stop here," the man said as they reached the end of the alley. He looked down the street and up at the top of an office building, his eyes narrowing. There were two figures standing there, barely visible. "All right," he said, and gave Alex a little push in the other direction. "Go. Two blocks, remember."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time." Alex grumbled as he moved down the sidewalk, glancing behind him to see the guy retreating down the alley as promised. With a sigh, Alex set off for two blocks so he could then make a break for the mansion since he had neither phone nor change to make a call and find out what the hell was going on.

---

Scott stood at the edge of the roof, watching his brother heading down the street, moving faster as he got farther from the mouth of the alley. Keep going, Alex... Lyman had told him about the sniper - apparently they weren't sure they trusted him to keep his optic blasts to himself once they no longer had a gun to Alex's head. Scott looked around him at the nearby rooftops, but saw no one. Not that he was surprised. These were professionals, that was perfectly obvious.

"Are you going to tell me what you want?" he asked the man beside him, as he continued to watch his brother put some distance between them. Did Alex know? I somehow doubt they let anything slip they didn't intend to let slip.

"Yes," Lyman said, looking down along the alley. "But not here. You'll be taken to a secure location, where you'll give us the information that we need. Given the circumstances with which you acquired it, however..." Lyman turned to Scott, spreading his hands in the first gesture of personal emotion he'd seen from the soldier. "We have... specialists prepared to assist you in recalling the fine details."

"Right." Hurry up and get to the mansion, Alex, Scott thought, watching his brother's retreating figure. I think I might need you to save my ass. There was no way he could risk them picking up Alex again. He had to cooperate. Alex needed to be firmly out of the equation, or he'd become leverage again. Whatever was going to happen next, he could handle it, if he only had himself to worry about. Or so you hope...

Scott took a deep breath. "Then let's go," he said, turning to Lyman. "The pleasure of your company's not so overwhelming that I want to be enjoying it for any longer than necessary."

"Believe me, Mr. Summers, if there were any other way of retrieving this information that did not involve seeing your face again - that is a phenomenally lifelike prosthetic, by the way - I would have taken it," Lyman deadpanned, motioning Scott towards where two men with pistols stood. "A helicopter will be here shortly. However, being an aviator yourself, you understand that for security purposes I cannot have you deducing our destination through flight time and direction. So I will offer you the choice between a chemical sedation or the less-dignified but just as effective physical method."

Drawing a small bottle with two pills out of one pocket and a can of diet soda from another, Lyman held them out to Scott. "Your cooperation and professionalism does you great credit, Mr. Summers. Please keep it that way."

Shit. Either method wouldn't just keep him from figuring out their destination, it was liable to prevent Charles from finding him, at least easily. But if he had to pick between the two, he'd rather be drugged then wind up injured. One wore off, after all. His expression grim, Scott reached out and took the bottle and the can from Lyman.

"Bottoms up, then."