Prayer on the 26th of July

[x-dominion.livejournal.com]

Severely backdated due to life, sickness and insanity. Set on March 23rd-24th

During a lovely vacation in Cuba, the luck of the X-Men’s fieldtrips catches up with them in an explosive fashion.



"You know, this is the part where I should talk about the benefits of public service." Garrison said with a grin as he scooped up another mouthful of arroz con pollo. Over the last several days in Cuba, he'd dedicated himself to the indulgences of a real vacation. Marie had been making fun of his habit to plant himself on the beach with a regular supply of rum drinks and the odd cigar to enjoy. The house the Canadian government had lent them was an old sprawling villa that dated back to the 20s. It was in an area where a number of governments owned houses, one of the few foreign enclaves that Castro's government allowed. It was right on the beach, and outside of the main hustle of the capital. There was no staff there, which is why they had made due on their own in the house, and took most of their meals at the small cluster of older hotels and restaurants in the old section of town, where much of the government staff had their offices.

"Vacation time, health care, mindless bureaucracy, rum; what's not to enjoy, eh?"

"Oh you know, let's not worry about the crazy man running the joint," Marie said, careful to keep her voice low, before reaching over to steal a bite of Garrison's food. "But you sure can't beat the weather."

"Ah'm pretty sure it's tha 'mindless bureaucracy' thin' tha' mos' people're thinkin' ain't worth it. Jus' a thought." He could have made an argument about how rum completely balanced that mindless bureaucracy thing out, but Kevin was pretty sure that would be better left for someone else to do. Preferably someone who was legal to drink in the states. At the very least he'd settle for someone who just wasn't him. Instead Kevin focused on food which he'd been told was arroz con something or other but Kevin saw rice so it was rice, not arroz because he was a "gringo."

Toying with his straw, Jay was only half listening. His thoughts rolled over like the waves on the beach, stabbing the ice in his coke and wondered if he should have mixed an exotic drink instead. Slouched in his chair, one arm draped over his waist while the other rested against the table and he chewed the inside of his cheek. At the tone of Kevin's voice, his right wing shifted but he said little while he sat at the table.

Jane poked her chicken and gulped another glass of water. It was spicier than she'd thought it would be. "So I hear you're an official-official bartender now," she said, nudging Jay's arm. "Congratulations!"

"We need an in-house bartender," Clarice replied, taking a sip of her coke, alas without rum in it. Damn radiation preventing her from enjoying one of Cuba's most notorious beverages. Her age and supervision was not a factor she considered no-drink-worthy. "I mean really. We come back from doing whatever in leather and he's there waiting like Jeeves with our favorite drinks on a platter! We'd all be so grateful," she paused and then considered the ramifications of her words, "And alcoholics."

"I can't be an alcoholic. I'm Canadian. This is cultural for us." Kane took a sip from his drink and looked at the ruins of the meals in front of them. It had taken all of a day to fall into the pattern of the large meal in the mid-afternoon, followed by a lazy progression into the evening. "Alright, I'm going to duck on plans for this afternoon and make a stop by the Embassy. If you guys want to take off, I can get the check." He reached for his wallet as he exchanged a glance with Marie. In reality, the Embassy had nothing to do with their plans for the afternoon.
Marie nodded at Garrison, before turning to smile at the rest of the table. "Y'all have fun, just don't get inta too much trouble. Gar and Ah only have enough cash to bail one of ya out of prison."

***

Hailing down a taxi in Cuba was significantly easier and less life-threatening than in New York and they soon had one, piling in like puppies. "I am so ready for the beach," Clarice declared, yawning from the meal. She had made it her mission on this vacation to spend as much time at the beach or pool as possible and so far was succeeding admirably. It would have been better if Kyle were there, but even she had to admit the level of awkward would probably be a bad thing. The other thing she wanted was to get her hair braided, but her hair was only beginning to grown back into a butch-style buzz, which was wholly unattractive so she had to content herself with an ever-growing number of colourful bandanas and headgear.

Jane was starting to feel more than a little squished, sandwiched in the backseat between Clarice and Jay. "I need to stop somewhere and get a swimsuit, if we can. I managed to forget mine." She wriggled an arm free and leaned forward trying to peer out the windshield. She had absolutely no idea where she was. It was a very weird sensation.

The driver had half turned, looking with interest but without rancour at Clarice's purple skin. He said something in Spanish, but language wasn't necessary as cab driver the world over all have the same first question; where are you headed?

Before anyone could answer, there was a frantic knocking on the window. Outside on the street, a man in a black suit and improbably a clerical collar was trying to get their attention, rapping on the window. "Please, this is not the cab for you!" He was saying in clear, if heavily accented English.

Jane shook her head at him. "No, I'm sorry, we have this cab! I'm sure there will be another one soon!"

"Ah don' think tha's what 'e means," Kevin told her with uncertainty lacing through his voice. Kevin was up front next to the driver and rolled down his window, figuring no one in the back could move enough to anyway. "What're you on abou'?" The question was directed to what he assumed was a priest. Normally he'd be happy to just ignore the guy, but Cuba was out of his comfort zone so he'd rather waste some time asking than blow off the guy only to find out the driver was going to take them all somewhere secluded and shoot them because he was anti-mutant. It wasn't like travelling with Clarice or Jay was exactly subtle.

Jay didn't say anything as he was squished uncomfortably into the door, behind Kevin and his wings didn't exactly fit well as they did in his truck. He had this urge to stretch them, if only to get Jane's elbow out of his ribcage. "If we don' start rollin', Ah'm gettin' out an' flyin'."

"Wait!" Clarice said, doing her best to lean over Jane and Jay, "Why?" she asked the Priest. The wording caught her attention and more than that, his collar. Priests, and she assumed he was a real one, did not usually meddle in the affairs of tourists, mutant or not.

"This is not your cab. It is for a very important man. You cannot take this cab!" He said urgently, pausing to yell in rapid fire Spanish at the driver, who argued with both of them.

Jane watched the driver and the priest argue and sighed. This was getting ridiculous. They could probably walk to the beach faster than this. "Let's just get another cab, guys."

"Uh, yeah." That made no sense to Kevin, really, but if it was a matter of sitting there while there was arguing in Spanish or not sitting there while there was arguing in Spanish he opted for not sitting there. Besides, he'd been caught in between Spanish enough in San Diego as it was. "'Nother cab soun's grea' ta me. 'Scuse me, er, Father," he said to get the guy to move from his door so he could open it and get out while he waited for the others to join him.

"Ah'm out." Jay opened his door and stepped out, relieved not to be squished any further and shook out his wings before stepping up onto the sidewalk. He turned, backing up a few paces and waiting for the others to follow. "Ah saw a place Ah wanted ta stop anyways, couple o' blocks up."

The four began to walk up the street, only barely noticing that the priest had disappeared and a man who had just left one of the buildings behind them now hailed their vacated cab. Apparently the priest had no objections with this passenger, as the cab rumbled to a start.

The force of the blast threw them all to the pavement. Where the cab had been, a fireball erupted. Gouts of flame arced around them, and black smoke began to swell in the street. Garrison and Marie raced out from the café, looking around and just spotting their friends. With them, police began to appear on the scene, pushing people away from the flaming rubble.

“What the---“ Kane said as they reached the others, who stood frozen, staring at the cab that was almost their death trap. One of the bystanders talking to the police turned and pointed at the group. Now it was Kane’s turn to groan. “Man, I don’t think curse even begins to describe what we’re about to get stuck with.”

The day after the bombing, the priest make a reappearance with some rather disturbing information.



It was odd, seeing the occasionally hostile looks from the police as they walked by their table in the outdoor cafe. The explosion the day before had rattled them all, more so when they discovered the gears of police work catching them in the middle. It had only been Garrison's position with the Canadian government and as a cop they had kept them from being held at the station for questioning. As it was, they still would be required to speak with law enforcement, if only to prove their role in the killing of the official was purely accidental. Suddenly, Cuba wasn't as much fun as it had been.

Still, they needed to eat and the cafe down the street offered a bright and breezey patio to try and take their minds off of it. It might have worked until a figure in black appeared; the very same priest who had all but forced them out of the car prior to the bomb going on.

"May I sit?" He said.

Jane threw a sidelong glance at the others seated the table. "Um, I guess so?" While she was grateful for not being in a million little pieces currently, there was something about the priest that was just made her incredibly uneasy.

"Gracis. My name is Father Ramone. I'd like to apologize for yesterday. We were terrified that an innocent might be hurt as a result of our actions."

Kevin wasn't sure how he felt about letting the guy sit down, but if Jane hadn't said it he would. It'd be rude to just say no after the guy had saved their lives, right? "Wait, so now they think we 'ad somethin' ta do wi' it an' you're relieved over jus' gettin' tha guy you were after killed?" That wasn't reassuring. Kevin might have taken the priest's words the wrong way, but being forced to deal with cops again didn't exactly make him happy and fun-filled.

"You don't understand. You are tourists here." The priest sat down and folded his hands, leaning forward on the table. "It is to my greatest regret that you are involved in our struggle now. But I see that you are mutants, and our Lord does work in mysterious ways. Maybe your presence was pre-ordained as it is your people who now face danger from this godless government as well as the rest of the Cuban people."

Cross armed, Jay shifted uncomfortably at the intrusion of the man sitting at the table with them. He was sure the bombing was karma after his discussion with Yvette about not being able to heal one day and tossed his head to the side to get the hair out of his eyes. He placed a hand over Kevin's knee to still his argument. "So we're more in trouble than they're lettin' on?"

"Not you, my angelic looking friend. Mutants." He gave them a look of infinite sadness. "This government wishes to use them to forward their own agenda. They are even training some as weapons, in a camp in the hills. We have been trying to find someone, anyone to listen to us and we cannot. Only action is left to us."

Lowering her sunglasses, Clarice looked at him askance. "I don't believe in pre-ordained bullshit, Father. Unlike the angels, we were given free-will," she was a much-lapsed Catholic herself, but over the past month or so she'd had good reason to believe again at least provisionally. It was amazing how being nuked could change your entire world-view on so many things. "That said, this isn't the first time a government, any government has tried that sort of thing. What makes you think we're going to get involved?" even as she said the words she knew that pretending not to care was as much bullshit as being directed by a higher power. If nothing else, she wanted to check into this story seeing as how they were almost blown up.

"Because I believe you are righteous people, who would not allow such abuse to continue if you can stop it." The padre gave them a helpless look. "We will try, and if we fail, we will die and young mutants will remain the tool of this evil government. If you do not wish to help, I will respect your decision. But I pray to God that you find it in your hearts to help these innocents."

"Hold up. Die?" Jay chewed the inside of his cheek and he exchanged a brief look with Clarice who was probably considering the same thing. "So Wha' 're we suppose ta do?" Jay asked.

"Not die's wha' we're supposed ta do," Kevin said, looking almost pointedly at Jay whose hand he'd taken from his knee and was now holding firmly onto. Letting his gaze go back to the priest, Kevin tried to not be rude no matter what his own personal conflict with the church at large was. "Ya said it yerself, Father, we don' understan', we're jus' tourists. Tourists. Vacation. Not dying. Thanks."

"Kevin," Jane chided reluctantly. She didn't like this any better than he did, but at same time she couldn't ignore that there might be someone in need. Turning, she addressed Father Ramone directly. "Who were the 'We' you mentioned? Are there others beside you?"

Jay was taken back by the sudden look in Kevin's eyes and his own dropped to the gloved hand linked with his. The outright affection was both moving and disturbing. Kevin never showed affection around other people. Around a priest too! He felt compelled to shake the hand free, if only embarrassed by it, but he was too dumbstruck to. "Yeh," he tore his eyes away, averting them to the priest and he couldn't ignore his interest in the matter.

"There are a few of us ready to stand against this oppressive regime. You are young, I understand that. I ask for your help, but only if you are willing to give it. Unlike this government, I will not attempt to force you. There are innocents involved, and my friends and I will possibly lay down out lives trying to save them. If you wish to help us, follow me. If not, again, please accept my apologies and go with God."

Pulling her bandana and sunglasses off, she looked at Father Ramone steadily for a minute, before replying, "Again, nothing new. I didn't get the bull dyke haircut for shits and giggles, Father," she had doubts about his priestliness, "What makes you think we can do anything? Mutants or not, you don't know what our powers are. What we're capable of. Wanting to help and able to help are two very different things. And right now, you're looking at a bunch of college kids without training and one who has some...if she hadn't been nuked trying to do almost exactly this."

"Hey now, some o' us are just normal folk here. Normal folk who ditched out on their boss who'll kill them if they come back in pieces when he's going insane. Ah migh' be tha only one here, but Ah'm not seeing how this is our problem. Tell Garrison or tell everyone back up in Westchester. Let them handle it. Ah'm not all for risking anything near life an' limb for a guy who got us under suspicion as terrorists." He was pretty sure he'd ended up scolded by Jane or Clarice again for that, but it was the truth. He wasn't an X-Men or a trainee. He had no desire to be either and as much as life with his mutation sucked he was really attached to living. He wasn't going to potentially die for someone that meant nothing to him.

"Well, Ah'll go. Ah can fly, Ah can do it," Jay said with a conviction, despite what his boyfriend or Clarice thought. He let go of Kevin's hand and folded his arms over his chest. Both Clarice and Kevin had a point, but Jay didn't want to miss out on what could be a chance to get him on the team, nor to help someone out. After a moment hesitation, he got out of his seat. He hadn't completely given up on God and maybe this was some sort of sign.

"Oh hell," Clarice muttered, sliding her sunglasses back on. "Fine. I'm not letting Jay get his ass shot up if I can stop it. Kyle would kill me. I'm in."

Kevin was all but glaring at Jay. Was he naturally this stupid or did he actually try really hard to pull it off? With a groan all he said was, "I despise you both." He was pretty sure at least Clarice would realize she wasn't the one he really was annoyed with. Mentally he grumbled about people and their stupid saving people thing.

Jane took in the other three at the table. It looked like at least some of them were going to go, no matter what, so... "I'm in, but if it looks like something serious, we are totally getting out of there and calling Garrison." At least she was the least likely to get shot or something if she used her powers and went all cloudy.

Kane and Marie meet with DGI Agent Ortega, the woman in charge of the bombing investigation.



"They've been charged with what?" Garrison Kane said, more than a bit incredulously. He and Marie sat in the tiny office in Havana, across a battered desk from Armena Ortega. The female officer looked up from her own stack of paperwork, a scowl on her face. She was one of the younger officers in the DGI, a group that was a Cuban mashup of the FBI and the CIA, responsible for spying outside of the country and internal security inside it. Once again, only Kane's unique political status had earned them this meeting, and the look the Cuban officer was giving them implied that she didn't have any time for them.

"Inspector Kane, your friends are currently the only link that any witnesses have to the bombing."

"A purple girl tends to stick in someone's mind. That doesn't mean she was the only one there."

"For once, this has nothing to do with skin colour. I have three dead government officials in the last month. Three. All assassinated by people with training and funding. That means there is influence from outside the country." Ortega turned over a sheet. "We will be continuing our investigation, but at the very least, your friends will be detained."

"Detained for how long?" Marie asked, trying not to let her ideas about how ridiculous the charges were slip out. This was supposed to have been a fun, relaxing weekend for the grads. It seemed as though the Xavier's field trip curse extended to group trips as well.

"Until we're satisfied they're either nothing but a group of unlucky and rather dim tourists, or if they are involved. Other than the dead cab driver, they were the only ones in the vehicle prior to it being destroyed in the explosion. Any one of them could have planted this bomb, and as I may remind you, all four of them are from the country that is providing the most funding to anti-government forces in this country." Ortega wasn't about to mince words with anyone, especially some young American.

Kane let out a sigh and put his hand on Marie's forearm. "I can tell you that they're not terrorists, Agent Ortega, and I know that you're more interested with finding out what's going on rather than dealing with the absolute shitload of diplomatic issues this thing will cause and obscure your case. When we catch up with them, you can have all the access you want, so long as Marie can be present. Some of them haven't been out of the country before, and have bad experiences with American cops, much less Cuban ones. If during the investigation you decide to file charges, we won't interfere. In the meantime, tell us what's going on so we can help clear this up."

Marie just leaned back in her seat, resisting the urge to glare at Agent Ortega. She could fake being diplomatic long enough to get to the group and check on them. Her hand slipped into Garrison's and she squeezed it briefly, trying to let out some of the stress she was feeling without letting the agent see it.

"There have been three assassinations in the last month. Mid-level officials, mostly in our economic sector. The man killed yesterday, Gregory Diaz, was one of our top trade experts." Ortega rifled through a stack of papers. "The bomb showed significant micronization, which means it is not a homemade local product. There's a strong indication that the funding for this group has to be coming from outside of the country."

"Any proof?"

"If we had proof, we'd have a suspect. There's very few organizations which are allowed to keep private links to outside financing here in Cuba. Some transportation and exporting industries, non-profit organizations, the church, very limited groups. One of those channels is the only way to funnel the kind of funding to support this kind of coordinated campaign."

"None of which my friends are connected to." Kane pointed out reasonably. They needed Ortega's help to stay involved in the investigation, and that meant playing nice with the woman. However, despite the prickly exterior, she didn't put out the feel of some bureaucratic or political officer; she wanted to know what happened and wouldn't be happy with just some scapegoats.

"I can understand how you would be hard pressed to come up with a suspect, with the uh, complicated nature of the case," Marie said, wondering why they always seemed to get messed up. Couldn't they ever be at the right place, right time instead of their usual opposite?

"Your friends are a start. If, and I mean a big if, they're not involved, at the very least they must have some idea who was near enough to the explosion to have some information." Ortega put down the file and reached for her coat. "You should actually hope your friends are involved. Our other main suspects are connected to the church. If that connection is anything other than unofficial, this entire situation is going to get ugly fast."

“If we can find out how the money is coming in, that gives you your culprit.”

“The phantom priest? A Jesuit. They’ve meddled before.”

“I don’t actually care who it is. As long as it isn’t our friends.” Kane and Marie stood up.

“I’ll be back in a little while, Agent Ortega. We need to make a call.”

Xavier’s people go to check out the mutant camp, only to make a very unhappy discovery.



The underbrush was thick, both with vegetation and sound. All around them, the CLM men crouched, nervously fingering their weapons as they crept closer to the camp. They could already see the lights on the perimeter, but curiously, there was no wire around it, or guards that they could see. It seemed more like a camp in the traditional sense; a place for a getaway more than a secret prison. Still, the long low cabins scattered around the central courtyard had a barracks-like quality to them.

Something did not feel right to Clarice. Maybe it was that she was still on the injured list and not supposed to be doing any sort of gallavanting around the underbrush of potential secret prison training camps or maybe it was that she was over exerting herself. She was feeling better though, mostly, when she wasn't doing something so potentially stupid as this. Curiosity killed the cat though and satisfaction brought him back. "Can't get no...satisfaction," she hummed barely audibly under her breath as she slithered closer. She had not brought the right clothes for this.

Kevin was not in favor of this by any stretch of the imagination. He was pretty sure everyone knew that and he'd made it clear with that whole not dying thing. If it wasn't for Clarice and Jay being there he would have told them to do it on their own. He didn't like the hero gig, it wasn't for him. If you wanted him to help out by building houses he was all for it, but he didn't feel like sneaking around to "help" with this camp thing. Besides, unless they wanted him to strip down and attach himself to someone he wasn't much of a help as a mutant anyway. He spared a small glare for Clarice, because somehow getting nuked wasn't enough for her to take time off all this. Jesus, talk about a buzzkill from having been in a good mood helping people.

Jay lingered in between two CLM men, crouched down, watching the camp. His hands were linked together, twisting in a fidgeting manner, wishing he had something in them to distract. The man next to him checked the gun in his hands and recheck it. He had this unsettling feeling in his gut and glanced over at Kevin some ways away and Clarice not too far off, knowing he would hear it one way or another for going against the grain. It was a bad idea to come here and be a part of this. He couldn't help but look for some reassurance in someone, anyone and looked to see if he could find Jane. But the moment passed and the two men moved forward - a signal for Jay and the others to do the same.

Jane slipped through the vegetation, drifting slowly over the ground as a loose mist, edging closer to the perimeter of light. Even as thin as she could make herself, she was still a fairly noticeable fog. This felt less and less like a good idea as the minutes passed, and judging from the nervous look Jay kept throwing over his shoulder, she didn't think she was the only one. The group started moving forward, and she followed, sliding up into the sky.

There was a sudden burst of noise as the first CLM man opened up with his machine gun, stitching bullets along the first guard area on the perimeter. Two uniformed military men dove for cover, as the CLM rose and charged the compound. From each of the barracks, a sudden explosion of noise took place, as doors banged open and mostly young men in fatigue pants and white t-shirts rushed out. A grenade went off in a group of them, sending bodies flying in a bloody wake.

Jay startled at the machine gun firing, knocking off the men at the perimeter like ducks lined in a row. He nearly stumbled at it, catching himself off a tree and shock over came him at the sight of men getting blown to shit. Frozen, he ducked behind the tree, taking in the scene before him. "Wha tha hell?" They didn't look like mutants, in fact he couldn't see anyone using their powers or looking oppressed. "aw fuckin'--" A man ran up along side Jay, lifted his gun to fire but took a bullet to his shoulder, knocking him back. "SHIT!" Jay fell back and turned over, scrambling to his feet.

It all seemed a little strange when Kevin stopped glaring and looked at the camp. He didn't know much about militaries but he figured all those movies weren't entirely wrong, right? It just looked like a military base. He had crept up along with everyone but had mostly hung closer to the back of the group because he didn't want to be there. The only reason he was there at all was because his boyfriend was an idiot. When the shooting started Kevin flattened himself to the ground, eyes peering up to see what was going on. First that priest got them involved with the Cuban police, now the people they'd gone in with were opening fire before they were even sure that what the old guy had said. "Fuck this savin' people stuff," he muttered to himself, scrambling over the ground and trying to stay out of the line of fire. Both sides had guns, but why would mutants need guns if they had powers? What were the odds there was no mutant there with a physical mutation or a power that would allow them to strike from a distance? Yet there was only gunfire.

The small, bright flashes of light seemed at odds with the sound of gunfire, badly coordinated and out of sync. They couldn't really be shooting at them, could they? Jane hovered overhead, lingering in the upper branches of a tree. As she watched, one of the oncoming shooters abruptly collapsed to the ground. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, she muttered quietly, heading back to the point where she last saw Jay. This didn't seem right- they were only supposed to check things out. What had they gotten themselves into?

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, it only figured. Nothing ever seemed to go as planned. "I knew this was a bad idea," Clarice muttered as the bullets flew overhead. Of course, she'd agreed to it. She had never claimed to be very smart when it came to avoiding a fight like this though. Peeking up through the underbrush, she swore she'd kill the priest if she ever got her hands on his, "They're not mutants!" she called to Kevin. Oh that priest was going to pay for this.

"Obviously!!" Jay called out, running up a small mound and beating his wings. Immediately, he took to the air but no sooner had he gotten ten feet when two bullets hit his right wing. He squawked and the injury burned right down to his shoulder blade. He lost his balance mid flight and crashed to the ground in a heap of arms, feathers and legs.

Clarice's voice had finally told Kevin where she was but it was Jay who had his attention. Jay who was falling to the ground and it was the blood that kept his focus. "Great, can we get tha fuck out now?" he called over to her as he ran toward his fallen boyfriend. Sure, this was all his fault, but it didn't mean Kevin was going to leave him there. He tried to stay low and move quickly but the two didn't go together so Kevin took the chance and stood up to he could run over. Before he reached Jay a bullet hit Kevin's right arm from behind him. He had the badly timed joke running through his head asking when hippies would make all natural bullets so he couldn't be hit. Humor in the face of pain probably wasn't the best idea, but the bullet in his limb was being pointedly ignored by time he got to Jay's side. "Y'alrigh'?"

"Ughh," Jay groaned, rolling over onto his stomach and grasping for some semblance of what went wrong mid flight. Kevin jarred him out of his initial shock and he brushed a dirty hand over his face, the subtle movement sending a brief but sharp pain through his shoulder from his wing.

"Ohhoww," he opened his mouth for something more coherent to come out but all he could do is fumble forward and dropped his hands into the ground, digging his fingers into the dirt. With Kevin's help, he got up and moving, but every step sent a burst of energy up from his leg that rippled through his shoulder, to the blood stained wing. The wound tingled as it slowly closed, but it didn't dull the pulsing pain any less.

Jane caught sight of the falling figure and swooped down beside Kevin. Is he okay? What happened? behind them shots continued to ring out, and the sounds of fighting grew closer.
"Let's get out of here!" Clarice called, not wanting to yell 'retreat' like a loser. She grabbed Jay's other side and helped haul him away, making a blink disk behind them to catch any bullets and redirect them. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't as hard as she thought it would be since she wasn't really teleporting anything so much as just holding it open. Maybe she just wouldn't have to tell the doctors about it. Pulling out her cellphone she dialed Marie for a pick up. She'd get her ass chewed, but that was okay right now. Leaving Marie a message, hoping she’d get it.

Garrison makes a call to Farouk, hoping that the Professor might once again have information they need.



Kane did his back to keep the horror out of his face as Marie listened to and replayed Clarice’s message. “They got into an armed fight with a bunch of revolutionaries? This just keeps getting better. Where was it?”

They fumbled with the map for a moment, locating them. Marie was ready to go out to retrieve them, but Kane talked her into waiting until they had gotten all the information they could possible dig up. For the moment, Clarice had said that they were safe, which meant it would take effort to get worse. Plus, he had a phonecall that he needed to make.

"Professor?" Kane said into the satellite phone. His service wasn't great, but Wisdom had mentioned that Farouk had been hanging about the brownstone a lot, and it was the easiest way to chase him down. Kane had been looking for anyone who understood the bizarre nature of the Cuban finance restrictions, and how to get around them. Ortega had been clear. If he couldn't find a way to track down the financial connection, and fast, it was likely that not only were the people he brought with him going to be charged, but it was possible that after the attack, they could be looking at a full blown crackdown on the church itself. Cuba was a delicate balance, and if the government thought the church was actively working to overthrow them, it wouldn't be long before the situation spiraled out of control.

Being desperate, Kane had actually called his father first, who had sent him to speak to the offices of a Vazhin in Russia. The call had put him in touch with Natasha Romanova again, much to his surprise, and with a voice self-pleased enough to almost be a purr, she'd suggested the most unlikely source to ask about the Jesuits and illegal financing; Professor Farouk.

Amahl plucked the receiver from Lebeau's hand and glared at at with the sort of attitude people usually reserved for the dead rodents. He wondered faintly if all of this was some elaborate psychological experiment. If so - it was working like a charm. All he required was to heard the name 'Kane' and he could feel the headache start somewhere behind his left eye.

He steeled himself, nodding at the Cajun and strode out of the building. He lingered on the steps, the phone clasped to his ear and a semblance of polite indifference in his voice.

"Mr. Kane. How is the Socialist Paradise treating you? Enjoying the vacation?"

"Right up until the point that they tried to blow me up, sure." Kane said lightly. "I see you're spending time around the brownstone these days. Getting mixed up with Pete's crew leads to all kinds of unsavory connections, which is why I'm calling. Do you know a man named Vazhin?"

The headache intensified and migrated deeper, somewhere deep inside his spleen.

"Never heard of him. Sounds Korean. Horrid little country, make a point of avoiding it."

"Russian. He's an old enemy of my dad's, which practically makes them best friends. We ran into a situation down here in Cuba. There's some group calling themselves the Christian Liberation Movement; anti-Castro group which has been taking special fun in blowing up government officials down here. Unfortunately, some of the guys from the school ended up almost taking the cab rigged up with explosives. Some priest pulled them out so they could still kill the official, and not surprisingly, the DGI have associated our fellow mutants with the bombing." Kane juggled the phone while working on his notes.

"The DGI is all but convinced the financing for the CLM is being funneled through the church. There's all kinds of suspicions that the church here is controlled mostly by the Jesuits. Unless I can help prove that it isn't the case, not only are we going to get a show trial with some of Xavier's front and centre, but Cuba is going to have an interesting new civil war on their hands as the church and the state fight for loyalty. Which brings me back to Vazhin. His agent, Romanova, the very attractive and extremely scary one, said that if anyone would know a way to examine the money links, it would be you. Something about Afghanistan and Beirut in the early eighties?

Farouk looked up in the clear blue sky and pondered briefly the good old days when the goddamn Soviets knew how to keep their fucking mouths shut.

"Well, yo know what they say about Ivans, Mr. Kane. You just can't trust these people. Inveterate liars all, with a questionable sense of hygiene and dreadful fashion sense. I think somebody might be playing a little joke on you...."

"Look, I'm sure there's some sort of secret spy handshake and nod that my old man knows that makes all this work out, but I really don't have time with four members of the school facing charges by the Cuban government. So how about we make a deal, Professor? Give me the information you might have, and I'll mention how helpful you were to Pete, who actually does have an interest in keeping Xavier's people out of foreign jails. If you don't, I'll mention how unhelpful you were, which I'm sure might impact your recent interest in couch-surfing at the brownstone."

Something warm and faintly nauseating welled up in Farouk's chest. It might have been semi-filial pride, he realized disgustedly. Christian's little boy was growing a reasonable facsimile of a brain. The concept of quid pro quo seemed to have taken root somewhere in there after all, and all it took was a prospect of involuntary enjoyment of the luxurious accommodations offered by the finest of Havana penitentiaries.

"Oh, THAT Beirut. It's all coming back to me now. Hm. I remember talking to a friend once who heard a story for a cousin of his wife's that the Maronite Catholic militias in Beirut had been supported by a some elements of the Vatican. But it wasn't the Jesuits, of that I am certain They were beginning their leftward turn in their politics right about then. And direct action of the type you are describing doesn't sound like their modus operandi at all... Hm. Where in Cuba are you exactly? And what church is this priest-benefactor of your is affiliated with?"
"Havana. It's Archbishop Benetiaz who is the chief prelate out here." Kane said, making notes as he spoke. "If not Jesuits, who can tell me what to look for in terms of funding?"

"Havana. Unless I am mistaken that's the Franciscans' turf..." Farouk rambled on buying time as he closed his eyes and slipped into the memory trance, the trained mind closing off the distractions and non-essentials and bringing him back to 27 years ago into a dinghy apartment smelling of cheap tobacco, hashish and grappa.

"Ah, yes. I am afraid you have a bit of a hike ahead of you. There's a gentleman residing in Holguin province. Last I heard he had a little place near Antilla. His name is Ivan Rodriguez. If anyone does, he should have some inkling of the current dramatic personae and their finances."

Amahl paused and coughed delicately. "Umm.. Yes. It might be best not to mention to him that I referred you."

"Can't imagine there'd be people who have an unhappy memory of you." Kane chuckled. "Thanks Professor." Kane held his hand over the phone for a second. “Marie, call Clarice. Guy’s name is Ivan. He’s not that far from them. Apparently he’s the guy who’ll be able to tell how the money is moving to the terrorists, which will clear our friends. They need to talk to him and call us.” He took his hand away as Marie made the call. “I’ll make sure to talk to Pete, Farouk.”
"My pleasure, I assure you." Farouk turned the phone off, finishing his thought in Arabic, "May your dwarf genitalia turn sterile with rot and erupt in the bloody sores of pestilent worm larva, you horrible little product of a diseased camel sow and a thousand fathers."

The little old lady passing by the stoop stopped and stared for a brief second, taken aback by the contrast between the smiling face and the tone of the unfamiliar words. Farouk waved at her gaily and she harried off.

Amahl stood still for another moment, thinking, and then shrugged. These people could afford long distance...

"Zdrastvuite. Ne mogli bi vi poprosit' Nataliyu Romanovu k telephonu? Blagodaryu vas."
The members of Xavier take the time to visit Farouk’s suggested contact and he’s not as stable as they might wish.



Marie’s call had just come through, with vague details of some old man they needed to talk to when Clarice stumbled over a tree root, dropping the phone and could only watch as it smashed to pieces. "Fuck." The end of the road had never been more literal. The road had stopped, and only a rough track cut through the jungle led further on.

The old man flicked the meat-morsel out and observed the seagull carefully. The bird clearly had seen better days, one of the eyes had been gouged out, her wings and body were covered in a patina of old scars, and the remaining eye glared balefully at the world, with nothing but hate burning in its depths. The gull circled slowly, spiraling up and down above the porch and the rocking chair without any discernible pattern, before swooping suddenly with shocking speed. Its beak gaped in a silent, predatory shriek as it fell through the air toward its prey. But the old man proved faster still and the wire suddenly snapped taut, the bait flying back toward him and the bird veered off, cawing in frustrated rage.

Ivan cackled at the departing bird, his dentures clacking wetly, and snapped the gnarled fingers without turning around. "Ehhhh.... Y'all can come out now."

Slowly Clarice crept out from just inside the shadows of the jungle underbrush like a child caught red-handed in the cookie jar. That they were being caught by a man who had been doing secret ops type things before they were born didn't really make it any better, even if it did make sense. "So...how's tricks?" she asked, as if they had planned on getting caught. "I mean, you've gotta have a couple up your raggedy-ass sleeve."

Jay didn't know what to say. The man's taunt to the bird was offensive to him. Maybe because he had been watching it, watching his irony fly overhead. It was the perfect vision for what men created, taking nature and warping it to whatever they wanted, whatever monster they would have it be. Or maybe it got those injuries from nature itself, but either way, it only mocked the betrayal and stupidity he felt. He let Clarice do the talking and numbly running both hands over his arms, trying to ignore how tired he was and the subtle throb on his wing down to his shoulder blade. Apart of him wanted to go to Kevin to seek comfort, but he didn't think his boyfriend was so pleased with him right now.

The old man was winding the wire of his bait around his finger with steady, sure movements, swearing occasionally under his breath when the string would get tangled. His faded blue eyes never left the sky, however, where the gull was still circling, its beady eye affixed firmly on the meat.

"My name is Eeeeeevaaaaan." He informed the X-Men imperiously, enunciating his name carefully and with insulting precision. "Or Comrade Rodriguez. Not John. And not Juan. And definitely not Eye-Van. First person that calls me Eye-Van gets to find out whether the rumors about the secret cemetery under my outhouse are true."

He stopped suddenly, his face assuming an intent, focused expression as he rose up slightly in his chair. The throat, covered with iron-grey bristle, worked laborously, the Adam's apple shifting up and down, the entire mechanics exerting a sort of horrified fascination on the audience, until Rodriguez hawked suddenly, spitting out something that looked wetly solid. He grunted in satisfaction and leaned back in his chair, lazily swaying the bait in the direction of the bird.

"Ehhh... You kids got American cash?"

Jesus. Kevin almost wished he was being shot at again. At least the enemy was obvious with that. This old man was sort of nauseating with his lack of anything resembling manners and cruel taunting of the seagull. He was okay with hunting and that sort of thing, but being mean just for the sake of it to an animal was petty. It was something kids did, not something an old man should busy himself with. He didn't say anything to E-vaaan, who apparently thought they were all idiots. Kevin stuck to the background as much as possible, yet again not wanting to be there. He was never leaving the US again. Every time he did he ended up shot at, digging people out of snow or a lab rat. International travel was so overrated.

Jane scowled at the nasty old man and hitched up the makeshift tarp toga she'd rigged together. She felt stupid, tired, and a little dizzy, and what she wanted more than anything in the world was to go home, crawl into her own bed, and die for a few days. Holy crap, people had really shot at them. She still was shocked by that.

Screwing up his face, Jay averted his eyes away from the disgusting wad of phlegm on the ground, making a silent vow that he would never be that old and if he was, he wouldn't be like that. He leaned over to Clarice and whispered, "Let's go. He's as nuts as they come."
The man was completely nuts, but that didn't mean much honestly. Sanity was vastly overrated sometimes. "I'm a little coconut in a little coco-rut, I'm so small and hard to see, sometimes people step on me..." Clarice sang, moving closer. When life gives you crazy, you make crazy-ade, "And if we do?" she asked, turning serious. "What do we get in return?"

Ivan raised an incredulous eyebrow as the bedraggled girl started singing of all things. At her words he shrugged. "Directions to a bus station and a head start before I call la policia and have you arrested for trespassing on my property."

The shrewd eyes glanced off Clarice and took in Jay and Kevin who are engaging in a series complicated gravitational maneuvers, vacillating between aborted movements toward each other and abrupt steps apart. "Ehhh... you queers or something?"

Kevin had to stop himself from glaring that the old man. It wasn't polite, but then neither was he and you got what you gave in this world. Out of mere defiance Kevin moved close enough to Jay that his sleeve grazed his boyfriend's arm. "Gay as Christmas morning, sir. That a problem?" Okay, so the crazy guy was probably going to pull out a shotgun and use them as target practice now, but Kevin wasn't in the mood to care.

Rodriguez snorted contemptuously and let the bait fly again, cackling evilly at the bird gliding above. "C'mon, you old fuck. Heeeere is the tasty..."

Turning back toward the X-Men, Ivan glared grimly at the boys . "As long as y'all keep your hands to yourselves, gonna be no problems." He squinted at Kevin belligerently. "I'm saving myself for marriage."

The words were still hanging in the air, as the mutants struggled to process them, when his arm suddenly shot out with unexpected, shocking speed, a crooked finger pointing unerringly at Clarice's face, even as his own eyes were still fixed on Kevin. "Hey, girly, I'm old and partially senile - not fucking retarded. Quit yer moving."

Rodriguez paused suddenly before shrugging and letting his arm drop tiredly, muttering something Russian under his breath. "Actually never mind. Forget the money. The bus stop is a couple of miles south. Get to gettin'."

Well, that was something, at least. "Thank you, sir," Jane tried for a polite tone, but the tension of the last few days made it difficult. Still, you had better luck when you were nice to people, even if they were completely repulsive. "Is there anywhere with a phone we can use between here and there, do you know?"

The old man leered at her suggestively. "I know lotsa things, honey."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Clarice glared right back at Ivan. He was old and creepy, but she was young and right now, pissed off. She was betting that her ruthlessness would outdo his senility in the long run, uberfast reflexes or not, "Yeah, no. I'm interested in info on the CLM. You live practically in their backyard. I'll pay cash...if your info makes me happy," Clarice was not about the subtle and that was okay right now. She didn't want to buy drugs on some random street corner, she wanted info from this crazy man.

Ivan looked at her blankly for a second and then snickered, the yellowed dentures showing. "Are you fucking serious? I'm out of the game girl, and if I wasn't - who the hell had the teaching of you? Who the hell are you? Who do you represent? How do I know this isn't one of CLM's 'loyalty tests?' And what cash are you gonna pay me exactly? Your allowance? I don't see any bags of money in your sweaty little hands! And another thing -... " The old man was clearly hitting his groove now, his face reddening and voice rising "... info on CLM? What am I the fucking Google? Nice specifics, you wannabe..."

What Clarice wanted to be remained forever lost to the annals of history as the humid Cuban day was suddenly torn apart by a shrill ring of a cell phone. A highly illegal cell phone unless Ivan was an employee of a foreign company, or had a much higher standing in the Party than his Hawaiian shirt suggested.

The sound trilled again, turning the gull's cautious approach into an undignified squawking retreat - which went largely unnoticed. The X-Men and the X-KGB agent turned and stared at the small plastic rectangle on the patio table with the unison of a well-drilled firing squad, all five heads swiveling like gun turrets. The silence stretched as the phone rang again, with rude cheerful insistence.

Ivan shook his head, the dark foreboding writ clearly in his face and reached for the cell with ginger caution usually reserved for the especially poisonous reptiles.

"Hola?"

The voice of the person on the other end remained inaudible, Ivan's changing expression serving as the only hint of the conversation available to the Americans.

"I should've fucking known." Ivan's scratched his crotch despondently with his free hand and closed his eyes briefly. "You gonna front 'em?"

The beady eyes suddenly flew open again. "Yeah? Well, fuck you too, Chris. I never had a mother, so that's not really... Ok, see, just because she had larger than normal hands and shoulders.... No. No! You damn liar! THERE WAS NO ADAM'S APPLE! What?! Don't tell me to be fucking calm! I'M PERFECTLY CALM! I'M THE PICTURE OF GODDAMN FUCKING ZEN!"

The mysterious 'Chris' went on for a few more minutes, saying something that seemed to drive Rodriguez into deep contemplative trance and another long and energetic rearrangement of his crotch. "Interesting point. I have a counter offer - howsabout we agree on an unreasonable number?"

Another pause.

"I'm a discerning gentleman of leisure, Chris. I need funds to maintain the lifestyle I want to become accustomed to." Ivan belched richly into the phone. " 'Scuse me. As I was saying - I think another zero on the end of that figure... All right, all right! Jesus. Don't get your thong all in a bunch. Yeah, yeah. Well, hope I'll see you never. Cheerio, you English fuck."

Ivan snapped the phone closed and looked at it for a long moment, only to be distracted by the triumphant cawing. He glanced upward just as the seagull disappeared into the sky, its prize clutched firmly in the claws.

"Fucking typical..." The old man sighed again and looked at the somewhat shell-shocked mutants with supreme disinterest. "Ehhh.... Y'all might as well come on in. It'll take me a bit to pull the stuff together." He smiled at them with wide insincerity and grunted painedly, as he got out of the chair, his bones creaking in indignant protest.

"Welcome to the exciting world of espionage."

***

Taking Ivan's cell phone, Clarice dialed the number for Marie so they could get the hell out of there. This had been a disaster from the get-go and the sooner things were over and done the better. Not that she was looking forward to the ass-chewing they were going to get, but that was what happened when she fucked up and as the X-Man there, she was in charge. It would actually almost be a relief actually. Leaving a message for Marie she hung up and handed the phone back, "Let's get out of here," she practically snarled at Jay, Kevin and Jane. "Now."

Garrison, Marie and Ortega go to the church to discuss just who is responsible for everything.



Archbishop Eduarudo Benetiaz was a man of impressive dignity. Over six foot, with a full head of grey hair and a sun darkened face that suggested a life mostly lived outside of his current well appointed office and robes, he commanded the kind of immediate attention that one imagined the church of the Middle Ages inspiring. He greeted them as they walked into the office, his Spanish warm and liquid in response to Ortega, and his English equally sonorous to Marie and Garrison.

"I must say, you are the most curious government envoys I've received so far." He said with a chuckle as he offered around drinks. Ortega waved away the glass and leaned forward. The almost defensive shift in her mood had Kane already peg her as a seriously lapsed Catholic, uncomfortable in a place she'd likely been raised to hold holy.

"Archbishop Benetiaz, earlier today, a DGI training camp was attacked. Six recruits were killed, along with several of the terrorists. One of them we've identified as Padre Ramone Deigo."

"Ramone?" The Archbishop paused, stilling for a moment. "Ramone once worked directly for us here. He was an excellent administrator. He took a leave to minister in the country last summer. I never imagined he might-- he is dead?"

"Shot during the attack. The attack that he was leading."

"Jesu!" The man sank into his chair. "This is very shocking, Officer."

"What can you tell us about Ramone, Archbishop?" Marie asked, hands clasped gently in her lap.

"As I mentioned, Ramone was an excellent administrator. He worked with myself and Bishop Atonio closely, on everything from our accounts to foreign aid and correspondence. He had grown up in the country, and I felt that he wasn't always sure about his place here in Havana." Benetiaz rubbed his upper lip. "God gives us each unique talents, and unfortunately, Ramone was not a gifted speaker. I believe he wanted to minister to a flock, but he was after ackward trying. Last summer, he decided that the longer he remained in the bureaucracy of the church, the less chance he would have to bring God on a personal level to those who need it. The Holy Mother Church needs all types to perform God's work, of course, but Ramone had lost his ability to find satisfaction with that. We granted his leave and sent him off with our blessings. That was the last time I spoke with him."

Marie’s cell phone trilled, and she excused herself as Kane and Ortega continued to talk with the Archbishop. After a few moments, Kane excused himself as well to check on her, and came back into the room with a piece of paper. “Archbishop Benetiaz, who is in charge of your accounts now?”

“Bishop Atonio is in charge of the financial activities of the Archdiocese of San Cristobal de la Habana. But all of our transactions are certified as part of the international Catholic network, and audited by the Vatican.”

“Assuming that the Vatican isn’t involved in this.”

“Agent Ortega, I can assure you that—“

“It’s been less than thirty years since the last time the Jesuits tried to funnel funds to religious based terrorist groups outside of Santiago de Cuba.” She said, her voice steely.

“That was a different time, Agent Ortega. I can assure you, neither the Superior General or the Holy Father wants to be associated with these fringe groups and their murderous agendas.”

“Archbishop Benetiaz,” Kane said. “This Bishop Atonio. His control of the accounts means that every entry is either listed as Vatican certified or one that he has personally entered.”

“Yes, but those are very rare. Normally one time donations from outside Catholics. We submit them for auditing by the state annually.”

“So only he can add an account.”

“Yes.”

“Agent Ortega, I think I know who’s behind your killings, and it’s not the Jesuits or our friends.”

***

“Father Ramone is dead.”

“I have heard.” Bishop Atonio sat back in his chair. He hadn’t been surprised when Ortega had come through the door with a firearm in her hands. Garrison hadn’t been a cop as long as most of his colleagues, but he had learned that innate sense of guilt on someone, and the Bishop was simply rank with it. Kane placed the printouts from the Archdiocese accounts on the table, straight from the Archbishop’s computer.

“His attack on the DGI camp failed.”

“I have no idea what you are—“

“Shut up.” Ortega reached out and grabbed the man by the shirtfront, and pulled him across his own desk. He had time for one astonished yelp before he hit the carpet with the DGI officer’s weight on his back. “We’ve been through the accounts, Bishop. Southern Air Inc. You’re using a goddamn former CIA front company to funnel money into the country, washing through the Archdiocese, and then passing it to the CLM so they can use it to kill people. Only two people have the access to link the account into the church’s funding stream, and we know for a fact that the Archbishop hasn’t edited the accounts independently in months.”

The Bishop nodded painfully, and was rewarded with a release of pressure. Instead of arguing, he pulled himself to his feet, adjusted his clothes, and folded his hands over the cross around his neck. “You are correct.”

“Let me guess. Godless regime that needs to fall. Bring the word back to us all.”

“You are merely—“

“These were people!” Ortega made as if you hit him, but caught control of herself. “People who were trying to do better for all of us, and you killed them because you knew that only by increasing the suffering will people follow your own mad quest!”

“This was once the home of a godly nation, Agent. It must be one again.”

“I’m going to look forward to your trial. Treason carries the death penalty.”

“I will be a martyr for the future.”

“You won’t even be a footnote.”

“Agent Ortega, wait.” Kane said, interrupting for the first time. “Bishop Atonio, I understand why you did it. But how did you do it? That account has been dormant almost twenty-five years. Only the unique nature of the account in the first place kept it active. How did you get access to it.”

“A sign from God. There was a letter, asking me what I wished most in life. More than a year ago now. I wanted to bring Cuba back from its atheistic regime, and to the leadership of the Church, as it should be. A few weeks later, the details to the accounts and contacts in the CLM were delivered. Ramone left to serve as the go-between for the money and our plans. Eventually, the government would push too hard back against the church, and that would give us all the popular support we needed.”

“Who wrote the letter?”

“I don’t know. It was merely signed Kingmaker. I do not question a gift from God.”

“This one you should have.” Kane shook his head. “Agent Ortega, I’m going to assume the charges are dropped against my friends. I think now is the time that we should be leaving.”

“I agree.” She stepped back as four men came in to collect the Bishop. “Not much of a vacation, Inspector.”

“I won’t tell. I just have the feeling my friends are ready now to go home.”