xp_logs | Gene Nation: Harsh World

Remy makes a trip to see one of the men responsible for Gambit, in a desperate gamble to try and stop a second massacre.

David Langstrom always stayed at the Plaza while in New York City. Some of his fellow CIA officers of the upper echelon made a joke out of it, pointing out that habits were the most dangerous vice a spy could have. Langstrom ignored their jokes with an easy smile. The truth was that it was good to have a place where people knew they could reach you, especially in difficult times. Even at the height of the Cold War, the KGB never dreamed of going after anyone at the Director level as any more than a potential recruit. Assassination beget assassination, and professional agencies knew well the price that would be paid in blood for an action that amounted to a no-holds-barred covert war.

David had other reasons for the Plaza. It boosted an extensive Agency staff, most of whom were recruited in the 50s, and many remaining in their posts at the grand old lady of the New York hotel scene. The Plaza was still a destination for the diplomatic core, and the old guard of the world scene, making a line into the building, no matter how illegal, a useful asset to the Agency. Langstrom would continue to stay there, secure in the advantages it provided.

However, as he walked through the door of his suite, he had to concede that the other officers may have a point. Sitting quite relaxed in a chair, a glass of bourbon in his hand, was Gambit. The former CIA assassin had no obvious weapons, and didn't need any. If he wanted Langstrom dead, then it would happen. David quashed a momentary rush of fear. He had no wish to be killed, but pragmatism and training forced back the instinctive desire to flee, and instead, he placed his briefcase on the table and kicked off his shoes.

"I didn't know that you were registered here. I would have sent a fruitbasket down."

"That's fine. I helped myself to the minibar." Gambit took a swallow of the amber liquor, enjoying it. "I appreciate it if the Agency covers that."

"Sure, we can do that." Langstrom poured himself a drink and sat down opposite the man. In his briefcase, he had a gun, but he put that out of his mind. The only way out of this alive was talking, and finding out what a dead man wanted.

"I always enjoyed New York. It felt like coming home after a mission. It was dirtier then, more dangerous. Shame that's changed." Remy voice was different from the one his friends heard. His accent was flat, inflictions slightly manic, and a tone of laughter pinned underneath. There was none of the rough and liquid Cajun in it; the sneering voice of arrogance and self-confidence.

"You're supposed to be dead, Gambit." Langstrom felt no need to banter around the point. "At Alcatraz. Now you're here. Does that mean I'm dead?"

"David, you always were more paranoid than Chester. Too much Army still left in you. No, I'm not here to kill you, although don't think that I don't have good reason. First you toss me into the middle of the X-Men, and then sic them on me while in the middle of some good old fashioned international terrorism." Gambit's smile turned brittle. "I should take the wounds out on you and your Agency, but I've decided that would be a bad business decision."

"Business? I've heard you've surfaced again in Europe, but your name pops up like an excuse every time something sick happens. The Kaiser Soize of the Intelligence world."

"Pop cultural references, David? You must be spending more time with the family. How are Henry and Karen?" The colour drained from Langstrom's face at Gambit's words, and the mockingly toned threat underneath them.

"I'm tired of this."

"Already? Chester would have offered me a refill by now."

"He was more comfortable with monsters."

"Especially the ones he made." Gambit shrugged and took a sip. "And don't look so affronted, David. After all, that was your call to stick me in the middle of a school and then activate me. My only conclusion is that you expected me to kill my way out, torturing as many teenagers as I could get my hands on."

"It was a calculated decision, in case Xavier's proved too dangerous to monitor properly. As for you, we thought you were slipping the leash, especially once we found out Dayspring was there." The glass exploded against the wall and Langstrom jumped.

"You morons. It didn't take Dayspring. You put me in there with people from the Morlock killings. They tagged me coming through the door. Xavier had a whole psychic web waiting to shut me down like a mindless puppet the second I got my memories back. Only lucky break was that he didn't expect that psycho bone girl to get to me first. Thanks to the pain of a couple of her shinbones shoved in me, I managed to get out ahead of Chuck's massive brain." Gambit pointed at Langstrom. "I gave one of the bones back to Chester. I'm trying to think of a good reason not to give you the other one."

Langstrom let out a long breath. Gambit had just filled in a giant gap in their intelligence; how he'd gotten away from the mansion in the first place, and why Whelan had bone fragments lodged in his wounds. His security system had been broken by a professional, forcing them to discount the Morlock girl acting alone if it was her, and the only one with the skills to do so, an ex-SIS officer, they knew for certain was not in the country. "So, you killed Whelan."

"Of course I killed Whelan. It was only fair, since trying to get me killed reeks of one of his plans. I thought the bones would throw you off long enough for me and a stack of his records to get out of the country, and what do you know? They did." Gambit leaned forward, his smile growing lupine. "If it hadn't been for those fucks in leather at Alcatraz, I'd be a lot further along in my return to career form. Unfortunately, they cost me a year, and I've got some scores to settle."

"The Agency doesn't have active intelligence resources on them right now, Gambit. Orders of the President."

"And you?"

Langstrom sighed. "Very little. Our priorities are elsewhere. They've got protection through both the Secret Service and the Bureau." He had no qualms about telling the truth to Gambit. Personally, he wouldn't shed a tear if the sadistic assassin managed to thin out Xavier's herd, but letting Gambit fall into the telepathic hands of Xavier could lead back to the Agency, and he wasn't going to risk it. Better to warn him off and keep him at arms length.

"Long term project then. But, that's not really what I'm here to talk about."

"No?"

"No. I'm here to talk about Gene Nation."

"Really?" Langstrom was honestly surprised. The Gene Nation terrorist acts had been small, and various groups had kept it tightly under wraps while considering a response. His own intelligence said that it was likely a small group of homeless mutants gone militant, not much of a threat, but the idea of a domestic mutant terrorist group had the NYPD and the FBI scared shitless. Langstrom had borrowed a page out of Whelan's first Massacre, linking Gene Nation potentially to international groups, and had gotten the issue up into the Bureau's anti-terrorism units, instead of Fred Duncan's investigative desk. Duncan was too cautious, too by the numbers to act out of fear, but his counterpart in the ATF was of a different sort, who seemed to think all mutants had powers like Magneto. His urgency and that of the NYPD made them perfect cats paws.

David Langstrom didn't care about Gene Nation much. What he did care about was putting the FBI and the NYPD in a situation in which they would owe him personally for keeping a completely unbalanced response out of the public eye and under the auspices of international counterterrorism. That was worth the deaths of a couple dozen pitiful excuses for mutants in the sewers of New York. Best of all, he only had to watch to reap the benefits. So what was Gambit's angle?

"Really. They're useful to me."

"As what?"

"A name." Gambit laughed. "Come on, David. You know this group has the NYPD, and I'll bet a bunch of other agencies shitting themselves right now. The same people who freaked out last time and let the damn Army send in their top secret mutant team. SHIELD is probably trying to cobble together some kind of super laser suit to fight the dangerous domestic mutant terrorist group. It's not going to take long for that to get over to Europe. Mutant terror cells linking up? Every security obsessed financier and politician from Lisboa to Moscow is going to open up their bank accounts and shovel the money in by the truck load to anyone that can protect their interests."

"You started Gene Nation, didn't you." Langstrom said, the pieces falling into place. Gambit nodded. "To increase your profits."

"Correctamundo, David. Which is why we're having this little chat. If your giant task force slaughters my little terrorist group, they'll have the evidence that it's a bunch of homeless bums being egged on by a couple of young militants who are about as far as you get from professional terrorists as possible. Suddenly it's not the idea of a threat, but another sad case of overreaction by the Americans on their mutant problem. You look like fools again, and I don't get paid." Gambit tapped the table with his finger. "I like to get paid, David."

"I don't see how I can help. Or why I would."

"Come on, David. I didn't come here out of the fucking swamp, and I know exactly what you're planning. The old man would have been proud. Another massacre, but this one properly covered up because without the Army involved, the police and the Bureau will get it right in the neck from the Administration. They will be in your pocket, which you could use since SHIELD keeps clawing away chunks of your territory every day." He stopped and pulled out a card, lying it on the table facedown. "Unfortunately, it will get out what's happened, and all you get is the joy of watching two groups get burned, without a tangible benefit. Instead, I will give you a victory out of it."

"How so?"

"A little slight of hand." Gambit tapped the card and flipped it over to reveal a king. "Right now, they see a threat." He flipped the card back and tapped it again. "But right before zero hour, you develop a key piece of information. Gene Nation isn't a real cell. It's a setup by the Brotherhood, in order to trick the US into committing genetic based culls and add to Magneto's support." Gambit flipped the card again, revealing a two. "Suddenly, both the FBI and the NYPD owe you and your brilliant intelligence team for stopping the biggest operational fuckup since Waco. Since nothing happens, there's nothing to cover up, and best of all, the information still reaches Europe and my market."

"And protects the lives of your Gene Nation."

Gambit made a dismissive gesture. "Feel free to kill them next month if you want to. As long as the story plays over the next few weeks as I've said, it's worth millions."

Langstrom leaned back in his seat, chewing his thumbnail and watching Gambit. Fear dueled with fascination at the man and his casual way of considering death. He couldn't care less if Langstrom personally executed every member of the group he'd set up after he'd accomplished his purpose. It made sense, but most of all, it was classic Gambit. "What about the attacks?"

"I'll make sure they are stopped. A couple of dead bodies will send them scurrying back into the gutters, and remind them that death is always very close."

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"Because why the fuck else would I be here, David? You and your X-Men have cost me a lot of money, I want to make it back, and I'm not waiting through another year of setting things up just because you want the cops to owe you one. You'll deal, David, because you're too much like Chester not to. Otherwise, I would have left your body looking like a Brotherhood victim and leaked the information to your people myself. This is faster, and you and I can do business." Gambit flicked the card from the table, and it exploded lightly near Langstrom's head, causing him to jump. "So?"

"You have a deal." David Langstrom stood up from the table. "And since you need me right now, I have to tell you, Gambit, you fucked up here. No matter how much money you've got lined up to make from this, it's not going to match the trouble I'm going to cause."

"Angry, David?"

"You're damn right, Gambit. You're a sick dog, but at least you used to know who your master was. The only thing that kept us from bringing everything we can against you after Whelan's death was the fact that we thought you were dead. Now that I know you're alive, this entire Agency is going to be coming for you. I don't care where you hide in Europe or how good you are. I'm going to put a price on your head that will bring every headhunter from Tehran to Madripoor after you." Langstrom smiled back at the Cajun. "Enjoy your profits, Gambit. You won't be alive long enough to get used to them."

"See, I told you that you took after Chester." Gambit stood up and walked out the door, leaving Langstrom to make some calls and halt the preparations for attacking the tunnels. As he reached the elevator, Remy finally let the Gambit mask drop, and let out a deep breath. He'd gambled and won. Langstrom didn't care about the Morlocks, and now it was more advantageous to keep them alive than get them killed. But he'd just brought their safety by trading away his own. He walked out of the Plaza into a city which he could already feel had just turned hostile to him.