“Forgotten Heroes” Part Two
"Would someone please like to tell me what the hell is going on here?" Heather was on her feet and leaning across the table. The anger in her voice was matched by the rage in her face. "What would you like to know?" Agent McArthur asked calmly, as he leant back in his seat. "For a start," she began, "you can tell me how an organisation that has supposedly been shut down for over a year is suddenly operational again!" "I don't have that sort of information Ms McNeil," he replied. "That's bull, and you know it!" she screamed. "I thought you were part of intelligence?" "I don't feel that you need to take that tone, Ms McN…" "My damn name is Hudson!" she roared. "H-U-D-S-O-N! Learn it, before we meet again!" She spun around on her heel and headed for the door, speeding past her husband as she went. "Mac," she growled, "if you want me, I'll be drinking far too much coffee." James looked after her as she stormed down the corridor. He loved her feistiness, possibly above everything else. She wasn't a doormat - anyone that went up against her would get as good as they gave, and sometimes more. To him, it was perhaps the biggest aphrodisiac. "Mr Hudson?" James turned to look at McArthur. He scowled, and slowly started to walk towards him. "Right," he began, "my wife asked you a question, and I think its time you gave us some answers." He trudged onwards through the snow, each step seeming more and more difficult. He had been walking almost non-stop for two days without sleep, and it was beginning to take its toll. Heightened vigour and stamina was one thing, but the endless miles of clean, undisturbed snow was sapping his strength and his will. He couldn't stop though. He had promised too many people, himself included, that he would continue his quest until he found his friend and former colleague. Once Alpha Flight had been disbanded, he lost his focus for a while but that all changed when he got the distressed call a few weeks ago. He had to answer. A branch snapped to his right. He spun around on his heel and stopped dead. He tried to focus quickly, moving his head from side to side rapidly until he spotted the huge orange shape about thirty feet in front of him. He had to be quick, he realised that, as losing sight once more might be the last straw. Would he have enough strength to go on, if he lost this chance? He didn't want to think about it; he dare not think about failure. As he rushed towards his target, he didn't notice the tree stump which was barely visible through the vast whiteness. He slammed his knee into it, and was pitched forward. Spinning in mid-air, he instinctively threw out his hands, but it wasn't enough to stop his head slamming into a fully-grown redwood. He bounced a few feet backwards, and landed on his back. A second later, he rolled onto his side and put all his weight on his right elbow, pulling himself up. He tried to focus on his quarry, but his vision was blurred and he shook all over. He heard the creak of the branch just a few seconds before it crashed onto the top of his head. With that, Eugene Judd passed out, and fell face down into the snow. He lay still and silent, as a new drift of light snow began to cover him. Fifteen bodyguards, a mixture of secret service and army detail, escorted Prime Minister Banks into the hospital. He was met by dozens of reporters and photographers who had sneaked in disguised as out patients. As the cameras flashed and microphones were shoved towards him for sound bites, the ring around him expanded, pushing as many of them back as they could. He raised his hands to cover his face, but he needn't have bothered, as all the equipment they had was either destroyed when it hit the ground, or when it was stamped into the floor by the second wave of protection which hurried in behind the main pack. A path was made all the way to Robin Madison's room, where another six agents stood in silence. "What…"she began weakly, "… what, happen…?" "Rest," Banks said, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. She looked up at him, the pain in her stomach subsiding slightly. "He tried to…" he began. "The killer, I mean. He tried to kill you. Poisoned the strawberries." "My… God," she croaked, trying to sit up. "The guards. I … gave … them some." Banks shook his head, as he put a hand out to stop her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "They didn't make it. The poison was fast acting." She furrowed her brows. "Why… I'm okay." "Luckily, you only ate a bite of one." Banks replied. "It hits your system immediately, and it reacted straight away with you. You never got the chance to ingest enough to kill you on the spot." "I…" "Mind you, it was killing you," he sighed. "You would have died had the guard detail not found you and got you here in time." "Some… consolation," she sighed, turning her head away from him. "You should rest," Banks said. "You need to get as much rest as possible. I need you back." She nodded, her eyes closed, as the tiredness swept over her. He stood up and walked over towards the door. "Gerard," she croaked. He turned and looked at her. "The… note," she whispered. "Yes?" "What… did … it say, … Gerard?" He stared at her for a few seconds, and then smiled. "Sleep," he said. "We'll talk later." The darkness washed over her and she was asleep. Once Heather had finished her third cup of coffee, she left the canteen area and set off on a walk around the facilities. First stop was Combat Centrale, where during Alpha Flight's last incarnation she had spent a lot of time putting the mostly young team through their paces. The huge adamantium doors were locked, which she thought strange at first as all of the other offices and rooms had been clean and in use as soon as she and Mac had arrived. She placed her hands on the door felling the cold of the metal, and for a moment she remembered the details of the often-disastrous training routines that had been housed within. The first session was possibly the worst, each of the younger team members in turn egotistical or afraid and not working as a team at all. That's not to say the old timers hadn't performed poorly, with Puck especially not doing so well. Puck. The name rang around her head, another failed relationship in her short heroic life. With the questions around who the real Mac was a few years back, and where their marriage stood, she had finally noticed the love and affection that Eugene Judd had always had for her. Maybe she was on the rebound, but she had needed someone to comfort her; to hold her; to love her. Eugene was there for her, as he always had been, but in the background. They began an affair, which petered out as quickly as it had started. When Mac needed her, she went to him. Although she knew it was wrong, and she should have been looking after herself, she loved him more than anything, and she didn't want to lose him ever again. No matter how loving and good for her Puck, or even Madison Jeffries her other former team mate/lover, was her heart belonged to Mac. Walking along the corridor she came across the place she had been dreading finding from the moment she had set food in the Department H building. But to her surprise and relief, she found that the door, behind which Beta Flight had once been housed, was now completely bricked up. A deep sigh emanated from her lips. Heather finally found James in the main laboratory, huddled in front of a computer screen. Silently she crept up behind him, but he knew that she was there. "Hey Heather," he said, turning around and smiling at her. "Mac," she said. "What's up?" "Not much," he sighed. "Catching up on operations here." "Anything exciting?" she asked as she reached his desk. "Not much more than we already knew," he replied, turning back to the monitor. "Four people dead. Four messages. Each message with one extra word than the previous one." "So," she said. "Any chance that this guy has a sentence he's working towards?" "Not sure," he replied. "It could be that he has an entire novel to get out and no publisher." Heather smiled slightly. "My thought is that he's making it up as he goes along," James continued. "He's not sure how long he can continue before he's caught, so the message he gives can be taken a few words at a time." "How do you mean?" Heather asked. "Well, first it was 'Beware'". James replied. "If he was caught after that, or even decided that he didn't want to continue, then it's a powerful message." Heather nodded. "Next, he killed two people and left two other words. 'We Are'. So, we have 'Beware. We Are'." "And he could have left it at that." Heather said. "Exactly," James said. "He didn't though. He added another word after his next murder." "'Beware. We are here.'" Heather read out. "What's next?" "Who knows," James replied. "But if he does continue, and I'm sure he will, and if he needs to add one or more words, there will be one or more deaths to match." "Okay," Heather said quietly. "The question is, why ask us to help?" James looked up at her, concerned. "I don't understand," he said. "Why re-open Department H?" Heather asked. "Why sanction the reformation of Alpha Flight? It's a bit extreme for one guy, don't you think?" James thought for a few moments, but didn't have an answer for her. "Don't you think?" she asked again. Minister of Defence elect Franks had his id checked by the guard and then knocked on the Prime Minister's door. When he heard Banks call to enter, he opened the door and stepped silently into the room. Looking around, he was shocked to see the entire office in such a mess with papers strewn everywhere; on desks, on chairs and all over the floor, where they fought for space with pizza boxes and half empty Chinese take away cartons. In one corner, the Prime Minister sat sorting through another pile of files that towered above his huddled figure. "Gerard?" Banks looked up, and when he couldn't see who was speaking he leant back until Franks came into view. "Ah, Ralph," he said eventually. "How the devil are you?" "Uh," Franks stuttered, "not bad, Gerard. Not too bad." Banks struggled to his feet, but stumbled against the files, knocking thirty or more of them onto the ground, adding to the mess. Franks reached out to catch him, but Banks put out a hand to stop him. "I'm fine Ralph," he said steadying himself. "I'm fine." "Yes Prime Minister," Franks said. "So," Banks said making his way through the piles of detritus towards his desk, and the safe luxury of his leather chair, "how can I help you?" "Well Gerard," Franks began. "I… I don't think I'm up to this." Banks stopped half way into his chair and stared at Franks. The look on his face was one of complete shock and surprise. "I know, I know," Franks continued, raising his hands. "I've only been in the job for a day, but… But, frankly I'm scared." Banks continued to glare at him, before breaking eye contact and lowering himself completely into the chair. "I see," was all he could say. "I'm sorry Gerard. Truly I am." "You think you're next?" Banks asked softly. "Its not just that," Franks replied quietly, "it's… it's…" "Spit it out man!" Banks shouted. "For Christ's sake!" "Its Department H!" "What?" "I don't know what to do with Department H," Franks said. "Don't know what to do with…?" Banks said. "What the Hell do you mean? You have a state of the art facility under your control, with a huge budget and you would be protected by a crack team of superhuman bodyguards. Not to mention the fact that you would then be the person in charge of the successful capture of the madman killing and threatening the Government of this great nation!" Banks rose to his feet majestically. "And you don't know what to do with Department H?" Banks roared. "I…" Franks began, "There's all this baggage that goes with it." "What do you mean, baggage?" "Well, the history." Franks protested. "The deception, double-dealing. That sort of thing." "Christ Ralph," Banks roared, "You're a politician!" Franks looked down at his shoes. Banks followed his gaze down to his brogues and sighed deeply. "Get the Hell out of my office," he breathed. "Gerard, perhaps we can…" Banks' head shot up and he glared deeply into Franks' eyes. "Get out!" he screamed. "Now!" Franks nodded, and in one move spun around, headed towards the door, which he opened and ran out of. "Give me…"Banks sighed, before slumping back into his chair and letting his head drop into his hands. She approached his still form quietly, and slowly, taking care not to disturb too much of the surrounding area. Although she had lost his trail an hour or so ago, and was relieved to catch up with him, she was a little concerned that he might be injured or worse. Calmly she knelt beside him and gently reached out with two fingers to his neck to take his pulse. Thankfully she felt a beat and sighed with relief. A second later, Judd roared and spun around, his left arm shooting out and grabbing her by the throat. Pushing himself up with his right arm, he lunged forward, pushing her over into the snow. He roared out in anger, shaking his head violently and squeezing harder and harder. She coughed below him, and clawed the air with her hands. His face was getting redder by the second and the muscles on his left arm tightened, in unison with his fingers. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" he roared in pain and his head shot backwards. "Son… of a…" she coughed as he leapt backwards and hit the ground, hard. The pain in his head shot through his entire body, tensing all his muscles at once until he thought he was having a stroke. Then, as quickly as it had taken hold, it disappeared. "Puck, you ass!" she screamed, sitting up and gasping for air. "I was concerned for your welfare!" Judd took a few seconds to focus on the woman who sat in the snow before him. Colours merged and sharpened, until he could make out her body shape and as she massaged her neck, eventually made out the features of her face. "Murmur?" "Right, McArthur!" Heather roared as she and James stormed into the meeting room. "We want some answers right now!" "I've told you everything I know," Agent McArthur said quietly, examining the fingernails of his right hand. "Why the Hell are we doing here?" Heather asked. "Serving your count…" "Oh change the bloody record," she growled. "I want a direct answer to a direct question!" "Fine," he sighed. "Then ask one." Heather breathed in deeply, and closed her eyes. "Why is Department H being reopened?" James asked calmly. "Or more to the point, why has nothing in this entire building got so much as a spec of dust on it, if the entire structure has been closed down for almost two years?" Agent McArthur looked from Heather to James and back again. He leant forward in his chair and picked at the fingernail of his right hand index finger, removing some dirt that he had been studying for an hour or so. He flicked the dirt on the floor just a few inches from Heather's foot. "Okay," he said, "Time to 'fess up." "About time," Heather growled. "The reason Department H has been reopened is because the Government has reason to believe that this there is more than one person behind all of this. You see, there's been too much planning and too many different and varied attacks to just be carried out by one man." James nodded. "I see," he said. "The Government needs a superhuman task force to deal with this," Agent McArthur continued. "Hence the reinstatement of Alpha Flight." "Fair enough," James said. "No," Heather said. "No no no no no! Not fair enough! What about…?" "Wait a second!" Agent McArthur shouted, leaping to his feet. "I've had just about enough of you, Mrs Hudson! Lets go." "You've had enough of me?" Heather shouted incredulously. "Yes!" Agent McArthur roared, as he started out for the door. "Where are you going?" James shouted. "Are you running away?" "No," came the reply, "I'm taking you to meet the rest of your new team." James and Heather looked at each other as Agent McArthur disappeared out of the door and into the hallway. "New team?" they both asked in unison. A second later, they were in the hallway and making after their new guide. "What do you mean, the new team?" Heather asked as she jogged to catch up with McArthur. "We took the liberty of contacting some of your old colleagues," he replied. "We knew that this particular individual needed to be dealt with swiftly, and that you would need a team." As they rounded the corner, they heard the sound of chatter that grew in volume with every step they took. "It was also obvious that you didn't need amateurs," he continued. "I don't…" Heather began, but she never got a chance to complete the sentence, as the site that greeted them stopped both her and James in their tracks. "Mr and Mrs Hudson", Agent McArthur began, pointing to the group of people in the corridor, "Meet the new Alpha Flight!" "My…", Heather began. "God." James finished. There, standing before them, were Northstar, Aurora, Snowbird, Flex and Radius. "Impressive," Agent McArthur grinned. "Eh?" To Be Continued... Previous Issue | Next Issue |
