Children Of The Vortex Ch 02

CHILDREN OF THE VORTEX: MIDNIGHT'S SON

Chapter Two: Known Fugitives

By FinalStand

*Not all prisons are made of steel and stone*

[MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION]

[TWO DAYS AFTER NEVERWHERE'S DEATH]

"I'll have you know entering Russia was a cast iron bitch," were the first words out of Candid's mouth once she joined Atticus Styx/Midnight's Son and Nightingale at an upscale café alongside the river they were eating at.

"It was one of the reasons I chose it," Atticus Styx responded with a congenial smile. "That and I wanted to see Moscow again ... I haven't been here since November 1944 under very different circumstances."

"Nightingale was correct in that many of the details surrounding you and the Sinister weren't for any unsecured airwaves. I want you to know I've come here for some serious answers and you had better be damn forthcoming."

Instead of answering, Atticus stood up and made to leave.

"Wait!" urged Nightingale, putting a light, restraining hand on his right elbow then, "Candid, he didn't come here to betray any confidences, but to share information. Push him and he's gone ... most likely forever."

Atticus looked down at the restraining hand, but ceased attempting to depart. Candid took in the dynamic and then something unlooked for clicked. No force on Earth could have stopped Atticus Styx from departing -- except one.

"Please sit back down," Candid restarted things. Once he had, she turned to Nightingale, "How long have you two been sleeping together?"

Nightingale acted as if slapped, looked down into her lap before saying, "Since last night."

Candid looked for some sign from Atticus about he felt about the situation. What she saw were warring emotions and confused intentions. He had sat back down though, which was a positive step.

"Well, there goes the profile straight out the window," she muttered. Damn those useless Behavior Analysis pricks back at Quantico. '

Mommy complex toward Red Dynamo

' my ass! He's banging one of my operatives and I would swear to God he was a virgin until last night as well.

"I am going to have to report this," Candid sighed.

"I know," Nightingale gave a minute nod.

"And you wonder why I don't like you guys, especially after nearly eighty year of barbaric treatment and you wonder why I won't '

let it go

'," Atticus murmured.

"How do we ..." Candid began to ask how to move past that.

"You can't," Atticus cut her off. "I will never like you, much less trust you with anything too critical to my mission. You are the bad guys, not me. Your control of the governments of the world only mean your attempts to act like legitimate law enforcement are a joke. Pull Nightingale from this case and you are hardly likely to have the opportunity to interrogate me again. I know my rights -- in over fifty countries and jurisdictions -- and I will use that knowledge to stymie any such attempts to crack my mind open."

"Show back up in the United States, or any country we have Extradition Treaties with, and you will be arrested then," Candid tried to get tough again.

"Ha! Good luck with that. I can already sense your pet telepath trying to weevil her way into my sub-consciousness. She's getting nowhere, but if you aren't careful, I am likely to pop over to where she and her two teammates are located and leave them somewhere in the Himalayas -- naked and phoneless."

That brought Candid up short.

"Do it and your criminal status will be confirmed," she said through narrowing eyes. "Those are law enforcement operatives with legitimate discretionary paperwork concerning this extraordinary situation."

"Legal in Russia? Do the Russians know about any of this?" Atticus questioned. Seeing the doubt in Candid's eyes, even just briefly, put a smile on his face.

"Didn't think so. Besides, like I care. I repeat, your control of the world governments mean your law enforcement endeavors are so much of a joke to me. I'm not playing ball with your side? So what? Besides, your side is the one who is trying to illegally -- according to the laws of the Russian Federation -- break into my mind this very instance ... oh, and I have a way of proving that too."

"Nightingale," Candid resorted to bringing her protégé back into the verbal struggle.

"Atticus, please. Drop the past and stick to the present ... please."

"Fine ... Candid, what do you want to know?"

"What are you planning to do with over $1.1 billion dollars? Let's start there."

"That is too general of a question. Suffice it to say, after having served their sentences, I am planning to recreate the Sinister. Next question."

"That is a criminal conspiracy."

"Nope. Not anymore. I talked to my legal team about it. Every member of the Sinister was either killed, died in prison, or was pardoned as long as they agreed to work with your government in a clandestine manner. Consider our current roster to be LARPing. Damn ... I wish they had LARPing when I was kid. I could have really gotten into that too."

"Oh," he continued, "you can tell Bart I discovered where he is these days as well. I am not going to come looking for him, but he's out of the Organization -- working for the Capitalist the way he did."

"Who?" Nightingale wondered aloud.

"Bartholomew Trakker aka the Red Terror ... later went by the handle the Bloody Baron. Died in 1978 -- complications resulting from a botched lung cancer operation," Candid filled Nightingale in.

"Nope. He is a hundred and ten years old now, but still kicking. Well, more like he rolls around in his wheelchair with some aplomb. Don't take my word for it though. Make the CIA tell you where they've stashed him. Or I can simply teleport you to him in case you are worried the CIA might off him before you can interview the old bastard."

"Me showing up on his stoop might give him a heart attack."

"Not only am I not enamored of the bastard, I sincerely doubt it. Now, he is not likely to talk to you, or me ... seeing as how he assassinated the final few members of the Sinister still working with the CIA after the end of the Vietnam War -- they were a tough lot -- plus he knows where the bodies are buried -- quite literally."

"The man has been out of circulation since 1978. What information could he possibly have which might be useful to our investigation of you?" Candid countered. "Sounds like a Wild Goose Chase to me."

"Whisper one word in his ear and he'll start singing. He's on Death's Door after all."

"What word?" Candid sounded bored, though she actually wasn't. This interrogation was going somewhere alright, just where though -- she wasn't yet certain.

"

Catalyst

," Atticus whispered just loud enough to be heard by the enhanced hearing of both Candid and Nightingale and by no one else. He knew he had their attention now.

"What does that mean?" Candid whispered back.

"You know. Don't play dumb," Atticus let his pitch black eyes narrow once more.

"But I thought all of that was used up back in World War II. Certainly none of that can be around after all these years ...," Nightingale worried.

"Company," Candid cautioned the others. The other two proved their professional status by not looking around for the source of concern. They took Candid's word for it.

"All of the original was indeed used up, but a small fraction was studied by the Red Dynamo ... as well as studying the only test subject to have survived -- me," Atticus clarified things. "She was a hyper-inventor and super genius after all. All she didn't have were the nationwide industrial facilities and the roughly three years of time necessary to recreate the Newark Experiments. Fortunately she knew someone who had one of the two things she needed."

"

Who?

" Nightingale leaned forward and mouthed the word.

"The Nazis," he mouthed back.

"What!" she gasped.

"Oh, we didn't work with them with the end goal of helping those murdering bastards create more super-soldiers. What the Sinister did do was steal all their work as the war wound down. We were a criminal organization if you recall ... whose leader hated Joseph Stalin as well as Adolph Hitler. Adolph was an actual fascist if anyone still remembers that. By the time Stalingrad rolled around, Red Dynamo had predicted how the war would eventually burn out so she knew the timescale she had to work with."

"Atticus Styx, I have a warrant for your detention," the older gent in the middle made eye contact with the metahumans sitting around the table. He was flanked by two very serious looking younger men -- all hulking 'Soviet' stereotypes. His accented English had a classic tint to it.

"By all that is holy," Atticus acted surprised. "Is that you, Alexei Ivanovich?"

"Styx? THE Atticus Styx," the old man seemed surprised as well. "You look good for your ninety-six years."

[Russian] "Your grandsons?" Atticus motioned to the other two Russians with his tea cup.

[Russian] "Great Grandsons."

[Russian] "Did they bring you out of retirement just to confront me? It figures you would still be alive after the Great Patriotic War and the metahuman purges which followed," Atticus grinned. "Sorry I never wrote you. I was otherwise occupied."

[Russian] "I learned to survive in all sorts of environments. I also saved Joseph Vissarionovich (Stalin) life on two occasions ... which helped," the Old Timer nodded over the 'fond' memories. "You look ... good for your age ... barely a day over twenty-five. Indeed exceedingly good for a man of ninety-six years," was added for the benefit of the two younger Russians.

[Russian] "I was guest of the US Government in their Copperhead Super-Max Prison for the past seventy-nine years. I imagine your accommodations have been a bit superior to that, Alexei Ivanovich."

[Russian] "Yes, they have been. These days I live a life of semi-retirement in my spacious dacha outside of this fair city. Now my orders -- to personally come and retrieve a 'Cold War Era' Meta -- make sense," he also grinned while hinting he often got orders which made no sense whatsoever. "Are you going to come along to Militia HQ peaceably now?"

[Russian] "No ... but I'm not going to resist either. I'm just going to leave."

[Russian] "I don't ..." Alexei got out before Atticus, Candid and Nightingale fell beneath the table and kept falling. Whereas Moscow had been bright and sunny, the three were now falling over a darkened landscape with the terrain beneath full of lights and the unmistakable sign of cars moving about.

[***]

[Russian] "Great-grandfather, where did they go!" the younger of his two Great-Grandsons assumed a defensive Sambo stance, ready to strike out in any direction with barely a moment's notice.

[Russian] "Someplace outside of Mother Russia," Alexei Ivanovich Antonov aka Narodnyy Khranitel' (the People's Guardian) replied.

[Russian] "Can you be sure?" the elder Grandson inquired after transforming into an eight foot tall cyborg.

[Russian] "Consider it common courtesy," Alexei shrugged, his illusion shimmered into nothingness to be replaced by a warrior armed in the 16th century style. People were hastily backing away in all directions. Not only were the three Russians pretty scary, three other people had just vanished. As for Alexei, he may have lacked any firearms, but his powerful bow could send arrows forth strong enough to penetrate tank armor while his sword could do the same -- cleaving all about him when swung with his titanic strength. 'No', he thought, 'Someone like Atticus wouldn't have the courage to face the wrath of Mother Russia, 'little man' that he was. If only he knew how things had changed ...

[***]

"Where are we?" Nightingale shouted as they began to plummet.

"Langley, Virginia," Candid answered before Atticus could. "Oddly enough I recognize it from this angle."

"Yes. I figure we could drop Candid off here then make a few other stops -- purchase some things I need to acquire before I can really get the ball rolling."

"I really ought to arrest you," Candid scowled at him.

"A functional arrest warrant would be nice," he snorted in return, "or are you just like the NKVD these days ... or the Gestapo."

"Whomever devolves to the Nazis in an argument has already lost," Candid countered.

"Except I have personal experience with both the NKVD and the Gestapo," Atticus reminded her with playfully viciousness. "I've been interrogated by them, tortured by the NKVD and escaped from both their custodies. I've earned the right to use their

fucking

names."

Candid had no response to that.

"Who was the NKVD?" Nightingale asked instead. "And since when do you speak Russian?"

"They were the precursor to the KGB in the Soviet Union -- a real bunch of assholes without the creativity to be effective torturers, or so Red Dynamo once jokingly told me. Also she taught me to speak Russian ... as well as a few other languages she felt would be important in my future."

"Still hero-worshiping her?" Candid pressed even as Nightingale gathered them up and slowed their decent to a safe margin before leveling off and heading ...

"You would too had you ever gotten to know her," Atticus mused. Candid didn't bother answering. In her mind Red Dynamo was just another criminal '

mastermind

' with the typical delusions of grandeur which came with the breed ... which still left her in some unmarked grave somewhere these days.

"Where do I go from here?" Nightingale inquired.

"Quantico," Candid answered first.

"Well, I am out of here then. No way are you putting me in some holding cell in Quantico, Candid. I'd rather wreck the place."

"We can't put you in a holding cell," Candid replied. "We can't positively associate you with a crime ... though selling that gold as a US Citizen is a grey area. After all, we aren't the Gestapo."

"As for the Gestapo, guess who they started working for after V-E Day?" Atticus taunted Candid.

"You are delusional. That was what the War Crime Tribunals were for -- to hunt down, locate and punish the wicked. You should be happy the US Government wasn't hanging people those days," Candid bit back.

"Oh, they hung me alright ... for eleven hours. Only when it become clear my neck hadn't snapped and I had regained enough air to start whistling ... oh yeah. That was when they finally decided to cut me down and drag me back to my cell," he informed them both. "In comparison the gas chamber was the worse, while the firing squad -- all three attempts -- hardly tickled."

"How did you survive the gas chamber?" Nightingale was virtually floored.

"I held my breath ... for thirty-six minutes. The most persistent means of ending me was the electric chair ... seventeen times they lit up 'Old Sparky'... which actually was a recharging experience. Not that I told my executioners that. Then there were the random beatings and the two rapes -- all by the guards."

"That's bullshit," Candid snapped. "He's playing for sympathy."

"I'm not so sure," Nightingale worried. "Did you fight back?"

"Yes, but it didn't do any good. If you recall I was a fifteen year old kid stuck in a damper field which stopped me from using almost all of my powers while they were grown men."

"What happened to those guards?" she had to ask. Atticus smiled at her, but said nothing. Candid used her phone to do a not so quick records search to find the answer to that question. It turned out that by 1967, of the twenty-two men assigned to guard Atticus Styx, they were all dead -- most by violent means. Their 'Captain' had ended his life by jumping off a commercial airline flight, claiming the plane was on fire and he had the only parachute -- it wasn't and he didn't.

Somehow, while under all those dampers in Copperhead Atticus Styx had reached out and had a hand in killing all those men. Candid was sure of it, but proving it in court on the other hand would be a cast-iron bitch though.

"You didn't learn a damn thing in prison, did you?" Candid snapped. "You are still the selfish, mass murdering sonofabitch today as you were seventy-nine years ago."

"No. I never killed a single person in the Western Hemisphere before they put me away and haven't killed a single soul since my release. Hell, most of the time Operative Nightingale has been at my side. Only when I was committing activities your lot might consider criminal did I move away from her."

"You are lying."

"No. I have only been so angry I took human lives once and that was in Kiel, Germany back in 1940 ... avenging Songbird and Clarion -- who happened to be a member of the British military in good standing. After that I realized I was simply not a killer. I never saw Judy (Songbird) kill anyone at all and Hiram only killed one person I am aware of -- a dumbass pimp about to shoot Judy in the back -- and his handle was 'Killer Mime' damn it!"

"San Francisco? Nine Dead? Ring a bell?" Candid reminded him.

"Wasn't me. I confessed to the crimes because the people who did the killings had access to my Mother. I took the fall and she got to keep on living. That's how I saw it."

"Who killed those people you confessed to killing then?"

"I don't know. We never exchanged addresses, or phone numbers," was his snarky comeback. "Lady, it was 1946. My lawyer was a semi-functional alcoholic and even he told me to confess ... to NINE COUNTS OF FIRST DEGREE MURDER -- which all carried a death sentence dating back to 1945 and the US still being at a state of war!"

"You could have asked the court for another lawyer. You could have appealed your sentences ..."

"Exactly where would a fifteen year old kid with no formal education come up with that legal knowledge from," he volleyed. "The court's sole interest was in killing me and a few other members of The Sinister, not proving the US Federal Legal System was 'fair and just', so stop pedaling that angle. It makes you look complicit in their stupidity, or worse, hopelessly naïve."

After that, Candid went silent. The worst part about Atticus' counter was he was indeed correct. Candid had gone over his proceedings and they were so terribly flawed a first year law student could have driven an Airbus through the holes in the case. Someone in the background had wanted him dead alright. What wasn't clear was 'why'.

A fifteen year old henchman? All the others either 'killed in the raid', or sentenced to death -- and executed, had been the big wheels within The Sinister. So why Atticus Styx? What did he know which made people think things would be better off with him dead as well? She hadn't found the answers to that yet, but she was damn sure she would!

[THAT BONDING MOMENT TIMES TWO]

[THE NEXT NIGHT]

Atticus rolled off of Nightingale, both panting heavily from their latest bout of love making. It was the third one tonight, but by far the most tellingly romantic. The very 'wrongness' of the act still haunted her yet she couldn't stop herself from rolling on her side and moving her right hand along from his hip to his sternum. His head turned her way and he smiled.

The first kiss he placed was on her forehead, the second on the bridge of her nose and the third on her lips.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

"How wrong this is ... and how I don't want this to stop. Let's just say my last relationship was a disaster. He was 'going places' in the private sector and couldn't accept my desire to place my gifts at the service of the public welfare."

"Oh, I could see how that would be a problem. Red Dynamo had several members of the Sinister she had to ride herd on. They were in it for the money while the rest of us were in it for the mission," Atticus sounded so sad.

"Do you always have to talk about her," she pouted.

"I'll try to watch that," he flinched. "Just remember in my short fifteen years I had four important women in my life -- three dead now -- and then only one else for the rest of those seventy-nine."