“Yes,” the Professor said, glancing down at his hoverchair, then back up at Scott, whose eyes were covered by sunglasses made of ruby quartz—the only material that
could keep his powerful optic blasts in check. “There’s a slight problem I need your help with.”
“Anything,” Jean said. At the moment she was dressed in a long red summer dress that accented her flowing red hair and pale skin. Scott wore light summer slacks and a Polo shirt. A tennis sweater was tied around his neck.
Jean and Scott made the perfect couple and always had, since their days as founding members of the X-Men—though the road from teammates to married couple was a rocky one. Still, even after everything they’d been through lately, all the missions and danger that being an X-Man meant, they looked rested and healthy. The two of them never ceased to amaze and please him.
“This item,” the Professor said, “is sort of a family matter.” He hesitated, then went on. “Cain is acting strangely again.”
“ ‘Acting strangely’ how?” Scott asked.
“I’m not really sure,” the Professor said. Cain Marko was the Juggernaut, and the X-Men had, so far, been the only thing that had managed to consistently stop or slow him down.
“I got this report faxed to me twenty minutes ago,” the Professor said. He handed Scott a paper and waited for them to read it together.
Basically the fax said that the Juggernaut had stormed right through the middle of an Ohio town, heading east and slightly north. The problem was that he hadn’t even bothered to use a road, simply walked through, or over, anything that was in front of him. So far, the damage had been minimal, and limited to vehicles, the occasional fire hydrant, and one deputy who made the mistake of trying to stop him and had a concussion to show for it. With the Juggernaut’s strength, that could just as easily have been a broken neck.
“Something got under his helmet,” Scott said, shaking his head. “That’s for sure.”
“You want us to confront him?” Jean asked.
The Professor nodded. “Yes. This is not a typical rampage, but the Juggernaut is still a danger. At the very least, we need to keep an eye on him.”
“We’ll handle it,” Scott said confidently.
“Thank you, Scott,” the Professor said.
“No problem, sir,” Scott said.
Arm in arm, the two turned and left the dark study to return to the bright light of the summer day.
For a moment the Professor watched them go, then turned and stared into the fire.
There had been a number of times he wished he could get inside his stepbrother’s mind to see what drove him. But the helmet he wore kept out any telepathic intrusion.
What are you up to, Cain?
There was no answer.
The plush office of Wingate Toole overlooked the river and parts of New Orleans beyond through two-inch-thick, bulletproof glass. A well-stocked bar filled the wall nearest the window with shelf after shelf of varied liqueurs and ornate glassware. The room was thickly carpeted and oak paneled, and the center of the area was dominated by a massive oak desk surrounded on three sides by heavy, high-backed chairs.
Air-conditioning kept the temperature of the room at exactly seventy-one degrees no matter how warm and humid it got outside. But this morning, to Wingate Toole, the temperature seemed much higher. The air felt thick and heavy with the fear that he held clamped inside his stomach. Every so often, during the morning, he had broken out into a thick, oily sweat.
A large man, built like a truck driver, Toole normally would be sitting at his desk at this time of the morning, his feet up, the smoke of his cigars filling the air as two or three of his business partners sat nearby talking over the coming day’s activities.
But not this morning.
In the middle of the night, he’d sent his entire organization into full security alert. The warehouse complex that housed his office had become like Fort Knox.
No one got in or out.
Period.
Thick, steel shutters had been lowered over his huge office window, blocking the view and the rising sun. Extra machine guns had been set up facing every possible entrance. A helicopter circled slowly over the area, also armed and watching for any sign of anything different.
Over two hundred men with the newest, most modem and powerful weapons guarded the inside of the warehouse complex, all in full combat alert. All had orders to shoot to kill.
Toole chain-smoked cigars as he paced behind his desk. His most trusted associate, a tall, rail-thin man
SI 1-HEM
named Kyle, stood and watched, saying nothing. Kyle had been at Toole’s side since shortly after the fear had crawled into Toole’s head in the middle of the night and warned him of someone coming after him.
It had been a long night for both of them, but Toole knew it was only starting. The long night was going to stretch into days, maybe weeks, before this was finished. He knew it “inside” like he had known other things over the years that had helped him build this empire of crime.
And inside his head he kept hearing someone laughing.
Someone who wanted to come and take everything he had built.
He was not going to let that happen.
Not today, not ever.
It was time to check on one more detail.
Toole stopped pacing, yanked out his big leather chair, and dropped down into it. Stabbing his cigar out like he was crushing an insect with it, he glared up at Kyle. ‘ ‘Report to me every thirty minutes on the status of security around the building,” Toole said. “Now get out of here.”
Kyle only nodded and turned away.
Toole watched him go. It was Kyle’s job to make sure no one could get in, and Toole trusted him to do it. And Kyle was very good at his job. Maybe even the best. But in this circumstance, Toole wanted to be informed all the time. After all, it was his life and his empire that was at risk.
Toole waited until Kyle snapped the door closed, then Toole flipped a switch, locking the door and electronically
blocking all snooping devices. Then he sprang back to his feet and moved to the bar near the window. He could use a drink right about now, but didn’t dare. He wouldn’t drink until this was over.
In quick succession, he picked up and put down six different bottles on three shelves. As the last bottle was replaced, a slight click echoed through the large room and a small panel on the ornate wooden front of his desk opened wide.
Behind the panel was a small safe.
Toole moved three more bottles in succession, disarming an alarm system and explosive booby-trap that would instantly kill anyone who touched the safe while it was still activated.
Kneeling in front of the desk, he spun the dial to the correct combination and opened the safe, doing something he hadn’t dared do all night.
Inside was a small leather pouch. He pulled it out and felt the reassuring weight inside.
As a construction worker doing a housing job outside of New Orleans, he’d stumbled on a large green stone buried in the mud. That day he’d been feeling hung over and a headache had been pounding at him for most of the hot afternoon. But the minute he touched the stone, his headache vanished and he felt stronger and more alive than he had in years.
He pocketed the stone without telling anyone and went back to work. A few days later, he started having ideas that got him thinking beyond just drinking and working construction. And since he’d touched the stone he felt great, had plenty of energy, and didn’t much need sleep.
Five years later, he stood on the verge of taking over all of New Orleans.
He slid the gem out of the bag and held it in his hands. Normally, the feeling of strength he got from the stone would be enforced by touching it, and he had spent many a night just sitting at his desk holding the emerald.
But this time the touch of the stone was almost hot, and he dropped it at once.
Inside his head he heard the laughing again. And the words, I’m coming.
He picked the stone back up and put it in its pouch. He tossed it back into the safe and snapped the door shut, then closed the panel over it.
With a quick step back to the bar he armed the safe again.
Then, taking a deep breath he turned to the air and spoke to the voice in his head.
“Come and get me,” Toole said, his voice muffled in the big room. “If you think you can.”
The only reply was the faint impression of someone laughing.
Robert Service had spent the night sitting on the couch in his office, staring at the large emerald laying on the coffee table in front of him.
And laughing.
For some reason the joy of the emerald’s power just made him laugh. He’d never laughed much before, tending to take life more seriously, as his father had beat into him to do. But suddenly ending up with the power from the emerald had caused him to just laugh at the world and the wonderful luck he’d been handed by the man he hated.
How ironic it was.
And how funny.
After leaving his father and brother and returning to his office, he’d tried to sit at his desk, but his expanded frame had made the desk and all the chairs far too small for him. He had smashed a second chair simply by trying to sit in it. Obviously he’d have to have a special desk and chair made for him.
The couch had held him and he’d spent the night sitting there, staring at the emerald, alternately laughing at his good fortune and silently trying his best to get in touch with the feelings he had inside his head. Later in the day, he planned on testing some of the limits of his new size and strength, and having a doctor check him over to make sure he really was as healthy as he felt. But for the entire night he just sat and stared at the emerald.
And he got some answers.
His new physical power, even as great as it seemed, was only a small part of what it might be if he found the other two parts of the emerald. How he knew this, he had no idea. But, as with the strength, it just came with the emerald.
However, the emerald had given him no other special abilities that he could determine. He wasn’t any smarter, that he could tell, and he couldn’t sense anything that didn’t directly relate to the emerald. And even then the
sense was distant, like a whisper caught on a breeze.
But the whispers were loud enough for him to understand that two people possessed the other two emeralds. Both lived in the United States, one in the west, one in the south. Exactly where, he had no idea, nor did he know who the people were. But he could sense their presence and their direction and he figured that would be enough.
He could also sense another very powerful creature tied directly into the source of the energy of his emerald. Every time he thought of that creature, he felt a faint pain throughout his body and saw red. At the moment, he had no idea what that meant, but he assumed in time he would find out. What he did know was that the red creature was getting closer with every hour and the pain was increasing slightly.
He had no intention of being in this office when that creature, whatever it was, arrived.
A knock at his office door interrupted his musings over the emerald.
“Robert?” Gary’s voice drifted faintly through the thick wooden door.
“Come in,” Robert said, his voice booming so loud that it startled him. Glasses on the wet bar shook from the intensity of it. It was going to take some time to get used to his new power.
The door slowly opened and Gary stepped through, his face pale, his eyes sunken from lack of sleep. But at the sight of Robert, Gary’s face got even paler and his eyes widened with the shock of what he was seeing.
Robert laughed, again rocking the glasses on the bar across the room. “Gonna take some getting used to, isn’t it, little brother?”
Gary nodded and stopped in the doorway, still staring at the mostly nude body of Robert.
Robert’s shredded clothes had fallen aw'ay during the night and he’d covered himself with a blanket that looked more like a towel over his huge body. He knew exactly how he looked—he’d spent a considerable amount of time staring into the mirror—-and he liked it. He liked the size of his chest and arms more than anything.
After a moment Gary asked, “Are you all right?” “Better than ever,” Robert said, standing and wrapping the blanket around his waist like a beach towel. His head almost reached the tall ceiling.
Gary’s mouth actually opened in shock as Robert stood and faced him, and it was clear to Robert that the look in Gary’s eyes was pure fear.
“Jealous, little brother?” Robert asked, and laughed. Gary shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes off Robert. “Just worried,” he said softly.
“You,” Robert said, pointing at Gary, “worried about me? Now that’s a funny one.”
“You are my brother,” Gary said.
Robert stepped one large, building-shaking step closer to Gary and the smaller man cowered back slightly, but, to his credit, didn’t budge.
“Are we lucky? Has the old man gone to meet the devil yet?” Robert asked.
Gary shook his head. “Keep your voice down,” he said. “He’ll hear you.”
Robert laughed even harder at that. “And you think
I care?” Robert asked. Then he glared down at Gary. “You just keep sniveling around Father like you’ve been doing and leave me alone. Fve got a few trips to make and I may be gone for a few days. Call me if the old man croaks.”
Gary said nothing, but simply turned and left, slarn-ming the door as he went.
Robert laughed, long and hard. He knew his laughs were echoing through the big, old mansion. He just hoped they were driving his brother and father crazy. It would be an added benefit to this wonderful new strength and size.
Too bad he couldn’t stay around longer and have even more fun with them. Maybe after he found the other parts of the emerald and returned, there would be time.
“Oh, that would be fun,” he said, and laughed again.
Gary let the booming, echoing laughs of his brother follow him down the gloomy halls of the mansion. Robert’s size was incredible. During the night Gary had almost convinced himself that he’d imagined what had happened with the emerald and Robert. But now, in the light of day, it was clear that Robert’s new size and power were very real.
That made his plans even harder. Robert was just crazy enough that he’d kill his own brother when he found out how he had been tricked out of control of the Service businesses. And now Robert had the power to do it.
There had to be a way to get Robert back to normal, or at least a way to control him.
Gary headed toward his father’s room. Maybe the old man knew a way. After all, he’d been the one to find the emerald in the first place.
Last night, after Robert had touched the emerald, their father had had a very mild heart attack. The nurse had kept him sedated for the remainder of the night, and a doctor had checked him over this morning. No change. He was going to die shortly of cancer, if his heart didn’t take him first. And there wasn’t a thing medical science could do to stop it.
And for that Gary was glad.
As Gary got to his father’s room, the old man was starting to come around again.
The machines near his bed were all active and the heart monitor beeped continuously. The morning nurse, a middle-aged, brown-haired woman with hard gray eyes sat on a chair near the machines, reading a Stephen King novel.
Gary let the smell of the cancer envelop him as he entered the room. Even after being so close to his father over the last month as the cancer got worse, the smell still turned his stomach. He doubted if he’d ever clear that smell out of his memory.
“Father,” Gary said, moving over beside the blinking old man and sitting down in his normal chair beside the bed. “Go slow. I’m right here.”
But the old man seemed upset. He grabbed Gary’s arm with a surprisingly strong grip, pulled himself up slightly, and looked Gary right in the eye.
“Did I dr
eam it?” he asked, his voice hard and raspy. “Did Robert touch the emerald?”
“I’m afraid he did,” Gary said.
The old man let go of Gary’s arm and sank back, closing his eyes with a sigh.
The beeping of the machine increased and the nurse looked up at it, then went back to reading.
“Nurse,” Gary said, “Could we possibly have a moment alone, please?”
The woman glanced at the machines, nodded, then stood and left the room without a word, closing the door behind her as she went.
“Father,” Gary said, lightly touching the back of the old man’s hand. “Tell me more about the emerald. Is there any way to return Robert to normal?”
The old man shook his head, flopping it back and forth as if he were having a nightmare. Then he stopped and opened his eyes again. ‘ ‘All I know is what that monk told us,” he said. “And I told you all he said last night.” “Oh,” Gary said, sitting back in his chair, dejected. So much for getting a quick fix from the old man.
“But,” his father said softly, almost as if he were afraid to speak.
Gary sat back up straight and again touched his father’s hand. “But what, father?”
“In my desk,” he said. “Right-hand drawer in a file labeled research, there is a picture cut out of a newspaper. It’s near the back of the file.”
“And what’s the picture of?” Gary asked.
“A creature,” his father said.
Gary shook his head in frustration. “Why will it help?” Gary asked. “What creature?”
His father opened his eyes wide and stared at Gary.
“A creature who walks today and who looks like ...”
“Cyttorak?”
“No. That’s not what the creature in the newspaper was called,” the old man said. He weakly waved a hand. “Go. Look.”
Gary nodded. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said.
On the way out he motioned for the nurse to go back inside, then at a quick pace he headed for his father’s office near the front of the mansion.
The place hadn’t even been cleaned much since his father turned ill. The old man hadn’t wanted it touched. And since both Gary and Richard had their own offices in other areas of the mansion, it hadn’t mattered.
The Jewels of Cyttorak Page 4