November 13, 1922, Orient Express, some miles outside Vienna, Austria
The Orient Express was buried in snow. Workers - dressed as warmly as possible, nevertheless shivering from the intense cold - worked tirelessly to dig what they could. Severe snowstorms hampered their efforts, often bringing them to a standstill. An impartial onlooker would have laughed at their seemingly futile toil.
Erik Lehnsherr was not one to sit idly by while others worked. Nor was he one to wait for his fortune to come to him. "The weather," he told one of his men, "is not an impediment."
So, they dug. They dug when all others refused to go out into freezing Austrian night. They dug because Eric Lensherr asked it of them.
Remy LeBeau, however, did not consider himself to be one of Lehnsherr's men. He did not owe allegiance of any sort to him. As men older and weaker than him slaved away, he huddled in his trench coat, rolled a cigarette, and waited.
Next to him, unconscious or asleep or dead from the cold - who cared? - lay Robert Darkholme, his ticket to an early retirement.
"You'd do well to make yourself useful." The voice came from behind, but Remy did not turn. He knew to whom it belonged.
He took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaled, and responded calmly, "I got you him." The ash of Remy's cigarette landed by Darkholme's expensive shoes. "That's useful enough."
"Yes," the voice responded, equally calm. "But you were supposed to get the girl."
Remy snorted. He knew this game. He'd played it often enough with the kind of people he worked with. He wouldn't be cheated of his hard-earned money. Not this time. "Makes no difference. The girl will pay beaucoup dollars. And I get paid."
"It's not always about the money, LeBeau." The voice had turned icy; Remy didn't like where the conversation was headed.
"What's it about? Sending a message to your friend Xavier?" Remy laughed mirthlessly. "You got to get yourself a better hobby, mon ami."
Two hands grabbed Remy LeBeau's collar from behind, effectively choking him. "You know nothing about my business with Xavier," Lehnsherr hissed close to his ear, all the while holding on tightly to the collar. "Don't ever speak of it."
Jerking away, Remy brought a hand to sooth the pain in his neck. He had underestimated the man. Erik Lehnsherr was stronger than he looked. "Don't matter. I don't care no how." He brought out paper to roll another cigarette, more out of a need to keep himself occupied than a desire to smoke. "I just want to get paid."
But Lehnsherr was no longer listening. His interest was diverted by one of his men: a man that had gone ahead to scout out possible hideouts. "Victor," Remy heard him say. "What have you found?"
"A couple of miles down, small village," replied the tall blond. "Fairly deserted. It shouldn't be difficult to hole up there."
Looking pleased, Lehnsherr nodded and turned his attention to Remy again. "It looks like you'll be getting what you want, friend. Sooner than we'd hoped."
"Lehnsherr? How do you know about Lehnsherr?"
She shook her head, fresh tears rising in her eyes.
He sat next to her, careful not to touch. "If I'm going to help - "
"I don't need your help," she replied obstinately. But he could see her waver. "Just tell me what he wants. I'll do it."
Logan shrugged. He could feel himself become exasperated and he tried to quell the emotion. "I don't know what he wants."
Marie looked confused. "What do you mean you don't know?"
"If it wasn't for the fact that I saw it with my own eyes, I wouldn't know it happened," he replied tersely.
"There's been no demand, a ransom demand?" She was looking nervous and he began to wonder how many emotions she'd be able to go through in the span of a minute.
"None that I know of," he said. "And your mother - "
"She's not my mother," she said, and he could see the words had been uttered more vehemently than intended. More calmly, she added, "Raven is my father's second wife."
He said, "All right" and left it at that.
"How do you know about Lehnsherr, rogue?" The nickname slipped out unwittingly but she didn't seem to notice. She didn't even look up.
"Hey." He nudged her with his shoulder and watched as she winced, as if in pain.
"It's a long story," she said, numbly.
He nodded his understanding. "Well, we don't have a lot of time. Could you summarize it for me?"
Marie turned angry eyes on him. "It's not something you summarize."
"I'm sorry," he replied honestly. "But I want to help and I need to know what you know in order to do that."
She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, as if expelling an inner demon. "Let's just say," she told him, "my family has encountered Erik Lehnsherr in the past."
Her deep accent and sad voice cut into him and Logan wondered why Lehnsherr would follow a family from the American South all the way to Europe. Was Darkholme as rich as that?
"I don't understand."
"Frankly, Mr. Logan, neither do I."
It hadn't taken too long to explain to Xavier what was going on. After all, there wasn't much to tell.
The Rogue - not looking at all like the name Logan had given her - was sitting in one corner of the compartment, eyes downcast and seemingly calm. But, thought Logan, probably in shock and starting to shut down.
Scott Summers was talking: "It's obvious why we haven't heard from him yet. He's still close. He didn't want to tip his hand until he was far enough away not to get caught."
Logan had to give the kid that one. "So, what now?" he asked. "We go digging in the snow, looking for him and his henchmen?" He had the unnatural urge to laugh. This was proving to be too ridiculous, even for one of Xavier's schemes.
"I think," replied Scott, eyes still on Xavier, "our first step would be to search the train. There's no reason to believe he's left it."
Logan snorted. "Yeah, well, if he's an idiot then he's still around..."
"Which is what he wants us to think," countered Scott, beginning to show signs of agitation.
"That he's an idiot?"
"Children, please." Jean Summers rolled her eyes and sighed. "This isn't the time or the place."
Xavier, for the first time since Logan began his explanation, spoke. "Jean is right. This isn't the time for your petty squabbles. Mr. Darkholme's daughter needs us now." Logan's eyes traveled to Marie, who had not moved during the conversation. "She needs us to find her father now and for that we must work together."
Logan grunted something unintelligible when he thought he heard Scott say "sorry". Then, he asked, "What do we do then, Chuck?"
"I think Scott is right," Xavier replied, quickly adding upon seeing Logan's countenance darken, "We musn't get ahead of ourselves. We must exhaust all possibility before heading out."
"And you think the chief conductor's just going to let us examine every nook and cranny on this train?"
Xavier nodded sagely. "He will once I explain what has happened. And why it is in Wagons-Lits best interest it be kept quiet."
Not fully convinced, Logan asked, "In the meantime? What now?"
"Scott, you and Jean will tell Lagier that I need to speak with him." He paused. "This would be better if we could go out in pairs," he said. Glancing at Logan, he added, "So as not to be caught unawares."
"I'll go."
Four pairs of eyes turned to the corner of the compartment.
"Miss Darkholme, I'm afraid that's out of the question," Xavier said benignly.
"If she can go," replied Marie, nodding towards Jean. "I can go."
Xavier was shaking his head. "Jean's been trained for this sort of operation - "
"He's my father."
Logan saw Xavier's hesitation and said, "I'll take care of her, Chuck. She can come with me."
"Logan, this is dangerous."
Nodding, Logan answered, "Which is why she shouldn't be alone."
"And her stepmother?"
Marie replied for him," She has nothing to do with it."
"She should at least be notified."
Standing, not looking at anyone in particular, she said, "The chef du train can tell her. It's what she deserves." Marie looked over at Logan, surprised to see him watching her intently. "Ready, Mr. Logan?"
"Logan."
She nodded. "Logan?"
"Yeah. Let's go."
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to all the Logan’s P chat chicks. You know who you are :)