Rita Valentine ~ X-Men

eleven.

~*~

"The room they're holding him in was built during the Second World War when there was a shortage of steel. So, the foundation is pure concrete and sand. No metal. He's being held a hundred floors beneath the most heavily guarded building on the planet." I said as I showed Logan the blueprints of the Pentagon, which I might have gotten without permission.

"Why is he in there?" Logan asked.

"What, he forgot to mention?" Charles asked with a laugh that was anything, but humorous.

"Uh, JFK." Hank muttered.

"He killed..."

"What else explains a bullet miraculously curving through the air?" I asked quietly.

"Erik's always had a way with guns. Are you sure you want to carry on with this?" Charles asked.

Logan gave him a look. "This is your plan, not mine."

"We don't have any resources to get us in."

"Or out." I added, "Actually I can get us in. It's the not getting arrested part that is going to be difficult."

"It's just I, Rita, and Hank." Charles said.

"I knew a guy. Yeah, he'd be a young man now. Grew up outside of D.C. He could get into anywhere. I just don't know how the hell we're gonna find him." Logan said.

"Is Cerebro out of the question?" Hank asked, Charles just looked pained at the thought.

"If only you guys had Internet." Logan muttered.

"What's 'Internet'?" Hank asked.

I rolled my eyes as I went to the desk and grabbed a big yellow thing, and then I slammed it down on the table. "We have a phonebook."

~*~

"I'm going to die..." I muttered as Charles drove, he hasn't driven in years. I don't even think he still has a license. "Here, here, here."

"Where?" Charles asked.

"Just stop here." I ordered.

"All right, all right."

"Next time I'm driving." Logan said as I jumped out of the car. I quickly walked to the door with the others behind me and knocked on the door.

"What's he done now?" A woman asked after she opened the door. "I will just write you a check for whatever he took."

"We just need to talk to him." Charles said.

"Peter! The cops are here. Again." His mother shouted as she led us inside.

Charles gave me a doubtful look as we walked downstairs to see a man with silver hair playing table tennis, with his himself. "What do you guys want? I didn't do anything. I've been here all day."

"Just relax, Peter. We're not cops."

"Of course you're not. If you were, you wouldn't be driving a rental car." Peter said as he looked at us from the couch, when did he get there?

"How did you know we've got a rental car?" Charles asked.

"I checked your registration when you were walking to the door. I also had some time to kill so I went through your rental agreement. Saw you were from out of town. Are you FBI?" He asked, then he grabbed Charles' wallet. "No, you're not cops. Hey, what's with this gifted youngsters place?"