The X-Project

Baron Zemo finally reveals his diabolical plan and the machine which they've been trying desperately to keep him from completely.



The UN Security Council was a unique entity; it was a permenant council of five nations, and a revolving body of ten elected nations representing all the regions of the world. However, the real power lay firmly in the hands of the five permenent representatives, and while they used the other ten to build coalitions and agreements, they jealously guarded their own fiefdoms.

Each one wasn't surprised to receive a private memo regarding the security council which did not involve the other elected nation states, but they were surprised to see that it wasn't from a diplomat or national representative. Instead, it was from the plant manager of the UN Headquarters building itself. Charley Blout was the ancient head of one of the most complex office strutures on the planet, where basic cleaning rotas and canteen staffings could cause international diplomatic issues. As a result, Blout was known as an excessively calm person, able to ignore any amount of indignant cursing in every language of the world.

So the august members of the Security Council wasn't given much more importance than any other part of the organization. Blout scratched his bald plate as the last member reached his office, coming to anyone wasn't the usual pattern for them, and he ignored the angry comments until the final member, Khalilzad of the Americans, arrived.

"Gentlemen," Charley said, shouting over both Wang Guangya and John Sawers. "There is an important message that is for your ears only. I'm going to have to ask you to follow me into a private room to receive it."

"What is this, Blout?"

"Please, Mister de La Sabliere, this is an issue that bypasses the Secratary of the General Assembly. Please be patient."

While none of them were happy, they agree to follow him, and plunged into the bowels of the building following Blout down into areas they certainly had never seen before. Finally, Blout unlocked a door deep in the basement, and led them in. The room they entered had the deep musty smell of an opened tomb. There was a large oval table in the middle, ringed on the one side with five old style chairs, and it faced a giant but dated television screen. On the table was a console, which had several lights on it, all blinking red.

Blout bade them inside, and to sit.

"I have never even seen this room. Where is it?"

"Deep in the basements, Mister Churkin. It hasn't been used since the middle of the seventies. We call it the Dulles room, but it has no official title or even appears on the building blueprints. Only the plant manager of the building and one technician have details of it." Blout pointed at the console. "There is a dedicated feed running deep across from this room, and can eventually by reached through a satellite signal. It was used as a covert way for negotiations between irregular forces and the Security Council."

"Irregular forces?"

"I don't know much else, Mr. Sawers. The console controls the screen, including volume and such. There is an alarm in my office when a call is coming in. The last time it went off was in 1976, I believe. Until fifty-one minutes ago." Blout let himself out of the room, and finally Wang Guangya of China leaned forward and touched the 'on' button.

The screen winked into view, and the visage of a man's head, shrouded in a purple bag filled it. Zemo stared from the screen for a long moment, the pause beginning to strech into uncomfortable until the Baron finally sighed disgustedly and snapped his fingers, pointing upward.

The ambassadors exchanged blank looks until Churkin's eyes narrowed in sudden understanding and he reached to flick the 'on' button of the camera perched on the wall behind the monitor.

"Better. " Zemo's mad eyes traversed the room taking in the five men. "Behold the decay of this veil of tears." He shook his head, sending small ripples through the material of his mask as he took in Khalizad's prominent Persian features and Wang's impenetrable face.

"Chinamen and semites pulling the hidden levers of the world. And they called the fuhrer mad."

Khalizad shook of the sheer bizarre unreality of the entire situation. He could feel the somewhat incredulous eyes of the Frenchman on him, but ignored it trying to concentrate. There was something tantalizingly familiar about the man. It was right there on the edge of his memory...

Chukrin recovered first, stepping forward and smoothing out the lapels of his Seville Row suit. It had to be said - the Russians have been dressing much better since the wall fell. "Uhm. You seem to have the advantage of us..."

The golden crown perched on top of the man's head tilted as he his barked his laughter, the German accent suddenly much stronger. "In every way imaginable, untermenschen!"

Vitaly's face paled, first in shock and than in sudden rage, and Zalmay stepped forward, unobtrusively grasping the Russian's elbow to keep him quiet.

Despite the shock of recognition reverberating through him, he still felt an incongrous spike of satisfaction. They've long suspected that the Russians had their own Black Lodge Archive, but were never sure. Some suggested that even if such had existed it did not survive the fall of the USSR.

But there could be no mistake. Churkin definitely recognized the man, like Khalizad needing only a trigger to spark his memory. There were after all hundreds of files in the library began by Henry Cabot Lodge and continued by his every successor.

"Gentlemen," Zalmay said gently. "Allow me to introduce Dr. Heinrich Zemo, 12th Baron of that name until the government of German Democratic Republic stripped him of the title and the lands. Late of the Krupp corporation, the SS and finally an independent purveyor of terror. Thought deceased from 1972 until today."

"Silence!" Zemo's roar killed the disbelieving whisper from the rest of the ambassadors, Khalizad's introduction breaking even Guanguya's traditional mien of calm boredom.

"I'm still the Baron, for I do not recognize the right of those imposters in Bonn and Berlin to take from me what was never theirs! My ancestors received their title from Charlemagne himself! Who are you... !"

The madman's rant broke off midword, as he breathed heavily in the microphone, the gloved hand rising to shield his eyes. Chkukrin shook off the American's hand and inclined his head in a subtle bow. It had been nicely done, after all. It was the terrorist who was unbalanced now.

"It doesn't matter." Zemo's voice was heavy, grating with bone-deep weariness now. "Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair."

La Sabiliere felt a cold fist grip his heart as the ridiculous man on the screen of an ancient cotruption turned and gestured sharply to someone off camera. The entire situation was insane, ludicrous, a pitiful farce! But somehow it wasn't, he knew, and the look in Englishman's eyes confirmed it.

Sawers couldn't know anymore more than he did about what was coming, but his eyes were fixed on the screen, the same dread premonition in them as Zemo disappeared, replaced by an idyllic landscape.

His voice still flowed from the speakers, its even cadence akin to that of the marching jackboots.

"Thermal Gigantinator. It is my finest creation."

Khalizad glanced sideways just in time to see Sawers's eyebrows climb into his perfectly quaffed hair. Next to him the Frenchman also blinked at the sound of the name and looked questioningly at Wang, who shrugged back helplessly.

Only the American and the Russian remained grim, waiting and listening.

"It would be a waste of my time to attempt an explanation that would be suitably simplistic for you to grasp. But I shall try my best..."

"Put simply, my device exponentially increases the thermal energy output. And there are now in my my possession engines that can provide me with enough power to operate it at full capacity. I will not waste my time with threats. Watch closely."

The camera zoomed to a massive machine, and five young figures strapped to tables above a giant reflector. A man in a lab coat stepped forward and struck a match. The view switched to the massive drill hole under the machine, and suddenly a jet engine stream of fire washed down the hole, going until the match finally died.

Now, the labcoated man walked back and touched off a control panel. Instantly, fire blossomed around the young people, marking them obviously as mutants. With mounting horror, they watched the reflector seem to pull the incandescent energy down, and on the other end, a stream of heat so powerful as to be pure white vomited down the drill hole.

The camera switched again, to a tropical scene.

As the harsh clipped words poured into the room, a small girl ran shrieking through the golden dunes and plunged heedlessly into the azure waters, disappearing into the ocean. Her brother dove after her a second later, still screaming promises of retribution.

The mother of the children, wrapped in the sarong was standing at the water's edge now, her jet-black hair whipping in the wind, her words almost swallowed by laughter as she tried to call back the siblings, their little brother watching their aquatic antics jealously from the his mother's arms.

Tagalog. Sawers thought dully. I think she's speaking...

"The energy I pump into the device is transmitted directly into Terra's core, causing - in rudimentary terms - the expansion of the Earth's crust, and destabilization of the fault lines. "

The woman's laughter faltered as she looked down, feeling faint tremors and then, shielding her eyes against the sun, cast them toward horizon where a faint shimmer was rising. The tremor had been along the incredibly fragile join between the Pacific and Australian plates. It was a hot spot for tectonic abilities, and was something of an early warning system for major geological disturbances. Zemo had just fired what was essentially warning shot across the bows of the world. The heavy wave that he'd touched off wouldn't even make the news when it swamped the coast of the island, sinking a few boats, and causing some head scratching from scientists watching the plate and mutters of 'uncommon activity' and little else. But the message was clear. At any time, Zemo could do much worse to them.

"Tidal waves, earthquakes, eruptions... Gotterdammerung." The picture flickered, Zemo's mask filling the screen again. "The New Age."

The five men stared at him, the sublimated hate filling the small room and almost making the air shimmer.

Zemo stared back, unmoved. "You have 36 hours to turn over the control of your nuclear arsenals to me. Or I will end the world."