Walter Williston liked to think of himself as a fair man. An unbiased, open-minded man. A bit conservative on fiscal policies, but then, when the nation's debt was in digits the human mind could no longer adequately comprehend, someone had to be.

Which is to say: Walter Williston did not mind, per se, that he lived next door to what had—sometime after he'd acquired his own property—become publicly known as the nation's leading private school for the genetically differentiated. They kept their lawn tidy enough, and his dogs had gotten used to the horrible screams that occasionally came from the woods that bordered his estate, and they hardly even flew their jet over his property since he'd filed that polite protest with the Federal Aviation Administration. That made Xavier's a far cry better in his book than the Lawsons, who bordered him on the North.

The Lawsons. Don't even get him started on the Lawsons.

This was all to mean, of course, that Walter Williston, while jovially admitting to his fair share of political views, did not particularly care whether mutants were all rounded up and shot, collared like dogs, or given preferential treatment under affirmative action laws along with the blacks and the gays and the women. He didn't much think about mutants on a day-to-day basis at all, as much as that surprised his visitors. There was, after all, a fairly expansive woods between his property and theirs, such that he only occasionally saw smoke as they lit another wing of their school on fire, but mostly he just saw picturesque fir trees when he glanced their way.

And so—far be it for Walter Williston to put too fine a point on things—he didn't much care about their genetic status, but none the less, he going to rain unholy lawyers down upon Xavier's Institute until such time as its hemorrhaging wallet filled his Swiss bank account to overflowing and the tide of collections agents washed its students, homeless and destitute, out into the sewers of New York's public schools.

How dare they.

How dare they, indeed.

Walter Williston placed the letter under a paper weight on his mahogany desk, and began making calls.

To Whom It May Concern:

(Said the ludicrous piece of rubbish.)

You are hereby advised of your eviction from the property at 555 Alabaster Court (hereafter referred to as “West Mansion Drive.”)

(What followed was the most outrageous offal to ever offend his eyes. Something about an expansion of the school grounds, and a new football stadium paid for by alumni and generous community sponsors.)

Please be aware that this notice is effective immediately. Demolition is scheduled to begin on Tuesday, April 5th.

You may contact the authorities as per your own desires on this matter. You will be heartened to note how many police deputies count themselves your neighbors.

Sincerely,

Rudolph Kipperling
Headmaster
Xavier's Institute for Gifted and Talented Youth, Sister School Thereof

It should be noted that, when contacted by Mr. Williston's lawyers, Headmaster Ruddy's reply was entered into the record as follows:

“Really? Did I write that?” (Sounds of cloth rustling, phone being joggled, hand being ineffectually placed over receiver rather than using the mute button. Life was too short to learn office electronics.) “Ruddy! Did you write that?”

(Another voice, from further away, but still rather much the same as the last:) “No, but have you checked with Ruddy? He's the one that was saying the Danger Room is no replacement for fresh air. I didn't know we were that good at fund raising, though.”

(More rustling, and a return of the original speaker:) “Let me check with myself and get back to you.”

Mr. Williston and his lawyers were less than pleased by this reply. Particularly as demolition was scheduled to begin the next day.

The letter, it should be noted, was sent care of Ragnarok Remodeling.

---

Madeline Brass was smiling behind her desk. This was first thing wrong with the world. Second thing was that she was smiling at Panu.

“Good morning Ms. Brass,” the eight—the nine year old Finnish boy said, as politely as he could. It had been his birthday yesterday. He had made a cake and ate it all and felt too sick to move for rest of day. He had not even cleaned up kitchen. No one had made him do it because--

“Jaager called,” the tiger secretary continued to smile, with so many teeth that probably dentists were intimidated, “he's out of town for at least another week.”

“Oh.” Panu said. He readjusted his headphones, and took in a breath, and let it out. “Okay. Did he say when he will come back?”

“No he did not,” the tiger purred.

This was much explain her smile. Every day without her boss was a good day, in the tiger secretary's book.

“Thank you for let me—for letting me know.” He was practicing English with Noel every week. He would be very very good at speaking by the time his adoptive father was back.

Also, he would clean the kitchen before then. Probably there was no rush on cleaning. Probably he could leave cake pan alone until it developed more life than Mars. He was the only one in Jaager's house--their house--now, so he could be as messy as he wanted. There were many many days of clothes on his bedroom floor and no one was telling him to do laundry (though maybe he should google how to work the washing machine soon, he had been wearing the same gray hoodie since he was eight).

The tiger's white tail curled around her stilettoed heel. She smiled again, a little less toothily, which made her look almost like she didn't want to eat him. She lazily clicked a button on her keyboard with one clawed finger.

A new email popped into his phone.

Panu read it. Then he was very grin, and she grinned back.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” Maybe he should have saved some cake for sharing. He forgot sometimes that he had new family now. Bigger family. It was okay if his new father was still away on business, because other people where here for him now.

Like today: he was going to wait in the briefing room. He would meet a new sister, and they would blow up a house together, and maybe frame the X-Men.

It was very good day-after-birthday present.

It had been a long time since Isabel had been on-call for anyone other than Zephyr. The Order had been getting quieter and more sluggish as time went on so most of the time she was left to her own devices and sadly included far less mayhem than she would have liked.

Ragnarok was beginning to fill in for that lack of excitement fairly well.

When her phone had begun to ring she'd ignored it for as long as she could stand to, thinking it was the windbag calling to harass her about something or other like he usually did. If he was going to irritate her by calling, she was going to irritate him by letting the phone ring for far too long.

However, her assumption had been wrong. Instead of Zephyr calling, it was that secretary that worked at Jaager's place. The tiger woman that sometimes seemed to be trying to look intimidating but maybe it was just the way those teeth sat in her maw. Either way, it didn't phase Isabel. She'd been working with Lisa for years. It would take more than a grinning tiger to faze her.

She arrived at Jaager Worldwide just shy of late-enough-to-get-scolded and after a brief, rather blunt interaction with the tiger she lazily made her way to the conference room where she was supposed to meet with someone and get briefed on the latest mission in mayhem.

A small child was the last person she expected to see when she finally waltzed through the door. Were kids even allowed in the building? Maybe the tiger woman would be more useful if she got out from behind the desk and threatened to eat any children sneaking around the premises. Maybe she could actually put those teeth to some use.

"Uh, you lost kid?" she offered as an introduction, regarding the small person thing with a raised brow and a slight grimace. Isabel did not deal with children. They were loud and sticky and drooly and just overall unpleasant. "Shouldn't you be off somewhere coloring or napping or something?

Panu was sitting at the conference table when she came in. His headphones were around his neck (because this probably looked more polite) and his phone was in his hoodie pocket and his eyes were pointed towards the door so he could pretend that he was looking that way.

His partner was Isabel Duskmoor. This was in the files Ms. Brass had sent him.

Isabel Duskmoor was a very good partner. Google search said when she was younger she was very very stabby, reckless stabby, but she was more discrete in recent years. More smart and mature, almost like a different person had been put in charge of her brain. Also she had already been put on trial for some murders and let free, so everyone knew trying to arrest her was a joke. Probably some day there would be sniper rifle from rooftop three blocks away, but until then, being with Isabel Duskmoor was like being with mutant equivalent of angry moose. No one was mess with her.

Panu was very ready to like his new sister.

Isabel did not feel the same way.

But still. At least she was ten times better than his last mission partner: Hades had said pleasant things and then left him at daycare. Isabel said these things to his face. This was better.

The nine year old took in a deep breath, and stood. His accent was very Finnish, but he could say the words for himself now, without using a translator. “Hello, Ms. Duskmoor. My name is Panu Harmaajärvi-Jaager. I am your missions partner.”

He did not respond to her insult. It was a normal insult for a normal child. He was not a normal child: he was Ambrose Jaager's son. He was Professional Gentleman Technopath. He was Muninn.

Normal children would complain and whine and deserve stabbing. Panu would show her: he was not normal child at all. He was teammate.

The projector screen at the front of the room turned on, though neither of them had touched it.

“Please have seat and I will tell you explanation.”

So the kid was Jaager's. At least, it sounded like he'd stuck Jaager's name on the end of his own. Isabel was still processing the accent and what a mouthful the introduction was, but she was pretty sure she hadn't mistaken that word. That would explain why he was wandering around the building unsupervised and why he was apparently the one running their meeting.

She took a seat as directed, leaning back and crossing her arms and she regarded the kid with mild irritation. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about someone a third her age telling her what to do, but she was fairly sure she didn't like it. Him being Jaager's little ankle biter meant she probably couldn't stab him if he got too pushy, though. The dragon probably wouldn't like that very much and while she wasn't especially afraid of a potential fight with the crazy reptile, it would put her attempt at spying to a pretty abrupt end.

Dragging the kid around on the upcoming mission would make not stabbing him more difficult. Having to work alongside a child was almost as bad as being bossed around by one. He was so small, there was no way he'd be able to keep up with her and there was no way in hell she was carrying his scrawny ass anywhere.

A rotten mood was starting to settle as Isabel turned her attention to the projection that had popped up without warning. She would have to remember to get the bare bones mission details ahead of time whenever the next call came in. She wasn't going to let anyone make a habit of sticking her with babysitting duty.

"Alright then, kid, impress me. This job better be interesting." Otherwise she might just leave his adolescent ass behind and figure out an excuse later.

Ms. Duskmoor was very Not Impressed. She was not impressed like an old pit bull adopted from fight ring by a rescue group who was now dealing with golden retriever puppy.

The blonde boy took his own seat, and replayed footage of the last minute in his head, and tried to determine what he had done that was wrong. He stood up when lady-and-new-teammate entered room. He had introduced himself and offered her a seat. He did not think he had done anything to take offense to.

Probably it was just because he was eig—because he was nine, then. Okay. As long as he was not an annoying child, and as long as he was useful, then probably she would be okay with him eventually. So he should just keep acting like Adult, then, and ignore that she had taken her seat like the chair had personally offended her and crossed her arms, which was international body language of You Talk But All I Hear Is Mouth Flap Sounds.

“Mission is from Loki.” Some people in Ragnarok knew there was no Loki—that it was Jaager or Ms. Brass or another high ranking member that had come up with the idea. Sometimes Panu was Loki (with Jaager's permission). Some people thought Loki was real person who was head of their group. This is what they wanted the public to think, because the police couldn't cut off a snake's head if the snake did not exist. Panu did not know whether Ms. Duskmoor knew or not, and it did not change things: either way, she would know that Loki meant approved by top of Ragnarok.

For the rest of this, he would need to relay on his translator. There were brief pauses between his sentences, as he ran his words in Finnish through google to get the English. His pronunciation was… not as good on these words, but mostly okay, in the same way that Cortana or Siri's voices were mostly okay. If she was paying attention to more than his age, she might catch the pauses. If she was paying very very good attention, she might catch that though he was displaying images on the screen for her, he never really looked at them himself. Or looked at anything, for that matter. Or did anything apparent to make the images on the screen change.

He had never given a mission briefing before, and Ragnarok was more formal than his old group; less bickering about how much collateral damage was too much as they ate Chinese food in the dining room of a hostage's house, more orders-handed-down-from-someone-already-written.

He kept it brief, like summary on back of novel.

“Mission is easy chaos. We are plant bombs at house next to Xavier School. Steps already taken to frame school and X-Men. Objective is not to make attack believable—evidence is very flimsy. Smart people will know that Ragnarok has done this. Reporters like to be sensation—sensationali--” That word was very appropriate but very hard to pronounce, even after re-listening to it. “Reporters stir up stupid people like monkey stirring up bees by shoving stick into hive. Since 99% of people are too stupid to live, probably for a few weeks X-Men and their school take full blame while we laugh. Real is spread Ragnarok name, and associate X-Men with terrorists in stupid people brains.”

“This is house.” Pictures and blueprints filled the screen. The estate was just to the west of Xavier's, and rivaled the school in size.

“Your job is break in, plant bombs, leave. Do much property damage on way, because bombs are secret bombs. Break enough to make them think attack is main objective. Owner was warned that demolition was today, so probably there is security. Is better if you do not kill, but kill is okay if you need to.”

Their orders did not actually say anything about not killing. Panu said it just like the rest so that hopefully she would not notice.

“My job is not to be--” He googled for the phrase, he knew English had a good one; “Not be deadweight for you. I will stay out of way in van. I am your surveillance and floor map. I will tell you locations of guards and best places for bombs through headset. Also I will stop calls to police until we are done.”

Well, only cell phone calls. But many many people did not even think to use their land lines, especially when they thought their call was going to real 911 dispatcher. Ms. Brass had a very good phone voice for this.

“Once we are gone and they think all is safe, then I am detonate bombs.”

Hopefully by then the X-Men or police would be there, and be smart enough to have everyone out of the house. If not, then probably it was stupid to tell her not to kill people, because bombs kill everyone.

Panu let out a breath. This was probably more than he had spoken since his last gelato-and-English meeting with Noel. He made his hands stop gripping his phone so tightly. In fact, he took them out of his hoodie pocket entirely, and fussed with his headphones. It felt weird having them around his neck, like maybe they were too tight or the room was too warm.

“If you have questions, please ask. Is no hurry. I am... look forward to be your partner.”

A mission handed down by Loki meant Isabel had to at least halfway pay attention to what the kid was saying. That guy was supposed to be the head honcho, even higher up than Jaager. Screwing up her job because she was irritated with the kid she'd been assigned wouldn't turn out so great for her or her interest in being involved with the group.

Paying attention to the screen was a little difficult with the kid's broken way of speaking, though. There was a lot of awkward wording and odd pauses in his sentences that didn't make them flow right, like he was thinking too long on what he was trying to say next. It was very distracting and beginning to grate on her nerves a bit. But for the sake of the job she had to grit her teeth and bare it and hopefully she'd be able to ditch the kid before too long. She kept her eyes trained on the images being shown to her instead of the boy otherwise she might want to squeeze his tiny face.

What they wanted her to do sounded easy enough. She just had to burst onto the scene and make as big a mess as possible while sticking a few bombs under the couch cushions or something. Isabel was very good at making messes and causing distractions. Blaming it on the X-Nerds, however briefly, was just icing on the cake. She'd like to see Cafas' reaction to it all. He'd probably really love the idea.

Not having to drag the kid through the house with her was a relief. She could probably handle having to listen to his weird speech patterns through a headset as long as she didn't also have to be holding his hand or something equally as unappealing.

"Sounds simple enough," she replied once he was done speaking and turned to look at his dumb baby face now that the images had stopped cycling and therefore had lost her mild interest. "Get in, get out, make some noise, maybe stab a few people. Easy. When are we supposed to start?"

This was so a thing she would rub in Zephyr's face whenever he found out about her new playmates.

She hated him. She definitely hated him. She was like a big ball of rubber bands and each rubber band was tensed up hate wrapped around other hate all the way to hate-filled center.

He would have to try Much Harder.

This is why he downloaded her phone into his head. All contacts and pictures and texts and internet history and apps and all. In other part of his brain, he started up new google search: all news on Isabel Duskmoor. Mission was too easy, she had said so herself. He needed to find something to make him useful to her. First step was to violate all her privacy (and never tell her).

Doing these things took much less of a pause than using a translator. No pause a human would notice without super speedy senses. The boy rose from his chair, pushing it back into the table politely.

“You are ready? So we can start now.” He put on his headphones back on. Now his ears did not feel so naked, and since she already hated him, it was okay to be rude because she already hated him.

(News stories he grouped into these: murder preferences, people who supported her, people who hated her as much as she hated him or maybe more.)

“Van is in garage. Do you know how to drive? Otherwise we can get driver.” There were many Ragnarok members who were bored right now. He could tell because of how many of them were playing the stupid fruit ninja game on their phones. Had Jaager told them about that? Jaager was his father and very strong, but also terrible terrible work ethic.

(Phone contacts he grouped into these: many calls out, many calls in, many calls in both directions, stupid numbers only used once or twice. Windbag seemed to be Number 1 caller.)

He let her leave the room first, and fell into step to the side of her and a little behind. Far enough that she could stab things and not hit him. This is was the smart place to walk, where he did not get in the way of his adults.

“Oh,” the blonde boy had been looking mostly at the floor as they had walked. There were many cameras in the basement because his father was Very Thoughtful Father, so he had not even needed his phone out to help him see. But when he said oh, he lifted up his head again. This is what people do when they remember something over the sound of their own internet searches. “We should take Skoll. He is maybe useful.”

There was a horrible scratching sound of metal-on-metal, the likes of which would not be out of place in a horror movie. (This was Skoll showing that his door-opening program needed more work.) On second try, the door handle to a nearby room depressed.

It was at this point that a META bot trotted happily into the hall, its tail wagging to show it was friend.

(...Number 1 murder preference search result was police.)

The META rather quickly skittered behind Panu, its claws skidding on the floor. The police dog attempted, rather ineffectually, to hide behind the skinny nine year old.

If she stabbed his dog he would maybe hate her.

Setting out immediately was fine with her. Isabel didn't like sitting around and waiting for things to begin. She was an impatient person, even moreso when the prospect of a little destruction was thrown into the mix. Not having to come back and deal with the kid a second time was even better. Working with him all in one go was preferable.

"Yeah, I can drive." Not very well, but she could manage. Having to deal with fewer people was worth the trouble and she could have a little extra property damage kind of fun during the getaway if she wanted.

Once she was sure their little meeting was officially over, she got up from her seat and started making her way toward the garage, noting that the kid had fallen in step behind her. It wasn't necessarily comfortable the have someone at her back, but he very much did not seem like any kind of real threat and it only worked in his favor that he wasn't pushing to act like he was in charge.

Inviting along someone named Skoll put a wrench in the dealing with less people thing pretty quickly. Isabel was just about to roll her eye and make a dismissive comment when the sound of scraping metal filled the corridor. She froze as a nearby door opened and her chest felt like it was constricting in on itself when one of those horrible META bots sauntered out to meet them before circling around the kid. She turned stiffly to follow its movements.

The mission seemed much less appealing all of a sudden.

"I am not working with one of those... things," she ground out, glaring daggers at the offending scrap heap. She would be damned if she was going to cooperate with the Stalker's proteges and that scrawny little brat was in for a surprise if he thought she wouldn't tear it apart just because it like him.

...He maybe saved freeze frame of look on her face when Skoll came out. It was funny in a way that probably he should never let her see.

(Search result of favorite murder weapon: her own bones. Stabbed into people. Probably there was enough data on this that he could make a histogram of average stabs per person.)

She did not like him anyway. So probably anything he said could not make her not-like-him more. The Finnish boy assertively straightened his headphones, and then reached out a hand to pat-pat the metal dog on its head.

“Skoll is Raganarok dog now. He is defend me while you are out making property damage. Or maybe you are wanting to be my babysitter?”

He tried to glare assertively or-maybe-just-stubbornly at her, but probably his gaze ended up somewhere a little to the left.

(It was very funny face. Like person in horror movie who answers phone and killer says I am in the house I am right behind you.)

The mission hadn't even really gotten started yet and they kid was already starting trouble and trying to throw his weight around. Maybe it had something to do with being Jaager's kid. People didn't tend to argue too heavily with anyone that was in charge or with anyone that was closely connected to the boss. But Isabel wasn't exactly impressed by authority figures. She was especially unimpressed by shrimpy little kids that thought they could push her around.

She glared back at the kid, trying not to let her attention wander back and linger on the bot too often. It was hard to ignore the scrapheap, though. Those stupid METAs very nearly made her sick to her stomach and it was impossible to relax with one of them around. She wouldn't put it past Jaager to nab and reprogram a few, but even with their loyalties realigned she wouldn't trust them. They were much better melted down than rewired.

"I'd rather be stuck babysitting a snot-nosed brat like you than working with one of those things," she shot back, temper flaring. Hell, she'd rather be stuck babysitting and dealing with the Windbag simultaneously than cooperating with a bot. "That hunk of junk stays here."

“You are prefer baby sit. Really.” The Finn said, and inside he was maybe think that this was too assertive, but he was supposed to be American child now, so probably this was what she was used to and if he was too Finnish than she would walk all over him like treadmill. “Okay. If Skoll is leave behind, then I am with you for every step of mission, and you are protect me whole time. And also I want burgers after. Good burgers, not stupid cow-intentine-and-cardboard patty that comes with toy in box. Sit down burgers. We have nice long teammate bonding conversation.” He crossed his arms, which was very American but felt so so so weird and wrong. “Or Skoll can come along to protect me, and I stay in car, and mission is done quick and easy before it is lunch time. Is your choice.”

If his arms were not crossed probably he would be fussing with his headphones or putting up his hood or rolling his sleeves up and down and up. But arms were crossed like Stubborn American Child.

He was Call Bluff.

Things were starting to go downhill at a rapid pace. The kid had been mostly tolerable back in the conference room when he was quiet and passive and not trying to shoehorn her into babysitting for real. But now his true snot-nosed colors were showing. Figures the kid of some rich lizard would be a spoiled brat. She really should have expected him to start stomping his feet sooner.

Still it took a moment to process what had just happened. Isabel stared blankly at the kid while the information sank in. No bot, but on top of babysitting the brat she'd have to drag him through the house while she worked. And then she'd also have to take him out to lunch and bond in the process. Ew.

But even as unpalatable as the idea of having to bond with someone was, it was still more appealing than allowing a META to tag along with her anywhere. She was pretty sure she could discourage the kid from wanting to hang out with her ever again after this first outing. There was no intimidating a bot. Those things were made of pure evil and could not be reasoned with.

"Fine," she replied, crossing her arms and leveling her own challenging look at the pipsqueak. "But I'm not slowing down just for you. If your stubby little legs can't keep up, you're on your own."

What would be stupid thing to say but what was what he was thinking, over and over, maybe rising in mental pitch because

what.

...Ms. Duskmoor was not bluffing. Ms. Duskmoor was not bluffing at all. And now he either had to admit that he had been bluffing and he would rather leave his dog behind and sit in the car and not be in real danger at all.

But what if this was Final Bluff? No one could prefer babysitting to a perfectly well-behaved re-programmed Awesome Robot Dog. No one. Children who did not know their place were annoying waste of air that maybe should not take their ability to breathe for granted, he had grown up all this life knowing this. And he knew he was being Annoying Spoiled Child right now, that was his bluff.

Maybe she had talked to other Ragnarok members, and she knew his bluff was bluff, so she was bluffing his bluff--

Panu shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. Many little tech things and spare chargers clacked against each other.

“Skoll,” the little Finn said, “Go back in room. Ms. Duskmoor is my bodyguard for this mission. I did not know that in her secret heart she was love children so much, but we are not to Deprive Her of Opportunity to Show Affection.”

The META dog obligingly went back into its room, though Panu was maybe careful to keep his own body between it and her at all times.

If she was bluff his bluff, he was bluff her bluffing bluff.

Isabel grit her teeth to keep herself from saying something nasty to the kid while he told the metal monster to go back to wherever it had crawled out of, keeping her eyes trained on the thing until it was completely out of sight. The kid was being a smartass and it sounded like he was trying to irritate her into changing her mind and allowing that monstrosity to tag along after all. He was going to have to try harder than that.

The way she saw it he'd wind up chickening out before he was ever in any real danger and staying in the car while she worked. Kids usually tried and act tough but once they realized they could get into real trouble they tended to back down pretty quickly. Especially the spoiled breed of children whose rich parents could and often did buy their way out of any kind of consequences for the trouble they got into. But in a situation that could get someone injured or killed, there wasn't much that money could do and even the snobbiest of brats could usually pick up on that.

This particular scrawny little brat definitely didn't look like the rough and tumble type. With his complexion it didn't look like he'd so much as looked in the sun's general direction. There was no way he'd want to stick his neck out far enough to give someone the opportunity to cut it open.

"Good. Now let's go and get this over with," she said, turning on her heel to continue down the corridor on the way to get their vehicle. "You're slowing me down already and we haven't even started yet." She was quickly losing what little patience she had for the kid and the prospect of impaling a few people was sounding more appealing by the minute.

...Probably Panu should never play poker. If he did he would be like the man who kept putting in more and more money because he thought his hand was good but really he'd misunderstood the rules and had lost from the beginning.

>> "Good. Now let's go and get this over with. You're slowing me down already and we haven't even started yet."

Panu felt like there was an angry fox holed up in the back of his head that he could not let out. Mostly because she would just stab it. He did not say anything as he lost bluff game badly. He only fell back into step behind her, and shoved his hands in his hoodie, and went on the internet. The internet was always better than real life.

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Subject: Need help translating stupid American text talk into real people words

By the time Panu was done copy-pasting all of Isabel's most recent text conversations onto the forum and also fixing the formatting (which was broken first three times, why did that always seem to happen on forum posts), they were at the garage. Like most buildings, Jaager Worldwide had attached parking. Unlike most (probably), the third spot from the door was taken up by a large white van that was full in back with bombs.

“Address is on your phone,” the Finn said quietly, as he buckled himself in. By which he meant: the address was preloaded into her GPS program of choice, and all she needed to do was hit the navigate button. It was not hard to find, but he was having sudden thoughts of her bombing the Mansion east-north-south of their real target just to be contrary. “Please do not drive like homicidal person, we will explode.”