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Alexander Pierce didn’t visit Camp Lehigh often. The base had officially been closed for years and too much activity could bring unwanted attention. But after everything Zola had done to make this day possible, it was only fitting that he should be there to see the results in person, so to speak.
The overhead lights flickered on as he strode through the otherwise abandoned halls, footsteps echoing down corridors empty of everything but a fine layer of dust. Cobwebs clung to his hand as Pierce pulled back the bookcase. The elevator was already open, waiting to take him down to the computer bank.
Zola was expecting him.
Although the machine could observe the entire base, Pierce waited until the monitor that doubled as Zola’s face flickered to life to acknowledge him.
“Good news,” he said, smiling.
“You have retrieved it?” asked Zola, sounding eager, almost greedy, his words quick and impatient.
He had been waiting a very long time for this day.
“The Russians were most accommodating,” said Pierce. He pulled out the dog tags from his briefcase, holding them up to the camera above Zola’s monitor. Pierce had examined them already, not entirely immune to the impatience that had infected the digital brain.
They were older, notched in the lower corner like his father’s had been and faded in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. The combination of rust and wear that left the name unreadable was more likely a side effect of whatever spell Zola had used to bind the ghost than the ravages of time.
The pixels that made up Zola’s face curled up at the mouth in disgust. “The Russians,” he cursed. “The Russians should never have been entrusted with the Asset. The laxness at Hydra in the aftermath of my death was unfortunate. Your predecessor left much to be desired.”
“My predecessor believed that as long as he still had access to assassinations there was no reason to oversee the Asset personally,” Pierce said. It was a conversation they’d had before. Pierce was in agreement with Zola, but he was also aware the Asset hadn’t been given away but stolen, and under Zola’s own watch.
“Hydra’s greatest weapon and he let it slip through his fingers,” Zola lied.
“It was not a policy I agreed with,” said Pierce diplomatically.
“And the Russians?” Zola asked. “You are sure they gave you the right artifact?”
It wouldn’t be the first attempt at trickery. Hydra had one goal, but that didn’t stop infighting. The schism between the Russian branch and the American branch had intensified as the Cold War dragged on. Even now after the USSR had broken up, there were still hard feelings on both sides.
But Pierce hadn’t become the head of the American division for his naivety. He had grilled the remaining Russian members until he was satisfied of their reasons for handing over the Asset. The dog tags were an artifact of some power—Pierce had been able to determine that much. He would find a use for them if it turned out they weren’t the thing Zola was seeking.
“Its Handler—Karpov, I believe—made himself scarce after the fall of the Iron Curtain. Those who were left no longer knew how to control it. The Asset has been locked away for over a year now. The Russian branch was almost happy when I stepped in with the trade,” said Pierce.
The screen flashed through a series of images, too quick for Pierce to pick out. Zola always forgot how slowly the human mind could process information when he was angry.
“Karpov. The necromancer. He ruined the original bindings I had on the Asset. We will have to start afresh. I have some ideas, but we must see how much damage has been done. Start with the sigil on the floor.”
Zola walked him through the steps needed to summon the Asset. When he was finished, Pierce straightened up and absent-mindedly brushed chalk dust onto his pants. Another solution would have to be found for the long run but for now he examined his handiwork with a critical eye.
“It’s crooked,” he said. He hadn’t needed to draw a circle since school and didn’t think to bring a compass with him to Lehigh. The markings within were legible, but still sloppy enough that his grade four teacher would have docked marks.
“It is good enough to hold the Asset,” Zola said, no patience for Pierce’s perfectionism. “Proficiency will come in time.”
Pierce called forth the ghost.
In a blink, it was there in front of him, insubstantial and furious, throwing itself against all the boundaries of the chalk circle at once. Pierce felt the impression of wind howling against his ears although his clothes lay flat against his body. A cold chill ran down his spine.
The bindings held.
When at last the Asset accepted there was no means of escape, it stilled and Pierce got a better look at Zola’s creation.
The spirit was little more than a wisp. Much like a double exposure photograph, Pierce could both see that there was a man in front of him and that the space was empty of anything but air. There were no defining features he could make out, just the impression of a face—two eyes, a nose and a mouth. His visage was as anonymous as his name. The mouth was frantically opening and closing, but no words escaped its lips.
“Call him from the circle,” Zola instructed.
Even as nothing more than a wisp, Pierce could see when the ghost recognized Zola’s voice. It turned its head towards the speaker and shrunk back, somehow becoming even more insubstantial than it was before.
“Call him, now,” Zola said, impatiently.
Pierce called him forth. The ghost resisted, cringing back to the centre of the circle.
“Is it controllable?” Pierce asked, more disappointed than he had expected. He had known the Russians would not have let the Asset go if they could still make it do their bidding, but he had hoped.
“Everything is controllable,” Zola snapped. “Karpov may have ruined its original conditioning, but I broke it in once and I can break it in again. The manual, do you have it?”
“Only your original one,” Pierce said, pulling it from his briefcase. “Whatever notes Karpov had disappeared with him.”
“There is an incantation for control. Use it now.”
Pierce flipped to the right page and started reciting. The ghost writhed and shook. Pierce had the impression of screaming in his ears although he could only hear his own words. He raised his voice but kept his rhythm steady until he reached the end.
Zola said, “Again.”
Pierce called the Asset forward and this time it came free of the binding circle, passing through the computer bank to hover in front of Pierce.
“How does it interact with the physical world?” Pierce didn’t take his eyes off the ghost but directed the question to Zola.
“Hand him your briefcase.”
Pierce closed the clasps to his briefcase. “Take it,” he said, holding it out in the general direction of the Asset. The ghost gained some substance when it took the briefcase from his hands. Pierce could almost make out a nose and the shape of its eyes.
“And a gun?” Pierce asked. He had no desire to hand over a weapon until he was certain the Asset was completely under control, but an assassin who couldn’t handle a weapon was no use to him.
“In time. The Asset is weak. Right now you are the summoner, you are the intermediary that lets it interact with the physical world. Only you can hand it weapons but there are spells to strengthen it.
“We will start our work immediately. The Russians might have torn down the Asset, but together we can build it back even stronger until once again it is Hydra’s mightiest weapon.”
Pierce could work with that.