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Don’t question; just get it done. Six words to live by. Or, as could rapidly become the case, die by.
It had been twenty minutes since the radios had died – probably due to the several feet of dirt and brick that lay between his team and any kind of transmitting tower. Broken snatches of conversation had given way to bursts of static and a popping, crackling noise that could equally have been the fault of the sheer amount of water that hung in the air, dripped from the tunnel’s walls and arches and splashed around his feet as Ward steadily made his way towards the agreed target.
Despite the layers of body armour and leather, there was no ignoring the way the dank air seemed to find ways to penetrate through to his skin – chill and almost slimy at the same time. Ward had been expecting the cold – this far underground it was par for the course, but the thickness in the air had been an unwelcome surprise. It also made for strange echoes; the water dripped and splashed in far off locations only to reverberate and distort as the sound waves bounced from tunnel to tunnel. It may cover the sounds of Ward’s footsteps, but the same was true for the four other men down here with him.
Ahead, barely seen in the gloom even with the aid of the night-vision headset, the corridor branched off to the left and right. Something, as much gut instinct as training, made Ward pause. Not for the first time since descending into the subterranean maze he had to fight the feeling that he was listening out for something that existed beyond his range of hearing. The sensation had never been this strong before, and he slowly allowed one hand to move towards his right hip, where his gun rested. Increment by increment, he began to slide the weapon free from its holster even as he tried to get his senses to provide some detail on what had them all sending warning signals to his hindbrain.
Straining to hear anything other than the rasp of his breath and the steady thrum of blood pulsing in his ears, it suddenly struck him – absurdly, ridiculously – that what he was hearing was silence. No more dripping water, no distant rumble of the underground metro lines, no echoes.
He inhaled again, the air suddenly seeming more smothering than enveloping. Ward’s fingers twitched involuntarily, tightening their grip on the cool metal of the gun.
A droplet traced its path down the length of his spine.
The air had an almost palpable sense of pressure. The sensation reminded Ward of deep water diving. He inhaled again, slowly, willing his body to remain calm.
And then, sudden enough to make his ears pop, the pressure was gone. The sound of far off water returned. Ward remained where he was for a heartbeat more before slowly resuming his path, turning down the new corridor to his left.
He kept the gun drawn.
Thirty yards down the passage. Then a turning to the left. Forty paces. Turn to the right. Fifteen yards.
That silent wave of pressure descended again, with a suddenness that felt like someone had dropped a net over him. Ward fought the urge to double-over. His earpiece crackled and hissed, staccato snatches of what sounded like Ackerman.
Once again the pressure receded. Ward staggered for a couple of paces before straightening and scanning the gloom around him. Not for the first time this evening he found some small, mostly hidden part of himself wondering what the hell they’d been sent down here to find.
Stop. No questions. Don’t question, just get it done.
Up ahead, came the sudden clatter of gunfire almost in unison with yet another burst of static and staccato in his ear. Silence be damned, the element of surprise was quite clearly lost. Ward broke into a run.
By now some part of him was almost expecting that sense of pressure when it descended again. It felt heavier this time, almost tangible. For a moment, Ward had to fight the sense that he was going to simply rebound off it – ricocheting like a pinball hitting a buffer. He felt his stride slow, his balance waver and then it was gone again.
More gunfire up ahead. This time, accompanied by a flare of light that had Ward cursing under his breath as the night vision flared into blinding white. Pulling the night vision scope from his eyes, Ward blinked rapidly as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness that was now lit with a steady glow up ahead. It honestly looked like someone had lit a flare – and the last time he checked that most definitely had not been part of the mission briefing.
His gun now held steadily in front of him, Ward began to steadily move towards the glow. The static crackle and pop of his earpiece was now disregarded in favour of the noises he could hear up ahead. Shouts and bursts of gunfire and a low, thrumming growl.
Seriously. What on earth were they doing up there?
Dammit. Don’t question. Don’t fucking question.
Ward had learned the hard way not to question.
Well, lingering wasn’t going to solve anything. Ward shrugged the creeping stiffness from his shoulders and stretched out his neck to either side. A final flex of his fingers to check his grip on the gun and then Ward was back in motion, swiftly moving towards the sounds of increasing chaos ahead.
The corridor dipped in front of him, narrowing into an archway before expanding outwards into a vast cavernous space. To his immediate left was the slumped form of Tanner, the blood covering his clothes and face almost black enough to be invisible were it not for the way it glistened in the firelight. Vance and Morley had made it further into the room, but both were lying face down a short distance from the centre. They had clearly been the source of the flames, for a large broken canister rested a short distance from Morley’s outstretched hand, a trail of fire licking its way back to his unmoving body.
Beyond the fallen members of the team, beyond the line of flame, Ackerman stood with his back to Ward and a sword in his hand.
Every now and then Ackerman would twitch, spasms travelling up and down his body.
Ward slowed almost to a standstill, taking in the scene before him before centring the back of Ackerman’s head within his sights. Stepping forward cautiously, Ward froze when Ackerman’s head abruptly jerked up.
Without turning around, Ackerman laughed – a wet, choked sound from far back in his throat. “And what do we have here? Another loyal dog.” A spasm shook through Ackerman, causing his head to snap sharply to one side before slowly centring once again. “Tell me. Do you do tricks? Fetch. Stay. Oh no – Tommy’s in the well.”
Ward blinked, his grip on the gun tightening for a moment.
Another spasm, followed by another one of those choking laughs. Ackerman paused to spit a glob of something thick and wet to the ground. “Hit a nerve? Don’t ask questions. But you should have asked. Should have asked what you were being sent down here for. You don’t even know, do you?”
Ward swallowed and took another step forward. “Drop the sword and turn around slowly.”
“They all knew,” Ackerman continued. “Came down here with their fancy weapons and traps. But they got what was coming to them. And now I’m wondering what to do with you.”
Ward widened his stance, bracing himself in preparation for taking the shot. “Drop the sword.”
Ackerman rocked back on his heels, but made no moves towards either discarding the weapon or turning to face Ward. “You might play the part of the loyal dog, the good soldier, the robot, but inside … oh … inside you just burn, don’t you. And I wonder if it wouldn’t be more fun to let that fire out a little.”
With a clatter, the sword dropped to the ground, bouncing on as it landed to fall in the midst of the flames that still lay between Ward and Ackerman. Ward’s eyes flickered to the blade and that was all the time it took.
In a fraction of a second, Ackerman had crossed the flames and loomed in front of Ward. Up close, the flickering fire illuminated the destroyed ruin of his face – little more than a mess of red. The most notable feature was the wreck of flesh and fluids that had been Ackerman’s eyes – though whether they had somehow disintegrated or been gouged out was hard to tell. Ward stared and for a moment could have sworn he’d seen something within the raw wounds – something flickering and intelligent.
Adjusting his aim, Ward abruptly shot six rounds into Ackerman’s skull and then ducked to the side when the body didn’t drop to the ground. It didn’t even buck from the impact of the bullets, but turned to watch as Ward fell right beside the line of fire.
“I’ve decided what to do with you,” Ackerman – or whatever Ackerman currently was – informed him, even with a gaping hole in his forehead and most of his left cheekbone destroyed. “And it won’t be anything as generous as death.”
The reflection of fire out of the corner of his eye reminded Ward of the sword sat only inches away, but surrounded by fire.
Ackerman leaned in closer. “Tell you what, Grant,” he said. “You get to live.”
In a rush of instinct that overwhelmed every piece of common sense he had, Ward plunged his hand into the fire to grip the sword and bring it in a swinging upward arc. In a clean sweep, it severed Ackerman’s head and the body finally collapsed to the ground. As it fell, the flames snuffed out leaving Ward alone in the cold, dank underground, the only sounds the breath dragging into his lungs and the pounding of blood in his ears.
His hands where they gripped the metal of the sword didn’t feel the heat at all.
Skye paused to take in the scene in front of her, resting on shoulder on the door jamb. “Lemme guess,” she drawled with an eyebrow raise that May herself would be proud of, “what would be bad enough that you have to watch it secretly in the middle of the night?” She tapped her finger thoughtfully against her chin before snapping her fingers. “Downton Abbey, right? You’re picking up tips on insulting your superiors. ”
Hunter took a step back from the flickering screen and smirked back at her. “Have I got you quaking in your boots?”
“Ha ha,” Skye rolled her eyes and swung herself into the room, moving to stand alongside him. “I thought the British were meant to be funny?”
“We are darling, it’s just not everyone has the wit to appreciate our finely honed humour.”
Skye elbowed Lance, even as she took in the displays in front of her. “Cute. Seriously though – what is this? What’s got you up at,” she glanced down at her watch and pulled a face, “five past three on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday morning?”
Hunter shrugged. “Just news feeds. Fancied a change of scene from staring at those ceiling tiles.” He tapped a few keys and studied the display screens some more. “And who has time for counting sheep?”
Skye looked back at the rolling newsfeeds and overlaid maps. “Most people try tumblr. So what are you looking for?”
Hunter paused and then shook his head. “Fuck knows. Some trace of the many, many pissed off – and in some cases superpowered – individuals with a grudge against us? It’s been too quiet, for too long. And in my general experience that tends to mean wishing I’d paid a bit more attention in my downtime.”
Skye hummed in understanding. “Trying to get one step ahead?”
Hunter scoffed. “Hardly. Just trying to work out what’s out there. I’ll leave the plotting and scheming those better qualified – like my ex-wife.”
Skye raised an eyebrow. “Okay there. So on a scale of Stark to Lannister how worried for our future should I be right now? Is this the time I break out the beer?”
Turning away from the display with a sigh, Hunter studied Skye for a moment before shrugging. “Why the fuck not. Let some other bastard waste their time looking for a way to get out in front. No doubt we’ll do what we’ve always done. Chase them down and take them out.”
Skye stepped to one side with a dramatic sweep of her arm to let Hunter past. She grinned unrepentantly at the look it got her in return and spun lightly on a heel to follow the man out of the room and towards somewhere with a crate of chilled beer.
Something blinking on one of the screens made her pause for a moment. One of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s agents stationed in Budapest was transmitting a news report featuring a riot of ambulances and police. Something to do with bodies found in the metro system.
Skye flicked the screens off decisively and hurried to catch up with Hunter.
Ward blinked awake. Something wasn’t right.
Listening carefully revealed nothing but the standard ambient sounds associated with the non-descript chain hotel room he was in; low hum of an air conditioning unit, muffled snoring from another guest making its way through the too-thin walls, the rattle and rumble of the street traffic seven floors below.
Sliding one hand beneath the mattress to where he’d stashed the knife earlier, Ward slowly rolled onto his back. He paused. Still nothing. He turned his head to take in the room.
There was a figure sat by the window, silhouetted by the glow from the other side of the cheap curtains. Slight of form, with distinctly feminine curves and long, straight hair.
Ward relaxed his grip on the knife as he pulled himself into a seated position. This dream again.
Sometimes Kara would sob, shoulders shaking and head, shoulders and back bowed. Sometimes Kara would scrabble at her face – always hidden beneath that dark fall of hair. Other times, such as this time, she would sit upright and watch him with an unbroken stare. No expression, no words, just silent accusation.
Sliding out of the bed, Ward made his way toward the figure. About two feet away, he dropped to his knees. His hands formed fists on his thighs as he met her gaze head on. “You and I both know that ‘sorry’ never fixed a goddam thing. But for what it’s worth – I’m sorry. It wasn’t the ending you deserved.”
On the occasions when Kara appeared sobbing – or clutching at her face – Ward could continue for hours with no sign that she could even hear him. The other times, when she watched him in silence, Ward felt that it was more that the hollowness behind the words robbed them of any sound at all.
Ward took another slow breath in, to try once again to reason with someone beyond hearing him.
Kara blinked.
Ward had a moment to feel his breath catch in his throat and then she was on him, one hand gripped tightly around his throat and bearing him to the floor with a strength belied by her stature. Her hair swung forward, keeping the majority of her face in shadow, but Ward could still make out the way her gaze burned through him.
“You…” she whispered.
Ward struggled to speak, to swallow, to draw breath as the grip continued to tighten around his throat. This wasn’t how it went. This was never how it went.
“You get to live.”
Ward blinked awake.
Fighting with his instincts to slow his breathing and heartrate back down to normal, Ward rolled onto his back and pushed himself into a seated position. Half out of habit his gaze drifted over to the window.
Kara stared back.
Ward felt his breath catch and freeze as though her hand was already once again around his throat. His muscles tensed as he reached for the edge of the mattress.
Kara tilted her head slightly to one side and raised her left hand to show her grip on the knife. “You won’t be needing this.” She glanced at the dull gleam of light on the blade before looking back at Ward with a quirked eyebrow. “And isn’t this a step down anyway?”
Ward forced himself into a more relaxed pose and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Gunshots tend to attract a little too much attention in places like this.”
Kara huffed a breath that failed to stir even a strand of the hair that fell across her face. “And who is talking about guns?” She tossed the knife carelessly onto an end table that was tucked into a corner alongside an armchair before dropping equally artlessly into the cushioned fabric. The chair creaked with the gesture.
Ward blinked.
Tossing her hair from her face with no apparent regard for the half-ruined features beneath, Kara interlocked her fingers and rested her hands in her lap. “We need to talk.”
“I …” Ward stopped. Swallowed. Started again. “What … this isn’t usually how this goes.”
Something in Kara’s posture softened slightly – a hint of a lean forwards, the merest tilt of her head – and for a moment Ward thought he saw compassion in the form of the woman he’d killed. Blinking again, Ward pushed the impression from his mind.
“I suppose this is where I’m supposed to try and find some apology, some sense of atonement. Where I say all the ways that I saved you. All those times I played that moment back and did something different. Something more … noble, something heroic.
“But I can’t say those words to you because they’re not true. That’s not the scenario that plays through my mind – the one where you live. Where I manage to save you. Guess I’m not the type.” Looking over at her, Ward let his lips curl upwards. “But the ones where I avenge you? Where I even the score of all those times you were betrayed? Sure – we can talk about those until morning.”
“I’m not here for that,” Kara said. “Frankly you’ve got enough enemies among the living. But you attracted some attention on that last job and I thought it best to warn you.”
Ward opened his mouth to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. Some part of him was still insisting that this was a dream, this had to be a dream; that dead women didn’t usually materialise in his room in the small hours of the morning to offer ominous warnings.
Another part of his mind was finding it hard to forget the laughter, those waves of oppressing atmosphere and Ackerman’s wreck of a face – far worse than Kara’s had ever been.
Rising to her feet, Kara crossed her way to the door. “You want some advice? I’d stay away from tunnels.”
“Shouldn’t you be watching your own back?” Ward managed at last.
Kara huffed out a soft exhale that could have been a laugh. “That’s the funny thing about being dead, Grant. It pretty much makes you invulnerable.”
Perhaps agreeing with Hunter’s suggestion to skip the beer and move straight to whisky hadn’t been her finest hour. Skye winced her way through a pounding headache and tongue that felt at least two sizes too large for her mouth to head to the briefing room. The rest of the team were already there as she arrived though, she noticed with no small amount of relief, in Hunter’s case it looked more like he simply hadn’t left. She’d seen more life in a Romero film.
Sliding into the empty space between Hunter and Fitz, Skye did her best to look like an energised and engaged member of the team. Her chosen neighbours and their British pallor had obviously had no role to play in this.
On the other side of the table, Coulson looked up from his readouts. “We’ve received reports on possible activities of another former Hydra cell operating in Europe. It could be nothing, but we thought it best to check it out and will shortly be heading for London.”
It was at least 80% fuelled by the spirit of Jack Daniels that lingered in her veins, but Skye couldn’t help but comment. “Another one? You’d think they should have chosen a cockroach for their symbol.”
Beside her, Hunter snorted and abruptly shifted his weight – trying to disguise the noise as clearing his throat. “With all respect,” he pointed out, “there’s quite a lot of idiots running around ever since high command were taken out. What’s so special about this lot?”
The corners of Coulson’s mouth flickered up in a faint smile. “It would appear that this band are on the hunt for a relic of unknown origin. And given their sudden interest in tracing Inhumans, we’re going to take an educated guess that they think they’ve found something. We have decided it’s in everyone’s best interests to find it first.”
“Um,” Fitz cautiously half-raised his hand before tucking back across his chest. “Are we completely sure it’s in our best interests? It’s only … I don’t think anyone’s going to object to me pointing out that we’ve not got the best track record when it comes to handling these things.”
Coulson looked at Fitz for a beat before turning back to his readout. “London seems to be the current base of operations for this unit. Following on other missions of this nature, there will be a strict ‘hands off’ policy with the object itself, should it even be there. If it is, we take it. The objective will be to take possession without needing to come into direct contact. Fitz, we’ll need some sort of remote controlled tech that will allow us to both contain and transport the item.”
“Uh, yes … um,” Fitz made an aborted attempt to scratch his nose. “Do we know what the object is? Only there’s going to need to be certain variables depending on mass, volume, weight distribution…”
“Reports suggest it’s a sword,” Coulson replied.
“Is it in a stone?” Skye quipped. “Cause I think I’d rock at being royalty.”
Coulson briefly cast his eyes heavenward. “Activity is concentrated around a cluster of buildings just north of the Thames. Assume they’re expecting our arrival. May will be leading the team on retrieval, Hunter I want you to take point with a sniper on the building opposite to keep entrance and exit clear. Skye, see if you can crack any communication channels they might be using – otherwise I want you on the ground with May. If the object isn’t there, destroy any intel they may have before moving out – if it is, we move to retrieval mode. Fitz, remain on the bus until May and Skye have secured the object and then you can move in to safely remove it. Dismissed.”
“Wow those Asgardians really know how to kickstart the construction industry,” Skye remarked as she stared at the vast array of tower cranes and hoardings that crowded amongst the buildings and byways. She and May had taken up position in an office building currently deserted and awaiting renovations directly adjacent to their target. Poised by a window, at an angle to hide her from view yet could still take in some of the famous architecture on display, Skye had once again mentally cursed the incompatibility of having her own Instagram account with belonging to a top secret spy organisation.
Through her earpiece, she heard Hunter snort. “Office blocks and flats for rich, foreign wankers. Just more of what this city needs.”
Turning back to the target, Skye fought the urge to shrug. “I guess it helps evil guys blend in?” Pausing to study the airy and expensive looking lobby of the building in question, she couldn’t help but add. “Though usually crowds are good for that too.”
Beside her, May covered the tap on her own comms piece with a casual flick of her hair. “Hunter, has there been any activity inside the building?”
“Never mind activity, there’s no sign of anyone within the building. I’ve got clear sight and there’s not been a sign of anyone on any of the floors since I got here.”
“Do you think they found out we were coming?” Skye wondered.
May hummed thoughtfully. “Possible. There’s only one real way to make sure though.” She stretched out her shoulders before rising to her feet. “Coulson? We’re moving in.”
“Copy that. Underground cameras are clear. Be careful. Even if they’ve vacated, they could well have chosen to leave a few nasty surprises behind.”
“Nasty as this coffee?” Skye asked as she also rose to her feet. “Because haven’t these guys heard of creamer?”
May didn’t deign to respond, moving deeper into the building to the fire exit stairwell that led down to the shared underground carpark space. The actual allocations for each of the building blocks above were segregated from each other via thick steel mesh, but that was what they had Fitz and his handy laser burners for.
May hefted the item in question up and paused before the door that led into the carpark itself. “Fitz? Are we still good on the camera feeds?”
“Recycled footage from the past five hours,” came the response. “Pretty boring watch actually, as there’s been nothing happening.”
May allowed a small smile of satisfaction before nodding at Skye. Pushing their way quickly through the door, the pair crossed to the steel barriers got to work. Cutting a hole through the metal, they swiftly crossed to the target building’s stairwell and began a cautious ascent. “We’re in.”
Coulson’s voice took over on comms. “Good. If intelligence is correct, you want to head to the fifth floor. There’s a series of rooms behind a second layer of security.”
“Understood.”
They took the stairwell in stages, taking in turn to move ahead and check the way for clear before nodding down to the other. It was a bit of a wasted effort; there was still no sign of anyone.
They made it to the fifth floor and exited the stairwell. Despite the hour, floodlights from nearby building sites combined with the glow from the streets themselves to render the need for any kind of night vision moot. From the large open plan layout, it was clear that if anyone remained in the building, it was behind the bank of windowless rooms that hugged the far west side of the floor. Beside each doorway was a second black panel that was lit with a row of red LEDs and a strong sense of ‘keep out’.
Skye frowned, fighting the urge to twitch her nose. There was something off about the air in the place. Something slight.
Hunter’s voice came through their earpieces. “Got sight of you both. The main floor space is clear. Still no activity either above or below. You should be good to go.”
Skye glanced over at May and received a quick nod of confirmation before darting over to the doors, keeping low and as quiet as possible on the off chance there was still someone in the building. On reaching the first of the security-locked doors, Skye crouched below the box and almost immediately frowned. That scent from earlier was stronger than ever here. As May made her own way over, Skye raised one of her gloves to her mouth and tugged it free from her hand. Ignoring the questioning glance from May, she reached down to brush against the carpeting just in front of the door.
May quirked a brow at her, and Skye shrugged in response. No obvious threat, just a little weird and clearly the source of the weird scent she’d been smelling. There was a moment’s hesitation as she weighed up scenarios, then May turned back to the security lock and connected up her next piece of kit from Fitz.
With the slightest impression of a click, the lights flickered to green and the door automatically relaxed open a slight crack. Quickly unhooking the micro camera from her pack, Skye threaded it through the hair’s breadth gap as May pulled out the accompanying monitor.
Nothing on the infra-red, though flicking to night vision revealed a number of dark shapes littering the room. More importantly, there was also clearly a range of computing and other electronic equipment still inside.
May caught Skye eye and gave the go ahead signal. Skye nodded in confirmation and then ducked inside only to rise almost immediately to her feet.
The room was a total wreck. Behind her, Skye heard May hiss a curse under her breath as she too took in the sight, but her attention was fixed on the three charred shapes that lay about the room where they had apparently fallen after burning to crisp. No doubt the localised sprinkler systems had been activated by the blaze, explaining the damp carpet. Yet there was no trace of burning anywhere yet on the bodies themselves.
The sprinklers had still done their work, and water pooled over the assembled computing equipment and printed out files – no doubt rendering much of it useless. As May tonelessly updated the rest of the team on their findings, Skye made her way further into the room, glancing at the sodden paper – now little more than pulp. A gleam of black caught her eye and she wiped free fragments of unintelligible reports to pull free a large black and white photo. Clearly taken long range with the aid of a very good lens, its unsuspecting suspect seemed more focused on the cellphone in his grasp than potential observers. It was far from a clear shot, but it didn’t have to be. Skye would recognise those features anywhere.
“Found something?” May enquired behind her.
Wordlessly Skye turned and held up the photo of Grant Ward. May’s cursing, while creative, still didn’t seem to match the twisting, churning sense in the pit of Skye’s stomach.
It took less than five seconds for Ward to spot the agent sat in the far corner of the bar and four of those had been spent waiting for his eyes to adjust to the relative gloom. Hydra was his guess, mainly due to the sharply tailored suit, but also the fact that he had yet to leap to his feet and shoot a number of bullets in Ward’s tender flesh. Still, the calle outside thronged with enough pre-siesta crowds to make a quick getaway easy work, so Ward made his way over to the table and claimed the empty seat.
The man greeted Ward with a narrowing of the eyes, a ripple of tension visible even beneath the (frankly ill-advised given the midday heat outside) three piece suit. “We thought you were in London.”
Ward shrugged expansively, stretching back in his seat to catch the attention of the bar tender and gesture for a beer. “Plans changed.” He shook his head and exaggerated the sigh. “I mean, all that rain? Who’d call that a summer?”
A waiter arrived to expertly place two chilled beers on the table, each topped with a small plate containing what looked to be a slice of rolled omelette and wafer of jamón serrano on bread. Ward placed the dish to one side and idly ran a finger alone the outside of the beer, creating a clear trail through the forming condensation.
Similar beads of moisture could be observed on the agent’s forehead, despite the cool of the bar’s interior. “My colleagues were due to approach you with an offer in London. Instead I find you here in southern Spain, and a dead team of agents in England.”
Ward frowned as he sat back in his chair and tilted his head to one side. “How does that saying go again? To lose one agent is unfortunate, two is careless and three … well I think that’s beginning to border on incompetence.”
The Hydra agent went to lean forward, paused and then irritably moved his own drink and tapas to one side before attempting the gesture a second time. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
Ward rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath before looking steadily at the agent. “No.”
If anything the agent leaned even further forward. “The people I work for … the people you worked for not so long ago are very interested in Budapest.”
Ward smiled. “Hardly surprising, it’s a fascinating city. Great cuisine.”
“Very funny. We were going to enquire about purchasing an item Ackerman had been sent to retrieve, but we understand no one from his team made it back from that errand apart from you. And as no one else from my team is around that appears to leave us with you and with me.”
“It appears so,” Ward agreed.
There was a silence that stretched between the two of them as the agent clearly waited for Ward to expand on his statement. Instead, Ward simply watched the agent sweat through yet more of his suit.
The agent broke first. “Well? Are you going to share what happened?”
Ward smiled. “That’s above your clearance level.”
“What about the item? Do you have it?”
“That would depend on what this item is.”
The agent leaned back in his seat to reach into his inner jacket pocket and remove a folded piece of paper. He placed it on the table and slid it over to Ward.
Ward lifted a corner of the paper up with an index finger to glance at the information. He let the upper layer of paper drop back again and offered another insincere smile. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”
“The fact we recovered one of our agents with his head sliced clean off suggests that might not be completely accurate.”
Ward shrugged. “You know what they say; use it or lose it.”
A muscle flexed along the jaw of the agent’s face. “We want the item. We are prepared to pay handsomely for it. Are you in a position to help us or should we end this conversation now?”
Ward picked up his beer and tipped it towards the agent. “Handsomely? Well in that case I’ll keep my eyes open and if the situation changes, I’ll be in touch.”
The agent rose to his feet, trying to pull his clothes back into shape with sharp, jerking tugs. Giving it up as hopeless due to the damp and crumpled fabric, he instead leaned in. “We’ll be watching you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” Ward replied. He watched the agent leave and took a long drink of beer. His fingers tapped on the paper before he reached out and crumpled it into a ball. It appeared to be time to leave Europe.
With siesta over and night falling, blending into the crowds had never been easier. Ward slipped from group to group as people made their way out to socialise. Dim lighting, bustle, noise and probably no small amount of alcohol did a lot of the work for him, but Ward still broke out most of the tricks in avoiding a tail that he’d learned. After all, the agent from earlier was unlikely to have been alone.
He’d left several cars scattered about the city in the event he’d want to make a quick escape, and he headed towards the station and the nearest of the options now. As was the fashion in this part of Spain, the parking lot was underground – to keep the vehicles out of the blazing heat of the sun – and accessible through a narrow set of stairs. Ward stretched his shoulders and spine, feeling the reassuring brush of his gun tucked into his jeans at the small of his back and currently hidden under the leather jacket he wore.
The stairwell was empty, lit by a couple of cheap fluorescent lights. Blue paint had been applied to the walls, but the finish looked hurried over the rough concrete, forming thick rivulets where the paint had dripped and dried. Ward made his way quickly down. Stepping into the main lot, mostly empty despite the hour, Ward made his way towards the far wall. The mounted speakers piped in the latest pop hits, echoing around the deserted structure and obscuring what remote chance Ward would have had of recognising the tune.
He had covered maybe half the distance to the anonymous black car, when the incessant pop noise crackled – as though the signal was encountering interference. It made a few valiant attempts to continue, but with a couple of popping noises, died into silence.
Ward stopped and looked around, one hand travelling to where his gun rested.
Some of the lights at the other end of the lot to Ward flickered. Then died.
“Ward.”
Ward spun, his gun drawn, only to freeze at the sight of Kara stood less than a metre from him. Shock loosened his grip and he had to almost scrabble to stop the weapon tumbling from his grip. Kara didn’t seem to notice his uncharacteristic slip in standards. Her gaze was firmly fixed on the far end of the lot that was now in darkness.
“Ward, you need to get out of here,” she said urgently. “Now.”
The next set of lights up from the other end of the lot began to flicker, weakening and then strengthening in their glow. Then with a final burst, they too died.
Kara took a few steps back, away from the approaching darkness. “Ward,” she hissed.
Another set of lights, three away from where Ward stood emitted a buzzing noise as they faded into dull amber and then darkness.
The next two lights nearest Ward began to dim.
Ward took a step back. Another.
Flicker. Hiss. Darkness.
Keeping his gaze on the encroaching darkness and whatever it may contain, Ward began to move steadily back towards his car. Kara had vanished and, absurd as it was, not having a dead woman within his sight was even more unnerving than being able to see her.
As though bored of toying with him, all of the lights in the underground garage abruptly winked out.
Ward kept his gun raised and listened, on guard for any attack.
There was a click of metal and then a small cigarette lighter flame ignited a short distance away. From the slight glow provided by the flame, Ward could see the outline of a gloved hand and the buttons of a smartly tailored shirt. As the light rose to catch on the end of a cigarette, Ward also received the impression of a sharp chin, clean-shaved, thin lips and the tip of a long, aquiline nose. The end of the cigarette took on a deep red hue and Ward readied his shot.
The cigarette lighter snapped closed. “No need for that, Ward.”
The lights above Ward came back on, the contrast forcing him to narrow his eyes for a moment as he waited for them to adjust. He looked back quickly at the thin man that stood at the edge of the circle of light, smoking calmly.
He wore a black suit with a sharply tailored blood red shirt – that bore no signs of perspiration despite the residual heat of the day outside. The man’s dark hair was slicked back from a high forehead. Smoke curled from the man’s nostrils as he tapped his cigarette idly between deep inhalations.
Ward flicked off the safety on his gun. “Who are you?”
“I’m here to pick up from our little chat from Budapest,” the man replied. “This time in person, as it were.”
Ward swallowed. Then he hardened his features and raised an eyebrow. “Is this where you try and tempt me into making some kind of a deal? Hate to break it to you, but this whole schtick’s become a little too well known. I’m not interested.”
The man laughed. “Oh that moment’s been and gone, Grant. The deal was signed, sealed and delivered as soon as you chose to use that sword to banish me.” He paused to take another drag from the cigarette before letting it fall to the ground. “That sword wasn’t yours to use. So now you’re mine.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Ward replied.
“What you think is unimportant,” the man said as he exhaled a final cloud of smoke. “Haven’t you learned by now at least a little of what life is for people like you? Good guy, bad guy … you’re a puppet, a tool, a dog. You follow orders from your masters. Free will? Don’t make me laugh. Your life is well trodden path, a mapped out series of poor choices right to its end. It’s all been written out for you and it just so happens I’m now in charge of the script.”
“If all this is so pre-destined and inevitable, why bother telling me any of this at all?” Ward countered.
“Because, my boy, you’ve just entered a new chapter. My chapter. And I think I’m going to have a lot of work for you from here on in.”
“I’d look into Craigslist,” Ward said. “Because I’m not doing shit for you.”
The man laughed, turning away into the darkness. “I’ll be in touch.”
There was a moment’s pause and then the entire parking garage was lit once again. Any relief that this might have caused was more than offset by the fact that the return of the lighting only served to illuminate the four men in black tactical body armour that were making their way towards him. No signs of whether they were Hydra or S.H.I.E.L.D. but to be perfectly frank, Ward was past caring about the difference.
The first one came at him from the right, firing two shots from an icer to cover the swift advance of his companion on the left. Ducking the icer, Ward almost ran straight into the business end of a baton, one hand instinctively reaching up to catch the baton before it collided with his head.
Although some small part of him should take comfort that the non-lethal weapons seemed to indicate a desire to take him alive, Ward felt that any conversations with whichever organisation had sent the team would be short, mostly one way, and very likely painful.
He stepped into the man on the left’s guard, tucking his shoulder under arm that held the baton and cracking it sharply down to break the man’s grip. Using the momentum, he continued to spin, presenting a human shield for the next round from the icer to strike into.
Ward let the now deadweight slump from his shoulder to the ground and ran towards the man on the right, discarding the gun in favour of the baton. Swinging low, Ward sent the baton crashing into the man’s knees before administering a solid strike to the back of the head.
Two down, two to go.
The remaining agents had clearly decided on a joint approach, rushing Ward along a central line rather than split and risk being dealt with one at a time. Ward spun the baton to align along his forearm and held it ready as he widened his stance.
He deflected the first with a solid roundhouse kick to knock the man away to one side while he spun the baton around and down into his companion’s collarbone. A strong knee to the groin and Ward ducked in closer to administer a knockout blow to the back of the head.
Instead there was a burst of fire and pain throughout his left rib cage. Ward looked down to see the dull gleam of a knife embedded firmly in his ribs even as the agent in front of him slumped to the floor. Ward reached to touch the wound, feeling the spread of warm blood soak through his t-shirt.
Running footsteps reminded him of the last of the group. Ward ducked to the side of another knife-led attack, trying to fight the way pain was now rippling up his entire side like flames, a burning sensation of heat that threatened his grip on the baton.
Rather than let go and lose his weapon, Ward gritted his teeth against the burning sensation and tightened his hold. Channelling the sense of heat and pain, Ward swung the baton toward the advancing agent’s face and all but dropped it when the weapon suddenly ignited in actual fire.
Whatever shock Ward felt was clearly echoed by the man who stood in the path of the blazing weapon. There was the briefest beginning of a startled exclamation and then the fire and baton collided with side of the man’s head to send him crashing to the floor.
Ward dropped the baton, the fire disappearing as soon as the weapon left his hands. It fell onto the floor, bounced once and then rolled to a stop as the side-handle hit the ground. His hands felt warm, but unburned, and a glance at them confirmed that the only injury he was sporting was the stab wound to his side.
That was serious enough however. The flow of blood was sluggish but steady enough to make removing the knife a very bad idea at this point. Clamping his arm firmly around his torso, Ward made his way to his vehicle and, after a cursory check for tampering, all but collapsed into the driver’s seat.
There was a first aid kit in the car, and he hurriedly pulled out the gauze pads, pressing them tightly against his side to reduce the risk of passing out from blood loss before he got to safety. Then he switched on the engine and got the hell out of there.
A quick patch up job, including removing the thankfully short blade from his side, a long drive through the night to Madrid airport and then the first plane back to the US and Ward finally let himself relax. He’d flown to Boston – unwilling to risk the additional length of reaching the West Coast without a more thorough check up on his stitches. It was a good city to get lost in, crowds that lent anonymity and a well-known attitude for surliness that reduced the risk of random conversations with strangers.
Safely hidden from view in a budget chain hotel, Ward fought off jetlag to check his wound and patch himself up as properly as he could. He made his way into the bathroom and flicked on the light before inspecting the bandages. No spots of blood on the outer layers so that was something.
Ward methodically stripped, cleaned, stitched and then wrapped up the wound again. Then he filled the bath tub with cold water.
Ward sat on the edge of the tub and stared at his hands. He turned his right hand palm up and clenched it tightly into a fist, trying to recall that burning sensation, before opening it again.
Ward swallowed, adjusted his position and tried harder to channel those feelings from earlier. That anger, fear, adrenaline. He clenched his hand again. More anger, more rage, more determination. Blistering fury.
Nothing. No flames, no fire exploding from his fists, nothing.
Ward opened his hand again and stared at the undamaged skin.
What the hell was going on?