When Quinten shook and began to sob, they gave him some water and told him he’d be released soon—after a few more questions.
Yes, he’d seen the news story about the battle in Paris. No, he hadn’t made any connection between that and the sphere until they made it for him.
“Was that exactly what it said? Ich komme um zu töten Kapitän Amerika? I come to kill Captain America?”
“Yes. I think. Yes. Please, I want to—”
“It didn’t ask where Captain America was? Why not?”
“How should I know? Maybe it already knows where he is!”
12
HOW DO YOU DECIDE IF IT’S WORTH THE RISK?
ROGERS had been back in quarantine only a few hours when word of the sphere reached the Helicarrier. The fight at the Louvre had satisfied a physical itch, putting his mind more at ease. He leaned on the glass of his chamber almost casually as he and Fury studied the real-time satellite imagery.
“Are we ready to call it a Sleeper, yet?” he asked.
Fury pointed at the red line originating in Belgium. “There sure as hell is some kind of familial thing going on. Same recorded voice, same material, same taste in basic shapes. You piss off some geometry teacher when you were a kid?”
“Sorry. I always handed in my homework on time.”
“Figures.” The red line grew longer. “But this second Sleeper isn’t calling you out—it’s headed straight for you. Anything it can’t roll over it, it goes through. So far, that includes three farmhouses, a corporate center, and a train station. Civilian authorities are trying to clear a path, but they’re under orders not to engage. Somehow or other, it knows where you are.”
Stark strolled in, his rumpled civvies doing nothing to dampen his self-assurance. “You sure about that, Fury?”
Cap looked at him. “I’m surprised you’re not already out there. I’d be if I could.”
Tony tapped his forehead. “Know thy enemy. Rather than set off any defenses, I’m trying to get a better handle on how exactly these things work, which is proving, well… insane is a good word. It looks like a smooth, featureless sphere, but it has to have some sort of mechanism inside, right? All I really know is that it’s giving off a weak, steady radio-frequency signal. Even if I buy that it’s using that for some sort of echolocation, isolating your biometrics at this distance would be like cavemen using wooden cudgels to find the Higgs boson. That’s why I can’t wrap my head around the idea that it’s tracking you.”
Fury crossed his arms. “Actually, I wasn’t sure either, until I had our heading slightly changed three times, like you asked. Each time, the sphere adjusted course to match.”
Tony looked genuinely bewildered. “Damn. Okay, it’s following something, but what if it’s not Cap? Maybe there’s a transmitter hidden in all that killer-robot wreckage you’ve got stowed in the hover-flier.”
“Beat you to that one. I sent the hover-flier about 100 miles away. Nothing. And before you ask, we scoured Steve, the uniform, the shield, the hazmat suit, the other two heli-jets, and all the field agents who were on the ground. No signals in or out, no sign of anything resembling a bug. I’ll say it again: Somehow, that thing knows where Cap is.”
Intellectual puzzles usually tickled the playboy. This one seemed to frighten him. His darting eyes reminded Rogers of Kade, in a way. “Fine. Sleeper Two knows, but Sleeper One had to ask. If it didn’t plant something on him, it must’ve gotten something from him—a way to ID him—and passed that along before it was destroyed.” Stopping short, he looked up at the ceiling. “Wait, wait, wait. Is this really a bad thing?”
“I’m going with…yes?” Rogers said.
“Hear me out. If it can track you, that makes the big issue, what? Location, location, location. Take the Helicarrier over the ocean. If it throws itself in, we zap it like the first one—no fuss, no muss.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “I can’t help but think the Nazis would have planned for something like water.”
Fury shrugged. “It’s followed us this far already. At least we can try to lead it away from major population centers. I’ll have the helm take us over the Atlantic at full speed. The less time we give this thing to get any new ideas, the better.”
Satisfied with himself once more, Stark slapped his hands. “That was easy. Now I’ll cure this virus thing, and after lunch, world hunger. Sound like a plan?”
Before the others could crack a smile, Dr. Kade stormed in. The hazmat suit was under his arms.
“This was the best you had?”
Stark put out his hand. “Dr. Kade, I assume? I see the stories about your witty repartee were not exaggerated.”
Ignoring him, Kade threw the suit across the nearest lab counter, fanning it like a tablecloth so it could be seen in its entirety. Until that moment, Rogers thought the combat had gone reasonably well. The multitude of cuts along the protective fabric, large and small, said otherwise. Each had a numbered tag. The lowest number he could make out was 162.
There were at least 162 rips in the suit.
Fury reached toward it, but hesitated.
Kade hissed at him. “No need to worry now, Colonel. I had it sterilized. If the virus can survive 200 degrees Celsius and the chemical bath I used, we’re doomed no matter what we do.”
The opening door turned them toward Nia N’Tomo, panting. She’d apparently been chasing Kade.
“They seem to prefer you, N’Tomo, so you tell them. A fraction of an inch and we’d be trying to sift his blood from the Seine!”
She paused to catch her breath. “That’s accurate, but you’re leaving out the fact that the suit actually held.”
As she approached, Stark adjusted his wrinkled shirt. “Just so you know, I could do that—sift his blood from the Seine. It wouldn’t be easy. Might take…maybe six months, but the unique genetic markers from the Super-Soldier serum would make it a lot easier to pinpoint. Kind of like using gamma radiation to locate…”
Kade interrupted. “And if he’d been cut above the water? How long would it take you to filter all the air in Paris?”
Stark frowned. “Longer.”
Nia ran her fingertips along the largest tear, inserting her index finger. “The suit has multiple layers. The final layer is the strongest, and as long as it remained intact…” Exerting barely any pressure, her nail pierced what was left of the fabric and came out the other side.
She fell silent.
Satisfied his point had been made, Kade looked at Rogers. “We can’t let you out again. You understand that, don’t you? If anything, we should be focused on getting you into a cryo-chamber as soon as the situation permits.”
Nia rubbed the single thread that had clung to her nail. “I have to agree.”
Rogers stared at the suit. Had he been selfish? “Maybe there was another way, but I couldn’t see it.”
“The end of the world’s been a lot closer than a ripped tuxedo,” Stark said. “You know that. All you did was save a lot of lives.”
Cap sat on the edge of the exam table. “I appreciate what you’re trying to say, Tony, but this is different. Being stuck here was driving me crazy. I wanted to be out there doing what I’ve always done—fighting. Those instincts always served me well, but now they could endanger billions. If that happened, I’d never forgive myself.”
Kade lowered his voice. “You needn’t concern yourself with guilt. If the virus became active, you’d most likely be dead, too.”
Stark bristled. “Whoa, ease up on the war hero, okay?”
Kade looked puzzled. “It was meant as a comfort.”
The two stared at each other, brows identically twisted. It was as if both men were unsure whether they were encountering some strange new species, or staring at a funhouse mirror.
Hand cupped to his ear, Fury snapped his fingers and pointed at the largest screen on the array.
Rogers saw why immediately. “The sphere stopped.”
Still listening, the colonel kept his head dow
n. “Yeah, right when we hit max speed.”
Stark’s joking tone gave way to urgency. “Head back over Europe, now. Right now. I know you think it’s oh-so-smart, but trust me, these Sleepers have a real limited repertoire. It senses Cap, it heads toward him. If it doesn’t, it will hit its next routine…”
The poorly recorded voice that came across the speakers was as familiar as its words: “Wenn Kapitän Amerika ist nicht hier innerhalb einer stunde, werden viele zivilisten sterben.”
“Right. That routine right there. Many civilians will die. Never mind. Too late. We know what the last one planned to do when it didn’t get what it wanted.”
Rogers looked to Nia and Kade. “We could use all the help we can get. Any suggestions?”
Still holding the torn suit, Nia said, “Anything can be fooled. Viruses survive by fooling the body. There must be some way to fool this Sleeper.”
Kade tilted his head. “If it’s identifying you through things like heart rate, metabolism, and body temperature, those would be negligible in stasis. Once we freeze you, it might not be able to detect you anymore.”
Stark briskly shook his head. “That might’ve worked before it initiated the new routine, but not now. Now it’s all tick-tick-tick, get Cap or kill people. We have to give it Steve Rogers.” He scratched at his goatee as if the solution might be found between the hair follicles. “But…flip that around. Fool it the other way. Give it something it thinks is Steve Rogers. I could use the Iron Man suit to mimic Cap’s biometrics. It could even use his voice, his tactics.”
Kade prickled. “He can’t go out again! He…”
Stark grabbed Kade by the shoulders and gave him a grin. “No, no, no, you beautiful bastard. He stays right here, in quarantine, operating the suit by remote. Hey, Cap, ever play any video games?”
13
BUT WHY WOULD I EVER VALUE ANYTHING MORE THAN MYSELF?
THE red-and-yellow armor streaked toward the octagon of open sky at the end of the Helicarrier bay.
“Looking good, just hold it steady.”
Slightly off-center, the figure tried to correct its path and head for the free air. Instead, it made a sharp turn and slammed the last support beam. Insulted, the girder snapped. One piece dangled precariously. The other tumbled to the bay floor.
Twirling like a child’s pinwheel caught in a hurricane, the Iron Man armor careened into the clouds.
“Lower the… Push the… No, not that one… Just…”
Back in Lab 247, it was clear that virus or no, Stark wanted to reach through the glass and grab the controls from Steve Rogers. As his precious armor flipped end over end, his fingers jabbed a few buttons on his own console.
“I’ve activated the auto-stabilizers. It won’t give you the same road-feel, but let go of the thrust lever anytime you get in trouble, and it’ll level you out with your head up—whatever your position or velocity. Do that. Do it now, please.”
Rogers lifted his index finger. The suit twisted, rose, and slowed.
“Are we sure this is a good idea?”
“Nope,” Fury answered. “I’m sure it’s a terrible idea. But it does have the advantage of being the only idea we’ve got.”
Rogers wished he’d taken up one of the many invitations he’d gotten to spend an evening playing one of the latest action video games. Until today, given his lifestyle, the idea had struck him as redundant.
“Tony, you don’t use the armor yourself this way much, do you?”
Satisfied that the suit had survived and the Helicarrier wasn’t losing altitude, Stark indulged in a final little shiver. “Not if I don’t have to. The controls are intuitive, and the armor’s onboard systems can second-guess you half the time—or at least second-guess me—but it’s not the same as being there.”
“What if I accidentally fire a missile or a repulsor at the wrong target?”
“You can’t. I’ve adjusted the parameters so you can only shoot the Sleeper, and then only if there’s nothing organic between you and it. That little trick, I admit, I do use when civilians are around. Okay, I’m going to take a deep breath, then I want you to try leveling off and giving us a little, you know, swoop back in the Helicarrier’s general direction.”
Rogers looked at the series of buttons, levers, and dials surrounding the HUD. He moved the correct control slightly. The suit shot past the Helicarrier, narrowly missing one of its four giant propulsion fans.
“No, no! Back off. Fury, are there any civilian aircraft less than a thousand miles away that he could hit?”
“We’re clear.”
Rogers sighed and released the lever. The suit slowed and hovered. Every time he thought he was getting a feel for it, he nearly destroyed something.
“Even with my reflexes, this will take some training.”
“Not a luxury we have,” Fury explained. “We’re about ten minutes from the Sleeper’s location.”
Stark eyed the controller hungrily. “Look, the suit’s already transmitting a simulation of all your beautiful biometrics, and just in case the Sleeper’s got some kind of facial-recognition thing, your face is being projected on top of the helmet. Maybe I should steer the armor. You could kick back and do the advising thing. You drink, I’ll drive?”
“You were the one worried it might be able to identify my tactics.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
Like a grumpy father focused on the evening news, Kade was again absorbed by his holograms. N’Tomo, waiting for one of her own simulations to run, couldn’t help but speak up.
“May I make a suggestion?”
Stark grinned fliratiously. “Always, Dr. N’Tomo.”
Rolling her eyes, she walked over and pointed at the controls in Rogers’s hands. “You’re conditioned to respond to the environment with your entire body. But now, your actions are reduced to hand and finger movements. If you could find something analogous in your experience, like…”
He perked up. “My shield.”
N’Tomo nodded. “Exactly. I’ve seen how you use it. It’s like an extension of your body—you, but not you. Think of the armor as your shield.”
“Great idea,” Stark said. “But you’re not going to throw the controller, right?”
“Tony, please,” Rogers said. “I know what she means.”
Cap tried again. The head of the armor tilted down. The rest of the figure curled after it, following an even arc, like a cross between a diver and a yogi. Soon, he had it headed roughly back toward the Helicarrier.
Stark nodded both his approval and relief. “Good. Not perfect, but good. Now, as long as you’re up here, cut loose and bust a move.”
“Bust a move?”
“Yeah. Run a combat maneuver, something that seems impossible, like moonwalking, but you can make it look easy, because you’re Captain America.”
There was a pause as they looked at each other. Stark blinked first. “Okay, forget impossible. Gimme like a barrel roll or a somersault.”
Rogers thought of hurling his shield, making it sail through the air like his own fist. Trying to think of the suit the same way, he imagined the cloud cover as a gym floor he was standing on himself as he manipulated the controls. The suit did a half turn and flipped twice. For a moment, he felt a connection, but it vanished, and the suit awkwardly folded itself at the waist.
Stark made a face, then gave him a vague half-smile. “Close enough.”
* * *
THE DARK path the sphere left through French wine country was easy to follow. It ended at the edge of a vineyard. There, every 15 minutes, the peace of the lush countryside was shattered by the Sleeper’s recorded threat.
“Wenn Kapitän Amerika ist nicht hier innerhalb einer stunde, werden viele zivilisten sterben.”
Still feeling the distance between himself and the armor, Rogers landed it about 50 yards away. Nia’s suggestion worked in principle, but this was very different from using his shield. Rather than try to manipulate each limb, he activated an aut
omated walking routine. Hoping the combination of his voice and Stark’s electronic mimicry would trigger the identification, he approached the sphere.
“Looking for me?”
It wobbled.
Each tremor was accompanied by a series of clockwork clicks—heavier than the sound of the triangles, but not as loud. Using the suit’s scanners, Cap studied the magnetic resonance image that appeared on the controller’s small screen. Stark was right about his player-piano analogy. An open area in the orb’s center was surrounded by a dense collection of gears, torsion springs, and ratchets. The mechanism was more appropriate to the Victorian era than World War II. They meshed, clacked, and whirred like a machine in a vintage penny arcade responding to the drop of a coin.
And then they stopped.
Rogers was about to announce himself again when the sphere shot forward. In an instant, it slammed into the armor, rolling it into the ground. Then it sat there, kneading the suit into the soft earth, clicking all the while.
It all happened so fast, Rogers doubted even Stark would have been able to get out of the way.
Tony seemed to agree. “The readings didn’t show any acceleration. It went straight from resting to 55 kilometers an hour, like it warped or something. Steve, get out of there.”
“Thought you were just going to watch.”
“I always talk during movies. Bad habit. But right now you’re making my kick-ass armor look like that ingénue in the slasher movie who heads into the basement alone, and I’m telling you, get her out of there.”
Taking the hint, Rogers pushed the throttle. The repulsor jets shot from the boots, but only created a spray of dirt. Realizing his mistake, he twisted the heels down. Finding the needed resistance, the armor began to press up and out.
Somehow, the sphere pushed back.
Was it making itself heavier?
Mindful of the sensitive lever, he moved it slowly to increase the thrust. When the sphere compensated, he popped it to the halfway mark.
In a blur of flying earth and rocks, the suit tore free. Before Stark could admonish him, Cap let go of the lever, allowing the autopilot to stabilize him in the air. The sphere dropped into the hole he’d left behind.
Marvel Novels--Captain America Page 9
