Marvel Novels--Captain America

by Stefan Petrucha

  Rogers had taken about as much as he could. The Skull was leaving himself wide open. Cap was about to counter, hopefully take out the villain in one shot. But the uncanny strength behind the cascading blows subsided, and Cap paused, biding his time.

  Caught in some sort of fit, Schmidt struggled to breathe, sucking in and expelling air in increasingly shallow bursts. “I am the hunter! The world is my prey!”

  His fists flailed more than struck. His bulging eyes looked ready to burst. By the time the last feeble punches hit, Rogers was able to comfortably straighten his back.

  “It will…not ever…be me who lies…begging… in those jaws…it will be…”

  Schmidt raised his fist once more, but then the whole of his body rattled. He bent over, shivering. His throat emitted a horrible wheeze. One quivering hand was splayed on the star of Rogers’ chest; with the other Schmidt grasped his own chest.

  Schmidt went to his knees. “…it…will be…”

  Rogers took a step back, letting the Skull collapse to the floor. Schmidt’s arms swam in what was left of his coat sleeves. The wheezing fell to silence.

  Now. Now was the time. From the look of him, Schmidt wouldn’t have much longer anyway. Considering the pain on the red twitching face, it might even be a mercy. He could end this, quickly and cleanly.

  But try as he might to embrace the reasoning, Steve knew in his heart it had never been a question.

  He turned to the cracked desk and shut down the castle defenses, including the EMF. The area was already being treated as a Level 4 hot zone, but he’d have to warn S.H.I.E.L.D. he was taking a prisoner. Then it would be up to Kade and Nia to figure out how to transport him.

  Rogers withdrew two restraining bands from his belt. As he bent over the still figure, an odd thought occurred to him.

  Maybe they’d put them both in cryogenic suspension. Side by side.

  Sickened by the thought, he was about to bind Schmidt’s ankles when the Skull kicked into the marble floor. Arms free of the coat’s slick sleeves, he slid along the fabric, taking cover behind the desk. Having caught what remained of his breath, he rose, lifted half the desk, and hurled it.

  Rogers ducked, but the splintered edge caught his side, sending him into a half-spin. That gave the Skull just enough time to fire two shots. Whether he’d had the gun on him all along, or had retrieved it from the desk, it didn’t matter now. The first shot ricocheted off Cap’s shield. The second tore through his uniform at the shoulder.

  Armor-piercing bullets.

  The Skull spat more than spoke. “You had me. Why didn’t you kill me?”

  “I’m not a murderer.”

  “Feiger hund! You’ve killed often enough. In the war, your suppressing fire hit many foot soldiers who cared more about getting home than they did about serving my cause.”

  “They chose their side when they picked up the gun. But I don’t expect you to understand. Your kind never cares who you hit, or when—soldier or civilian.”

  The Skull shrugged. “Inefficient, I grant you, but it does make aiming easier.” He fired again, missing completely. “But you stood over me for so long, you must have at least been thinking about compromising your beloved ideals.”

  “Not for a moment.”

  The Skull tilted his head, studying his face. “Who is lying now? But those you serve are far more pragmatic. Did they order you to capture me alive?”

  Rogers’ expression hadn’t changed at all, but the Skull saw something in it all the same. “They didn’t, did they? They wanted me dead. And you disobeyed? Ha!”

  His smile grew nearly wide enough to bring a semblance of life to the death’s head.

  “Der Führer was wrong about your importance, then and now. You’ve always been more dorftrottel than national hero.” The Skull dropped the gun and held up his hands. “Under the circumstances, I surrender—if only because it will vex you further.”

  22

  BUT BELIEVING IN BEAUTY DOESN’T MEAN RISKING MY LIFE FOR IT, DOES IT?

  THE HOVER-FLIER slowed as if to land, but it looked to N’Tomo as if they were still in the middle of nowhere. All she could see from the window was a fallen road sign indicating there’d been a road here once, one with a sharp curve ahead. The sign seemed new, the dry desert air an impediment to rust, but it was probably many decades old—like Steve Rogers. Otherwise, the view was all flatlands and big sky, like Somalia’s thorn-bush savannah. The place where they’d met was very similiar to the place where they’d likely part.

  Full circle, then.

  She expected the hover-flier to set down on the ground. Instead, a rectangular section of the sand slid away, revealing a dark cavern below.

  “Holographic projection,” Fury explained. “Kinda like what the Skull had at his place. Same reason, too. Course, tech’s all well and good, but I always found this next part more impressive.”

  As the hover-flier descended, the cavern walls came into view, revealing their exquisite shape as a series of tall, six-sided stone pillars. They were as geometrically perfect in their way as the Sleepers.

  “That hexagonal structure is natural. The whole place is basalt, formed by lava flows about 15 million years ago. The excavation was careful to preserve it because it acts as a support structure. And it’s pretty, too.”

  She gave him a look. Never having heard Fury speak about anything other than strategies and tactics, Nia was pleasantly surprised.

  Fury noticed. “Yeah, I know something about geology. What of it, doc?”

  “It’s beautiful, but I can see why we used the hover-flier. The cargo area here is smaller than the one on the Helicarrier.”

  “Cargo area? You’re looking at the whole base. It was just a buncha redundant files that’ve already been digitized, pretty much abandoned since the eighties.” He grimaced at Kade. “Even spies like us don’t bother coming here anymore.”

  “So much the better for our purposes,” Kade said.

  The black walls were lit by sporadic floodlights, but the space below glowed with white box rooms and tubular corridors.

  “It’s no broom closet. Plenty of space for the containment area, a state-of-the-art lab, support offices, and so on. Even had enough room to establish a sterile zone for the Sleeper wreckage,” Fury said, adding in a low grumble, “at your insistence.”

  The hover-flier maneuvered toward one of the few open areas and set down.

  Kade grumbled back. “ I asked that you incinerate them, in case they carry any virus spores as a result of their encounters with Captain Rogers.”

  The rear hatch opened. “We will, soon as we’re done studying them. If we hadn’t created detailed files on the original Sleepers, we might never have defeated these—so it’s important. But trust me, they’ll be long gone before we activate the…uh, cryo-chamber.”

  Nia felt a little shudder. “Both patients are in place?”

  Fury led them out. “Patients. Yeah.They share a wall, but they can’t see each other—so no reason to tell them that. Steve’s watching footage of his fight with the cube, in case we missed anything. The Skull was transported here in a modified biohazard shipping container, based on your specs. He stayed in it until we let him out into his cozy new home. He’s been cooperative, if you call doing absolutely nothing ‘cooperative.’ Come to think of it, in his case, I guess you can.”

  Walking in the open cavern, he pointed to a particularly thick metal door in the containment pod. Two agents wearing hazmat suits stood outside, weapons at the ready. “Dressing room’s over there. I’ll be watching from the command center.”

  Nia took several steps toward the door before noticing Kade was scrutinizing the module. “Shall we suit up?”

  She tapped him on the shoulder. Twice. “Doctor?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  Once inside the mod’s first chamber, they began the tedious process of donning dual-layered hazmat suits. These were so thick and bulky they were nicknamed spacesuits. Though both doctors wore th
e experimental membranes, Kade insisted on following standard protocol as an added precaution. Nia didn’t disagree, but had to ask, “Back there, were you searching for leaks?”

  “It may seem foolish, but yes.”

  “Do you think you might actually be able to see any?”

  “We always assume someone else will notice the obvious—a missing connector, a crack in a pipe—but I sometimes think more damage is done by incompetence than evil. Thanks to Rogers’ misplaced ideals, we’re dealing with a strain that’s proven itself active. We’re at a stage where it’s impossible to be too careful. To that end, let’s review the procedure before going in.”

  She nodded. “Once the patient is secured, we’ll withdraw three vials of blood. The syringe will be immediately destroyed in the secure disintegrator. Two of the samples will be stored in the containment area. The third will be taken out, scanned for use in our computer modeling, and then destroyed.”

  They put on their helmets. The portable air supply activated, and the spacesuit fabric puffed up. If there were any holes or tears, the outward pressure would prevent pathogens from reaching the wearer. The loud, constant rush of the fans made Nia feel like a deep-sea diver, arms-distant from the world—and, hopefully, from anything that might contaminate her.

  Their air supplies in one hand, their equipment in the other, they entered a windowless corridor. The door behind them closed. After a moment, the one ahead opened.

  It led to the anteroom to Johann Schmidt’s containment chamber, its transparent walls the final protection against the disease. When the Skull saw them, he came to attention. Having read so much about him, Nia wasn’t sure what to expect. His head was disfigured, but not horrifically. Its resemblance to a naked skull might frighten others, but to someone who’d seen the human form ravaged by all manner of disease, he just looked very ill, unhealthily thin with indications of dehydration.

  Kade activated the speakers. “Please sit in the chair.”

  With a curt little nod, Schmidt obeyed. Once he settled in, Kade pressed a second button. Thick straps—metal covered in soft plastic to prevent accidental cuts—snapped around his wrists, ankle, and neck. It reminded Nia of how experimental chimps were bound in less compassionate days. It felt cruel, and cruelty was something she reviled—even toward those who might deserve it.

  With a hiss, the final door slid open, and they stepped inside.

  The Skull looked at them both, but addressed the man who’d spoken to him. His voice carried into their helmets through a microphone embedded somewhere in the walls.

  “Are the restraints necessary?”

  Workmanlike, Kade rolled up the sleeve of the patient’s gown. “Yes.”

  His arm was as muscular as Steve’s, which was to be expected—but the skin was papery thin, almost translucent, like that of many victims of disease. Kade gave it no more than a passing glance before wrapping a rubber hose tightly around the brachium.

  Without being asked, the Skull made a fist.

  Almost as a reward, Kade explained himself. “During an epidemic of bubonic plague in Surat, we had a patient who purposely tried to smear his blood on the emergency workers. Three of my colleagues died.”

  “I have no reason to lash out at you.”

  “Neither did he.” Swabbing the crook of the Skull’s arm, Kade slapped the skin with two fingers, testing for veins. “And unlike you, he’d never harmed a soul in his life. In addition to liquefying his insides, one of the effects of the virus was to do the same to his personality. He became feral. Ever since, I’ve insisted on restraints.”

  With the quiet fascination of a child, the Skull watched the needle slip under his skin. “Understandable. I assume you would have preferred taking these samples from my corpse?”

  “There are some benefits in observing the disease in a living host. Captain Rogers’ decision to spare you was beyond foolish. That doesn’t mean I should ignore any advantages it offers.”

  “On that much we agree, Herr doktor.”

  Nia handed Kade a second tube, then a third. When he withdrew the needle, he dabbed the wound with a cotton ball. Save for a single red drop, it was clean.

  “His clotting is still normal,” she said. “That’s a good sign.”

  “Perhaps.”

  The walls contained two fixtures. The one facing the anteroom was a secure transfer unit. Locked from this side, it could be used to convey small items to the patient without breaching the containment. The other, on the cell’s only blank white wall, seemed to lead nowhere.

  It was also locked, until N’Tomo pressed a remote and a small drawer appeared. She placed the syringe and cotton ball inside. Another press closed the drawer. An electronic pop followed, telling her the contents hadn’t simply been sterilized—they’d been disintegrated.

  Schmidt watched, delighted. “Impressive! May I inquire as to your progress with the virus?”

  He again spoke to Kade. Nia wondered whether the doctor would answer the way she would, trying instill a sense of hope, no matter how small. If it didn’t set the patient’s mind at ease, at least it might make future cooperation more likely. But Kade gave out the hard facts, unadorned.

  “In your case, it would be irrelevant. The International Court has condemned you to death. Since Rogers refused to fulfill their decree, there’s an executioner on the way who will perform his duties as soon as the base is secure.”

  Nia’s eyes flared at Kade’s stupidity.

  The Skull blinked. “Even though I am already dying?”

  “Your history renders you too much of a flight risk.”

  “I have no intention of going anywhere.”

  “That may well be the case, but the man who spit on his doctors had no such intentions, either.”

  The Skull shrugged and fell silent.

  Their work complete, they exited. Fuming, N’Tomo waited until they were back in the corridor. As soon as the antechamber door sealed and UV lights bathed their suits, she turned on her colleague.

  “Are you insane? Why on earth would you tell one of the world’s most dangerous criminal minds that he has no reason not to try to escape?”

  Kade grimaced. “Really, doctor, you wonder why I check for leaks when it’s you who should be paying more attention. His pulse is low, he’s feverish, and there was no strength in his arm at all. If he weren’t faking health due to some misguided sense of propriety, he would have fallen before he reached the chair. The only things holding him up were the restraints. He isn’t going anywhere.”

  * * *

  KNOWING he was under constant surveillance, Schmidt remained seated after they left. It was difficult. When the effects of the epinephrine wore off during the maddening journey to this forsaken desert, he’d crashed hard, as Zola had warned. He had no doubt his captors realized his weakness. Allowing them to believe pride made him hide his vulnerability would make it more surprising when some of his strength did return. If they believed they’d discovered his lie, they’d be easier to fool.

  The deceit gave him only a slight advantage—and though he was loathe to admit it, perhaps a pointless one. All his brilliant scheming may have done nothing more than deliver him into the hands of his enemies.

  But why? Why weren’t the Sleepers responding?

  He knew they were here. When the guards marched him past the three sealed containers, he suspected what they held. A glance at a passing manifest confirmed it, filling him with confidence that his plan would actually succeed. But the mere presence of the Sonikey in his gut should have activated the final sequence, and though the Sleepers were still no more than 50 yards away, nothing had happened. Had the shielding that kept it from being detected also blocked its signal? Impossible. They’d compensated for that. What, then? He’d no idea what sort of marvel could possibly restore the broken heaps, but he’d seen what these Sleepers could do, and he’d believed in them, perhaps more than was wise.

  Had the old technology simply failed? Now, of all times?

&
nbsp; His rage still spent, another sensation crawled in through the cracks of his tired mind: resignation.

  Even the most perfect dreams rust over time.

  Perhaps Zola had been right all along: It really was over.

  Then let it come at the hands of their executioner, rather than a verdammt virus. At least there’d be a purpose behind it: punishment for what the sheepish masses considered his crimes. He would still give them a last-minute surprise, take out as many of the dogs as possible—show them right up until the end what it means to live and die by acts of will.

  The thought rallied him. He was feeling better, no longer worried he would slip from the chair to the floor. He might even be able to stand.

  As his limbs slowly came back to life, his leg and arm muscles ached—the cost of his battle with Rogers. He needed to stretch, so he rose, careful to use both hands to push himself up, careful to waver so they’d think him unsteady. He looked at the white table, the white door, the white wall, and then out the glass wall at more white walls. The spot where the sterilization unit appeared was seamless, so tightly fitted it was invisible to the eye, but he remembered where it was. He might be able to access the disintegrator, turn it against his confines, but they would see him the moment he moved.

  There was nothing to do but wait.

  And wait.

  They might have thought to provide some reading material.

  And they thought him barbaric.

  He was only standing for a few minutes when his abdomen tensed as if gripped in a vise, forcing him to bend over. At first he took the electric shiver for one of the spasms that had been plaguing him.

  It wasn’t, though. It was the Sonikey, vibrating inside him. But this was not the pulsing signal he expected. Muted as it was by the sheath, he still recognized the sound—the same it had made three times before. It could only mean one thing.

  There was another Sleeper, a fourth.

  And it was being awoken.