by Alex Irvine
Pepper strode down the executive hallway at Stark Industries headquarters, aimed straight for Rhodey and Obadiah Stane. They were engrossed in conversation. Both men looked upset, and Pepper knew why. She was upset, too. Not just upset. Furious.
As she approached, Stane sighed and went into his office. Rhodey headed for the door, but Pepper intercepted him.
“So that’s it?” she asked angrily. “You’re giving up the search for Tony? Everyone’s pulling the plug and moving on?”
Rhodey shook his head. “There’s nothing left we can do. It’s been weeks. If there was any indication that Tony was still alive—”
“Spare me,” Pepper interjected. “I read the official e-mail. I thought that maybe, as Tony’s best friend, you’d have something different to say.”
She turned on her heel and stormed into her office. Rhodey followed.
“Pepper—” he began. But before Rhodey could say another word, Pepper stopped him.
“If anyone could figure out how to beat the odds, it’s Tony,” she said. “If it was you over there, he’d be finding a way to get you back.”
Rhodey moved close to Pepper so that no one else could possibly hear him. “That’s just what I am going to do,” he said. “You can’t tell anyone this, but I’m going back to Afghanistan—and I’m not coming home without him.”
Pepper smiled. “Maybe you are Tony’s best friend after all.”
Rhodey stood on the tarmac at Edwards Air Force Base, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, waiting in a line of soldiers. Everyone in line saluted as General Gabriel pulled up in a golf cart.
“What do you think you’re doing, Rhodes?” Gabriel barked.
“Going back there, sir,” Rhodey replied.
The general shook his head. “Listen, son, it’s been three months without a single indication that Stark is still alive. We can’t keep risking assets—least of all you.”
“Are you blocking my transfer, sir?” Rhodey asked.
General Gabriel gazed down the line of soldiers. “Any one of these guys would kill for your career, Rhodes,” he said. “Are you telling me you’re willing to sacrifice that to fly desert patrol halfway around the world?”
“I am, sir.”
The general took a deep breath. “Then I have only one thing to say. Godspeed.” He saluted.
Rhodey saluted back and climbed aboard the plane.
Tony finished adjusting the carefully positioned tinsel strips and the laser in the tiny boxlike device. He checked the camera in the corner, remaining out of sight as he worked. It had been difficult to disguise what he and Yinsen had been doing over the past weeks. This device would make it easier.
He peered through the hole in the front of the box. Inside was a perfect camera-obscura style projection of the lab, with the furnace flickering in the darkness.
Taking a deep breath, Tony crept beneath the surveillance camera, and pushed the box into position. To anyone watching, it would appear as though the lab was quiet, and both men were sleeping. They could only use the box for brief periods before its batteries needed recharging, but hopefully that would buy them enough time to do their secret work.
Tony pulled back his shirt, revealing the glowing Repulsor Technology “heart” keeping him alive. He plugged a long wire into the chest plate and then attached a sensor on the end of the wire to his leg.
Yinsen positioned an electronic contraption that looked like a piece of hinged metal on a tabletop nearby. He nodded and held his breath.
Tony flexed his leg. The glow of his chest plate, which was powering the device, dimmed slightly. The beat-up laptop attached to the device whirred, making the necessary control calculations.
The contraption on the table jumped, moving in the exact same way that Tony’s leg had.
The two men looked at each other, triumphant.
Tony unplugged the device. “We’re ready,” he said. “A week of assembly and we’re a go.”
“Then perhaps it’s time we settle another matter,” Yinsen said.
Tony nodded and switched off the hologram projector.
Soon, he and Yinsen sat across the lab table from each other, playing backgammon while they ate. “Yinsen, you’ve never told me where you’re from,” Tony said.
Yinsen paused and moved his piece on the board. “I come from a small village not far from here,” he said. “It was a good place… before these men ruined it.”
“Do you have a family?”
“When I get out of here, I am going to see them again,” Yinsen said. “Do you have family, Stark?”
“No.”
Yinsen leaned back in his chair. “You’re a man who has everything… and nothing.”
Without warning, the viewing slat on the door opened, and Abu Bakar stormed in.
Yinsen pointed to a pile of neatly folded laundry, stacked near the washer and dryer that Tony had demanded as part of his working bargain, and said something in Urdu. Abu Bakar grabbed his laundry, lifted it to his nose, sniffed, and smiled. He walked back to the door, pausing only long enough to sneer at the two men.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said. “Enjoy your laundry.” He and Yinsen turned back to their game.
In Raza’s control room, Khalid watched the monitor nervously. On the screen, Yinsen worked furiously, cutting and welding. Sparks flew, at times obscuring the camera’s view.
Raza entered the control room and glanced at the monitor. “Khalid,” he said, “where is Stark?”
With a shock, Khalid realized that he hadn’t seen Stark in some time. It was too early in the day for Tony to be sleeping. He tapped the monitor, as though that might somehow make Stark appear.
“Go find out,” Raza growled.
Khalid rushed down the hall to the laboratory door and opened the viewing slat. Inside, Yinsen continued to work furiously. Stark was still nowhere in sight.
“Yinsen!” Khalid called. “Yinsen!”
But Yinsen didn’t turn away from his work. Khalid’s stomach lurched. Yinsen and Stark were up to something.
He fumbled with the keys, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.
As he did, an explosion rocked the hallway, blasting him back against the wall and knocking him unconscious.
Yinsen waved the smoke from the explosion away from his face. “How’d that work?” Tony asked.
“Oh my goodness,” Yinsen said. “It worked all right.”
“That’s what I do,” Tony said. “Come over here and button me up.” Tony studied the laptop control screen. They had initialized the power start-up sequence and he watched the laptop screen they were using to monitor it. The program bars were all moving slowly. Too slowly. It was time to get moving.
Yinsen pressed a control button on the lab’s winch and lowered a huge metal chest piece over Tony. Stark connected the armor’s electronics as Yinsen used a power drill to seal him inside the suit.
Yinsen looked at the laptop. The control bars signaling the power initialization continued moving very slowly. They could hear the guards outside.
“Get to your cover,” Tony said, his voice echoing inside the metal suit. “Remember the checkpoints—make sure each one is clear before you follow me out.”
“Sorry, Stark,” Yinsen said. “They’re coming and you’re not ready to go yet. If I can just buy you a few minutes more…”
He turned and ran into the hallway, scooping up Khalid’s weapon from the floor.
“Yinsen!” Tony called.
But it was too late. Yinsen ran into the hall, firing the machine gun, trying to keep the guards back.
“Yinsen!” Tony called again, but his friend didn’t reply.
Tony looked at the program bars on the laptop, but they were still moving so slowly. Gunfire sounded in the corridor outside. He could hear men running toward the lab.
Now! He needed the programs to finish now!
Suddenly, power surged and the lights dimmed into darkness. Two guards rushed in, firing. Tony grabbed them with his arm
ored hands and threw them aside. As he approached the door, he saw his reflection in the shaving mirror on the wall.
He was huge and bulky, like a walking tank. Crude gray metal armor covered him from head to toe. The Repulsor Technology generator glowed softly in his chest plate.
He’d become like the prince in Yinsen’s story—a man of iron.
As more guards raced into the hall beyond the lab, Iron Man crashed through the doorway.
CHAPTER 7
The guards in the hall fired their weapons. Iron Man surged forward, bullets ricocheting off his armor. His heavy feet pounded the floor, shaking dust from the tunnel ceiling.
Seeing that their bullets had no effect, the guards jumped on him, trying to drag him down. Iron Man tossed them aside: The powerful motors in his armor gave him great strength.
Through the faceplate of his visor, Tony saw—in the distance—light from the cave exit. He lumbered forward, knocking guards out of his way as he went. An insurgent jumped out of a side passage and fired at point-blank range. Iron Man’s armor dented, but the bullet still bounced off. He batted the guard aside.
More guards appeared before him, and then more still. Iron Man kept moving, picking up speed like a freight train. He plowed through the enemy, knocking them down like tenpins.
The constant hail of bullets was taking its toll, though. Tony felt the armor bending and weakening around him. Smoke rose from the suit’s seams. Tony knew he needed to escape before the suit sustained more damage.
The tunnel opened up into a wide cavern, the main chamber of the complex. The exit beckoned on the other side, but between it and Tony stood a dozen of Raza’s men. Yinsen lay crumpled on the ground near the exit, wounded.
Raza’s men raised their weapons.
“Look out!” Yinsen cried.
Iron Man turned just in time. A rocket-propelled grenade whizzed past his shoulder and exploded against the wall behind him. The wall crumbled and clouds of dust and smoke filled the room.
Iron Man thumped across the room and knelt awkwardly at his friend’s side. Yinsen’s wounds looked very bad.
“Why did you run out before we were ready?” Tony asked. “We could have made it—both of us. You could have seen your family again.”
A weak smile cracked Yinsen’s blackened face. “I’m going to see them again,” he said. “They’re waiting for me.”
In an instant, Tony understood. Yinsen’s family was already dead—and Yinsen would soon join them.
“Don’t…” Tony began, but it was too late.
Yinsen’s eyes closed, and he slumped to the floor.
Rage filled Tony as he rose to his feet. Through the debris, Tony spotted Raza, holding the grenade launcher. The warlord smiled and calmly loaded another grenade. Iron Man whirled on Raza, activating the flamethrowers that were built into his armor. Flames shot out of his hands toward the warlord.
Raza screamed and ducked for cover, dropping the launcher. The weapon exploded as the flames hit it, and part of the tunnel collapsed around the warlord. Iron Man spun toward the exit and turned on the flamethrowers again. The guards blocking his way ran. He screamed as he barreled down the tunnel and out the side of the mountain. As he emerged, the warlord’s men kept firing, denting and tearing tiny pieces off Tony’s armor.
Iron Man surged forward, heading for the ammunition dump. A maze of boxes, all packed to the brim with weaponry, filled the valley.
Iron Man thundered into the maze. The boxes towered around him—enough armaments to start a war. Tony’s eyes stung as he saw the Stark Industries logo emblazoned on the weapon crates. He fired his flamethrowers, and the boxes exploded in flames.
Raza’s men followed him in, shooting as they came. The bullets ripped into Iron Man’s armor. One caught on a seam and slammed into Tony’s shoulder, knocking him off his feet.
His armor moved slowly and the joints ground together as Iron Man rose. Weapon crates burned all around now, but Raza’s men didn’t seem to care; they wanted to bring Iron Man down for good.
Tony knew the suit couldn’t take much more—pieces were already beginning to rattle loose.
He fired one last flame at the weapon crates, then opened a metal flap on the armor’s right arm. He flipped the switch inside and a screeching jet engine–like whir filled the maze. The remaining guards covered their ears and fled.
Tony blasted off, soaring into the air like a rocket. As he went, the ammo dump began to explode—first one crate, then another, and then another, until the whole thing went up in flames.
Sweating, battered, and bruised, Tony concentrated on flying. He shot through the sky like a human cannonball. The desert streaked past below him, the scenery becoming a blur of speed and motion.
He thought he saw something in the distance. Were they helicopters? Were Raza’s men still chasing him?
Then, suddenly, his jet boots gave out.
Tony plunged toward the sand, trying desperately to control his flight, but it was no use. He hit hard, spinning and rolling as he plowed into the ground. Pieces of his armor shredded off as he went. Finally, he skidded to a halt. The Iron Man armor was heavy against his skin.
He looked at his chest plate. The Arc generator glowed very faintly. If he used much more of its energy, his heart would stop. Tony cut the power to the suit and slowly, painfully, dragged himself out of the shredded armor. Behind him, explosions from the ammo dump echoed like distant thunder.
He had to keep moving. Raza’s men would be after him.
He staggered to his feet, leaving the shredded armor behind, and limped across the desert, away from Raza’s camp. His shoulder ached where the bullet had hit him. He clutched the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
Don’t pass out, he told himself. Don’t pass out.
He kept walking for as long as he could. But soon he couldn’t go any farther. He hadn’t eaten, or slept, or had any water since leaving the camp. “Should have thought of bringing supplies,” he told himself as the sun beat down on him.
He closed his eyes to try to block out the glare, but his eyelids didn’t want to open again. Something pounded in his ears.
High above him he spotted a helicopter. The sound was very close, almost on top of him. He tried to run, but his legs wouldn’t move.
His strength gave out, and he slumped blindly toward the sand. A pair of strong arms caught him. “Hey,” a familiar voice said. “How was the Fun-Vee?”
Tony’s eyes flickered open and he looked up. It was Rhodey.
“Next time, you ride with me, okay?” he said.
“About time you got here,” Tony muttered through parched lips.
CHAPTER 8
Days later, the air force C-17 transport carrying Tony back to the United States touched down on the runway at Edwards Air Force Base. Tony, who was seated in a wheelchair, waited beside Rhodey as the plane’s rear ramp descended.
As Rhodey wheeled his friend off the plane, Tony spotted Pepper standing near the terminal. “Help me out of this thing,” Tony said. He struggled to his feet and Rhodey steadied him.
“I got you, pal,” Rhodey said.
Together they walked to where Pepper waited, standing beside Tony’s limousine.
“Thank you,” Pepper said to Rhodey.
Rhodey smiled.
Tony took a deep breath as Pepper turned toward him. He didn’t need to see the sympathy on her face to know how bad he looked. He was not the same man he’d been before Raza captured him—he would never be.
“Your eyes are red,” Tony said to her. “A few tears for your long-lost boss?”
“Tears of joy,” she replied. “I hate job hunting.”
Pepper helped Tony into the limo and then climbed in herself.
“Where to, Mr. Stark?” Happy asked, hopping behind the wheel.
“We’re due at the hospital,” Pepper said.
“No,” Tony replied. “To the office. I’ve been held captive for three months. There are two things I want to do. I w
ant an American cheeseburger, and the other…” He paused when he saw Pepper giving him a look. “Is not what you think. I want you to call a press conference.”
A huge group of employees, including Obadiah Stane, had gathered outside the main office tower at the campus headquarters of Stark Industries. They burst into applause as Tony’s limo pulled up.
Pepper looked at her boss, worried, and helped him get out of the car.
Stane stepped forward and embraced Tony in a bear hug.
“Welcome home, boss,” he said. Then, more quietly, so only Tony and Pepper could hear, he added, “I thought we were meeting at the hospital. There are a lot of reporters here, waiting for you. What’s going on?”
“You’ll see,” Tony said.
Tony leaned on Stane’s shoulder, and the two of them walked into the building’s main entrance. Pepper followed. Reporters packed the lobby from wall to wall.
Pepper didn’t notice the man in the dark, tailored suit until he walked up behind her. He was tall, around forty, with a stern face and impeccably groomed hair.
“You’ll have to take a seat, sir,” Pepper said distractedly.
“I’m not a reporter,” the man replied. “I’m Agent Phil Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Pepper said, her eyes not leaving Tony for a moment.
“I know,” Coulson said, handing her his business card.
Pepper barely glanced at it. “Look, Mr. Coulson,” she said, “we’ve already spoken with the DOD, the FBI, the CIA, the—”
“We’re a separate division with a more… specific focus,” Coulson said. “We need to debrief Tony about the circumstances of his escape.”
“Well, that’s great,” Pepper said, cutting him off. “I’ll let him know when he’s got a free moment.”
“We’re here to help,” Coulson insisted. “I assure you, Mr. Stark will want to talk to us.”
“I’m sure he will,” Pepper said. “Now, if you could just take your seat.”
She walked away from the agent, moving through the crowd toward the podium. Tony looked shaky as he made his way to the microphones. Stane stayed by his side, ready to catch his boss if he staggered.
