by Jim McCann
“What troubles your mind, my king?” W’Kabi sensed this was more than just a social call.
“There was a ritual I went through after the Challenge Pool. Thanks to Zuri and the heart-shaped herb, I had the chance to see my father once more, to speak with him,” T’Challa confided. “One of the lessons he taught me in order to become a good ruler was to surround myself with people I can trust, people who know me and whose counsel I can seek. The tribal elders see me as an adventurer, young and untested in the ways of politics. They need to see me with someone they respect: a warrior and one of Wakanda’s most faithful and hardworking citizens. Not to mention one of the greatest strategic minds I’ve ever known. To be honest, I need someone at my side whom I trust as well.”
Sensing where this was leading, W’Kabi sought to focus T’Challa’s thoughts. “Is there a reason you are bringing this to my attention, my friend?”
T’Challa stopped walking and gripped W’Kabi’s shoulder. “I need a royal adviser. I am hoping you are willing and up to the task?”
“It would be my honor to serve you,” W’Kabi answered immediately, gripping T’Challa’s shoulder in a return gesture of affection. The lifelong friends hugged. Pulling out of the embrace, W’Kabi smirked playfully. “My first piece of advice: no chasing Avengers in broad daylight in full Panther garb.”
As the men laughed, W’Kabi couldn’t help but notice there seemed to be something more on T’Challa’s mind.
“In order to advise you, I need to know what still troubles you. So, my king, what is it?” asked the newly appointed royal adviser.
T’Challa shook his head ruefully. “Nakia. She said something that I can’t shake. She wants to do more for the oppressed she is helping to free in her work for the outside world. She believes Wakanda could be of service as a haven to refugees who no longer have homes to return to.”
W’Kabi was taken aback. “My king, you do realize what Nakia is suggesting? It’s dangerous. When we start letting people in, their problems become our problems. Soon, Wakanda would become like every other nation.”
T’Challa seemed to be reconsidering his earlier position. “But if we have the resources to help—”
A flash of light emitted from the pair’s Kimoyo bracelets as suddenly a hologram of Okoye’s face projected from the beads into the field. “Sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but guess who just popped back up on our radar? Ulysses Klaue has resurfaced.”
T’Challa felt his stomach drop. Ulysses Klaue was a sworn enemy of Wakanda, a perpetual threat who had made it his mission to steal Wakanda’s Vibranium and exploit the invaluable natural resource for his own selfish gain. Anywhere Klaue popped up, suffering and trauma were sure to follow.
“Gather everyone to the Tribal Council Room immediately. We are on our way.” T’Challa turned to W’Kabi. “A discussion to continue later. Now, I feel, will come the first trial by fire, for both of us.”
The pair ran through the fields en route to the Royal Palace.
A little while later, Okoye was in front of T’Challa, Ramonda, W’Kabi, and the tribal elders, recounting the theft of the vibranium hammer from the Museum of Great Britain, using street cams as well as security footage from inside the exhibit.
“It was a clean getaway, exquisitely timed. Klaue had this planned perfectly,” she concluded.
“And is likely to sell the hammer to the highest bidder, if history has shown us anything,” T’Challa said gravely.
Okoye nodded. “We have received intel that there is already an interested party. In fact, we’ve tracked his location and where the buy is scheduled to transpire: Busan, South Korea. A hub of deep black market dealings go down there.”
“Then that is where I shall capture him,” T’Challa stated matter-of-factly.
Instantly, the room echoed with protests. “You were only just crowned king,” said the Mining Tribe Elder. “Your place is here.”
“Do you not think this is a job better suited for the Dora Milaje?” asked Ramonda gently.
But T’Challa would not be swayed. “Klaue has been the only person to have ever successfully invaded Wakanda and stolen its vibranium. He then used the stolen vibranium to assist Ultron, who laid waste to Sokovia. His heist cost dozens of Wakandan lives in the bombing that covered his escape.” T’Challa became impassioned as he spoke, even as his tone remained measured and even. “Not capturing Klaue over the past thirty years was one of my father’s only regrets.”
The tribal elders all looked around wordlessly, acknowledging their king had raised valid points.
“Wakanda needs their king and the Black Panther to finally bring Klaue to justice.” T’Challa looked to W’Kabi for his input.
“King T’Challa is right,” W’Kabi agreed. “He and a small team of Dora Milaje are best suited for this operation.”
The room muttered their acceptance, not completely pleased, but understanding the importance of the task.
“I only wish I could go with you,” W’Kabi said to T’Challa, pulling him aside after the meeting had disbanded. Okoye joined the pair.
“I think the princess Shuri has some things for our king that could help, and ease your mind, W’Kabi. She asked me to bring you to her labs as soon as the meeting was over,” Okoye said to T’Challa.
“She was anticipating my joining the mission?” T’Challa asked.
“Never a doubt. She was counting on it.” Okoye smiled. She and T’Challa bade W’Kabi good-bye, exited the Tribal Council Room, and headed to meet Shuri for some accoutrements that would guarantee T’Challa’s success against Klaue.
T’Challa flew toward Mount Bashenga, also known as the Great Mound. It was the major natural source of Wakanda’s vibranium. A large cliff face was on one side, dropping off steeply; the other was littered with sloping hills. At the top stood an impressive laboratory that seemed to be built from the ground itself, incorporating the vibranium deposits there into its architecture. This was the home of the Wakandan Design Group.
Once inside the Design Group’s building, T’Challa could not help but look around in awe. Despite having visited countless times, he never failed to marvel at the technological achievements and breakthroughs the group seemed to make daily. Hearing a familiar voice dictating to lab techs and interns on multiple assignments at once, he smiled.
“Where are we on the RTF antigrav shielding? Make sure Kimoyo updates are on track. I need to see the specs for the new hover train—the Royal City’s planning committee wants an update.” In the midst of all the chaos and energy, Shuri appeared at home, comfortable, and in charge as she dictated commands and instructions to the other lab designers.
Dressed in a lab coat, her hair held back with multiple pens, the princess-turned-high-tech-genius didn’t even glance up from her clipboard as T’Challa entered. “I’ve already sent a vibranium-laced car to Busan. It will be there when you arrive. Here.” She handed T’Challa a vibranium disc. “This will allow me to interface remotely with whatever you attach the disc to. Use it if you get separated and need another ride. I’m assuming Okoye will be joining you?”
T’Challa nodded and cleared his throat. “And Nakia.”
Shuri’s eyebrows shot up. “Nakia?”
“It’s a three-person mission,” T’Challa countered, coming across more defensive than he’d intended.
Shuri smiled knowingly. “Whatever you say, brother.” Choosing not to press him any further, she nodded toward the table. It was covered in black sand that seemed more like liquid as it moved in waves over the surface. T’Challa recognized them as vibranium nanites.
“You prepare us well, sister,” T’Challa said admiringly. “And, yes, I will be recruiting Nakia to join us. She did want to get back in the field, after all. And I know how much you like to show off your talents.” T’Challa winked at his sister.
“Please,” Shuri scoffed. “That’s nothing. Wait until you see what I’ve done with your Panther outfit.”
T’Challa stopped short.
“My suit?”
“The very one,” Shuri replied as she walked over to two mannequins positioned next to each other. One was dressed in the traditional Black Panther uniform, the other was bare, save for a necklace around its neck that featured a ceremonial panther tooth.
“Overhaul? I like my suit,” T’Challa protested.
Shuri laughed. “Oh, it’s great, don’t get me wrong, as long as you can get the bad guys to stop shooting at you while you say, Hold on, let me put on my helmet, cool?”
“So what is the necklace?” T’Challa asked, brushing off his sister’s sarcasm.
“That is your suit.” Shuri beamed.
“I liked my chances better with a helmet,” T’Challa remarked dryly.
“Brother, you are so gonna eat those words.” Shuri was practically jumping up and down with excitement. “Okay, now look at the necklace and activate it.”
“Activate it? How?” T’Challa was used to his sister’s brain working faster than her mouth, but he was starting to get frustrated.
“With your mind! Think about the suit forming,” Shuri instructed him.
T’Challa gave a wary glance at his sister before focusing his attention on the mannequin with the necklace. He envisioned the suit on the figure instead. Suddenly, millions of vibranium nanites flew out of the necklace, swirling around the mannequin. They quickly formed a sleek new suit of Black Panther body armor around the mannequin, covering it head to toe.
Shuri beamed with pride. “You haven’t even seen the best part!” Turning to T’Challa, she moved him closer to the new suit. “Now, kick it.”
Without hesitation, T’Challa gave the suit a roundhouse kick that landed solidly in the square of the chest. The mannequin flew back against the wall. Picking it up, Shuri pointed to where his foot had made contact. The area was now softly glowing blue.
“The nanites absorb kinetic energy and hold it for redistribution. Now, hit it again.” She took out a small camera and began filming.
T’Challa gave another swift kick to the same place on the suit. A small flash of energy discharged, and the Wakandan king went flying backward. The suit remained exactly in place.
“Amazing, right?!” Shuri giggled as she filmed T’Challa climbing back to his feet.
“Delete that footage,” he said, not amused.
“Is that how you thank your brilliant sister? Now, suit up—or necklace on or whatever. You have a bad guy to catch. I’m gonna show Mom.” Shuri was still chuckling as she gathered her things.
T’Challa looked at the suit, imagined it in its necklace form again, and the nanites detached themselves. In a flurry, they re-formed into the panther-tooth necklace. He lifted it off the mannequin and put it around his neck.
“You’re good,” he said admiringly.
“We’ll see how good it is once it’s in the field,” Shuri replied. “Come on, brother. I have more to show you before you leave.” The pair turned and exited the lab.
The Jagalchi Fish Market in Busan, South Korea, was as active and loud at night as it was during the day. Vendors were still stationed at their stalls, selling the day’s catch. People crowded the streets as they made their way through tight corridors of tents and buildings.
Okoye parked the car Shuri had promised them by the side of a building. She exited, tugging at the wig that covered her tattooed head. “Can we get in and out quickly so I can remove this cursed thing and never wear it again?”
Nakia and T’Challa climbed out of the car. “That’s one of the reasons I agreed to join you two, to help get this done,” Nakia said as she made her way to an elderly woman selling fish. The two exchanged pleasantries in Korean as Nakia motioned to Okoye and T’Challa. The king was in a sharply tailored suit, his panther-tooth necklace on, while both women were clad in gorgeous evening gowns. They definitely looked out of place in a fish market.
“So far no eyes on Klaue,” Okoye said, looking around.
“And Nakia seems to have made a friend,” T’Challa remarked with a smile, as Nakia rejoined them from where she’d been conferencing with the elderly woman.
“A contact of mine. This is the place,” she reported.
T’Challa looked impressed. “That’s a contact?”
“What can I say? I know the right people. Now let’s get inside.” She nodded at the two bulky figures guarding the back door to the building they had parked near.
The trio walked over to the door, and the beefier of the two guards held out an arm to stop them. “Weapons,” he said shortly.
T’Challa shot Nakia an inquisitive glance, but she just nodded at him, urging him along. T’Challa, Nakia, and Okoye dropped their weapons at the feet of the guard. They were then ushered through a metal detector to ensure they weren’t concealing any more weaponry. Finally, they were escorted through the entrance by the two guards and deposited in a large room filled with sounds and lights. There were people everywhere, all dressed to the nines.
And all had one thing on their mind: winning.
They had entered an underground casino. It was a veritable hub of activity, two stories tall with a wraparound balcony overlooking the main casino floor. Lounge areas were nestled in nooks to the sides. Every casino game imaginable was represented; the floor was filled with high rollers playing for big stakes.
“Klaue certainly didn’t pick this place for a quiet exchange. There’s no telling where he could be,” Okoye said, taking in the room.
Nakia motioned to the cashier’s cage. “Everyone exchange money for some won and hit the tables. There’s nothing more suspicious in a casino than three people standing around not gambling.”
They exchanged some of their notes and bills into Korean money and split up, assuming various vantage points around the floor.
“No sign of Klaue or his associates,” Okoye said into her comm. Nakia adjusted her earpiece and looked around.
“No, but we do have company. I spot three… wait, five Americans,” she said. “From the looks of it, they might be our buyers.”
T’Challa caught a glimpse of one of the men Nakia referred to seated at a blackjack table. T’Challa’s brow furrowed. “They are. And they’re not any ordinary Americans,” he said, making his way over to the table.
Taking a seat next to the American, T’Challa placed money down for his bet as the dealer shuffled a new deck of cards. T’Challa glanced sideways at the man and said casually, “So, Special Agent Everett Ross, tell me, what is the CIA doing in a South Korean illegal casino?”
Agent Ross jumped slightly but quickly recovered, giving T’Challa a sidelong glance. “I imagine we’re here for the same reason the Wakandan king is,” he answered, matching the nonchalance in T’Challa’s voice. “The tables here are hot.” The men kept their voices low so as not to attract attention.
“They will only get hotter once a certain villain arrives, carrying property of Wakanda,” T’Challa answered.
“Oh, where are my manners? Congratulations are in order. How’s the crown fit?” Ross asked.
“Do not dodge me, Ross. I am leaving here with Klaue. He’s a very wanted man where I come from.” T’Challa’s face brooked no room for argument.
Ross nodded toward the table. “Blackjack. You’re on a roll these days. But the table’s the only place where you’re bound to catch a win tonight, T’Challa. What I’m doing or not doing here on behalf of the United States’ government is none of your concern. Whatever you’re here to do, just do me a favor and wait until I’ve done what I need to do.”
T’Challa glowered. “I gave you Zemo.”
“And I kept it under wraps that the king of a Third-World country runs around in a bulletproof catsuit. We’re even.” Ross turned to the dealer. “I think my friend is just gonna let it ride, so keep dealing.”
T’Challa leaned in close to Ross and said in a near growl, “Make no mistake, Klaue is leaving with me. You have been warned.” With that, he got up from the table and made his way to a lounge area.
&n
bsp; The dealer dealt the departing king another hit. Ross turned to her. “I’ll just hold on to these for my lucky friend,” he said with a smile. Turning, he spoke into a comm mic in his sleeve. “Ross to all agents, the king of Wakanda is in the house. Do not let him leave with the target. Copy?” The five agents radioed that they had copied as Everett Ross made eye contact with T’Challa across the room; T’Challa was still staring at him coldly. Ross raised his drink, nodded to the king, and took a deep gulp of the amber liquid. They both knew the night had just become a lot more complicated.
“I see you’re making friends,” Okoye said to T’Challa through their own comm devices.
“And leaving behind a ton of money,” Nakia chimed in.
“The Americans are CIA.” T’Challa sipped a drink in the lounge area as he watched Ross get up to move to another table, taking T’Challa’s winnings with him.
“So we heard,” said Nakia.
“Will this be a problem?” Okoye asked.
T’Challa stood. “As long as Ross minds his place and knows what is best for him, we shall leave with what we came for.” His voice was steel. He began to walk toward Ross, hoping to catch the agent before he could settle at another table.
“Didn’t we just do this dance, Your Highness?” Ross asked as T’Challa blocked his path. “Unless you want your money. Don’t worry,” he said, patting a briefcase, “I brought my own. But I don’t think you were planning on buying the item in question, were you?”
T’Challa pushed the agent’s fistful of Korean money aside. “Nothing should buy the price of freedom for a known terrorist.”
Ross sighed. “You think I care about the vibranium? I wouldn’t have three of my best men with me if I was just going on a shopping spree.”
“Five of your men,” T’Challa corrected him.
Agent Ross raised his eyebrow. “You’ve already made them all? I’m impressed. I would expect no less from the Black Panther, though.”
