One: The Agreement
The compound was surrounded by a sprawling, wild jungle. A landing pad for helicopters was situated at the top of the structure, where Eliza spotted several higher-tech modes of transportation available for the Wakandan king. Gliding over the jungle, hovering just above a canopy thick with meaty green leaves and blossoming flora, Eliza allowed herself a moment to admire the landscape. Aside from the massive structure housing the royalty of the remote country, the habitat was utterly pristine.
But her presence here was not intended for such sentiment.
At the north face of the compound, a dark, stone-carved Panther loomed goliath over the already massive building and jungle. Its spine was curved fiercely, its muzzle baring teeth as one claw extended outward as if to cut down its enemies.
It was truly a structure of awe, and Eliza was willing to admit that it left an uneasy sort of coil in her stomach.
When the chopper touched down on the helipad, Eliza tore her gaze from the unfamiliar environment and focused on the man awaiting her arrival outside, his hands folded in front of him, his posture unnervingly perfect.
Natasha had been right-he was, indeed, very handsome. But so serious. He had a face for playing poker, for doing the kind of work she did and doing it well. His lips were pulled taut into a frown, his heavy brow furrowed, and his eyes-his eyes were almost empty. This man looked every bit like a burdened king.
"Agent Gray," he greeted in a flat tone as Eliza disembarked from the helicopter. "I trust your travel accommodations were comfortable."
Ah, yes. Natasha had also mentioned he acted as an ideal diplomat. In this case, he was not friendly, nor was he rude. He was purely neutral.
"They were," Eliza replied easily, following the king out and away from the helipad, where her pilot prepared to take flight once more. One backpack hung from her shoulders; aside from that, she had no luggage. She was accustomed to traveling light. "I appreciate your hospitality on such short notice, your highness."
"You may call me T'challa," the king replied. His hands were at his sides now, loose and relaxed, though the tension in his shoulder blades, emphasized by his form-fitting black shirt, gave away his agitation.
In response, Eliza said, "As long as it means no disrespect towards your authority." She gave a small smile, a practiced smile. But the king-T'challa-would see right through it. He was astute. He said nothing.
They walked for several minutes in silence, descending into the compound through a set of steel double doors. The air was cool inside, crisp-nothing at all like the humidity that threatened to drown Eliza outside. She pulled at the front of her shirt surreptitiously, fanning herself and welcoming the change in temperature. She had always been built for the cold, not the heat.
"There are several rules I'd like to set in place during your stay here," T'challa said once they reached a common room. The room itself was more of an impersonal reception room than anything else-not unlike Stark's Avenger's Tower setup. The furnishings were dark and cool-colored, giving off an impression of ultra-modernism in the most minimal sense possible.
"Of course. I have a few as well."
This seemed to agitate T'challa further, but he made no remark. "You'll be given access only to portions of the compound deemed of necessary use to you. You must understand that this is not only my home, but where portions of my government hold offices. Certain wings are designated specific administrative or political purposes. If I am to find you in a place you don't belong, the agreement between our governments will be severed and I will supply transportation for you to return home."
Eliza bit her lip, hiding her own irritation. It was perfectly rational, of course-she was an outsider in close proximity to a foreign country's highest levels of operation. He was taking precautions that were entirely justified, considering the nature of her profession.
"That's an agreeable term," she allowed.
T'challa nodded. She was in no position to disagree. "Good. In regards to the agreement between the United States and Wakanda, I will be accommodating as long as it does not impede my ability to run my country."
"Of course. As long as my ability to complete my job is also not impeded, I have no problem with that."
The frown on the young king's face deepened. He glanced over Eliza, sizing her up at last. She could read, from his expression, that he was curious as to why they sent her rather than another. Rather than Natasha, or a State Department lackey. She could tell he understood something deeper about her, something that hinted at her profession, the danger in her hands and the steel in her gaze.
Whatever he saw, it allowed him to remain silent.
"There's another stipulation regarding Sergeant Barnes. More of a personal request." Eliza paused, mostly to gauge his reaction at her knowledge of the super-assassin being housed here-which was nonexistent-before continuing. "I'd like access to his cryo-tube chamber. To monitor him."
T'challa's expression remained indifferent, but his tone grew suspicious. "Forgive me, Agent Gray, but your government is the reason he must be housed in this facility to begin with. Answer me honestly-were you sent here to retrieve Barnes or in any way compromise his health?"
Answer me honestly. A sentence uttered to her often. But the way T'challa said it made it seem as if he would know if she was lying. She believed he would. "In truth, my government doesn't know he's being housed here. They won't come to know. Captain Rogers is a friend of mine, your highness. By extension, Sergeant Barnes is my responsibility, personally. You can contact Rogers if you have any doubt on that matter." She looked him dead in the eye-angling her head higher due to his height-and added, "I was sent here only as a facilitator between our countries. I understand your hesitancy-hell, even I'm hesitant. Hydra infiltrated SHIELD. Hydra has infiltrated a lot of things. Are there always ulterior motives in politics? Yes. But I am not a politician. I will do my best to be transparent with you, your highness, as much as I can be."
He stared at her, picking apart her expression, her eyes, the language evident in the stance of her body. At last, he merely said, in an echo of words already spoken, "You may call me T'challa."
The first three days in Wakanda were spent oscillating between the humidity of the jungle terrain outside the compound and the cool, almost clinical, air within. Eliza had toured small parts of the facility-exercise rooms, kitchens and common rooms, libraries, and an office where she was permitted to do her reporting and paperwork. Her personal rooms, shown to her by an assistant of T'challa and composed of a small living room, bedroom, and bathroom, were as ultra-modern and minimal as the rest of the facility, but obviously of high quality and purposed for esteemed guests. She took it as a good sign that he did not slight her when he had the opportunity.
On the fourth day of her stay in Wakanda, Eliza found herself in the king's personal library, of which she had been deemed access to, shirking her responsibilities in favor of exploration. She felt that, by entering a space that seemed so intimate to the king, she could learn something useful about him. Could understand what storms brewed under that unflappable exterior of his. It would be useful in the reports, she concluded, if she could gain some sort of personal insight on his character.
Many of the books were written in Wakandan and French, the second national language. The novels in French she could read-the Wakandan, however, was completely alien to her. It occurred to Eliza, not for the first time, that perhaps a regional expert should have been chosen for the job over her, if not merely for the sake of better intelligence gathering.
A worn copy of Les Miserables caught her eye. Its spine was cracked and wizened, the book having been opened so many times it left its mark. Eliza slid it from the shelf and thumbed through it, surprised to find messy scribbles in the margins every couple of pages, all written in Wakandan.
"One of my father's favorite novels," the current king spoke up behind Eliza, startling her from her reverie. "He used to read passages of it to me as a child." Turning to face the king, Eliza caught an odd look cross over his features. "I can't say I was ever fond of it myself. I never appreciated the idea of redemption. I was too young. I didn't understand that good men do bad things."
Eliza stared, gaze soft, at T'challa. "And now?"
"Now," he said, tone deep, "I find all my beliefs being tested." He sobered, severing whatever moment the pair had experienced. "I received a Diplomatic Note from your government this morning." The expression now crossing the Panther's face read as peeved, bordering on angry. "They've requested a report on the quantity of vibranium existing within my country, both processed and raw. Would you have any idea as to why they'd be interested in such a matter?"
Resettling the book at its rightful place on the shelf, Eliza faced the king, shoulders back and strong. "I assume it would have to do with an emerging industry in defense technology capable of refracting bullets and withstanding explosives."
"That is interesting," T'challa said in a tone that suggested it was not at all interesting to him, but a nuisance. "Because your country does not seem to have the natural resources capable of creating such an industry." He moved further into the room, his mere presence filling the space with a palpable sort of energy. Power. Eliza took an unconscious step back, towards the bookshelf behind her, then cursed herself at such a show of deferral. He was a king, yes, and no matter if he was her king or not, she owed him her respect. But she did not owe him her fear. "My country, on the other hand," T'challa continued, noting her movement with a dangerous sort of glint in his dark eyes, something akin to satisfaction, "has the ability to rise in the world as the leading producer of such technology."
She knew where he was going with this. She had hoped that, after only a mere four days, this sort of conflict wouldn't yet arise. She was not a diplomat. She was merely a shadow.
"Is there something you're insinuating, T'challa?" she asked, tone innocent, though she knew he would recognize her use of his real name as what it was-her taking a stand against his overbearing presence.
"No. I am not insinuating anything. I'm giving you a warning that if your mission here is in any way connected to overtaking my country's economic promise, then things will grow ugly very quickly. Your government is known for its manipulation, its practice in invading smaller nations and turning them inside out to make a profit. That will not happen here."
She almost felt guilty, but mostly Eliza felt an odd sense of detachment from the problem, and just an ounce of anxiety over not being fully prepared to have this discussion. Yes, she had been ordered to gain as much information as possible on the presence of vibranium in Wakanda, how it was harvested and processed, where final products were stored. Yes, she knew what the purpose of such orders were. But she didn't feel particularly guilty yet, because she had yet to do anything about it.
"I'm not a geologist," Eliza said at last. "Not a scientist or a businesswoman. I can't imagine the higher-ups in the US government would believe me capable of such a task-of understanding your economics and your industry and flipping it like a coin."
"Those are not your professions, no. We both know what it is you do, Agent Gray, and who it is you answer to. You may not be the one to flip the coin, but you would certainly be the one to hand it over to those capable."
"I'm flattered that you think I have enough influence for that, or that my job here is anything more than what it is-facilitating transparency between two governments who have never worked together before. But you overestimate me and my abilities."
Some species of a smile crossed T'challa's face, as if he was laughing at her cover-up, her well-spoken lie. Because it had been well spoken. Eliza had grown accustomed to lying to herself in order to make herself more believable to those around her. It was a dangerous game, because it confused her agenda if she thought too hard on it-but she was the best player in the game, and she would play it well.
T'challa shifted the topic of conversation. "I have several lower-level meetings today with representatives from the European Union regarding a trading partnership. You may join me. For the sake of transparency," he added, amusement slithering into his tone. "Is that acceptable?"
"It is. Thank you."
"You should report to the kitchens, then. Lunch will be served. Afterwards, we will meet in my office. You are to be a passive observer. There will be no electronics permitted in the room and you will not write anything down. Is that understood?"
Eliza bit her lip. One step forward, two steps back. "Yes."
The delegation from the European Union seemed overly interested in the Wakandan king. They danced around sensitive subjects like pros, wishing to first build a strong rapport with the mysterious man before diving into tense subjects, discussing things like the current political climate with Russia and the rest of Eastern Europe, the Avengers, the Sakovian Accords. Vibranium was not brought up. It seemed that, in Europe, it was understood that this was a topic for a later time, whereas the United States was hungry to get as much information on the relatively unknown substance as quickly as possible.
T'challa worked them flawlessly. They found him charming yet enigmatic. Honest yet vague. He was neither friendly nor rude, which Eliza was beginning to understand as his default setting in such situations, and the delegation left adoring the African king.
Once they'd been shown the door-after brief negotiations on agricultural trade had been proposed and a draft had been promised-T'challa returned to his chair, posture perfect yet shoulders giving off a sense of discontent.
"That seemed to go well," Eliza said, breaking into the silence that had settled over the room.
"Yes," T'challa agreed. "Too well."
Eliza's brow furrowed. "I suppose I don't understand what you mean."
"Those people," T'challa said in a weary tone, "interact with me as one would interact with a circus animal. I am a king of a wild country in Africa, of savages-so the West thinks. They weren't expecting me to be so… proper."
Eliza once more settled herself in a chair opposite T'challa. "Yeah… That's something I did notice. They were endeared."
"As if to a wild animal," he finished, rubbing his forehead. Looking Eliza in the face, his eyes dark and impenetrable, but suddenly more human, he said, "Do you understand, now, why I can't allow your country to overtake mine? My people will never find even footing. Not when we can't even be considered like you."
Eliza frowned. She empathized with the man-she could not relate, but she could understand what he meant. And now, she felt guilt. "I do understand. At least, I'm trying to."
They sat in silence for the remainder of the hour, both lost within themselves.