Chapter 1 -
Sharon Carter slinked into the living room of the Brooklyn Heights apartment on bare feet. "What are you reading?" she asked, leaning on her elbows over the back of the sofa.
Steve Rogers, stretched out on the sofa in jeans and a white t-shirt, tilted the hardcover book so that she could read the spine.
"Lord of the Rings?" the blonde girl said incredulously. "You're kidding! I had to read that in college and it bored the hell out of me."
Steve shrugged. "Once you get into it, there's a certain... texture to it. I can't explain it any better than that. This Tolkien guy really knew how to draw you into the story."
Sharon lips twitched in a crooked smile. She rose to full height, her lean body clad in shorts and a tank top. Like a cat, she stretched one long leg over the back of the sofa and slid her butt over to sit in his lap. "Does that mean you finished the book I gave you - 'Dark of the Moon'?" she said eagerly. "What did you think?"
Steve sighed. "The vampire book? No offence, Shar, but I couldn't get into it. The casual sex and violence... it kind of put me off."
"Really? I thought that was the best part."
"That and the dirty language..."
Sharon almost laughed, but caught herself in time. She had to remember that he was from a different time. Her blue eyes stared at the cover his book for a moment. Now that she thought of it, 'Lord of the Rings' was written in the 50's, much closer to his speed. The world had changed a lot since then. "I guess the world is a lot more violent than it used to be," she said.
"I don't think it is, really," Steve said.
"Come on. You guys didn't have terrorism growing up in the 30's."
"We had gangsters." Steve marked his place and closed the book. "We had Fascism. We had polio, tuberculosis, and scarlet fever. We had sweatshops burning down because the landlord didn't want to spend five cents on an electrical fuse. We had racism like you wouldn't believe. I saw things growing up in the 30's that would make your hair curl. The difference today is that you have 24-hour news that shows you the pictures every fifteen minutes all day long. You see it so much, you start to think that it's normal." He sighed. "I hope I never get jaded enough to think that murder is normal."
There it was again... the idealistic boy that Sharon wanted to hug to her and protect... living paradoxically inside a muscular, he-man body that sometimes made her tremble with desire. Slowly she stretched her body along his torso, her hands sensually caressing his broad chest through the clingy fabric of his t-shirt, feeling his rippling muscles, feeling his nipples get hard, until her lips were hovering right over his.
"You know something, Steve?" she said, feeling his heart pounding like a trip-hammer under her fingertips. "You really are a piece of work."
"Me?" he said with a lopsided grin. "I'm just a regular kid from Brooklyn."
Her lips touched his, and everything else was forgotten in a blaze of heat that surged up between them. Steve's hands were tugging at the hem of her top, pulling it upward...
Brrrring! Brrrring! It was the jarring, old-fashioned ringtone of his phone!
"N-no..." Sharon moaned, as Steve's mouth trailed fire along her slender neck. "Ignore it... ignore it..."
BRRRING! BRRRINGGG! Steve sat up, shifting her 125 pounds gently in his lap as if she weighed nothing at all as his left hand reached for the phone.
"If that's Natasha Romanova calling you with another mission," Sharon fumed, her cheeks flushed, "I swear I'm going to kick her butt. You watch me. I don't care if she is a world-class assassin. I'm going to kick her little Russian butt."
"Sam? What's up?" Steve was saying. "Uh... no, you're not catching me at a bad time. I was just..." His face, open and friendly while talking to his friend, suddenly hardened as he listened, frowning. "Thanks for the heads-up, Sam. I'll take care of it."
He put down the phone and looked at Sharon. "I have to go, Shar. Something personal."
At Liberty Park on the New Jersey shore, a man named John Coulsen was waiting at one of the metal picnic tables, giving him a good view of Liberty Island. He was about sixty, a little overweight, his hair thinning. He was wearing a pale blue suit which had seen better times. A thick accordion folder was lying on the table in front of him, and he kept one or the other of his hands on it all the time while he looked around, as if afraid to let it out of his sight.
Presently he saw two big men wearing suits approach. Something about them looked very out of place in the park. Coulsen picked up the folder, clutching it to his chest as he tried to back away. But as he turned, he saw two more men cutting off his retreat. One was obviously a thug like the other two, but the fourth man was tall and thin, and wore a trench coat.
"Mr. Coulsen," the man in the trench coat said, smiling like a shark. "You wouldn't be trying to skip out on us, would you?"
"I w-was supposed to be meeting Joe Fiori," Coulsen said, licking his lips. His eyes darted nervously back and forth among the four men. "Alone."
"Mr. Fiori is a busy man," the man in the trench coat said. "He doesn't have time for stuff like this. Why don't you just hand over the package nice and slow? That way I don't have to clean the blood stains off of it."
"I don't think it will come to that," said a third voice. It belonged to a brawny-looking man wearing a red, white and blue full body suit, with a bold white star across his broad chest. Over his left shoulder he was carrying a round metal alloy shield.
"Captain America?" the man in the trench coat said, sounding impressed. "This is no business of yours, Flag-man. Just a quiet conversation between friends."
"That's funny," the superhero said, moving in between the thugs and Coulsen, who tossed him a grateful look. "It didn't sound too friendly to me when you were threatening him just now."
"Take him," the man in the trench coat hissed, stepping back out of the way. In unison, the three henchmen drew automatic pistols from the shoulder holsters concealed under their jackets.
But the Living Legend was already moving, using his shield like a ram as he plowed into the two goons who were standing near one another. One of the men was knocked clean off his feet by the impact; the other recovered and tried to nail the Captain with the butt of his gun, but the Avenger spun around with a kick that caught him in the midsection and knocked the wind out of him. The third thug, standing back out of the scuffle, opened fire at the superhero with his pistol, trying not to hit his two friends. John Coulsen dropped flat underneath a picnic table.
Cap felt the bullets whiz past him, one almost grazing the shoulder of his micro-chainmail uniform as he threw a roundhouse punch into the jaw of one of his adversaries. In nearly the same movement, he grabbed the other in a judo throw and tossed him, then dropped to one knee, ducking another bullet while he hurled his shield at the gunman, catching him in the chest and knocking him unconscious. The shield ricocheted off a lamp post and returned to his hand.
"John, are you okay?" Cap said, standing up, not even winded.
"I'm good," Coulsen gasped, shakily picking himself up.
"That was really impressive," the man in the trench coat said mildly. "And here I was, afraid this was going to be a dull assignment." He dropped his coat, revealing the jet black body suit with dark violet gloves and boots that he was wearing underneath. His right hand was uncoiling a long bullwhip made of articulated metal. He gave the whip an experimental crack, causing blue arcs of electricity to ripple down its length.
"Allow me to introduce myself. They call me Blacklash."
Chapter 2 -
Blacklash snapped his fifteen-foot articulated bullwhip, striking not at Captain America, but at John Coulsen. "John, look out!" the hero called, instantly going into a running forward somersault, scooping up the unarmed civilian and pushing him out of harm's way just as the whip came down on the metal picnic table, slicing it in two. Flustered, Coulsen dropped the accordion folder he had been clutching.
"Find a shady spot," Cap advised him, as he turned to face Blacklash, holding his adamantium alloy shield ready for defense.
The whip whined through the air as the hitman slashed it toward the hero. Captain America deflected the deadly weapon on his shield, wincing slightly at the impact which would have taken a normal man's arm off. He sprinted toward his opponent, trying to give him a more dangerous target than John, but Blacklash was canny enough to keep his distance, making full use of the superior reach of his weapon.
"Nice moves, Flag-man!" the villain taunted. "But I've fought Iron Man to a standstill! How long do think that hubcap's going to last?"
"Long enough," Cap said. Again the whip snapped against his shield with an explosive CRACK! The star-spangled Avenger spun on his heel and executed a tumbling roll, gobbling up the distance between them and ending with a pivot that smacked his shield into Blacklash's chest. The hitman staggered back a pace or two, but remained on his feet. Body armor, eh? At least now they were at too close quarters to use that whip. That should make this a little easier...
The fifteen foot whip suddenly telescoped in on itself until it became a two and half foot nunchaku. Cap pulled his head back just in time as it whizzed past his cheek, then had to quickly duck as Blacklash deployed a second nunchaku from a hidden sheath in his left glove.
"Out of the frying pan, eh, Captain?" the hitman grinned, dexterously spinning both weapons.
Blacklash seized the initiative, advancing as he flailed away from both the left and right with his two articulated metal nunchakus. For the next few seconds the Sentinel of Liberty was kept on his toes blocking, parrying, or evading both of them at the same time, while struggling not to give too much ground away.
The Captain took a hit on his right side along the ribs, then he saw his opening, swinging the edge of his shield against the hitman's left forearm. The nunchaku in that hand went flying, and in the next second, the hero had followed through with a right jab to Blacklash's jaw, then grabbed his right arm and executed a hip throw, tossing the hitman about fifteen feet, where he went splat on the cobblestones.
Blacklash was breathing hard now, but he wasn't finished. He reached into a pouch on the back of his uniform and tossed a bolo, seemingly made of the same articulated metal as his whip. Cap saw the whirling missile coming in time to dodge, but it caught his left ankle, wrapping around it and... UNGH! The Avenger went down hard! The bolo had attached itself to the cobblestones with a powerful electromagnetic force. Cap couldn't move his left foot off the ground no matter how hard he tried!
"That's my patented gravity bolo, Captain," Blacklash said, nursing his injured left arm as he got back on his feet. Obeying his mental commands, his nunchakus slithered toward him like snakes and leaped into his hand. He put the left one away in its sheath as he extended the right one back out to its fifteen foot length. "It's been a gas, man. But there's got to be a winner and a loser."
Captain America desperately exerted his full strength against the bolo, but it wouldn't budge. He was a sitting duck like this! Blacklash took aim, drew back the arm with his whip...
Cap swung his shield overhead and brought its edge down on the bolo. CRACK! And again! CRUNCH! The device split apart, freeing him!
"Oh crap," Blacklash muttered. Snatching up the accordion folder John Coulsen had been carrying, he turned and beat feet down the path toward-
WOP! A fist seemed to come from out of nowhere and tag him squarely on the jaw. The fist belonged to Sharon Carter - her blonde hair braided into a ponytail and her lean young body sheathed in a form-fitting dark blue catsuit and a utility belt.
"How's it hanging, dude?" she said, as her left fist followed up on her right. "Black and violet; pretty good fashion sense for a bad guy. Hides the bruises, does it?" Blacklash tried desperately to defend himself, swinging his whip around, but she was too close. Her punches were rapidly followed by a high kick and finally a spinning back kick, all right on target. The hitman's eyes rolled, and he dropped flat on his back, unconscious.
"Mark Scarlotti," Sharon said, planting her hands on her curvy hips. "What are you doing back in town? Last I heard you were in Cleveland." She turned to the other two men. "Somebody want to fill me in?"
"Let's get out of here first," John Coulsen said, gathering up his folder and hurrying off across the park, with Captain America and Sharon pacing him on either side. "How did you even find me?"
"Sam Wilson at the VA," Captain America explained. "He said you were in some kind of trouble. We swung by your apartment and your landlady said you might be at the park. Sharon and I split up to cover more ground... oh by the way, this is Sharon Carter."
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," John said, as they arrived at his car. Cap's Harley-Davidson was parked nearby.
"Sharon, this is John Coulsen. His father, Ray, served with me during the War."
Sharon's eyebrows shot up. For Steve, "the War" was World War II, of course. That made John a Baby Boomer, pushing sixty if not already there. And his father had served with Steve? She suddenly had a glimpse of just how old Steve really was, and it made her feel very, very young. "Pleased to meet you, John," she said.
"I was a battalion commander during the Gulf War," John said. "But we're not here to talk about war memories. We're here to talk about Joey Fiori."
"Joey Fiori?" Cap said, frowning. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
"You might have read about him in the papers," John said. "Suspected of money laundering for the Capulet crime family, although they can't seem to make any charges stick. I don't know about that. Thirty years ago, he was one of my men when we took Baghdad." For an instant, his old eyes took on a faraway look. "And he killed two American servicemen. Two friends of mine."
Chapter 3 -
John Coulsen got behind the driver's seat of his car. Sharon slipped smoothly into the passenger seat, curling her left leg under her. Then John pulled out of the park and onto the highway, while Captain America followed on his motorcycle.
"We've got to find a place where we can talk," John said pensively as he drove. "I don't want to go back to my apartment. Joey might have more goons gunning for me. I still can't believe he tried to kill me."
"Keep talking," Sharon said, tapping the earbud nestled in her right ear. "Cap can hear you."
"Oh? Well... I don't want you to get the wrong idea." John licked his lips. "Joey was a first-class soldier. He was no traitor to America if that's what you're thinking."
"Easy. Just tell us what you know," Sharon said.
"Okay, we were occupying Baghdad, right? We had problems with looters, the black market, all that stuff. One of our biggest headaches was museum artifacts. I had no reason to suspect that Joey was involved in that kind of thing, not in those days. He was straight-up soldier. But the two guys I was talking about, Midler and Coots, they were on guard duty one night when there was a big hit on the museum. They were killed. Throats cut."
Coulsen paused, breathing heavy, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry... just... even after all these years..."
Sharon reached across the seat and sympathetically patted the man's shoulder.
"So after the war, I got into journalism," Coulsen went on. "Took an interest in smuggled museum pieces, trying to track down the stuff that was in the museum that night. It wasn't easy. I guess most of that stuff is bought by private collectors who don't like to advertise the fact. But I persisted, kept on it... and just lately I hit pay dirt. Some of the artifacts started turning up, and I was able to trace them back to Joey. The evidence is all there... in that folder." He nodded his head toward the accordion folder which had had lain on the seat between him and Sharon.
The blonde picked it up, weighing it in her hands. In her ear, she could hear Steve's voice: "Ask him if he showed the file to the police, Interpol, anybody."
"Did you report this to anybody?" Sharon asked.
"No," Coulsen said. "I couldn't believe it... Little Joey Fiori mixed up in something like this? I called him, told him what I knew, and arranged the meeting. Geez, I still can't believe..."
Sharon silently rolled her eyes. How could a person be so dense?
"So now you know everything, Cap," Coulsen said. "What do you think I should do?"
Steve, riding his Harley-Davidson a couple of lengths behind them, had to think. If S.H.I.E.L.D. were still in operation, this would be right up Nick's alley. As it was...
Two vans, one green and one white, were pacing Coulsen's car on either side. Cap had noticed them earlier and had no reason to think that they were connected, until suddenly they acted in unison. The green one suddenly veered into his lane, cutting him off from Coulsen and Sharon. The rear cargo doors flew open, revealing a man with a H&K submachine gun in his hands, aimed right at him!
Steve instinctively braked the Harley, trying to put some distance between them, but there was a pickup truck in the lane behind him and he couldn't slow too much. He hunched down in between the handle bars to make himself a smaller target as the machinegun opened fire. Cap could feel the pings of bullets ricocheting off the shield slung across his back as he swerved right into the narrow space between the road and the guardrail. The green van edged over to cut him off, and he gunned the trottle, cutting quickly back to the left, darting like lightning through a microscopic gap in the traffic.
The white van meanwhile had pulled up parallel with Coulsen's car and rammed against the front fender. WHAM! The car trembled from the impact and Coulsen almost lost control. Sharon grabbed the steering wheel to keep the car steady, her pulse pounding in her chest. WHAM! The van struck them again. The side cargo door slid open and a man appeared inside the van wearing an open-collared suit without a necktie. He was holding a shotgun and taking aim at the two of them...
Oh crap! Sharon yanked hard on the steering wheel, sending the car slamming against the van's side. The gunman was thrown off balance, the blast from his shotgun going wild. Then with both hands she spun the wheel back the other way, taking the off ramp which had just appeared on their right.
"What the heck's going on?" Coulsen shouted, a little bit slow on the uptake.
"Just drive!" Sharon shouted back, pulling her SIG-Sauer handgun from her belt as she spun around in the seat. The white van had fallen behind a little bit, shaken by her unexpected maneuver, but it was still pursuing them. And what had happened to Steve?
Actually Steve had just been pulling up level with the white van on the other side when Sharon did her stunt. When the car shot down the off ramp, the white van went into a skid, causing Cap to swerve to avoid being turned into street pizza. The Harley fishtailed as he straightened her up again, only to find the green van bearing down on him from behind, its front bumper making contact with his rear tire.
Cap fought for control as the Harley was thrown into the curb and flipped over the guard rail. The living legend dismounted in midair and hit the median in a rolling tumble which brought him back to his feet with his shield in his hands. The whirling red-white-and-blue missile hit the windshield of the van, shattering it and rebounding. The driver lost control and slammed into the guard rail. With a painful wrench of metal, he pulled away and drove off.
Meanwhile at the end of the off ramp, Coulsen ran a red light and accelerated on through the intersection, turning desperately onto a side street. The white van surged up beside them, ramming their rear fender. Coulsen lost control of the vehicle. The car wobbled across the street, jumped the curb, and came to a dead stop against a solid brick wall. Sharon gasped, slammed into her seat cushions by the airbag as it deployed, knocking the gun out of her hand.
Frantically the girl fought her way out from behind the airbag. "John? Are you okay?" she asked, crawling toward him across the seat. The only answer she got was an incoherent groan. He was lying limp, a trickle of blood on his forehead.
The white van screeched to a halt beside them, the cargo door still open. Sharon found herself looking down the barrel of a handgun. Her heart leaped into her throat. Her catsuit was reasonably bulletproof but at this range the gunman could nail her right between the eyes! Desperately the girl kicked open the passenger side door and bailed out just as a line of bullet holes punctured the upholstery where she had been sitting. Rolling out onto the sidewalk, she spun around and rested her back against the heavy frame of the car to catch her breath, wishing she had her gun.
The gunfire stopped. What were they doing now? Sharon risked a peek.
Two big men had yanked open the driver's side door and now they were dragging John across into the van! Why would they bother to do that? It seemed that they wanted him alive for some reason.
Drawing a deep breath, Sharon got to her feet, whipped the collapsible night stick from her belt, and did a somersault across the roof of the car, landing feet-first among the two muscular thugs. WOK! The beautiful blonde brought the night stick down across the first man's head, pivoting to her left as the second one pulled a gun. Sharon parried with the night stick, catching him in a wrist lock and disarming him as her trim knee came up into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him.
The thug she had hit on the head grabbed Sharon from behind, wrapping one brawny arm around her throat. The girl struggled to break his hold, but he had almost a hundred pounds on her. She brought up her legs and kicked her lower body forward with a jerk, using the full weight of her lissome body to loosen his grasp. Twisting on her right foot, she flipped him, throwing him hard against the side of the car. He got to his feet only to feel her left fist on his jaw, followed by her right, and then a roundhouse kick that dropped him.
Meanwhile the other man, wheezing for breath, had stumbled into the van. The vehicle took off, spinning its tires. Sharon raced after it for ten or twenty yards, but it had too big a lead. All she could do was watch as the van turned a corner about a block further on and disappeared out of sight, taking John Coulsen with it. Drat!
Chapter 4 -
The white van sped away, taking corners fast and changing direction abruptly so that John Coulsen, sprawled in the cargo space with his wrists handcuffed, kept bouncing back and forth like a pea in a tin can. The big thug sat with his back against the cab seats, massaging his stomach where Sharon Carter had kneed him.
"What's wrong, Guido?" the driver laughed, glancing over his shoulder. "You let a girl beat you up?"
"Button it, Filpo!" the thug snapped. "She sucker punched me is all. If the boss hadn't said bring the geezer quick, I'd have taken the time to teach that little cutie a lesson."
"Ha-ha! So you say."
"Hey who are you guys?" Coulsen said. "What do you want with me?"
"Shut up, old man," Guido sneered. "I ain't in no mood for you. Joey Fiori wants to see you. That's all you need to know."
Coulsen felt his spine turn to jelly. Having failed with Blacklash, Joey had sent for him personally! Coulsen was not a coward. He had served in the Army twenty years. But these thugs looked like the kind of guys who shot your kneecaps off before they threw you in the river to let the fish finish you off.
Presently the van turned off the street into a parking lot, and then indoors into a garage or something. Coulsen heard the echoes from the engine as they turned down a lane and finally stopped. The thug named Guido threw open the side cargo door. "End of the line, pops," he said. "Get out."
Coulsen found himself standing inside what seemed to be a warehouse. Pallets loaded with crates and boxes were stacked all around. High overhead, he could see skylights. Below that were iron catwalks of the second story, where offices and smaller storage rooms were. Not far from where the van had stopped, a curious machine sat on a pallet. It was basically drum-shaped, maybe a yard thick and two yards tall, with narrow glass panels set at intervals. Part of it looked like it was designed to rotate inside the main chassis. Coulsen had never seen anything like it.
"Major Coulsen!" said a familiar voice. Joey Fiori came walking down an iron staircase from the supervisor's office, dressed in an immaculate Armani suit with a colorful purple tie. "How long has it been - twenty years? You're looking good."
The driver of the van drew a pistol and held it casually pointed in Coulsen's direction, while the thug named Guido stood on his other side. Three other men wearing work pants and shirts appeared behind Fiori. Suddenly Coulsen wasn't afraid any more. "Cut out the old folks at home stuff, Joey!" he said. "So it's true? You were involved in the black market all those years ago?"
"Well, uh..." Fiori said sheepishly, "it seemed like a good deal at the time, Major. And it turned out to be a great investment. I mean you should see the stuff I'm handling nowadays. It makes the crap I was handling then look like-"
"I don't care about the smuggling, Joey! What about Midler and Coots? What about them?"
"N-n-now I had nothing to do with that, Major," Fiori stammered. "Honest. The associates I was working with at the time... they got a little carried away. I mean what can you expect from a bunch of towel-heads, huh?"
"You were responsible!" Coulsen snapped.
"Don't say that, Major. Don't you think I felt bad about it? Not a day goes by that I don't wish I had stopped those guys. But what's done is done. There's nothing I can do to change it now."
"You can make amends to their families, Joey," Coulsen said. "You can confess to your part in the robbery-"
"It's too late for that, John. I'm in too deep."
"You must be," Coulsen said. "You sent Blacklash to kill me, too!"
"Blacklash? What are you talking about?" Fiori said, puzzled. "I sent some of the guys to pick you up, but I wouldn't kill you, Major."
"Of course you wouldn't, you imbecile," said a woman's voice from the deeper shadows of the warehouse. "You're no more than an accountant, a shopkeeper."
The men all heard the sound of high heels drawing closer. Joey shivered as if an icy cold draft had hit him and tried to edge away. The woman strode into the light, average in height and appearance except that she was dressed in a green body suit with a pistol holster low on her left side and matching boots. Her hair was also dark green, arranged so that it draped over the right half of her face, hiding it. Coulsen didn't know who this woman was, but her voice was hard, holding no trace of human warmth or compassion. It was the voice of a woman with a heart of ice. She was accompanied by four armed bodyguards, dressed in green uniforms that Coulsen did recognize. They were operatives of HYDRA, the worldwide terrorist organization!
"It was I who arranged for Blacklash to take care of your loose end," the woman said. "Unfortunately, he proved to be a disappointment."
"You arranged-?" Fiori sputtered. "Viper, you had no right to interfere in my business! You had no right to-" His voice trailed off because of the hard look the woman was giving him.
"And now you have compounded the problem," Viper continued, strolling over to Coulsen, "by bringing this man here at this critical juncture, just as the Capsule has been delivered." She pointed toward the drum-like machine which Coulsen had noticed earlier.
"I'm-I'm sorry, Viper," Fiori stammered. "I wasn't thinking..."
"Obviously," the woman agreed. "If your transportation company were not so useful to our operations, I would be tempted to dispose of you, Fiori. But that would involve too many tedious complications. Be grateful that I let you live." She looked Coulsen in the eye. "Hendricks, Novak! Dispose of this."
Two of her uniformed bodyguards stepped forward, drawing pistols from the holsters at their sides. Coulsen felt his knees go wobbly. He started to sweat. This was it. He hoped he wasn't going to humiliate himself by fainting. The guards drew closer...
"All right! Hands up everybody!" It was Sharon Carter, standing behind a narrow wooden crate with her SIG-Sauer braced over the top. "Why don't you guys just drop your guns and kick them over here?
Chapter 5 -
To backtrack approximately twenty minutes: Sharon Carter stood in the middle of the street, watching the white van disappear around the corner. She turned and jogged back to John Coulsen's car just as Captain America was pulling up on his motorcycle, immediately followed by a New Jersey State Police cruiser with its lights flashing.
"Are you all right?" the Sentinel of Liberty asked her as he dismounted.
"I'm okay, Cap," the blonde answered. "But the guys in the white van got away with John. They left this joker behind, though," she added, pointing to the thug she had managed to subdue.
The man was coming around, as the police officer handcuffed his hands behind his back.
Cap grabbed the man by his shirt collar with one hand and lifted his entire body an inch or two off the ground, pinning him against the wall of the building. "Where did they take John?" he demanded, pressing his knuckles firmly against the man's windpipe.
"I don't... have to tell you... squat," the thug said, gasping for breath.
Steve considered increasing the pressure on the goon's larynx. With John's life at stake, he couldn't afford to waste time, and he knew that pain could be an effective motivator. And yet forcing a man to talk under the threat of violence would be a violation of his Constitutional rights. Where did his primary duty lie in this instance?
"Hang on, Cap," Sharon said, fiddling with her smart phone. "Joe Fiori owns a trucking company in Paramus. I'll bet that's where they went." She grinned. "The Internet has its uses."
Leaving the thug in the charge of the police, the two heroes mounted Cap's Harley-Davidson and headed north to Paramus. The Fleet Trucking Company turned out to be two big buildings - a garage and a warehouse - surrounded by a chain link fence. Cap parked the Harley in the alley next door. "Looks like we have to split up again," Steve said after they had slipped over the fence. "Let out a holler if you spot anything." And he jogged off across the compound toward the garage.
Sharon watched him go, then forced her mind back on business. The back door of the warehouse was locked, but one of the gadgets on her utility belt took care of that in two seconds. She slipped inside, blending into the shadows. As silent as a shadow herself, she slunk between narrow aisles of crates and boxes.
Presently Sharon came to an open area, where the white van was parked. She saw the drum-like machine resting on its pallet and ignored it. John Coulsen was there, surrounded by Joe Fiori and his five henchmen, plus a woman in green... and four HYDRA operatives!
"Cap, I've hit pay dirt," she whispered, pressing her earbud as she maneuvered herself into a strategic position behind a crate.
"Be with you in one minute," Steve's voice replied in her ear.
"Hendricks, Novak!" Viper commanded just then. "Dispose of this."
"Sorry, I can't wait," Sharon whispered, drawing her gun. John was going to be killed any second.
"All right! Hands up everybody!" she said, raising her voice as she braced her SIG-Sauer across the top of the crate. "Why don't you guys just drop your guns and kick them over here?
The two HYDRA operatives froze, but made no move to obey her orders. The other two bodyguards stiffened where they were, but also made no moves. Coulsen, Fiori and his five henchmen raised their hands and turned slowly to face Sharon.
"Who do you think you are, lady?" Fiori said. "Look around. You're so outnumbered it's not even funny."
Sharon had chosen a location where she could cover nearly all of them, but they were pretty well spread out. It was obvious that if they did decide to rush her, she'd be overwhelmed. "Maybe so, hot shot," the blonde said. "But in case you haven't noticed, I'm aiming straight at the part in your lady friend's hair. If bullets start flying, I guarantee she'll collect one of the first ones."
Viper didn't seem the slightest bit annoyed by the threat. "You are far too cool about this to be a regular police officer," the woman in green said. "Your dramatic entrance puts me in mind... you must be a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, yes?"
"Guilty as charged," Sharon said. "Now that you mention it, the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy actually had a course in Dramatic Entrances. I got top marks."
Viper smiled. "It's a pity they didn't have a course in Common Sense. Now that you have us, girl, what do you think you can do with us, all by yourself?"
"Who said I was all by myself?"
At that precise moment, a red-white-and-blue disc came whirling through the air like a missile, aimed at the two HYDRA agents who were still holding their guns on John. The shield hit the first terrorist hard in the chest, throwing him off his feet even as it rolled across and hit the second man in the stomach, rebounding off of him. At the same time, a muscular, athletic figure dressed in a micro-chainmail body suit leaped off the second floor railing above their heads, caught the shield in midair and landed on his feet in the midst of them all.
"Captain America!" the Viper hissed, her hand darting to the gun at her left side.
Sharon squeezed off three quick shots with her SIG-Sauer. The first one hit Viper's gun hand, making her drop her weapon only halfway out of its holster. The other two were aimed at the woman in green herself, but moving with incredible swiftness, she managed to elude them both and dash behind the van for cover.
That was the signal for a general melee. Captain America became a living windmill, plowing into the three thugs in work clothes, punching, kicking, catching one in a judo hold and tossing him. The driver of the van aimed his pistol at Sharon and got off a couple of shots. The blonde agent returned fire, wounding him badly. At that moment the other goon from the van, Guido, lunged at her with a crowbar, narrowly missing her and smacking into the wooden crate. As she wheeled toward him, his back swing caught her forearm and knocked her gun out of her hand.
"Come on, cutie," he smirked, switching the crowbar from one hand to the other. "You owe me a rematch."
The two other HYDRA operatives pulled out flame throwers and ignited them. Ten foot long tongues of fire leaped out in front of them as the two men advanced side by side upon Captain America. The star-spangled Avenger went into a defensive crouch behind his shield. This was going to be tricky. His shield could protect him from one of them, but the other would surely roast him alive. And from the grins on their faces, the terrorists understood his predicament all too well.
John Coulsen ducked behind another crate, feeling bewildered by the turn of events and regretting that he had let himself get too old and too soft for this kind of roughhouse. Then he saw Joe Fiori turn tail and run up the stairs toward the office. "Oh no you don't, pal," John muttered, dashing across the mayhem to give chase.
Chapter 6 -
"What's the matter, babe?" Guido said, as Sharon Carter took up a defensive martial arts stance. "I ain't gonna hurt you... too much." He swung the crowbar overhand; the girl dodged left and spun around, thrusting out one long alluring leg in a lateral kick to his abdomen. Guido let out a grunt like an enraged bull and swung again. Sharon did a flip backward; the crowbar missed her and slammed into another crate, where it got stuck.
She pounced, throwing a flurry of punches at the thug's jaw. The big man fell back, staggering under the blows, but then his brawny arms reached out, catching the girl's slender shoulders and jerking her slim body into his grasp. The next thing she knew, he had her pinned against a steel support girder, one arm around her sylph-like waist, the other constricting her throat. "Any last words, cutie?" he sneered, his face leaning down closer to hers.
The ringtone of a phone suddenly sounded. "Is that you or me, stud?" Sharon gasped, fumbling with one hand for her utility belt. "It's me. Hello? Carla? I can't talk right now..."
What the f-? Guido couldn't help it. He relaxed his grip on her throat a little. Things like this weren't supposed to happen when you were fighting for your life.
"Hold on a second, Carla..." Taking full advantage of the slack, Sharon quickly walked her feet up the support pillar she had been pinned against, twisted out of Guido's hold and snaked her elegant legs around his beefy neck, allowing her weight to pull his head down into a wooden crate standing nearby. The impact stunned him good. Landing on her feet like a cat, the ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent thrust the heel of her hand into his forehead, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.
"Listen, Carla, why don't you just ask the guy out? This is the twenty-first century for God's sake." Sharon sighed, spotting the first two HYDRA agents that Cap had clobbered getting back to their feet. "Yes, Steve and I will double date with you if you want. Look, I've really got to run." Hanging her phone back on her belt, the girl took a graceful running leap and jumped the two terrorists before they could get their bearings or re-arm themselves.
Meanwhile the Captain himself was slowly backing away from the other two HYDRA men armed with flame throwers. They were being clever about it, coming at him about fifteen feet apart so that their tongues of flame converged at an angle. As they got closer, the fires would be able to engulf him entirely, shield or no shield. How could he counter this? He had to figure it out soon; he was almost out of room to retreat.
Suddenly he darted forward, flinging his shield away to his right, imparting English on it so that when it hit the steel support pillar he was aiming at with a resounding CLONG, it ricocheted off at a downward angle, spinning around and clocking one of the HYDRA operatives in the back of the neck. Simultaneously the Sentinel of Liberty rushed toward the other operative, at the last second making a running high jump which carried him over the flame and brought him down on top of his man with a smack just as his shield returned!
"Are you done?" Sharon panted, joining him as she brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I get the feeling we're missing somebody..."
"Viper," Steve said tersely.
"Yes, my old enemy!" the woman in green said. Still nursing her wounded hand, Viper had nevertheless made it through the confusion of the fight to the drum-shaped machine, resting on its pallet. For the past few moments she had been busy throwing switches and apparently arming the device. The narrow glass panels in its sides were lit up, and part of it seemed to be rotating rapidly, making a curious humming noise.
"I had hoped to test fire the Capsule in the middle of New York City," Viper said. "Times Square would have most appropriate. But once again you force my hand. Very well then. Let it be tested here and now."
"If that's some kind of bomb," Captain America said warily, "I hate to tell you this, but you're standing at ground zero yourself."
"Yes, but not for long," Viper smirked. "My escape vehicle is waiting. However I leave you to feel the full effects."
Cap tensed himself to charge, but just then it happened. The Capsule did seem to virtually explode with a wave of hypersonic sound, bursting out continuously in all directions. The pitch rose higher and higher, past the range of human hearing until it felt like sharp spikes into the brain. Steve and Sharon both dropped to their knees, instinctively trying in vain to cover their ears, their cries of pain lost in the reverberating echoes.
"Steve, what's happening?" Sharon moaned. "Can't... think..."
And then it hit them like a pressure, a heat, directly on the tissues of their brains. Steve felt a wave of uncontrollable rage building inside him like an electrical current, surging out to every cell of his body. He wanted to hit, to bite, to punch and slash at anyone who stood in his way.
Viper smiled, protected by high-density earplugs. She could feel the harmonics from the Hate Bomb just the same, but what was that to her, whose icy heart lived and breathed hate all the time? Still, it was best not to press her luck. She spun on her heel and dashed for the exit before the wave had built up too powerfully for even her to resist.
Every muscle in Captain America's being wanted to pursue her, but his eyes fell on Sharon, her face distorted into a horror mask, teeth bared, eyes narrowed. "HATE YOU!" she screamed, unable to articulate even a complete sentence as she leaped upon him with her hands outstretched. "KILL YOU!"
Acting only on animal instinct, Cap swept his arm with his shield in her direction, knocking her aside, but Sharon scrambled to her feet at once, coming back at him. He caught her arms, struggling to hold her in her rage. She twisted in his grasp like a wolverine in a trap, biting at his chainmail shirt, not caring if her own clothes got torn in the process. Her foot came up between his legs and hit his genitals hard, the pain only fueling his own anger. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to wrench her head off.
Kill! Maim! Break! His mind seemed to have no room for anything else. His blood seemed to be boiling within his veins. He seemed to feel the pressure of the hypersonic hate wave as it filled the warehouse and beyond, spreading over the whole city, businesses and shopping malls, turning everyone it touched into mindless killers.
Sharon was punching at his abdomen now, trying to hurt him. Their bodies became locked together in a mutual embrace of combat, fighting and clawing at one another. Steve managed to clench his arms around her slender torso and tighten, trying to squeeze her into submission. She squirmed in his grasp, tugging her arms free and clutching at the only vulnerable spot she could reach. Yanking off his mask, she lunged at his face, her fine white teeth biting his cheek.
Somehow the exquisite pain and the blood brought him partially to his senses. He had to put a stop to this before they killed each other! He pushed Sharon away, closing his eyes tight and clenching his teeth. He could feel the Capsule like a throbbing ache in his head. Groping, he picked up his shield. Sharon leaped on him again, snarling like a wild beast, clawing at his eyes, but he knocked her roughly aside and threw the shield with all his strength...
The impact buried his shield in the side of the machine, shattering delicate components. There was a flash of electricity as the turbine inside rapidly wound down, letting out a painful whine as it tore itself to pieces. The machine toppled over.
Sharon also toppled, sagging to her knees, in her case from exhaustion. "My God, what was that?" she gasped as Cap helped her up. Both of them were drenched in sweat. Her catsuit had been ripped in several places, but right now she wasn't worried about that. "You're bleeding!" Her heart felt sick at the sight of the dripping wound on his cheek. "Did I do that?"
"Yeah, you got a few good licks in," Cap said, his arms supporting her tenderly. "It'll keep. Do you still have your phone? Can you call the police?"
"Oh Steve, I... I could've-" Tears were welling up in her blue eyes as she realized what she might have done if she'd had a gun.
"Don't!" he snapped. "Just don't! We'll talk about it later, I promise. Right now, we still have a job to do. Focus on that!"
"Right... you're right..." With trembling fingers, she dialed the phone.
Cap pulled his mask back down and jogged to the stairs. "John?" he called. "John Coulsen?"
"Up here, Cap!"
Steve took the stairs three at a time. The office above looked as if a cyclone had hit it. Coulsen and Fiori both looked as if they had been at one another with their bare hands, but Fiori was the one stretched out on the floor with a bleeding gash in his skull. Cap dropped to one knee and felt his pulse. "He's okay," he said.
"It's a good thing we didn't have any weapons up here," Coulsen said, "or we'd have killed each other. As it is, I nearly bashed in his head with this chair. Oh Cap... I think I'm gonna be sick."
As Steve waited for the New Jersey police to arrive, he couldn't help thinking that maybe Sharon was right. Maybe the twenty-first century was a lot more dangerous. But if it was, it wasn't because human nature had changed. Adolf Hitler was probably the most evil man who had ever lived, but by himself he couldn't have done a lot of damage. As the leader of one of the most technologically advanced nations on Earth, he had created a nightmare for millions of people.
Viper was still at large. The way she had talked, the Hate Bomb had only been a prototype she was testing. Hopefully its poor showing would lead her to abandon research in that direction. But even if it did, there were plenty of other ways she could vent her hatred on the world.
And people like Captain America would be waiting.
the end