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Chapter 13

All Along the Watchtower

Alexandria

The flashing police lights and the yellow warning tape cordoning off the area made for a strange sight on this genteel and secluded street. The residents, people of wealth and influence, normally felt safe from the uglier realities of life. Nervous eyes peered out from behind drawn curtains, not wanting to stare, yet helpless not to. The body was gone, loaded into the ambulance now driving away, but the chalk outline on the road remained, along with the grisly circle of blood telling its unmistakable tale of murder.

Sam Wilson stood on the curb outside of his house, robe cinched over his pajamas, wearing slippers and sipping coffee as the police officer briefed him on the situation. Next to the cop was an officer from the Capitol police, and an agent from the Secret Service; standard procedure on criminal investigations where members of the government were involved, which included nearly every resident on the street. As a high-ranking Senator, it was natural he would be one of the first people they sought out, but given his status as a former superhero, partner to the legendary Captain America, it was inevitable he was the first they sought. From the earliest days of his political career, Sam studiously avoided cashing in on his notoriety, but it often found him, regardless. The briefing ended, and he thanked the officers, who had moved on with their investigation. Sam noticed a sedan motoring slowly up the street, pulling up to his drive until it stopped at the closed gate. He walked over as the driver's side window powered down, staring in surprise at the driver.

"Clay. This is unexpected."

"You did text me about something urgent, Senator," Quartermain said, glancing towards the blot of red on the asphalt. "I guess you weren't kidding."

"Still, a personal visit from the director of SHIELD. Unusual, to put it mildly. Especially with no aides or security detail."

Clay smiled. "One of the perks of being the boss. I can set aside protocol when I want. I was in town for a meeting with Maria Hill when I got your text. Figured why not come see you."

"It's six thirty in the morning. Your meeting with Hill is at noon. I know, I have a meeting with her at two. Why are you really here?"

Clay sighed. "You've always used official channels in communicating with me. This morning, you used my personal phone, made me think something was up. Now, are you going to tell me what happened here, or not?"

"Homicide. A police officer, stabbed through the throat."

"Nasty," Clay said, "but not exactly a matter for SHIELD."

"Yet the head of SHIELD shows up, not thirty minutes after I texted him."

Clay said nothing. Sam reached into the pocket of his robe and took something out, a small card. "I found this in the gutter as the police were beginning their investigation."

Sam handed over the card. Quartermain took it, staring hard at Sam.

"I'm compelled to tell you that tampering with evidence is a felony offence. Even for a United States Senator."

Sam said nothing. Clay looked the card over, seeing splatters of dried blood over the unmistakable Hydra logo. "I suppose we can forget about checking for fingerprints."

"Think you'd find any? The stab wound was clean and efficient, right through the jugular. I haven't been retired so long I can't spot a professional hit."

"Okay," Clay said, slipping the card into his jacket pocket. "Hydra was trying to send a message. Why don't we go inside, and talk about why they might do that?"

Sam smiled. "Sorry, just had the floors waxed."

"You're not trying to hide something, are you Senator?"

"Only my contempt."

"I can get a warrant," Clay said. "You do know who I am, correct?"

"I can slap an injunction on your ass. I can tie SHIELD's budget into a knot. You do know who I am, correct?"

"Sam…I want to protect the boy."

Sam sipped his coffee. Finding it cold, he poured out the dregs on the strip of lawn outside the gate. He fixed Clay with a hard glare.

"I've been fighting the intelligence infrastructure for the past two years, shouting from the rooftops that Hydra remains a grave threat to national security. No one's cared to listen."

"I was listening."

"And you haven't been able to mobilize Washington to act."

"Neither of us has, but this changes things. Once Grant is in protective custody, it's a whole new ballgame. Captain America's son…they won't be able to ignore that. With the evidence of today's attack, we can galvanize action and—"

"Not going to happen."

Clay narrowed his eyes, his gaze becoming iron hard. "This is national security we're talking about."

"No…this is a seventeen-year-old boy we're talking about. How did you know, anyway?"

"We're SHILED. We know things. We're the good guys, Sam. You've seen what the bad guys can do," he said, flicking his eyes to the blood-stained street.

"I've seen what the good guys can do, too. Thirty years ago, SHIELD hatched a plan to infect Captain America with a debilitating disease, or did you think I'd forgotten that?"

"That was another time," Quartermain shot back. "Another administration. I never—"

"SHIELD wanted to get Cap into their labs and crack open his DNA. Sure, you would have been friendlier about it than Hydra was. But calling confinement 'protective custody' is just putting lipstick on a pig. And violating a person's right to their own body is a crime. You're not getting the boy."

"What happened to Cap was a travesty. It was that twisted freak Lerner, it was Oliver Holder—it was the Red Skull, damnit, but it wasn't us. Fury would never have let that happen. Neither will I. I only want to help the boy."

"Clay, I like you. I'm just not inclined to trust you."

Clay sat in his car as the engine quietly idled. "And if Hydra comes again, what are you going to do? Preach at them?"

"I've dealt with Hydra before. I'll do whatever it takes to protect Steve's son, bank on it. Why don't you do what you can to help me?"

"Has it occurred to you to ask the boy what he wants? According to my files, he has a birthday coming up in a few days. Eighteen. Age of consent."

Sam stayed silent for a few seconds. "I'll talk to him."

"Good. His safety is my top concern—SHIELD will monitor this neighborhood, twenty-four seven. We're on top of it."

"As long as you stay away from the boy, we'll be fine. And if I find you've been surveilling me, my family, my house..."

"We haven't, and we won't."

"Keep it that way. Don't try me on this, Clay."

Clay nodded, dropping his hardened demeanor. "How is he? I'm not asking as the head of SHIELD. Cap was my friend. I'm just concerned."

"He's had some rough moments these past few weeks. Crossbones pursued him halfway across the country. They had a confrontation somewhere in Ohio."

Clay stared at Sam with a look of amazement. "And Grant got away? He's his father's son, that's for sure."

"It was close. Bones is as dangerous as they come. If I had to guess, I'd say this was his work," Sam said, glancing at the murder scene. "And where that son-of-a-bitch is, Viper can't be far behind. When you talk to Hill, tell her I expect immediate action on the Hydra threat, or I'm going to put her budget on the shelf. After, I'll go to the floor of the Senate and announce public hearings. I'm playing hardball on this one."

"I'll tell her. And Sam, a friendly tip. It's only a matter of time before Sharon figures out Grant's here. God help you if you try to keep her from seeing him."

As Clay drove away, Sam stood on the edge of his lawn, deep in thought. His eyes drifted to the blot of red on the street, a grizzly beacon of warning. Danger had come to his doorstep. As one of the most powerful Senators in Congress, he had many resources to draw on, but he might need to draw on resources from his previous career. For five years, he was the protector of Harlem, and for fifteen years after that, he stood side-by-side with Captain America, fighting the enemies of the nation, and indeed, the world. If the Falcon had to fly again, so be it. He would protect his family, no matter what.

. . .

Grant watched from the bay window as the car pulled up to the gate. The man behind the wheel was dressed in a nondescript suit, driving a nondescript sedan. Probably some government guy, he figured, CIA, or maybe SHIELD. Judging by Sam's stern demeanor, the conversation was tense. It was no mystery to Grant what the subject of that conversation was—anymore than it was a mystery who was responsible for the blood spilled out on the street. Another person was dead because of him. Everybody wanted a piece of him, it seemed, the people Crossbones worked for, and the people his mother once worked for. He thought he'd found safety in this house. Now he knew he'd only brought the danger with him…and laid it on the Wilson family's doorstep.

Sighing, Grant slipped the pack over his shoulder and walked out to the dining room. He set the note on the table and headed to the back door, when a voice spoke, stopping him.

"You going somewhere?"

Grant turned and saw Steph, dressed in gym shorts and tee shirt, staring at him knowingly. Grant shifted the pack on his shoulder.

"I have to go. I left a note," he said, nodding towards the table. "Tell your folks I appreciate everything they've done."

"What about your girl?"

"She's…better off without me. She'll be safe here."

Steph sighed, and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "Look, Grant…we only just met, but I got to tell you, man, that's bull. Running out on your friends, running out on your girl, that's just cold."

Grant's eyes became narrow and hard. "I'm doing this to keep her safe, to keep you all safe. Did you see what happened out there?" he said, pointing out towards the street. "Someone was killed last night, because of me. I won't let it happen to Allison, or your family."

"Okay, I get it," Steph said. "You're trying to do the right thing…but you're going about it all wrong. The fight's here, it's found you. Running isn't the answer."

"Yeah?" Grant snapped. "And what is the answer?"

Steph walked up to him. "You stand and face it…and you let your friends stand with you. Look, your pops and mine, they were tight, like blood brothers. He's not going to let you face this alone. I'm not, either."

"Steph, I appreciate that, but you don't understand the kind of people who're after me."

Steph smiled. "Maybe I do. You're not the only son of a superhero. I can help you, man, if you'll let me. You don't have to do this alone."

Grant stared at Steph, deciphering the meaning of his words, when Allison walked into the kitchen. Wearing sweatpants and one of his tee shirts, the haze of sleep was still in her eyes, but it evaporated at seeing the bag on his shoulder.

"What's going on?" she asked, confused. "Are you trying to leave me?"

"Allison, I…"

Her eyes flared with anger. "How could you? After everything we've been through?" She turned to Steph. "You were just going to let him go?"

Steph's mouth fell open. "Hey, I'm trying to keep him here."

She spun on Grant. "You're not leaving me behind do you hear me? You're not leaving me!"

Grant shushed Allison's, then put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not leaving you. Steph's right, running isn't the answer."

The anger in Allison's eyes softened. "Don't you do this again. Promise me."

Grant kissed her. "I promise. It's you and me, all the way."

"Now that's more like it," Steph said, smiling broadly. A sound came from upstairs, and he flinched. "Shoot, my mom's getting up," he whispered. No sooner had the words left his mouth than the sound of the front door opening came. "That's dad. Come on, let's take this to the game room. We've got some talking to do," he said, urging them to the basement door.

"Wait," Grant said. "Grab my note."

Steph snatched the note from the table, and the three of them hustled downstairs, seconds before Sam and Akiela walked into the room. Akeela looked at Sam, puzzled.

"I thought I heard voices down here."

"So did I," Sam said. "I think it was the kids, going down to the game room."

"Without eating breakfast?"

"You know teenagers. They'll surface when they get hungry."

Akeela looked towards the bay window, her expression growing serious. "What is the commotion outside? With all those police cars, it must be serious."

"It is," Sam replied. "You better sit down."

New Jersey

James stood at the open shipping bay door, looking down the stretch of road leading to the warehouse. Kate walked up beside him.

"Morning, James. How'd you sleep?"

"I was supposed to sleep?" he replied, perfectly straight-faced, then quickly reneged. "I slept okay. It's not the cottage, but it works."

"Glad I had the place ready to go," she said, sipping her coffee. "The living quarters were only finished a month ago, in the nick of time it turned out. We'll be busy soon."

"Looks like it. How did your morning shoot-around go?"

Kate laughed softly. "Clint's been in the mountains, camping, so it took him a while to knock the rust off. He actually missed the bullseye his first two shots. But I guess 98 out of a hundred isn't too bad."

"And you?" James asked.

Kate smiled. "100 out of 100, of course." She shielded her eyes against the morning sun and looked down the road. "I thought he'd be here by now."

"It's a long drive from Salem Center. He'll be here."

"Do his folks know about this mission? For that matter, do yours?"

James stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at the ground. "You'll have to ask Chance about his situation. Me, I'll tell mom and dad…eventually."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Eventually?"

James turned to her. "Before we go into action. I'm eighteen. Mom and dad were out on their own even younger than that, making their own decisions, taking care of more than just themselves. You were too, right?"

"Yes, I was."

"Well, it's time I did that myself, put to use what they taught me. I've heard the stories from Kurt, Scott, Aunt 'Ro, and a lot of others. Wolverine and K didn't tip-toe around or play it safe. When there was trouble, they got involved. I mean, come on; can you imagine Wolverine asking permission from anyone before he got into a fight?"

Kate laughed. James went on.

"This isn't the kind of assignment you turn down. Captain America's son needs help. Steve Rogers was one of dad's friends, but even if he wasn't, I'd want to get involved. This mission isn't a forever thing. I'll never turn my back on the X-Men, it's my heritage, part of who I am. But I don't want to be a guy just born into a legacy...I want to earn it. Just like they taught me."

"I can understand that," Kate said. "For what it's worth, I know they want you to become your own person, and make your own decisions…"

"But?" James prodded.

"But they're your parents. I'm one to talk, having had a textbook bad relationship with my own folks...but that's kind of the point. You have a great relationship with your mom and dad. You don't want to mess that up."

James' expression became set and hard; not angry but determined. "Kate, I love you, and I know you mean well, but this is for Chance and me to handle. Okay?"

"Okay," she said. She started to go, but then stopped and turned back around. "Let me know when Chance gets here."

"He's here," he said, nodding down the road.

Kate squinted, staring. "Where? I don't see anything."

"Wait for it."

A minute passed, when a motorcycle came around the bend nearly two miles down the road, followed by the faint rumble of its engine.

Kate grinned. "I'd like to get a set of ears like yours, someday."

"Sorry, secret family recipe."

The bike rumbled up the rural highway, and then banked onto the access road, kicking up a plume of dust as it thundered down the gravel lane. The rider applied the brakes, bringing the bike to an abrupt stop, the rear tire fishtailing forward as he put his boot out, catching the ground. The highly modified Indian Scott's V-Twin engine growled, powerful in repose, its twin pipes deep and throaty. The chassis, pipes, and handlebars were chrome steel, and the fuel tank and fender were painted metallic green. The driver switched the bike off and swung his leg over the seat in a long, graceful loop, dismounting. He pulled his helmet off and wedged it between the risers and the tank, and then walked forward, smiling. Tall and lanky, he moved with an easy grace.

James walked to meet him. "I see you got her running," he said, nodding at the bike.

"Yeah. The transmission was tough. Needed dad's help on that, but she's a pure beast now. Got here in under three hours."

James whistled. "Three hundred miles in three hours? According to my math, you broke some speed limits. No problem with cops?"

The rider grinned. "Have to catch me first," he said. He ran his hand through his wavy brown hair as Kate walked over.

"Glad you could join us on this one, Chance."

Chance's easy smile dimmed into something hard, his voice taking on a bitter tone. "When I heard you were going after Viper? You couldn't keep me away. Where's the rest of the team?"

"Still waiting on a couple of late arrivals."

"Anyone I'd know?"

"One or two, maybe, but some of them I haven't heard of, and I thought I knew them all. One thing's for sure; if Sharon Carter picked them, they have the goods. This is her show, so try to woo her with a little of that southern charm of yours."

"I'll do my best, ma'am," Chance drawled, adapting his mother's accent. "What's she like, anyway?"

"Oh, you'll like her," James said, throwing his arm around Chance's shoulder. "She's got your dads attention to detail, and my mom's gift for tact."

"Yikes," Chance replied, laughing. "Still, sounds like a good person to have on our side against Viper. So, what're we waiting for?"

The three of them walked into the massive warehouse. Outwardly, Chance Summers maintained a friendly, casual smile, but his thoughts remained focused on one thing: Viper. He had a score to settle.

Alexandria

Steph turned on the television set as Grant and Allison sat down on the plush couch. "A little noise," he said, glancing upstairs. "I mean, they can't really hear us, it's soundproofed down here, but just in case someone opens the door."

"Good idea," Allison said. "Nothing makes a parent paranoid like quiet."

"Should have grown up with my mom, everything made her paranoid," Grant said. He paused, thinking. "Turns out she was right."

"We can compare notes on our parents later," Steph said, grabbing his laptop. He sat in the recliner and swiveled to face Grant and Allison. "You got a bad guy problem. You've been on the run, and you did good, both of you, you got away. But they've tracked you, so now it's time to switch it up, take the fight to them. What was that dude's name you told me about last night?"

"Crossbones," Grant and Allison said simultaneously, making them laugh. Steph bent to his laptop, his fingers flying over the keys.

"I already did a search on him," Grant said. "Not much to learn."

"This goes a little deeper than Wikipedia," Steph said, spinning the screen to face them.

"That's the SHIELD database," Grant said, amazed. On screen were several photographs of Rumlow, fingerprints, physical descriptions, and columns of detailed information. Grant looked up at Steph. "How did you…?"

"I'm good," Steph said, smiling. He pivoted the screen so the others could see. "Brock Rumlow. Special Forces operator, dishonorable discharge. Soldier of fortune, international assassin...lieutenant to the Red Skull." He looked at Grant and Allison. "Yeah, he's trouble alright...but I got something for him."

Steph hit the keyboard again, furiously typing. After a couple of minutes, he looked up. "I've programmed his face and bio-signatures into a tracking program. He shows on any public security system, we'll get a hit. I'll launch a couple drones, they'll do a continuous sweep pattern over a ten block radius. Baldy can't show his face around here without my knowing it. How's that sound?"

"Sweet," Grant said. "This is the first time in weeks I haven't felt like I was under his thumb. Next time I see Bones, I'll be ready."

"Not you," Steph said. "We."

"Steph, I appreciate your help, but Bones, he's all kinds of trouble. I have powers, and it was all I could do to survive him."

"I hear you. I saw what you could do on that YouTube clip, you handled those bad boys in Ohio nice. Let me show you how I handled some bad boys here in DC," he said, looking sternly at Grant. "My folks don't know anything about this, and they would straight up kill me if they found out, so you got to swear you'll keep this secret, both of you."

Steph brought up a video, and their mouths dropped open; on screen was the image of a winged figure, soaring down from the night sky, blazing down on what looked like a gang of car thieves breaking into a car on a city street.

"I filmed this last month, one of my drones," Steph said, smiling. "I told you you weren't the only son of a superhero. What do you say, Cap Jr?"

Grant nodded. "I say we're in business, Falcon Jr."

Allison made a face. "Oh, we have got to come up with something better than that."

The three of them laughed. "Definitely," Grant said.

Maryland, the Chesapeake Bay

On a deserted stretch of beach two hours east of Washington DC, Crossbones stood holding a communicator to his ear. He could almost feel Viper's anger coming over the line.

"Say that again," she said, her voice icy cold. "I must have misheard you, surely. Tell me you did not leave evidence of your presence—of Hydra's presence?"

"Look, if I'd tried to grab the kid it would have gone south," Crossbones said. "The boy's got his father's power, it ain't going to be easy bagging him. I could have killed him, but you want him alive, right?"

Viper said nothing. Crossbones went on. "I'd have had my hands full with the boy and Wilson, cops would have been there in no time. Odds were against me. This way I can flush him out, take him on my terms."

"Flush him out," Viper replied, her voice dripping with acid sarcasm. "I've taken great measures to keep the American's unaware of my plans, or even my existence. Years of painstaking effort gone in one act of stupidity. You've alerted them that Hydra is again active."

"I've alerted them to dick," Crossbones shot back. "SHIELD never fully bought that we're gone, Wilson either. That stunt you pulled with the X-Men boy last year, that wasn't exactly subtle, you know."

"No," Viper said, simmering with anger. "But the X-Men are outliers. The American government neither confers with them, nor trusts them. But you've announced to a United States Senator, the Falcon no less, that we are after the Captain's son."

"You really think some ten-cent calling card is going to tip them off to your plans? Hell, I don't even know what you're brewing, they sure as hell don't. All I did was sow confusion and chaos. Chaos is a weapon. The Skull used it to keep his opponents off balance, and that's what we need here."

The line was silent for several seconds. "What do you propose?" Viper said, the anger in her voice cooled.

"I need a team, heavy hitters. Between Wilson and the kid's mom, you just know they'll be lining up help from the Avengers. I'll bait them with something they can't resist, and when they come for it, the kid'll be exposed. Then I'll have him. Chaos, it's a good thing."

"Perhaps you are right," Viper said. "This chaos could serve to distract from the primary mission. After all, getting the boy is only an adjunct to my plans."

"To you, maybe," Crossbones growled. "This is Cappy's boy we're talking about. I'm going to break him."

"I want him alive, Brock. He's of no use to me dead."

"He'll be breathing," Crossbones replied, his voice low with black humor. "After you've had you fun with him, he's mine. His old man gave me the slip…Grant's going to pay the bill."

"Agreed. I'll assemble a top team for your needs and coordinate your action with my mission in Egypt. Two weeks, that will synchronize our missions."

"Heavy hitters. And send Vanisher. I need a teleporter."

"I'll make it so," Viper said, her voice purring with contentment. "But remember…I want him alive."

The line went dead. Crossbones pocketed the communicator. Two weeks furlough would be good. He'd been cooped in a SUV, chasing the damned boy for weeks, cooped up. little R&R would tune him up, get his mind right. Maybe he'd head to Atlantic City. Loose slots, and looser women. Nothing like getting laid to get man ready for combat. He thought of Grant, and Allison, and chuckled.

Sure, he thought, why not? Let the lovebirds have a little time together. Be a shame if Cappy's boy died a virgin.

Bones laughed heartily, and headed to his vehicle, already imaging himself at the craps table.