Washington DC – 1948
The swirling autumn wind outside the converted SSR offices rattled the windows incessantly. There was a chill in the drafty room, and Peggy tucked lower into her warm gray cardigan. Thankfully, she had worn her thicker stockings, or her legs would have been freezing.
As the wind buffeted harder against the exterior, she was relieved that at least the SSR could still afford the heating bill. But then, with how things were going, who knew for how much longer?
Refusing to let their situation or the temperature affect her mood, Peggy read the newspaper while eating her lunch. Feet propped up on her work desk, she was enjoying both when her phone rang.
In mid-bite, Peggy sighed resigned. Then, leaning over, she answered the call with a polite, "Yes, this is Carter."
The muffled male voice replied, "Agent Carter, go to the Harrison Apartment Building."
Not recognizing the voice, Peggy frowned. She wondered how someone outside the agency had gotten through to her personal work number. Then, all business, she demanded, "Who is this?"
The man ignored her question, "Talk to Doug. He knows about the upcoming threat."
Before she could insist upon further answers, he hung up the phone.
Pursing her lips, Peggy thought a quick moment. Then determinedly, she stood and brushed the crumbs off her skirt. Glancing down, she ensured that her silk blouse was without stains and that nothing was rumpled. Satisfied that her appearance was impeccable, she strode toward her boss's closed door.
With only a few agents still left working for the SSR, the staccato sound of her heels on the wooden floor echoed around the nearly empty bullpen.
Rapping on the door, Peggy waited until she heard a curt response from within before entering.
Colonel Chester Philips looked up from reading the latest intel brief. His gravelly voice rumbled, "Yes, Carter?"
Hearing his commanding tone had Peggy automatically standing straighter.
Though he had exchanged his military uniform for civilian attire, he still had the bearing of a man in charge. The dark green color suit he wore was pressed to an inch of its life. Any further, and Peggy doubted that he could have moved.
Phillips stared at her expectantly. Regardless of his gruff exterior, Peggy always liked the Colonel. He had a no-nonsense approach that she wished more government officials had.
She replied in kind, "Sir, I just got an anonymous tip regarding our recent debriefing. I want to investigate it."
His salt and pepper eyebrows rose as the ex-military officer gave her words some thought. The latest chatter circulating among the intelligence agencies was that some "big event" would soon occur in the DC area. But unfortunately, with information that all-encompassing, it could mean anything.
Phillips glanced at the phone. Regardless of his leadership position, he still had to answer to the higher-ups.
Not wanting this information shunted elsewhere, Peggy quickly added, "Colonel, this could be a false lead for all we know. There is no reason to alert the other agencies of this just yet."
Suddenly, the blustery wind whistled through the cracks around the nearby window sill. The gust was strong enough that an actual breeze shifted through Phillip's corner office. Slapping his hand down on a wayward page before it could escape, he locked eyes with Peggy and grumbled, "What you say has merit, Agent."
Even she could hear the veiled frustration in the Colonel's tone. Though Phillips was in charge of the agency, DC politicians insisted on being involved in all of the SSRs plans.
When he had first been asked to come out of retirement to help the maligned image of the SSR last year, Phillips was promised complete autonomy. The black eye of Vernon Masters duplicitous machinations was still prevalent in the various State Department agencies, and politicians were desperate to salvage what they could.
They believed the only one capable of turning the SSR back into a respectable agency was the man who had originally created it. But, unfortunately, it had only taken a few months for the Colonel to find those same open arms had become closed doors.
All this goodwill had disappeared when an up-and-coming rival counter-intelligence agency emerged from the defunct Office of Strategic Services.
Formed barely a year prior, the Central Intelligence Agency was quickly making a name for itself. Many believed that they were the best ones to handle the shifting political tide of the world, especially when it came to the growing threat of Communism.
With them taking the brunt of the work, the SSR was left to deal with the less than illustrious cases. What little that there were.
Peggy wondered if the SSR was only being kept around to appease President Truman. The Commander in Chief still had romantic notions of this wartime agency stopping Hydra in the name of all that was right. But since most of their old enemies were either jailed or dead, having the SSR active seemed only a formality.
Trying to think of the positive, Peggy reminded herself that at least they were still being included in the general field briefings. Hopefully, if this anonymous tip led to anything, it would prove the SSR's worth.
Having already come to that same conclusion, the Colonel ordered, "Alright, I'll leave you to handle this, Carter. But be discrete."
Grinning, Peggy nodded quickly, "Discretion is my middle name, sir."
Unamused, he warned, "And bring backup with you this time."
Her smile only faltered a moment before she replied, "Of course, Colonel."
Catching this minute reaction, Phillip's voice almost sounded like a growl, "When I made you my second in command, Carter, it was under the pretense that you would someday take over for me. That means you need to lead field operations, not do it all yourself."
Having already lost many of their agents to other governmental branches, only the few deemed "misfits" were left. Peggy figured she would only need three of these like-minded agents for this job.
Confident, she replied, "Yes, Colonel, I won't let you down."
After nodding his approval, Peggy strode away.
Seated inside the surveillance vehicle, Peggy glanced at her watch in irritation. They had waited for hours, and the sun was dipping low. She truly hoped this had not been a crank call.
Parked in the alley, she and Jack Thompson sat impatiently in the dark blue Oldsmobile for their suspect to arrive. Though Agent Rose Roberts and Rick Ramirez were keeping an eye on the front of the building, Peggy had a feeling that "Doug" might try to sneak in from the back.
Peggy gazed at the four-story red brick façade of the Harrison Apartments. Shaking her head, she was surprised that it was in a nice neighborhood close to the National Mall. It was not what she had thought a lowly operative would live in.
Hearing her partner sigh, Peggy glanced over at the introspective Jack Thompson and wondered what he thought of all this.
It had only been a few months ago that he had awoken from his lengthy coma to find his world turned completely upside down. Due to his ties to Vernon Masters, he was instantly demoted. He would have faced worse if Peggy hadn't urged the Colonel to vouch for him.
Regardless of his arrogance, Thompson was still a good agent and deserved a second chance.
Jack was astonished when he learned that it was actually Peggy who had wanted him to stay on. So grateful, the usually brash and callous man was humbled by his near-death experience and promised he would do better.
Lost in thought, Thompson absently rubbed his chest where he had been shot. It seemed to bother him more now that the weather was changing for the worse. Alas, they never did find out who had tried to kill him.
Suddenly, the wind gusted harder outside the car. Peggy hugged her arms around her thick black coat, trying to keep warm.
Though the Oldsmobile was a comfortable ride, it certainly did not shield one from the harsh elements. Winter was approaching, and the dreary weather was downright unpleasant in DC. Thankfully there was no snow yet, but Peggy still shivered.
As Jack wiped the condensation from the window, Peggy remembered the sunnier times last year of lying on the Santa Monica beach with her beau next to her. Her musings focused more on Daniel Sousa and how much she missed him. Truthfully, it was just as well that he was not here. The cold would have been murder on his leg.
Peggy wished she could visit him again soon. They were giving it a go, but long-distance relationships were difficult. She would have gladly transferred to the West Coast office, but the Colonel needed her in DC.
Always supportive, Daniel was happy that she was the Colonel's second in command and eventual replacement. Phillips was fed up with the government interference, and if the SSR lasted past the year, he planned on passing the torch to her.
Honestly, Peggy was unsure how she felt about taking over. Though someday she wanted to run an agency, she still preferred to be in the field and in the thick of it. Being stuck behind a desk now would feel stifling.
But that wasn't to say that this new form of espionage was exciting either. She was never one to sit quietly in cars or hide behind a newspaper at a café. Or wear nondescript clothes, sunglasses, and boring hats. It was as dull as dishwater. She was a woman of action who enjoyed getting information with her fists and clever deeds.
Peggy longed for the days of recognizable villains, of storming Hydra's strongholds with the Howling Commandos and her times with Steve Rogers. She sighed sadly at the loss of that great, wonderful man. She might have accepted his death, but it didn't hurt any less.
Perhaps that was why she hated being idle. All there was to do but think. It would not take long for her to become nostalgic for the past, especially for what she could never have again.
Honestly, though Daniel now held her heart, they say you never get over your first true love. And that had been Steve. She had realized it the moment they had kissed. Hell, she figured she had probably started falling for him when he pounced on that dud grenade back at Camp Lehigh.
And then he had been taken away from her forever. If only she had told Steve what she felt about him. Sighing, it seemed that the regret of what she should have done differently plagued her during these quiet times as well.
With an exhale of resolve, she stopped such unproductive thoughts. Instead of dwelling on her earlier life, she needed to live in the here and now. So, a determined Peggy focused on her current situation and willed the suspect to show up. Only some blowing leaves danced by her window.
Needing to occupy her mind, Peggy wished she could read a book while on surveillance. The problem was that the bad guy might sneak past her.
The last time she had complained about this tedious new way of spying, Howard Stark had promised to come up with a "time killer." Peggy did not like the sound of that.
Frankly, she was surprised that the SSR's top inventor had decided to stay with the agency. But it seemed Howard was as happy as a June bug if he had a well-equipped lab and all the expenses paid for his more outlandish creations.
After another deep inhale, Peggy once more looked at her watch.
Irritated, she took a sip of the old tea and grimaced at the bitter taste. Sullenly exhaling, she reminded herself that she had once been in the trenches fighting Hydra and the Nazis. She would have killed for anything halfway decent to drink then. And here she was bemoaning her cold beverage. She truly had gotten soft.
Jack noticed her sour expression and flashed that boyish charming grin at her.
Right, enough of this self-indulgence, Peggy thought firmly. She was about to suggest that Thompson get them some coffee and donuts when someone heading down the alley caught her eye.
Sitting up straight, Peggy stared at the woman hobbling toward the rear of the building. Though this person wore an excellent disguise, their gait was all wrong.
He should have used more hip, Peggy thought with a slight smirk. It widened at the thought that the anonymous tip had some merit after all.
"There's our man," she demurely indicated with a slight tilt of her head at the large blonde-haired woman.
Thompson only nodded. He had learned very early that one should always listen to what Peggy says.
They both watched as the perpetrator reached the back entrance to the apartment complex. Before he could enter, the wind suddenly whipped up. The disguised man didn't know what to grab, his wig or dress. The wig won, and Jack grimaced when the truth was revealed. The perpetrator was wearing boxer shorts.
Peggy chuckled, "I always say, if you are going to play the role, you should be fully committed to it."
Wearily glancing at her, Jack asked, "Should I radio the others?"
She shook her head and added with a grin, "I think the two of us should be able to handle one man."
Thompson pursed his lips, and Peggy could almost hear the Colonel yelling at him for doing it on their own. But, at least, she was bringing him as backup, she thought. That should mollify the SSR leader's strident orders somewhat.
Silently, they exited the car and began to close in on their assailant. Together they watched as Doug finally went into the brick building.
To get near without spooking the operative, Peggy and Jack played the role of a loving couple. Peggy leaned her head on Thompson's shoulder, and Jack wrapped his arm around her waist. The whole time they made sure that they could still reach their weapons.
Doug glanced around the lobby and barely acknowledged them. Then, as he tromped loudly up the stairs, Peggy shared a sly grin with Thompson. This was definitely more her style of espionage.
When they reached the third floor, Peggy noticed that a still-healing Jack had trouble catching his breath. So stopping on the landing, she allowed him a moment to rest. But they couldn't wait for long. Timing was everything, and they needed privacy if they were going to find out all that Doug knew.
Pride seemed to spur Thompson on, and he forced himself up the final flight of stairs. Now trailing a few steps behind their assailant, they watched as Doug unlocked the door to his apartment.
The duo skidded forward just as the man closed the door behind him. Not giving the operative time to latch the door, Thompson kicked it in. The door cracked into the assailant's face, and he stumbled backward. Before he could fight back, Peggy decked him with a solid right hook. This time, Doug stayed down.
Brushing past her, Jack was instantly on the dazed man. In moments, he had him handcuffed and pushed onto a nearby chair.
While Jack was doing this, Peggy shut the crooked door behind them.
Stunned, Doug stared at the two SSR Agents, his blonde wig comically askew on his head.
Eyeing the glowering seated man, Peggy couldn't help but quip, "Sorry, Douglas, it appears that we have smudged your makeup." The man's sneer of contempt faltered a moment, but he became tough once more. Studying the disguise he wore, Peggy shook her head, amused. He sported a gunnysack dress and low heels in a valiant attempt to look like a woman. He had even put on lipstick, but his darkening stubble and bruising chin ruined the effect.
His blonde wig was jostled enough to reveal short-cropped brown hair underneath. Regardless of this ludicrous disguise, Peggy knew that Douglas was military. Besides his haircut, he sat ramrod straight. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought, intrigued.
The man defiantly glared at her, and when he tried to stand, Thompson shoved him back down.
"I won't talk," Doug growled out insolently.
"No, I am sure you wouldn't. Your military training has toughened you up." Peggy glanced around the sparse apartment. It was tidier than what she would envision for a lowly operative. Though the furniture was old, it was arranged orderly, just like how a well-trained soldier would keep it.
As Peggy strolled around the room, she added, "Can't say I understand why you wore a disguise unless you feared that your place was being watched. This leads me to ask, why would you jeopardize so much by returning to your flat?"
When Peggy's fingertips lightly dusted the top of the Emerson radio, they came up clean. Nodding to herself, she added this to her mental checklist. These were the compulsory habits of a war veteran trying to keep control over their life.
Some soldiers had a tough time readjusting to an unstructured civilian lifestyle, so they would overcompensate to deal. This behavior was primarily due to wartime trauma. In Doug's case, there was a good chance this was due to guilt over instances where he had difficulty forgiving himself. Peggy wondered if he hated being idle as much as she did.
Regardless, in needing to keep everything orderly and spotless, anything even remotely out of place should help weaken his resolve. Now, how to disrupt his overly meticulous nature?
To begin proving her theory, Peggy flicked on the radio. A Brooklyn Dodgers game was playing, and she smiled indulgently.
Turning the dial, she stopped when she came upon the jaunty tune of "Twelfth Street Rag" by Pee Wee Hunt. Well, if her idea didn't work, this ragtime song would mask any noise should they have to resort to firmer methods. From the corner of her eye, she saw Doug tense. Nodding pleased, she stated, "So, either arrogance was in season, or there was something vital here that you did not wish the authorities to discover."
Thompson cocked a grin when he saw the constrained man wince, but that was the only flicker of emotion off of him.
Poking her head into the flawlessly kept small kitchen, Peggy surmised aloud, "Yes, I perfectly know what it is like to risk so much for something one deems unique. Though in your case, I highly doubt it concerned any personal attachments."
Spying the salt shaker on the nearby counter, Peggy grabbed it. Striding back to the living room, she uncorked the shaker and tossed the salt about as if she was repelling a demon with holy water. Her tone was a mocking, "Oops, how careless of me."
If Jack hadn't held him down, Doug would have lunged out of his chair.
Seeing his emotions barely restrained, Peggy continued her line of thought, "Which makes me wonder, what did you forget that was so important? Perhaps it pertains to all the recent chatter we've been monitoring. Something about a big event that is going to happen in DC soon—"
Thompson saw the agitated man's gaze flick toward the bathroom. Then just as quick, Doug stared straight ahead once again.
Jack called out to her, "Hey Carter, try the bathroom." He then snorted when he heard a slight groan escape Doug.
Nodding, Peggy entered the cramped tiled room. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Knowing that the toilet tank was the usual, if unimaginative hiding spot, she headed over to it. Thankfully there was only a greenish ring to mark the normal height of the water inside.
Quickly she searched everywhere else. That was when she noticed that the bathroom mat was lumpy and would not completely flatten when pressed down upon. This indulgence was most unlike their fastidious prisoner. Peggy flipped the small rug over and grinned when she saw an old blueprint taped to the underside. Unfortunately, the light was too poor to see the details, so she took the faded diagram out with her after pulling it free.
"Got it," she triumphantly called, waving the paper like a flag. She then marched over to the windows. The light from the fading sun was enough to make out the plans better. It was a detailed schematic of a very large structure.
Squinting, she could finally read the description of the building and then frowned. It was of the majestic Smithsonian Museum. Besides the usual faded blueprint lines, a crude hand-drawn 'X' was circled near the main gate to the museum's gardens that surrounded the building.
"I don't suppose you will tell us what they have planned at the museum?" Doug glared at her. Taking his silence in stride, Peggy tapped her chin. She then recalled something she had read in the newspaper the other day. Smiling, she stated, "If I am not mistaken, there will be a grand opening for a new exhibit tonight. Many important people and dignitaries will be in attendance."
Doug glanced away guiltily, and she nodded at his unspoken confirmation. Continuing to watch the man, she told Thompson, "We don't have much time left. We need to contact the Colonel immediately."
She indicated the surly assailant with a jerk of her head. "Once we get Doug back to the car, I will radio this in. Oh, and we better go out the back. We don't want to alert any of his co-conspirators that he had gotten caught. Mustn't let them change their plans." She figured that whoever was running this operation would only burrow back underground once more. And that was unacceptable.
Peggy shoved the blonde wig back on the man's head.
Embarrassed, Doug pleaded, "Can't I at least change first?"
As Peggy straightened the wig on his head to make him look more presentable, she replied, "Being a woman isn't something to be ashamed of, darling. You just need to own it. Come along."
Yanking open the busted door, she then strode confidently from the room. Behind her, Agent Thompson dragged the cuffed disguised man along with him.
Back at SSR's headquarters, Peggy marched down the brick hallway. She had left Thompson to interrogate Doug and knew the diligent agent would get every scrap of information out of the perp.
Entering the bullpen, Peggy noticed that agents were beginning to arrive. The Colonel had already called in everyone they had left on their roster. Around her, there was an excited buzz about the office. Feeling a renewed purpose, these few operatives were eager to get back in the field again. The SSR was alive once more.
Lord, Peggy had missed this kinetic energy.
Schooling her grin, Peggy knocked on the door jamb of the Colonel's open door. She had barely waited for the gruff reply to enter before doing so.
The older man glanced up and then shoved aside the latest news bulletins regarding the Smithsonian. The Colonel had deemed to remove his suit coat, and he stood over his desk in rolled-up shirtsleeves. It was the first time that Peggy had seen him disturb his normal business attire.
After Peggy placed the confiscated blueprints onto his desk, they studied the diagram of the massive castle-like museum.
She heard the pleased grin in Phillip's rumbling voice when he muttered, "And here I thought I'd have a quiet weekend."
Peggy smiled, "And I was worried I'd have nothing to do on a Friday night."
She briefly perused the headlines that had been pulled regarding tonight's gala event at the renowned museum. Still, it seemed to be an odd choice for what they had been warned about.
Finally, she voiced her reasoning, "I know that a few important people will be attending the grand unveiling of the famed Egyptian relics from Hamunaptra, but it hardly seems to deem a secret attack. So what is really going on, Colonel?"
Nodding, Phillips exhaled, "Astute as always, Carter." He took a sip of cold coffee and added, "Yes, this is bigger than just a social event. President Truman will be in attendance."
Peggy was floored, "Over some moldy old mummies?"
The Colonel smirked at her description and explained, "Actually, the President hoped to meet the high-ranking Egyptian Ambassador in a less political climate. As you already know, things are rather tenuous regarding our future ties with that country."
Frowning, Peggy recalled that though Britain had been ruling Egypt for over fifty years, they would soon be kicked out by the newer pro-Russian Egyptian government. This meant that America's standing with Egypt would also be in jeopardy. Truman must have been especially concerned about the Suez Canal's strategic advantage to whoever controlled the surrounding arid land.
She nodded, "Yes, this event would be the perfect occasion for Russia or any number of nefarious groups to make the US look weak, or worse, use it to try to assassinate the President."
The Colonel pursed his lips in agreement and was about to add his thoughts when Thompson knocked while entering.
As they looked expectantly at him, he tossed a file onto the desk, proclaiming, "His name is Doug Reynolds, a mercenary. During the war, he had been a sniper for the US Army. He killed a lot of Krauts."
Thompson rubbed his sore knuckles for emphasis, "Reynold's didn't know much more. Only that his job was to cause a diversion at 8 pm tonight from the museum grounds. He also has no idea who hired him and was paid in advance via a drop spot. Ramirez is using truth serum on him to make sure, but I know I've already gotten everything out of him."
Peggy was afraid of this. Straightening, she asked, "So, Colonel, do I free up my dance card?"
Nodding, Phillips stated, "While I stay here coordinating with the State Department, you handle things for me at the Smithsonian."
Without another word, Phillips picked up the phone's receiver. Then, as he began to dial the State Department, he added, "Don't let me keep you."
Clearly dismissed, Peggy mentioned to Jack, "Alright Thompson, gather every able-bodied agent around. It seems that we have an important engagement that we must all attend. Oh, and black tie, too, please."
Thompson made a sour face at the "black tie" comment but nodded.
Mentally Peggy calculated that with all the SSR personnel left, that should give them about eight agents to take care of any problems at the Smithsonian. Already she was thinking of where to place them throughout the museum and the beautiful gardens outside.
As Thompson turned to leave, she was about to follow him out when she heard the Colonel clear his throat. Anticipating a lecture, she began to hurry along.
"Oh, and Carter," the Colonel's gravelly voice made her stop mid-stride. She had almost escaped.
Dreading where this was probably going, she turned to face him. Her smile was overly bright, "Yes, Sir?"
Phillips waited until Thompson was out of earshot. He never did care for dressing down others in front of subordinates. "Earlier, I thought I had told you to bring backup."
The Colonel saw her raise her eyebrow in that very British way of hers to indicate innocence. "And I did by bringing Agent Thompson with me, sir."
Phillips mumbled a profanity under his breath. His index finger pressed down hard on the wooden tabletop, signifying his seriousness. "Carter, there is too much on the line here for you to do it all yourself. If you are to take over my position someday, you need to accept your new responsibility. So, don't forget that you have a team to assist you. Delegate them accordingly. "
"On your command, Colonel," she replied crisply. Never one to slack, Peggy would do her best with her usual aplomb. Pivoting on her heel, she then strode out of his office.