Part 10
by DarkMark
The biggest problem with conducting a meeting between the Avengers and the Fantastic Four was territoriality. Baxter Building or Avengers Mansion? Reed Richards supplied a quarter and let Jarvis flip it. It ended up heads, and they held the confab at the Mansion.
There weren't enough seats around the big round Avengers table for the likes of Ant-Man, the Wasp, Thor, Iron Man, Hawkeye, Captain America, the Vision, the Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver, Mr. Fantastic, the Thing, the Human Torch, the Invisible Girl, and their invited guests the Falcon, Hogun, Sif, Fandral, and Hildegarde, the latter four exiled gods of Asgard. So the meeting was held in the dining room, and even then Jarvis the butler had to expand the table. They finally got down to business.
"You all probably know some of what I've got to tell you," said Reed Richards. "The news isn't being released to the general public yet. But super-criminals have been spirited out of various prisons around the nation, Ryker's Island in particular. We don't have a clue as to who is doing it."
"And this is the list of the missing?" said Pietro, scrutinizing a set of multiple pages. Each person at the table had been given a duplicate of the list. Included were some of the big names of super-villainy: Dr. Octopus, the Sandman, the Puppet Master, the Mad Thinker, and so on. Enough to fill seven pages of type, closely spaced.
"Exactly, Quicksilver," said Captain America. "But we're not experiencing the increase in activity from these types that we normally would after a jailbreak. Usually, when super-villains get loose, they start operations as quickly as possible to raise funds or grab power. Recently, the measurable villain activity has dropped."
"Means the low-lifes are hidin' out," said the Thing, puffing on a cigar. Jarvis was there with an ashtray. "So all we gotta do is find 'em and clobber 'em."
"Indeed," said Sif, seated beside Thor. "But as thou knowest, Sir Thing, the conceiving of an aim and the execution of it are oft twain, not one."
"Now, Reed," Ant-Man ventured, at his normal 5 foot 10 height. "This strains my credibility. Do you expect us to believe that all these cons were sprung from Riker's Island and elsewhere, just like that? Without collaboration? I know there's lots of corrupt guards and officials, but..."
"I've been in contact with SHIELD, and they've done even more investigation than me," Reed answered. "The officials and guards in question have been vetted. No evidence of bribes, no influx of cash into their bank accounts, and the ones subjected to random polygraphs passed without a problem."
"So, as unbelievable as it sounds," Sue Richards said, "these enemies of ours really were spirited out by persons unknown. To places unknown."
"Which leaves us darn near as ignorant as before," said Hawkeye, throwing his papers on the desk. "Okay, Reed. What's the whole point of this confab?"
Mr. Fantastic looked at him tiredly. "The point is, Hawkeye, that we need to work together on this one. We need to trade information, to keep the lines of communication open, and to begin a joint effort to find and recapture these escapees. That's what I'd like to propose to Cap and all the rest of you."
"The bad guys might not even be in this dimension," said Johnny Storm. "If Doctor Doom is behind it, that is."
"Aye, or Kang, for that matter," Thor opined. "But let Captain America answer for the lot of us."
"My answer is yes, Reed," said Cap. "As for my fellow members, I'll ask for a show of hands."
The hands of all the Avengers present went up. The Asgardians and the Falcon joined in. "As our guests, you aren't required to join in," said Iron Man.
"Do not insult us, Man of Iron," said Hogun. "You have offered us hospitality. We are honor-bound to fight by your side."
"And where adventure abounds, none may stop Fandral the Dashing from plunging into it," vowed the blonde, bearded sword-wielder, with a grin.
"I may not be from Asgard, but I've worked with Cap for a long time, and with the Avengers once," said the Falcon. "I'm not gonna let Harlem go unrepresented in this one. I'm in."
"We'll accept your participation, all of you," said Cap. "And thanks very much."
"I have a question," offered the Scarlet Witch.
"Go ahead, Wanda," said Reed, gesturing towards her.
"What about the new X-Men? We haven't worked with them as a team yet, but they're the third superhero team in New York. Shouldn't they be included?"
Reed took a breath. "We've sent word to Professor X about our findings, and he's offered to help if needed. But as you said, Wanda, neither of our teams has worked with their new group yet..."
"And they're still pretty green," said the Human Torch.
"Johnny!", warned Sue Storm.
"Perhaps we could put it another way, Torch," said Cap. "But, off the record, that's pretty much our feelings too. The FF and Avengers have worked together multiple times. It'll be easier for us to coordinate efforts with just our two groups."
"As long as we keep lines of communication open to them and to independents," said the Vision, "my computer brain indicates that this is a reasonably valid plan."
"Then I guess it's official," said the Wasp. "Looks like the Avengers / FF joint task force is on the boards."
"Friend Wasp, couldst thou explain to me the meaning of 'on the boards'?", asked Hildegarde, the big Valkyrie.
"It means it's a going thing, dearie," said Jan.
Hildegarde gave her a puzzled look.
"She doth mean, the plan is approved, Hildegarde," explained Thor.
"Ah," nodded Hilde. "'On the boards'. 'Going thing.' I must remember these phrases. The more I know, the more I shall understand the taxi drivers in this city."
Captain America hefted the gavel. "I guess the only thing that remains is for me to get together with Reed and firm up plans. All in favor of such action, say 'Aye.'"
"AYE," echoed the assemblage.
"Then on behalf of both teams, I declare this meeting adjourned," said Cap, and banged the table with his gavel.
Jarvis materialized in the doorway with a cartful of food. "If you please, ladies and gentlemen, the banquet will now be served."
"Me for a Big Mac and fries," lumbered the Thing.
"Behave yourself, Ben," said Sue.
-M-
The true hunter never ceases to stalk his prey until it is caught. It may take years, but, despite the setbacks, such an individual will never stray far from his course until his objective is bagged.
Kraven was a true hunter.
Edging his head up from over the roof of a building in Manhattan, he surveyed the scene below with a pair of binoculars. Spider-Man had returned to action after a hiatus. It was risky to team integrity, what he was doing now. The Sinister Six had made a pact to keep out of the limelight until the plan was activated.
But Kraven was his own man. He would be damned before he would let another tell him who and where and when he must hunt.
Spider-Man thought he kept his patrol routes random. But everything has a pattern, and Kraven had observed the places in which his prey had appeared more than once. From there, it was easy enough to map out what routes the spider took on his nocturnal journeys. He even had a rough but accurate schedule of what times were devoted to the patrols.
Now, all that remained was to wait for the web-slinger, and act. Another man would have prayed for success. But Kraven knew that all one could hope for was to see one's quarry in sight. From there on, it was up to the man himself.
From his vest, Kraven took a piece of jerky and munched it, thoughtfully. Not enough to sate, just to keep one's needs at bay. The hungry lion was the best hunter. The design on his vest and the real mane of a lion he had killed, hung about his neck, were there to remind him of their shared nature.
Still, it was all for naught until he stalked and bagged the spider.
The hunter waited. The sun set in the Manhattan jungle, and the artificial lights came out to take the place of the stars and moon. Kraven had learned to adjust himself to these conditions long ago. Even through the stench of exhaust fumes from many stories below, he could smell his quarry.
There! What was that?
Swiftly, but not too obviously, Kraven turned himself to the west. A human figure, barely visible, was swinging from building to building, hanging onto an old webline by his left hand, thrusting out his right to spin a new one and attach it to a structure before him. Within seconds, Spider-Man would pass the Daily Bugle building.
His spider-sense had to be accounted for. The only way to countermove it was to strike so quickly, the warning would be of no effect.
Kraven took from a pouch the device he had modified once from the Green Goblin, who had once employed him to attempt the spider's defeat. It consisted of a small heat-seeking missile with an enveloping steel net packed about it. The net could be triggered by remote control. Kraven pitched the missile over the edge of the building, watched it fall for an instant, and then pushed a control button on his belt. Red fire shot out from its exhaust. The rocket shot forward, arced, took a path that sent it unerringly towards the spider.
As it did so, Kraven clamped a grappling hook on the building edge, wrapped one end of a rope about his wrist, and leaped from the top of the building. Behind him, the rope spooled out from a reel connected to the hook.
The hunter was leaping for his prey.
Spider-Man barely had time to get his warning tingle and turn towards the oncoming rocket before it bypassed him, released the net, and impacted against the side of the Bugle building. He twisted himself away as the missile exploded and then fell towards the ground. Considering he was falling in about the same manner, Spider-Man didn't concern himself much with it, except for hoping the pedestrians had sense enough to get out of the way.
There were about ten stories between him and the ground. The mesh of the net was fine enough to make firing any webs very difficult. But the alternative, he had to admit, was quite a bit nastier.
With an effort, Spider-Man twisted his right hand sufficiently to aim his web-shooter between strands of the net, tapped his palm-button twice, and fired.
The web spewed forth from the small nozzle of his wrist-device, struck the granite side of the Bugle building, and stuck. Spidey, within the tangles of the net, grabbed the other end of the web line with both hands and tried to twist his body around to contact the wall with his feet. It was coming up quickly...
WHAM.
One foot, a shoulder, and part of the side. It hurt. But he lived.
People below were pointing up at him and shouting. People above were leaning out of windows, pointing down, and shouting. Among those, he was almost certain he saw Joe Robertson. Jonah wasn't anywhere to be seen, and that was just fine with him.
The old spider-sense was sending off a four-alarmer as he began testing his strength against the netting.
It tended to be directional, so he looked towards where it was indicating. A powerful figure had just descended a rope to the street on the other side. There were eight lanes of traffic between him and the other side. The light was against him.
From the way he bounded, flipped, outran, and avoided every oncoming car in seconds with a minimum of effort, Spider-Man had little problem placing him.
"Kraven," he muttered.
Spider-Man was sticking by the adhesion of three fingertips and part of one foot to the fifth floor of the Daily Bugle building. Kraven shoved over three people on the street, ignored a cop's whistle, and scaled the building side by use of flagpoles, windows, and cracks between granite blocks within three minutes.
"Now, spider," he said, springing at his prey. "Now..."
He heard a groan of effort as he hurtled forward.
Spider-Man tore the steel netting asunder before his eyes.
"Wrong, Krave-baby," he said, grabbing his enemy. "That was then. This is now."
A red, web-gloved hand thrust forward and dusted Kraven's jaw, even as the hunter grabbed for his throat.
The two of them fought there for several terrible seconds, Kraven hanging onto Spider-Man, Spider-Man sticking to the side of the building by the soles of his feet. Both landed powerful blows. Kraven knocked Spider-Man's web-slinging hand away with a wrist-chop. Spider-Man clouted a boar's tusk smeared with exotic poison away from Kraven's grasp.
In the distance, Kraven heard sirens.
He was used to making split-second decisions. Anything else, in the bush, would have cost him his life many times over. True, it was paramount that he defeat the spider, that he restore his honor. But it was even more important that this time, he not be captured by superior forces. That the secret he was privy to not be revealed.
Even if he knew little more than its name.
The hunter thrust himself away from the prey. He dropped several stories, grabbed one of the flagpoles hanging over the first floor, spun himself around several times, and let go, landing on his feet. Then he leaped away, barely missing a spurt of Spider-Man's web that gummed up the sidewalk.
In seconds, Kraven was down a nearby subway entrance and lost to pursuers. By the time the backup cops arrived, Spider-Man was gone as well.
Not more than an hour afterward, Kraven opened the door of a certain chamber. The Vulture's visage gazed out at him. There was a hint of contempt.
"We heard about it," rasped the bald, beaky, winged man.
"I'm glad you did." Kraven shouldered his way through. The complement of the Sinister Six, the Frightful Four, and the Emissaries of Evil were gathered. Dr. Octopus, the Wizard, and Electro, the joint leaders, were looking the most displeased of all. But Kraven knew they would go easy with him, even so.
"You endangered the plan," said Octopus. "With a vendetta."
Kraven didn't look at the six-armed man until he pulled out his chair and seated himself at the table. Then he gave him a cold stare. "I endangered nothing. I was not caught."
"Lucky you," replied Electro.
"I never hunt without making sure of an escape route," Kraven answered. "The spider would have been mine, had not the police arrived."
"Yeah," said the Gladiator. "Like he woulda been yours about fifteen times already. Dumb, Kraven."
The hunter was on his feet in an instant. The Gladiator leaned forward, his deadly wrist-blades spinning. Between the two of them, two huge hands of sand sprang up and pushed them back. "Hey, hey, hey," said the Sandman. "Lay off. Both of you. Or I'll sand-blast ya both."
The enemies of Spider-Man and Daredevil stared at each other with rivalry for a long moment. Then both eased a bit, and the Sandman pushed them more or less gently to either side of the room.
The Wizard, clad in his flight suit, regarded both with contempt. "Don't you know what you're endangering with your adventurism? The lot of us stand to be conquerors. Real conquerors, for the first time. You, Kraven, endanger the plan by stalking Spider-Man alone. Don't you realize that you'll have him for certain in a very short time?"
"I wished to ensure it was by my hand alone," said Kraven, coldly.
"Nothing can be by one hand alone," said Dr. Octopus. "Not in this matter. Not unless you want all other hands against you."
Kraven looked upon the lot of them. Their numbers included the Trapster, Mysterio, the Leap Frog, and the Matador. He didn't fear them, but the odds they presented as a group were far more than he could beat. Besides, as they said, there was the plan.
"I consider the incident forgotten," he said.
Electro said, "That'll have to do for now. Just don't run off half-cocked like that again. If you got caught–"
"I will not be caught!"
"If you got caught, the whole thing could be blown. Like that." Electro snapped his fingers and a great electric spark was born, flickered, and died in three seconds' time. "So what'll it be? Are you part of the team, or are you out?"
A long pause.
"I'll stay," said Kraven.
"Good," said Octopus.
"Gladiator," said Electro, "this thing stops right here. Okay?"
"If you say so," said the iron-masked man. "As long as Clyde Beatty over there keeps on his side of the line."
"Have a care, masked man," warned Kraven.
"Stop it, both of you," snapped the Wizard. "You both have the depth of a paper plate. We have contacted our benefactor. There has been a word from him."
The hunter looked at the Frightful Four's leader. "And the word is?"
"Soon," said the Wizard. "Very soon."
"Be prepared, my friend," said the Matador, draping his cape over his arm and striking a pose with his sword. "For the greatest hunt of your life."
-M-
"So. Henry. What the [expletive deleted] is the news on the Ryker's Island business?"
"Regrettably, Mr. President, nothing more than we already know. The supercriminals have escaped or been released in some manner unknown to both the penal authorities and ourselves."
"Well, Henry, don't they, uh, that is, the prisons do have cameras and monitors, don't they?"
"Yes, Mr. President, they do. But each time these, uh, 'disappearances' occur, the monitor signal is somehow blocked. Raw videotape footage is blanked out."
"Erased?"
"Just blank."
"Somebody who knows what they're doing. Maybe some ex-spooks from our side or theirs."
"Or another side, Mr. President. Such as Hydra."
"So, uh, what you're saying is that, they're gone. And we have no trace on any of them as yet."
"That seems to be the case, Mr. President."
"What has SHIELD got on this, Henry?"
"They are working on it. I believe the Avengers and Fantastic Four are also considering joint action. But if they have a single clue as of yet, sir, it's unknown to me."
"CIA? NSA?"
"As blind as we are ourselves, Mr. President."
"Humph. All right, Henry, keep me, uh, keep me posted on that. What's, uh, what's Mitchell doing right about now?"
"He's at home, sir."
"Call him up. I want to see if he can, uh, if he can give me anything about these union-suit guys."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"And he'd better be doing something about the Lennon business, too."
"Ach, yes, Mr. President."
-M-
Only the most trusted radicals were permitted in the meeting. Usually David Graine handled things as the boss's representative. This time, Gary Gilbert himself made an appearance. The five who were meeting with him were impressed, even if they tried to hide it.
The meeting was winding down. "That's all you need to know for now," Gilbert finished, seated in a futon in the basement room. "You'll get your walking orders soon. If anybody screws this one up, the whole thing could collapse from Maine to Sacramento. But before that happened, I'd find the guy who screwed it. Believe me."
"What Gary's saying is, the watchwords are Secrecy and Discipline," Graine put in. "We've told you all you need to know right now, and we've told you all your crews need to know. Any more info than that, we're all busted. The Establishment, Nixon, the whole power crew, they win. And this time, it'll take a lot more than some hotshot ACLU lawyer to save our butts, if we blow it. So don't blow it."
"Man, would you just give us some trust?" said Archie McCown, representing one of the biggest radical assemblies on the East Coast. "You asked us here. You gave us your plan. That must imply we got somethin' on the ball, don'tcha think?"
"This isn't some penny-ante Maggia meeting, McCown," said Gilbert. "We're not dividing up turf. We're talking about a Revolution. The Revolution."
"They been talkin' about that for more than six years now," pointed out Ake Harmon of the Stone Warriors, a black militant faction with chapters on both coasts and adherents even in the Midwest. "We been talkin' 'bout that for longer than that, even."
"Not the real thing, Ake," said Graine. "Not something this close. We can make something that'll have those black flag guys in France takin' notes from us. Show the frogs how to do a revolution right."
"All talk so far," said Miranda Slade, a feminist militant from California. "If the sex ratio in this place was reversed, we'd've had this thing over and done with by now."
"Oooo, do I hear that time of the month talkin'?" said McCown. Miranda eyed him and drew an inch of bayonet out of a belt sheath. Gary Gilbert turned his face towards her. She looked at him and put the knife back.
"Patch it up, Archie," said Gary. "Now."
"All apologies, Slade," McCown said. "Sincerely."
She said nothing.
"I got a question, Gilbert," said Carl Parks. He was a big, broad-shouldered guy from Colorado who, with a few years on him, might be mistaken for a union organizer. "A big question."
The tension rose a degree. Parks had been silent and still for most of the evening. That was his way. When he spoke, it was usually trouble.
"Then go ahead, Carl," said Gary, evenly. "We've got lots of answers."
Parks proceeded slowly. "The question is you, man."
More than one breath was taken in. Gary sat stonelike. "Define it."
The big man stood, his hands at his side. In his coat pockets he had more than one weapon, and he wasn't afraid to use them, in case his fists didn't do the job. They usually did. "You say you're a revolutionary, but I don't exactly see credentials. All we know is what you tell us. That you used to be some small-time super-baddie in a tin suit."
"Carl, easy, man," said Graine. "You're treadin' on live wires."
"Let him talk," said Gary, quietly.
"So far, all we know is that you were in a couple of marches, got maced, and that was that," Parks continued. "You've bankrolled some of our ops, some of the other guys', and thanks and whoop-de-do for that. But there's something I wanna know, man. I really wanna know it."
Gary looked at him. "Then ask."
"Why is it you're still makin' weapons for 'Nam, man? If you're such a big, bad revolutionary, why in HELL are you still makin' stuff that Big Brother is usin' to kill people down in Asia? I want to know that, man! If you're real, why the hell have you got one foot on each side of the fence? Unless, maybe, you ain't got anything in between to endanger?"
Ake said, "You better backtrack, buddy. You really better backtrack."
"No, it's all right," said Gary, rising from his seat. "I've got answers, Carl. Three of them, as a matter of fact. Listen up.
"First answer: The Revolution's about to happen. It's within touching distance. The weapons I manufacture are going to have a very short shelf-life. Not more than 20 per cent are ever going to see action. That may be 20 per cent too much, but let's face it: it's worth the sacrifice. We know that. You know that. Or you ought to.
"Second answer: we do it to take up the slack left by Stark to get money for the Revolution. This stuff has to be paid for. You do know that, right? Good. No money, no Revolution.
"Third answer: because it's damned well part of my plan."
With that, he gave Parks a roundhouse savate kick in the stomach.
"Gary!" shouted Graine.
Parks was gasping for breath, doubled, unable to defend himself. Gilbert's face was a mask of fury. That, to the others, was the scariest thing about it. His hands, balled into fists, lashed out time and again, pounding flesh, fracturing bone, striking expertly. His booted foot landed more than one time. Once, it broke Parks's right wrist when he was reaching for the gun in his pocket. The others tried to go to Parks's aid. Graine, tensely, put himself between them and the other two.
It was over within five minutes. Parks was unconscious, his face a bloody pulp.
Gary Gilbert stood there, sweaty, red-faced, red-handed, and grinning.
"All right, lady and gentlemen," he said. "Are we of one mind?"
After a pause, Ake spoke. "We're with you, man. We're with you."
-M-
Nobody really expected the Masters of Evil to hole up in Ohio, least of all the Masters themselves. But they had their money, they had their orders, and they thought the plan sounded valid. So, in mufti and in a couple of Winnebagos, they waited, played cards, and killed several bottles of Scotch.
The Radioactive Man had to be taught the finer points of poker, but now he was as sharp a card shark as any of them. He was dealing seven-card draw. The others around the table included the Melter, Klaw, the Whirlwind, and the Executioner. The Enchantress, who had brought herself and Skurge there from Asgard, looked on the game with disdain.
Klaw was having difficulty handling his cards. This was hardly surprising, since one of his hands had been replaced by a sonic blaster. "The worst hand of the night," he pronounced. "Is the woman there cursing my cards?"
She sniffed. "Your luck is so bad it hardly needs assistance, red one."
"Peace, Amora," muttered the Executioner. "Two pasteboards shall I have."
"A beer I shall have," said the Whirlwind. "In fact, the whole damn state of Ohio I shall have, if somebody doesn't give us some action before long."
"Ever heard the phrase, 'Be careful what you wish for'?" put in the Melter. "I'll take three."
As the Radioactive Man was dealing, the light of a communications device by the wall went on. The villains who were in position to notice it went silent.
The Melter pushed a switch down. "Acknowledged," he said.
A voice came through the speaker. "Head for Chicago. Deploy between 1200 and 1500 hours tomorrow. You will be joined by other units."
The four other players folded their cards. Even the Enchantress grew attentive. The call to action was being given.
The Melter had to take a deep breath before saying the next thing. "Password?"
"Fire."
To be continued...