As soon as they got back to the mainland Lance set off to find Fury, a thunderous expression on his face. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was exactly where they had left him, deep in conversation to someone on his mobile.
"Fury, we need to talk." Fury gave Lance an annoyed look and gestured to the phone. "Now!" Noting the steel in Lance's tone, Fury said a few words to the other person then put the phone down.
"This better be important Alvers, that was one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. directors."
"Is it true, what Evan said?"
"About what?" Fury said, nonplussed.
"About you calling the President and him ordering an attack on Genoa?"
Fury sighed. "Look, I'm sorry Lance but this is the best chance…"
"What about Pietro?" Lance interrupted him.
"I'm sorry, but if you just look at the bigger picture for a moment – think how many lives we'll be saving." "You don't even know that Pietro's in Genoa. For all you know he could be nowhere near Trask. You could be killing him for nothing!" "Lance, I'm very sorry but there's nothing I can do about this. And besides, in war innocent people die – think of all those people in Tokyo. Surely you can see that by his death Pietro will have saved countless millions. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."
"So what you're basically saying is the end justifies the means. Who cares how many innocent people die, as long as Trask dies with them? And who are you to say that all the people in Genoa deserve to die, if that is where Pietro even is?" Lance shook his head in disgust and pushed past Fury, pausing in the doorway to the hut. "What makes you any better than him? You're just as willing to kill innocent people to get the job done."
Fury watched him leave, a sorry expression on his face. He felt for Lance, he truly did, but Fury had managed, over the years, to put his emotions aside and focus on the job at hand. It made it so much easier to carry on when you had just sentenced a man to death.
The elevator headed downwards at a considerable rate but unfortunately for Pietro it stopped before it reached the 'Technical Deck'. The doors slid open to reveal two people in white lab coats, who were so startled by Pietro that they momentarily froze in their tracks. As they turned to run, Pietro tackled the nearest one and incapacitated him with a blow to the head. The other one unfortunately managed to sprint down the passage and duck into a room to the left.
Pietro followed her and pushed the door open. Inside, the female scientist was cowering against the rear wall and when she saw Pietro she raised her arms across her face and screamed, "don't kill me!"
"Where's Bolivar Trask?" Pietro asked, brandishing one of the machine guns.
"I… I'm not sure," the woman stammered. "I think he's in his personal quarters."
"And where are they?"
"Uh, t,top floor. Just above the observation deck."
Pietro turned on his heel and ran back to the elevator, cursing his luck. He'd been going down, when he should have been going up. Reaching the elevator he punched the top button and the doors slid closed.
As the lift began its ascent the female scientist stepped out of the room, and grinned. She raised a small device, which resembled a mobile phone, to her mouth and spoke into it. "This is Alpha 3, I've just had contact with the subject. He's approaching your position, Omega 1."
"Acknowledged," a voice muffled with static came back. Satisfied that her job was done, the woman replaced her communicator in her coat pocket and returned the way she had come. Although he didn't know it, Pietro was walking into a cunning trap that Trask had designed.
This time Pietro was more cautious when the lift doors opened. He hugged the right-hand side of the elevator for several seconds, before leaning out a fraction to check that the corridor was all clear. Satisfied that it was, Pietro advanced into the corridor. The corridor was expensively furnished, with a thick red carpet, polished oak walls and oil paintings hanging from the walls. Pietro even recognised some of the paintings as ones that had disappeared from numerous art galleries over the years.
As he walked down the corridor Pietro kept a tight grip on his machine gun, determined not to let the comfortable surroundings lull him into a false sense of security. Rounding a corner, Pietro came face-to-face with a set of tall double doors, made from polished wood. Presuming this to be Trask's quarters the scientist had been talking about – there hadn't been any other doors or turnings along the corridor – Pietro took a run up and shoulder barged the doors open.
The doors swung open with surprising ease and almost overbalanced Pietro, who brought his weapon up to cover the room. As it turned out, he needn't have bother. Half a dozen men in black uniforms were facing him, machine guns pointed at his face. In the middle of them stood Bolivar Trask, a wide smile on his face.
"Well done, Pietro," he said pleasantly. "I must say, you surprised me again with your tenacity and determination to complete your mission. Unfortunately I have security cameras all over Genoa, so I saw when you escaped from Cain, and it was a simple matter to shepherd you up here. But now my friend," Trask's smile faded as he drew a pistol from inside his jacket. "It is time to say goodbye, permanently. A pity you can't see the destruction of London, but trust me, it'll be impressive." Trask levelled the pistol at Pietro's head and his finger tightened around the trigger.
Lance was sitting on a discarded oil drum, staring out to sea when Callisto found him. "Hey, how are you doing?"
"I can't believe that Fury could do that," Lance shook his head sadly. "I thought we had a chance to rescue Pietro. I just can't believe we'll never see him again."
"I hate to say this Lance, but do you think he might be, well, right?"
"How can you say that?"
"Well I mean, thanks to Pietro we've got a chance to get rid of Trask once and for all, haven't we? It might mean that Pietro has to die, but think of all the people his death will save."
Lance shook his head again, this time in disbelief. "I can't believe that you'd say that Callisto. If it was you trapped in Genoa, would you want us to consign you to death without even trying to rescue you?"
"We did try to rescue him," Callisto reminded him gently. "You tried your best."
"No, we didn't. We didn't try at all. That's why I'm going back."
"You're what?"
"I'm going back," Lance said calmly.
"But, there's no time. And you'll just end up dying," Callisto was shocked by Lance's statement.
"I'm actually going to try. It's what friends do." This last retort stung Callisto like a slap across the face.
"I'm Pietro's friend as well," she reminded him coldly. "Don't forget that this is as hard on me as it is on you."
"I'm sorry Callisto," Lance said wearily. "But I've got to go, now."
"And I'm coming with you."
Lance grinned as Callisto stood up beside him. "Let's go and get Pietro then."
Trask was about to fire the pistol, when there was a thundering crash and Pietro suddenly found himself thrown from his feet and hurled against the wall. As he got to his feet, Pietro could feel a pain in his chest that told him he'd cracked at least one rib, maybe more. Unfortunately, the other people in the room hadn't been so lucky. The black-clad guards were sprawled on the floor, four of them crushed under heavy masonry and the other two bent in unnatural positions.
Trask however, was still very much alive. He moaned in pain as he put a hand to his forehead and it came away bloody. He pulled himself to his feet, despite the splitting pain in his head, and coughed a mixture of dust and blood. Realising that he was unarmed, Trask looked about for his pistol and came face to face with Pietro.
Pietro was as dishevelled as he was – his silver hair covered in dust, his suit ruined with dust and blood and a cut trickling blood down the side of his face. He also had the thing Trask had been looking for. The pistol.
"Pietro," Trask wheezed. "I knew you would have made it." Trask's eyes flicked to the pistol, considering whether he could make a grab for it.
Pietro smiled, seeing Trask looking at the gun. "It's over Trask. What do you think that just was?" Pietro didn't allow him to answer. "Excalibur know where I am. And now I get a chance to finish what I couldn't do in Italy." Pietro raised the pistol and levelled it at Trask's forehead.
Trask paled, but he couldn't keep a slightly appraising look out of his eyes. "Oh come on Pietro, don't tell me you're going to shoot me. What about your sense of fairness, the need for me to be put on trial?"
Pietro didn't answer, instead he squeezed the trigger once. Trask crumpled in a heap, blood pouring from his forehead where the bullet had impacted with him. Pietro threw his pistol on top of Trask's body. It was finally over. Trask would never kill anyone ever again.