Chapter 9
Three Months Later
"Target is in sight," Dean's voice said through the earbud in her left ear.
"I see him," Frankie replied.
From her position across the street, she could see the man that was her first live practice subject. She had spent the last three months learning how to tail, observe, approach, and surveil targets without being detected. This was the first time she was going to test these skills on someone outside of the Hydra compound.
She had spent the last two weeks stalking this low-level government worker, learning where he lived and worked, his friends and family, his routine and quirks. Now she was ready to approach and glean whatever information she could from him through passive listening and observation. The man, Daniel Glover, spent his lunch hour every day in this park, getting his food from a truck and eating at one of the little tables arrayed around this square.
"You're cleared to approach," her partner told her through the earbud.
"Roger that."
Frankie straightened the jacket of her no-nonsense business suit that had been selected for her. With her hair pulled up in a severe bun, glasses perched on her nose, and a worn designer knock-off purse, and scuffed but comfortable heels, she was the picture of a harried office worker escaping her cubical for a quick lunch in the park.
Crossing the street, she approached the food truck, ordered a chicken salad and diet soda, paid, and took the closest open table to Daniel. Sipping her soda and picking at her salad, she opened an app on her phone that looked like a popular social media site but could record audio and snap pictures discreetly. Her training assignment was to record something new about him that she hadn't been able to discover so far.
Over the next ten minutes, all he did was eat his lunch. He didn't touch his phone or his briefcase that he always carried. He didn't read a paper or a magazine. Frankie was beginning to think this exercise was going to be a big fat failure when he pushed his sandwich aside and reached for his briefcase. Thumbing the combination for the lock, he popped it open with a snap. He pulled out what looked like an airline ticket, peered at it intently, then returned it to the case.
Pulling out his phone, he keyed in a number to make a call.
"Harry, can you stop by tonight? I'm going out of town and need you to take care of Mister Grumpy while I'm gone."
She couldn't make out what the other man replied, but Daniel nodded happily.
"Good. It's only for a couple of days. Come by any time after seven. I'll give you my spare key."
Another pause for Harry to respond.
"Yeah, it's the least you can do since you beat me so bad at poker last weekend. Ok, see you then."
A few more words from Harry and Daniel hung up. Before he could shut his briefcase, Frankie stood and walked by his table to reach a nearby garbage bin, snapping several pictures of the contents as she passed. Then she continued, retracing her steps across the street and back to the rendezvous location.
Dean was waiting for her, grinning.
"Well? How'd it go?"
Frankie blew an errant lock of hair out of her face before answering. "Not bad. He's going out of the country for a couple of days. Doesn't look like business." She pulled up the pictures she took. "Nope, definitely not business. He's going to Cancun."
"Good. Anything else?"
"He plays poker with some friends."
"Excellent. Let's head back and do a debrief."
"Can we stop and get some real food on the way back? I need to get the taste of that awful salad out of my mouth and, while the cafeteria food is good, I miss the pizza from Joe's."
Dean laughed and slapped her on the shoulder, "you got it. I'll even buy."
"Good thing cause I'm broke," she laughed back.
Back at the underground compound she now called home, Frankie was thoroughly debriefed and turned over the phone she used, then returned to her room to change out of her "work" clothes. Stripping in front of the camera had ceased to bother her, after all she had stripped for a living, but the idea of being watched still bothered her immensely. Escaping to the privacy of her bathroom, which she checked at least once a week for any cameras, she sat down on the toilet and sighed heavily.
Over the last months there had been few incidents that seemed off. The people here were just ordinary people, except for Ms. Jones and Rory. She genuinely liked Dean, Jeannine, and a few others that worked and lived in the compound. She didn't see Rory as often as she liked, but when they did have time together, it was almost like old times. She was well fed, had a safe place to sleep, and had been given a purpose. What more could a person like her ask for?
The entire setup set her nerves on edge though. She wasn't used to life being so easy; to having things given to her. Though she liked her partner and the others, she sure the hell didn't trust them. After the fanatical fervor she had glimpsed lurking just under the surface in Jeannine, she couldn't bring herself to feel out anyone else to find a like-minded ally. This left her alone, which she told herself was for the best. She had enough on her hands trying to figure out how to get Rory disentangled from this mess.
On the other hand, she had thrived on the training she had received. Some of it was old hand to her already, but there were new spins on some of her methods and even new techniques she had never considered. Her assignment had given her a jolt of excitement even though Daniel Glover was just a practice run and none of the intel she had gotten off him of any use. She found that she was looking forward to the next assignment.
That dichotomy was wearing on her: she knew there was something wrong with what was going on at the compound, but she enjoyed the work she was doing.
Reaching around the toilet, she fished two pieces of paper she had taped to the back of the tank. Unfolding them, she looked over them again, trying to glean one more tiny bit of information from them that she may have missed the last twenty or so times she had read over it. They were the two pages that she had stolen from Percy Adams her first day. On them were details about where she lived in Chicago, who she worked for, who she knew, where she ate, the route she took to and from work, and other minute details of her life there. There was an estimate of her weekly income, way too accurate for her comfort. Her side hustles were even listed. Either Hydra or Rory, possibly both, had been staking out her life for weeks and she never noticed.
Why though? Other than her connection to Rory, why was Hydra that interested in her? Why expend so many resources tracking her daily movement? It made no sense. She was a nobody. That was, she had been until she stabbed Clint Barton and came under the scrutiny of the Avenger. Still, that gave her no intrinsic value to Hydra that she could understand.
Sighing again, she folded the papers up and returned them to their hiding place. Standing up, she turned on the shower. It was late and she had an early meeting in the morning.
"I hear your first assignment was a success," Rory smiled down at her as they strolled through the nearly empty hanger bay.
He had knocked on her door the next evening and invited her for a walk. As on all their meetings since that first night, they talked about inconsequential things, mostly reminiscing about their time together in New York, until Rory brought the conversation around to their current situation.
Frankie shrugged, "it was pretty easy. I was almost disappointed in exactly how easy."
"Really?" Rory's smile grew bigger. "You didn't enjoy it at all?"
She shook her head, hiding her smile with her hair, "oh, I enjoyed it. I just wish it had been more…" she let the sentence trail off.
"More what? More of a challenge? More meaningful?"
Frankie gave up hiding her grin, "yes to both. I mean, spying on a boring cubical-dwelling drone and finding out he booked a vacation to Cancun? There's not much of a challenge or interest there. He's probably sitting under an umbrella drinking some generic fruity drink with a stupid little umbrella in it, getting burned to a crisp while he watches bikini-clad babes walk by."
"That doesn't sound too bad to me."
Frankie wacked him in the arm. "Perv."
Rory pulled her to a stop. "I missed you, Frankie." He released her arm and ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. "I love what I'm doing here, but having you here with me? It feels like the missing piece of the puzzle just fell into place. You make me feel less alone."
Frankie blinked back the tears that threatened and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight and resting her cheek against his shoulder. Rory hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"Remember when you could do this to me?" His voice rumbled against her cheek and through her skull.
She gave a short laugh, "you were so worried you were never going to start growing; that you were going to be short for the rest of your life."
"Then, when I did start, all I did was complain."
"None of your clothes fit for more than a couple of months. I was always at Goodwill trying to find you more jeans and sneakers."
"And my legs and arms hurt all the time. You used to bring me ice packs and tuck them around me in bed so I could go to sleep."
Frankie pulled away and grinned up at him, "and they would melt during the night and get everything wet."
Rory pushed a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear and let his hand linger on the side of her face, "but I was able to sleep, so it was worth it." His voice dropped, "why did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Take me in. Take care of me like I was your family. Why? I was nobody to you."
She covered his hand with hers and smile ruefully, "I didn't know why at the time. I just saw a kid that needed someone. I thought I was saving you. Truthfully? You saved me. I was drifting with no real goal, no real future, just surviving from day to day. You gave me a purpose. Because of you, I got a real job and kept it for almost a year. I rented us a place to live. It was a shithole, but it was our shithole."
She patted his hand and stepped back out of his grasp. "I'm the person I am today as much because of you as you are who you are because of me. We saved each other."
His eyes glistened as he nodded, "then let's do it again. I need you here with me. Together, we are more than when we are alone."
He took a step, "come, let me show you something extraordinary."
She didn't move for a breath, taken aback by his sudden change of subject. But the more time she spent with him, the more like her old Rory he seemed. Maybe she could reach him and persuade him of his folly.
"Frankie?" he paused and looked back at her with a small frown.
She smiled weakly at him, "I'm coming."
Catching up with him, she allowed him to lead her to the back of the hanger bay and to a door with a security pad mounted on the wall beside it. Rory swiped his badge, typed in an 8-digit code, then leaned down for a retina scan.
"Wow," she muttered. "That's some serious security."
The door's locking mechanism released with a dull metallic clang.
"There's something serious behind it," Rory told her as he pushed it open.
Preceding him through, Frankie stopped suddenly. A short corridor stretched out in front of her, ending in yet another door, along with two security guards in heavy armor with their weapons pointed at her.
Rory came through the door behind her, gently pushing her aside, "it's ok, she's with me. Stand down."
The guards didn't even blink at his command.
"We need the passcode, Commander," the one on the left stated in a flat voice.
Rory sighed, "Peach Cobbler."
Both men lowered their weapons a few inches. "She's not on the list for entry."
"She's with me," Rory snapped.
"That doesn't matter, Commander. Nobody gains entry that isn't on the list. Orders."
"Look here, you arrogant piece of shit!" Rory yelled and stepped up him, putting his face inches away from the man's. "I'm the Commander of this facility!" he jabbed the man in the chest with a finger. "I give the orders around here!" Another jab. "You will stand. The. Fuck. Down. Do you hear me?"
The man never flinched and didn't back away from Rory.
Frankie, worried at the sudden change in her friend, stepped forward and touched him on the arm, "look, Rory, it's ok. I don't need to see…"
Rory flung her arm away and turned to face her. His face was so red it was almost purple and was twisted out of shape by his snarl. Frankie stepped back in alarm.
"It's not ok," he ground out. "I'm in charge here and I will be obeyed."
Frankie held up her hands, "yes, you are, but…"
She was cut off by the crackle of static on the radio clipped to the other man's belt. "Sargent, Ms. Cabrini has been cleared for entry by Ms. Jones."
"Understood," he replied, nodding to his companion, who turned and entered a code into the keypad on the wall by the door behind them.
Both men stood aside for them to pass. As Frankie and Rory passed between them, Rory snarled, "This is not finished."
Again, neither man responded as the angry commander stormed past them dragging Frankie behind him.
Once the door clanged shut behind them, she pulled against his tight grip on her arm.
"Rory, you can let go now."
He ignored her and continued to pull her further into the room.
"Rory, stop!" she stopped and yanked against his grasp.
Abruptly, he spun around and tightened his grip, "What? Are you going to try to tell me what I can and cannot do now?"
Frankie was alarmed by the anger she saw in his eyes but stood her ground. "No," she told him calmly, "I'm telling you that you're hurting me."
Rory's eyes flickered down to his hand wrapped around her arm and he dropped it like it was a snake and took a step back. His eyes, when he raised them to meet hers, were wide with alarm.
"Frankie, I'm sorry! Are you ok?"
She rubbed her forearm and nodded, "yeah, maybe a little bruised, but it will fade. But, Rory, what the hell just happened?"
He hung his head and she felt the urge to hug him again. "Ever since the accident, I just, I don't know…" his voice trailed off.
"It's okay, Rory." She closed the distance between them and took his hand between hers. "It's me. You can tell me whatever you want. I promise I won't judge you."
He smiled that boyish smile she loved so much as he pulled his hand away from hers. "It's nothing, really. I just let the responsibility get to me sometimes. But, look, this is what I brought you here to show you."
He turned away and waved his hand at the craft that took up most of the space in the small hanger they were standing in. Frankie stepped around him to get a better look, her eyes wide with wonder.
"What am I looking at?"
"It's a ship we have designed using a combination of the technology taken from the Chitauri after the battle of New York and from the dark elves after the incident in Greenwich the following year."
He walked around the craft, stroking the rough grey, segmented exterior as he continued. "The armor plating from the Chitauri can withstand most conventional weapons that we currently possess, and our scientists have designed these ridges and valleys in it to reflect most energy weapons. What it doesn't reflect is shunted to the fusion core by a highly conductive layer just under the armor."
He stopped at a ramp extending from an open hatch on the side, "the fusion core we backward engineered from the damaged one taken from the remains of the dark elf ship."
"I thought that ship was left on another world. At least that's what the internet sites reported."
Rory nodded, "yes, but the convergence and the smaller portals caused by it lasted for several days afterwards. Hydra had a team that made it through one long enough to salvage the core."
Frankie tentatively reached out and touched the armor plating. It was warm and slightly sticky under her hand and pulsed disconcertingly. She snatched her hand away and whipped it on her pants.
He grinned at her disgusted look. "Want to go inside?"
She replied without hesitation, "hell yeah."
