A/N: Apologies for the silence. I wrote this chapter long before the Suicide Squad film, but laziness and the desire to get certain details just right prevented me from posting it sooner. I hope you like it better than the film. Still haven't watched it. My God I need to get my act together.
Quick glossary for those who didn't grow up on Call of Duty and Medal of Honor:
US SOCOM- United States Special Operations Command
SOPMOD-Special Operations Modified
NVGs- Night Vision Goggles
CAG- Combat Applications Group, the current name for the 1st SFOD-D aka Delta Force.
NAVSPECWARDEVGRU- Naval Special Warfare Development Group aka SEAL Team 6
SF- Special Forces (Green Berets)
SOF-Special Operations Forces (Rangers, SEALs, Marine Recon/MARSOC, Airforce CCTs/PJs)
ODA-A- Operational Detachment Alpha or A-Team, basically a team of the best operators in a Special Forces battalion, usually numbers up to 12 or more specialists in a particular field such as weapons, combat medicine, intelligence gathering, mechanical engineering, communications and transport.
Tabs- Airborne, Ranger and Special Forces tabs signifying special operator status either past or present
The Teams-A general term for special operations units, most commonly used by SEALs.
CIF Teams- highly trained units in the Army Special Forces reserved for deployment by the Army SF commander only
Q course- SFQC, Special Forces Qualifications Course. Self explanatory.
Lahore,Pakistan
"Two guards, coming right at your location. Don't worry, I got 'em."
The sniper inhaled gently as he aimed the crosshairs in the scope of his M200 Cheytac Intervention sniper rifle at the head of one of the guards. He held his breath and allowed his forefinger to curl around the trigger.
He was positioned on a building a few blocks away, acting as overwatch. This rifle was much better than the shitty Dragunov he'd been using. Much better stopping power and far more accurate. Evidently they were getting more funding now.
The streets were busy and he could even hear the music from a club several hundred metres away, but he didn't want to risk anyone hearing anything, so the muzzle was surpressed. This op, like all the other ops they'd had recently, was a covert one.
Just like old times, he thought as he began squeezing the trigger gently, as he had learned at the shooting ranges in Fort Benning all those years ago. At such moments he always recalled the very first words of his instructor, spoken in his calm, even voice as he strode slowly up and down the line of men standing at attention. He could almost smell the place now, with its ever present scent of cordite and gun oil mixed with the dry harshness of the sandy soil. Even as he prepared to fire, his mind went back to that first time.
'My name is not important, nor is my rank, but you may call me God, because that's what I'm going to be to you for the next 6 months. My job is to teach you how to be coe-man-does. You might think you're John Rambo because you've got your tabs and made it to The Teams. You might even think you're hot shit because you've got a slot to join the CIF and A-Team. Well, I'm here to tell you, y'all don't know shit about shit. Right now you are still wannabes, nothing more than physically fit, mentally tough morons with combat skills that are slightly better than the average grunt. You are soft and squishy. You are baby food. When I am done with you fairies, you will be expert marksmen with rifles, carbines, and handguns. You will be expert handlers of all types of explosives. You will master HALO and HAHO jumps, you will master combat diving to the point you can give a SEAL a run for his money. Hell, if I'm feeling generous I might even teach you how to use a throwing knife. You will be the finest hunters and killers in the United States Army's Special Forces. You will embody the credo of One Shot, One Kill. You will be capable of operating under all conditions, in all environments. Rain or shine, snow or hail, in the sweltering heat of the Amazon rainforest or in the freezing cold mountains of Tian Shan. You will be capable of doing this blindfolded, in your sleep, with one arm tied behind your back. For those of you that think this is good old fashioned drill sergeant dick swinging, you will soon learn that I always mean exactly what I say. You are going to have nightmares about me for the rest of your natural born lives.'
That wiped the smirks right off of the men's faces.
'Today's lesson is basic marksmanship.'
The men were visibly deflated, even insulted. They were hoping to learn some combat shooting, which was much more exciting.
'Don't look so glum boys, this is only day one, we'll have plenty of time for the sexy high-speed stuff later. Now the easiest and also the hardest thing to keep in mind is that this is about hitting the target exactly so, not combat shooting. You will be stationary every single time you take aim, and you will remain absolutely still when you fire.
The slightest movement interferes with the trajectory of the bullet and causes it to miss the target, especially at longer distances, which is essentially what sniping is all about. In the field, for those of you that aren't snipers, you ought to know that you don't move at all. It doesn't matter if all the bugs in the forest descend upon you. It doesn't matter if a python crawls up your pants and crushes your penis. It doesn't matter if an angel comes down from heaven and says you have been chosen to ascend to greatness.
You. Never. Move.
So for all you rookies that just made it through the Q course, keep that shit in mind today. I won't be your nurse maid, so if you fuck up on my shooting range your ass is out of here. Under no circumstances will you move a muscle other than your shooting eye and your trigger finger once you are lined up for a kill shot. The last thing you want is to be adjusting your rifle right when the target appears.
That goes for everything. You need to take a leak, you need to take a shit, you go in your pants.'
Floyd had giggled at this, which was his first mistake, because the instructor stopped speaking immediately.
'Did I say something funny Corporal Lawton?'
Floyd risked a look at the Lieutenant, wondering how on earth he knew his name already when they had only just met.
The instructor was, in the street parlance, a beast.
Easily 6'5, probably 200 lbs, all of it solid muscle.
His posture was relaxed but he still radiated danger. His neck and arms were thick and corded. His blond hair was cut short, but still longer than military regulation, and he had a wicked beard that made him look almost feral. He looked to be in his mid forties,50, maximum.
He wasn't wearing any medals, or fruit salad as they called them. He wasn't even wearing cammies.
Instead he was dressed in some sort of badass all black Under Armour PT gear. Every SOCOM operator knew black kit was the preserve of tier one units, the guys who handled counter terrorism, the Jedi of the military. You could just tell he was a veteran of some very hard fought battles. There was a certain steel to him, it was almost palpable. Word going round the barracks was he was on loan from the CAG, brought here to help train the hopefuls for the CIF team and the A-Team, which Floyd was hoping to join.
Another word going around the barracks, not too loudly though, was that he was one of the few who had taken part in Operation Gothic Serpent in Mogadishu, and he was the reason a good chunk of the other men there that day ever got out alive.
His eyes were covered with a pair of very cool black Oakley shades. He looked like death.
'I asked you a question Corporal.'
'No sir, you did not say anything funny sir.'
'Good. Because when you've been lying in a muddy ditch in some God forsaken corner of this Earth for 8 hours straight in the biting cold, and the rain has been pissing down on you all day, and you're waiting for a high value target to poke his head out of his hidey hole so you can drill a .50cal slug through his skull; believe you me Corporal, you will be so grateful for the warmth of your hot, smelly turd in your pants, you won't have time to be amused.'
He looked at Floyd for a second longer, then he resumed his marching commentary.
'Your rifles are behind you. This is the first and last time you will find them assembled for you. After that you will have to do it yourselves, with every type of sniper rifle and assault rifle there is, including those used by enemy forces. You will also have to do it blindfolded, and you will be timed. Once again, I am not bullshitting you.'
This elicited groans of dismay.
'You wanted an easier job boys, you should have stayed in the Big Army. You're Green Berets now, and its called the A-Team for a reason. So if you thought the Q course was the hard part, then you're in for a rude shock, because life in The Teams is a million times harder; and for those of you with aspirations of crossing over to the dark side of counter-terrorism operations, dream on, because maybe 2 out of the 70 men here will ever have what it takes to be a Jedi.'
Floyd could have sworn he was looking at him when he said that, but the moment was gone as soon as it had come.
'Take your positions. Good. Always take your time and pick your target carefully, because if you miss, you may not get a second chance. Remember to breathe before taking the shot, because the slightest drop in blood oxygen can make a tiny little target disappear. Remember to hold your breath in the instant before you take the shot, because breathing, however gentle, alters the trajectory of the bullet. That can be a very bad thing when you're shooting from a very long distance, which, once again, is essentially what sniping is all about. Squeeze the trigger so gently the gun surprises you when it goes off. That way the bullet flies as straight and true as possible, give or take wind speed and the humidity in the air, which you must always adjust for of course. Now, fire.'
"Don't bother." came the reply in his earpiece, snapping him out of his trance, and his walk down memory lane.
He took his cheek off the stock of the rifle butt and watched as the new meat, a scrappy little lady by the name of Selina Kyle, somersaulted skyward and caught herself between two pillars, just before the two guards rounded the corner.
Impressive.
"Next patrol should come round in about 10 minutes, Kyle. Make it count."
10 minutes was plenty of time for Selina to get the 'item', and get the hell out before the armed guards surrounding the place caught sight of her.
She was good, maybe the best at what she did in the world, but even she didn't want to tempt fate.
"Shit." she heard him say in her earpiece.
"Shit? Why shit? Hello? Talk to me Deadshot!" She hissed.
"12 hostiles, converging on your area from multiple directions."
He squinted through the rifle scope, studying the men.
They were heavily armed, and though they were far apart, they walked in perfect unison, their faces covered with balaclavas.
They had the whole goddamn kit on.
NVGs, kevlar body armor in tactical black, flak jackets, frag and incendiary grenades, modified rifles, breaching charges, the works.
He spotted some SOPMOD M4A1s and a couple of SCAR CALs tricked out with taclights...hell, one of them was even carrying a tactical shotgun complete with a surpressor.
Those were standard issue US SOCOM weapons, he noted with not so mild alarm.
There was no mistaking it, they were headed straight for the Selina.
Something was very wrong here.
The op had been compromised, probably from the very start.
Waller, that bitch. Sending us into the meat grinder just for kicks, as per fuckin' usual.
Who the hell was this guy to have fucking D-Boys protecting his residence anyway?
"Catwoman, get the hell out of there now. Those guys coming for you aren't your average rent-a-cops, they're Delta Force. Abort mission, repeat, abort mission now."
"Like hell I am." Selina hissed back. She ran through the compound in full glare of the security lights.
If the job was screwed and she was going to die, she was still going to try and get it done.
It's not like what was waiting afterwards was particularly inviting anyway.
The 'item' in question was a cellphone.
Seemed easy enough for a thief of her caliber to steal, except the owner of the cell phone took it everywhere he went,and everywhere meant everywhere. They had it on good authority that the guy took calls on the crapper.
There was also the fact that he was always guarded by at least 4 bodyguards at any one time, and they were always, always switched on. If anyone came within 5 feet of him they formed a defensive ring surrounding him. It was like a boxer being walked to the ring by his entourage every time the guy so much as stopped to buy a newspaper. And when he rode through the streets you'd think it was a president driving by, there were so many cars in his motorcade.
So that meant Selina couldn't 'accidentally' bump into him and lift the phone from his inner coat pocket like she usually did.
He was a government type judging by the flag on his vehicle; and a rich one too judging by his massive villa with its tennis court and heated swimming pool. Then there was that fancy Academy his kids went to, the kind with an expat principal, a 'diverse' student body and 'interactive' methods of teaching.
They had said the target was a diplomat, but if she had to guess she'd have said this guy was CIA or a private contractor connected to them. Whatever he was, her 'employers' didn't seem to know what he was doing here, which wasn't comforting.
During the briefing, when Selina asked why they were stealing from an American diplomat in Pakistan, she received a boot in the stomach and a polite request to shut the fuck up and keep her eyes on the ground.
The guard couldn't have known who he was dealing with, but he sure would now, because he was lying in the infirmary with a broken neck and a shattered collarbone. Halfway through the beating, as she stomped on his face, she was once again politely reminded via intercom that there was an implant in her skull that could be remotely detonated at any time the holder pleased, now if she could please sit down and listen like a good girl the warden would see to it that she got two meals a day instead of the usual one.
If the mission was successful.
Which is why she was climbing up the wall of the villa to the top floor window, holding onto the edges of windowsills and moving her hands and feet in tandem against the crevices between as quickly as she could, until she got to her destination.
Watching from his position on the roof, Deadshot was starting to understand why her call-sign was Catwoman.
He watched with interest as she swung herself, one armed up, and over onto the windowsill, then somehow she opened the window from the outside and disappeared into the blackness within.
Within seconds she had emerged once more, forsaking fancy footwork for a triple backflip-he counted-and landing smoothly on the balls of her feet.
Very impressive.
If ever someone had a chance of breaking out, she did.
Except for the small matter of the explosive device embedded in the base of her skull.
He realized his heart was thudding mightily in his chest just watching the performance, though he was doing absolutely nothing himself.
"I've got it. Talk to me Deadshot! How close are they?" her voice crackled in his earpiece.
He remembered he could speak. And he remembered he should have been watching the soldiers, not her. That was what 'watch my back' really meant. They had already split up in the short time it had taken him to lose concentration.
"...Uh..."
Uh? Get a grip goddammit!
"Hostiles incoming...ETA 20 seconds... Hold position."
"You know Deadshot, I'd appreciate if you stopped playing soldier and talked like normal folks." Selina said as she sprinted past the bright security lights again, bullets thudding softly in the earth all around her. Thank God these were just the rent-a-cops. Even she was a better shot with a gun.
"Hardy-har-har. For your information Catwoman, before I started doing this shitty detail, I was actually a military sniper, and the best assassin in the world. Not that that kind of thing would matter to a low class criminal like yourself."
"No wonder you're such an arrogant bastard."
"Honey, it ain't trickin' if you got it. Now shut up before they hear you. Two hostiles, coming in from the south west. Hold position. Firing, danger close."
He squeezed off one shot that ripped through the first soldiers skull and embedded itself inside the skull of the next. They fell over at the same time, the blood pooling around their heads. Selina gagged as she watched their brains leak out of their shattered skulls like overeasy scrambled eggs. She had seen a lot of fucked up things in her time, but she had never seen the contents of a human head.
"Ok, you're clear. I'll cover you until you make it to the bushes. Then you're on your own to the extraction point."
"So tell me, what's a white collar criminal like yourself doing in a shithole like Belle Reve, hm? Insider trading perhaps?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Actually, I would."
"Word of advice kid, that's not how this suicide squad works. We're not besties, we're not going to bond like the cast of every prison movie you ever saw. We're just a group of bad apples with unique skill sets that are beneficial to some shady faceless people. They let us out of our cosy little cells every once in awhile, but not without reminding us that they can turn our heads into pink mist at the push of a button. Somewhere along the way, if you put enough hours under your belt and you survive every mission, maybe, just maybe you can slowly erode your sentence and one day walk out of the hell hole that is Belle Reve Penitentiary. I've never seen anyone leave that place alive. Ever."
Well you've never seen someone like me, Selina thought.
He squeezed off two more shots, dropping four more soldiers.
Half down. No time to pat himself on the back.
The others had been alerted of his presence, they would be extra careful now.
"You've been waiting to dish out that monologue for a while, haven't you? I can tell. How long have you been here exactly? A long time I'm guessing. Suicide Squad, hm? You probably coined the name. Patent pending and everything."
Floyd ground his teeth in irritation.
The levels he had been reduced to. From prolific assassin to taking shit from a cat burglar-an admittedly skilled cat burglar but a cat burglar all the same-who barely looked old enough to have arm pit hair.
The worst part was he had actually come up with the name after their first mission. Like every single mission it seemed afterwards,that one had gone tits up and 6 of the 11 jailbirds he went into the field with died by remote detonation. They had been foolish enough to believe the Democratic Republic of Congo was far enough from Belle Reve for the detonators not to work.
Floyd, who had seen missiles launched from advanced battleships off the coast of Hawaaii eviscerate enemy bases completely as far away as the Kush mountains of Afghanistan, knew better. Range is a relative term, especially when it comes to explosives, especially when they are embedded in the base of your skull.
"All right smart ass, you've succeeded in pissing me off. Good luck making the exfil without support. Deadshot out."
He clicked off his receiver just as Selina began swearing at him, and he began disassembling the sniper rifle, storing it away in his duffel bag. He would walk down the stairs and right through the streets carrying the weapon at his leisure. One of the many things he had learned from his soldiering days was that being white-and American to boot-in a foreign nation, was more often than not, a hall pass. He may have stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of brown faces and colorful clothes, but he knew nobody would dream of stopping or searching him, and this was the good part of town anyway, nobody would try anything. If they did,well, he had a back-up piece for nosy citizens.
Had he been wearing his costume, he would definitely have been stopped. But as it was, dressed in blue jeans, a white t-shirt and Chuck Taylors, he just looked like a tourist, possibly on the prowl for hookers or hashish. Selina on the other hand, was wearing her black jumpsuit and NVG's. Even the dumbest cop with the greatest of colonial hangovers would be forced to stop and question her, especially in a place like this where the women didn't exactly walk down the street dressed in skintight leather bodysuits.
Hundreds of thousands of miles away, Amanda Waller watched the happenings on a screen, which was getting its footage from a drone flying low over the area, with audio courtesy of their receivers.
"Jesus Amanda, where do you find these people?" She turned to the man with a cold smile.
"That's my secret Max. All you need to know is that I do find them. Trust me, I know this girl, she'll get you that phone."
"I sure hope so. Aren't you going to do something about Deadshot just leaving her in the cold like that?"
Waller shrugged.
"That's cold."
"You know Max, this isn't a daycare I'm running here. We both know Checkmate isn't just some pseudo Knights of The Round Table gig with delusions of honor and nobility in the dirty work we all do at Task Force X. The Rooks and Knights may believe that, but those of us higher up in the hierarchy know better."
"I resent the condescending tone in your voice Amanda."
"Resent it all you like. Fact is, this Suicide Squad is a crew of pirates. And when you are the captain of a crew of pirates, it helps to pick people that don't get along, makes it that much harder for them to stage a mutiny. I'd understand Lynch giving me this crap because he's a stupid cowboy who still believes he's honorably serving his country in some sick twisted way with his death squad of supersoldiers, but not from you. You and I know better. We don't do this for the stars and stripes, we certainly don't do it for Truth, Justice and the American way. We do it to preserve power in the hands of the powerful, so just stop cheating yourself and drop the false morality."
Max burst into laughter.
"Well shit Amanda. You certainly put me in my place. Alright, I'll drop it, but only because I was worried you might still have some of that stupid cowboy in you. After all, I was born a Spook. You're the one that was on...what did you call it? Lynch's 'death squad of supersoldiers.'"
"That was a long time ago Max. I've grown up since then."
"Yeah? What changed?"
"I realized all we were doing was fighting so someone could build bigger skyscrapers."
"And now?"
"Now I get other people to do the fighting for me, and I'm a hell of a lot better off for it."
"Yes, I saw that gunmetal grey E-Class in the parking lot. I thought of you immediately."
They were silent for a few moments as they watched Selina arrive at the extraction point successfully.
She hopped out of the red Ford Siesta after it skidded to a halt just before the Blackhawk.
She had obviously stolen it.
Her suit was torn in some places and there was blood on her, but she looked okay.
Max laughed and Waller smiled as Selina punched the grinning Deadshot in the face with a well placed right hook, knocking him out with one clean hit. He obviously didn't know she was as good at fighting as she was at stealing. This time they saw everything up close courtesy of the camera mounted on the helo pilot's helmet. He very nearly got beaten up himself for trying to stop Selina-who was now kicking the unconscious Deadshot repeatedly in the head-but she held off at the last minute when 6 men in all black body armor with balaclavas came out pointing laser designated MP5K's in her face. The look of surprise on her face was priceless as she realised they too were soldiers, and that the whole thing had been an elaborate set up, probably to test her abilities.
Max stopped laughing abruptly.
"Hold on a minute, isn't she the one from the JLA? The one that just kind of dropped off the map after they introduced her in public?"
"One and only. Did you think it was another Catwoman wearing a leather jumpsuit?"
"Frankly yes, I was hoping for that. Jesus Christ Amanda, metahuman criminals and mercenaries are one thing, but superheroes? Have you lost your fucking mind?!" Max asked with real alarm in his voice.
"Calm down."
"Calm down?! Calm down?! These people have a presidential pardon, the fucking United Nations sat down and more or less allowed them to go global with their heroics, and you're telling me to calm down?! You might not work for this flag, but if it comes down to it, the System will take a giant shit on you, on all of us, to save itself."
He was pacing now. Waller put a hand on his shoulder.
"Max, I'd ask you to remember your position in this organisation."
He paused, inhaling deeply.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used such language with you."
"There's no need to worry. Selina Kyle has a criminal record that stretches from here to Jupiter. She's a murderer, a thief of everything from cars and jewellery to identities, and she is an extortionist of the highest order. Believe me, if this were to go public-and it never will-the world would side with us, like it always does. Just look at what happened with Snowden, Manning and Assange. People will always kill the messenger, and they'll always want to believe we're good people doing bad things for good reasons."
"If that doesn't work?"
"Just throw the word 'terrorist' around, talk about national security, and everybody follows blindly. Anyone raises questions you just label them unpatriotic."
"It's a beautiful system, isn't it?" Max mused.
"Yes it is, been using it since Communism, and we have McCarthy to thank for that."
"You're forgetting that there was no internet during McCarthyism, Amanda. Newspapers and radio were the medium of information and they were so much easier to put the squeeze on compared to present day outlets. If its not the damned liberal rags, its some kid on the corner with an opinion and an I-phone to record anyone who disagrees with it."
"Where are you going with this?"
"What if the world doesn't side with us? Opinions change even if people don't. Who's to say they won't take her side? This time last year Superman was Public Enemy number 1, now there's talk of building a statue in his honor in Metropolis, and even the JLA has extended an invitation to him."
"'Us' doesn't even exist, technically speaking. Nobody knows about Checkmate. But in the rare event we are discovered, as I said, Miss Kyle is a violent criminal with a rap sheet as thick as a bible. With her record and a couple of calls to our friends in the media, it wouldn't be hard to make it seem like she's an escaped convict on a rampage, or some nut operating purely on her own volition. God knows there are plenty of those running around."
"I assume you're talking about the Bat-character of Gotham? He's been in the news recently. Although I assume you've always known about him."
"Of course. This is still the CIA. We know everything." She turned to the screen, which showed a sulking Selina seated beside a still unconscious Deadshot in the back of the helicopter.
"You know what does worry me Max, is that there are more of these weirdos cropping up every day, they're like cockroaches. The latest is some Robin Hood type in Star City. I think the next 20 years are going to be very interesting, to say the very least."
"When you say you know everything, do you mean everything in general, or everything about him? The Batman I mean?"
"I could point out that the former dictates the latter."
"Don't play with me Amanda."
"I'd tell you Max, but that information is way above your pay grade."
"Well then, can you tell me if he's going to be a problem? I mean what's to stop him from playing a larger role in the future?"
"Unfortunately, nothing. Now that he's actually shown himself on the world stage, he may well be a problem. Judging by his effect on criminal operations in Gotham he's not your average super."
"I don't follow."
"Most of these 'heroes' are certainly quite powerful, but so far they don't seem exceptionally bright, with the exception of Batman and the Flash-"
"The speedster from Central City."
"Yes. Exempting those two, I'd say the current crop of 'heroes' are more reactive than proactive. Batman for example, clearly has plans and tactics formulated. His activities seem random to the average law enforcement agent, but there is a systematic strategy to all his movements. Still, none of the heroes know what goes on in the shadows. As far as I know neither does he, but if he ever gets a whiff of our scent I have a nasty feeling he'll follow it to the end."
"He's just one man. How dangerous can he be?"
"Well, so far he's singlehandedly dismantled and disrupted criminal operations like gun running, and he's virtually crippled illegal drug trade within Gotham. The Five Families now survive largely on prostitution, illegal gambling, underground fight leagues and bookmaking."
"The Five Families? I thought Gotham City had two major crime families."
"Actually, there are 16 crime families in Gotham city, all told. The big two are just the best known, but there's everyone from the Irish mafia to the Yakuza operating in that cesspit."
"16? Holy shit." he paused. "So why five families?"
Waller rolled her eyes. Sometimes he could be so ignorant.
"Its a reference to the Godfather Max, don't tell me you haven't read the book."
"As a matter of fact I haven't."
"Do yourself a favor and buy a copy, today. As I was saying, this Batman is so effective he's succeeded in making rival groups unite against him for the first time in decades."
"So he's slowed down gun-running and drug peddling. Big deal."
"It may not sound like all that much, but he's just one guy, and he's done more in 5 years than their authorities have done in 50. Ineptitude and corruption of the Gotham City Police Department and judiciary aside, that is very impressive, any way you look at it. There's also the fact that he's evaded the FBI with ease. You and I know its not like the movies. One man can't dodge the entire Bureau just like that, but he has. He still is. And he's not got some underground criminal network to support him like all the other Most Wanted.
Based on all that I'd say he's certainly smart enough to figure out what we're really doing here, that is if he ever even learns of our existence.
Like him, anonymity is our greatest asset, and he lost his anonymity the day he broke into S.T.A.R Labs and stole that cannon. Then there's the financing behind all this. Being a lone ranger is hard, but its also expensive. He'd have to manufacture his own hardware and software because there's not a place in the world that would make his gear off the books, not without tattling. So he's definitely got the resources to make us bleed. Not enough to do any real damage, mind you, but its worth noting that he could dent our armor. He's a fugitive but he's always been a fugitive, and catching him will take more effort than its worth."
"The conclusion, Mr. Holmes?" Max asked impatiently.
"He's not a problem, for now at least. As you said, he is just one man, whereas we are an entire organisation with so much leeway it would make his head spin. Having said all that, we shouldn't underestimate him."
It was a very CIA answer. Yes, No and Maybe all rolled into one, but Max was used to that kind of talk, he had grown up with it all his life.
"So nothing to worry about?"
"For now." she stressed.
"Good. Now, are we really going to pretend you're not going to address the obvious?"
"You'll have to be more specific. With me it could be any number of things."
"I'm referring to the JLA and their poster girl, or should I say calendar girl?"
"Ah yes. The superheroes and their Xena Warrior Woman prototype. This might surprise you, but I'm not worried about her at all."
"Why on Earth not? With all that humanitarian stuff she's been doing since day one? I think she's a prime candidate for someone who would hate our guts."
"Afraid of her, Max?"
"Damn right I am, and you should be too. She swings that sword with a smile."
"Rest easy. Pretty face and royal bearing aside, she's a barbarian, an Amazon for God's sake. She hardly understands our culture. She probably doesn't even know what CIA stands for, you think she'll find out about us anytime soon?"
"I don't know Amanda. I'm hearing things about her. I hear she's much sharper than she appears. There's also the fact that her father is, well, Zeus."
"Jesus Christ Max, you don't really believe that BS do you? The daughter of Zeus? Come on. Its bad enough POTUS believes it."
"So you believe she's descended from a race of warrior women from Greek mythology, but you draw the line at her father being a God?"
"I'll believe her father is Zeus the day he comes down from Olympus and introduces himself in person. Until then, she's a metahuman from a warlike race of other metahumans. Whether they are actually Amazons or not remains to be seen. I don't trust everything people say, for obvious reasons. So we'll just have to wait and see. But I'm not worried about her. Or the League."
"Ah yes, the JLA."
"The name America is in the title, need I say more? Our people will make sure their people never know a thing. So no, we won't be having any problems with them either. However I do wonder how long before the international community starts questioning that title and their role in the world, and what it will all mean in the grand scheme of things. But I'll leave the politics and diplomacy to the suits."
"Some of their members are...interesting."
"I assume you're talking about Dinah Drake. Or is it Lance?"
"She goes by Black Canary now. A fitting name I have to say. I watched some of the battle footage. Seems she finally perfected her hypersonic scream."
"Yes, I saw that too. Lynch must have torn out his hair when he saw that. If I recall she was always his favorite."
"You know what it means right?"
"I do. But I thought-"
"Yes, we all did. But one of the strictest policies upon its formation was that the members of Team 7 should remain human. You know, that whole-"
"Humans are more important than hardware. Or metahumans in this case. Funny how that changed when the red capes showed up."
He glanced at Waller. "Don't look so surprised. I've used them enough times for less sensitive missions. Only an idiot doesn't know the Special Forces List of Truths when dealing with a man like Lynch. He was always going on about his glory days in the Army."
"I'm sorry, but I'm still impressed."
"Whatever. Have you considered he knew this all along? I mean he's the one that came and plucked her out of the Agency, barely a year after he had her transferred from the Bureau. I'm willing to bet he always knew...Poor girl, I don't think she ever knew it was all him behind her meteoric rise. She probably would have killed him for everything he did to her in the end."
"Give her credit where its due Max, she was an exceptional agent, she would have risen rapidly even without him, hell, she might even have got to your level."
"Her? A Black Bishop? Please. A White Knight, sure, because she always was too squeaky for the really dark side of things."
Waller detected a faint note of jealousy in his voice.
"Either way, she'd have gone far. I'm sure she knew about Lynch being responsible for all that."
"How do you figure?"
"Dinah was a lot of things, but she certainly wasn't stupid. As for killing him, I doubt it. They had a weird father daughter type of relationship and she had that code of ethics we all have in the beginning but we lose on the way. She'd never murder a man. She'd kill if she had to save a life, but nothing premeditated, nothing that wasn't totally necessary. Then again...That was before she learned about his freaky little past experimenting on unwilling test subjects to make supersoldiers."
"What about Trevor? Word is he's a liaison these days, for the supers. And he got bumped up to the O-6 pay scale, in an advisory capacity no less. Looks like he's moving up in the world."
"He deserves it. That man was probably the only truly good person out of all of us. He's harmless. He was just a pilot and transport guy, left the Business because the killing got to be too much for him. We have nothing to worry about from his quarter. He'll keep his mouth shut about the darker stuff we did back in the day and he'll do whatever he's told to do now like a good soldier."
"Are you sure?"
"I think he saved my life enough times for me to know the kind of person he is. He doesn't even know about the rest of Task Force X anyway. As far as he knows, the blackest it gets is Team 7, like Delta Force or SEAL Team 6 on steroids. Same goes for the other military members of the squad, the ones who are still alive anyway."
"What about our little Canary? Will she sing?"
"Certainly not. Like I said, Dinah's a clever girl, she's been inside the system. She even had the chance to join us, but she turned it down. Didn't like what we did, but she understood how it worked and why it was necessary. She knows better than to even try going against us."
"She certainly is a clever girl. Stays off the grid for all these years and when she pops up its the one place we can't touch her. Speaking of ex-Team 7 members-"
"Yes, you tried to get Slade Wilson, I know. Terrible move, 3 Knights with handguns and tasers. What were you thinking? You could have sent an entire legion of Knights and they still wouldn't have touched him."
"Those were my most promising agents. 3 of my best Knights, and he flattened them barehanded in less than a minute. Shame, he would have made an excellent Knight, he would certainly help me establish myself as the Black King."
Waller sighed. Maxwell Lord was very ambitious, but like all very ambitious men, he was extremely impatient. That was good, success is impatient, but it had to be tempered with maturity, and realism. You don't get things by wanting them really badly, no matter how capable you are. Knowing when and how to use your resources was far more important.
And of course, you needed some luck.
It was the reason she was a Queen, and he was just a Bishop.
"If you want to get to those heights, you'll have to know your enemies Max."
"I do know him! Ex-Ranger, ex-Delta Force-"
"Its not enough to know his military service record. Jesus Christ, is that as deep as you dug?"
"Fill me in? Please?"
Waller sighed again.
Lazy bastard.
"If there's a soldier on this Earth that knows just how dark our operations are, its Slade Wilson. Don't you know he used to work for us?"
"He..He did?"
"Yes, for 20 long years as an independent contractor for the Special Activities Division."
"So he was an assassin?"
"More than just an assassin. He was our swiss army knife. We used him for so many different types of ops. He knows CIA, DIA, NSA, and FBI protocol and procedures, he knows all their tactics, he knows their MO. You want Slade Wilson, you'll have to do a hell of a lot better than three blindly loyal and competent agents; that's if you want to have even a remote chance at capturing him. Fortunately for you he still thinks its Lynch trying to get back his prized bull. Even more fortunate for you Lynch is a brick. If he knew you so much as thought of stealing his favorite action figure, he would have shot you in the face with that .45 Magnum he carries around."
Max was doing the math in his mind. It didn't fit. His military service record said he served for nearly 30 years. There was no way he was still walking after 3 decades of that high speed door kicking Action Man shit, let alone serving an additional 20 years in the SAD.
"But...How is that even possible? How could he have been in active duty for a total of almost 50 years?"
"Come on Max, don't be so naive. First of all, the military service records you've seen are heavily doctored, trust me."
"Still doesn't answer the question. He should be a lot older than he looks."
"He is old. Very old."
"So why does he look like a well aged 50 year old?"
"Do you really think the supersoldier project started or ended with the Nazi's and their Eugenics program? Do you really think these metahumans are a new thing? They've always been around. Not quite so many, but they were there, always. They were just hiding. Its the evolution of the information sector and the advent of the internet that's bringing these freaks into the light. Take Captain Atom for example. I bet you didn't know before he became a walking nuclear reactor he was a fighter pilot-"
"Everyone knows that. He was one of the best actually. Could have gone the NASA way if he wanted."
"Let me finish. He was a fighter pilot, in the Vietnam war."
"You're shitting me."
"Yes Max, I'm a real shitter."
Max leaned back in the plush seat and cupped his chin thoughtfully.
"But the declassified files said his first theatre of service was the Gulf War."
"That's true, he did serve in the Gulf War first, but as Captain Atom, not Captain Adams. Technically, the military isn't lying. He carried out a couple of air strikes for the Air Force when they were...indisposed. To this day, people believe it was F-117 jets that were responsible, and they think those scuds launched at Israel and Saudi Arabia just failed to inflict maximum casualties all by themselves because the Iraqi's fired them wrong."
Max was speechless.
"What, did you think we allowed the vultures to go there for nothing? You think we just wanted to show off our True Blue Marine Corps to the good old folks back home? After Vietnam, you really think we wanted another war with reporters at the frontlines? The Gulf War was about oil, pure and simple. But the best lie is a baldfaced one with a little bit of truth injected. Who better to tell that lie for us than the media itself? The Air Force conducted airstrikes, didn't they? What does it matter if it was a pilot in a highly advanced jet or a pilot with superpowers? Of course, he was just a rookie then, which is why he couldn't prevent the damage the enemy scud missiles caused."
"Wow... That was all him? You think you know a guy...You think you know your world history..."
"But you don't. Very few people that are alive know this information I've just given, Max, so it goes without saying that we never had this discussion, about Atom or Wilson."
"Of course. Still, its...its quite a shock. I think my whole world view has changed just now."
"Don't be so dramatic. But you shouldn't always trust the history books, or the files, especially the declassified military ones. Take it from a person that's done this sort of thing before. Ever read 1984?"
"Duh. Isn't that what inspired all of us Spooks?" he joked.
"Well, 'declassifying' service records is a bit like how they would report the news. Its more spreading disinformation than giving information."
"Huh. Vietnam...That explains the nuclear experiment. Nukes were still all the rage back then."
"Because they've ceased to be all the rage now?" she quipped.
"Everyone wanted to see how they could use them small scale without hurting American soldiers and friendlies. Eventually they just settled for daisy cutters, napalm bombs and Agent Orange. The DARPA files say he disappeared for some time after he volunteered for the experiment. So when did he resurface?"
"That, even I don't know, but like I said, take the information from declassified military files with a pillar of salt. The brass is tight lipped on the exact date of his reappearance. All I know is they kept him in house for a long time, running experiments on him. The only thing I'd trust from those DARPA files is the power ratings. We know how the US military loves to flex its muscles."
"Hey, if you've got it, flaunt it."
"God only knows what he went through to get to where he's at today, especially considering his power levels. I'll tell you from personal experience, powers granted by human experiments are not gained comfortably, at all. And you know how those grunt types are about getting results at all costs."
"You don't have to tell me twice. That's why I joined the CIA."
"I'm sure your dad being Director for nearly 20 years had nothing to do with it."
"Maybe it did a little bit." he smiled, a little embarrassed, a little irritated.
No matter how much he achieved, it seemed he could never quite shake his father's shadow, or the notion that he somehow helped him out along the way in his struggle to the top. Which was far from the truth. Max worked his way up the hard way to get to his position as a Black Bishop at Checkmate, even going as far as to change his last name to Lord. Unfortunately, as Waller had said, Checkmate was still part of the CIA, and so most people knew who he was by virtue of his father being a former Agency director.
"By the way, that little bird telling you all these secrets about our super friends-"
"Hey, I never reveal my sources."
"Come on. Who's the mole?"
"I'm legally bound not to tell you that and you know it."
"Oh c'mooooon Amanda. C'moooooon. Throw me a bone. Don't make me beg."
"Let's just say I like to play my cards close to the chest, and I always keep an ace up my sleeve."
Maxwell Lord smiled with slow understanding. Of course.
It was so obvious even he had overlooked it. It was the kind of master stroke that was the reason Amanda Waller was the head of operations, and the youngest ever Black Queen to boot. It was brilliant, even by her standards. No wonder she wasn't worried about them at all. With this, they would be safe forever.
"Understood. Now let's get something to eat. I'm hungry, and I hear tell the food over here is better than ours. I'd like to test that theory."
"Try the hazelnut pie for dessert, its amazing." Waller recommended as they grabbed their coats and left the room.
The image on the screen showed the dark skies and bright lights over Lahore as the drone pulled away from the city.
Alekile it looks like your wish has been granted, Deathstroke vs Batman on the big screen. And Young Justice season 3 is coming back too. I feel like someone at DC is actually reading this story AND my stupid authors notes too. Yeah right, just wishful thinking.
I think this is the longest chapter I've written yet. A lot to take in but it had to be put together, splitting it would have killed the flow.
Ceralyn, I'm gonna go ahead and assume your gender. I'm glad you like my portrayal of Diana. I often have doubts about my female characters being well written, so thanks, that means a lot.