Chapter 3: Sigh
While supervillains sleep in St. Louis, U.S. Agent paces a USAF hanger in western Illinois. Scott Air Force Base billets the befuddled Avengers and temporarily houses the Quinjet. The super-soldier is not pleased that he must hide here while so many curious airmen must keep the Avengers' presence classified. He has a covert operation to run goddammit!
But, U.S. Agent also counts his blessings. The USAF's Gen. Halstan asked few questions when fellow Commission member Orville Sanderson contacted him on Walker's behalf. Halstan simply authorized the plane storage and guest lodgings. He even quietly provided Banner and Nelson some damn clothes in their sizes. The general even thanked Sanderson for letting him be of service.
Now, U.S. Agent needs Sanderson to be of further service. Sighing, Walker reluctantly dials Sanderson in the middle of the night. The g-man answers.
"Oh, you're up," Agent remarks.
"Indeed," Orville answers, "The FBI never sleeps. Don't you know?"
"I'm glad that the bureau has my back," U.S. states, "I need a favor."
"What could you possibly need, Mr. Walker?" wonders his CSA contact, "I have already provided you top secret information about my higher-up's illegal activities. Then, I got you haven when your covert operation fouled. And currently, I exhibit great patience when you again contact me—at midnight EDT no less—during your secret mission."
"Well, all of that acknowledged, I need a further favor," U.S. Agent replies.
"What?" Sanderson spits out.
"My forces are sad sacks right now," the super-soldier explains, "The four had their brains scrambled by Mentallo or Fixer. Not one exactly remembers who he or she is. None of them can purposefully access his powers. Hulk and Tigra do not even look titanic and tigrine presently."
"Have you tried jiggling the jewel on Nelson's cleavage?" Orville inquires.
"Ah, nah, a Georgia gentleman would not do that," John rolls his eyes, "Listen, I have an AIM-Masters of Evil meeting to disrupt in eleven hours. At this conference, there are guaranteed to be Fixer, Mentallo, AIM, any metahumans working for AIM, an Element of Doom, possibly MODOK should he sneak into the hotel, possibly the AIM WMD detected by the FBI, and any surprise guests who show-up in the usual marvelous way. I cannot just catch everyone in an elevator, ask 'Okay, who wants to get off?', and then kick the crowd's collective ass. I need help."
Huffing, Sanderson cogitates a moment. He replies, "Fine, the FBI has used specialists Misty Knight, American Eagle, Crimson Commando, and Arachne for previous missions. I can see what cavalry one can raise on short notice."
"Much obliged," U.S. Agent assesses, "Spider-Woman is welcome in any of my adventures. Julia Carpenter and I have often worked together. Misty Knight and American Eagle are cool too."
"However, Crimson Commando causes you concern," Orville catches.
"A little bit," Agent acknowledges, "And maybe, he shouldn't. After all, I have worked with the Punisher and lethal protectors. I have killed enemies and been a rough type myself."
"However, you do not work with vigilantes and soldiers who are ultimately villains, not on the side of the angels," the FBI man further analyzes the Super-Patriot.
"Correct."
"Do not worry about it. I do not either," Sanderson assures, "Why do you think I whistle-blow on CSA Director Riordan? Undoubtedly, she has good reasons for acquiring the Element of Doom from AIM in St. Louis. Surely, she acts in the best interest of the United States. But, a righteous lawman cannot allow her to use supervillains on a path paved with good intentions."
"Yeah, I know. CSA members have hired too many miscreants over time," Agent expounds on the topic, "Val Cooper employed Freedom Force, the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. Gen. Haywerth and Henry Peter Gyrich have unleashed mad-dogs Nuke and the Sentinels on the public. Late Commissioner Douglas Rockwell was a Red Skull puppet. And, as a group, the Commission has collaborated with the likes of Power Broker, Green Goblin, the Deathweb assassins, the mob, and Baron Zemo."
"We have even dared directing such loose cannons as Juggernaut and Taskmaster," Sanderson adds.
"Anyway, neither of us cotton Dallas Riordan dallying with degenerates. The American government can do better," U.S. Agent states.
Sanderson responds, "Right. It sickens me that we good guys would send felon Fixer and fiend Mentallo into Missouri to mayhap muster their usual misery."
The super-soldier snickers. "Yeah, where's Missouri's Plainsman when you need him?" Walker wonders, "Show me."
"Who is the Plainsman?" Sanderson wonders.
John sighs, "Some minor hero who died fighting the Looter, of all people. His body dropped from the Gateway Arch to the Mississippi below [see The Superior Foes of Spider-Man #11]. It's a shame not to have him here. The Plainsman probably knew the territory."
"I see," says Sanderson, "I shall seek you some help. Stay safe." The contact concludes the call.
Pacing peds pivoting, U.S. Agent turns around. The super-soldier startles. Somehow, Greer Nelson has snuck-up on him like a feline in the night. John perks-up with surprise. Greer perks-up her ears.
"Somehow, I just overheard your entire conversation from my room," she states, "So, I padded to your position, curious with some questions so that I don't get killed come the morn."
"What do you need to know?" he queries the cat-woman considering him like quarry.
"I would like to know, for example, what we know about AIM's secret weapon that you mentioned," Nelson says.
Walker watches the werewoman with interest. Before his eyes, her raven hair reddens rapidly, almost to orange. U.S. Agent responds, "The FBI intercepted AIM chatter that the subversive scientists sneak something big along the floor of the Mississippi. But, surveillance satellites show nothing. Still, I brought the Hulk into our strike team because AIM is calling this giant threat 'Fin Fang Foom'! I pray that that is just a codename."
Abruptly, orange eyebrows arch, "The old Iron Man foe?" Greer Nelson is impressed by both the name mentioned and that she remembered her Avengers Files.
U.S. Agent's eyebrows instantly rise also. Greer has become Tigra before his very eyes. He cracks a smile, for he seemingly has at least one Avenger able to aid him. He would pet the furry crimefighter if he could. But, he simply debriefs her instead.
To the northwest, midnight arrives in Missouri. On a St. Louis rooftop, the Plainsman peers through a telescope from the Allan Hotel to the grand Rowen Hotel housing Fixer, Mentallo, Grey Gargoyle, and whomever. The terrifically tech-enhanced telescope gives him a schematic of the skyscraper's interior, and it offers the heat signatures of all who have one.
Plainsman lowers the glass. He comments to his companion, "Well, I have reconnoitered the situation, and I reckon that a scout still doesn't know the whole country."
His companion is Barney Fiddler on the roof. "What?" asks Agent Fiddler.
"I do not know everything that I would wish to," the one man states more plainly.
"Oh," Barney answers, "What intelligence have you gathered?"
"Plain as day, I can see that Mentallo sleeps peacefully on the Rowen's seventh floor. He gives a nice thermal image," the spy informs the spy, "In the adjacent room, your man Fixer flits in and out of the picture like'n he has tech interfere'n with my own."
"Ebersol's measures are no surprise," Fiddler acknowledges, "Any intelligencer knows to jam potential surveillance equipment, and a super-genius knows how to jam even CSA gadgets."
"Let us not consternate," says Plainsman, "I'll be observing him in-person soon enough."
"Yeah, you'll be in the room with Fixer and Mentallo when the big buy occurs," the handler recognizes, "I want a 'good guy' watching the two renowned goons tomorrow. Dallas Riordan is a fool for habitually trusting the Thunderbolts like she does."
"Never ask why rattlesnakes bite ya. They're rattlers," the reconnoiterer references an old fable.
"What else do we know about our den of vipers?" Fiddler fingers the Rowen.
Plainsman guides him, "The Grey Gargoyle, Paul Pierre Duval, is also in yon skyscraper. Like Norbert Ebersol, I can't rightly get a fix on him half o' the time, for he lacks a proper heat signature, being a stone gargoyle and all."
"Is he also on the seventh floor, near Fixer and Mentallo?" Fiddler asks.
"Nah, he has got the penthouse seven stories o'er the seventh story. He is top floor," Plainsman replies.
Barney cogitates and then conjectures, "Duval does not seem to be collaborating with the other two. Perhaps, he is staying hidden so that his presence is a surprise later. AIM may want some kind of ace-in-the-hole at the meeting."
"AIM operatives are the only folks been visiting him all day," the scout communicates, "The telescope gave me facial recognition of one Evelyn Necker, her Igor assistant Nathanial Duffy, and Curtis Carr, a.k.a. Chemistro. They accompanied Duval to his chamber this afternoon.
"This evening, Necker and Duffy checked-out the second-floor meeting room reserved for tomorrow morning. Carr went to the basement by a maintenance elevator that no guest would be using. Then, he disappeared from my scope's sight.
"I figured that his actions were kinda funny, so I descended to the St. Louis storm sewers via the basement in this here Allan establishment. Sure enough, my tracking instincts were right. AIM has engineered a tunnel off of the Rowen Hotel underground. It probably leads to one of those underground lairs that marvelous mudsills are fond of. I did not trek in though."
"You were probably wise not to," Fiddler comments, "AIM could have MODOK or a giant dragon or who-knows-what down there."
Plainsman points to a significant scar at his hairline, "A man is wiser after Looter partially shoots his brains out. I am a better benevolent bad-ass now."
Barney nods, "I remember when the CSA got you. You were out of commission, with an incomplete head and bunches of broken bones. Dr. Wilcox did a great job rebuilding you like one of his Deathloks."
"Certainly," Plainsman pats his scar, "A cyborg has circuits instead of just neurons, for example. So, he hinders Mentallo's mesmerism more easily than the next man. If necessary in the morn."
"Noted," Barney concedes, "However, be careful. Fixer could still technically hijack your head and zombify you, much as I hope that doesn't happen."
"Well, he would get an Arkansas toothpick for his troubles!" the wired warrior brandishes an electrified Bowie blade. It burns ominously.