17. Catspaw

. . .

Tagging von Bardas was easy. They sent in an agent dressed like hotel waitstaff, brushing herself by the table and drifting a napkin across the woman's narrow, taut shoulders. The tag underneath was a sticky fabric, dark enough to be masked by the business-cut jacket she was wearing. The only thing the tag would do was track location, nothing else. Even that might burn out within minutes; who knew what sort of gadgets she'd brought out of Latveria for her own protection? Certainly she was riding alone.

Well, as far as anyone could see. Tactical had discussed the possibility that she was accompanied by more of the cloaked devices (or robots), but May and Coulson both agreed that was unlikely. Latveria's reputation was enough to buy safety, so long as they played up that reputation. Furthermore, it would be harder for Lucia to play her games with an oversight committee at her shoulder. Since it was her op, May's opinion ruled the show. She stayed uncomfortably aware that it wasn't the most solid bet on the table, but so far it bore out.

The phone in her jacket pocket crackled into live static. "Limo's here," came the quiet alert from an agent inside the hotel.

"I see it." As Skye indicated, it was a top of the line defensive vehicle. Only the fact that it rode lower and heavier than a number of other luxury limos in the area could tip off a close viewer that this one was special. Made it easier to follow, too, if the tag crapped out. May pulled the sedan out several vehicles behind the limo, calculating the odds on what route Lucia was going to take into the depths of the city.

. . .

Dumitra watched the cat as it seemed to doze in the warm nest of hay and straw that overfilled the back of the truck. It creaked its green eyes open now and then, clearly offended whenever the truck hit a uneven patch of road and jostled the cozy nest. "Destul de kitty," she cooed at the enormous black animal. Pretty kitty. The little girl giggled to herself, tugging her thin flannel jacket tightly around around her body. "Da, putem pastra?" Can we keep?

Her father glanced back through the open window of the truck, watching the wind catch her dark brown hair into wild wisps as he kept driving on Latveria's single main freeway. He smiled, the expression warm on a face that was stoic and sun-browned from years of hard labor in the fields. "Nu, Dumitra. El apartine undeva." He belongs somewhere. He chuckled, giving her what she really wanted – the admittance she was right about allowing the meowing stray on board at least until they got to the capital. "Prea draguta." Too cute. Then he put his gaze on the road again, leaning forward to see that the city's hovering guide-drones were indicating a clear path. With all the rains lately, the king's machines had to work quick to keep the few roads clean for the farmers. It wasn't unusual for the small bridges to wash out, but the flickering lights above told him all was well.

Just because so much of the small country was still rural did not mean their great king turned his all-seeing eyes away from the people that formed its heart – just as the king himself explained on the regular radio broadcasts, his voice deep and proud. Dumitra's father tipped his cap in respect as one of the silvery-green and sleek drones whisked by, scanning his cargo and continuing on with a flutter higher in the sky.

She gave his broad back a child's pout, then reached down to stroke the cat between his remarkably furry ears. The eyes creaked open again, flickering up a sharp, wise gaze at her face. The huge tom put his ears back at the sudden uninvited contact, but let her get away with it without a growl or a flash of fang. Did he belong somewhere? His attitude seemed far too wild. She scratched his neck, finding the strip of collar again. No, her dad was right. There was the proof to remind her.

"We'll get to the stadt soon. Not the little towns but the big one," she whispered to the pretty kitty in the best English she'd learned so far. Latveria's small but efficient school system was big on multi-linguistic teaching. In another year, her English would be as good as the Romanian she'd grown up with. All for the eventual day when Latveria would stand revealed as the true heart of the world. "Will you be home there? Oh!" She looked delighted, her mind whirling itself around with ideas of fairytale princes and queens and royal cats deigning to entertain a ballroom throng. "I wonder if you belong in the castel mare! Maybe you're the king's own cat!" She spread her hands to give him an example of what she meant, trying to get across the size of the tall stony spires and sprawling halls of the great castle that loomed above the stadt. Hassenstadt, or so it was known once, in the early days of her country.

Only a few remembered that detail. Now they called it by its real name – Doomstadt. The city in the shadow of the king.

The green eyes blinked lazily up at her before lifting one cheek a little higher than the other. Scratch there, little minion, if you must demand my attention.

With a giggle at his feline attitude, Dumitra did as commanded.

. . .

Dumitra waved goodbye when the cat leapt gracefully out of the truck at the edge of the city and its anachronistic jumble of buildings old and new. To her mind, no doubt still full of fantasies and fables, he seemed perfectly and logically intent on what he needed to do and she dropped back out of sight with the truck's cargo without regrets. But he spared her a glance over his wide shoulder anyway, allowing a single meow of farewell. He didn't know why, some fuzzy drive to be polite to the big hairless things. He was only a cat, and his neck itched hot and wild under the bad-smelling collar. It jostled and wiggled as he moved, sometimes digging into the skin underneath. He could easily bite it off if he wanted, and as he licked vigorously at his own chest, he considered doing just that.

No. The faded whisper was an alien intruder in his mind, implacable and insistent. That ugly dream, the eyes within it strange and almost as bright as his own save for the flicker of some terrifying red buried inside. An echo's voice, like himself and also more than himself. The castle. I must go to the castle. It's where they keep kings, after all. There's a lesson I know perfectly well.

The cat meowed to himself, confused by the jangling thoughts within his mind, thoughts that didn't fit within the smells and the images and the instincts that formed a cat's intelligence. A city was always a city; under the confusing noise and stink of people were the richer smells of mice and meat. A sweet meow at the right open window and he'd get treats for free. Oh, and those things that were not birds but perhaps he could play-

drones, they are drones, I cannot act so strange as to draw notice, now let me fall still.

He meowed again, drawing the stare of someone in the street, a tall man in a black uniform edged with a harsh, unfriendly green. He paced back and forth for a moment, trying to remember what he was and where he was going before sitting to wash a paw. The act centered himself – and himself. The man in the street looked away, seeing nothing more than what the cat wished him to see.

The distant scampering sound of a mouse paused him in mid lick and he turned, eyes narrowing to study out which little nook of red brick it came from. Hungry, purred the cat-self, easy and secure in the basic needs of beasts. Eat, sleep, and live. No other troubles to consider in all his short life – but a more seductive image forced itself into his mind. Of long tables piled high with food, and wasn't half the fun stealing your prey? The cat looked up at the horizon of the city, almost smelling the cooked treats that might be in the great spires that broke the sky.

Yes, the castle. Yes. Inside the shape of the animal, Loki allowed himself a moment of relaxation, his soul-self still draining quickly under the unceasing instinctive demands of a small cat's mind. A single mental gasp and he reclaimed a firm hold on the reins of the cat's thoughts. We do not have forever to play at this.

He disappeared up a clean alley between a rustic pastry shop and a tiny general store with a tinking brass bell above its door, his brushy tail wagging a final farewell to the truck as it pulled away.

. . .

Lucia looked into the rearview mirror through the clear divider, her eyes narrowing as she saw the black sedan still several cars back. Nothing to be certain about, but it'd been following the limo for several miles. Dario, are you getting cute with me? Sending your idiots after me to make sure our deal is a good one? She sniffed, then tapped at the glass between her and the driver. It scrolled down and she smiled cheerily for him. "You know, you're absolutely correct. I've only just arrived and I've got all day before my appointment." She calculated what she was about ask, making sure that it was what she wanted. It would put her out in the open, but that might be better than Agger's people causing a scene at the Hill. He'd sounded so flaky the night before, rattled by his own incompetence. "Could you be a dear and change course? I'd love to see the Arboretum."

"Only risk is we might be cutting it close getting back, ma'am. I can get there nice and quick this time of day, but the time it takes to enjoy that? Freeways bloat right up and we'll be a bit slow."

"Oh, that's fine." She laughed easily. "They're the ones waiting on me, anyway."

"Yes ma'am," he said. Then he shot her an apologetic glance through the mirror. "Got to turn real quick here."

. . .

May swore under her breath. No way she'd been made completely, but Lucia's instincts were pretty sharp. She'd twigged to something. "Visual and tracker tag indicates she's going towards the northeast end, and I think they've noticed my car. Ideas on destination?" She had one, but why bet on the uncertain?

Skye's response confirmed hers. "Probably the Arboretum. Only thing worth risking D.C. traffic for on a Friday. In that direction, anyway."

With a spin of the wheel, she took a different turn than the modified limo. No point in confirming the Latverian's suspicions. "Get me a team out there to back me. We can't drop her, but we might be able to do an approach. It's public, she won't want to make a scene."

"Neither will you."

"Yeah, well. It'll be like poker night. Everybody gets their game face on." May gauged traffic, realizing she was going to have to jump three lanes to get the street she wanted. She went for it the second she saw a gap, ignoring the screech of a horn behind her.

"I'm realizing why everyone talks about driving in the capital with this sad, grim tone just listening to you navigate." May heard a rustle coming from the other end. "I've got some locals deployed. And... Koenig is en route, so there's that."

She'd left him wrangling the agents inside the hotel for her, ferrying the messages and watching for mishaps. "Which Koenig?"

"Who the hell knows. Sam, maybe. The one that does more field work. Says he brought a few things out of the lab that might help. He'll meet you there."