Chapter Seventeen
The last time Sharon and Steve had been to Antietam, it had started as an ambling ride on his motorcycle that had led them as far as Sharpsburg. They'd toured parts of the battlefield, browsed antique shops in nearby Boonsboro and had spent an entirely pleasurable day enjoying nothing more than each other's company.
This trip wasn't quite so carefree as that one, back in the first months of their relationship, but Sharon knew there was no one else she'd rather make it with.
They took Sam's jeep on the theory that, though Rumlow obviously knew Sharon's car and probably Steve's truck, the relatively new Wrangler had hopefully escaped his notice. They were also banking that the jeep would blend in with the touring vehicles throughout the park more than Steve's truck or bike.
According to Oscar's tracking program, the beacon had originated in the southern part of the park, so Steve parked the jeep near one of the picnic areas. They were both dressed like trail hikers in jeans, tees, ball caps and sunglasses. Sharon wore a pack at her waist with the weapons she felt the most comfortable carrying on federal property - a collapsible baton and pocket knife - while Steve wore an oversized windbreaker despite the heat to disguise his shield strapped to his back.
They set off together along Rodman Road toward the Sherrick and Otto Farms, holding hands and looking the part of a young couple out for a historical stroll. Since Oscar's software hadn't been able to pinpoint the exact origin of the signal, they were on the lookout for anything suspicious since it was doubtful they'd find Rumlow sitting at one of the nearby picnic tables as he spied on Sharon's car.
They stopped near Otto's farm, pretending to read the posted literature to once again give the appearance of casual tourists.
It was a sunny Saturday with a heavy mix of families, scout groups, Civil War buffs and park rangers milling around the battlefield. While the crowd made it easy for Sharon and Steve to blend in, it meant more people for them to watch for.
They paused in front of the Otto Farmhouse.
"There are two more trails up ahead," Sharon said, looking at a map while Steve scanned for signs of Rumlow. "We should split up, cover more ground, and meet at Burnside Bridge."
"Can I answer any questions for you folks?" a ranger asked, inclining his head toward Sharon's map.
"No thank you, Ranger..." Steve read the name tag on the ranger's shirt. "Rick."
"If you're interested," Ranger Rick offered, "I can arrange a private tour of the Sherrick Farmhouse for you."
"That's not necessary," Steve said. "We were just -"
"I insist, Captain Rogers," Rick insisted, the gun in his hand making his point. He directed it toward Sharon. "I know you're fast, Captain Rogers, but I don't think you'd risk a bullet in Agent Thirteen if you're not fast enough."
He pressed the gun into Sharon's side. "We're just going to walk back along the trail and pretend that Captain America is getting the VIP treatment from the National Park Service."
A muscle in Steve's jaw twitched with the desire to punch the not-ranger but he nodded after sharing a look with Sharon.
They started to move together, Rick providing tidbits about the farms and ruins they passed and greeting tourists along the way.
In an effort to appear casual, like they were just conversing with their guide, Sharon asked, "How long have you been masquerading as a ranger?"
"Oh, I'm a fully deputized ranger for the National Park Service," a surprisingly jovial Rick answered. "Made sense when our temporary use of the battlefield became more permanent."
"How many of you are there?" Steve asked.
"Like I'm going to tell you that," Rick laughed. "But there's a good number. Remember the two rangers who helped you out when you were here a couple of months back?"
Sharon's eyes widened despite herself. "Seriously?"
"Yep," he answered, smacking his lips in amusement. "Both Hydra. Man, did we have a laugh about that at the Visitor's Center - after we got over the shock that you two were dating." He lowered his voice. "Honestly, Cap. A couple of us didn't think you liked women. Y'know, that way."
Steve ignored the comment and asked, "Why hide out here in the battlefield?"
"For one thing, it totally beats any other work environment. Just look at this view," Rick answered, stopping them as they looked out over the Sherrick Farm. After a moment, he continued, nudging Sharon forward with a jab from his gun. "Who wants to be cooped up in some musty hideout when you can be out in the fresh air every day?"
"Honestly?" Sharon said, "I just figured Hydra was anti-fresh air and picturesque views. Aren't you all about world domination?"
"Order, Agent Thirteen. We're about order. And preserving history is just as important to us as it is to your star-spangled boyfriend. We're Americans, too, y'know."
Sharon wanted little more than to refute that statement but Rick was already leading them up the steps into the farmhouse. She counted two more men dressed as rangers and a handful of others dressed in civilian garb as he ushered them inside.
She expected the house to be empty like the ones open to the public but Sharon was surprised to see the house was fully furnished, the wood floor polished to a shine. Great care had obviously been put into restoring the inside of the historic building, even while the outside remained as untouched as it had for centuries. The furniture was all restored period pieces, as far as her hobbyist eye could tell, or quality replicas mixed with key modern touches like flat screen surveillance monitors that showed feeds from throughout the park.
"It's a sight, right?" Rick asked, giving Sharon and Steve a moment to appreciate the restored interior. "We had some down time waiting for things to cool off after our whole 'coming out party' last fall. It was a lot of hard work but it was worth it."
When their moment was done, Rick used his gun to once again nudge Sharon forward and direct them through the house.
"We're going in here," he said, pointing to the open kitchen door. "The boss wants to see you."
They entered the kitchen where a large woodblock countertop dominated the space.
And seated at that counter was none other than Brock Rumlow.
The former STRIKE team commander and SHIELD agent was about four inches into a foot-long submarine sandwich and greeted them around a mouthful of salami and provolone.
"Hey, Blondie. Cap. I wondered how long it'd take you to pay a visit."
"Are you the boss of this operation?" Sharon asked.
Rick laughed at that, earning a glare from Rumlow that accentuated the Hydra agent's remaining scars from the burns he'd suffered.
"Management isn't really my style," he said with a shrug, taking another bite of his sandwich. "If I was, I wouldn't have allowed you two to just waltz in here without even being disarmed but it's not my call."
Sharon tensed, hoping no one would have realized that she still carried her hip-pack of weapons and Steve had his shield.
"Who's call is it, then?" Steve asked.
"That would be me, Captain Rogers."
The couple turned at the sound of the newcomer's voice behind them.
They recognized him immediately; Steve from the photographs in Sharon's file and Sharon from her own childhood.
Trent Atherton had the look of his father, handsome despite the smirk he wore. He wasn't so tall as his father had been, his features softer, and if you looked closely at his eyes, you saw his mother's staring back.
Steve did look closely, trying to gauge the man Peggy's son had become. In only a moment's assessment, he no longer harbored any delusions that Trent was not fully embedded in the Hydra mindset; that he wasn't just as obsessed with their version of "order" as Pierce, Zola and Schmidt.
Trent shook his head, the smirk widening. "I've heard so many stories about you, Captain Rogers, I almost can't believe I'm finally meeting you. How my mother would go on and on about you, it was a wonder my father even bothered trying for her affection."
Before Steve could comment, Trent moved onto Sharon.
"And my dear little cousin, you've grown into quite the beautiful young woman. And hooked up with Peggy's old flame I see." He lowered his voice conspiratorially and bent over so slightly in Sharon's direction. "I bet that made the holidays awkward, you and Mother fighting over the mistletoe."
He took a step back, clapping his hands together. "Well, I am so glad to have you both visiting our little operation today. I've been dying to talk to you, Sharon, and I just know that Brock over here has some things he wants to work out with you, Captain."
Trent nodded slightly, signaling for Rick to jab his gun into Sharon's side again.
Steve took a step toward them but stopped when Trent admonished, "If you interfere, Captain, I'll just have Rick shoot her and you can watch Peggy 2.0 bleed out in front of you."
Steve stared at Trent.
"Don't think I won't do it just because she's second-hand blood to me. If you haven't figured it out by now, I was willing to poison my own mother. Family doesn't really hold a lot of meaning for me."
"And just what does?" Steve growled.
"Well, manners for one thing, of which you don't seem to have any." Trent turned his attention to Rumlow. "Brock, be a dear and take your friend outside to play. I want to have some quality time with my cousin."
Rumlow finished the last of his sandwich, wiping his mouth with the napkin that had been draped over his lap. He set the plate and napkin aside and stood.
"C'mon, Cap," he said. "Let's head outside."
Steve didn't move, his eyes locked on Rumlow.
"C'mon, Cap," Rumlow repeated. "I asked nicely."
Steve didn't budge, calculating how close he needed Rumlow to be for a solid punch to land his former second on his back so he could take out Rick before he managed to fire off a shot and then take down Atherton before any of them could alert the rangers outside.
"Last time, Cap," Rumlow said, stopping only inches from where Steve needed him to be.
"Okay," Rumlow said with a casual shrug and then lunged at Steve at lightning speed, gripping his arm and shoulder and launching him out the kitchen window.
"Steve!" Sharon shouted, starting forward, only to have Rick grab her arm and hold her back.
"Brock..." Trent said, his voice disappointed. "We just had those windows cleaned."
"Sorry, boss," Rumlow said, moving to the window he'd just messily opened and staring down at the prone form of a slightly dazed and confused Captain America. He pulled himself up onto the sill and called over his shoulder as he took a casual step over the edge, "I'll replace it tomorrow."
Sharon watched Rumlow go after Steve and struggled against Rick's hold, the unassuming ranger's grip far more solid than she would have guessed.
"Don't worry, Sharon. The boys will keep themselves busy until they wear themselves out, which gives us plenty of time to catch up." Trent signaled to Rick and the Hydra agent pushed Sharon into a nearby chair, securing her hands with ties she hadn't realized he'd carried.
Once she was secure, Trent crouched low, his voice a menacing whisper in her ear. "We have so much to talk about, Sharon. Tell me, when was the last time you talked to my mother?"