Chapter 5

Belenko drove them to a safehouse outside of Moscow. No one said a word on the journey. Too many nerves were frayed raw from the loss of Agent Osborn, the failure to destroy the laboratory, and the recovery of a man everyone thought dead.

Once Parker and Belenko declared the safehouse clear, everyone moved inside, dropping what little gear they had in the middle of the room. The spartan safehouse made the Moscow team's sparse apartment look like the Waldorf Astoria. Dugan carried Steve to one of the empty rooms and laid him on the dusty wood floor, as there was no furniture other than a table, four simple wood chairs, and a small, threadbare couch in the main room of the house. A tiny, soot-blackened fireplace occupied one corner of the room with a meager stack of wood beside it.

"I guess no one ever planned on actually staying here," Howard remarked.

"I'll be able to get supplies in the morning, but until then, this is it," Belenko remarked with a hard edge to her voice.

"And what do we do about…" Howard trailed off, gesturing to the other room where Steve was still unconscious. "We don't know whether he's going to be Steve or Boris the killer when he wakes up."

Peggy gave him a look that would have terrified anyone else in the room, but Stark wasn't deterred. "We don't know what has been done to him," he insisted.

"Parker, help Mr. Stark come up with some sort of restraint system until we can further assess Captain Rogers' condition." Her cool, official tone belied the anger and frustration burning inside.

"Ma'am," Reed said quietly from beside her. "I grabbed some medical supplies while we were in the lab. We can sedate the captain if necessary."

"I hope it doesn't come to that, but nonetheless, good thinking. Please assist Sergeant Dugan for now, and keep those supplies ready. And now," she said, looking at Agent Pearson as Reed scurried off, "I'd like you to tell me everything that happened since you left Leningrad last week. Let's start with what happened to Dr. Volkov." She would rather be the one helping Dugan with Steve, but duty came first.

Pearson looked weary with dark circles under his eyes to match the dark bruise on his left cheek. His rumpled shirt had a number of dried bloodstains. He slumped in one of the few chairs and seemed to contemplate standing to deliver his report before deciding it was too much effort.

"Somehow the MGB knew we were coming. There were agents waiting at the train station in Moscow. They grabbed me and Volkov."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Dead. One of the MGB agents shot him."

Peggy sighed. "And how did you end up at the laboratory?"

"It looked like they were working on some sort of mind control. I was going to be their next lab rat. Thank you for getting me out."

She dismissed his gratitude with a wave. "Is that what they were doing to Captain Rogers?"

"Maybe. I was only there for a couple days," he said apologetically. "I didn't see much. Just computers and wires and-" He stopped abruptly, realizing the director probably didn't want to know the last part.

"And what, Agent Pearson?"

"Screaming, ma'am."

Peggy's jaw clenched. "Let me know if you remember anything else. Is anything broken?"

Pearson moved his limbs experimentally. "I don't think so, ma'am."

"I'll send Reed to help you clean those cuts." Peggy made her way slowly to the back room as her own body started to protest now that the adrenaline had worn off. She didn't think anything was broken, but there were definitely a couple bruised ribs.

Dugan leaned against the wall of the small room, arms folded across his barrel chest. Reed hovered near the door, and Peggy sent her out to look after Pearson. "Any change?" she asked as she took in Steve's pale form lying on the floor. His wrists and ankles were bound together with sturdy rappelling ropes that had been reinforced with heavy-gauge wire. Someone had put a rather ugly and ill-fitting shirt on him that was most likely Dugan's.

"None," he answered. The word carried the weight of disappointment.

Everything about this was so wrong. The joy she'd felt at Steve being alive had been crushed by anger at what the Soviet scientists had done to him and fear that he might never be the same. She knelt beside Steve and gently ran her fingers across the stubble of his scalp checking for injuries. The sight of the dozen thin wires protruding from his skull made her feel ill.

"How hard did Pearson hit him?" Stark asked from the doorway.

"I don't think there are any fractures. Can you tell me anything about these wires?" Peggy asked.

"Eighteen gauge copper electrical wire. They must have been using it to deliver electrical pulses to certain parts of the brain, but I'm an engineer not a neurologist. You have more medical training than I do, Peggy, so unless Dum Dum got a medical degree and didn't tell us, we're out of luck."

A low groan cut off Peggy's retort. She watched silently as Steve opened his eyes but made sure she was well out of reach this time. He moved his head slowly from side to side, taking in the room and its occupants, locking on Dugan holding the tranquilizer rifle aimed at his torso.

"Where am I?" Steve asked, his voice rough and breathy. He slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position, wrists bound tightly in front of him.

Peggy stood and took a step back when he moved. "Russia."

Steve nodded in acknowledgment, and Peggy took that as a good sign. "Do you know who you are?"

His brow furrowed in concentration for a moment. "I can't remember."

She tried not to let her disappointment show. "You are Captain Steven Rogers of the Strategic Scientific Reserve. You're from Brooklyn, New York, and you enlisted in the United States Army in 1943. Does any of this sound familiar?"

"I'm afraid not," he said ruefully. She could see the dismay on the faces of both Stark and Dugan in her peripheral vision.

"These are Howard Stark and Sergeant Dugan," she said, indicating each in turn. Steve still showed no sign of recognition.

"And you are?"

The innocent question caused a sharp pain in her chest, even if the rational part of her had been expecting it. He didn't know who he was; she could hardly expect him to recognize her. "Agent Carter, also of the SSR." She fell back on the identity he knew, even if he couldn't remember at the moment.

Steve cocked his head to the side as he thought-the movement wasn't like him. "Carter, Margaret. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"Yes," Peggy said slowly as a million different thoughts fired in her mind. Stark grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room.

"How did he know that," Stark hissed.

"I was going to ask you the same."

"It's gotta be the programming. We can't trust anything he says."

Peggy yanked her arm away. "He has amazing regenerative powers. I have to believe he can recover from this."

"But he might not," Howard said sadly.

"I cannot believe you of all people are ready to just give up." Peggy stalked away before she gave in to the impulse to do something stupid.

"Peggy!" he called after her. She ignored him and kept going.

Pearson and Reed sat on the battered couch near the empty fireplace talking quietly while Parker sat at the lone table by himself with a tarp-covered object in front of him.

"Belenko?" Peggy asked.

"She left to get supplies."

Peggy pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. "I'm sorry about Agent Osborn."

Parker nodded but said nothing, continuing to watch Pearson and Reed across the room. He took a breath to steel himself. "I'm concerned we may have a leak," he whispered. "The lab should have been leveled but half the explosives didn't detonate. And how did the MGB know when Dr. Volkov would arrive in Moscow? How is it they killed the valuable scientist but not the American agent?"

"You think it's Agent Pearson?" Pearson had been badly beaten, but self-injury to sell a story wasn't unusual. He had subdued Steve to assist their escape, though. If Pearson was a mole, what was his objective? "Keep an eye on him."

"Yes, ma'am. And one more thing. Sam took this from the laboratory. Maybe it will help Captain Rogers." He pulled the tarp aside to reveal Steve's shield. The red, white, and blue painted Vibranium disc had more battle scars than she remembered. She splayed her hand over the white star at the center.

"Thank you."