Chapter 5 – The Price

Washington D.C.

The nondescript concrete-gray office building was situated far enough from the hub of White House, Congress and other important federal buildings of State so that many tourists and even locals ignored it altogether, assuming its distance signified yet another bland bureaucracy whose job was the trivial – perhaps the Department of Weights and Measures, or Mattress Standards, or some such to make the taxpayers' lives as miserable as its outward facade. The building, built in the 1960s as one of the last designs of the French architect La Corbusier, also suggested no particular historical significance or Freemasonic influence, which could draw the attention of history buffs or conspiracy theorists. It was best ignored, driven past quickly. Therefore, it served as the ideal headquarters of an organization that potentially possessed more power than all three branches of the United States government put together.

It was here that the remaining elements of A.R.G.U.S. retreated to following the debacle in the Australian desert. The failure of Project Pnakoutos to secure the bulk of the Yithian technology, as well as the devastation of a huge swathe of the environment for a foreign nation, had displeased many in certain places of power already suspicious of A.R.G.U.S. and its chiefs and its methods.

Yet all was not a loss, Amanda Waller considered. They had secured some very important artifacts, and acquired valuable knowledge, with great potential. More importantly, they had wounded the Justice League, she was certain: Superman had had to acknowledge publicly that he had to take a 'leave of absence.' While he had not given specific reasons for his absence, Waller thought she had a good idea for it, more than a good idea in fact. Still, the Justice League was a perpetual thorn in her side, reminding her of her insignificance.

But, she was certain, A.R.G.U.S. now held a potential advantage, one that if utilized correctly, could bring about the realization of their greatest objective.

However, it would now require the most intensive planning and coordination for the realization of this objective. Waller did not believe in leaving anything to chance.

So, on this early spring day two months following the Pnakoutos gambit (as she called it in her mind), she called a meeting of two of her most senior advisers in her comfortably appointed office in the gray building.

Dr. Fenderbrake had his offices here, a floor below hers, so he arrived early. A tall and slender man in his late middle-age, with a shock of iron-gray hair and piercing blue eyes, he was Waller's senior scientific adviser…and most trusted confidante. His manner matched the iciness of his eyes;the setback in Australia had not fazed him one iota, and he was the one who had pointed out the potentialities it created. He did not dwell on mistakes, and was devoid of all human mercy, a quality she admired, despite his mysterious background. He sat next to her massive credenza, waiting for the next man to arrive.

Waller had given some thought to choosing her next military adviser following the disappointment of General Sam Lane, who had fortunately perished in Pnakoutos. In the end he had proven a traitor, who had blown up Project Pym, her project with the missing soldier Sergeant Kent, who had been abducted by the Yith during the Vietnam War, who had delayed his aging and kept him alive for their mysterious purposes. That was a loss of powerful information. She needed someone more reliable, who would not be bothered with scruples when it came to achieving their goals.

General Carl Strauch arrived shortly after the good doctor, dressed neatly in his army uniform. He bore a minor resemblance to Fenderbrake, although his background was not in medicine but its opposite, the taking of life as swiftly, silently, and efficiently as possible. A veteran of many Special Forces units, including the Green Berets, he had participated in his share of Black Ops throughout the globe during his 30 years of service. Waller knew that the man did not desire to hang up his sword, so to speak, until the metahuman problem had been dealt with conclusively.

General Strauch, like many of his military comrades, was skeptical about civilians running the show.

"I heard you all had your asses handed to you in Australia," the general said in his gruff voice once the brief pleasantries had been done with. "The Commander-in-Chief nearly cut off your existence altogether."

"It's true that our budget, like those of other governmental departments, has been trimmed," Dr. Fenderbrake replied. "However it has only compelled us to become more creative with our projects. I imagine that our next Commander-in-Chief may also be more sympathetic to us, given his attitudes towards illegal immigrants."

"'Creative,'" snorted the general. "You don't do more with less you do less with less. I saw that in Afghanistan."

"Fortunately, we don't have the eye of the general public on our projects," Waller interjected. "Everything we do is in utmost confidence."

"Despite that, I've heard what is being said about A.R.G.U.S. in hallways in Congress, and the Pentagon. It's said that A.R.G.U.S. is a spent force and useless. You've failed to neutralize any members of the so-called Justice League, much less Superman. Certain people are thinking maybe they should work with Superman, rather than against him. It's actually come to that!"

"And what do you think, General?" Fenderbrake asked pointedly.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Superman is a threat to the human race, I've never believed otherwise. I never fell for that 'boy-scout' act and neither did Sam. There's no doubt in my mind that he was murdered by that alien monster out there in the desert."

"I have heard as much," Waller murmured. She didn't add that those rumors had been carefully planted by her operatives in places where they were likely to be believed, and garner support for A.R.G.U.S.'s mission. "Lane was a true patriot."

"Lane gave his life to expose the truth," Strauch rumbled. "I want assurances that if I lend my support, this Superman will pay for his murder."

"You have them."

Strauch leaned forward in his chair. "I need more than words. I need to know that you actually have some kind of viable plan in play."

Waller nodded understandingly. "That is what I wanted to demonstrate to you today. Yes, I know everything that is being said about A.R.G.U.S. but those time-servers up on Capitol Hill don't have the full picture. We have acquired a great deal of information, and technology, which our teams have managed to analyze successfully."

"Hah! Don't tell me you've captured a little flying saucer and are reverse-engineering it in Area 51," Strauch laughed dismissively.

"No, nothing of the sort," Dr. Fenderbrake said patiently. "You will receive the full details shortly…once you are fully onboarded with A.R.G.U.S. I knew that you would want some concrete demonstration. I am prepared to show it to you today."

The general's eyes widened, as Fenderbrake reached into his briefcase at the side of his chair, as if he'd expected him to pull out some alien pistol. But what he brought out was a plain manila folder, with papers inside. He handed it to him, who opened it curiously.

Strauch's interest soon turned to open disdain. "What? A mercenary? That's your big plan?"

"Not just any mercenary," Waller said. "Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke the Termina-"

"I know who he is," Strauch interrupted. "An ex-Special Forces operative, who kills for the highest bidder, no allegiance whatsoever to any nation, ideology, or religion."

Strauch flipped through the file, which included several photographs of a big man in heavy body armor, his face concealed by a fearsome and featureless mask, in others his head was exposed, revealing a grizzled and goateed white-haired man with one eye, the other concealed by an eyepatch. In all the photos, he was standing next to corpses on the ground, his handiwork.

"Slade Wilson's an old man. Hell he's been active since I was in Officers Training Corps! Anyway, no one's heard of him for a couple of years now, last I heard was that he was headed into Central Asia to track down some warlord. Far as I know the sonofabitch's bones're still lying there."

"You're wrong on that count, old man."

Strauch spun in his chair and gaped at the man who had appeared behind him in Waller's office. Not many people were able to sneak up so quietly on him, even if he had been distracted. Strauch didn't recognize the intruder, a tall and muscular American-looking guy, clean-shaven with close-cropped black hair. He looked ex-military, especially as he was wearing a bomber jacket and military-style cargo slacks, but Strauch couldn't place him. He wore no identification badge, and shouldn't even have been able to get in the building, much less on the top floor, without one.

"General," Waller said. Neither she nor Fenderbrake looked surprised at the man's sudden appearance. "Meet Mr. Slade Wilson."

"What?" Strauch stared between them. "This is Slade Wilson? Bullshit!"

"'Fraid not," the man said mildly. Casually he pulled up another chair and sat next to the astonished army officer, appraising him coolly. Strauch felt a chill run down his spine as the man's eyes met his. They weren't a young man's eyes, they were those of an experienced killer's. He had met plenty of those types before. And there was something about the man's face, his voice.

"How is this possible?" To his credit, the general did not appear frightened, only a bit annoyed and dismayed at being startled. Waller was impressed.

"It's a long story, General, and if I told you everything, why'd I'd have to kill you…like those guards you'd placed out front to keep me from getting in."

Wilson reached into the backpack he'd carried in, pulled out a pair of sidearms with attached belts. Wetness gleamed on the straps, and stained the ID badges a dark brown. He tossed them into the furious general's lap.

"Damn it, those were some of my finest trained men-"

"Expendable assets," Wilson finished. "Just like you."

"General Strauch is joining us, Mr. Wilson," Waller said quickly, perhaps the only thing that prevented the general from being killed on the spot. "He is going to provide us the backup we need in our next endeavor. I trust that our 'down payment' has convinced you of our sincerity, Mr. Wilson?"

"Maybe."

Slade Wilson ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek. He had to admit, when he'd first received the communiqué from Waller and A.R.G.U.S. his initial response was to dismiss it. He was wary of any proposal, especially from this outfit, but when he'd learned the details…he had let his own curiosity - and desperation - get the better of him. Besides, the general, the old bastard, had been right – he was old. He was arthritic and possibly suffering from incipient dementia caused by repeated concussions too numerous to count. His last mission had almost cost him his life, he'd made so many mistakes he wouldn't have made ten years earlier, and there was his reputation to consider too. There had been no choice really, either he had a choice of a prolonged and unpleasant death, perhaps in a nursing home, or a sudden quick one. He had made contact with Waller's representatives, with the understanding he was not committing to anything unless he had certain assurances of his own. He had met with Waller's operatives in a remote location in the Gobi Desert.

When he had woken up from the immersion into the pit, he had thought he was dying. In fact, he had been certain of it. He had struggled to fight, take out as many people as he could - perhaps he had killed a few in his wild thrashings, he wasn't sure - then nothing. He'd fallen unconscious, for perhaps a day or more. When he'd woken again – assisted by Waller's people, they were nothing if not persistent – he had been no less surprised than the fuming idiot next to him.

"Ra's Al-Ghul and his crew called it a 'Lazarus Pit' I remember," Wilson muttered. "Something magic something or other that could bring the dead back to life, revivify the dying. I thought it was all bullshit but…"

"Nothing magic at all," Fenderbrake said very quietly. "Technology, of a sort, left here millions of years ago, and exploited by the ignorant. But A.R.G.U.S. is rediscovering it, all for one purpose." There was an eagerness in his voice Slade didn't quite understand.

"If you have all this…technology," Slade suspiciously eyed Waller and Fenderbrake. "Why don't you take out the Justice League on your own?"

"We failed," Fenderbrake admitted flatly. The statement startled both Slade and Strauch in its bluntness. "We are lacking a certain…asset."

"You want me to be that asset," Slade got it.

"Our first objective is Superman."

"Oh, nice, a suicide mission, a perfect task for someone you've just granted the fountain of life to." Slade's tone was contemptuous. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

"Not at all," Fenderbrake explained. "Superman has been virtually hidden from sight ever since Australia. Why do you think that is?"

"He was injured," Strauch's mind returned to the task at hand. "Somehow. We know he can be injured."

"We believe he caused the destruction of our…facility in Australia," Waller said. "Although the press was told that it was an underground explosion caused by an earthquake, that is only part of the truth. The expenditure of energy we recorded there surpassed anything that can be caused by human technology, but not by an alien that has stored solar energy for over twenty years in his cells."

"Superman did that?" Wilson and Strauch exchanged astonished glances.

"He released the equivalent of a small solar flare. But in the process, he was injured to the point of near-incapacity. So we believe."

"You 'believe' but you're not sure," Slade said, not sounding convinced.

"No, we have not been able to track him. However we are reasonably certain he is not ensconced within the Watchtower or the Hall of Justice. We need 'eyes on the ground to locate him.'"

"If it is true Superman is incapacitated, to whatever degree, this may be our best and only chance to eliminate him once and for all!" Waller emphasized. "We know he can regenerate, perhaps in time he will regain all his power, so we need to strike and strike soon, while he's weak."

Slade leaned back in his padded leather chair, crossed his legs, assuming the air of a skilled negotiator. Strauch eyed him warily.

"Your 'down payment' was just to get me in the door," Slade remarked cynically. "Of course it would have had to have been a hefty one, wouldn't it, to go up against Superman himself, even if he was down to half or quarter power."

"Maybe not even that," Waller added. "He could be at only the strength of an ordinary man, or even a child."

Slade was silent for a long moment. The silence stretched out.

"Will you take the job?" Waller asked. She stared pointedly at Strauch. "You will have all any additional assets General Strauch's black ops can provide, as well as our own considerable forces."

The general seemed to hesitate, then slowly nodded, his dislike of the mercenary overcome by the mission at hand. "Yes. Whatever you need."

"You just gave me a down payment. Nice as youth is, I require additional payment for any work I do." Slade finally said.

Waller leaned back in her chair, clearly pleased. "Name your price."

The mercenary humphed dismissively. "I may have a young body now, but I'm still an 'old man.' I have all the money I need, plenty of nice houses, cars. There's nothing you can give me."

Waller was puzzled. "What do you want then?"

Slade replied flatly. "I want Wonder Woman."

Waller frowned. She had not expected this. "I…don't understand you."

"My price is very simple: I want Wonder Woman," Wilson repeated, as if to a kid. "That's all you need to know. I will deliver you Superman, dead or alive, your choice. I imagine you may want him alive, so the General's boys can play with him, like Lane's did. I can throw in another Justice League member or two in the deal, if you want. But I get to keep Wonder Woman, no questions asked. That's non-negotiable."

Waller tried to conceal her distaste at Slade's request. She couldn't imagine what a creature like Deathstroke would want with Wonder Woman, and she didn't want to. Still…if that was the price…she glanced at Fenderbrake, who gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Very well," she finally said. "As long as you can complete your mission."

Slade Wilson – Deathstroke the Terminator – stood up and made to leave as without another word, but he paused to throw over his shoulder:

"Miss Waller – I always complete my mission."

To be continued….

[A/N: Argh, that evil Amanda Waller! I hope she is that evil in Suicide Squad, haha. I had this idea for Deathstroke, and hope this will create some suspense - what is he up to? It will have to wait, though, up next is Batman and Zatanna. Please review!]