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Chapter 11: The Executioner
Stark Industries Quinjet 2, over the Atlantic Ocean
Stark's ultra-advanced aircraft cruised at 67,000 feet, hurtling toward the European continent at more than twice the speed of sound. Its five turbojet engines would have roared like a volcano if you'd been outside the craft. But Stark's soundproofing and pressurization were so perfect the engines were virtually inaudible from inside. If not for the occasional rumble of turbulence, you'd have never known you were even airborne, so smooth and quiet was the ride.
Stark's entire Iron Man suit locker had been loaded on-board, as had the outfits and particle discs for Pym and Janet. Still, it seemed a light load for a team going on what felt like a military mission. No guns, no stockpiles of ammunition, no grenades or other explosives. Stark kept more liquor on board than ammo.
Janet's groggy head quickly cleared, and Stark said nothing more to her about her "indiscretions." Perhaps his legendary compartmentalized mind had already sealed off the incident. Whatever the case, Janet was thankful.
Pym, however, was another matter. He didn't speak to her the whole trip, even though they sat within arm's reach in the cramped passenger compartment of the Quinjet. He stared resolutely into his laptop, and Janet had neither the energy nor desire to try to engage him.
Stark stepped through the cockpit portal and slapped a file folder into each of their laps.
"Hans Grubervelt," he began, settling into a swiveling passenger seat, buckling up and turning to face them. Pym and Janet picked up their folders and opened them. "That's the name of the guy who killed Maria . . . or that's the name he goes by. I'm pretty sure it's fake."
"Why do you say that?" Pym asked.
"Because it's so goofy," Stark answered. "But he doesn't use his assumed names much anyway. He prefers to go by his trade name. Calls himself The Executioner." Stark folded his hands behind his head. "All these guys have got to give themselves scary names. I guess they think it makes them sound tougher."
"We'll see how tough he is when I've got him by the throat," Pym whispered.
Janet scowled at him. Pym scowled back. But he didn't set into her again. He turned to Stark. "How'd you identify him?"
"Thanks to your powers of observation, big boy." Stark slapped Pym on the knee. "You said the man you remembered had a gold tooth with a silver star. So our guys ran some scans on security camera footage and cross referenced it with communications from terrorist and paramilitary groups in Europe. And bingo! Although he wasn't hard to find, to be honest. He seems pretty proud of himself – theatrical name, the blinged-out tooth. We've got video of him bragging about his killings."
"Why do they let a monster like that stay on the streets?" Janet asked.
"Well my dear . . . 'they' probably put him on the streets." Stark propped a leg up on a vacant seat. "That is, after all, why he killed Maria. At least that's my guess. Contract killer. Secret police type of stuff. There are governments and quasi-governments and paramilitary groups that'll hire a guy like this as an enforcer." Stark picked up Pym's folder and leafed through it. "With Maria being an old political opposition figure, my guess is when they learned she was back in-country, they sent Mr. Goober-velt here to do the job."
Janet wrapped her arms around herself. "It's appalling."
"Still think bringing him to 'justice' is a good idea?" Pym snarled at Janet.
"Will you stop it?" Janet barked back. "I can't believe you're still talking like that!"
"Actually, Hank does have a point," Stark interjected. "With a guy like this on the payroll, it's not likely the government's going to do anything about it if we bring him in." Stark looked up, like he was thinking. "Which probably wouldn't be a good idea anyway, since we'll be flying over their airspace without authorization, landing on their soil without permission, and conducting operations right under their noses without approval."
Stark looked back down. "But. . . fortunately, this guy's wanted in about a dozen other countries. So I suggest we swoop in, pick him up, drop him off in France or Germany, and be on our way."
"How are we going to find him?" Pym asked.
"That may take a little time. Sooo . . . on second thought, maybe our 'swoop' will be more like a hover." Stark creased his lips. "All we know is that this Grubervelt reports to a General Boca Stoparic, head of the secret police. That's it. 'The Executioner' keeps his whereabouts a pretty tightly guarded secret." Stark yawned. "But I expect we'll be able to flush him out."
"How?" Janet asked.
"Bug Stoparic's office and listen in until we get something we need." Stark pulled a bag of peanuts out of his jacket pocket and tore it open. "Anybody know Serbian?"
"Oh great! Are you serious?" Pym was already getting agitated in his seat. "You're telling me we came all this way for nothing because we can't speak Serbian?"
"Will you relax?" Stark pulled another device out of his other jacket pocket. It looked like a small power adaptor. "I've got a translator. Designed the language recognition logarithm on this one myself." He slipped the device back into his pocket. "So we'll find this General Stoparic's office, get ourselves a hotel nearby, settle in and listen." He looked at Janet, his eyes widening with excitement. "It'll be like a sleepover."
Janet rolled her eyes, but protested no further. She was grateful that Stark appeared to have put her date with Percy out of his mind. She didn't want to rock the boat.
Pym looked around. "And where do we land this thing?"
"I picked out a nice quiet spot for us in the country. This baby's got lockdown optical camouflage – in addition to radar jamming, silent entry and VTOL." Stark patted the inside of the hull like he was admiring a prize horse. "Yeah, you gotta love the Quinjets. And at only a billion a piece, they're virtually disposable."
Stark turned back to Pym and Janet. "Anyway, the point is, nobody will know we're there. We'll walk to the nearest village and catch a train into Belgrade." Stark stood, reached into an overhead storage bin, pulled out two plastic packets and tossed them to Pym and Janet. "Here are your passports, complete with Serbian entry stamp. We're tourists. Nothing more."
Janet glanced up from studying the materials in her lap. Pym was staring straight ahead, nodding his head.
"Then The Executioner gets his due."