Ch. 8
Alma smiled at Rogers' determination. He wasn't going to let anything detour him from finding out the information that he wanted, that he needed.
"Okay, well, we'd better go somewhere a bit more private. I'll need time and a good wifi connection to gather some intel so we can formulate our strategy. My place is out. Moreno will have put eyes on it. Where were you and Sam staying?"
"A hotel downtown," Steve answered.
"Well, Sam won't be needing his room for a while."
Steve grimaced. "I don't feel right leaving Sam. If those guys ever come back . . ." Steve trailed off.
"I can see that. Um . . . let me think. . . . I know some guys on the local police force. Some of them moonlight as private security after hours. I could put in a few calls, see who's available. That way, he's covered and we can focus on getting a plan together."
Steve sat there a moment, torn. He hated the idea of leaving Sam, alone and vulnerable in the hospital, even for a moment, but even he couldn't provide round the clock protection. He needed to sleep sometime. And he reasoned, if they didn't make any headway with Pavlov, the entire trip would be for nothing.
"Make the call," he decided.
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An hour later, the first off-duty police officer arrived at the hospital He greeted Alma warmly, kissing her on the cheek. Steve was surprised by the sudden flash of jealously that shot through him when he witnessed the familiar gesture. He knew that it was just a traditional greeting, that it most likely meant nothing beyond casual friendship, but he still felt oddly uncomfortable by it.
"Steve, this is Marco Aguilar. He'll take the first eight hour shift."
Steve stuck out his hand. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
The older man gave him a warm smile as he shook Steve's hand. "It's my pleasure. We just had another baby, so the extra pay is a godsend."
"Well, it means a lot to me."
"Ready to go to the hotel?" Alma asked.
Steve nodded. He couldn't wait to get started.
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"Adjoining rooms?" Alma asked with a raised eyebrow as she entered Sam's hotel room and saw the set of doors leading directly to Steve's room.
Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Seemed convenient. The last thing we'd want is to be stuck on different floors."
She put her large backpack on Sam's bed. The maid had already been in and the only evidence that the room had a previous occupant was the duffel bag in the corner.
She took out her laptop and powered it up. She sat down at the lone table and chair in the room. "It'll take me a while to plan a good infiltration strategy to get me into Pavlov's inner circle."
"Get us in," Steve said firmly.
"Us? Don't you trust me?" Alma said lightly.
"It isn't a matter of trust," Steve explained. "After what happened with Sam . . . " he began.
"I already said I was sorry," Alma said in a wounded tone.
"No . . . that's not what I mean. This is my fight, my mission. I'm not going to sit back and let you put yourself in harm's way on my account. I'm going in with you." He wasn't going to let her put herself at risk while he did nothing.
"Look, Rogers, I know you want to help, but I've trained for over ten years for this kind of thing. Undercover ops are my specialty. If you show up, you could blow the whole mission," she explained.
"There's no way I'm sending you in there alone. I'm paying you, right? Those are the conditions."
"Ugghh," she growled in frustration. "Fine, fine. Give me a couple of hours to try and track down a feasible strategy for us."
"Thanks," Steve said simply as he turned to leave through the adjoining doors.
"Don't thank me. We'll probably end up dead because your stubbornness," she called after him.
"Don't be so pessimistic. I have faith in your skills," Steve said earnestly as he stuck his head back through the doors and gave Alma a winning smile.
"Thanks?" Alma said reluctantly and turned to back to her computer to begin formulating their plan.
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A few hours later, Steve knocked on their adjoining doors.
"Come in," Alma said, still bent over the computer. She had reapplied her make-up and neatly rebraided her hair, so that it seemed that the earlier firefight hadn't fazed her at all.
"I was going to grab some dinner. You hungry?" he asked politely.
"Famished," Alma said. "Let me grab my coat."
"So, you're the expert. Where's a good place to eat around here?"
"Do you like steak?" Alma asked as she got her purse and they left the room
"Sure do," he grinned. They walked toward the elevator and Steve hit the down button. When the elevator arrived, he gestured for her to enter first.
"Such a gentleman," Alma remarked. "Let's see, Buenos Aires has some of the best steakhouses in the world."
"Great. Maybe you can fill me in on what you've come up and we can go over some scenarios for the mission," Steve suggested.
"Wait. This is about business? This . . . this isn't a date?" Alma stammered in a stricken tone, her lip trembling as she faced him in the tiny elevator car.
"No . . . I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to . . ." Steve started, scrambling for words, panicking that he had hurt her feelings. "I mean you're very, very pretty. Any guy would be lucky to . . . "
Alma stared at him for a good ten seconds while he squirmed before doubling over in laughter. "Oh, Rogers, you are so easy to play."
"Ha ha," Steve said dryly. "Make fun of the senior citizen."
"I just couldn't resist. You're still paying for dinner though."
"Somehow I knew you'd say that."
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"So how'd you get mixed up with S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Steve asked once they had gotten seated at a nice casual steak restaurant that Alma had suggested. She had ordered for them both and he was dying to try some authentic Argentinean beef.
"Man, Rogers, it's not like I joined the Mafia or something. I mean, you leaked all my records. It's all there on the internet," she sighed.
"I want you to tell me," he insisted.
"I got in with a bad crowd in high school, running scams. Fake IDs, credit cards, a couple of B&Es, petty stuff like that. Anyhow, I got caught. I had a choice. Jail or go through an advanced training program. At first, I thought it was for the Army, but the stuff they taught me, well, it didn't seem to be a part of normal basic training. That's when I found out I had gotten recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. After the initial training program, they sent me to the operatives division of the Academy."
Steve nodded. He had heard a lot about the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy.
"So, if you did credit card scams as a teenager, why are you so hard up for money now?" he asked.
"Look, for all S.H.I.E.L.D.'s faults, it did teach me to live with a sense of honor; that there are no victimless crimes. As much as I hated doing that P.I. job, at least it was honest work. I'm not going back to the way I was before. You don't understand. It's a slippery slope. You start off small, because you really need the money, but before long, you can't stop yourself."
Steve spent a moment, contemplating her words, surprised that she lived so strictly by a code. He had somehow assumed she'd be like some of the other S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives he'd met, ruthlessly pragmatic. "So, how did you meet Natasha? She's the one that recommended you."
"Agent Romanoff? We did a couple of missions together; one in Peru and one in Chile. To be honest, I'm flattered that she even remembered my name. She ran circles around me. I could barely keep up," she said with a smile.
Steve cocked an eyebrow at the false modesty. From what Natasha had said, Alma could more than hold her own.
"So what is this all about?" Alma asked abruptly.
"What is what all about?" Steve asked.
"Finding out about your BFF?"
"Huh?'
"Your friend?" Alma asked.
Steve took a deep breath. "Bucky was," he shook his head and corrected himself, "is my best friend. We grew up together. He was always there for me. When I was too weak and frail to defend myself, he was right there, by my side. I thought he had died during a mission back in the 40s. But he didn't. Hydra . . . they did something to him. It allowed him to survive. It seems . . . that they've been using him as an assassin for the past seven decades. He hasn't aged. I don't know how. And . . . he doesn't know who he is."
"What do you hope to accomplish with all this?" she asked.
"During the last time we fought, I . . . drowned. I believe he saved me. Despite everything, there is still some part of Bucky in there. And I have to do whatever I can to bring him back."
Alma gave him a small smile. "That type of loyalty is to be admired."
"He'd do the same for me."
"And you think that Pavlov might have some way to reverse the process? Bring back his memories?" she asked.
"He's our best lead so far."
"And you're still determined to go on this mission with me?'
"Yes."
She sighed once again. "Alright, well, we're in luck. Tomorrow evening, he's hosting an art auction at his estate on the outskirts of town. Open invitation. Not too fancy, suit and tie should be enough. We can make contact there. Let me do the talking. Like I said before, I'll go in as an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. employee. You putting everything on the web will actually be to our advantage. I had pretty good evaluations, so he can check up on me. You can pose as an associate, extra muscle for a job. We'll say that we're looking for work, that we're a matched set."
"Muscle?"
"Well, Rogers, you are massive and you're an amazing fighter. Now, Pavlov might want to see you in action, but you should make sure to pull your punches," she instructed.
"Don't want to stand out too much," he observed. He was impressed that she had thought of that.
"Exactly. Right now, your sad little beard is the only thing obscuring one of the most famous faces in the world. We'll need to dye your hair a bit darker. And when we go clothes shopping tomorrow, we should get you some glasses, too."
"So, go the full Clark Kent," Steve said.
She grinned at the pop culture reference. "Well, it worked for Superman."
Author's Note- Have any of you seen photos of Chris Evans with dark hair, a beard, and glasses? He looks like a totally different person. It's an amazing transformation.
B&E- Breaking and Entering- Illegally entering a location