{ 13. Seven Black Vans }
"Someone tampered with the van," Tony said flatly, coming inside from the parking lot. Three sets of wide eyes whipped his way; Sam and Bucky from their beds and Steve peeking out from the bathroom. Shaving cream was smeared around half of his jaw.
Tony crossed the room and started digging through one of his bags. "Ripped the plastic off the window. Not like we had anything to steal," he continued, "but I'm going to do a bomb-sweep just in case."
"Check for trackers too," Steve told him. Tony rolled his eyes and shook a rectangular device in the air.
"Goes without saying, Rogers…"
The door closed behind Tony, disguised in a ballcap and sunglasses. Steve quickly finished shaving and rushed into the main room, peering through the blinds with Sam. They watched Tony round the vehicle with the device, sweeping it around the outside before opening the door and crawling through the interior.
"Probably just tweekers lookin' for loose cash…" muttered Sam. Steve turned to him with a blond eyebrow quirked.
"Okay, seriously, what the hell is a 'tweeker'?"
Sam chuckled. "It's a junkie. Type of person who shoots up in places like this, then tears through every car in the lot for more dope money."
Bucky sat on the bed, pretending to watch TV as he listened to Steve and Sam. He shoveled some assassin-chow into his mouth with a plastic spoon. "Could be hostiles," suggested Steve. Sam shrugged.
"I'll let Tony be the judge of that. Don't psych yourself out just yet."
After a thorough inspection, Tony returned to the room. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he removed his cap and glasses, tossed them on the bed with a sigh. Steve crossed his arms and leaned on the wall. "Well?" he queried. Tony hesitated a little, scrubbing at his hair.
Finally his arm shot out in a shrug and he answered, "I don't know."
Steve furrowed his brow. "What do you mean you 'don't know'? Is it bugged or not?"
"I don't know!" Tony snapped. He half-sat on the edge of the TV stand and sighed. "I mean, my detectors aren't picking up bombs or trackers or anything like that. But I don't think it was a random smash 'n grab either, because the two back tires are slashed and the hood's all fucked up, like someone tried to pry it open or something."
Steve looked at Sam and asked, "A tweeker wouldn't waste their time with all that, would they?"
After a brief pause, Sam admitted, "Probably not. Sounds like someone who had it out for us." He turned back to Tony. "Any other cars get messed with?"
Tony shook his head. "Not that I saw." He paused. "So, Man With a Plan…What now?" A doubtful smirk creeps across his lips. Steve's gaze fell and he scrubbed at his jaw in thought. Finished with his breakfast, Bucky threw the empty bowl on the floor.
Steve focused on the bowl, half-tempted to scold Bucky for littering again. Instead, he turned to Tony and Sam and decides, "Trash it."
"What?" the two questioned together. Steve continued,
"It's not worth the risk. Someone knows we're here, they know our vehicle, and they made a hostile move. We need to lose the van and lay lower. Tony, is there any way Pepper could get us some transport?"
"I cut contact with her days ago," Tony replied, his voice quiet and solemn. "Romanoff thought our comm lines might be bugged. Better safe than sorry—Pepper's got enough shit to deal with. The court case is apparently stagnating as long as Barnes is MIA."
Steve looked down at the floor, exhaling deeply. He sat beside Bucky on the bed and braced his hands on his knees.
"So we've got no one left on the outside," he said grimly. His eyes flashed up at Bucky. "And they expect me to just hand Bucky over, as if they'll suddenly play by the rules after everything they've done? Not happening. I'm sorry, Tony. T-there's no way—I can't—"
Tony raised his palms and told him, "I don't expect you to. We both know they'd bring the axe down the second we stuck our necks out. The four of us are locked in this shit storm together, whether I like it or not. Now we just have to figure out our next move."
"Right…" Steve rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips, a million plans of action racing through his troubled mind. All of them flawed and fatally so.
"I just…I need time to think," he said. Tony and Sam silently began to pack their bags as Bucky sat cross-legged next to Steve. The mission was compromised yet again. Whoever tampered with their transport was likely still in the vicinity, he reasoned. That meant as long as they stayed here, Steve was in danger.
Bucky slid off the bed and no one paid him any mind as he made his way into the bathroom. An hour passed, silent and tense as Steve tried to conjure a sound plan. Tony and Sam offered their input once in a while, but no option seemed secure enough.
Tony mentioned the spare tire on the back of the van. "I can slap it on there and hobble us to the nearest Firestone," he suggested. Steve shook his head.
"The whole van just needs to go."
"We can paint it."
"No, Tony…"
Tony let out a huff, thumping his head against the wall. "My poor, rusty Frankenstein-van…I really grew to like that piece of crap."
"Maybe we can get our hands on one that doesn't turn an officer's head," said Sam. "A nice little soccer-mom mobile or somethin'. What do you wanna do with the van, Steve?"
Steve shrugged. "Leave it. I'm thinking we should buy a week at this motel."
"I'm not staying a week in this armpit of a—" Tony began, but Steve quickly assured him,
"We don't have to stay that whole time. It'll just give the van an excuse to sit for a while without drawing attention." He reached for the wallet in his back pocket and counted out some large bills, handed them to Sam.
"Sam?" Steve queried, and he didn't have to say more. Sam took the money and pulled a beanie over his head before going outside. The door clicked shut and Steve said to Tony, "If we can't get a car, we can bus it to Washington."
"Washington?" Tony raised an eyebrow.
"It's close to Canada, in case we have to leave the country," explained Steve. "Close to the water too. Like you said, if he have to float to Japan, so be it." He offered a weak, weary smile.
"Isn't it cold up there? And full of hippies and sasquatches? Why not Texas? We could get to Mexico from there."
Steve shook his head. "Sam made a good point back there. We want a remote place with good tree-cover, somewhere that's hard to scan from the sky. S.H.I.E.L.D will have drones looking for us soon enough, assuming they don't already."
The two jumped as the door swung open, knob cutting a dent in the plaster. Sam scrambled in and quickly shut it behind him, twisting the lock. "Guys," he gasped, eyes round and anxious, "we got guests. Building's surrounded and more are comin' in, we gotta—" He paused, realizing their only exit was covered. Then he gestured to the window. "Just look!"
Steve and Tony rushed to the window and peeked through the blinds. "Oh. Shit…" The curse slipped under Steve's breath as he saw the fleet of black SUVs pulling into the lot. He counted seven in total.
"FBI?" guessed Tony. The vehicles were consistent in type and color with no markings. Steve shook his head.
"I don't think so." The windows were tinted black and no one was exiting just yet. Most of the vans were idling in different parking spaces across the lot, some slowly patrolling around.
A middle-aged woman came out of the motel—the manager, Sam recognized. A person in full tactical armor rushed out of the van to meet her, briskly guiding her back inside.
"Looks like mercenaries," Steve observed. He stepped away from the window and raked a hand over his head. "Anyone could have sent them."
He took a deep breath and let it out slow, gathering his thoughts. Sam and Tony froze near the window, waiting for orders. Steve strode over to his backpack with his shield inside and slung it over his shoulder. "Arm yourselves," he commanded, and the two scrambled towards their luggage.
Sam loaded ammo into his pistol while Tony assembled some kind of sleek rifle on the table. Its parts were scattered across three different bags and once it was pieced together, a red neon stripe lit up along its barrel. "The hell is that thing?" queried Sam. Tony smirked and replied,
"I don't know. I bought it off Tor, totally unregistered."
"Did you say Tor or Thor?"
"Tor. Underground internet. Dark net. Whatever."
Sam's brow was heavy with concern. "So what's it do?"
"Hopefully we won't have to find out." Tony shrugs and slings the weapon's strap around his shoulder. "What's the plan, Cap?"
Backing towards the bathroom, Steve replied, "Don't let them corner us in here. We go out there to meet them, then we fight our way into their closest van. We'll drive it as far as we can, and uh…We'll figure it out from there."
Tony rolled his eyes.
"So kill, hijack, then…Question mark. Sounds great."
"Bucky, come on! We're gonna—" Steve opened the bathroom door and froze. No one inside. He peeked behind the door, just white space and a plunger. "Bucky?" Turning all around, he then noticed the dirty shoe-treads on the sink. Above, one of the ceiling panels had been lifted up and pushed aside, exposing the dark crawlspace behind.
A loud knock made him jump, coming from the front door. A muffled voice called, "Everyone come out, unarmed with your hands up!" Shit. Steve rushed back into the living room, tightly clutching the backpack on his shoulder. Tony and Sam looked back at him expectantly.
"Who are you?" Steve called back. The voice on the other side of the door replied,
"We are here for your arrest! Come peacefully or you will be subdued using any means necessary!"
"He didn't answer the question…" muttered Tony. Steve looked at the two and made a 'come here' gesture, then pointed to the bathroom. They nodded and silently made their way inside, Tony slinging one of his flatter bags over his shoulder on the way.
"This doesn't have to get violent," Steve told the voice. "We'll come peacefully. Just…Give us a minute. We, uh, got a guy in the bathroom."
"You have thirty seconds before we break this door down!" barks the voice.
"Yeah, yeah…" Steve replied flippantly and hurried back into the bathroom, where Sam and Tony had already gotten the idea.
Tony stood on the sink, lifting himself into the crawlspace. Sam helped push him up, then hauled himself through. Steve was right behind him, cringing as the ceiling creaked under their combined weight. He replaced the panel and they were left in the red glow of Tony's neon alien rifle.
It was a narrow space, no room to do anything but shimmy forward on their bellies. They faintly heard the voice holler, "Fifteen seconds!" as they passed over a vent. They could look through it into the neighboring unit's bathroom, but no one was inside.
"Ten seconds!"
"Where the hell did Barnes go?" whispered Tony. Steve replied flatly,
"Just keep going. There's gotta be a maintenance door to the roof or something."
"Five seconds!"
Tony suddenly stopped. With Sam's ass blocking his view, Steve couldn't see why. He grunted,
"What is it, Tony?"
"Alright, break it down!" the voice shouted, then a tremendously loud 'bang!' followed. Steve, Sam, and Tony jumped as the building shook.
"Someone pushed this vent out," said Tony. Then he shimmied forward and stuck his head through the gap, calling softly, "Barnes…?"
The bathroom was silent and empty, door slightly ajar. The vent cover sat in the bathtub with some dust and plaster particles. Dusty sneaker-prints led out the doorway. "I think he's in here," deduced Tony, and he carefully lowered his rifle and his bag into the tub before maneuvering through the gap himself.
It was a tight fit. After sucking in his gut just right and a good push from Sam, Tony fell into the bathtub more noisily than Steve would have liked. Sam twisted out more gracefully. Steve realized he was going to have problems once his hips were through and the borders of the vent space squeezed his chest.
He kicked his feet, grunted as he tried to force himself through. Sam pulled at his legs while Tony snickered, "What's the problem, Rogers? Maybe we should go to Mexico, get you a cheap boob-job."
"It's not that," Steve huffed. "It's my shoulders. Ugh…I'll get myself out, just go find Bucky."
They could hear the mercenaries two rooms away, chattering as they flipped furniture and tore the room apart looking for them. It wouldn't be long before they noticed the footprints on the sink and figured it out. Weapons in hand, Tony and Sam crept into the main room, doing a visual sweep.
The first thing they saw was a thin, balding man lying facedown on the floor. He wore nothing but dirty jeans and one sock, his arms littered with dozens of bruised pinpricks. There were orange-capped syringes sitting on the side table, bloodspray on the wall, and what they could only assume was vomit staining the edge of the bed. The room reeked of urine and sweat, among other things.
"Jesus Christ!"
"Ugh, Man…" Tony and Sam remarked in unison, wrinkling their noses as they cautiously approached the man. As Sam checked for a pulse, Tony noticed a pale face peek out from the closet, all framed in long, dark hair.
"Barnes," he whispered, "what did you do to this guy?"
"Pretty sure Guy did this to himself," Sam mentioned solemnly. He stood up and sighed. "He's done. Probably just passed last night." He turned to Bucky, still hiding in the closet. "Bucky, it's okay. Come outta there. No more runnin' off—We're getting out of this place together."
There was some rustling behind the door, a pause, then finally Bucky came through the closet with a shotgun in his hand. He was holding it upright by the barrel, but Tony's eyes bugged and he took a step back regardless.
"Woah, woah," he swallowed, raising a palm. "Okay, neat find. Just—put it down. Carefully. On the bed there." He gestured vaguely towards the bed with the tip of his neon rifle and Bucky obeyed, laying it down softly.
Not a second later, they heard a loud crashing sound from the bathroom. They whirled around and Tony shoved Sam towards the bathroom door. Sam proceeded, cautiously looked inside only to see Steve lying in the bathtub with a chunk of the ceiling stuck around his waist. White plaster dust coated everything.
"Nice," Sam sighed. The noise surely blew their cover, so Steve carelessly ripped the plaster off his body, brushing the dust away the best he could as he hurried into the main room. His shoulders sank with relief when he saw Bucky standing there, then he tensed up again when he noticed the man on the floor.
"Is that…" he began, and Sam finished for him,
"A tweeker? Yeah."
"Well, that tweeker left us an inheritance," mentioned Tony, and he handed the shotgun over to Steve. After a brief check, Steve found two shells loaded inside.
The ceiling creaked and popped above. Mercenaries discovered their escape route and they were running out of time. Steve quickly shrugged the backpack off his shoulder and slung it around Bucky's. "This is bulletproof," he told him. "When we go outside, we'll probably be under lots of fire. Protect yourself, okay? I got your six. Just charge towards the nearest black van and we'll take it from there."
Bucky nodded and pulled the backpack strap tight, clutched it by the top handle. The four of them lined up behind the door; Bucky at the helm, followed by Sam, Tony, and Steve at the rear. Steve whispered a countdown, ended prematurely when they heard mercenaries topple from the ceiling in the bathroom.
"Just go!" barked Steve, and Bucky rammed the flimsy door open. Dozens of masked faces turned their way, men and women in green body armor with goggled helmets, white bandanas obscuring their noses and mouths. Each of them was armed with electric stun-rifles. It eased Steve's mind, knowing they weren't shooting to kill. Not like capture would be any better, he thought bitterly.
The nearest vehicle was swarmed with hostiles; two inside, one standing on the hood, and another standing to the side. Bucky hesitated for just a moment as he scanned the perimeter, then charged the opposite direction. This vehicle was further away, but the path to it was clearer with only two hostiles to deal with.
Shouts rang out as Bucky bolted across the lot, shielding his head and torso with the backpack. His train of handlers was slowing him down, Sam clutching his strap with Tony just behind, and Steve protectively trying to sandwich the two between himself and Bucky. The air exploded with electric pops, bursts of blue light like fireworks all around.
Bucky peeked over the backpack and kept running, teeth gnashed, pulling forward as his crew lagged behind. The hostiles guarding his targeted vehicle fired their weapons and he ducked low as he kept advancing. The shield vibrated as electric charges clashed against the bag, bouncing harmlessly away.
Bucky grunted as he felt a few strike his legs. It made him tremble and falter a little, like the sharp sting of a papercut, but it hardly stopped him. One of the charges arced over his head and he heard Sam cry out as it exploded against him, felt the pull against his back as someone on his tail went down.
"Oh, eat shit!" Tony cried out and stood tall as he aimed his rifle. When he squeezed the trigger, the recoil threw him on his back and a red laser blasted forth, missing the mercenary and instead striking the black van. The blast punctured straight through the front windshield and out the back, and everything around the hole began to disintegrate into black gunk.
"Whoops," Tony murmured as he scrambled behind Bucky, stuck in place as he waited for his handlers to regroup. Sam convulsed on the ground, Steve shielding him with his body, enduring shot after shot with his super-soldier frame. Sweat beaded the blond man's brow, resisting the jerks and twitches in his muscles while he heaved Sam over his shoulder.
"Buck, I got him! Go!" he called, and Bucky charged towards a new target. Tony aimed his rifle over Bucky's shoulder to fire again and Steve tore it out of his grip. Tony turned back to him in shock and Steve growled, "Stop melting our getaway cars! Here, since you can't aim anyway…" he passed the shotgun forward and Tony greedily snatched it, wasted no time pumping two shells through the front windshield.
The guard outside scrambled away as they were grazed by buckshot. The second exploded into gore in the driver's seat. Bucky leaped onto the hood and rolled through the shattered windshield. By the time Tony and Steve jumped through, he'd already chucked the body outside. Tony tossed the empty shotgun out with it and twisted the key left in the ignition.
Sam wasn't quite unconscious, but too dazed to move. Steve lay him down in the back seat and held him steady as Tony threw the van into reverse, stomping the gas and backing over three mercenaries before speeding out of the lot.
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