interlude
Aim. Breathe out. Release.
First guard down.
Clint slid deeper into position. Second guard sighted, whose attention shifted toward his partner in an unhurried manner. Clint guessed he'd heard the first guy hit the ground as it was way too windy up here for the (beautiful, wonderful, so much better than a gun) arrow to be audible in its near noiseless flight. He must have thought the guy tripped or something. The remaining guard was almost moseying into Clint's line of sight—this was stupidly easy.
Aim. Breathe out. Release.
Two down.
Shift a little further toward the gate and the main power line for the alarm system came into view. Granted, halfway across the compound and disguised as an old unused phone line but Clint knew what he was looking for. And had he mentioned he was the World's Greatest Marksman? Way too often, sure, but whatever. Didn't make it any less true.
Aim. Breathe out. Release.
Bam. Alarm power down. Wow, this place was an embarrassment to SHIELD. Granted, that's also why he targeted it. But the principle still stood. Clint gave the signal to his team and the small groups darted forward. One tech to tap the security feeds the second the back-up generators (which apparently dated back to the stone ages) rumbled to life. Two mercenaries to scale the walls and establish lookouts on the roof of the old hangar. Four mercenaries to the control room to handle the rest of the SHIELD skeleton crew manning this place. The rest moved with him to the hangar itself.
Within thirty seconds they found their target. This (pitiful) SHIELD hangar deep in the Colorado Rockies was used to stow quinjets in line for repairs that weren't needed right away. There weren't many but they just needed one—and this facility was the last place SHIELD would look or have well-guarded, considering SHIELD itself forgot it was even there half the time. Whatever, Clint had zero problems exploiting it, that's for sure. And as much as he enjoyed a challenge, he and his team weren't disposed to scoff at easy right now. They had a to-do list five miles long to complete everything Loki needed. And he would give everything he had to satisfy the god or die trying; his soul writhed at the thought of failing him.
So. Not happening. Simple as that.
Clint kept the perimeter while the mechanics scurried over the target quinjet like ants. He heard a scuffle break out in the direction of the control room but it quieted abruptly. The suddenness was enough to make Clint's heart skip a beat, even though he could still hear ambient sounds from the hangar. Still, he pulled one of his hearing aids out with deft fingers and checked the battery—still good. He was tired enough that he needed the reassurance even if he knew everything was fine. And man, was he exhausted.
Didn't matter—things to do, busy busy. The tech and three of the mercs from control slipped back into the hangar to report. Clint kind of wanted to learn their names, but to be fair there wasn't much point. Loki said it wasn't a priority so Clint squashed his instinct. There was always the good old number system.
Merc number one stepped up. "Sir, the facility is under control and cut off. Surveillance should stay offline until we're away and there shouldn't be any record of our haul."
"I heard an awful lot of shoulds in that sentence," Clint said. He gave the tech the side eye while merc one reddened.
"If I'd cut power completely it would have alerted SHIELD," the tech snapped. He folded his arms over his narrow chest on a huff. "It's jammed now but it will reroute itself in half an hour. You said that's all we'd need."
Clint blinked at him. "Uh, yeah but—"
"If you wanted better, I needed another few days of set up. I told you guys that!"
"Ok, ok!" Clint held up his hands in a placating manner. "Point taken, sheesh. Go check on the mechanics."
The tech glared at him for another moment before giving his head a sharp shake and stalking to the quinjet. Clint looked back at the others. "Sir," said merc number two, glowering at the tech's retreating back. "The logs have been altered. Our jet is now on the active roster and won't appear to have ever been here."
"Awesome," Clint grinned at her. "We should be ready to go in like fifteen minutes."
She nodded as merc one piped back up with a frown. "One of the SHIELD agents in control got clever. We have a man down."
Clint made a face, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet. "Alright, just leave him. Surveillance will start back up soon, sure. But no alarms are going to go off so it'll take until someone remembers this place is here to check it. We weren't all going to fit on the jet anyway."
The others nodded coolly as merc two quirked an eyebrow. "We still aren't. We're one over capacity as it is."
"Yeah, I can count. Call in the guys on the roof and start loading." Clint said and nodded to the mechanic giving him a thumbs up. He settled his gaze on the tech, who stood with his back still turned and arms akimbo. "I don't think we need him anymore."
Merc one and three chuckled and Clint glanced over to find merc two looking at the tech with a measure of satisfaction. He just knew there was a story here but right now he didn't care; he was so freaking tired. "Yes, sir," she purred. "I'll take care of it."
She moved off with predatory steps as the other two started picking up stray equipment and ammunition. Clint knew he should go back for his arrows while he had a second but the thought of climbing that pole for the third one just made him want a nap. Oh well, he had plenty. He didn't care if they knew he'd been here. By the time SHIELD would figure it out, it wouldn't matter. Right now he just wanted to board and get out of here. Cross yet one more thing off the list and move on to the next: Stuttgart, Germany.
To see a man about a meteorite—or at least see his eyeball.