Griffith Park, Los Feliz, Los Angeles, California, September, 1947
They choose a spot under some trees to shelter from the heat. Still hours away from noon and the worst of the day's heat, yet it's already hot. The heat of the desert Emily rather fondly remembers.
Things were so much simpler and clean back then.
Dottie rests her head on Emily's shoulder, breathing a heavy sigh.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
Dottie looks around, scrutinizing the positions Ivan's men have taken up. "Could be worse. You and I can still get ourselves out of here without much problem. I mean, it's a five second dead sprint to the car from here."
Emily snorts, "Good to know we've got a backup plan when Michael gets here."
"You never know with this crowd," she says, gesturing with her chin at their uncertain allies, clustered around cars and picnic tables. The younger ones could pass for the pachuco kids she'd seen near the beach. In another life they would have just been that. Not mixed up in this.
"You never know with anyone."
Dottie looks at her, "I didn't take you for such a cynic." It must be Emily's tone that gives her away. It's a feeling she's had for a long time. One she hasn't given voice to.
"We're just thugs, really. Always have been. We're not really different from the Maggia or The Peaky Blinders. We just had government money, and I sometimes wonder if criminal organizations get some backing from on high." Emily sees Ivan come over with his hawk-faced lieutenant. She doesn't mind if they hear what she says next. "Even with the Nazis defeated and HYDRA driven underground, our lot's just hyenas fighting over a carcass."
"You sound like a nihilist, güera," the lieutenant says. "Lot of people fight and die for their ideals."
"They do," she agrees. But Comrade Ivan holds her gaze. The professional mask is back on; his face unreadable and eyes like black velvet. "But us who serve the great powers - or have served them in the past - must tell ourselves that our causes are just so that we can sleep at night. Lest we think upon all our sins. Our trade is lies and betrayal and our particular black arts. It's the Great Game all over again. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose."
Emily notes the chilled mood and swiftly adds, "But that's my Calvinism coming out. It's a bad habit I ought to unlearn."
You know it's true, though. Ivan may look away, but there's only so much a spy can deny.
She looks up at the trees, watching the sky through the broken tree canopy. In the soft breeze, the leaves move like lace curtains.
Emily remembers Greenmantle - the medieval manor house they hid in after her and Roger's rescue - with its damask curtains, tapestries, and the lace curtains. Their silhouette in a January sunset made a strange hedgerow for her to hide in. A briar thicket to keep her safe and locked away. But she reads too many novels.
"It is a blue car, yes?" Ivan asks, bringing her back to earth.
Her eyes follow her blue Plymouth Special DeLuxe sedan. Emily can hear the Straight Six engine's strange whine. It's faint and high pitched, and she's sure it's unique to that particular engine. On the driver's side she can make out Roger's blond head and the profile of another passenger. He's never liked driving the Plymouth because she souped-up the engine and complains that it's unwieldy now. Roger can drive just fine but he's never liked the task - there's too much responsibility. He prefers gazing at the passing scenery or chatting with the driver and other passengers.
"Is that the car?" Ivan asks again.
"Yes."
But as the car parks, Emily can clearly see that the passenger is not Michael. Dottie's face lights up with recognition while she scans for another vehicle in case Michael's in that one. Howard Stark's likely to send one of his associates to secure his side of things, but where is Michael?
"Walk with me," Ivan says as he rises from the table. She tries to help Dottie up, but he adds, "Just you, Miss Gower."
So that's the play. Split them up to better control the situation. Not the most foolproof given the circumstances - it completely depends on speed - but better than nothing.
"Oh, I'll be such a good girl, Comrade. Don't you trust me?" Dottie replies in a mock child's voice.
Ivan scowls down at her. Emily stands, putting herself between the two, and glaring up at Ivan. "It'll be fine Dottie. Nothing bad's going to happen. Right, Comrade?"
"She stays here."
"No funny business."
"Do not worry."
Emily wishes she had her weapons, if only for Dottie to have something to make these communists think twice. So much for workers' solidarity, here.
"I'll hold you to that," Emily replies, putting as much steel in her voice as possible. The moment someone flinches the wrong way, there will be blood. She hopes Ivan understands.
Roger and Stark's man step out of the Plymouth. Roger looks well put together, having chosen the biscuit linen suit and a pale green shirt that's sure to bring out his blue eyes. No tie today. Michael likely told him not to dawdle too much.
Ivan gestures with his head, "Time to make the introductions."
"Hold tight," she says to Dottie, who pouts but stays put.
They walk across the grass. It has its advantages and drawbacks. They could see where an attack could come from. Roger had picked a spot that gave him ample access to the road for a quick escape. Emily could run, grab Dottie, get to the car and drive off in a matter of seconds. And Ivan knows that. But they're rather exposed to multiple lines of fire. She suspects that he wants to force a choice: her friends or Dottie.
And of course, Michael's not here. Her one bargaining chip.
Roger rapidly greets them, "I say, Emily, sweetheart, it's so good to see you! Had us in quite a stir last night. But looking lovely as always." Stark's man joins him after a moment. He's using a crutch, presumably to deal with some manner of wartime injury. Maybe Emily can use that to her advantage - make Comrade Ivan underestimate her friends and their associates, should the need arise.
"Good to see you, too," Emily replies. Despite her worries, she is glad Roger's here. She could never pass him off for Micheal (a quick glance at Ivan proves he knows this isn't Union Jack), but he adapts to any situation.
They just have to play this right.
Roger comes up, kissing her cheeks French style. "Change of plans. Sorry," he whispers.
"Roger, this is Ivan," Emily makes the introductions.
"Pleasure," Roger says brightly, whilst Ivan returns a curt nod. "And this is Agent Daniel Sousa, late of the SSR, currently working for Howard Stark," Roger graciously introduces, gesturing to Stark's man. He's of average height, dark hair and eyes, with a friendly face and rather relaxed in his dress, wearing a mostly salmon coloured Hawaiian shirt and dark green trousers.
Sousa offers his hand with a stiff, "Ivan."
"Sousa," came the cool response.
Sousa's greeting for Emily is much warmer, he at least smiles, "Heard a lot about you."
"Thank you."
"So," Ivan says, now standing with crossed arms. "For clarity's sake, are you here to represent Union Jack, Roger?"
"Yes. Old boy's a bit busy at the moment," Roger answers. "I do hope you'll find me an acceptable substitute, Ivan."
He looks over at Emily, expecting some sort of answer. She feels so small right now. Part of her wants to crawl under a rock from the embarrassment. She can harness that. Ivan's shown her some sympathy already - perhaps compassion, definitely chivalry - so it stands to reason she could get a little more.
"He probably has a good reason." The disappointment in her voice is real. Go to all these lengths and the blockhead doesn't show up. But it adds to the picture she's painting for Ivan. He seems under the impression that she and Michael are together. Maybe he'll buy the wounded lover act. It's rather easy to believe after last night.
"Given our situation, we have a bunch of irons in the fire and not a lot of time," Sousa says. "And I'm here to make sure Dottie Underwood's okay. I know she was infected with the Zero Matter."
"You know her?" Ivan asks.
"Yeah, she's the one that alerted us to the connections between the Arena Club, the Council of Nine, and Whitney Frost. Helps that I was one of the arresting officers."
"Miss Gower told me about the fascist conspiracy Volkova discovered. I suspect you will be able to corroborate that story."
Emily's eyes wander to the hills above them. Tree covered, but dry from the lack of rain. There are many trails that lead deeper in the park. The little valley where the tennis courts and merry-go-round sits is a rather clever place for an ambush.
"It's all true, comrade. We don't lie about these sorts of things," Roger says.
There's a flash of light reflecting off something metallic. Likely it's just a sign catching the sun.
"There are words, and then there are actions. Do you understand this?" Ivan retorts.
The light moves in a way that raises the hairs on Emily's neck. It's too steady. Someone uninvited is here, watching. Waiting.
"Gentlemen, perhaps we should retire to the shade," Emily says, interrupting whatever Sousa was about to say. "I am finding it rather hot."
She turns on her heel and heads across the grass, forcing the men to follow her back to where Dottie sits in the shade. At least a sniper can't get a clean shot.
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Underwood coos as Daniel and Roger get patted down by the communists. "Long time no see, Agent Sousa."
Daniel retorts, "You've looked better." She sticks out her tongue at him, but she does look sickly. Stringy brown hair and sallow looking skin, Underwood looks like death warmed over. It's strange to see. Even cornered, she always looked like a snake ready to bite. Now, even with the malicious smirk, she's about as threatening as a wet kitten. Perhaps she's still running a bit of fever, as he notes a slight shiver despite the heat and the black blazer thrown over her shoulders.
One of the communists takes out a small, battered notebook from Aubrey's breast pocket. "What's this?"
"Something I think your boss may be interested in," he answers coolly.
They gather around the picnic table. Daniel takes a seat at a corner, not wanting to try fitting his leg through the narrow gap between the bench and table. Aubrey takes up the middle of the bench between Underwood and himself. Gower elects to sit across them, though careful to maintain some distance from Ivan. All the while, the notebook sits in the middle of the table. Underwood fixes her eyes on it.
Ivan's group is not what he expected. Daniel's certain these communists are Hispanics; Mexican and Chicano most likely. An interesting choice by Comrade Ivan. There's a good chance the cops might bother them, but they know the culture and shouldn't make the social mistakes cloistered Soviets might. Ivan himself could somewhat blend in with his men with his brown-black hair, deep brown eyes, and olive complexion. He certainly has the tough guy look with the sharp features, a nose that looks like it's been broken in the past, and a gruff sounding voice. He keeps his outfit simple; white shirt, dark pants, and a watch on a black leather band. Then again, Daniel's only had a few interactions with Soviets and he can't assume that they all look like they came from central casting.
"Hope Underwood didn't give you too many problems last night," he says to Ivan.
"The sentient liquid possessing her was a surprise, but otherwise I believe we handled the situation well."
Underwood scowls and opens her mouth to say something, but Gower quickly interrupts, "Not now, Dottie." Much to his surprise, Dottie Underwood closes her mouth. Though she still elects to lean on the picnic table and pout. Nearly all of his interactions with Underwood ended with having to handcuff or tie her up. And usually after quite a few blows were exchanged. But Gower's got that motherly tone that edges on annoyance. The final stop before a sharp reprimand. And it seems to work on Underwood.
Gower keeps her sunglasses on even in the shade. She's a cool customer, Daniel figures. She has a solid handshake, is rather small as Aubrey described, and has a boyish figure under her blue dress. The scar on her cheek gives her otherwise delicate features a certain toughness. Whatever shock she got from Carter not being here she didn't show with the stoney look on her face.
"Everything all right, Em?" Aubrey asks. Gower keeps head down, her hands busy with a tortoise shell cigarette case, causing the stack of gold bangles on her right wrist to jangle.
"Perfectly fine," she says, lighting a cigarette. Perhaps there is a frustrated note in her voice.
"So here's our situation, old boy. Though I'm sure Emily's brought you up to speed," Roger addresses Ivan. "We've had a devil of a time with these HYDRA remnants, they're like a bad infestation. So that means we're on a short schedule if we want to deal with this current crisis."
Ivan interrupts, "Which is why Union Jack - I believe his name is Michael - is not here. I thought these women were important to him?"
Roger sucks in breath. How does he know Michael's name? What more does he know? What's Emily's play if she slipped up? "Yes, well, as Sousa said earlier we have many points to cover."
"Union Jack is currently getting the gamma cannon, which we know can close off the rift letting in the zero matter," Sousa adds.
"How kind of him. Yet, I do find it a shame that Miss Gower went to such lengths to protect Miss Underwood." Ivan lets that statement hang in the air for the moment. Dottie looks ready to slit his throat. Roger wonders how much of this is a ploy. The good comrade trying to smoke out a plot, perhaps? Can't blame him for the paranoia.
"Doesn't mean you're getting your hands on her," Emily says. It's hard to tell, but Roger thinks she's trying to keep her eye on something.
"I have a duty to carry out for my country. She cannot be left on her own."
Sousa interjects, "We could put her back in prison when this is done."
"No," Ivan retorts. "She is too dangerous."
"To you," says Emily.
"To all of us, Miss Gower."
"Well that wasn't our deal," Roger retorts. "She helps us out with the HYDRA situation and Dottie goes on her merry way."
Dottie slams her fist on the table, "This is my life! And all of you are talking like I'm some sick dog you might have to euthanize." She looks directly at Ivan, "You are wasting all of our time, Comrade. What more do you need to understand about the situation? Who cares about me when the fascists are out there?"
"And they want what's inside of you," he sharply replies. Ivan points to Emily, who snaps her head from whatever she's looking at. "I only have her word that there is a HYDRA plot."
"Everything I've said is true," Emily replies with equal sharpness.
"And lucky for you, Comrade, Dottie's been keeping notes from when she was spying on Cornelius van Lundt," Roger says, tapping on the notebook's cover. He hopes to cool down some of the tempers.
"Her account," Ivan says, gesturing towards Dottie. "Do not misunderstand me, I take the accusation of a fascist conspiracy very seriously. But I also understand the desire to make connections between events, it is part of what we do. The danger is finding conspiracy where none exists, or when its nature is not what we want it to be."
"Then read my notes!" Dottie insists, desperately. "I'm not making any of this up."
"And I want to believe you." Ivan knows what he saw. It's an elaborate ruse if this is all a trap. Overly complex. He can hear his superiors - with a chorus of his long dead instructors and recruiter - howl about the English duplicity and how the Americans would readily go along with their schemes. And to pin it all on HYDRA who are broken and scattered to the wind, it's all rather convenient. But a scheme like that requires every part working in perfect concert. There can be no mistakes for it to work. And part of him wants to believe Emily Gower.
"Hey, look," Sousa says. "I'm pretty sure between the four of us, we can lay out what we know, with proof."
Aubrey adds, "We have no reason to lie about HYDRA and their ambitions. I say they're potentially more dangerous now than when they were under Hitler or Schmidt."
"Baron von Strucker's faction at least has the ear of some powerful people in Washington," Sousa says.
"Through his mistress. I have heard about her." Ivan looks at the notebook, battered and misshapen from use, the pages swollen from writing and various loose items stuffed between them.
Miss Gower puts her hand on the book, and leans forward to look at him. She's taken off her sunglasses, looking at him with those steady, searching eyes. "What does Moscow need, Ivan?"
The construction site in Alamogordo left him curious, and more than a little worried. And the fact that Fenhoff was being brought to the area. Ivan wonders at what the Americans had planned for him. He knows they have been collecting scientists and spies from Germany. Hiding them away in the United States and in a few cases whitewashing their histories. There's already communities of fascists throughout Latin America, and they are being courted by American intelligence agents. He's been frustrated for a solid year because his superiors are paralyzed by paranoia. Internal paranoia; fear of each other and of their own shadows.
Perhaps, this could be what wakes them up. So he reaches out to take the notebook.
Peggy pulls up around the corner from the Arena Club. "I'm assuming they're still against letting any women in those doors?" Howards nods in agreement. "Their loss. Probably a bad idea to go in the front door either. She steps out of the car and squints at the building. "I have an idea of where the central office is - if the safe is anywhere, it's there." Then she points. "And that window's open a crack. If I could get up there I'd be in and out in five minutes."
Her passengers have exited the car to stand beside her. "There's no way you'd be able to get up there without being seen," Howard says. "They'd spot you a mile away."
Peggy purses her lip. "You're right. I need a distraction."
"I could -"
"You're not bringing in a bus full of Follies again, Howard."
"How about just one then?" Angie asks.
Peggy looks at her friend. "Angie, no, the whole point of this was to keep you out of harm's way."
"I wouldn't be in harm's way, Peg, I'd be acting!" She casually drapes an arm around Howard's shoulder. "I'm his latest squeeze and, oh, I'd just love to see the inside of this club Howie! It looks like the cat's meow!" She slips into the accent of a California dame as she speaks.
Howard raises his eyebrow. "Ooh, I like the sound of that. C'mon Peg, give her her big break."
"She's already got her big break, I'd like her to see it through without getting detained by sexist security goons."
"Peggy, please let me help," Angie pouts. "I hate feeling like dead weight sitting in the car. You can't do this on your own, you know."
Peggy doesn't like the idea one bit, but they're pressed for time as it is. Maybe more than she originally figured if those interlopers are still on their trail. "Fine. But you're not going in unarmed."
As Peggy reaches into the car, Angie hesitates. "Well I know I said I could help, but I think handing me a gun'll do more harm than good."
"Not a gun per se," Peggy replies as she pulls out what looks like a tube of lipstick. "A gift from a spy friend of mine and Howard's back during the war. If you twist the cap anticlockwise, it fires a .22 caliber bullet from the bottom."
Peggy has to pull it away as Howard snatches for it. Still, he grins. "Good ol' Marmaduke! What's he up to these days?"
"Radio acting, apparently," She hands it over to Angie. "Use it responsibly. It won't win you any firefights, but it can still do some damage from up close. At the very least it'll shock them should you need to make a quick getaway."
Angie looks over the lipstick. "Well, if it's from one actor to another I suppose it can't hurt."
"Trust me Ang, if it's something Marmaduke made it'll be absolutely killer," Howard quips.
"Oh, well if you think this accessory is killer, wait until you see what I can do with a pair of heels," Angie replies with a smirk.
Howard can't help but blush for a moment. "Miss Martinelli, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership."
Peggy rolls her eyes. "Angie, be smart. And Howard, don't do anything funny."
"You wound me, Peg."
"If the two of you are careful then I won't have to." She checks her watch. "I'll need five minutes. Ten if I run into trouble. Be careful."
She heads up the street and the others go down the opposite direction before crossing. As Howard and Angie approached, Howard muttered something in her ear. And as the man at the door saw them coming, he whispered something to his coworker, who soon departed.
"Hello sir!" Howard said with bombast. "Nice to see you again."
"Hello Mr. Stark," the security guard says wearily. "I've already alerted my superiors that you're trying, once again, to bring a woman into the Club's walls."
"This isn't any old woman though. Isn't that right, darling?"
"How do you do?" Angie says in a sudden and smooth southern accent, holding her hand out to the guard. "I am Miss Angelique Armstrong, of the Kentucky Armstrongs. My father owns the finest racing horses in the whole state"
The security guard shakes Angie's hand. "Miss Armstrong, you can give my father my regards and that of the entire Club, but I'm afraid I must adhere to the rules in place. As your companion has been told, even Eleanor Roo-"
"Yeah yeah, not even Eleanor Roosevelt could get in," Howard snaps. "That's because you didn't consider what she could offer your patrons. I mean, the president's wife? That's just a fancier housewife. But the heiress to an equine empire? This doll is a real mover and shaker."
"I'm sure they'll get it once we go in. Come along, Howie!" Angie begins walking through the door, just as Torrance appears in it.
"Madame -"
"Oh, good day to you sir!" Without missing a beat Angie hands Torrance her coat and walks straight in.
Howard grins as he follows her. "Ain't a go-getter gal just swell?" he says to a sputtering Torrance, patting the man on the arm.
By this time Peggy had gotten to the side of the building. There had been a guard passing near the window, but the sounds of commotion from further inside are enough to catch both their ears. The moment she sees him head over to help address it, she pulls out her grappling hook gun. Taking only a moment to line up the shot, she's able to fire it without anyone noticing and is soon zipping up to the third floor window. It's a moment of struggle to hoist herself through it, but once she's inside the hard part is over. She pulls out the Arena Pin. "Alright. Time to show me your secrets."
There's an important looking door a few feet away. She's prepared to force her way in, but apparently the occupant was too arrogant to bother locking it. After she silently enters, Peggy looks about the office. It's all wood paneling and leather furniture. There's shelves with leather bound books - first editions, of course - a grand mahogany desk, a great standing globe in the middle of the floor. Along the walls are pictures and paintings, as well as a dartboard with significant wear and tear on the bullseye. Above the marble fireplace is a painting of Oedipus answering the sphinx's riddle; likely a replica of the Ingres painting she saw at the Louvre. They wouldn't just have the safe out in the open.
She starts feeling around the desk, searching for a security switch or a button that may reveal a hidden movable panel or hidden room. The club seems full of them. And there's a good chance the safe is boobytrapped, too. The top of the desk reveals nothing, nor does the underside. Peggy starts going through the drawers; the top one, again, not revealing anything. She moves further down, and in a drawer on her left, her hand bumps up against something metallic on the underside of the drawer above. Very delicately, she slides her finger along the metal surface and finds a button. Peggy moves to the edge of the seat and readies her pistol for whatever comes.
Carefully, Peggy presses the button. There's a small click, followed by a whirring sound coming from the globe. The part of it facing her, showing the Americas, begins to click open. In a moment Peggy considers that she's standing directly between the globe and the dartboard on the wall. She only has a moment to consider this before the door to the office opens as well. "What the hell?" the guard from before snaps, but Peggy wastes no time. She grabs at the globe and spins it so the is pointed straight at him, and the glint of metal she noticed a half second ago is launched right into the man's throat
"Automated crossbow," Peggy muses as the man struggles to breathe. "Sorry about that. But blame your employers - I would have been cleaner." She looks inside at the now-empty weapon that had been set up to kill anyone unaware of it - or anyone in its line of sight. Beneath it is another simple button. She reaches inside and presses it, then quickly takes cover behind the desk just in case.
There's a clicking sound from above the fireplace, and the painting of Oedipus slides upwards to reveal a safe with a single keyhole. Peggy doesn't move, waiting for another penny to drop.
Seconds later it's not a penny, but an ax that descends from a thin compartment in the ceiling and swings wide across the room. It would have bisected anyone who had left the globe to approach the safe, but from where Peggy stands it doesn't come anywhere near her. "Positively medieval," she murmurs as she walks around it and makes her way to the safe. She slides the pin into the hole and there is a satisfying click. The door nudges slightly, and Peggy is able to swing it open easily. "Jackpot."
She grabs the files inside and begins to thumb through them. She wants to take stock of what they have before she bolts. There are land grants, memos to and from members of the Council of Nine, telegrams from various places - one originating from Argentina stands out. It's a veritable gold mine of evidence and likely holds the key to stopping whatever Romulus' plot is.
"Hello, dear," comes the voice of the woman in question.
Peggy whirls towards the source, pistol in hand, but no other person has entered the room. Instead what she sees is a panel on the wall sliding open to reveal a gramophone, the record on it already playing.
"I assume the person listening to this is either Peggy Carter or one of her associates. I had hoped our increased security would be enough to stop you, but one must be prepared for all possibilities. In your hands you probably think you hold the key to stopping my vision for the future. But I want you to consider - is it worth it?
"HYDRA's goals - my goals - might seem like simple destruction to the small-minded. But the fact of the matter is that those small-minded people are exactly why we are doing this. They would rather wage pointless wars and fight to prove their own superiority than accept the natural world order. Consider how many innocent lives have been lost in the pursuit of "freedom". Wouldn't it be safer for everyone if they did not have to question their government? If they did not have to strive for a better world that they cannot even describe?
"And how many would die to do that?" Peggy asks aloud, though she knows no one can hear her.
"We are trying to ensure that our descendants will be led into a golden age of progress and power. We are a collective of the world's boldest and brightest, and it is only through our guidance that the children of today can become the men of tomorrow. Yes, some sacrifices must be made, but that is the cost of doing business. We will save them from themselves. And if you are smart, you will join us to save them as well."
"In your dreams," Peggy spits. In response, the recording of Romulus laughs.
"But who am I kidding? If you were smart you wouldn't have stayed here listening to me - you would have heard the fuse that was lit when you took those files off the pressure plate in the safe."
Peggy's blood goes cold, and she does turn her attention back towards the safe wall. Sure enough, she can just barely hear a sizzling noise that she is all too familiar with. "Bugger!" she curses as she bolts from the room and down the hallway, guards be damned.
Downstairs, Howard Stark has found a piano.
"Oh, listen to me children and-uh you will hear
About eliminatin' of the negative and a' accent on a' positive!"
Then Angie comes in, ignoring the various men who are either completely enraptured by the performance or loudly furious that a woman is in their midst.
"And gather round me children if you will and -
And sit tight while I start reviewin' the attitude of doin' right!"
The two start to harmonize, smiling widely as they look in each other's eyes.
"You gotta ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive!
E-lim-i-nate the negative!
Latch on to the affirmative,
Don't mess with Mr. In-Between!"
Howard's playing stumbles as he sees Peggy run into the room. "Everybody out!"
Howard leaps to his feet as Angie gives a quick curtsey. "Why thank you gentlemen, we'll be here all week."
"No, you won't, there's a bomb in the building!" Peggy cries. That gets everyone moving. Howard isn't even thinking as he scoops up Angie and carries her through the foyer and straight out the door.
The recording has continued all this time, of course. "Whether you're still listening or not, the fact of the matter is that if you've gotten this far then the Arena Club and its patrons have served their purpose. Those important to the future will have been warned in advance, and those that aren't…well. Accidents happen. Sweet dreams, and hail HYDRA."
There's just enough time after the rest of the patrons get out for them to wonder if it's all hogwash before a torrent of flame erupts from the sides of the building and several blasts tear apart the walls. The men all shout in dismay and fear, but Peggy is already leading her party away from the scene - the last thing she needs is for them to be waylaid by questioning.
In their hurry, to leave, Howard and Angie have ended up in the backseat together. "My, Mr. Stark, you're…quite strong," Angie breathes.
"Well, I just…wanted to make sure you got out safely," Howard pants back.
The two giggle as they keep looking at each other. Peggy is glad that they're both safe and they were able to recover the documents - but there's a small part of her that wonders if this is how Jarvis has felt driving Howard home from one of his sundry rendezvous.
Griffith Park, Los Feliz
The flash of light catches Emily's eye again; lower down the ridge. Closer. Ivan is busy with Dottie's notebook, quietly conversing with old Pablo and the lieutenant. All while Dottie stares in irritation. Surreptitiously, she nudges Roger's shoulder - she had stood to make room for Ivan's companions. He looks up at her, Emily gestures her head towards the car park, trying to look like she's brushing some hair from her face. He looks, just in time to see a black car pull up and nods in acknowledgment.
"We're being watched," she whispers in his ear.
Roger then makes a show of looking at his watch. It manages to draw some of the communists' attention. "You know," Ivan looks up at the declaration, "back home we have a saying that 'only mad dogs and Englishmen sit out in the noonday sun.'"
"Híjole. What are you talking about, pretty boy?" the lieutenant asks.
"You have any questions, gentlemen?"
"I thought you English liked being out in hostile weather. Most people have a siesta around this time. Is there something we should know?"
"We're being watched," Emily bluntly replies.
Ivan looks at her, still not giving a single thing away. "How do you know?"
"Air's different. And I can tell you it's not us," she replies with a shrug. There are times when she can sense things - presences, powers, human yet not. It's how she knew about the Deep One's presence in Dottie. Right now, Emily can feel a change in pressure, just like how her nain could feel a change in the weather. Right now it's far too quiet.
"You think it's Romulus' people?" Sousa asks.
"Likely," Emily answers.
Ivan says something to one of his men, who heads to the car, grabbing one of the young comrades.
"We'll see if you're right, Miss Gower, but for-"
The park explodes. Literally in a concussive sense; they're thrown from wherever they stand or sit. But sound itself seems to explode from everywhere, impossibly loud and deafening all at once. It's a crack of thunder.
Emily staggers to feet, having fallen on Roger. She turns her head to see a man in a blue suit walking towards them.
"Are they-"
There's another eruption of sound. But now it's clear to Emily (now bracing herself with the picnic table) that the explosion is a scream. A man's scream. The man in the blue suit.
Roger shifts into his diamond form and dashes towards their attacker. He swiftly closes in - man needs to take a breath after all. And that's when the gun fire starts raining down on him, knocking him off his feet again.
Sousa takes out his pistol and starts firing in the direction he thinks this new attacker is coming from. Ivan and his men quickly gather themselves, pulling out their weapons. The youths reveal the content of the box: a machine gun.
"You finally believe me?" Emily shouts at Ivan over the thunder of the growing battle. She's crouched by Dottie, who's badly affected by the scream.
"Yes!"
"Then give me my knife! I'll find the bastard quick."
He sighs, and fishes out from that mysterious box Emily's old combat knife, using the table as cover. He presents it to her with the pommel facing her. She grasps it, but Ivan doesn't let go. Their eyes meet. Challenging each other. Daring each other.
"If anything happens to her," Emily starts.
"You will slit my throat," he finishes the threat.
"Mister Sousa, watch over Dottie," she shouts over to Stark's man, never taking her eyes off Ivan.
"Sure!"
He quirks a half smile, "You still do not trust me."
"We're spies. Distrust is our bread and butter."
Ivan lets go of the knife. Emily loops the scabbard with the belt of her dress before sprinting off to help Roger.
…
Jason cries out in sudden pain, grabbing the side of the machine to keep from keeling over. Sue is by his side in a moment, steadying him. "What is it? Are you hurt?"
He catches his breath, but he's deeply shaken. "Not me. I…I think something is attacking the others." He blinks, trying to clear the tears from his vision. "Or whoever Dottie is with right now."
Michael walks up to them. "What do you mean?"
Jason manages to stand up. "I got a flash of something - Griffith Park, where they said they were meeting with her and your friend? I got some kind of…image in my head, just for a moment. Sitting at a table, some men huddled in a corner, and an Englishwoman - sorry, Welsh I guess, she was talking about being watched. Roger was there. And then this scream - it was the loudest thing I'd ever heard."
Michael frowns. "Bugger. I think I know who that might be." He moves to check the door, his paranoia being validated by this news.
"But how do you know that was…real?" Susan asks.
"I've been working on a theory. I think those who have been affected by the zero matter might be…linked, in a way. You've heard of theories about a hive of bees sharing a collective consciousness?" Susan nods. "The zero matter organisms might work in a similar way, and they pass those links on to their hosts."
"But I thought you said it was purged from your body."
"That's what I thought, but I wouldn't be surprised if a piece of it was left behind." Sue takes an involuntary step back from him. Jason tries not to be hurt. "It's alright, I doubt it's substantial enough to be dangerous. Not that I'm not worried about being a node in a circuit like this, but I don't think I'm a danger to anyone."
"Has this happened before?" Michael asks as he moves from window to window.
"I'm not sure. I've been having glimpses, but I've passed them off as stray thoughts, dreams. It's possible that it's been something more." The expression on his face is less of concern and more the look he got when working through a problem. "You said these things were sensitive to sound, right? Maybe whatever's attacking Dottie triggered a more substantial connection through the whole system."
Now Susan turns to Michael. "You said you knew who might be after them?"
"I did. And if I'm right, then they're not acting alone."
Susan nods and starts gathering her notes. "Then we need to get back to Stark Manor. Jason, help me load up the Gamma Cannon."
"We can't leave yet," Michael says softly.
"Why not?" Jason asks.
"Because they divide and conquer." He cracks a window open and takes aim at something. "We're being watched."
Sue is about to ask what they should do when there's a horrible sound of tearing metal and a burst of light. The door to the lab flies across the room, carried by what looks like a bolt of lightning right in front of their faces. It crashes through several tables, though it manages to miss the Gamma Cannon. Sue and Jason dive out of its way, but it smashes into the wall right next to Michael, making him stumble backwards.
"Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting out here?" a woman snarls as she enters the room. Her hair is black, almost blue, and she's dressed in an outfit not unlike something Peggy would wear. She speaks in a harsh German accent. "You're a good lookout, Union Jack, I'll give you that. It took forever to get an opening with you."
"Hello Miss Sontag," Michael says as he regains his footing.
"My boss likes to call me 'Arclight'."
"Noted," Michael replies, pulling out his revolver. "Auf Wiedersehen, Arclight."
He pulls the trigger, but a bolt of electricity arcs through the air and connects with the bullet, knocking it into the wall. The woman clicks her tongue. "Metal again? How naive." Miss Sontag (because what manner of name is 'Arclight'? Jason thinks) starts to cackle as she charges across the room and leaps at Michael. He's ready for her, fists up and a right hook careening into the side of her face, but she somehow weathers it with a surge of electricity over her body. The energy settles in her hands and she begins exchanging blows with the man herself. The others in the lab can only watch in fear and fascination.
"We have to get out of here," Jason urges.
"We have to help him!" Sue says at the same time.
"How? You saw what she did when Michael tried shooting her."
"I have an idea." She looks up and spots the gizmo she'd seen earlier. While their opponent is busy dueling with Michael, she seizes the Photonic Amplifier off a workbench and grabs the toolkit she and Jason had been using on the Gamma Cannon as well. "I saw the blueprints for this - apparently it can alter the nature of light waves."
"Right, it bends a local amount of them to a singular point. But it only affects a small area, and the product isn't much more than a simple laser."
"But! Could we alter it to make it bend a large amount of light, actually give it mass and force?"
Jason has to admit, it's a clever theory. "A gravity-well projectile. But we'd need a massive power source that could oscillate at a frequency where we don't just create a magnetic vortex."
Sue anxiously glances at the Gamma Cannon. Jason balks. "I know, it's a foolish idea, but if Carter is taken out she'll be after us immediately."
Jason nods, and the two nervously get to work.
Michael is practically invulnerable. But not completely. And the constant electric shocks he's receiving with every blow are beginning to wear him down. It's all he can do to keep Sontag from getting a tight grip on him, because if she did she could send thousands of volts through his body. Would that stop his heart? Would he be able to make it beat again? He didn't know every limit of his powers, and he wasn't keen on finding out at the hands of this woman.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees a nearby chair, and quickly hooks it with his foot and kicks it into Sontag's midsection. It's enough of a surprise to get some distance between the two of them. Another chair is close, and it's made of wood, so Michael takes this opportunity to shatter it, then holds the two legs up as makeshift billy clubs.
"You think that can stop me?" Arclight asks.
"Wood's not very conductive, love."
"But it's flammable." She starts firing bolts of energy from her hands, aiming for Michael's weapons. He bats them away, but repeated impacts are starting to heat them up. But with her focus there, he can close the distance again, and when he does he simply begins to pummel her.
It's almost too many impacts for Philippa to keep up with, but she does her best. Her arms and sides scream in pain every time Michael slams the wooden chunks into them, but she needs him to get cocky. The moment he leaves an opening - there! She feints and grabs his wrist, pumping as much power as she can into him. She hears him cry in pain and relishes the feat of making Union Jack do so.
"You know, we were all told that you were something special," she says with a sick grin. Michael is on the ground, but she holds his wrist in a vice grip. The air around her hums as she gathers enough energy for a fatal shock. "I guess you're just another tea-drinking pretty boy who thought he made it to the big leagues."
Michael pants as he turns to face her. "And what about you? A psychopath who only got put on the payroll because she happens to have a mutation? You have no skill. You just got lucky."
Philippa huffs. "I'll take 'lucky' over dead any day." A whine emerges from around her as she prepares her final strike.
"Not today, fraulein!" Sue calls out. Philippa turns in surprise and sees Michael's companions across the room, one of them holding two cables and the other pointing a large gun at her.
"You think a metal gun can stop me?" she snarls before turning her force towards them. Just as the electricity begins to arc out from her, Jason plugs the cables together and Sue hits the activation button on the cannon.
The room warps. Or rather, the light in it does. The items in the immediate vicinity seem to fade from existence. If one was able to look closely and knew what to look for, they would see a sphere of force fire from the muzzle of the cannon and, as it flies through the air, cause anything viewed from the other side of it to appear invisible. More important, though, is that it hits Miss Sontag before she can fire enough electricity at Sue and Jason.
There's a sound like a thunderclap and a shockwave that knocks over the two scientists, as well as various workbenches. A discharge of electricity flies out, but is distilled too much to do any damage. Arclight herself is launched into the back wall, where she slams into it hard enough to knock away her consciousness.
Michael struggles to his feet. He spits reflexively, but of course there's no blood - he doesn't think he can bleed anymore. It doesn't matter. He moves to stand over his assailant's motionless form. Sue and Jason join him. "Is she dead?" the former asks cautiously.
Michael pulls his gun back out and fires a single bullet into her brain. "She is now."
Sue shrieks in surprise. Jason pales, but manages to stay level enough to try and calm Susan. "I know, I know, but we had to."
Michael lets Sue get it out of her system - she's already seen a dead body, but he can't blame her for the shock of seeing someone die in front of her. The fact that both times were by his hand isn't lost on him. Instead he walks away, looking for and eventually finding the radio among the other scattered devices. He tests it and hears static - a good sign. "Samberly, are you there? This is Michael, over." He waits. No response. "Samberly? Please respond, over." It's possible that it was damaged in the fight, but everything seems to be in working order. It sounds like it's getting a proper signal, only nobody on the other side is responding.
"Shite," he mutters, then louder, "We need to get back to the Manor."
"Samberly?" came Sousa's panicked voice over the radio. Samberly had been busy fixing himself a drink in the kitchen, so he had to scurry over to respond.
"This is Samberly. What's happening Agent Sousa?"
"Come in Samberly! We're under attack!" Sousa says.
"Samberly, are you there? This is Michael, over," comes the other line. Samberly has to double take.
"Hello, Michael, it's Samerbly, over. Are you alright?"
"Samberly? Please respond, over."
"Samberly! Where are you?"
"Hello! I'm - I'm here! Hello!" Samberly looks around, trying to figure out why he can't get through to either of them. He looks behind the radio to where it's hooked up and finds -
Bees.
Well that doesn't make any sense.
"Samber -" Peggy begins to come over before being cut off, just as Samberly sees a small swarm of bees gnaw through a cable on the radio and disconnect it. That really doesn't make any sense - the jaws of a bee aren't designed for cutting, nevermind getting through tough plastic like that.
Then the bees look at him and Samberly realizes that these likely aren't normal bees.
He backs away from the radio in fear, but as he reaches the living room he hears a louder buzzing behind him. Slowly, fearfully, he turns to look.
"Zzzamberly," the figure says in a hoarse voice. It's purple cloak does nothing to hide the desiccated body covered in buzzing bees. "Alwayzzz a pleazzzure to meet a fellow zzzientizzt."