XIII
MEMO
TO: Director Fury
FROM: Agent Michael Rodalfi, North Atlantic Field Office
CC: S.H.I.E.L.D. Operations, Supervisory Agents Maria Hill, Philip Coulson, Jasper Sitwell, Victoria Hand
DATE: February 20th, 2011
RE: Urgent Information Regarding the Unidentified Craft in International Waters
A Russian oil team reported an unidentified craft at a crash site 19:43 yesterday evening. Initial reports indicated the craft was most likely a weather balloon downed in the storm. The reconnaissance team requested additional resources once they arrived on site. Further investigation was undertaken and what was discovered merits immediate retrieval.
The remains are encased in ice, making a positive identification very difficult until they can be removed to a laboratory for defrosting. But they are buried with what appears to be a distinctive red white and blue patterned shield. It is my belief we have recovered the body of Captain America.
The craft matches the description of Johann Schmidt's Valkyrie, and the crash site is along a direct flight path from Schmidt's stronghold in the Alps to New York City, both facts that lend credence to the theory this is in fact Captain Steven Rogers.
I am requesting immediate ground support, with a team and equipment capable of extracting the Captain's remains from the aircraft for transport. The condition of the remains is unknown, but the ice may have preserved enough soft tissue for DNA extraction. The site will need to be secured for a more intensive examination. No other bodies were recovered in the initial search, though it is highly likely the remains of Johann Schmidt are also on board.
I must request support with all haste – Captain America has waited long enough. It's time for a war hero to be returned to his country.
XIV
Director Fury's face is stone. "You're telling me we've got a potential 0-8-4 with the capability of reducing even our most skilled agents to babbling fools?"
"Yessir."
"For the record, Coulson, next time you're calling me with news like this, I want it to be followed by the phrase 'April Fools'."
"I'll keep that in mind for next year."
"You do that." Fury sighs. "And how exactly did we figure this out? Why have I never heard of it?"
If Fury had heard of the ring before, Coulson has no doubt it'd be locked up in his secret arsenal next to the tactical plans for a large-scale alien invasion and the zombie apocalypse. The Director likes to be prepared for any eventuality.
"A new consultant. A historian, an expert in the pre-Christian period of Scandinavia," he replies.
"I thought we already had one of those."
"Dr. Pfeifer is more of a linguist, sir. And he's still working on that journal translation. But I did send him the photographs of the burns on Agent Morris' chest, sir, and he translated those for us, confirmed they were Old Norse, but had no information about what could be responsible for them. So I brought in Mr. Eld, and he translated the runes for us as well."
"Checking his work, I see."
Coulson nods. "He knows his stuff. Their translations were very similar, but his work centers more on the cultural remains of Norse peoples, so he was able to give us a potential artifact that could be our 0-8-4. He's familiar with the lore surrounding many legendary artifacts, like this ring… and the Tesseract." He pauses and knows Fury must pick up on the underlying meaning.
"That's awfully convenient. I didn't realize we had recruited such an expert."
Coulson winces, because he doesn't want to be that guy, but it seems he always is – "Actually, sir, I mentioned him in the last weekly memo about Project PEGASUS. Third paragraph down after the summary of Selvig's electromagnetic readings."
"Do you memorize every memo, Coulson?" Fury grumbles.
"Well, no. Only the important ones."
"Or anything relating to Captain America." Coulson does not dare fidget under Fury's baleful stare. "Fine. This consultant – who is he?"
"Lukas Eld. British national that immigrated to America two years ago, been living in Culpeper, Virginia ever since. Got a history degree from Cambridge, publishes regularly in several archaeological and historical academic journals. We've been tracking him for a few months, since he mentioned the Tesseract in one of his papers. Dr. Selvig says the project is stagnating, I thought bringing in another expert, without a scientific perspective, could help. I had one of my team go talk to him a week ago, scope him out. The situation with Agent Morris is proving to be ideal in terms of a test run."
"And what's your opinion so far?"
Coulson takes a moment to marshal his thoughts. Eld is a tough cookie. Intelligent, that much is obvious. Perceptive. But there's something… something in the way he spoke during the meeting, his easy acceptance of 0-8-4s and how quickly he supplied this ring as a possibility…
"Hard to get a read on, sir. I've got a nagging feeling he knows more than he's saying."
Fury frowns. "Is there a security leak?"
"I've double-checked the team working with Dr. Selvig on Project PEGASUS. They're clean. It's possible, but… I need more time with Eld." The more he interacts with the new consultant, the better assessment he can make of him.
The Director nods. "See, this is why I don't bother to read the memos you send. I can just have you regurgitate them word for word whenever I want."
Neither of them crack a smile. They're too professional for that. But Coulson sees the gleam of amusement in Fury's eyes. "Of course, sir. I'm bringing Eld in to interview Agent Morris, see if we can't get him to confirm Eld's theories. I'll update you this evening – verbally."
"I want that ring out of hostile hands. Whatever it takes, Coulson. Even if you have to melt it down to a puddle."
"Yessir."
The video call ends abruptly. Coulson buzzes Roberts' phone to confirm she's picked up Eld and heads to the detention facility.
The interior is all ruthless, efficient lines and uncomfortable furniture. His team is waiting in the entrance lobby. Roberts and Eld are a given. She was his initial contact. Simmons has a personal stake in this, and Coulson is letting the fact of her attendance slide. But she's been ordered strictly to observe, to not enter the room during Morris' interrogation. May is his second, and the notion is so familiar he doesn't bother to justify her presence. She gives him a quick nod.
Eld straightens from where he was leaning casually against the wall. His suit is tailored and neatly pressed. Not a raven hair out of place among his short and styled curls. He appears entirely too well-dressed for such an uninviting place. Coulson marks that down in his personal estimation of the man. Undoubtedly vain, fastidious in his appearance.
"Agent Coulson. You arranged this quite swiftly. I had expected to be detained several more days."
"This is a priority for the Director now," Coulson replies. "This ring poses a clear and present threat to all of our agents."
"Simmons, Roberts, May. You'll watch from the observation room. Eld and I will go in to speak with Agent Morris." Roberts looks a bit disappointed, but the agents all agree silently. They break off into two groups outside a pair of reinforced metal doors. Coulson had called ahead to have Morris prepped and brought to the main interrogation room before they arrived.
He darts a glance at Eld as he rests his grip on the handle. "Don't lead him too much. We want to confirm your theory, ideally, but don't mention the ring before he does. I don't want him just repeating what he thinks we want to hear."
"Roger that, boss. Ten-four."
Coulson turns to face him fully. "Really?"
Eld gives him a sheepish smile. "Is that not correct? I saw that in a movie."
"If you're picking things up from action movies, I suppose it could be worse."
Eld repeats himself, but this time, the British accent is gone, replaced with a thick Virginian drawl. "Roger that, boss." He reverts to his normal voice. "Better?"
"Marginally." Coulson hides a smile, impressed despite himself with the skill of his mimicry. Interesting talent for a small-time historian. Coulson's got another data point in his estimation of Eld, though he's not quite sure what picture it's forming just yet.
Eld simply smirks and trails after Coulson into the interrogation room. Agent Morris is seated at the spare metal table, hands cuffed to a chain bolted in its center. His large frame is hunched in on itself, head down nearly to his chest. When he hears them enter, he jerks up and stares with big, wet blue eyes. His face is pale and wan, his expression a strange combination of apprehensive and hopeful.
"Agent Coulson! Sir," he blurts out, spine straightening automatically as he realizes exactly who is visiting him.
"Agent Morris." Coulson includes the job title consciously, wanting to set Morris at ease that he's not being shipped off to one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s notoriously secretive prisons, like the Raft or the Fridge. That they haven't written him off completely.
Morris slumps a bit in relief at his careful, respectful tone. Coulson waves Eld to the only chair on their side of the table, electing to stand. "We have some more questions for you, Agent Morris."
The handcuffed agent wilts a bit, but nods. Coulson knows he must be weary of being asked the same questions and forced to give the same unhelpful answers every time. Eld sits gracefully in the uncomfortable metal chair, not betraying a hint of tension or nervousness. Coulson expects interrogations are not often practiced in his profession, except perhaps on cheating undergrads or unscrupulous teaching assistants. So his composure is remarkable – and noted.
"Agent Morris. My name is Lukas Eld. I'm here to help."
"You're – You're with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"Yes. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"I didn't mean to—"
Eld leans forward. His tone is even and calm, expression earnest. "I want you to know, before we begin, that I don't think you have betrayed your colleagues."
Morris's pale, watery eyes widen. "You don't?"
Coulson can see his desperate hope. Eld smiles softly. "No, Agent Morris. It is plain you feel pronounced guilt and remorse. These are not the reactions of a hardened spy."
His face crumples. "Those agents—"
Before Morris can fall apart again, Eld cuts in. His voice is precise and delicate when he speaks, like a surgeon's scalpel. "Agent Morris, when you were brought in, you spoke of a woman."
Morris shudders. Eld continues quickly. "Did she touch you at all?"
The pale agent blinks, shocked from his guilt-ridden reminiscence. "Um. I don't know."
"Perhaps your face? Your arm, or your hand?"
Morris peers at Eld intently. "Yeah – now that you mention it – how did you know that?"
Eld only nods. "Educated guess. Where exactly did she touch you?"
Morris frowns uneasily. "She… she held my hand." Coulson's heart pounds in his ears. Come on, he silently urges. Be more specific.
"Do you have any idea why she held your hand?" Eld asks carefully.
The agent studies his swollen knuckles, his wrists hooked together by the metal links of the handcuffs. "She put something on them. I didn't like how it felt. It was too warm. And – felt like it was squeezing my chest. It was like – like a ring. On my finger."
He doesn't release an audible breath, but the relief is immediate and tangible. Eld hums at the answer, resting back in the chair. "And once the woman placed the ring on your finger, she began to ask you questions."
"She made me tell her about the operations I worked on. The—the names of our operatives."
"Do you remember the first question she asked you?"
"It was just little stuff. I didn't think it was that important, but I still tried to – she knew I wasn't telling the truth. And then, then it burned. I felt it, here." Morris gestures to his chest, an echo of pain creasing his features.
Testing him, Coulson thinks. Establishing a baseline. If he lies about irrelevant details, he's lying about the big ones too.
"What sort of little things, exactly? Perhaps it will be easiest to start there."
"My name, at first. My name and where I worked. Who I worked for." Morris takes a deep breath and the tension eases. Eld's decision to start with the less important details has paid off.
"What I liked to eat, where S.H.I.E.L.D. agents like to go for lunch when they leave campus. I always get a sub from this place on the corner of Delancey. She asked me what sort of toppings I got." He laughs a little breathlessly. "Stupid, really. I told her I liked peppers."
"And then?"
"She asked who my boss was. Where I go to the dentist, if S.H.I.E.L.D. has a medical team on staff. We only go to internal S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors, so I figured telling her wasn't a big deal. They're agents too. And maybe - maybe then she'd stop asking questions."
Eld tilts his head ever so slightly. "She asked you where you go for medical treatment? Or who you go to?"
Morris frowns. "Who I go to, I guess. Their names." Coulson sees Eld take the information in with a twitch of his lips.
"When did she ask about the undercover agents?"
"She kind of – interspersed those questions with the others. To try to catch me off guard, I spose." His eyes dart to Coulson. "I swear, I tried not to tell her! But – but it was burning, and I couldn't stop the words from coming out!"
Eld's soothing tone cuts through his rising hysteria. "Peace, Agent Morris. We are not here to persecute you." He changes tack suddenly. "What did the woman look like?"
"I couldn't really see her face, it was mostly in shadow. But… pretty, I think. She sounded pretty."
"What was she wearing?"
Morris blinks at Eld, surprised yet again by the direction of questioning. Apparently no one had thought to ask. "Well… she was wearing a dress, I think. A floral dress."
Ice slides down his spine. Raina. It has to be. Coulson doesn't believe in coincidences. Centipede is making a move. He'd suspected them, but it's becoming more likely by the minute. What did they want with undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives?
"And once this woman finished asking her questions, she released you?" Eld prompts.
"Yeah. She said that – that her cause wouldn't be advanced by killing simple foot soldiers. That the war would not be won by slaughtering the ignorant but by freeing them." Morris crinkles his nose in disgust. "I remember that clearly, because she was… touching my burns as she said it. Feeling around the edges." He shudders again.
Coulson approaches his agent where he hunches in his chair. Not really his, per se, but he still feels responsible for him as a supervisory agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. And he couldn't deny the utter satisfaction at finally having a workable theory about this incident that didn't center on the betrayal of one of their own. As dangerous as this ring is, Coulson is queerly glad of its existence.
A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent compromised so thoroughly by an enemy… it didn't bear thinking about.
"You did good, Agent Morris. You turned yourself in, even knowing the consequences if we didn't believe you. If you hadn't, we'd never have known about this 0-8-4," he reassures the man.
"So it was an 0-8-4?" Morris clarifies.
Eld leans forward. "A ring, to be precise. Laid with a compulsion to force the truth."
Morris tries to comprehend, Coulson gives him that. "Like… sodium pentathol? Was it injecting me?"
Coulson quickly agrees. "Something like that." He gestures to Eld, whose green eyes are cloudy and thoughtful. It takes a solid prod to the upper arm to get his attention. Coulson inclines his head to the door and the consultant takes his leave.
"I'm recommending you be transferred to the infirmary. We'll see what we can do about those burns. And you'll have to go through the standard trauma sessions with the assigned therapist."
Morris looks disappointed, but nods. Coulson lays a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not saying you're permanently suspended. We just need to make sure you're fighting fit before you get back to your station. You know I rely on you to keep those kids down in the Cupboard in line."
The agent gives him a true smile for the first time since he was remanded to the detention facility. "Yessir. Don't wanna even imagine what they've got up to while I've been gone."
"From the memos I've seen, you've got your work cut out for you. So focus on your recovery. Got it?" Coulson releases him and trails after Eld. He finds the consultant and the rest of his team in the observation room.
Simmons is nearly bouncing in her seat. "I knew it. I knew Henry wasn't a traitor!" she bursts out before Coulson's even crossed the threshold.
"You know I couldn't just rely on your say-so, Jemma," he sighs.
"Yes, of course. I'm just quite pleased to be vindicated." Her smile is brilliant. Coulson can't begrudge her anything while she's wearing that expression.
"So this truth-telling ring has gotta be real, then? And it's in the hands of Raina," Roberts points out with a grimace. "Coulson, can I be excused for saying 'Oh, shit'?"
"Only because you beat me to it."
"She could get classified intel out of anyone. If she manages to nab someone high enough in the pecking order…" Roberts trails off. She tugs urgently on her sleek black ponytail. "All our operations could be compromised."
Jemma raises her hand tentatively. Coulson has often felt like an elementary school principal when wrangling his team, but never more than now. He wearily gestures for her to speak.
"Are we allowed to know which operations the compromised agents were working on? It might help us construct a clearer picture of what Raina is intending to do with the information she extracts from her victims."
Coulson pauses to consider. Three of the operations couldn't recover from the loss of their undercover agent. Those could be declassified. As far as he knew, Black Widow had been able to salvage hers; the loss of one of her support team hadn't ruined the groundwork she'd already laid, though it had accelerated her timetable for completion.
Eld had been quiet, but now he spoke up, interrupting Coulson's inner monologue. "Agent Coulson. S.H.I.E.L.D. has a private medical service, if I understood Agent Morris correctly?"
"Yes?" he says slowly.
"And these physicians, they possess privileged information?"
Coulson grows wary at Eld's careful tone. "Yes. Medical histories of our agents, access to medical records. Nothing relevant to current operations, though."
"I'm beginning to suspect this woman is not concerned with your undercover operatives. I think her goal was something else entirely." The historian's gaze is distant and pensive. Coulson can't fathom why Eld would jump to this conclusion over the more obvious one, but it's intriguing enough to consider.
"Then why ask about the agents?" Roberts breaks in.
"A ruse," Eld suggests. "To disguise her true intent. Did the operations have aught in common other than their secrecy?"
Coulson reviews them again. No. As a matter of fact, they didn't. Not located in the same countries, not investigating the same organizations, not much of an overlap in the way of suspects. Seemingly chosen at random, with Agent Morris' input in their design as the only link.
He shakes his head. Eld splays his hand, tipping it to Coulson in a there-you-go sort of gesture. "What did they gain by those questions but S.H.I.E.L.D.'s paranoia and increased scrutiny and alertness? They released Agent Morris. They must have known you would question him. I can't rightly think why an illegal organization would wish for such an outcome. But S.H.I.E.L.D.'s understandable preoccupation with the safety of their agents, distracting focus from the other information Morris provided… that could be useful."
"Why would she care about Morris' annual health checkups? It's not exactly tactical info," Roberts presses.
"Not Morris. He is not their only patient, I am sure."
"You think she wants S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors." His mind races. Why on earth would Raina care about them?
The pieces come together with awful clarity. "Mike Peterson."
Simmons jolts. "Mike? What about Mike?"
"Who is Mike Peterson?" Eld inquires.
"We ran into him a few months back – he'd been exposed to a device containing a serum prepared by Centipede. A serum designed to enhance humans. It was unstable and dangerous, though," Roberts informs him.
"A serum based on Dr. Erskine's work. Based on the formula that augmented Captain America," he supplies grimly. "If they could get their hands on Steve Rogers' medical files –results of blood work, his DNA sequence, tissue samples…"
Simmons's face pales. "My God – they could potentially recreate it. They could stabilize their formula, succeed in making their own super soldiers!"
"And they'd need a S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist to do it. Someone familiar with the work, with medical experience, and access to S.H.I.E.L.D. files." He bolts from his seat. "I'm calling Director Fury. May, get the Hub on the line. Tell them we need GPS coordinates and personal check-ins for every doctor employed by S.H.I.E.L.D. right now. Once we find them, get them all to a safe location."