Howard Stark's hours were unpredictable at best. Sometimes he stayed awake for days on end working some pet project, fueling his enthusiasm with coffee, cigarettes, and whiskey until he simply collapsed from exhaustion. Sometimes he'd been overseas for too long and had not yet resent his internal clock, so that he was up all night and slept through the day. Sometimes he napped in strange places like a lazy cat. Peggy had no idea what to expect when she rang his bell the next morning.

The first thing she heard was barking, followed by a yelp from Mr. Jarvis and a cry of, "Anna! Would you please contain this beast?" Some scuffling and more barking followed, and then the door opened. Whatever had just happened, it didn't stop Jarvis from looking as tidy and composed as ever when he opened the door.

"Agent Carter, good morning," he said. "What can we do for you today?"

Behind him, his wife Anna was kneeling on the floor in her dressing gown, cooing Hungarian endearments to the animal Peggy assumed was called a 'Bernese mountain dog' not because it came from the Swiss Alps but because it was simply a mountain of dog. Its tongue was lolling out and its eyes were closed in bliss.

"Good morning, Mr. Jarvis," said Peggy. "I was wondering if Howard were out of bed yet."

"He's in the backyard, nursing a hangover by the swimming pool," said Jarvis. "I'm sure he'll be delighted to see you."

Peggy stepped inside and nodded to Anna and the dog. "Good morning, Anna. Zoltan."

"Lovely to see you, Peggy," Anna said, fondling the dog's floppy red and black ears. "Sorry I'm not dressed. I just have to get this fellow his breakfast. He's a growing boy."

Peggy dreaded to imagine how big Zoltan would be at full size. "It's quite all right," she assured her fried. "I don't know how long I'm likely to be here, anyway."

Behind the house, Howard was sprawled across a chaise lounge under the canopy, wearing his brocade bathrobe, a pair of sunglasses, and probably nothing else. Jarvis picked up a discarded newspaper and laid it discreetly over his employer's lap before touching his shoulder to wake him. "Mr. Stark?"

Howard twitched. "Huh?"

"Agent Carter is here."

"Oh." Howard's head tilted back again. "I guess there's no chance of telling her this isn't a good time, huh?"

"There's no such thing as a good time in my line of work, Howard," said Peggy. Jarvis pulled up a deck chair for her, and she sat down across from him. "I need a favour. In fact, Daniel and I both need a favour."

"Is this the part where you remind me again that you kept my ass out of jail?" Howard asked.

"It is."

"All right." He made an effort to sit up look slightly more presentable – or at least as much as a man could when there was only yesterday's Examiner to preserve his modesty. "What's going on?"

Peggy had spent a good deal of time in her bath the previous evening thinking over exactly how she was going to present the situation, and she had her mental script prepared. "I'm sure you remember the time you had me steal back a vial of Steve Rogers' blood for you under the pretense that it was superweapon."

"Technically, it could be, in the wrong hands," said Howard, "but I definitely remember where you hit me. Did you find it again?" he asked, peering over his sunglasses with bloodshot eyes.

Howard did not know that Peggy had thrown the vial in the East River, and she was not about to tell him. "No. But before I tell you what I did find, I need you to assure me of your honourable intentions. If some piece of Captain Rogers or his property were to turn up, what would you do about it?"

"Depends on what it is," said Howard. "If it's his body, I'd throw him the hero's funeral he deserves, and if it's his shield, I'd build him a monument out of it."

Peggy leaned closer. "You swear?"

"Cross my heart," he said, drawing an x on his chest with one finger. "What have you found?"

"A set of coordinates. Seventy-four. Forty-seven. Thirty-five. Ninety-five. Twenty-five. Three."

She could almost see the gears turning in Howard's head as he placed them. "That's… that's further north than we ever looked. Way up in the sea ice." He started to get up, then grabbed at his newspaper. Peggy politely turned her head while he fixed his robe. "I've got a map here somewhere…"

"I know." She got up to follow him inside. "I already looked."

In the library, the atlas Peggy had used was still sitting open on the table. Howard traced the lines of latitude to the correct point. "Cornwallis Island."

"Daniel and I aren't sure the tip is trustworthy," Peggy explained, "so we need this to be discreet. No taxpayer money. I'm on medical leave for the occasion."

"Of course. Not a word," said Howard. "Just you and me and a few of the locals to carry stuff. There might not be anything visible on the surface anymore."

"No? Our source described the crash in some detail, as if they were there when it happened, and seemed to think there would still be parts of the plane caught on the rocks of the island."

"Yeah, but sea ice isn't static," Howard said. "It drifts around, and snow builds up and doesn't melt. If the wreck's in the ice it'll be torn apart, very slowly, until it eventually melts out the bottom and falls to the sea floor. The ice up there won't be transparent, either. It's yards thick and full of cracks and bubbles. We need a way to see what's under it."

"And you happen to have just the thing?" Peggy guessed.

Howard nodded eagerly. "I've been working on it on and off for a while now – an ice-penetrating sonar. The big problem was keeping the sound of the place itself from interfering, but the last month or so I've actually had your buddy Dr. Wilkes up there troubleshooting on it. He's a great guy for acoustics. His work on the vibrational frequencies of the Zero Matter…"

"Is it ready for testing?" After knowing him for nearly ten years, Peggy was an expert at gently steering Howard back on topic.

"Yes! That's why we moved it to my hangar in upstate New York," Howard said. "Closer to the ice, less shipping hassle than getting it to Alaska. It's installed on one of my planes there."

Peggy didn't bother to ask what he'd planned on using it for. He'd clearly been waiting for exactly this sort of opportunity. "So we can simply fly it up to Canada and take a look," she said. That would cut down their search time enormously, and be much more comfortable than trekking across the ice for days on end. "Excellent. But as I said, we can't have any fanfare. Absolute secrecy is essential."

Howard pouted. "You don't think I can keep a secret, Peg?"

"You do tend to get over-excited," Peggy said tactfully. "We do know, by the way, that there are more of those Russian girls in the country, so you're not allowed to even hint at it over drinks. How soon can you be ready to go?"

"I can be ready to go right now," Howard replied. "It depends on if Jason's got the thing ready in New York or if it's still in pieces on the hangar floor. I'll give him a call right away." He checked his watch. "Yeah, he'll be up by now."

"I should hope so," said Peggy. Jason Wilkes tended to be far more regular in his hours than Howard, although he did still sometimes suffer from the same insomniac genius tendencies. "Don't tell him over the phone where we're going," she added. "Treat it as just a test flick. You never know who might be listening in."

"You can count on me, Peg. After all… you did keep my ass out of jail." Howard grinned at her.

She smiled back. "Thank you. I'll head home and pack a bag, and meet you at the airport." It wouldn't take long. Peggy knew how to travel light.

As she was heading back to the front door, she met Mr. Jarvis coming the other way. "Agent Carter," he said, "are you leaving?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I have a lot to do today," she said. "I can't stay for tea."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Jarvis, "but I've just taken a phone call from Chief Sousa. He was unable to say why, but he would like you to stop by the SSR offices at your soonest convenience."

He probably wanted to know how her conversation with Howard had gone, Peggy thought, though it was unlike him to call rather than wait for her to contact him. He must be very anxious about it. "I'll do so on my way home. Thank you, Mr. Jarvis. Give my best to Anna, would you?"

"I shall. Will we see you again soon?"

"I certainly hope so," Peggy said.

On her drive back to the office, Peggy mused that she probably could have done more to warn Howard how unlikely it was that they would actually find anything up there. On the other hand, she didn't want to discourage him. Best to let him ride the initial wave of enthusiasm for now, and she could provide the sordid details on their flight back to New York.

Howard and Jason's sonar, though… that was exactly what they needed! If this were indeed some sort of trap, the Soviets would not expect them to fly over at a height rather than hiking out to the island. They'd be able to get at least an idea of what was there, if anything, before they actually set foot on the ice. Then, if anything appeared dangerous, they could contact Daniel and ask for further suggestions.

"Good morning, Rose," said Peggy cheerfully as she entered the reception area. Rose was sitting at her desk, tiredly watching a trio of midgets in matching sequined costumes perform an acrobatic routine.

Rose did not smile back. "You got Mr. Auerbach's message?" she asked.

"I did," Peggy nodded. "He's upstairs?"

"Yes. So is Mr. Masters."

Peggy's spirits, which had been high on her drive over, sank straight through the floor. It wasn't that there was no reason for Vernon Masters to be here – Peggy could think of half a dozen things he might have decided to stick his unwelcome fingers into – it was that whatever he wanted was always at odds with whatever Peggy was trying to accomplish. Daniel had rung her at Howard's because he was trying to warn her.

She took a deep breath, stood up straight, and nodded. "I'll head right up."

Peggy left rose with the performing dwarves, and headed up the stairs. She walked into Daniel's office with her head held high and determination in her step, to find that Daniel himself was not there. Instead, Masters was sitting in his chair, right where Peggy had sat for her interview with Lake as Agent Russel, waiting for her.

"Carter," he said.

"Mr. Masters," Peggy replied. "This is a surprise. I would have thought after being elected to the senate you'd be far too busy for us."

Masters was not amused. "Care to explain how another Soviet spy got into the country and killed one of our most important political prisoners while you were a dozen feet away?"

He certainly did get straight to the point, didn't he? "It is my understanding," Peggy replied calmly, "that Miss Lake trilled through the glass of the cell window and shot Dr. Zola using a home-made crossbow."

"While you stood right next door and did nothing."

"Our best information at the time suggested that Miss Lake was here for Underwood and Fenhoff," said Peggy. "I was acting on that. We had no reason to think Dr. Zola was in any danger."

"You sure didn't try to protect him," said Masters.

"We did our best to keep the entire prison secure," Peggy said. "Perhaps you ought to be questioning the people in charge of the Sing Sing Correctional Facility about their security measures."

Masters sat up. "I'm going to be straight with you, Carter," he said. "The FBI sent an agent to investigate your potential involvement in Underwood's escape. He was drugged and robbed by a colleague of hers, who then went on to kill Zola right under your nose. Wherever these women turn up, you're always there. You understand why this doesn't look good for you."

"I do," said Peggy, keeping her body language as neutral as possible. Since Masters' last visit she'd been telling herself not to worry about him because he had nothing on her, but now events were conspiring against her. To somebody sufficiently paranoid, the situation could easily make Peggy look like a traitor – or at least incompetent. He couldn't possibly have any real evidence, though, because if he did he'd be having her arrested. His 'case', if it could be called that, must be entirely circumstantial.

"I'm going to have a full investigation look into your conduct, Carter," said Masters. "If you haven't done anything, you have nothing to fear, but you're suspended from duty as of now."

"As it happens, I'm already on medical leave," she told him. "Chief Sousa insisted I take time off to recover from the chemical Miss Lake attacked me with. Apparently Dr. Mroczek in New York worries there might be permanent damage to my lungs."

"From what you've said about these Russian girls, you should be grateful she didn't shoot you," said Masters. He stood up. "I'll be checking in."

"I'm sure you will," said Peggy. She wondered what he would think when she left the country… and how it would fit into his conspiracy theory when she came back.

As Howard's plane came in for a landing in New York, Peggy observed that if she did it too many more times, flying across the continent was going to seem almost routine. The landing was a bit rough, but they reached the terminal in one piece and stepped onto the tarmac under slate gray skies and a cold drizzle. Peggy tossed her single bag into the back of a rented car, while Howard had his voluminous luggage put in a truck to follow him upstate.

"From what Jason said on the phone, it'll take a few hours to get everything put together for a proper test flight," said Howard. A driver pulled up in one of his cars, which he'd summoned from the city mansion.

"Then I'll meet you there," Peggy decided. "If I have some time, I'd like to stop by the Automat and see Angie." She had said she would do so next time she was in New York, she just hadn't expected 'next time' to be so soon. "Remember, not a word to anybody. Don't even tell Jason until we're already underway."

"Mum's the word," Howard promised.

They drove off in different directions. Peggy felt slightly guilty that Howard was on his way to work while she was going to spend time with a friend, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that this kind of work was a pleasure for him, and she was now doubly on leave after Masters had her suspended. She didn't have the skills to help Howard with his work, and she wasn't allowed to do hers, so why shouldn't she enjoy herself a bit? Besides, if she ran into anyone from the SSR, stopping to visit Angie would help Peggy convince her colleagues that this was a pleasure rather than a business trip.

It was just after one-thirty in the afternoon in New York, and the Automat was coming down from the lunch rush. A few people were hurriedly finishing their meals so they could return to work, but there were also plenty of empty tables that only needed a cleaning before the next customer could sit down. Angie was busy clearing these when she looked up and saw her visitor.

"English!" she exclaimed. "Pearl said you'd missed me."

"I did," Peggy replied, "but I found myself with some unexpected free time."

"It's almost my break. Let me just get rid of these plates, and grab a slice of banana cream for this gentleman. Be right with you, Sir," she assured a man in an oddly familiar blue plaid blazer.

This fellow was already looking over his shoulder to acknowledge that Angie was talking to him, and it was a good thing Peggy had her excuses prepared, because it was in fact Nedrick Russel. "Agent Carter?" he asked. "I thought you went back to California."

"I did," said Peggy. "Then Chief Sousa placed me on medical leave. He's worried that spray might have done something to my lungs. Personally, I think he's being silly."

Russel gave her a sidelong look. "That's not what Thompson told me."

Peggy came closer, not wanting to discuss this in quite such a loud voice. "Let me guess. Jack said I've been suspended because Masters wants me investigated, and evidently sending an FBI agent to work with me was not a good approach. That is also true but I'm trying to focus on the positive." She sat down across from him. "What about you? You were taken off my case. I should think you'd be back in Sacramento. Or possibly Houston, trying to win back Alice."

"He asked me to stay," said Russel. "Chief Thompson, that is. He wants me to hang around talking about how working with Miss Lake is a terrible idea, so he can tell me to stop being a worrywart because he's got everything under control. The idea is to make her think he doesn't consider her a real threat…"

"… so that she won't realize just how thoroughly he's taken precautions," Peggy finished for him. The same role she had refused to play. "Is it working?"

"It's definitely not any fun," said Russel. "And I have no idea. Whatever goes on in her head, she never lets anything slip."

"Well, no, she wouldn't," Peggy said. "Have you made any progress at… oh, no, I suppose if I'm suspended you can't answer that." She could only imagine what Masters would think if he heard she'd been hanging around asking questions about the search for Dottie, while she was supposed to be on leave a thousand miles away.

"I want to keep what shreds of respect people have left for me," Russel agreed.

Angie returned with the banana cream pie, coffee, and extra cups for herself and Peggy. "Sorry that took so long," she said. "The kitchen needed a moment to brew a fresh pot. You two know each other?"

"A bit," said Peggy. "Agent Russel was assigned to spy on me a while back."

"No wonder you look like you're having a rough day," Angie said, without making it clear which of them she was talking to. She poured the coffee, and then pulled up another chair so she could join the conversation.

Russel looked from Angie to Peggy and back again, not sure what to do next.

"Angie is a friend of mine," Peggy explained. "She knows what I do in general, but not the specifics. And Agent Russel is not having a difficult time because of me," she told Angie. "It's Chief Thompson, as usual."

"I remember him," Said Angie. "Gram-Gram."

Russel seemed to spend a moment trying to figure out if this were supposed to mean anything to him, but ultimately gave up. "It's not just him," he said. "It's that Miss Lake. She's watching me all the time, and I think she's trying to butter me up but in just the weirdest way possible. She'll be talking about something and then suddenly it's this patronizing don't you think, Ned? Or she told me that my tailor knew just how to cut trousers to show off my legs, and then she said, I just paid you a compliment. You're supposed to thank me."

Peggy and Angie exchanged a glance. "So when you met her at the Coconut Club," Peggy said, "what was your opening volley?"

He didn't answer right away.

"Well," Peggy asked.

"She told me she'd never met an FBI agent before," he said, "and I replied that I could arrest her if she wanted. She asked me what for, and I said indecent assault on the dress she was wearing."

Angie frowned, puzzled. "What's that even supposed to mean?"

"It meant she looked good!" huffed Russel. "In my defense, I was already a little drunk."

"I expect she didn't know how to respond to that, and you suggested she ought to thank you for the compliment?" Peggy guessed.

"She wouldn't have been wearing that if she didn't want to be complimented on it!" Russel said.

Peggy shook her head. "If you had told her you look lovely in black, that would have been a compliment. A compliment should make a lady feel appreciated, not worry that she's about to be subjected to a public strip search."

"Just this morning a fellow asked me if my legs went all the way up," Angie put in, "and if I hadn't taken a step back I think he would have lifted my skirt to check."

"You're talking about the woman who drugged, robbed, and impersonated me," Russel complained. "What does she want me to do, apologize?"

"Well, she did apologize to you," Peggy pointed out, remembering the word sorry written on the bag of Russel's things. "Mostly I think she's hoping the next woman you flirt with in a nightclub will get better compliments."

Russel sighed. "Can I get the check?" he asked Angie.

"I'm on break, honey," she replied.

He went to the counter to pay, and the two women helped themselves to his untouched slice of pie.

"Sounds like you've got a lot going on, English," Angie observed.

"I always have a lot going on," Peggy replied. "I'd die of boredom if I wasn't in something over my head. At least, that's what Steve used to say."

Angie nodded. She knew that 'Steve' had been the name of Peggy's wartime boyfriend and that the man had died in action, but not that 'Steve' was Steve Rogers. "I don't know who this Miss Lake is, but I think I already like her."

"Don't be too quick to say that. She tried to kill me the other night."

The words slipped out glibly, but then Peggy found herself reconsidering them. Had Lake tried to kill her? She'd attempted to take Peggy's gun away, but that might have been only so Peggy couldn't shoot her. Upon running out of other options she'd turned to the non-lethal and non-permanent chili pepper spray. Killing Russel would have saved Lake a great deal of trouble, but she hadn't done that either, and she'd made sure he got his documents back. The only person she'd actually hurt was the one she'd unquestionably set out to, and that was Dr. Zola.

Angie sensibly understood that Peggy wasn't allowed to talk more about this woman. "So are you gonna be in the city for a while this time?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," said Peggy. "Howard Stark has roped me into another of his schemes, and we're heading up to Canada tomorrow morning. Being as Howard's involved, it'll either come to nothing at all or else it'll be the biggest thing you've ever heard of."

"See you later, Agent Carter!" called Russel, as he left the restaurant.

"Good luck with Miss Lake, Agent Russel!" Peggy shouted after him.

"I'll look forward to hearing the story when you get back," Angie continued the conversation. "The parts you can tell, I mean."

"I'll look forward to telling it – and I will be able to, since there's no government funding involved," Peggy promised. "But tell me what you've been up to. You had an audition not long ago, didn't you?"

"I did. I didn't get the part," Angie told her, "but the casting director told me he'd be open to me trying out for his future projects." She shifted in her seat to get comfortable for telling the story. "So there were six of us, and he got us all on stage at the same time…"

When Angie's break was over the two hugged and said goodbye, and Peggy got back into her car to do some shopping – she'd gotten rid of her winter clothes when she transferred to California, which in hindsight had been an obvious mistake. The side trip also gave her the opportunity to do a bit of thinking.

Why had Lake left Russel alive? She'd had ample opportunity to dispose of him, and Peggy didn't think for a moment that she'd intended he should starve or suffocate in the trunk of the car. The Russian girls didn't do things that way. If they wanted somebody dead, they made damned sure of it. Why leave him alive when he could identify her?

Then there was the chili spray. That had rendered Peggy nearly helpless for several minutes at least – Lake could easily have dispatched her with a gun, with a knife, or by simple strangulation. She had not done so. She had sprayed her and then fled.

The implication was that Lake wanted Peggy and Russel both alive for some purpose – and in Peggy's case at least, it must have something to do with those coordinates. It was important to whatever Lake was planning that Peggy Carter and nobody else be the one to investigate them. Why?

She had an awful feeling she would find out when she got there.

By four o'clock the rain had stopped, though the sky was still gloomy, and the water had made all the plant life along the roadsides look especially green and fresh. As she headed north towards Howard's hangar, Peggy did her best to pull herself out of her worries and appreciate the vegetation. There wouldn't be much of that where they were going next.

It was around suppertime when she arrived at the hangar where Howard stored his more sensitive aviation projects. The building and runway were set far back from the road, surrounded by trees so they wouldn't be visible to passers-by, and it was a good thing. Peggy drove up to find the doors open and the interior lit up as if for a night-time football match. When she got out of the car, she could see the plane inside, with half a dozen employees and technician working on it.

The craft Howard had chosen for the expedition was a Douglas C-47 Skytrain, which Peggy assumed he'd done both for its range of some sixteen hundred miles and for its capacity to carry heavy equipment. It still had the invasion stripes painted on its wings and fuselage, but the USAAF logo had been covered by a Stark industries one. Its belly had been opened up like a pig at the butcher's, and a familiar figure was preparing equipment to be lifted into this space.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" Peggy called out as she approached. "How's it coming?"

"We're almost done!" said Howard, who was working on something above the plane's front wheel. "Should be ready to go first thing in the morning. Right, Jason?"

"Looking good," Jason Wilkes agreed, stepping back from the device he was working on. "Nice to see you again, Peggy."

"You as well, Jason," she replied. He had his sleeves rolled up and a smear of grease on one cheek, which was a surprise to see – when Peggy had known Jason in California, he'd worn suits and ties, or a lab coat if he'd been at Isodyne. His work with Howard must be far more hands-on. He looked happy though, with his eyes bright and his smile beaming. Maybe this was what he preferred. "How have you been?"

"Busy," he replied. "Howard's got me working on a dozen things at once. He doesn't like anybody getting bored."

"No danger of that with him around," Peggy said. "Has he told you what we're doing?"

Howard put down his tools and came to join them. "I told him we're gonna try to map the seafloor between the islands up there, and we might just find some interesting artifacts while we're at it."

"He won't tell me exactly what he's looking for," Jason said, "but I've got a couple of guesses."

"Yes? And what are those?" Peggy asked.

"Well, there's the obvious," said Jason, "but it seems a little too obvious, if you know what I mean. So I think it's the Franklin Expedition." That was a pair of ships that had vanished in 1848 while looking for the fabled Northwest Passage. "It'd be a hell of a thing to find them in their centenary year, don't you think?"

"It would, wouldn't it?" Peggy smiled. "You'll find out tomorrow. Now… has anyone made plans for supper?" Howard often forgot about things like that… he was too used to having Mr. Jarvis there to take care of them for him.

"I reminded him," Jason said.

"We're having some stuff delivered," Howard agreed. "Don't worry, Peggy, I'll feed you like a queen and you know it."

"Excellent," she said. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us."