Chapter 7
Between the logistics of getting Sharon from one side of the globe to the other, not to mention Peggy arranging the use of the quinjet and Jake Jameson to fly it, it was thirty-six hours later before they actually touched down in Los Angeles and made their way directly to the bomb site. Just as well, as it nearly took that long for the Mandarin to release a video finally claiming the attack as one of his.
“I have our guys analyzing the footage as we speak,” Sharon murmured over mouthfuls of coffee, reviewing the video on her cellular phone from the front passenger seat of their SHIELD vehicle. “So far, same run of the mill stuff; stock footage combined with grainy video and then news feeds thrown in to be extra-provocative. Slick, but non-descriptive.”
Peggy pursed her lips, watching the quiet streets of mid-city Los Angeles, as Jake wound their SHIELD issues car up through the city to Hollywood. There was something eerie about the drive through what would have normally been traffic heavy streets. She had just been there days before with Steve, and it had been busy, mad and hectic as holiday shoppers had turned even the normal flow of vehicles to gridlock. Now, the city felt dull and frightened, holed up in hiding. It didn’t feel…right.
“He keeps talking about teaching a lesson,” Jake observed from beside Sharon, pulling the sedan to a red light. “What does he mean by that?”
“It’s his conceit,” Sharon explained, looking up from the video. “His whole schtick is to position himself as a teacher, part mullah, part foreign shaman, instructing the West on its failings and evils. It’s an effective one, I’m not going to lie, as he’s clearly well-versed on the imperial history of the United States and the historic prejudices against the so-called eastern "other", as it hits on all of America's worst prejudicial fears and expectations. It's racist and offensive, but it is supposed to be. This Mandarin may present himself as a horribly racist caricature, but I think that's part of the point. He's mocking the US and how they perceive 'terrorists' while playing into that expectation and gaining the upper hand. It's also an effective method of gaining the sympathies of other like-minded organizations who feel equally disgruntled with US foreign policy, while at the same time digging at the anxieties of many Americans who are uncomfortable with the US's own past and present in regards to how it has behaved towards a variety of different peoples."
The light changed and Jake moved forward. “So he’s using that to justify his actions?”
“It’s hard to argue against this Mandarin's point of view,” Sharon shrugged, running her fingers through her untidy, blonde hair. “I mean, even those of us in this business acknowledge the horrible foreign and domestic decisions made by the US and how it has had arguably horrible awful affects in many places in the world. SHIELD in particular is well aware of the messes that have been made and the crises they have created. It’s the sort of leverage that can easily start an ideological war in the US between opposing political factions.”
“Which may be what this Mandarin character ultimately wants,” Peggy pointed out from her place in the back. “There are many who would be uncomfortable with the ideas this Mandarin is putting out there, of the United States being the ‘bad guys’ and will want to argue he is a terrorist and out to disrupt law and order. They will want to destroy him and his network, and hunt down any and all like him before he is a threat. Then there will be others who will say he isn’t wrong about many of his assertions and will argue that by hunting him and others down so ruthlessly we are playing into the ideology he is presenting and thus we need to handle the entire situation differently; perhaps look for only him, or revise our policy so that he finds fewer other disgruntled people to recruit. Still others will say the entire system is flawed and we need to tear it all down. In the end, it will cause all sides to tear at each other, until they find something that will give them common ground, an event or series of events that gives them all common purpose to move forward, say in a military action.”
Jake glanced over his shoulder, briefly, in surprise. “When did you become an expert on modern terrorism tactics?”
“Modern terrorism isn’t so different than older terrorism, you know,” she replied, and touch cheekily. “I was a spy during the war, my job was to gain access and information in order for the SSR to strategize on next moves and upcoming methods of engagement.
“My aunt was a badass,” Sharon preened to Jake, turning her phone off. “Where do you think I get it from?”
“Well, I knew that,” he replied, chuckling. Peggy eyed the pair with a smile, but said nothing. She would have plenty of time to tease Sharon about it later, when her mind wasn’t caught up in the case. As it was, Sharon was working off of caffeine and energy bars, the dark circles under her eyes a testament to just the stress of this week, let alone the weeks since the bomb in London. She crashed into a sleepy pile on the flight from Maryland to Los Angeles, a short trip in a quinjet compared to commercial air. It was unclear how much rest she had gotten on the first leg of her trip from Kuwait.
They didn’t need the GPS on the car’s dash to tell them they were coming up on the bombing site. Highland Avenue was still cordoned off more than a block away from where it intersected with Hollywood Boulevard, with traffic being diverted past the nearby high school. LAPD black and white vehicles sat at the intersection, cutting it off, with a grave looking officer walking up to their car as Jake pulled up, slowly.
“This areas off limits due to police activity,” the man said, automatically.
“I’m Agent Jameson, we’re with SHIELD.” Jake flashed his badge as Sharon and Peggy did the same. He gestured to Sharon beside him. “Agent Carter here is the lead investigator on the Mandarin case and we've been cleared through all the appropriate channels.”
The officer took a moment to scan each of their IDs, then nodded, waving to the yellow ribbon strung between orange cones. “Give me a second, I’ll move these for you. Park anywhere along the curb on Highland, but not on Hollywood. Crews are using that to get through.”
“Got it,” Jake nodded as the officer moved to shift the tape. Once there was an opening, he inched forward, waving at the officer, before rolling up the street, where cars lined both sides, but was otherwise devoid of traffic. He pulled into one of the few open spaces afforded by other police and investigator vehicles, as Peggy and Sharon climbed out, surveilling the area. What on a normal day would have been a bustling district of the city was quiet. The kitchy diner and the various shops far down the block from the blast were unharmed, but closed. It wasn’t till they rounded the corner that they saw the true devastation made itself evident.
“Good God,” Sharon breathed as they walked down the block, past the El Capitan movie theater, that the evidence even began to become apparent. Peggy had lived in London during the Blitz, it was hardly her first bomb zone, sad to say, or even the worst she had ever seen. It was hardly Sharon’s either, given the work she had been doing for this case, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t horrific and painful to see. The damage zone for the blast lay across Hollywood Boulevard, all the way to the south side of the street where they walked. The shops on the far side were blasted in, while glass and debris lay scattered across the broad thoroughfare. Cars sat abandoned in the middle of the road, part of the crime scene, most of them with their windows shattered.
In the main plaza itself the sight was much worse. The theater sat back from the main sidewalk, framed by two wings, with tall, Art Decco, faux-Chinese style towers rising on either side of the entrance into it, a look Peggy remembered well from film footage of movie stars in her younger days. The one on the left had burned, blackened, the tower on its top having fallen onto the roof below, the white plaster burnt black and crumbling. On the opposite side, however, one whole section had blasted away, leaving the interior of the building exposed, the insides charred and burnt, as bits of the wall crumbled inward. Even the famous facade, made to look like the 1920s Hollywood’s perception of Chinese architecture, was now gone, much of it blown away. One of the red pillars had fallen loose on its side, the other was not completely missing, and the pagoda top had crashed, tumbling into the plaza itself, the front walls having tumbled around it, opening the lobby to the bright Southern California sunshine. The many concrete slabs with the names and handprints of famous stars from Hollywood’s past were either broken or scorched, covered in debris and dust.
Carefully, the three of them made their way across the blasted street, towards the small hive of activity going on around them. Judging from the number of blue blazers emblazoned with “FBI” on the back, most of the people there were agents alongside several LAPD investigators. The smell of smoke and burnt plastic hung heavy in the air, as did the chemicals that were used to put out the fires in the building, and many wore masks to protect themselves from the particulates. Sharon made a beeline for the largest of the groups, where already a disgruntled looking agent had taken off his mask and was making for them, scowling as if they had personally offended him.
“Hey, this area is off limits to the public, investigators only. It’s too dangerous.” He spoke with a thick accent that Peggy recognized from the northeast United States, but never could pinpoint definitively as being New England, Boston, or New York. They had always sort of strangely blended to her ears, but it added to his outward belligerence as he walked up to them.
“Good thing we are investigators, then,” Sharon shot back, her badge already in front of the man’s nose, forcing him to stop and read it. “Agent Sharon Carter with SHIELD.”
“SHIELD,” he uttered, blankly, before the scowl returned. “This is an FBI investigation of a terrorist act on US soil. Who the hell authorized you on this case?”
“Case has been ours since the CIA coughed up the ball and the Mandarin decided to bomb London. I’ve been on it since then.”
This did nothing for the expression on his face. “Langley didn’t tell me anything about any of this.”
“Well, the CIA is a tad bit busy, but if you want to call Washington and double check, Special Agent…”
His brows knit together impossibly further. “Delmonico, and I imagine if I call my DC, I’m going to be told much of what you just told me?”
“I can’t presume to know what a division chief is going to tell you, but I imagine he’s gotten the call from my boss, so yeah.”
He may not like it, but at least he seemed to appear to be willing to play ball. “Fine, who are the other two?”
Both Peggy and Jake held up their badges as Sharon made the introductions. “Agent Jameson is providing back up for me while I’m out here,” she filled in seamlessly, “and this is Director Peggy Carter, she is here at the request of Tony Stark.”
Not precisely true, but Peggy was willing to roll with it. Agent Delmonico turned his apparently ever-present scowl on her. “Stark? What’s he doing sending the likes of you out here?”
“I oversee the Avengers,” she said simply, bristling slightly at the idea of Tony Stark sending her anywhere. “Mr. Stark is a member of my team and one of his close friends was a victim in the attack.”
“Hogan,” Delmonico huffed, nodding. “Yeah, already got the earful from Stark on him. My team wanted an update and we were told in no uncertain terms that Mr. Hogan was just coming out of surgery and that Stark had arranged for security outside of his hospital room and we would have to fill out forms to be allowed in.”
One didn't need to be a mind reader to understand what Agent Delmonico thought about that requirement. “Yes, well, Mr. Stark does take his security very personally, and from what I was told earlier this morning from Miss Potts, Mr. Hogan is still in a medically induced coma and will be for some time. I can, however, encourage them both to allow you access once he is awake and conscious.”
“As he is the only live one we got from the immediate area of the blast, I’d appreciate it,” the other man muttered, as if Happy Hogan was somehow deliberately evading the FBI’s inquiry into what happened.
“What about the video feeds,” Sharon asked, bluntly, crossing her arms as she stared up at the man.
“We’re still working on getting that from the servers of the security companies,” he shot back, with just a hint of an edge, clearly disliking that Sharon was asking about something that was clearly so obvious to anyone, including him. “Everything takes time, Agent Carter, and we only got access to the site this morning. They had parts of this smoldering through yesterday afternoon, and even now the fire marshal has limited us to the plaza area, as everything else is unsafe.”
Judging from the level of destruction around them, it was a wise prohibition on the part of the fire marshal. Even as they spoke, she could hear the groaning of metal, concrete, and plaster, and eyed the crumbling walls warily. The back of her brain reminded her, unhelpfully, that this region was an earthquake zone.
“Has your team identified the epicenter of the blast, at least?” Sharon ignored his testiness, all business as she wandered closer to the most damaged areas of the site.
“As I was saying, field forensic has yet to go over the site, but by all means, feel free to grill me on my job when I’ve not had a chance to do it properly.”
Sharon stopped, turning to meet Agent Delmonico’s annoyance with her own. “Pardon me if I jumped the gun, but I just got here after flying halfway across the globe from a similar bomb site in Kuwait, one where other families were also killed doing normal Christmas things or just walking by, doing their job. This is one of a long list of such bombings I’ve been looking at since the one in London, and if I happen to be several steps ahead of your team, it’s because I have seen a lot of these and I’d really like to not have to see anymore, thank you very much.”
That at least put the FBI agent in his place. Some of his irritation eased, somewhat, as he glanced from Sharon, to Jake standing protectively by, to Peggy, who was trying to fix the “I told you so” look on her face. She was failing abysmally. Finally, Delmonico sighed, waving towards the pile of rubble, while fumbling in his jacket pocket for several, plastic wrapped packages.
“Masks,” he said, handing them to Sharon to pass around. “Particles in the air here, having a chest infection for Christmas is not fun.”
Peggy took it, obediently opening it and slipping it on, the same as Sharon and Jake. Once suitably attired, he motioned them closer to what appeared to be, at least from first look, the heart of the blast zone. The center area was surprisingly small, free of debris for the most part, as much of the energy had been forced outwards, before the damaged walls began to crumble back in towards the plaza. At its middle was one patch of concrete, blasted white from the energy, as if bleached or scoured, the concrete cracked and stressed.
“Jesus Christ!” Beside Peggy, Jake was not looking at the small blast area, but rather to a patch of concrete along the side, still standing despite the blast. Ghostly shapes were printed on it, people who seemed to be caught in motion. Taller shapes, adults, seemed to rush. Several were carrying or dragging smaller forms, likely children. At least one shape was being tugged along by what appeared to be a dog. The entire patch was not big, but it was enough to give awful witness to what the scene must have been like as the explosion went off. Peggy felt the hairs on her neck rise at the horror of it all.
“The team putting the fires out found that yesterday,” Delmanico murmured, gruffly, but sadly, his expression pained.
For Peggy, who had seen the intelligence files of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, it was gutting. “Those are just like…”
“I know,” Delmonico cut her off, not rudely, but certainly strained. “We already had the place checked out before we let anyone in here physically. No radiation, no evidence of it. We even had JPL do a double check, just to be safe, and nothing.”
He sounded queasy at the thought and frankly Peggy couldn’t blame him.
“This is similar to several other blast sites,” Sharon muttered, gently reaching out to touch the concrete. “It means that the heat and light at the center was enough to vaporize the people closest to it while bleaching the area around them.”
Delmonico stared at Sharon as if she had grown a second head. “You mean he’s used other bombs this destructive?”
“All of them have been this destructive,” she clarified, turning back to him. “Just none of the others had the sort of casualty count we’ve seen this week. Most of the other explosions have been low risk sort of affairs, a handful killed at the most, all of which could be attributed to other things. Several of them didn’t have any casualties at all. Now all the sudden we are getting them, and this Mandarin character is putting out videos and upping the anti. Why is the pattern changing?”
“The Mandarin isn’t getting the response he wanted,” Delmonico replied with the certainty of a man who had done this before.
“Or he is wanting to draw someone into acting,” Jake offered, having been quiet up to this point. “Perhaps trying to push the US into military action.”
Sharon frowned thoughtfully, first at Delmonico, then at Jake, before her gaze drifting to Peggy. “What is Rhodes doing?”
Peggy could only shrug. “I spoke to him on Saturday, but my guess, he’s been called in by the Pentagon to address whatever targets they feel need to be investigated.”
“Only Rhodes, then? No one else?”
“He seemed to indicate that the Pentagon is a bit hesitant to reach out to SHIELD for further assistance after the whole New York problem. I think they would rather keep the Avengers out of it.”
Sharon nodded, thoughtfully, tucking away the information for the moment. “Agent Delmonico, I have my SHIELD team working on the video that the Mandarin reportedly released last night. Perhaps, with your team working on site here, and mine on the back end, perhaps we could…”
As Sharon spoke, the phone in Peggy’s bag began to buzz, violently. Frowning, she reached for it, shooting the group a looked of perplexed apology. “Excuse me.”
She stepped off to to the side of the blasted area, pulling out her phone. Already, she could see several lines of frantic messages as her phone sounded again, Cassandra’s name and face flashing onto the screen. She thumbed the glass and held it to her ear. “What is it?”
“Turn on the news.”
It was surprising that the level-headed Cassandra would sound this frantic. “What is it?”
“Stark, he was at the hospital and the press ambushed him outside. He just did something incredibly stupid!”
Peggy turned to the group, interrupting the discussion being held. “Jake, can you pull up a news site, any one.”
Obediently, he pulled out his phone, just as Delmanico and Sharon did the same. Jake had up WHIH, tapping onto their streaming coverage, shading it from the sunlight so Peggy could see. Sure enough, the footage of press closing in around Tony Stark was playing, people throwing questions at him, all of which he ignored. He looked ragged and taciturn as he pushed through to his car. He might have gotten away without saying anything, if a cocksure reporter hadn't shoved a phone into his face, asking him if he had anything to say to the Mandarin.
“Damn,” Peggy muttered as Tony turned towards the cameras.
“Is that what you want?” His voice was cold in response to whatever it was the reporter asked him. “Here's a little holiday greeting I've been wanting to send to the Mandarin, I just didn't know how to phrase it until now. My name is Tony Stark and I'm not afraid of you. I know you're a coward, so I've decided that you just died, pal.”
As he spoke, he whipped off his ubiquitous sunglasses, his dark eyes flaring as he glared into the camera, as if he were staring at the Mandarin himself. “I'm going to come get the body. There's no politics here; it's just good old-fashioned revenge. There's no Pentagon; it's just you and me. And on the off-chance you're a man, here's my home address: 10880, Malibu Point, 90265. I'll leave the door unlocked.”
He flickered his gaze down to the reporter with the phone in his face. “That's what you wanted, right?” Without warning, he snatched the considerably cheaper phone out of the man’s hand and turned, hurling it, hard, into one of the pillars behind him. The reporters gasped, several ducking out of the way of the flying piece of electronics, but Stark was hardly fazed.
“Bill me,” he ground out as he climbed into his car, and then vaguely threatened people by gunning his engine until they moved out of his way, before he peeled out of the lane and through what appeared to be the Cedars Sinai parking lot.
The video cut out as it shifted to an on scene reporter, a young man who hadn’t been visible in the initial video, discussing the fall out with a carefully schooled expression. “That was the scene here at Cedars Sinai in Los Angeles an hour ago. Thus far, Mr. Stark has had no further comment. WHIH has reached out to representatives for Pepper Potts and Stark Industries, but has received no comment at this time. As for the Avengers…”
“Did you make a comment,” Peggy yelped into her phone at Cassandra.
“Technically, it has come up the chain to me, they have to deal with SHIELD media relations first.”
That was small comfort to Peggy. “This was an hour ago?”
“Maybe more, but about that. I tried calling Pepper, but she’s not answering, and her secretary said she wasn’t in the office.”
“Right,” Peggy breathed, closing her eyes. “Bloody hell!”
As if matters couldn’t be worse, Delmonico now had to weigh in. “So, what, now you are going to let Stark stick his nose in this business?”
Peggy bit the inside of her cheek for a long moment, checking her temper before answering. “I’m not letting Stark do anything. Obviously, he was speaking in the heat of the moment. I highly doubt an international terrorist will be attacking him personally at his home, not when he already has the US military establishment ready to hunt him down.”
The look on Sharon’s face that this was exactly what she expected to happen.
“I need to get to Stark,” Peggy said, both to Cassandra on the phone and the group in front of her. “Jake, the keys please. Stay here with Sharon and the FBI team. I’ll have SHIELD send a car up from headquarters.”
“I could drive you,” he offered, vaguely worried, immediately pulling the key fob out of his jacket pocket.
“I’ve got it.” She took the keys he offered. “Let me handle Stark, you all focus on this. I’ll connect with you later once I’ve diffused the situation.”
Sharon accepted this turning to Delmonico, but Jake frowned, worriedly. “Stark just invited a man who just did this,” he waved to the ghostly shapes on the pale, blasted walls, “to a shopping mall. Are you sure you want to go there without back up?”
“What could you possibly do, Jake, that would be of benefit if it was?” Peggy was grateful for the offer, but there was no sense in him going as well and leaving Sharon to fend with the FBI alone. “Keep an eye on her. I’ll let you all know when things are safe.”
He quietly agreed as Peggy turned, putting her phone back to her ear. “Cassandra, have the media managed to make it to Stark's house?”
“The camera crews? No, not yet, but every news chopper in LA is there now, or at least it feels that way.”
“Of course they are,” she spat, picking her way through broken masonry and the random personal effects that had been dropped in the blast and had somehow survived. “I’ll see if I can get through to either he or Pepper using JARVIS. I want you to keep an eye on what is going on, meanwhile, put a call out to the others. Get them back to New York at least and to be on alert. I’ll see if I can convince Tony to get himself and Pepper out of there at least and to the tower with the others.”
“This is crazy, you know that right?”
“Stark isn’t precisely known for putting a lot of forethought in these things,” Peggy snapped, rushing down the sidewalk, past the much less damaged and unaffected areas of the shopping center. “I’ll let you know what happens after I get to Malibu.”
“Keep me posted.” Cassandra rang off. Peggy paused only long enough to find the number she knew would connect her to JARVIS.
“Hello, Miss Carter.”
She couldn’t help it, for a moment she spoke to the AI as if it were a human. “Is he insane?”
Thankfully, JARVIS didn't seemed confused by this question at all. “Mr. Stark? Quite possibly.”
“Not quite possibly, he just went on television and taunted a terrorist who bombed two different sites this week. He is going to get himself killed!”
“If it is any comfort, Miss Carter, he has put the entire house on total lockdown protocols, no one will be allowed in or out.”
“That isn’t comforting,” she muttered, crossing the wide boulevard towards where their car was parked. “What is he doing now?”
“He and Miss Potts have already had a spirited discussion on this morning’s events. Miss Potts is, understandably, very upset with his challenge to the Mandarin, and has order me to put security protocols through to all Stark Industries locations, including Stark Tower in New York. I am working on evacuation protocols with the heads on site and they are working on safely getting all personnel out of the facilities. Currently, Mr. Stark has me pulling up all available data on the bombing attack and is currently attempting to go through it in order to piece together the events surrounding the Hollywood explosion. Miss Potts is upstairs in their bedroom packing suitcases. She has me booking hotels and fueling the private jet in order to coax Mr. Stark away from their home for several weeks.
Thank God for Pepper Potts!
“I’m at the Hollywood bomb site as we speak,” Peggy barked, unlocking the car. “I am heading towards him.”
“Do you want me telling him you are on your way?”
“Do you think he will try to make a run for it if he knows I’m coming?”
The AI paused to consider. “I am not certain in his current frame of mind.”
“Perhaps, then, just inform Pepper. She is clearly the only clear-thinking one at the moment.”
“I will let her know, Miss Carter. Anything else.”
“Try to make sure he doesn’t do anything else foolish until I get there.”
“I can try, Miss Carter, but you do know how difficult that is.”
“I know, Mr. Jarvis,” she sighed, with bone-aching weariness. “Saints above, I do know, and I don’t know how we keep our sanity through it.”