Chapter 10
Peggy arrived as requested on the Farm, a SHIELD training ground, a boot camp for operatives on all levels, from the lowest analyst to the most highly trained combatant. Housed on a literal farm, a sprawling facility in the foothills of Appalachia an hour outside of the nation’s capital, everyone went for some length of time, sometimes a week or two, sometimes months, but the level of the training was intense even by Peggy’s own SOE war standards. She quickly discovered that whatever fighting style she had learned from the SOE and US Army was crude and rough compared to what she was put through. Her first day there had left her exhausted, battered, and bruised in ways she hadn’t thought possible, and she had been unsure if she would ever catch up. She hadn’t believed hand-to-hand combat would have changed so much in 60 years, but it had gotten faster, more refined, and brutal, influenced by Asian forms of martial arts that she had only vaguely heard about. Her time training would be insufficient to improve greatly, but it at least taught her what she didn’t know and what she’d have to learn.
When she wasn’t being used as a punching bag by trainers who could throw her around a mat, she had protocols thrown at her. That, at least, felt familiar. While the equipment of spy craft and espionage had changed, as had the players, the fundamentals of it hadn’t. Here she felt a bit more like an old dog who knew all the tricks, and while she had a lot to learn about the geo-political situations in the modern world, there was some relief in knowing that despite sophisticated technologies and these things called satellites that could orbit the earth and do spying for you, the game itself hadn’t changed all that much. It still required a keen, detective mind and the ability to have your wits about you, something Peggy hadn’t lost in her bit of time jumping. She may still be slightly afraid of anything using microwaves to heat food, but her perception and insight were still just as keen as ever.
In between all these pieces, she perused the documents Fury had given her. She sat up nearly every night in the quarters assigned to her, reviewing the work of a decade on Fury’s part. Much of it didn’t make total sense, but she pieced together that Howard had at some point in his expeditions to the Arctic found the Tesseract, that his experiments with it had led to the development of what he called “Arc Reactor Technology,” a power source she little understood, as well as to a program called Project: Pegasus, the aforementioned program Fury had met Howard on. It was out of that this ‘Avengers Initiative’ was born, out of some incident with the Tesseract that was still a mystery. That Fury was still hiding the reason was amusing. It seemed that despite the respect he held her in, he certainly didn’t trust her yet.
She had expected another few weeks in the cold of West Virginia before being released back to the fabulous apartment in New York, but it was to her surprise that she was summarily summoned to Washington, DC, the new heart and soul of SHIELD operations in the United States. She swallowed her pride as she braved being behind the wheel of a 21st-century vehicle for the first time and the madness of modern traffic. She had been to Washington, DC only a handful of times in the 1940s, mostly in her role as director, and the city she found there now was vastly different, sprawling across the Potomac, having boomed in the military build-up of the Cold War. The Triskelion was one of the results of that, a massive complex on Theodore Roosevelt Island, towers all linked together, bridged to the mainland by a gated thoroughfare to a shining column of glass and concrete that still dazzled Peggy’s very old-fashioned eyes.
Maria Hill was there to meet her when she arrived, all military strictness even in her civilian suit. “You survived getting here on your own.”
Peggy didn’t want to admit that she had white-knuckled it most of the way through the modern freeway. “You know the fact that in this day and age, you’ve invented a device to tell you directions should be given far more credit than it is.”
“Wait till it’s 3 am in the middle of Nowhere, New Mexico, and it tells you to turn right into a road that doesn’t exist, then you’ll rethink that.” Speaking with the voice of long-suffering experience, she passed Peggy a plastic card on a lanyard. “Your badge to move about the building, though, I should warn you, you likely won’t need it. Most people have already heard the gossip that the great Peggy Carter has come back from the dead.”
Peggy could only snort mildly as she slipped it over her head and under the heavy wool coat. “I would think they wouldn’t notice me in an agency of thousands.”
Hill cut her eyes at her as they walked with an expression that mocked her naiveté. “You do realize your picture hangs in the front lobby, right?”
“A photo of me from 1948.”
“The suit may be new, but you are still painfully Peggy Carter.”
That much was true, she supposed, glancing at her reflection in the glass of the door as it slid open. The clothes were the ones she had purchased with Sharon, and even her hair was now relaxed into something more modern in tone than the painstaking pin curls of her youth. The makeup, however, remained unchanged. She would be damned if she gave up her beloved lipstick. She had kitted herself out in what Sharon said was a “professional badass power suit”, which looked like a nicer, sleeker version of the one her niece owned. At the time she purchased it, it had struck the note of a powerful woman, something she hadn’t felt in her first weeks in this world. As she wandered behind Hill to the bank of elevators, it occurred to her that in this world, she was indeed one of those powerful women, a legend in this building and to this organization. The realization left her feeling slightly heady as the doors opened, and Hill led the way inside.
“Sub-basement 3, please.” Hill glanced at a screen on the inside of the doors as a disembodied voice floated from up above the clear glass walls.
“Of course, Deputy Director, Director Emerita.” The elevator moved smoothly as Peggy frowned up toward the lit ceiling.
“Director Emerita?”
The corner of Hill’s mouth quirked at Peggy’s obvious confusion. “I knew you’d hate the title. That was Secretary Pierce’s call. He was very adamant that if the secret was out, we might as well acknowledge who you are and your rank within SHIELD.”
“How very political of him,” Peggy observed dryly.
“Alexander Pierce is nothing if not a political creature,” Hill replied enigmatically as the elevator doors opened again, and she stepped out of them with a pointed smile. Peggy followed the other woman into the lobby of the sub-basement they alighted on, through the heavy metal door that led into a massive gym facility. The floor was covered in all manner of weight equipment, very modern compared to what she had seen in the 1940s, though the punching bags being thoroughly pummeled in one of the adjoining rooms were familiar enough to her. The area had several adjoining rooms branching off, one with what looked like stationary bikes, filled with women furiously spinning like a beehive locked in there, another with several pairs working on hand-to-hand maneuvers, viciously throwing each other around so fast that Peggy could almost blink and miss it.
“It never stops boggling my mind how quick and deadly martial arts have become,” she murmured as they wandered past a woman of only 5 feet taking down a 6’2 man as easily as if he had been a child.
“We’ve come a long way since the days of kicking them in the balls and punching them in the face, though, in fairness, that still works too.” Hill led her past the bank of rooms, down a short hallway where the scuff and screech of shoes on varnished wood and the slap of a ball as it was bounced down the floor. The basketball court was busy as they wandered past, a full-on game commencing as a mixed group of men and women called lazily back and forth to each other, a sort of good-natured jeering in their competitiveness. Hill ignored them, however, as she moved towards a room further down the walkway, as large as the court, if not larger, sunk to the level below and walled off by a glass bank of windows. A man stood there, observing whatever was inside quietly.
“I’ve brought her to you, Coulson. Please don’t embarrass yourself.” Only the hint of a smirk on Hill’s otherwise stoic face gave away her teasing humor. The other man turned, visibly straightening himself up as he regarded Peggy with a perfectly blank expression, though something glittered in his eyes as he took her outstretched hand.
“Director Carter, it’s an honor to be working with you.”
Peggy wasn’t sure what to make of the admiration from him. “Thank you. I’ve been told you are Director Fury’s left hand to Hill’s right?”
“He does the hard work so I can stay here and herd cats.” Hill patted Coulson’s shoulder as she wandered towards the overlooking the large room Coulson had been watching. “How is she doing?”
“Like she never missed a step.” A broad smile cracked the straight facade as he glanced over to Peggy. “We had one of our top agents go down last year. She’s been rehabbing the last few months.”
Peggy guessed “rehab” must be tied to her recovery from whatever injury she suffered. That one of their top agents was a woman and that Coulson didn’t think twice about saying that still somewhat surprised her.
Hill watched, clearly impressed, as she let off a low whistle. “Honestly, I wish I could move half as well as that.”
Coulson only laughed. “If you had her training, you could.”
Peggy wandered to the viewing area, looking down into a large space, filled with fake walls, hazards, and other items that created a cluttered obstacle course of sorts, the kind you’d use to train in close-quarter, guerilla-style tactics. The mat-covered floor was spackled in bright, brilliant colors, as was the wall and most all of the obstacles. Behind one of the larger, uneven walls crouched a red-haired woman, dressed in the black athletic clothing everyone seemed to favor now, close fitting and breathable. She was hunched behind the smallest of walls, down so low she was nearly lying on the floor. In her hand, she held a wand or stick, and she cautiously raised it as far away from her as possible, up to the top of the low wall, allowing the tip to peek over it. Almost immediately, from seemingly out of nowhere, there was a whistle and a streak of color that took out the stick in her hand. She dropped it as it fell, and behind it on the mat a blob of bright pink oozed with a feathered shaft sticking drunkenly in it, standing upright before falling, inelegantly, to the mat.
“Is that an arrow?” Peggy was baffled by whatever it was she saw.
“A paint arrow, yes.” Coulson only chuckled and shook his head. “Specially formatted for some gnarly games of paint gun.”
“Don’t think those things don’t hurt when they hit you, because they do.” Hill groused as she rubbed a shoulder, seemingly in memory of being hit with one.
Before Peggy could ask why a bow and arrow, the woman sprang up from her crouched position. In a fluid movement, she gracefully leaped up, and threw herself over the wall, tucking and rolling on the other side, before bounding up again, using her momentum to allow her to throw herself halfway up one wall, only to bounce, like a dancer off the other wall, scaling what had to be twenty feet of obstacle in seconds as she tossed what looked to be a bright purple grenade high up into the air at a target somewhere in the rafters, all the while dodging a barrage of arrows of sticky, brightly colored paint that bounced off the mat and walls around her without touching her. When she finally came to the top of the barricade, she smoothly removed what looked to be a child’s toy weapon from a holster on one thigh, aiming in the same general direction, tracking some target, before firing four rounds and finally leaping to the other side and out of their general view. Somewhere up above them Peggy could hear the sound of a man cursing, loudly.
“Sounds like she got him.” Hill sounded too pleased by this.
“He had it coming. He’s been taunting her.” Coulson watched as the figure crept along a far wall. “I’ve got $100 bucks on her kicking his ass in under five.”
“That’s a sucker bet,” Hill snorted.
Peggy watched the woman and the ways she moved, the lethal grace and deadly focus, combined with an unearthly calm in the face of attack as she stalked across one of the battlements, eyes trained on the shadows across from her. It brought Dottie Underwood to mind, the same mixture of beauty and danger that she embodied, though in fairness this woman outstripped even the formidable Dottie from what little Peggy had seen. The idea of the sort of training and abuse the assassin had been put through had disgusted her and as she watched the woman dance between pillars, avoiding sticky arrows, she couldn’t help but wonder where she had learned hers.
In a feat of breathtaking acrobatics, the woman threw herself over the railing along the battlements, up to the rafters, grabbing onto the edge, and flipped herself up into the shadows, outside of the sight of any of the three of them standing there. Less than a minute later there were mutual shouts and an outbreak of laughter, followed by feminine squeals and a man shouting “Serves you right!” At that, Hill and Coulson laughed outright.
“Sounds like we have a winner.” Hill wandered to a door to the side. It led into the room and to a catwalk into the rafter area. Peggy followed the other two as they came upon the woman with a man, both engaged in flinging gobs of gooey paint at one another. Bright purple streaked down the man’s face and had managed to get into the woman’s coppery hair as she smashed green upside his left ear, making him cringe away as she laughed brightly.
“Good to see you back in fighting form.” Coulson drily regarded the pair of them, who hardly looked repentant for their antics. “I warned you not to taunt the beast, Barton.”
The man only smirked, just in time for the woman to flick more paint in his face. “That you did, sir.” He glared at the woman, who grinned but said nothing. Coulson, for his part, seemed to be patient with the pair of them as he looked back at Peggy, standing carefully just outside of the paint-kill zone.
“I’d like you both to meet Director Peggy Carter.” He waved a hand towards her and she responded by smiling at them both. “Director, these are Agents Barton and Romanoff.”
They both nodded, respectful if not more than a bit curious. Romanoff in particular eyed her with a certain wariness, while Barton immediately brought up the question she was sure that everyone would ask. “Director? What, just taking over Fury’s job?”
“Not exactly,” she replied, meeting the pair of them head-on. “It’s honorary more than anything. I’m not interested in Director Fury’s job. I’ll be working primarily with Deputy Director Hill and Agent Coulson.”
This seemed to relieve them both.
“So, I guess you aren’t as dead as we thought you were.” Barton seemed to have a certain lazy frankness about him that Peggy could respect.
She grinned, shrugging. “Time travel tends to work that way.”
“I’ve heard of crazier things.” Barton seemed rather nonplussed with it all. Romanoff was curiously silent. Peggy couldn’t shake the idea the woman’s trust and good humor had to be earned.
“Director Carter will be working with us on our next mission.” Coulson glanced at Hill, who nodded. “Clean up, meet me upstairs. We got something hot for you both.”
“I guess that this doesn’t involve a beach and a paid vacation anywhere.”
“You manage this and I’ll pay for you to go wherever you want, Barton.” Coulson glanced between the pair. “I’ll see you in twenty.”
They nodded, with Romanoff silently wiping sticky hands down the front of Barton’s shirt, much to her partner’s chagrin. Coulson only managed to shake his head, leading the way out as behind them Peggy could hear Barton loudly complaining about her ruining his favorite shirt.
“I do admit, it’s amusing to watch Romanoff own Barton.” Hill wandered with them as they went back to the elevators where she and Peggy had come down. “And it’s good to see her back to form.”
“Which is why I’m using them now.” Coulson called down the elevator, which opened almost as soon as he pressed the button.
“I heard what you got. Not going to be easy.” Hill shook her dark head, entering inside. “Administrative Floor.”
“Level 45, please.” Coulson glanced at Peggy. “You’ll be with me on this one, Director.”
“Carter is just fine.” Director Emerita was such a silly title, and Director wasn’t even really what she did anymore, anyway. Fury had the title and she was happy to let him have it.
Coulson looked vaguely scandalized by the idea. “Are you sure?”
“Frankly, I was barely use to the idea of being called director.” The elevator rose out of the basement and through the lobby to come up outside of the building itself. The view of the cold, clear Washington, DC skyline was breathtaking as they rose above the scraggly tree-line of the Potomac River. As far as the eye could see the city spread. In the near distance, she could see the monuments of the United States capital huddled near the browning expanse of the National Mall. Across the river, northern Virginia loomed, far more built up than it had ever been in her original day.
“It’s all changed so much,” she murmured, mostly to herself.
The other two were polite enough not to comment.
The elevator finally stopped after a moment on the floor Coulson desired. Hill wished them luck as they stepped off onto an open floor of desks and dividers, men and women on computers. Coulson led her to a glass-walled office, a corner overlooking another side of the sprawling landscape beyond.
“Please, have a seat.” Coulson waved towards the leather chairs by his desk. Peggy took one of the further ones, leaving room for Barton and Romanoff when they made their appearance.
“You have a situation you want me involved in, then?” She cut right to the chase, setting down the briefcase with the tried-and-true pen and paper inside. She reached for both as Coulson settled himself.
“One I think you’d be suited to help with, yes.” He remained vague, perhaps waiting for the other two to arrive.
“You do know what Director Fury has me on right now, correct?” She thought she might test the waters to see how far Fury trusted his left hand.
Coulson, to his credit, saw right through her admittedly obvious ploy. “I think that this case might tie into your work on the initiative Director Fury has you working on, yes.”
She smiled, considering. “So, the pair you introduced me to?”
“My top team.” Coulson seemed happy to discuss that. “STRIKE teams run particular types of military and covert ops in the field. Barton and Romanoff run STRIKE Team Delta and are used for high-level espionage and sensitive targets.”
“So they are spies and assassins?” Sixty years had changed the terminology, as Peggy was unfortunately learning.
“Yes.” Coulson didn’t even flinch at the suggestion of what they got up to.
“Interesting.” Peggy leaned back and considered the pair. Barton was as ordinary as you could get as a spy, outside of the sharp blue eyes that could see through you. The fact he used a bow and arrow was different, curious as a matter of fact, especially in an age when everyone preferred rifles. She thought of Barnes with a passing pang as she moved on to consider the woman instead, with the dangerous skills that had been both mesmerizing and terrifying. “The woman, Romanoff, I’ve seen what she could do before.”
Coulson nodded grimly as he reached across his desk to a keyboard embedded in it. It was made of glass, like the phones, and he pressed a few letters. To the side of the room, a light was projected onto the wall and a dossier on Romanoff appeared, complete with several film clips of an impossibly young and deadly woman. Peggy ignored being awed by the technology in favor of scanning the information Coulson presented.
“Her name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova, but for our files she prefers Natasha Romanoff. And yes, you have seen the likes of her before. Let’s just say she’s the spiritual daughter of Dottie Underwood, who I think you knew rather well.”
That didn’t sit well with Peggy as she watched a 20-second snippet in which the petite redhead managed to take down a room of 10 armed men without so much as breaking a sweat. “She’s far more dangerous than Dottie ever was.”
“That much is true.” Coulson glanced at the video with a sad sigh. “But her story is fairly similar. She was sent to the Red Room, a KGB training school for girls like Natasha. We guess that it was the evolution of the same program you and the Howling Commandos found over there when you were searching for Leviathan.”
She recalled the red mark around Dottie’s wrist. “They turned little girls into killers.”
“Yes, they did. Natasha was no different.”
Peggy considered the woman on the screen. She’d been wary in their introduction, unlike nearly everyone else she’d run into thus far who’d been in various stages of awe. This Romanoff was much more cautious, unsure of what to make of her or what threat she possibly could be. Peggy would lay odds her childhood had been one unpredictable threat after another.
“Romanova? Is she any relation to…”
“No. We think it was assigned to her, sort of like ‘Smith’ or ‘Jones.'” Coulson had anticipated that, and Peggy could only smile slightly sheepishly. “What little she or anyone else knows is that she was placed in the program at a very young age. She thinks she had parents, but we’ve yet to find them.”
“Did they take her for any particular reason?”
Coulson shrugged. “They took all types, mostly orphans, kids whose families couldn't keep them, children in abusive situations, ones that no one would notice were missing. Natasha, however, was perhaps one of the best they ever produced. By the time she was 16, she was already being sent out on missions. At 18 she had a kill list that would rival even the most well-known assassins. She was particularly deadly because of her age and appearance. Who would believe a girl with the looks of an innocent would be able to snap you in two with a flick of a wrist?”
Something about all that sounded sad to Peggy. She considered Dottie again, of the twisted woman and the upbringing that had turned her into that. “How did she end up out of the KGB and with SHIELD?”
Coulson flicked his fingers across the keyboard again and a news article flickered up on the wall, complete with pictures of a burned-out building. “Romanoff was sent in on a hit that went bad, more than one of those. By this time the Cold War was over and the KGB was in disarray. The Red Room was serving the highest bidder in Russia, KGB or not. The incident in Brazil was a hit, nothing more or less, from one drug lord to another, all wrapped in the rhetoric of national security. It went badly - very badly. Romanoff took it hard. When it was done - well, she found the Russian drug lord responsible for the hit, made sure he was killed in the most compromising way possible, then called the police. Then she left and went on her own. She was just shy of 20.”
Peggy studied the cold expression on the lovely woman’s face. “That wasn’t that long ago.”
“No, it wasn’t. She spent the next year on her own, mostly trying to make a go of it solo. She was deadly, there was no denying it, and she was trouble. There was a price on her head, and frankly, she was a pain in our ass. Barton was sent by Fury to deal with her.”
“Clearly, he didn’t.”
“No, he didn’t. He made a different call.” Coulson studied the still image of Romanoff for long moments. “You ever see a feral cat?”
Peggy only nodded as he waved towards Romanoff’s image. “That’s how I’d have described her that day Barton brought her in. She was half-starved, scared of her own shadow, and sure as hell didn’t trust any of us. She’d been used as a murderous sex object for years and I think she assumed that’s what we’d want her for. She didn’t trust anyone here, except maybe Barton. It took a long time for her to warm up to any of us. But Fury saw in her someone who deserved a chance. He said he once met someone not so different from Romanoff and that he was willing to give her a chance to make it right, to believe in her. She signed on the SHIELD dotted line. She’s been here ever since.”
“And you believe she’s loyal?” Peggy had to ask the question. She remembered Dottie too well to not worry.
Coulson contemplated that before answering her honestly. “I believe that she’s loyal to Barton and to Fury, and perhaps possibly to me. I think that’s enough. Outside of that, she’s seen what organizations can do. She’s loyal to people. You earn her trust and she’s with you completely. She’s got a big heart, Natasha, even if she likes to pretend it’s as cold and arid as Siberia in the winter.”
Peggy filed all this information for later as her attention turned to the man who had saved Romanoff. “So, Barton? He has a thing for broken little girls and arrows?”
“He’s a bit more straightforward.” Coulson pulled up his file as it swiped onto the projection, displacing Romanoff. “His father used to be a trick shot artist and did the circus and rodeo circuits in the '60s and '70s before an accident forced him to settle down back home in Iowa. He was a dead shot, but a mean drunk, abused his family. Clint is the older, tended to take care of his mom and kid brother and drunk father as best he could.”
“Which would explain why he had a soft spot for an abused Russian assassin.” The pieces started fitting together more for Peggy.
“You would be right. In any case, Clint developed his father’s eye and skill with a bow, not unusual around there where bowhunting is a popular sport. Rather than use it for entertainment, though, he signed up for the Army straight out of high school, as much to get away from his abusive, alcoholic father as to serve his country. He’s just as deadly with a rifle and a pistol as he is with a bow and arrow and he served in special forces till his sign-up was done. That’s when Fury offered him a place in SHIELD. He’s been here ever since, but he's always worked most closely with Fury. If there is a story there, and there probably is, I don’t know it and I don’t ask.”
“Very respectful of their privacy.”
“If you get to this level in SHIELD everyone has a secret and reason for being here.
It was perhaps an un-romantic perspective but one Peggy respected, certainly. “What’s your reason for being here, Agent Coulson?”
“My parents are dead and I have a history degree and idolized you and Steve Rogers. I figured I had to do some good in the world, just like the two of you did.”
Perhaps he wasn’t un-romantic after all. “That is rather sweet.”
“I have my moments.” He glanced up as the door to his office opened and the pair of Romanoff and Barton entered, showered and in street clothes. Barton looked like every other man she’d seen in New York, dark denim, a dark t-shirt, and a leather jacket, casual and yet serious. Romanoff had gone for her version, exchanging the dark leather for warmer brown suede. Of the pair, Barton was the only one to give her a friendly smile. Romanoff barely acknowledged her.
“That took less time than expected.”
“I made this batch of paint more water-soluble. Nothing says ‘death wish’ quite like dyeing your assassin partner’s hair blue by mistake.”
“I’d have preferred pink,” she murmured, taking one of the seats, the one furthest from Peggy. Barton settled between them. Peggy noted it and pretended to be very busy with her empty notebook. She could feel the curiosity of both of them, though Barton was far more apparent with his.
“So, you said you have an assignment.” Romanoff jumped in eagerly. She had been off-field work for a while rehabilitating an injury, so it made sense she was itching for something. Peggy remembered that feeling well.
“Better be more entertaining than babysitting North Korean diplomats with a taste for McDonald's,” Barton muttered.
“It’s bigger at least.” Coulson flashed up a picture and a bit of film onto his projection. The minute she saw who it was Peggy knew why it was that Coulson wanted her in this detail and that Coulson was aware of Fury’s side Avengers project. She blinked up at Tony Stark’s smirking face before shooting Coulson a pointed look. He only shrugged.
“What in the hell has Stark done now?” Barton lazily slid into his seat, rolling his eyes as if Tony was a recalcitrant teenager. Howard’s son also had Howard’s reputation.
“Gotten himself kidnapped for starters.” Coulson flipped up another clip, this one of a pile of twisted metal, burning and smoking, in a desert somewhere surrounded by the bodies of what looked like soldiers. “Four weeks ago Stark was in Afghanistan showing off a weapons system to some Army top brass.”
Something tugged at Peggy’s memory, from her brief interaction with Lang, something about things Stark had gone through. Lang had hinted at trauma, an event or several that had been “hard”. It clicked with her then what that had been about as she studied the video and the attendant information on the screen, the destruction and the missing Stark. This must have been at least one of the things Lang referenced. Had SHIELD rescued him then? He hadn’t said and she didn’t know.
Barton whistled low as he viewed the burned-out husk of what had to be a jeep or similar type of vehicle. “Stark’s neither military nor a diplomat. Why do they keep insisting on flying civilians like him into dangerous areas?”
“It’s the US Army, why do they ever do what they do?” Coulson's sentiment was not dissimilar to Peggy’s own in the 1940s, and she could see that indeed some things didn’t change. “Stark made a demonstration of a weapons system, nicknamed ‘Jericho’, which he showed off with all the bells and whistles.”
“Because the walls came a tumblin’ down?” Romanoff arched a perfect eyebrow, a hint of a smirk lurking as Coulson snorted outright. Peggy noted that for a woman who was a Russian national, her American English was impeccable. Like Dottie, she’d been trained to sound as if she fit in.
“Pretty much. Stark has been perfecting SI’s repulsor technology and employed it on this new system. Each of the individual missiles now frees itself and flies, unerringly, straight to the heart of any target you want.”
Peggy knew she was behind on technology, particularly anything Howard or his son had concocted in the time she had lost, but she felt hopelessly confused as the other two nodded. “I’m sorry, repulsor technology?”
“It’s a propulsion system that doesn’t use any fuel.” Surprisingly, Barton was the one to answer. “Stark Industries has been one of the few companies pushing for ‘clean’ energy, a bit of a shock considering they are weapons dealers. Howard Stark created the Arc Reactor in the 70s as a reaction to the oil crises and growing demand for nuclear energy. He only ever managed the one factory that I know of, but it was always a pet project. Tony was the one who created repulsors, mostly as a gimmick and toy last I saw.”
Coulson’s expression was grim as he cued up film footage of Tony Stark in a beautiful and likely expensive suit, standing in front of a ridge of lightly dusted, snow-capped mountains overlooking a desert valley. “Well, he figured out how to weaponize the toy and that’s what he was showing off in Afghanistan.”
Tony raised his arms, as over his shoulders a missile fragmented, scattered, and flew with pinpoint accuracy into the mountain range, a dust cloud flying across the valley and enveloping the scene, the camera crew included. Peggy could only blink in mute horror as Barton whistled and Romanoff nodded her head, clearly impressed.
“So, somebody saw his demonstration and wanted to kidnap him for a free version?” The red-haired woman glanced sideways at Coulson.
“Considering the length of time between when the demonstration occurred and when he was taken, unlikely. They knew where Stark was, they knew his route, his itinerary, and had it meticulously planned ahead of time. They wanted him before Joshua blew his horn.”
Peggy finally spoke up into the proceedings. “Could it have been someone who knew of what he was making and had a tip on him going there to demonstrate it? Perhaps, someone from the inside of Stark Industries who passed off information, wittingly or unwittingly.”
All three sets of eyes turned on her. Coulson only just contained his delight at her suggestion. “It’s a possibility, certainly, though Stark is notoriously guarded about who he lets into his inner circle. He has a personal bodyguard and a personal assistant and that’s it outside of Obadiah Stane, who is his second-in-command at Stark Industries, and Colonel James Rhodes, who is the military liaison who works with Stark. Everyone else is an acquaintance at best, mostly employees, social connections, and a string of women he’s slept with, but none of them personal relationships.”
That sounded painfully familiar. “You said Stark was kidnapped a month ago? Why are we just finding out about it now, considering what his father was to SHIELD?”
That brought some uncomfortable shuffling from the other two who glanced pointedly at Coulson as if they were passing on a hot potato no one wanted to touch. Coulson was used to getting his fingers burned on behalf of others, as he didn’t think twice about answering. “Howard purposely kept Tony out of SHIELD.”
That surprised her. “Whatever for?”
She didn’t miss the private look between Barton and Romanoff as Coulson searched for words. “Things changed a lot for Howard after you disappeared. He became more guarded about the work of SHIELD and more careful about what we let others know about. SHIELD was doing both international espionage and high-level scientific research, all of which could have been dangerous if taken by one particular nation.”
That made a great deal of sense. Howard had been personally affected by the machinations of Leviathan and Dottie Underwood, not to mention Whitney Frost. Peggy’s disappearance must have been the last straw for his willingness to share and an open-door policy. Closing such information from any one government, that made sense to her. Shutting out your son did not.
“So how did Howard explain his double life to his family?” That made her curious as she studied the man on the projection.
“I don’t know that he did,” Coulson admitted frankly. “Maria Stark may or may not have known, I can’t be certain. Tony never did. He was fairly young when his father died, just barely old enough to even have the legal right to run the company, and I don’t think Howard ever revealed to him the truth.”
That certainly made things difficult. “So, Howard never shared the secret of SHIELD with his son, but that certainly doesn’t explain how SHIELD never took more precautions with him. He’s a high-profile person with ties to this organization, whether he’s aware of it or not, and no one bothered to put a detail on him?”
Romanoff chose to speak up then. “Fury has had an eye on him for years, it’s not as if people weren’t paying attention.”
“So, they were out to tea when Tony Stark went to Afghanistan and suddenly disappeared?” Peggy met her cool gaze with one of her own. “How did it take four weeks for you to find out?”
Exasperation flickered in Coulson’s equanimity. “The US Military isn’t in the habit of discussing their high-level operations with SHIELD, as if we didn’t already know about them. That said, they kept the Stark thing under wraps, mostly from the sheer embarrassment of losing a high-profile celebrity and their main weapons dealer on a routine demonstration as he was being shuttled back to the US military base. It shows their laxity in dealing with details.”
“How did we end up finding out about it,” Barton asked.
“Rhodes reached out when the US Military dragged its feet on the matter. He’s Stark’s best friend and consequently, he got shut out of the investigation because he was ‘too close to it.’
“So the US military can save face and not let on they are incompetent, and if they never find him alive again they can brush it off as Muslim fundamentalists.” Romanoff rolled her eyes heavenward in a gesture Peggy herself wanted to emulate. This entire situation sounded more like a farce and less like a military action.
“I’m afraid we don’t get that luxury,” Coulson tapped on his glass and light keyboard, several screens of information popping up. “Needless to say, Tony Stark being missing is a huge risk to international security. His company alone holds 90% of the contracts on the weapons systems around the globe and he was involved in the design of most if not all of those. The man has more secrets on our defenses than NATO does and if they break him it could endanger all of us. Worse, we are out one genius who has kept us safe for the last twenty years, and SHIELD will have let the son of one of our founders get killed under our watch. Our assignment is to find what information we can and triangulate where he is with the hope of feeding it to Rhodes to man a rescue. Unfortunately, we don’t have much to go on. Afghanistan is pockmarked with insurgents and not all of them belong to the same groups and causes.”
Peggy took careful note in her private shorthand, considering the many lectures and file briefs she had read of late on the current situation in Central Asia. Despite the many back-channel conversations she knew both sides of the Cold War had been having at one another, she hadn’t been surprised by the intricate chess game of state building that the two engaged in over the next fifty years. She had seen it in her time as the Soviets gobbled up the territories they controlled in Eastern Europe while the United States had thrown money at propping up Western European democracies. It had all blown up in their face, of course, as things tend to, and now they were reaping the rewards of that. The escalation of violent terrorism had horrified her, and she considered that as she pondered why it was Tony Stark had been taken and what they wanted out of him.
Coulson continued, oblivious to Peggy’s musings. “Rhodes stated that the attack occurred in the Kunar province, along the Afghanistan/Pakistan border, though he’s not sure they stayed there.”
“Frankly, they could have moved him anywhere at this point, even into Iran or Pakistan. They have no way of knowing.” Barton glared at the map on the screen. “Any other intel?”
“No one is talking to the US Army about it. Why would they?” Coulson’s equanimity was underlined by a hint of disgust. “This entire situation has been a shit show from the beginning and I for one have no problem in letting the US public know that should Stark not make it out of this in one piece.”
“So, I’m guessing you want us to be the eyes and ears the US military can’t seem to find?” Romanoff cooly leaned back in her seat, her face impassive, but eyes calculating as Peggy watched her make mental notes of locations and information on the screen.
“You two are the best I got and you have the skills we need to hopefully figure out if Stark’s alive and if we can get to him.”
Barton perked up at this. “Been a while since we’ve had real field work, sir. Do I get to pull out the old cover for this?”
Coulson cracked his half-smile as he nodded. “Your arms dealer will be able to get in and ask questions on Stark and no one will think twice on that. I have a transport for you to Kabul and after that, you are on your own.”
This pleased Barton but didn’t seem to make Romanoff happy. “You’re sending him in there alone?”
“For now. The Taliban might not be in control, but remember, this is still a patriarchal society that would frown on a shady black market dealer running with an attractive woman no matter how foreign they both were. No, I need you to go back home for a bit, probing some old connections, preferably those who served in the Afghan War. I’m guessing ex-Soviets who fought there in the 80s know where some of the lesser-known hidey holes are.”
Something tense flickered for a moment in her expression, but she nodded firmly, squaring her shoulders. “I’ve been craving pirozhki of late.”
Peggy noted her all-too-brief flicker of emotion that upset the other woman’s neutral calm. Was it her past or something else that bothered her about returning to her homeland? Curiosity mingled with Peggy’s memories of Dottie and the threat she posed. Romanoff distrusted Peggy. What was her reason for it? Moreso, what was it about Peggy that set the Russian assassin on edge?
“Director Carter?” Coulson’s invocation caught her attention and she found herself frowning at the title.
“As I said earlier, we could just stick to Carter, just to keep it simple.”
Both Barton and Romanoff approved of this, though Coulson blinked as if she had suggested he call her “sweetheart”.
“If you would like,” he hedged, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “I’m reaching out to you because I know the work Fury has asked you to do, but I am hoping to use your expertise as well. I figure you and I could work together on this.”
Well, that confirmed it. She smiled, unsure of how much the other two were aware. “I’m afraid I’m not yet completely up-to-date on the global threat assessment and the geopolitical situation. I don’t know how much use I will be to you.”
“I think the skill set you have will be perfectly fine. I need your detective’s mind and computational brain more than anything. As I said, we suspect someone on the inside helped to coordinate the kidnapping of Stark. The question is who and how did they get that level of access and who are they working with? Few agents are as good as you were figuring out those random connections and sussing out the right threads to follow.”
It sounded so flattering to hear him say that, though Peggy highly doubted in an agency full of thousands that she was unique. “It’s just standard detective work, Agent Coulson, I’m hardly alone in that skill set.”
“But no one else knew Howard Stark. You did.” Romanoff turned in her chair, ever so slightly, hard words spoken in a tone as light as the wind, even if the eyes behind it were not.
She had. It ached to think of him in the past, to know for her it had only been weeks ago and that he had in reality been dead for decades now. “I’m not sure what my knowledge of Howard has anything to do with this?”
“Still, it’s more than any of us know on the Starks.” Romanoff shrugged a graceful, lazy gesture.
“She’s right,” Coulson affirmed firmly. “Tony Stark, for all his showboating, keeps his privacy and few know his habits. While Tony isn’t his father if the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, we may be able to piece together who he trusted, who knew what, and if he’s at all alive somewhere in the Afghan mountains.”
It was a stretch, frankly, but Peggy supposed desperate times called for desperate measures. “Is his friend, Colonel Rhodes, available to talk? Perhaps his secretary, other members of Stark Industries?”
“I’ll see what I can do. I can get you what I can on Stark Industries and Howard’s private files. I can’t be certain whatever it is doesn’t connect back to him somehow. Howard kept his business and SHIELD worlds separate and it’s hard telling who Stark Industries has dealt with over the years. This could be payback or retaliation for any number of things.”
Knowing Howard, Peggy wouldn’t be surprised. “As I’m still not completely up to speed on modern technologies, could I request assistance?”
Coulson arched an eyebrow. “Depends on who you bring on board.”
“My niece, Sharon Carter.”
“She doesn’t have that high of a security clearance,” Romanoff shot off immediately, earning a side-eye from Barton sitting between them.
“No, but she is an agent of SHIELD, correct? And she is far more capable with the means of modern research than I am.”
“She is a lower-ranked agent and answer to other divisions.”
“And I’m sure that a special request on my part for their assistance would perhaps push the matter along, am I right, Agent Coulson?”
Coulson was looking frankly baffled by Romanoff’s objections. “It shouldn’t be a problem. Sharon’s a good agent, a damn fine one, and we could use her. Fury wants this done quickly and quietly and I’m all for any tool I can get.”
His last comment effectively quieted Romanoff, who didn’t look pleased, but at least nodded in acquiescence. “Sharon is good, I won’t deny that. She’s got a level head and is discrete. We could use her.”
“Good, then, if you have no further objections, you all have assignments. Barton and Romanoff, I have transport for you in two hours. Carter, would you rather work here or back in New York?”
“If it isn’t any trouble I’d rather stay in one home base for the moment.” She packed her things as the other two agents took their assignments from Coulson and wandered off, Barton immediately bending Romanoff’s ear. She guessed he was wondering the same thing Peggy was, what in the world she might have against a woman whom most had assumed dead for decades.
“Romanoff takes a long time to warm up to people.” Coulson knew the tenor of her thoughts and watched the petite redhead as she walked away. “Like I said, she’s not particularly close to anyone, and the program she went through…”
“I know what the program she went through was like.” She still remembered well the girl’s school in Russia, of the children handcuffed to beds and turned into psychotic murderers.
“You perhaps know some.” Coulson grimaced, sadly. “Romanoff is a damn good agent who very much wants to make up for the things she’d done. Just...keep that in mind.”
Her mouth thinned, tightly. “I hadn’t assumed anything else. Now, until I get a means of transport back home, do you have a corner for me to set up shop?”
“I think for a former director, we can manage more than a closet somewhere. Come on, let me show you what SHIELD has become while you were away.”
“I will say this, Agent Coulson, it has become much larger than I had ever imagined.”