Marvel Novels--Captain America, Page 4

  Fury blasted some air through his nose. “Don’t bury the lead. You find anything?”

  Dawson shook his head. “No. Based on the model Dr. Kade provided, a specific plus-strand RNA polygon with an atypical protein coat, we’ve had no further viroid identifications.”

  “Meaning it hasn’t spread. Good.”

  Kade cleared his throat. “As far as we know.”

  Fury turned his good eye toward Kade. “We’ve all read your new report, doc. I even had the big words translated into English for me. This is my staff ’s opportunity to fill in any blanks. So I’d like to hear from them first, if you don’t mind.”

  Kade looked down.

  Fury continued. “Item two, theories. According to our esteemed guest, Cap’s been infected at least since he was on ice. If it was during, that likely means contact occurred through natural causes. What have we got on that end, Milo?”

  A veteran of the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases, Janet Milo had been with S.H.I.E.L.D. medical for seven years. She didn’t have to check her notes. “If it’s reoviridae, it could use practically anything as a host—humans, animals, even plants or fungi. Captain Rogers might have contracted it through some prehistoric algae that’d been frozen for millennia…”

  Listening quietly from the edge of the chamber bed, Rogers could contribute almost nothing. There were no combat decisions to make, no attack plans to formulate. At the same time, sitting by while others debated his fate felt familiar. He reached for the memory, but it remained at arm’s length.

  When Milo finished, Kade looked as if he wanted to speak again. Fury pointedly moved on. “If he was infected before being frozen, that opens up the possibility it was intentional, which brings us to Agent Barca.”

  A lean, curly haired man with a goatee answered. “It could be a stealth virus, an engineered strain. Something like that could remain dormant for decades until it was activated by a predetermined stimuli, like a bomb waiting for a signal from a cellphone.”

  Fury grimaced. “Yeah, but who was weaponizing viruses in World War II?”

  Barca shrugged. “Weaponized viruses are nothing new, Colonel. In 1500 B.C., the Hittites sent plague victims into enemy lands. This specific sort of thing is beyond any technology we’re aware of—but in terms of possibilities, Arnim Zola experimented with genetic engineering in the 1940s. He, or some unknown, may have made the necessary breakthroughs.”

  Rogers stiffened at the name. It was a lead, at least something to think about—until Fury voiced the obvious objection.

  “If some evil genius went through all the trouble of setting up Cap as the ultimate time bomb, wouldn’t they have asked for ransom by now? Sixty years is a long time to save something this big for a rainy day.”

  Barca had already thought that through. “If we assume they’re still around. Remember, Captain Rogers was believed dead for decades. The perpetrator may have died of old age in the meantime. The problem may already be solved.”

  Kade half-rose from his seat. “Those are a lot of ‘ifs.’”

  Fury let a beat pass. “I’ve been working this end of the desk a real long time, and ‘a lot of ifs’ is all I’ve ever had. The fact is, this thing hasn’t spread for years. The only real difference between yesterday and today is that now we know about it. Maybe his immune system keeps it in check. Hell, maybe it’s a freakin’ magical virus. But given how you’re so eager to talk out of turn, let me ask you: Once we’ve completed our due diligence here, is there any solid reason we shouldn’t let him out of that cage?”

  As if watching a slow-motion tennis match, Rogers and the tight-packed crowd shifted their gaze back to Kade. The two speakers were a study in contrasts. Muscled Fury, a man with extreme faith in his instincts, waited for a response. Kade—physically slight, living far more in his own head than his damaged body—answered matter-of-factly.

  “Technically, because I won’t permit it.”

  All eyes snapped toward Fury. “You…what? Last I heard, I’m the one giving orders here.”

  Kade strummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Well, no. You, uh, should have been notified by now.”

  As if on cue, devices beeped across the table. Rogers’ borrowed laptop—now connected to the network—displayed an official-looking notice. As he scanned it, Kade explained.

  “I’ve contacted the CDC. Under international protocol, in these circumstances, their mandate exceeds S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. I’ve been given control over any decisions regarding the containment of this virus.”

  Fury glanced up from reading; his visible eye flared. “Son of a…”

  Kade blinked. “I don’t mean to step on anyone’s toes.”

  “You’ve got a funny way of showing it!”

  “I appreciate your confusion and your ignorance…”

  “My…what?” The director looked as if he might lunge across the table. A few agents tensed, prepared to hold him back.

  Kade showed no sign of fear or remorse. “...but the situation is too extreme. I can’t rely on a layman to understand the extent of the danger, especially given the understandable esteem Captain Rogers enjoys among your people. Your thinking is obviously muddied by your loyalty. Mine isn’t. I agreed to this meeting because the isolation chamber is secure, but he’ll remain there until I say otherwise.”

  Fury leaned forward in a way that didn’t relax those who knew him. “Protecting humanity from extinction is what S.H.I.E.L.D. does. If you think some—”

  “Before you continue, let me give you an example of how you’re not thinking clearly. You just said that the only difference between yesterday and today is that now we know about this virus. What if it wasn’t a virus? What if we’d discovered an asteroid heading toward the Earth?”

  “I’ll give you an asteroid….”

  Fury came forward, not stopping until Dawson and Milo moved to grab him. It was time for the lab rat to intervene.

  Rogers knocked on the glass—hard, but not too hard—to get their attention. “Fury…Nick, let the man talk, then take it from there.”

  Fury threw up his hands and sat back down. “Like I have a choice?”

  The room breathed a collected sigh of relief. Even Kade, perhaps finally realizing his bedside manner might need to be improved, took a moment to gather his thoughts. The doctor’s abrupt rise to power seemed appropriate enough to Rogers, but it still increased his disquiet. Why?

  He’d been imprisoned, trapped, seemingly helpless many times, but this was uncomfortably familiar. Was it because the nuances were beyond his expertise? Was it because he was afraid?

  Of course he was afraid. He’d never lacked fear, as some might think. He wanted to live, to thrive, to enjoy the pleasures that the world had to offer. But a long time ago, he’d decided that desire would never be fulfilled at someone else’s expense. That choice allowed him to push aside his fear. Reaffirmed again and again, in countless ways over countless battles, it had become a matter of routine.

  As if finishing a long drink of water, Kade swallowed, straightened, and cleared his throat. “Saving humanity is also what I do, but my expertise doesn’t involve criminal masterminds or non-terrestrial threats. I wouldn’t dream of second-guessing S.H.I.E.L.D. under any of those circumstances. But my work does involve this specific type of threat, and I know that if we’re not extremely cautious, we could be staring at a Black Swan event—something utterly unexpected in human history, until it occurs.”

  Fury bristled. “I know what it means. We’ve had six Black Swans in the last five years. But like I said, Steve’s been out there, breathing, bleeding, and saving asses for longer than that. If anyone had been infected in all that time, we’d have noticed, don’t you think?”

  “That’s the point. By the time we see an infection, it will be too late. You appreciate testosterone, so I’ll try to put it in familiar terms. Picture a cocked gun aimed directly at our species, rigged with a tripwire. The world’s leading expert is telling you the wire has been
tripped. The gun should have gone off, but it hasn’t. We can’t just hope it stays that way. We either have to confirm that it can’t go off, or figure out some way to unload the gun.” He paused, then added, “By which I mean a vaccine, or a cure.”

  Fury glowered. “I know how analogies work, too. And I’m a real whiz at ciphering. I get your point, but answer me—” Once again, devices across the room began to beep. “Oh, for the love of… Put those things in movie mode!”

  Nia turned toward Fury. “I apologize for the interruption, Colonel. I didn’t realize how quickly they’d respond.”

  Kade looked at his PDA and frowned. “Another CDC notice. Apparently, my authority isn’t to be quite as complete as I announced. Any actions I take must also be approved by Dr. N’Tomo.” He looked at her.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t feel it appropriate for one person to make these calls, especially with another qualified expert present.”

  “I’ll welcome your input.”

  Uncertain how he should react to the news, Fury twisted his lips. “Maybe I should go for a stroll along the boulevard, and you two can text me if I’m needed.”

  Ignoring him the way a parent might ignore a petulant child, Kade addressed Nia. “You realize we can’t keep Captain Rogers in that quarantine chamber indefinitely.”

  Fury brightened. “So we do agree on something?”

  Nia shook her head. “No, I believe Dr. Kade is referring to the fact that since this viroid’s never been detected before, it’s never been contained before. Therefore we can’t be certain any existing procedures will work. With the stakes so extreme, we should think in extreme terms.”

  Kade nodded. “Exactly.”

  The colonel’s upper lip curled. “Oh, so you think we should just whack him?”

  Kade refused to react to the sarcasm. “If he were an animal and it was safe to grow the virus in a culture, that’s precisely what I’d suggest. In this case, accurate as the computer modeling might be, destruction of the only living host would make it impossible to verify the efficacy of a potential treatment.”

  Around the table, faces dropped and eyes widened. When Kade noticed, he added, “And…of course, he has a right to survive.”

  Though his addendum did little to alter their expressions, he went on. “I do have another plan, one that Dr. N’Tomo will now apparently have to approve.”

  The tightly packed space making movement difficult, he slowly crossed the lab and activated a projector. A blueprint appeared next to Fury’s bulleted list. “Viruses replicate based on the speed of the host’s metabolism. The best way to ensure containment would be to slow that metabolism by placing the patient in this.”

  Fury’s mouth dropped open. “That’s a cryo-cylinder! Are you telling me you want to take a guy who’s already spent 60 years on ice and freeze him again?”

  Kade nodded. “Yes. Wasn’t that clear? Not permanently, but for...a while. Given the modeling enabled by the new scanner, and factoring in the current rate of technological advances, a treatment plan should be obtainable within twenty years. Forty years would be an outside estimate.”

  Rogers felt sucker-punched. Forty years. I’ll wake up in a completely different world. Everyone I know will either be gone or nearing the end of their time. Again.

  Apparently unable to believe what he was hearing, Fury looked to Nia, his tone oddly pleading. “Please, tell me he’s crazy.”

  Her grim expression told them all what she would say. “I’d very much like to disagree with Dr. Kade, but I can’t. The potential threat based on the computer models is staggering. The precaution… makes sense.”

  As she spoke, it finally dawned on Rogers why the scene felt so familiar.

  He had been here before, at the very beginning: a lab rat, but a willing one, so very, very eager to be given the chance—just the chance—to serve a greater cause. The fact that the combination of Dr. Erskine’s Super-Soldier serum and the vita-rays could kill him hadn’t really occurred to him until the moment the needles pierced his skin.

  Even then, it was worth it.

  And wasn’t this the same situation?

  His heart ached at the thought of another long sleep. But trusting Nia, even trusting Kade in his way, made it easier. He rapped on the glass again and gave them all his most sincere smile.

  “If that’s how it has to be, let’s do it.”

  5

  IF THEY’RE ALL GONE, WHAT’S LEFT TO CARE? THE SKY? THE PLANET? THE STARS? NO.

  HAVING methodically incinerated the corpses and disposed of the ashes, Arnim Zola returned to the castle’s upper level. The lights were off in the main room, the control center quietly lit by the fireplace and monitor glow. Schmidt stood behind his desk bathed partly in reddish yellow, partly in electronic blue. A wooden crate was open before him. In it lay five antique German crystal steins packed in straw. His visible hand cupped a sixth stein, half-filled with Pilsner.

  He raised it to greet the android.

  “I like this mix of old and new. It reminds me… of myself.” He took a sip and exhaled a raspy sigh. “I’d like to show you something, doctor.”

  With an odd, bemused expression, Schmidt raised his other arm and held out a clenched fist. Turning it over beneath his gaze, he regarded the appendage as if it were a curio he’d picked up in the same antique store as the steins.

  “My own hand, and I can’t move it at all. A new symptom?”

  Zola shook his digital head. “Of the virus? No. Too soon.”

  “What, then?”

  “Given my understanding of your psychology, I suspect you are simply experiencing extreme anger regarding your fate and somatizing that feeling.”

  Schmidt nodded, considering the idea. “Anger. Hm.”

  A shifting log popped in the fireplace. For a moment, all was silent. Then, his scarlet face twisting, the Skull slammed his frozen fist onto the desk. With a crack like thunder, a dark line snaked along the mahogany surface. The steins rattled in their straw.

  When he raised his arm, he found he could flex his fingers again. For him, the slight curl at the edges of his rows of bared teeth was an expression of pleasure. For others, it was the stuff of nightmares. “Ah. I suspect you were correct.”

  “I can give you an antidepressant.”

  The Skull was genuinely curious. “Why?”

  “Comfort? Increased clarity?” Zola offered. “There is no shame in it. Anxiety is not unusual under the circumstances.”

  “Anxiety? You mean fear, not anger, then?”

  “If you prefer. The terms at least overlap. Sensing a threat, the body seeks fight or flight.”

  One moment, Schmidt seemed to be thinking about it. The next, he grabbed one of the empty steins and hurled it against the mantle. The hard crystal exploded, briefly filling the air with tiny reflections of yellow, red, and blue. After scanning the broken pieces, he turned back to his companion.

  “You disappoint me. Rage is not fear. That’s like comparing a burning star to mud. Fear is weakness. Rage is the will growing taut, preparing to act.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea what rare ecstasies I’d have been denied without my rage? Never to experience, for instance, the joy of strangling the woman I loved for daring to reject me? No, Zola, anger does not require sedation. It demands respect.”

  “I see your point…” The android turned slightly as another beer stein flew across the small space between the Skull and the fireplace. “…as did the object of your affections. I did not mean to suggest your righteous fury should be equated with weakness. At the same time, it’s natural to dread one’s mortality, is it not?”

  Schmidt scoffed. “Since when do you and I care for nature?” He held out the stein from which he still drank, first to the flames, then to the monitors. “There’s nature for you. Fire held in place by fieldstone, electric current made obedient to the resistance of a silicon chip. Why bow to something that exists only to be tamed?” He picked up a fourth stein and threw it. “And rage? Without
its power to focus the will, life becomes as pointless as these broken bits of crystal scattered on the floor.”

  “May I ask what your rage demands of you now?”

  His eyes widened. “Survival, of course. It demands survival.”

  Zola looked at the Skull, then the shattered crystals, then back at the Skull. “I may have misspoke when I said your clenched hand was not caused by the virus. The disease can…enhance your mood.”

  “Then this virus has benefits.” He drained the only remaining stein of his contents. “I have not lived so long just to die, and most certainly not at the hands of nature.”

  “As I’ve already explained, I will do what I can, but we all have limits.”

  “Great as your reach may be, Zola, your limits and mine are not the same.”

  When he threw the last stein, it shattered like the others. Unlike them, its base was not empty. What looked like a small brass-colored tuning fork glittered among the shards.

  “Ah, the thing we seek is always found in the last place we look, ja?” Absently massaging one hand with the other, Schmidt cleared the crystal bits from the object with the toe of his boot. “At least I finished my beer.”

  “You have some specific plan?”

  “Of course. Planning is what I do. From the day I fled the orphanage, to my rise in Nazi Germany, to this very moment, I’ve been planning.” He bent to pick up the object. When he held it out toward Zola, the ghastly smile returned. “It’s not as if some other hobby would suffice.”

  The android approached for a closer look. The Skull obliged, bringing it into the firelight and turning over the shapes of its three prongs in his hand: circle, square, and triangle. There were electronics visible in the cylindrical handle—but crude, as if handmade—with thin filaments crossing the three prongs.