The Death Of Captain America Read online

  Red Skull tilts his head sideways to examine Doctor Faustus, much like a predator sizing up a competitor in a territorial dispute.

  “Your mind is a Machiavellian maze of double-thinking and triple-dealing. Your motives are hidden in veils of deceit. But I need you to finish your work, so I’ll suspend judgment for now. The woman is another matter. I want her punished.”

  “She is confined to a cell, Herr Skull. I shall deal with her soon enough. As for my work, I need to know if the body is ready.”

  “Arnim Zola assures me that it will be soon. But I am forced to move up the timeline. Our sources have informed us that the damned boy-soldier was saved by the Falcon and is now a prisoner in the Helicarrier. He knows our secrets and is now in the hands of our enemies.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  FALCON’S voice crackles over the speakerphone in Tony Stark’s office aboard the Helicarrier.

  “Is he conscious yet, Tony? Have you talked to him?”

  Stark pinches the bridge of his nose, wishing his headache would go away.

  “Sam, he’s awake and manacled to the steel desk in the same room where we interrogated Crossbones. I put a twenty-four-hour watch on him, and Natasha is in charge of the surveillance team. And no, I haven’t spoken to him yet. The techs disconnected his prosthetic arm and took it to the engineering lab.”

  “Sounds like you’re avoiding the interrogation.”

  “Natasha thinks it might be better if she makes the first move, with their history and all. She’s letting him stew for a bit.”

  The director imagines what it would be like to glide on the thermals and fly outside the claustrophobic confines of a metal suit. He can hear the wind behind Falcon’s voice, even with the filters on.

  “Best be careful. We don’t know what those sick freaks did to him. And listen, Bucky was important to Steve, so now he’s important to me. Real important.”

  “I hear you, Sam. I hope you don’t think I have to be reminded of that. Look, just focus on tracking down Faustus and finding Sharon. I’ll do right by Bucky. I promise you that.”

  “I’m holding you to that, Tony.”

  A red priority call light is flashing furiously in Stark’s peripheral vision.

  “Have to sign off. Emergency call coming in from the engineering lab.”

  “Later.”

  “Director Stark here.”

  The voice on the secure internal line is familiar, and labored, gasping out information in desperate spurts.

  “Sir, this is Milt Shapiro…senior engineer at Lab 3…sir, the arm…Winter Soldier’s powered prosthetic…most of its design and components…sir, it’s one of ours.”

  “It was built by S.H.I.E.L.D.? That would mean we had a Russian mole at one point.”

  Shapiro expresses an alternative opinion.

  “Or the prisoner we removed the arm from…was working directly for Director Nick Fury—I mean, ex-Director Fury.”

  Pacing back and forth in front of his desk, Tony Stark mentally runs through a hundred scenarios and extrapolations.

  “Listen up, Shapiro. Disconnect that arm’s internal power source right now and lock it down in an Adamantium security locker—”

  “Sir…it activated itself ten minutes ago. It utilized some sort of electrical-discharge weapon. Everybody else in the lab is still unconscious…it was gone when I came to, and a ventilation grill was torn open.”

  Stark stops dead still as the implications sink in.

  “You didn’t sound a class-A security alert immediately? That thing has been on the loose in the Helicarrier for almost ten minutes now?”

  “Sir, authorization for that alert is above my pay grade, and—”

  The line goes dead, the lights go out, and the background hum of mechanical activity on the Helicarrier goes silent.

  The lights come back on, and a computer-generated voice announces, “Power-grid fluctuation—levels two, three, and seven.”

  Level seven is where the secure holding area is.

  On a direct line to the secure holding area, Tony Stark gives the verbal password to the agents monitoring the prisoners in the confinement cells.

  “Natasha, what the hell is going on down there?”

  The video feed from the surveillance booth is fifty percent static. Black Widow responds while checking the loads on her Widow’s Bite wristlets and cycling up a third-generation neural neutralizer.

  “We lost power for a few seconds. All the cams in the confinement cells were dead when it came back on, along with the IR sensors and motion detectors.”

  Stepping into his suit-up module, Stark sends the voice command to put the entire Helicarrier on a 227 red alert as he gives Black Widow her orders.

  “Lock down the whole level, Natasha. I’m on my way. And I want your eyes on Bucky right now. His arm went AWOL from the lab.”

  Stark is fully encased in his Iron Man armor before he finishes giving the lockdown order to Black Widow. The suit’s internal systems are already powering up repulsors. He transfers communications to his helmet, and Black Widow’s voice comes through his earpieces.

  “I was looking right at him on the monitors just before they went black. That was less than a minute ago.”

  There are two seconds of white noise as she steps through the double blast doors and force-field disruptors into the containment area.

  “Tony, I’m in the vestibule to the interrogation suite, and we’ve got six agents down. Everyone’s breathing, but their weapons and ammo are gone.”

  “And the interrogation room?”

  “The door’s open. I can see inside from out here. The air grate is smashed out, and the manacle’s been ripped off the steel staple in the desk. Bucky’s loose, Tony. And he has his arm back.”

  A 227 red alert on the Helicarrier means that all corridors and passageways are cleared, and all personnel except for roving security teams are at their duty stations with hatches sealed. The big ship seems almost deserted as Iron Man flies through it. He comes to the massive elevators that move aircraft up from the hangar decks to the flight deck. This is the weak point in security lockdowns because the huge vertical shafts allow open access between the decks. If Winter Soldier is coming to Deck Two to take his revenge on Tony Stark, this is how he will get there.

  Iron Man’s faceplate is in the up position. He needs to talk to Bucky face-to-face. His suit gives him the latest situational updates from the Helicarrier Operations Room and from his armor’s own systems.

  “Level Two power fluctuation registered. Communications links and intruder-detection sensors severely compromised.”

  The repulsor-tech node implanted in his chest tells Iron Man that there is no active energy-field weapon nearby, thereby functioning as a built-in Winter-Soldierdetection system.

  On the PA channel, Iron Man issues a fugitive-apprehension order for Winter Soldier with the proviso that security teams are not authorized to use lethal force. He is barely finished reiterating that the fugitive must be taken alive when he is attacked from above and behind.

  The blow from Winter Soldier’s powered arm sends Iron Man flying across the hangar deck. Gyro-stabilizers and quick reflexes land the red-and-gold Avenger on his feet, facing an adversary bristling with submachine guns, pistols, and ammo clips lifted from the security team in the holding area.

  “Smart move, Bucky—putting the power source for your arm on standby and shielding it until right before your strike.”

  “Smarter than your moves, Stark. Pretty damn stupid bringing me right up here.”

  The suit’s threat-analysis system issues its warning and response confirmation of presets Stark had logged in on his way to the hangar deck: “Precision EMP attack imminent. Armor powering off. Power source shielded.”

  Winter Soldier’s EMP, which could have fried half the power grid of downtown Manhattan, has no apparent effect on Iron Man. Tony Stark snaps down the faceplate on his helmet and locks it.

  “Not so stupid, am I, kid?”
<
br />   “Armor power on. Repulsors fully charged.”

  The double blast from both palm repulsors smashes Winter Soldier against a hangar wall. Iron Man’s voice reverberates off the metal bulkheads and floor grates.

  “You’re wasting your time, and you’re wasting mine. There’s no way you can take me down, so let’s deal with this like adults and—”

  The punches delivered by the prosthetic arm resound off Iron Man’s armored chest like a jackhammer, driving him back toward the giant aircraft elevators. The punches are followed by magazine-emptying bursts from two sub-machine guns, a fusillade from two pistols, and concussions from stun grenades that leave Iron Man with his back against a hangar bulkhead. The wall panels on the bulkhead hang dented and askew. Acrid smoke billows from the open bulkhead, and a shower of sparks rains down. The armored suit doesn’t show a single scratch.

  “This is futile. You can’t win, Bucky.”

  “Warning. Helicarrier onboard data-storage unit compromised. Schematic wiring diagrams accessed by unauthorized user.”

  Wiring diagrams.

  Shower of sparks.

  High-voltage cables for elevator power.

  The prosthetic fist is already in motion when Tony Stark understands the implications, and he is propelled into exposed, arcing cables.

  Iron Man immediately powers down and goes into shield mode to avoid shorting out completely. In the two seconds of complete shutdown, Stark exerts every bit of strength he has to push away from the bulkhead and break contact with the cables. He can feel his heart going into arrhythmia. He can feel the dark closing in as blood flow to his brain becomes erratic.

  “Danger of energy-field overload elapsed. Armor recharging. Power at 57 percent.”

  The Winter Soldier’s arm is already around Stark’s neck. The arm built with S.H.I.E.L.D. technology. Technology supplied by Stark Enterprises.

  “Helmet integrity compromised.”

  The helmet is more than compromised—it is halfway across the hangar, and Stark feels the muzzle of a S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue pistol pressed against his exposed forehead.

  “Who’s winning now, Stark?”

  Tony Stark doesn’t blink as he answers.

  “I am.”

  Stark wiggles his fingers. Winter Soldier’s eyes dart back and forth between Iron Man’s two palms. The repulsor-beam emitters are glowing pale blue.

  “I could have liquefied your brain inside your skull right from the start of our little brouhaha, and I can do it right now if you so much as flinch. But I really don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Steve Rogers asked me to save you from yourself.”

  “What?”

  “Can we talk in my office?”

  WINTER Solder sits at Tony Stark’s desk holding the letter from Steve Rogers. He has read it a dozen times. He doesn’t look up from the letter as Black Widow enters the executive suite with a reinforced squad of S.H.I.E.L.D. security specialists armed with large shoulder-fired “elephant-gun” neural-neutralizers.

  Stark, still sans helmet, dismisses the security team but tells Natasha to stay. The troops file out. The door self-locks behind them, and the area sound-damper turns itself on.

  The man who looks up from the letter is more Bucky than Winter Soldier. You can almost hear the boy who followed Captain America to war in his voice as he reads the message out loud.

  Silence, followed by Black Widow’s curt “oh.”

  Bucky asks, “This is the real deal?”

  Stark crosses his arms.

  “The lawyer who delivered it has got Matt Murdock vouching for him, and our best graphologists swear it’s Steve’s handwriting. What say you and I put aside our personal differences and find the man who’s really responsible for Steve’s death: the Red Skull.”

  Bucky pushes the chair away from the desk, leans back, and grasps the armrests. He speaks to the space between Stark and Black Widow.

  “I know where he is. He’s been right in front of your eyes the whole time—wait, don’t get yourselves in an uproar. I didn’t know until I was in his hands.” The pause is less for effect than it is for gathering his thoughts. “He’s Aleksander Lukin. Or somehow, he’s inside Lukin’s head. The Cosmic Cube is involved, so anything is possible.”

  Very little can stun Tony Stark. His reaction always involves his mind racing to find a solution, and he doesn’t make his calculations public. Black Widow, just as methodical in a different way, recounts data at her disposal.

  “I know Lukin. He’s ex-KGB, a protégé of Vasily Karpov who turned himself into a corporate oligarch after the deconstruction of the U.S.S.R. He heads the Kronas Corporation and is rumored to have a private army. If he’s now Red Skull, that means—”

  With a wave of his hand, Stark turns on the multiple-monitor display on his wall.

  “Computer, give me news-channel feeds and online press. Search subject: Aleksander Lukin, prioritized by date and importance.”

  The screens and holo-projections process through hundreds of video clips and articles until every one is playing the same news report time-stamped less than an hour before. The visual is a shaky live-cam image of an Ilyushin Il-96 airliner fuselage half-awash in choppy waters. The banner crawl at screen bottom reads, “KRONAS CORP CEO LUKIN DEAD IN PLANE CRASH.”

  The clipped narration is in BBC-standard “received pronunciation.”

  “…among the bodies recovered at the crash site was reclusive CEO Aleksander Lukin, who founded Kronas Corporation after his self-imposed exile from his native Russia. Details at eleven.”

  Bucky is first to speak. “It’s a trick. He’s not dead—not if Red Skull is still lurking inside his head. As Lukin, Skull could move around openly. He knew he had to cover his trail as soon as I fell into your hands. Lukin had to go because you have the power and resources to go after him.”

  “It’s a sure bet that whatever the Red Skull’s been planning, he’s got to be moving the timetable up.” Stark leans down on the desk to get his head level to Bucky’s. “So are you going to step up to the plate, or not?”

  “Plate? You’re reading a lot into this letter if you think Steve was nominating me to take his place.”

  “The list is so short, it’s only got your name on it.”

  The letter sits rock still in Bucky’s hands.

  “He’s got Steve’s girl. Your Agent 13.”

  Black Widow makes a move as if to touch Bucky’s shoulder but stops short. “We know that. Sharon Carter is who Falcon and I were trying to save when we found you.”

  Bucky’s head is shaking back and forth as if he could make denial real by making it physical. “Still, Steve doesn’t say it in the letter. He doesn’t spell it out.”

  “I know exactly what he wrote.” Stark flicks the top of the letter with a forefinger that ends up pointing at Bucky’s nose. “But it’s not as if you’re going to let anyone else be that guy. Right? You read the letter ten times? I’ve read it over a hundred times. Do you want to be the one to let him down? I know what that feels like. And believe me, you don’t want to go there.”

  The letter is shaking in Bucky’s hand as he reads it one more time. He slaps it down on the desk and stands.

  “All right. I’ll do it. But only on two conditions.”

  The former boy-soldier runs his real hand through his hair.

  “First, you have your techs go inside my head and fix it so no one can ever control me again. Take out any remaining Winter Soldier fail-safe code words or implants.”

  “Done. What’s the second condition?”

  “I don’t answer to you, or to anyone else. Steve didn’t. And if I’m Captain America, neither will I.”

  Tony Stark has to think about it. But not for very long.

  “I can live with that.”

  PART FOUR

  BESTLAID

  PLANS OF

  MICE AND

  MEN

  TWENTY-NINE

  PART of the deal was
that Bucky got a nicer place to live, a laptop with Wi-Fi, a smartphone, and a cable-TV connection with all the news channels.

  Bucky had been slightly annoyed that after he and Stark had shaken hands, the present director of S.H.I.E.L.D. inquired obliquely about the former director, Nick Fury. Without letting go of Stark’s hand, Bucky said, “Captain America doesn’t sell out his friends.”

  The major trade-off he’d had to make was hanging up his guns, his knives, and the rest of his assassin’s kit. Bucky had always used guns, even as a kid sidekick during the war. The Thompson gun had been an onerous weight for a slight adolescent to lug around, but he’d been thankful for its knockdown power when the Waffen SS had played dirty. Disarming was not too high a price to pay for the privilege and honor of wearing the Captain America suit. Not the Captain America suit: one he had redesigned with Tony Stark. Bucky had said, “I’m not Steve Rogers, and I won’t pretend to be him.”

  From Bucky’s point of view, he came out ahead on the deal. Guns, knives, and grenades had nothing on the shield. It was the real deal, an icon—like Excalibur but better, because the shield was symbolic of defending liberty. Wielded by a skilled hand, it could strike the enemies of freedom harder than any “terrible swift sword.”

  He has trouble thinking of himself as the new Captain America. Not when he’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt in a hotel room while watching three different news programs on his shiny new electronic toys. He hasn’t thought of himself as James Buchanan Barnes in more than half a century. Much of what made him identify as Winter Soldier had been excised from his brain by S.H.I.E.L.D. neurological techs over three days that are now permanently gone from his memory. Bucky is who he is now, until he puts on the new suit.

  Others have worn the suit and gone by the name of Captain America. Bucky knows this from reading Fury’s secret files. None of them were the equal of Steve Rogers. During the 1950s, one went completely insane and had to be cryogenically frozen: William Burnside. Plastic surgery had even made Burnside look like Rogers. Not living up to the ideal was Bucky’s main worry. But could anybody?