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Chapter 14

Dream Weaver

Chicago

As Grant and Allison were meeting the Wilson family, Marcus Jackson and Scott Lang were driving down Lake Shore Drive, having completed their mission at the SHIELD data center. Marcus downshifted the Jaguar as he pulled off the expressway, taking the off ramp to downtown. With afternoon teetering on the edge of evening, he switched the headlights on. Scott was on his laptop, his brow furrowed.

"This encryption has me beat," he said, closing the computer and removing an unusual looking memory stick from the side port. "I've run every program I have. Nothing."

"Not a problem, Nick has the key to open it," Marcus said, turning onto a deserted alleyway. After driving a piece, a smile creased his face. "Speak of the devil."

Marcus pulled over where the glowing cherry tip of a cigar lit the shadows. Nick Fury stepped from the darkness and walked over to the car, nodding at Scott.

"Any troubles?"

"Went like clockwork," Scott said, getting out of the car. He handed the flash drive to Fury. "All of SHIELD's communications, memos, and files relating to Sharon Carter, her son, and Captain America, right here."

"On one drive? I figured you'd need a dozen."

"Twice that. That's why I made this one, 3 petabytes of memory, enough to hold all the data, plus the Encyclopedia Britannica. You know, in case you want it."

Fury stared at the stick, dumfounded. "3 petabytes? How?"

"I rigged it with a miniaturized processor. Pym particles pack a punch. Hey, that'd make a good jingle."

Fury chuckled. "If you and Hank Pym ever got these on the market, you'd bury Bill Gates and Tony Stark combined."

"The only problem is the molecular instability. Speaking of which, you have three hours to harvest the data before the processors go quantum and blink out of existence."

"I guess we'd better hurry then. Thanks, Scott."

"Anytime," Scott said, offering his hand. Fury shook and then got in the car. Scott walked to the driver's side window, extending his hand. Marcus shook.

"Good working with you, Scott. You sure we can't give you a lift?"

"Nah, I've got my ride right here," Scott said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He knelt, laying something too small to be seen on the blacktop, then stood back. A second later, a car popped into sight, with a rush of air. He turned to Fury and Marcus.

"This would have been so much cooler if it wasn't a ten-year-old Honda Civic."

With a wave, Scott got into his car and drove off. Marcus shook his head, chuckling.

"That was officially the weirdest six hours of my life."

"But fun, right?" Fury said, pinning him with a knowing look

Marcus sat, trying, and failing, to keep a grin from forming. "Yeah," he said. "It was a trip. A month ago, if someone told me I'd be breaking into SHIELD's data center with the help of an ex-con, I'd have said they were crazy."

"And if they'd told you you'd be working with your old man? What would have said then?"

The car was quiet, save for the rumble of the idling engine. Marcus looked at his father. "I guess I'd have said a lot can change in a month. One thing hasn't changed, though. Your nasty habits." He powered down the passenger window. "Ditch the stogie, Pop."

Fury glared at his son. "These are Cohibas. Seven hundred bucks a box."

Marcus met his gaze with stony resolve. "My car, my rules. Ruin your lungs on your own time. I already lost mom to cancer, I don't need you kicking it on me, too."

Nick groused a moment longer, than tossed the cigar out the window. He looked at Marcus. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic. What's our next move?"

"I've got a friend downtown," Fury said, entering an address to the on-board navigation screen. "He runs IT for the Chicago Stock Exchange, has the computing power and the expertise to mine this data for us."

"You trust him?"

"Right now, the people I trust are sitting in this car. But I trust him enough."

"You'll have to handle it," Marcus said. "I've got a six am flight in the morning. Hopefully you'll have something for me in time for my meeting with Quartermain."

Fury looked at his son, his expression serious. "I know I'm the one who asked you to get involved...but things are about to get ugly. It could blow up in our faces."

"I'm aware," Marcus said.

"We may have to take down some powerful people in the SHIELD bureaucracy, maybe even the rank and file. That can follow an agent their whole career, or end it outright. Maybe you should step back and let me—"

"Pop, I didn't join SHIELD to win any popularity contests. If someone is dirty on this, I'm going to expose them. If that makes me a rat in some eyes, so be it. We run this thing together, okay?"

Fury smiled. "Okay. Better make tracks before this flash drive disappears on us."

Marcus hit the accelerator and wheeled the car out of the alley. As night fell on the city, they headed to the address on the navigation screen, moving one step closer to uncovering the mole in SHIELD.


Cairo, Egypt

The passengers shuffled off the plane in a slow, snaking line, fans wafting and handkerchief dabbing foreheads. The sultry air filled with a clamoring multitude of languages, a familiar din in this ancient crossroads of civilization. The baking desert heat outside was pushing the air conditioned terminal to its limits, and all seemed to feel the heat, except for the singular woman at the head of the line. While the others appeared hot and weary, their clothing rumpled from their long flight, she seemed cool, and almost preternaturally collected. Her immaculate outfit of emerald green looked freshly pressed, and while her dress was of appropriate length for this Islamic nation, it was tight, hugging the curves of her body in a way that drew eyes to her, whether they willed it or not. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with a silken veil hanging over her face, completing her air of mystery.

After a delay of several minutes, the customs officer waved her forward. "Your passport," he said, looking at his clipboard. The woman handed him her papers. He glanced at them, matching the name to one on his list. "What is your purpose for visiting Egypt?"

He looked up, only now seeing the woman. The scent of her was like saffron on the night air, and though it was difficult to tell, her hair, pinned beneath her hat, almost appeared green, matching the tourmaline of her eyes, which glimmered like twin gems. Her lips drew into a taught smile, glistening like grapes in the morning dew, the effect stealing the customs officer's breath.

"Pleasure, most assuredly," she said. " I've come to see the wondrous sights of this ancient land."

The man stared, finding his throat dry as sand. Fumbling, he handed back her papers. "E...enjoy your stay in our country, Miss Smith."

Smiling, Viper joined the flow of bodies passing through the busy airport. A clutch of men and women stood at the other side of the crowded concourse, making an attempt to look inconspicuous. As she made her way to them, her headman on this project stepped forward. Adams, she recalled.

"Welcome, ma'am," he said. "I've sent someone to collect your baggage. Would you care for a refreshment?"

"No. Have the bags taken to my hotel room. I wish to see the site. This project has been delayed too long. I am here to put you back on schedule, Mister Adams."

"Yes, ma'am...but you do understand the entire area is an active tourist site? It's impossible to gain direct access to the inner temple. It's why our mission has taken so long to complete. The best I can do is—"

Viper pierced him with an icy glare. "I am well aware of the best you can do. I did not fly fifteen hours to listen to excuses. Take me to the site."

Adams nodded, the motion almost becoming a bow. Viper followed him to the parking garage, the rest of the team fanning out behind her with military precision.

. . .

They passed through the streets of Cairo in matching Mercedes-Benz SUVs; Viper and Adams in the lead, the others trailing behind, threading their way through the busy traffic until they came to an intersection where the traffic stopped. Ahead of them, an overturned Ox-cart sat on the road, its axle broken, its produce strewn about. Drivers and pedestrians argued as a police officer haplessly tried to intervene. Adams laid on the horn, adding to the cacophony.

"This is always happening in this miserable country," he muttered. "You'd think they could pull themselves out of the Dark Ages. It's half the reason for our delays."

"Which leaves half the failure at your feet," Viper said, her arched eyebrow an accusation. "These people once ruled the world, dwelling in golden palaces when your ancestors lived in mud huts with thatched roofs. They created geometry, charted the stars and built temples that will stand when today's skyscrapers have turned to dust. And they will give to me, whether they know it or not, a mighty gift that will change the course of fate itself. Show them respect."

"Yes, madam Viper."

"How is the situation on the border?"

"Good. We've made arrangements with the local officials, the various gangs and of course, the Muslin Brotherhood. We'll have no problem crossing...but I still don't know how we're going to excavate the site. The Egyptians monitor the area day and night."

Viper smiled. "I will tell you when you need to know. How long until we arrive at the temple?"

"About six hours, once this damned traffic jam is cleared."

He had no sooner spoken the words when the ox cart was pulled from the road, and traffic resumed. Soon, they were on the highway, leaving the city behind. The awesome sight of the pyramids became visible to the east, the Great Pyramid of Giza towering above the others, but that was not their destination, and they continued heading south. Viper removed her hat and undid her hair, which fell like a cascade of emerald silk about her shoulders. Adams watched from the corner of his eyes, fighting to keep his focus on the road. Viper reclined her seat.

"I need sleep. Wake me when we arrive."

Adams mouthed some reply, but she did not hear; her mind was turned inward. Calming her thoughts, she focused on the infinitesimal and soon, sleep took her in its cool, dark embrace. Years ago she had died, and while the death was painful beyond description, death itself was not. It was peaceful. In truth, she could tell no difference between it and sleep. There are dreams in death, too, trackless and immeasurably deep.

Dreams came to her now, the familiar ones that surface quickly from the unconscious mind. She saw her parents, whose faces she no longer recalled with her waking mind. She saw herself, orphaned, alone on the streets of Bangkok; cold, hungry, frightened. She saw herself older, on the streets of Madripoor, becoming first a master thief, then one of the worlds most feared assassins. Then she saw him

The Red Skull. He stretched out his skeletal hand and she took it, seeing in him a path to power. Serving at his side, she grew in influence, becoming Hydra's second-in-command. The rewards were great; the peril greater. He was a demon, breathed into human flesh, in turn becoming a living skeleton of terrible strength. His mood could change on a whim, bringing death to those who displeased him...yet a man dwelt still within that demonic cage. She, perhaps alone in all the world, knew the man behind the monster, Johann Schmidt, the former chief assassin of Adolf Hitler. In time, she gained Schmidt's attention, for there were few men she could not entice. In her most honest moments, she admitted she was enticed by him, for he possessed a dark charisma, and a commanding personality. He loved her, something he was not truly aware of until the moment he took her life. She had never loved any man, but came closest to that emotion with him.

Her ability to sway others by her allure was a thing she used to great effect in her rise to power, and few ever escaped her snare. The fearsome mutant Wolverine was one, and another was Captain America, sworn enemy of the Red Skull. Wolverine escaped her by his wild, bestial nature, detesting any attempt to cage him...but the Captain resisted by sheer strength of will. He was noble. Goodness and nobility were concepts she thought of as abstractions before encountering the Captain, qualities that seemed quaintly obsolete in the modern age, leading only to weakness. Yet there was nothing weak about the Captain; in him, nobility and goodness were virtues of strength, and with them, he defeated the Red Skull, at the cost of his own life. The Captain sired a son. Grant Rogers possessed his father's physical powers...but did he also have his father's inner strength? To seduce him, as she could not his father, was an intriguing thought. She imagined the sweetness of that victory, how delightful it would—

Ophelia...

Her dream froze to silence. With the ear of her spirit, far keener than ears of mortal flesh, she listened. A voice was calling, using her birth name, which none living knew. Was this her own mind speaking, coming from a deeper level of the subconscious? Or was it—

Ophelia...

No, this was not from within her mind; it came from some far distant place, outside the confines of this world. Sudden pain pierced her, making her dream-self cry out, while thrilling her heart. She recognized this pain from long ago. She looked at her hand, and there, on her fourth finger, a ribbon of flame burned. She once wore a ring of great power on that finger, though only for a brief moment. That ring was red, the color of ram's blood, sacrificial, splashed upon an altar to gods unknown as a covenant. The ring of flame burning cold on her finger now was green, viridescent and queenly. And awesomely powerful.

Ophelia...come.

The summons drew her onward. She found herself standing on a stone floor where no living feet had trod for millennia. Though no candles or lamps burned to illuminate, she saw the temple with perfect clarity, its floor and walls richly engraved with images and words unknown. In the center stood a marble altar, bearing a chalice of purest crystal. Lying within the chalice, like a holy offering, was a ring of gold set with a glimmering green gem, neither emerald nor any other earthly stone, for it came from beyond the bounds of this reality. And she knew, looking upon it, that this was the mate of the crimson ring she once briefly wore, so very long ago. And the ring called her.

Ophelia...come and receive my seal.

The ribbon of flame on her finger flared into a holocaust, and her sight filled with vast oceans of green, penetrating her flesh, devouring it, and leaving in its place power, and laying at her feet all the world...

She awoke with a start, bolting up from her seat, until the seatbelt across her chest halted her. She was in the world once again. Beside her sat her team leader, looking at her with surprise.

"Madam Viper? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she answered, gathering her composure. "Did I say anything in my sleep?"

The driver shifted, uncomfortably. "I would never pry on—"

"Never mind that. What did I say?"

"It...it sounded like you said I will receive you. Should I have woken you?"

Viper smiled. "No. You did right." She settled back in her seat. "How long until we arrive?"

"We're almost there," Adams replied, nodding forward.

Viper looked, seeing a road sign shimmering in the desert heat. It read: Valley of the Kings - 20 kilometers. Her destiny lay not more than thirty minutes away. She turned to Adams.

"Contact the excavation crew and the extraction team, and have them come to this location. The temple is here."

Adams stared at her, dubiously. "But, ma'am, shouldn't we wait until—"

"It is here, Mr. Adams. And I will have it."

Viper settled back in her seat, touching the ring finger of her left hand, and the ghostly trace of fire and ice that burned from her dream. The dream would soon become reality...and the world would be hers.