“Aunt Maria has some interesting friends,” Katherine said.
“They aren’t her friends, just people we have to deal with from time to time,” Steve said. “She’s probably never even met Wóbser, but we deal people like that all the time. I know I’ve had to sit down across from a hundred guys like him over the years, trying to get information from them about even more guys. It’s one of the unfortunate realities of this job; one that I hate.”
“Hate?” Katherine asked. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t like dealing with men like that, or the other people you find in a place like this. The only thing they respect is strength, so I have to throw my weight around,” Steve said. “The thing I’ve always hated most is a bully. People who push around those who are weaker than themselves.” He looked down at himself. “You know, I wasn’t always like this, right?”
Katherine nodded. “I’ve heard rumors. Some sort of super-soldier experiment, right?”
“I was the original ninety-seven-pound weakling—like the guy in the ad who gets sand kicked in his face. Do they still have those?”
Katherine shook her head and Steve laughed.
“Yeah, somehow I didn’t think so. What sort of world are we living in?”
“You’re just old,” she teased. “But don’t worry, I know the ones you mean. More from send-ups of them on cartoons than from anything else.”
“They turned me down when I tried to enlist, you know? It was one of the worst days of my life.” Steve looked up at the sky, remembering what had happened next. “Then they changed me, and all of a sudden I was stronger and faster than any of the bullies who used to push me around. But I didn’t want revenge on them.”
“What did you want?” Katherine asked softly.
“The same thing I had always wanted. I just wanted to serve my country, and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. I know what it is to be powerless, and I’ve always tried to stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. The only difference was now I had the ability to do that—but just because I’d changed on the outside didn’t mean I’d changed on the inside.” He shrugged. “That’s what I signed up to fight for, just on a bigger scale. The Germans, the Japanese, what were they if not bullies? They thought that because they were strong, they could oppress the weaker nations around them.”
Katherine took his hand and squeezed it.
“Steve, you’re not a bully. I mean, you can be a real pain, but you aren’t a bully. Far from it.” She smiled up at him. “That’s something you don’t have to worry about.”
Steve felt a wave of affection rise up as he smiled back, along with a fierce sense of protectiveness. It was nothing romantic, more like something he imagined you’d feel for a little sister, but he knew that this had gone from being a favor for Maria to being something more. He was personally invested now, and he would see it through to the end, no matter what the price.
Chapter 8
Anacostia, Washington, D.C.: 2000 hours
They spent the trip back to their apartment digesting the information that Wóbser had given them. Steve was happy to just let the hum of the motorcycle drown out any possibility of conversation as he ran through plans in his mind. When they arrived, he insisted on checking the apartment first for any signs of intrusion, and it was only when he was sure that the coast was clear that he allowed Katherine in.
They were arguing before they even sat down.
“I don’t see what choice we have, Katherine,” Steve said. “We need to get you some place safe. By now, Maria should have some idea of who she can trust. I need to contact her and she’ll work out a place for you to hole up in while she chases down this Beckham guy.”
“Are you insane?” Katherine was nearly screaming. “We can’t trust anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D., and with $2 million on my head, I don’t think we can trust many people outside of it.”
“Then what do you suggest? I’m listening.”
“We need to find some people who don’t care about the money,” Katherine said.
“Good luck with that,” Steve muttered.
“I heard that. Now who’s the cynic?”
“Two million dollars is a lot of money, Katherine. That would tempt a lot of people, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I know. Look, I have an idea. There’s a group that I’ve been corresponding with for a long time now. We agree on a lot of things when it comes to freedom of information and the way that the internet should be regulated, but I never joined. Sometimes they’re a bit . . . extreme for my tastes. They’ve done all sorts of crazy stuff, like bombing the electoral office of a senator who was trying to sponsor a bill that would have brought in censorship laws that China would have flinched at.” At the look on Steve’s face she hurriedly added, “They made sure that the place was empty, and it was at two o’clock in the morning.”
“So they’re domestic terrorists?” Steve said, frowning.
“Steve, they’ve never hurt anyone! And, they’ve gone to great lengths to avoid it happening by mistake. Otherwise, I would never have anything to do with them. Surely you know that?”
Steve nodded reluctantly.
“They don’t know the exact nature of my research, but they know it relates to internet freedom. And that’s something that they care about. A lot,” Katherine said. “I know it might seem strange to you, but to them, it’s a cause worth fighting for. They feel the same way about it that some people feel about religion . . . or money.”
“I know the type. Fought with and against them. If they think that what you have will advance their cause, then they’ll hide you no matter how much money is at stake,” Steve said. “It’s a possibility, I suppose.”
“Come on, Steve. We can hole up with them as long as we want, and you can let Aunt Maria know what we’ve found out. When she’s dealt with the corruption on the inside, she can let us know, but this way there’s no chance of us being compromised,” Katherine said. “So what do you say? Does it sound like a good plan?”
Steve hesitated, but only for a moment. He was opening his mouth to reply when the crash of shattering glass cut him off. In the blink of an eye, he was between the window and Katherine, his shield reflexively grabbed from where it had been resting and in front of them both quickly enough to block the jagged rain of glass, stopping the deadly shower from slashing their flesh to ribbons.
“I knew that you’d be quick enough. But thank you for protecting her, she’s worth a lot to me.” The voice paused. “Two million dollars, to be exact.”
The intruder was about Steve’s height and build, and clad in a white cloak with a hood that shadowed his face. In his right hand he held a sword about the size and shape of a Roman gladius and, most unsettling of all, in his left was a blue shield that was almost a perfect replica of Steve’s. The only difference was that in the center was a red, three pronged symbol that resembled a large, uppercase T, its slightly curved arms and straight base reaching out to the rim. Steve knew who the man was—Rogers had heard stories from colleagues and friends who had faced him. He was Taskmaster—mercenary, gun for hire, bounty hunter.
“You really shouldn’t count your money before you’ve earned it,” Steve said. “You may have some difficulty in collecting on this one.”
“I don’t have any concerns about collecting.”
Steve flicked his wrist and an extendable baton snapped out from his sleeve. It was about the same length as Taskmaster’s sword, and had a reassuring heft in his hand. He grabbed Katherine, and, ignoring her protests, pushed her behind him.
“Stay there,” he said. “I mean it. I can’t be worrying about you while I’m fighting.”
She nodded, and Steve moved into a fighting crouch, waiting for the intruder to make the first move. Taskmaster was fast, moving like quicksilver as he brought his sword flashing through the air. It rang off Steve’s shield w
ith a squeal of metal, then was back in position quickly enough to catch Steve’s baton on its cross guard. Rogers spun, bringing his shield around in a horizontal arc only for it to be halted, quivering, against the other man’s shield. Taskmaster’s shield may not have been Vibranium, but it was some sort of alloy that was almost as strong.
They exchanged blows, Steve using his baton like a sword. His baton was made of a titanium alloy that was impossible to damage with anything less than an industrial diamond, but it was soon covered in scratches and notches. As they continued to fight, Steve noticed there was something about the man’s fighting style that was very familiar, as if he had faced him before. Then it came to him—the intruder’s technique was the spitting image of the Swordsman’s, one of the heroes who had fought alongside the Avengers in years past. It was uncanny, perfect even down to the little flourish when Taskmaster returned to his guard position. So striking was the resemblance, that for one crazy moment Steve wondered whether it was in fact the Swordsman, gone rogue and in disguise as a known villain.
Then, with a jolt, it came to him, and Steve remembered Taskmaster’s unique gift. In an interrogation video Steve had come across in the S.H.I.E.L.D archives—from one of the few times the man had been captured—Taskmaster had claimed that he had been born with what he called photographic reflexes, which provided him with a specialized form of total recall, an eidetic memory link. All he needed was to watch another fighter and Taskmaster could imitate their style down to the last movement. A lifetime dedicated to honing this gift and training his body for battle had created one of the world’s most formidable fighters, matching a body at peak physical fitness and strength with an encyclopedic knowledge of combat. At some point along the way, Taskmaster must have fought the Swordsman and picked up his style. Steve had never been much of a fencer, and it was only his own preternatural reflexes that gave him any chance at all against Taskmaster. He knew he couldn’t keep the fight up forever, though, as only an urgent leap back saved him from a slashing cut. An inch closer, and it would have disemboweled him although, as it was, it left him with a shallow gash along his ridged, muscular belly.
Desperately, Steve closed in on Taskmaster and jammed his shield down hard on the other man’s blade, right near the hilt. The sudden shock jarred the sword loose from the other man’s grip and it clattered to the ground. Before Taskmaster could retrieve the sword, Steve kicked it across the floor where it jammed deep into a skirting board. Rogers took advantage of the intruder’s distraction to land a punch in the man’s short ribs, his fist sinking deep into muscle. The other man let out a grunt of pain, but retaliated with a brutal strike that left Rogers spitting blood. They traded blows for a few minutes—nothing elegant, just straight boxing. Steve had thought he had some talent with the gloves—one of his favorite workouts in his Army days had been a few rounds with the regimental champion—but the other man’s style mixed the speed of Ali, the power of Foreman, and the sheer brutality of Tyson.
Breathily heavily, Steve broke a clinch and retreated toward Katherine. He dropped into a kung fu stance, then launched himself into a series of kicks and punches. Taskmaster blocked each strike, but gradually gave ground. Steve had trained with some of the finest martial arts masters on the planet, and he had combined each of their lessons into a style that suited his augmented body and that had turned him into one of the world’s greatest combatants in the process. But Taskmaster had fought many of Steve’s teachers, and soon deciphered the pattern of Steve’s attack, surging forward with a counterattack of his own. Among the storm of blows, Steve glimpsed snatches of techniques he recognized. That strike to the kidneys was something he’d seen Elektra use to great effect, while that grapple that sent pain shooting up his arm from the elbow lock was vintage Iron Fist. But just because he could recognize the techniques didn’t mean he could stop all of them, and more and more of Taskmaster’s attacks got through.
Steve broke away again, ripping free from a choke hold through sheer brute strength, and took a brief second to catch his breath. His chest was heaving and he could feel blood trickling down the side of his face from where a nasty kick had split the skin over his eye. Taskmaster was not unscathed—one eye was already blackening enough for it to be noticeable even in the shadows of his hood—and he watched Rogers warily as they circled each other once more. Steve closed in on the other man, trying to dredge up the most obscure fighting techniques he knew, hoping that he could find something that Taskmaster had never seen. He worked his way through a dozen disciplines, from taekwondo to sambo wrestling, but each time, Taskmaster met the challenge and threw it back at Steve.
Trying to distract him, Steve started talking.
“So, who’s paying you, Taskmaster, and how much?”
“That’s none of your concern, Rogers. You won’t be around to see it, anyway.”
“We’ll see about that, I guess. But maybe we don’t have to do it this way. I do have some very rich friends—maybe we can match it.”
“As if I believe you would pay me to go away. Even if you could, I have accepted the contract, and once I have done that, I never go back on my word.”
Steve had to respect that. Besides, he had only been trying to get information from the bounty hunter; he now knew Taskmaster didn’t compromise and would never pay someone off. Wearily, he put his hands up again and clenched his fists.
“Okay, bring it on, then.”
Both of the combatants were at the very peak of physical condition, with strength and stamina beyond other men, but the brutal nature of the fight was taking its toll on them both. Taskmaster staggered slightly as he approached Rogers, and the fists at the end of Steve’s outstretched arms trembled with the fatigue that wracked his body. Their blows were still full of venom, but they had lost some of their crisp precision, and the fight degenerated into a slugfest. No more fancy footwork, just two men exchanging blows that rocked each other back on their heels, blood and sweat flying at every impact. They were lost in their own private hell, the world around them contracted to the end of a fist and the small area of flesh on which said fist landed.
They were so distracted that neither noticed Katherine until the baton she swung intersected with the back of Taskmaster’s head. Steve could see the other man’s eyes roll back in their sockets until only the whites showed, then he crumpled to the floor. Steve swayed, and would have fallen if Katherine hadn’t rushed to his side and grabbed his arm to steady him. He tried to speak, coughed, and spat a wad of bloody phlegm onto the floor.
“Sorry about that,” he said weakly. “Not very polite.”
“Steve, are you okay?”
He smiled at her with bloodstained teeth.
“Just bully.” He swayed again, and Katherine braced herself. “Didn’t I tell you not to move?”
She shrugged. “You looked like you needed some help. Are you complaining?”
He shook his head and winced as pain shot through his head and neck.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone take a beating like that, not even in a movie. You’re bleeding in a dozen places.”
“No!” Steve relaxed his grip on Katherine’s arm when he noticed her wince. “I’m sorry. But no doctor. We don’t know who might be watching us. We need to get to your friends, or whatever they are.”
“Don’t try and play the tough guy, Steve.” Steve was surprised by the anger in her voice. “You can barely stand up straight, and who knows what internal damage you might have.”
Steve was touched by her concern, but they were running out of time. Taskmaster might regain consciousness at any moment and Steve wasn’t overly excited at the thought of fighting the man again. Even worse, Taskmaster might have arranged backup and they could get another visitor popping into say “hello.” In his current state, Steve wasn’t sure that he could provide any sort of obstacle to anyone wanting to do Katherine harm. They needed to ge
t somewhere safe and secluded to give him a chance to heal, and he didn’t know many options.
“Honestly, I’ll be okay. I heal faster than normal—it’s part of what the serum did to me. All I need is some rest, lots of food, and a week or so, and I’ll be as good as new.”
She looked skeptical.
“Are you sure? I really think you need a doctor.”
“Katherine, I’ve been shot and beaten and frozen. Stabbed, too. Oh, and someone tried to garrote me once. I know how much punishment I can take, and I wouldn’t let something silly like pride stop me from getting help if I needed it. But I know my body, and I promise you that this is not as bad as it looks. I won’t lie, it hurts—a lot. But I’ve had worse.”
He didn’t tell her that he hadn’t had much worse, that the Taskmaster had given him the sort of beating he had almost forgotten existed. All that would do was worry her, and that was the last thing that they needed.
“All right, then,” Katherine said. “But you have to promise me that if you feel like things are getting worse that you’ll let me find a doctor. Deal?”
“Scout’s honor,” Steve said, holding up his right hand. He immediately regretted the gesture when the movement sent a sharp pain lancing through his ribs. It felt like there was something at least fractured in there, if not completely broken.
“Steve, are you sure you’re okay? You just went white as a sheet.”
“I’m fine, really,” Steve replied. “Now, how do we get in touch with these friends of yours?”
“They aren’t my friends,” Katherine said automatically, but she was already tapping away on her phone. “It’s pretty simple—using a secure chat app, I leave an encrypted message on a forum hosted on a server in Eastern Europe where it’s much harder to trace. It’s encrypted with my own PGP key, and there are some code phrases that tell the group where to find me and stuff like that. It will take me about forty-five seconds to send the message, which is not long enough for anyone to triangulate my phone’s signal and get a fix on us.”
Marvel's Captain America: Sub Rosa Page 8