Marvel's Captain America: Sub Rosa

by David McDonald

  “Wait here,” Steve said. “I’ll make sure the coast is clear. No point in all of us getting caught.”

  He climbed the ladder, testing each rung carefully as he went. He was only just starting to feel like his old self again, so the last thing he needed was to fall back down into a storm drain. It didn’t take him long to reach the surface, and he carefully eased the manhole cover out of the way. He peeked over the rim and recoiled at the sight of a gun barrel pointed straight at his face. He pushed himself back off the ladder and let himself fall, landing with a splash of water and stumbling slightly in the muck. Steadying himself, he looked up, then froze. Karl and Katherine were kneeling in the shallow water, their hands behind their heads. A familiar figure stepped out from the circle of gunmen who had weapons trained on Steve’s companions, chuckling as he sneered at Steve.

  “I told you we were watching all of the exits,” Jonah said. “My men were good enough to wait until I was free to bring you in.”

  Steve looked around, searching for a way out. He didn’t like what he saw—the sewer was blocked at both ends by Jonah’s men, and they couldn’t risk a firefight in such enclosed quarters. There was no cover at all, and they were exposed to a superior force. Resistance would have been suicidal.

  “I have to hand it to you, Jonah—I think you’ve got the upper hand right now.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “So, what happens now?”

  Jonah looked around. “Well, first of all, we take you somewhere more pleasant and have a little conversation. When I say pleasant, I mean the surroundings—I doubt that any of you are going to enjoy the conversation too much.”

  He gestured to two of the men and they grabbed Steve, taking one arm each and pinning them behind him. Conscious of the guns trained on him and his companions, he didn’t struggle, even when Jonah came close enough to grab.

  “But, first, I think I owe you a little something.”

  His eyes did not betray his intentions, but Steve suspected what was coming. He’d already tensed his muscles when Jonah drove a fist into his stomach with a jab that had no wind up at all, all the power coming from the flexion of his hips. Even ready for it, Steve grunted in pain—the man could hit—and hunched around the blow. He straightened just in time to see the stock of Jonah’s gun coming straight for his head, and then everything went black.

  Chapter 15

  Location Unknown: Time Unknown

  Steve was sick of waking up in strange beds. His chin ached, but other than that, he seemed fine. He searched his memory, trying to remember how he had come to be in this situation—and then it all came rushing back. He sat up, or at least tried to, straining against his restraints until the frame of the bed creaked in protest. But there was no give in them at all and, after a few minutes of vein-popping, sweat-inducing effort, he slumped back in the bed. With what range of movement he had, he scanned the room, looking for signs of his friends. They were nowhere to be seen, but there were two very large black-clad men standing on either side of the gleaming metal door, watching his efforts with emotionless faces.

  “Enjoying the show?” he asked.

  There was no response, not that he had expected one. He kept testing his bonds—it gave him something to do while he waited for whatever came next. His patience wasn’t stretched too far, and only an hour or so passed before the light over the door changed from red to green. The two men snapped to attention as the door slid open and Jonah strode in, carrying Steve’s shield. He walked over to the bed and looked down at Steve for a moment, then turned and walked back to the door. As he passed the sentries, he snapped out a command.

  “Bring him.”

  The two men drew their side arms and came over to the bed. Steve was flattered by their caution—they made a point of only unfastening one arm at a time, with one of them remaining out of reach with his pistol pointed directly between Steve’s eyes. Rogers sat up and his arms were manacled behind him, and only then was he dragged to his feet. Taking an arm each, the two men marched him after Jonah, their free hands holding their guns in readiness.

  The room in which he had awoken was only one of many on that floor, and as they walked him through, he began to get an idea of the scale of the place. The elevator ride took several minutes, and they must have climbed at least a dozen floors before the doors opened and they stepped out.

  Despite himself, Steve was impressed. The control center—for that’s what it must have been—would not have been out of place at S.H.I.E.L.D. It was a cavernous space filled with desks, and at each one a technician worked at a computer. Covering the far wall, which was at least fifty feet tall, were a score of massive screens. As Steve watched, the images flickered and changed, scrolling through news channels from around the world or displaying satellite imagery from every major city Steve could imagine—and some he’d never heard of. Sentries stood guard at regularly spaced intervals around the room, and there was a constant hum of activity, men and women bustling back and forth.

  He didn’t have a chance to get much more of a look, as his captors didn’t stop. Instead, they marched Steve around the perimeter, obviously avoiding taking him too close to any of the workers, and down a flight of stairs. It wound down for what must have been several stories until, at the bottom of the staircase, they came to a hallway with rows of identical doors on either side, differentiated only by the number that adorned each one.

  “Number four is empty, boss,” one of the men said.

  “Good, take him in there, restrain him, and leave him.”

  “You sure that you want to handle this alone, boss?” the other man said, sounding doubtful.

  “You don’t think I’m capable of managing things myself?” Jonah asked.

  “Of course not, boss,” the other man said hurriedly.

  They dragged Steve into room number four. The only furniture was a desk with a chair on either side, and they sat Steve down in one of the chairs. He could see his reflection in the mirror that took up the whole of the other wall, his face brought into sharp relief by the glare of the lamp shining directly into his eyes. He would have bet good money that there was a camera, if not a room for observers, on the other side of the glass. He’d been in so many interrogation rooms that he had lost count, and there were common elements that they all seemed to share. At least this one was clean and modern, not hewn out of a cave somewhere.

  Pipes were welded on either side of the chair, obviously for the express purpose of keeping people restrained. The two men took advantage of this useful addition, making sure Steve wasn’t going anywhere before they left. Jonah stood, watching Steve for a moment, and rapping his knuckles on Steve’s shield before hanging it on the wall and taking the seat across from Rogers. He simply sat for moment, not saying a word as he waited for the door to close behind the exiting men. When they were finally alone, he spoke.

  “Do you consider yourself a patriot, Rogers?”

  It certainly wasn’t what Steve was expecting Jonah to open with.

  “I’d like to think so,” Steve replied carefully. “Kind of goes with the name.”

  “Anyone can call themselves a patriot or wear a badge—or carry a shield like you do—but do you love this country?”

  “No one can question my love for this country. I’ve sacrificed more than you can imagine, and I would give my life in its service.” Steve was angry now. “Who are you to question me?”

  Jonah gave him another appraising look, seemingly searching for something in Steve’s expression. Whatever it was, he must have found it. With the air of a man who had made a difficult decision, he leaned forward.

  “That’s what I’ve heard. And I believe it. That’s why we’re having this conversation. I think, given the opportunity, you’ll do the right thing and there won’t be any need for any more . . . unpleasantness.”

  “Unpleasantness? Is that what we’re calling it? Forgi
ve me if I’m not in any mood to make things easier for you.”

  “All I’m asking is for a conversation.”

  “You want to talk? Okay, then tell me something, Jonah—this is an impressive facility. Big money behind it. Who are you really working for? Hydra?”

  Jonah laughed. “You really are on the wrong track, Rogers. You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “Then who? Where did you go after S.H.I.E.L.D.? Some international crime syndicate? A foreign power?”

  “Getting colder. Rogers, you need to understand I’m a patriot, too. Maybe not as long standing as you, but I like to think that my love for this nation is just as fervent. I’m still working for the United States government. Just for a different agency.”

  “And which agency is that?” Steve asked skeptically. “It’s none of the usual suspects, otherwise it wouldn’t be such a mystery as to where you ended up. Word gets around, you know.”

  Jonah sat back in his chair.

  “As I said, I believe you’re a patriot. More importantly, a lot of very influential people agree. We wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise. There are only three people who can grant clearance for the information I’m about share with you, and at least one of them is a fan of yours.”

  “What knowledge? Will you stop dancing around and just tell me?”

  Jonah looked a little chagrined, as if Steve were ruining his fun by cutting to the chase.

  “The agency I work for has a very specific role in keeping the secrets of the United States government. You might say that’s the job of any of the intelligence agencies, but our focus is different. We don’t concern ourselves with keeping secrets from foreign powers or criminal elements.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Consider us glorified cleaners. Our job is to clean up the messes that would embarrass the government and ensure that secrets that the average citizen doesn’t need to know—or isn’t able to handle—remain just that. Secret. We get sent in when something happens and it’s vital to national security that the truth never gets out.”

  “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that most things have a way of getting out,” Steve said. “Even if it is just interagency chatter.”

  “Not with us, they don’t. Otherwise, you would have known where it was that I went after S.H.I.E.L.D.” Jonah gave a rueful chuckle. “All these so-called secret organizations, but the thing is—if people know their names, they can’t be that secret, right?”

  “If it’s so secret, then why are you telling me?”

  “Because I need your help. And I believe that when you know what’s at stake, you will help us—gladly.”

  “I honestly doubt that,” Steve said. “Your methods haven’t exactly filled me with confidence.”

  “Just listen to me, Rogers. This is too important to get all squeamish; what we do is so vital,” Jonah said. “Part of governing is deciding what the people need to know, what they can handle. That’s decided at a far higher level than you and me, but we’re the ones tasked with implementing those judgment calls.”

  Steve shook his head. “Seems like we have very different ideas of good governance. I don’t think that keeping things from the public is good policy.”

  “You say that, but would you want to see mass panics? People killed in riots? The government overthrown? You’re looking at me like I’m crazy, but you have no idea of the catastrophes the people I work for have prevented.”

  “Then tell me,” Steve said. “Educate me, Jonah.”

  “Where to start? Everyone has heard about Roswell, a nice little distraction we cooked up, but no one knows about the strange events in 1953, and the Skrull incursion in Salt Lake City. Or how close we came to a mutant strain of Ebola killing everyone on the East Coast, which probably would have ended up having a mortality rate of 90 percent worldwide. Wrap your head around that number, Rogers. Imagine what would happen if that little tidbit had become public knowledge. There would have been mass panic, looting, a complete breakdown of order.”

  Jonah ran his hands through his short-cropped hair, and Steve noticed with surprise that he was shaking.

  “Rogers, there’s a never-ending list of these things. I wish that I didn’t know about them all myself. You don’t even want to know who was really on the grassy knoll, or what it would have meant if the world had learned the truth. All these pivotal moments in United States history, we were there, and because of us, no one knows what really happened.”

  “You realize you sound completely insane, right?” Steve asked. “There are whole TV channels of people talking like this.”

  “That’s good. That’s one of the tools we use when we have to cover something up. Portray anyone who’s trying to spread the truth as crazy. There’s enough of them out there, what’s one more person wearing a tinfoil hat?”

  “So, you’re protecting people by lying to them, or making them think they’re crazy?” Steve asked. “Not really my idea of what my government should be working toward. Then again, I have no proof that you have any real government sanction. You wouldn’t be the only secret group running around the world with overinflated ideas of its own purpose.”

  Jonah didn’t react to the scorn in Steve’s voice. “I understand your skepticism, I really do.”

  Jonah pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket and placed it on the table, pushing it toward Steve. Steve looked at it, and then at Jonah.

  “Really?” Steve asked. “You don’t see the problem here?”

  “Oh, right. Hang on.”

  Jonah walked around the table and unfastened one of Steve’s hands, making sure he kept a prudent distance. He walked back around to his chair and took a seat.

  “Dial the number on the screen.”

  Steve picked up the phone and dialed it. It rang twice before the call was picked up, and at the sound of the unmistakable voice that answered, he nearly dropped the phone in surprise.

  “This is Secretary of State Ross speaking.” The voice had the tone of someone used to giving orders. “Who’s this, and how did you get this number?”

  “Sir?” Steve frowned. He’d had no idea who he was calling, but General Thaddeus E. Ross would have been close to his last guess. “It’s Captain Steve Rogers. I’m being held by a man who claims to represent the United States government.”

  There was a brief pause, the silence so complete Steve wondered if he’d been disconnected.

  “His name?”

  “Jonah.”

  “Describe him to me.”

  Steve gave an accurate, if not flattering, description of Jonah, and the general let out a deep breath.

  “Captain, this man is who he says he is, and you can believe everything he claims, no matter how mad it sounds,” Ross said.

  “But, sir—”

  “Captain, I’m not in the mood for arguing,” Ross snapped.

  “Sir, how do I know who I’m really talking to?” Steve said. “It’s easier to believe that this is a very good impersonator than some of the crazy things I’ve just heard.”

  “That’s fair enough, I suppose,” Ross said grudgingly. “Ask me something only I would know.”

  Steve racked his brain for a moment, then it came to him.

  “Apologies, sir, but what did Tony call you after the Guatemala mission two years ago?” Steve asked. “I hate to bring it up again, but only the three of us were there.”

  After a moment’s silence, Ross ground out the word and Steve winced. He to admit, Stark had a way with words.

  “Okay, sir, I accept this is you, thank you.”

  “Then, Captain, you need to accept my authority. The man you are with represents the United States government and should be treated with the respect he is due as such. Do you need to be reminded of the oath you swore?”

  “No, sir,” Steve said. “But, I wi
ll ask you this question; is this man operating under your orders?”

  “No, he is not part of my portfolio.”

  “Then whose authority is he under, sir? Can you tell me that?”

  “No,” Ross said “I can’t. It’s need to know only, and there are very few people who need to know. You are most definitely not one of them.”

  There was a click, and then silence. Steve pushed the phone back to Jonah, who walked around the table and resecured Steve’s free hand.

  “Well, you certainly have some high-level connections, I’ll give you that,” Steve said. He kept his voice level, but he was now very concerned. Steve had never really liked “Thunderbolt” Ross all that much. He’d always struck Steve as one of those officers who only knew one way to command—through harsh, unbending discipline with no room for compassion or mercy. But no one could have ever called the old man a coward, which was why the hint of fear in his voice was so unsettling.

  He looked up at Jonah. “So what is this agency of yours called?”

  “That name is a secret in itself,” Jonah replied.

  Steve shrugged. “Trust works both ways, you know. If you expect me to trust you . . .”

  “That’s true. Well, as you probably know by now, the government has a habit of changing agency’s names from time to time, but we have always been known as Ex Umbra.”

  “From the shadows,” Steve said, exercising his very rusty Latin.

  “That’s right, Rogers, well done. An apt name, given the necessity of staying out of sight. In fact, to ensure we are best placed to fulfill our mission, we have spent decades infiltrating as many other government agencies as we can, working from the concealment that they provide. We are very patient, and this process is helped by the fact that our members are all patriots and happy to serve the nation in any way they can. They act like any other employee of the agency they are part of, often better—working hard and moving up the ladder. You’d be surprised how much good they do, how much more effective they’ve made our government. They often end up in high-level roles, giving us more influence than you could imagine, which comes in very useful when we need to act. But their main purpose is to keep an eye out for secrets that we may have to step in to protect one day—and discover any threats to our ability to do so.”