Marvel's Captain America: Sub Rosa

by David McDonald

  After he returned, he had been called in for an interview with S.H.I.E.L.D., where they demanded he justify his actions and that he reveal the location of Karl and Katherine. Once he had made it clear he didn’t know their whereabouts, there wasn’t much S.H.I.E.L.D. could do to him, especially given who he was. Sometimes, there was a lot to be said for his high profile. Pushing him too hard was not good for one’s career, and that fact had earned him a lot of latitude. It wasn’t something he liked making a habit of—that way led to corruption—but he thought that in this case, he had earned a break. An hour later he was out, and he doubted that he would be bothered again.

  In the days following his release, various agencies tried to get information out of him, trying to piece together as much of Katherine’s research as they could. As he genuinely didn’t know anything about her work, it had been easy to get rid of them. He had taken a great deal of pleasure in watching various agents tear their hair out as they had tried to explain the basic concepts of coding to him and he had deliberately asked increasingly stupid questions.

  There had been appeals to his patriotism, offers of money, threats of disciplinary action—every strategy they could think of to try to convince to lure Katherine out of hiding, but he had been immovable. There had been visits from increasingly senior figures, both military and civilian, but he had continued to present the same smiling obduracy. Politicians had been noticeable in their absence, however—it was if they could sense the approaching cloud of scandal and wanted no part of it. In the end, his threats to reveal the existence of Ex Umbra had scared enough people and prevented too much pressure being brought to bear.

  Finally, he had just been issued a caution—to which he paid as much attention as he normally did to anything that he felt was bureaucratic rubbish—and was told he had two weeks of furlough, during which it was strongly recommended that he stay away from government buildings. He wasn’t worried; he knew that as soon as there was another emergency that required his particular talents, he would be called upon, and that all would be forgiven. He hadn’t been worried that there would be any other consequences of a more permanent nature—making Katherine or Karl disappear would have been simple enough, but if Captain America vanished, serious questions would be asked.

  Now, he was just spending some time enjoying some well-earned rest and relaxation. He’d managed to get hold of all twenty-one of those mysteries he had enjoyed so much at the cabin, and he had several more models to work on. He’d also bought himself a computer tutorial book, something for dummies, and he planned to give his skills in that area a serious upgrade. He was actually quite happy to be forced to take time off, otherwise he had a tendency toward overwork. At least this way, he could do what he wanted without feeling guilty about it.

  He found working on models deeply relaxing—something about the imposition of order on the chaotic arrangement of parts that came in the little plastic bag. Since he had gotten home, over the space of three days he had already assembled two. One had been an M4 Sherman tank; the other, the English fighter plane that had caused the Germans so many problems: the Spitfire.

  Steve was self-aware enough to know why he always chose models from a particular era—there was something soothing about being transported back to that time in his life. It might have been a time of constant danger, but he had always felt alive and that he was doing something worthwhile with his life. Most of all, it was a world that he understood—a world that he was part of. This new world had its good points, but he would always be a man out of time. It was nice to have something familiar to look at.

  Once he finished the Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress, he wasn’t sure what would be next. Maybe something a little more ambitious—an aircraft carrier or one of the more advanced weapons that Howard Stark and his colleagues had developed to combat the war machines that Hydra had seemed to churn out in a never-ending procession.

  The ringing of the phone pulled him out of his thoughts. He frowned. There were very few people who had his phone number, and none that he was particularly interested in talking to right now. If it had been an emergency, the much more hi-tech transceiver currently sitting in his sock drawer would have called for his attention. He turned back to the model, deciding that the caller could leave a message if it was important, and that he would check once he had completed painting the roundel that he was working on.

  The phone continued to ring insistently, nagging at him to answer it. Twice he just caught himself before he made a mess of the fine detail he was working on, and finally he capitulated and picked it up.

  “Steve Rogers speaking.”

  “Hello, Steve,” a familiar voice said.

  “Maria!” Steve said, genuine pleasure in his voice. “How are you?”

  “Can’t complain. And you?”

  “Pretty good. I’ve just had a few very relaxing weeks interstate. Now I’m just puttering around the house. Catching up on a few projects.”

  “Sounds lovely. Wish I could say the same—it’s been crazy here. I’ve been putting out fires left, right, and center.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Steve said. “Sounds pretty stressful.”

  “Sure is. Look, Steve, the reason I’m calling . . . have you turned on the television lately?”

  “No, I don’t like watching it when I’m working in the den. It’s distracting, and to be completely honest, I find a lot of what’s on these days either utterly incomprehensible or a bit stress inducing.”

  “I think maybe you should make an exception today, Steve. Can you do that—for me?”

  “I guess so . . .”

  Steve reached into a drawer and pulled out a remote. He pointed it at the wall above the radio and pressed a button. A panel slid across, revealing a large plasma flat-screen. He pressed another button, and it lit up.

  “Any particular channel?”

  “Any news channel will do. Maybe even some of the nonnews channels. This is big enough.”

  Steve flicked it over until he found a news feed.

  . . . New computer virus “Ex Umbra” cripples China censorship tech . . .

  . . . Riots in Eastern Africa as freedom protests topple government . . .

  . . . Mass resignations in both United States political parties as new scandals come to light . . .

  The screen filled with story after story of political chaos rippling across the world, of oppressive regimes shaken to their foundations as information-starved populaces consumed their fill from an unfettered internet.

  He picked up the phone again.

  “Interesting times.”

  “Yes, they are. Lots of governments are very scared right now—seems this new virus is playing havoc with internet filters and firewalls. Lots of people are suddenly seeing the world with fresh eyes, and realizing there’s more to life than what their government has been telling them. I think we’re going to see a lot of changes in a lot of places.”

  “What about our government, are they scared?” Steve asked.

  “Why would they be? They’ve got nothing to hide, right?” Maria asked.

  “That’s good to know.”

  A clear chime echoed down the line.

  “What was that?” Steve asked. “Are we being listened in on?”

  “Just the opposite, in fact. That was telling us that this line is secure. My scan just finished,” Maria said. “So, Steve, is this what you hoped for?”

  “I don’t know what I hoped for. All I know is, I think that we’re going to see some changes in a world that desperately needs them.”

  “Always the optimist, aren’t you, Steve? So, you think we did the right thing?”

  “I think so,” Steve said. “But, how are you, really? I heard you made a bad decision at work.”

  “Steve, I told you—the line is secure. Stop trying to be subtle—it doesn’t suit you,” she said. “As far as everyone is c
oncerned, I did everything I could to make sure the research ended up back in our government’s hands, including arresting a member of my family and Captain America himself. No one suspects that I had anything to do with you getting away, and my superiors bought my story about you jumping me. The video—and the bruises—looked very convincing, and it would be pretty unreasonable for anyone to blame me for coming out second best to you. In the end, there wasn’t even an reprimand put on my record.”

  “You really did have it all worked out,” Steve said admiringly. “But, if they had suspected?”

  “They would have needed more than suspicion before they moved on me,” Maria said. “There are plenty of secrets left in this world, despite this computer virus, and I know more than a few that people wouldn’t want unearthed. I’m pretty safe.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Steve said. “I’d hate to have to get used to someone new around S.H.I.E.L.D. At my age, change is tough.”

  He was pleased when she laughed at that one. Maybe they were making progress.

  “I have to say, Steve, I do like the name that they gave it. Jonah must be furious. Next time I visit the prison he’s in, I might go make sure he knows about it.”

  “I guess it’s something for him to cling to, that the name will live on even though the agency has been shut down,” Steve said. “It has been shut down, right?”

  Maria hesitated.

  “I hope it has,” she said. “Some of its assets have been absorbed by other agencies, and the operatives who could be demonstrated to have violated the law have been prosecuted—Jonah among them. But he still isn’t talking, no matter what threat or incentive we offer. He won’t give up any names—not who he answered to, or the agents he might have left.”

  “He was a true believer, I’ll give him that,” Steve said grudgingly. It was hard to give Jonah any credit—Steve still had very vivid memories of the session with the Tasers. “He honestly believed that he was part of something noble, and that sort of man would rather be a martyr than betray his faith.”

  “Well, at least know we know about the threat, and we can watch for it,” Maria said. “We are currently doing a top-to-bottom shakedown, checking every member of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I have it on good authority pretty much every other government agency is doing the same.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Steve said. “And General Ross?”

  “Secretary Ross, you mean,” Maria corrected him. “He was just assisting an existing government resource in their normal operations, nothing more—according to him anyway. He didn’t create Ex Umbra, and is taking none of the blame for their actions, and he’s claiming complete ignorance of their extralegal activities.”

  “Very convenient,” Steve said, resolving that he would be wary of Ross in the future. “So, who did know?”

  “No one, or at least no one willing to say so, anyway,” Maria said. “We aren’t going to let this go, though. Someone will answer for it—eventually.”

  Steve grunted skeptically. “We’ll see.”

  “I do have some more bad news for you,” Maria said.

  “Go on.”

  “Your other friend, the caped intruder. He escaped.”

  “What!” Steve yelled. “How?”

  “The Ex Umbra facility was complete chaos, and by the time we had established some sort of order, he was gone,” she said. “Somehow, in the confusion, he managed to just walk out of there.”

  “I guess I had better keep an eye out for him. His professional pride will demand a rematch,” Steve said. “I’ll try to think of some new tricks to show him. At least I know that I’ll be his priority. He’ll come for me at his first opportunity, rather than for . . . someone else. Besides, I doubt he will have any more luck finding a certain someone than any of the dozen agencies currently searching have.”

  “Well, about that, Steve.” Maria paused on the other end of the line. “It leads into my other reason for calling you. There’s a question I have for you.”

  “Shoot,” he said warily.

  “Steve, have you heard from them? They’ve dropped completely off the radar, in fact, if it weren’t for this virus, I would be worried they were dead in a ditch somewhere. It’s very impressive, actually.”

  Steve smiled. He’d guessed Karl hadn’t been exaggerating about his talent and experience in that area.

  “Sorry, Maria, not a word. I didn’t really expect anything, though, that was part of the plan.”

  “Not a word?”

  “I swear to you, not a single word,” Steve said solemnly.

  There was silence on the other end.

  “Maria?”

  “Steve, would you tell me if you knew where they were?”

  He didn’t even hesitate.

  “No.”

  “No?” A degree of frost crept into her voice. “You don’t think that you can trust me?”

  “What, you don’t think between the bug and the lies, you’ve given me good reason not to trust you?”

  There was another silence at the end of the line.

  “Steve, I did what I had to do,” she said. “It wasn’t anything personal.”

  “I know, Maria. And strange as it may sound, I do trust you. But you’ve got your orders, and the fewer people who know a secret, the better. I don’t even want to know, just in case I give it away.”

  “Fair enough.” She sounded slightly mollified. “It would just be nice to know that they are okay, and happy.”

  “Yeah, I agree. Look, if I find out anything and I think it’s safe, I’ll let you know, okay?”

  “Okay. I probably should get going and leave you to your baseball cards, or whatever it is that you do with your spare time.”

  “Always a pleasure, Maria.”

  Steve hung up the phone and turned back to the television, watching the breaking news for a few minutes and smiling with satisfaction at each new story. Eventually, he grew bored and switched off the television, throwing the remote back into the drawer. He picked up his brush and dabbed at the model, his brush strokes surprisingly delicate for such a big man. The record finished, and there was only the soft hiss of the needle. Steve walked over to the radio and ran his hand along the polished wood. He flicked through the records, then stopped as if remembering something he should have done.

  He opened the drawer that the remote had come from and pulled out a postcard. The back was completely blank, free of any message—not a single word. The front had a picture of a sandy white beach that glistened under the sun and drank up the turquoise waves that lapped against the shore. He stared at the postcard for a moment, a smile on his face, and then pinned it up on the corkboard above his desk.

  “Have fun, kids,” he murmured. “You’ve earned it.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my editor, Michael Melgaard—it was an adventure, but we made it! And, as always, thank you to everyone at Joe Books for all of their help, and for this incredible opportunity.

  Most of all, a big thank you must go to my long-suffering wife for her patience with this one; I know I wasn’t much fun to live with—when I was even around! I couldn’t have done it without her love and support.

  This book was written with the help of Scrivener and Dropbox, two of the best friends a writer can have.

  About the Author

  David McDonald is a mild-mannered editor by day, and a wild-eyed writer by night. Based in Melbourne, Australia, he works for an international welfare organization, and divides his spare time between playing cricket and writing.

  In 2013, David won the Ditmar Award for Best New Talent, and in 2014 won the William J. Atheling Jr. Award for Criticism or Review and was shortlisted for the WSFA Small Press Award. His short fiction has appeared in anthologies from publishers such as Moonstone Books, Satalyte Publishing, Crazy 8 Press, and FableCroft Publishing. In 2015, his first mo
vie novelization, Backcountry, was released by HarperCollins.

  David is a member of the Horror Writers Association, The International Association of Media Tie-In Writers, and the Melbourne-based writers group, SuperNOVA.

  You can find out more at:

  http://www.davidmcdonaldspage.com

  Copyright

  Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada by Joe Books Ltd, 567 Queen St. West, Toronto, ON M5V 2B6

  www.joebooks.com

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication information is available upon request.

  isbn 978-1-772752-01-4 (print)

  isbn 978-1-772752-03-8 (ebook)

  First Joe Books Edition: June 2016

  Copyright © 2016 MARVEL

  All rights reserved.

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