Countermeasures

"You can't just knock out my agent, impersonate him to infiltrate a top-secret mission, and then waltz into my office telling me it was for both our sakes!"

Nick Fury stared at the figure hidden beneath the armor, his tone unusually close to anger.

Michael stood before him, replying calmly, "But it was for both our sakes, Director Fury. First, I didn't 'knock out' Agent Coulson—that would be too barbaric. I simply used a minor spell to hypnotize him, letting him take a comfortable nap. And I'd wager it's the best sleep he's had in weeks."

He paused, then emphasized, "Also, the undeniable fact is that it worked. I rooted out a Level Eight spy embedded in S.H.I.E.L.D. I trust you can imagine the damage a spy of that caliber could cause with S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra on the brink of all-out war."

Garrett's dying confession had already been handed over to Fury. Based on its contents, the man had essentially admitted to being a Hydra spy. Several of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s experts had verified the recording's authenticity, unanimously confirming it hadn't been tampered with in any way.

Fury certainly knew the threat a spy of John Garrett's level could pose. He just didn't like this mysterious ally meddling without his knowledge. Yet he had to admit that, so far, this stranger had done them significant favors—enough to be considered S.H.I.E.L.D.'s trump card against Hydra.

But as the head of a super-intelligence agency like S.H.I.E.L.D., a spy among spies, Nick Fury was used to being in control, not the other way around. He hated not knowing someone, like now.

Fury sat in his armchair, silent for a long moment, then asked, "How many more?"

"What?"

"High-level spies like Garrett, with Level Eight clearance or higher." Fury lifted his head, his lone eye casting an unsettling, predatory gleam. "How many more."

More than you'd believe. Forget Level Eight—there's even a Level Ten top double agent who waltzes into the Director's office to chat with you every other day.

Michael just shook his head. "There are quite a few, but the time isn't right. Even if I gave you names, you wouldn't believe me. Besides, the bigger the fish, the more cautious they are. Catching them red-handed takes time, and rushing would only alert them."

"You're telling me to stand down?"

"I'm telling you to wait for the right moment." Michael raised a hand, and a green mist conjured by magic rose, slowly enveloping his form. "But don't worry, Director Fury. In the end, not one of them will escape."

The green mist dissipated, and the armored figure vanished without a trace.

Fury sat behind his desk, staring at the spot where he'd stood for a long time.

"I hate magic."

***

Somewhere, location unknown.

Around a dimly lit conference table, figures formed from pale blue holograms sat in a circle, with only one chair on the right side empty.

These were Hydra's highest-ranking leaders—powerful officials who rarely gathered for a meeting, even via projection, for years at a time. Yet within the past week, they'd convened around this table for the second time.

Because they'd lost a man.

"John Garrett is dead," the man with the monocle at the end of the table said darkly. "A great loss for us. But we have no time to waste on mourning. This is a wake-up call, a reminder to stay vigilant."

The bespectacled, scholarly-looking man replied coldly, "I warned Garrett, but his arrogance kept him from listening. Now he's paid the price."

"So how did Garrett die? Who caught him?"

"I heard he was exposed during an operation led by a Level Seven S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," someone answered. "Phillip J. Coulson."

"That's not the truth." Alexander Pierce, the blond S.H.I.E.L.D. councilor, leaned forward. "That operation was interfered with by someone outside S.H.I.E.L.D. If my intel is correct, it was that 'Black Knight' who caught him."

"Him again?" The bespectacled man frowned. "Dr. Norton?"

"There's no evidence he's actually Angus Norton," Pierce emphasized.

"It's been a long time since we've faced this," the bald man with the monocle said coldly. "We're under attack, and we know almost nothing about our attacker. That has to change."

The bespectacled man turned his gaze to Pierce. "That 'weapon' on your end—can't he be of use?"

Pierce shot him a glance.

"A blade is only useful when you know who to cut," he replied flatly, then turned his gaze to the monocled man at the end. "I hear Baron Strucker has some high-rated superhumans under him. One of them has a range of abilities, including rare sensory powers. Perhaps she could help."

"Only a limited degree of sensory ability," the monocled man—Baron Strucker, as Pierce had called him—replied coldly. "And she's unstable, not ready for deployment."

"With all due respect, Baron, but we're facing the most critical moment in decades," Pierce said. "Perhaps this isn't the time for slow preparation."

Baron Strucker rested his hands on his gaunt chin, the gaze behind his monocle seeming to chill by several degrees.

"Very well," he said after a long pause. "I'll go back and check to see if anything comes of it. I'll contact you if I find anything."

Alexander Pierce's hologram leaned back into his chair. "I'll await your good news."

One by one, the pale blue holograms vanished, the glow on the round table fading, plunging the conference room into dead silence.

The remote meeting over, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker rose from his desk and strode quickly out of his office. He took the elevator at the end of the hall down to the deepest underground level, entering a massive laboratory.

The lab was bustling with activity, mostly researchers in white coats. An elderly man who seemed to be the head noticed Strucker's entrance, hurriedly set down his work, and rushed over, bowing respectfully. "Sir."

Strucker clasped his hands behind his back, walking slowly inward. The old man hastily reported, "Sir, the Scepter's effects are indeed remarkable. We've only scratched the surface, but we've already made very encouraging progress. Some component within it seems to catalyze the Twins' superhuman abilities—they've been greatly enhanced."

"The Twins," Strucker stopped, turning to fix the old man with a chilling stare. "How are they?"

"Remarkable progress, but they're still getting used to their new powers." The old man lowered his head. "They haven't fully adapted yet. Mastering them is still difficult. They need time."

"Bring me the girl." Strucker's order brooked no argument. "I need her."

The old man faltered. "Ah? But she hasn't—"

"I said," Strucker glared at him coldly, enunciating each word, "bring me the girl."

A biting chill seemed to radiate from his gaze; meeting his eyes felt like having a blade pressed to one's throat. The old man shuddered involuntarily and quickly bowed. "Yes, sir."

(Thanks to book friend Xianling Baozun for the 500 Qidian coin tip, and book friend Youyue Qifeng for the 100 Qidian coin tip!)