The plane landed at Washington National Airport.
The jostling of the fuselage roused Lynn from his feigned sleep.
Through the window, he could see a dense crowd on the tarmac.
Military officers, politicians in suits and ties, and reporters carrying old-fashioned flash cameras.
The cabin door opened.
"Mr. Morris!"
An officer wearing the insignia of a major general was the first to approach, his steps almost eager.
A warm smile spread across his weathered face as he extended a hand.
"Welcome home, hero."
Lynn shook his hand.
"General, I only did what I had to do. The real heroes are the soldiers bleeding on the front lines."
He struck a humble pose.
His words drew nods of approval from those around him.
A senator from the Congressional Special Committee squeezed through and gave Lynn a slick pat on the shoulder.
"Lynn, you have no idea what a stir you've caused back home! Soldier Boy! My God, it's as if God himself sent him! The whole country's going wild over what you and he accomplished!"
"That was Soldier Boy's achievement, sir. I merely recorded it."
Lynn responded to each of them in turn, his gaze sweeping over everyone present.
He could tell which smiles reflected genuine fervor and which were political performances.
Beneath the enthusiasm, there was also scrutiny and suspicion.
These people hadn't come to welcome a heroic adviser.
They had come to welcome the power that could intimidate all of Europe and give them confidence at the negotiating table.
Essentially, they were welcoming the "instruction manual" for that power.
The welcome ceremony was held on Capitol Hill.
Under the gaze of countless cameras and dignitaries, the vice president personally pinned a weighty medal to Lynn's chest.
The Congressional Medal of Freedom.
The highest honor for a civilian in the United States.
Flashbulbs went off in a frenzy, freezing the moment for eternity.
It was Lynn's turn to speak.
He stepped up to the podium without looking at his prepared speech.
"Thank you."
He spoke in a sincere tone.
"But this medal doesn't belong to me."
"It belongs to Soldier Boy, who used his own flesh and blood to break open a path to safety for his comrades."
"It belongs to Soldier Boy, who faced Hydra alone and brought down divine punishment to cleanse all evil."
"Above all, it belongs to every Allied soldier who fought bloody battles on the front lines and gave their lives to defend freedom and justice."
"All I did was tell their stories to people who needed hope."
"I'm not the creator of heroes. I'm only a fortunate witness, a humble mouthpiece."
"My work is done, but their fight continues. Please give all the praise and glory to the greatest warrior of our time."
The speech was short, but it perfectly struck an emotional chord with everyone.
Humble and selfless, giving all the credit to the heroes on the front lines.
The image of a perfect unsung hero leaped off the page.
Thunderous applause continued for a long time.
Lynn bowed slightly amid the applause.
That night.
At a safe house on the outskirts of Washington.
Lynn casually tossed the Congressional Medal of Freedom, which had drawn so much praise during the day, onto the table.
He loosened his tie and poured himself a large glass of whiskey.
The ice clinked against the glass, making a sound more pleasing than the medal.
Lynn walked to the window and looked out at the quiet night. Only then did he truly begin to take stock of what he had gained from his trip to Europe.
The medal on the table?
Nothing more than the most magnificent disguise.
Soldier Boy's prestige?
That was his most powerful weapon on the European battlefield, a sharp sword he could wield remotely to pressure Hydra and the Allies at the same time.
Peggy Carter's "trust"?
A clever woman who had been placated for the time being.
A valuable figure he had personally planted in European intelligence circles, who might prove useful in unexpected ways someday.
He took an object tightly wrapped in oilcloth from a pocket close to his body.
The military hard drive onto which a vast amount of data from the Giant base had been copied.
He rubbed his fingertips over the hard drive's cold, hard casing.
This was the real prize.
A key powerful enough to upend the entire course of the war and even change the future direction of the world's technology.
Hydra's technology lay quietly inside this inconspicuous black box.
Lynn took a sip of his drink, the fiery liquid sliding down his throat.
His mind began to plan the next step.
First, unlock the tech tree.
The knowledge on this hard drive had to be turned into tangible power and wealth as soon as possible.
He needed a genius who could turn those theories into reality.
Howard Stark.
The name was the first to come to mind.
An arrogant, conceited tool, yet one so talented he was irreplaceable.
Second, find new, more controllable power.
Soldier Boy was powerful, but sometimes he was too uncontrollable. Even with Lynn keeping him in check, the guy would only make a show of compliance.
Captain America, on the other hand, was too "righteous," with too many people watching him.
He needed a chess piece that belonged entirely to him, one he could create from scratch.
Phineas Horton.
That telegram from New York suggested that a perfect uncut gem was waiting to be shaped.
Lynn drained his glass in one gulp.
He picked up the phone on the table and dialed the executive director of the Captain America Patriot Foundation.
The call was answered quickly.
"It's me."
"Mr. Morris! Congratulations on your triumphant return home! We all saw today's papers..."
"Listen,"
Lynn interrupted the man's flattery.
"Starting tomorrow, the foundation needs to change the focus of its work."
"Change?"
"The tour continues, but the focus of the publicity will shift from raising money through war bonds to shaping the national spirit. I want Captain America to become the standard for how every young American acts and thinks."
The person on the other end sounded somewhat confused, but hurriedly agreed.
"Also,"
Lynn paused.
A bolder, crazier idea was taking shape in his mind.
"I need you to get in touch with a producer at Paramount or Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer."
"A movie studio?"
"That's right."
Lynn walked to the window and looked at his reflection in the glass.
"Tell them I have a screenplay about Captain America, an epic story that will drive the whole country wild."
How could a puppet on a stage leave as deep an impression as an idol on the silver screen?
War bonds were a one-time deal.
But culture and spirit were eternal wealth that could be harvested again and again.