Industrious: Engineering Marvels - Chapter 8 (Patreon)

Chapter 8:

“An' you guys are sure about this?” Special Agent Fred Duncan asked again, for at least the third time that night, his New Jersey accent bleeding through the question.

“I trust Ray,” Bucky stated as he picked the binoculars back up to look over at the apartment complex where our target was staying.

“And so do I,” Steve echoed with a nod as he repositioned himself in the back seat of the large van we'd unofficially borrowed for the night.

“Great, great. Seein' our soldiers gettin' along just fills me wit tha' warm milk a' human goodness,” Fred replied sarcastically. “Gonna' need sumthin' more than good feelins if you want me to drag a Presidential Secretary inta' Mister Hoover's office.”

“I already gave you the report on Ed Gein, so I think that merits a little bit of trust, don't you Fred?” I asked, my own eyes fixed on the windows in the dim light. Regrettably, we hadn't been able to get everything together for the stake-out before evening and 'Sarah' had already gotten off work by then. As a result, we hadn't been able to search her apartment before she'd arrived home. Still, I'd had the time to don something more casual than a uniform and do a walk around the neighborhood before the other guys had pulled up in a nondescript van.

It was a normal middle-income DC neighborhood, mostly white from the look of the people arriving home in the afternoon, but a few standout minority groups present as well. The houses were old-style apartments, built probably thirty years previously, and of a type that were rare in the 'modern' period I'd lived my first life. They were small, compact, some with storefronts on the first floor, and usually directly abutted the next property or only left a small alley between them.

The target's apartment was on the corner of a block and on the third floor of the building. That meant multiple observation points, but also multiple points where she could more easily observe us. It was a good look-out post, essentially, and I made a note to check whether 'Sarah,' if she'd ever really existed, had chosen the property or if whoever had taken over her life had made the choice for tactical reasons.

I was leaning towards the latter, though.

Bucky had been able to quickly and quietly talk someone up to giving him the woman's personal information before we'd left the White House. As a well-respected war hero who'd just been given a medal, it wasn't that odd for him to want to romance a cute young girl before he got shipped back to the front. Showing up at her house with a bouquet and a few things that were being rationed at the moment would be a decent way to get a date.

Even if the man who'd handed over the details had apparently warned Bucky she was a bit of a cold fish when it came to that sort of thing, likely having been turned down himself before.

Regardless of all that, though, the documentation Bucky had managed to surreptitiously grab had emergency contact information for her next of kin, her hometown, her education history, and all the other details of a fully fleshed-out life. Having so many easily verifiable details, to me, meant that Sara Bilkshire had very likely been a real person at some point either immediately before getting the job she had now or immediately after. That judgment was aided by the fact that she'd only had the job for about three months, taking over after her predecessor had died suddenly in a car accident with her husband.

Which wasn't suspicious at all.

My current timeline, based purely on what I would have done, personally, had I been assigned her mission, was that the couple had been discreetly murdered. Then, once a replacement had been hired, that individual would be replaced before they had time to make bonds with their coworkers and establish personal habits. That way no one would actually know they'd been replaced and they could receive on the job training that would allow them to assume their new role seamlessly.

Or Sarah Bilkshire was actually an inhuman, deviant, eternal, 'newtype,' or something else and the entire thing was an unfortunate accident. With even a remedial level of investigation, though, I was seriously beginning to doubt that possibility. Even beyond the odd coincidence of her predecessor's death, the fact that this woman had no living family within the DC area, and that she seemed disinclined to make friends or connections even within her own workplace, and just happened to be some sort of metahuman...

Well, that stack alone was a lot of coincidences, but there was also the fact that she lived alone in her apartment, didn't seem to keep any sort of social calendar, and had a number of other small tells that, alone, would have meant nothing. Together, though, it painted a compelling, if largely coincidental, picture.

Well, coincidental outside of what I was seeing now.

“Yeah, I really coulda' done without da' nightmares that's gonna' give me,” Fred asserted, drawing me from my thoughts as I stared up at the apartment. “You really on da' level 'bout that future shit?”

I grunted. “What, Hoover want a sneak peek?”

There was a moment of silence before Fred coughed awkwardly. “Now I didn't say 'dat.”

I snorted and reached towards Bucky with an outstretched hand, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing at the binoculars without looking at him. I didn't want to have to find the tiny object I was staring at again. “Didn't have to. I read a few Hoover biographies way back in high school and college. General consensus was that he was extremely competent if controversial at times. Most people remember him well for the stuff he did in the thirties with the bank robbers and he gets a lot of credit for finally getting around to focusing on the mafia in the late fifties. His big claim to fame, though most people don't know about it, was helping lay the foundation for SHIELD in the sixties.”

“SHIELD?” Bucky asked, curious as he handed over the binoculars.

“Strategic Homeworld Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division,” I replied carefully. “Though I think they initially started with ‘Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Directorate.’ That was when their main focus was ferreting out subversive communist activity, the remnants of HYDRA, and Leviathan's operations. Once aliens came onto the scene in the late seventies, even if they weren't public, they reinvented themselves a little bit. Lots of OSS elements got folded into the new group post-war. Kind of like how the BOI became the FBI back under Coolidge.”

“Huh,” Fred and Bucky grunted simultaneously.

That was entirely a fabrication by me, but one that I felt represented a likely scenario. Back in 'my' world, Truman had resisted Hoover's attempts to consolidate the various American intelligence agencies under one umbrella, describing it as an 'American Gestapo.' In a world where a breakaway faction of the Nazis had almost leveled every national capital and major city in the western world, Hoover had a much stronger case for the necessity of such an organization.

“Personally, I think someone just really wanted a nifty acronym. Kind of like the Bureau of FATE in the early seventies: Firearms, Alcohol, Tobacco, and Explosives. I never did find out which mid-level bureaucrat decided to get fancy back in the day.” I grumbled, injecting just an ounce of real irritation into my tone.

Really, guys, you had every opportunity for a kickass acronym and settled for keeping the 'ATF' after you added explosives to the mix. Well not this time! Not on my watch!

There were a few chuckles around the van while I tried to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing on the eaves of the building. One, two, three... spaced tactically, good points for observation...

Looking more and more likely this isn't someone local.

“So, gotta ask. I know sum guys who'd pay big money for some stuff they could use against Hoover. I know ya' don't need it with that sweet contract ya' got now, but they coul' just as easy give ya' some favors in exchange,” Fred offered with a nudge.

Steve and Bucky shifted, suddenly focused on the man.

I didn't bother looking at the man. “Tell Hoover I'm keeping my mouth shut. I know exactly the kind of man he is and he's not someone I want to piss off flapping my lips. If he wants a meeting, I'll have plenty of time after HYDRA's dealt with. I know quite a few pieces of information he could use in the coming decades.”

There was silence for a long moment after that, Fred no doubt irritated that I hadn't taken the transparent bait. But, then again, sending someone smart enough to get me talking would mean sending someone smart enough to know the value of whatever I told them.

There was a lot that I could have said about J. Edgar Hoover, but I wasn't stupid enough to run my mouth to one of his boys. While I admired him for his commitment against the Depression-Era gangsters and his rooting out of the Mafia in the Kennedy and Johnson Administration, I also condemned the man for his general attitude of blackmail and extortion against... well, anyone he could. His behavior during the Civil Rights Era was also... suspect, to put it lightly. Sure, he'd eventually come around to seeing the KKK as a domestic terrorist organization after the Selma March, but you couldn't really live down having one of your agents send a letter to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. strongly implying he should commit suicide.

In any event, deciding whether I wanted to take on the institution of J. Edgar Hoover's FBI was a decision I wasn't anywhere close to making at the moment. It was better to keep the man as a nominal ally until and unless I needed to act against him.

That way, at least, he won't see me coming.

“So not that this isn't all interesting,” Steve interjected from the back, “but... what about this girl? We need to ship out in a few days.”

I nodded and finally took my eyes away from the building, handing the binoculars back to Bucky in the process. “Check the building's eaves. You're looking for small black rectangles spaced at regular intervals. Keep a close eye on them for a good minute or two and you'll see them turn.”

“What are they?” Steve asked as Bucky focused his attention closely.

“If I had to guess?” I asked rhetorically. “I'd put good money on a CCTV system.” I blinked, then elaborated. “Ah, 'closed-circuit television system.' An independent series of cameras off-network designed to monitor an area for an observer.”

“Dat some of that kraut science shit? I heard they had fancy toys,” Fred stated, taking his turn at the binoculars even as Bucky murmured agreement to Steve.

“I didn't see anything like that when Stark was taking apart that U-boat in New York,” Steve stated, drumming his fingers on his thigh as he waited his turn.

I hummed in agreement. “No one's at the level of digital technology yet, and that's definitely digital. Shit, I was really hoping it wasn't them.”

“Who?” Steve asked.

I sighed. “It's probably a Skrull Infiltrator.” Using high technology like this wasn't something inhumans, deviants, or eternals were exactly famous for. Oh, they could, but it was usually something more esoteric, like powers or magic. When they did use technology it was loud and in your face. Mutants, or Newtypes as I'd christened them, would mostly be constrained to your standard human tech level.

Bucky breathed in as Fred handed the binoculars over to Steve. “Those are the shapeshifting aliens you told General Phillips about, aren't they?”

Fred sat up straight in his seat, his eyes wide. “Da what?!”

Well, at least Hoover could have legitimate targets for his paranoia this time around.

“Okay... here's the plan,” I began thoughtfully. “I'm going to get out and go around back before coming into the building through the upstairs. Give me... ten minutes to get into position. When the clock runs out, Steve and Bucky, you make for the building and kick in the door. I'll use the distraction to break in and get the drop on her while you guys make your way up the stairs. Fred, you stay in the car and, if she gets away from us by going out a window, run her down.”

“What are the chances the real Sarah's okay?” Steve asked, reaching for his shield in preparation.

I grimaced. “Fifty-fifty. I was never really important enough to tangle with Skrulls before and a lot of the stuff about them was hush-hush to keep people from panicking, but from what I know they tended to keep whoever they replaced alive and sedated somehow. In case they needed more information for their cover. No idea if she'll be in the apartment or not.”

“Alright,” Bucky nodded, pulling a gun out of a bag and chambering a round. “What kind of weapons are we looking at?”

“Ray guns or blasters. Basically what Hydra has, but better. You should let Steve lead with his shield,” I advised, checking my own small assortment of weapons I'd managed to source. Howard was still working on a specialized loadout for me, but with the possibility of combat I'd managed to get my hands on some throwing knives and a pair of police night sticks. Not that I necessarily needed them, but the range was nice and having something that wasn't my hand to poke dangerous things with helped occasionally.

“Think the building's trapped?” Bucky asked, looking over a few other firearms before holstering his pistol and pulling out a shotgun.

“Not the stairway,” Steve replied before I could. “Other people have to use it. Her landlord probably checks in, too. Wouldn't want anything blowing up because of a leaky pipe or something.”

I nodded at Steve. “Anything like that she'd have to activate manually, which is why I'm going in through a window. If Sarah's still alive in the apartment, it'll also stop her from taking a hostage.”

Bucky nodded with a grin. “Divide her attention, gotcha.”

Fred seemed to be too surprised by the turn of events to properly ask anything.

I took a deep breath, then nodded to myself and rolled down the window on the opposite side of the car from her apartment. “Ten minutes.”

Rolling smoothly out the open window, I ducked into an alleyway and began sprinting full-speed. I'd glanced over a map of the area and had a good idea of how to circle around so that she wouldn't be able to see me coming from any of the normal angles. Sure enough, I cut past a hedge in a back garden before wedging myself between two houses and using the pressure of the wall on my back to hold me up as I climbed the straight vertical surface.

Scampering across the rooftops after that was easy enough for someone with my skills. Remaining silent while doing it was a bit more difficult, but not much of a stretch.

I approached the gap between roofs at a fast pace, taking a flying leap across the distance and, instead of impacting noisily, caught myself on the chimney to kill my momentum before quietly crouching on the tiles with an equally silent exhalation of breath.

Five minutes.

Moving carefully, I took a look around to make sure she hadn't placed any cameras on the roof, but found none. No obvious ones, at least. After pressing my ear to the tiles and manually cranking up the sensitivity to my hearing, I only heard the sound of calm, regular footfalls in the apartment below. Odds were that if she was alerted, she would have been moving quickly to activate countermeasures.

Four minutes.

I took another survey of the rooftop before scampering around to make a closer observation of the windows I hadn't been able to see in the back. All of them, unfortunately, had their curtains pulled closed. Tracking the path of her person below me, several small noises confirmed my guess was likely right. The signature noises of digital-era keys being tapped, clear audio being regurgitated by speakers, and a language that definitely didn't come from a human throat were all clear indicators I was probably on the right track.

Two minutes.

I kept following her, crawling around on the roof, until she'd settled into the area with what was probably a computer. Following that sound, I found the closest window, and as the seconds ticked away, keyed up my adrenaline and oxygenated my blood more heavily as I placed myself directly above the window, holding onto the overhang of the roof. Checking my internal clock, I readied myself, and-

Go time.

Car doors opened across the street, slamming closed as the engine started to idle. Pushing off with my feet, I twisted as my body spun. My heels impacted the wood of the window cleanly, the four smaller panes around the cross shattering as I rolled through it, my arms having moved to protect my face from the spray of shards.

Opening them, I adjusted immediately to the light of the apartment, the glare of an electronic screen sitting on a desk displaying a scaly green face with pointed ears being all the information I needed. In one corner of the room, on the far side, was a long coffin-like metal container that probably held the real Sarah. My eyes snapped to where the fake was standing from her position at the computer, eyes widening as her hand went for-

My own hand snapped out, a knife flying from it to pierce her hand as it grasped for a futuristic-looking chrome firearm lying on the desk. Snarling, she glared at me before pulling the knife from her hand, the blade clattering on the floor and throwing speckles of purple blood across it.

I dove before she could make another grab.

Distantly, the sound of thundering footsteps up the stairs registered even as I impacted the skrull infiltrator and pushed her away from the firearm. Her form flickered, but held, even as surprisingly strong arms tried to throw me off. I turned the grab into a throw and rolled her off me harshly onto the floor in a smooth motion

More running up stairs.

Even without chakra, my fist struck her face hard enough to shatter cinder blocks.

It only seemed to daze her for a brief moment before she managed to catch my arm on the second punch and use the momentum to throw me off. Instead of hitting the ground hard, I rolled with the impact, hitting the wall and practically bouncing off it as I pulled out a knight stick from where I'd tucked it behind my back.

Even as the skrull was getting up, I hit her again, slamming the length of the wood against her chest as I dove past.

Regardless of the difference in biological processes, she still had to breathe.

Noting that in satisfaction, I slammed her down on the ground once more, my eyes catching a rolling-

Noise and light exploded, a shockwave catching me and throwing me off the skrull and into a wall-

I barely registered the sound of a door flying open over the ringing in my ears, though the sounds of gunfire were clearer, especially the loud rapport of a shotgun. Red flashes of light came in through the glare in my eyes as I forced myself to regain my senses. Blinking once more, I caught sight of a round blowing through the side of the 'woman,' spraying purple blood over the wall behind her even as Steve held up his shield as he crouched over me.

“Ray, are you-?” He asked, urgently, shouts from below and cries in the streets beginning to register to my abused ears.

“I'm alright,” I croaked, then groaned at the feeling of torn muscles and cracked bones in my back. “Mostly.”

“Holy shit,” Bucky breathed, our eyes following his and catching the shifting form of the now-dead infiltrator reverting to its natural form.

It's always the fucking skrulls.

I was almost looking forward to getting back to fighting Nazis after this. Especially since I'd have to deal with the political fallout in a few hours.