Chapter 594

"That weapon was entrusted to my country decades ago. After Hydra was broken apart, many of its scientists followed their... friends and disappeared into countries on this side of the world. The weapon was lost during a jungle conflict. With it, we can finally put an end to the uprising and bring stability back to my homeland."

Camilla laid out the history of the 084 object for Coulson. It had belonged to Peru for a very long time, and its importance to the country was difficult to overstate. That also explained why she had been willing to go so far as to launch an openly hostile operation against SHIELD just to reclaim it.

After World War II, a surprising number of Hydra operatives escaped justice and fled to South American countries, where they spent the rest of their lives hiding in plain sight.

How had they managed that?

Was it simply because those countries were too weak to find them? Or perhaps because they sympathized with Hydra’s ideology and willingly sheltered its fugitives?

Neither explanation made sense.

Even the most foolish government considered its own interests before taking action. Long-term or immediate, there always had to be something to gain.

And Hydra’s fugitives had plenty to offer.

Running from justice wasn’t exactly an option available to ordinary soldiers. The men who successfully made it to South America were usually officers of at least moderate rank, and many had accumulated considerable fortunes during the war. When they fled, their money followed them, bringing a welcome influx of capital into some of the poorer nations of Latin America.

That money mattered.

But compared with what came next, it was pocket change.

The scientists were priceless.

For a complicated collection of historical reasons, South America had never developed into a major scientific powerhouse. When people thought of the region, they thought of coffee, cocoa, tobacco, and cigars. Famous scientists were rare. World-changing inventions were rarer. The great academic theories that shaped civilization were usually coming from somewhere else.

Their countries depended heavily on foreign powers for advanced technology, often paying a premium for equipment and techniques that other nations had already replaced with newer models. Their economies, meanwhile, relied largely on agriculture and manufacturing.

Then a highly educated scientist carrying advanced technological knowledge suddenly crossed their borders and asked for asylum.

Of course they would welcome him.

Please, Doctor, stay here.

Please save our country.

Please do not go anywhere else.

Peru’s future might depend on you.

The situation practically sold itself.

But there was one problem.

Their reasons might have been understandable, but what they were doing could hardly survive in the light of day. This wasn’t merely about bad press. There were much deeper political considerations involved.

The United States had long regarded South America as its backyard. Other powers were not supposed to interfere there.

The Soviet Union and, later, its successors had their own use for the region, treating it primarily as a strategic lever against the United States.

In either case, South American nations were being used.

A tool didn’t get to have its own agenda.

A servant didn’t get to decide where its master’s weapons came from.

You could have advanced weapons and sophisticated technology, but only if your patron gave them to you. The source remained firmly in the patron’s hands. Even minor upgrades or modifications had to depend on permission—or at least access—to the underlying knowledge.

That was how you kept people under control.

So imagine the reaction when the United States discovered that some of the gardeners in its backyard had quietly taken in Hydra scientists, started advancing their own technological capabilities, and gained access to technologies even Washington didn’t fully understand.

What would America do?

Obviously, it would arrive under the noble banner of punishing war criminals.

Justice had arrived, better late than never.

It would drag the gardener to the ground, give him a few enthusiastic reminders of who owned the yard, uproot the tree he’d been cultivating, carry it home, and take the scientist with it.

Then, having neatly strangled the country’s independent path to technological advancement, it would smile benevolently and declare:

I can give you anything.

But what I give you belongs to you.

What I do not give you, you have no right to take.

Which brought the importance of 084 into sharp focus.

If SHIELD took the artifact back, determined where it had come from, and uncovered the truth behind its history, Peru could expect wave after wave of economic sanctions. Then would come large-scale searches for surviving war criminals, followed by an aggressive campaign to eliminate whatever remnants of their forbidden scientific legacy remained.

None of that would end well for Peru.

Coulson was still turning the implications over in his head when the aircraft’s communications system suddenly crackled to life.

"SHIELD Sixteen, this is Radar Communications. Confirm your change in flight path."

It was Hill.

After Camilla had seized control of the plane, its course had deviated from the scheduled route. Unless Coulson personally confirmed the change, SHIELD would assume the aircraft had been hijacked.

And if that happened, the worst-case response was simple.

Shoot the plane down.

That was also why Camilla had yet to kill Coulson. No matter how irritating he found her—or how much she might have enjoyed making things worse—she still needed his voice.

"Answer her."

Camilla drew her pistol and pressed it against Coulson’s head.

"Otherwise, your people get to experience what happens when a plane falls thirty thousand feet."

She was smarter than she looked. Threatening Coulson’s life would accomplish very little. He was a field agent trained to accept that risk.

His subordinates were another matter.

"Agent Coulson, are you there?" Hill’s voice came again. "Please confirm your flight path. Is everyone on board all right? We heard you ran into some trouble on the ground."

"We’re fine."

Coulson finally answered.

He hoped the small act of cooperation would buy enough time for his people to catch up—or for a certain pain in the ass to finish his archaeological project and return to the aircraft.

"From this point forward," Coulson added, "the skies will be clear."

"Good."

The tension in Hill’s voice eased, but only for a moment.

"When the mission is over, the director wants you to personally explain why Peru suddenly experienced minor earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, followed by a serious wildfire in the mountains. And why, by an incredible coincidence, all of it happened around your mission area."

Coulson’s mouth twitched.

"Yeah. Sure. I’ll explain everything to the director."

One of the knots in his chest finally loosened.

He knew exactly who had caused those earthquakes and eruptions.

Which meant the archaeological expedition was over.

That man would be back soon.

Or perhaps he was already back.

"What did you do?!"

Camilla spun toward him, panic replacing her earlier confidence.

"What the hell are those fires?"

The rebels who had been pursuing them—and the reinforcements expected to converge on the same location—were all supposed to gather there.

If the area had been torn apart by earthquakes, volcanic activity, and wildfire, then they were probably finished.

That wasn’t a minor loss.

Those rebels were her people.

They had infiltrated the opposition under false identities.

Coulson, meanwhile, looked almost amused.

"Nothing important."

He raised his head and gave her a faint smile.

"It’ll all be over soon."

"That’s right."

Camilla’s face twisted with fury.

"It will all be over soon! I’ll kill every one of you. Just wait until—"

"Wait until what?"

A light, mocking voice suddenly drifted through the cabin.

"I think you’re waiting for this."

Camilla froze.

Still pointing her gun at Coulson, she turned.

A blond man was leaning casually against the wall.

A faintly contemptuous smile played across his face.

His right hand was raised, thumb and middle finger pressed together, poised for a snap.

And for the first time since taking control of the aircraft, Camilla looked genuinely uncertain.