Chapter 621

Some people really needed to stop showing off.

Showing off had a way of making trouble find you.

Ryan Mercer had learned that lesson often enough.

Take the settlement for the job. If Evenson had paid with a stack of old, unrelated bills, there would have been almost no way to trace them back to him. Better yet, he could have used gold. If he’d handed over solid, refined gold and removed anything identifying its origin, tracking it would have been difficult.

Instead, he’d tried to save a little money by passing off chunks of unrefined gold ore, probably counting on the fact that a bunch of cowboys wouldn’t know the difference.

That bargain had come back to bite him.

The ore was packed with impurities. Fitz had analyzed the samples, identified the impurity pattern, and then spent some quality time at his computer.

A few keystrokes later, he had the answer.

The gold came from the Daisy Mine in Tanzania.

And that gave S.H.I.E.L.D. a lead.

Ordinarily, knowing where someone’s gold came from wouldn’t prove that the owner of the mine had anything to do with an attack. At best, it would be a tenuous connection.

Finding a murder weapon in a factory didn’t make the factory owner responsible for the crime.

Except this time, they weren’t dealing with an ordinary mine owner.

The man who owned the Daisy Mine was already on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar.

In fact, they’d been investigating him for quite a while.

"Quinn International."

Coulson said the name with absolute certainty.

"I’m sure you’ve all heard of Quinn International’s CEO. Probably in one of your chemical engineering classes at university, or on the cover of Forbes."

Everyone around the table nodded.

Everyone except Evenson.

He glanced from one face to another, his brow furrowing.

Once again, he’d somehow managed to miss whatever piece of basic knowledge everyone else apparently possessed.

When Evenson heard "the CEO of Quinn International," his mind immediately conjured up an absurdly wealthy and powerful man named Quinn.

Which, naturally, led him to the image of a green-clad archer with a bow.

That couldn’t possibly be the same person.

Right?

Evenson slowly raised a hand.

"I have no idea who you’re talking about. I didn’t go to college, and I don’t read Forbes."

He paused.

"There’s never anything in there with my name on it."

Coulson stared at him.

At this rate, you really aren’t ever going to have to worry about appearing in Forbes.

Skye elbowed Evenson in the side.

"Welcome to the high school dropout club, buddy."

Evenson immediately leaned away from her.

"Who said we’re in the same club? I’m part of the middle school graduates’ society."

Coulson took a slow breath.

"Ian Quinn."

He picked up the remote and pressed a button.

The screen behind him filled with information. At the center was a photograph of a man in his early forties.

"This is Ian Quinn, CEO of Quinn International and a man S.H.I.E.L.D. has been investigating for a very long time."

Coulson’s expression hardened.

"His suspected crimes include smuggling, human trafficking, financial fraud, and more. The problem is that everything we have is circumstantial. We’ve never been able to make a single charge stick."

He pressed the remote again, shutting off the display.

"So..."

Coulson looked around the room.

"I’m hoping this incident gives us a way into Quinn International. Confirm one crime, and we can start pulling on the rest of the thread. If everything we’ve suspected is true, we can finally put him behind bars for good."

"So where’s Quinn hiding?" Evenson asked. "Star City?"

He shrugged.

"Finding evidence for your charges is your department. I just need to know where he is."

"Malta."

Coulson turned toward him.

"And he isn’t hiding there. He bought the former prime minister’s residence and turned it into his own private estate. More importantly, the Quinn International shareholders’ meeting is about to be held there."

Evenson rolled his eyes.

"Subtle."

Living in a former prime minister’s residence was certainly one way to advertise that you had far too much money.

Then again, Malta itself sounded pretty tempting.

"Beautiful beaches. Great weather. And the tax laws..."

He sighed appreciatively.

"Compared to Malta, the United States practically feels like legalized extortion."

Coulson shook his head.

"That doesn’t make tax evasion legal."

"I know, I know."

Evenson waved the concern away, then frowned.

"But Malta is one of the few countries that never signed the S.H.I.E.L.D. Accords, right? Which means you don’t have any authority to operate there."

"Correct."

Coulson didn’t hesitate.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has no legal jurisdiction in Malta. That’s exactly why Quinn chose to live there."

"So what are you planning to do?"

Evenson walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"Should we just go black?"

He took a drink, then continued as though he were already planning the operation.

"Put Rumlow in charge. Give him a strike team, send them onto the island, grab Quinn, rescue the hostages, and get out before anyone knows what happened. No need to ask the Maltese government for permission."

"Things aren’t that simple."

Coulson rejected the idea immediately.

"Ian Quinn has made sure that his private island is heavily defended. And with the shareholders’ meeting coming up, the eyes of the entire world will be on that place. If Rumlow’s team makes one mistake and gets exposed, S.H.I.E.L.D. could spend a week as the lead story in every newspaper on the planet."

He shook his head.

"So we’re going to have to think this through."

Coulson moved to the command station with Ward and May, the three of them beginning to work through possible approaches.

Evenson was just about to follow when Skye stopped him.

"Could they be wrong about Quinn?"

She gestured toward the darkened screen.

"I mean, Quinn is famous for being one of the biggest philanthropists in the world. He’s donated at least eight billion dollars to charitable organizations. He even created the Quinn Foundation."

"Hmm."

Evenson stopped.

"Actually, I kind of hope they’re wrong."

Skye stared at him.

A moment ago, he’d been happily discussing how to raid the man’s island. Now he was suddenly rooting for Quinn to be innocent.

Evenson noticed her expression.

"Right. I forgot about that."

He scratched his cheek.

"I think I received some relief money from the Quinn Foundation a few years ago."

Skye’s eyes widened.

"Wait."

She blinked.

"You’re telling me one of the Avengers got charity money from the guy we’re investigating?"

"Apparently."

Evenson shrugged.

"That is a little awkward."

Then he tilted his head.

"But I’d still say charity is one of the best ways for a criminal organization to launder its reputation."

He took another sip.

"You steal a hundred grand, donate a thousand to charity, and suddenly everyone talks about what a generous person you are. Quinn donated eight billion."

He looked toward the command station.

"So imagine how much he had to steal."

Unfortunately, the discussion at the command station produced an answer faster than anyone would have liked.

There would be no official S.H.I.E.L.D. operation.

Because Malta had no obligation to tolerate one, S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t openly act there without risking a diplomatic disaster. Which left them with only one option.

They would have to do it themselves.

And afterward, regardless of how the mission turned out, S.H.I.E.L.D. would deny that the operation had ever happened.

In other words, if anything went wrong, Nick Fury would have the perfect explanation ready.

They were unofficial contractors.

Recently fired ones, preferably.

There was another problem.

Even if the team went in alone, they didn’t have the manpower for a straightforward assault. Quinn had installed a laser perimeter around the island, making a covert approach nearly impossible.

Which, naturally, brought everyone’s attention back to Evenson.

"Me?"

Evenson looked around.

He spread his hands.

"You don’t actually need to make this complicated."

Everyone waited.

"Just have the aircraft hover above the island under full stealth."

He smiled.

"Give me a little time, and I can sink the entire island into the ocean."

A beat.

"Cleanly, too."

Evenson took another drink.

"Nobody gets off."

Coulson stared at him for a long moment.

Then he turned back toward the others.

"Right."

He gestured toward the command station.

"Let’s continue discussing how to infiltrate the island."

Evenson looked offended.

Apparently, subtlety was still in fashion.