Chapter 893

The abandoned warehouse where Johnny Blaze had been living was now brightly illuminated.

Johnny stood beside a large grinding wheel, turning the handle with one hand while pressing a steel rod more than two meters long against the spinning stone with the other. Sparks sprayed across the floor as he sharpened the metal to a vicious point.

Johnny Blaze had never considered himself a hero.

Sacrificing himself for people he didn’t know was hardly his idea of a good time. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have lifted a finger to save strangers.

This time, however, the numbers were impossible to ignore.

Two billion people.

Saving one or two might not have been enough to motivate him, but two billion was another matter entirely. If he had a genuine opportunity to prevent that many deaths and chose to do nothing, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Apparently, there was a point at which quantity really did overwhelm quality.

Besides, his own soul was on the line. Completing the mission would give him a chance to reclaim it, which made refusing Mephisto’s offer even more difficult.

Still, before accepting, Johnny had thought to ask one final question.

"I know you, devil. You never put all your eggs in one basket. So am I really the only person you’ve assigned to this mission?"

He paused, then added the question that actually mattered.

"Is he going to be involved?"

There was no need to explain whom he meant.

Evenson.

Johnny’s previous encounters with the sorcerer had left him with a healthy distrust of anything that looked like an alliance. He wanted to know whether he would have to work alongside Evenson again.

Mephisto chuckled.

"This is an important undertaking. Naturally, I’ve made additional arrangements."

It wasn’t a direct answer, but it was more than enough.

Johnny’s expression immediately darkened.

"You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re putting him on the same mission as me? How can I possibly trust that he won’t stab me in the back?"

Mephisto rolled his eyes.

"The only thing I can guarantee is that he won’t attack you first, provided you don’t do anything stupid and attack him."

He gave Johnny an exasperated look.

"Think about your history with the man. The first time, you were the one who went looking for trouble. The second time, you nearly derailed the entire operation through your own recklessness, and he only intervened because of that. Honestly, can’t you exercise a little self-control?"

"That’s my fault?"

Veins bulged across Johnny’s forehead.

He practically spat out his next words.

"What I did as the Ghost Rider doesn’t count as reckless behavior! I was punishing the wicked! I was—"

He clenched his jaw.

"Right. I was punishing the wicked."

Mephisto looked delighted.

"Fortunately, there will be plenty of wicked people for you to punish this time. Try to spread your attention around a little, instead of treating your teammates as your primary targets."

His smile sharpened.

"This is your last chance, Johnny."

He extended his hand.

Johnny hesitated. His expression shifted several times as he weighed his options, but eventually he reached out and shook the devil’s hand.

"Fine. We’ll do it your way."

He tried to withdraw his hand.

Mephisto held on.

"Say the words, Johnny."

Johnny stared at him.

"Seriously?"

"It’s a contract. Use the proper terminology."

Johnny sighed in defeat.

"Fine. Deal."

"Deal."

Satisfied, Mephisto finally released his hand and faded into the darkness.

The moment he was gone, Johnny returned his attention to the steel rod.

This mission couldn’t afford to fail. Worse, he would be working with Evenson again, which meant there was every possibility that things would go catastrophically wrong.

Johnny had learned a few lessons from their previous encounters. The most important was that charging into battle without preparing properly was a spectacularly stupid idea.

He had made that mistake before: transforming into the Ghost Rider, climbing onto his supernatural ride, and charging into combat with virtually no equipment beyond his own power.

The result had been humiliating.

He wasn’t going to repeat it.

That was why he was now sharpening the best piece of steel he could find in the entire warehouse.

After several minutes of grinding, he inspected the gleaming point and nodded with satisfaction.

The Fire-Tipped Spear was ready.

Next came a massive cleaver, which he strapped to his waist, followed by a sword that he secured across his back.

Demon-Slaying Saber. Demon-Cutting Sword.

Two more weapons acquired.

He slung a heavy metal exercise ring diagonally across his shoulder and tied a fishing net around his waist.

The Cosmic Ring and the Nine-Dragon Fire Shield.

Finally, he wrapped a length of iron chain around his body like a scarlet battle sash and slipped on his roller skates.

Flames surged over his body.

In an instant, Johnny Blaze transformed into the Ghost Rider.

He stood amid the swirling fire, his newly assembled collection of weapons clattering against one another.

Seven legendary pieces of equipment. One vengeance-fueled skeleton.

This time, I’m fully equipped. Who’s going to stop me now?

That’s him! That’s him! It’s our Johnny Blaze!

The Ghost Rider shot westward in a streak of golden light.

Since he was already near the harbor, he didn’t bother looking for a road. He went straight into the sea.

The fiery wheels beneath his feet carried him across the water, leaving a trail of steam in his wake. Near the coast, he maintained a relatively modest speed.

Then he reached the open ocean.

Johnny accelerated.

The air around him distorted. A tremendous crack thundered across the water as he broke the sound barrier.

His speed left a boiling wake of vapor behind him.

Unfortunately, it also left a trail of dead seals that had been unlucky enough to cross his path.

America, I’m coming home!

Back aboard Coulson’s aircraft, Sitwell’s sudden departure had created a vacancy in the team assigned to hunt the Clairvoyant.

Victoria Hand, however, had no intention of filling it herself.

She needed to return to headquarters, where she could coordinate the field teams through satellite communications and provide Coulson’s group with immediate support if the situation deteriorated.

She had just boarded the transport jet when Agent Blake approached her.

His behavior was strange from the outset.

After entering the cabin, Blake said nothing. Instead, he pulled a small scanning device from inside his jacket and began sweeping it across the surrounding area.

Hand watched him with growing irritation.

Only after finishing his inspection did Blake relax.

"Good. No listening devices."

One of Hand’s eyebrows rose.

"Nobody is planting bugs on my aircraft. Whatever you have to say, you can say it openly."

"Go ahead," Claire remarked from a nearby seat.

The translucent woman sat back with an amused smile, watching the two agents.

"I’m sure nobody can hear you."

She paused.

"Not that either of you can hear me."

Claire had been wandering around in her spirit form, taking advantage of her invisibility to eavesdrop on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s classified discussions. When she’d noticed Blake sneaking aboard Hand’s aircraft, curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Now she was looking forward to whatever secret he intended to reveal.

Maybe they’re going to confess their feelings for each other.

She leaned forward, thoroughly invested.

Blake moved closer to Hand and lowered his voice.

"Don’t you think this entire meeting is suspicious?"

"Suspicious? Certainly."

Hand frowned briefly, then shrugged.

"A gathering of this many senior agents is unusual, but Agent Coulson has made a habit of doing things outside established procedures."

"Outside established procedures?" Blake gave a humorless laugh. "I’d call it a conspiracy."

His expression hardened.

"Look at everything Coulson has done recently. How many regulations has he violated? How many international laws? Yet nobody seems particularly interested in holding him accountable."

Hand’s expression changed.

"Agent Blake, that’s an extremely serious accusation."

Blake wasn’t merely accusing Coulson of misconduct. He was implying that someone higher up had deliberately allowed Coulson to break the rules.

And Coulson was now a Level Eight agent.

That left only a handful of people with the authority to protect him. The Director, perhaps. Or the Secretary.

Hand studied Blake carefully.

"What evidence do you have?"

She knew him well enough to believe he understood the gravity of his claim. Blake was a senior agent, not some conspiracy theorist who mistook rumors for facts.

If he was willing to make such an accusation, he must have a reason.

"I’ll leave the general violations aside for now," Blake replied. "Those can be documented, although people will always argue that intelligence work requires bending the rules."

He moved straight to specific examples.

"Coulson personally recruited Michael Peterson. Peterson disappeared while carrying out one of Coulson’s assignments. When he resurfaced, he was working against us. What’s his current designation again? Deathlok?"

Blake shook his head.

"Sounds like a name for a professional wrestler who keeps losing matches."

Hand didn’t smile.

Blake continued.

"Then there’s the operation to rescue Professor Hall. Coulson went in to save the man, and somehow the mission ended with Hall accused of collaborating with the enemy. We also uncovered the whole Gravitonium mess, and Hall died on the scene."

He paused, then added another charge.

"And Coulson concealed the crimes of Hall’s protégé, Akela Amador. He even released her without authorization."

Claire’s attention sharpened.

Amador had been involved in an operation Coulson had overseen some time ago, codenamed Eye Spy. She had been fitted with a mechanical eye capable of advanced scanning and real-time communications, along with a miniature explosive device.

The technology had turned her into an effective instrument for espionage and sabotage.

Coulson eventually captured her.

Then he let her go.

His explanation had been that Amador was being coerced.

Blake continued.

"Now Coulson has suddenly introduced another enemy called the Clairvoyant. Someone supposedly capable of mind-reading and possessing all-seeing knowledge."

He gave a skeptical snort.

"Granted, we received confirmation from our consultant’s girlfriend that people with such abilities exist. But she also made it clear that they’re extraordinarily rare, and that using those abilities comes with severe limitations."

His eyes narrowed.

"And we all know how close Coulson is to our consultant. Coulson contacted Evenson first, and the two of them have collaborated more often than any of the other agents combined."

Hand considered that.

"You think the consultant is lying too? That he’s helping Coulson conceal something?"

She sighed.

"I’ve met Evenson personally, unlike you. On the surface, he’s an unserious man who spends his time making bad jokes and acting as though nothing matters."

Her expression grew colder.

"But I’ve seen what happens when he decides to use a prisoner."

Hand pointed to her eyes.

"I watched him casually announce that he was going to experiment on someone. When he finished, the prisoner barely resembled a human being. All he could do was beg to be killed."

She lowered her hand.

"I saw his eyes clearly that day. Beneath all the amusement, there’s a coldness that never goes away."

Blake remained silent.

"Read his operational records," Hand continued. "Whenever he gets involved in a mission, his targets rarely survive. The few who do are lucky if they remain in one piece."

She shook her head.

"He’s a monster without a conscience."

Hand met Blake’s gaze.

"So your argument is that this man would deliberately lie because of friendship?"

"Maybe not friendship," Blake replied. "But he does care about money."

Hand stared at him.

"Perhaps Evenson wouldn’t betray anyone for the sake of a friend, but money might persuade him."

Hand let out a dry laugh.

"If he valued money as much as you think, why would he wait for someone to bribe him? He could have built himself a multinational corporation worth billions by now. He’d be rich, powerful, and surrounded by beautiful women."

She shook her head.

"That’s not a convincing explanation. And it doesn’t answer the two most important questions: how does the Clairvoyant always stay one step ahead of us, and how did Deathlok locate John in a supposedly secure safe house?"

"That’s where things get interesting."

Blake raised one finger.

"Think about it. The Clairvoyant consistently anticipates our operations. We arrive at empty locations, lose the initiative, and find ourselves unable to mount an effective response. Even our most secure hideouts are discovered with ridiculous ease."

He paused.

"On the surface, that sounds exactly like someone who can read minds and see everything."

Blake leaned closer.

"But I gathered all the reports from those failed operations and analyzed them together. I approached the problem from a completely different angle."

His eyes widened with intensity.

"And I found something everyone had overlooked—or something someone had deliberately concealed."

Hand waited.

"To do everything the Clairvoyant has done, you don’t need any of those supernatural abilities."

Blake’s voice dropped.

"You just need one thing."

He held up a finger.

"Level Eight clearance."

Hand went still.

"Agent Blake... do you understand what you’re suggesting?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Blake gave a bitter smile.

"I reviewed every failed operation and every reported intelligence leak. All of the compromised information fell within the scope of Level Eight clearance. Anyone with that level of access could obtain the details of every operation we’ve lost."

He let the implication hang between them.

"No mind-reading. No supernatural omniscience. Just access to classified information."

Hand struggled to process what she was hearing.

"You think the Clairvoyant is a Level Eight agent working inside S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

She swallowed.

"And you think that agent is Coulson?"

Blake didn’t hesitate.

"Which is more likely: an elusive psychic who may not even exist, or a traitor with Level Eight access?"

Hand’s expression became unreadable.

"Honestly, I don’t want to believe either possibility."

Level Eight clearance wasn’t something handed out casually. Agents who reached that rank were expected to demonstrate exceptional competence and unwavering loyalty.

Coulson had earned the Director’s trust. He had been promoted after years of service and had passed every evaluation required to reach his current position.

The idea that he might betray S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed almost impossible.

Yet the world had changed dramatically in recent years.

Magic. Gods. Aliens.

One extraordinary revelation after another had shattered assumptions that once seemed unassailable. In such a world, the sudden appearance of someone with unusual mental abilities wasn’t impossible.

"That’s a fair point," Blake conceded. "Maybe I’m too old-fashioned."

He looked away for a moment.

"But old-fashioned doesn’t mean obsolete. The strongest fortresses are still vulnerable to someone who opens the gates from the inside."

His voice hardened.

"Intelligence organizations have seen this pattern countless times. The same person can act as both the arsonist and the firefighter, creating a crisis and then presenting himself as the man who saves the day."

Hand interrupted him.

"Those are still suspicions."

She exhaled slowly.

"I admit your theory is logically consistent. But you have no evidence proving it. If you want to accuse a Level Eight agent of treason, you need more than a pattern that looks suspicious."

"I know."

Blake nodded.

"That’s why I joined this operation. I should be able to find something useful while we’re investigating the Clairvoyant."

Hand lowered her gaze.

"I can’t say I hope you succeed."

She understood why Blake had approached her privately. He wasn’t simply sharing a theory; he was preparing for the possibility that the investigation might cost him his life.

"You want me to be your emergency contact," she said. "Or, if something happens to you, the person who carries on your investigation."

"Exactly."

Blake paused.

"Although I think the emergency-contact part is enough. Let’s leave the rest alone."

"Believe me, I have no desire to inherit that responsibility."

Hand folded her arms and thought for a long moment.

Finally, she looked at him.

"All I can do is wish you luck. And hope your theory is wrong."

Blake managed a small smile.

"I hope it’s wrong more than anyone."

He turned and returned to Coulson’s aircraft, leaving Hand alone with her thoughts.

Claire watched him go, her translucent face thoughtful.

For once, she had no joke to make.