"We could just use a portal."
Claire slipped two brass sling rings onto her fingers and looked at Evenson.
"We can open a gateway to the London Sanctum, then another from there into Eastern Europe. While we’re at it, we can alert the local sorcerers and have them help search for the devil."
Evenson seriously considered it.
Nick Fury had spent the last ten minutes insisting that the vehicle he’d arranged was "the finest bus on Earth."
Evenson remained unconvinced.
It’s probably just some overengineered mobile command center.
Big deal.
Besides, unless he remembered incorrectly, the base they were standing in was built into the side of a cliff.
How exactly was a bus supposed to get up here?
And they were heading to Eastern Europe.
A bus?
What was the plan? Drive across the Atlantic?
Even if the thing somehow doubled as a submarine, by the time they arrived winter solstice would have come and gone. They’d be celebrating New Year’s instead.
"The bus is here," Fury announced after receiving a message.
Evenson raised an eyebrow.
Already?
What, does it fly?
Judging by Fury’s smug expression...
...it just might.
A few minutes later, Evenson stood outside the facility, staring at the so-called bus.
"...You’ve got to be kidding me."
He’d made one critical mistake.
Americans apparently had an alarming tendency to call enormous aircraft "buses."
A massive black transport plane, over fifty meters long and nearly three stories tall, descended vertically toward the landing pad.
Its engines thundered loudly enough to make the air vibrate.
Fury folded his arms proudly.
"A modified C-17 Globemaster III."
"I added two auxiliary tail fins, a pair of extra engines, and enough weapons systems to discourage bad decisions."
He smiled.
"It’s an airborne fortress."
"A mobile command center."
"And a fairly comfortable home."
Claire quietly removed her sling rings.
"Forget the portals."
She grinned like a child.
"This is so much cooler."
Evenson rubbed his chin.
"I have a feeling this wasn’t built for me."
He studied the aircraft a little longer before looking toward Fury.
"Coulson?"
Fury gave him an annoyed look.
"You know..."
"Sometimes you’re so perceptive it becomes genuinely irritating."
Still, he answered.
"Once Coulson returns, his survival will become a Level Seven clearance secret."
"No one below that level will even know he’s alive."
"And officially..."
"...he’ll stay dead."
For the first time, genuine regret flickered across Fury’s face.
"Do you understand what that means?"
"It destroys his old life."
Evenson sighed.
"His family."
"His friends."
"The woman he loves."
"They’ll all believe he died."
"And they’ll never see him again."
It was cruel.
Coulson’s cellist girlfriend would never know the truth.
As far as the world was concerned...
Phil Coulson had died.
Forever.
"Necessary," Fury replied quietly.
"But cruel."
He hardened his expression again.
"The problem is that a decision like this leaves scars."
"I don’t have the luxury of waiting years for him to recover."
"So you’re giving him the bus as therapy?"
Evenson couldn’t resist adopting Fury’s terminology.
Fury shook his head.
"Not the bus."
"A team."
"A close-knit team."
"Purpose."
"Responsibility."
"People who depend on him."
"That’s the best treatment I know."
"It also keeps him too busy to dwell on the past."
"And while he’s recovering," Evenson added dryly, "he conveniently solves your problems."
"That’s the real objective."
Fury smirked.
"I prefer to think of it as efficient management."
Evenson pointed back toward the base.
"Most people work their employees to death."
"You actually killed yours..."
"...and now you’re putting him back to work."
"Careful."
Fury’s grin widened.
"That could be you someday."
Evenson tilted his head.
"Terrifying."
From the open cargo ramp, Claire leaned out and waved enthusiastically.
"What are you two waiting for?"
"This thing is incredible!"
"We’re coming!"
Evenson called back.
Fury turned toward Melinda May.
"You’ll accompany them."
"I want you to become familiar with the aircraft."
May immediately understood what he wasn’t saying.
This wouldn’t be her last assignment aboard it.
She would eventually become part of Coulson’s team.
A faint spark of surprise crossed her normally unreadable expression.
"Understood."
"One more thing."
Fury’s tone became serious.
"Coulson may be the team’s leader..."
"...but you’ll be its backbone."
"And don’t volunteer."
"Make him ask."
May blinked.
"Sir?"
She found the instruction oddly specific.
Everyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. knew she’d retired from field work.
No one would dare pressure her into returning.
And Coulson would never presume.
Fury only smiled knowingly.
"He’ll ask."
"I know him."
With everything settled, Evenson, Claire, and Melinda boarded the aircraft.
To Evenson’s surprise, however, they didn’t head toward Eastern Europe.
Instead, the plane diverted to a secluded S.H.I.E.L.D. airfield.
He frowned.
The aircraft had barely begun its journey.
It didn’t need fuel.
Its supplies were fully stocked.
So why stop?
The cargo ramp lowered.
Twenty fully armed tactical agents marched aboard in perfect formation.
The officer leading them snapped a salute.
"Director Fury’s orders, sir."
"We’re here to reinforce your operation."
Evenson nodded in understanding.
So this stop hadn’t been about refueling.
It had been about loading combat power.
Ordinarily, the team would’ve boarded first before picking them up.
But the Tahiti Facility was among S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most tightly guarded secrets.
The fewer people who knew its location, the better.
So the order had simply been reversed.
Evenson looked over the squad.
Against devils?
Their rifles wouldn’t accomplish much.
Bullets meant very little to demons.
Or to the Ghost Rider, for that matter.
Still...
Running an aircraft like this required personnel.
Someone had to operate sensors, communications, logistics, and the dozen other systems neither he nor Claire knew the first thing about.
Besides, devils excelled at corrupting ordinary people.
If Locke had recruited human followers, these agents would be invaluable.
Evenson turned toward the squad leader.
"Name?"
The man removed his helmet.
He had a square jaw, hard features, and the calm confidence of a veteran soldier.
"Rumlow, sir."
"Agent Brock Rumlow."
Evenson stared at him for a second.
Then he sighed inwardly.
Fury really does know how to pick them.
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