Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

"That Javelin thing..."

Evenson gestured with one hand as he spoke, raising it high and then letting it drop.

"You mean the man-portable missile where the warhead shoots straight up into the sky, then comes screaming back down onto the target?"

Claire and Melinda stared at him with the patient sympathy normally reserved for someone who had just said something profoundly stupid.

Then they both nodded.

The reminder finally jogged Evenson’s memory.

He did know what weapon they were talking about.

He’d always called it by its proper nickname, the "Sky Rocket," though. When Melinda had referred to it as a Javelin, his brain simply hadn’t made the connection.

His hatred of the weapon went all the way back to his first time using it in a game.

He’d locked onto his target perfectly.

Then fired.

The missile promptly went straight into the sky.

At the time, he’d actually marveled at how realistic the game was. He’d even told Claire that it was impressive enough to simulate weapon malfunctions.

Claire’s response had been silent contempt.

After that, Evenson had developed a lasting grudge against the Javelin.

Thinking about it now, though, the weapon was primarily designed for armored targets and fortified positions. Hitting a low-flying helicopter was already difficult.

Their aircraft was cruising above the clouds.

A Javelin wasn’t much of a threat.

Still...

"Milkhakov is a Russian arms dealer, yet he managed to get his hands on American weapons."

Evenson’s eyes narrowed.

"He’s more capable than I expected."

Russian arms dealers generally dealt in Soviet-designed weapons. If Milkhakov had been selling RPGs, there would have been nothing unusual about it.

But NATO-standard anti-armor missiles?

That was considerably more interesting.

Of course, that didn’t mean NATO weapons couldn’t end up on the black market.

The United States was the largest arms dealer in the world, after all.

Weapons could be sold through official government channels, but there were also plenty of unofficial middlemen handling smuggling and gray-market transactions.

Those brokers with government connections generally knew where the lines were.

They didn’t particularly care whether their clients were rebels or authoritarian warlords.

They didn’t even care whether those regimes had questionable habits.

The important thing was that the buyer had enough political standing to make the transaction defensible.

Politics complicated everything.

That complexity was also what protected the brokers.

If something went wrong, there would be someone powerful enough to clean up the mess.

Which was why they generally avoided openly notorious terrorists.

Apart from the obvious problem of terrorists being terrible at honoring financial agreements, there was another issue.

If a transaction became public, it could embarrass the people behind the broker.

And when the people at the top became unhappy, the broker usually didn’t survive long enough to complain.

Milkhakov was clearly not a NATO-country representative.

And Carrigan?

He might technically qualify as a potential client for some of those brokers, but he would be very close to the bottom of anyone’s priority list.

Which made the transaction suspicious.

"Milkhakov Berikov was one of the earliest major arms dealers to rise to prominence after the collapse of the Soviet Union."

Melinda answered Evenson’s question calmly.

"He built his initial fortune by reselling weapons and equipment left behind by the Soviet military. After that, his business expanded rapidly."

Her expression hardened slightly.

"He eliminated more than a few competitors along the way. Ruthlessly. These days, he’s one of the biggest names in the Eastern European arms trade."

"He’s also developed relationships with some very influential international arms dealers."

Melinda paused.

"After all..."

Her voice became pointed.

"Capital has a way of moving."

Evenson caught the meaning immediately.

No businessman ever complained about having too much business.

But even the most powerful outsiders couldn’t ignore local connections.

If Western weapons wanted to move through Eastern Europe, someone local had to handle the distribution.

And the reverse was just as true.

"So he’s a broker for the brokers."

Evenson smiled faintly.

"That’s quite the business."

Then his expression became more pointed.

"And S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t do anything about this?"

Melinda turned her head away.

She took a slow breath before answering.

"The global arms trade is a web. The people involved have connections everywhere."

She sounded slightly uncomfortable.

"Several of the world’s major arms-exporting nations have representatives on the World Security Council. And besides..."

She hesitated.

"Not every arms transaction is necessarily bad for world peace."

Evenson said nothing.

Melinda continued.

"A direct war between major powers could easily become the end of human civilization. Every intelligent leader understands that."

"But when resources and interests are involved, someone still has to come out ahead."

"And beyond competing through economics, diplomacy, and soft power, the other way to measure influence is military strength."

She glanced down at the quarry.

"The major powers don’t fight each other directly. Instead, they compete through smaller countries."

"You support the government. I support the opposition."

"You provide satellite intelligence. I provide tactical advisers."

"You sell them aircraft. I sell them missiles."

Melinda gave a small shrug.

"The major powers can exhaust almost every method of competition without ever putting their own soldiers on the battlefield."

"Then the smaller country’s war determines who has the advantage, and the results become another bargaining chip at the negotiating table."

Her expression remained grim.

"It’s ugly, but it’s also one way of preventing another world war."

"So S.H.I.E.L.D. simply doesn’t want to interfere."

Evenson’s eyes flickered.

"How disappointing."

Melinda didn’t look ashamed.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is powerful because most of the people whose interests we protect support us."

"But if we interfere with something they consider their business, we lose that support."

She looked back at him.

"And without that support, we’re nothing."

She paused.

"Of course, if they cross a line, we won’t hesitate to deal with them."

Evenson understood.

These arms dealers were already dancing on a razor’s edge.

As long as they stayed within certain boundaries, powerful people had reasons to tolerate them.

But if they went too far, everyone would suddenly be happy to see S.H.I.E.L.D. take them apart.

Evenson smiled inwardly.

That works for me.

He waved away the subject.

"Enough of that. Have Rumlow and the others get ready."

He looked down toward the quarry.

"We’re going in and getting that kid back."

Melinda was ready to agree immediately, but she hesitated.

"You don’t want to keep fishing?"

The order was completely different from Evenson’s usual strategy.

"If the fishing line is broken, you replace it."

Evenson shrugged.

"Besides, we’ve still got the bait. Why would I worry about the fish not biting?"

Blackheart already knew that the Ghost Rider was pursuing Danny.

Unless the demon had suffered a catastrophic loss of common sense, he wouldn’t believe Carrigan was capable of stopping the Ghost Rider.

Even if Blackheart had temporarily blocked the Rider’s ability to sense Danny, that was only a temporary measure.

He would eventually send someone else.

Someone he actually trusted to get the job done.

Once that happened, Carrigan’s survival wouldn’t matter.

Melinda looked down at the quarry.

The entire place was brightly illuminated.

Armed mercenaries moved between the buildings and vehicles.

"There are a lot of them."

She frowned.

"Rumlow’s team is elite, but getting inside and extracting the kid without being detected is going to be difficult."

"Don’t worry."

Evenson smiled.

"I’ve got a way to heat things up first."

He had barely finished speaking when a burst of manic laughter echoed up from the lower deck of the aircraft.

Evenson looked toward the sound.

Melinda did too.

Something down there was clearly enjoying itself.

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