S.H.I.E.L.D. was already on the verge of collapse. At this point, there was probably no saving it.
Nick Fury himself wasn’t exactly a failed ruler, but most of the people working beneath him...
Calling them traitors would almost be giving them too much credit.
They were enemy agents who had infiltrated the organization and were actively plotting to overthrow it from within.
With S.H.I.E.L.D. already this rotten, Evenson had no particular interest in trying to save it.
But Fury’s proposal was different.
Evenson was very interested in accepting Gideon Malick’s attempt to recruit him.
Because whatever the meeting actually meant behind closed doors, appearances still mattered.
On paper, Malick wanted to win Evenson over so that, when the time came, Evenson wouldn’t automatically side with S.H.I.E.L.D.
But a matter this important couldn’t possibly be settled after one conversation.
Was Evenson the sort of man who folded after one push?
Absolutely not.
This needed to be a proper negotiation.
Back and forth.
Several meetings.
A few polite refusals.
Enough rounds that everyone involved could pretend they were taking the matter very seriously.
The longer it lasted, the better.
And every time they met, surely Malick wouldn’t expect Evenson to negotiate empty-handed.
Ancient artifacts.
Precious metals.
Treasures.
A few appropriate "gifts" here and there.
That was only good manners.
Besides, this was practically an officially sanctioned shakedown.
If Evenson didn’t squeeze this wealthy sucker for everything the opportunity was worth, he’d be committing a crime against his own wallet.
Unfortunately, before he could begin this noble endeavor, there was another matter to handle.
Coulson needed his soul repaired.
Coulson was a friend.
A brother in arms.
Naturally, Evenson was putting friendship first.
That had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Malick’s invitation wasn’t scheduled for another five days.
Nothing whatsoever.
"This is ridiculous."
Clea stood in the lounge of the aircraft, looking thoroughly fed up.
"I spent one night sleeping in a S.H.I.E.L.D. lounge. I haven’t even made it home yet, and now I’m back on this plane."
Coulson was currently at a secret S.H.I.E.L.D. facility called Tahiti, where preparations were being made for his brain surgery.
That meant the three of them had to fly there.
Clea clearly wasn’t thrilled about it.
Her eyes swept across the cabin.
Then they landed on a particular door.
One eyebrow twitched.
That room had once belonged to Melinda.
"The facilities on this plane are decent," Clea said, "but I’ve had enough of it."
Evenson’s heart nearly stopped.
He glanced at the room.
Then at Clea.
His palms began to sweat.
Sure, what had happened with Melinda had technically been nothing more than a friendly hookup.
But doing that across the hall from his girlfriend’s room?
That was starting to feel less like bad judgment and more like an elaborate suicide attempt.
She didn’t know.
She definitely didn’t know.
Evenson forced himself to remain calm.
If Clea had discovered what happened that night, she’d have already come charging in with two enchanted axes.
There was no way she’d be standing here this calmly.
And he’d been extremely careful.
He’d put up a privacy barrier around the room that night.
Unless someone had broken through it, Clea couldn’t have sensed anything that happened inside.
Probably.
Almost certainly.
Everything was fine.
It was completely fine.
The journey continued.
Clea spent the entire flight looking increasingly displeased.
Evenson spent the entire flight quietly sweating.
Every passing minute made the pressure in his chest worse.
At some point, his imagination began producing phantom voices from every direction.
Confess and face a severe punishment.
Resist and face an even worse one.
Evenson nearly broke.
Fortunately, he was a Warlock.
Years of dealing with dark magic had given him an impressive amount of mental discipline.
He forcibly suppressed the rising panic before it could overwhelm him.
When the aircraft finally landed, Fury stepped out and immediately noticed Evenson.
The man looked like he’d just survived a marathon in a sauna.
His hair was soaked with sweat.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Fury stared.
"Do you have a fear of flying?"
"I’m fine."
Evenson wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and wrung out his handkerchief.
"I’ll be fine after I cool down."
"He’s probably exhausted from the battles he’s been through."
Clea glanced at him.
There was something suspiciously meaningful in her eyes.
"He needs some rest."
"Exactly."
Evenson’s smile was painfully awkward.
"That big spell I used outside Sokovia took a lot out of me."
He almost sweated through his clothes again.
Fury’s single eye moved slowly between the two of them.
He studied their expressions for a moment.
Then he shook his head and walked toward the facility.
Whatever strange argument the young couple was having, it was none of his business.
Once inside, Fury immediately approached the attending physician.
"How’s Coulson?"
"Not much has changed."
The doctor looked up at him.
"His emotional state is stable most of the time."
The doctor silently wondered why Fury bothered asking.
The man called eight times a day.
Surely he already knew the patient’s condition better than anyone.
"Good."
Fury looked around.
"Everyone who isn’t directly involved, leave. We have something to take care of."
He had no intention of letting unnecessary personnel learn about Mephisto.
The doctors and security personnel didn’t need to be told twice.
They disappeared almost instantly.
They didn’t want to know.
Everyone who worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. understood one of its most basic rules:
The more you knew, the more likely you were to end up dead.
Once the room was empty, Evenson glanced around.
Then he looked through the window at Coulson, who was strapped securely to the bed.
"Looks like it’s time to call Mephisto."
"Good."
Fury nodded.
"You can clap now."
He remembered the last time Evenson had summoned Mephisto.
Six claps.
That had apparently done the trick.
Evenson looked at him with open disdain.
"Really?"
He pulled out his phone.
"I’ll do you one better."
He dialed a number and held the screen directly in front of Fury.
The contact name read:
666
Fury stared.
"The contract has his phone number in it."
Evenson smiled.
"Didn’t you read the fine print?"
He waited until the phone had rung exactly three times.
Then he hung up.
A voice filled the room from directly behind them.
"I knew it was you."
Mephisto stepped out of the shadows.
He was still holding his own phone against his face.
He looked deeply offended.
"Do you have any idea how many people like you are currently sitting in Hell?"
He glared at Evenson.
"You call the Lord of Hell, let the phone ring three times, and then hang up?"
"What exactly were you expecting?"
Evenson shrugged.
"I have no idea how much an interdimensional long-distance call to Hell costs."
He gestured toward the phone.
"What if you answered and I got charged enough to spend next month eating instant noodles? Are you paying the bill?"
"I live in Los Angeles!"
Mephisto pointed furiously at himself.
"My phone is a Los Angeles number!"
He stopped.
His expression slowly changed.
"Forget it."
Arguing over phone charges with Evenson was clearly beneath him.
Besides, he had no time to waste.
There were several gorgeous women waiting for him at his newly opened bar.
Mephisto collected himself.
Then he pointed toward the hospital room.
"He’s in there, right?"
He rubbed his hands together impatiently.
"Good. Let’s get this over with."
He moved toward the door.
Fury casually added, "It’s password-protected."
Mephisto raised one hand.
The keypad immediately came alive.
A rapid sequence of electronic beeps sounded.
The lock opened by itself.
Mephisto turned around and gave them a broad grin.
"I told you."
He spread his hands.
"Anything can be picked up by me."
Evenson’s eyes lit up with undisguised envy.
"That must make withdrawing money from an ATM incredibly convenient."
Mephisto ignored him.
At least, he tried to.
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