Sarah and Taylor had already activated the prepared Summoning Stone, pulling Evenson safely back into the basement beneath his shop.
Honestly, the Summoning Stone had to be one of the greatest conveniences ever invented for a Warlock. Home, battlefield, another continent... distance stopped mattering as long as someone remained behind to complete the ritual.
The only spell that rivaled it in day-to-day usefulness was the Ritual of Souls.
There was a reason every raid eventually learned to appreciate Warlocks.
The moment he arrived, Evenson peeled off the immaculate black suit that had completed his "mysterious Umbrella executive" persona. He carefully folded it before handing it to Sarah.
"When you have time, return this to the rental shop."
He hesitated.
"If I’m late, they’ll keep my security deposit."
Being poor for long enough permanently rewired a person’s priorities.
Buying an expensive tailored suit just to impress someone for an afternoon?
Absolutely not.
Renting one?
Now that was financially responsible.
Sarah accepted the suit with a completely straight face.
Evenson disappeared into the bathroom.
A few minutes later he emerged, rubbing his eyes as he combed his hair back into its usual style.
"The slicked-back look really isn’t for me."
He blinked several times.
"Changing my eye color with magic is surprisingly uncomfortable."
Sarah snorted.
"Just admit you got shampoo in your eyes."
"..."
Evenson coughed awkwardly.
"Ahem."
Then, with the practiced skill of someone abandoning a losing argument, he changed the subject.
"Habus should be in position by now."
"It ought to be time."
Sarah slid the rented suit into a paper bag.
"I checked with him before you got back."
"He said that if everything goes smoothly..."
"...they’ll move tonight."
Evenson glanced through the basement window.
The last traces of daylight were disappearing beyond New York’s skyline.
"Tonight?"
He stretched.
"That’s sooner than I expected."
Then he smiled.
"Fine."
"Once this is over, I can finally take a break."
It was evening in New York.
In Afghanistan...
It was well past midnight.
Three UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters skimmed low across the desert, barely eighty meters above the sand.
Flying this low made navigation more dangerous, but it also made searching far more effective.
Inside the lead helicopter, the pilot sighed into his headset.
"You know what’s bothering me?"
"My buddy disappeared six months ago."
"They searched for one lousy week before giving up."
He shook his head.
"But one rich civilian disappears..."
"We’ve been flying search missions for twenty-two straight days."
The co-pilot immediately elbowed him.
He subtly jerked his head toward the rear cabin.
Careful.
We’ve got company.
The pilot wisely shut up.
Unfortunately, helicopters were loud enough that every conversation went through the radio headsets.
Their passenger had heard every word.
"It’s all right."
Phil Coulson smiled good-naturedly from the back of the aircraft.
"I understand."
"It happens."
"No need to worry, gentlemen. This is probably your first assignment with me."
He shrugged.
"I’m not going to report either of you to your commanding officer."
The tension inside the cockpit eased immediately.
"That’s good to hear."
The co-pilot laughed.
"I’ve got to admit, though..."
"You people from Washington adapt to this place surprisingly fast."
"I’ve been somewhere worse," Coulson replied.
That immediately caught the co-pilot’s attention.
"Really?"
"Can you tell us about it?"
Coulson smiled apologetically.
"Certainly."
"I’ll just call Washington first and ask for permission."
The co-pilot groaned.
"I swear, Agent Coulson..."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. has rules for everything."
Coulson merely smiled.
He couldn’t exactly argue with that.
Unlike most agents, he hadn’t remained safely inside the base after arriving in Afghanistan.
He insisted on joining the search flights personally.
Partly because he took his assignment seriously.
Mostly because Habus was with him.
There was no chance he was leaving that oversized husky in someone else’s care.
The helicopter carried only four occupants.
The pilot.
The co-pilot.
Phil Coulson.
And one remarkably opinionated dog.
At Habus’s insistence, the side door had been left completely open.
His explanation had been simple.
The scents are better.
The rest of the helicopter’s occupants had wrapped themselves in heavy winter jackets while freezing in the desert night.
Habus seemed perfectly comfortable.
The co-pilot looked toward the husky lying calmly beside the open doorway.
"I’ve been meaning to ask."
"How exactly did S.H.I.E.L.D. train a husky into a military search dog?"
Huskies weren’t exactly famous for discipline.
If anything, they were famous for disappearing the instant someone unclipped the leash.
Yet this one had become part of a federal operation.
That was almost harder to believe than aliens.
Coulson smiled helplessly.
He honestly had no idea how to answer.
"So..."
The co-pilot lowered his voice.
"Genetic engineering?"
Coulson smiled again.
Still no answer.
Does magical construct count as genetic engineering? he wondered.
The co-pilot nodded knowingly.
"Right."
"Classified."
"You people really do keep a lot of secrets."
This time it was Coulson who simply smiled.
The pilot finally joined the conversation again.
"I don’t know."
He glanced toward Habus.
"Looks like a normal husky to me."
"Just as dumb as the rest."
Habus’s ears twitched.
Instantly.
The enormous dog slowly lifted his head and fixed the pilot with an unsettling stare.
Coulson reacted with astonishing speed.
His hand dove into a nearby bag.
A fistful of premium dog food disappeared directly into Habus’s mouth.
The husky immediately forgot about the insult and resumed chewing contentedly while lying beside the open door.
Coulson quietly released the breath he’d been holding.
You should thank me later.
Otherwise, you’d probably spend the rest of your life explaining to psychiatrists why a talking dog ruined your worldview.
He knew Habus well enough by now.
Only Evenson and the people living at the shop were allowed to call him stupid.
Everyone else...
Needed either an apology...
Or premium dog treats.
The conversation drifted to safer topics after that.
The co-pilot wisely avoided classified subjects, and before long everyone was chatting comfortably.
None of them noticed Habus’s nose twitch.
The husky quietly opened his mouth.
A small sphere of dark emerald liquid drifted silently into the night.
It fell toward the desert below.
Instead of soaking into the sand, the liquid spread outward in intricate lines until it formed a glowing green magic circle roughly a meter across.
About twenty meters away...
Five figures suddenly burst upward from beneath the sand.
Each discarded a silver thermal blanket before stuffing it into a backpack.
Beneath the camouflage were traditional desert robes.
Each man carried an AK-47.
None of them looked surprised by the freezing desert night.
"Those American dogs are finally gone."
One of the bearded men spat into the sand.
"We’re supposed to be searching this desert for Tony Stark..."
"...and we still have to hide from those damned helicopters."
"They’re relentless," another muttered.
"They never let anything go."
"Couldn’t agree more."
The unfamiliar voice came from directly behind them.
Every one of the five terrorists spun around, rifles snapping into firing position.
Then they froze.
Standing there was a young white man wearing nothing more than a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans.
In the middle of the Afghan desert.
Before dawn.
In below-freezing temperatures.
The stranger sniffed once.
"...Yeah."
"I definitely underestimated how cold this place gets."
He rubbed his arms before offering them an apologetic smile.
"So..."
"If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind cooperating..."
"I’d like to finish this quickly and get back home."
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