Three days. Three friggin days of hiding in his own building like a criminal while Peggy Carter turned Manhattan upside down looking for him.
Alexander stood in the sub-level equipment vault, watching Oleg effortlessly stack lead-lined cases that'd give normal guys hernias. He handled them extra careful, like he was scared of accidentally wrecking the damn things.
"She's been to every property we own in the city," Torrio reported, checking items off his clipboard with practiced efficiency. The former Chicago Outfit boss might not have super strength, but his organizational skills were super enough. "Twice to the penthouse. Your mother's getting suspicious."
"What did you tell her?"
"That you're in São Paulo dealing with a rubber plantation crisis. Caught something tropical. Very contagious, quarantined in a private hospital."
Alexander selected two modified Thompsons from the weapons rack. The recoil systems had been rebuilt to handle enhanced strength without the barrels climbing to the ceiling. "And she bought it?"
"She demanded the hospital's phone number."
"Shit."
"I gave her one. Routes to a very convincing Brazilian doctor who doesn't exist." Torrio finally looked up. "Cost us five grand to set up, but he's got a great bedside manner."
Oleg lifted another case, this one with refrigeration coils humming quietly. "British woman still trying to get in building?"
"Every day," Torrio answered. "She's been to the main entrance, the service doors, even tried to bluff her way past security with fake War Department credentials."
"Fake?" Alexander asked.
"Oh, they're real credentials. Just not for anything that gives her access to Sterling Enterprises." Torrio smirked. "She's getting creative though. Yesterday she tried to follow a delivery truck into the loading dock."
Oleg set the case down with exaggerated gentleness. "She is like hungry cat outside fish shop. Very determined."
For three days, Peggy had circled Sterling Tower like a shark, probing for weaknesses. She'd tried everything short of breaking and entering, though Alexander suspected that was only a matter of time.
"What's her cover story this time?" Alexander strapped on his vest, vibranium scales catching the light.
"Investigating irregularities in strategic material allocations. Needs your signature on various forms. Very urgent. Matter of national security." Torrio rolled his eyes. "She's got a briefcase full of official-looking paperwork."
"Let me guess - forms that would require me to appear in person at the SSR?"
"Got it in one. She's not subtle."
Oleg continued loading specialized handling equipment into padded cases, "Boss, these tongs... what they for?"
"Handling delicate archaeological samples," Alexander lied smoothly. The non-conductive polymer was perfect for handling objects of unknown energy output, but Oleg didn't need those details. "Very fragile. Very expensive."
"Everything we do is very expensive." Oleg sealed another case. "Is good thing you rich."
"Vinnie's last report?" Alexander asked Torrio.
"Secured the perimeter. Local authorities think they're an archaeological team from Lisbon University. The Council of Nine has people in the nearest village, but they haven't found the actual site yet."
"They will soon with how far up my ass they've been reaching." Alexander watched Oleg stack the last cases like they were made of cardboard. "How's our South American story holding up?"
"I've had three 'updates' sent from São Paulo about your deteriorating condition. Tropical fever, complications, considering evacuation to better facilities." Torrio smiled thinly. "Amazing how cooperative people become when you wire them money."
"Keep it going. Have me dramatically recover in about a week, then spend another week convalescing." Alexander headed for the door. "Ready, Oleg?"
"Da. Though I still say we should just tell British woman you are not here."
"She wouldn't believe it. Peggy Carter's like a bloodhound with better legs and a working knowledge of explosives." Alexander paused at the door. "Torrio, once we're airborne, leak that I was spotted at the Jersey airfield. Let her chase that thread."
"You want her to know you're running?"
"I want her focused on following me, not investigating what I left behind." Alexander's smile was sharp. "Plus, it'll drive her crazy that she just missed me."
Torrio gathered his papers. "I'll handle things here. Try not to start an international incident."
"When have I ever?"
"Chicago, 1932. Detroit, 1934. That thing in Cuba..."
"Those were domestic incidents. Completely different."
---
"Boss," Oleg said as they drove through the pre-dawn darkness, "this enhancement... is not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"To be strong. Is true, am strong. But other things..." Oleg stared at his hands in the dim light. "Yesterday, I read entire newspaper in two minutes. Not skimming. Every word, every advertisement. Brain just... ate it."
Alexander knew the feeling. The cognitive enhancement was almost more disorienting than the physical changes. "The neural pathway optimization takes adjustment."
"Is like someone put a Spitfire engine in a tractor but forgot to tell me how to steer." Oleg flexed his fingers carefully. "Body moves before brain sometimes. Dropped glass, hand caught before I knew it fell. Very confusing."
"Reflexive response enhancement. Your nervous system processes stimuli faster than your conscious mind." Alexander watched the city blur past. "Useful in combat."
The Jersey airfield materialized out of the morning mist, their modified DC-3 already warming up. Oleg handled the loading alone, moving cases that would have required a whole crew. Each movement careful, controlled, like watching a giant trying not to step on ants.
"Careful with the refrigeration units," Alexander called out, though he knew Oleg's enhanced coordination made accidents unlikely.
Once airborne, Alexander finally let himself relax. Below them, the Atlantic stretched endless and gray. In a few hours, they'd be in Portugal, cracking open secrets that weren't supposed to be found for another 4 to 5 years.
"Boss," the pilot called back, "we've got weather reports. Clear sailing all the way to Porto."
"Good." Alexander settled into his seat across from Oleg. "So, tell me more about the changes. I need to know what the others might be experiencing."
Oleg unwrapped a sandwich – his third since they'd left the tower. "Hunger is like bear before winter. Never stops. Five thousand calories yesterday, still want more."
"Metabolic rate's quadrupled. You're burning energy just sitting still." Alexander had gone through a week's worth of food in two days after his enhancement. "It stabilizes eventually."
"And sleep. Four hours feels like full night, but dreams..." Oleg shook his head. "Dreams are too real. Wake up, not sure if happened or was dream."
That was concerning. Alexander filed it away for future consideration. "Vivid how?"
"Can read in dreams. See faces clear. Sometimes dream of Moscow winter, wake up smelling snow." Oleg finished his sandwich, immediately pulling out another. "Is like brain forgot how to be... how you say... fuzzy?"
"Enhanced neural processing affects all brain functions." Alexander kept his tone clinical, though he was genuinely fascinated. "REM sleep included."
"Temperature thing is good at least. Haven't worn coat since enhancement. Body runs hot, like stove." Oleg gestured at his light clothing. "Save money on heating."
"Your core temperature's about two degrees higher. Side effect of the increased metabolism."
"Also means vodka does nothing." Oleg's expression suggested deep personal loss. "Liver too good now. Processes alcohol before can work. Is tragedy."
Alexander laughed. "Steve mentioned the same thing. Tried to get drunk after propaganda tour, couldn't manage it."
"Wait, Captain America tries to get drunk?" Oleg looked scandalized. "He seems too... what is word... pure?"
"Everyone's got depths...even Boy Scouts."
They flew in comfortable silence for a while, the drone of engines hypnotic.
"Boss," Oleg said eventually, "can I ask question?"
"Shoot."
"Why us? Why make criminals into super soldiers? Could make saints, heroes. Instead you choose thieves and killers."
Alexander had been expecting this question. "Because criminals understand loyalty bought with opportunity. Because you follow strength, not ideology. Because when things get ugly – and they will – I need people who've already made peace with doing ugly things."
"Bozhe moi." Oleg crossed himself. "I should have asked for more money."
Alexander barked out a laugh. "I'll give you a raise."
"With dental plan. I want very good dental plan."
The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "Mr. Sterling, beginning descent into Porto. Twenty minutes to touchdown."
---
The road from Porto to Chaves wound through hills that hadn't changed much since Roman legions marched through. Alexander dozed fitfully in the back of the truck, his enhanced metabolism making real sleep difficult. Oleg sat across from him, studying a Portuguese phrase book with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb.
"How you say 'I am archaeologist' again?" Oleg muttered.
"Eu sou arqueólogo," Alexander supplied without opening his eyes.
"Sounds like I'm choking on sardine."
The truck slowed, and Alexander's eyes snapped open. Through the canvas, he could hear Portuguese voices, official and clipped. Military checkpoint.
"Papers ready," the driver called back. One of Vinnie's locals, smart enough not to ask questions about the cargo.
Alexander and Oleg climbed out when the soldiers gestured. Three Portuguese Army troops manned the checkpoint, looking bored until they saw the equipment cases. The sergeant, a thin man with suspicious eyes, stepped forward.
"Americanos?"
"Sim." Alexander handed over their papers. Archaeological permits, university credentials, all masterfully forged. "Expedition from Lisbon University. Roman site survey."
The sergeant studied the documents like he was looking for spelling errors. Which he probably was, given how much the Council of Nine had been spreading money around. "Roman site? Here?"
"Preliminary survey suggests a fort from the 2nd century." Alexander kept his Portuguese smooth but not too perfect. Americans who spoke too well raised questions. "Very exciting for the university."
"Open the cases."
Alexander nodded to Oleg, who began unsealing the top crate. The sergeant's eyes widened at the specialized equipment. "This is for... archaeology?"
"Ground-penetrating radar. Very new technology." Alexander pulled out one of the handling tools. "For delicate extraction work. Pottery shards, coins, very fragile."
The sergeant reached for one of the sealed cases, the one with refrigeration coils. Oleg moved to help him lift it, misjudged his strength, and nearly launched it into the man's chest. The sergeant stumbled back.
"Sorry, sorry!" Oleg's accent thickened with fake panic. "Is lighter than looks!"
"Lighter?" The sergeant hefted the case himself, straining. It had to weigh sixty pounds.
"My assistant is... enthusiastic about physical fitness," Alexander said dryly. "Sometimes forgets others don't share his passion."
The Portuguese soldiers exchanged glances. One muttered something about Americans and their vitamins.
"The war makes everyone suspicious, yes?" Alexander pulled out his wallet, extracting bills. Not a bribe, exactly. Just a donation to the checkpoint's coffee fund. "We're simply scholars. Looking for pottery and old coins."
The sergeant pocketed the money with practiced ease. "Roman sites can be dangerous. Sometimes unexploded ordnance from the Spanish Civil War. Sometimes... other things."
"Other things?"
"Local stories. Lights in the hills. Strange sounds." The sergeant handed back their papers. "Be careful, Professor...?"
"Sterling. And we're always careful."
They remounted the truck. As they pulled away, Alexander caught the sergeant making a phone call. Definitely reporting their presence to someone.
"That went well," Oleg said, still clutching his phrase book.
"Could've been worse. You almost put him through the checkpoint booth."
"Is hard to remember being weak."
The rest of the journey passed without incident. The hills grew wilder, villages smaller, until they turned onto a dirt track that wound up into mountains that looked forgotten by time. Perfect place for secrets, human or otherwise.
The dig site sprawled across a natural depression in the mountainside, hidden from the valley below. Alexander counted twelve men moving around the excavation, but only four moved with that too-fluid grace of enhancement. The others worked hard but human-slow, setting up lights and hauling normal-sized loads.
Vinnie emerged from a tent, somehow managing to look like a nightclub owner even in work clothes and mountain dust. "Boss! About time. We've been making friends with the local rocks for a week."
"Any problems?"
"Define problems." Vinnie gestured to a makeshift command post under camouflage netting. Maps covered a folding table, marked with red pins. "Council's got people in three villages down the mountain. They've been sending up 'hikers' every couple days. We've been discouraging them."
"Discouraging how?"
"Politely." Vinnie flexed his enhanced hands. "Very politely. Haven't killed anyone yet."
"Yet?"
"Day's young."
Alexander studied the reconnaissance photos. The Council was closing in, but not aggressively. Probing, testing, trying to figure out what Vinnie had found. "Show me the site."
They descended wooden stairs into the excavation. The first level was clearly Roman – stone blocks, broken pillars, the remains of what might've been a guard tower.
"Local university actually got excited about this part," Vinnie noted. "Had to forge some paperwork saying they already catalogued it."
Deeper. The Roman stones gave way to older construction, medieval Portuguese trying to build on Roman foundations. Then older still, Moorish arches cut directly into bedrock.
"This is where it gets interesting." Vinnie led them through a narrow passage. "Whoever built down here, they were hiding from something. Or hiding something."
The architecture changed again. Older than Moorish, older than anything human should have built. The walls were too smooth, meeting at angles that hurt to look at. Alexander recognized the mathematical precision immediately. Kree construction, designed by minds that thought in different dimensions.
"What the hell?" Oleg ran his hand along the wall. "Feels wrong."
"Gets worse," Vinnie promised.
They emerged into a chamber that opened like a throat. The walls pulsed with faint blue light, symbols that looked almost like circuitry running in precise patterns. Alexander picked out details his previous life's movies had only hinted at.
Experimentation chamber, his mind supplied. Genetic modification suite. They were playing with human DNA here before Egypt had pyramids.
"Found this yesterday." Vinnie pointed to a raised platform. "Bobby tried to brush dust off it, whole thing lit up. Scared the hell out of everyone."
Alexander approached the platform, recognizing the Kree analytical station - they used these to study species across the galaxy. This one was old, from when the Kree Empire was still expanding, still cataloguing.
"Any bodies?"
"None." Vinnie gestured to the super soldiers setting up lights. "Boys are eager though. Marcus there punched through a wall yesterday just to see what was behind it."
"What was?"
"More walls. But it was fun watching him do it."
Alexander walked the chamber's perimeter. The walls weren't just smooth - they were covered in intricate carvings that seemed both artistic and functional.
"Jesus," Oleg breathed. "Is like... medical textbook but in pictures."
He wasn't wrong. The carvings showed tall figures - humanoid but wrong, elongated skulls and too many joints - standing over smaller figures that were unmistakably human. Progressive panels showed what looked like experimentation. Human figures on tables. Strange devices held over them. Then... transformation.
"Genetic modification," Alexander murmured, tracing one sequence. "They're showing biological manipulation."
The carved sequence was disturbingly clear. Take human. Add something from the tall figures - shown as flowing lines entering the human form. Most humans in the carvings died, represented by scattered geometric shapes. But some transformed, shown with halos of power, standing between human and something else.
"Boss, this section here." Vinnie pointed to another wall. "Looks like they're showing results."
Different types of transformed humans, each with unique characteristics carved around them. Some surrounded by flame symbols. Others with wavy lines suggesting movement or speed. A few with circles that might represent energy projection.
"They were breeding them," Alexander said, the realization genuinely surprising him. He'd known about Inhumans from the shows, but seeing the process laid out like a laboratory notebook was different. "Different genetic cocktails, different results."
Near the chamber's far end, one carving showed the tall figures - Kree, his mind supplied - looking distressed. Their experiments stood against them, the transformed humans fighting their creators. The final panels showed the facility being sealed, the experiments abandoned.
"That section," Alexander pointed to where the carvings ended at what looked like a solid wall. "See how the story just stops? Bet there's a hidden chamber there."
"Chamber for what?"
Their abandoned equipment, Alexander thought. Agents of SHIELD mentioned the Diviner and a Kree corpse, but a research facility like this could have all sorts of genetic manipulation tools, weapons, or preserved specimens from failed experiments. The show only scratched the surface of their presence on Earth.