"I don't believe you," he said. "I don't believe your agents just 'ran into trouble' infiltrating Langley, and I sure as hell don't believe that crap about William 'getting in the way.' Victoria Hand, I know you. Don't lie to me."
"It's just a diplomatic turn of phrase, Frank Castle." Victoria Hand frowned. She could feel the filthy water on the ground threatening to seep into her leather heels, and she despised that sensation. She should have been on the clean, orderly deck of the command center, issuing orders aboard the carrier. But for this mission, she had to come in person to Clinton District—Hell's Kitchen. "William Rosslyn. Orange-level agent… His assignment was a CIA black op. He completed it and got promoted. The CIA was teaching local farmers to grow opium, then sending the crude product back to the States. He was tied to the recent drug trafficking case in New York. Someone once handed over a CIA agent responsible for that trafficking to the police, and then—"
"—Then he made bail?"
Victoria Hand nodded.
"Yes. After he walked out of the police station, he got into a black sedan. We couldn't trace it. Surveillance footage led us to find the agent's body in the Hudson River. Cause of death? Strangulation. If you want the whole truth, you'll need to work with us, Frank Castle. Going solo won't cut it. The truth you're chasing isn't simple."
"William Rosslyn?"
"Orange-level agent William Rosslyn refused to cooperate. And we were on a tight schedule," Victoria shrugged. "So we took his head—literally. We kept his brain alive to extract information. I know how it sounds, but once the scan is complete, William Rosslyn will give up everything he knows."
"I'm in." Victoria couldn't see Frank Castle's expression. He kept his head down. But she knew he had lowered his weapon. "Whatever your master wants, I'll cooperate. Just don't send something like that after me again."
"You can't just agree to this, Frank!" David Lieberman—"Microchip," the ex-NSA analyst—jumped up from his chair, his curly hair a mess. "We don't know what these people want! For all we know, they're just probing us—figuring out how many of us there are before wiping us out! Are you sure you weren't followed? You didn't give them my name, did you? DID YOU?"
Frank simply glanced at his temporary partner, then continued cleaning his SCCY CPX-2 micro pistol on the worn-out sofa bed. That tiny pistol had been on him during the meeting with Victoria Hand—but he'd never once drawn it.
"They contacted you through your number, right? You didn't give them your phone number, right?"
Frank looked at him.
"Really? Give me the phone, now." David stretched out his hand. When Frank gave him a confused look, he suddenly snapped, "Don't ask why—just give me the damn phone!" Frank silently handed it over. David Lieberman—Micro—snapped it in half, yanked out the SIM card, and inserted it into some mysterious device that Frank didn't recognize. After a series of incomprehensible taps and scans, far beyond Frank's level of expertise, David finally relaxed.
"You need a new number," he said. "If I could track you, then so could they. I don't want this place getting exposed. We're on an island in a sea full of sharks. Even the ones that look like dolphins can't be trusted—because who the hell knows what they're trying to f***."
"They're former S.H.I.E.L.D.," Frank interrupted, stopping David's increasingly absurd rant. He spoke low and firm. "They want me. They want me to train their soldiers."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.? Great. Now we're working with terrorists." David slumped into his swivel chair like all the air had been sucked out of him, nearly flinging off his slippers. He stared at the ceiling light. "So what now? Follow orders from them?"
Frank said nothing and picked up the next gun to clean. He had plenty of weapons to maintain. After reaching his agreement with Victoria Hand, he'd received aid from the Eternal City—delivered through a complex, secure process involving three different second-hand vans, just enough to satisfy Frank Castle's paranoia. In addition to the usual firearms and rocket launchers, Victoria had given him a mysterious suitcase. Inside was a weapon that could only be used a few times. Frank couldn't figure out how to disassemble it, so he was carefully studying the instruction manual.
"Deuterium heating… magnetic confinement… plasma… particle accelerator… throw it at the enemy after three uses… David, how hot is a solar flare? F*ck."
"Uh… tens of millions of Kelvin? I don't know. Why?"
Frank tossed the manual aside and pointed to the weapon inside the case. "You won't believe this, but apparently this thing can release energy comparable to a solar flare."
"They gave you that kind of tech?" David jumped back, trying to keep as much distance as possible from the suitcase. "That sounds like a damn bomb!"
"I don't think they're trying to kill me. They wouldn't need to." Frank nodded toward the file on the table. "They're giving me a dossier. Supposedly it contains black operations by the CIA. The one I was part of—Operation Hellhound—is just one of many. Orange agents like Rosslyn are only one link in the chain. It doesn't matter to me. They promised intel."
"You trust them?"
"No. But they're useful. That's enough."
David shrugged, scratching his unshaven chin. "You know, you don't have to throw your whole life away, Frank. I'm doing this to maybe see Sarah again one day. You could start a new life when it's over."
Frank Castle stayed silent.
"Don't give me that tough guy look, Frank," David said. "Have you thought about life after this? Huh? Don't tell me you haven't."
"I haven't. I dream about my family every night, David. I dream about them dying right in front of me. Blood and brains splashing on my face like molten lava. And I can't do anything. I just sit there and watch them get slaughtered." David saw Frank's skin flush red, the veins in his neck throbbing like they were about to explode. But still, Frank Castle didn't lash out. He forced himself to remain seated in that goddamn eighteen-hand sofa chair, and with a voice low and seething, hot enough to burn skin, he growled:
"No, David. I won't think about anything until I get revenge. I need their blood. I need their pain. Otherwise, I can't sleep. Do you get it, David? Do you get it?"
(End of Chapter)
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