James chuckled dryly. "And yet, here we are—Tony's already made dozens of times his investment back. That's the difference. I don't play for short gains. I'll wait until profits peak. Public offerings and antitrust laws can wait."
He set the chunk of metal back into the crate and turned to his console. The helicarrier schematics spun slowly in the hologram. Programs and weapons could wait. For now, the carrier needed a brain—and he with Cortana was the one to give it life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For the next week, James's workload eased. The smart program for the helicarrier was complete in all but some fine-tuning. Engineers handled the last of the hardware retrofits. His job was down to patching small glitches, running diagnostics, and handing off specs.
That left him with free hours, which he used the way any spy worth his badge would—walking the halls. The Headquarters wasn't just an office; it was the brainstem of an entire intelligence network. Weapons labs, containment wings, briefing floors, and archives stacked like a city within a bunker.
James walked every corner. He studied people more than places. Technicians, guards, engineers—names, faces, patterns. Each night he wrote out his lists and passed them to Coulson, who kept them locked. Hydra's reach might be deep, but it still left footprints.
The armory drew him most. No agent ever lost the boyhood itch for weapons. The racks stretched in neat rows: pistols, SMGs, rifles, enough toys to outfit a dozen black ops teams. Beyond the basics were specialty tools. Small breaching charges designed to implode locks inward. Compact optics that gave skeletal outlines of targets through drywall. Surveillance micro-drones that looked like gnats.
James tried each in turn, learning their inner workings. The gear wasn't what impressed him though. It was how ordinary the engineers treated it. To them it was just inventory. To him it was war waiting in boxes.
There were names missing from headquarters. Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton weren't in the building. They were always in the field, the agents you sent where deniable results mattered. Two weeks later, when the smart program was signed off for ground trials, they returned together.
The meeting with them wasn't as warm as he expected.
Barton had seen James in New Mexico during the Thor incident. His greeting at HQ was nothing more than a curt nod before walking past.
James leaned toward Coulson afterward. "Phil, what's his problem? I don't remember provoking him."
Coulson's smile was imperceptible. "Clint values chain of command. You don't exactly color inside the lines. Don't worry, he'll come around."
James chuckled. "If he won't, I'll take him on with a bow versus a rifle. Might even learn something."
Romanoff was no friendlier. Her disdain had roots elsewhere—Stark. Tony had once offhandedly mocked her, then blamed James when it circled back. Natasha hadn't forgotten.
James shook his head when Coulson explained. "That damn Stark. And women call us strange creatures."
Hill found the whole thing amusing.
Not everyone at HQ shared that ease. Jasper Sitwell, for one, was too stiff around James. Twice he'd seen Sitwell in New York, and twice Hydra had paid the price. Sitwell wore his mask of professionalism, but his eyes stayed wary.
Later, in his office, Sitwell made a call on a line he thought was clean.
"Sitwell," a voice rasped through static. "I told you not to contact me directly. Fury isn't an idiot. We're running out of shadows to hide in."
"I know. But James is here at HQ. Always walking around. He had a hand in New York, and now he's at the core of it all. If he—" Sitwell stopped himself.
The voice cut him off. "New York was a failure. Fury was already suspicious. This just gave him an excuse. What's done is done. Keep your posture steady. We are integrated everywhere. They cannot tell Hydra from S.H.I.E.L.D. no matter what."
Sitwell hesitated. "The program is almost complete. But we still need a carrier."
"How is the Helicarrier progressing?"
"Well. James has talent with smart systems. His program's already finished, ground tests are in progress. Flight trials are days away."
"Good. This first ship is the test case. Once it flies, we'll have the template for fully armed carriers. Then we sweep the board. Stay embedded, Sitwell. Work like any other loyal agent. No one will suspect you. Remember—long live Hydra."
Sitwell ended the call and smoothed his jacket. His face was once again that of a loyal Level Six S.H.I.E.L.D. man.
James, oblivious to the call, kept at his routine. His constant walks through the HQ made Hydra nervous. They mistook his enthusiasm for investigation. But James couldn't tire himself every day by prying into minds—his body wouldn't sustain it. That blind spot let Hydra breathe again.
The smart program passed its ground trials and now waited for a flight test. James would be aboard for those runs. A few days more, and the Helicarrier would leave the ground.
Meanwhile, his other empire thrived. League Games—the named League project—was running qualifiers for its first championship. Television stations picked it up. Crowds tuned in. Kyle Robert, the CEO, couldn't hide his pride. Market value estimates doubled in weeks.
James skimmed the reports at night. The game had become more than a side venture. It was a shield in its own way. Influence and capital reach—tools he could wield without pulling a trigger.
For now, though, the Helicarrier came first. The eyes of S.H.I.E.L.D.—and Hydra—were all over it.