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During the ID check, the girl nudged Henry smugly with her elbow.
"See? S.H.I.E.L.D.'s benefits are pretty great, right? One phone call, and they're already arranging a flight to send us straight back to the West Coast."
Henry didn't say anything. He simply glanced at the girl beside him, then at the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents standing in front of them.
The vehicle S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent to pick them up was a five-seat SUV.
For a typical family of four, it would count as a spacious, comfortable ride—perfect for road trips. But for Henry's group, with Henry and Barbara plus Kitty, who weighed somewhere between five and six hundred pounds, the back seat was… cramped.
To keep the "tabby cat" from getting uncomfortable and lashing out with claws or fangs, Henry had no choice but to wedge himself between Kitty and Barbara, physically separating them.
As everyone knew, the middle seat was the worst seat in the car…
That said, with a giant warm heat pack on his right and a soft, fragrant girl on his left, Henry didn't really have much to complain about.
The only real question was—where exactly were these two in front planning to take him?
"Sir," Henry asked calmly, "may I ask where we're headed right now?"
"We're heading east," the driver replied. "We'll be crossing into Mississippi and going to Keesler Air Force Base. It's a model base that's partially open to civilians, without heavy flight operations. We'll board a military cargo aircraft there and fly back to the West Coast."
Sitting in the middle, Henry subtly pressed against Barbara's body as he stole a glance at the sun's position outside the window.
What the driver and front passenger were saying sounded perfectly reasonable—so long as the car wasn't heading north.
At first, Barbara felt a little annoyed by Henry's seemingly impatient closeness. Even ignoring the two grown men in front, there was a full-grown tiger in the back seat—nothing about this was convenient.
But she wasn't a girl who only thought about sex.
Noticing where Henry was looking, she followed his gaze out the window. One glance was all it took for her to realize something was wrong.
If they were still in the city or a small town, detours and direction changes would be normal. But they were already on the highway. On this old interstate system, north and east were very different things.
Barbara knew that Keesler Air Force Base sat along the Gulf of Mexico. They had started in northern Louisiana—so even if they weren't going east, they should have been heading south. Continuing north was flat-out wrong.
Did S.H.I.E.L.D. really send a driver who didn't know the route?
If so, that would be an embarrassment for the most high-profile secret intelligence organization in the United States.
Henry quietly slipped his hand into Barbara's jacket.
Not toward any indecent location, but around it—he smoothly extracted the service pistol holstered under her arm.
Strictly speaking, this violated protocol. But out of trust, Barbara didn't stop him. Whether from personal experience or official reports, she knew this man wasn't the impulsive type.
Holding the gun low, hidden from the rearview mirror's blind spot, Henry asked casually,
"Officers, are you sure this is the right direction to Keesler Air Force Base?"
"Yes," the driver replied smoothly. "We'll be there very soon. Please be patient. The cargo-passenger aircraft assigned to you is already waiting on the runway. Once you board, it'll take off immediately."
If they had said something like orders from above required a detour, Henry might have hesitated—and Barbara would have stopped him.
But a lie this sloppy couldn't fool even a rookie trainee like Barbara.
In the blink of an eye, Henry raised the gun and shot the front passenger!
The driver yelped in shock, swerving violently.
Barbara and Kitty were both thrown off balance by the sudden movement, but Henry sat rock-solid, pressing the gun straight against the driver's temple.
"Please pull over," he said politely.
The sincerity in his voice only made it more chilling.
The "agent" slumped over the glove compartment, already revealing his true form—green skin, pointed ears. There was no mistaking a Skrull.
The driver, however, refused to stop, shouting in panic,
"Why did my partner turn into that?! What's going on?!"
"Your acting is terrible," Henry said flatly. "Don't try again—it's embarrassing to watch. Pull over to the side of the road. Don't make me repeat myself."
"Wait! I don't know anything! You can check my identity—"
Henry had no interest in listening to excuses from an enemy that had targeted him again and again.
He fired a shot straight into the man's left arm.
Then he pressed the muzzle back to the driver's head and said in a low voice,
"You're welcome to try flipping the car. But I promise you, I won't be hurt at all.
"It'll just make me angrier. And when I get angry, the consequences are serious. So cooperate, pull over, and I guarantee I won't kill you."
The driver grimaced and finally followed Henry's instructions, pulling the car onto the shoulder.
"You've really misunderstood me…"
Once the car stopped, Henry yanked the handbrake.
"Barbara, get out. And you—engine off, get out too."
Henry watched the driver's every move. Only after the man exited the vehicle did Henry finally relax slightly and step out himself, leaving the SUV that now held a dead alien.
The driver, clutching his bleeding arm, leaned against the hood, his face twisted in pain.
His performance was convincing enough that Barbara, watching from the side, began to doubt Henry's judgment.
Did we get it wrong?
Henry opened the door for Kitty and helped her out, then stuffed the gun back into Barbara's hand.
"Watch him," he said. "Where's that mobile phone you were using earlier?"
Having her weapon back in hand made Barbara feel more at ease.
The shot Henry had fired earlier had killed an alien—that was one thing. What scared her was the possibility that Henry might kill the wrong person. It wasn't about whose gun was used; she just didn't want this man to make a mistake.
Keeping her gun trained on the unidentified "agent," Barbara pulled out her phone with her free hand and passed it to Henry.
Henry looked at it, turned it over, raised it, lowered it—then sighed.
"No signal."
"There's none here?" Barbara leaned over to check. She had no solution either.
"Should we drive back?"
"No. I'll look inside the car."
Henry walked straight to the passenger side, opened the door, shoved the Skrull corpse backward, and rummaged through the glove compartment—coincidentally finding a satellite phone.
In reality, he'd already seen it with his X-ray vision.
Pulling out the antenna, and not caring in the slightest about call charges, Henry dialed the number without hesitation.
After all, it wasn't his bill.
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