He looked at the small family photo on his desk. Mindy's smile was wide, bright, and hopeful. Anny sat in her lap, ears perked up.
"This time," James murmured, "I'm giving her a gift they'll never take away."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James never liked running errands that sounded too clean. Stark called it a "materials pickup," but in James's head, it was already a mission. Nothing involving Stark Industries blueprints, compact power cells, and memory polymer shipments stayed clean for long. Hydra had ears everywhere.
The blueprints Tony sent him were precise but casual, like Stark had sketched them on a cocktail napkin during a board meeting. The Nexus System's collapsible baton required three main elements: a vibranium alloy substitute to give it strength without weight, a set of compact energy cells adapted from Stark's arc reactor research, and memory polymers that allowed the weapon to retract or extend depending on input.
"A Highway 95 run," James muttered to himself as he checked the manifests. "Off-books, Two trucks, and minimal escort. Looks like bait on a plate."
[Cortana: Probability of Hydra intercepts: 76%. Suggestion: expect heavy contact.]
He pulled on his jacket, holstered his Imanishi 17 and Safari Matchmaster, and checked the weight of a suppressed SIG tucked inside his waistband. An Umbra Sentinel armor stored in his Sub-space for emergency use only — though he plans on not using it, not for a glorified birthday gift operation. This was shadow work, something Hydra couldn't trace back to Stark or S.H.I.E.L.D. directly.
The rendezvous was a staging warehouse just outside Jersey. Stark's men — ex-military contractors in nondescript clothes — had two semi-trucks idling, their engines low and steady. James ran his eyes over the convoy: reinforced trailers, and disguised crates.
"You boys ever driven honey for the bees?" James asked, lighting a cigarette.
"Just orders from Stark," the team lead said. He was lean and squared shoulders, the kind who kept his hand close to a concealed holster. "Route says we stick to 95, no stops."
James exhaled smoke and watched it drift into the cold air. "Good. Hydra'll be watching the port. On the highway, they'll wait for the right stretch. Keep your spacing tight, and when it hits, do not try to be heroes. I'll handle it."
The man frowned. "And if it's more than you can handle?"
James gave him the kind of look that shut down questions. "Then you won't be around to worry about it."
They pulled onto the interstate at dusk, tires humming on the asphalt. James rode in a black SUV, one truck in the middle, and another trailing behind. The sky was brushed orange, headlights washing over guardrails and the blur of trees. He kept glancing at the rearview mirror, looking for rhythm breaks — a car that stuck too close, lights that shifted but didn't pass.
At mile marker 142, his gut tightened.
Three black sedans merged into formation behind the convoy. Too close. Too in line with their convoy.
[Cortana: Pattern analysis confirms pursuit. Recommend evasive action within two miles.]
James tapped his earpiece. "Attention convoy, hold spacing. Don't brake. Don't swerve. Let them make the first move."
Sure enough, the sedans accelerated. One shot ahead and cut hard across the lead truck, forcing it to swerve toward the shoulder. The other two boxed the rear.
"Here we go," James muttered, flicking the SUV into a sudden brake-and-swerve. His vehicle clipped the lead sedan, metal grinding, and headlights sparking. The road lit up with muzzle flashes as suppressed rifles opened up from tinted windows.
Bullets tore across the SUV's frame. James ducked, yanking his pistols free. He popped the driver's side door open, rolled out onto the asphalt, and came up firing. One clean shot of his Safari Matchmaster cracked the windshield and a shot of the Imanishi silenced the gunner in the nearest sedan. The car swerved, hit the guardrail, and skidded out in a spray of sparks.
Behind him, the truck drivers panicked but held their momentum. That discipline would keep them alive.
Hydra's second sedan swung wide, side doors sliding open as agents leaned out with MP5s. James sprinted across the median, keeping low, bullets chewing into the metal divider behind him. He vaulted it, firing two rounds back over his shoulder. One man folded, tumbling from the car onto the pavement.
[Cortana: Six hostiles remain. Vehicle two attempting to force truck one to stop.]
"Not happening." James sprinted back to the car, drove near behind the trailing sedan. He leveled the Safari Matchmaster and put a burst through its rear window. The driver jerked, lost control, and the car fishtailed, colliding with the rear truck's bumper. Both vehicles screamed sideways, but the truck driver muscled it steady while the sedan flipped twice before slamming roof-first onto the asphalt.
Only one sedan left.
James swerved alongside the lead truck, tires spitting gravel as he closed the gap. He flipped his car into cruise mode and climbed onto the roof, heart hammering with the rhythm of the chase. In one fluid motion, he hurled himself across the divide.
He landed hard on the enemy sedan's roof, metal buckling under his boots. The gunmen inside jerked their heads up too late—James fired through the glass, twin pistols roaring point-blank. Windshield exploded, screams cut short in a spray of blood and shrapnel as the car bucked violently under him.
Without hesitation, he sprinted across the roof, vaulted back into the open air, and dropped onto the hood of his own car still barreling forward. He slid across the steel, gripped the frame, and swung himself cleanly into the driver's seat just as the enemy sedan fishtailed and smashed into the guardrail, crumpling in a burst of sparks and flame.
The convoy rolled on in stunned silence. James straightened behind the wheel, breathing hard, jacket torn and hands raw. Every pair of eyes was fixed on him, the highway littered with Hydra corpses in his wake.
Radioing Stark's men. "You boys still think I can't handle it?" James asked flatly.
The team lead shook his head. "Hell, man… you just ran straight at them. Who the hell are you?"
James exhaled to relieve tension, burning wreckage blazing behind the convoy. "The guy these people should've left alone."
[Cortana: Materials secured. Hydra casualties: twelve confirmed. Probability of follow-up pursuit: low, but expect surveillance increase.]
James scanned the wrecks, noticing the precision of Hydra's assault. No insignia, no loose chatter over comms. Professional work. Too professional. They weren't probing anymore — they wanted him off the board.
"The convoy stays in course. Straight to drop point, no detours. And keep your mouths shut. Tonight never happened."
As the trucks rolled back onto the interstate, James leaned back in his seat, eyes focused.
Hydra wasn't underestimating him anymore. They were hunting him.
And for Mindy's gift to be finished, he'd have to hunt right back.