The plane landed at Washington National Airport.
The turbulence of the fuselage woke Lynn from his light doze.
Through the porthole, he could see a dense crowd on the tarmac.
Officers, politicians in suits, and reporters carrying vintage flash cameras.
The cabin door opened.
"Mr. Morris!"
An officer wearing the rank of Major General was the first to come forward, his pace somewhat eager.
A warm smile was squeezed onto that weathered face as he reached out his hand.
"Welcome home, hero."
Lynn shook his hand.
"General, I only did what I had to do. The true heroes are the soldiers who bleed on the front lines."
He kept a very humble posture.
These words drew a chorus of approving nods from those around him.
A senator from the Congressional Special Committee squeezed over and slickly patted Lynn on the shoulder.
"Lynn, you don't know what a stir you've caused on the home front! Soldier Boy! My God, he is simply sent by God! The whole country is crazy about the feat you and he accomplished!"
"That is Soldier Boy's achievement, sir. I am merely a chronicler."
Lynn responded to everyone one by one, while his gaze swept over every person present.
He could distinguish which smiles were genuine fanaticism and which were political performances.
And hidden beneath the enthusiasm was scrutiny and suspicion.
These people were not here to welcome a hero advisor.
They were here to welcome the power that could shock all of Europe and give them confidence at the negotiating table.
Essentially, they were here to welcome the "instruction manual" for that power.
The welcoming ceremony was held at Capitol Hill.
Under the gaze of countless cameras and dignitaries, the Vice President personally hung a heavy medal on Lynn's chest.
The Congressional Medal of Freedom.
The highest honor for a United States civilian.
Flashbulbs went off frantically, freezing this moment into Eternity.
It was Lynn's turn to give a speech.
He walked to the podium without looking at the prepared speech.
"Thank you."
He began, his tone sincere.
"But this medal does not belong to me."
"It belongs to Soldier Boy, who used his flesh and blood to smash open a path of life for his comrades."
"It belongs to Soldier Boy, who faced HYDRA alone and brought down divine punishment to purify all evil."
"It belongs even more to every Allied Forces soldier who fought bloody battles on the front lines, defending freedom and justice with their lives."
"All I did was tell their stories to the people who needed hope."
"I am not the creator of heroes; I am just a lucky witness, a humble mouthpiece."
"My work is done, but their battle continues. Please give all the praise and glory to the greatest warriors of our time."
The speech was short, but it perfectly struck the emotional chords of everyone present.
Humble, selfless, pushing all the credit to the heroes on the front lines.
The image of a perfect behind-the-scenes contributor jumped off the page.
Thunderous applause lasted for a long time.
Lynn bowed slightly amidst the applause.
That night.
A safe house on the outskirts of Washington.
Lynn threw the Congressional Medal of Freedom, which had received countless praises during the day, casually onto the table.
He loosened his tie and poured himself a large glass of whiskey.
The sound of ice hitting the glass was more pleasing than the medal.
Lynn walked to the window, looking at the silent night outside, and only then began to truly take stock of the gains from his trip to Europe.
The medal on the table?
It was nothing more than the most magnificent disguise.
Soldier Boy's reputation?
That was his most powerful weapon on the European battlefield, a sharp sword that could remotely pressure both HYDRA and the Allied Forces simultaneously.
Peggy Carter's "trust"?
A smart woman who had been temporarily stabilized.
A high-quality piece he had personally planted in the European intelligence circle, which might play an unexpected role at some point in the future.
He took out an object tightly wrapped in oilcloth from his inner pocket.
That military hard drive, which had copied massive amounts of data from the "Giant" Base.
He rubbed the hard, cold metal shell of the hard drive with his fingertips.
This was the true trophy.
It was the key capable of leveraging the entire war landscape, and even changing the technological direction of the future World.
HYDRA's technology lay quietly in this inconspicuous black cube.
Lynn took a sip of wine, the spicy liquid sliding down his throat.
His brain began to plan the next step.
First, unlock the technology tree.
The knowledge in this hard drive must be converted into visible strength and wealth as soon as possible.
He needed a genius who could turn these theories into reality.
Howard Stark.
This name jumped out immediately.
An arrogant, conceited, yet irreplaceable tool of immense talent.
Second, find new, more controllable power.
Soldier Boy is very powerful, but this guy is sometimes too uncontrollable; even with his own suppression, this guy can only do superficial work.
Captain America is too "righteous" and is watched by too many people.
He needs a pawn that completely belongs to him, created from scratch.
Phineas Horton.
That telegram from New York signaled that a perfect piece of unpolished jade was waiting to be carved.
Lynn drained the wine in his glass.
He picked up the phone on the table and dialed the number of the Executive Director of the "Captain America Patriotic Foundation."
The call was quickly answered.
"It's me."
"Mr. Morris! Congratulations on your triumphant return! We have all seen today's newspapers..."
"Listen,"
Lynn interrupted the other party's flattery.
"Starting tomorrow, the focus of the foundation's work will change."
"Change?"
"The tour will continue, but the focus of propaganda will shift from raising war bonds to shaping the national spirit. I want Captain America to become the standard for the behavior and thoughts of all American teenagers."
The person on the other end of the phone was a bit confused, but still kept saying yes.
"Also,"
Lynn's voice paused.
A bolder and crazier idea formed in his mind.
"I need you to contact a producer from Paramount or MGM."
"A film company?"
"That's right."
Lynn walked to the window, looking at his own reflection in the glass.
"Tell them I have a movie script about Captain America, an epic story that will drive the whole United States crazy."
How could a puppet on a stage be as deeply ingrained in people's hearts as an idol on the silver screen?
War bonds are a one-time transaction.
But culture and spirit are eternal wealth that can be harvested repeatedly.
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