Langley, Virginia

Cameron Dalin left the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency just as night was breaking. He got into his car and drove from the garage, merging onto the Virginia State Highway 123, heading to his apartment in Arlington.

What Cameron hadn’t counted on was the miniature SHIELD agent who’d been waiting in a microscopic jet hidden beneath the driver’s seat. Once the car was in motion, Ant-Man activated the transmitter built inside his helmet.

“Target’s on the move. About damn time, too. Was starting to get cramped in here.”

“Thought you spies were supposed to be more resilient.”

“Hey, you try sitting in a space this size for hours on end,” said Ant-Man. “Let me know when I can make my move already.”

“Not yet, GPS shows you’re still too close to Langley.”

“Next time I agree to help you out on a job, Tiger, I’ll be the one handling operations. Deal?”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch. You’re worse than my girlfriend.”

“Right, right. So we ready to go?”

“Long as you make sure not to draw too much attention on the road, should be fine.”

“About damn time.”

The cockpit opened and Ant-Man unhooked his harness, climbing from the miniature craft. He activated his jet-pack, hovering behind the driver’s seat and landing on Cameron’s shoulder. With a flex of his wrist, one of the stingers emerged from his gauntlet and he jammed it into Cameron’s neck. It contained a fast-acting tranquilizer that caused Cameron to grow drowsy and then, his head rolled back against the seat’s rest.

The car swerved and Ant-Man flew quickly to the steering wheel. He kept it steady, bringing the car back onto a straight path. He increased his size just enough so that he could manipulate the wheel easier. “Target’s down.”

“Good, take the next exit.”

Ant-Man did as he was ordered, turning off the highway and the car slowed without Cameron’s foot putting the necessary pressure on the accelerator. As they came off the side of the road, the headlights centered on a man in a black trench coat. Beneath the coat, he wore a pure white bodysuit that covered him from head to toe, and possessed small, pointed ears at the top of the mask.

The White Tiger opened the driver-side door, allowing Ant-Man to fly out and grow back to normal size. Meanwhile, the White Tiger removed Cameron’s seatbelt and pulled the unconscious agent from the car, hoisting him over his shoulder.

When Cameron awoke, he was cuffed to a metal chair. He groaned as he shook his head. It felt like he’d just woken up from a week-long bender in Tijuana. His vision was blurred, but he could make out three figures. He blinked a few times, trying to get them to come into focus. Slowly, they did. One bore a strong resemblance to the Black Panther’s costume, except the costume was so white, it was almost luminescent. The other was clad in a suit of armor, complete with an insect-like helmet. And the third wore a pair of sunglasses and a suit.

“Sorry about the headache,” said Ant-Man. “The toxin in my stingers is pretty powerful, but if you cooperate, we’ll get you some extra-strength Tylenol soon.”

“Who are you?” asked Cameron. “Do you know who I am?”

“Cameron Dalin,” said the man in the suit, reading off a tablet. “Did a tour of duty in the United States armed services right out of high school, recruited into the Central Intelligence Agency by the age of twenty-one. Impressive. So impressive in fact that one of your assignments was to infiltrate and spy on Charles Xavier’s Mutant Underground operation, which later led to an assignment to infiltrate the X-Men themselves. You gained their trust, all the while transmitting their computer files to your superiors. Then you were sidelined after the mutant terrorist known as Sabretooth tore off your left arm. From there, you were recruited by Monica Rambeau into a superhuman unit run by Interpol and fitted with a cybernetic arm. Once you helped disband a Weapon Plus cell, the unit was summarily discharged and you were sent back to the CIA.”

Cameron squinted. “How the hell do you know all that?”

The man turned off the tablet and held it under his arm as he stepped closer. “Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD.”

Cameron gestured with his head towards the costumed duo. “And these guys? Are they also with SHIELD?”

“Ant-Man and White Tiger are what you’d call…specialists,” said Coulson. “We believe Interpol was disbanded by powerful forces who wanted to see you fail. Our unit is off-the-books. You could say that we’re the successor to your team.”

“How do you know about my team? Interpol had no connections with SHIELD. Or with these guys.”

“Two members from that unit are working with us, that’s how we got all the details,” said Coulson. “Monica and Natasha send their regards and wanted to extend an apology—both for the cloak and dagger routine, again, and for not being here themselves.”

“So we’ve established we’re all friends,” said Cameron, tugging on the cuffs. “Why don’t you do something about these?”

Coulson nodded to the White Tiger, who circled around Cameron and released the cuffs. Cameron stood, rubbing his flesh-and-blood wrist with his cybernetic hand. “Now, what do you want with me?”

“Information,” said the White Tiger. “Everything you know about the 66 Bridges.”

“Street gang, got their start in Chicago,” said Cameron. “Eventually amassed more and more power, now they’re practically monolithic.”

“We know they’ve got CIA contacts,” said Ant-Man. “How’s that happen?”

Cameron sighed. “One of the dirty little secrets of the CIA is its complicity and sometimes culpability in the international drug trade. There are lots of black budget ops that can’t be linked to federal funding, and so the Agency obtains funding in other ways. The 66 Bridges is a major link in this chain.”

“How do we take them down?” asked the White Tiger.

Cameron snickered. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do we look like we’re joking?” asked Ant-Man.

Cameron shrugged. “Bit hard to tell with your faces covered, but I’ll assume you’re not. In which case, I’d advise you guys to turn around and go home. The 66 Bridges can’t be stopped and a person would have to be insane to try.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time it’s been said about us,” said Ant-Man.

“You seem like a good man, Agent Dalin,” said Coulson. “Something tells me you don’t want these guys around, either.”

“Most of what I know is water-cooler talk. I don’t have any real hard facts beyond what I’ve just told you,” said Cameron.

“Then you help us,” said Ant-Man. “Get me inside Langley where I can access the computers.”

“You don’t need me for that,” said Cameron. “You could just shrink in and get in without any help.”

“You’re right,” said Coulson. “But we may need a distraction. And you could provide us with that.”

LETHAL WEAPONS

Part I

By Dino Pollard

The next day, Cameron walked through the front entrance of the George Bush Center for Intelligence. He slipped his ID card into the scanner and then walked through the body scanner. As he did, a red light and a small klaxon briefly activated.

“Agent Dalin, if you could step over here for a moment,” said one of the security guards. Cameron did as he said and the security guard ran a hand-held scanner across his body. When he passed over Cameron’s cybernetic arm, there were some unusual readings.

“We seem to be getting something strange from your arm, Agent.”

“Y’know, the damn thing’s been acting up lately,” said Cameron. “Agency tech isn’t exactly Q-Branch, you get me?”

The guard snickered. “Yeah, I know what you mean. My ID wouldn’t scan properly a few weeks back, nearly got body-slammed by a rookie.” The guard handed Cameron back his badge. “Might want to go downstairs and have them take a look at it, though.”

Cameron nodded, accepting the ID. “I’ll do that, thanks.”

He proceeded deeper into the headquarters, going into one of the bathrooms. Once he made sure the coast was clear, Cameron removed his jacket and unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve. He rolled it up and Ant-Man’s tiny ship disengaged its magnetic coupling and hovered to the counter. He jumped out and grew to full-size.

“Nice save,” he said.

“No problem, those scanners always give me hassle with my arm,” said Cameron, buttoning his cuff and donning his jacket once more. “You know what to do?”

Ant-Man reached for his belt and removed a small, electronic device. “This is what we’ll use to transmit the data, but the downside is I can’t do it while it’s miniaturized. Need to return to normal-size first.”

“That’s where my distraction comes in,” said Cameron.

“What’ve you got in mind?” asked Ant-Man.

“Fire alarm.”

Beneath his helmet, Ant-Man’s jaw nearly dropped. “A…fire alarm? Seriously?”

Cameron shrugged and grinned. “Sometimes the simplest methods are the best.”

“Fair enough.” Ant-Man took another device from his belt, a tiny earbud which he handed to Cameron. He then shrunk back down and returned to the craft. “I’ll let you know once I’m in place.”

The tiny craft flew into the air vents and Cameron looked at himself in the bathroom mirror with a sigh. “First I spied on the X-Men for the CIA, now I’m spying on the CIA for the Avengers. I’m not a fan of this trend.”

He put the earbud in place and left.

In the vents, Ant-Man piloted his tiny craft. The ship’s HUD displayed an overview of the building’s schematics and his presence on them. He found the server room fairly easily and landed the craft near vent, the magnetic coupling engaging and the cockpit sliding open. He climbed out and went to the edge of the vent and activated the helmet’s comm-link.

“Ready when you are.”

Ant-Man patiently waited at the edge of the vent until a fire alarm went off. The technicians in the server room exchanged questioning glances, then filed out of the room. Once they were gone, Ant-Man’s jet-pack carried him into the room and he grew back to full-size. He took the scanner from his belt and attached it to the server, watching the screen as it transferred the data.

“We’re green,” came Coulson’s voice through his helmet. Ant-Man disconnected the scanner, shrunk back down, and returned to his craft in the vent.

Somewhere Over the East Coast

As Coulson piloted the small Quinjet towards New York, Kasper and Eric reviewed the information taken from the CIA’s database. Eric scanned over it on the tablet. “Lots of stuff in here, mostly about the kind of work the CIA farms out to the Bridges. Grace & Tumbalt, the PR firm that serves to handle the ‘foundation’ as they call it, is run by Nigel Blacque. Guy’s got spook fingerprints all over his case file.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kasper.

“I mean ‘Nigel Blacque’ is a cover identity,” said Eric. “How’d you run afoul of these guys anyway, Kas?”

“Was making unauthorized drug busts, trying to get the gold shield,” said Kasper. “Ran afoul of them and they made it personal. Went after my dad.”

Eric looked up from his tablet. “Your dad?”

“He was a cop until he was framed and sent to prison,” said Kasper. “When I was investigating the Bridges, they sent me a message by arranging an attack on my dad. Beat him to holy hell, left him in a wheelchair.”

“Hey Kas…your dad, his name wouldn’t happen to be Jonathan Payton Cole, would it?” asked Eric, scrolling through the tablet information.

Kasper glanced at his teammate. “How did you know that?”

“I’ve got some bad news for you.” Eric handed Kasper the tablet. As Kasper looked at the screen, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

“What is it?” asked Coulson.

Kasper’s muscles tensed, the glass on the tablet beginning to crack in his grip. “I’ve been played. Since day one.”

Grace & Tumbalt

Triage entered his penthouse office on the sixty-second floor of the Grace & Tumbalt building. He sat at the computer, but when he tried to turn it on, nothing happened. He sighed and hit the power button again, still nothing.

A fly was buzzing around him. Triage waved his hand, trying to swat it away. But the fly avoided his strike, flying closer to his face and Triage noticed something odd about this insect, a strange shape and odd coloring. And no wings…

The insect moved rapidly, striking Triage’s face with such force that he fell back out of his chair. Ant-Man instantly shot up to his normal height, stingers extending from his gauntlets. “Let’s see how you like gettin’ swatted!”

“The hell’s wrong with you, dog?” asked Triage. “Think you spandex clowns can just barge in anywhere you please?”

“Why not, you do it all the time.”

This was another voice, with a Wakandan accent. Triage glanced up and saw the White Tiger crouched on the ceiling, held in place by his vibranium soles. “So, it’s you, ain’t it? The kid who likes to play dress-up. What happened to your black kitty suit? T’Challa decide he was sick of you ruining his image?”

The White Tiger dropped from the ceiling and flipped, landing beside Ant-Man. He drew his energy dagger, switching it to its highest setting. “On this setting, this blade can sever your head with little effort, Triage. I suggest you give us what we want.”

Triage chuckled. “You really think I’m gonna tell you jack? We done this dance before, kitty-cat. You’re not learning a damn thing from me.”

“You misunderstand, ‘dog,’” said Ant-Man. “We don’t want you to tell us anything. We just want something from you. Or to be more specific, we want you.”

“Huh?” asked Triage.

Ant-Man jammed one of his stingers into Triage’s shoulder, drugging him.

Rikers Island

Kasper sat in a visitor’s yard, surrounded by fences topped by barbed wire and guard towers. He could smell his father’s scent, could hear the squeaking of the wheels on his chair, hear the heavy footfalls of the guard who escorted him. The guard pushed Black Jack Cole up to the bench and backed away, giving father and son some space.

“Omutabani Babiri,” said Kasper, narrowing his eyes at his father.

Black Jack seemed surprised by this. “What? How you hear this word?”

“It means ‘two sons’ in Luganda, doesn’t it? Legend says Kibuka fell in love with one of the enemy’s women who bore him a son and then she betrayed him,” said Kasper. “Kibuka, the Keeper of the Six. And you told me I had to kill Sal Anthony, put his brains all over the carpet to end his problem. Meanwhile, the Bridges were trying to recruit me, someone to take Sal’s place.”

“What you saying, boy?” asked Black Jack.

“I’m finally connecting all the pieces of the puzzle, Dad. The set-up that got you sent here? That wasn’t a set-up at all, was it? The ‘enemy’s woman’ who bore Kibuka a son. Mom is that woman, isn’t she? And the son is me.” Kasper chuckled. “Y’know, I could never quite figure it out until now. But it all makes so much sense. All the pieces were right there in front of me. You were trying to position me against Sal, take his place. Join the organization. 66 Bridges is, after all, a family business, isn’t it? You’re Kibuka. And two sons can only mean one thing—Triage is my brother, isn’t he?”

“Half-brother,” said Black Jack. “I want you by my side, boy. Need you to accept destiny.”

“Destiny?” asked Kasper. “You think I’m gonna side with you? You’re a criminal. The worst kind.”

“I do what needs be done. I keep the peace in ways you do not understand,” said Black Jack. “And now, my boy, I need you to join me. Want both sons to rule my empire.”

“Give me one good reason why I would,” said Kasper.

“I shall give you three—your mother, your woman, and your child.”

Kasper balled his fists. “Are you threatening them?”

“Grow up, boy. I am providing you with a way to help them,” said Black Jack. “Turn your back on me, you go back to current life. You go back to struggle. Join me, and you have means to provide for your family. You can move into house. Your son can get good education. Your mother can have her own home.”

Kasper’s fists softened. “What’s the catch?”

“I once told you time to put away childish things. That means no more cat suit,” said Black Jack. “Do not show surprise. Of course I knew. Only took some effort to piece everything together. But to join me means you release your brother. I know your partner has him. You bring me your partner’s head, then you become 66 Bridges.”

“And then my family gets taken care of?” asked Kasper.

“Our family,” said Black Jack. He offered his hand. “Prove you are my son.”

Kasper hesitated. He thought about Gwen and his mother cramped in that small apartment. And soon his son would be added to that mix. He thought about how even with the money he got from SHIELD, this job wasn’t going to last forever and sooner or later, he’d have to explain to them what all these long trips away from home were all about. And all he’d have to do was turn over his teammate, a man who had plenty of blood on his hands to begin with.

“Okay, Dad.” He accepted his father’s handshake. “I’m in.”

To be continued…